#guilty of flashing everyone his pants

[silveredsticks]

it's embarrassing

[shy-writer-999]

Ace's pillow is your last resort

WARNING: MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

A/N: Ace has been gone for months and you decide to ride his pillow to get off. ~1k words. shoutout to the anon who requested this!

Ace & Pillow Humping

Ace had been gone for a long time—days had turned into weeks, weeks into months. He was on some voyage, some mission hundreds of miles away. You didn’t know when he was going to come back. You were worried sick, and on top of that you were starting to crave his touch with concerning, all-encompassing intensity. You felt like you were going crazy.

A few days in, you started to sleep in Ace’s bed. It smelled like him, reminded you of him and the countless nights you spent together there. If you closed your eyes and wrapped yourself in his sheets tight, you could almost hallucinate his presence next to you, throwing his arm over you like he always did. You wore his shirts and his sweatpants, drank out of his favorite mug, used his shampoo—you did anything to mimic and pretend like he was there.

In any other circumstance it may have been overkill, but when you passed the three-month mark without him you threw all inhibitions to the wind… which is how you ended up humping his pillow in his bed one night, trying to keep your moans as quiet as possible.

The idea hit you like lightning—if you couldn’t fuck him, why not fuck yourself to completion with something that smelled just like him?

It started by fingering yourself in his bed, a guilty pleasure. You would close your eyes and pretend like he was watching and touching himself too, which happened to be one of his favorite activities. Unfortunately, your fingers just wouldn’t cut it sometimes. But… what about his favorite pillow?

Moments after the idea flashed through your mind, you grabbed his pillow and folded it in half. You positioned it underneath you, between your legs, and started to hump the smooth fabric. You braced yourself with your hands on the bed in front of you, sometimes sitting up and grinding down, other times leaning forward on your elbows rubbing back and forth. You had one of his big t-shirts on and nothing else.

In Ace’s bed, with the lights turned off in the late hours of the night, you figured that everyone else would be asleep.

The fabric of the pillow bunched and slid, granting friction to your core that quickly became so wet that it was starting to saturate the fabric. A stain seeped into the area where you grinded your clit and glistening lips erratically. Each thrust backwards and forwards built heat in your core and elicited soft whines and needy puffs of breaths.

As you rutted your hips into the pillow more forcefully, you could feel your climax building. It felt so good—the fabric was wet from your slick and the friction of your clit snagging on the fabric sent zaps of pleasure to your core. Your muscles started to tense up as your core started to throb and pulse.

You couldn’t help it anymore. Ace’s name started to trickle from your mouth along with pathetic and filthy whimpers. You could hear the fabric make sloppy rustling sounds as you shifted back and forth.

“Ace, nngghhhhhh” you panted, pressing your hips down and putting all of your weight on the pillow now, rubbing your sensitive spot so it felt just right. “Aceeee. Fuck.” As you writhed on his pillow, you imagined how Ace looked when he touched himself to the sight of you.

Ace would spread his thick thighs and tease as much precum out of his cock as he could, stroking leisurely until he got worked up enough to move his hand tighter and faster. He would sweet talk and encourage you while he watched you stuff your fingers into your cunt just for him. “Awh sugar, you look so cute getting all hot and bothered for me” and “you’re moving those pretty fingers so well, sweetheart.” He’d throw his head back and make the most precious looks of ecstasy when he was about to cum. His freckles would scrunch up as he let out desperate puffs of breath, eyebrows pinched into an expression of pleasure.

While you imagined him touching himself, you started letting out needier moans and more urgent thrusts, franticly dragging your cunt over his pillow like you were in heat, like you were dying for it, starving for it. “Ace, fuck, Ace, Ace, Ace,” you keened, ripples of ecstasy ricocheting through your body. You were almost out of breath.

Right when you were about to climax, you heard the door creak open. The light switch clicked and flooded the room, making your eyes smart from the pitch black you were accustomed to.

“Surprise beautiful, I’m home—” Ace’s voice sent you over the edge. He may have been watching, but you couldn’t stop yourself from cumming. One last needy hump on his pillow and you were squirming with euphoria from your orgasm, panting and sweaty, an absolute mess that made Ace hard on sight. “Fuck, babe. Are you humping my pillow?” He stared for a moment in disbelief then walked in. He closed the door as you collapsed forward onto the bed, riding out the last waves of bliss from the wet pillow case.

“Mmmhmm,” you hummed out, eyes half-lidded with lust. “Welcome home, love.”

Ace approached the bed, squatted down to your eye level, and gave your forehead a kiss. He was grinning. “You missed me, didn’t ‘ya princess?”

---

(✿˘ω˘)˘ε˘˶ ) ok that's all for now! see the anon request below & my response!! ive decided to do this format so the image banners i make show up in the thumbnails :3

omfg thank you so much!!! (✿˘ω˘)˘ε˘˶ ) this is such a good idea. the anon requests in my DMs have been neeeasssttyyy and it’s giving me life. I fear you are really going to let the freak out of me because why have I not thought of this before... 😳😳😳

[marasmadness]

Only Need You For The Oxytocin- Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

CW: season 17 section chief Emily💋, stripper!reader, erm not everything Emily does is very legal but let us all close our eyes for the time being, interrogation, enemies to less than enemies. everybody is very flirty in government buildings where they should not be! handcuffs, smut, rough sex, power dynamics (dom!emily), bondage, thigh riding, light degradation, oral sex (em receiving), choking, semi public sex

Rossi tapped his fingers against the windowsill of an interrogation room, turning to face Emily beside him. “Some of the most psychopathic men have sat in the room and started to squirm after thirty minutes. She’s been sitting in there for two hours, unphased.

“She’s not a man,” Emily mumbled, watching the woman on the other side of the glass with squinted eyes. ”I’m going to talk to her.” Emily perked up, finally growing impatient. Grabbing her jacket off the chair behind her, she slipped it on, knowing that Rossi had already turned down the thermostat in there.

"Prentiss, wait, we already drew up a profile. We won’t get anything out of her. She’ll just try to play with you.”

“Let her,’ she replied, leaving Rossi with a half-open mouth as she dipped inside the interrogation room, shutting the door behind her.

“Oh, you’re a new one.” You smiled at the older woman who had finally walked into the room, alluding to the three other agents who had entered hours ago and quickly left. “Shame, Agent Jareau and I were having a grand old time. You could be fun too,” you commented, eyeing her up and down as she introduced herself.

Emily cleared her throat, choosing to ignore your comments. “I’m SSA Emily Prentiss with the BAU. Do you know why you’re here today?”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “Because your team wanted to have a little chit chat?”

“Bullshit, you’re too smart for this. You know why you’re here.” Ignoring the chair across from you, she opted to sit against the edge of the table. I’ve already talked to just about everyone else in your club and every other one in the city, for that matter, and they all came to one conclusion. If I needed information, you would have it. She explained calmly yet sternly as she swept her arm toward the door.

You sighed as you rested your tilted head on your palms. “You speak like this is an expectation from me, yet your men dragged me in from the parking lot on the way out of my shift and didn’t tell me anything until I was sitting in your interrogation room, like I’m the one running around committing crimes,” you said pointedly. “And don’t think I didn’t realize your old friend out there was lowering the thermostat, thinking it would get me to tell you whatever you wanted; I’m barely wearing any fucking clothes; of course I’d notice when it drops a few degrees.”

A sense of unease flashed across Emily’s face as she felt slightly guilty. She had come in headstrong, and you were right, without knowing how you ended up here in the first place. She was still standing in a room across from you, who was already on edge, so instead of rewinding, she doubled down. “So now what? You’re not going to give us the information we need to stop a serial killer because you’re offended,” she scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

You just stared, watching the woman. She wore a gold watch, its face sitting on her inner wrist, which clinked against her belt buckle lightly every time she dropped her hands to her side. Underneath a long red coat that you desperately wished to be under right now, her outfit was sleek and simple: black pants, thin gold jewelry, and a black blouse with newly undone buttons. Your eyes froze on her shirt, your lips pressing into a smile."Really? Two hours of you and your team of profilers brainstorming, and the best you could come up with was that I would spit out all my information if you sent a woman twice my age in to what exactly, seduce me?” Emily looked caught off guard, and you tipped your head toward her chest. “You’re wearing three fewer buttons than when I watched you walk by this room earlier when Luke left, and a fresh coat of lipgloss.”

Emily held up her hand, leaning in closer over the table. "Okay, I get it—not the correct strategy.”

“No, you had my weaknesses spot on; just use them in a bar or a date, not an interrogation room. I’m not that gullible.” You smirked, enjoying watching Emily’s panic level rise, and then her eyes narrowed as a giggle escaped you.

Emily finally took the seat across from you, resting her forehead in her palm. “You’re giving me a headache.”

She heard you shuffle, reaching underneath the table, and eventually looked up when you tossed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in front of her. She suddenly snapped up in attention. Where did you get those?”

You shrugged, picking one up. “I had them on me.”

“They didn’t search you when you came in?”

You shook your head, going to light one until Emily snatched in from between your fingers. “Stand up,” she directed, dragging two fingers upward through the air as she made her way around the table. You heard her mumble something under her breath, unable to distinguish any of it other than something about doing everything herself around here.

Her hands slid delicately down your sides and along the side seams of your clothes. She hesitated at the sensation of her hands brushing against your bare waist. Clearing her throat, she removed her hands. “Moving on, I need the list of Claire Demont’s regulars; I know she handed the list down to you.”

“I don't feel entirely obligated to help you. Claire has done a lot for me. Men have done a lot of shitty stuff to her. I’m not saying murder is ever the answer, but I don’t doubt that there's a reason for her rage. Can I go home now? Last time I checked, I wasn’t guilty of anything.” You stretched back over the metal frame of the chair, waking up your stiff muscles.

“No yet, but we do have a 24-hour hold because my team is under the very strong impression that you have information regarding the case.” Emily began to trail off upon seeing your disinterested demeanor and knew she wouldn’t be getting through to you. “Look, I can’t get you out of here; the best I can offer you is that we talk in my office instead, but I better be leaving with the list of names, no exceptions, got it?”

“Fine,” you got up slowly, demonstrating restraint to hide your eagerness. Before you could breathe deeply about your new slight ounce of freedom, the agent’s hands were enclosed around both your wrists, swiftly moving them behind your back. A short gasp of shock left your lips as you recognized the cold metal rings that clicked around your wrist. “I thought you said I was under arrest,” you muttered, irritated.

Emily’s chin hovered just above your shoulder as she whispered slowly in your ear, “You’re not; that was just for my entertainment.” A soft chuckle escaped her as she pulled away. Looping her fingers around the chain connecting your wrists, she tugged lightly, directing you toward the door.

Emily stepped outside much more composedly than you when you came face-to-face with three security guards outside the room. Emily knew they would be the only ones left in the building; no other agents remained, and they did not alarm her.

You heard a soft noise from over your shoulder, something you couldn’t make out but clearly Emily had. Turning your head, you found a man’s eyes roaming down your skin, almost greedily. Within seconds, Emily had dropped her coat off her shoulders and draped it over your shoulders. Pulling it closed around you, it hung down almost your entire body. Without a comment, her hand naturally fell down by her badge, and she gave a soft nod as she passed by the remaining guards, giving them no reason to question her authority.

Your heart rate sped up the farther you made it down the hallway; its loud beating suddenly became very evident beneath your chest. Peeking a glance over at Emily, she seemed collected and undeterred as she led the way to her office.

Stepping into her office, you immediately opened your mouth to speak. Before you could get a word out, Emily’s hand was over your mouth as you were pressed up against the wall beside her door as she locked it and pulled down the blinds. She eventually dropped her hand, narrowing the space between you slightly with the tilt of her head. “You’re not very good at this, are you?” She smirked before reaching over your waist to undo the cuffs, then looped them back around her belt. “Sit down,” She tossed her hand out across the office as her eyes scanned the rows of shelves lining the back of the room. You took a seat on the edge of her desk, right across from her chair. She pivoted around on her heel, setting a pen and piece of paper next to you. “Names,” she said, tapping the blank sheet with her nail.

You sighed under your breath but picked up the pen anyway, twirling it in between your fingers. Emily slid herself between her chair and your legs, dangling off her desk, before sitting back. ”Just so you know, I never knew all of Claire’s clients. When she left, she only gave me a handful of regulars' names to pass on to me.”

“That’s fine. The more she interacted with them, or the bigger impression she made on them, the more likely these men were to be targets. Do you know if she slept with any of them?”

“No, she never slept with clients, and despite contrary belief, neither did I,” you clarified, narrowing your eyes into a warning glare.

“I never said that,” Emily corrected, her voice remaining low and even throughout every interaction. “Sometimes it's just helpful to know because a man’s sex life can often tell you a lot about him.”

“If that's the information you need, you don’t need a profiler to find that out. You just need a little attention to things other than the physical act of sex.” You flipped the piece of paper in your lap around so the names were facing Emily as your pen rolled down the list. “These three are married and always want to give up control. They crave attention from the dancers but don’t do anything to draw it to themselves. They don’t demand anything; they want you to come to them. And the next handful of names have been single almost their entire lives. Most of them are possessive, and they want to spend the most time with you. They’ll tell you exactly what they want from you. Those men are typically the ones who will pay for a lap dance or two.”

Emily looked up at you, curious and slightly impressed. “You can tell me all that from a few minutes of interaction?” She asked skeptically. Your eyes skipped to the slight movements of her body, her thighs tensing against the tight fabric of her pants, and her ringer fingers closing against her palms as they rested at her side.

“Almost always, it's quite straightforward to discern if a partner is going to be possessive, controlling, desperate, or possessive.” You selected your words carefully, letting them hang in the silence between the two of you almost tauntingly.

Clearing her throat, Emily shook her head softly, causing a strand of silver hair to fall from her shoulder. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

Without thinking, you slipped off her desk with languid movements, finding yourself hovering over her with knees on each side of her body. You leaned away from her, back arching, so you were suspended over the air in front of her. Within seconds, Emily’s hands grasped at your hips, pulling you farther into the chair. It wasn’t an act of politeness to keep you from falling; it was lust-filled, her bruising grip not lessening or pulling away like two strangers should. Lifting your fingers, you brushed the collar of her shirt out of the way, pressing two fingers to the warm skin beneath her collar bone. Smirking, you felt her skin pulsing against you rapidly—the telltale sound of her racing heart. Tucking her fallen hair behind her ear, you whispered softly and sweetly. “ Just proved it.”

You lifted yourself off of her, starting to climb back down, before her firm grip pulled you forcefully back onto her lap. Her hands slid up her back, fingers playing with the zipper that held your top together teasingly. “Ah, finish what you started, doll.” She positioned you how she wanted to, her thigh between your legs with your hands draped over her shoulders. Her nails trailed down your legs, leaving light red scratches as she tore through your thin fishnet stockings.

Her lips latched to the side of your neck, sucking bruises of red and bluish hues down to your collarbone. Her sudden tightening grip made you suck in a gasp midway through ridding her of her own shirt. “Ride.” With one hand on your waist and the other clinging to the curve of your ass, she started the rocking motion. She flexed her toned thigh, holding you roughly down on her thigh, so every slight movement initiated by her stimulated your clit through the thin fabric between you.

The fact that your breathing was already breaking into stuttered sharp inhales simply from riding her thigh had your face burning. In an attempt to hide the fact, you buried your face against her shoulder, turning away from her unwavering gaze.

She brought your rocking to a halt, stopping to rest a hand on the base of your neck until you had to pull back upright to breathe deeply enough for the stars in your vision to disappear. “Eyes on me,” she corrected without additional comment before continuing her motions.

Sensing you were close to falling apart for her, she tugged your panties to the side, pressing the pad of her thumb to your clit. “Fuck,’ you trembled against her strong frame. The older woman’s eyes suddenly darted over your shoulder, and she quickly brought her hand from between your legs up to your mouth, pushing two fingers coated in your arousal past your lips.Sensing a noise behind you, your eyes widened in fear, realizing she had given you her fingers to keep you quiet.

There was a knock on the door, and Emily didn’t appear to be as alarmed as she should be, in your opinion. “Get under my desk and stay quiet.” She husked directly in your ear, nudging you down onto your knees in front of her, and she called out. “Come in,”

Anderson entered, swiping his badge to unlock the door. “Hey, Agent Prentiss. I just noticed your light was still on and wanted to make sure everything was okay. It’s getting late.”

“I’m good, Anderson, thanks.” She smiled softly as she thanked him. Her eyes fell coolly to the papers you had scattered across her desk from sitting on it. “I’m just finishing up some case files. I’m a bit behind at the moment.” Emily shuffled forward in her chair in an attempt to hide you if Anderson stepped any closer.

Sensing that he seemed to want to linger for a moment, you reached towards Emily’s zipper, her belt already on the floor beside you from your flurry of undressing earlier. Her hands engulfed your wrists, but after a minute of protesting, she had to lift her hand back up to avoid looking like she was fighting something under the table. The opportunity for payback was being handed to you on a silver platter.

Her voice spiked up an octave as her legs clenched over your ears. Unperturbed, your tongue traced along her slit as she kept up with Anderson’s casual conversation about work and what she did when she wasn’t at the office. Her hands dropped lightly into her lap and beneath the view of her desk, but unbeknownst to the man rambling to her, she had her hands gripping at your hair, tugging harshly as your tongue swirled around her clit. She resisted the urge to look down just briefly to catch a glimpse of her arousal smeared across your mouth, hair mussed from her touch.

You picked up your pace as you heard Ansderson start moving back toward the door, which left Emily’s legs quivering as she climbed toward an orgasm with every lap and flick of your tongue. The second the door was locked behind the security guard, Emily’s hands found the back of your head, nudging your mouth into her cunt. “Fuck, you better let me come on your mouth after that little stunt, sweetheart.”

You grinned up at her from the floor, a mischievous look in your eyes as you delved back into her cunt, wrapping your lips around her clit as she moaned while orgasming on your tongue. She panted as she came back down from her high, slouching back into her chair and spreading her legs. She helped you up off the floor, fixing you up before yourself.

In the middle of it all, you picked up a pink sticky note and pen off her desk, scribbling something down. Emily’s eyes narrowed as you held out the sheet. “What is this? You were supposed to give me all the names already.”

“I did,” you said, rolling your eyes at her assumption. "This is the club address, and when I work, Stop by sometime; you do still owe me an orgasm,” you pointed out with a grin.”

“Mhm,” her eyes widened at your boldness as she held one knuckle to her lip, hiding her soft, sly grin. ”Well, I risked my job because you're a desperate little thing, so I think you owe me about three. I thought you didn’t sleep with clients.”

You shrugged and started heading for the door. “Well, there's a first time for everything, or maybe I’m just making an exception for you,’ you teased," she said, pivoting around to return her coat on her arm that you had forgotten about for a brief second.

She gave you a small head tilt. “Keep it; I’ll see you shortly anyways,’ she suggested, and you just dropped your head slightly, smiling on your way out.

"Have a good night, Agent Prentiss.”

[seung-mong]

got it - han jisung

includes: fwb! idol han jisung x reader, semi-public bathroom sex, fwb to lovers, possessive han, lots of praise, han is rough but also so so weak for you, poor, sweet mark

dedicated to @yzsqu :))

wc: 4k

horndog - DO NOT REPLY 

~baby

~u up?

of course i'm up han jisung- it's fucking 7 in the evening. you're beyond tempted to reply, but you dont. you know what you replying means to him. instead, you let your phone drop to your mattress, turning over and hugging your pillows up to your chest. 

han jisung has been your... well... 'friend' for the better half of the year now, constantly asking you to "hang out" at his place. and he's been a good friend, truly! as good a friend can be when they've got their dick shoved down your throat. 

it's not like that's how the friendship started, obviously not. you met when you guys were still children, attending the same school as everyone else in his idol group. you were sincerely good friends, you often opened up to him about your worries and problems, and he would always be there to comfort you and take you out for a night of food, drinks, and throwing up behind the dumpsters of random clubs while he held your hair up. 

but one night, you had too many drinks. you were too vulnerable, and his hands just felt too fucking good running up and down your sides. and yes, you're guilty for initiating it. he was simply comforting you while you vented about work. next thing he knew, you were climbing onto his lap and leaving hickeys down his neck. how could he say no to you? 

and you thought it could lead to something more- but han just wasn't ready for a relationship with his busy schedule as an idol, too afraid of how the public would react to him coming out with a relationship. and you were not comfortable with being a casual fuck. for a while. 

who can blame you? his dick just fills you up so good every single time, has your toes curling and back arching as you scream his name into his pillows. you'd swear up and down that each time would be the last, but he would hit you up with a lame "r u free tonight?" and you'd be on your way to his apartment in a fucking flash. 

but the feelings never went away. you started to fall in love with him, and curse you and your heart for falling for him. but how could you not? how could you resist when he'd flash you his stupid smile after fucking your brains out, panting and chest heaving as he lay on the space beside you. and it's not like after a session he'd make you leave, no. he'd open his arms and whine until you gave into him, cuddling into his sweaty side. who could expect you not to fall in love with his eye smiles and quick kisses on your cheek? 

"you're kidding me." felix whines from behind you, shoulder resting on your doorframe. you sit up with a groan, turning your head to meet his gaze with a frown plastered on his face. 

"hi lix." you mumble, patting the space on the bed beside you, but he shakes his head. 

"y/n. it's seven in the evening. on a saturday! you should come out with us, c'mon." he pleads, walking over to your side of the bed and pulling on your arm. you realize he's dressed up, black formal pants and a white button up. 

"where you going?" you yawn, letting him pull you out of bed. 

"the launch of minho's restaurant? remember? come with us, it'll be fun." he begs, pulling you until you're fully standing, your silk shorts and tank top sticking to your skin as sleep lines decorated your  bare arms. he walks over to your closet, throwing the cabinet doors open and surveying your clothes. 

"but it's gonna be full of idols and i'll feel so left out and-"

"for minho?" felix pouts, making you roll your eyes.

"what's the theme of your outfit today?" you ask, playfully shoving him to the side. 

felix scoffs from beside you, elbowing you. "everyone's gonna be wearing formal." 

"formal?" you whine, looking through your brightly covered club dresses and pushing them to the side. "what's the color palette?" 

felix hums, glad that you're on board. "pretty neutral tones."

you groan, taking out the different dresses you had which fit the category. 

"come on, minho's super proud and he wants everyone to look their best. besides, the restaurant's pretty classy anyways." felix eyes the nude bodycon dress that you hold up in front of you, raising an eyebrow. 

"and a blazer, it's cold out." felix advises, sitting down on your bed. 

"fine. but only because there's free food and wine. and i love minho." you roll your eyes taking the dress with you to the bathroom to get ready. 

"what other reason would there be?" felix mutters under his breath as you close the door behind you. 

you're immediately glad you came. minho is positively beaming, answering all the questions journalists throw at him with a cheeky smile and a playful wink. you stuck beside felix and chan's side the whole night, overwhelmed by all the famous idols that popped in and out of the establishment. you're grateful you took felix' advices to dress up, majority of the idols dressed in flashy dresses and fashionable outfits. you're one of the few non-idol friends, and at some point you feel left out when they're all talking about their hectic schedules. 

you don't let it get to you, though. you didn't want to spoil minho's night! you stand at the back of the room with a glass of wine in your hand, taking too many sips in a short amount of time and making you slightly buzzy. 

"you a friend of minho's?" a voice calls out from beside you and you nearly choke on your wine when you turn to see who's started a conversation with you. fuck. of course it had to be that annoyingly attractive idol from nct. 

"yea," you weakly choke, turning to face him. 

mark lifts an eyebrow when you sputter, but he chuckles good-naturedly to avoid this encounter from becoming awkward. 

"not an idol?" he asks, leaning against the post next to him and now you're starting to wonder why the hell he's starting a conversation with you when twice is literally standing a few feet away from you, chattering loudly with chan. 

"nope, just a childhood friend. and roomate." you laugh, wishing you hadn't taken your blazer off when you stepped into the restaurant because you're standing right under a vent and you're shivering but you don't want to put your blazer on because it's such a huge movement and you want to stay as still as possible. 

"oh? never thought about taking that career path?" he raises an eyebrow teasingly, raising the glass of wine in his hand to his lips. 

"does it look like i can dance?" you joke, and to your relief mark laughs. 

"oh come on, i'm sure you dance great." mark shakes his head, brown eyes so intensely set on yours. 

"nah, i have two left feet." you lean your shoulder on the wall behind you, closing the distance between you and the slightly tipsy idol. 

"oh? maybe i should see it for myself." his voice trails off into something much more suggestive, and you raise an eyebrow. 

"are you asking me out to dance... or are you asking me to audition for sm in front of you right now?" 

mark throws his head back and lets out a deep laugh, making you blush when a few people turn their heads in your direction. you bow sheepishly, a little giggle escaping your lips. 

"and if it's the latter?" he raises his glass to his lips, eyes still on you. 

you shrug. "sorry, more of a jyp gal myself." 

he laughs, and you think it's a sound you could get used to.

"damn, you're really-" mark starts, wiping the tears from his eyes away with the back of his hand. 

"y/n?" a harsh voice interrupts him, both of your heads turning towards the owner of the voice. 

fuck. and felix said he couldn't make it. 

"well change of plans, hyung. im on my way!" han yells through his phone, trailing behind his manager as they push past the strangers crowding around minho's restaurant. 

"you said you had to do 'a thing.'" minho accuses him, setting his glass of wine down on the table in front of him. 

"yea, yea." han huffs, finally getting past security and shrugging his coat off with a huff. how's it his fault he's late when you're the one who wouldn't reply to his messages asking you to be his date? he hangs up, mumbling a small 'thank you' to the person who offers him a glass of wine. he smiles when he sees the rest of his group in the same table at the very center of the restaurant, politely bowing when he crosses paths with his seniors and juniors who decided to show support to the owner. 

"hyung, congrats!" han hugs minho excitedly, patting his back. 

"you said you couldn't make it!" minho beams, pulling a chair up for the younger. 

"yea, was supposed to bring a date. but uh, she couldn't make it." han shakes his head, surveying the restaurant. "damn, there's a lot of people, huh?" 

"yup! go! go mingle with the others for the night." minho winks at him as he walks away, being pulled into conversations. 

han smiles as he watches minho mingle with the crowd, genuinely proud of all that he's achieved. 

"y/n's here." felix informs him, patting his back and pointing him in your direction. 

"oh?" he stands up, eager to see you. and met with the sight of you and mark getting a little too close for his liking. 

he walks up to you, anger bubbling in his chest. he messaged you, and you didn't reply. he was gonna ask you to be his date tonight and you didn't respond. but here you were, flirting with mark. 

"han." you choke, standing up straight and averting his gaze as if he'd caught you red handed doing something illegal. 

"oh hey, han jisung! you're the group's rapper right? damn bro i got to say i'm such a huge-" mark walks forward, holding his hand up and reaching for a handshake. 

"y/n. let's go." he steps forward to you and grabs your hand in his, squeezing tightly. 

"excuse me? i'm not going anywhere with you." you scoff, removing your hand from his hold. 

you look at mark apologetically, who is genuinely confused by the scene unraveling in front of him. 

"oh, i- im sorry is there something like- between you two.." mark takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. 

"no." 

"yes." 

you look at han incredulously, scoffing at his answer. "yes? really? since when."

"don't- put on a show baby. say bye bye to your friend." 

you blink back at him, thrown off by the firmness in his voice. you open your mouth to retort, but he silences you with the raise of an eyebrow. 

"bye, mark." you huff, bowing apologetically. 

mark is obviously confused, stuttering out a goodbye and walking back to his group of friends with wide eyes. fuck. you just know mark will have so much fun telling his little buddies from nct about the absolutely pleasant encounter he had with han jisung. 

han drags you around the room, settling his glass of wine on an empty table and pulling you behind him. you're beyond embarrassed, apologizing profusely when you bump into several idols, all of whom you liked. you could feel the heat spread across your cheeks and down your neck when they looked at you curiously. you downed the remaining contents of wine in your glass in one go before placing it on a tray held by a passing waiter. 

"han." you hissed, trying to pull your hand away. but he doesn't budge, pushing you into the empty bathroom, checking to see if anyone is watching before locking the door behind him. 

your breathing is deep and ragged, your blood rising to your cheeks and bubbling in anger. 

"what the hell was that?" you hissed. 

"i should be the one asking you that." han's voice is low, accusing you. 

you scoff, in disbelief. "what's that supposed to mean?" 

"you blew me off this afternoon and when i finally get to see you, you're flirting with mark lee." he hisses, face going red with anger. 

"and so what?" your voice is getting louder now and you take a step closer to him. "and don't say i blew you off as if we made plans, you and i both know you were just messaging me so you could get your dick wet." 

"that's- that's not true." he falters, and for a second he sounds pained. "and- and what do you mean 'so what?' are you just going around flirting with idols now? is that how it is? talking and sleeping around?" 

you laugh manically, the anger coming out of you and radiating in waves. "that's just so fucking cheap, han. you're talking as if i had my fucking hand down his pants! and what's it to you who i'm sleeping with anyway? i could choose to fuck all 23 of them and it still shouldn't matter to you." 

"yea? well it does!" and for the first time he's yelling at you, brows furrowed and tie swinging wildly as he steps up to you, hands balled into fists.

"the hell are you fucking talking-" you move forward to shove him backwards, only for his hands to catch your wrists, pulling you closer so you stumble forward, and his lips catch yours in a heated kiss. but you're still angry, and you bite down on his lower lip. you pull away, pushing him away by his shoulders. "what the hell?" you breathe, wiping away the spit on your bottom lip with the back of your hand. 

"it- it matters to me, okay?" he sighs, exasperated. 

"what are you talking about?" you laugh hollowly, shaking your head at him. 

"i- you- you know i'm not good at this!" he groans, opting you to pull you closer to him by your wrist all over again, hand resting on your jaw and hastily placing his lips on yours to shut you up. 

you soften a little, because you do know. you know han's never been one to open up too much, too insecure about his own emotions to ever determine how he's actually feeling. but that's the exact reason he keeps wanting to fuck you, every roll of his hips a hint to just how much he likes you (how romantic). 

but you're a sucker for han jisung. 

you let him push you nearer to the sink, rough hands grabbing at your ass and trying desperately to roll your dress up. you quickly remove his suit jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor. he doesn't seem to care, too busy bunching your dress up by your waist and groaning against your mouth. his kisses are sloppy and messy, tongue probing in and out of your mouth but god you're drunk on him, taking everything he has to give with grace. 

when he finally has your dress hiked up, he takes a moment to break away from the kiss and look down, fingers dipping into the waistline of your underwear. 

"fuck, you're soaked aren't you?" he groans, pulling the waistband back and letting it snap against your skin. you yelp, cheeks turning red from the lewd words he whispers against your ear. 

he moves to undo his tie and and you shake your head frantically, hands reaching up to stop him. "keep it on," you mumble, lifting yourself up on the sink and puling him closer by the fabric. 

"fuck you'll be the death of me." he slots himself in between your legs, which wrap around his hips and pull him closer. his bulge rubs just against your clit, and you whine in his ear. 

"hurry and fuck me, please." you whine, rolling your hips upwards and trying to get as much friction as you can from his slacks. he tuts at you, pulling you nearer to the edge by your hips and leaning down to plant a messy kiss on your neck. 

"i'll mark you up, then everyone gets to see you're mine." he groans against your neck, grinding you harder against his bulge. "then no one gets to fucking touch you after, right baby?" 

you nod, delirious and high on lust and alcohol. "gimme it." you mumble incoherently, undoing han's pants and blindly fishing for his cock. 

han chuckles condescendingly at your enthusiasm, hands gripping your hips and squeezing once his cock swings free from his pants.

"put it in." han orders, growing harder by the minute when he sees your hands wrapped around his shaft. you don't hesitate to comply, shimmying your underwear down until it falls down to hang on your ankles. han quickly grabs the fabric and stuffs it into his back pocket. you guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, shimmying closer to him until your chest is pressed against his.

"fuck. good girl." han rasps, lifting your hips slightly as he buries himself deep into your cunt.

you whimper at the praise, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pulls back, only for him to slam harder into you. you let out a moan at the impact, throwing your head back until it hits the mirror behind you. han leads forward, his pace unrelenting as his hands squeeze the side of your thighs. he rests his head in the crook of your neck, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he groans against your chest. 

you cant help the sounds that escape your mouth, trying desperately to keep your sounds to a minimum, because what would all the people outside think? 

"oh come on baby, i wanna hear you. know i love it when you moan my name." han chuckles against your neck, before biting down and sucking a dark mark onto the skin. 

"h-han." you whine, hands curling into fists against the fabric of his blouse. his fingers dig harder against your hips, so much it almost sings. you bite your lower lip to keep the embarrassing sounds from flooding out, much to han's disappointment. 

"no, no, baby. this just won't do." he sighs dramatically, one hand reaching behind you and hooking onto the sink as leverage to pound into you harder. you gasp at the feeling of the tip of his cock driving deliciously into you, hands clutching onto his shoulders for dear life. 

he's fucking you too good, his hips snapping into you too harshly, you can't possibly keep your mouth shut. every whine and whimper that leaves your mouth sends a shiver down han's spine, and he uses it as motivation to fuck you harder. 

"tell me you're mine." han commands, fingers pinching painfully into your thigh. 

"m-m'yours hannie." you whine sweetly, eyes closing at the pleasure his hips bring you. 

"apologize for being a slut and flirting with that joke from nct." he seethes, so close to cumming when you squeeze around him. 

"fuck!" you hiccup, almost falling back if not for han's stable hold around your waist. "i- in sorry for flirting with mark." 

"good girl. you gonna cum baby?" han teases, bringing a hand up to your cheek and lightly slapping you to catch your attention. 

"yes, please?" you beg, desperate for your release. but your body is conditioned to han's favor, body only cumming when you hear the words come out of his mouth. 

"do you deserve it after today?" han smirks mischievously, a drop of sweat dripping down his neck and onto the collar of his shirt. honestly, han's been dying to cum since he first entered you, only holding out for your pleasure. 

"yes, please, han! i said m'sorry i'm sorry, please? i'll be good, promise." you babble incoherently, too fucked dumb to have an ounce of pride. 

"you're only mine, got it? cum for me, baby" han whispers, smirking at the immediate response he gets from your body. your hold on his shirt tightening as your cunt flutters around him, your eyes closing and a silent scream escaping your open mouth. 

the sight alone is too much for han, who thrusts once, twice and cums deep in you, a strangled groan leaving his lips that is muffled against your shoulder. you feel his cum slowly drip down the side of your inner thigh, but you're too tired to care. you pant heavily against each other, trying to catch your breaths. you feel han pull out of you, more of his liquid oozing out of you. you hiss at the loss of contact, wincing at the thought of being sore tomorrow. 

"don't move." han mumbles, grabbing a handful of tissues from the dispenser and reaching behind you to dampen it with a bit of water. slowly, he nudges apart your thighs, wiping away the mess in between your legs. 

"thank you." you mumble awkwardly, shimmying down the counter and pulling your underwear up. 

you're used to this by now, knowing without even looking at han that he wants you to go out first, like always. you push past him as you reach for the door but han stops you, pinning you back to the counter with his hips. 

"again?" you groan, but han shakes his head. 

"stay for a bit." he sighs, hands finding purchase at your waist as his thumbs rub circles against your sides. 

"but everyone's probably looking for you." you argue, pressing your hands against his chest. 

"i don't care." his tone catches you off guard, and you stay rooted to your spot. 

"hannie-"

"y/n, please don't flirt with him." his voice is barely above a whisper, but you catch his words nonetheless. 

"with mark?" is he still pissed about that?

"with anyone." he clarifies, pressing his forehead against yours. "anyone that isn't me." 

you sigh, tired of being held back by rules that would normally stand in a relationship, without eve being in one. "han, i can't keep being your little fuck buddy, it's tiring." and painful. 

"i know." han sighs, eyes closing as he inhales your sickeningly sweet scent. "i'm just - i dont want to date you and be bad at it." he suddenly confesses, a pout on his lips as his lower lip juts out. 

your heart twists at that, and you place a hand on his cheek in reassurance. he leans into your touch, afraid of opening his eyes. 

"baby, you'll never know if you don't try. we'll take it step by step. slow and steady." you know its a weak attempt, but it seems to put han at ease when he straightens up and wraps his arms around your waist. 

"does that mean you won't flirt with mark anymore?" he whispers, and you can't help but giggle. 

"i won't." 

he's silent for a while, a naughty smirk painted across his lips. 

"you're mine now, got it?" 

you giggle, planting a kiss on his cheek. "got it."

taglist: @pochamin22 @bee123sthings @ohnocent @hyunchannie017 @r1n4 @heluvschibi @kpop-obsessed-all-the-time @elizalabs3 @uknowme-not @bee123sthings @n034sy

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Want It All: Part 2

Part 1, Part 3

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Kissing, Angst, Asexual Angst, Allusions to Past Relationships

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It’s easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can’t pretend anymore?

A/N: OMG, thank you to everyone who has read the first part. I was not expecting for it to blow up like it did. Hopefully this next part doesn't disappoint. And as always REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!!! (Especially those I've tagged. I'd really like to know if you still like it.)

Word Count: 3.0K

How could ten feet of hallway feel like a death march?  It was a question you never thought to pose to yourself, until you faced the distance between your door and Astarion’s. 

What could you even say to him? An apology was always a good start, but for what? Neither of you made any formal declarations of intentions towards each other. That was the whole point of this game of yours, to keep the other guessing. It wasn’t like you outright lied to him or made promises you didn’t intend to keep. 

So why did you feel so guilty? 

Of course, you could be working yourself up over nothing. He could just as easily laugh in your face. 

With all these thoughts swirling in your mind, you were almost surprised to see the light beneath his door reflecting on your boots.

A lump of panic tightened your throat. From the angle of the light, he wouldn’t be able to tell you were standing there. There was still time to turn around, put it off until morning–.

“The door is open, darling.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his voice. He didn’t sound upset or angry. Hell, he didn’t even sound smug. It was that rare gentleness he only took on when nobody else was looking. There were times it seemed to surprise even him. You didn’t stand a chance. 

With a breath, you opened the door. 

Warm candle light met your eyes, illuminating the room with a soft orange glow. The room itself was nothing special. Similar to yours it really only held the bed, desk and chair. The only noticeable difference was the widow facing due east, its curtains open allowing a view of the rain pittering against the window. 

Astarion had insisted on this room. You understood why now. He always wanted to start the day facing the rising sun. 

For a brief moment, you allowed the stillness of the moment to calm you, before turning your gaze to the man himself. 

Oh thank the Gods, he was still dressed. 

Astarion sat on the edge of the bed, in his most comfortable white ruffled shirt and black pants. Despite his casual appearance he still came off as nothing short of a prince awaiting his court. His lips were posed in a knowing smile as he regarded you, tilting his head to the side. The light of the candles caught his scarlet eyes, making them burn.

“Are you going to keep that open all night?” he asked. 

Blinking, you turned to see your hand was still on the door handle. A little too quickly, you shut it behind you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, not knowing what else to say. 

“It’s quite alright,” he said, his tone only mildly teasing. 

You stood there awkwardly, not really knowing where to put your hands. How in the hells were you meant to start a conversation after everything he saw? You were a bard for Gods’ sake. Talking was supposed to be something you were good at. Still the silence lingered, becoming worse with every second. 

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “What are you still doing way over there?”

You shrugged, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise up your neck. “Is there somewhere else you want me?”

He gave you a playful smirk, offering his hand. “Come on. I’d promise not to bite, but…” He trailed off, widening his smile enough for his fangs to show. 

Of all things, it was that small flash of teeth which put you at ease. He was poking fun at you. Surely that was a good sign. 

Slowly, you walked toward him, taking his outstretched hand. He was cool to the touch. His fingers a mixture of manicured softness and well fought calluses, leaving your skin tingling in its wake. You centered in on sensation letting it the ground you back into the here and now. 

He guided you to sit next to him, never letting his touch slip from yours. 

“That was…quite a performance,” he said. 

You gave a half hearted smile. It was as good a place to start as any, but you couldn’t look at him, instead focusing on the way his hand intertwined with yours. It should have frightened you or at the very least made you suspicious, but it felt too good. You didn’t want to break the spell. 

“I wasn’t expecting it,” you said, honestly. 

He gave a hum of agreement. “I don’t think any of us were.”

His hand trailed further up your arm, allowing his thumb to brush against the scars on your wrist. 

A small shiver went through you. The scars on your neck had long since faded after the first night you let him feed on you. You’d made a point to only let him bite your wrist from that point onward. It was meant to hedge expectations. You’d thought a neck bite would make the act more charged than you intended. What a fool you were. Of course he’d find a way to make even the barest touch feel intimate.

“The melody alone…I’ve never heard its equal,” he continued. 

You nodded, unsure what to do with his praise. You couldn’t dismiss it as easily as before. He sounded too sincere. 

“Thank you,” you said, softly, “but I’m not sure how much credit I can take. It felt more like the song was playing me.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me. How else could you explain such radiance?”

You felt now was the time for you to say something clever, but any words that might have formed fell heavy on your tongue as he moved your wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to the raised marks of your skin. Your heart began to pound. No doubt he could feel every racing beat of it. 

“Are you hungry?” you said, the words blurting out before you could stop them. 

He laughed, the vibrations running down the length of your arm. 

“Certainly,” he purred, turning his gaze to you. “But not for blood. I was hoping you’d let me indulge in some other parts of you.” 

Panic struck you then, turning in your stomach as your eyes widened. “Astarion…”

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he said. He still held your wrist delicately in his hand allowing the other to brush lightly against your cheek. 

Your breath shook and damn you to the hells if you knew exactly the cause. 

“I saw you,” he whispered. “I saw what it is you truly desire. It was beautiful, passionate…starving, and all for me.” He leaned it close, the warmth of his breath dancing against your lips. “Am I wrong?”

Your mouth became dry as sand, forcing you to swallow. “Not entirely.”

“Would it surprise you then, to know I want the same thing?”

The sudden urge to laugh rose within you. Gods was this really happening? “I rather doubt that.”

“Then allow me to show you.” 

Before you could say another word, he closed the small gap between you, pressing his lips to yours. 

It was…nice; really nice, if you were being honest. His hand cupped your cheek, as if it were made of the finest porcelain. There was a care to his touch you hadn’t expected, leaving the door open for you to pull away. The assurance was enough to make you want to stay. 

You’d always liked this part. In truth, you craved physical affection; holding hands, hugging, kissing, they had a way of making you feel so much closer to those you cared for. The trouble always came when people expected more.  

He pressed further into you, teasing your mouth to spark a reaction. 

You needed to pull away. If there was a time for you to stop, this was it. But, it did feel so good. Maybe you could indulge a little longer. It was just kissing. 

Your own hand reached out, lacing your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. 

He hummed in approval, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. 

You let yourself get lost in him. It was easy to forget when he held you so reverently. For a moment you could convince yourself this was all there was. 

A slight shift in his body. His hands grasping you just a little tighter and next thing you knew you were on your back with Astarion hovering over you. 

His low moan poured into your mouth as he slotted himself between your legs and pressed his weight against you. 

Fear spiked within you, forcing the air from your lungs. Shit, this was happening.  

His lips left yours trailing kisses across your cheek to the underside of your jaw. 

“Just relax,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so well for me.” 

His lips met your neck and it was taking everything in your power to breathe normally. 

This wasn’t what you wanted, but it didn’t feel bad. Astarion was being so tender with you. Maybe, if you went through with it, things wouldn’t have to change. You could still flirt and tease. Hell maybe you could convince him to simply hold you now and again. All you’d have to do is let him have something for himself. It was more than a fair trade. Besides, he was experienced in this, certainly more than others you’d been with. You could do this for him. It’s not like you hadn’t done it before. 

His hands moved further down your body, teasing the edge of your shirt. 

The memory of that twisted melody came into your heart filling you with dread. The way you had been so willing to morph yourself into what somebody else wanted for the sake of not being alone. Wasn’t this supposed to be different? 

“Wait, stop,” you said, before you had time to question yourself. 

To your relief, Astarion didn’t hesitate pulling his hands away as if they just caught fire. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?” 

You shook your head, that familiar guilt twisting inside you at his concern. “No. You didn’t do anything, I just…” You swallowed. You weren’t going to cry.  Not now. Gods, you were such an idiot. “Could you…could you move off me? Please.” 

His brow furrowed, but he did not question you as he pulled himself away. 

Cool air rushed over you, pulling a sigh of relief from your lips. For a long time you just laid there, calming the rush of adrenaline pumping through your blood. It was over. It was all over.

With an effort, you pulled yourself up to a sitting position. Out of the corner of your eye Astarion watched you, his expression unreadable. You’d expect nothing less from him.  

“I’m sorry,” you managed. 

“I don’t need an apology,” he said, firmly, “but I would like an explanation.” 

Slowly, as if to keep from frightening an cornered animal, he turned his body to face yours, making a point to keep a respectable distance. He really wasn’t going to make this easier for you. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked. 

You shook your head fervently. “No. No, you were perfect. That’s rather the problem.”

His lips turned into a hard line, clearly unsure how to take your statement. His eyes then narrowed, leaning closer to more carefully examine your features. 

“You’re not cursed, are you?” he asked, suddenly. 

The question caught you off guard, forcing a laugh. “What?”

“You know, something something, any man who touches you below the belt is smited. That kind of thing.” 

You shook your head, baffled as to where this conversation was headed. “No.” 

He nodded, in consideration “Alright then, any diseases you neglected to inform me about?”

“No.”

“Hells, don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”

“Gods no!” you snapped, feeling your whole body go flush. 

“Then what is it? One second you were there and the next…” he trailed off, before forcing a deep breath. “Look, I’m not angry, but if there is something wrong, I’d prefer to know.” 

“Nothing is wrong,” you insisted. 

“So why the hesitation?” he pressed. “You find me desirable. I’ve made clear I find you desirable. We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks and even have a proper mattress for the occasion. The only conclusion I can come to is there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

You opened your mouth only to close it again, wracking your brain on how to start this.

To your shock, Astarion remained silent. It wasn’t the quiet entitled anger you had received in the past or even idle confusion. He looked like he truly wanted to know. 

You let out a long sigh. There was no getting around it now. 

“I do find you desirable,” you said. “The trouble is, physically speaking…I don’t really.”

He raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t think I’m pretty?”

You had to laugh, shaking your head. “Astarion, I promise, you are possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t factor into why I desire you.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No,” you said plainly. “It never has. Not with anyone.”

He cocked his head, his eyes caught between his natural suspicion and genuine surprise. “Never?”

You shrugged. 

“Above such things are you?” he said, dryly. 

“It’s not as if I’ve taken a vow of chastity,” you snapped. “I’m not trying to achieve some arbitrary moral purity. I just never felt attracted to anyone in that way. I can look at someone and know objectively they’re beautiful or handsome or any number of other descriptors, but that need, that hunger so many people describe, it just never clicked.”

He continued to stare at you blankly before his mouth turned into a hard line. 

“So when I was kissing you, just now. You didn’t feel anything?”

“Not especially,” you said, a little guilty. “Don’t get me wrong, it was pleasant. I do like being close to you. It’s just the things kissing leads to I’m not a fan of.”

You didn’t know what to make of the look that shot across his face. He seemed lost, somewhere far away, before blinking back to the present. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asked. 

“I meant to,” you assured. “I should have. I just…sometimes forget I don’t need a reason to say no.” 

You took a breath, willing yourself to calm. 

“I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking some part of me was broken. That if I waited long enough or tried hard enough, I’d feel the things I’m supposed to feel. I’ve come to terms with the fact I never will. I’m not upset about it. It just means that what I want, what I desire from another person, it’s different than most.” 

He took that in, his red eyes peering deep into yours as if truly looking at you for the first time. 

“So, if it’s not my body you desire, what else could you possibly want?” 

You stared at him as his expression suddenly hardened. His whole body turned on edge as if waiting for you to cast the ending blow. 

“What?” he prompted, sharply. 

You shook your head. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

He gave you an incredulous look. 

Keeping your movements slow and obvious, leaned closer to him. You reached out, moving towards his hand. 

He didn’t pull away, but the guarded expression never faded. 

You took that as a good sign, allowing your hand to rest on top of his as you looked him straight in the eyes. 

“Astarion, when I say I desire you, I mean all of you,” you said, keeping your tone as clear and open so there could be no doubt of the truth of your words. “I want your attentions. I want your adoration. I want your petty jealousies and loud annoyances. I want your teasing. I want your promises and your secrets. I want nights filled with your laughter and mornings in your arms. I want to feel your heart in my chest. I want to know it beats for me. And in return, I want to give you mine. So no, I’m not especially interested in your body. But for the rest? I’m insatiable.”

He only stared at you. You supposed you should take it as a triumph. You’d found an effective way to shut him up at least; declare your overwhelming love for him.

“I know,” you said, softly. “It’s a lot. I’m a lot. But, you don’t have to worry. I don’t expect anything.”

“You don’t?”

You gave a self deprecating smile.“Despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m not an idiot. I know whatever…favor you gave me, it wasn’t real.”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly.

You gave him a doubtful look. 

He grimaced. “Alright, maybe some of it was, but–.”

“It’s fine,” you cut off. “I know what game I was playing. I’m just not very good at it.” 

You pulled your hand away, letting your eyes fall from his. Despite the coolness of his touch, somehow your hand felt even colder at the loss of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice unnaturally unsure of itself. 

You tried to smile. “Don’t be. I’ll get over it. I always do.”

Something in his eyes flicked in the firelight. His expression turned contemplative as he looked deeply into your eyes. 

“I rather doubt that,” he murmured.

A sharp pain buried its way into your chest at his words, not because they were cruel or came from a place of arrogance, but because they were undeniably true. 

You pushed yourself off the bed, forcing down the well of emotion threatening to burst from your eyes at any moment. 

“I should go,” you said. “Goodnight.” 

You made your way towards the door only to stop at the sound of your name. It was said so gently, like a desperate prayer. 

You didn’t reach for it, not this time.  It already burned too much. 

Without another word, you stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind you leaving nothing but dark and silence.

Tag List:

@yaimlight, @hallowedandhungry, @bluestuesday, @meggsssart, @murmoruno, @prophetszendo, @cabbit17, @sunset-sunrise-sunshine, @isharaneith, @thisisew, @easy-there-leftovers, @ohhnoimbisexual, @dolceaspidenera, @dork-of-the-universe, @righteous-scamp, @ambrolyer, @our-little-shared-infinity, @baldursgateslittlestar, @pkail, @nanaoise08squad, @becksynthetic, @deliriumcrow, @badgerstorms-art, @taraiel, @writingmysanity

[skiiyoomin]

HELLO! Can you write a denki x goth!reader? Reader has a shadow quirk that makes her unable to fully walk into the sun without a umbrella and looks a bit eerie but is a sweetheart, totally sun and moon couple vibes 🌒. I'm sorry If this is too especific, you can ignore If you want to!!!

ღDenki with a goth s/o

ʚCont: gn! reader, goth reader, mention of golden retriever and black cat trope, swearing, mentions of goth culture (im very uncultured in it so i apologize if i made a mistake)

⤑Back to navigation

Opposites attract is the definition of your relationship. He´s the sun, you´re the moon. The perfect duo, is what people say. And it´s true. You complement each other so well, it creates a perfect balance in your relationship. The dynamic is a lot like Beast boy and Raven. He´s always bounding with energy whereas you´re reserved and on the chill side of things.

When Denki first laid eyes on you, he was a little intimidated if he was being honest. He couldn´t help it! You looked so scary and eerie he thought you were gonna gauge his eyes out or something. That all changed when you saved him during the U.S.J incident. It all happened so quick, a flash of moments that became a blur. But the moment that was engraved in his memories was your worried face asking if he was okay. Did he fall in love instantly? Maybe.

His perception of you definitely did a 180 since then. And honestly, he felt a little guilty for assuming you were mean in the first place. Nevertheless, he opened up later on to the idea of getting to know you. It started off when he attempted to bake a thank you cake for saving him. Turns out, you don´t like sweet things. But don´t fret! Denki does not lose his determination. So instead, he arranged a bouquet of flowers. You were allergic to one of them. Now he was starting to grow frustrated. Attempt after attempt slowly beated down his hopes of doing something nice for you (you appreciated everything even if Denki deemed it unsuitable, he needed perfection). At last, luck took pity on him and presented the perfect opportunity. He caught onto a snippet of a conversation you were having with Jirou. You were rambling about a book you had been saving up for. That´s it! He´ll get you the book.

"Denki? Are you okay?"

You ask a frenzied looking Denki who knocked on your door at 11PM.

"I have it" He pants with his hands on his knees. You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "Have what?"

A shaky hand holds up a brand new copy of the book you had been eyeing for a while. "The book you wanted" He wheezes. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Just to what lengths did Denki go to buy the book and appear at your door looking like he ran a marathon?Your silence must have been long because he stood back him, a nervous smile on his lips as he pushes the book into your hand.

"I-wow, thank you" You managed to sputter at last. But before you could manage another word, he was already rushing down the hallway, a furious blush on his cheeks.

Ever since then he´s attached to your hip. He saw you the next day reading the book (that he gifted which was no small matter in his eyes), and the soft smile you sent his way when you made eye contact was enough to send him to heaven and above.

He stuck to your side like glue, constantly asking questions about the things you like and whatnot. And trust me when I say he became whipped real quick. The heart eyes were obvious, he was not fooling anyone. Going back to the whole Beast Boy and Raven dynamic, Denki is a very flirty guy. And the fact that he likes you boosts that to a million. He´s always using some cheesy pick up line or trying to do boyfriend things. He makes his crush on you obvious and he has no shame in it. And even though you act like you hate it, you both know you don´t. After all, if you hated it, you would´ve pushed him away long ago.

At this point, everyone was counting down the days until you finally got together. When it finally happened everyone was ecsatic because yay! no more annoying crushing Denki. But they soon regretted it because Denki with a partner is a million times more annoying.

He´s always showing you off with a proud giddy smile. Because you´re his. His partner and no one elses. Loves loves loves kissing you and hugging you. He´s a very physically affectionate person. Basically a golden retriever and you´re the black cat. He always has that lovesick puppy eyed look, like a puppy sitting by their owners feet, waiting to be acknowledged. That´s how he is with you, and when you do give him attention, he´s over the moon. He´s very vocal about his love for you and could spend hours listing off all the things he likes about you. The squad can not take it any longer.

He worships the ground you walk on you´re goddess, he´s your biggest supporter. So trust when I say he does not take any slander directed towards you. He zaps people who look at you the wrong way.

Also! Last but not least, having a goth partner means his eyes open up to the whole goth culture. Ever since he became friends with you he took an interest in your clothing style, the music you listen to, the make up style. Basically anything, and he definitely binge read anything having to do with goth culture just so he´d look cool and all knowimg when you talk to him. You ended up having to teach him yourself but you appreciated the effort either way.

All in all, Denki is the best boyfriend. End of speech.

[royalsunshinehotel]

How Can I? (The Kid x Reader, 18+)

Author's Note: Inspired by Taylor Swift's "Guilty As Sin?" from an inbox request. Thank you to my intrepid editor, and dearest friend @youlooklike-clarabow. You're the best ❤️‍🔥😭🤠🍊

The forest had welcomed him back, just like he’d hoped. Four months after Kid had taken his revenge, it had welcomed him home, as if it missed him, and it had taken him back, and taken in the hijras, as if all of you had always been there. Beating Rana to death had brought Kid back to life. He hoped that you and Sita felt the same. 

Sita had been focused on farming the land, showing off her green thumb after years away from any kind of dirt, and Alpha, it felt, had retired. She had a rocking chair and would look over the makeshift village, from dawn until dusk, every single day. 

And then there was you. Your hand was the one Sita reached for when she ran out to the back alley of Kings. Covered in blood, but together through it all. He had saved your life, rescued the two of you from the Queenie’s black stiletto heels standing on your necks, forcing you to do things you didn’t want to do. He should leave you alone, he shouldn’t want you the way that he does. 

When was the last time he’d had such a luxury? He laid on his sleeping mat, bored bored bored, deep in his bones. 

He hadn’t realized exactly how mentally caged he had been, but now he was free. What was left to do? 

He’d learned about how you longed to throw yourself to the ocean rocks for the chance at freedom, and how grateful you were for him coming to break all of the locks with a chaotic flair. 

He wanted you to be his- from the first moment he laid eyes on you. It was a difficult thing to admit. He’d have wonderful - shockingly vivid dreams about a world where your attachment was written everywhere on you, walking into a room and people know your his. The same for him of course, he’d want everyone to know he’s yours. 

But why on earth would you agree to it? You’d been a bird in a horrible, dank little cage, why would you toss yourself to the likes of him, after all you’d been subjected to? 

Such thoughts could live in dreams, he supposed. 

Across the camp, you're in the branches of a banyan tree, sitting snugly, safely in its branches. You kick your feet, and bob a little, hoping to shake some fruit loose, but alas, the figs aren't ripe yet. Maybe some more sun the next week would do it. What a treat that would be! 

You enjoy seeing the whole camp from up high. Deep in the heart of the woods, you’re all here, together. 

It was remarkable, you think, how you had all been able to come together and make a home. It would be a true village with more time, but the fact that everyone from the temple, plus those left standing after King’s, all had their own shelter, and were working together for food and water…it was remarkable. 

You flash in your mind, on Kid, watching him a little too closely as he weaved some smaller branches to make a door. 

His arms were lovely, even to a strange woman in a fig tree. A flash of heat hits your face, as you imagine those arms around you. In dreams you’d been having, you take a fistful of dense, curly hair, and pull. Would he like it? Would he tell you to fuck off? 

You kick yourself, and then you kick yourself for kicking yourself. Just a passing thought of his arms, and you were practically panting in the early summer heat. 

Sitting up in your tree, you thought of all the men you allowed to touch you, how you faked smiles and orgasms like it was nothing. And then he’d just come bowling into your life with the spark of a firework, letting you know it didn’t have to be like that anymore. 

Even if you did put your hands on him, touch him in the ways you wished to, would you know how? Would you know how to feel for him? 

In your mind, you’d already felt all of him, to your heart's content and beyond…

Sita had said no one would send you to jail for your thoughts, but it certainly felt that way. You hadn’t even touched him - where did all this guilt come from? Did you really need to keep your longing for Kid locked in a vault? 

Queenie had locked passport, your money, everything you were, into a vault -  he was far too kind to be put in there. 

Still, you did intend to be loyal to him, even if it was entirely one sided.  You spoke to him only when necessary, and would continue to do so until this burning itch underneath your skin - ur desire, faded. It had to, right? 

“Kanna, come here please!” called Alpha, voice clear and smooth, summoning you down from your perch, and you oblige her, moving slowly. 

You trot over, feet feeling heavy on the grass, “Yes, Alpha?” 

She takes your hand, and you link your fingers, admiring the manicure Sita had given her earlier that week. 

“You fantasize. I can see it from down here.” 

“I’m not sure what you're saying.” 

“Your fantasies are no longer fatal, and neither are Kid’s. He’s free of the past, still, he does not sleep. You should perhaps see if he is alright?”

As if on cue, a groan floats through the air, towards the two of you. 

“And do what?” 

“Make sure that his past stays gone?” She suggests, not verbalizing what she’d observed these past months. 

Your brow furrows. Kid would have to settle for a cup of water, and a bite of tangerine before settling back to sleep. That’s what your mother always gave you for your nightmares, why wouldn’t it work here? 

You make the quick journey, waving goodnight to Alpha, but stalling at the door of Kid’s hut. 

Another low groan. 

If it had been daylight, you would have had it in yourself to admit to the fluttering in your belly, but you wouldn’t. The desire would subside, for now you have to see if he’s well. The light of the moon makes your path clear. 

You take a breath, before opening the door. 

It’s night. It’s dark - the moon only gets you so far. 

And yet, you still find him, in the corner, on his sleeping mat, flat on his back. A low, almost imperceptible whine reaches your ears, and you furrow your brow. That didn’t seem like a nightmare, was he sick? 

You crouch down next to his sleeping body, and place a cool hand on his forehead, just to feel him. 

It wasn’t in Kid’s nature to feel casual annoyance, but if he could have, he would have been. In the midst of a wonderful dream, inspired by a bead of sweat he saw glistening in the hollow of your clavicle that morning, he was now dreaming about you - again, same as every night. 

In his dreams, you fall apart under his palms, scratching desperately at his back, and you beg for more. In his dreams, you're a desperate, sweet little thing, not much different from him. Another self-indulgence, thinking of a world where you want him as badly as he wants you. 

He jerks awake - where have you gone? He feels movement right beside him, and reflexively grabs it, a tight grip on your wrist.

“Jaanu, come back to bed.” His eyes are wide, still asleep in his mind. You crouched beside him, stunned at his words.

Alpha had said he was having a nightmare. He was neither sick, nor having a nightmare…

He was dreaming! About the two of you! 

Heat rushes to your face, like a paintbrush in water. 

“Back to…” You pause, “Yes, I’ll come back to bed.” Kid grunts at you, not giving your wrist back.  

He’s still in his own head, he doesn’t realize that you’re truly here. 

You allow him to pull you in, sighing as he tucks you into his side. 

God, he felt better than you imagined. 

You hold on to him, as his breathing slows, and you run your hands over a warm, flat stomach, tracing hearts there, for hours and hours. 

You wake slowly, for the first time in years. A light brushing of warmth against your cheek. You crinkle your nose, slowly blinking, and remembering where exactly you were. 

Your head is resting on his arm, his hand on your waist, in real life. 

He’s looking over at you, brown eyes round, his mouth just inches away from yours. Over the past few months, his beard had gotten unruly, you slowly place a hand under his chin, to pet the new growth. 

“Are you really here?” He rasps, voice soft with sleep, you let out a little sigh of relief. 

“Yes, I didn’t want to wake you, Alpha was worried, and you grabbed my wrist so I just…stayed.” You explained, trying not to seem flustered. 

“You're here, not just in my dreams.” He practically whispered, bringing up a palm to your cheek, same as you had for him. It had taken a couple of weeks to hear from Alpha about why Kid’s hands were the way they were. Kid had learned to live with the fact that his roots had been burned away, but as his hand touched your face, it certainly didn’t feel like that. 

You think about his lovely hands. Regardless of any fire, any destruction they may have wrought, any scar tissue that grew there had only served to free you and the women at King’s. You like his hands. 

“I want to kiss you. Can I?” Your voice shook, but you said those words anyway. You should be proud of yourself. 

Kid nods his head, letting you inch forward, brushing your noses together. Something in his stomach flips, and you brush your mouth against his. Soft, almost delicate, the same way a leaf meets the ground in the fall. 

Oh - you think. 

You kissed him, like you had been longing, dreaming of doing, and nothing horrible happened! The stars were still in the sky, the rivers were still running, the trees still stood tall, protecting your village…

“I want you. Do you feel the same?” You ask him again, not sure where this confidence had come from. Maybe it was the fact that you were here, and so close to what you had wanted…

“I only sleep because it’s where I might find you.” Something goes plink in your heart, and you decide enough is enough. 

“Well wake up,” you tease, “I’m right here.” 

Something flashes across Kid’s face, and he pulls you back in. It’s hard not to fold completely as he rolls you carefully on to your back, he just feels too good. Even with the low light coming into the hut, it felt as if Kid had been drizzled in gold. 

“I want more,” you command between kisses, his beard tickling your face. 

“We have to be quiet,” he responds, clearly getting distracted. You had to get him out of his own head. It was ridiculous, someone with a past as checkered as his. He wanted to be with you always, be something you could crush under the heel of your boot if it pleased you. He only wants to please you. And now that he is getting the chance, he does exactly that. 

He works his way down, ignoring the sticky summer heat, until he settles comfortably between your legs. 

How lovely! How comfortable it was to lie here with you. Your body under his felt so surreal, soft and comfortable. Your hands on his shoulders. 

When he has the time, he decides that he’s going to put each one of your fingers in his mouth, just for the sake of feeling every part of you. 

How strange, how new it was! The desire to feel all of someone; to lay here on top of you and hope gravity might keep him here as long as possible. 

He says nothing and hums into your soft thighs, stray hand wandering to push your cotton shift up slowly, higher and higher. You love him for that -  that he’s giving you so much time to stop him, to call it all off, but you don’t. 

Kid runs a rough palm over your heat, and begins to shake at the contact. 

“May I?” He asks, polite as ever. 

You reply, a simple “Yes.” 

Gently, slowly, Kid nudges your legs apart, smiling, before taking an experimental taste. 

It was embarrassing how you jerked into him, like an electric shock. 

Something darkened across his face, that set your hair on end in the best way, and he dove in headfirst. 

He flicks his tongue on your clit, chuckling against you as you twitch under the attention, “Do you like that?” He asks, and you nod, losing your thoughts. 

Your heart leaps to your throat as the rough pad of his thumb meets your clit, rubbing a heart shape. 

“Answer me!” He urges, growly, and it makes you want to smack him. 

“Yes!” You squeak, a little too loudly, sitting up on your elbows. Kid stifles a laugh behind his hand as he rests a palm on your stomach to soothe you. He didn’t know you as one to squeak! You pout, just because you can, and he grins at you, leaning up for a kiss to your pouty mouth. 

“Poor birdy,” he coos, “we should go deeper into the woods, where we can be as loud as we like.” 

The thought makes your hair stand on end, being truly alone, together. The tantalizing thought fades as he ducks his face back down, into you. As he works, spreading the warmth of his mouth over you, it was hard to remember why you ‘had to be quiet’. How would that be possible? Flicking his tongue, you twitch again, relishing the attention he was giving so freely.

“Would you like more?” He hums, vibrations tearing right through you. 

“Y-yesyesyes, more please.” His rough palms roam over you at a leisurely pace, his mouth back to your clit. You should be quiet, you try so hard to be quiet, but Kid’s sucking and slurping unnerves you. You can’t control yourself for long. 

You want to beg him to grab you harder, like you might float away if he doesn’t, but you just can’t find words beyond, “Want you…” 

“Do you promise?” Kid murmured into your leg, tugging the soft flesh there lightly with his teeth, “I don’t want to pressure you.” Please please please, he thinks. 

“I promise,” you pant, pussy still fluttering, “Wanted you since I first saw you…” Your voice dies off, as he comes up to kiss you on the mouth, like he missed you. 

“I was covered in blood.” 

“A few more days and you could be again.” You freeze at your own words. Queenie always kept the girls on lockdown when it was that time. Kid was different. 

“Don’t tempt me, jaanu. I should keep you in my arms until then.” It’s a threat. It’s a promise. It’s everything you’ve been dreaming about for months…

But the idea of Kid with your monthly blood on his face was something else entirely…

Your thoughts are cut off again, but Kid takes your hand, resting it above your stomach. Your fingers intertwine, naturally. 

“Can I get you ready for me?” 

“Do it.” Your voice is firm, and certain, and he absolutely adores you for it. 

The look on your face through the rising light makes his hair stand on end. 

Your eyes flutter shut as Kid traces your needy hole with his fingers. How could you have known that he’d be so gentle with you? What exactly had you been making yourself feel bad about? 

You bite down a moan as he works one finger in, slowly, letting you feel every ridge, relishing as you try to squirm closer to his hand. 

No. 

You’ll take what he gives when he gives it, he thinks but then he revises, You will get everything he had, but not quite yet. 

He pauses, letting you get used to his digit, only starting to move when you pant. You're too stiff, he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want it to be like before, he wants it to be better. 

It’s hard not to melt, so you allow yourself the pleasure. 

Who was he really? Did it even matter? 

“Alright, Jannu?” He asks, and you take a grip on his shoulder, nodding ‘yes.’ 

And then, he starts to move. 

It had been years since someone’s hands had worked you so thoroughly, and you simply had to enjoy it. He simply had to pull you closer, with his two fingers, other hand palming your breasts, to your thrill, in a less gentle manner than the rest of you. 

He was simply petting you, playing with you, of course you had to purr. You couldn’t imagine anything else. Everything in your life has led you here, with him, to be underneath him. 

Faster and faster and faster, and then. Nothing. 

“Shh. Just hold on for me.” 

Kid takes his hand from you, and you whip your head up, face ravenous. 

All he offers you is a “Sorry, not yet.” You should slap him, but the emptiness he’d left turned into an ache. How could he do this? Even for a moment? 

You whine, and Kid thinks he might die if he doesn’t fuck you how you deserve. 

“It’s alright, I’m here. I’ll make it better, hm?” Your lover shifts above you, and you feel his cock nudging at your folds. The giddiness of it all goes straight to your head. 

“Need you!” You are keen, rolling your hips into him, hoping to catch something, anything to grant relief. But the only thing that could help is him. 

“Slowly, not too much now.” He cautions, but you can't. You simply can’t. Months of dreaming, waiting, lusting, handling the overwhelming guilt you didn’t ask for? No more waiting.

You pant, and he greedily breathes in your air, inching into you, measured and careful. 

No. No more. 

You take a cruel grip on his ass, and pull him down into you, losing yourself for either a moment or an hour. 

He pants, sounding desperate to keep himself together. Maybe that wasn’t the wisest move, maybe he’d been going sooooo slooow for his sake as much as yours…

Kid is seated completely inside you, running his rough palm over the bulge he was making in your lower tummy. How quickly a life can change, he thinks, he was asleep, and now he’s here, above you, feeling exactly how deep he can fit inside you. 

Your vision had gone white at the edges, he just felt too correct. Perhaps you should keep him hostage here, always. Kid lets out a low whine, pathetic and beautiful, and you feel your skin buzz so loud, you're certain he could hear it. 

He has to move. Or you might die. 

But carefully, he rolls into you, making you dig into him. He catches your wanton moan in his mouth, trying to soothe you in spite of his actions. Your words are gone…

“Good girl, do you like that?” He asks, as if you could respond, “Do you want more?” 

You nod your head, drunkenly, and he snaps down again. You grip him even tighter, and he puts his mouth back on yours. 

It’s just too desperate, does he know how badly you need him?  

“Harder! Harder please.” You beg, eyes round and unfocused on anything other than the harsh pleasure he was giving you. 

“More more more!”

Kid goes after your breasts, teasing with his hot mouth, bringing you closer with each shallow breath he takes. 

You stifle a wail in his shoulder, fighting desperately. As soon as you bare down around him, it’s over. You don’t want to be over…

Kid seems to know this, watching you intently, same as always. You fight off your orgasm, defiant and determined, fluttering tightly around him, the least he could do is do the same. 

But it’s simply too much, you knew you were going to scream. You couldn’t, it was too early, everyone would know. 

You run a hand up the side of his face, catching his beard, feeling hair stuck to his forehead from the humidity. His eyes blank, absolutely lost in the throes of you, your squelching and whines burned into his bones forever. 

He holds you as you scrabble at his back, eyes rolling, not losing his pace for a moment, only gasping into your ear as you finally clench down, fluttering around him, only coming back to reality when your teeth meet his chest and bite down, muffling the sound. 

Your teeth meeting his flesh, makes him lose his composure. He moans beautifully in your ear, your teeth still in his chest, reflexively gripping you harder as he spills deep inside. You kick your legs up higher around his torso, so you could keep him trapped against you. 

Kid pants into your mouth, murmuring all the sweet things he’d been keeping to himself. He’s free now, you both are. 

But still, neither of you move, holding on to each other, and it must be heaven. 

Someone has to move first. He should start some tea for you. He should start to show you how he was ready for the rest of his life now, with you. 

But it’s not to be, the second Kid pulls out, you kick his rear with the heel of your ankle. All of your shared mess seeps out of your worn out body. Not yet. He’s too far away. It couldn’t be over yet…That’s not allowed, you decide. 

“No. Put it back.” You command. 

Kid has the nerve to bat his eyes at you, and obliges, face flashing with something you couldn’t place. 

He holds you tight, and the two of you let the quiet soak in from the window. With you here, it wasn’t a hut, but a proper house. 

His heart is about to beat out of his chest, the sheer weight of your eyes on his, it feels like an honor to be here with you. 

The evidence of your rendezvous was hot and sticky between your legs. Kid was surprised that there seemed to be so much, and he didn’t mind one bit. Maybe he could take you down to the river to clean up, and care for you properly. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t be missed. 

You close your eyes, and something flips in the Kid's chest. 

“What is it you want?” He asks, forehead pressed against yours, “Ask for the moon and I’ll pull it down for you.” You squirm under the intensity of his stare, he was simply too beautiful and overwhelming. 

“I choose you and me.” 

“You can have it.” He gives you a peck, smiling into you, but quickly furrowing into concern. .

“Wait Jannu, it’s alright, what’s happened?” You stifle a small sob at the overwhelming softness of his tone. 

The fist around your heart clenches, as you feel a wet trail down your face, to your jaw. 

When was the last time you were allowed to cry? 

You huff a little, to yourself, and bring him in for another sweet kiss, languid and comfortable. He brings the pads of his thumbs under your eyes, clearing the tears away.  You take a fistful of his hair, and bring him in close, limbs intertwined, safe together. 

“I’m happy. I’m so very happy.” And you cry a little more, because it’s true. 

[blorbocedes]

BROCEDES! ROOMMATE AU + UNEXPECTED VIRGIN!

‘Take a shot if your body count is more than 5!’

Most of the crowd drinks, even those with obviously shifty eyes and guilty demeanours. Lewis drinks.

He was coursemates with Adrian the previous semester and had to hear his bitching and moaning about the bitches he gets – the lack thereof, spots him drinking too. Nico’s standing at the end of the couch, expensive loafers careful to step around the sticky spilled beer.

He nurses his red solo cup, untouched. Lewis frowns.

‘Take a shot if your body count is double digits!’

Fewer people drink this time. The crowd goes ‘ooh’ at the ones who do. Technically, Lewis’ is 7 – 8 if you count the blowjob and her getting her period at the last second, opting out. But college athletes have a reputation to maintain, so Lewis finishes off his cup.

This time, Nico is watching him. Smiles when their eyes meet and does a mock salute, lips still not grazing his drink.

What the fuck? What could it be? It bothers Lewis that Nico’s not being honest. He's seen Nico half-lidded hanging off some guy’s arm at a party or cuddled into some girl to know better. Although, since Nico has access to all the population instead of 50%, it would make sense if his count is twice as high.

A pretty girl in a low cut top and blonde highlights taps Lewis on the arm to dance with her, and all thoughts of his roommate and how many people he fucks are forgotten.

A few hours later, the party has died down. Cold pizza and the music is less in-your-face, more indie. A small group gather on the floor playing the laziest truth or dare with a half empty bottle of Bacardi. The guy beside Nico is in an obnoxious leather jacket and tight pants, and his hand rests on Nico’s thigh.

It falls on Lewis.

“So… Lew-iss,” Natalie? maybe asks, voice slurring a little. “Do you remember when you first met Nico?”

Nico raises an interested eyebrow. Of course he remembers. However, Lewis is aware they asked the question because people think him and Nico are secretly hooking up because they live together, and since Nico’s seen with everyone. His teammate Felipe and his girlfriend are within earshot.

“Nah, man. I don't remember shit like that. I remember when I like, lost my virginity.” Lewis offers as bait.

Nico frowns, it's cute on him. Brows wrinkled up.

Naomi(!) bites. “Tell us about how you lost your virginity.”

“That's two questions.” Lewis leans back, flashing his most charming gap-toothed smile. Everyone's too drunk to keep track of whose turn it is.

Nico disappears off with Mr. Skinny Jeans.

It's a little while later when Lewis has smoked a spliff to clear his head, rejecting the blonde highlights girl’s offer back to her dorms which is on the other side of campus, when Nico returns, hair mussed and shirt buttoned more than it was when he left.

“Home?” He asks. Lewis follows.

Nico’s a pretty chill roommate. He grew up with a silver spoon and an only child, so he has no concept of sharing. Instead, when he orders Thai, he makes sure to order for two so that Lewis doesn't try to eat any of his dumplings. Lewis gets to have the flat to himself a lot since Nico disappears for the night, returns at early hours of the night with glitter on his cheek or bite marks on his neck and a cheeky smile before collapsing on the couch. Lewis can't complain, it makes bringing girls over easier. And when Nico is studying, he keeps to himself. Lewis will know, because there will be an extra coffee for him. In turn, Lewis gets rids of the bugs in the flat – the first time Nico seeing a cockroach asking if they should call pest control or sue their landlord for unhygienic living conditions.

“Why didn't you drink? At the body count question?” Lewis asks, breaking the amiable silence of their walk home, and the lack of filter signalling he was drunker than he thought.

Nico hums thoughtfully. “Cause that would be a lie?”

Lewis tries to make sense of that, doing math in his head. “No…? It wasn't about the exact number, just if it's more than.”

“Yeah,” Nico smiles, unlocking the door and stepping side. “That would be a lie.”

Lewis rolls his eyes. Nico and his riddles and his games. “It would only be a lie if you're a virgin. Which you're not.” He snorts at the thought.

Nico’s eyes flash dangerously. “Yeah?” Nico turns around, effectively trapping Lewis between the door. “You think about who gets in my pants a lot, Hamilton?”

Lewis feels a flush rise in his neck. Thank god for melanin, if he were Nico he'd have two giant red spots on his cheek right now.

“I don't care who you sleep with. Or don't sleep with.” Lewis tries to go for gruff, chill, but it doesn't quite land. He gets out of Nico’s cornering, going to the couch. “It's just weird you’d lie considering Jenson–”

“Oh if Jenson said it, it must be true.” Nico’s sarcasm is shrill and annoyed, betraying how drunk he is.

It does make Lewis pause. Jenson has a habit of embellishing stories of his conquests. The fated twins threesome never happened, he had separately hooked up with twins. Lewis remembers Jenson bragging in the locker room how he rocked Britney’s world and Lewis had worn his his shin guards with a little more force than necessary.

“Rock my world?” Nico rolls his eyes, leaning against the wall. “Hardly. We made out for forty minutes until he came in his pants.”

TMI because now Lewis is inundated of images of Nico, mouth swollen and bodies entangled while fully clothed.

“So you're actually a virgin? What about all those people?” Lewis is still trying to wrap his head around it. Nico is the most sexual person he knows. He eats yoghurt off the spoon distractingly, and has no shame walking around the apartment naked. Very sexual liberation chic, and Lewis had to draw up boxers boundaries.

Nico wrinkles his nose. “So you get with the easiest lay on campus and you're the only person he won't fuck. Do you want to admit something's weird and wrong with you, or do you just go about inferring you had sex? It's not like I'm going to correct them.” He must see something on Lewis’ face because he interjects, defensively offensive, “Don't ask why it's better to have a reputation. I know your tells. You drank twice.”

Lewis chooses his words carefully, gentle like he's not trying to spook a wild cat. “I'm not judging. I'm just surprised. Nobody figured it out?”

Nico softens at the tone. He sinks on the couch beside Lewis. “Honestly, you're the first person to notice.”

Lewis finds that sad. “Hey, we don't need to talk about this if it's a sensitive topic. I'm sorry I –”

“Jeez, Lewis. I don't have trauma, I'm just frigid. A pricktease. Nothing bad ever happens to a Rosberg.” Nico works on the complicated laces of his boots. He hates being pitied.

Lewis leans over. “It's really not all that cracked up to be. The first time, at least. Cause you're bad at it and you don't know how to pace yourself. Lots of people wait until they're ready. My first time, it was this girl I was seeing after GCSEs. We couldn't find a place so we got in my dad’s old Subaru. Lasted like 30 seconds. Wiped the whole place down but I was convinced he would know somehow. Come Sunday, I went and told him. He hadn’t the slightest clue. So that was an awkward drive to church.”

Nico gawks him, crumpling into himself laughing. Lewis regrets being a vulnerable and oversharer of a drunk. Nico’s gelled hair has come undone from hours of partying and falls over his eyes. Lewis is never going to open up to anyone ever again.

“On God's day, Lewis?! And you think I should save myself until marriage? Find myself a nice, righteous wife?”

“Someone you trust. Someone you're into.” The room spins a little. Nico Rosberg is a virgin.

“Someone who’d remember when we first met?” Nico challenges. "That's not very nice, is it? I can't believe you forgot--"

“You were checking out an encyclopaedia on space at the library. I wanted the Senna autobiography. We were 12.”

Nico’s eyes go wide. Lewis holds his gaze.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n Part three! we return once more to this little tiny Azriel's book like story. ✨ thank for everyone who reads✨

warnings: lots of past trauma, Illyrian camp kind of trauma, anxiety, kids because some of you said it was a warning, I guess that's all...

Not yet proofread

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Azriel just couldn't seem to sleep. No matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that he didn't care or that it wasn't in any way directly related to any of his doings, the spymaster still struggled to find his peace. And if it wasn't in the sleep, then his thoughts would just occasionally wander to that night you touched him. He wanted to remember how your fingers felt against his skin. Was your hand warm? Or cold? He was sure your skin was soft. Had to be.

But all Azriel was met with were your terrified eyes. The tears streaming down your cheeks. The choked-out sob you held inside. The way you turned away from him and ran. He called for you. Tried to, at least. But you vanished. Blended seamlessly into the dark and stayed like that ever since. And here he was feeling guilty once more. Proven once more that he wasn't indeed a good man. His desires made him blind. He chose himself. Time after time, put his needs first. He stepped on others' boundaries just so he could gain something.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair. He's been coming to the communal ever since. Frankly, it's only been a couple of days. But Azriel was growing restless because you weren't here. You weren't singing with the kids. Weren't smiling at them. Every time he looked at the bright smiles that flooded the room, Azriel had flashes of horror piercing through them. The camps. The cries. The blood. Suddenly, this place made so much more sense. It was a place for Illyrian females and their children. A haven. A sanctuary to heal. To let the wounds scab over. Every smile Azriel saw now held a bigger meaning. It wasn't just a smile. It was the smile of a survivor. Someone who was beaten down. Walked over. Made into nothing more than a punching bag. But now. Underneath, this roof was slowly flourishing because of the loving hearts that surrounded it.

One of the shadows moved to whisper into Azriel's ear, making the male turn his head to the side quickly. "Axel", the spymaster breathed out. The little boy instantly let go of the priestess's hand. "Soldier", he breathed happily. "That's my friend; I'll be okay", Axel nodded his head at the lady, who frowned slightly but still chose to walk on with the rest of the children.

Azriel suddenly felt a wave of panic rush through him. Axel was left with him. A kid was left in Azriel's care. He had never truly taken care of one. Sure, Nyx was his nephew, but Azriel had never even held the boy. A tug on his pants made Azriel look down, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Have you seen...", Azriel started, but was quick to realize that he had never asked for your name. "Zofie is in a dancing class and Y/N... I'm not quite sure", Y/N, the name, ran through Azriel's bloodstream faster than lightning. Arranging and changing chemicals in his body. "She walked us to class this morning and...", but Axel halted, his face changing as he crossed his tiny arms over his chest. "Did you upset her? Because that would be rude".

A breath hitched in Azriel's throat. When had kids gotten so smart? And why was a five-year-old making him sweat more than a camp leader? "There was a misunderstanding", Azriel said calmly, "Hence, why I'm looking for her". Axel watched him for a moment, then nodded his head. "She's been crying a lot, but she said we shouldn't worry about it", the boy shrugged his shoulders. A pang ripped through Azriel's chest. Crying. You've been crying. Was he the reason for it? Had he awakened an unknown memory? Had he already made you give up on him? Had he already made you not want to deal with him? In a matter of weeks. He had once again become a problem.

"Don't be sad", Azriel felt a smaller hand reach up to grasp his palm just like the very first time. He flinched slightly, not used to that part of him being touched so effortlessly. "We usually have tea and biscuits after class", Axel smiled at Azriel fondly, his messy black hair reminding him so much of how Cassian used to look when he was just a boy himself. "Lead the way, champ", Azriel said, urging Axel. The boy lit up, walking with his head high now that Azriel was walking beside him.

They never really tell you how badly the triggers of the past can jab you. But then, maybe they don't know. Or maybe the pain one endures is so great that it leaves them speechless, barely breathing, just about managing to patch the reopening scars. It's been months since you've been brought back to that place. Back to that night. The pinching coldness of the snow beneath your bare feet. The never-ending screeching. The hands...

"Find the light without it. Search for it", Padme's voice made you draw a sharp inhale. Rapidly blinking, you wrapped your hands around your torso. "Did the nightmares retune?", the high priestess asked you, looking down at the paper in front of her. "No", you said firmly. A lie. One you had mastered delivering - a wolf beneath a lamb's coat. "Well, then we are done here for today", she smiled at you. If Padme hadn't found you in that corridor, all shaking and tense, you would have been able to escape these mind-curing sessions.

"Are you fit enough to continue with field work?", her words were colder, but then they always were when the topic of assignments arose. "I can go right now if you insist", you said, throwing her a look that challenged her stare. Padme held it till she was satisfied, then nodded. "Return to your duties, sweetheart; I'll get you the papers tomorrow". You bowed your head just like you always did. You were so thankful for the dimly lit corridor and the way they hid your trembling hands.

Hands... You had felt Azriel's fingerprints on your skin. You had felt his warmth. An odd song it sang. But then, as if out of nowhere, all the walls came trembling down. Dragging you down. Pulling you back to the night you wished to forget. Wipe it out of your mind. Never return to it. Even if it made you, even if it had shaped the very soul that flicked within you. You still wished a night so dark would never fall upon you again.

With a deep breath, you welcomed the air into your lungs. Slowly dragging your feet down the stairs. Down and down. Clawing at the last bits of strength for the kids. For the females that might want to bask in the warmth you always carried, your feet halted the moment you were about to cover the last handful of stone steps leading to the kitchen.

"You're mixing it wrong", the voice growled slightly. Specks of child-like frustration laced it. And you knew that voice. That voice was well ingrained in your brain. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to eat the raw batter", your heart skipped a beat at the sound of the reply. You quickly rushed down the last steps that separated you from the clear view of the place. It couldn't be. There was no way, you told yourself. Just as your eyes fell on the scene in front of you.

"And I'm pretty sure you had never made cookies before", Axel shook his head, reaching for his spoon as he shoved, or more like, tried to move Azriel's hand away from the bowl. They were both covered in flour. You doubted that you wanted to know why an egg stain ran down the wall. Or why was one of the trays burned to a crisp? Something within your chest stretched. Bent and stirred deep within you.

You were sure you would have watched the two of them till the last piece of dough was molded into an odd shape if not for the black, tiny blobs that curled your way. Tiny creatures of the dark yet so full of life. They rubbed against your palms, twirled in the ends of your hair, and brushed the sides of your cheeks. A silent: Are you okay? The unease that left them the moment you nodded slowly.

That's when you met Azriel's eyes across the kitchen. A piece of dough now forgotten in his hand. One that Axel was more than happy to snatch as he formed and misshaped a circle. Neither of you spoke. But the gaze you held was stronger than any conversation could ever be. Words often failed. Or led to unnecessary assumptions. Eyes, on the other hand, were the mirror of one's soul. Eyes could never lie. Forever doomed to give away the truth that lay beneath.

"You should put your cookie here", Axel said, pointing to the tray until his own golden eyes followed Azriel's gaze, a big smile spreading across the boy's face as he hopped off the stool Azriel had pushed closer to the counter for him. Leaping into your hands, his dirty hands and clothes smearing against the white you wore. "I see you have gotten yourself quite a company", your fingers lingered beneath the boy's chin, carefully guiding his face up so he would meet your gaze. "I told Azriel about the cookies we make after class. Can you believe he eats cookies?", the excitement in his voice made you crack up a smile. "That seems like it's secret information", you muttered, and Axel's face grew wide as you pressed your finger to your lips. From the back of your eyes, you could see Azriel slowly shaking his head, but a light smile still lingered.

"Why don't you wash up, huh?", you crouched down, cupping the boy's face, before one of your hands brushed against one of his lip wings, threading golden threads there. Azriel's face went ashen. How did he miss that? The off-balanced leather. The twisted boning. His hand clenched the end of the counter, and he was almost sure he would snap the marble just from the sheer clench his fingers had on it. How many more horrors were unknown to him? What else had these people endured?

"You mean a whole deal to him", your voice sliced through Azriel's fading vision. Making him blink a couple of times. Slowly pulling the world around him to focus. "He already has drawings of you. A mighty worrier...", you let out a low chuckle as you reached for the dirty bowl submerging it beneath the water. "But then maybe I have myself to blame", Azriel felt the cold pain that lashed with your words. In all honesty, Azriel was desperate to say something. Make this better. Somehow make the pain that now drowned you back away.

"I told him stories of a foreign soldier. Who wasn't like the males in...", and you didn't have to finish. Azriel knew. Knew what you were referring to. The sadistic manners some of them bore even if Rhys had banned any wing clipping. "I'm sorry", was all Azriel managed to say. His voice faded to nothing almost immediately. He knew those words had little meaning for pain like that.

"Our minds clashed that night in the attic", the spymaster's words sent a shiver down your spine. You stared ahead of yourself. Not allowing yourself to look at him. You had worn that mask of strength before. This male now standing to the side of you. This man had watched you crumble way too many times already. "I'm sorry that I disrespected this place. I disrespected you", an ache in Azriel's chest eased as he spoke, "I want to learn more about the sanctuary. I want to make my time here meaningful". The bowl in your hands nearly slipped out of your hands. Your body - still the statue. "I can't do any of that if you and I are fighting this silent battle, can't I?", the question twisted something deep within you, but you still blurted in a cold tone, "There are many more people who can guide you". And Azriel didn't doubt it, but at least he still said, "But no one quite like you". Your eyes darted to look at him like that. Your eyes meet his. And then and there, it felt as if you two had seen each other for the first time. Looked and saw.

With a silent agreement settled, Azriel followed you up the stairs toward the room the kids shared. A plate full of cookies in one hand, his shadows holding four glasses full of milk. He questioned your choice to go up the moment you presented it. For Zofie. The hunting gaze of the fear she carried still followed Azriel's mind. But he knew that Axel was waiting. For some reason, the thought of letting him down now felt worse than losing a battle.

"I'm considered their guardian", your voice bounced off the empty corridor. "All orphans have one for the transitioning period", Azriel felt the way you cringed at the words transitional. Even to him, it felt off-putting. Jabbing straight at the wound that bled the most. You told him about Padme. The laws of the sanctuary followed the priestess who ran it. For the most part, at least. Azriel knew that was only the crumbs. But he was glad to learn at least that. To understand at least a small portion.

"Are they still in that period?", Azriel finally asked. He had fallen into a comfortable pace next to you. "Technically, no, but... we bonded too much. I couldn't bring myself to separate from them", you said quietly. As if you were in a way ashamed of the world that left your mouth. He wondered how many kids had been in their place before them. After? His shadows hadn't sensed the presence of anyone new, but he was sure that the mass of faces was growing still, especially knowing the situation in the mountain camps.

Azriel wanted to say just how much it amazed him. The way this place radiated happiness even with the trauma everyone bore. How wonderful was the work you did here. But you had leaned closer to the door. Ear placed on the wooden door as you listened in. Azriel stilled at that; his Illyrian hearing offered him a chance to peer in as well, yet he doubted it was needed. The shrieks and cackling could be heard from where he stood.

He knew it was Axel and Zofie. His mind was engraved with the sound of their laughter from the communal. Yet Azriel couldn't help the dread that pooled in his stomach as you opened the door. The voices halted, but only until the kids were met with your presence. Azriel tried to fold his wings behind him tighter in hopes of appearing smaller. He had never imagined himself doing any of that before, but here he was. The spymaster's eyes instantly landed on the drawing of a winged male standing on top of the mountain with a raised sword. There was more than one too. All plastered on the walls. The blue dots no doubt resemble his sapphires. But... Azriel's heart skipped a beat for a moment. He hadn't worn his Illyrian leather here, so how would he have been able to...

But that familiar force launched at his feet. Azriel's hand instantly reached to mess with the head of black hair. "You came", Axel breathed. "Wouldn't you agree that I earned a cookie as well?", The spymaster teased the youngling slightly, earning a laugh that warmed the deepest parts of his bones. Yet Azriel's eyes scanned the room till he saw a tiny hand gripping your skirt, her body hidden behind your frame, only a tiny side of Zofie's face visible to him.

As Azriel kneeled, he wondered what horrors she had to endure beside him to fear a male so much. He knew this skittishness towards him was the grave he had dug himself, but she—that tiny girl—was a survivor too. Too young to bear a burden so deep. But hadn't Azriel bet too little too? Azriel found Zofie's eyes, and as frightened as she was, she held an unfalteringly tight gaze. Azriel handed a cookie to one of his shadows. The tiny creature slowly lured towards the girl. Zofie hid further behind you, yet her curiosity was too strong, and she peaked almost immediately.

"I can't promise that I haven't mixed up salt with sugar, but... well, you'll have to tell me if they are edible", Azriel said gently. He had a low, deep voice, but it still felt like velvet as it rolled down his tongue. Zofie spared him a look before her eyes fixed on the shadow right in front of her, tiny blobs holding the sugar cookie for her. And to Azriel's surprise, she took it. She took it and dove back to her hiding place. The shadow moved to glimpse over your side, but Azriel pulled it back. "Is it good?", you asked the girl softly. Azriel could hear the munching sound—a light tug pulled at the side of his lips. "Well, I didn't make them; Azriel and Axel did. You should tell them your thoughts", you said to the girl softly. Azriel hadn't hoped for anything in return from her. The fact that she had taken the cookie was more than enough for him. He was going to gain her trust slowly. He was willing to do so. Try. A tiny hand moved from behind you. And Azriel caught a glimpse of a tiny thumbs-up that greeted him. And something shifter within him, something that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

[rafeshoeeee]

popstar!reader x bodyguard!rafe

Ever since you were a little girl, being in the limelight was something you'd always dreamed of. Singing on stage and entertaining the crowd as they sang every lyric to all of your songs, It was a feeling you couldn't describe. It was almost like every nerve in your body was dancing around to the music you sang, and dancing to beat.

However, being a pop-star had its pros and cons, it was extremely overwhelming at times when all the attention was on you. Simple tasks like going to the supermarket was a challenge, without swarms of paparazzi flashing their cameras in your face and constantly getting up in your personal space. They had no shame, they didn't care if they pushed you about or invaded your privacy, they only cared about updating the media on your every move.

Your bodyguard always succeeded in making them give you space and when they didn't, he got very protective very quickly. He never backed down when paparazzi were ruthless, your safety always being his number one priority.

Apart of you found it insanely attractive, a guy who you barely had any relationship with, was willing to go above and beyond to protect you.

Another part of you felt rather guilty, how he puts you over himself in any situation and all you know about him is his name. Rafe, Rafe Cameron.

You had just finished touring around a week ago and decided to invite him out for dinner, just the two of you. Not a date of any kind, just to get to know each other, and so you could thank him for all the times he's helped you in situations you knew you wouldn't of been able to escape on your own.

He accepted your invite pretty much instantly. He had always found you intriguing from the moment you first met, you introduced yourself to everyone individually, despite all of them knowing who you were anyways. You were just so polite and precious and he didn't want you to experience the big wide world alone. He had the urge to protect you like no other, to shield you from any danger that you may face and to hold your hand when things got too much. And he got to do just that, but he wanted to do more.

You were looking forward to your evening ahead with Rafe, it'd be a nice change to see him without all his bodyguard gear. Although it suited him extremely well and you almost couldn't picture him without his black belt around his waist with his security badge pinned to it. You would actually be able to view him in a different light and get to know who he really was, not just your bodyguard. Potentially a friend.

You had to keep it professional of course, news spread quickly with anything that revolves around you and your love life. There has been rumors of the two of you dating, but you both just brushed it aside and took no notice. At the end of the day, it wasn't true, and there was no point getting wound up by it.

You aimed to get there by 8:30pm, you wanted to try and arrive a bit later to avoid it being too busy. You and Rafe decided to go to The Ivy, a nice Italian restaurant that was twenty minutes away from your house.

Rafe said he would pick you up at 8pm, he was very prompt and arrived exactly on time. You heard the doorbell ring and scurried there quickly so he wasn't waiting for too long.

And there he was, stood at your front door wearing a white button down shirt, it had been perfectly ironed to a crisp and the material looked expensive. The first two buttons were undone, showing off a slight bit of his toned chest, but not too much so it was inappropriate. Dark, navy blue trousers hugged his legs and a chocolate colored belt sat comfortably around his waist. He looked good, good enough to eat, and he thought the exact same about you.

The warm smile on your lips that you had coated with red lipstick as you opened the door. You looked incredible. It made his cock twitch in his pants at the sight of you in a long black dress, a slit traveling up your right leg and stopping at your mid thigh. Rafe licked his lips at the cheeky bit of skin you had showing, he wanted to see underneath. His eyes raked down your body and stopped at your nipples, that were prominently poking through the thin material of your dress.

He would do anything to swirl his tongue around your nipple slowly whilst he groped the other with his spare hand. He wanted to feel your skin slapping against his as he pounded into you, whilst you moaned in pleasure underneath and littered wet kisses onto his neck.

He was pulled from his thoughts to hear you rambling, "sorry i'm not ready, but i shouldn't be much longer. Soo, you can come in, i'll only be like 5 minutes"

Rafe nodded, "yeah that's fine" he stepped inside her house and shut the door softly behind him.

You cleared your throat, "there's glasses in that cupboard just there and drinks in the fridge, just help yourself, i'll be down in five"

Rafe watched as you ran up the stairs to finish glamming yourself up, he needed a drink, he needed something to take his mind off of the ungodly thoughts he was imagining just a few moments ago.

You were two steps ahead him, before you began getting ready, you poured yourself a glass on white wine and pretty much downed it immediately. You were on your third glass but had slowed down a bit, not wanting to embarrass yourself. You were a little tipsy but nothing you couldn't control.

You sprayed your Prada perfume on your neck and behind your ears, checked yourself out in the mirror once more and grabbed your bag from off the floor and headed for downstairs.

To your surprise, you collided with Rafe, he was wondering around like a lost puppy but he held a huge smirk on his face.

"Rafe? What are you doing?" you asked with confusion written all over your face.

He placed his hands firmly on your shoulders, fiddling with the small strap of your dress.

"i need you. So badly" he admitted.

He couldn't hold it in anymore, he couldn't go to dinner with you and then go home and wank off to a picture of you on your instagram. He wanted to watch you ride his cock, with your tits bouncing his face, him grabbing the flesh occasionally. He wanted to watch you do all the work, make him feel good. Feast his eyes of the image he's been dreaming of.

You were stunned, taken aback by his boldness. You weren't the only one who felt this way? You knew it was wrong, but it felt so right.

You bit your lip and looked up at him through your eyelashes, slowly tracing your nails up his body, stopping at his face. You cupped his cheek and pulled your lips together.

Rafe's hands immediately traveled down your body and cupped your ass, aggressively squeezing the flesh. They didn't stay there for long, they traveled to your bra less tits and he squeezed them both, hard.

You moaned into his mouth, your lips separating, he lightly chuckled at your reaction, "you like that yeah?" his eyes full of lust and desire, waiting for your answer.

you were out of breath from the heated kiss you shared, "yeah" you breathed out before grabbing his hand and pulling him into your room.

Your hands made their way to his shirt, fiddling with the flimsy buttons and undoing them as quickly as you could. His toned upper body was on show, his abs making you clench your thighs together and wetness soaking your panties. Your hands then found the zipper of his jeans and he stepped out of them quickly, leaving him in just his boxers.

He flopped on your bed and laid there staring at you manspreading, "strip for me baby"

You raised your eyebrows but did as you were told. You slowly pulled both your straps down and stepped out of your dress, leaving you in just your panties. You could have sworn you could see love hearts in Rafe's eyes as he stared at your tits.

He jaw was agape, he was in awe, "fuck. you're so perfect" he complimented, causing the wetness in your panties to grow.

You grabbed your black lace panties and slowly pulled them down your legs, you were stood completely naked in front of Rafe.

"such a sexy little body. c'mere" he grabbed the band of his boxers and removed them in a swift motion.

His dick hard, precum leaking from the tip, it looked angry and desperate for some attention.

You crawled on top of Rafe and teased your entrance with his tip, making him become impatient, "no teasing baby c'mon, i need you" he grunted out.

You smirked to yourself, you didn't know how much control you had over him until this moment. You slowly sunk onto him, his length filling you up, you could feel him in your stomach.

It took a minute for you to adjust to his size but once you did you were bouncing on him slowly, making both his and your dreams come to life.

[yanderes-galore]

I can't wait to write more of him... along with the Noir prompts at some point. Hope you enjoy and I hope I got him in character! NOT PROOFREAD.

Yandere! Homelander Concept

Prompts Here

Yandere! Homelander Prompts 4, 22, 26

“I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”

“I don’t scare you, do I…?”

“I always get what I want.”

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Kidnapping, Forced affection (Kissing, Touching), Slightly violent behavior, Homelander is lucid for just a moment, Forced "relationship".

Homelander always gets stressed when dealing with Vought. He used to be unable to find a proper outlet to vent his frustrations. But then he found you.

Homelander loves you... someone who appealed to his child-like side. He felt comfort in your presence. While he tried to ignore such an obsession for a long while for the sake of appearances... he caved eventually.

Homelander is a man who always gets what he wants. He originally just took you away to have some sort of comfort to return to. He originally didn't care what you thought.

Over time... he began to form a twisted love for you... his captive.

You are Homelander's special little secret. A guilty pleasure if you well. You are kept away from Vought... the public... everyone but him.

After all... Homelander hates to share.

Now, as often as he can, Homelander returns to the remote location he keeps you in. You have no way to leave... he'll find you quickly. Vought never bothers asking questions... as long as Homelander is compliant with them they could care less.

No one will ever know about you... which leaves Homelander able to indulge in peace.

"I'm home!" The Supe calls into the home he provided for you. It's quiet but he knows exactly where you are. His powers make him quite perceptive.

Homelander takes long strides to the bedroom. He opens the door without really knocking to see you sitting on the bed. You look to have been expecting him... it's good that you've learned.

The Supe flashes his signature smile towards you, circling the bed before leaning in front of you. He feels giddy when your eyes meet his. He can see you're scared... but compliant.

He places a red gloved hand on your cheek before leaning in. As if expecting his advances you prepare yourself and kiss back. It's best not to go against what John wants, after all.

His kiss is passionate and intense, pushing himself against you as you kiss him back. By the time he pulls away he's panting, gaze never leaving yours. He grins... but you try not to focus on him.

“I can’t help myself when it comes to you.” Homelander whispers, nuzzling his nose into your neck. It's as though his stresses and worries melt away when with you. Even if he causes stress on you.

Homelander pauses when he hears your heart beat increase. He pulls back to look you in the eyes. They're wide... scared....

“I don’t scare you, do I…?” Homelander asks... his tone a bit... soft. He may not understand the concept of love well but he doesn't seem to want to scare you. However... your fear wasn't really going to stop him anyways.

Homelander notices you not answer him, his grip on you moving to your waist before tightening. His eyes scan you over... he wants an answer. You bite your lip before shaking your head.

"No...." You answer softly. Homelander accepts your answer, leaning in again to kiss your neck softly before sitting on the bed and laying down on your lap. He basks in your comfort with a smile.

As though you're trained... your stroke his hair. He sighs softly before turning his gaze to you. You can see he's infatuated.

"I love you..." Homelander coos, holding your face as he cuddles into your lap. You push a smile onto your face hesitantly.

"I love you, John...." You answer back, pleasing the Supe.

"Good..." Homelander praises, a vaguely threatening smile on his face. “I always get what I want, don't I?”

"Yes, John." You answer back. The Supe then leans up to kiss you again softly. As expected, you reciprocate, making Homelander's heart accelerate.

"You're mine, aren't you?" The Supe asks again. "Only mine?"

There's an evident pain in your gaze for a moment, but you hide it by kissing the Supe's forehead.

"Yes, John...."

[aangelkeii]

❝𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐀❞ | Pose - Yo Gotti, Megan Thee Stallion & Lil Uzi ❦ ❀

Kinktober Day 6: Phone Sex (k.tober 2024)

A/N: sorry 4 the late upload, fell into a coma last night before i queued it properly. my not-guilty pleasure is jin, i love him so much, doin tricks on the d as we speak. enjoy!

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

wc: 2.2k (not as long, soz) | warnings: fem!reader, phone sex duh, uhm sex toys yk like a vibe (asked a gf for a name a bit ago, wonder if she remembers. that was for this btw!), fluffy, you both are freaks mb, uhh jin's jorkin it outside privately, he also is vocal. yipee! spinner mention cuz i do love him

‘when will you be home?’

You knew how long this mission was going to be, but you still asked him every single day if plans had changed and if he would be home soon. Jin’s missions usually take a couple of days tops, and he’ll visit the second he’s free, but things have been different because of all the changes going on. Missions are longer, harder, and require more focus than before. You’re not used to being away from him for so long. It’s starting to really affect you.

You miss that handsome face. You miss his weird antics. You miss his fat cock.

Woah! Where did that come from? That was tooooootally out of the blue.

No, it wasn’t. You have never been so horny in your life. God, it’s like you’re a teenage boy or something, mouth watering over the slightest hint of shoulder. It’s been two weeks and you’re ready to find him yourself just to climb him like a damn tree. Just the thought of him is enough to make your thighs clench and pull out your mystery mouseketool and get to work. It’s honestly insane how much this man floods your thoughts on a daily basis. 

You know he’s busy with whatever, you know that he can’t possibly reply to every single one of your messages, but you need him to reply faster and maybe even send you a cheeky photo or two to fuel your fantasies. Hell, you’ll even send a photo just so he can send one in return. 

You’re a genius. Do you really want to distract him, though? What if he’s in the middle of beating up a hero or something and he pauses to take out his phone? He’s the kind of guy to halt the fight just to send a dick pic.

 I mean, he’d die happy knowing you’re getting your rocks off to it. 

Fuck it!

You aren’t wearing any pants right now, lying in bed wearing just your underwear and a ratty t-shirt that you stole from him forever ago. No bra, one leg stretched out and one bent at the knee, spread eagle. You don’t even have to pose all sexy for him, so you raise your phone above your head and turn the camera towards you, angling it down so your whole body is in frame. No need for retakes, you look fine as fuck, so you send the photo with a following text. 

‘miss you’

The phone fell from your hand and onto the bed, and you chose to stare at the ceiling until he got back to you. After 5 minutes, you grew impatient, and picked up your phone to see that he left you on read. Huh?

Not for long, baby! Jin’s contact immediately flashes across your screen and you answer, putting it on speaker ready to lay into him.

“Are you insane?!” His voice sounds hushed and antsy. You’ve been with him long enough to know that he isn’t actually mad at you, and that the photo worked. “I almost showed everyone that photo. They looked at me like I had three heads!”

“Technically, you do. Yourself, your alter, and the one in your pants.”

He stutters and audibly gulps, bringing his phone closer to his ear, cupping the bottom to whisper. “Are you actually horny right now?”

You hum into the mic and slink your hands down your stomach, fingertips teasing the edge of your underwear. “My sexy boyfriend seems to have left me all alone, and Alfred isn’t satisfying me anymore.”

“You kept that name for your vibrator? That’s so fucking hot,” his hand goes to the zipper of his jeans, pulling it down and tugging at the button. He got you the vibrator for your birthday and chose the name for it, not caring about the fact that he named it after a dude. “What’re you thinking about? What’s got you so needy?”

Your hand pushes underneath your waistband, middle finger collecting the wetness and circling your clit with two fingers. Just listening to his voice could push you over the edge. Your legs fall open just a bit more. “Thinkin’ about you, obviously. Wish you were here to fuck me senseless.”

Jin groans through the phone, and it’s apparent that he’s pumping his hand up and down his cock from your words. “Fuck, tell me about it. I wish you could suffocate me between your legs right now, I’d die a happy man.”

You let out an airy chuckle and bite down on your bottom lip, an attempt to keep yourself quiet enough to hear him over the phone. “What else would you do to me?”

“I’d tear that stupid shirt off of you so I could see your tits,” his response is almost immediate. He’s already so worked up from the photo that you sent him and now he’s this close to spilling all over his hand.  “I think I’m gonna lose my mind, babe.”

His hand keeps up with its fast pace around his cock, the wet slapping audible through the phone speaker. Jin is known for getting ahead of himself with many, many things, his pleasure being one of them. He likes to make sure that you’re feeling just as good as he is, but when all rational thought had disappeared as fast as his blood rushed down to his dick, it was incredibly hard for him to ignore the dull ringing in the back of his head, the steady creep of warmth blooding down his neck and chest.

“Stop.”

Jin freezes, palm enclosed around his tip, panting and whimpering. His groans echoed throughout your room and warned you that he was gonna come if he didn’t slow it down. You’re the one who started this, you’re going to be the one to end it.

“Fuck, fuck, m’sorry,” he gasped at his phone, hands trembling with the denial of his orgasm. His head meets the brick wall behind him, and it’s become increasingly obvious that he’s panting like a dumb dog in some dingy alleyway. No one could hear or see him, but the exit door to his right could open at any second.

Does he give a fuck? No! 

There’s shuffling on the other line until his photo pops up, pleading for you to answer the video call. “Need to see ya, sweetness. Please?”

You answer the call, met with the pink cheeks of your boyfriend’s face on the other line. His grey-blue eyes are blown wide as he looks at you through the screen, your face just as pink but less visible with your bedroom lighting. 

“There she is,” timbre voice cocky when he finally gets a good look at you. You look so beautiful laid out on the bed, shirt bunched up beneath your chest, hand still between your legs. Your fingers continue their torturous circling around your clit, only slowing down to answer the video call. “My sexy girl. Y’look so fucked out already, and we’ve barely started!”

The sudden switch from pleading to teasing is amusing, making a small laugh fall from your lips. Head all woozy from his compliments. “Makin’ y’self feel good?”

You nod, looking down at your hand between your legs, hidden under the fabric of your underwear. Your legs part further, allowing your fingers to move down a bit more, parting through the slick accumulated there from just his voice alone. He watches your eyes shift from him downwards, his hand around his tip loosely pulling down, just ghosting over the length of him until he reaches the base. His fingers tighten there around the loose skin, slightly tugging upwards by an inch.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’ about, pretty girl,” Jin moves his phone further from his face, letting you catch a glimpse of his chest, a white tee hung loosely around him that moves with the pull of his arm. 

“Thinking ‘bout you here with me,” your middle finger pushes upwards, breaking past the first bit of muscle to your hole, drawing out again to lube up a little more. “Wondering how you’d help me out. I’d help you out, too.”

His hand moves up his girth, swiping beneath the head with a throaty groan. “I was imagining you earlier. Thought about making you pancakes or waffles for breakfast, takin’ you out for dinner or something, having you for dessert after.”

Your laugh is like angels singing. Jin’s a weirdo, getting off on the domesticity of your lives, but the thought of him spending his life with you warms your heart throughout your body. With you, life was easier, he didn’t feel like his head was about to explode, and the nagging voice in the back of his head was quiet for once. He had no fears with you. He had nothing to be scared of.

“You sap,” the lovesick look on your face makes him smile. “You wouldn’t have me for breakfast instead?”

“You’re scary in the mornings.”

You laugh a bit louder, warmth blossoming through your veins, the sound making Jin’s cock twitch in his hand and he remembers why exactly he’s in this situation.

“Besides, we can do more at night than in the mornings. I wanna take my time with you, baby, make you feel good. Just wish I was there to promise that,” your eyes lock with his, and he’s looking at you with pure infatuation and love. 

You finally look around him, noticing the tufts of blonde hair sticking out from the side of his head. You hadn’t even noticed that he previously had his mask on, only tugging it off his head enough to see you clearly. The small stitches on his forehead peek out from underneath. The dark brick wall behind him frames his face and shoulders perfectly.

“Like a pinky promise?” Your ring finger joined your middle inside of you, curling upwards to prod that spongy spot. Your breath hitches, “you’re cute.” 

“I know you are but what am I?” Smearing his precum over his length, his tugs grow faster and rougher, eyes darting down and back up to the screen. “Gettin’ yourself off, baby?”

The huff you give him is the only answer he needs, giving you an airy chuckle in return. “I’m gettin’ close, sweetness. Wanna come with you.”

“Yeah?” He nods. 

“Use Alfred,” the name of your vibrator distracts you from your goal for a second, pulling your fingers out to carelessly grab for it, but the sound of his moan through the phone when the faint buzzing sounds through the phone kickstarts your mind once again. 

You press the soft silicone to your clit, thighs closing around it tightly from the powerful vibrations. The wave of pleasure over your body is strong, making your head all fuzzy again, the pressure increasing when you press against the right spot to make your toes curl and your back arch from the bed. You sputter out a warning, a jumbled ‘coming!’ falling from your lips that sends him over the edge with you. Your bodies shatter in pleasure, your thighs shaking around your hand that doesn’t let up the vibrator, just like he would do. 

His legs threaten to give out under him, the last swipe to his slit has cum spurting out and onto the concrete, dribbling down his hand and staining the band of his boxers. His rough voice moans, echoing through the alley like an orchestra, your pitchy breaths adding to the acoustics. He wills himself to keep his eyes open, watching your face contort, eyes closed tightly and brows shot upwards. After the last wave turns into a bit much, your hand drops your phone and clicks off the vibrator, body lying limp on the bed.

The aftershocks pulse through your legs, sore from tensing up, but so relieved to finally have some release. You ask him how he’s feeling, earning you a shuddering breath as his hand slows to a stop, head hung forward and eyes shut to prolong his pleasure. His mouth opens, “you look so fucking sexy when you co-”.

His phone just about falls from his hand, startled by the sudden banging of the exit door. Spinner’s voice calls out to him, telling him to ‘stop thinking with his dick and pack up.’ The heteroclite man is heard stomping away, followed by incoherent yells, and Jin looks slowly back at the phone camera to your blushing face. Your laugh rings out through the speaker and his chest warms, a dumb smile on his face as he tucks himself back into his boxers and jeans. He looks around for something to wipe his hand off on, finding tattered blankets on top of some boxes. He figures no one wants them anymore, right?

Whatever. He’ll shower before they leave.

“‘M sorry, baby, I gotta cut this short,” he zips up his jeans, situating himself in his pants. “We got a lead on something, gonna check it out. I’ll keep you updated, yeah?”

“Stay safe, baby,” he blows you a kiss through the screen, nodding his head with a ‘will do’. “Tell the others that I say hi. And don’t do anything stupid!”

He laughs, pulling open the door to the inside. “That’s all we do, baby! Where’s the fun if it’s not stupid?”

He presses his lips to the camera with a dramatic mwah! and tugs his mask back down over his face, waving his fingers at you before you hang up with a kiss yourself.

© aangelkeii - do not repost, translate, plagarize, or claim any of my works as your own.

taglist: @ggriwm @ppsucker3000 @cstandsforchaos @jakeyjakies @cphlo @dumbwaystolive

[the-darkestminds]

Autumn's Shadow: Chapter 11

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: Thank you to everyone is still here. It means so much to me 🥹

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list!

Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 11:

Azriel dropped into a chair across from Elain at the large oak dining table, empty aside from the two of them. A muffin he didn’t want appeared on the plate before him, along with a helping of fruit and a steaming cup of tea. He arched a dark brow and frowned. The wraiths must be working in the kitchen. 

Normally, he chose not to join his family for breakfast at the river manor, as they tended to eat hours after he woke up. He preferred to make breakfast a quick affair, typically shoveling whatever simple fare he could find into his mouth before flying off to attend to his spymaster duties before the sun had risen. He was only here now because Rhys had asked him to come.

Azriel glanced over at Elain, who was bent over a large notebook strewn with small sketches of flowers and other plants, along with descriptions and what appeared to be care instructions. She looked up only briefly to give him a polite smile before dipping her head once more. The food on her plate sat untouched while she worked. 

Though he knew it was unfair, he couldn’t help the tiny bubble of resentment that twisted in his stomach as he watched her. How could she think of flowers and gardens while their world seemingly stood on the cusp of disaster? When his own felt like it was on the verge of crumbling down around him? He realized he was glaring at the top of her head and averted his eyes, wondering when he’d become such a moody asshole.

Azriel looked down at the overly large muffin on his plate, feeling miserable, and now guilty as well. It was really his own inaction that was eating at him, not Elain’s. But Rhys had summoned him here for a reason—perhaps he’d learned something useful, or had come up with a plan to stop Koschei.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Feyre and Rhys breezed in, both dressed in Night Court black, surprisingly formal for the hour and occasion. 

Azriel smiled at Nyx, who was laughing and waving his arms with excitment as Feyre passed him off to Elain. Elain beamed at her nephew as she sat him on her lap, cooing as she squished their cheeks together.

“I’ll be ready to go in just a few minutes,” Feyre announced, and then she disappeared into the corridor that led to the kitchen. Azriel raised his brows and looked at Rhys.

“A word?” His brother angled his head towards the hall.

“We’re going to Day. To speak to Helion. I need you to come with us and be our eyes and ears,” Rhys said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants. “As a precaution.”

“Why are you going to Day?”

“We are going to Day to see if there is anything Helion can do about this bargain between Feyre and I,” he said. The words were clipped and tendrils of night leaked from Rhysand and surrounded their ankles like dark, cool mist. Azriel tried to stifle his disappointment that this summons had nothing to do with Koschei or Beron. He couldn’t help but think it was a waste of their time—there was no way out of a magical bargain beyond its fulfillment. He said as much aloud and Rhys bared his teeth, eyes flashing. 

“You will accompany us to Day because this is what Feyre needs,” he hissed. “So lose the attitude and get your shit together. We’re leaving in 3 minutes.” 

Azriel started at the fury in his brother’s voice—that he’d so easily let his temper slip. Rhys seemed to realize it as well and took a step back. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed roughly and dragged his trembling hands through his black hair, mussing it from its perfectly styled waves. He glanced over his shoulder towards the dining room before continuing in a quieter voice. “You’re right. There is likely nothing Helion can do for us, but Feyre still has hope, and I refuse to take that away from her on top of everything else,” he said, voice strained. Azriel didn’t ask what he meant by everything else.

“It’s fine, Rhys. I get it.” Azriel took in the wild, panicked look on his brother’s face and pulled him into a hug. Rhys sagged against him, his tension easing slightly in Azriel’s embrace.

“I can’t stop picturing it,” he whispered. “Nyx, left all alone, Feyre and I, dead—'' he choked on the words and pressed his forehead against Azriel’s shoulder, releasing a shuddering breath. It terrified Azriel more than he cared to admit that his brother appeared to be preparing for the absolute worst—as if he didn’t expect to survive Koschei.

To Azriel, Rhys had always seemed larger than life. He was the one person who would never falter, the one who would always be there to take care of things when everything went to shit. When Cassian and Azriel had returned from the lake, Rhys had remained collected, taking control like he always did. Azriel hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on his brother’s unwavering calm. Seeing him like this…Azriel gripped him tightly, tried to channel some of that strength himself. He pulled back to look into Rhysand’s violet eyes, now clouded with fear and pain.

“That isn’t going to happen, Rhys. We won’t let it happen,” he promised forcefully. He’d come so close to losing his brother only months ago. He refused to go through it again. Rhys nodded and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, the fear was gone, a pleasant smile plastered on his handsome face. Another mask, for Feyre’s sake. 

Azriel refrained from voicing his thoughts—that Feyre would likely want to shoulder some of his burden. But that was Rhys—always taking the brunt of the pain so the rest of them didn't have to. Azriel doubted Rhys even realized he was doing it; it was ingrained in his very bones, this relentless need to give and give until he had nothing left. 

Azriel’s heart felt heavy as he watched Rhys make his way back into the dining room. He took a moment to steel himself and then followed, already dreading the visit to the Day Court. 

He wasn’t in the mood to endure Helion’s inappropriate come-ons, but for Rhys and Feyre, for Nyx, he’d do just about anything.

***

Azriel winnowed himself to the Day Court ahead of Rhys and Feyre to make sure nothing sinister awaited them, but all he found was extremely bright sunlight and a hot breeze that made him feel like he was standing inside a furnace. Azriel squinted against the light, his shadows tucking themselves tightly under his wings, and took in the dazzling sandswept palace sprawled out before him.

Helion’s residence rose majestically from the sands, its golden domes gleaming in the late morning sunshine. Arid desert stretched endlessly off into the distance, its dunes rippling like waves frozen in time. Tall, swaying date palms lined the wide stone pathway leading up to the palace, offering a pop of green amidst the neutral shades of tan mixed with gold and white. The scent of desert blooms and rich spices drifted toward him on a steady wind, whispering through the thick fronds above. Splashing fountains with towering bronze statues of former High Lords lined the walkway, the blue water inviting in the building heat of the day.

Azriel grimaced as he took it all in. It had been a century since he’d stepped foot in this Court, but it was as extravagant as he remembered. Everything was so bright—too bright. And hot. Winter had not yet passed. Why was it so hot? He was already sweating in his leathers and decided immediately that he had no desire to step foot in this Court ever again.

Azriel sighed and turned to greet the female attendant. She was draped in white cloth that wrapped around her lithe body in panels, flattering her dark, smooth skin. Her uptilted brown eyes were keen as she welcomed him to Day. Azriel sent a thought to Rhys, giving him the all clear, and a second later he and Feyre arrived beside him and both squinted up at the palace.

“It’s so…bright?” Feyre offered with a wide smile. It sounded more like a question than a compliment to Azriel and he stifled his snort. She and Rhys, both draped in glimmering black, looked extremely out of place. Azriel was certain he did as well—though his shadows had all but disappeared, hiding from the sun.

The attendant only laughed warmly and led them towards the stairs that would take them up to see the High Lord of Day. 

***

The attendant, whose name they learned was Aya, guided them through the luminous palace on quiet, sandal-clad feet. The interior was just as elegant as the exterior. Intricate mosaics adorned the high walls, each tile bursting with vibrant color, seemingly narrating the history of Day. Archways of white marble stretched up towards the azure sky, visible through windows high above that let in shimmering shafts of sunlight. Bordering the stone pathways were narrow jewel-lined rivers of crystal-clear water that whispered softly beside them as they strolled deeper into the opulence of Helion’s home.

For its size, Azriel noted it was surprisingly empty—the atmosphere was hushed and serene, yet cold despite the heat. Impersonal.

Aya slowed as they approached the golden double-wide doors of Helion’s private councilroom. When she pushed open the doors, all four of them drew up short.

“—then make her,” a male voice growled with considerable venom. 

Azriel blinked as he made sense of what he was seeing.

Helion stood nose to nose with Eris, both wearing murderous expressions on their faces and seemingly in the middle of a heated argument. Eris was hissing at him viciously but snapped his mouth shut and turned when the door banged loudly against the wall.

“My Lord, I apologize—I thought you were alone—there was nothing else on the schedule,” Aya stammered, a slight pink tinge to her cheeks.

“Aya my dear, do not apologize, the fault is mine.” Helion’s loud voice was as warm as the sands surrounding his palace. It chilled when he jerked his chin to Eris. “Eris,” he said, his voice now like ice, “was just on his way out.” Helion turned and smiled widely at Rhys and Feyre but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Eris schooled his face into a mask of cool indifference as he strode past Helion. He paused briefly as he approached them, smirking. 

“Feyre, Rhysand. Lovely to see you, as always.” His amber eyes brightened as they slid to Azriel and he felt something warm in his chest. “Shadowsinger,” he said with an incline of his head. He followed Aya out into the hall without another word.

“Rhys, my friend, it’s been too long,” Helion boomed. Azriel didn’t hear the rest of the exchange. His head was turned over his shoulder as he watched Eris round the corner and disappear from sight. 

It was like a compulsion—this undeniable need to seek him out whenever he was near. Azriel didn’t try to fight it when his shadows pulled him down the hall after Eris. Surely Rhys and Feyre could hold their own without him for a few minutes.

He appeared in front of Eris just as he reached the bottom of the stone steps. His shadows felt sluggish under the blaring sun and they returned to their hiding spot beneath his wings.

“What are you doing here?” he said in a low voice as he gripped the forest green fabric of Eris's jacket. How Eris managed to remain cool and unruffled in the scorching heat was beyond him. Not a single hair was out of place despite the steady breeze. Eris' eyes darted towards Aya and she bowed her head in farewell before re-entering the palace and closing the doors behind her. Two armored guards stood on either side of the doors, each armed with sharp, gleaming spears. Though they appeared uninterested, Azriel knew they were listening intently—and would report any unsavory business to their High Lord immediately. 

“Not here. Later,” Eris insisted.

“Eris—”

“Later, Az. I promise.” He brushed his fingers against Azriel’s and with a gust of chilled Autumn wind, he was gone.

***

Azriel quickly sorted through all he knew about the High Lord of Day as he sat at the end of the long, golden table. So much gold. Too much, in his opinion.

Helion had ascended to power following the execution of his predecessor, carried out by Amarantha as punishment for his involvement in the burgeoning rebellion against her.

He claimed no children and had no official consort, though Azriel knew Helion had no shortage of lovers, both male and female, often at the same time. Azriel had been on the receiving end of Helion’s propositions more times than he could count, along with Cassian and Mor. Mor had taken him up on the offer during the war, and at the time, Azriel had been deeply hurt by it.

Azriel nearly laughed aloud when he remembered it had been his outburst at the High Lords’ meeting that had sent Mor running into Helion’s bed. He had tackled Eris into the floor—had tried to choke him to death, until Feyre had stopped him. Gods. He’d wanted to kill Eris in that moment. But now…now, he wanted to wrap his hands around Eris’s long neck for an entirely different reason. Azriel bit back a smirk and chastised himself for letting his thoughts wander, praying no one could detect the change in his scent. 

Azriel studied Helion as he talked animatedly with Feyre, all smiles and loud laughter. He wondered if it was all a façade to mask his loneliness—the humor, the steady stream of lovers, the unfaltering charm. To rule an entire court alone for so many years without a steady partner at one’s side sounded miserable. If the male had someone close to him, he certainly hid it well.

What was his connection to Eris? Azriel hadn’t known the two of them were well acquainted enough to even find themselves in the same room alone together. But there was no denying the ferocity he’d seen on both of their faces. As spymaster, he should be aware of such things. It irked him that it had escaped his notice.

 Azriel shifted in the chair he sat in at the end of the table, the back too high to comfortably accommodate his wings, and forced his attention back on the conversation.

Rhys was explaining to Helion the nature and terms of his bargain with Feyre. Helion’s face was solemn as he listened, and when Rhys was finished speaking, he asked them why they believed themselves to be in such danger so as to need the bargain severed.

And then Rhys and Feyre both, with Azriel chiming in occasionally when warranted, explained all they had learned these past few months. They told him of Briallyn, of Beron’s alliance with Koschei—they shared nearly everything, including Elain’s mysterious vision. 

Azriel had shifted uncomfortably when Rhys had recited the words, thinking it too personal to be shared with the High Lord. Though Rhys framed his relationship with Eris as an alliance and nothing more, Azriel still felt the weight of his assessing gaze as Helion listened intently. Ally or no, he’d kill the golden High Lord if he so much as thought about exposing Eris’s betrayal to anyone who might pass the information on to Beron. He let Helion see the threat in his eyes.

“We don’t know if he truly intends to declare war. For now, he’s backed off of Spring. But should he rally his armies…” Rhys let the thought trail off and Helion picked it up.

“You can count on my forces to join you if Beron does indeed think to make himself High King of Prythian,” Helion promised.

“We’ll keep you informed, should anything change,” Rhys said as he and Feyre stood. Helion mirrored them, and then he looked at Feyre, an earnest expression on his face.

“I will do everything I can to find a solution to this bargain of yours,” Helion promised. “Though I feel I must remind you, the price of severing such a bargain might be one you are unwilling to pay, and once severed, there is no turning back.” Feyre nodded somberly and thanked him, and Helion kissed her cheek. Rhys grasped his hand in farewell. 

Azriel glanced away when he saw the look of anguish that passed between Rhys and Feyre while they had one of their silent conversations. Clearly, it was not the answer they had been hoping for, though likely the one Rhys had expected. Azriel’s stomach sank. He hated seeing them in pain. 

The three of them were quiet as Aya led them back through the estate so they could winnow home. The silence was heavy—sad. Rhys wrapped an arm around Feyre’s shoulders and kissed her temple. She leaned into his side and tucked her head against his chest. A second later, they vanished.

Azriel didn’t spare the gleaming palace another glance as his shadows eagerly carried him home to Velaris.

***

“Is she okay?” Azriel asked Rhys.

Upon returning home, Feyre had stepped out of Rhysand’s arms and had left them standing alone in the foyer. Her shoulders had sagged slightly, and Azriel could nearly taste her defeat as it sat heavy in the midmorning air.

“As okay as can be expected,” Rhys said in a low voice, and Azriel didn’t miss the guilt that flashed across his face. “She’s afraid. We both are.”

Azriel nodded and his shadows swarmed him protectively. He’d lived in a near constant state of fear these past few weeks—and knew it would likely persist until Beron was dead. Az gripped Rhys’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze before turning to leave.

“Azriel, one more thing before you go,” Rhys said tiredly, and Azriel paused. “I need you to help Cassian with the Illyrian forces.” Azriel recoiled, his very skin crawling at the idea of spending more time in Illyria than he absolutely needed to.

“Why? Cassian has things handled just fine,” Azriel insisted. Rhysand’s face hardened.

“If whatever Beron has planned is allowed to unfold, we will need them in fighting shape and ready to fly at a moment’s notice. I’m not asking you to train them, or to interact beyond the camp lords. I just need you to check in with some of the northernmost villages and see what their numbers look like, which units are the weakest, which lords might give us trouble. Take a week.” 

“But—”

“Azriel, please.” The exhaustion and desperation in his voice had Azriel relenting.

He sighed. “Fine. I’ll go tomorrow.”

They parted ways, and Azriel's mood soured further. Visiting the Illyrian villages was the last thing he wanted to do; he had more pressing concerns on his mind. 

As he walked down the hall, his thoughts drifted back to Eris and Helion. "Later," Eris had said. Azriel hoped later meant tonight, though nightfall was still hours away. Azriel launched himself into the brightening sky. 

He flew for a while, allowing the flowing currents to settle his mind, and then set off in the direction of the House of Wind in search of Cassian.

***

Azriel’s breath heaved out of him as he swung his fists at the cushioned slab of wood, each strike brutal and precise. Sweat dripped down his brow and his muscles strained with every punch, but the physical exertion did little to quell the storm raging inside of him. Shadows skittered erratically around him, whispering their ominous warnings in his ears at all hours of the day—a reminder of his own failings.

He couldn't protect Eris from Beron, couldn't find a way to stop Koschei, couldn’t piece together the meaning of Elain’s vision—his irritation burned hotter with every swing. He was pathetic. And utterly useless to Eris. 

His fist shot out again, his siphons glinting in the low light of the moon as he tried to lose himself in the movements. But the unease continued to gnaw at him. What was the point of all this power if he couldn’t use it to protect the people he loved? Azriel growled and hit the wood so hard it splintered and cracked beneath his bruised knuckles. 

And now he was being asked to waste more time overseeing the Illyrians. Azriel ground his teeth in frustration at the thought. They should be doing something to stop Koschei—though he had little idea as to what they could do. He punched the wood again and it groaned.

Azriel had found his way up to the training ring after many hours spent with Cassian going over the general’s extensive knowledge of each Illyrian village: the camp lords in charge, the number of units, which were strongest and which needed work, as well as the warriors living in each settlement. Cassian knew nearly all of it by heart, which made Azriel wonder, again, why Rhys insisted he needed help. He seemed to be handling things just fine on his own.

Cassian had always possessed more patience with the Illyrians than Azriel could ever muster. For whatever reason, his brother loved their people. How he was able to look past the brutality they’d inflicted upon his mother, the way they treated him like trash—all of it made Azriel want to return the violence tenfold. But it was as Rhys said, they needed the warriors.

As Azriel’s temper rose, his shadows whispered to him of movement within the House, and a few minutes later Nesta stepped into the room and leaned against the stone archway. She rested a rectangular package against her hip as she watched him move.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked with a raised brow. Azriel merely grunted, and moved through several more offensive maneuvers without speaking, silently hoping she’d sense his irritation and leave. But when he finally stopped and turned she was still there, watching him. 

Azriel wiped the sweat from his brow and strolled to the water station, pouring himself a cup. Nesta’s shrewd gaze felt like a brand and he finally arched his own brow at her in return. 

“Did you need something?” he asked coolly. He didn’t feel like talking. 

Nesta ignored his cold tone and walked across the ring to stand beside him. He bristled as she studied him. Nesta saw too much, and it often left him feeling vulnerable—exposed. Az knew he was being an ass, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was in a foul mood.

“How have you been holding up?” Nesta asked, her voice mingling with the howling wind.

Azriel schooled his face into his usual icy mask to hide his tumultuous thoughts. Truthfully, he was coming apart at the seams. He was utterly useless, and pathetic, and going out of his mind at their general lack of action. His shadows wouldn’t cease their hissing as they begged him to look, to pay attention. It was beginning to drive him mad. But Azriel said none of that.

“Fine,” he bit out. Nesta just looked at him in that piercing way of hers until he finally relented with a soft snarl. “I hate not knowing what any of it means. We’re all just sitting around on our asses, waiting for Beron and Koschei to strike, and Rhys has me dealing with the fucking Illyrians, as if we don’t have more important things to worry about. Eris could be killed at any moment—” Azriel clenched his jaw, pissed at himself for letting his temper slip. He blew out a slow breath. “I don’t know what to do—about any of it.” He dragged a scarred hand through his sweaty hair and voiced what was really eating at him. “I’m scared for him,” he admitted bleakly. Azriel looked away as he said it. It still felt strange to speak of Eris so openly. Nesta drummed her fingers on the package in her hand.

“Eris is cunning. He’s been dealing with Beron for centuries. He knows how to play the game, as he likes to say,” she said. Her voice left no room for debate and he supposed she was right, to a certain degree. Eris did know how to handle Beron—but things had changed. He wasn’t dealing with Beron’s typical brand of cruelty anymore. The paranoia, his alliance with Koschei…he was unpredictable, and it terrified Azriel. 

“And we’re not doing nothing,” Nesta went on. “You have your spies monitoring the lake.” Azriel arched a brow that she even knew that to begin with. “Helion is now aware of Koschei, and pledged his forces should Beron do something stupid. There’s only so much you can do.” He willed himself to believe her. “Eris has to be the one to decide how and when to kill Beron. So let him. Surely he’ll tell you if there’s something you can do to help,” she said.

Azriel wasn’t convinced. He didn’t think Eris would ever willingly let Azriel shoulder any of his burden when it came to Beron. He was so used to carrying it on his own—he’d been doing it his entire life. Azriel nodded, not wanting to share the private thought with Nesta.

“Thanks,” he said. “For listening.” Nesta offered him a small smile. Azriel’s eyes fell to the box in her hand. 

“Can you bring this to Emerie when you go to Windhaven tomorrow?” Nesta held it out and Azriel accepted it. He let his shadows tuck it away for safekeeping, but didn’t ask her what it was. 

As Nesta bid him goodnight and disappeared into the dark of the House, Azriel realized his chest felt lighter than it had mere minutes ago. Few people could draw Azriel out of his head once he’d decided to brood, and he marveled that Nesta had been able to do it so effortlessly.

***

Exhaustion finally sent Azriel from the House back to his apartment. He was wary, and desperately needed to bathe, but as soon as he stepped through the door a whiff of Eris’s scent had him following his shadows up to the roof. 

He found Eris leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed against his chest, eyes fixed on the twinkling night sky above. 

Azriel took a moment to admire the male. Even here, alone with the stars, he looked magnificent—like a true prince. All that was missing was a crown. 

The moonlight shimmered off his red hair, worn loose around his shoulders with several of the silky strands tucked behind a pointed ear. Azriel noticed the small cuff on the smooth edge and found himself wanting to drag his teeth along it. The golden necklaces around his neck matched the rings adorning his long, elegant fingers. 

Azriel let his eyes roam over the well-tailored cobalt jacket and the sleek pants that hugged his muscular thighs. He looked stunning in blue—it matched Azriel’s siphons, and the realization gave him a smug sense of satisfaction. Gods, he was beautiful. Heat stirred in Azriel’s blood as he approached.

He slid up to Eris and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him against his chest so he could breathe in more of his intoxicating scent.

“Mother above, Azriel, you reek,” Eris sniffed. “Couldn’t spare a few minutes for a bath?” he asked with an arched brow. His eyes glinted with amusement and he failed to hide his smirk.

“You like it,” Azriel snickered and pulled him in for a kiss. Eris grumbled but returned it enthusiastically, confirming Azriel’s suspicions. 

When they pulled apart, Azriel scanned his face, searching for any trace of pain or fear in his amber eyes, but all he found was reflected starlight. Azriel nearly shuddered with relief. Today must have been a better day, then, all things considered. 

“I missed you,” Azriel said. Eris’s face softened with a genuine smile, even as he rolled his eyes.

“I missed you too, bat.” 

Azriel stretched his wings and laughed at the nickname, delighted at the snark in his voice. Lately, there had been so much darkness weighing on him, but tonight he seemed relaxed. Playful, even. 

Azriel wanted to stretch these stolen minutes under the night sky as long as he could, but he knew Eris could never stay for long. He didn’t want to put him at risk, despite how much he craved more time together. It was never enough. 

“Why were you in Day?” Azriel asked as he leaned against the wall beside him. Eris frowned, his eyes straying back to the winking stars above.

“I was there to call in a favor from Helion,” he said in a stilted voice. “He certainly owes me one.” At Azriel’s confused silence, Eris turned his face so their eyes met. “Helion is my mother’s mate.” Azriel’s brows shot up his forehead in surprise. “And Lucien…is their son.” 

Azriel blinked. Lucien…not Beron’s son? His mind reeled. Surely he would’ve heard whisperings…his shadows should’ve picked up on it. He’d never—

Azriel realized there had been talk of Helion's past with the Lady of Autumn. During the war. At the time, Azriel had been so distracted by his unrequited feelings for Mor that he’d dismissed the conversation entirely, uninterested in anything but his own misery. Azriel realized he was gaping and snapped his mouth shut. 

“How long have you known? Does Lucien know?”

“I’ve known since Lucien was born. I was present for the birth, and I was there when she had his powers temporarily bound. Only her nursemaids and I were entrusted with the secret.” Eris sighed. Another burden on his shoulders, all these years. “Beron suspects, but he’s never openly accused her. To admit the truth, that she’d had an affair, would be an embarrassment to him. It would shame him.” The words were hard and Azriel placed a hand on his arm. 

Azriel couldn’t believe he’d been so blind. “I don’t think Lucien has any idea,” Eris added, sounding regretful. “Though it’s difficult to be sure where he’s concerned. He was always so adept at keeping secrets, even as a child.” A faint smile bloomed on his lips.

“What powers beyond fire does he possess?” Azriel wondered. He hadn’t spent much time with Lucien. There had been that brief encounter before the war, when he’d brought him to Velaris and they’d discussed his Autumn Court intel. And there was the short conversation they’d had regarding Eris the other day…but mostly Azriel had kept his distance—he’d had no reason, or any desire, to speak to him.

“Powers similar to Helion’s, I imagine. Spell-cleaving, that bothersome white light, whatever else Day presides over.” Eris waved a hand aimlessly and shrugged. “He entered the world glowing, and I knew in that moment that Beron would kill him if he ever saw him use such power. So my mother did what she could to protect him, and made me swear to look after him.” Eris dragged a hand through his hair and then leaned his head back against the wall.

That explained the faint glow Azriel had noticed when Elain had smiled at the male. He’d thought he’d imagined it, but no…it was his true father’s power, shining through his skin. And Eris’s mother…

“Why does she remain with Beron?” Azriel asked, though he was fairly certain he knew the answer already.

“For me and my brothers,” was all Eris said. Azriel leaned against the wall beside him and followed Eris’s gaze up to the dark sky, sprinkled with twinkling stars. They were quiet for a while.

“I wasn’t even aware you knew Helion beyond formalities,” Azriel admitted into the silence with a wince. Eris laughed, low and smooth like velvet, and the sound danced over Azriel’s skin.

“Remind me again what Rhysand is paying you for?” Eris drawled. Azriel huffed a laugh and flicked Eris’s long nose.

“Don’t be a brat. Helion has only been High Lord for fifty years, and in that time he’s established himself as an ally to the Night Court. And he’s friends with Rhys.” Azriel shrugged. Helion had spent nearly all of his reign as High Lord under the mountain with Amarantha. 

Azriel thought of Lucien, tried to recall any resemblance between father and son, but his mind drew up short. 

“He certainly doesn’t behave like a mated male, what with all the times he’s invited me, Cassian and Mor to his bed.” Eris whipped his head to Azriel.

“Excuse me?” Azriel chuckled at the horrified expression on his face and the soft snarl that slipped through his lips. “Helion is a pain in my ass,” Eris bit out. Azriel’s amusement faded as Eris went on. “Autumn is no longer safe for my mother. Beron’s alliance with Koschei, the violent outbursts…I fear what might happen to her the next time he’s in a rage.” Eris’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and Azriel studied his pale face, now etched with fear. “I was in Day to beg Helion to give her sanctuary, but he refused. Said he couldn’t force her to leave her home if it wasn’t what she wished.” The words were bitter with resentment.

Eris closed his eyes and took a deep breath before they found Azriel’s again. “I’m afraid for her,” he whispered. 

Azriel reached out and folded Eris into his arms, held him tightly as he sagged against him. Another problem Azriel couldn’t fix, another burden on Eris’s shoulders. He didn’t know how the male managed it, but he was in awe of him every day.

“What’s your mother’s name?” Azriel realized he’d never heard it.

“Aurelia.” Eris smiled. 

Azriel listened as Eris spoke of his childhood—of the good memories with his mother. She sounded like a gentle female, and he was grateful Eris had known kindness, despite growing up with Beron as a father. Eris asked him about the rest of his visit to Day and Azriel shared the brief details. They chatted about other, lighter things, for a while, and eventually they fell quiet, content to be together in silence.

It wasn’t long before Eris had to depart, so Azriel let him feel how desperate he was for him as he gripped his neck and crashed their lips together. He kissed him deeply, tongues twining together, and Eris moaned and pulled him closer. 

Only when Eris was hard and panting for him did Azriel finally relent and pull back. Eris bit his bottom lip, and then licked away the hurt.

“How cruel of you to tease me so, knowing I can’t stay,” Eris said against his mouth, his voice a low, sensual caress that sent heat directly to Azriel’s groin.

Eris reached down and palmed Azriel through the fabric of his pants, squeezed him hard, and Azriel groaned into his lips. Eris drove his tongue into his mouth again and dragged his hand up his length, pressed the heel of his hand over the head of his cock. Azriel’s knees nearly buckled. Maybe they did have time—

Eris vanished, leaving Azriel painfully hard and alone on the roof. Azriel cursed as he adjusted himself in his pants. 

He swore he could hear Eris’s wicked laughter on the wind as it brushed over his feverish skin. Wicked male. Those hands. 

Azriel smiled and laughed, despite himself. 

Tease, indeed.

***

The second Azriel arrived in Windhaven the following morning he wanted to leave. He hated this place. The winters were long and bitter, the wind always frigid. It battered his wings and sent chills skating along his spine. The people were just as cold as the weather. 

He kept his distance from the camp lords and the warriors in the training rings as he inspected their progress, though it didn’t stop them from throwing loathing looks his way. He glared back at them. Cassian had always been better at dealing with the Illyrians, though even he had never managed to gain their respect, despite centuries of trying to work with them. Azriel had never wanted it.

He spent an hour observing, making note of which units were lacking in skill, and those that could use their ranks replenished. He noted which lords took the training seriously, as well as the ones who couldn’t help but sneer at him every time he walked past. Two years ago there had been whispers of rebellion, but the subsequent Blood Rite had wiped most of it out. He didn’t hear anything of that nature today, though he doubted they’d let slip any true discontent while he and his shadows were within earshot. 

Before he headed to the next Illyrian village, he stopped by Emerie’s shop to deliver the package Nesta had given him. The store was clean and well taken care of, and it was clear she took a lot of pride in her work. He knew she faced pushback for owning it as a female, but it hadn’t seemed to dampen her determination. He approached the counter where she stood and placed the wrapped box on the smooth wooden surface.

“From Nesta,” he said. He watched her eyes light up when she beheld what was inside—the next chapter of Gwyn’s Valkyrie manuscript, from what he could tell. Azriel knew the Valkyries were still training frequently, but due to the recent events with Koschei several of their sessions had been canceled. 

“Thank you.” 

Azriel nodded. He looked around the store, empty save for the two of them. The shelves were neatly stocked and free of dust. It was warm and inviting. He wondered if she got many customers.

“How have things been around here since the Blood Rite?”

Emerie eyed him skeptically. “Fine. Since when do you care about Illyria? I thought you’d washed your hands of it.” Azriel was startled by the cold edge to her voice. The accusation in it.

“I was asking about you,” he said carefully. “Have you been given any trouble by the camp lords?” 

“There’s always trouble to be found. I can handle myself.” The words were clipped. Azriel couldn’t read her—didn’t know her well enough to determine if this was her usual demeanor or if he’d done something to offend her. 

She was a proud female, and dearly loved by Nesta and Gwyn—and Cassian. She’d laughed and smiled freely during the few times he’d been present for their training. Perhaps being here made her more tense. More guarded. Or maybe she just didn’t like him. He didn’t know why it bothered him. Azriel tried another angle.

“You know you could always move to Velaris. We could have you out of here by the end of the week, if you want.” Emerie arched a dark brow at his offer, a slight frown on her face.

“I belong in Illyria. This is my home,” was all she said.

Azriel shifted his wings in discomfort. Emerie had been polite to him the few times they’d spoken, though they had barely exchanged more than a few words in passing. But the edge of resentment in her voice couldn’t be denied. “Tell Nesta thank you.” She turned around and flipped open the manuscript. A clear dismissal. 

Azriel left her shop without saying anything else. He felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach, but he couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, he was feeling guilty for. He racked his brain of all the conversations he’d ever had with Emerie, but nothing notable stood out. They hadn’t spoken enough to develop any sort of friendship.

He wondered at it—the fierce defense Emerie offered of Illyria, despite all it had done to her. The clipped wings, the abuse, the Blood Rite. Yet she insisted it was her home, and clearly had no interest in abandoning it.

As each beat of his wings took him farther and farther from the cold village of Windhaven, Azriel tried and failed to ignore the kernel of anxiety that burned in his stomach. Later that day, after inspecting a handful of the villages on his lengthy list, his thoughts returned to their conversation. He tried to shake off the unease, the guilt. But for some reason it lingered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Full Chapter List

Tag List: @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @jules-writes-stories @christeareads

[fyodoro]

HIIIIII!!!!! i um want to request angst of akito and toya (separatly) x reader bc there isn't rnough of it rahhh have a good day baba

->𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐲

After a fight with their dads, they can’t seem to keep their emotions in check for the rest of the day…

With Akito Shinonome & Toya Aoyagi | Genre - hurt with some comfort, angst

Cw) mentioned fights, crying, cursing, slight anxiety, nightmares, suggestive (?) for like a sentence in Toya’s part (it’s rlly not suggestive you’re just on top of him fixing his hair but I’m putting a warning just in case), reader in in vivid bad squad but it’s not explicitly stated

-> Akito Shinonome

It wasn’t unnatural for Akito to be on edge some days. In fact, it’s more unnatural for him not to be on edge. So of course, no one batted an eye when he showed up to practice with a look of irritation spread across his face today.

He was clearly getting even more ticked off when everyone went off track, talking about their day instead of practicing. However, It felt like you were the only one who noticed.

“Shinonome, what about you? How has your day been so far?” Kohane asked sweetly.

His face twisted in disgust as he remembered the events that occurred an hour before he met up with the group. The memories he thought he was finally able to ignore flashing vividly across his mind.

“My good for nothing dad- actually no. Forget it. I’m not telling you guys. Hell- we aren’t even practicing, so I’m leaving. Bye.” Throwing his bag over his shoulder, Akito stormed off. The rest of you were left in shock.

“What’s up with him? He never leaves practice.” An remarked. She was right, practice usually made Akito feel better, he never just left.

The thought of your your boyfriend being alone and angry right now made you feel guilty. You should be there for him, right? But what if he didn’t want you to be there for him right now? He sounded pretty upset.

Your mind raced with these thoughts, conflicted on what you should do.

“(Name), you alright? You look a little troubled.” Toya asked. He always picks up on these things.

“Yeah… just a little worried is all.” You replied.

Toya was quiet for a moment, thinking of what he would do if he was in your shoes. He was Akito’s partner, and knew him just as long if not longer than you have. He was used to these outbursts and would leave him be for a while til he cooled down.

But he was only Akito’s partner, you were his significant other. The responsibilities were completely different.

“Why don’t you try talking to him? I’m sure he’s more comfortable talking to you than any of us.” He finally said.

With someone else saying it, you felt more okay doing it. It’s not a crazy idea, it’s a normal one in-fact. The only thing you were worried about was…

“Thanks Toya, I’ll go find him. I’ll see you all tomorrow, yeah?” You bid your farewells to the group before heading off. ‘Just where could he have went?’ You thought.

You caught onto his first few words- he had a fight with his dad. There’s no way he went back home so soon after that. The only other place you could think of was Weekend Garage, or somewhere around that spot.

Truth be told, you were terrified. You knew Akito better than you knew yourself, and when he’s in these moods, he tends to make… rash… decisions. Ones he knows he’ll regret later. You didn’t want to be the cause of any poor choices he makes, especially between the two of you.

After what felt like a marathon, you finally arrived at Vivid Street. Panting a bit from the long walk, you kept an eye open for the ginger boy. Walking down the musical streets full of liveliness, you couldn’t help but feel at ease. It’s best you feel good now before you get crushed later, right?

Turning one last corner, you spotted him. Hastily walking up to him, you grabbed his shoulder.

“The hell do you think- oh. (Name), it’s you.” For a split second, he seemed to have calmed down. But only for a split second.

“What was that back there, you never ditch practice! And- I’m worried about you. Can you please just talk to me?” Your voice expressed all the concern it possibly could.

He stared at your frame for a moment with an unreadable expression. Just what was he thinking? Then again, you couldn’t really blame him. He must have been out of it ever since whatever occurred that made him snap.

“Jesus (Name), you’re wasting your time. You come all the way out here for me and you don’t even…” Akito’s voice grew quieter and quieter. Starting harsh, ending weak.

But what happened next was something you would have never expected.

Tears fell from Akito’s eyes. His nose went red as he started sniffling, while trying his hardest to stop anymore tears from coming out.

“S-shit.”

Thankfully you were in a secluded spot of Vivid Street, near an alleyway. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him cry, including you.

You pulled him into an embrace and began rubbing circles on his back, trying your best to soothe him. Though, this only seemed to make him cry more.

“‘s okay Akito, let it all out…” You spoke softly.

That was all he needed to break down more, seemingly tearing all his walls down in that moment. He let out choked sobs into your shoulder. You could tell your shirt was getting wet, but you couldn’t care less, not now at least.

“M-my fucking dad- I can’t fucking deal with his shit. I can’t- I can’t I can’t I can’t!” More sobs escaped his mouth. He was getting more and more emotional by the minute.

You scratched his scalp as he cried more. You couldn’t care less about the peering eyes in your direction, though you’ll never tell Akito about them. Right now all you want is for him to let everything out.

When his sniffles became less frequent and his sobs stopped you pulled away, intertwining your hand with his so he still knew you were with him. Akito averted his eyes away from you, looking at anything but you. He felt… embarrassed. Why wouldn’t he be? He just broke down on you in the middle of Vivid Street, making you deal with his pathetic self.

At least, that’s what he thought about it.

“Let’s go get you some pancakes. You haven’t eaten today yet, have you?” You asked.

He shook his head slowly, feeling even more ashamed. If only he knew there was nothing to be ashamed of in front of you…

“Y-yeah… let’s go.”

You knew there was still a lot to talk about, but you wanted him to take his time gathering his thoughts. Plus, he needs to eat.

You’ll do anything it takes to make him feel better, even if it means blowing your money on the fluffiest pancakes on the menu.

-> Toya Aoyagi

Toya swore he’d never wear his heart on his sleeve. Well- he never explicitly swore. But he’d never allow himself to express his emotions, especially if they could end up as a burden.

It wasn’t like he wanted to do this. It just felt like he had no other choice. He ended up looking stoic and blank in his teenage years because of this, but by now he was accustomed to this lifestyle.

There were few things that could make Toya crack, it was probably the shortest list in the world. Of course, he’d never share it with anyone. Not in a million years. The reason why being…

He thought it was pathetic. He thought it made him look fragile. The last thing he wanted anyone to think of him was that he was fragile.

So when a nightmare gets the best of him? He can’t help but feel worthless. It didn’t help that you were right next to him, sound asleep nonetheless.

He tried to catch his breath from what felt like the scariest thing he’d ever experience. Sweating bullets down his forehead as the events of the nightmare flashed across his mind. ‘Couldn’t this happen any other night?’ He thought.

In the midst of his panic, he finds his eyes wandering back to you. Your sleeping figure looking so peaceful as you let out soft snores. He couldn’t bring himself to wake you up for something so bothersome, not when you were like that. But at the same time, he finds peace in your sleeping presence.

Toya pushed his hair back a bit, trying to distract himself from the terror he just felt. His panting eased a bit, but not for the reason he wanted it to.

He felt his eyes watering, cheeks feeling wet but only in lines. He touched his face, feeling small tears lurking down his face. ‘Of course…’ he thought.

He was too focused on wiping all of his tears away to notice your shuffling. Eyes shut with his hands on either side of his face, vigorously rubbing. He felt a softer hand pull them away.

“(Name)-“

“Toya.”

He stared at you for a moment, unsure of what to say. Was he the reason you woke up? Guilt flooded his chest, making him feel even worse than before. Only he could become such a hazard in a short period of time…

You brushed your fingers through his hair, attempting to put it back into place. He felt himself shrink a bit as you climbed on top of him, legs on both sides of his torso. You were more focused on getting his hair back into place, but he didn’t miss the way you briefly examined his wet eyes. He knew that you knew he wasn’t okay right now, and there was no way to avoid it.

“You’re hair is too beautiful to be such a mess… but even when it’s messy, it still looks perfect.” You stated it like it was a fact, catching Toya off guard.

“It’s really not…” He said meekly.

You pushed yourself off of him and back to your spot next to him. You looked at him in disbelief while he scratched the back of his neck. ‘Does he seriously not see how perfect his hair is?’ You thought.

“I’m not an idiot, Toya. I know you’re upset right now and I know you were just crying. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to though.” Even when you wanted nothing more than to help you, you still wanted to respect his boundaries and privacy. Toya appreciated that about you.

“It was just a bad dream- a really bad dream. Um, I don’t think I wanna go into the details… if that’s okay.”

You smiled warmly at him and nodded your head. If he didn’t want to talk about it, that was okay. Even if he never told you what it was, it was still okay. As long as he doesn’t bottle it up, you’re okay with not knowing what the dream was about.

Your smile made Toya’s heart melt into mush, making him tear up once again.

“T-Toya! Why are you crying now?” You asked.

“I’m not- I guess I am a little bit huh… ah. I just feel so lucky to have you, that’s all.” He said back, a small tear running down his cheek.

You pulled Toya onto your chest, which he gladly accepted. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck while you played with his hair. He was finally starting to feel better…

“Even if you don’t talk about it, now or ever, that’s okay. I just want you to be happy Toya, more than anything else. So please- don’t be afraid to ever let anything out, especially around me. I’ll always be here for you.”

Your words of affirmation went right to his heart. He held you tighter than before and you swear you felt him smile. While this time he didn’t cry, he definitely would have been okay with crying after that.

[smallraindrops-blog]

Message In a Bottle

( A Northern Star Fic)

Word count: 3.3

Summary: Brothers? Who needs them? Well, maybe you do.

Warnings: no beta, death ( not the main characters), cursing, fighting, talks of violence.

notes: 

A flash fic for the amazing @gatomuerto, thank you so so so much for waiting. I swear it was supposed to be a quick little fic and meant to post way sooner. So thank you again for your patience and understanding. <3<3<3<3 

And I hope this fic was everything you wanted.

Everyone, Enjoy!

(Early childhood)

The whorls of the ship’s wood looked like a face. 

You glanced around the desk, most of the crew were either below, eating lunch or napping, claiming that the cloudy skies were making them sleepy. The few of the men up there with you were far too engrossed in their poker game.

With a smirk, you turned back to the wall, pulling out the ink bottle and paintbrush from your pants pocket. You had stolen it from Captain Chiron's office but that was fine since they first stole it from some crybaby navy officer.

The paintbrush was thick in your hand as you dunked it into the ink pot, placing the pot down by your knees and carefully began drawing. You began with making the eyes with clumsy strokes, not helped by the heavy sway of the ship on gray, misty waters. 

“Whatcha doing?” Zagreus asked, far too loudly from behind you. You twisted around, pressed a stained finger against your lip and hissed. “Zag, shut up.”

You peered around your little brother to make sure no one saw. The men were shouting at one of the players, hands slamming against the crates but that was normal.

“I am in the middle of something- aren’t you supposed to be with Skelly?” You grumbled as you returned back to your project. Zagreus was such a dumb baby sometimes.

“He’s napping.” Zagreus plopped himself next to you, watching you paint. You paused, glancing toward him a question on your lips but one that Zagreus already knew.

“He was breathing when I left.” Zagreus tilted his head like a curious bird as he studied your handiwork. You nodded and dipped the brush in the ink pot. You darkened the round eyes, the whorls soaking up the ink greedily.

You and Zagreus sat in peace together with low, rough voices of the men and the steady rush of waves for company. The cries of the gulls echoed in the strong gales. 

It was when you were working on the smile that Zagreus spoke up again. 

“Can I have a turn?” He tried to yank the brush from you, but you were quicker, holding it out of reach. 

“No. I stole it so it is mine to keep.” You huffed. “Those are the rules, remember?”

Zagreus scowled. “Come on, that isn’t fair! You never share with me.”

“Yes it is.” You scoffed, pushing at his shoulder. Zagreus immediately shoved you back, glaring you down. 

You gasped in brotherly outrage, and shoved. Hard. 

Zagreus went down onto his back, blinking at the gray skies. You heard him sniffling, his chest rising and falling quickly.

With a guilty wince, you tossed aside the paintbrush and you leaned over to check on him. You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Hey- don’t cry, come on. You know how bad it looks in front of others.”

Zagreus smirked, his eyes clear of any tears. You realized right there how badly you messed up. Like an eel, Zagreus swiftly twisted around you to grab at the paintbrush.

“Hey!” You screamed, wrapping your arms around his waist as tight as you could. Zagreus tried to fight past your hold. “You jerk!”

He gave a loud triumphant screech when he grabbed the brush. You grunted, keeping your tight grip on him as he kicked and screamed. During the chaotic struggle, either you or Zagrues knocked the ink pot. 

Even years later, there would still be loud arguments over whose fault it was.

The glass wobbled, causing both brothers to pause to watch it with bated breath. The bottle tipped to the right then to the left. Your and Zagreus’ eyes followed the movements.

A singular moment of stillness, then it fell over, black ink spilling over everywhere, including on your pants and Zagreus’ face.

You groaned, shoving him away. “Look what you did, you faker!” 

“Maybe you should learn to share with me.” Zagreus snapped back, lifting a stained hand near your artwork. You narrowed your eyes at him. Zagrues lifted his chin, matching your glare.

”Don’t. You. Dare.” You said through gritted teeth, pointing at him. Zagreus’ small hand got closer.

You inhaled sharply, and tried to sound scary like Pa, like that one time he found you and Zagreus playing with the cannonballs. However you were only a child. “Zagreus. You will listen to me-“

He slapped his hand right between the eyes, leaving a perfect little hand print on the wood. You stared at it for a long moment, mouth parted in genuine surprise. Then you slowly turned back to face him.

Zagreus gave a nervous laugh, and wiggled the paint brush at you. “Come on-“

whatever he was going to say was cut off by a sharp cry when you tackled him with the full weight of your body. 

It was a blur of yelling, black ink smearing everywhere and hitting. Some of the adults playing poker noticed. They immediately started placing bets for the winner, yelling out names and hollering and laughing. 

“Come on y/n! Don’t let that runt win!”

”Right hook, Zag! Right hook!” 

You were older, bigger and stronger. You had Zagreus pinned down with your knee digging into his stomach, one fist in his shirt as you lifted one back, readying to throw a punch.

Then a large hand grabbed your fist, enveloping it easily. You jerked, looking up to see your father’s blue eyes staring down at you in disbelief. The deck was abruptly emptied out, with the cries of gulls and the brothers’ heavy breathing to fill the space.

Achilles lifted you off and you stood on your own feet as he helped Zagreus up. You kept your eyes on the floor, scowling at the smear of black ink. You heard him take a slow inhale, exhale then knelt in front of you and Zagreus.

You felt the intense weight of his hard stare, knew that his too blue irises were darkened with rage. 

“What is going on here?” Achilles’ voice was like the oncoming storm. Zagreus and you glanced at each other. Black ink and red scratches marked his boyish face and you knew you must have looked the same.

Achilles growled but kept his voice low, tight. It was clear he was unhappy with how quiet they were. “Y/N. Look at me. Now.”

You swallowed, and forced yourself to meet his eyes, flitched at the fire you saw in them. 

“Yes, Father?” You whispered.

“Explain yourself.” Father held your stare. “Explain to me why I found you fighting with your little brother.”

You opened your mouth to explain but with Father's presence barring down at you, it seemed so ridiculous now. Even the thought of trying to mention how much a brat Zagreus was left a bad taste in your mouth.

“I- well, it started because I was just trying to do something but he wouldn't let me finish.” You explained.

“Because you don't share!” Zagreus exploded. Just like your anger came rushing back.

“I do share! I share everything with you, you are just too much a baby to understand.” You exploded right back at him. 

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

Achilles grabbed you and Zagreus by the back of your shirts, effortlessly lifting you both off the ground. “Enough!”

As he went below the deck, you and Zagreus glared at each other. “I swear, lads. You are going to be the death of me.” Achilles grumbled. “One of these days I am just going to swan dive over to have some peace and quiet.”

Once in the bedroom, Father placed you in one corner and Zagreus in the other. “Stay here while I go get your Pa -don’t look away from the wall, Zagreus. Do you both understand me?”

”Yes, sir.” The boys grumbled at the same time. 

The moment the door closed, you immediately turned to stick your tongue out at Zagreus only to see he had the same idea. 

“This is your fault.” Zagreus huffed, turning back around to face the wall. You did the same, glaring at the wood. 

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t acted like a brat.” You replied back.

Zagreus said nothing. You frowned, wondering if he heard you. Normally, you would call him a brat and he would call you a bonehead. You glanced over your shoulder.  “Hey, Zag. Did you hear me? I called you a brat.”

“I am ignoring you.” Zagreus informed you in a snobby tone, crossing his skinny arms. You rolled your eyes and went back to glare at the wall.

A few minutes later, Pa came in with a first aid kit and Father in tow. He gasped once he saw how much ink you and Zagreus had smeared everywhere. “They are covered. Achilles, did you order a tub and soap?”

“No.” Achilles shrugged but at Patroclus’ sharp glare, he cleared his throat and immediately went to the door. “I shall fetch one, my beloved. I mean, I was already thinking about it.”

”Oh, were you now?” Pa muttered as he beckoned you and Zagreus over to him. “Lads, strip those clothes off. I don’t know if we can save those.” He sighed as he tossed aside a blotchy shirt with a grimace. 

“I thought Skelly was watching you lads.” Pa muttered as he checked over you and Zagreus. He gently pushed your hair out your eyes, studying the marks on your cheeks. Then he went to Zagreus, also checking over him.

“He was napping.” Zagreus sighed. Patroclus opened his mouth, a worried expression pitching his brow, the question on his lips when he shook his head. “Skelly was still breathing when we last saw him.”

Later, cleaned up and with a bandage on your right cheek, you glared up at the ceiling from your spot in your bed. You heard Zagreus huffed right next to you. You and him still shared a bed since the adults didn’t want to waste space if not needed.

and Zagreus claimed you didn’t share. 

You shared everything with him. Your bed, your parents, your toys, hell you even shared a dinner on the same plate tonight. At this point, they might well be the same person.

The brothers laid in sullen silence for a while when Zagreus spoke up. “Hey, do you know when Father and Pa are coming back?”

You sighed, closing your eyes tightly to act like you were sleeping. “They said they have to keep watch, remember? The storm?” 

“Oh.” Zagreus sighed. “I hope they come back soon.”

you wanted to agree but only turned to your side, “Go to sleep.”

It was then a loud rumbling boom reached your ears. Zagreus sat up with a gasp, his eyes wide in the dimness. “Are we being attacked?”

”No.” you sat up with him, listening closely. It took another minute for the sound to return. You knew how battles sounded, even at your age. Somehow they had been lucky enough to not have any major attacks since Zagreus had been old enough to walk.

”Looks like it is going to be a stormy night.” You said. Zagreus grabbed at your arm, his mouth tight with fear. 

“I don’t like storms.” He whimpered. “Can we go find Pa? Or Father?”

You wanted to curse. He sounded close to tears but you knew that your parents were needed to help keep the ship safe during the storm. You grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to come up with something to comfort him.

“They need to help the captain.” You said slowly, then you nodded with a confidence you didn’t really feel. “So we need to help them too. We can’t do anything up there so we need to stay down here. So they don’t worry about us.”

Zagreus gave you a doubtful glance, biting down on his lip. The ship took a sharp sway and you gasped as it righted itself. Zagreus closed his eyes shut, tears rolling down his face.

You pulled him into a tight hug, one that he returned just as tightly. It was purely to comfort your little brother. You were older and definitely wasn’t scared. At all.

As the ship swayed in the rough waves, you and Zagreus held on to each other in the dark. 

“Pick a story. I will tell you any you want.” You ordered him, needed to get your mind off the storm. You had to have faith that if it was really bad, your parents would come find you and Zagreus. 

“Um. Promise?” At your nod, Zagreus took a moment to think, his little fingers digging into you. “What about one with the mermaid?”

You nodded, your cheek squished against his head, his hair trickling your nose. “Okay. So once upon a time…”

When your parents returned to the room, exhausted and soaked to the bones, they found the brothers curled up together, deeply asleep.

~

(late teens.)

The sea washed away the blood but not the bone deep grief. The ship was quiet, far too quiet. The usual loud, rough crew members were solemn.

Victory was theirs but at a heavy cost. 

In the captain's quarters, The bodies of Captain Chiron and his family were covered up by a bloody sheet. In a few hours they will reach the island that will serve as their last resting place.

You tried not to look too long. It was like your soul had been wrung dry, and left to the wind. If only you had been quicker… 

You swallowed another shot of rum, the liquid burning down your chest and the only thing keeping you warm. 

It was Pa that found you first. He looked exhausted, the white of his eyes red and puffy. You held out the flask in a silent offer.

”I know you are too young for rum.” Pa said but took it anyway, taking a deep glup. He returned it and sat down next to you. You wanted to laugh but all you could manage was a half smile. 

“Oh lad.” Pa sighed and offered his arm out and you sunk into his side gratefully. You felt his beard against your forehead as he pressed a kiss against your hair. 

Normally you would kick up a fuss about how you were too old to be babied but now right, you were just glad he was still here. You inhaled sharply, taking in the scent of sea water and sharp medical herbs.

You closed your eyes, taking a trembling breath.

If you damped his shoulders with tears, he said nothing of it. And if you noticed a few tears falling on you, that his own breathing was shaky, you said nothing of it.

Together, you and Patroclus sat together in silence, holding on to each other. Eventually you spoke up. 

“Father and Zag?” You asked, voice rough from disused. Patroclus sighed, leaning back from you. His hand went to your hair, smoothing it with a gentle touch.

“Your father is dealing with the men. Once we get to the island and we have a chance to rest, we will decide what to do.” Pa watched you carefully. “Zag is sleeping off the pain medicine and will be fine. He will have a nasty scar afterwards.”

You scoffed, “You know he is going to brag about that scar to anyone who will listen.”

At that Pa laughed a little, kissing your forehead again. “Oh I know. We will never hear the end of it.”

Zagreus had been the reason many of their crew had lived. Even with all the pain, you were proud of him. Your goofy little brother had a fighter soul in him and you were thankful for it. It will serve him well.

“Oh shit.” You blinked in realization. “He is finally going to get his mark, huh?”

“Don’t curse. It makes you sound like a tramp.” Pa grumbled, still brushing your hair slowly.

You grinned at him. “Pa, we are pirates, remember?” 

“Don’t remind me.”

~

After the funeral, it was time to vote for a new Captain.

There was no doubt in your mind but you caught the flash of surprise in Achilles’ face when the crew unanimously voted for him to be the new Captain. It was so quick that you almost missed it but your Father simply nodded, his golden hair like a king crown in the sunset.

Zagreus let out a dizzy and weak ‘whooo’, still high as a kite on the opium and he swayed into you. You shifted, keeping a tight hold on him and patted his back, the only thing holding your little brother up. 

His weak cheer seemed to lighten the mood of the crew with some laughing and cracking jokes and it wasn’t long before fishes were being roasted over a fire, glass bottles of rums being passed around. 

Zagreus was passed out in the sand, drooling on your leg as you accepted a fish on a stick from Achilles. Zagreus muttered something, his mouth tight but quietened down when you placed a hand in his black hair like Pa always did.

“Holding up alright?” Achilles sighed as he sat down on the white sand next to you. He didn’t hug you like Pa would, not in front of the crew but his blue eyes watched you like a protective hawk.

You nodded, taking a bite. The smokiness made the tender meat even better and you took another bite. You didn’t realize how hungry you were. “And you, Father?”

“As well as I can be.” Achilles sighed. It was the closest he would ever admit to not being okay. At least to you. 

You and Him stared out past the little hidden cove, past the beach and towards the ocean.

White foamy waves rushed onto the beach, little crabs scattered around as they rushed to find food or a hiding spot. 

The sea was dark as the void, even with all the stars and full moon out tonight. The swirling milky way was a beautiful mist in the sky. 

“I don’t know what I believe.” Your Father said abruptly, surprising you. His eyes weren’t on you, they were heaven bound, the stars reflected in his blue irises. For a moment, you could have mistaken him a starborn.

Achilles sighed, “But I like to think they are up there, somewhere among the stars.”

You looked up at the impossible vastness of the night skies, suddenly very aware of how small and unimportant you were. How small everyone was. Maybe they were up there, bright and beautiful and happy. 

You hoped they were happy.

Then Zagreus sat up, blinking in a haze, slurring something. He looked like a mess with sand on him and his hair tousled. He kept blinking in confusion as you tried to get his attention.

“Zagreus? You good lad?” Achilles said as you kept your little brother from face planting in the sand. Zagreus stared at their Father like he had never seen him before.

Then his mismatched eyes went to the fish in your hand. “Hungry.” he slurred. Wordlessly you held it up for him and he took a drooly bite with a happy moan. You made a sound of disgust but held the stick there for him to eat.

“Love you.” Zagreus said with food in his mouth. You gagged.

Achilles laughed uproariously, slapping his thigh as you scowled at him. It took him long moments for him to stop laughing at you.

He sighed happily, wiping a tear away. He reached over and ruffled your hair until you snarled at him.

Achilles only chuckled. “You know, I’m glad you lads have each other.” 

“Yeah because he isn’t drooling on you.” You grumbled as Zagreus kept eating. It was then Pa came over, more fishes on sticks in his hands. He looked at everyone, a smile growing as he took in the sight. 

“Oh good. He is finally eating.” Pa said as he passed the food to Achilles who held one out and wiggled it at you. You rolled your eyes and took a large bite, trying to not choke on any tiny bones. 

That got your parents laughing once more. You tried not to laugh yourself but you couldn’t help it. It was a ridiculous sight and you knew it.

Zagreus blinked at you with a goofy smile. “What's so funny?”

“I will tell you later.” You told him.

”Promise?”

”Promise.”

[wolkoshka]

Paranormal

summary: you meet Ghost for the second time at Soap’s birthday/costume party and this time, you promise to get a taste of the man behind the mask. Simon Riley/Ghost x Reader

warnings: slow-burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, mutual pining, excessive drunk flirting, slightly dark!Simon, touch-starved Simon, trying to get into Simon’s pants (and sort of succeeding??), nsfw-themed

•this is a simon riley ficlet, I repeat, this is not a one-shot but contains a bit of plot and character development, bcs god knows we need 'em

•part 1/3

word count: 5k+

London was drenched, blinding flashes forking out amidst midnight clouds rolling in a hailing storm.

Or it was pishin' doon oot there, as your childhood best friend would call it.

His birthday, along with the rain, had just stormed in, and since he was being deployed on another mission tomorrow, he wanted to party as soon as the clock struck midnight.

Excitement buzzed in your veins, and not because of the party - well, partially - but because of a certain someone you were impatient to meet again.

On cue, lightning flashed as a strong kick to the bar's door burst it open - and in strut you, Ghostbuster uniform on full display. Except, this one's slutty. And there's only one ghost that needed catching tonight.

All commotion stopped to regard you.

Tossing the umbrella into a rack, you kicked the door shut with your heel.

With shorts hugging the plump of your ass, a form-fitting jacket unzipping down the front to reveal your salacious cleavage, and waist and thigh straps securing the proton pack to your back coupled with the knee-high boots four inches tall, you knew you were a sight to behold.

The bar was swarming with familiar faces of both military and mutual friends.

You dramatically posed, the gun of the proton pack activated. “Heard there was something strange in your neighborhood.”

Low whistles and compliments rebounded. “There’s something strange happening in my pants right now!” one male enthusiastically called from the back.

“Haud yer weesht,” a familiar voice reprimanded, soon followed by an effective smack.

From a sea of shark fins, faerie wings, and numerous superhero costumes, a Mohawk head popped out. Your expression abruptly brightened and you twirled performatively as Johnny shouldered through the bodies and took you in a big, tight hug.

The heat of his body singed into your chilled one, enveloping you.

“Ay ye bastard. Ye actually made it.”

Embracing him equally as tightly, you smothered him with kisses on the face. You hadn’t seen him for three months now. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Johnny-bo-bonnie. Mwah, mwah, mwah. That one’s from mum.”

A hearty laugh. “Don’t tell me - she baked me something real delicious and you ate it.”

“Guilty as charged.”

He put you down, and you stepped back to take in his outfit: a bathrobe, slippers, and polka dotted blue swim trunks. His chest was bare and suave sunglasses perched on his head.

“And what are you supposed to be?”

He splayed his arms wide open, a shit-eating grin revealing straight, white teeth. “A man on a well-earned vacation.”

You playfully slapped him on the chest. “Good one.” From your proton pack, you withdrew a box. A present. “Here. Gotchu something.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s another soap.”

“Why? Were you showered with them tonight?” A snort-laugh. “Get it? Shower? Soap?”

“Harr, harr, harr.” He thumbed over his shoulder at a shrine of soaps forming a pyramid on a table. “Suddenly, everyone’s so bloody hilarious tonight.”

You made a noise of intrigue. “Do they smell nice?”

“Don’t care. What did you get me?” He palmed the box, opening it.

“I’m taking some if they do.”

“Go crazy, lass.” A soft gasp. Then, “O feckin’ feck me.”

“I know, I know. I know you too well. It’s my curse,” you sighed, but smiled when he took out the expensive bottle of GlenDronach, his favorite scotch.

“Happy birthday, sucker.”

He looped an arm around your neck, hugging you close and kissing you on the temple. “And that’s why you’re my favorite best friend.”

"Other best friends, huh? Take that back or I’ll Bath and Body Works your arse next time I see you.”

“Roger that.”

Arm still corded around your shoulders, he turned your bodies to the bar - and there he was.

Ghost.

Simon Riley, you learned his name was.

The muse that lingered in every afterthought, in the darkness of the night, while sleep cooed you into a moment of silence your heart beat fast and loud enough to fight off - just to win more time thinking of the man who did not even care for your existence.

A soft gasp parted your lips.

His back was to you, broad and tall, as he conversed with Price, head tilting ever so often in remark.

He sported a dark brown leather jacket over a black hoodie and equally as dark cargo pants. His combat boots hugged up his strong calves, his legs parted over the bar stool he perched on, meaty thighs barely fitting.

He wasn't in costume. You guessed he dressed as a ghost mirroring a civilian.

Despite the chaos circulating him, his poise was calm and collected, but not unaware, the stiffness in his shoulders stating as much.

A killer of killers, apex predator of the fittest, his prowess was unmatched in the battlefield, and to witness a man of his caliber exist in environment simple and mundane had a startling effect.

Menacing, you thought, a bite to your lower lip.

"See somethin' you like?" Soap humorously chuckled.

You'd met Ghost three months prior, while Task Force 141 was deployed on a private mission to locate Shepherd's current hideout, and as a private contractor who'd built many commercial, private, and government facilities - wherever the clients needed them built - you'd come across one personally requested by Shepherd himself.

It was a long time ago, but your memory had not failed you.

By the shores of Chile, was a property laid out by you, the blueprint of it handed off to Soap to investigate.

Screw client confidentiality when your best friend's life was put in danger by a betraying bastard.

It was then, as you'd climbed into the SUV to hand the blueprint, you'd made out a humongous shape in your peripheral and screamed out in reaction.

It hadn't helped when it was a skull staring right into your very soul.

"Ah, a common reaction to Ghost," Soap had commented. "Lt, meet my best friend," he said your name, and to you, "meet Lt. Ghost. Simon."

Simon.

You'd wiggled your fingers a hello at him. "What a name. Pleased to meet you."

He hadn't responded, had merely stared before looking out the window.

Right then and there, he was an enigma you couldn't deny. You'd decided to make him look your way however and whichever way you could.

"Johnny, be done with it," he'd grated out when you and Soap got lost in the gossip, the husk and deep gravel of his voice eliciting a full-on body shiver from you.

You'd stolen the name he'd given your best friend, calling him Johnny from that day onwards.

Now, here he was anew. A few more steps and within reach, you merely had to walk to him.

Excitement buzzed in your veins.

You smoothed a hand down your outfit. "Do you think he'll appreciate the joke?"

"Knowing Lt and his humor, or lack thereof actually, he might just hate himself for loving it too much."

A giddy feeling spurted in your chest. "You think?"

"Oh, yea. But go easy on him," he added, peering down at you, brow arched, "the man just landed from a solo mission. There's an uneasy air about him tonight. The fact that he's even attending is gift enough for me."

"That means he's tired, grumpy, and susceptible to an easy one night stand. Just my type of target."

"Ay ye vixen. I said go easy. Here," he lowered the zipper on your chest, revealing more of your cleavage, "that's better. Now go get him. God knows he needs it," he grumbled the last part.

Happily, you almost skipped your way to him. But just before reaching, two bodies swarmed you, hugging you close and screaming in your ear over the bar music. Your friends from college.

"Where have you been!"

"It's so good to see you again, come!"

You were dragged away, more distance than you'd like being put between you and Simon. Nooo.

It wasn't after two hours of losing yourself in the crowd, dancing with people, with Johnny, backs pressing together to roll to the beat of the songs in your sickest moves, that you, downing more margaritas than you could count, summoned back your wits and sauntered your way to the bar.

Plopping down on a stool next to his, you mirthfully laughed, buzzed out of your mind.

The melodious sound cut his conversation short with Price and dragged his attention to you, and - oh, fuck.

Those eyes.

Even in your stupor you admitted to their allure.

He walked, talked, like a man who's had his flesh peeled from his bones. Eyes too haunted to be alive, too haunted to be dead.

A man imprisoned in the infinite present that neither knew him reprieve or end.

You were so lost in them that you didn't say anything to him for a long moment. Then, "Hi," you lowly voiced, grinning like a fool who just got the best present under the Christmas tree.

Reminding yourself to be sexier, you opted for a, "What is a girl like you doing...sitting all alone when a hunk like me is right here?"

Your brows furrowed in the middle. No, that didn't sound right. You tried again.

"What is a girl like me doing with...with a hunk like you, sitting...all... No, that's not it either."

The bulk of him shifted in his seat, whiskey in a gloveless hand, as he now regarded you.

To be the sole focus of those eyes, it killed you. Like honeyed whiskey swirling with the silver clouds of storm outside, it made you feel more drunk than you already were.

But you could see how tired he really was, eyes rimmed red, thin veins stark against the white of his sclera.

"All right," he spoke, tone indulging, but rigid and gravely as the rest of him. "You have my attention."

You did? Success!

Even with the balaclava hiding that no doubt beautiful face of his, you complimented him, afraid that if you didn't, you'd be committing a heinous crime.

"You are." You hiccupped. "You are so pretty."

"And you are shit-faced. Had too much to drink, did ya?"

You leaned in, eyes twinkling with something wicked that even he could not deny.

"Liquid courage," you drawled. And then laughed again, dusky and free.

Price, having noticed where the conversation was heading, turned away with a warm chuckle.

"I'll leave you two to it," he said, giving his attention fully to Gaz, who sat to his left.

You waved at the boys, all giddy. And then motioned with your finger to Ghost's waist, as if to say you were going to get inside his pants. Oh, yes, he was the object of your desires.

Gaz chocked on his bottle of beer.

Price palmed his mouth to stifle a laugh. Unsuccessfully.

Ghost, on the other hand, when you glanced up at him, had his lids hooded.

In his language, that might as well translate to a glower.

"You have one minute," he almost barked out. Glower, indeed.

You straightened, expression serious. You gave him a captain's two-finger salute. "Sir, yes, sir!"

Then, before he could toss you out the window of the bar, you followed it up with, "Heard you like jokes. Do you like mine?"

You motioned to your costume.

He followed the movement, gaze raking down your body, and then slowly up, blond lashes fluttering. When his eyes landed on your cleavage, heat filled them, and in reaction, warmth spooled low in your belly.

"Clever," he throatily remarked, glancing away to his whiskey.

All for you.

His compliment added even more heat to your belly, and you blushed, biting your lip.

"I have more where that came from."

A low rumbling sound. It took you a while to decipher it as a hum. "Is that what the courage was for? Not in the mood, poppy."

His rejection would have floored you had you not been already sat.

Not giving up, you leaned further in, fingers trailing over his leathered forearm that rested on the counter. If one focused enough, they'd also spot the slight tremble in them.

At the closeness, he craned his head down slightly to give you a warning look.

It was dark and foreboding, commanding you to watch the boundaries he'd laid or you might just pay the price.

Any man would have run the other direction. But you were not a man. You were horny. For him. Your desire for Ghost had been stoking for months now, and this very moment, so close to him, you thought you might burn alive with it.

You needed him between your legs, feeding his length into you, assuaging the ache that had made a home there with a friction only he could create.

His scent filled your lungs, and you visibly shuddered. He smelled of the storm outside and something else, something masculine and singular only to him.

If you weren't already drunk, the mere heat of him would've rendered you stupid.

Maybe it had, because the next words out of your mouth were sultry and promising.

"You know, it is not ghosts that haunt, but rather they are the haunted. Give me one night, and I might just chase them all away."

You gently dropped from your stool then, stepping into the space between his parted legs, hands daringly skimming over his robust thighs - before warmly palming them, fingertips digging in his cargo pants.

And he was letting you. That fact alone made your head reel.

Face tilting up, you bopped your chin against his clothed one.

At that, Ghost breathed in deep, and then breathed out slow.

Were you getting to him? Or was he really just tired to deal with you, as Johnny had warned?

Only one way to find out.

"I have another joke for you," you hummed. His lids dropped to your lips, and stayed there. You licked them for emphases, the pink tip of your tongue leaving a glistening trail in its wake.

A sound started in his chest, the beginnings of a groan, you guessed, before he quashed it, and you wanted to whine like a little girl who'd been denied her favorite sweet.

"Be out with it," he lowly grinded out.

A small, playful smirk. "What do you call a man who's great at sex with a sigh and moan in his name?"

An intrigued huff, but it came out rasped. "Go on then."

You stretched to your toes, back bowing and perked breasts brushing against his hardened chest. As you dug the heels of your palms into his thighs, your lips trailed up his jawline and nestled right at his ear.

"Simon," you heatedly whispered, making sure to actually moan the last syllable.

When you pulled your face back an inch, you saw his pupils blown, a frightening darkness overshadowing all color. His breathing had deepened, turned almost harsh, but quiet, as his suddenly ravenous look made your knees weak.

You'd never seen his eyes glimmer like that, so predatory, and that turned you on more. So much so that molten heat drooled out of you, soaking your panties. Did he know the effect he had on you?

His hand traveled up between your bodies, and blood rushed in your ears, your heart palpitating. Had you done it? Were you finally going to know the taste of him? Know how his lips felt against yours, moving, devouring? How hotly his kiss melted every inch of you?

As anticipation coiled tight in your stomach, his iron knuckles pressed into your lower chest, right below your revealed cleavage - and nudged you away.

You plopped back down to your heels, taking steps back the more he outstretched his arm and pushed you farther, like he couldn't stand being in the same vicinity as you.

Confused, hurt - a look you did your best to mask - you searched his expression. There was nothing to gain, masked as he was.

"Point made, love," his deep - deeper - timbre chafed the air between your bodies. "But not tonight. Not in the mood. Go on, now. Dance with Johnny, will ya?"

Humiliation blistered your cheeks and you quickly sobered - and felt increasingly sick to your stomach.

He'd just dismissed you like you were some schoolgirl acting out in his classroom.

Hands balling into tight fists, you stole a determined step toward him. You'd worked quite hard on those jokes, mind him.

"Some fun, you are. What, afraid of a little pleasure?"

He leisurely blinked. "Pleasure's not what I'm afraid of," he began only to cut himself short. A glower crowned his ashen brows, smudged by the eye paint, and he grumbled something under his breath you could not make out.

Swaying a bit on your feet - liquid courage, your arse - you flipped back your hair. "Fine. I'll find somebody else to have fun with." Then, inching closer to him, you leaned in to drunkenly whisper, "And when they're balls deep inside of me, I'll still wish it was you."

The glass of whiskey shattered in his grasp when he fisted it too hard, and that groan, that heavenly, wonderful sound of peak male frustration, finally escaped.

"Bloody fuckin' hell, poppy."

With a cheery twirl, you marched away, lithe shoulders blanketed by the crowd, and left the ever stunned lieutenant to his devices.

But his rejection still chafed you, and, oh, God, you needed to get wasted. So wasted, this night would never come back to haunt you again.

. ☾ .

It wasn't after another hour of dancing, partying, and singing sappy songs at the top of your lungs with Johnny and the gang, even tipsily sniffing some stacked soaps and secretly hiding the ones you liked in your bra, you finally found yourself in your designated spot - hunched over a toilet seat and vomiting the contents in your stomach.

It was expected. You'd drank and drank and drank... And now, your whole world swam.

A wretched sound tore from your throat as another round lurched out of your mouth, splattering into the toilet.

You groaned, vision blurred. Ew.

Settling back, you wiped at your lips with your wrist, heaving. So much for having a good time. But Johnny was happy, so you were happy. With his dangerous line of work and your stressful one, you two deserved such nights of peerless fun.

Like the good 'ole times, something Johnny must've needed too, since he didn't usually celebrate his birthdays. But when he did, oh, shit hit the fan in the most amazing ways.

Recalling some of your escapades, you smiled to yourself, completely unaware of the large silhouette shadowing past the doorway.

The lavatory door whined closed.

At the sound, you looked up.

Ghost stilled in his steps, cocking his head at you in question.

You huffed. "What are you doing in the ladies' bathroom?"

"This is the men's." He thumbed his right, where the urinals lined the wall.

What?

This whole time you were hunched over the men's toilet seat?

Another round of nausea shot up your throat, uncalled for, and you bent over the toilet in time to unflatteringly decorate it.

Gross!

This was so not how you wanted your night to end with Simon, either.

At his retreating steps, you immediately clambered to your shaky feet. "Please, don't leave. I get scared when vertigo hits." Such pathetic admittance, but it was the truth. When your world spun out of control, so did your fears.

He stopped. Looked over his shoulder.

You tried to hurry to him, but knocked one ankle against the other, and unceremoniously tripped. Hard. Head first, down you thwacked against the marbled flooring.

You blacked out.

When you slowly came to, webs of darkness blurring the edges of your vision, you moaned your distress. Bit by bit, Ghost's face registered, hovering over yours, his Manchester accent thick with how he roughly ordered you to come to.

Blinking up at him, you deliriously raised your hand to pat his masked cheek but to no avail. Darling man. Were you dreaming? If so, you never wanted to wake up. You smiled a small smile at him.

"Hi," you whispered. You sounded so wasted and oh, so enamored. Sober you was going to have a serious conversation with drunk you tomorrow.

"Don't move. Easy, now, yeah?" He pushed you down when you weakly fought to rise up. "You're bleedin' all over the place, poppy."

You tried to reason with him, say how disgusting the floor was and you could never lay down there.

"Should've thought of that before drinkin' your posh arse stupid, yeah?" was his argument.

Dream Simon was mean.

"I'm posh," you hummed out a silly laugh. "Posh like a Spice Girl."

"Be quiet," he roughed out, unimpressed. From his pocket, he withdrew a glove and pressed it against your temple.

A throbbing ache hissed where the clothe touched your skin, and you winced.

After a stringing moment, "Why do you hate me?" you softly asked.

His eyes focused on you then, deep and intrusive, and you licked your lips in consequence.

"I don't hate you," came his gruff retort.

"So then why won't you kiss me?"

A slow blink away from your face. He might as well have rolled his eyes. "You don't want to kiss a man like me, poppy."

Why? Because it would rock your socks off? Render you into a silly little mess? Make your dirtiest dreams come true?

Even with a bleeding temple, you understood the meaning behind his words. Maybe even rejection. He was a dangerous man, callous and brutal. Men like him only caused pain and destruction, spawned nightmares and reveled in the blood spilled.

But from the stories you've heard of him, especially from Johnny, and from your own little interaction, you saw more than the mask he donned. Saw past it to something buried in him. Something guarded so very deep inside, not even sunlight could pierce the shadows around it, but it was there. And you saw it even now, drunk and utterly wasted you may be.

Maybe he thought he'd hurt you. Maybe he tumbled rough and mean under the sheets. At the image, arousal ignited in your veins, backlit behind the wall of drowsiness and pain that still coursed through your system.

"And... And if I still do? Would you kiss me then?"

"Negative."

A pout.

"How's your vision?"

With you in it, "Good."

A clipped nod. "I'll help you to your feet. And then we can take care of that nasty little wound there, yeah?"

"Aye, aye, captain," you murmured.

When he pressed the glove a bit too deeply into the wound, you immediately rectified your words. "I meant, yes, sir. As you say, sir."

A hum, low and raspy. "That's more like it."

Slowly but surely, you climbed to your feet. For a moment, your vision went black and your ears rang, and you paused, waiting for the darkness to pass. Simon waited with you.

"Better?" he asked when you straightened, touching where his glove pressed against your temple. Your fumbling hand fell upon his leanly adroit one.

Skin grazed skin, electrifying warmth rivaled warmth, and you softly gasped. You nodded, gaze lost in the sheer view of him.

Ghost towered over you, your head lining his broad chest, and you suddenly felt engulfed. It certainly didn't help when the reality of him ending you with just the flick of his wrist if he so willed hovered over your consciousness.

God, he was so big. Just the mass of him and how he crowded any room he was in, made your mouth salivate.

And now, enveloped in his masculine heat, he was all you could see, hear, smell.

Feel.

"Don't look at me with eyes like that, poppy," he gravely warned, lids hooded as he stared you down.

Your throat tightened, lungs drawing in as all air escaped you. "And how am I looking at you?"

"Like I'm dinner."

You moaned despite yourself. It was achingly soft and needy.

You wanted to taste him in the back of your throat, feel his throbbing weight on your tongue, mouth working him mad enough that being pushed over the edge of insanity was his only option. And when that happened, you wanted to know how he sounded as all shred of control left him, his back arching as he spilled all he was worth in you, pumping and pumping, still in desperate chase of that high.

"Bloody hell, still with that look. Not a good listener, are ya? Come 'ere." He dragged you between the two sinks. "Lean against the wall." You did as told, back flattening against the large mirror mounted to it. He opened the faucet and let the cool water run as he wet the glove.

Ruggedly, "Stay still."

With that, he squeezed the water out and slowly got to work, dabbing around the wound and cleaning you up. It was a painstakingly tedious process, but you didn't mind, wincing here and there as you watched him tend to you.

See? Something more in there.

You studied the furrow in his brow, the sharp concentration in his eyes, the even rise and fall of his shoulders, and thought you lost a little bit of your mind for him.

He rinsed the glove, squeezed it, and resumed his task. His hand palmed the whole top of your head as he maneuvered you in whichever way he liked, tilting your face up, down, to the side, as he reached all spots inflicted.

The rough pad of his thumb pinned over the arch of your brow, and you thought you felt him subtly brush at it in his nursing.

When he caught you dumbly staring up at him for the third time, he broke the comfortable silence. "Shouldn't be drinking that much."

Had he been keeping tabs on you? Such wishful thinking, but butterflies still took flight in your tummy. You watched his masked face.

If his lips weren't shielded, you thought you'd feel his breath ghost over your cheeks.

Instead, you innocently batted your lashes at him. "Am I in trouble...sir?" you teasingly - sultrily - added.

He was in the process of wetting the glove when his gaze snapped down to you.

It was brief, but there was a flash of desire behind those lidded eyes before he subdued it with the subtle clench of his jaw.

The air in the room, on the other hand, he could not manipulate. It altered, thickened, became...hotter. Tension pulsed from his body raw and electrifying.

When he gradually straightened, protruding his chest, you suddenly felt suffocated - in the best of ways.

In the sizzling silence, you felt cornered, and your lips parted in anticipation.

He spoke, his words measured and roughish, betraying nothing. "You're bleedin' all over the place and yet you still can't keep it in your pants, mm, poppy?"

You bit your lip, a muffled sound of excitement building up in your chest for provoking a Special Forces soldier - Lieutenant - of all people. "Mhm."

You were stupidly giddy. He merely shook his head at you.

Then, he was watching you again, blond lashes fluttering as his gaze traced over your features, slowly, so agonizingly slow, before settling on your lips. You felt the heat of his stare on them.

A small sound got caught up in your throat, and it wasn't missed by him.

"Do I excite you, little one?" he quietly hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest, crackling ever so slightly, and it felt like honeyed butter melting down your skin.

A tremor racked your entire form, arousal burning your pupils wide and your breath scorching hot - all for him to witness and take in.

It must've pleased him, because he gave you the sexiest bedroom eyes you've ever beheld, the sheer fever in them sweltering and wild.

Huskily, "Yeah?" He stepped forward, large boots emitting no sound. You pressed further up against the wall, chin brushing over the leather of his jacket.

A thin layer of sweat dotted your skin at his nearness, your body involuntarily heating up, an unbearable ache building up between your legs.

And you thought Simon knew exactly what he was doing to your senses, because he followed it up with, "You look at the mask and think you're goin' to get fucked hard, is that it?"

His fingers lightly pinched your chin, his thumb darting up to caress the underside of your lower lip, grazing the edges and eliciting a ticklish sensation.

A needy whine from you caused that broad chest of his to collapse in a visible shudder. Seeing the reaction you pulled from him, your mouth fell open in want, and you meekly grinded up your hips against his thighs.

Your clothed core skimmed over the rough texture of his cargo pants, catching on a crease, but it was enough friction to have your head falling back against the mirror and you keening.

"More," you hotly moaned, feeling wetness seep out of you.

You tested the waters again, widening your stance and rolling your hips upward. Your clit meshed tight against his solid thigh, and when you rubbed it in gradual circles, grinding down, his thigh muscles bulged in response, hitting a sensitive nerve.

"Fuck," you gasped, mouth parting wider. You hadn't expected it to feel this good. "Ghost, please."

With a commanding grip of your hip, he stilled your ministrations. "None of that, poppy," he hoarsely warned. Then, "Shit," he lowly grunted when he felt your hips fight his hand for more stimulation, "That bad, huh?"

You mustered a nod, eyes never leaving his. "Want you," you breathed out.

"Can't have me." A small shake of his head. "Won't give you what you want. 'Sides, you're drunk out of your mind, love."

With that, he released you, backing away before you could reach for him.

Suddenly bereft, you wanted to shout your dissent.

Instead, your body laxed against the wall, palms clutching the coolness of the tiled wall. You already missed his nearness. His hands on you. You didn't want this moment to end.

You didn't want him to go.

Not so soon, anyway. Because God knew he'd make promise to his sobriquet.

"Wash your face. And get your shit together. That's a direct order," resounded his harsh command. If you hadn't wallowed too deep in his rejection, you might've caught the way his hands fisted at his sides when you whined in frustration.

With a defeated slump of your shoulders, you commanded your legs work and rounded the sink.

Palming the rushing water, you went about washing your hands and thoroughly rinsing your mouth. All sensation of him drowned with the water, leaving your skin cool to the touch.

"I'll take you to the hospital," he added more softly, which still grated the air.

Your heart seized in your chest. Why the sudden care?

What game did he play with you? Because one moment, he looked like he wanted to ravish you and the next, like he couldn't get away from you fast enough. Which was it, did you repulse him or attract him?

When he touched you, it was never deeply, desperately, but lightly, airily, leaving you begging for more.

And making him ever estranged.

What was his problem?

What was yours?

Why did you desire this particular man so wantonly? You had to find yourself a fling for the night. You had to flush Ghost out of your system for good.

You had to go home.

How you were going to accomplish both in one night, though, you had no clue.

Yes, while sober, you might have soldiered through the trauma to your head, but right now, still drunk and dizzy, you couldn't tell your elbow from your arse.

Splashing another round of cool water over your face, you grunted when you accidentally swept over your wound.

Appearing much like a drowned rat than the intended sexy Ghostbuster, you shut the faucet, clutched the edges of the sink and lifted your head to stare in the mirror.

Your eyes fell on Ghost.

He quietly watched you watch him from the reflection, a looming shadow in the background, waiting. You expected him to abscond you, but he remained - and that gladdened you beyond belief. Which also now irritated you.

He extended his glove to you.

Breath suddenly shaky, you turned around, the ugly bruised cut on your temple momentarily forgotten. When you made to step forward, crimson blanketed your left eye, and you swiped at it. In the haze, you saw your fingers coated in dark red.

"Bollocks." You started bleeding again. "No need for a hospital. I live a street down. I have a med kit. I'll..." You creased your brows in thought, still tipsy. "I'll care for it at home. Yes. And since you blue-balled me, I intent on finding someone to do the naughty with. I need you out of my system and out of my mind."

Oh, sober you was really going to sit you down tomorrow morning, all right.

He didn't respond to you.

The journey to Ghost proved to be a dangerous one, as the floor and walls adamantly dodged you, making your world swing whichever way you grasped for leverage.

You felt like you existed in a gigantic ball rolling down a hill at full-speed just waiting to burst and send you flying through the air. And you were in a hell of your own making.

Barking out a curse, you heard Ghost stomp your way - before you felt strong arms band around your shoulders and under your knees, effectively hoisting you up in his arms. "You are trouble, poppy. And you won't be taking care of anything in this state. I'll drop you home."

With that, he carried you out of the restroom, the bar, and into the chilled night of London city.

an: it got too long, yall, too long! this is part 1 of 2 for now. i couldn't help it, when i write, i write. part 2, we're ghostin' it up! (therell be smut) hope you enjoyed it!

part two