#have you ever considered joining the dark side?

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 38.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: ugh this fuckin headache is relentless. i've eaten, i've had water, i've had caffeine, what else could it be other than my manbones trying to escape this meat prison rip. Not only that, but life keeps hitting snags. Why does god have to give his toughest battles to his silliest of gooses. Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. / rehab masterlist 2. chapter 34 / chapter 35 / chapter 36 / chapter 37

"How are you feeling now?"

The room felt crowded; the walls starting to close in on her as she sat on the bed in front of her. Her legs were crossed, posture relaxed despite the professional gait she seemed to consistently carry; notebook in her lap. Her eyes were ever-observing, taking in every little thing about her.

Though, (Y/n) was doing the exact same. She was aware of what Raynor was trying to do: making herself look comfortable and laidback to make (Y/n) put her guard down, but (Y/n) wasn't one to fall for tricks so easily.

(Y/n) was sitting back in the chair at Steve's temporary desk, her crochet bag protectively behind her. Her eyes were staring down Raynor, taking in every detail and profiling her from her posture down to the way a piece of her hair was framing her face. She was tense; an uncomfortable feeling settling into her as (Y/n) and Raynor stared each other down.

Bucky was standing against the wall, his arms crossed as he quietly gazed between the two of them. On the outside, it seemed as though the two women were trying to size each other up despite that not being the case. Though, to Bucky, it was a bit funnier to think of it like that.

(Y/n) seemed to look uncomfortable, and Bucky wondered if it was because of Raynor's question or from being in her presence at all. His lips curled into a thin line, and he glanced at Raynor. She was paying the man no mind, her focus on (Y/n), and he almost rolled his eyes when Raynor clicked her pen and began to write. (Y/n) watched her with a furrowed brow, and she finally spoke up quietly.

"I feel...confused."

Raynor nodded, asking her further as she tilted her head to the side, pausing her writing as she regarded the woman with an inquisitive look on her face.

"Alright, that's a start. Why do you feel confused?"

(Y/n)'s lips curled into a thin line as her eyebrows furrowed deeply, the woman becoming silent for a pregnant pause before she murmured.

"The memories...and voices....I don't know if they are real or...what HYDRA...programmed...I was born into HYDRA."

Bucky felt his mood drop, a sense of melancholy and sympathy coming over him, and there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to tell (Y/n) the complete truth. However, the man stayed quiet, feeling equally horrible as he did. Raynor continued to write as she conducted the evaluation, (Y/n) watching as she wrote, and she murmured.

"Rebecca would write with me."

Raynor paused, and Bucky felt his heart jump a little in his chest. Raynor asked, raising her brow slightly.

"Rebecca? Who is Rebecca?"

(Y/n) glanced at Bucky, and Bucky nodded to her subtly. (Y/n) then looked back at Raynor and stated.

"My friend."

Raynor hummed, shaking her head a little bit.

"I'm going to need a bit more than that, (Y/n). In order me to help you, I need you to be as open and honest with me as possible. You don't have to tell me everything immediately, but remembering things is important and needs to be noted."

HYDRA does not tolerance defectiveness.

(Y/n) winced at the thought, and Raynor paused, squinting her eyes for a moment. She observed (Y/n) and the way she was fidgeting; her fingers rubbing and pulling at her other hand, her toes curling and uncurling, the way her eyes were darting to the floor and the wall as if she was looking for another escape route. She was worried; apprehensive and uncomfortable.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me, nobody is going to force you to."

(Y/n) bit her lip before closing her eyes, and she shakily sputtered out.

"M-My friend...Rebecca...she...she was pretty in the sunlight. She was th....Bucky's Rebecca."

Bucky looked at Raynor when Raynor gave him a subtle look of surprise, and he explained.

"Her Aunt Mavis lived in Shelbyville, and when (Y/n) visited there for the summer, she met Rebecca. Rebecca and Mavis were churchgoers."

Raynor hummed, nodding, and she looked at (Y/n) again.

"Interesting, if not coincidental. (Y/n), do you remember your Aunt Mavis?"

(Y/n) shook her head, humming.

"No. I...think I remember her voice...but...I only know her through...through my picture."

Raynor nodded before she asked carefully.

"Would you be open to showing me these pictures?"

"Нет!" (no!)

Raynor and Bucky were both surprised by the hiss, (Y/n)'s fingers clenching as she turned towards the crochet bag and held it close. Raynor hummed softly, writing again, and she uncrossed her legs in order to sit much more comfortably.

"It's okay, (Y/n), nobody is going to take those from you. I just wanted you to tell me about them and what they meant to you."

(Y/n) shook her head, her eyes filled with tears as her lips curled back and bared her teeth.

"I...I don't know what they mean...but they're mine...I know it. I....I know they are."

The fact that she could acknowledge that the memories were hers was good progress, and Bucky began to feel much more hopeful. His shoulders relaxed, and he looked at Raynor for silent permission. Raynor nodded to him once, and Bucky carefully sat down next to (Y/n).

Although she didn't realize it, (Y/n) relaxed a bit, glancing at Bucky, and Bucky comforted her gently and placed his flesh hand against her arm softly.

"It's okay, (Y/n). You don't have to be afraid. If you don't want to talk about them, then you don't have to."

"I...don't want them to be taken again."

She looked sad and frightened, (Y/n)'s pupils constricted, and Bucky shook his head.

"Nobody is going to take them. They'd have to go through me first."

His lips twitched into a small and teasing smile, testing the waters, and (Y/n) asked him softly.

"You would...fight...for me?"

Bucky immediately nodded.

"Without question."

(Y/n) looked stupefied by his words, and Raynor quietly observed while writing as (Y/n) spoke softly.

"Even...even if I don't deserve it?"

Suddenly, Germany came into Bucky's mind, the Avengers all pitted against one another and how many of them had fought for him. Bucky took a deep breath, and he replied.

"It doesn't matter if you don't deserve it or not. You're a person at the end of the day, and what happened...it wasn't your fault. It was HYDRA. You were a victim...just like I was."

His words were short and to-the-point, but they were effective enough to have (Y/n) relaxing her hold on the crochet bag filled with snippets of her life. (Y/n) pulled back slightly, glancing down at the bag for a pregnant pause, and she slowly took out of the tin box. Rubbing her scarred fingers along the lid, (Y/n) murmured softly again.

"I...I don't want them to be taken."

"Nobody is ever going to take them from you again. I promise."

Bucky's voice was firm enough to make (Y/n) look at him, and she believed him. His conviction was easy to see, his blue eyes serious and facial expression contorted into one of determination. Bucky looked as though he was ready to fight at any moment, and it made (Y/n) surprised yet comforted at the fact that it was for her.

He was willing to fight for her. To protect her memories and keep her from HYDRA.

(Y/n) clenched her jaw, unable to look at him anymore, and she turned back around in her seat, holding onto the tin box tightly. She was trembling slightly, almost afraid to show them, and Raynor glanced down at the old, weathered tin.

It was a Huntley and Palmer biscuit tin with a printed picture of the painting of Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind by Jean-Léon Gérôme on the lid. There were gold accents that were tarnished all around the side, a yellowed piece of tape on the side that had (initials) etched on the side in beautiful calligraphy, and there were a few dents in the side.

(Y/n) was clutching the box with apprehension, and when she hesitated, Raynor shook her head slightly.

"You don't have to show me if you don't want to. These memories are extremely important to you, especially since HYDRA would take them away from you often. It's a pretty big deal that you have these, so I understand if you're not ready. You can show me whenever you are, (Y/n). There's no right or wrong answer to this."

(Y/n) looked down at the tin, thinking for a moment. The silence in the room was heavy, blanketing over the trio like weights upon their shoulders, and (Y/n) whispered.

"I...haven't seen all of them...but I know they're mine."

Raynor encouraged gently.

"That's good that you know that. It means that you're really starting to get a grasp on those memories and your identity."

(Y/n) swallowed thickly before she carefully opened the tin. She set aside the two pictures that her and Bucky had seen before, and Bucky leaned over a bit to look at the new one that had been hidden beneath.

It was a black and white photo, (Y/n) looking to be a toddler. She was wearing a cute sundress and sunhat, boots on her feet as she stood in the garden. She was pointing down at a flower that had a butterfly sitting upon the petals, and a look of awe was on her face. Doris was behind her, hands on her arms to steady (Y/n), a wide smile on her face.

(Y/n) frowned as she looked at the picture. There was no memory that was attached to it, no recognition nor any feeling or emotion that overcame her. To (Y/n), it was just another picture, and so she placed it to the side almost carelessly; immediately disinterested.

The next image was another black and white photo, but this time, it was of Doris, (Y/n), and Robert at the beach. (Y/n)'s eyes widened at the sight of Robert's face, and her body tensed up. Horror reflected within her eyes as she looked at the picture, and she stared deep into Robert's eyes.

Although there was a smile on his face, even (Y/n) could see the annoyance and indignation within his cruel eyes. His arm was not around Doris nor (Y/n) within the picture, and (Y/n) found it to be odd. Doris, however, looked happy to be there with (Y/n), holding the toddler on her hips with a large smile and pretty sunglasses on her face.

Despite this, however, (Y/n) couldn't take her eyes off of Robert. She whispered shakily, clutching the picture tightly.

"It's...it's him....my...my father....I remember."

The face filled in the last mannequin in her mind, and the memories began to come to complete life. His angry face when she scared him while in his office, the redness his skin adopted when he was yelling and throwing things around, and the shine of violence that always accompanied his cruel (e/c) eyes.

(Y/n)'s jaw clenched, and a strange feeling of anger began to fill her. White hot rage coursed through her boiling veins, her face darkening the more she began to remember his face. The anger coloring her face in a shadow of darkness made Bucky and Raynor become tense, and (Y/n) clenched her fists tightly.

She stood up, trembling almost violently, and her eyes filled with tears as she glared down at the picture. Her nostrils flared, and she hissed out.

"Я его ненавижу. Я его ненавижу!" (i hate him. i hate him!)

(Y/n) tore him from the picture, allowing the half with her and Doris to fall to the ground as she tore the half of Robert with her hands and teeth, spitting out the bitten pieces out before violently stomping on them as they fell to the ground. Cracks appeared beneath her stomped foot, and she clenched her fists tightly as (Y/n) tried to breathe.

Raynor nor Bucky didn't say anything, just watched with surprise and clinical interest as (Y/n) lashed out. Raynor was writing the whole time, taking her notes, but Bucky was just in awe as he watched (Y/n). She was leaning over now, her eyes squeezed shut as she remembered; hands on her head, and Raynor's voice made her eyes snap open.

"(Y/n), why do you hate him?"

(Y/n) stood up, spinning around and raising her voice, pointing her finger at Raynor.

"I...I hate him! He was...unkind...he would...hurt me and Momma! He would come into my room at night...when Momma was in bed. He would lock the door...and tell me to be good and what I was doing was for a good cause."

(Y/n)'s eyes were wild, and she squeezed her eyes shut again as the tears came down her dampening cheeks. The memories were hitting her hard, shooting fast and hard like bullets, and she was unable to keep the images of the abuse out of her mind.

Why? Why does she have to remember this? Why are they making her?

"I don't want to remember this."

(Y/n) shook her head, clutching at her temples, and when Bucky tried to get up to comfort her, Raynor held her hand out to Bucky with a frown.

"James, what did I say?"

Bucky frowned heavily, giving Raynor a dirty look before slowly sitting back down. Raynor was writing again, and she looked up at (Y/n), who was swaying in place; hands still clutching her temples and eyes squeezed shut.

"(Y/n), can you tell me what you see?"

Hands on her, those horrible eyes, that sneer on his lips, the forbidden sensations of cruelty and twisted hatred as he would stick the needles into her arm while forcing her to stay quiet. (Y/n) whimpered softly.

"He would...use needles...take my blood, inject me with things that...that made me tired. Drugs...I don't know why. I...I don't remember what would happen after...but the needles..."

Her voice trailed off, and an image of Robert forcefully stabbing a needle into her when she was crying too loudly came to her mind, and (Y/n) shook her head furiously. The memory went away, and (Y/n) stood up, holding her arms to her chest as she scrunched her face up into an expression of discomfort. Raynor nodded along as she spoke, and then she hummed.

"Alright, let's move on then. (Y/n), have you ever had coffee before?"

(Y/n) was taken back by the question, not having expected it, and Bucky glanced at Raynor, knowing exactly what she was doing.

Distract them from the situation and the panic. Ask them a question that will force them to think of something else.

"Coffee? I...I don't know."

Raynor glanced at Bucky, asking him.

"James, would you be so kind as to get some coffee?"

Bucky nodded, and (Y/n) looked at him with a slightly worried look on her face. Bucky murmured comfortingly.

"I'll be back in a little while."

(Y/n) slowly nodded as she stood awkwardly, and when Bucky left the room, Raynor gestured for (Y/n) to sit down. After some hesitation, (Y/n) sat down and placed her hands into her lap; trepidation causing her fingers to tremble.

Now that Raynor and (Y/n) were alone, Raynor could see just how uncomfortable and...confused...(Y/n) seemed. To Raynor, it seemed as though (Y/n) didn't know a single thing about life outside of HYDRA despite the programming being gone, and she clicked her pen once and twice.

"(Y/n), do you remember things often?"

(Y/n) pursed her lips, frowning slightly as she took a moment to think.

"Sometimes...I dream about...things. Other times, I remember...when hearing music, or the pictures."

Raynor nodded and she asked, sitting back in her seat while tilting her head.

"Earlier, you mentioned your Aunt Mavis. Do you remember your uncle?"

The memory of Christmas came up, and the man that had been in the memory, Uncle Bobby, came to mind.

"I think I had an uncle named Bobby."

Raynor nodded as she jotted it down in her book before (Y/n) continued to speak.

"The picture...of Christmas. It's the only thing I remember of him. Bucky said that the feeling I had when I was looking at it was me missing them."

Raynor looked at (Y/n) for a moment, simply listening as (Y/n) described the memory to her, and when (Y/n) was finished, Raynor closed her book and said.

"I think that it's good that you're making such good progress, (Y/n). I want to ask you a question, and it's okay if you don't know the answer just yet, but what are your goals for us working together? What do you want me to do for you as a therapist?"

(Y/n) pursed her lips into a thin line, frowning deeply. She hadn't really considered what the goal for therapy was. The conversation with Steve and Bucky came to her mind, and she murmured.

"I...want to make amends...and...make things right."

"What do you mean by 'make things right'?"

(Y/n) swallowed, but before she could answer, Bucky came back into the room with a tray of cups and a pair of big pitchers. The smell of coffee began to fill the room, and Bucky set the tray down on the table beside (Y/n). Pouring three cups, Bucky asked Raynor.

"Coffee as black as your soul, or are you not that evil?"

Raynor rolled her eyes before stating.

"One cream, two sugars."

Bucky nodded, making her cup before handing it to her. Raynor thanked him, and Bucky looked at (Y/n) with a slight smile.

"Do you want one?"

(Y/n) looked apprehensive before asking.

"Am I allowed to?"

Bucky looked taken back and he reassured her.

"Yes, you don't have to have permission to have coffee. Here, I'll make one for you. You seem like a 'coffee with your milk' kind of gal."

He poured a bunch of creamer into one of the cups before handing it to her, and (Y/n) gingerly took the cup. Allowing the warmth of the cup to spread through her palms, her back subconsciously relaxed.

Sniffing it slightly, (Y/n) took an experimental sip before glancing at Bucky and Raynor. Bucky sat down, his coffee completely black, and Raynor took a large sip of her coffee.

"Let's circle back. What do you mean by 'make things right,' (Y/n)?"

Bucky immediately glanced at (Y/n) as the woman stared into her coffee. Rubbing the rim of the cup quietly, (Y/n) murmured.

"I...I hurt a lot of people...and I remember the pain, the blood...the girl."

Her eyes became glassy, nostrils flaring, and she swallowed thickly.

"I...don't want to do that again. I want...I want to....do good."

Raynor nodded slightly, clarifying gently.

"So, from what you're telling me, you want to 'make things right' because you're feeling guilty about what you've done."

Guilty? Is that what this heavy sensation in her chest was? (Y/n) looked perturbed for a moment, tilting her head slightly before she whispered.

"Is that what this feeling is? Every...every time I think about them...about the things that I did...there's this heavy feeling that sits on me. It...It makes me feel bad."

Raynor nodded before explaining.

"Guilt can manifest in many different ways, and for someone that wasn't allowed to feel emotions, it can be pretty heavy and scary. I think that one thing that would help you to understand these emotions that you are feeling is to write them down. Every emotion that you feel, write it down and describe it."

(Y/n) was listening closely, nodding along as she listened to Raynor's instructions. Raynor reached into her bag and handed (Y/n) a blank notebook, stating.

"So, what I want you to do for right now is to journal everything. Any time you feel a new emotion that you're having a hard time understanding, any new memories, or even just about what's going on: write it down, and I'll read what you've written next week."

(Y/n) frowned, asking as she looked up at the woman.

"You...won't stay?"

Raynor shook her head, looking genuinely upset by the notion as she replied.

"I can't. I have other clients that I need to see as well, but King T'Challa has been very generous and stated that for our visits, one of the members of the Dora Milaje will retrieve me so that we can make the most out of our time together."

(Y/n) nodded, and Raynor stood after finishing her coffee. Clutching her bag close, she glanced at Bucky with a harder expression.

"Your turn. Let's go, Barnes."

Bucky looked ready to protest, and Raynor frowned deeply, cutting him off with a finger in the air.

"I don't want to hear it. Conference room, James."

Bucky grumbled to himself before he gave (Y/n) an exasperated look.

"She's such an opportunist."

(Y/n) winced out an awkward smile before taking a sip of her coffee, and Bucky sighed, standing as Raynor began to tap her foot against the ground. When they left the room, (Y/n) turned around and set the notebook onto the table. Spying one of Steve's pens that he had left out, she slowly grabbed it.

The feeling of the pen in her hand was strange and almost foreign, but there was a comforting feeling that began to settle in her chest as she opened the notebook. Writing into the first page, (Y/n) pursed her lips. After a moment of hesitation, (Y/n) began to write.

'Journal Entry #1,

My name is (Y/n) (L/n).'

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STORY NOTES: The scene opens up to Raynor, (Y/n), and Bucky all together as Raynor conducts her evaluation once more. Raynor begins to investigate (Y/n)'s feelings and the way that she feels, and (Y/n) tells Raynor that Rebecca would write with her. When Raynor inquires about Rebecca, Bucky reveals that (Y/n) Aunt Mavis knew Rebecca through church back in the day. When Raynor asks if (Y/n) remembers her Aunt Mavis, (Y/n) responds that she only remembers her voice and the picture that she has of Mavis. Raynor asks if (Y/n) would be open to showing her these pictures, and (Y/n) lashes out protectively. Raynor comforts (Y/n) by telling her that nobody was going to take the pictures and journals from her, but that she just wanted her to tell about them and what they meant to (Y/n). (Y/n) tells Raynor that she doesn't know what they mean to her, but she knows that the memories are hers. When (Y/n) reveals that she is afraid that her memories will be taken again, Bucky reassures her that nobody will ever take them from her again. (Y/n) is surprised by this, and when she asks if Bucky would really fight for her like that, Bucky confirms without hesitation.

(Y/n) inquires if he still would even if she didn't deserve it, and Bucky begins to reminisce about Germany (Captain America: Civil War), and he replies that it didn't matter if she deserved it or not because she was a victim, just like he had been. When (Y/n) repeats that she doesn't want her memories to be taken again, Bucky is firm as he tells her that nobody will ever wipe her mind again. (Y/n) then begins to contemplate showing some of the pictures to Raynor, and Raynor reassures her that she doesn't have to show them if she doesn't want to because Raynor understands how important they are to (Y/n). Opening the tin, she sets aside the first two pictures that her and Bucky have already seen, and the new picture is of (Y/n) as a toddler while in the garden with Doris. When no memory surfaces because of this picture, (Y/n) moves on. The next picture is of Doris, (Y/n), and Robert while at the beach. When (Y/n) sees Robert's face, she begins to have a panic attack as the memories of the male mannequin finally comes to life. She begins to tear the picture up with rage as she begins to cry, and she begins to repeat how she hates him.

When Raynor inquires about why, (Y/n) reveals that she remembers how Robert would hurt her and Doris. She also reveals that Robert would come into her room at night to conduct experiments; drugging her to make her sleep as Robert experimented. (Y/n) then says that she doesn't want to remember, and when Bucky tries to comfort her, Raynor immediately reprimands him. Bucky reluctantly listens, and Raynor asks (Y/n) to tell her what she sees. (Y/n) describes that she can see him taking her blood and injecting her with things, and she remembers an incident where Robert abused her with the needle for being too loud. In order to distract her from the memory, Raynor asks (Y/n) if she's ever had coffee before.

The tactic works, and Raynor asks Bucky to go get some coffee when (Y/n) responds that she isn't sure. When Bucky leaves, Raynor begins to fully evaluate (Y/n). She notices how uncomfortable and confused the woman seemed, and makes note that she doesn't seem to know a single thing about life outside of HYDRA. She asks (Y/n) if she remembers things often, and (Y/n) replies that she sometimes dreams, but will also remember while listening to music or looking at the pictures. Raynor then asks (Y/n) about her uncle, and (Y/n) tells her that she doesn't remember much of her Uncle Bobby, but tells Raynor that Bucky told her that the feeling she had while looking at the picture was the feeling of 'missing' someone or something. Raynor notes this before asking (Y/n) what her goals for therapy are, and (Y/n) tells her that she wants to 'make things right'. Although Raynor asks for clarification, Bucky comes back with the coffee and interrupts the moment.

After Bucky gives everyone coffee, Raynor circles back to her question, and (Y/n) answers that she remembers how she hurt a lot of people, and remembers the little girl that she had to kill to ensure complete secrecy for HYDRA. She states that she doesn't want to do that again and that she wants to be good. Raynor then clarifies that the reason she wants to do good is because she feels guilty, and (Y/n) becomes surprised that the feeling has a name. (Y/n) reveals that every time she thinks of the people she hurt, she feels that sensation, and Raynor instructs (Y/n) to write down these feelings as she feels them to help her get an understanding of them. She further instructs that she wants (Y/n) to journal everything that she experiences: new feelings, new memories, or anything that happens. She tells (Y/n) that she would read them next week, and (Y/n) is surprised to hear that Raynor will not be staying in Wakanda. When (Y/n) inquires about this, Raynor tells (Y/n) that she has other clients that she has to help, but that T'Challa would assist in her journey to Wakanda so they can have as much time together as possible.

The session with (Y/n) closes, and Raynor takes this opportunity to spring a session onto Bucky, and though Bucky tries to protest, Raynor does not give him an opportunity to. When the two of them leave the room, (Y/n) immediately begins to write, a feeling of familiar comfort coming over her as she writes. End Scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Я его ненавижу. Я его ненавижу - I hate him. I hate him.

TAGLIST: @mggslefttit @softpia @thebl00dwyrm @buckvoidsyy @chonkybonky @seemsxsketchy @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99 @bumblebeebutter @torntaltos @highhopes1008

[antinael]

Ephemeridia Galactica is almost here! Am Isaac Asimov fanzine created with passion, which will surely cool down the thirst for high quality high passion Asimov content - at least for a while!

But until then ... have a sneak peak at my fanfiction, starring the one and only, the unforgettable, the legend. The one character which hundreds others couldn't outrank in my heart.

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

"What are you doing? It's two in the morning, doll," Toji's voice drawls out, sleep morphing his voice into something quiet and gravelly.

You pause the show you have playing on your phone and look up at Toji, who's leaning against the dining room entryway. He has two random clumps of his hair sticking out, his eyes are slightly puffy with sleep, and there's this pout on his face that just pieces it all together.

"I woke up and wanted something sweet. I had a bite of cake and an orange. Well, two oranges," you say, giving him a glimpse of the progress you've made on the second one. He hums and goes quiet, groggily watching you continue to eat the fruit. "Go back to sleep, baby," you coo. "I'll head back in a few minutes."

"Come back, now. I'm tired," Toji says, crossing his arms over his chest. He really looks like the grumpiest of bears.

You chuckle at the almost whiny sound in his voice. "Five minutes."

"No. Too long."

"Three minutes?" You counteroffer.

Toji shakes his head. "No, baby. Now."

"But..." you hold up your remaining two pieces of orange.

"Finish up. I'm waiting on you."

You sigh and stuff the two pieces of orange in your mouth, before standing up to wash your hands.

You follow behind Toji as he leads you through the dark hallway, back to the bedroom. He waits for you to walk in before shutting the door and joining you on his side of the bed. Immediately, he tries to steal all your warmth, because the sheets and the blanket feel cold on his naked torso and his legs. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and throws an arm over your chest, while his legs trap one of yours between them. He's all consuming.

"Why'd you get out of bed?" You murmur, stroking the back of his head. Toji lets out a quiet grunt, falling silent, again, after. You smile and stop talking so that he can go back to sleep. You bring your phone up and start scrolling through your socials, only to earn another quiet, but more disapproving grunt. "Sorry," your whisper, turning down the brightness of your screen.

"Turn it off, ma. It's too early for you to be awake," Toji chides.

"But I can't go back to sleep. I'm not tired," you explain.

"I can put you down. Just turn it off, alright?"

You sigh, defeatedly, and turn your screen off, before setting it on your nightstand.

"Turn onto your side," Toji tiredly mumbles, instructing you so that he can turn as well and spoon you. His arm goes over your waist and below your shirt to caress the bare skin of your tummy. His thumb slowly strokes your soft skin, moving back and forth in a soothing manner. "Relax," he says, coaxing a relieved sigh out of you. "There you go. You've got sugar in your system, now, ma. It might take a little longer to get you to sleep."

"Sorry," you mumble into your pillow. Your eyes don't feel heavy and you don't feel the least bit sluggish. It always feels nice to have Toji rub your tummy, and this method of getting you to sleep is ninety-nine point nine percent effective, the point one percent being this time.

"I don't think me rubbing your stomach is gonna save you this time," Toji says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He gets a quiet, disappointed sigh from you, followed by silence. He doesn't want you to feel bad. You're not the first person ever to wake up craving something so badly that it doesn't let you stay asleep, and tummy rubs aren't the only method he uses to help you get to sleep. "Want me to go down there and make it all better?" He murmurs.

"You need to sleep, too," you say, considering his own tiredness.

"I'll sleep just fine without you tossing and turning all night. Let me help you."

So, you do. You let him go under the blanket and pull your shorts and underwear down, both in one go. You feel his lips on your thighs, slowly making their way towards the part of you that very quickly grew needy, and once his tongue makes contact with you, your first instinct is to bend your knees and plant your feet on the mattress.

"Relax, baby," Toji says, under the blanket. His hands push on your thighs so that your legs go down, again. "Don't tense up too much. We're getting you to sleep, 'kay?"

"Sorry," you mumble, shutting your eyes to allow yourself to focus on the way Toji's mouth works on you. His hands stay on your thighs and rub your skin, soothingly, with the same gentleness he uses for the tummy rubs he gives you.

All that can be heard as Toji builds you up through the quietness of the night, are your soft breaths and the rustling of sheets, as you squirm and slightly arch off the bed. His tongue offers gentle licks to your clit, before he envelops the sensitive bud with his lips and starts suckling on it. Every time your legs go up, he hums against your cunt and pushes them back down, and it keeps going this way until he's had enough. You don't listen and he's corrected you multiple times, so he had to resort to locking your thighs in place with his arms.

"T-Toji," you whimper out, writhing under him and the relentlessness flicking of his tongue. "Please- Please?"

"Shh... I know, baby," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your cunt, before continuing.

Your legs are quivering and it's so hard to lie still when you've been edged and denied of your orgasm three times, now—all work done by solely his mouth. His soft, warm tongue has been lapping at you for long enough to have thin strings of your arousal and his saliva connecting you to him, even for a mere second, before those strings snap.

It doesn't take much more than Toji sucking on your over sensitive clit for a couple seconds, for you to finally get that powerful orgasm you've been grasping, but never fully reaching. Your toes curl, your hips roll against the mattress as your back arches off the bed, and you gasp sharply, a sound that leads the rest of your sounds of pleasure out, as Toji helps you ride out the sensation. While, normally, he would be a little mean and overstimulate you, even just the slightest bit, he opts out of it, this time, because the purpose of this from the start was to get you to sleep, and based off the sounds you made, Toji knows you're going to sleep so good.

Once you've calmed down, your breathing steadied and your body still on the bed—now entirely relaxed—Toji cleans you up with his tongue. Slow, gentle strokes, because despite this act of kindness being for you to achieve rest, he can't—doesn't want to—waste your sweet essence.

When he's done, he slides your underwear back on and uses your shorts to wipe his face, before tossing them somewhere behind him on the bed. Toji peeks out from under the blanket and takes in your peaceful expression. Your eyes are shut, not a crease in your brows, and your breaths come softly through your nose. This is it.

He tries to be as careful as possible when crawling back up to his side of the bed, not wanting to wake you up after just getting you to sleep. It seems like the coast is clear when his head hits his pillow and he carefully shifts so that he can watch you until he falls asleep. Then, he sees you stir and he starts thinking that maybe the orgasm didn't fully wear you out, but just left you dazed. He doesn't say anything when you briefly open your eyes to look at him, but when you lean in to leave a chaste kiss on his lips, he's furthermore silenced. Immediately after, you bury your face in his chest and doze off for sure, this time. Toji coils around you and instantly returns to his all consuming way of sleeping with you.

[sugarwarachan]

part two, you dirty birdies. go read this first to catch up! summary: A city-wide blackout leads to some questionable decisions on Eraserhead's part: for four nights in a row now, Aizawa Shouta has been watching you get yourself off. Is tonight the night he joins in? pairing: aizawa shouta x citizen!reader wc: 2.4k (oops) content warnings: SMUT mdni, dark content, stalker!aizawa, voyeurism, dubcon, power imbalance (pro hero/civilian, ya know), obsessive behavior, voice kink, dirty talk, blindfolds are involved, piv sex, oral f!receiving, spanking, dom/sub elements but not explicitly stated, aizawa's big dick, creampie, unprotected sex (do not do this!!! especially with strangers!!! this is fiction!!!)

Aizawa knows he shouldn’t go back.

It was already enough of a risk to hear your voice; that he's considering confirming his identity with you should have alarm bells blaring in his head.

But logic abandoned him hours ago.

Your message, come back tomorrow <3, blinks in his head. At this point, he’s just waiting for the city to fall asleep so he can slip out along the ledge and head straight to you.

Part of him is bizarrely nervous to replace the distance with reality, but the thought of never feeling your weight on top of him erases all arguments.

As soon as night falls, he winds his capture weapon around his neck and slides out into the dark.

All day long, you’ve been aching and hot, sliding your thighs together under the desk at work to relieve some of the pressure.

There’s no guarantee he’ll come back. You’ve told yourself this ever since you woke up gasping for breath, rocking your hips against a pillow.

It’s like he possessed you, you muse on the train ride home, the force of the train cars rattling your already frazzled head. You’ve never felt this way in your life, desire snapping and fizzing under your skin.

Your apartment looks exactly the same as when you left, straight down to the kicked-over coat stand you’d jostled on your way out the door. It’s all so maddeningly ordinary that it takes everything within you not to scream.

It’s almost like last night didn’t happen at all.

“No need to sigh like that, sweetheart.”

His voice comes from behind you. Fear zips up your spine like dynamite sparking, your stomach bottoming out in one fell swoop.

He’s here.

Something winds around your wrists and face, obscuring your vision and tugging your body back. You collide with someone who smells like cedar and books and black coffee.

You breathe in his scent as the fear melts to excitement, to anticipation.

He’s here.

“Miss me, sweet girl?”

You’d think huffing him in like a fucking croissant would be a dead giveaway.

“What’s with the blindfold?” you ask instead. Angling your head in various ways does nothing. He made sure you can’t make him out, only confirming your previous hunch. He’s a pro, and he sure as fuck doesn’t want anyone to know he’s sneaking into girls’ apartments and fucking them stupid.

“You’re smarter than that.”

His voice is even better in person; you can feel the rumble of it against your neck. He loosens his hold on the cloth binding your wrists. Your hands naturally settle on the broad expanse of his chest.

He says the next thing nice and soft, “We don’t have to do anything.”

You understand the out for what it is, but you’re willing to sacrifice your sight for a taste of what he offered you yesterday.

“I’d like to do some things,” you say, and he huffs a laugh. “I don’t know what you did to me, but if you don’t touch me in the next few seconds, I feel like I’ll pass out.”

You don’t even realize you’re grinding yourself on his thigh until his hand splays across your hip, stilling you. Flipping you around, he cages you against the door, teeth scraping down the side of your throat.

“You don’t know what I did to you?” He punctuates the ask by kicking your feet apart with the heel of his boot. Your pussy clenches around nothing, a keen high in your throat. “What about what you did to me? Feels like I’ve got you floating around my fucking bloodstream.”

With a growl, he scoops you up and pins you against the door with his hips, mouth bracketing over yours.

“Can’t get your pretty little noises out of my head,” he says against your lips, sounding like a man at a confessional. His hips jerk, the length of his erection pulsing between you. “Can’t stop thinking about that pretty picture you sent me.”

He laves at your collarbone with his tongue, hand resting in the hollow of your throat. The gentlest squeeze elicits your softest sigh. He grunts at the sound, thick fingers applying more pressure before falling to your waist and locking you in place. His breath skates over your cheek; you feel the rasp of stubble on your skin.

“Let me take you to bed, sweetheart.”

God, his voice makes your knees fucking buckle. His forearm is tight around your back, holding you close.

“Please.”

You don’t recognize that whine as your voice; you’ve never sounded this eager, never felt this aching pulse in your core the way you do now. You need him to mold your insides to the shape of him, to pin you down on the mattress and take you.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. You don’t know him, not really, but you like this aspect of his personality. He makes his want for you tangible, so sharp you can practically taste it in the air. It’s like he’d rather die than leave you unsatisfied, and honestly, you don’t think anyone’s made you feel like that.

You can’t help liking it.

He taps open the door to your room with the toe of his boot. Lips slanted over yours, his tongue presses behind your teeth, licking into your mouth in the filthiest kiss you’ve ever shared with someone. It’s a sloppy clash of teeth and tongues; your hands fist in his hair as he caresses his thumbs over the skin of your hips.

“Take your clothes off.”

You obey just as you did on the phone, the rush to do so shooting a wave of heat over your face.

“That’s my girl, fuckin’ eager for it, huh?” You wish you could see his face; you want to match the feral snarl you hear with an expression. He sounds like he’s enjoying it, standing in front of you fully clothed while your arousal drips down your fucking legs.

You cross your legs together and he laughs, the hot span of his hands splaying over your hips as he tugs you to him.

“I know you’re needy, baby; you’re already doin’ so good for me. You listen just a little longer and I’ll make sure this pretty little pussy of yours gets the treatment she deserves, okay?” He cups your cunt in the palm of his hand; immediately, you rock against him, the meat of his palm bunching over your clit. He spanks your ass sharply. “Get on the bed and spread your legs open.”

Your muscles are shaky; your thighs tremble as you settle on the bed. You’ve never wanted to be able to see more than right now, spread out and vulnerable underneath a stranger’s gaze.

Before doubt can blare in your head, you hear him, “Fucking Christ, sweetheart, look at you. Absolutely gorgeous.”

His knee dips the mattress; his hands pry your thighs apart obscenely.

“She’s prettier up close,” he says, and then sucks your clit into his mouth.

You buck your hips into his face. He holds you down with his other hand and sucks harder. The sound you make has pre-cum spurting from his cock.

He’ll fucking cum like this if he’s not careful, rutting his hips on the sheets with your thighs choking off his air supply.

Worse ways to go, all things considered.

“You’ve been pent-up for a while, hmm?” He turns his head to kiss at the soft skin of your inner thigh, slick shimmering in the moonlight. He almost wishes his stubble were longer so he could capture more of your scent.

You smell so fucking good; he inhales and runs his teeth up the inside of your thigh, biting and sucking, grinding your clit on his nose. You whimper and lock your hands on his hair, silently begging for more.

He runs the flat of his tongue over your clit before breaking away. His dick jumps at your growl of frustration.

“Let’s stretch you out on my fingers first, pretty girl. I wasn’t just talking myself up yesterday.” He coats his fingers in your arousal, inhales the musky sweet scent of you like a drug. “You’re gonna need a little prep before you can take me.”

He sinks two fingers in. Your cunt sucks him in, gummy walls immediately clamping down. He drops his forehead to yours, thinks wildly about ripping away the blindfold, of forcing you to hold his gaze while he makes your pussy gush on his hands.

“More,” you cry out, and he obliges, working three fingers in, twisting and pressing and stroking, listening to your small gasps, waiting for the breath in your voice to catch. "Sho, please—"

Aizawa bites down on his lower lip when your back bows, fingers scrabbling at his forearm, holding his hand in place as you rock back and forth on his fingers. One little pinch of your clit and you’re sobbing out his name.

He lopes an arm under you and pulls you to him. Your breath comes out in shuddery little gasps.

“All good, sweetheart?”

You nod against his neck, already nosing at his throat for a kiss.

He doesn’t know what possesses him.

“I’ll let you take off the blindfold if you get on your hands and knees.”

The noise you make is so embarrassingly eager you almost cringe.

You might see him.

You arrange yourself as he asks, wiggling your ass and arching your back. You gasp when he palms your hip, pulling you back against his clothed cock.

"Can I take it off now?" you try to ask as coy as you can, but you just sound like a fucked-out mess. He feels big. You saw the picture but it's nothing compared to feeling the ridge of his shaft pulsing along the cleft of your ass. You choke on a groan, undulating your hips in a desperate move to calm the ache in your lower belly.

He grunts behind you and palms the back of your head. “Eyes forward, or you aren’t getting fucked. Understand?”

You nod into the mattress, not trusting your own voice.

"Words, princess, didn't we talk about this last time?" His tone is between condescending and tender and it's making your insides turn to fucking goo.

"I understand."

"Good."

You hear the clink of buckles, the rustle of a zipper.

"I'll only keep my eyes forward if all your clothes come off, though."

You know you're pushing it, pushing him, but fuck, you need his skin on yours so you can sear him into your fucking brain.

You squeal at the crack of pain when his palm collides with your ass.

"Mouthy tonight, honey?" There's his hand again, collaring the back of your neck. You throw your hips back at him; he spanks you again. "Fuck, you know what you're doin', don't you? My little cocktease want her pussy stuffed that badly?"

No one's talked to you like this. No one's ever said exactly the sort of profane filth you've longed to hear.

"Yes," you sob out.

"The clothes come off then, you little brat."

When he settles behind you, the hot ridge of his dick slides between your folds and you jerk back into him. The blindfold falls away.

"Goddammit," he growls out, fingers digging into the plush of your hips. "Fuck, you're soaking wet, baby. Can already feel her trying to suck me in, isn't that right?" He palms your lower belly. "You're gonna feel me right fuckin' here. I'm gonna be so deep inside you you'll forget about everything but me, you understand?"

His cockhead tips into your fluttering hole. Fuck, he is big. You peer back between your tits at where he's disappearing into you. The girth and length of him makes your stomach bottom out.

His hand pushes down on your lower back, bowing your ass up.

"Don't run away, let me work my way in, huh? Make my pretty girl feel so fucking full." Another inch of him slots inside you. The stretch of it burns slightly, but the pain recedes when he rubs little circles on your clit. "Fuckkkk, baby, you have any idea how perfect this tight little pussy is? Feels like you're suckin' the life out of me."

The drag of his cock inside you makes your eyes cross. With every thrust, he rubs the head of his dick on your g spot, hand locked in a possessive clutch on your lower belly.

"Put your hand here, feel where I'm fucking you." With one hand on top of yours, he presses down hard. You buck, the sensation almost too much. "No one else is ever gonna have this pussy, you hear me? It's fucking mine, sweet girl, mine to fuck, mine to feast on, mine to fill up with cum—"

The heel of his hand grinds down on your clit and that's all it takes before your orgasm collapses your lungs and shorts out your brain. Everything detonates, star-bursts of pleasure exploding in your core until tears stream down your face.

His rhythm barely falters as he fucks you through it, mouth hot on the back of your neck. "Keep goin', princess, you can cum again, can't ya? One more time, just for me. There's my fuckin' girl, milk every fucking drop out of me, fuck—"

You can only imagine the milky ring of cum and arousal coating his cock as he wrenches another orgasm from your tired body. His dick pulses inside you, a guttural moan reverberating from his throat so deeply you practically feel it in your gut.

He stays inside you for a few more moments, both of you catching your breath. When he slips out, you groan at the loss.

"Be right back, sweet girl. Blindfold goes back on, too."

He laughs when you pout, cloth obscuring your vision once more.

When he comes back, he dips a warm cloth between your thighs, swabbing away the gooey mess. You're so sensitive you hiss out a sharp breath. He presses a glass of water into your hand. You gulp it down with gusto.

"I already blocked off where I came in from," he's saying, and you can't help but roll your eyes even if he can't see the motion. You wonder how he chalks up this whole excursion in his stupid pro hero head.

"Don’t want anyone else getting to me or something?"

He clears his throat. "Or something."

The scrape of your window sounds. "I'd start locking these if I were you."

You know he's gone when the cloth whips away from your face, the flutter of your gauzy white curtains the only proof he was there.

taglist: @cryingintheclubdhmu @abigolemess @rindarudoesshonen @simplyraeblue @ermmclovingit @deputyazor @lizzobeth @quinn0-0 @hotlosergirl17 @mother-hellsing

[wordsmeetwbb]

Number One Pick

Word count: 5.6k (never again)

Content: smut (spanking, slight daddy!Paige, edging, idk what else)

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: The promised and long-awaited Draft Night Smut. Thank you all so much for 500 followers! Consider this my gift to you. I'm never writing over 5k words of only smut ever again. Enjoy and please flood my inbox with your thoughts.

________

Azzi’s eyes have been on Paige all night, unable to look away from the skin of her chest exposed by her low-cut suit jacket, the rings on her long, veiny fingers, and the false lashes fluttering on her eyes. In the car on the way to the afterparty, wandering hands and mouths leave Paige’s shirt just a little wrinkled, Azzi’s lipstick a little smudged. They enter the building with dark eyes and fingers brushing.

Paige immediately gets pulled away by someone Azzi doesn’t recognize. Azzi’s left standing in the doorway by herself, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. The part is already in full swing, bodies packed onto the dance floor, a line of people at the bar, and music thumping loudly. Usually, just looking at the scene would overwhelm Azzi. Now though, Azzi lets her eyes track Paige’s movements through the crowd, dapping up random people, laughing at a joke someone throws carelessly. Azzi joins the party.

Azzi’s two drinks in when she collides with Paige again. The blonde looks like she’s definitely had more than two drinks. Her cheeks are flushed, a goofy smile plastered on her face.

“Heyyy mama! Look so pretty tonight baby, like, damn,” Paige chatters. Yeah, she’s definitely more than two drinks in. Azzi smiles, tilting her head in an imitation of sweetness.

“Thank you Paige,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes slide down her body, then make their way back up, locking on Azzi’s lips for a second before she seems to remember she had something to say.

“You wan’ a drink?” Paige asks. Azzi nods, letting Paige lead her to the bar. The older girl’s hand lands on Azzi’s lower back, the light touch making Azzi shiver even though she’s sweating from the warmth of the room. Paige is too tipsy to notice. She just dips her head down to speak into Azzi’s ear.

“You look so fuckin’ fine tonight mama. Wanna tear this dress off you,” Paige murmurs. Her breath is hot against Azzi’s neck. It sends sparks down her spine. She presses herself into Paige’s side a little more firmly as they reach the bar, Paige getting the bartender’s attention and yelling their orders over the music. Azzi lets her arm drift around Paige’s waist while they wait.

It doesn’t take long until they have their drinks and are heading back out into the chaos of the room. The end up over to the side of the dance floor with a good portion of their teammates, who all seem to be either sufficiently intoxicated or absorbing the energy from the girls who are old enough to drink.

“P Boogers! Aaliyah is already telling everybody that she’s gonna crush you when y’all play in the league! You gotta stand up for yourself!” KK is yapping before anyone else has even really noticed they’re there. Azzi sips her drink, content to watch the exchange play out.

Azzi’s eyes are wandering before she even gives them permission, sliding over Paige’s white button-up until her gaze lands on her hands, partially hidden by her oversized sleeves.

She shifts from one foot to the other as her eyes trace over the veins in Paige’s hands. They’re more prominent now from the heat of the room, and a light sheen of sweat is shining on her skin. She’s only started to look at Paige’s fingers curled around her glass, gaze catching on every knuckle of her long fingers, when Paige’s hands move to lift the drink to her lips.

Azzi’s eyes follow the movement, sliding over Paige’s lips, pressed to the edge of the glass, and the smooth bob of her throat as she swallows. It sends a jolt of heat between her thighs.

Then Paige is being whisked away again, this time by someone who looks like they might be in charge here.

When Paige doesn’t return within a few minutes, Nika decides that they’re all going to go dance. Azzi downs the rest of her drink, now feeling decently buzzed, and follows her teammates to the dance floor.

It’s crowded, bodies bumping together, sweat dripping from foreheads, skin sticky from the heat in the room. Some early 2000s song is playing and Azzi feels the bass in her soul. Nika grabs her hands and pulls her further into the throng of people, spinning Azzi around with a dramatic flourish before they start actually dancing.

When Paige appears again, Nokia by Drake is playing and Azzi is significantly drunker than when she left. She’s not sure what half the drinks had been. Nika had just handed them to her and told her to drink, and she did.

Azzi has her head thrown back, hips swaying to the rhythm as she dances with the girls. Then she feels hands on her hips, gripping possessively. It shocks her for a second, her eyes snapping open as she whirls to face the person behind her. Paige smirks.

“Well don’t stop,” she drawls. Azzi grins and runs a finger under Paige’s chin just because she can. Just because she wants to feel her skin. Paige tips her head towards Azzi. “You gonna dance f’me mama?” Azzi doesn’t reply, just loops her arms loosely around Paige’s neck and resumes her earlier rhythm.

Paige is staring at her. She licks her lips and Azzi takes that as her sign to do some teasing. She turns herself in Paige’s hold so that her ass is pressed to Paige’s front. Then she starts grinding. She hears Paige groan into her ear and her grip tightens on Azzi’s hips. It hitches Azzi’s already short dress a little bit higher, showing off more of her thighs.

One of Paige’s hands slips down, dragging over Azzi’s inner thigh and then squeezing, fingertips digging in almost painfully. Her hand is close enough to the heat between Azzi’s thighs that Azzi doesn’t know if she should pull away or try to get her hands where she wants them. As soon as she’s moving though, still unsure of what she’s actually decided to do, Paige is tightening her grip on both her thigh and hip.

“Nuh-uh. Where are you going?” She asks, speaking directly into Azzi’s ear. Azzi’s head falls back against Paige’s shoulder and she grinds her ass into Paige’s hips again. This time when Paige groans, it’s right in Azzi’s ear. She feels the rush of wetness between her thighs, soaking her panties, and that’s all it takes for her to decide she’s had enough.

She spins out of Paige’s grasp, stumbling a wave of dizziness overcomes her. Paige reaches out to steady her, pulling her back into her side. Azzi lets her hang onto her side, keeping their bodies attached as she drags them off the dance floor and to the hallway she’s pretty sure the bathrooms are in.

It takes a few minutes of searching, but Azzi soon finds an empty bathroom, dragging Paige inside by the collar of her shirt.

As soon as the door is shut, Azzi is pushing Paige up against the door and kissing her. She tastes like a confusing mix of tequila, cherry, and vanilla. “What the hell were you drinking?” Azzi mumbles before she can think the words through. Paige laughs against her lips, kissing her again instead of answering.

When Azzi trails kisses down Paige’s neck, smearing lipstick across pale skin as she does, Paige slides her hand into Azzi’s hair and pulls. A whimper escapes her before she can stop it. Paige smirks.

“You like that?” Azzi removes her lips from Paige’s skin.

“You better not mess up my hair,” she threatens. “I haven’t had it straight in years, and I want it to last.” Paige doesn’t look even remotely sorry. In fact, it looks like she’s taking that as a personal challenge. Azzi recognizes the look and fixes her with a serious stare. It’s somewhat undermined by the way her lipstick is smeared over her chin.

“Did you drag me in here to do something, or are we just here to chat?” Paige quips, eyebrows raised in expectation. Annoyance fills Azzi, but that edge of arousal is still hovering on the edge of her awareness.

“Well I had plans, but you pulled my hair and didn’t apologize, so now you don’t get to know what they were,” Azzi deadpans. She steps away from Paige, moving to exit the restroom. Paige’s hands flutter, grabbing Azzi’s arms and pulling her back against her body.

“Az, wait, I’m sorry. Sorry mama,” Paige murmurs, fingers drawing lines over Azzi’s wrists. That distracts Azzi, her gaze darting down to watch Paige’s long fingers move in smooth swirls. She swallows. Paige watches.

“Something got you distracted mama?”

“Mmm. Nope,” Azzi mumbles. Paige hums a noncommittal response and then her hands are sliding down to the hem of Azzi’s sparkly back dress, shoving it up just enough that she can press her fingertips to the front of Azzi’s panties.

“Ooh, lace? Did you get all dressed up for me, baby?” Azzi bites her lip, trying to will her hips to stay still. Then Paige’s fingers slip lower until they meet the slick that’s been gathering between her thighs for hours. And nothing else. Paige’s eyes widen when she realizes the panties are just lace. They’re crotchless.

“Azzi,” she groans. Now it’s Azzi’s turn to smirk. Paige’s fingers swipe through her folds, gathering wetness on her fingertips. Then she brings them up to her mouth, licking them clean. Azzi’s eyes darken. She shoves Paige against the wall again and grabs her wrist, pulling her hand to her own mouth.

Azzi sucks Paige’s fingers into her mouth, tasting herself and Paige’s spit. Paige looks like she might fall over. Azzi feels like she probably looks similar. She drags the tip of her tongue over a knuckle, letting the weight of Paige’s fingers just sit in her mouth until Paige pulls them out.

“You’re so- that was- fuck you’re hot,” Paige finally gets out. Seeing Paige unravel from so little was making Azzi even wetter, which was becoming a little bit of a problem with the lack of fabric between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together and dragged one of her nails over Paige’s jawline, leaning up to press a few sloppy kisses to the area.

“Fuck Az. Gotta lemme fuck you baby,” Paige pleaded. Azzi nodded, suddenly very aware of how the throbbing between her legs was beginning to border on painful.

Paige flipped their positions, shoving Azzi up against the wall and dropping messy kisses to her exposed collarbones. She sucked a little too hard on one spot and Azzi knew it would bruise. Part of her hoped it would be visible when they finally exited the restroom, for everyone at the party to see. So they would know who she belonged to.

Paige’s fingers between her thighs dragged Azzi out of her thoughts.

“Shit. So fuckin’ wet for me,” Paige groaned. Azzi nodded.

“Yeah, now hurry up and fuck me,” she demanded. Paige smirked.

“Bossy.”

“You like it.”

“You know I do.”

Then Paige stopped talking, finally sliding a finger into Azzi’s dripping cunt. They both let out rough breaths. Paige slid her finger out, then back in again slowly. Her eyes were trained on where her hand disappeared under Azzi’s short black dress, as if she could see through the fabric to where her finger was being swallowed up by Azzi’s cunt.

Azzi started to grind her hips down, the heel of Paige’s palm rubbing against her clit. She tossed her head back, skull bumping against the wall gently.

“I can take more than that,” Azzi said. Paige smirked.

“And why should I give you more?” She taunted. Azzi fixed her with a stare that sent a shiver down her spine.

“You can feel how wet I am, can’t you? You want me to go take all this somewhere else?” Azzi threatened. Paige’s hand slammed into her cunt on the next thrust, forcing a moan out of Azzi’s throat.

“You’re not gonna do that,” she said. It wasn’t a threat, wasn’t a question. It was just a statement. They both knew that as much as Azzi loved to tease Paige and be bratty to get what she wanted, they were all empty threats.

“You wanna find out?” Azzi was panting now. Paige hadn’t slowed her thrusts, still filling her with only one finger, but the force with which her hand was moving, her palm slapping Azzi’s clit with every push, had Azzi almost on the edge already.

“I don’t have to find out. Nobody else is gonna fuck you like I do,” Paige bragged. Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut, her body too overwhelmed with the sensations to keep them open anymore.

Paige trailed sloppy kisses over Azzi’s jaw and down her neck, biting at the spot right below her ear that always drove her crazy.

“You’re gonna leave marks,” Azzi breathed. She felt Paige grin against her sternum.

“That’s the whole point, baby. You’re mine. Wanna show you off.” Azzi let out a little whimper and her hips twitched. Paige picked her head up off of Azzi’s skin. “Oh, you want that?” She teased. “Want me to mark you, walk you around for everybody to see how much you liked it? Dirty girl.” Azzi clenches around Paige’s finger.

It only takes a few more moments of Paige’s finger pumping in and out of her soaked cunt before Azzi’s moaning and rocking her hips to meet every thrust.

“Close, so close, don’t stop,” gets mixed in with a chorus of little “ah, ah, ah”s, the sounds echoing off of the bathroom tile. Paige doesn’t listen.

She pulls her finger away, leaving Azzi empty and trembling. Her hips buck, searching out friction that isn’t there anymore.

“Paige,” she whines desperately. Paige smirks, tilting her head. She looks dangerous. Azzi has to close her eyes, trying to calm herself. They fly open again when she feels Paige’s finger prod at her lips, slipping between them and into her mouth. Azzi’s curse gets muffled around the digit pressing down on her tongue.

“Clean my finger off baby. Go ahead,” Paige prompts. Azzi feels like she might pass out, but she does as she’s told, temporarily giving up her bratty attitude.

She drags her finger up the underside of Paige’s finger, feeling all the little bumps and callouses from years and years of hard work with her hands. Then she starts to suck in earnest, hollowing her cheeks because she knows the image will drive Paige crazy.

She’s right. Paige’s eyes roll back from where they had been trained on her finger disappearing into her girlfriend’s mouth. She lets out a little sound that she can’t possibly have meant to let slip, but it just spurs Azzi on. She moves her mouth up and down on the digit, mimicking what she doesn’t when she sucks Paige’s strap.

It takes a few seconds for Paige to collect herself, but when she does, she yanks her finger out of the younger girl’s mouth.

“Dirty little slut,” she tosses at Azzi as she turns to open the door. Azzi feels the rush of warmth between her thighs before she really even registers the words. It’s all she can do to trail after Paige, suddenly very aware of how fucked-out she must look. She hasn’t had a chance to actually look at herself, but she’s sure there’s a few dark marks blooming on the skin of her neck too.

“Paige,” she tries. Paige doesn’t look back. Azzi quickens her steps, slotting herself into Paige’s side as the blonde makes her way back to the party and crosses the room to the bar. “Baby, are you serious? Let’s just go,” Azzi urges. Paige finally does turn to her then.

“You wanna leave already? Baby, I can’t leave yet. It’s my party, that would be rude.” And really, she does have a point. The party is still in full swing. It would definitely come off as odd for the star of the night to leave so early. Even in her desperate state, Azzi understands that Paige might not only be doing this to tease her. But still, part of Azzi knows that the blonde is definitely taking a little too much pleasure in working Azzi up, getting her so close to the edge, and then telling her she has to wait.

“Fine. I need another drink,” Azzi says, a pretty little pout on her lips. Paige has a hard time resisting her when she plays up the innocence, and based on the way her face flushes when she turns to face Azzi, it’s working just as well as ever. She recovers quickly though, asking the bartender for whatever she’s decided they’re drinking now.

________

By the time they make it back to the hotel, Paige and Azzi are both drunk. The short drive from the party doesn’t do anything to sober them up either, just elevates the tension between the two women. In fact, they’ve barely stumbled into the elevator, Paige’s fingers slapping over the button for her floor, before Azzi is shoving her into the wall.

Crowding into her space, Azzi shoves her hands under Paige’s shirt. She’s met with a tank top instead of skin, and in her drunken haze it confuses her more than it should.

“What is this, Antarctica? So many goddamn layers,” she mutters, pushing at the tank top to get it out of the way. By the time she finally has access to bare skin, fingernails clawing over Paige’s toned abs, the elevator is dinging and the doors are opening. Neither of them have the sense to pull apart. Paige wraps an arm around Azzi’s waist, the other resting on the back of her neck, tangling in the hair at the base of her neck as they stumble their way down the hallway as fast as they can.

It takes way too long for Paige to get her door unlocked. Impatient as ever, Azzi takes a quick peek up and down the hallway, sees no one, and starts pressing needy kisses to the side of Paige’s neck.

“Fuck, just… give me a sec Az, damn. Can’t get the fuckin’... card to work,” Paige mumbles, but she tilts her head just a bit to give Azzi better access. She’s rewarded with a bite near her pulse point.

She finally gets the door open, both girls stumbling through the suite until they’re tumbling onto the bed, pulling at clothes. Azzi’s go first, her dress landing on the floor in an unceremonious heap. For a minute, all Paige can do is stand there and stare.

“Damn. Just… damn Az. Fuckin’ gorgeous.” Her eyes roam up and down Azzi’s body, tracing the curves of her bare breasts, her waist, her hips that are still covered with the lacy purple panties that drove her so crazy earlier. “And here I thought you weren’t wearing my favorite color,” Paige jokes. It’s funnier than it should be, Azzi knows, but she can’t help but laugh.

“You want them on?” She asks. Paige immediately shakes her head.

“Fuck no. I want you naked, the hell kind of question is that?” Azzi giggles and starts to strip out of the underwear before Paige’s hands are gripping her wrists to stop her. “Lemme do it,” she demands.

She takes her time dragging the lace over Azzi’s hips, down her thighs, and guiding her to step out of the panties so she can throw them over by her dress on the floor. Paige whistles. “Fuck goin’ number one. This the real prize.” Azzi blushes and something in her chest flares, urging her to give Paige a little something back.

“Gonna leave me naked by myself?” She asks. Paige raises an eyebrow, looking her girlfriend up and down again.

“Yeah. That a problem?” Azzi pushes herself up to sit upright on the bed.

“I don’t know, is it?” She tilts her head, batting her long eyelashes in the way she knows gets Paige a little weak in the knees.

Sure enough, it takes barely a moment for Paige to be crawling over Azzi, pushing her down into the mattress. Azzi goes willingly, content to get what she wants.

“You still wet f’me? You were dripping earlier, do I gotta work you up again?” Azzi’s hips twitch, as if her body is trying to show Paige just how wet she still is. Paige shoves Azzi’s thighs apart, an exhale leaving her as she sees the mess smeared across the skin of her inner thighs.

“Fuck,” Paige mumbles. Azzi spreads her legs wider.

“Are you gonna do something about it?” Azzi taunts. Annoyance flares in Paige’s eyes.

“I haven’t touched you in hours and you’re still this wet, so I don’t think it’s smart for you to keep runnin’ your mouth.” Part of Azzi wants to comply, to shut up and just take whatever Paige gives her, but another, larger part craves the fight.

“I’ll stop runnin’ my mouth when you give me something else to do,” Azzi shoots back. Paige has had enough.

She climbs off the bed, stumbling a little as she yanks her clothes off, throwing them onto the floor to join the pile with Azzi’s clothes. Then she’s back on the bed, crawling up Azzi’s body until her knees are bracketing her chest. She’s mumbling something about “I’ll give you something to do with your mouth,” and it takes Azzi’s brain a minute to catch up, but then her hands are shooting out to grip Paige’s hips.

“You want it?” Paige asks. Azzi nods quickly, all of her previous bratty attitude melting out of her now that she has a goal in sight.

Paige takes that as her sign to scoot the rest of the way up until she’s hovering with her hips just above Azzi’s mouth. Azzi strains, reaching her tongue until she can swipe just the tip through Paige’s folds. It draws a quiet moan from Paige, encouraging Azzi to pull the blonde down forcefully, settling her weight on her face.

Azzi gets to work, licking up from Paige’s hole all the way to her clit, gathering her slick on her tongue and spreading it around her clit. Paige gasps above her, lean fingers gripping the headboard. Azzi doubles down, sliding just the tip of her tongue into Paige’s cunt. It’s not enough to stretch, not deep enough to feel like anything but a tease, but it makes Paige grind her hips down onto Azzi’s mouth, mumbling demands. Azzi doesn’t listen.

She thrusts her tongue in and out for a while until the muscle starts to get sore. Then she returns her attention to Paige’s clit, flicking her tongue over the puffy bundle of nerves just to hear the sounds it elicits. Paige buries a hand in Azzi’s hair again, tilting her head just slightly to get a better angle as she keeps rolling her hips.

“Right there, ah, yes, oh god Az.” Paige is rambling the way she always does when she gets close, spurring Azzi on. She flattens her tongue, shaking her head back and forth to drag it over Paige’s clit. Paige’s thighs tense up, hips twitching as she falls apart.

Azzi doesn’t stop until Paige is pushing herself away from her mouth, shaking slightly from the overstimulation. “So good, fuck, you’re always so good at that for me,” Paige murmurs as she steals a kiss, tasting herself on Azzi’s lips. Azzi shifts on the bed, her hips searching out friction without her permission. Paige feels the movement, that signature smirk sliding onto her face.

“Did that get you worked up, baby? Getting me off got you hot and bothered, huh?” Paige coos. Azzi feels a blush rise to her cheeks.

“Nah, I think I made you cum so good you’re imagining things,” Azzi counters. The excuse doesn’t make any sense. They both know it doesn’t, but the alcohol is still running through their veins, Paige is still riding the blissful high of her orgasm, and Azzi is dripping down her thighs and onto the sheets in a way that’s making it hard to care about things like sentences.

“On your stomach baby,” Paige orders, climbing off of Azzi so she can flip over. Azzi is skeptical, but the ache in her pussy orders her to obey. She lays flat on her stomach, but she jerks up when a harsh slap lands on her left ass cheek.

“Paige!” She yelps. Paige scans her face for a moment, searching for something. Whatever she sees seems to satisfy her, because then her hands are rubbing over the warm flesh she had just hit, both soothing and irritating the skin.

“Ass up. Arch for me. You know how to do this,” Paige instructs. Azzi sticks her ass up for a moment, wiggling teasingly, before she melts back into the bed. Paige clearly isn’t impressed because another harsh slap hits the other side of Azzi’s ass this time. A moan slips out against her will. Paige trails kisses down Azzi’s spine.

“Oh, you liked that, you little slut,” Paige accuses. Azzi can’t even defend herself. She just raises her hips again, silently begging for more. “Nuh-uh. This was supposed to be a punishment, but if you like it, you’re gonna have to be good to get more,” Paige explains. Azzi huffs out a little breath but quickly shifts her body into the position Paige had asked her for, ass up, back arched, weight resting on her elbows. She’s rewarded with a quick, hard slap to her ass, this time over an already red mark. She whimpers and a rush of wetness leaves her, dripping down her thighs.

“Look at you. Shit. So fuckin’ wet f’me.”

“Wellb you didn’t let me fucking cum earlier, so yeah I’m wet,” Azzi complains, a little bit of fight rising in her again. Another slap comes, harder this time. Azzi presses her face into the sheets to stifle her moan.

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige says. Azzi feels the last of the fight drain out of her. She shuts up.

“Gonna be a good girl for me now and do what I tell you to, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.

Then Paige is sliding two fingers into Azzi’s pussy, watching as they get swallowed up, enveloped by tight, wet heat. She breaths out slowly. Azzi pushes her hips back, trying to press Paige’s fingers deeper.

“Please,” she asks, voice high and desperate. Paige, for once tonight, gives her what she wants.

The thrusts start out rough and only get rougher, fingers slamming into Azzi’s cunt repeatedly, Paige’s other hand coming down to rub messy circles around her clit. The harsh drag of Paige’s fingers builds Azzi up faster than she wants to admit, reducing her to a whiny mess in a matter of minutes. In an attempt to not have the pleasure ripped away from her like in the restroom earlier, Azzi clamps her mouth shut and does not tell Paige how close she is.

Still, Paige knows. This time she doesn’t stop though. Just keeps thrusting her hand, mouthing at the ridges of Azzi’s spine messily, until Azzi rolls over the edge. She grinds her hips back and Paige fucks her through it, fingers still circling her clit until Azzi’s arms are trembling with the effort of holding her body up. Paige doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, oh, Paige, please daddy, too much, I can’t-” The words are spilling from Azzi’s mouth unbidden, edged with a whine as the sensations wracking her body teeter just into the territory of pain.

“You can take it. Give me another.” Azzi whines, high and drawn out, and resigns herself to the pleasure-pain and Paige picks up the pace again.

She slides another finger in next to the first two, and the stretch only adds to the overstimulation Azzi’s feeling. She’s shaking and her face is firmly pressed into the sheets now, her arms having collapsed sometime before the third finger.

the hand on Azzi’s clit leaves, and Azzi finally feels like she might be able to bear another orgasm. Then sparks explode all over her body as Paige’s fingers land back on her clit in a harsh slap. Azzi lets out a cry, a tear slipping down her face and immediately getting soaked up by the comforter.

Paige does it again and again, raining slaps down on Azzi’s clit, and then she’s on the edge again. It’s a particularly harsh slip to the bundle of nerves that does it this time, sending Azzi tumbling into her second orgasm of the night.

The older girl pulls her hands away quicker this time, and Azzi doesn’t even have the brain power to be thankful. She’s too busy trying to get her body to stop quivering.

Paige runs her hands over Azzi’s ass gently. The touch grounds her, even as it reminds her of the red handprints that are surely littering her skin. Paige is curled over Azzi’s back, her arms enveloping her in an embrace that’s immediately soothing. She’s saying something, whispering into Azzi’s ear, but it takes a minute for Azzi to comprehend the words.

“...if you can give me another. Do you want that? Wanna take my strap? You always take my cock so pretty, take me so good. Just wanna fuck you on my cock pretty girl. Can I do that?” Azzi’s hips give another valiant attempt at finding friction.

“Go get it,” Azzi whispers. Paige springs up from the bed, heading to her suitcase and pulling two things out. The strap, and a little black vibrator. They don’t use the vibrator often, mostly because Paige complains that it ruins her “generational strap skills,” but Azzi knows tonight is different. Tonight, Paige needs it just as bad as she does.

Paige gets the strap situated on her hips quickly, sliding the vibrator into its place right over her clit and turning it on.

The soft buzzing sound fills the air, accompanied by a soft gasp from Paige. Her steps back to Azzi on the bed are a little less sure, shakier than her steps away had been. Azzi does her best to shift back into the ass-up arch she had been in earlier, her muscles protesting only slightly. Paige’s hands settle on her waist, stroking her fingertips over her ass lightly.

Then she’s pressing in, her cock slitting Azzi open. They let out simultaneous moans; Azzi from the stretch, and Paige from the pressure of the vibrator on her clit. Her hips twitch a little bit, making her cock shift just that little bit deeper inside Azzi. She whimpers.

“Fucking move,” Azzi groans, desperate again. Her nerves are still frayed from cumming hard twice, but she’s clenching around Paige’s cock in a way that makes her think her body might actually fall apart if she doesn’t get this.

Paige complies, dragging her cock out all the way to the tip, then pushing back in. It’s not as rough as before, but it’s enough to make Azzi a mess again. Paige presses Azzi’s hips down, forcing her to deepen her arch. The angle allows Paige to press even deeper. She’s stretching Azzi so good she could cry.

Slow thrusts turn into quick, rough movements. Paige slams her cock into Azzi’s cunt, chasing her own high and the pretty moans and whimpers that keep falling from Azzi’s mouth.

“Doin’ so good for me, so good pretty girl. Let me hear those noises. Shit, you’re so tight around me, just suckin’ me up. Goddamn. That’s it, baby,” Paige says. Her voice is low, rough, clearly affected by the vibrator buzzing against her clit.

“Paige!” Azzi cries. Paige’s hand starts rubbing over her clit messily again. Overstimulation shoots through Azzi’s nerves, sending tremors through her body. “So close, so close, please daddy,” Azzi begs. The name tips Paige over the edge, hips thrusting erratically now as she drags Azzi closer and closer to cumming.

Paige’s moans get Azzi there, the tension in her stomach snapping for the third time that night. She cries out, tears slipping down her face as Paige fucks her through it, murmuring praise and sweet words into her ear as the overstimulation becomes too much.

She scrambles to push Paige out of her, blushing at the obscene squelching sound the action makes.

Paige helps ease Azzi down onto her back, the younger girl’s muscles protesting from being left in the same position for so long. Then Paige is tossing the strap onto the floor and flopping onto Azzi.

“God, I needed that,” she sighs dramatically. Azzi’s eyes flick open to stare at her girlfriend incredulously. Paige just shrugs. “What? I’m the number one pick, I’m allowed to celebrate.”

“That’s what the party was for, idiot,” Azzi replies. Her voice is hoarse, and it makes her flush in embarrassment. A grin spreads over Paige’s face.

“I love when you sound like that. It means I did a good job.” Azzi buries her face into Paige’s shoulder.

“First you go number one, now this? You’re gonna be insufferable for the rest of our lives,” she groans. Paige nods, satisfied with the situation.

“Sounds like the dream life if you ask me. Went number one in the draft, got drunk, fucked the love of my life so good she can’t talk, and now we get to cuddle. Literally what else could you want?” Azzi holds back from replying with “peace and quiet,” and instead lets Paige have her moment. She leaves the “I’m proud of you” unsaid too, but they both know that. Instead, Azzi lets the silence and the warmth of Paige’s body lull her into sleep.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

IT’S NOT A CULT!

lottie matthews x fem!reader

the rest of the yellowjackets are surprised to find you at lottie’s wellness center, but they’re even more surprised when they find out who you married. requested by @ludasgf , i hope this is okay :)

“Oh, fun,” Natalie looks you over, adjusting the sleeves of her new heliotrope sweater. “Did Lottie kidnap you, too?”

You shake your head, confused.

Lottie swoops in before you can respond, taking your hand and stepping between you and Natalie. “It’s a joke. She’s joking. You know how she is.”

“I’m not joking,” Natalie says bitterly.

Lottie turns to you, waving her away. “Don’t listen to her. She’s probably still high.”

You decide not to ask any questions.

You glance over at Lottie, trying to gauge her reaction to the rest of the team, the rest of them that are left. It’s been years since you last saw any of them, excluding Natalie, who has been staying at the wellness center for a few weeks now.

Lottie’s expression gives away nothing. She walks with Shauna and Misty a few feet away, an uncomfortable silence growing between them as you all walk as a group into one of the main buildings. Taissa and Van walk on either side of you.

“Are you sure you’re okay here?” Van turns to you and asks quietly, looking around the wellness center to make sure no one can overhear. “Do you need, like… a police escort out of here?”

You stop walking. “Why have all of you assumed that I’ve been kidnapped and held here against my will?”

They exchange glances. Taissa shrugs. “This place… is a cult.”

“It’s not a cult,” you say sharply. “It’s an intentional community.”

“An intentional community,” Taissa repeats. “Run by Lottie.”

“Lottie… is mindful,” you try. You look over at Lottie again, but her back is to you as she leads the rest of you into the area where you lead group meditation classes. “She puts a lot of care into this place.”

“Apparently,” Taissa takes in the elegance of the meditation room, the heliotrope cushions placed along the dark wooden floors and the soft light coming in through the windows. “Hey, by the way… why the fuck is everyone wearing purple?”

You don’t get to respond. Everyone’s attention is pulled toward Natalie when she joins you and recounts how she tried to kill herself before being kidnapped by some of Lottie’s followers.

It doesn’t help to dissipate the belief that you were kidnapped, too.

You notice the look Shauna is giving you — like she’s waiting for you to share your story of being abducted as well.

“We host a variety of meditation seminars and group activities,” Lottie says, continuing in an explanation she’s giving of everything the wellness center has to offer. She reaches out a hand for you to take, smiling softly. “It’s been a joint effort, one we’re very proud of.”

You take her hand and step closer. Under everyone’s scrutiny her touch is soothing. Her thumb runs nervously over the back of your hand, drawing a smile to your lips — you know her tells of stress, but you also know that closeness is just as remedial for her as it is for you. You notice the way she relaxes with her hand in yours. The comfort extends to you as well. You resist the urge to loop an arm around her waist and lean your head against her shoulder or press a kiss to her cheek, trying to retain a little bit of professionalism considering your high status at the wellness center.

“Hold on,” Misty pushes up her glasses and jabs a finger in your direction. “You work here, too?”

“I do,” you nod, looking up at Lottie and meeting her eyes for a moment before turning back to Misty. “I’ve been helping host classes ever since the wedding.”

“The wedding?” Shauna steps forward. “Are you two…”

“We’ve been married for a few years now,” Lottie says as if it’s obvious. Her gaze shifts across all of them. “I thought you all knew. We sent invitations.”

Guilt sweeps across the group, and Lottie stands a little taller. She pulls her hand from yours and extends it out for the group so they can see her wedding ring — you join her, the two diamond rings shining together, a representation of your love that has gratitude swelling in your chest. You realize the extent of your prosperity, reflected in everything you have here. You have the wellness center, you are bound to Lottie in a promise of lifelong devotion. You wake up every morning with her in your arms, you go to bed each night with her, even on nights when she falls asleep on the couch with her head in your lap and you have to shake her for ten minutes until she wakes or somehow carry her into the bedroom.

“Congratulations,” Van says, smiling as she looks over your rings. She furrows her eyebrows, looking at the rest of the group like she’s won a bet. “Though I have to say, I’m not surprised.”

“You’re not surprised?” Misty scoffs. “I was calling it since the beginning.”

You let your hand fall to your side. When Lottie snakes an arm around your waist you lean into her, secure now in the display of your love.

“I’m still not convinced you’re here of your own free will,” Natalie tilts her head at you mischievously, “but congratulations. You two fucking lunatics deserve each other.”

sexy yellowjackets taglist: @webism @ahauandthesun @chaithetics @marleymarleymarleymarley @szczurkanalowy @aphrodyk3 @ludasgf

[slttygeto]

Hot Ones! With Suguru Geto & (Name)!

pairing: music producer/singer! Suguru x singer! fem! reader

genre: fluff, crack.

📊 Video Stats

12M views| 350K likes| 87K comments

Geto Suguru was almost like an urban legend. No one knew if he actually existed—I mean, he had to if his voice could be hard on almost every trending song. 

But he never ever made an appearance. Not on any talk show, interview or even famous award shows he had been invited on to win. 

And so logically, no one knew a single thing about the famous producer/singer. They only knew his birthday because Gojo Satoru, a famous actor and his childhood best friend, would always post him while covering his face. 

Which would set the internet on fire for at least two weeks after.

The picture showed that Suguru Geto was a man with a large build, almost as tall as Satoru himself. He had two sleeve tattoos that were barely visible in the picture but enough for people to comment ‘as if this man wasn’t attractive enough’. They can only make out that he has long dark hair, tied in a bun with a long strand of hair dangling on the side. 

However, when Satoru posts his best friend this year to celebrate his 33rd birthday, the internet can’t help but fixate on a detail they hadn’t seen before. Something that was never able to appear because Suguru always hid his hands in his pockets, a shiny band wrapped around his ring finger that was visible to the camera because the producer was jokingly choking his best friend.

Suguru Geto was married, and the internet needed to find out who the lucky person was. 

—

“This week on hot ones! Geto Suguru and (Name) will play a hot game. Tune in tomorrow at 8PM, ET!”

The tweet goes viral the moment that it gets posted. The picture used shows you and Suguru with your backs facing the camera wearing a Hot Ones T-shirt and pointing with your thumbs to the logo. 

And when the video finally gets uploaded, people are losing their minds.

“Welcome to Hot Ones!” You are already sitting on your stool when Suguru finally joins you, sitting across from you at the table. “On a scale from 1 to 10, how excited are you?” You pretend to shove a mic his way and he chuckles.

“4.”

You gasp dramatically, placing your left hand on your chest to show off your wedding ring as well. “Four? How disappointing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Suguru keeps eyeing you as you look at the plate of hot chicken wings and the bottles of hot sauce. “Are you excited?”

“I’m doing it with you, so yeah.” You flash him a grin before scooting closer to the table. 

You had been in the music industry for a while—in fact, you were known to be one of the few artists who gradually rose to fame. Suguru’s producer tag was a recurring theme in your songs.

Suguru produced more than five albums of yours before you decided to chime in and teach yourself some skills of your own. So a couple of years into your career, people never suspected that there was ever something going on between you and the producer.

Despite the signs being there.

He would hop on songs that were intimate, songs where you’d explicitly express the wild rollercoaster which was your sex life. Romantic songs that showed how happy you were, how this one person was finally worth you giving love a second try. 

And yet people never put two and two together.

Not until this video at least.

“Okay so it’s either I answer the question or I eat a hot wing?”

“Not quite,” you grab the cards before shuffling through them. “You eat the hot wing anyway, and you have to answer the questions.”

“...did you just make that up?”

“Because I know you’ll avoid answering the questions!”

And just based on your demeanor and how comfortable you are whining to the man, the audience could tell that the dynamic between the two of you was the result of years of knowing each other. 

“I’m still not doing that” 

“First question, you have been in the music industry for quite some time—some might even consider you to be a legend–”

Suguru snorts. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“Describe an instance where you didn’t feel like working with an artist because they were being difficult.” You laugh as you read through the question. The internet doesn’t know this about your husband, but he tends to be brutally honest. You lean back in your chair and watch as he carefully thinks about the question.

“Honestly–”

“Suguru!” you warn him, giving him the look that makes a chuckle escape him.

“Alright then, which sauce should I use?” 

—

“Okay princess,” Suguru shuffles through his cards now, carefully picking the first question. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” 

“What is your least favorite song that I produced?” Your jaw drops at his question, covering your mouth while your husband is having the time of his life. He knew how hard it was for you to tell the truth when it could risk hurting someone else—especially when that person was your spouse.

“I can’t do that!”

The tall man gestures towards your plate. “Then eat a hot wing,” 

You think about it for a good ten seconds, eyeing the plate of chicken wings and the hot sauce that made your husband sweat so much his cheeks were flushed. 

Fuck it. 

“...the light is coming.” 

“The light is coming.”

Your eyes widen when you hear him answer at the same time as you, his shoulders shaking as he tries to stifle a laugh.

“If you knew it then why would you ask me?!”

“Because I needed you to come clean once and for all.” Suguru wipes a stray tear, still laughing. Then he turns to the camera. “Every single time someone brings up that song, you can see her face drop. She’s denied it for so many years, but the truth has finally come out.”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“Okay final question,” he grabs the last card, and you notice a smirk painting his features. “Favorite thing about me?”

“Is that actually the question?” You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. Suguru then shows you the card.

“I don’t lie, darling.”

“I can’t pick one thing,” you rest your chin on the palm of your hand, gazing lovingly at your husband. “But if I could really choose, I would say that you are unapologetically you and I wouldn’t change it for the whole world.” 

After a beat of silence and a shared loving look, Suguru finally speaks up.“You know, I was going to tease you and say ‘I know one thing you really like about me’ but your answer is so wholesome I feel like a teenage boy.”

You shake your head. “I can’t believe you.”

🗨️ Top Comments

💬 [somethingsgottagive]: THE (Name) AND THEEEE SUGURU ARE MARRIED??? (6k likes)

💬 [somuchtosay]: Oh my god we are so blind (5k likes)

💬 [onehastogo]: their wedding rings im going to cry (7,3K likes)

💬 [theboyismine]: they suit each other so well im:(((( (1.8K likes)

💬  [sweetnsourchicken] replied to  [theboyismine]: the perfect dynamic

💬 [alltheavocadoes]: this is what dream thought his face reveal would be like (923 likes)

💬 [albumoftheyear]: revealing his face AND whom he’s married to in one day is crazy (508 likes)

💬 [cmontryme]: can someone check on that (name) and suguru fanpage we were all clowning. I fear they were right (392 likes)

💬  [name&suguru4life] replied to  [cmontryme]: I TOLD YALL AND NO ONE BELIEVED ME

💬 [cmontryme] replied to [name&suguru4life]: we owe you a big apology

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[illyrianshadow]

Unravelling in the Night

Summary: Sequel to Flirting in the Dark. Honestly, this is just shameless smut, basically porn without a plot.

Warnings: smut, smut and more smut, 18+

A/N: You ask and you shall receive.

A lot of you asked for a second part of this so I hope I did it justice, I've not written something smutty in a very long time. As usual comments very welcome.

————— 

You’re still pressed against the wall trying to get your breathing in check. Azriel’s shadows are wrapped around your wrists and ankles, keeping you in place while he speaks to Cassian in the hallway. 

One of them snakes its way up to your face, stroking the skin of your cheek while you wait for its master to return. It rests there for a second before moving back down to join the ones snaked around your wrist. 

This is torture. 

Azriel slips back into the room after what feels like an eternity. 

He looks at you, drinking in the view of you still pressed against the wall right where he left you. 

He shuts the door behind him, but doesn’t show any inclination of closing the distance between the two of you. 

He just smirks, the insufferable bat. You are completely in his control and he knows it. 

“We don’t have to worry about that one for a while.” he says. You wonder what he promised Cassian to make him give up that easily. You’ll ask him about it later, there are more important matters at hand. 

The shadow that was stroking your cheek a second ago is now making its way down your body, lightly touching the skin of your breasts before moving further down to where you need its touch the most. It stops a few inches short. 

This male will be the death of you. 

Your breathing is becoming heavier as you stare back at him with hooded eyes, your gaze betraying how much this situation is affecting you.

“Good.” You reply, your voice barely more than a rasp. 

He smirks at you and crosses the distance from the door to the wall within a matter of seconds. 

“Where were we?” his voice still has that same rough edge to it. It’s making your heart rate go up. You know he can smell your evident arousal in the room. You are very aware of his eyes gliding up and down your form. He studies you, taking in the sight of you trapped against the wall by his shadows, completely at his mercy. 

You can tell this is turning him on just as much. 

“I believe you mentioned something about a reward?” you say, voice no more than a breathy whisper. 

He tilts his head, considering your words. “I did say that, didn't I?” He smirks at you and leans forward, his breath touching your lips as he speaks quietly. “Too bad you can never trust anything your captors say. Have you forgotten everything I taught you?” 

You glare at him, trying to close the space between your lips, but his shadows are still holding you firmly in place. How are they this strong? 

“Az..” you whine. “Not fair.” 

His lips find their way to your ear again.

His voice softens for a second. “You okay?” He whispers. You know he’s asking because you’ve never crossed this line sober before. It melts your heart. Ever the considerate male. 

You just nod your head in response, not trusting any words to come out of your mouth coherently right now. 

That’s all the encouragement he needs. 

He crashes his lips to yours in a heated kiss. 

You sigh into his mouth as his tongue finds your own, battling for dominance. His shadows are still holding you in place as he kisses you like a man starved. 

His scarred hands grab your sides and slowly slide up towards your breasts. He starts massaging them softly and you can feel your nipples hardening at the sensation, drawing a soft noise from the male’s lips when he notices. He pinches one between his fingers through the soft material of your bra. 

You can feel the hardening outline of his cock through his leathers. 

You grind against him, the movement giving you just enough friction to draw small moans from your lips. How are you already feeling this close? 

Azriel notices how heated it’s making you and he abruptly takes a step back. “So needy.” 

You should’ve known he wasn’t going to make this easy. 

He loosens the grip his shadows have on your wrist and ankles. 

You take in the sight before you. His lips are kiss red and swollen, shining slightly with your spit. He looks absolutely wrecked.

“Take these clothes off for me,” he says roughly. 

Your hands find the bottom of your shirt and you slowly pull it up over your head, revealing a black lacy bra. Azriel’s eyes darken at the sight. 

“Fuck. Look at you.” His eyes don’t leave your own as he starts palming himself through his leathers. 

Your cheeks flush at the intensity of his gaze as you unbutton your trousers and start sliding them down your legs, revealing a matching pair of black lace panties. 

You thank the mother that you decided to put on this particular set of underwear this morning. 

A couple of weeks ago in a drunken haze, Azriel confessed how much he enjoys the colour on you. The contrast of the black lace against the tone on your skin reminds him of what his shadows look like when they touch you. 

Territorial fae bastard. 

The shadow that is still resting on your stomach moves down and lightly brushes over the heated spot between your legs. You moan at the sensation. 

“No more teasing Az, please.” Your voice sounds needy, but you stopped caring ages ago. “I need you.” 

He just groans at that. His shadows start pushing you towards his bed while he sheds himself of his clothes. 

You take in the sight of him in front of you. His broad inked chest, his impressive length now exposed. 

He pushes you onto the bed and you fall backwards with a soft thud. His sheets feel soft and silky on your skin. 

He follows you down, his magnificent wings spread out as he towers over you. He unhooks your bra and takes it off, taking in the view of your chest now bare before him. 

He pushes your legs apart and looks at you as he starts moving down towards your dripping centre. He kisses the skin of your breasts and licks the pointed peaks of your nipples, before trailing kisses down the soft skin of your stomach. 

He stops when he reaches the spot between your legs, and you can feel his breath through the thin lace of your underwear. “Is this what you need love?” he asks. 

You nod, not caring how needy you seem, and spread your legs wider to offer more space for him to settle in between them. A soft chuckle leaves his lips at your eagerness. 

He moves his calloused fingers up your leg in small circles until he reaches the material covering you. He pushes it to the left and softly drags a finger over your wet core, gathering your slick with his fingers. 

“Fuck love, so wet for me. Can’t wait to taste you.” He says as he licks his lips slightly. “I need you to use your words though baby. Is this what you need?” 

He blows some hot air on your clit, barely offering you any relief. You push your hips up slightly but he pushes you back down, not wanting to give you the friction you need. 

“Yes, please Az. Need your mouth on me. Need you to taste.” 

He smirks at your words and suddenly both his hands are on your panties as he slides them down your legs. He moves forward and drags his tongue over your core, causing a loud noise to slip past your lips. He takes his time, alternating between soft licks and occasionally sucking your clit into his mouth. 

You are falling apart underneath him. 

Your hands find their way into his hair and you pull on one of the loose waves, resulting in an approving groan in response. He holds you down as he devours you, circling a finger around your entrance before slowly pushing it inside. 

“You taste divine love.” he praises, as he adds another finger. The combination of his fingers together with the movements of his tongue are bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “I could stay down here forever.” 

Moans leave your lips and incoherent words tumble from your mouth. “Please.” You manage to say eventually. “Need to come Az, please.” 

He looks up at you, his thumb now circling your clit, replacing his tongue. “Let go for me love.” 

His words of encouragement are your undoing. Your walls flutter around his fingers as you shatter underneath him. 

You’re panting, breaths coming out in short bursts as you come down from your high. Azriel just smirks up at you from his position in between your legs, his lips shining from your wetness. How is this male even real? 

You pull him towards you and press a soft kiss to his lips. You can taste yourself on him. 

“I think it’s time I return the favour.” You breathe into his mouth. 

Who is he to deny you your wish? 

You trade places, Azriel leaning against the headboard while you settle in between his legs. His darkened eyes stare down at you. He moves his hand towards your hair and strokes it softly. The movement is surprisingly tender. 

You can dissect your feelings on why that makes your heart swell in the morning. 

While not breaking his stare, you start moving your hand down the expanse of his chest, slowly gliding towards his thick length. You trace your finger over the outline with a soft touch, a hiss falling from his lips in response. 

“Tease.” He growls. 

You just smirk at him and lean forward, licking the tip once, then twice, but not taking him into your mouth. 

Two can play at this game. 

You wrap your hand around him and start stroking lazily. You’re not really giving him what you know he needs, but move slowly. You’re really taking your time. 

He bucks forward and you can see a bead of precum forming on the head of his cock. You drag your tongue over it, causing another frustrated groan to fall from Azriel’s lips. 

You decide you feel sorry for him. 

You take him into your mouth and suck, hollowing your cheeks. His hands find their way into your hair and hold you in place. You look up at him and the sight of your lips around him makes him lose control. He starts fucking your mouth as you moan around him. 

“Fuck angel, feels so good.” he groans loudly. His words make you feel weak in the knees and you feel the sudden need to touch yourself. 

You slide your hands between your legs and start rubbing your clit, the obscene noises from you sucking his cock together with the sounds coming out of the male’s mouth making you feel like you’re seeing stars. How can someone make you feel this good? 

It is good you didn’t know he had an interest in doing this sober or you would never have left the house the last few months. 

You look up at Azriel through your lashes. 

“Your mouth looks so pretty wrapped around my cock angel.” 

You whine, already feeling close to the edge again. 

You need to feel him inside you. You slide your mouth off his cock and straddle him, crashing your mouths together in another passionate kiss. 

He gets the hint and you feel his tip slide over your entrance before he pushes inside you, bottoming out in one go. You almost shout at the sensation. 

“So good Az, feel so full.” Your cheeks flush at the words leaving your lips and you look at him as he fucks you. His thrusts are desperate and it doesn’t take long before both of you are close . The angle of his movements gives you just the right amount of friction on your clit. 

He pulls you close to his chest and kisses your neck, once again finding the spot he knows will be your undoing. 

“I’m going to come angel.” He bites down on the skin of your neck as he finds his release, pushing you over the edge with him. 

You both fall back onto the bed, breathing heavily. As you turn to face him, you find Azriel looking at you with a mischievous smile on his face. 

You smile back. “What?” 

He moves closer to you, wrapping his wings around you both. Your heart warms at the feeling. It’s always so natural between the two of you. He presses a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I’m just making a list of what other things I can take from Cass during our next bet to make sure this happens again.” 

You chuckle softly at his words. 

Maybe Cassian’s scheming isn’t so bad after all.  

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Malefic Attachment.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST)

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Platonic (At The Moment) Yandere Malleus, Manipulation, Deliberate Social Isolation, and Obsessive/Delusional Behavior.

The worst thing about you, Malleus had decided, was that you’d chosen to be his friend.

‘Chosen’, because you’d been the one to approach him, a dazzling smile painted across your lips and a dozen questions about his life as royalty in a faraway land on your tongue, and ‘worst’, because he couldn’t think of a single other thing about you that he despised so fervently, or for that matter, that he disliked at all. He couldn’t be sure when he came to such a grim conclusion, although it had most likely been some time between the fourth time you’d sought him out in the minutes between your classes and the seventh you apologized for having to cut your conversation so short, nor was he entirely certain why the thought of having any claim to you left him so unsettled, despite how innocent your relationship was.

Briefly, he’d considered keeping you at a distance, telling his retainers to make sure you stayed at arm’s length, but he hated the thought of inconveniencing Silver and Sebek, and he hated the thought of having no claim to you at all even more. He’d never hurt you, nor was he possessive by nature. Most days, the only thing he craved was to sit by your side and—

“Malleus?” He felt a shoulder nudge into his side, a glanced down to find you, of course – staring up at him, smiling as if you already knew he’d been too lost in his own thoughts to listen properly. Immediately, it was all he could do to settle into place and smile back.

Most days, the only thing he wanted was to sit by your side and be with you, and it would’ve been a shame to squander such a golden opportunity to do just that.

He moved to apologize, to explain himself, but there was no need. You were already rolling your eyes and returning to your previous posture; curled into yourself, your legs folded against your chest, chin resting on your knees. It was strange – what lengths such a small creature would take to make itself even smaller. Malleus couldn’t help but find it endearing, the way he might’ve found a plush toy endearing, or a particularly charming prey animal. “I just don’t understand what’s going on,” you sighed, slumping further into yourself. Instantly, Malleus knew that whatever the cause of your distress was, it would not survive much longer than that night.

Still, he listened intently, as you went on. “I mean, I have to be the problem, right? I’m the only common factor – well, me and NRC, but it’s not like people are avoiding school.” Another sigh. This time, when you buried your face in your knees, it remained there. “They’re just avoiding me. I must’ve done something wrong.”

“Never,” he said, because it was true. Because you were infallible, save for your poor taste in companionship. “I can’t imagine what would lead you to believe such a terrible thing. Did someone tell you that?”

There was no real point to asking. He would’ve known if someone had planted such a vile thought in your head; would’ve dealt with it on the spot. Despite his reservations, Malleus made a hobby out of your safekeeping. If something were to happen to you, a human brazen enough to share his company so often, it would’ve reflected poorly on him.

(It’d occurred to him that you were not the first human to ever approach him, nor would you be the last, but Malleus opted against lingering on such technicalities. You were the only human to enjoy the spoils of his protection, and that was enough to make you wholly unique.)

You didn’t answer, not at first. Instead, your attention drifted from him to the view you two so often enjoyed together. It’d been difficult to convince you to join him here – on the roof of Diasomnia’s tallest tower, where one could make out mile after mile of dark, inviting forest in every direction and the dark colors of your dorm uniform blended into those of the night sky – but it’d been even more difficult to convince Vil to let you slip out after curfew. While Malleus knew he had no right to question the nature of your soul, he did often wonder why you had to be placed into Pomefiore, of all possible dorms. Schoenheit was one of the stricter house wardens, outmatched only by Rosehearts. It was difficult to steal a student of his dorm away at the best of times, and Malleus rarely wanted to see you at the best of times. If you’d belonged to Savannahclaw or, should he be so lucky, Diasomnia, there would be no need to rely on Schoenheit’s sparse charity after he’d already gone to the lengths necessary to seek you out.

But you were precious to Malleus, and there were few things he wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness. He cared about you – irrationally so. “My lab partner,” you admitted, eventually. Malleus felt something deep within his chest lose its shape, and yet his smile could only seem to widen. “I don’t know him that well, so it’s not like I have any right to feel… betrayed, I guess, but—”

“You have every right to feel exactly how you feel,” he interjected. “What did he say?”

Malleus already knew. He wanted to hear from your lips, though.

“It’s a little hard to remember.” And yet, you didn’t hesitate to go on. “I think… I think he might’ve said it was too dangerous to be around me. That I was a hazard to have in class, or something.”

That was only half-true, although he doubted you were lying deliberately. Just ‘a hazard to be around’ would’ve been more accurate, on its own. “Is that all?” He moved closer, draping an arm over your shoulders. Automatically, you melted into his side – your body slotting perfectly against his. “You have to know how untrue that is. You’re an excellent mage, and a pleasure to—”

“He’s not the only one, though.” It was the first time he heard your voice so pitiful, so distorted. Malleus couldn’t help but find it endearing. It would’ve been better for both of you, if you allowed yourself to be more reliant on him. “My roommate – that’s someone you have to share a room with when your dorm doesn’t unanimously decide to worship the ground you walk on, I know you’re probably not familiar with the concept – requested to move last week, and—” Your voice caught in your throat, your gazing turning downward. Malleus felt his fangs sharpen behind his lips, but repressed the urge to act on his less wholesome instincts. “There’s this boy in my third hour – from Ignihyde, I think. I swear, I’ve never even talked to him, but last time we had class together, he just came up to me, and—” You paused, shrunk into yourself. You attempted to pull away from Malleus, but he only drew you in tighter, and your resolve gave away far faster than his patience. “He called me a freak.”

Ah.

Malleus had wondered what’d come of his brief conversation with your classmate. It was a tamer offense than what he’d expected, although you were having a much stronger reaction than he would’ve hoped.

You weren’t wrong, for what it was worth. You hadn’t spoken to that particular classmate, but you could have. He’d planned to confess to you during your shared period, although he hadn’t thought to phrase it quite so romantically. Sebek had overheard him building up his courage, and it’d only taken a few words from Malleus to dissuade him from doing anything so foolish. Not that it was foolish to want to be around you – if that was true, he would be the biggest fool of them all. It was only foolish to think that someone so insignificant, someone so unimportant had any more right to be around you than Malleus did.

He couldn’t help but notice, as time went on, that all of the people you may’ve once considered friends were rather weak-willed. It was a tragedy, really. Malleus was aware that he had a reputation among the mortal portion of NRC’s student body, but that was no excuse to act the way your ‘friends’ always seemed to – sniveling and shaking, brought to tears by even the implication of a threat. He worried, at first, that they’d go running to you, spout off something awful and exaggerated that painted his protective habits in an unflattering light, but as far as he could tell, it was unfounded fear – an easily dealt with one, at that. Should anyone ever try to put anything but distance between you and themselves, he’d—

Well, he couldn’t hurt them. You wouldn’t care for him as much as you did, if he tried to.

That was, if you ever found out.

Again, his mind drifted back to Schoenheit; all narrowed eyes and pursed lips and disapproving scowls every time Malleus mentioned your name. It didn’t make him angry – he’d never been quick to anger, and it would only be childish to change that now – but he didn’t care for the way he felt when he was apart from you, when he couldn’t find an excuse to do away with the flimsy barriers that separated you from him. He didn’t enjoy the tightness in his chest, the dryness in the back of his throat, the way every little inconvenience left him on the brink of violence. No, he didn’t care for the way he behaved when you weren’t with him.

Yet again, his mind turned to Vil.

Perhaps he was more prone to anger than believed himself to be.

“Mortals,” He was talking before he realized he’d wanted to. His gaze flickered from you, still despondent and curled against his side, to the landscape, all-but pitch black under the thick veil of night. “are fickle creatures. They tend not to trust what they don’t control. Humans, especially.”

Another jab to his side, albeit not as forceful as the first. “Keep in mind that you’re talking to a human right now, Mal.”

“How could I forget?” This time, it was Malleus who detached from you, pushing himself to his feet and offering you a hand to help you do the same. With a huff, you followed him, mimicking exasperation as you let him guide you. “I only meant to say that you might not be entirely understood by such short-lived creatures. I mean, you’ve seen how they act around me.” He squeezed your hand, and bashfully, you looked away. “You agree, don’t you, (Y/n)?”

It took a moment, but with a small sigh and slight smile, you nodded. “…yeah, I guess. It’s not like teenagers are supposed to be nice or anything.”

“You agree, then. They’ve been treating you cruelly.”

Your smile wavered. Malleus considered that it may have been your fragility that’d endeared you to him. Or your inability to hide it, at least. “Well, I wouldn’t call them cruel, but…”

“But?”

“They can be mean, sometimes, I guess. The people in my dorm, especially.” You forced an airy laugh, turning away from him entirely. “I… I think Vil might’ve told them to keep an eye on me. They’ve been acting like I’m under house arrest, lately.”

“You must know how unfair that is.” Almost as unfair as Schoenheit’s attempts to keep you away from him. “And I’m sure you must know that you’d be much happier in a dorm with more open-minded students.”

Immediately, your expression dropped. You tried to pull your hands out of his, but he only tightened his grip. It pained him to exert any amount of control over you, but some pains were necessary. Those that kept you within the scope of his protection, especially. “I… I don’t really like where this is going, Malleus.”

“You haven’t even given me a chance to explain myself.” He didn’t realize his hold had tightened into something bruising until your lips quirked downward, eyes narrowing as you struggled to choke down a fractured whimper. Reluctantly, he released you, but his hands soon found their way to your shoulders. You couldn’t run, not on a rooftop, not very far, but there was no reason to give you the chance to. “I only think that you should consider how happy you could be if you—”

“Malleus,” you interjected. “I really don’t—”

“If you belonged to Diasomnia,” he finished, despite your protests. Impressively, you managed to bite your tongue long enough for him to explain himself properly. “Our students are much less territorial, and the majority are still human. If you’re afraid you’ll be an outcast, don’t be. You’ll still be among your own kind, just a less hostile breed.” When you failed to move, he gave himself the luxury of a less restricting form of affection – bring one hand up to cup your cheek. “I’m only trying to suggest that you seek out a more suitable place for yourself. It’s not as if staying where you are will make you any happier.”

“…I like Pomefiore, though. And it’s not like everyone’s avoiding me.” A lie, albeit one plausible enough to send a bolt of white, searing fear from the deepest hollow of Malleus’ chest to the back of his throat. He flinched, but caught himself before his pointed nails could harm your delicate skin. If you had any friends left (aside from himself, of course), he would tear them apart. He would carve their hearts from their bodies. He would—

He would change that.

There was no need to be so gruesome about it. Not yet, at least.

“You care for it more than you care for me?” He made sure to keep his tone light, teasing, only letting it dip into something more serious when you bit the inside of your cheek and looked away. “Please, don’t tell me that you still think they’re worth your time.”

“They’re not all bad.” You still weren’t looking at him. Malleus might’ve been more annoyed if he thought you had anything beyond him to pay attention to. “Vil’s a really good house warden, and—and, we have these skincare nights once a week, which might not sound very fun to you, but—Well, I haven’t been invited recently, but—”

To your credit, you didn’t need him to say anything. All it took was a sympathetic look, his palm slotted tenderly against your cheek, and you cracked before he had the chance to say a word.

“…but, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” You shook your head, shrugged, as if it wasn’t a matter of true concern. As if you wouldn’t give anything to be as near to him as possible. “It’s not like I can just decide to change the nature of my soul. That’s between the dark mirror and…” Another chirping laugh, like windchimes and birdsong and silver bells. Malleus could only hope he’d hear it again sometime soon, in a more celebratory context. “…itself, I think.”

“Normally,” he admitted, running his thumb over your cheek. “Save for when you have another extremely competent house warden to petition the headmaster on your behalf.”

Even in the dim light, he could make out your cheeks flush. Good. He wanted to have an effect on you – any effect at all. “Malleus, I—I really can’t ask you to do that. You’re already so busy, and I really don’t mind—”

“(Y/n).” Immediately, you went quiet. He rarely used your name, and you knew to pay attention, when he did. “If you can tell me, honestly, that you do not believe you’d be happier in Diasomnia than you currently are, I’ll drop the matter entirely.”

You pursed your lips, your eyes meeting his own for the first time since he’d broached the topic. “…and if I couldn’t say that?”

Biting back his grin would’ve been impossible. He could only hope you mistook his delight for relief. “Then consider it done.”

You really were a delicate creature. A few seconds of quiet anticipation, a gentle squeeze to your arm, and he all-but watched you fold into yourself, crumpling under the weight of your own isolation. A small, unsteady smile spread over your lips as you pulled away from him altogether, only to throw yourself into his chest; your arms winding around his neck as you pulled him into a lung flattening hug. After a startled beat, he returned the gesture, pulling you that much closer as you buried your face in the leather of his coat. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you,” you stuttered, speaking quickly enough for each word to slur into the next. “I—I just haven’t had anyone to talk to, but you’ve been so patient, and so nice to me, and I… I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” You pulled back, looking up at him. Your smile was brighter than he’d ever seen it, and Malleus took a moment to savor that he’d been the one to draw it out of you. “You’re the best, Malleus.”

“Think nothing of it.” He was tempted to pull you back, to hold you for just a few seconds longer, but you were already tearing yourself away from him, clapping your hands together as you rambled excitedly about how much fun it would be to stay in the same dorm, how much more time you could get to spend with him and Lilia, how excited you were to get to know Silver and Sebek and all the other underclassmen who liked to, in your own words, ‘bite at his ankles’. It was only when you took an over-eager step towards the rooftop’s ledge that he took you by the arm, pulling you back with an airy chuckle. “It’s gotten late,” he explained, snapping his fingers. In the blink of an eye, the two of you were standing in his dorm room, the rooftop and the night sky’s expanse left behind entirely. “Why don’t you spend the night in one of our spare rooms? I’ll make more appropriate arrangements in the morning.”

You agreed without a second thought, and as he walked you through the shadowed halls of your soon-to-be home, he decided that he’d been wrong, initially. The worst thing about you wasn’t that you’d chosen to be with him. Really, your closeness wasn’t a bad thing at all.

The worst thing about you, undeniably, was that you could still choose to be close to people who weren’t Malleus.

Thankfully, he was already taking measures to fix that.

[threebea]

Okay I love the fanon Dooku and Obi-Wan dynamic and all of them getting along and being a great master and Padawan pair.

But consider...

Au where for whatever reason Dooku has to take on Obi-Wan's apprenticeship and they absolutely hate each other.

Dooku (68 and trying to get seduced to the dark side): are you going to tattle to the council again?

Obi-Wan (19 and not having it): are you going to drop protocol and try to choke someone out with the Force again?

Like Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon always had their moments of friction but the level of ice that can develop between Dooku and Obi-Wan is legendary.

Obi-Wan: Master I don't think siding with capitalists and billionaires will help the people of this planet like you think it will.

Dooku: the red tape of the republic-

Obi-Wan: is there to ensure walkways have guard rails. Do you see a guard rail here? If knighthood doesn't pan out I'm applying for a job with Space OSHA.

Dooku: Padawan the Jedi are the attack dogs of the Senate.

Obi-Wan: hey I am not the one using the force to choke people on my missions. I use my words. I think you'll find you're the one attacking--

Dooku: are you ever going to let that go?

Obi-Wan: of course Master! I know how to let go! Unlike you when you're crushing someone's windpipe!

Dooku: why you little-

Obi-Wan: *choking sounds*

Mace: you've been together for a month, surely this is just a rocky first step.

Dooku lifts his arm, Obi-Wan is biting him hanging off by his teeth: I'm going to level with you Master Windu. I was considering leaving the Jedi and joining a Sith Lord who plans to destroy the Jedi and take over the galaxy, but now my only desire is to get as far away from Obi-Wan Kenobi as I can and never speak to him again.

[leighsartworks216]

Damn Him

Father!Zayne x Mother!Reader

I NEVER write baby fics or anything with kids and shit EVER. So when I got this idea and felt something deep in my core about it, I simply had to get it out of my system. I'm sorry ;-;

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, angst (at the end), family fic, breasts, Dawnbreaker, swearing

Word Count: 1,275

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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Crying broke through the still night air. They crackled slightly, muffled through the baby monitor on your bedside table. Nonetheless, you were awake.

The bed is already starting to shift when you're opening your eyes. You blindly reach out and grab onto the soft sleeve of Zayne's pajama shirt.

"I've got it..." you murmur. "She's prob’ly hungry."

He watches blearily as you slowly push yourself up into a sit. "Are you sure?"

You hum, nodding. You let go of him and pick up the monitor, waving it in the air with a playful, yet sleepy, grin. "It's on my side tonight, remember?" You turn down the volume, set it back down and get to your feet. "Go back to bed, lovey. I'll be back soon."

Zayne sighs, but he stays where he is as you pull a cardigan of his around your shoulders. He listens to the sounds of your shared home: the quiet shuffle of your slippers, the hiccuping cries of your daughter, the soothing lilt of your voice as you calm her down.

He glances at the digital clock beside him. It's only 2am; there's still plenty of time to get enough sleep for work tomorrow. As much as his body wants to fight the exhaustion and join you, he knows you'd scold him if he tried. He trusts you, anyway. There's nothing he can do right now to help.

So, he slips back under the blankets and turns onto his side. As the blankets fall into place, the rustling silences, and he tunes back into the lullaby you sing. It leads him down into the embrace of a peaceful slumber.

When next he wakes, he's disoriented. He blinks droopily at the emptiness of your side of the bed, then at the clock that reads 3:30am. There's no distinct sounds coming from the baby monitor. Down the hall is quiet. Why aren't you in bed?

He pushes the blankets off of himself and sits up, sliding on his slippers like it’s second nature. The cool air of the bedroom doesn't bother him as he crosses the room and out the door.

The door to the nursery is wide open. Blue moonlight pours though, spilling onto the floor and up the opposite wall. He squints slightly as he peeks inside. Any fears he could have vanish as he sees you.

You're sitting back in the armchair beside the window, head tilted back at an awkward angle and mouth open around quiet snores. Your shirt is pulled down to expose one of your breasts. Your daughter is using it as a pillow as your arms securely hold her, even as you are fast asleep.

Zayne drinks it all in. Your sleep-rumpled hair and dark eye bags, the shimmer of a drool trail along your chin, the uncomfortable way the collar of your shirt pulls against the underside of your breast. Your daughter, Jasmine, his beloved little flower, clinging with her tiny baby fists to his cardigan you stole, her chubby cheek resting against your skin and the other catching a stray moonbeam. He considers taking a photo of the moment, though he eventually decides against it. His two girls need to be put to bed and he doesn't wish to delay that any longer. Besides, if nothing else, this moment has been seared into his mind. That is enough for him.

He's as quiet as can be as he crosses the room to the chair. Carefully, he slowly pries Jasmine's hands from the cardigan. Her body is so small and warm in his hands as he lifts her into his arms. Oftentimes, he's overwhelmed with the desire to hold her forever, to feel her tiny little heartbeat alongside his own. Just like people save ultrasounds or ink-presses of their child's feet and hands, Zayne wonders if it would be strange to save an echocardiogram as a memento.

She doesn't stir as he lays her down in the crib. Her long, dark eyelashes curl over her round cheeks, picturesque. Her onesie is covered in little snowmen. He should make one for her with his Evol tomorrow. He can only imagine the bright-eyed stare she'd give him as he creates such cute things out of thin air.

Leaning down, he presses the lightest of kisses to her head, just barely starting to see hair growth. Now to take care of the other girl in his life.

Nimble fingers pull your shirt back over your breast, drawing the open sides of the cardigan together to keep you warm. He debates between waking you or not. And although he really should wake you, he ends up lifting you from the chair and into his arms. The moonlight caresses his back as he carries you down the hall, back to your bedroom. He tucks your feet in first as he lays you down before pulling the blankets up over you. Just as he did with Jasmine, he kisses your forehead, willing portions of his soul to transfer to you in hopes he can somehow get across how much he utterly and truly loves you.

He grabs the baby monitor before he rounds the bed back to his side. He turns the volume dial back up and sets it on his nightstand beside the clock. You'll get onto him about it being your turn to take care of the baby for the entire night, a system born out of his tendency to do everything himself due to his workaholic nature. He'll accept the scolding come daylight. You'll forgive him. You always do. Even if it's with an exaggerated sigh and a fond eye roll.

He lays on his side to face you, the love of his life. He couldn't dream of being anywhere but here, by your side, as he allows sleep to overcome him once again.

-

He wakes up.

Hollow.

He always feels hollow after dreams like that. And why shouldn't he feel the weight of what is missing in his life?

His bed is empty save for him. The room down the hall is full of random stuff he can't be bothered to worry about. It's a guest room; he's not having any guests over, so why bother?

The void within him cries to be filled. It opens like a yawning mouth, only an unfathomable depth waiting within, yearning for that life. The life that doctor has. A life he can never have.

Never will he be able to wake up to your face right beside him. Never will he be able to hold his daughter. Never will he be able to have that life with you.

It isn't fair. It's not-

He presses the balls of his hands into his eyes, biting back the shuddering breaths and the sting of tears. He’ll be forced to watch his daughter grow up through that doctor’s eyes. And it’s not even his. He has no rights to make a claim on her. He never will.

Relegated to watching you grow old through someone else’s eyes, instead of being there with you, to hold and help and love.

The sensor beeps nearby. He turns his head to look, blinking away the moisture in his eyes and meeting the breaking dawn that shines in through the window. A red dot blinks at him. It’s only a few blocks away.

He imagines for a brief second if the victim this time was you.

You, carrying a little baby in your arms, calling him a murderer. The idea of taking her life-

He closes his eyes and wills the thoughts away. Damn that doctor for having the life he can never have. Damn him.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip

[chuluoyi]

everything, but not anything

- gojo satoru x reader

you were his last remainder of the happiest blue spring in his life, until your untimely demise. and on the death's door, he finally found you again.

genre/warnings: angsty wangsty, consolation towards the end

notes: i said i can't create gojo fics without feeling depressed, so here i present to you, angst. it's inspired from a thread in twitter i read about how gojo was given everything but he couldn't do anything and my heart just incredibly hurts and―this happened. it's unedited because the idea popped into my mind at 1 in the morning

i wrote this while listening to this wonderful song. consider it the theme song for this piece. i highly recommend you to read this and listen to it!

[update] sequel -> found you

general masterlist

You were so pretty. So really pretty, in fact. And he likes pretty things. Perhaps that was what spurred him to spontaneously ask you out.

You declined him at first―after all, he was a special grade weirdo. And you half-expected him to give up soon enough, only that he didn't. He persisted like a cockroach, smothering you with his very being. Then like a sweet romance novel, you too finally fell for him, melting at his clumsy attempts to woo you.

And by God, you were happy together. To Satoru, it was the brightest, most vibrant page in his life. And with his very being, he would do everything he could to protect you. After all, he was blessed with the best, he had all means to protect you.

He should've known better.

It started with his failed star plasma vessel mission. Riko was dead, and at that time he was just numb. Later, he made excuses. He couldn't have foreseen that a sorcerer killer would join the fray and made a mess of things.

But then his best friend, Suguru, left. Satoru couldn't make excuses any longer. For that, he was wholly responsible. From then, he realized that just being strong wasn't enough. And throughout those dark days, you were with him, consoling him as you brought his head to your chest, letting him sleep in your arms.

"Don't ever leave me, okay?" he whispered at the dead of the night with hoarse voice. It made your heart sting. You nodded and ran your fingers throughout his hair, mumbling a soft "of course."

And you never did. You were always by his side.

Satoru was really grateful for that. To have the last years of your life by his side. Looking back, it was like a beautiful mirage.

He had hidden himself behind the facade of the strongest. The unreachable. Untouchable. It felt nice, still is. Before he had known it, he had drawn this line between himself and other people. Between him and you. He wasn't lonely, but he was at the very same time.

And perhaps he had gotten way too arrogant, and thus the heavens decided to humble him.

He couldn't prevent the Shibuya Incident from happening. Worse, he fell into the enemy's hand and got sealed, and just before he was trapped inside that accursed box, he saw you die. And even after the most excruciating 19 days of his life afterwards, he couldn't do anything about it.

Your face haunted him. The tears you shed for him still lingered at the tips of his fingertips. The blood from your mouth still soaked his vision.

"Satoru..." you croaked. You were afraid. Afraid of dying, but most of all, afraid of leaving him. You had promised him once, on the bunkbed of your dorms back in Jujutsu High, that you wouldn't leave him. Tears wouldn't stop falling from your beautiful eyes.

Satoru burned that image on his mind. He wanted to hate himself with every fiber of his being, but then you said the most damnable thing possible.

"Thank you... for everything..."

And you had a smile on your face. In your last moments, you decided to convey how much he meant to you in this life. How much you cherished him. You prayed with all your heart that it would reach him.

And once again, just like the first day he saw you at the training grounds of Jujutsu High, Satoru found you to be really breathtaking. You were beautiful even as you laid dying. Even as his visions were obscured as he fell into the darkness.

Inside the prison realm where time passed long and uncertain, he made himself numb once again.

You were his most cherished figment of the most precious memory held in his heart―the three years of his youth. He wouldn't have changed anything about it. He was devastated, severely so, but so did the sweetness aftertaste he felt.

Your feelings reached him, and because of that, even if the road ahead was long and hard and painful, he would stay on that road.

If it meant he could meet you again on the other side of this dream... he'd stay and move towards tomorrow, no matter how bleak it was.

When his comrades freed him from the prison realm, he gained knowledge that most people he knew were also dead during his absence. Nanami. Yaga. The students.

Perhaps it was his curse. To be blessed with everything, but not being able to do anything about it.

He had nothing more to lose when he fought against Sukuna. He gave it his all. Everything his life had led him to―he put it all on the line.

And suddenly―suddenly, he was back to the happiest chapter of his youth. Everyone was there. Suguru was there. Nanami, Haibara, even Riko.

And you.

On the other side of that dream, you were once again standing before him, in your old uniform, just like when you’d get ready for a class so many years ago, and with the smile he fell in love with. The smile he would gladly fight the world for.

"Satoru," you called, breathless, but just like before you left him the first time, you frowned and your eyes suddenly glistened with tears. "Why... are you here? How did you―"

But you choked back your tears when he ran to you and pulled you into his arms so tightly. You heard him grunt, and then to your surprise, slightly sob.

Now he is no longer Gojo Satoru, the strongest. He is back to a young sorcerer wanting so badly to live his youth to the fullest, happiest.

"You lied to me," he reprimanded you amidst his weeping. "You left. You freaking left―"

Your vision blurred. "I'm sorry..."

Satoru let you go to have a good look at you. You were no longer bleeding. Your insides were intact. Just a little crying because you couldn't help it.

"I love you, you know that right?" he blurted with the most sullen expression he could muster. He turned back into the child-boy you somehow fell in love with.

"Satoru," you breathed out, anxious. "You shouldn't be here―"

"I should," he cut you with a firm tone. "I have no regrets. I have done what I can, and now―"

"But the others―they need you! They need you, Satoru."

He drooped his head. He had thought it over too, but he had come to a final conclusion. "No. They don't."

Maybe it was finally the time to let go of it. It was time to just... pass it over. No more interventions. No more tipping the balance of the world itself.

Immediately, you understand what he means. Gojo Satoru has served his purpose. There was nothing left that he must and could do.

"You waited long, huh?" you whispered with tears, yet a smile bloomed on your face.

"I did."

"Then... now that you're here," you offered your hand towards him, and then looked at the faces of your friends. They were all beaming at you and him, waiting for this exact moment.

You stared at him fondly, lovingly.

"Would you... walk this road with me once again?"

Satoru snapped his head. He nodded at you with pure certainty, zero hesitation. "Yes."

He took your hand, grasping it tightly in his.

"Even when there's a possibility that you have to walk to the other side of a nightmare again?”

"I would," Satoru resolutely replied.

Because it's you, he would. He'd willingly and gladly cross the throes of hell and set out on this lonely yet hopeful journey, just to meet you.

You chuckled at him heartily, and Satoru felt the immense love he held for you as the two of you walked towards tomorrow, without regrets.

It may be his curse, to have everything yet nothing at the same time. But each time he would be faced with this decision, he'd remember that feeling and let go of everything just for this very chance to live a life with you again.

[iamstillovingyou]

Under the cherry blossom

Kang Dae-ho x reader fluff, comfort Summary: Realizing how important Dae-ho has been to you throughout the games and providing comfort to each other Warnings: PTSD, panic attack, anxiety etc. spoilers for squid game s2

hey guys, this is my first ever try at writing something on here, so please be kind! I can't stop thinking about Dae-ho from Squid Game and my daydreams gave me this idea, so I thought it might be good to write about it. I incorporated some of the events from s2 as well as the ending, inserting reader as part of the group with Dae-ho. I used 'you' throughout the whole fic. Hope you enjoy it! Word count: 1k As the lights went out and everyone retired to their beds with just a few voices chattering away or snoring around the hall, your anxiety started spiking up. You had tried to keep your cool during the games, but one harrowing experience after another left you disturbed. Thinking about the most recent game 'Mingle' left your mind in a whirl. You were wondering how you managed to survive every single round of it. The fact that you were a part of a group of people who became your friends and protectors definitely helped you stay alive so long. But, one particular person you kept thinking of was Dae-ho, who kept close to you throughout the whole game. As soon as they'd announce the number, Dae-ho would grab your hand and run for your lives, hoping to secure the number of people and a room. In the last round, as you were considering the possibility of the number two being announced, you felt a tight grip on arm and turned back to look Dae-ho in the eyes. He gave you a nod of reassurance. You held on to him for dear life. Now that you were alive for the ordeal of the next game, your mind focused on Dae-ho. Ever since you joined their group, he was always looking out for you, making sure you're okay and making little jokes to ensure you keep your mind off the horrifying reality that any of you might not be there the next day. You had got used to him and found his presence soothing and his concern for you during the last game intrigued you.

You started worrying about the next game and felt an oncoming panic attack. You had to talk to someone. You turned your head to the right, to the bed where Dae-ho was sleeping. Hesitatingly, you whispered into the darkness: 'Dae-ho', not hoping for answer. After just a second you heard a quiet 'Yes?' 'Dae-ho, are you sleeping?' Then followed silence. You had almost started regretting calling out his name, especially as you didn't like asking for help. But your thoughts were interrupted by Dae-ho shuffling from his bed and kneeling next to yours. 'Are you okay? Is something wrong?' You tried to make out his face in the faint light, his eyes only two dots shining. 'Dae-ho, I'm scared' you blurted out. You had been scared since the beginning, but managed to keep fear at bay. Now it overwhelmed you completely. Dae-ho kept his voice low 'I know. This place is a nightmare, but we are strong, right?, he said as he took your hand in his, 'We've made it so far, we just have to stick together, okay?'. As he said this he sat down on the side of your bed, taking your hand in his. You sat up, feeling the warmth of his hand. You nodded, but tears started swelling in your eyes. 'Dae-ho, what if we do not make it out of here?' you asked as a hot tear rolled down your cheek, you trying to hold in the sobs bubbling in your throat. 'Remember the bridge you were telling me about? With the cherry blossoms and the pond? How magical it is in the springtime?' You nodded. 'Well, picture it. Imagine us there, walking over it on a sunny day, the breeze blowing the petals softly around us. We're safe and happy. You'll take me there when we get out of here, right?', he flashed his charming smile, wiping away the tear from your cheek. You let out a quiet chuckle, trying not to burst out crying. You had told him about your hometown and how you loved that spot in the springtime and how you longed to see it again. He had listened. 'I promise' you whispered as he kissed your hand. 'Now try to get some sleep, we need to be ready for whatever is coming tomorrow', he said and retreated to his bed.

The next day brought its own challenges. Gi-hun's knowledge of the system had helped your group stay alive thus far. His next proposal was to organize an attack on the guards and their leader. You knew it was a great risk and tried to hide your concern for Dae-ho who was determined to be a part of it. He kept glancing at you as they were making the plan. He knew the danger he was exposing himself to, but he was ready to do anything to make sure you two to walk out of there alive. Before they headed out the door, you ran up to him. 'Dae-ho!' He turned to look at you with his soft gaze, his lips thinning into a line. You took a deep breath. 'I'll be waiting for you", you said and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

... All you could hear were shots being fired. You had just managed to calm yourself a bit, when you saw Dae-ho entering through the door, your face lighting up at the relief. He was back. You ran up to him, smiling on the verge of tears. He looked terrified and went straight to the dead guards on the floor fumbling around in their pockets taking the ammo. You tried talking to him but he wasn't responding, focused on collecting all the charges. You noticed what he was doing and helped him, piling them up in a bundle in the green hoodie. 'Stay here' he said and ran out the door. Confused, you went back to the beds, praying everything was going to turn out alright. Several minutes later, you saw Dae-ho reentering and hiding himself away in one of the beds, holding his palms over his ears, visibly shaking. A second later, player 120 came after him, you could see them talking about something. You ran up to them and found out what had happened. As you put your arms around Dae-ho and he laid his head against your chest, new guards entered and started shooting at the ceiling. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry', he kept repeating. You held him tightly, bracing yourself for whatever was coming next. 'Remember the cherry blossoms, we're safe and happy'.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend promises to watch over you when you want to get drunk.

Genre: SMUT-ish

Warnings: innocent!reader, intoxication, swearing, grinding on someone's thigh, mentions of sex (no actual sex considering reader is drunk), praise kink

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Just as you extend your arm to knock, James slides in front of you and gently holds under your elbow. He's smiling at you fondly as he caresses soothing circles across your skin.

"I want you to know, love, just because we mentioned it doesn't mean you have to, hmm?" he reminds you, his voice low and husky.

You smile and nod your head, letting him wrap an arm around your waist, "I know, Jamie," you reassure him. James looks at you in such a way you know he understands and he settles into your side. He turns around when you knock, his arm still holding you close, and when the door swings open to reveal an already flushed Sirius Black, your boyfriend smirks.

"Prongsie!" Sirius cries happily, pulling James in by his collar and trapping him in a hug. James has released his arm from around you in anticipation of Sirius's gesture and you giggle, walking into the house behind them.

Sirius looks at you next. "Y/n!" he cries, "Your lovely lady looks as lovely as ever, Jamsey," he skips over and takes your hand in his, twirling you around. You can smell the faint cherry vodka on his breath as he holds up your hand and clumsily swipes a thumb along your knuckles. "Still no ring?" Sirius whines with a light-hearted pout.

James pulls you away gently, his cheeks blushed pink. "Alright, enough. Hands off my girl," he reprimands, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your temple. He's holding your hand almost possessively, but you don't mind.

"I keep wondering that myself, Siri," you join in the teasing and send James a smile.

The latter rolls his eyes but smirks as he helps you out of your winter coat. He hangs it up next to his own and then places his hand on your lower back so he can guide you around. It's a common gesture James doesn't even realize he's doing anymore.

Sirius and Remus's house isn't small, but it isn't big either. It's normally sized with dark brick walls and ivy near the upper windows. Inside, the fire is burning and the smell of cookies and wine is in the air.

Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene occupy the couch as they play a game of friendly poker with Frank and Alice. Remus, when he sees you all, stands up from his armchair and smiles widely.

"Y/n/n," he says as if he hasn't seen you in years. Which is a dramatic exaggeration.

Remus pulls you into a warm hug, which means you aren't next to James anymore and he pouts, "Why is everyone suddenly in love with my girlfriend?" he whines.

Remus chuckles and kisses your cheek, "Because she's just so lovely, James," he kisses your cheek again and you giggle. "Plus, you've been hiding her from us for weeks now. I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose."

James shakes his head with a low chuckle, his hand finding yours. "It's not my fault she's been busy."

"You guys do realize I am standing right here, yeah?" you interrupt with a chuckle. Remus looks at you fondly. He nods and then hurries you and James over to the couch where your friends are.

Always the gentleman, James crosses his legs and sits on the floor while you squeeze in between Lily and Marlene, sending them smiles.

A few moments later Sirius emerges with two glasses of white wine. He grins and hands one to James before handing you yours. Instantly, your eyes flicker to James as you take the glass and look at the liquid.

He sends you a reassuring nod. Even in school, you tended to stay away from alcohol because you were scared. Scared of losing control. But, now that you're with James and you feel safe around him. You had brought it up a few days ago: that you wanted to try. James had promised to watch you, to make sure you don't drink too much or do anything stupid.

So, you put the glass to your lips.

Three drinks in and you don't feel drunk.

Rather, you feel completely normal – well almost normal as you seem to have a hard time keeping your eyes away from your boyfriend's hands. You tend to play with the hem of your dress in your lap and you're still sitting in between Lily, and now Sirius as he drunkenly animates his sentences.

James is still sitting on the floor, his arms draped across his knees as he crosses his ankles. From time to time, he'll look up at you and his eyebrows will scrunch as if to ask if you're okay. Your cheeks start to feel hot and you fumble with your hands to press them on your face. You squirm around, feeling pressure in your core as you bite down on your lip.

"Y/n," James's voice is hoarse and you look up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Come here, dove," he whispers.

When you stand, you stumble to James and gasp when he pulls you down onto his lap. You hold onto him, looking into his eyes as his hand finds your thigh just shy from your ass. James frowns as he sees your expression but then his lips curl into a smirk.

Clumsily, he makes a show of standing as you cling onto him. Your friends don't seem preoccupied by you and James as he gently guides you into Remus and Sirius's small bathroom in the hallway. You lean against the sink, looking up at James and mumble, "W-What?"

James's knuckles caress down your cheek as he chuckles. "Hey, are you okay?"

You blink at him, trying to focus on something other than the heat from his strong body against yours. You hum, nodding. James's palm presses against your cheek first and then moves to your forehead. He frowns. "You're warm. 'You sure you're okay?" he asks with concern.

Your breathing becomes harsher as you stare at him. "O-oh- yeah. I'm g-good," you try to sound as normal as you can although his touch ignites a fire inside you.

James's frown deepens, looking you over. When you bite your lip, his eyebrow raises and the corner of his mouth slips upwards. He knows your signs all too well by now.

James slides his knee in between your legs, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your skirt rides up your thighs a little further. The coarse fabric of his jeans hits your cotton panties and your hands grip the sink harder. You look up at him, your eyes lidded. "J-Jamie?"

His hand slides up your cheek, tilting his head as he presses a sloppy kiss behind your ear. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here. I won't allow anything bad to happen to you, my lovely," he lifts his knee slightly and a shiver runs up your arms.

You clutch his shirt, your mind already starting to go fuzzy. You can't tell if you're just drunk or incredibly horny – perhaps you're both? All you know if you want James's touch. You want his lips, his hands, his cock. James's knee rubbing against your pussy interrupts your dirty fantasies as you sigh.

"I'm not gonna do all the work," James mutters and pauses his movements.

"More," You whisper, staring at him needily and James chuckles quietly.

"Shhh, my baby's simply a little too drunk for that," his voice is smooth and stern as he kisses the side of your lips, "I'm not gonna do that, lovie. I'm sorry. But, if you wanna get off on my trousers then who am I to deny you?" he quips with a knowing smile.

As if simply needing his permission, you roll your hips onto him and let out a loud moan. James covers your mouth with his hand, stroking your skin as you buck against him desperately. You're dripping and seeping through your panties to soak his jeans with your juices. You can't stop your soft, drunken, moans as you rub your sensitive clit against him.

"Good girl," James whispers encouragements, occasionally moving his knee to apply more pressure, "My good girl, aren't you? So needy when you're drunk, hmm?" he hums with a smile.

You nod, cheeks burning as your movements become even more desperate. It feels so good. He's making you feel so good and he knows it. James leans in and rests his hand behind your ear as he delicately kisses your head. He can tell you're close and he whispers sweet nothings in your ear as your mind goes fuzzy and your skin prickles with desire.

Your mouth opens only no sound comes out when you rut against him harder. James grins, enjoying having you so completely undone in front of him. You hold onto his sleeve, squeezing your thighs around his and tears of pleasure brim your lashes. James coos, "Aw, don't cry, sweetheart. What's the matter?" he teases and strokes his thumb across your cheek.

"I- I need more," you whimper, trying desperately to reach your high.

"I can't let you have more, lovie," James says quietly. He doesn't want to risk crossing any boundaries when you're drunk.

Still, he grips your hips and rocks them over his thigh, helping you. "Here, just let go for me. It's okay, I'll take care of you later I promise." You whine and lean your head on his chest as your pussy throbs.

You feel light-headed when you finally come, your juices soaking your panties and James's jeans. He kisses your forehead when you look up at him, eyes lidded. "Good girl, you did so good," he whispers, stroking a hand in your hair as you catch your breath.

James lifts you effortlessly onto the sink and you automatically spread your legs. You watch him as he bends over and rolls up some toilet paper in his hand.

He then hands it to you, "Clean yourself up, dove?"

You look at him innocently, silently asking him to be the one to clean you. James hesitates and bites his lip. Quickly, he dips his hand into your panties and collects your cum on the paper. He bunches it up and throws it in the toilet. He rolls up some more and wipes his jeans a little.

Finally, he flushes the evidence and kisses your lips. You squirm a little, uncomfortable from the wetness in your panties. James looks down and smirks.

He starts to slide your panties down your hips and looks at you for consent. You nod, staring at him. You're still in a haze from the liquor but you trust James. He slides your panties into his jeans pocket and smoothes your skirt. He sees your adorable frown, "No one will know, I promise," he assures you.

When you leave the bathroom, the hallway seems darker. James's hand rests on your ass, keeping your skirt down as you focus on not tripping. You don't realize how giddy and stupid you and James looks until you both enter the living room again and your friends turn to stare. Lily, Remus, and Marlene seem to compose themselves as they smirk behind their hands, but Sirius, in his drunken state, seems completely appalled.

"You did not just fuck in my bathroom, Potter!" he exclaimed. Laughs escape the others and you must look completely embarrassed because their smiles widen. James gently and playfully covers your ears as his voice strains to hide his amusement.

"Shut up," he chuckles and then kisses your temple, "we did no such thing, did we, lovie?"

You nod your head. You wonder if your panties are burning a hole in James's trousers just like your bareness is causing a burning in your stomach. James hands moves to your back as he caresses you comfortingly.

"So, why did you come out of the bathroom together?" Marlene interrupts and adds to the teasing, "Don't tell me Y/n needed help peeing?"

James sends her a glare and moves you through the living room and to the door. "It's late, I'm tired," he tries to take the attention off you, "I think it's time for us to drive home."

He drapes your coat over your shoulders and you're grateful he's taking you home. The neediness has been replaced by pure exhaustion and you grip his arm. James puts on his own coat and opens the door. He whispers to you, "Shh, you're safe with me," and kisses you again.

You both say your goodbye's and Sirius calls out one last time, "If I find any evidence you fucked in my bathroom, I'll personally kill you, James Potter," James pauses, knowing he's not finished and smirks when he hears Sirius's last comment.

"Shame on you for roping poor, innocent Y/n into your disgusting activities. And in my bathroom — "

"Sirius," You hear Remus warn, exhausted.

James holds your hand and starts to shut the door behind you,

"Next time, Remus and I will fuck in your bathroom!"

"Sirius!"

[bella-rose29]

Breathe

Elrond x gn!reader (Rings of Power)

not me coming out of my cave to post an Elrond fic then leave again 👀

also not me not writing anything for over a month (probably, I haven't counted) and then coming out with a near 5k fic oops

the original title for this was 'is he dead or not??? who knows' but I think this one is good too

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: I think I killed someone writing this/made them need a lobotomy so consider that a warning to anyone who's gonna read (sorry), mentions of death, war, wounds, a child crying, the photo I'm gonna use is a warning in and of itself, I think that's it?

I feel I should add that this fic is actually happy (eventually) 😂 I reread the warnings and thought 'oh oops'

tagging @oblivious-idiot and @uku-lelevillain but if anyone else wants to be tagged in future Elrond works then let me know!

You could not breathe. 

It would eat you alive, all this waiting, chewing on your insides until it worked its way outward and left you but a shell of the person you used to be, and you wouldn’t have any way of stopping it. Your lungs felt tight as you cradled the head of a sobbing child, his mother dead after birthing him and his father out in the fray with the rest of the soldiers of Middle-Earth. He was young, had barely seen his homeland, let alone the world, and he had never seen war before. You were not so lucky as he - war had been your upbringing. You could fight as well as any other of the elven soldiers, but somebody was needed to look after those who could not, and so you had volunteered along with a small band of others: retired fighters and those looking to start out and join the ranks but were not quite good enough yet. You had trained them over the last few days that you had all spent in the safe hold, taking them through the basics of how to grip a sword and the best way to gut an Orc should they break through and make it to the doors of the underground cavern serving as your shelter. 

The child in your lap had stopped sobbing, his cries turned to sniffles, and you carefully lifted his body to nestle into your side. He was too young for war, you thought again, taking in the small points of his ears and the lack of angles on his face. You attempted a smile, hoping it would comfort him a little as you pushed a strand of his hair behind an ear, and whispered to him. “All will be well. They will return to us victorious, and we shall have no need of too many more tears.”

“But how do you know?” Children were inquisitive, which most of the time you adored, but when you are attempting to raise the spirits of a boy who does not know if he will ever see his father again, the questions become rather irritating. 

“Because I have seen many things, and because our armies are strong. They will defeat the darkness and bring light to our lands once more.” It was the best you could do when you did not truly know the answer. You had learned the art of rhetoric years ago, when Elrond Peredhel had first come to Lindon and had quickly discovered that for the elves to see past his half-elven status he would need to become invaluable, or risk being an outcast in the race he had chosen to be counted among. You had been the first to greet him, intrigued by this visitor from the Havens of Sirion when you had been born in Lindon and raised there, and he had been grateful for your tour and kindness. He had spent many an hour sat with you, commenting on his meetings and the politics of Lindon, and how he carefully navigated clashing personalities and difficult conversations, and so you had learned. 

You used it now, that knowledge that Elrond had provided in all those hours, to comfort this child. He had since taken to playing with a stick on the floor next to him, leaning further away from your side to entertain himself as he drew patterns in the dirt, and it gave your lungs the much needed space to breathe a little more. 

It had been hours and hours since the army had left, heading out onto the battlefield to meet Sauron’s forces, and you were getting impatient. Elrond had gone with them, determined to provide what help he could no matter your protests to him entering the fray. You had trained him up, knowing that he could hold his own but wanting to be sure that he would be alright, and when you had suggested that you go with him while tightening the straps of his armour he had placed his hands over yours (his hands were too soft - far too soft for someone about to go into battle), gently coaxing them from where they had fretted with the leather and returning them to your side with a sad smile. “You must stay here, melethel, and protect those who cannot fight.” The term of endearment never failed to heat your cheeks, or send a warmth up your neck and through your chest. “For my peace of mind, please stay here.” He had let go of your hands at that point, moving them up to rest on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. A lock of hair had fallen over his face, and before you could think you were pushing it back into place, wondering if you had imagined him leaning into your touch that lingered a moment too long for two elves who were only friends and nothing more, his eyes fluttering closed for the barest fraction of a second before he was looking at you again, or if it had truly happened. What you were certain was real was the soft kiss he placed on your forehead, lips brushing the skin with such care and tenderness while his hands on your arms squeezed like you would disappear that it made your eyes sting with tears you refused to shed. Elrond would not see you cry, not now, not when there was a chance it could be the last-

No. You would not think that way. He would come back alive, and if he was hurt then you would stay by his side until he was healed, and then you would continue your lives as you had before - content and in friendship. 

It wasn’t how you wanted things to be with Elrond, which was why you could not breathe. What if he was one of the fallen, and you never saw him smile again, or gaze in wonder at the golden leaves of Lindon or cast a wry glance your way in a council session when somebody said something he thought was silly and knew you would be thinking it too, your eyes already seeking him out? What if you never heard him sing again, or write poems about trivial matters that seemed so important to him? What if you never got to challenge him to a duel again, laughing when your swords clashed and rang out in the clearing you always fled to, and calling him a cheat for tickling you after you pinned him to the floor?

And what if you never told him how you truly felt? That from the moment he had seen you try not to show your tears after climbing too high in a tree and falling, grazing your knee and cutting your calf, and had rushed to your aid because that was what Elrond did, you had loved him. He had been so calm, so gentle that night, the lights of others long gone out as they dwelt in near darkness while your lanterns stayed lit as you gritted your teeth and washed the cut of dirt and bark. You had barely heard him come in, his knock as quiet as your tears, but when his hands wrapped around your own and took the cloth from you, dipping it again in the bowl of water to your side, you barely startled. He had not been in Lindon long and yet already you knew him and his movements as though they were your own, and you trusted him enough to see you so vulnerable, and from the way he had looked at you that night he knew it. Your love for him was strong and true and the greatest thing you had ever felt, and for years you had passed it off as a friendship so powerful that the bond between you was unbreakable. You had friendships like that with others, so it would not have been out of the ordinary to have one more person whom you would love unconditionally until your light died, but when he had been kneeling by your side and cleaning the gash on your calf with a tenderness you had only read about, you had known it was different. 

The child beside you now dropped his stick, the movement bringing you out of your thoughts as he scrambled instead to his feet and started to push through the gathered people to make for the doorway. 

The doorway which was now opening, a messenger stepping through. You stood up, air catching in your throat and making you nearly choke on spit as you struggled to breathe again. Your hand flew to your opposite wrist, under the fabric of your sleeve and touching the chain that rested around the base of your hand - a gift from Elrond in the early hours of the morning before he had left for battle and after he had kissed you on the forehead. “To remember me by,” he had said, a sadness settling over his features that you hated. He unclasped it, gesturing for you to hold out your wrist, and when you complied he had linked the chains so carefully, fingers brushing the underside of your forearm so lightly it sent chills darting over your skin like minnows in a stream. His hold had lingered, and your breath had been held while time seemed to stretch on more than usual for your kind. 

Elrond had that effect on you, it would appear. Making you breathless was a skill of his you weren’t sure he knew he possessed, and at this current moment you wished it was a skill he had never mastered. Your throat felt tight while the messenger caught his breath, tired from sprinting from the battlefield. The fight was over for now, the question was simply who had won.

“Sauron’s forces have been pushed back, and the majority slaughtered. We have won this battle!” the elf cried, and the first wave of relief washed over you and the crowd. The second would come when you knew who was alive out of those that had been sent away that morning, and who would not return this night. 

The thundering of footsteps could just be heard over the cheers of the people gathered in the safe hold, and the first of the elven soldiers appeared in the chamber, tiredness being replaced by joy at seeing their loved ones again and embracing them with a fierceness that even Sauron could not comprehend. There were too many similar soldiers, their armour all the same and their faces all dirtied, and it was a long few minutes before you caught sight of the elf you were searching for. You were sure your face was blank and cold, and your eyebrows furrowed as you attempted to see past the hordes in front of you, but the moment a head of unruly curled hair glinted under the torchlight, clearly moving from soldier to soldier and asking if they were alright, you knew it was Elrond. He seemed to sense your gaze on him, turning his head to look over his shoulder and seek you out, finding you within seconds. He is alive. Elrond is alive. It was a mantra, playing over and over in your head as your feet numbly moved you forward while he did the same, pushing through people to reach you, and before you could truly register it you were in his arms, the coldness of your previous gaze melting and turning into warmth as you looked at him, tracing the small cuts on his face and wrapping your other arm around his waist. He was dirty, and bloodied, and shaking from the cold or from the fight or from something else entirely that you could not name, but he was alive. You squeezed his waist, pulling him closer to you, but didn’t miss the slight wince on his face as you did so. “Elrond, are you hurt?”

“I am fine, melethel. Just a scratch.”

“Do not lie to me, Elrond. Come, let’s get you cleaned up and out of your armour; it must be heavy on your shoulders.” He did not reply, only giving a tired smile in its place, and let you take him by the hand to the room you had commandeered for you both when you had arrived. There were two raised cots, not that Elrond had slept much, as he had been needed in meetings to discuss battle strategies and had, in his usual fashion, not stopped working until he was content that his plan would work. You closed the door behind you and pointed to one of the cots, not looking at him as you told him to sit. He did so in a daze, fingers picking at the leather straps that you had done up for him that morning. It was long past nightfall now, and Elrond likely had not rested since he woke up. You gathered your medicines and poured a dish of water, moving to sit on the stool that Elrond had pulled up for you and putting your supplies on the side table to help him with his armour. You worked in silence, removing piece after piece of metal until it sat on the floor in a neat pile and you had better access to his wound. Cautiously you pressed your fingers to the edge of the cut, trying to gauge how bad it was and immediately regretting it when he hissed in pain and tried to move away. You snatched your hand back, eyes snapping to his face to see it scrunched up in pain. “Elrond,” you spoke, voice quiet in the near-empty room as you placed your hand on his fist. “Elrond. It is alright. Here, help me get this off of you so I can clean it.” He softened, features settling back into a face you knew better than the wrinkled nose and squeezed-shut eyes, and smiled a little as you started tugging at his undershirts.

“You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes off you could have said it earlier.” Had you been standing you were sure your knees would have given way and caused you to hold on to something for support. He must be delirious from the wound, or the amount of time spent on his feet fighting. Elrond never said things like that: not to you, not to anyone. You forced a glare onto your face in lieu of a response, hoping he hadn’t noticed how much he had affected you with one simple sentence, and started to gently pull the fabric up. 

“Stop jesting, Elrond. I need to clean your wound. Unless you would prefer I left you here to get an infection and suffer?”

“You rather enjoy leaving me to suffer, melethel. You do it whenever we fight.”

“I always help you up off the floor after I wipe it with your backside,” you indignantly replied. You were glad he was talking - the silence had been strange. Normally you would not mind sitting in silence with Elrond, but that was when you were safe in Lindon, books in your hands and paper rustling as the pages turned, not when he had just fought a bloody battle and could have died. 

“I recall that last time we fought it was I who helped you off of the floor,” he mused, and you swatted at his arm. 

“Shush. I let you win that one. Now stop talking and help me; your limbs are gangly.” He let out a noise of disbelief at that but lifted his arms anyway, wincing when the shirt went over his head and pulled at the skin of his side. An Orc had found a gap in his armour, pushing its blade through and marking the side of his body with blood. You held your breath at the size of it, and when Elrond asked you how bad it was you answered with your eyes still on his side. “It is… it is nothing I cannot fix.” He seemed content enough with your response, nodding and leaning back on his hands to allow you more room to work. He grunted in pain when you raised the cloth to his skin and started cleaning away the blood and sweat that had stuck there, but otherwise was silent while you worked. 

Time is a strange thing for elves: your lives are so much longer than those other races of Middle-Earth and so often you do not perceive it in the same way - twenty years for some may be the blink of an eye to an elf. You could not have been cleaning and stitching his wound (he had cried out more when the needle had pierced his flesh) for more than an hour or so, and yet it had felt like an eternity. When you were finally done, his wound covered in an elvish salve to stop infection and the spread of whatever evil was in Orcish weaponry and stitched up with a fine thread that would dissolve harmlessly into his skin over time, you brought out another cloth and poured fresh water to clean his face. He was caked in dirt and blood and grime, sticking to his fair skin from all of the sweat he had created in exertion, and if you did not know Elrond like the back of your own hand then you would not have recognised him at all. 

“Let me,” he said, pushing up off of the cot and moving to where you stood by the basin. His hands covered yours, gently attempting to pull the cloth from your grasp and do the rest himself, but your grip was strong. 

“No. I have been sat around doing nothing all day and I might just explode if I do not finish looking after you.” He smiled, the barest of things as the corner of his mouth pulled upwards a little, and his eyes softened. How he could be soft after everything he had seen today amazed you. It had taken you years to stop guarding yourself after you first fought in a battle, not letting anybody see any vulnerability in case they took advantage and thought you weak. It was part of the reason you stayed behind: you had not wanted to find out what would happen if you fought again, not when Elrond had come into your life and, piece by piece, dismantled your high walls. 

“Alright, melethel. Alright.” He had always insisted on calling you that, saying that it didn’t matter that the pair of you were not courting, and who were you to refuse him when he spoke so sweetly? He settled back against the counter, letting his feet drift apart a little so you had room to stand between his legs. He closed his eyes, trusting you to take care of him, and for the first time since he had returned he looked at peace. He seemed unsure where to place his hands, hovering for a moment between your waist and the wood of the cabinet top he perched on before deciding on the latter. You worked away the dirt, revealing more clean skin with every swipe of your cloth, until eventually you were looking at the face of your friend as you remembered it. His hair still needed a wash, as did the rest of him, but Elrond was here, in front of you and more like himself than he had been since he had left in the morning. 

“I think you had more soil on your face than the grounds of Middle-Earth,” you joked, rinsing out the cloth again before bringing it up to his face to wipe the remainder of the grime away. He opened his eyes, a childish grin appearing on his face at your words. 

“Then you have done a fantastic job in removing it all.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes at you in playful suspicion. “At least I assume you have removed it all, and haven’t just smeared it all around my face?” He poked a dirty finger into your cheek, making you laugh and jerk backward to stop him spreading muck everywhere. Elrond stopped moving abruptly, catching your hand and studying a finger. “You’re bleeding.” He blinked at the dried blood on your pointer finger. “Or is that mine?”

“Oh. I had not even realised. I must have stabbed myself with the needle earlier. Really, it is nothing, Elrond.” He didn’t let go however, still looking concerned that you had hurt yourself while tending to him. 

“But if you are hurt-”

“Which one of us was brutally stabbed by an Orc blade? And nearly died?”

“I did not nearly die, melethel, you are being dramatic.”

“As are you, Elrond. I barely even noticed the prick of the needle.” He had brought your hand close to his face, and somehow your body had gone with it. The hand that held the cloth was bracing your weight next to Elrond’s hand, your fingers just touching, and your face was so close to his that you could feel the soft brush of air that he let out every time he breathed. It was so typical of Elrond to be more concerned for others when he himself was the one that needed to be worried over, and it only made you love him more. 

“If you say so,” he hummed, shifting his hold on your hand so that he could bring his lips to the tip of your finger where you had stuck yourself with the needle, pressing the smallest kiss to it. Your breath caught again, and he noticed the hitch. “Melethel? What is it, did I hurt you?” His eyes widened and he rushed to rectify the mistake he thought he had made. “I am so so sorry, I did not mean-”

“You did not hurt me, Elrond, for goodness’ sake!” You cut him off, exasperated and feeling very warm. 

“Then why-” he broke off, eyes searching your face and studying the most likely very visible flush to your features. “Oh,” he said, softer than a leaf of one of the trees of Lindon falling to the earth. You swore his pupils dilated a little, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly as realisation dawned on him. “Oh.” He let go of your hand, fingers slowly moving to your jaw to turn your face back towards his after you had looked to the side in an attempt to hide from the intensity of his gaze. 

“Elrond, what- what?” Your hand he had been holding was now on his shoulder, keeping you upright along with the arm he had somehow snaked around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. 

“Are you- do you…” he fumbled over his words, something he very rarely did, and through the haze of wondering how you had ended up in this situation, his fingers cupping your jaw while his other hand rested on your lower back and he stared into your eyes, flicking between them both to see if he could read you, you felt a swell of pride that you of all people had made Herald Elrond of Lindon speechless.

“Do I what?” you asked, as gently as you could. The hand you had rested on his shoulder was now toying with a strand of hair that curled under his ear against his neck, your other braced on his chest (which you were just now remembering was unclothed), and a small smile was on your face. You knew that he knew the truth now - how could he not? But he wanted to hear it, as did you, because the fear that he might be wrong was lingering and if he was wrong, he might hurt you, which was the last thing Elrond ever wanted to do.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, eyes similar to that of a wolf cub you had once seen, wide and innocent, but entirely Elrond in the blown out pupils and spark of knowing that he carried. His nose was brushing yours, breath fanning over your face, and now it was your turn to tilt your head back to meet him. “Do you feel that whenever we are apart… your heart aches for the space where I should be stood? That whenever we are together I am complete because you are there and you are so bright and wonderful that you take my breath away more often than I would care to admit - do you feel that too?”

“How could I not, Elrond? How could I not feel that?” You felt the tension dissipate from his shoulders, his body sagging forwards into yours just a little, the action causing his face to come even closer to yours, angled slightly upwards from where he was an inch lower than you sat on the cabinet. 

You couldn’t breathe again, but this time it was because Elrond had pressed his lips to yours so cautiously that you thought you might melt into him. His fingers on your jaw were warm, not urging you one way or the other but just anchoring you, as he always had done from the moment you had met, letting you decide what happened next. You broke off first, resting your forehead against his and catching your breath, and he swallowed thickly, moving to place tiny kisses against your jawline and cheek, pausing only to murmur your name into your skin. Your hand buried itself in his hair, fingers tangling in the curls and knocking out the dust and dirt that had stuck there. It had long since dried of sweat, but the strands were greasy and needed washing, and that thought combined with the memory that he had a wound in his side were enough to make you pull back even further. “You should have a bath,” you said when he looked up at you with adoring but concerned eyes. He paused for a moment, frozen in place while he contemplated what you had said, and then he chuckled, the sound low in his throat. 

“Are you saying I smell, melethel?”

“Yes. Come, I’ll get a bath ready for you.”

“And if I would rather stay here?” His fingers had started lightly stroking your jaw, and with the way he was looking at you it was becoming harder and harder to leave his embrace. You managed to wrinkle your nose and step back, a strength you hadn’t known you possessed taking over and making you move. 

“I’m not kissing you again until you have bathed, Elrond.” He sighed dramatically, retracting his arms and standing up, wincing slightly and favouring his non-injured side while you started transporting water from over the fire.

“Truly? You really would leave me here?”

“If it gets you over here faster, then I shall get in with you.” You had never seen the elf move so quickly before, pulling off his boots and drawing out towels for when the bath was finished with. He hesitated with his trousers, then decided to keep them on, glancing at you to see what you were doing. You were already watching him, making a decision of your own before starting to pull at the strings holding your robes together.

“You don’t have to-”

“Oh I’m keeping my underclothes on, but I shall likely sink right to the bottom if I keep these thick robes on.” He looked relieved, and you stifled a laugh as you headed for the dresser where your clothes were kept, pulling out a pair of fresh trousers. “Here, get changed first if you’re keeping trousers on; you’ll dirty the water immediately.”

He complied, heading behind the partition in the corner of the room and re-emerging a few moments later to find you already in the bath, eyes closed in contentment at the feel of the warm water on your skin. Elrond lifted your head, pushing you forward gently so that he could clamber in behind you and settle back against the tub. You heard him grunt when his wound his the water, and turned to see his face scrunched in pain. “Are you alright?”

“I am alright. Just don’t lean on my side.” He helped you turn in the tub so that you were sideways against him, his wound kept out of the danger of being pressed down upon. 

You stayed in the bath until it got cold and your fingers wrinkled, having washed the dirt off of each other with one of the towels Elrond had brought over, and then when you got out you dried each other off and redressed in fresh clothes, hanging up the wet fabric and making for the bed, curling up next to each other, your head on his chest. Sleep came easily to you, Elrond’s body creating a warmth under you that made up for the dying fire in the cold room, and at some point your breathing matched his. 

For now, you could be content in peace. Another battle would come, the war not yet won, and Sauron’s armies would be at your doors again soon. But not yet. They would need time to gather strength again, to marshal and be ready, and so you had time too before Elrond had to leave again, and time to breathe before you would be sat waiting, and waiting, and take in air before it was stolen from you when he kissed you goodbye. 

[assriels]

take me to church

pairing: azriel x f!reader

summary: azriel was not a religious male, but you were his goddess incarnate and he would willingly worship at your feet until his dying breath

word count: 3.8k

warnings: smut (18+!! mdni pls), canon typical religious imagery, allusions to azriel’s work but nothing explicit

a/n: my hozier era has returned i fear

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune !

Azriel was not a particularly religious male, offering his acknowledgement to the Mother oftentimes in the heat of battle, on the brink of death as a curse on his lips, hoping someone somewhere would heed his plea to live another day. Whatever religious underpinnings existed within him were but remnants from ancient tradition, built into his body as steadily as his bones. But, aside from the rare moments he’d faced Death and lived, Azriel was not one to offer daily prayers of thanks.

Since meeting you decades ago however, Azriel had considered more and more changing his relative indifference to the celestial beings that reigned. He was sure he hadn’t done anything in his lifetime to deserve you as a lover — let alone a mate — but still the Mother blessed him, and for that he was more grateful than words or prayers could ever express. 

Every brush of your lips against his skin, every tender gaze and soft smile was enough to bring Azriel to his knees every night before the altar between your legs. He sang praises and hymns until his jaw was sore, desperate to pull those seraphic moans from the depths of your throat as he worshiped you ceaselessly. He pledged his life to you the moment the bond snapped for him, never having been able to imagine an existence without you by his side.

Azriel had assumed that he was condemned to a life of desolation and loneliness, rotting with guilt and insecurity for all the things he had done and all the things he could never be. But despite the blood that perpetually stained his scarred hands and the weight of his past burdening his shoulders, you never shied away. Never so much as frowned when he confessed to you the serpentine nature of his hidden work for the Night Court or the calamity he’d endured as a young, lost child. 

You had sat and listened all those years ago, delicate fingers tracing the calluses on his palm as if the lines on his hands whispered all of the things he left unsaid. You’d understood the complexities of his character, loved them as much as you loved every other part of him. 

You made your unwavering affection for him known at every possible opportunity, often massaging away the crease between his brows when you knew he was losing himself to the spiral of his unwanted thoughts. You’d kiss his forehead and run your fingers through his hair, silent but understanding as you allowed him time to open himself up to you in whatever manner he pleased.

Azriel’s adoration of you was no different. He cherished the way you confided in him, revealing to him the depths of your own darkness and fears. He would safeguard your trust with his dying breath, always and forever striving to be your safe space, a lockbox where you could store your darkest thoughts and insecurities without fear of judgment. 

Just as you had always done for him. Just as you were doing now.

In the comfort of your shared bedroom in your private residence, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, rolling on to your toes to kiss the back of his neck while he undid the intricate laces and buckles of his leathers. Your deft fingers soon joined his in the process as you both worked in comfortable silence to unfasten the tediously complex web of clasps. 

The tension in his shoulders and the microscopic ruffle in his brow was all you needed to conclude that his latest task was a gruesome one. One of those missions that tended to stick around, following him and taunting him until his guilt festered and spread. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, voice steady as you removed the last of his Siphons secured tightly around his bicep. It was an effort not to gawk at his exquisite physique that lay hidden beneath the constricting leathers; no matter how many times you’d seen Azriel shirtless, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to the sight. 

He hummed in response, taking a moment to survey his torso in the mirror for any cuts or bruises that needed tending to. When he didn’t spot any — most of them had quickly stitched themselves together on the flight back home — he met your gaze in the mirror and shook his head gently, “Not really.” 

Azriel was somewhat avoidant by nature, too used to minimizing his feelings in lieu of the success of a mission, but the gentle definitiveness in his tone told you all you needed to know. He’d open up about this latest operation when he was ready, but he needed time to process and think, formulate coherent thoughts about what had transpired. And as much as you wanted to soothe the emotional aches and pains you knew plagued him after every mission, you would give him that time. 

You sighed and came to stand in front of him, taking both his cheeks in your hands as you forced his gaze to yours. It took everything in him not to lose himself in those pretty eyes of yours.

Azriel could sense the worry you habitually hid in the moments after he returned home, and so he leaned into your touch, turning to kiss the heart of your palm before offering you reassurances, “I’m okay. Promise.” 

Azriel held his pinky out cutely and you chuckled, shaking your head fondly before wrapping your own around his. You used your joined hands as leverage to pull him down to slot your lips over his. Azriel sighed contentedly at the pressure of your kiss, his long lashes fluttering shut as his hands repositioned themselves around your body. 

One hand splayed steadily on the cage of your ribs as the other made the devious trek down, grabbing a handful of your ass to squeeze playfully. 

You yelped and pulled away as he smirked at you fondly. His gaze traveled over your shoulder to look in the mirror, never tiring of how the curves of your body looked pressed against his. 

The two of you stayed like that for a long while, Azriel’s chin hooked over your head as your arms wound themselves comfortably around his waist. The cadence of his heartbeat was one you were well acquainted with, like a steady metronome that measured itself to the beat of your own heart. 

When he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, you murmured, “Want to take a bath?”

You felt the near imperceptible quickening of his pulse against your ear and you pressed yourself further into his chest, reveling in the way he so instinctively reacted to every little thing you did.

“Only if you join me,” he responded cheekily, corners of his lips twitching in affectionate jest.

You hummed and pretended to think about it, shifting to rest your chin against his heart, pretty lashes fluttering as you looked up at him. 

“I could be convinced.”

Gods, how beautiful you looked. How beautiful you always looked. Your charming allure caught Azriel off guard every single time you merely breathed in his direction, and he briefly wondered if he’d ever get used to the ease in which you enchanted him without even meaning to. 

Unable to resist, his hands came up to cradle your jaw, supporting your neck as he bent down to kiss you, his nose brushing affectionately against yours as he pulled away. 

“I’ll carry you,” he offered, lips brushing your skin, hazel eyes never once leaving yours.

“Deal,” you said, laughing delightedly when he lifted you, throwing you playfully over his shoulder to make a beeline to the bathroom.

Running a bath — a normally automatic part of Azriel’s routine — was made infinitely harder when he was so busy pressing his lips to your jaw, your cheeks, your mouth. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him tonight — maybe it was the adrenaline from a hard task completed, the warmth of home coaxing him to let go and savor you — but he wasn’t complaining. And neither were you, if the way you matched his fervor was anything to go by. 

When both of you finally settled into the warm water, he sighed in contentment, lazily, adoringly watching as the tension eased out of your shoulders. 

Before you came into his life, Azriel had never really understood the desire to worship. He knew logically that it was an act of devotion, but never did he really feel the inclination to pray to a god in thanks.

But it was moments like these — the wonderfully mundane moments of bliss with you — that finally made him understand. If the Mother was anything like you, it wasn’t difficult for Azriel to fathom a devotee’s need to pray.

He thought this as he ran his soapy hands gingerly over your body, as he buried his fingers in your hair to massage your scalp. If you were his goddess, then these were his acts of reverence and he would practice until his physical body no longer could.

And when you did the same for him, when you gently scrubbed his back and wings and arms and chest with the deliberation and gentility of an artist with a craft, he thought that maybe this gratification was what the gods felt when their followers prayed. 

After a while, once the soap had run down the drain and the water was warm and clear again, you settled against him with your back pressed to his chest. 

It was in that moment he realized the arousal that had slowly eked its way into his bloodstream; he had been too busy basking in the feel of your fingertips on his aching muscles to realize that your lovingly innocent touch had made him hard. Embarrassingly so.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, his attention now on the way his cock pressed so tightly against your lower back.

Your laugh — melodic and lovely — curled around his ears in a lover’s embrace, “Don’t be sorry. I’m irresistible, I know.”

He knew you’d meant to tease, but he couldn’t help but agree; if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that you’d casted a spell on him to ensnare his unyielding devotion to you. Your head fell back onto his shoulder and you captured his chin in your fingers to tilt his lips towards yours. 

This kiss, unlike the ones you two had shared earlier in the night, was much more insistent, revving your desire with each stroke of his tongue. 

His hands remained frustratingly chaste on the curve of your waist, and you squirmed in his embrace, willing him to touch you. The pressure of him against your back and the feel of his mouth — now leaving a scathing trail of little bites down your neck — pressed to your skin left the space between your legs slick with a wetness unattributable to the warm bath water. 

Your hand settled over his and for a brief moment your mind flickered to appreciation of the ridges raised by the scars that wound themselves like vines up his fingers to his wrists. Azriel had always been somewhat self conscious of the puckered skin of his hands, but you stood firm in the belief that they only served to make him that much more wonderful. 

(And you couldn’t deny the pleasurable sensation they added when his fingers were buried inside you. But that was neither here nor there.) 

You guided his touch as he reared back up to kiss you again. You led one of his hands down between your legs and the other to your chest, where he eagerly played with the peak of your nipples. 

“Oh?” he intoned, amusement coloring his inquiry at the feel of how wet he now realized you were. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, mimicking his earlier apology with much less sheepishness.

“Don’t be sorry,” he mimed back to you. His hands fell into a practiced rhythm, circling your clit with delicious pressure. 

You arched into his touch, moans falling from your lips as he teased your entrance before he mercifully sank a single digit into you. The stretch was a welcome feeling, but it quickly dissolved into the need for more. But it seemed that Azriel was in no hurry, languidly alternating between lazy strokes and nonchalant circles.

You arched again, silently pleading with him to give you more as you gripped his knee beneath the now tepid water. Though the heat of your body alone was probably enough to re-warm the bath. 

Azriel indulged you, unable to resist your alluring pull. He added another finger to his ministrations, blissfully dizzy with the sounds falling from your lips. His other hand snaked from your nipples down between your legs, timing his well placed caresses of your clit to the unrelenting plunge of his fingers. 

He knew you were close — so quick, he thought with a lethal satisfaction — by the octave of your moans and the desperate way your hands fought for purchase on his legs, your breasts. 

He bit down on that wonderfully tender spot at the junction between your shoulder and neck, and shivered when he felt you clench around his fingers, walls pulsing temptingly around his fingers as you came. 

Azriel captured your lips with his own once more, prolonging the pleasure from your release for as long as possible. You shifted to straddle him, never once breaking the kiss as the water sloshed dangerously close to the lip of the tub. 

The way you ground your hips down onto his had him groaning, eyebrows furrowing with the effort to restrain himself. He could take you now, could give in to your attempts to guide him inside you, but you were shivering, goosebumps raising the skin on your back and shoulders as the chilled water and even chillier night air caressed your form. 

Besides, his mind was working in overdrive, crafting plan after plan to have you keening and arching for him, all of which required a more comfortable setting than the marble bathtub in your bathroom. 

He stood with ease, looping your legs around his midsection to carry you back to the bed.

He tossed you softly — though quite unceremoniously — onto the bed, and you would have complained about getting the sheets wet, but 1) you knew Azriel would make an obscene joke about how they’d get wet anyway and 2) the feel of his cock grinding against your clit was enough to rob your consciousness of any coherent thought. 

Azriel was murmuring sweet endearments into your damp skin as he made the excruciatingly slow trek down your body, his lips mapping a tedious trail of kisses down your torso as if he were committing each ridge and valley to memory in fear that he’d lose his way on the journey back. 

Finally, finally his mouth found that wonderfully sweet spot between your legs and he licked a broad stripe up the length of you. You shivered as he lingered, tongue lazily alternating between teasingly shallow strokes inside you to wide circles around your clit. 

It was torture of the purest kind that he wasn’t giving you exactly what he knew you wanted, and by the wicked glint in his darkened hazel eyes, you could tell he was being intentional. Your fingers found their home in the impossibly silky and slightly damp strands of his hair as you attempted to pull his mouth tighter against you, petulant pout curving your lips downward.

His responding chuckle was enough to make you groan, the reverberation vibrating against your cunt before settling tantalizingly in your bones. Azriel’s arms came up to encircle your legs, effectively keeping you from grinding your hips up. You tossed your head back and keened, giving in to the languidness of his affections. 

Your eyes met his at the sound of a purposely lewd smack of his lips against you, and you felt him smirk against you before you were swiftly flipped over. 

“Azriel!”

What was meant to be a gasp of surprise quickly devolved into a moan of pleasure by the time the last syllable of his name left your lips. You were acutely aware of the sudden switch in positions as you were now straddling your mate’s head. 

He coaxed your gaze down to his with a featherlight touch down your spine, and you were met with a swirling mix of love, lust, and adoration swimming in pools of hazel. Your chest swelled momentarily and you probably would’ve said something sweet and much more coherent than what left your mouth as he pulled you down onto him and feasted. 

Azriel was addicted to the way he could make you fall apart, even from beneath you with your knees straddling his head. It was borderline sinful – an angel brought to the precipice of obscenity and seduction.

His hips shifted on the bed, body desperate to find friction. But this moment was yours, and so Azriel refrained from giving in to his baser physical desires. His tongue sang praises against your cunt, his hymns translated to the exquisite moans that fell from your lips. 

It wasn’t long before you were toppling over that wonderful edge into what felt like a never ending orgasm. You could barely register the change in your positions again, head spinning and dizzy with insurmountable pleasure; before you knew it, your back was pressed against the cool sheets of the bed, eyes glassy with a post-orgasm haze.

Azriel leaned down to kiss you then, a sweet contrast to the near indecent way you could taste yourself lingering on his lips. He took his time kissing you, sending you wave after wave of undying love and loyalty down that invisible golden tether wound tight around your heart. 

You briefly thought of returning the favor, of flipping him onto his back and putting your mouth on him in just the way you knew would coax those wonderfully rare sounds of unbridled, wanton pleasure from him. But his body was heavy against yours – a more than welcome comfort – and you couldn’t find the strength in you to pull away from the warmth of his skin. 

You arched into him as you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while you encircled your legs around his waist. Relishing in the way he shuddered against you, you urged your hips up to grind against his, aching for the feel of him despite having just orgasmed. Twice. 

Thankfully he obliged you, shifting to ease himself inside you, slowly – gods, so slowly – pushing into you with the deliberation and practiced self-discipline of a male centuries trained in espionage. 

Azriel let out a half-restrained groan when his hips were flush against yours, always marveling at how close you could make him without even lifting a finger. He had meant to take a few moments to collect himself, not wanting to ruin the moment with a quick release (though admittedly he was struggling), but you shifted beneath him impatiently as you whispered salacious pleas into the shell of his ear. 

The drag of his cock in and out of you was a pleasure you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to, and you couldn’t help the prurient sounds that tumbled from your lips. Though, this just seemed to urge Azriel faster, more insistent in the most delicious way. 

You knew he was close by the way his breath hitched in his throat and his fingers tightened around the flesh of your thigh. The feel of his abs flexing as he pushed his hips into yours and the perfectly timed grind of his hips against your clit filled your head with a heady, hazy bliss and you nearly forgot where you were for a moment. 

You wound your fingers into his hair to steady him as you bit kisses into his jaw, nails raking a gentle path of encouragement down his back.

“Come for me, Az,” you half-pleaded, half-commanded.

And he did. With a gasp and moan so beautiful it sent you into another spiral of pleasure, arching into him as he whispered incoherent praises into your neck. 

As you basked in the aftermath, chest heaving and legs tangled beneath your fluffy duvet, Azriel couldn’t help but feel a lightening in his chest. He once again thought of how he had been shown so much mercy, so much kindness by the Mother, the gods – who or whatever governed the celestial plane of existence – to be bound so graciously to you. He never ceased to be amazed that he had met his goddess incarnate and had the overwhelming honor of loving her. 

With your cheek resting above his heart, he didn’t doubt that you could hear the quickening of his pulse when he pressed his lips to your hair. “I love you.”

Those three words were his prayer, his penance, his praise, and he would never stop offering them to you so long as you allowed him the privilege of saying them. He could feel you smile as you kissed his collarbone, sleepily offering your benediction in return, “Love you.”

As you fell asleep, encased in the warmth and safety of his arms, he idly traced the lines of your mating tattoo, swirling tendrils of ink dancing up your hip to your waist. He always loved how they were so reminiscent of his shadows. The shadows that were now winding through your hair and tickling your cheeks in adoration. 

As he too began slipping into the sweet relief of slumber, he briefly thought of his mission – it had felt so far away, so long ago now that he was guarded within the shield of your presence – and the guilt and sorrow he’d feel in the coming days. He used to dread the aftermath of his work, never allowing himself to rest comfortably for fear that sleep would be too much of an undeserved reprieve for the atrocities he’d committed. 

But ever since he selfishly allowed himself to love and be loved by you, he had found solace in your embrace. You couldn’t offer absolution of his sins – if such a thing even existed – but he was certain you were his salvation. An offering from the Cauldron – that he was convinced he was wholly unworthy of – as a chance to right his wrongs. You listened and loved him and saw him for all of the parts he was ashamed of, and for that he would willingly spend the rest of his life striving to deserve.

(Though he was sure you’d frown at him and adamantly insist that he need not do anything but exist to deserve the love you gave him.)

As he let himself descend into the comforting darkness of sleep, Azriel thought that if he would be punished in his next life for the sins he committed in this one, as long as he’d be able to love you through it all it would be worth it.