#he either wasn't or he wasn't alive long enough to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ltadoriyuujl · 3 days ago

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your orbit is the best place to be

☆ earth is large and space is infinite and yet you still can never be more than 2 degrees of separation from the boy made of stars that has held your heart in his hands forever.

☆ bakugou katsuki x reader, 7.2k words

☆ no cw, bkg gets jealous, mineta is there as the worlds sleaziest plot device

☆ a/n: wow my first official tumblr fic! a million thank yous to all the oomfs that kept me motivated enough to finish this. @teddybeartoji @ms0milk <3 you guys

“Man, it's been ages since we've been to a station. I don't know about you guys, but I'm so ready to get off the ship.”

“Tell me about it. I'm honestly starting to go a little crazy in here.”

“I'm definitely excited. A buddy of mine told me the, ahem, ‘working girls’ of Iltari-7 can suck the silver off a new cybernetic.”

“Fucking hell, Denki, what kind of degenerates do you hang out with and why are they giving you hooker recommendations?”

Boisterous laughter bounced off the chrome walls of the lounge as your face screwed up in disgust. Most of the crew of the Aldera were scattered around the room, reclining and relaxing in various positions. Kirishima Eijirou, first mate, copilot, and the one who had spoken first, was seated on a stool by the small bar, his muscular back resting against the table so he could face the room. Sero Hanta, the ship's mechanic and gunnery chief, sat cross-legged on the floor, the parts of some new passion project littered around him. And Kaminari Denki, one of the best software engineers this side of the galaxy and the current source of your ire, was sprawled on the old couch positioned directly across from your own chair.

“C'mon, cut me some slack, Doc. A guy can't get lonely?” Denki’s grin was large and unabashed, even as he tried to feign hurt. The corners of your own mouth started to quirk up.

“You say that like the rest of us are imaginary or something. I'm touched that you value our friendship so deeply, Denki,” you replied, your tone dry despite the amusement on your face.

“Love you too, but friendship doesn't get me-”

“And that is my cue to leave.” You swung your legs down from their perch on the center table, a second round of laughter ringing out as you stood. “I'm going to talk to our esteemed captain, see if I can negotiate an extra day in port.”

Kirishima snorted as you passed him on your way to the door. “Good luck. Cap says 3 days, so really we're looking at 2 and a half. But hey, if anyone could get him to budge it's you, Doc.”

Solidly ignoring the implications of that statement, you pulled open the lounge door, stepped out into the hallway, and slid the door home again with extreme prejudice. The howls of your crewmates were audible from behind the thick steel as your legs began to carry you towards the bridge.

Bakugou Katsuki, captain of the Aldera, was something of an enigma to the larger spacefaring community. Only a handful of people even knew his full name, half of them being the ship's crew and the other half either on Earth or scattered through the far reaches of space. To most, he was the fearsome Dynamight, scourge of the endless night, the man who haunted the nightmares of hardened Federation admirals. The reward for his head was large enough to buy a small moon. He wasn't just a space pirate, he was the space pirate.

He also set the ship's day/night simulation settings to the Tokyo timezone so he could get 8 hours of sleep no matter where he was in the galaxy. He didn't drink, didn't smoke, and his only vice was the adrenaline of a fire fight. You'd been there when his arms were almost blown off, and kept him alive long enough to get them replaced by top of the line implants with veins that carried lighter fluid instead of blood. He'd knocked out one of your front teeth when you were 6 and he was 7, and there was a very faint scar on his left shoulder because you bit him immediately after. When he'd shown up to your dorm in the middle of the night, freshly defected with nothing to his name but a stolen ship and a handful of flight school buddies and asked you to come with him to the stars, you'd been gone before your RA was even awake enough to investigate the racket.

Lost in recollection, you almost ran face-first into the bridge door, catching yourself just in time to avoid being laid out by an inanimate object. Katsuki's first order of business as an outlaw was calling in a couple favors from some below-board mechanics and getting the whole ship remade into the specimen it was today. The Aldera, formerly the S.S. Yuuei, was refitted with brand new guns, shields, and stealth tech. Your captain also had the onboard AI stripped to barely more than glorified autopilot and, despite Denki's grumbles about the boredom of his post, the decision wasn't without merit. It disabled the Federation failsafe of remotely hijacking a vessel through its operating system, but while it was no doubt a great safety measure that had allowed you all to evade capture more times than you could count, even 5 years on the run wasn't enough to erase a lifetime of being used to automatic comforts and there was surely more security footage of you smacking into doors than you'd like.

You're forced to squint as you step into the navigation room, the sunny “high noon” lighting at stark odds with the inky blackness outside the plexiglass window that dominated the room. Katsuki's form was visible in the captain's chair, right where you suspected he'd be. Vermillion eyes darted to yours as you moved to stand next to him, and with a small huff he dismissed the holopad he was reading and turned his full attention to you.

“Doc.” Your title rolled off his tongue and fell at your feet, almost slimy with sarcasm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hello to you too, Captain. I'm great, thanks for asking. I love that our first conversation of the day is starting off on such a good note.” Your tone was sickening in its faux sweetness, and the snort you received in return made you roll your eyes good-naturedly.

“We've known each other way too long to bother with idiotic small talk.”

“Yeah, but you should be nice to the person who keeps you and your crew in fighting shape.”

“That person is me, and I've told you how I feel about your wellness tips.”

You flipped him off, though the grin on your face matched his. Talking with him was always easy.

“Seriously though, did you need something?” Katsuki asked, his hands flitting over the ship's console as he minutely adjusted the course. “We should be docking within the next 4 hours.”

You let out a hum of acknowledgement, your gaze turning to the multitude of stars twinkling outside. “I told the guys I was going to ask you about getting another day in port, but really I just needed to get out of the conversation. Denki was starting to talk about station whores and that is not a topic I have the energy for right now.”

Katsuki made a disgusted noise. “If that dumbass catches anything I'm venting him out of the airlock.”

“It honestly might be the best course of action. You abducted me before we got to the ‘alien STI’ section of the curriculum.” You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from doubling over in laughter as he groaned. The glare he fixed you with was venomous, but it'd been a long time since his irritation could get under your skin.

“If I recall correctly, and I'm pretty fucking sure I do, you basically tripped over yourself to come with me. You had a bag packed and everything!”

“It was my overnight bag. Who knew midnight hookups and spontaneously going off-world required such similar supplies?”

A shadow passed over Katsuki's face, his features clouded by an expression that you almost recognized, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He huffed and started to fidget with the controls again, obviously trying to occupy his hands.

“Whatever, you were still embarrassingly eager. All ‘Oh ‘Suki, I'd follow you anywhere’.” The pitch of his voice rose mockingly and you gasped in indignation. If he wanted to go low, you'd take it to hell.

Bracing one hand on the back of his chair and the other on the armrest, you leaned as far into his space as you were able without falling into his lap. Katsuki fixed you with a hard stare but, bullheaded man that he was, refused to give any ground. Your faces were inches apart, and you could hear him dragging in each breath with purpose, desperate not to let his pulse quicken in your presence.

“Since your memory is apparently so good, Captain,” your voice was low, bordering on sultry, “remind me, which one of us begged? What was it you said… ‘I don't want to do any of this without you?’ At 3 in the morning no less. If we're going to talk about eagerness and desperation, let's start there.”

Your faces were still close, closer than they really had any right to be. Red began to color Katsuki's ears and cheeks, but his mouth was set in a grim, determined line. You two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, unstoppable force and immovable object. Finally, your captain scowled and turned his head away from you, breaking the deadlock. You bit back a whoop of joy at your victory in whatever odd dominance play you two had been engaged in, settling instead for a satisfied smirk as you straightened up again.

“Doesn’t matter who said what anyway,” he muttered under his breath, and you could almost see the wounded animal that was his pride settling hard in his chest. “We’re both here, aren’t we? Five years and you haven’t jumped ship yet.”

Your expression softened, and you reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. “You’re never, ever getting rid of me, I can promise you that. We’re stuck with each other, ‘Suki.” You felt the tension leak out of his frame and something like longing mixed with affection and took root in your lungs. For all the ways he was different, more grown-up and mature, he was also still the boy that drew his own star maps, the one that sat with you on the roof of his house and taught you how to recognize each constellation until you could point them out blindfolded.

His eyes were on you again and you withdrew your hand, suddenly conscious of the change in atmosphere. Clearing your throat, you took an awkward step back and turned halfway towards the door in an attempt to escape before you said anything you'd regret. “I'm going to double-check the supplies in medical. Make sure my shopping list is complete and all that. I’ll, uh, catch you later, Captain.” Your retreat was hasty, despite your best efforts at keeping calm, and you only allowed yourself to breathe once the cockpit door was shut behind you.

“Ah, good old station air!”

The Aldera was nestled comfortably into a dock in the Iltari-7 ship port, a small swarm of mechanics already seeing to any necessary repairs. You'd all wasted no time disembarking and Denki looked about ready to kiss the dubiously clean ground.

“You know, it's weird how every single port manages to smell like the same combination of recycled oxygen, burnt fuel, and piss,” you remarked, stretching your arms languidly above your head. “It’s almost comforting at this point.” The men around you let out various noises of agreement before delving into a conversation about whether or not the smell was natural or purposely manufactured.

You tuned them out, your eyes glued instead to the distant form of your captain barking instructions at some poor dock aide. You couldn't quite make out the words but you’d be willing to bet it was something about making sure there wasn't a paint chip out of place when he got back. He was clad in his favorite faded leather vest (originally from his days in the Federation Academy, it was now so covered with studs and patches it was barely recognizable as Federation property) and a fitted black shirt and pants combo that showed off his figure in a way that was deeply detrimental to your sanity.

Eventually he finished scaring the piss out of the innocent and stomped over to where your merry band was waiting. He reached into the satchel resting on his hip and dug out 4 cards.

“The keys to our hotel rooms,” he said as he shared them out. “You lose it, I’ll kick your ass and take the money to replace it out of your next paycheck.”

Kirishima whistled as he turned the small piece of plastic in his hands. “Damn boss, what kind of place did you find that still uses physical keys?”

“The kind of place that doesn’t ask about shit like existing criminal records.” You glanced down at your own key card before slipping into the small satchel you kept hidden under your coat. The mild inconvenience of having to worry about a physical object was a small price to pay for peace of mind, especially considering how during a pit stop last year you’d all woken up in the middle of the night to Federation officers in the lobby of the inn you were staying at. Personally, you weren’t eager to experience another mad dash to the hanger in nothing but your nightdress.

Katsuki rolled his neck, a series of pops sounding out as he did. “Alright, housekeeping. We’re here for 72 hours, no more than that. I don’t give a shit what you do with that time as long as you don’t get sick and don’t get arrested. If I call you to check in and you don’t pick up, I’ll hunt you down and you won’t like what happens when I find you. Any questions? No? Great, scatter.”

Sero and Kaminari didn’t need to be told twice, the two of them practically bolting down the street. Kirishima gave an exaggerated salute before heading off as well. You were just about to start making your way to the nearest depot when a large, familiar hand enveloped your elbow. You looked back and cocked a quizzical eyebrow at your captain. “Not you, Doc. You’re coming with me.” You scoffed and tugged your arm out of his grip.

“I have actual plans, you know. Since when do you have business where my presence is necessary?” The look on his face did little to inspire any measure of confidence in you.

“Word on the net says the guy who's offering to fence our haul has delusions of chivalry, or some shit like that. Apparently he doesn't scam chicks, so if you're at the meeting with me we might actually get a better deal.”

You blinked once, twice, brain desperately trying to interpret the words that had come out of his mouth in a way that didn't make you want to beat him over the head. “You want me,” you began, the words rolling slowly out of your mouth, “to be your date…to a haul negotiation.”

“Date is a strong word.” The blonde man didn't look nearly bashful or penitent enough for the request he was making, and you felt a muscle twitch in your jaw. “You'd just be there to help smooth things out.”

“Ah, so you want me to be eye candy. That's such an improvement.”

“I'll buy everything on your shopping list.”

“My shopping list is full of medical supplies. For the ship. That we all fucking use.”

“That new headset you've been itching for, then. With the fancy AI and diagnostic capabilities.”

“The one you said was unreasonably expensive?”

“I won't even bitch about it.”

You crossed your arms and looked away from him, a scowl painted on your features. On one hand, the request was demeaning and just subtly misogynistic enough to really get under your skin. On the other hand, more money was always a good thing, and you were honestly a little curious to meet a man with such an interesting set of principles.

Plus, you really wanted that headset.

“You also owe me a favor that I can cash in at any time.” You fixed Katsuki with your best “dead serious” glare. He threw his hands up in surrender, but his grin could only be described as shit-eating.

“You drive a hard bargain, but we have a deal. Now come on, let’s see how fast we can get this over with.”

Whatever you'd expected the mysterious fence to look like, it wasn't anywhere near the reality. The man on the other side of the counter was short, so short he needed a step stool to make eye contact with you. The rest of him looked honestly pretty human, no extra limbs, digits, or facial features. The most bizarre thing about his appearance was the texture of his hair (or whatever it was that was on his head), which resembled large squishy purple balls.

“Well, well, look who it is!” His voice echoed through the space, briefly covering the noises of the small gadgets and trinkets littered around the “pawn shop”. “Dynamight, can I just say what an honor it is to have you in my establishment? I mean, you're something of a legend to us guys on the, ahem, other side of the law.”

Katsuki grunted in response, his nose twitching like he was trying his damndest not to wrinkle it in distaste. The other man either didn't notice or didn't care, his attention switching immediately to you.

“And what fine company you've brought as well!” He was still addressing “Dynamight”, but his smile was directed entirely at you. “It's a pleasure to meet you, miss. I'm Mineta, the owner of this here establishment and a professional…well I like to refer to myself as a ‘procurement specialist’ in polite company.”

“You hear that, ‘Suki? We're polite company.” You couldn't keep the smirk out of your voice as you responded. “Is ‘smuggler’ too dirty a word for you, Mineta?”

To his credit, the small salesman didn't rise to your barb, his customer service smile still fixed to his face. “Well no, but it doesn't exactly look great on a business card, does it?”

You chuckled airily. “Fair enough.”

Your captain, apparently fed up with the back and forth banter, leaned on the countertop with an unimpressed expression. “Are you two going to yap all day or can we talk business?” The words seemed to snap Mineta out of his casual demeanor and into work mode, and he zeroed back in on the outlaw before him.

“Of course, of course.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a holopad, setting it between all 3 of you. The shopkeep pressed some buttons and a number was projected into the air. “20,000 credits” read the hologram, for sure not an amount to scoff at, but one look in Katsuki's direction showed he was less than enthused.

“Is this some kind of joke?” The blonde's voice wasn't quite a snarl, but definitely close. “I sent you a scanned content list and you decided 20k was a decent number for a haul that good?”

Mineta frowned, but his tone was still calm as he replied. “Well, this is a negotiation. If you think I'm lowballing, you're welcome to put out an offer.”

“50.” Your eyes almost bulged out of your head at the number he spat out. The cargo was valuable for sure, but not 50 thousand fucking credits worth, and Katsuki of all people should know that. Then, his eyes met yours, and your role in this particular dance finally clicked into place in your mind.

You pressed against the counter, arms folded over your ribcage to subtly push your chest up. You gave the blonde your best chastising look and pout combo, setting the stage for your performance. “‘Suki, come on. Aren't you being a little unreasonable?” You paused to shoot Mineta a warm smile. “Ignore him, he's woken up on the wrong side of the bed every day for 5 years.”

Mineta's expression instantly brightened, and you didn't miss the way his eyes darted to your tits and lingered there. Hook, line, and sinker. “I understand,” he began, slightly lifting his heels off the stepstool to lean closer to you. It took all your composure and professionalism not to move away. “It's a grueling line of work you two are in. That said, you seem to bear it with nothing short of the utmost beauty and grace, miss.” Someone was laying it on thick. You forced yourself to giggle and hoped it came out halfway believable.

Katsuki grimaced at the exchange and moved closer to you, but you paid him no mind. Your eyes were fixed on the prize, now. “How about we try again, hm? I do think 50 is a bit much, so maybe we can try 40?” In truth, you didn't believe the items you brought to the table were worth a dime more than 25k, but if batting your eyelashes and playing ditzy lined your pockets with a little something extra then you were going to milk this, goddammit.

Mineta still looked unsure, but was obviously more receptive to the high offer than before. “Well, considering it comes with the Dynamight name attached to it, I suppose it is worth a little more, yes. I'd have no trouble reselling…can we compromise at 35?” A good number. A great number, in fact, but you wanted to see how far you could push.

“37, final offer. We worked awfully hard to keep this raid quiet, you know. The feds don't even know about it, which means they won't be on lookout for the stuff. Don't you think we deserve a little extra for making your job easier?” You kept your tone light and playful, going so far as to reach out and run your index finger under Mineta's chin, tilting his head up slightly to meet your gaze. A full body shudder passed through the man, and again you suppressed the desire to recoil.

“I think,” the salesman's tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I think that's fair.” You retracted your finger as Mineta began to fiddle with the holopad again, the 20 swiftly replaced with a 37.

You beamed as you retreated from the counter, allowing Katsuki to occupy your spot and handle the specifics of closing out the deal. The smile on your face was the peak of self-satisfaction, and it only grew when you heard the telltale chime of a money transfer. As you made your way out of the shop, you sent a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god was responsible for handing out perfect racks. You also shot a small kudos to the patron saint of sleazy idiots, for good measure.

As soon as you were both definitely out of hearing range you whirled on Katsuki in delight, but your expression faltered when you caught sight of the storm brewing in his features. He looked irritated, on the edge of downright pissed off, and it effectively dampened your own mood. Tugging on his arm, you steered him into a nearby alleyway in an effort to avoid prying eyes and ears.

“What's up with you?” you asked once you were sure there'd be no unwelcome intrusions to the conversation. “I thought the deal went great.”

He scowled and crossed his arms as he leaned against the rough synthetic brick of the alleway. His face was casted down, very pointedly not looking at you. “‘m not pissed off about the deal,” he mumbled, and your confusion only grew.

“Then why are you pissed off?”

Your captain scoffed. “Maybe because that bastard looked like he wanted to fucking eat you,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

For the second time today, you contemplated strangling him. You raised a hand and pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to gather your patience. “I thought the whole point was that my job was to be arm décor. Was the end goal not to get him to think with his dick and not his head? I mean, you brought me as a sex object and now you're mad that the guy wanted to have sex with me!”

“I know what the fucking objective was, I just-” His mouth snapped shut, but the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw told you everything you needed to know. He looked the same as he did earlier when you mentioned your past hookups, the same as he always did when he caught you in the hallways of wherever the crew was crashing at, waving goodbye to whoever had warmed your bed the night before. Same dark eyes, same twisted up mouth, same neck twitch. You'd assumed before that he was just being protective, but the truth was glaring in your face brighter than any neon sign.

Bakugou Katsuki was jealous and you were pissed the hell off.

“How long?” you demanded. His expression morphed from petulant to confused as he looked at you.

“What?”

“How long have you had feelings for me?” You willed your voice not to crack, though the equal parts anger and yearning that bubbled to the front of the emotional storm brewing in your chest made it a herculean task. This wasn't fair. He didn't get to do this to you, not 5 years in, not when you'd finally made your peace and were on your way to killing the pesky adoration you'd spent far too long grappling with.

“I- That's not what this is about-”

“Don't even try to pull that shit. This is my favor, I'm cashing it in right now. Tell me the truth, how long?”

You stared at him. He stared back. The alleyway was silent except for the low whirring of the machinery under Katsuki’s skin. The foot of distance between you felt impossibly charged and volatile, like one false move would trigger a city-leveling explosion. Just as your eyes started to burn from strain and the pressure of the tears behind your eyes, Katsuki ducked his head again, breaking the stalemate. Normally, winning two battles of will against him in the same day would inflate your ego to unmanageable heights, but the moment was too bittersweet to fully appreciate your victory.

“I don't know.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It's the truth.” Crimson eyes met yours, and the naked vulnerability in them almost took your breath away. “I don't remember how long I've wanted you. Feels like forever.”

Your knees felt weak and your mouth was dry and every night you spent staring at the cold chrome ceiling of your ship quarters with longing and want ripping through you came rushing back in cold clarity. The storm in your chest broke, and the roiling waves of emotion threatened to choke you. You needed air, and space, and maybe to slap him then kiss him stupid.

“Right.” The word felt foreign, almost wrong, on your tongue. It wasn't what you wanted to say, but it was all your traitorous vocal cords would allow you. Katsuki's brow furrowed and his lips parted, and you were far too emotionally fragile to hear whatever he was about to say.

Beating him to the punch, you blurted out, “I’ll see you back at the hotel,” before spinning on your heel and striding out of the alley as quickly as your legs would carry you. Half expecting him to follow you or call you back, you were filled with both relief and disappointment when he made no move to go after you. His gaze burned against the back of your skull until you disappeared around the nearest corner.

It was well past sunset (or “whatever star this trash heap orbits”-set) when you finally made your way to the hotel. The building itself was nondescript, the paint on the outside was faded, and it was altogether generally unimpressive. Only the flickering sign that matched the stamp on your keycard signified it as the place you were looking for. At least the inside was free of any foul scents or mysterious stains, which automatically put it above at least half of your past accommodations.

You trudged up the steps to the second floor and prayed on all that was kind and good that this place had hot running water. You'd calmed down significantly since you'd ditched your captain, but a hot shower would give you the chance to sort out the last stubborn remnants of your emotional turmoil. You turned the corner into your hallway and were wholly unsurprised to see the last person you wanted to acknowledge standing right next to your door.

Katsuki had dressed down since you'd last seen him. His worn leather vest and fitted shirt were gone, leaving him in only a white undershirt that was definitely a size too small. Desire flared in your gut, unwelcome, and you forced yourself to suppress a groan. Clearly he had no intentions of making the conversation you two needed to have easy for you.

His head snapped in your direction as you approached, and your heart clenched at the flash of uncertainty that ran across his face before he managed to school it back into careful neutrality. You stopped in front of your door, placing a hand on the handle as you turned to look at him.

“We should talk.” His voice was low, gentle, like he was scared you'd run again if he disturbed the air too much.

“Is that an order, Captain?” you asked in response, fluidly inserting your keycard into its slot until the light on the door turned green. Pushing it open, you looked back over your shoulder, one eyebrow arched. Katsuki’s jaw clenched as he visibly swallowed.

“No. It's not an order.” You hummed and jerked your head towards the inside of the room, signaling for him to follow, before pushing the door open wider and stepping in.

Flicking on the light, you surveyed the space. It was decently furnished, with a large couch taking up the opposite wall and a loveseat slightly adjacent to it, a hard light projection of a coffee table the centerpiece of the room. There was a small but seemingly functional kitchenette off to the side, and a door set into the wall on your right that you assumed led to the bedroom.

You moved towards the small table in the kitchen, shucking off your coat and draping it on the back of one of the two dining chairs present. Your satchel followed, tossed carelessly onto the table as you strode towards the couch. The color was likely a rich navy blue once, but time and wear had turned it much lighter in places. It was comfortable, at the very least, and you sprawled over it, head resting on one armrest while your legs were tossed over the other side.

The man you'd known almost all your life slumped into the loveseat, his arm inches from your head. You shifted to be able to see him properly. He was sweating bullets with the harsh blue glow of the coffee table illuminating half his face from below. One of his best looks, in your humble opinion.

He inhaled, long and deep, before exhaling just as thoroughly. He opened his mouth, glanced at you, glanced away, and closed it again. It struck you that while you were aware of both his feelings and your own, you'd never actually expressed to him that you reciprocated his affection. Come to think of it, fleeing the second he confessed probably hadn't done his confidence any favors. You winced slightly as guilt squeezed your insides, and reached out to drop a (hopefully) comforting hand on his knee. His eyes snapped to the appendage, and his gaze crawled up your arm until he finally managed to settle on your face. You tried your best to project encouragement, and he drew in another deep breath.

“10 years.” You blinked, your features suddenly clouded with confusion.

“What?”

Katsuki huffed like you were the one being difficult and adjusted his posture, leaning over the arm of his seat to be closer to you.

“You asked me how long I've had feelings for you, so I did some soul-searching or whatever the fuck and decided 10 years was the answer. Ever since you showed up to my house on my 16th birthday, clutching that crystal telescope lens that I'd been eyeing for ages. I asked you how the hell you afforded something like that, and you told me you'd saved 4 months’ worth of allowance plus walked every dog in the neighborhood 5 times over. You had this big goofy grin on your face like you hadn't dropped a crazy amount of money just so I could have a clearer view of the same star systems I'd already memorized.” He paused, working his jaw as he contemplated whether or not to continue. A squeeze from the hand on his knee seemed to thoroughly convince him.

“I honestly almost told you to take it back, to return it and get your money back and use it on literally anything else. But you were just…you were so fucking happy about it, going on and on about how I'd finally be able to personally count Jupiter's moons or something like that. I didn't have it in me to reject it, I mean, it was literally the nicest thing anyone ever did for me up to that point. And when we finally got the chance to slip up to the roof and slot the new lens in…the sights were beautiful. Better than I'd imagined, better than the ads. Your shoulder jostled mine when you went in for a look and it was like I'd eaten a whole swarm of butterflies. It was the first time I'd ever felt like that around you, around anyone really. I guess that's when I knew.”

10 years. You're not quite sure how you expected him to answer, but what you got was certainly more than you anticipated. Every interaction between the two of you in the last decade flitted through your mind, colored by this new information, and your chest tightened almost painfully.

“Wow,” was all you managed to say when you finally opened your mouth. His whole body tensed, and you blurted out your next words before he could get too deep in his head. “Do you want to know when I came to terms with my feelings?”

He inhaled sharply, his eyes boring into you like twin suns. “Your feelings?” His voice was almost a whisper, and you offered him a gentle smile.

“What, you think you have a monopoly on pining?” He huffed out a laugh as you repositioned yourself, pushing upright and shifting until you were leaning over your own armrest, putting the two of you eye to eye.

“When we were 17, and I was sitting with you in the nurse's office at school and watching you get your knuckles wrapped because Enzo-”

Katsuki's groan was loud, cutting you off mid-sentence. You snickered, amused that the mention of your first boyfriend was still enough to get him riled up.

“Can I continue, or do you still have curses to pile on him almost a decade later?”

“I definitely do, but you can keep going as long as you don't say that idiot's name.”

“Well, what do you want me to refer to him as?”

“Preferably ‘that worthless bastard’ but you can get creative with it if you want.” You rolled your eyes, but you were fighting a losing battle trying to keep a smile off your face.

“Fine, whatever, moving on. You were getting your fists taken care of because you'd fucked them up in the process of beating my ex's face to a pulp.” Katsuki tsked in annoyance at your word choice but you forged on. “On account of him cheating on me with one of the student trainers.”

“And I'd do it again too.”

“Am I ever going to get to finish my story?”

“Sorry.” The man across from you at least had the good sense to look sheepish at your scolding tone. You shook your head in exaggerated exasperation.

“Like I was saying, you, me, school clinic, split knuckles. The nurse was ripping you a new one while she bandaged you up, and all I could do was sit there and replay the moment in my head. The way we ran into that prick at lunch and I immediately got choked up and hurt all over again. The expression on your face when you looked at me. Next thing I knew there were like 3 people pulling you off him, and he was a sort of groaning person-shaped heap.” Slowly, as if handling something wild, you moved your hand to settle on top of his. Your thumb brushed gently over the long-healed skin and his breath hitched as a faint shiver ran through him.

“Even when they threatened you with expulsion, you never looked regretful or remorseful. As far as you knew, the end of your space pilot dream was staring you in the face and you didn't so much as flinch. One look at me and you'd been ready to throw it all away. That's when my crush kicked into full gear, and saying it all out loud is making me feel kinda stupid for not realizing how you felt about me sooner.”

You chuckled, but the sound turned into a soft gasp as Katsuki flipped his hand up to grip yours, the hold firm but not painful. Your eyes moved from where your palms were connected to his face, and the intensity you found there made your heart beat faster.

“You wanna know when I knew I loved you?”

For a brief, beautiful moment, every mechanism in the universe ground to a screeching halt. The stars stopped burning, the planets stopped spinning, your breath caught in your throat and your heart paused mid-beat. His words rung in your ears like church bells, deafening in glorious cacophony. Even after the natural order resumed, you still felt nailed to your seat. You nodded mutely, not trusting your voice to be steady enough not to shatter the moment.

“When I woke up,” he began, his grip on your hand tightening marginally, “in that shady implant center, brain fried from hours of pain and being in and out of consciousness. Everything hurt like hell, and my new arms felt heavy and weird. Then I turned my head to look at the ceiling, and there you were. Your eyebags had eyebags, your hair was a mess, and you had a nasty bruise peeking out from under your collar where a laser blast had hit the protective mesh in your coat. Despite all that, you were beaming like you'd won the lottery. Plus you were directly under one of those old-fashioned fluorescent bulbs and it was casting a flickering halo around your head. I swear I thought you were an angel. Sometimes I still do.”

You made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as you blinked back the tears gathering at your waterline. Unthinking, you stood from your seat and moved to stand in front of Katsuki. Your hands were still intertwined and he used that connection to tug you forward, his other hand moving to settle on your back as you fell gently into his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs.

“Never took you for a sap, ‘Suki.” Your unoccupied hand drifted to play with the baby hairs at the nape of his neck and you laughed softly at his exaggerated eye roll. You liked this version of him, the type that existed for your eyes only, bathed in artificial light yet deeply human.

“Yeah, whatever.” His hand on your back was big and warm, and you felt almost embarrassed by how much it affected you. The synthetic nerve endings in his arms were bad at detecting heat, a necessary failsafe to facilitate his explosions, but now all you could think about was if he could feel the warmth of you through your shirt.

“You know, it’s sorta funny.” Katsuki’s head tilted slightly, his eyes fixated on you. The center of his attention was both a wonderful and slightly terrifying place to be. “You liked me first but I loved you first.”

“That so?” he asked, a smirk curling his lips as the palm at your back slipped under your shirt to trace patterns over your spine. The feeling of his digits dancing over your bare skin almost robbed you of rational thought entirely, but you pushed through.

“Call me cliché, but the night you showed up to my dorm and begged me to run away with you was so romantic from my point of view. It’s a miracle I didn’t swoon into your arms like one of those fainting damsels in a shitty romance novel.”

“There you go again, saying I begged. I asked politely.”

“Call it whatever you want, starboy, you were the one who made an objectively unnecessary detour while you were an active fugitive just to fulfill a promise you made when we were kids.” Your expression was as smug as humanly possible, but he seemed wholly unphased. You weren’t sure when in the course of the conversation his attitude had pivoted from nervous wreck to playboy.

“I promised we’d see the galaxy together, and we have. I’m a man of my word.” It was your turn to roll your eyes in an exaggerated arc, tugging lightly on his hair in reproach.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I didn’t clock you earlier. Denial is truly a hell of a drug. You want me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Katsuki scoffed and pushed you even further into him, eliminating almost all space between your bodies. “Don’t throw stones from glass houses, Doc.”

You huffed and pulled your hand away from his at last, both palms moving to cradle his face. His newly free hand immediately took up a position at your waist, mirroring its twin. “Say my name.”

The first syllable managed to slip past his lips before you crashed into him.

You poured almost half a lifetime of longing into the kiss, and your other half responded in kind. It was deep, desperate, and more than a little messy. His lips molded over yours like they belonged there, like the very notion of parting from you was absurd. Your fingers curled over his jaw and left small crescent indents on his cheeks as his tongue poked at the seam of your mouth, a request that was eagerly granted. His hands tightened on your sides and you were grateful for the sensation, for something to ground you as you dived into him over and over.

When you finally parted, lungs strained and panting, you were sure there were stars in your eyes. He pressed his forehead against yours, unwilling to let you pull away too much, and you happily obliged him. The two of you spent a minute simply trading breaths, the world outside your intimate bubble entirely unimportant. You turned your head to press a kiss to his cheek, chaste and almost shy. You could feel the muscles in his face moving as he smiled.

“...so about that headset-” He sealed his lips over yours again, and you’d never been happier to shut up in your life.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha x reader #bkg x reader #daisy writes!#a very warm thank you to @/cafekitsune for the divider!#bakugou katuski x reader

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anikabooker · 17 hours ago

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Finish him. It wasn't her voice, but another, in the forefront of her mind. Whispers that turned into screams in her ears. The familiar echo of a sound she knew too well; a familiar ring to each scream, chanting to end his life. And a promise, she swore to keep. Her hands twitched and shook, when the last bullet found his skin and then the floor leaving bloody evidence of a barrel all lost on a beast she couldn't kill. A promise. she swore to keep, but couldn't. Not because she didn't want to, but because her hands did not feel like her own, and her face — numb and pale, did not feel like her own, and her heart slamming uncontrollably against a fragile cage, did not feel like her own. She'd never felt her body more alive; every nerve set on fire, skin hot to the touch. Before him, her heart was as fucked up as his was; black and motionless.

Anika couldn't remember the last time she let a beast walk away from her. The last time she granted somebody her mercy. Pity wasn't something she felt — not for someone like him, not for anybody.

Every man she'd ever met had been nothing but cruel. When was the last time someone pitied the woman who had to kill parts of herself to survive? When was the last time a beast showed her mercy?

Because it was monsters like him that had taken everything from her. And yet, her eyes were filled with sorrow for the dead man on the floor, squirming in agony, twitching violently, gasping for air. She only stood over him, with a gun long empty. The sharp blade of her self-hatred glided across her throat, threatening to rip at the skin with every moment passed that allowed him time to heal.

All those bullets meant nothing, when not one of them punctured his heart. Not one of them rid her of him. He was still alive, in the most monstrous way. Dragging himself upwards, struggling to keep his body straight, to become once again a worthy opponent, a punching bag for her to use and then dispose of. She was supposed to dispose of him, not the other way around. I regret you. No, no — not the way this was supposed to be. His fault. This was his fault. His fault, for giving an abandoned hound like her attention, because now she wanted nothing but.

She hissed through gritted teeth: "Good." What a terrible time to be given something she didn't want to lose. What a terrible time to be given something that would completely shatter her to watch turn to ash. What a cruel fuckin thing to give her, when she had decided a decade ago, that she would rid herself of wants and needs, and stupid things like finding comfort under someone else's covers, the only person she'd trusted enough to fall asleep next to, wake up next to — their own little fucked up, domesticated, mundane universe, in which she was blind and foolish, and he was alive and warm. And they were both free — of self-hatred, and pain.

She watched that world disintegrate, while it spat them out into the vast cosmos. And back so quickly, into a world familiar and dark, deadly and completely ravenous where he was a monster and she was his executioner. Only she couldn't swing the axe high enough to slice his head clean off, instead uncertain, trembling hands got the weapon stuck half-way — not letting him die, but not letting him live either. "That's your fucking problem now, isn't it? At least I didn't fucking know, but you did. And still — what did you hope for here, huh? What did you think would fucking happen?" bitter tongue spun cruel words into existence, fabricated them from lies to truths.

Cruel, and despicable things were her lies. Cruel and despicable like putting him on her path and expecting her not to fall for the touch against her spine that whispered safety, the brush against her arm that grounded her — offered her trust, the kind that urged her heaviest burdens, and her heaviest losses to spill out of her. The ones that twisted her, and bent her out of shape, that made her less mortal man and more his kind of beast. The kind of tenderness she hasn't known for years, and had to give up after only a moment. She couldn't mourn the loss, not when she could do something better, something familiar, that was very much her, the version of her that she'd built for years, only for him to turn into dust over a couple of months. It was him holding the stake over her, buried deep into a hollow chest. That sorry excuse of a heart that only he— Don't be fucking ridiculous, Anika.

She wanted his fury, and his hatred. Let's see how far that regret go.

Her hand swung at him, backwards with the sharp metal of the gun slamming into his cheek. Stop fucking talking. His head almost unscrewed itself right off. Burning eyes, like a forest on fire, screamed at him — to be seen, to be acknowledged for the raging disaster it was, "Fight back!" spat out, as if an order. Then she banged small, but mightily fists into him; across his chest, and over his face. Pushing him into the corner of the room, right against his door. "Fight back—" louder, like a beast. She wanted to take every broken whisper, every trusted word, every shared weakness and shove them down his throat. She wanted to fuck him over, like he had. Those kicks to the gut came quicker and harder. "I said— fight the fuck back." Anika would relish in his hate. He was right. It was better, easier— than to mourn the loss of his love.

Pain is always often sudden and unwanted. He'd known it had been the wrong thing to say when he'd fired his own bullet in their verbal tennis; competitive about match point, where he'd forgotten all his sensibilities. Entirely too ignorant to everything when there's the idea of insanity swimming around in his head. Foolishness takes precedent, kicking himself for never knowing that she'd been a fucking idiot — because regret stung like a needle puncturing his lungs; taking the breath he didn't need in a sudden flash. In those holes, blood fills the pockets of air, leaking in from the outside.

He soon knows it's the bullets ripping him open. One after the other, in a series of fireworks — bang, bang, bang — It's second nature to count them; to know how many are left in her barrel. It's almost a guessing game; how many can he survive, before one takes him entirely? But boy, does it fucking hurt.

Far more than the anguish in his chest now. No faux bullshit about weeping hearts, or how his soul is fracturing with loss. The bullets are tearing up his lungs, shattering his collar bone, and bleeding poison into all those organs that should be black and rotting. He doesn't get to say anything, other than release a sound of protest when he's kicked back. He thinks maybe, he deserves that as she peppers holes into him and sends him tumbling into the sunlight.

There's no longer discernible pain. It's simply everywhere because he's on fire. There's blood, and burning flesh. His boxers (god help him, the only thing he's wearing) are soaked in red as his skin peels away underneath the rays. There's no stopping the cry of agony as he fights to escape it, limbs aching, crumbling under the weight of a curse he's got no power over. He's lost the majority of vision, as he blinks furiously in dire hope he might find a shadow instead of the sun. Managing to roll to the other side of the apartment. He hits the wall adjacent to his bedroom; a charred, bloodied thing with bloodshot eyes. Muscles tremble as he stares at the blank of his ceiling. Tatters of skin crumble to dust where he's left them at the mercy of the morning light.

If he had any strength then, he'd have told her that he'd have known all about her tribulations because he knew her father; her story had been new, but not unknown. The fuck does he think it's going to mean shit now. Shaking and groaning as he feels the skin fight to heal; knitting over scalds and fighting off the verbena she's pummelled him with. A few bullets are in the wall behind him, clean shot through. Others, he can feel rolling around in his gut and scraping against his spine.

It takes too long for his vision to straighten, he's already flopping over, trying to push himself to his feet. Arms shaking on all fours, he manages to get to his knees, head rolling back to look at the ceiling. Exhausted, in the only way a monster can be; hungry and fighting; survival instincts want to tell him to do something. It takes everything within him, to contain it, to tell himself he isn't one of them.

You're pathetic. The voice in his head that once told himself that, is replaced by hers; it's going to be there, as his conscience, for a long time. He knows that. Weak. In more ways than Anika knows. But he's let her do this; allowed her, in his stagnant state, to land every shot without retaliation. He's said enough, before. And he's still healing by the time he plants a hand on the bullet-marked wall and claws himself up on unsettled, bloodied legs. He slumps against it, for support and whines a little too miserably as he fights for those bullets inside him, again.

He's not even looking at her, on the other side of the sunlight. Fuck you, Booker.

There's another two clatters, when he discards those bullets to the ground and remains defeatedly against the wall, hand pressed to his shoulder, one eye able to restore vision whilst the rest of him slicks over from its zombie-like decay of burns and gunshot holes. He should be dead. He knows, long ago — long after.

His question still stands; she can land non-fatal things, all day. But there's only so much they can take before it blows up in their face; as though, it hasn't already. What happened to 'I want you', Anika? You had your hand against my chest; you heard the absence of a heartbeat — he's unable to know exactly where she went wrong, in her blindness. In his, too.

It takes a while before he can speak and tolerate the pain without echoing sounds that equate to how pathetic he is. Nearly a hiss, when it's voiced: "I regret you too, don't worry." It's lingering on his head, the hope and the violent way it's torn away from him as quickly as one hand had been on a breast, to being stung in the sun. To how easy it was to kiss her after telling himself it was never his future; he didn't get to have things meant for mortal men. This is why. He's burnt his own heart and left it in need of a transplant; a waiting list, a century long. He'll never live that long. He'll never let himself. He's already dead a second time, long before ash breaches his fingertips.

The scoff is half cough, half bloodied. He spits a mouthful on the carpet next to him, tasting the copper and verbena soaking his insides, souring his system and making him desperate to lick the blood she's painted the walls with. Dignity says he needs to go to the fridge and act like she might not reload and empty another round in that goddamn fucking revolver.

He's not going to fight her. Don't be ridiculous.

"I've never hurt you," Never stabbed her (like she has to him), or left her wondering if he might. Never brought a knife to the bed, and let it get lost in the covers, like she has. Never let an unchecked hand wander, or overstep his boundaries. Like she has him. Hasn't gone through her drawers, or raided her room — like she has, to him. And for the unlife of him, he doesn't fucking understand how she can stand there, with an off-aim and tell him she'd never known. He can hear her words of twenty minutes prior; the drunken desperation; the consent, playing over in his head — the corridor when legs wrapped around his now reddened flesh, hands wandering, lips stealing —

Let it go. She cannot matter when his existence isn't for her. He doesn't endure for the sake of her, as much as he does his family. She's lying, if she doesn't understand that, he's certain. He's finding it difficult to push himself off the wall, tired muscles craving to be satiated, a raw throat as his body acknowledges that he's burned through (literally, and figuratively) the deer and the hare he's recently fed on. "As if I'm going to war with you now, Anika."

Is that what you want? "Or would that justify this for you?" Probably. He realises, as more pieces of her jigsaw puzzle slot into place. "Make it easier?" If he's the monster he guesses she wants him to be. It shouldn't make a difference to a hunter — actively committing an atrocity or not. A monster is a monster.

And he should never have truly let himself believe for a second, she'd ever see him differently. This, was inevitable.

But everything in her face and her gaze; appeared fresh again in his recalibrated vision. He swears tears bead at her ducts and the violence in her hues is burying something she never likes him to see. He always does. But that could easily have been a well-constructed lie too. He's tired of looking down the barrel of the gun, at her face; picturing how different it'd been before morning ruined them. Head lolling to the side, to survey her; he wonders how long she might stand there, waiting for a battle he doesn't want to give.

Who is the coward now, Booker?

#c: reid #event: halloween #tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: blood

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someguywriting · 1 year ago

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introducing them to Hank Williams Sr

#country music #gerbils #gerbil #rats #rodents #pets #babies #hank williams sr #hank williams #the sr is very important to add #for some reason jr and 3 are racist #hank williams was not #i think #he either wasn't or he wasn't alive long enough to be

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acourtofquestions · 2 months ago

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"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.

#Dorian Havilliard #Manon Blackbeak #Chapter 43 #Kingdom of Ash #Sarah J. Maas #1st read-readW me-read along-no spoilers please-chapter spoilers in the post&tag+more notes/quotes/ reacts/annotations/etc-ordinary dagger #would be his only weapon-and the magic in his veins-If I don't come back he said while she tied the ancient blade2her keys must go2Terrasen #the only place he could think of-even if Aelin wasn't ther2take them-them u'll come back Manon said It sounded like more of a threat than #Dorian smirked Wouldumiss me if I didn't-Take care of Narene Worry indeed shone in the 2nd gold-flecked black eyes-A fool2start down this #pathW her He should have known better-hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence-Time dripped byKings sword a weight at #her sideShe cursed herself4needing2prove-2him2herself-that she had-she refused2let him go in2Morath4practical ordinary reasons Erawan wasnt #Ferian Gap Itd b safer Somewhat-He had not been trained as a spy but hed grown up in a court where people wielded smiles&clothes like weapon #He knew how2blend in how2listenHow2make people see what they wished2see-She'd sent Elide in2the dungeons of Morath-Darkness dam her it didnt #s2p her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened scanning the skyAs if he heard something they couldn't-& it was the joy that sparked in #her mounts eyes that2ld her-Asterin rushed2ward the mare&even Manon blinked as her 2nd threw her arms around Narenes neck Holding her tight-#Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir-It was4them she spoke4them she had come here-Crochan bitch-hell no that's a witch queen-She #doesnt lie-UNCLEAN There the word remained stamped Would always bstamped How many of U-silence that fell now was different from be4 shaking #shuddering-Tears in the eyes of all of them who hadnt known&it was4those tears which Manon had never seen that she faced the host againManon #ifted her chin u are my people-Whether my gr&mother decrees it so or notuare my people&always will bBut I will fly againstuif need B2ensure #theres future4those who cannot fight4it themselves2o long have we preyed on the weak relished doing so It is time that we became better than #our4emothers-words shes given the13-Theres a better world out there she said again-& I will fight4it She turned Abraxos away2ward the plunge #behind them Will u-their if u die ill kill u vibe-ugh obviouslyulove each other just get over it-warned hum-my life-gratitude even softened #the witch-Shapeshifter-bye bluebell birdie-His ice-the Valg-just this once-if it keeps them alive then good enough-him&Vesta-terse-dont let #Aelin go4them either please-& the magic in his veins-his true weapon is smarts-come back-she cared her eyes say it all-Wmy life-not a fool #just in love-colds their middle name-her waiting😭-Lys would bproud of his skill-joy in wyverns is giving cuz she screamed4U like I did-Petra #their fallen Heir-a life debt-yes I had2switch2short dashes there’s just2o much going on all the time-4 them she spoke2gather2save-Asterin b #b-made-are monsters born or maid chicken egg wyvern solved-only queen-k how old r they-glory-always-my bb13crying2gether now imma cry-ur #Future is giving a better world vibes-I have seen it-a good queen-real love-u are my people-yes Manon speech-not a child of war but of peace #Manorian #The Thirteen

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my-thoughts-and-junk · 3 months ago

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once again in my rickard and mortyanne era. if you couldn't tell

#random thoughts #guess what motherfuckers it's blue man time #you ever think about how rick probably knows bp inside and out since he stitched him back together #he has literally been inside that man biblically #from seasons 1-3 it's really easy to tell they were originally planning for rick to have been divorced rather than a widow #and if you keep in mind abc's of beth that means he left after tommy got stuck in froopyland #but before beth got put in therapy for it because you know it was her mom who put her in therapy #since rick invented froopyland just to keep his daughter occupied i think he and diane were seperated at the time #which may be why beth struggles so much with leaving jerry #because in her eyes the divorce was what caused rick to leave her life which she then resented her mother for #and she doesn't want to be the reason her kids don't see their father and resent her for it #i think diane died either before summer was born or soon after #she was alive long enough to see beth and jerry wed i think. probably played a hand in planning it #which beth also resented her for because her wedding wasn't really about her at all #i think she died when summer was too young to remember her. probably shortly after morty was born #summer has a couple memories of her but they're more impressions than anything #she babysat while beth was in school and jerry worked #and wouldn't let her hear the end of it #she faked her death btw. was swept away by a space pirate. straight out of a bodice ripper #if her and rick ever met again he would shoot her fabio straight through the head right in front of her #he'd secretly be a bad guy and morty would be like 'gee rick how'd you know schmabio was a slave trader?'#and rick'd be like 'idk morty i'm just that good' (he didn't they were just arguing and schmabio made a point and looked smug)#(shot him right in his smug face)#i think the crew needs more friends. they need more reoccuring side characters #i am of the opinion jerry should have kept his job for longer and there should have been an office spoof #none of those characters would reappear again ofc because jerry would be fired soon after but he'd mention what they're up to in a sad #'i'm stalking them on facebook to feel like i'm still at work' way #morty should have more school-centric episodes. he should have friends his own age! who rick then isolates him from. tragic.#summer has like. two friends who need more screentime.#beth should also have her own office drama but it's about how she hates it and doesn't want it to affect her worklife

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slytherinslut0 · 3 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 1st. theodore — size kink, big dick.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | 2024.

summary: there’s a rumour going around that theodore nott has a big dick…..why not see it for yourself?

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, hogwarts uni (obviously), big dick!theo, size difference, size kink ofc, fingering, PIV, dirty talk, slowish sex, put on your fantasy cap for this one bc it’s a little wild, also, anyone know any wheelchair providers?

How the hell did you end up here? How had a night meant for celebration, for laughter and drinks and the triumph of a Quidditch victory, lead to this—

Fevered kisses, teeth clashing—your breath catching in the dim, muted glow of Theodore Nott's dorm—spine pressed against his door as his lips attacked yours, moving to your neck with a hunger that had your knees weak. There was a party, still alive somewhere down the hall, warmth spilling into the corridors, the echo of cheers and laughter floating past—but it was all a distant memory now. All of it blurred, lost in the way Theo's hands roamed over your hips, tugging you closer like he was starved.

Oh, right—the rumours.

Rumours have always had a way of creeping into places they don't belong. A whisper here, a careless word there. Stupid little fires, barely a spark until someone fans the flames. You've seen it before—how a single rumour can grow, how it can warp a simple night into something bigger. Something chaotic.

And now, well, you're living it.

Curiosity was what pulled you into his orbit tonight, what sparked the embers that had been burning between you two for far too long. Because Pansy Parkinson—loud, exaggerative, and far-too-tipsy—couldn't resist spilling some gossip mid-party, something about Daphne, something about Theodore and nine goddamn inches.

You know, the usual Quidditch post-match talk.

And it should have been nothing. It should have got lost in all the other Slytherin boy ramblings but instead, it stuck. Gods, it fucking stuck. Pansy's little comment sparked the fire in you, a fire that led to a conversation over drinks, your hand grazing his, and before you knew it, you were leaning into Theodore Nott at the punch bowl, asking questions you had no blasted right asking, yet went ahead and did anyways.

Something about...well—

"You've heard, then," he'd replied, voice low as those blue eyes watched you over the rim of his glass.

It wasn't a question. It was a challenge. For all the audacity you had—Theodore had just as much.

"I have," you leaned closer, your voice almost teasing as you whispered against the curve of his ear. "Big rumours, Teddy...huge, even."

He tensed, just slightly, the kind of reaction you noticed only because you were watching him so closely. You're pretty sure he wasn't expecting something like that to come out of your mouth—and you couldn't blame him, because truthfully, you weren't expecting it either.

That was, what you'd like to call, the point of no return.

There was a response from him. Something cocky enough—something like; "and do you make a habit of believing everything you hear?"

"Not everything," you said with a shrug, though your heart was in your fucking throat. "But I'm open to proof."

There weren't very many words exchanged after that—maybe some slight teasing—maybe another brush of his hand—but Theo was never a man to waste time, and it was clear that whatever curiosity you held for him had bubbled up now—heady and bold—and created a mess between you that couldn’t be contained.

The party, the victory, the cheers—it all became static as his hand slipped around your waist, his lips at your ear in a whisper. "Then let's put these rumours to rest."

You barely had the chance to nod before Theodore moved—grabbing your wrist and moving you through the crowd like you were something to be expedited, the sea of students parting before him. Pansy spotted you leaving, her eyes gleaming as she threw you a wicked smile and a drunken thumbs-up. You rolled your eyes, smirking back, but everything else blurred into the background as Theodore led you out of the common room, and before you knew it, you were inside his dorm.

The door slammed shut behind you, the cold surface meeting your back before his lips found yours—urgent, consuming. His hands moved with purpose, sliding under your shirt, lifting it over your head before you even realized what was happening. His own shirt followed, discarded carelessly onto the floor as he pressed his body against yours.

The memory blurred as the urgency of the present took over. You gasped at the feel of him, his entirety—hard, aching, massive. The outline of him was impossible to ignore, the mere suggestion of what was to come already making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

The rumours had seemed absurd at first, but now...now, they felt terrifyingly real. He was huge.

"Tell me," he breathed, his voice a low rumble against your lips as his fingers worked deftly at removing your skirt. "About those rumours..."

Your head fell back against the door, exposing the line of your throat as his mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Whimpering, you caressed his shoulders, up his neck, finding his hair, fingers teasing the warm, hidden shell of his ears. At this, his back crested, and he moaned, pitching forward, hips working to fuse you with the door.

"I—I heard..." you tried to speak, but his mouth was on your neck, and the words tangled in your throat. "Gods—something about...nine inches..."

Theo hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, sending blood pooling low. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his lips hovering over yours, his breath hot and heavy as he wrapped his hands around your thighs and lifted you up—carrying you toward his bed.

"What else." He muttered against your mouth.

"Daphne..." you panted, barely able to think straight with the way he was touching you, the way he was looking at you. "She...she said she couldn't take it all..."

"And if I say that's true?" He rasped, laying you down onto his comforter. "What then?"

A shiver shook you from the base of your spine, and you curled your legs around him, core clenching hard—he sprawled over you, his body massive—engulfing yours, roving his hands up and down your bare thighs as his lips left wet, warm kisses across your breasts, teeth digging into the sheer fabric of your bra—you were gasping, whimpering under him, your chest rising and falling so rapidly you'd think you'd ran a marathon.

"Gods—that's...an odd question, Teddy..." your hips bucked, seeking his touch, and he grazed your pussy over your underwear, thumb ghosting your clit through the fabric. You squeaked, and he silenced you with his mouth, tugging at the fabric until he'd fit his thick fingers under the hem. "Are you...mm..asking if I can handle it?"

"Fucking soaked already," Theo peeled away, gasping, watching you as he slid a digit through your hot slit, his breath hitching. "Yes—I'm asking if you can handle it."

"Fuck—I don't—I don't know..." he dragged a slickened finger over your clit—you quivered, biting your lip until you found your words. "Only one way to find out."

"You're right," he breathed, swirling his finger, your body pulsing underneath him—every nerve within you roaring to life. "I'll be easy on you...I'll go slow..." his thumb took over, his middle and fourth finger teasing your entrance, lips hovering over your ear. "Let's stretch you out first."

"I—" you began, and he plunged into you. "—fuck."

Theo crooked his fingers in your cunt, eyes focused on your flushing face, the flow of your moans, his breath shallow as you clenched and pulsed around him. His thumb traced rapid little lines around your swollen clit, two long fingers filling you full. He wet his lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a brief kiss as he snapped his wrist, curling and scissoring inside of you. His hips rocked with his rhythm, and you caught sight of his erection straining against his jeans—

"Tight little thing," he growled, head dipping low as he watched his fingers disappear inside your dripping cunt. "I might fucking break you."

He jutted his erection against your thigh and you moaned, clenching around him. "Mm—Theo—"

His eyes followed yours toward his crotch—you couldn't help yourself, your fingers burned to feel him—to stroke him—to feel the weight of him in your hand. He nodded, and amidst your gasps and moans you reached for him, grasping at his zipper and undoing the button, tugging his jeans and boxers down his thighs—

Theo groaned and your mouth watered. Those rumours—Gods, those fucking rumours—

"Fucking hell—" you breathed, wrapping your fingers around his thick, heavy cock—he choked, digits pumping you deep—your thighs shook, your pulse in your throat. You tightened your fist and stroked him, watching him from half-lidded eyes. "Theo—holy fuck.."

His lungs sputtered. "That enough proof for you, Bella?"

You nodded and he throbbed—twitched under your grip, blood biting his cheeks when you coated his head with the bead of his pre-cum, his breath uneven, tattered from the weight of lust—but so was yours.

You moaned. "Oh—Gods—I'm—"

Theo circled your stiff nub, pumping his fingers into your pussy, and pleasure wracked you, pouring into your pulse, your orgasm charging toward you at light speed—his lips found yours, softly, muffling your moans.

"You're close, I can feel it..." he muttered against your mouth, fingers dragging at your walls, groaning as you clenched—as your free hand gripped his hair harder. "Cum on my fingers, Bella, go on..."

You shuddered and snapped—pleasure pulsating from your core and through your limbs, your orgasm lighting up your spine. In its intensity, you bit at his bottom lip while your cunt clamped down around his fingers, a feral energy coursing—the need for more—the need for every goddamn thing he was willing to give you eating away at your sanity—all coherent thought gone, only dissipating further as Theo pulled his fingers from your soaked cunt and sucked them clean with a growl.

"As fucking delicious as I'd imagined," he cooed, drifting his other hand up your thigh, fingers kneading the trembling flesh. You swallowed, lungs still working to find their rhythm. "I don't think you have any idea how long l've wanted this...any idea what you do to me..."

Gods—you almost wanted to laugh—this felt like a fever dream. You'd been friends for years, the fact it took this to get you both here was astonishing. His blue eyes peered down at you—wide and waiting.

"Look at you," you muttered, eyes dipping down to his throbbing dick, still twitching insistently in your hand. "I think I know exactly what I do to you."

Theo snuffed a groan in his throat, but his cock twitched again, despite himself—there was no preventing that.

"Cocky as ever," he whispered, lips curling in a teasing grin. "But now's not the time, principessa..."

"I can handle you," you breathed out, though a tremor in your voice hinted at the uncertainty you felt.

"We'll see." He said. "Lay on your side."

With a flush creeping up your neck, you complied, turning to face the window. The moonlight filtered through the glass, casting a silver sheen over the rippling surface of the Black Lake. Theo moved behind you, his body flush against yours, the slickness of sweat making your skin cling together—one arm slipped beneath your head, cradling it, while the other slid under your thigh, lifting it with a deliberate, practiced motion.

His dick slid against you, the girth daunting enough if not for the sheer fucking length of it—his body was massive behind yours, dwarfing you, a solid wall of heat at your back. You'd never felt so small, so fragile in a way that screamed breakable.

Theo teased your slit, covering himself in your juices—

"Just the tip, yeah?" He whispered, and fuck—you almost moaned. His voice was ruined. "For now."

"Theo—I—I think I can handle it..." you were trying to convince yourself as much as him. You wanted him to enjoy himself, too. "Just…fuck me, please.."

"Merlin help you..." Theo groaned and it almost sounded pitying—dragging the swollen head of his cock against your clit before dipping lower, pressing against the folds of your greedy cunt— "you don't know what you're saying..."

His arm under your head curled inward, wrapping around your neck and holding you in place against him—his other hand guiding his length to your entrance and pressing in—shushing you softly as the first inch breached you and you cried out—as your mind blanked.

"Theo—" you gasped through the chokehold he had you in, his free hand holding your thigh up as it trembled. "That's—you're—fuck—"

He pulled out and rocked along you again, testing you, offering you centimeters of his length at time. Gooseflesh flooded you.

His lips pressed against your ear. "Shhh, you said you could handle me, yeah?"

His hand on your thigh shifted lower, resting on the crease. He rutted against you a few more times, dragging this out for everything it was worth until he brought the tip back to your entrance and pushed in—slowly, inexorably—spearing you open, splitting your cunt and prying you wide in a way that rid your breath.

You whimpered, hand scrambling for purchase on his hip behind you. "Ohhh—h-holy fuck.."

"Fucking hell...you're tight..." his arm around your neck tightened, holding you against him and he pressed in deeper. "That's barely half..."

You fought for air and found absolutely none, every muscle in your body tensing, your limbs trembling, your mind fizzing with staticky pleasure. You felt as though you could break in two.

"Fuck," he drew out again, and pressed back in. "You can barely take it."

He was right. You could barely fucking take it. A revelation that you weren’t surprised by—but that made all the blood in your body pool low, walls fluttering around him in protest.

"Gods, Theo—T-theo—" you grasped his wrist, nails digging into his skin, eyes squeezed shut. "Wait—"

"Little more...you're doing so good, Bella..." he was cooing now, pressing kisses to your cheek. "I'll make it fit...we'll make it fit, won't we?"

You couldn't find a fucking modicum of sense to articulate a response. All you could do was feel—take and feel—the way he slid out, only to drive into you again, slowly, with a hiss of air through his teeth—drawing out loud, shameless groans from your chest.

"Mmm—breathe, Bella..." it was soft, soothing, like he was trying to coax you open with words. "Relax for me, yeah? Let me in...let me in..."

You obeyed without even thinking, pulling in shaky breaths, forcing your body to comply, even as your muscles screamed to stay tense—to fight the overwhelming fullness of him. You felt as though he couldn't possibly get deeper, but then he did, and he continued to until he bottomed out—his cockhead kissing your cervix, forcing a sound out of your chest that was more a sob than a moan.

Your eyes were shut so tight. "That's—"

"All of me," he interrupted, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. He rolled his hips, grinding against you, barely pulling out before pushing back in, and your whole body clenched in response. "Does it hurt?"

Every movement proved indefinitely that he was as long as he was thick—your core stretching to accommodate him. You felt him in places you'd never felt before—moulding and carving you out just for him, digging out new space inside you that only he could occupy.

"A little—“ the words were a whimper, and your walls tightened around him instinctively, fighting to adjust, to accommodate the impossible size of him. “Gods—“

"Then why are you making it worse?" He hissed through his teeth, strain bleeding into his tone. You could hear the shift—wrecked, ruined, like he was barely holding onto himself. "Fuck, you're squeezing me...too tight...relax.."

He pulled out and thrust back in, harder this time, sucking in air through his teeth as he worked you wider with each plunge into your soaked cunt. Your body rebelled, clenching down around him again, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you, his hips snapping against yours in response.

"That's not going to make it easier, you know." His voice was a tight growl, but there was a grin in it, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. "Keep that up and I'm going to leave you sore all day."

The thought made you clench again, your body betraying you as a broken apology fell from your lips—pain giving way to pleasure. "I'm—ohh—sorry-"

"Oh, you're going to be sorry." His pace quickened and you were seeing stars—bright and flashing and blurring your vision. "When you're spending all day in bed tomorrow...recovering..."

It only took seconds before he was grunting behind you—lost in your tight heat as he held you against him, hooking your thigh up toward your chest as his arm tightened around your neck, cock ramming your cunt—colliding with your cervix, pushing screams from your lungs. You couldn't think—couldn't catch your breath as he drove into you over and over.

"Fuck—so good…so fucking wet..." Theo moaned, the sound of his cock slippery and lewd, broadcasting evidence of your arousal. Face on fire, you tossed your head back against his shoulder and closed your eyes, chewing your lip, rocking with the force of his strokes. “You like that—being filled like this...greedy little thing..."

You whinged; he was boring into your stomach, delight gushing through your veins. You had never been with a man this endowed, and this fucking ruthless. It made you throb, set you aflame, whirled your brain with desire. Words eluded you.

"Ohh—yes,” you choked out between moans. "Gods—you're huge—"

"I am," he groaned in your ear, the hand on your thigh shifting to your belly, palm pressing against your pelvis—he eased his pace, offering you deep, slow strokes, letting you spasm around every goddamn inch. "That's how deep I'm in you."

At that, you moaned, shamelessly. Cocky bastard he was. You knew now that he was more than entitled to it.

"Can...fuck—can I cum in you?" His fingers slipped to your clit, slowly swirling over it—you didn't even have a second to process that question before the pleasure wracked you so hard you cried out, and he growled. "Fuck—let me cum in you...in this pretty little cunt.."

Somewhere in the blur, you registered his words—low, rough, pulling at the frayed edges of your sanity. Contraceptives. You were on them. It was the last rational thought you had left, buried deep under layers of heat and want. You knew you were fine, but the way he asked, in that voice—Gods—

His fingers increased their pace and you wailed. "Theo—holy f-fuck—yes—yes please!"

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt throbbed and milked his dick, your thighs twitching, and your back reached for the wall but his arm around you kept you in place, pleasure possessing your nerves. It seemed an eternity—he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, and then he shattered too—breath washing over the back of your neck, chest heaving and lungs sputtering as he spilled his release into you, deep and sticky and hot.

You were still floating between realms of sensation and reality—your mind struggling to tether itself back to consciousness when Theo finally pulled out, releasing you. Both of you were heaving, chests rising and falling in tandem, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.

A moment passed, your breaths slowly steadying, when you felt his arm snake around your waist, pulling you effortlessly against his chest. You shot him a weak, lopsided smile over your shoulder, still catching your breath.

"You okay?" He murmured, his voice a quiet hum in the afterglow.

"More than," you nodded, though your body still hummed with the remnants of pleasure. A hollow ache replaced where he'd been, leaving you startlingly aware of how empty you felt without him. "That was...you are...

"I know," he purred, lips grazing the sensitive spot behind your ear, the smirk practically carved into his breath. You could feel his smugness radiating off him, a tangible thing. "Hope your curiosity was sated."

You let out a breathy laugh, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. "That, among other things."

"Good," he whispered, "I went easy on you."

You huffed, a slow smile creeping across your face. "Is that so?"

"Extremely so," he murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip. "Took all the willpower I had."

"Sure," you teased. "You're just saying that because I took you so well."

He chuckled, low and sinful, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your spine.

"Oh, she's cocky," he drawled, lips brushing your shoulder. "We'll see about that after I put you in ten different positions."

Your heart stuttered, your muscles tensing at the sheer boldness of the statement. Heat pooled in your belly once more, that insatiable curiosity sparking again. You knew this night was far from over.

Perhaps a little more proof wouldn’t hurt...

You turned your head just slightly, voice breathy but wanting. "Please do."

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leonsgfpost · 2 months ago

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𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You let your boyfriend cum inside you for the first time.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: DI!Leon (or Leon RE4) x fem!reader, creampie, unprotected sex, wild Leon, slight mention of breeding perversion.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: It's something that crossed my mind, this man has me bad 🙏🏻

Leon feels like he's in heaven, dizzy, sweaty and with his eyes closed, seeing colors. Like he's really floating, and only because he's ramming your pretty pussy with need. Her pretty pussy. His hands are on either side of your head, he only needs his body to pin you against the sweaty sheets. His lunges jolt your body enough to shake the bed.

"Look at you, my pretty girl taking it so good..." He said between breathless gasps, and you opened your clouded eyes so you could look up at him, grinning dumbly at his words. But he wasn't even looking at you, he was watching your pussy open up around his wet cock. Yeah, Leon was getting kind of nasty.

And though he loved your pussy, and every inch of you. And what you were giving him, like the time you took the condom off for the first time and let him fuck you raw. Every time he sank into you, wetly and slowly he felt alive. But he couldn't help but want more, lust for more.

Leon is a greedy man.

You had not yet given him the honor of filling your pussy, of leaving you creamy and plump inside. He would never do anything against your word, so every time he got close he would come out and cum hard on your belly or your thighs. Even though it felt good, I knew it would feel better to be able to bury his dick and let it explode inside you. But he couldn't do it, not yet.

"Lee, Leon-!" you moaned loudly, dizzy in the ecstasy of his cock exploring every delicious corner of your insides. His head slapping your cervix, his hips slapping yours until your skin was red. It was definitely Leon's favorite sight, you beneath him with a sweaty face, your tits bouncing happily and your hips rising to chase his awkwardly.

"Baby, can I-?" he asked, burying his face in your neck letting out gasps that were starting to morph into animalistic moans. From the way his voice was becoming shaky and his hips were stumbling in their rhythm, he was so close.

"Please, let me... Let me do it." Leon's pride shifted to the side, that strong man taking on nuclear monsters was no match for your pussy. He could die if you denied him the paradise between your legs. And you know it.

"What?" you asked, in the midst of overwhelming pleasure and the sensation of your orgasm beginning to form, ready to burst as easily as a bubble.

"Inside, I want to do it Inside. A baby, let's make a baby-" His words came out in babbles, in between wet kisses he planted on your neck trying to distract himself from how his cock jerked inside you, begging for the release he was holding back. And when you were as dumb as he was, it only took his fingers around your quivering clit for you to quickly agree.

"I want to hear you, I need it, I..." He whispered, moving his kisses up your jaw and keeping the motion of his fingers on your clit, listening to you moan desperately beneath him.

"C-Cum inside, I want it inside." You affirmed in that sweet tone you used only for him. Mixed with long, euphoric moans, arching your back. Your center burned around him, his onslaught creating the most lascivious sounds you'd ever heard. Those words ignited something inside him. Finally, finally his little fantasy was coming true.

He pulled away a little, grabbing the back of your thighs to lift them and let out a grunt as he felt your walls tighten further around him. He was losing his mind. His hips moving in a wild, animalistic rhythm.

"I'm going to fill you up so good, baby." It sounded like a promise, you knew he was going to do it. His blunt nails digging into your skin, trying to hold on to something as he felt his dick quivering inside your walls, closing around his length.

"Come on, come on... Come for me, I want to feel you." His husky, raw tone of pure need finally brought you to orgasm. Your velvety walls clenched around him tightly, as if you wanted to extricate his dick. His breath caught as he felt your tight grip as if you were begging to be filled silly.

But relax, that's what he was going to do.

"God, baby-ah, you're tight me so good." He murmured dropping his head back, closing his eyes and relaxing his jaw with pleasure. His hips quivered, causing his to lose his rhythm.

You would look so pretty, your swollen pussy and his cum spurting out of your hole that was a portal to paradise. The image and the feeling of your wet walls around him was what drove him to madness.

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck-!" he moaned over and over, ramming with each curse until potent, strong strands of semen exploded inside you, filling you with as much eagerness as he had wanted. He never would have imagined it would feel so good, so alive. His onslaught gradually slowed to a stop, panting heavily as his cock gave you all he had to offer. His eyes lowered to your pussy, withdrawing only to glowering at his work of art. His mess.

His fingers moved down to open the swollen lips of your pussy and watch his thick cum seep out of your weeping hole. He smirked, lifting his eyes finally.

"This pretty pussy deserves another load, Honey." He stated, beginning to rub his semi-hard cock up and down your quivering slit. Little did you know that you aroused the most primal, possessive side of the man who looked at you as if he wanted to devour you.

Because, oh, Leon is a really greedy man.

Let me know if you liked it, and please ignore if you see any mistakes 🫶🏻💕

(💌) bye, bye !

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #smut #resident evil smut #leon x reader

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silverskyeline · 3 months ago

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'hunger' 18+

worst!wolverine x f!reader (3.9k words) summary: logan can't tear his mind away from the new barmaid at his usual haunt. he tries to resist you, he really does. but when you're both alone in the bathroom, he finds he's not the only one plagued with filthy thoughts. tags: for the 'longing' prompt for logan promptober, set in the bar from the movie, kind of angsty, filthy, pent up logan, alcohol consumption, doggy style, creampie, biting, light choking, pinning wrists, hair pulling, spanking, rough sex, implied age gap, sweet ending.

his usual haunts offer comfort, safe nests tucked away down isolated roads, usually requiring quite the drive to find - it's hard to find places where he's thought of as a stranger. no familiar faces, no conversation, no fuss. just logan, a bottle of whisky and time.

time spent staring into the grain of the old wood on the bar wondering how the fuck he ended up here. he'd stopped keeping count a long time ago, how long he'd been around, been alive. things get kind of hazy after two hundred years. logan had no reason to keep count.

until he saw you.

the bar was busy, as it normally was. he didn't mind it this way, less attention on him, less chances of someone trying to pick a fight with a specific stranger. not that they'd win, but logan had grown too tired for petty fights these days.

he's sat at the bar when the bartender clocks off, switching with someone new, someone he'd never seen before. you walk in and his eyes immediately scan your face, your build, your outfit. it's a habit of his, one he hoped he'd grow out of - but logan has learned that he'll never stop assessing for new threats. it's just in his dna.

but what he finds isn't a threat.

you're easy on the eyes, especially to these tired old hues that have grown accustomed to staring at the same old walls. he drags his eyes back down to his glass like he's forcing himself to look down the barrel of a gun rather than looking at you, before settling on you once more.

logan can't let himself look too much, he isn't allowed nice things, especially not pretty little things such as yourself. he's poison, tainting everything he touches, spoiling it. he's experienced enough heartbreak, enough losses for a lifetime and more.

. . . but what harm can looking do?

a few weeks pass, logan notices you're in every few nights from now on, must have been put on the regular rota. he wonders if you know most of the tips you receive by the end of the night are from him. you're diligent, you work hard, and you deserve more than the minimum wage you're probably getting.

you've never noticed him, or at least, he's never caught you looking in his direction. but he finds himself craving it, willing your eyes to meet his even for a second. the extent of your interactions have been sliding a glass or a bottle in his direction before continuing with your other duties.

it's not even lust on his mind either, he just finds himself captivated by your presence. he wonders about your life, your interests, your dreams. . . though he'd be lying if he said he'd never pictured bending you over against the bar and fucking you senseless.

he is an animal, after all.

he wonders if he should switch bars just to distance himself. he couldn't let himself become comfortable with the idea of you. relying on others was a weakness. besides, what would you be to him but just another person he'd lose someday? it wasn't worth it. you weren't worth it.

fuck.

logan curses himself under his breath for even having this internal debate. you were strangers, this was stupid, it was all fucking stupid. but the mind of a lonely old man is a desperate one, and what logan really craves isn't just eye candy. he craves a touch, that first touch that sparks electricity throughout your every nerve ending, causes goosebumps to ripple along the skins surface. he craves something, anything.

he was so fucking hungry. always so fucking hungry. a rumbling hunger that starts at the pit of his stomach and gnaws through him like a rabid animal frantically trying to escape a suffocating metal cage. it's a hunger he can't satisfy, he knows he can't satisfy. but he'd been alone so long.

surely one bite couldn't hurt?

no, he finds himself shaking his head as he stands from the bar. he'd take a leak, and leave early. it'd only been a month since he first saw you, he could get over this. switching bars wasn't particularly appealing to him, but it was better than having to look at you and feel that familiar ache.

the bathroom door swings open and he walks inside, situating himself at one of the urinals. a few moments later, the door swings open again, logan doesn't bother to look over.

"oh, thought these were empty, sorry."

his head turns quickly. it's you, mop in hand. there's an uncomfortable silence that follows.

speak, fucking speak. "it's fine."

you pause, then nod a little and begin mopping the floor.

his eyes are back on the urinal, swallowing hard. was this really going to be your first conversation? with his eyes glaring into old porcelain, dick in his hand? he tries not to picture you stealing glances at him, but he can't help it. is that what he wants?

maybe.

finishing up, he quickly makes his way over to the sinks, pushing his hands under the cool water and rubbing with soap. his eyes flit up to the mirror. and he catches you.

your eyes lock on one another for just a split second before you quickly busy yourself with the mop again.

but that split second was enough. it was enough to notice how you were looking at him.

"all done," you say with a sigh after a few moments, standing straight and gripping the mop but making no effort to leave just yet.

logan eyes you in the mirror, watches how your eyes dance across the room before inevitably landing on him again. he turns to face you, noting the distance between you both in the room.

you lean back against the bathroom stall divider, eyes drifting across logan's figure. he was tall, big. this is the first time you're really able to look at him, to study the features of his face. this time he's not hiding behind a glass or a bottle.

the hunger in his gaze is obvious, but it's dulled, like he's just barely holding back. you think he looks lonely, there's a distinct air about him that practically screams that he needs to be touched.

you rest your mop against the wall, "you're in here often." you state, it's not a question.

"guess i'm a regular," he replies curtly.

swallowing hard, you continue, "i noticed. i always have to restock the whisky when you come by."

logan pushes himself from the sink and approaches you slowly. was he really doing this? after a month of pining and longing for you, a stranger in a bar, was he really going to give in to his desires? would you let him? the lust was clear in your eyes and he knew he was reflecting it right back tenfold.

"i like a drink." he says with a subtle shrug, just a step away now, eyes never leaving yours.

a small smile tugs at your lips, "i know."

you're not sure what you're really doing. you're supposed to be on shift, designated five minutes to clean the bathrooms. five minutes you'd much rather spend doing someone something else.

you eye the stranger who's been watching you, tipping you. of course you've noticed, you'd have to be pretty stupid or oblivious not to. you've come to expect him at each shift, but his presence intrigued you more than the other regulars. not just because he was more handsome, considerably more handsome.

no, it was those sad eyes that seemed to say a million words while his mouth remained firmly shut that had you curious. even now as he stands before you so silent you could hear a pin drop, when you look into his eyes you can feel a sea of words brewing.

oh how you wanted to open him up, to peer inside behind that rough exterior, to take a peek behind the facade. you're sure you're easier to read than he is.

you're not sure when or how it happened, but he's right in front of you now, his body almost touching yours. you look up at him with a feigned innocent look.

"i've seen you, you know," you mumble bravely, "looking at me."

logan doesn't seem surprised, he brings a hand up to hold your chin, turning your face from side to side to get a proper look at you now that he has you up close. "yeah?"

"yeah," you reply shakily, "thought i was imagining it at first. but by the second night it was obvious."

he smirks, so he's not as subtle as he thinks.

your hands snake down, finding his belt buckle and brazingly begin to unbuckle it. he watches you, eyes fixated on the way your fingers move. he swears he's about to start drooling. but then you move, hands winding up to the buttons on his shirt. you splay your hands across the fabric, eyes widening when you feel what's underneath.

"are you. . . is that-"

logan grips your wrists, not the suit. he wasn't talking about that now, he had to shut you up. he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as his strong hands keep a firm grip on your wrists. you submit, leaning back against the cubicle divider as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth.

he moans, relishing the taste of you, the taste he's thought about for so fucking long. he brings your hands up, pinning them above your head, shifting his grip so one hand easily pins your wrists, leaving his other hand free.

his free hand plants firmly across your upper chest, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your collarbone as he explores your mouth with his tongue. you're lost in the sensation, knees going weak as you allow the older man to have his way with you. he needs this, you know it.

"taste so fuckin' sweet," he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between words, "you do this often? let men kiss you in the bathroom?"

you mumble a 'no' under your breath, ". . . just the ones who tip good," you grin.

logan feels himself chuckling, biting your lower lip. oh, he liked you. his hand travels upwards, finding purchase around your neck. you gasp in response, moaning. he eagerly swallows your moan with his mouth, drowning out any sound that threatens to escape.

the kiss grows in intensity, you wonder how long it's been since he's kissed someone. he kisses you like a man starved, like he'd devour you if you let him. and you would, you think, if it felt this good.

his hand on your neck gives a gentle squeeze before running down your torso, palming at your jeans suddenly. you try to whimper in pleasure, but he's silencing you with his lips again.

"shhh, shhh," he whispers against your lips, "feel good? i know it feels good, but you gotta stay nice and quiet." logan can feel the material of your jeans begin to damp and he resists the urge to growl, feeling the way the fabric beneath gives way.

you nod, whispering small affirmatives as he touches you through the material. "just give me more," you whine.

and that spurs him on. in a flash he's pushing you into the stall, stealing a few more kisses where he can before he turns you, pushing your back against his chest. his lips find your neck, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses along the skin he finds there.

you're like putty in his hands, melting back against him as his hand returns to your crotch, rough hands massaging circles against your clothed core. you resist a moan, exhaling shakily instead as you let him use you.

"you wanted this just as much as i did, huh?" he growls into your ear, "need it, need me to fuck you."

you nod quickly as you feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.

"yeah, thought so," he nibbles on your earlobe, breathing deeply through his nose as he tries to steady himself, preserve the moment. but how can he when you feel this good beneath his fingers, taste this good on his tongue? "tell me you want it."

"want you to fuck me," you whimper almost immediately, suddenly feeling so very needy. there's a hot ache growing between your legs, one you're desperate for him to fill.

logan laughs, "you can do better than that, honey, know you can."

"please," your voice cracks and you swallow back moans as you squirm beneath his touch, "please fuck me-" it becomes apparent to you at that moment that you don't even know his name. your cheeks flush at the thought of letting this stranger, this older man fuck you in the bar bathroom, but actually, you kind of like it that way.

he nods against the side of your cheek, his stubble scratching against your soft skin, "there we go, attagirl. . ."

with that, he pushes you forward, forcing your hands onto the tank of the toilet to support yourself as he bends you over. his hands find your waist, his hips connecting with yours and slowly grinding his very apparent, large bulge against you.

you let out a whimper, arching your back a little at the sudden contact.

"feel that?" he mumbles, guiding your hips to grind back against him, "feel what you do to me?"

a gasp, "fuck, you're big." you can already tell, the way his bulge is pressing against you, demanding to be felt. you swear you can almost feel it throb through the material.

"yeah i am," logan smirks, he knows he's big, and he knows exactly how to use it.

pulling back slightly, he roughly pulls your jeans down, practically manhandling you, your underwear disappearing with it. he grabs handfuls of your ass before kneading the skin. "look at that, pretty little ass, all for me."

you just have time to gasp before you feel one of his hands connect harshly with your skin, the sound ringing out in the small bathroom of the bar. "f-fuck!" you whine, feeling the sharp sting, knowing there's a bright red imprint in the shape of his large palm on your ass.

there's some jingling, the sound of his belt being moved out of the way, a zipper. you prepare yourself, or at least you try to, but his cock is already slapping against your backside before you have time to steady your hazy mind.

"you gonna take all of me?" he asks, biting his lip as his aching length slaps against your skin, "think you can?"

you nod quickly, looking over your shoulder at him, "mhm!"

"if you say so. . ." he smirks and positions himself, one hand on your hip and one aiming his cock at your tight little hole.

then, all at once he's sinking in. you gasp, he gasps. and fuck, he is big. you feel that sweet stretch, his cock throbbing against your tight walls as it slowly glides inside. you're whining as it slowly fills you, eyes rolling back at the sensation. but he pulls out a little, only to push back in again.

he's working you up just right, mesmerised by the way you take his cock. his eyes are fixed on your tight hole begging him to enter, loving the slick sound as it pushes inside.

"you've been thinkin' about this since you started your shift," logan says confidently, his words confirmed by how you drip around him, "thought about me fillin' you up, nice and full?"

despite the way your cheeks flush bright red, you can't deny it. you've thought about it more than once, fantasised about it in bed, hoping that one day that stranger from the bar would fuck you so good you forget your own name.

you don't need to reply either, because he knows. he knows from the way your wet hole flutters around him, and fuck does it make him harder to know that you've thought about this just as much as he has. he begins to pump into you at a leisurely pace, firm hands on your hips.

"holy fuck, so fuckin' tight," logan grumbles, his deep slow strokes hitting you deep as he bottoms out inside of you.

you try to turn your head, to look up at him, but he grasps the back of your hair, pushing your head down. "nu-uh, keep that head down."

he knows if he lets you look at him, look up at him for too long, he'll lose it. he can't have your soft eyes on him while he fucks you, he doesn't deserve it. he'll take you, just like this, with your head down and your ass up and his cock buried deep inside you.

because he can't describe the shame that swirls in his stomach, that this is how he relieves himself, a quick fuck in a bar. this dirty older man who's seen so much sin, perpetuated sin with his own hands, who longed for the young pretty little thing in the bar. logan doesn't deserve nice things, this he knows.

you feel his thrusts grow rougher, your legs slipping apart as you attempt to hold yourself up, hands planted firmly on the tank of the toilet. you're squeaking softly with each pump, feeling him use you to release his pent-up frustrations. and it felt so fucking good.

with his firm grip on your hair tightening by the second and his other large hand digging into your hip, you begin to bounce back against his motions, sending him even deeper. you both moan in sync with the feeling and you pant softly, cheeks flushing further at the soft 'plap plap plap' of his hips connecting with you, the sound reverberating around the small cubicle.

"that feels so fucking good," you sing, closing your eyes. logan gives a particularly hard thrust, speed picking up. you can't help but smirk, mouth stuck open as you moan softly, he likes it when you talk to him during, huh? "keep fuckin' me, just like that, so good. . ."

he groans, wrapping your hair around his fist as he relentlessly pounds into you. harder and harder, deeper and deeper, you're sure you'll have bruises littered over your body before the day is through.

"harder!" you cry, feeling your legs tremble. you're not gonna last long like this, and by the way his cock is twitching inside of you, he isn't either. "i'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me fuckin' cum!"

another groan slips from his lips, gritting his teeth as he uses you, watching you take his throbbing cock beneath him. "look so pretty like this, bent over, takin' what i fuckin- shit. . . takin' what i give you."

your body grows hotter, sweat forming on your forehead, each impact pushing you forward roughly. you're really not gonna last long.

he begins to hunch over, his chest flush with your back as he huffs against your neck, fucking you like a rabid animal. you're squealing now, the pleasure swirling in your lower stomach, threatening to send you crashing into bliss. at this point, you don't fucking care if someone walks in and finds you like this, sees his feet planted behind yours underneath the stall. in fact, the thought of the risk sends a bolt straight to your gut.

"yes yes yes," you mutter, feeling your orgasm approaching steadily. you swear you can feel him in your guts. you begin to flutter around him, begging for release, knowing it's going to completely destroy you.

logan can't even form words, just grunts slipping from his lips against the side of your neck. and then he feels it, his cock twitches, his mind reeling with the imminent release. he needs this, oh he fucking needs this.

he bites down on your neck, teeth sinking in slightly as he feels himself release deep inside you, his cum spilling out in strong waves. you feel your knees buckle, but a strong hand planted on your tummy helps keep you upright as he fucks his release deeper into you.

the animalistic nature of his thrusts combined with the sensation of his hot cum painting your insides sends you flying over the edge, your orgasm milking him as you clamp around his aching cock. he slams his hand against the stall wall with a loud metallic bang, splaying his fingers across the metal as if to ground himself as his thrusts falter.

his tongue lazily licks the indents of his bite mark against your neck, groans easing their way from the back of his throat. you can hardly catch your breath, legs still shaking from such an intense release. it's hard to think straight with his dick still buried deep inside, feeling it twitch with every aftershock.

you both stay like that for a solid minute, panting, coming down together. he's planting soft kisses along your neck as your breath slowly comes back to you.

he pulls out, stepping back as he stuffs himself into his jeans. you collapse onto the toilet seat, shakily pulling your jeans and underwear back up as you look up at him. it's clear he's looking to leave, a distant look in his eye, maybe a little shame creeping into his features.

standing on trembling legs, you lean up, giving him a surprisingly soft kiss. your hands take over his, helping him back into his jeans, zipping them up, clasping the buttons together and buckling his belt. all the while your lips are on his, slowly, passionately intertwining together.

you pull back, buttoning your own jeans as you continue to look up at him. ". . . does that count as your tip for the night?" you joke with a smirk, hoping to see a flash of his smile again, hoping to alleviate some of that shame he's carrying.

and there it is, a small smirk on his lips as he glances away. "maybe."

the shame seems to settle, begins to dissipate. it feels less like satisfying an urge and more like. . . exploring something new. his eyes drift back to you.

"i'll see you tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head.

he blinks, suddenly remembering time exists outside this small space seemingly crafted just for the two of you. "yeah," he says, quietly.

"good," you pat his chest before moving past him, leaving the stall. you stand, looking back at him. a beat, "or, you can meet me after my shift ends?"

his eyes widen, taken aback. fuck, had he forgotten how to do this? his eyes flit to the side, before making up his mind. he gives a firm nod.

you smile before leaving him in the bathroom, returning to the bar through the door.

logan stands there for a few moments, running his fingers through his hair. he smooths down his shirt, feeling the suit beneath, a stark reminder always of his past.

but maybe he could begin to take a few steps forward. maybe he deserves more than to suffer forever, forced to keep everyone at arm's length. maybe he could allow himself this small happiness, a date, or whatever this was.

maybe it was time to satisfy his hunger, his loneliness, for good.

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 4 months ago

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ANIMALS- L. HOWLETT

Pairing: Boyfriend!Logan x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 636 (quick drabble lol)

Summary: You and Logan play a game of hide and seek while you have the manor to yourselves…

Warnings: Smut implied, fingering, daddy kink, praise kink, a little degrading, size kink, Logan being a dommmm, priminalish? Logan, swearing, teasing, grinding etc

“baby i’m prayin on you tonight, hunt you down and chew alive just like animals, animals like animals… baby you think that you can hide, i can smell your scent for miles…”- animals, maroon 5

You counted your breaths, trying to steady them. A quick, sharp inhale.

One, two, three, four. Out.

You gripped the bannister of the oak headboard, squeezing yourself in a corner by the back of the bed. It wasn't long now before he found you.

It was a chase. A hunt, a hound sniffing out his prey.

You and Logan had made a deal- your agreement more a joke then anything, but nonetheless- you were here, in hiding.

“If I catch you, I get to fuck you.” He smirked , flipping his pocket knife in the air, fidgeting around between his fingers like the blade was nothing. You laughed, eyeing him up suspiciously.

“You get to fuck me, hm?”

“Yeah sweetheart. Anyway that I want.”

Well you had never backed down from a challenge, especially not from him. As your boyfriend it was his job to rile you up- and to get you going. You couldnt say you minded it though.

So now you were here, a hand gently held against your mouth, as you tried to slow your heartrate down. You knew he had heard you, there was no way he hadn’t. The manor was empty, everyone gone on either summer break, a mission or were just out for the day.

It was when you and Logan could have your fun. The real fun.

Your footsteps surely echoed down the grand hallways, bouncing off the oak furnishings and dozens of old paintings hung. It was only a matter of seconds now, before he found you.

You squeezed your thighs together in anticipation, wetness coating the apex of your thighs. Your skin turned hot to the touch, heart beating so loud you could hear it rattling as if it were a fly buzzing in your ear.

Sure enough, the clack of his boots stopped at the doorway, pushing it open slowly. It creaked so loudly you winced.

“Cmere pretty, pretty girl. Come to daddy.” he chuckled, tormenting you with his slow and stead stride.

You heard an armoir open, then slam shut. He was toying with you.

“I know you're in here baby. I can smell ya.”

One, two, three, four. One, tw-

You let out a loud yelp as two large arms caged you in, sweeping you off your feet as if you were a sack of potatoes. “Caught ya.” he whispered teasingly in your ear, throwing you on the bed.

You bounced with an oof, scrambling back as he pounced on you. “Mghm Lo-“ you whined as he tore your top off with such ferociously you feared his claws would come out.

“You like running from me baby? You like the chase hmm.?” You nodded, gasping as his denium clothed knee pushed your legs apart, leaving you to grind shamelessly on his knee “Yeah, yeah I know you do. Fuckin slut.”

“F-fuck..” you stuttered as he pinned your hands above your head, letting you ride him. “Such a needy girl.” he cooed at you, mocking your moans and whimpers as he tugged down your shorts.

“She’s so needy too. Should I give her what she wants?” he asked, eyes greedily taking in the wet patch on your underwear. You clenched at the mere sound of his voice, panties dripping wet. Soaked. “Please Lo- you have to-“

“I have to what hm? I don’t think I have to do anything. You’re not in control here, princess.” You sucked in a gasp as his hand slithered down your underwear, large fingers coaxing you as they lightly brushed your clit, pinching it.

“Pretty girl.” he cooed, sliding a finger down past your folds, to pump deep inside you, curling until he hit the spot that had you seeing stars. “Stretchin ya out baby, cause you’re too tight. Always so tight f’me. I’m gonna fill you up so good, just the way you like baby. Such a tiny lil thing, you just wanna get wrecked hm?”

You were beyond flustered, muscles tensing as he picked up the pace- your toes curling. “You’re doing so good princess. But you gotta take my cock now, m’kay?”

#wolverine fic #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman #deadpool 3 #wolverine #wolverpool #wolverine smut #logan howlett #logan howlet smut #wolverine x reader

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albedov · 4 months ago

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back at it again with jiaoqius braid… but with a bittersweet twist - spoilers for 2.5!!

you gently wove three bands of the pink foxians hair on his right together, starting from the point he always did. the silence wasn't uncomfortable but the both of you could tell that there were words that desperately tried to fight their way to the tips of your tongues - words of concern laced with comfort behind, worry, anger… relief.

it didn't go unmissed how jiaoqiu’s tail found its way to your waist, curling the soft fur around and bringing you subconsciously closer to him. you couldn't see his face, your view only being the back of his head, but you could take a guess that he wasn't the happiest. it was a difficult change, more so for him than you but you quickly took note of anything that he needed you to help with - although for the most part he insisted he was fine.

reaching the bottom of the part you had braided, tying off the end temporarily and pinning it to the middle of his head before turning to his left side and beginning to repeat the process. when the news was first broken to you, you wished nothing more than to put hoolay through the worst. that being if he was still alive, but his execution didn't bring you enough satisfaction.

jiaoqiu knew your thoughts had drifted, mainly by the fact that you accidentally started tugging a bit harder on his hair than he would've preferred. in a way it was kind of sweet that you cared so much, but realistically there was nothing you could do to change what happened. it was his choice after all, he should bear the consequences, even if he never planned to be around for them to happen.

you two still had to adjust, either permanently or until feixiao fulfilled her promise to him and found a healer to help. but you two would make it work. you finished braiding his hair, connecting the two sides and placing the final touches, before proceeding to stand up - to which jiaoqiu followed, tail still firmly wrapped around your waist although it noticeably moved to wrap your wrist.

you looked over to him, smiling. and although he couldn't see your smile anymore, he could tell what you were doing and so he smiled back. he could no longer see you, but he was confident that your beauty would forever be engraved in his mind. and as corny as it sounded to him, as long as he had you by his side, he reckoned he'd be just fine. you both would.

WHY DID THEY DO THAT TO HIM??? at least he's not dead but man :(

#↳✮『drabbles』✮#honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu x you #hsr jiaoqiu #honkai star rail jiaoqiu #x reader

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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It's a Love Story - Chapter 1

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Koschei the Deathless Sorcerer was killed by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

It was less dramatic than it sounded. At least Azriel thought so.

And if Lucien hadn’t been a fucking idiot and put himself into a position to be kidnapped by the very same deathless sorcerer…then they wouldn’t even have been in that kind of situation.

But he had been and so it ended with Azriel so magically exhausted that he collapsed the very same moment Truthteller stroke true once more.

At least Koschei was slayn.

And the only reason Azriel had gone to rescue the red-headed male in the first place was the fact that Lucien was Elaine’s mate. Lucien was the male Elain loved. Azriel couldn’t let him die.

Couldn’t let Elain feel the devastation of a mating bond broken by death…so his decision making had been quick. Either he would manage to get Lucien free…or he would die trying. There wasn’t many things that he wouldn’t do for the female he loved. Even when he knew it shouldn’t be.

Azriel had never been very good at knowing when enough was enough after all, wasn’t he?

No price was high enough to pay when it was about Elain’s happiness, as far as Azriel was concerned.

He hadn't expected to wake up, and yet… there he was. Alive and whole.

*I hope it was worth it, Master,* the shadows sniped at him.

He blinked, taking in the dim light of the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His room in the House of Wind.

“You are a fucking idiot, you know?” Cassian hissed at him from his place at his bedside and Azriel blinked at him.

"Lucien?" he brought out hoarsely.

"Not as much as a fucking scratch on him. Thanks to you," Cassian responded. "You on the other hand...Madja thought you were going to fucking die from pure magical exhaustion!"

Even Azriel he had...it would have been worth it. Lucien had made it out alive - and that was all that mattered in the end. Elain would be happy. That was all he cared about.

He didn't say that aloud though.

He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Three days," Cassian growled. "Three. Days."

Azriel sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in his muscles. It felt like his entire body was one giant bruise, every inch of him pained and sore.

"Lay back down," Cassian snapped.

Azriel shot him a glare, but sank back onto the bed nonetheless. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Just tired."

"Yeah, well, we'll let Madja be the judge of that," Cassian snapped. "And when you are feeling better, I am going to kill you for going off on your own!"

Azriel just gave him a weary look. "Better me than you," he said dryly. He closed his eyes, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over him. Cassian had Nesta to think about. Azriel didn't. Azriel just had himself.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Cassian demanded.

Azriel didn't have the energy to answer

He dosed off, feeling the shadows twine around him. They were muttering, words he could c quite understand, bitching under their breath but for once it was comforting.

He woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his limbs were heavy. He groggily blinked at the room, feeling like he was in a haze.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone. Cassian was still there, as was Madja.

Azriel groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head was throbbing, and his vision was a little blurred. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.

Cassian and Madja both looked at him, their expressions relieved. "How are you feeling?" Madja asked him, moving closer to the bed and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Like I was hit by a wagon," Azriel admitted. His muscles felt tight and sore, his body heavy with fatigue. His wings felt like they were made of lead, and every movement took a huge effort.

"That's unsurprising considering you nearly magicked yourself to death," Madja said gruffly. "Your body had a tremendous amount of stress and strain put on it. You're lucky to be alive."

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of other options," he pointed out.

Madja just let out a huff and began prodding and poking at his body, running her hands over his wings and checking his pulse. Cassian watched anxiously from the side, his arms crossed over his chest.

Azriel bore her ministrations in silence, trying not to wince as she poked and prodded at him. He knew she was just trying to help, but it didn't make the ordeal any more pleasant.

After what felt like forever, she finally stepped back, nodding to herself. "You're lucky, shadowsinger," she said gruffly. "You're lucky you're so damn resilient," she said, and he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or just an observation.

He looked at her blearily. "I guess I can add that to my list of things to be proud of," he muttered sarcastically.

Cassian barked out a laugh, but Madja just rolled her eyes. The door opened at that moment. "How's he doing?" Rhys demanded.

Azriel wanted to let out a sigh at the sight of Rhys. He loved his brother, but he didn't have the energy for a lecture right now.

Madja turned to Rhys. "He's weak and he's stupid," she snapped. "But he's alive."

Rhys let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Thank you, Madja," he said. "Would you...give us a moment?"

Madja nodded, patting Azriel's leg as she got up to leave. "Rest," she ordered. "And no strenuous activity for at least a week."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Rhys turned to Azriel. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.

"I was thinking that I was saving Lucien's life," Azriel replied evenly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I couldn't let him die, Rhys."

"Wouldn't that have made it easier for you?* Rhys demanded sharply mentally. *You are the one that fancies himself in love with Elain.*

Maybe it shouldn't hurt him as much as it did. He didn't fancy himself in love with her. He was in love with her. Had been in love with her and Rhys had been the one to order him away from her, which had given Lucien the opportunity to swoop in and Elain had...Elain had given in. Given in to that Siren Song of the Mating Bond and was very much in love with her mate now.

It hurt to hear Rhys say it like that, like it was just some passing infatuation that he'd gotten over.

*Lucien is her mate,* he responded simply. He didn't say what he really thought. He didn't say that he would rather have Elain be happy and never talk with him again than to have her wilt like one of her flowers because her mate had died and the mating bond would be broken… He didn't say that he loved Elain enough, that her happiness was more important to him than anything else. He didn't say any of that.

*At least you are recognising that now,* Rhys said with a snort. Azriel didn't flinch. Didn't react.

He hid away in that little corner of his brain he went to when everything became too much. Where he could just shut up all his feelings, all these pesky emotions, and just be...nothing. Nothing. That's the only thing he still had left.

He just shrugged, schooling his face into a careless expression. "I did what I had to do, Rhys," he repeated stubbornly. "Lucien is a good male. He didn't deserve to die."

"Elain wants to thank you," Rhys said suddenly.

Azriel's stomach twisted as Rhys mentioned Elain. He felt a pang of longing in his chest, a desperate ache to see her, to touch her, to hear her voice. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't subject himself to the torture of seeing her with her mate, seeing her happy in Lucien's arms.

So his answer was definite: "There is no need for that," he said simply.

Rhys gave him a sharp look. "Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "She's been worried sick about you."

But Azriel just shook his head, even as his heart thudded in his chest.

*You can keep it together for 5 minutes,* Rhys snapped into his mind.

"Rhys," Cassian said carefully. "If he doesn't want to, just let it..."

"He's being ridiculous," Rhys snapped, interrupting Cassian. "Elain is family.”

Azriel grit his teeth but didn't respond. He didn't have the energy for an argument right now. He just wanted to sleep.

*See her for 5 minute snad then you can sulk like a spoiled child until you feel better about yourself,* Rhys bargained drily.

Azriel hesitated. He knew he should see her, knew that it would make things easier for everyone if he did. But the thought of seeing her, seeing her happy with Lucien when he was so miserable, was like a knife to the gut.

"Does it even matter what I want?" he asked, his voice flat.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, looking at him with exasperation. "Az, stop being so damned stubborn. Elain has been worried sick about you - the least you can do is let her see that you are alive."

Azriel didn't say anything. Didn't respond. He just stared at Rhys, feeling like every fiber of his being was being pulled apart. He wanted to see her. Wanted to see her more than anything. But he knew that once he saw her, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. He would break. He would shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Just...come on, Az," Rhys said finally. "Let her see you. She needs to know you're alright."

Azriel knew he couldn't say no. Knew he couldn't hurt her like that. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine," he said softly. "But just for five minutes."

Five minutes. He could do five minutes. He had to. For her…

She was still as achingly beautiful as she always had been. These devasting brown eyes, the caramel curls...

Azriel's breath hitched at the sight of her, and he felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. Love, longing, sadness, and that bittersweet pang of being so close to something he could never have.

Behave, Rhys warned him sharply.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to push back that wave of feelings that threatened to drown him. It was just five minutes, he reminded himself. Five minutes. He could do this.

The shadows swirled around him, welling up with intensity, shrouding much of his body in inky blackness and Elain flinched back from them.

She had never quite warmed up to them. Azriel was just thankful for that display, for keeping her away from him as she entered the room, Lucien on her heels.

"How...How are you feeling?" she asked him, her voice soft.

He could tell that she was worried, that she was concerned for him. It warmed something inside him, and he hated himself for it.

"I'm fine," Azriel answered hoarsely. "Just tired.

"I...thank you," Elain said softly, binting her lip. "If you hadn't...if you hadn't killed Koschei and freed Lucien...I...Thank you, Azriel."

Hearing her say his name again was like a punch to the gut. It was both a comfort and a torture, to be so close to her and yet so far away. He swallowed hard, biting back the words that threatened to spill out.

"You don't owe me any thanks," he said quietly. "I just did what had to be done."

"I do owe you my life," Lucien disagreed. "Thank you. Without your interference...I wouln't have survived, " he said flatly.

Azriel just shrugged, feeling a wave of bitterness wash over him. He had saved Lucien, had risked his life to save the male who was mated to the female he loved. It was a strange sort of irony.

"It's fine," he said roughly. "I'm just glad I got there in time."

He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at Lucien. It hurt too much. So he stared at the floor, willing the shadows to consume him entirely.

"We are all just happy you are feeling alright," Elain said softly. "I...I was worried about you. Everyone was."

Azriel forced himself to look up at her, his heart clenching at the sincerity in her eyes. She really had been worried about him. "I'm alright," he promised her, his voice rough. "Really. I just need some rest."

Elain hesitated, taking a step forward. He could hear her heartbeat, could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. It was torture to be so close to her and yet so far away. It was torture to know that she was so close and yet so unattainable. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He held onto that last shred of reason he had.

She tugged a piece of hair behind one delicately arched ear...and that was the moment he saw the gold and pearl ring that decorated her ring finger.

"Congratulations." He wasn't sure how he even brought out these words...how he managed to make them sound...appropriately happy for her.

It took a herculean effort to say those words, to offer a smile that barely reached his eyes. Every fibre of his being was screaming in protest, yelling that he should have been the one giving her that ring, that he should have been the one by her side. But he pushed back those feelings, burying them deep down inside of himself. He couldn't let her see how he truly felt. He couldn't let her know how much it was tearing him apart to stand there and look at her. Look at her with her mate, with the male she loved, the one she had chosen.

"Congratulation," he repeated, his voice a little rougher than before.

"It wouldn't have been possible without you," Elain said, with a smile.

Azriel just nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He couldn't find the words to respond, couldn't find the words to express the tangle of emotions swirling inside of him. He just sat there, feeling more alone and isolated than he had in a long time.

Elain took another step in his direction, seemingly ready to reach out, but Cassian intercepted her. placing a gentle hand on Elain's shoulder. "He needs his rest," he said softly. "Let's leave him be for now."

Azriel felt a pang of gratitude towards Cassian. Elain hesitated, looking torn.

"I wish you every happiness," Azriel brought out his voice hoarsely. Not even a lie. It was the frank truth in these words and Elain gave him a smile, before Lucien's hand came to rest at her lower back, guiding her out of the room.

Thank the cauldron. They were gone.

He slumped back into the pillow. He was falling apart. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He just wanted to be left alone, to lick his wounds in peace.

"Az..." Cassian said carefully, but he cut him off.

“I am tired,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “I need to sleep.”

The shadows swirled around him tighter.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look, before Cassian nodded, "Alright," he said. "Get some rest."

He laid down properly, closing his eyes, calling the shadows to him wordlessly. They swamred around him immediately. Damn Near suffocating him. It was the only thing that kept him from starting to sob.

The shadows embraced him, wrapping him in their inky blackness, shielding him from the outside world. They were his only comfort, just like they had been for centuries.

*We are there, Master.* They promised him softly. *It will be fine, Master.*

He didn’t believe a fucking word they said.

*We are not willing to lose you, Master. We aren’t interested in finding a new master,* they told him seriously. He choked out a laugh that turned into a sob.

*Sleep, Master. We'll keep watch,* they promised him.

And they did.

Bone deep exhaustion meant that at least his sleep was dreamless. At least that was given to him. It was a small mercy.

When he woke up again, Nesta was there, sitting in an armchair reading.

Azriel blinked, feeling disoriented and groggy. He sat up slowly, wincing as his wounds protested the movement. Nesta looked up from her book, her expression neutral.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him quietly.

"Fine," he answered, his voice hoarse. He was fine. He would be fine.

"Thank you," Nesta said suddenly.

Azriel looked up at her, surprised. He wasn't even sure what she was thanking him for.

"For what?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“You nearly got yourself killed to save my sister’s mate. I think Thank you is the least I owe you," Nesta said drily.

She mustered him with grey eyes and he knew that she knew. Knew that she knew or at the very least could guess about his feelings for Elain and probably be right. She wouldn't say anything, but she knew.

He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was over with. Done.

Lucien and Elain could be happy and Azriel…Azriel would hide away somewhere.

"You don't owe me anything," he waved Nesta off weakly, but she didn’t seem to want to take the hint, sticking out her chin.

"Yes, I do," Nesta disagreed. "You are the reason why my little sister is happy right now," she told him fiercely. He swallowed down the unkind words at the tip of her tongue...didn't say anything. Didn't.... He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t…

"Is there anything I can do?" Nesta asked him, her voice soft. "Anything at all, Az?" H knew that he could ask for anything and Nesta would do her level best to give it to him. She was stubborn like that. He had half a mind to ask her to use her silver flames to put him on fire and put him out of his misery.

He didn’t.

Even that wouldn’t fix it.

There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing to make it any better. There was nothing that could...that could fix the ache in his chest.

"Porridge," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Porridge?" Nesta repeated incrediously.

"Porridge with honey. I am hungry," he repeated, meeting her gaze. Food. Food. More Sleep. More Work. He could fill his waking hours with useless things and everybody would be happy.

Nesta just looked at him for a moment, then inclined her head.

"Porridge with honey. Alright," she agreed. Just a moment later a massive bowl of Porridge with honey drizzled on top, appeared on his bedside table, so hot it was steaming. Seemed like the house was in a mood to spoil him. He even got a whiff of cinnamon from it.

"Thank you," he thanked Nesta's creature aloud as the shadows fetched the bowl and held it up for him to eat a spoonful. "What are you reading?" he asked Nesta, changing the topic.

She was polite enough not to say anything about it.

Nesta held up her book. “The newest Sellyn Drake novel,” she replied.

"Is it any good?" he inquired, stirring his porridge gently.

“It’s brilliant," Nesta gushed, her eyes devoured the pages as soon as she looked down to continue reading.

"You seem to really like it," he pointed out, taking another bite of his porridge. "It is brilliant," Nesta agreed readily. “The plot is so intricate and twists and turns and the characters are so deep and complex and their emotions are so real and the romance is so...” she trailed off, blushing slightly.

He opened his mouth to respond...but then he heard her.

Mor. Of course.

He couldn’t deal with Mor. Not right now. But there she was, Rhys hot on her heels.

Nesta heard her too, rolling her eyes, curling back up on her chair, making it very clear that while she was going nowhere, she was letting him deal with it on her own.

And he didn’t want to deal with Mor.

But there she was.

Mor came strolling into the room, her usual confident smile firmly in place. Rhys just looked at Azriel, his expression unreadable.

He didn't say it. But Azriel knew. Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days. Either it was about Elain and Lucien...or about Mor and Emerie. Like Azriel would ever do anything to put that in jeopardy. Like Azriel was a jealous child that wouldn't allow Mor to be happy on her own terms. Like...

Azriel ignored the sharp pang of hurt that shot through him at Rhys's look.

Still it was better than looking at Mor…he couldn’t bear to look at Mor.

Didn't want to look at Mor, in her usual bright red, skin baring dress, that clung to all her curves...didn't want to look at the female he had spent centuries in love with even when he had known that she was never going to return his affections...it hadn't helped him. He had still been in love with her.

And he had still hoped...hoped against all hope that maybe...maybe there would be a time where she would return his affection...that maybe there would be a time where...

But there wouldn't. He knew. He knew. And he had still been in love with her.

Would have given damn near anything for her attention, for that broad smile on her face to be directed in his direction...would have given anything for her to bound over to his bedside and envelope him in her arms...to feel her soft skin against his as she hugged him fiercely, cinnamon and citrus enveloping him.

Now...now it felt like somebody was pouring salt into a gaping wound. Now it felt as painful as the fire and oil on his hands had. She was flaying him alive and she wasn’t even aware that she was hurting him.

"How are you feeling, Az?" Mor's voice was gentle, concerned. He knew it was genuine, knew that Mor really cared about him. But he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when his heart was bleeding out just from the sound of her voice.

"Fine," he answered, his voice flat. "Nothing that sleep won't fix," he promised her, even as her hands fluttered around him as she sat down on his bedside...

She was so close. He could reach out and touch her, could feel the soft fabric of her dress against his fingertips. He clenched his fists, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

But he couldn't help it. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He could see the concern there, the worry. He felt a pang of guilt for putting that look on her face. He didn't want to cause her any distress.

"I'm just glad you are feeling better," Mor sighed, gently patting his arm. "You had us all worried for a moment there," she admitted softly.

Even just the touch of her hand felt like she was branding him. He wanted to flinch away and forced himself no to.

It was like a bittersweet poison, the way she touched him. It was so familiar, so comforting. But it was also so painful, a reminder of what he could never have.

He looked away, staring down at his hands. They were shaking, just a little. He clasped them together, the monstrous scars that covered them, standing out starkly.

The shadows trembled around him, pulling nearer, growing darker and Mor watched them with a raised eyebrow. "Worried, are they?" she teased him slightly.

*You are fine, Master,* the shadows promised him. *No more fire,* they promised him fiercely. But it didn’t help. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.

Mor seemed to sense his discomfort and stood up, her hand slipping from his arm. "Just rest and get better soon, alright?" she said softly, taking a step back.

"Thank you," he thanked her, his voice hoarse.

He risked a glance up at her, just a quick look. Her face was soft, her eyes filled with warmth. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest and he had to look away again. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

"We should let him rest, Mor," Rhys said, giving Azriel another look.

"Right, right," Mor agreed, already turning towards the door. "Rest up, Az," she said again, giving him one last smile as she disappeared out the door.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as she left the room.

Gone. Thank the cauldron. He couldn't take much more of her presence, not right now.

He didn't even want to know why Rhys had accompanied her. Probably because he was worried that Azriel wasn't going to behave.

What was he supposed to do instead? Tell Mor about how much she had hurt him over the centuries? How she had given him jut enough scraps of her affection to make him yearn for more but never telling him that she didn’t love him like that?

He wasn’t going to do that.

He didn't want to look at Rhys right now, didn't want to face the scrutiny of his high lord's gaze. He just wanted to be left alone.

He knew that Rhys was watching him, that the male wanted to say something. But Azriel didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear the lecture, the warning. He just wanted to be left alone.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of his own breathing. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. Maybe if he just pretended to sleep, Rhys would leave him alone.

"He's tired. You should let him sleep," Nesta said flatly.

Leave it to Nesta to tell Rhys to stuff it, he reflected weakly. He heard Rhys sigh, but he kept his eyes closed. And after a moment, he heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.

Alone. Safe. Mostly at least.

Life went on. It always did.

The exhaustion went away after a few days... he caught up on Paperwork in the meantime. He sent the shadows off to find him one information or other and they didn't even bitch to him that badly, which told him that even they felt bad for him.

Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.

So he did. He behaved.

He did his job. He did everything Rhys could possibly want from his spymaster.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. He did his job and he trained and he did everyhting that was expected off him.

And then he hadn’t tortured himself enough… and he went to visit Rosehall.

Where his mother lived.

Under the Mountains had it’s own kind consequences. This was one of them: His mother didn’t even want to talk to him anymore.

50 years without him...and his mother had made herself a new family. A family that he wasn’t welcome in. A family that she wanted him nowhere near. He couldn’t fault her for it. Not at all.

She had been half a child when she had had him and it hadn’t been by choice.

So who could blame her for making a new family with people that weren’t as fucked up in the head as he was? Not Azriel.

Azriel didn’t blame her at all. Azriel left her in peace. He didn't reach out. He made sure that she was fine, that she had enough money to never worry about it and otherwise dissappeared from her life.

His shadows kept an eye on her…He shored up the wards around Rosehall and caught a glimpse of her. And then he left it at that. She looked happy. That’s all he cared about.

Happy and safe and…she didn’t need him. She didn’t want him around her either, and he could understand that too.

And still, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much.

But

*You know the rules,* he told the shadows quietly. *You don’t need to report to me about her anymore. Keep an eye on her and only tell me if she is in danger or hurt.*

*Yes, Master,* they agreed readily.

So he went back to the House of Wind. Back to Velaris…Back to work.

He went back to his routine, back to his duties, back to his mask of indifference. He hid the pain behind his usual stoic facade, only letting his shadows know how much it hurt. He threw himself into his work, using it as a way to distract himself from his own loneliness.

And when he wasn't working, he would spend hours and hours in the training ring in the House of Wind, working himself to exhaustion. Anything to try and drown out the ache in his heart.

For gods sake, he even attended Elain and Lucien’s mating ceremony. And gifted them an appropriate gift. He behaved just like Rhys wanted him too.

He even summoned up a smile for them on their special day, hiding his own pain behind a mask of false happiness. He congratulated them both, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight of Elain's beaming face. But he didn’t let it show. He behaved. Like Rhys wanted him too.

He stayed for the whole thing. Stayed for the dancing, stayed for the feast. Stayed until he could physically take it no more. And then he had retreated to that training ring again, beating his pain and loneliness out on whatever dummy he could find.

He was so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending. Tired of pretending like nothing was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to just scream and rage and shout and cry. But he didn’t. He held it all in. Bottled it up like he was so good at doing.

He was in the bathtub, sluicing off the sweat he was drenched in…shaking off his wings just because he could move them however he wanted to

*You should go out, Master,* the shadows suggested seriously. *Go out and find a female.*

He just snorted. *Not interested,* he sniped back harshly. *I am not getting my heart broken again.*

Everybody could just fuck off and leave him alone. Even when he was aching…aching for somebody in his life that loved him. For whom he could be everything. Somebody he could dote on. Somebody that wanted his attention, that wanted his love…that would like his ruined hands on their body and wasn’t paid to simply acccept it.

*You could let us pick her!* the shadows suggested brightly.

His eyes snapped back open and he glared at the shadows swirling around the room. *Absolutely not,* he said firmly. *I mean it, you stay out of it.*

*We can’t do a worse job than you do,* they sniped at him. *Neither The Seer nor The Morrigan would have suited you at all.*

*Excuse me?!*

*You heard us, Master,* the shadows said, sounding far too smug for their own good. *And you know it.*

Azriel just glared at them, feeling his temper start to rise. *I know I wasn’t good enough for them,* he snapped. *You don’t need to tell me that.*

*You think you weren’t good enough for them?!* The shadows asked him incredulously.

*They deserve better. So much better than me,* he said quietly. "I'm not good enough for either of them. Never was.*

What was he, after all? An Illyrian bastard? A monster? Either? Both?

He had never said it out loud before, not even to himself. But in that moment, lying in the water, his heart so raw and exposed, he couldn't help but speak the truth that he had always known but never admitted to himself. "I'm not good enough for either of them," he repeated softly, the weight of his words settling heavily on his chest.

He knew it was true. Mor was a golden ray of light, the embodiment of beauty and grace. Elain was sweet and gentle and kind, a pure soul in a sea of darkness.

And what was he? Damaged. Broken. Scarred. Inside and out.

He had done unspeakable things, things that would haunt his nightmares for centuries to come. He was nothing compared to them. He was darkness, they were light. And they deserved better than him, far better than him.

Even if he had loved Mor with every fiber of his being, even if he had yearned for her with every beat of his heart, even if he had dreamed of her every night, it didn't matter. It had never mattered. Because he wasn't good enough for her. And he never would be.

He wasn’t good enough for Elain. The mother hadn’t thought it to be prudent to make them mates. Both of his brother had been gifted with a mating bond, but not him. That should tell him everything he needed to know abotu the state of his own soul.

So why…why should he even try anymore.

Why shouldn’t he just stew in his own misery, alone and heartbroken and a monster and expect everybody to just leave him alone? There was no point of putting himself out there again. There was nothing out there for him. Nothing but more pain.

So he closed his eyes again, sinking lower into the water, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He let out a long sigh, his mind already racing with thoughts of his next missions, his next assignments. Because that was all that really mattered now. His job. His duties. His responsibilities. That was all he had left.

Behave. That’s all he was good for.

*Alright, that’s fucking enough,* the shadows snapped. *You are not letting The High Lord talk to you like that any longer, Master.*

Azriel was so surprised by their fucking vehemence that he could just stare at them.

*The Morrigan used you for centuries to make herself feel better about herself,* the shadows snapped. *She used the feelings you had for her and that she was very much aware of to strangle you and keep you in line.*

Azriel swallowed. He knew they were right. He knew that Mor had used his feelings for her for a long time. She had led him on, given him false hope, only to yank it away time and time again. It had been a painful cycle, one that had left him feeling used and broken and worthless.

*She could have stopped at any time but she never did,* the shadows hissed. *But instead she hurt you on purpose. Instead of turning you down, she slept with other males to show you that you would never have her!*

Azriel felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Mor had flaunted her other lovers in front of him, making it clear that he would never be enough for her. She had used his devotion to her as a weapon against him, wielding it whenever it suited her needs. And he had let her. He had been foolish, desperate enough to cling onto any scrap of affection she might throw his way.

*And The Seer?! Granted she has never done that, but her feelings for you weren’t particular deep when she replaced you on her affections with The Fox as soon as you weren’t available anymore! If she had cared, truly cared, she would have thought about what happened during Winter Solstice,* the shadows snapped.

*And The High Lord? Don’t even let us get started on him,* the shadows snapped. *You haven’t even done anything since that Winter Solstice, and he keeps behaving like some kind of despotic Overlord, worried that his orders won’t be followed. If you wanted to punch him in the face, you probably had every right to it,* they mumbled.

Azriel couldn’t help but snort.

*You deserve better, Master,* The shadows told him fiercely. *You deserve somebody that loves you.*

. He wanted to believe the shadows. He wanted to believe that he was good enough, that he deserved more. But the scars on his body and the memories in his mind told him otherwise. He had done terrible things, things that he could never undo. How could someone like that be good enough for anyone?

*Alright,* he finally agreed weakly. *Find me a house,* he told the shadows, as he closed his eyes.

*A house? What kind of house?* the shadows gave back, sounding surprised.

*A house,* he repeated. *A home. Somewhere in Velaris. Find me a home.* Something that could just be his.

A home. The idea sent a flutter through his stomach. He had never…never truly had a home. Had something that could just be his and nobody else’s. Just…a place that was his, where he could be whoever he wanted, where he was accepted and loved...it was appealing. Maybe even more than just appealing.

He closed his eyes, picturing it in his mind. A cozy little house, just large enough for himself. Warm and cozy and filled with light.

*That’s what a male needs to take a wife after all, right?* He asked, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Was that what he should want? What he was supposed to want? He had never really thought about getting married before. But now, at the mention of it, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. A wife...a family...love and companionship. It all sounded so…so nice.

*You want to get married, Master?* the shadows asked curioulsy. *To whom?*

*You pick,* he told the shadows. They swarmed out in pure excitment. Azriel couldn’t even remmeebr the last time they had been so excited.

He couldn't help but chuckle at their reaction. Maybe they would do a better job than him. At least they could probably sieve out females that were in a romantic relationship or preferred females themselves.

*Find me somebody that I could make happy. Somebody that….Somebody that could want me.* Some long-suffering female for whom Azriel could maybe try to be enough. Somebody that would love him.

*What should she look like?* they asked seriously.

*I don’t care. Find me somebody that loves me and she’ll be the most beautiful female to me anyway.*

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #It's a Love Story

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bluetimeombre · 11 months ago

Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either part 2

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

[thank you for the love on part one, I’m so happy Azriel is getting the love he deserves!!!! This is another long one, another 6k. But I’ve learnt a new love for writing about him and i have so many ideas. This is a continuation and final part, part one here. Enjoy]

warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.

The third time Azriel almost lost you, he was pretty sure he lost a part of himself.

They'd all gone into battle, knowing that Hybern had the numbers to match and the advantage. But they'd all gone to fight in spite of that.

It had took some time for you to get the boys to agree to let you fight- you'd trained and grew up with all three of them but this was fighting on another scale. Although, if they were going, there really wasn't much they could say to get you to stay.

You were clad in Illyrian leathers just like them, armed with weapons and power.

The first battle was over quicker than you'd anticipated. Hybern soldiers surrendered, Tarquin drowned them on land. You'd suffered little, only falling on bed exhausted by the end of the day. Sadly, you were sharing a tent with Cassian and Azriel. It was like you were young again, all sleeping in the same room. It was a habit you'd done when you were young- all looking out and protecting each other.

The only difference was that Cassian snored as he got older.

But the next battle was worse.

It was bigger than last. Hybern's forces had doubled, seemingly at of nowhere, cutting their forces apart.

It was chaos, everywhere. Every corner there was fighting and bleeding and dying. There was pain all around you. Pain you felt like it was your own.

You used all your power, as much as you could to kill and protect. From the corner of your eyes you could see Azriel fight. Your Azriel, weaving in and out of people. Your mate. He was alive. And that was all you cared about.

But you didn't realise how much you'd been pushing herself and draining your power. Every time you stopped, you swayed on your feet, stumbling.

One of Hyberns men came for you as you were crouched and you barley blocked with your sword, rolling onto your back and slashing his arm off.

Not before he landed a sword in your thigh.

It had been deep burning and you yelled, yanking it out. Even with the wound, you kept fighting and fighting your way through until you saw a blaze of red and a familiar cry.

Cassian.

He'd been run through.

It was easy to push past exhaustion and winnow to his side, killing the man who'd been near him and any others that had been close enough. You fall to your knees next to him. 'Cassian, you prick.'

'You kiss your mate with that mouth,' he gasped. He was the only one who knew about Az and the bond. The only one you'd allow to make jokes.

You look down to his wound and gaged. Mother above, his guts were hanging out. 'No, no, no, come on, big guy, you have to stand.'

He groaned. 'Yea, don't think I can do that, sweetheart,' his eyes, lulled back.

You slap him in the face. Perhaps you wouldn't have felt guilt if it weren't for the way his eyes widened. 'You know I hate being called that.'

He laughed as his stomach and all its contents heaved out. Ignoring the pain in you, you hold his stomach, keeping him together. 'I promised Nesta i'd look after her,' he said. 'Please look after her.'

'Do it yourself,' you groaned.

Finally, Azriel came to your side and picked Cassian up like it was nothing, flying him to the tents. If only you still had your wings, you could have done it, saved him quicker.

Then, you were thrown back into the battle. Covered in his blood and yours, you fought through them all, slashing and killing like it was nothing. Like you had no reason to bat an eyelash at anything happening.

Eventually, it ended, but you couldn't even concentrate on who won or how much you'd lost. Your head ached, your leg was tied up in a bloody bandage ripped from your clothes. But none of that mattered.

Cassian was in bed, healing slowly. But he would live, everyone could tell. Especially with the way he picked fights. He argued with Rhys about throwing himself into danger, him and Nesta appeared to be having words with their eyes. Even Mor and Feyre argued. You were the only one silent with Azriel in the back. Too exhausted to even open your mouth.

That night, you tied up your wounds and fell asleep without changing.

It only got worse.

Elain- Feyre's sister and the most precious- was stolen from Hybern. You had only agreed to go and save her with a few selected others because your mate was in that few selective others.

It hadn't escaped your notice how he looked at her, was watchful over her like he once was with you. You saw the tick in his jaw at the news she was gone. You knew that this was the reason you hadn't told him. Knowing that he deserved someone like her, better than you. Kind and hopeful. You weren't. So the only thing you could do was watch your mate find love in someone else.

And you'd do it grudgingly but happy for him.

Azriel had took of with her. You and your high lady fought, fought through ash arrows and everything.

'You should get out of her, y/n,' said Feyre.

You groaned as an arrow skimmed your shoulder. Another had already got your hip. 'If you try to order me out of here, i'll be really pissed off at you.'

'I don't care if it gets you out!' she snapped, arguing like a real sister would.

'Yea, well- I was never one to listen to Rhys either.'

And Azriel was gone. Everything was fine.

You and Feyre ran, ran even as Tamlin defended you, ran until-

An arrow hit you in the back, straight to one of your old wing scars.

You tumbled, rolling on the ground as it broke and imbedded in your back. You screamed, in spite of yourself.

'You have to fly,' someone was telling you. Or saying it in general, frankly you had no idea what was going on. 'You have to take her.'

You rolled onto your stomach, groaning and trying to get yourself up. There was blood running down your arm, how did that get there?

'Y'n.'

You groaned, 'Azriel. I can't fly.'

'I know, I know- i've got you.' He picked you up, arm under your legs and around your shoulders.

'Elian, Azriel-'

'Feyre has her,' he told you. He sounded angry. Or afraid. Somehow his emotions were very easy to mix up.

'Feyre isn't strong enough.'

'She'll have to be.'

'You should take them, Elian-'

'I don't give a fuck about Elian right now, y'n.'

Just like that, he took off with you in his arms and your blood raining down on the camp of Hybern. You could barley hear anything over the wind... but you could feel it.

Something had tugged painfully at the bond, throwing you into a scream. Something had happened to Azriel. You twisted in his arms, finding gashing claw marks in his back from one of the hounds that had chased them down. His face was bleached white in pain, his hold on you tight.

Glancing around, you could just see Feyre in a blur of people.

'Azriel-' you gasped. He was in pain, so much pain.

He didn't say anything, just squeezed you tighter and looking ahead, barking orders as Feyre flew for the first time in need, in desperation. You remembered what that was like, trusting your life in them. But Azriel's wings, they were bleeding out. You remembered the pain. You'd go through it every day to spare him a minute of it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You and Azriel landed back in the camp in a blur of pain.

Even with him leaving a trail of blood, he managed to set you down like you were porcelain. You didn't cry out. You didn't yell for help. You threw his arm over your shoulder and supported him.

Nesta and Rhys rushed to Feyre.

You hated your brother for a long moment.

Elain wondered over, chained but whole.

Azriel moved from you, checking on Elian. You only managed to watch them as she kissed his cheek.

The pain came to you then. Your head, shoulder, back. You turned from the crowd of family. Elain moved to hug her sister, Rhys stayed at Feyre's side.

Thesan, someone you barley knew as more than a healer, came to you first but you pushed him away, pushed him to Azriel. 'His wings. Heal him, or i'll rip you to pieces.'

He didn't have to be told twice.

You stumbled your way to camp, to your little tent. You didn't share it with Cassian anymore as he was still healing and Azriel would be a while- needing healing of your own.

You collapsed on the bed, promising to look after yourself- just after your nap.

You were so fast asleep you didn’t even hear Azriel come in and sigh at the sight of you…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel was fighting when it happened. Specifically, when it snapped.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

No, he wasn't completely healed. But he had to fight. He wouldn't push himself, he knew that would be stupid. But he wouldn't watch as everyone fought. As you fought. He'd hardly seen you. He knew your back would be in pain. He knew you'd be in pain and you were still fighting, so far from him and out of reach.

He was thinking of you when it snapped.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

His soul sang it, his heart rose with it.

His shadows whispered it.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

y/n.

And the first thing he felt over the bond wasn't happiness or love. It was pain. It was death.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

In spite of the pain in his wings, how he'd been told not to fly, he did. He jumped into the skies, soaring over armies and dead to find you. He followed that pain, he followed the bond until he found you.

You, lying in your own blood. Again.

He fell next to you, his power eradicating anywhere near you. They dissovled, the ground cracked under him and his syphons shone in raw power.

'y/n?' he held your body, shaking you. Blood, so much. A sword had torn through your gut. 'Don't do this to me.'

Mate. Mate. Mate.

You cough, a thin stream of blood rolling from your lips. 'Azriel?'

'You're mine,' it was the first thing he could bring himself to say. 'You're my mate. Y/n. You have to hold on, ok? I'm gonna-gonna get you to safety.'

Something like a laugh escaped you, your body wracking with it. 'Of course, finally snaps for you as i'm dying.'

Snaps for you. Mate. Mate.

She knows, his shadows sung. She's known.

Azriel called out to Rhys in every way he could. 'We're gonna be fine. We're gonna be mates, y/n. You have to live, you understand?'

'Not really.' your eyes flutter shut.

'No!' he yelled, shaking you again.

'What's happened?' Rhysand landed next to him, blanking when he saw you in Azriel's arms, bleeding to death. How many times did this have to happen? How many times would you throw yourself into danger?

'She's my mate,' Azriel repeated. He tested it out loud, speaking it to the mother. How cruel was she? to give him this then try to take her away. Well, the mother wouldn't get that chance. Azriel would fight her if she tried to lay a hand on your life.

'What?' said Rhys.

'My mate,' he all but growled as Rhys got closer.

He put a hand on the back of Azriels neck, a hand on your head. 'We have to save her, Az.' he knew all about mating of course, knew that Azriel wanted nobody around her. But this was too save her. 'She's my sister too, the last sister I have. I care about her to.'

Azriel wanted to throw a thousand insults his way but refrained. If not because he was high lord, but also because you were dying.

They got you to safety, Azriel carrying you through to a tent.

'Y/n?!' Cassian rushed over, seeing you in his brothers arms, bleeding out and unresponsive.

Azriel pushed past him, setting you down on the bed. 'Get everyone, every healer now.' He had no idea who he was trying to demand, but he couldn’t watch this, couldn’t see you in.

You were still in your bed. Behind him, Feyre rushed to her mate, wrapping her arms around his torso as your brother stared at you in muted horror.

Azriel was leaning over you, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘She’s my mate.'

'What?' Said Cassian, ‘She told you?'

Azriel felt the world stop around him. Not did you know about the bond and hadn’t told him, you’d told someone else? Cassian? His hand stilled in brushing your hair back, his shadows coaxing you instead.

Rhysand spoke what Azriel wanted to scream. 'You knew?'

'She-She told me,'

Azriel had always had an iron fist control on his emotions, as relied on to be spy master, he had to. But his patience was hanging on by a thread. You were still bleeding out and nobody had come and Cassian knew. Cassian knew about his mate before he did.

His shadows caressed you and, leaving you in the coolness of their touch, he leapt up, marching around the bed toward him.

Rhys was quicker, a hand on Azriels chest to stop him. 'Calm, brother.'

'Calm?' He seethed. 'When-how long have you known?' He shouted.

Cassian breathed out, pushing his hair back . His wings were tucked in behind him. 'She told me, before she went under the mountain.'

Even Rhysand let him go, blowing out air and throwing his arms over his head as Feyre gasped.

Azriel stumbled, a hand to his chest. His shadows were divided between him and caring for you. 'Fifty years,' he gasped.

You’d known for fifty years- possibly longer and hadn’t said a word.

He was panicking, his breath escaping him. His shadows settled uneasy around him. And the only person who was capable of calming him was laying unconscious.

Thesan burst in, knowing the injured already and working on you quickly.

Azriel almost launched at him, just for touching you. The reasonable part of him knew he needed to touch to heal, but the part that was your mate wanted him dead.

Cassian held him back, physically.

Azriel glowered at him. 'I wouldn’t touch me if i were you, brother,' he practically spat the words.

Rhysand left Feyre with a kiss on her cheek, coming to Azriel who was looking over you on the other side. 'Az, you need to rest-you’re hurt, too, remember?'

He shook his head, staring down at you. Mother above you were pale, so pale. 'I-I can’t feel anything Rhys, I can’t feel her through the bond.'

'My sister is a fighter, she’ll make it through.'

Azriel scoffed. His shadows were caressing up and down your arm. ‘Don’t pretend you’ve ever cared about her like a brother.'

Rhysand inhaled sharply. This was just fear, he told himself. 'Azriel.'

'No,' he said, his finger brushing back your hair. 'You only care about her when she’s dying and all y/n does is worship you- ever since you were children.'

Cassian tried to advance, 'Azriel, you wouldn’t be saying any of this if y/n wasn’t hurt.'

He laughed, bitterly. 'No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have to. I’d bite my tongue. But your sister is dying and the last time you cared was the last time she almost died- it killed her to lose her wings and you were never there! And you teach your mate to fly right in front of her!'

Rhys growled. ‘Don’t bring my mate into this!'

‘You’ve brought mine into this!' He yelled. 'Everything she does is for you. Working for you. My mate followed you down to the mountain even when you didn’t care.'

'Of course I cared.'

'Then why did she feel so alone down there!'

‘How would you know, Azriel? You weren’t there!'

'Because I know her, bond or not. And you’ve been otherwise occupied.'

Cassian moved between the two, holding them apart. 'None of this matters to y/n does it.'

Azriel blankes them all, settling next to you. He vaguely heard Cassian send Rhysand and Feyre away. He felt him longer before he felt him leave.

And then all Azriel could feel, was you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You felt pain first. The steady thumping of it through your body. It started in your leg, numbing it. Then, her back ached- a familiar pain you'd felt before. It sent panic through you before you realised they can't take your wings twice.

Then, it was in your gut, stinging. Just the thought of moving was hurting- aching.

There was a coldness around you, draped over like shadows. Shadows...

That's when you felt the tug that you'd neglected to feel for more than half a century.

The bond. There was finally something tied to the other end.

The shadows around you must've known you were awake as they grew frantic around you.

You opened your eyes, slowly, afraid to what you may see. Afraid to the eyes you'll have to meet.

Azriel was sat on a chair next to you, bare chested with only bandages around him. Immediately, you were at a disadvantage. He was looking at you, dark eyes pouring into yours as his hands curled around shadows.

'What happened?' you asked.

'You were run through,' he said, voice wavering.

'Oh.'

'You're my mate.'

Your eyes flickered away, staring at your tent. 'Oh.'

'That's it?' he whispered. There was some heart-break tainting his voice. 'You're not gonna say something?'

You pulled the blanket over you, daring to move to sit up. He shifted, but his shadows helped you. 'What do you want me to say, Az?'

'Why did you tell Cassian and not me?' he asked. 'Why didn't you tell me, for fifty years?'

'It's-it's not a big deal.'

'Not a big deal?' he all but seethed. 'I'd say finding your mate is a pretty big thing, y/n. It's the person to spend the rest of your life with.'

'Can we not, do this now?' you winced, as the words left your mouth.

'You're right, maybe we should wait another fifty years to bring it up when you're dying.' you've never heard him be so cruel, you'd never even argued with him before this.

'I wasn't dying,' you mumbled.

He scoffed. 'You had an infected wound in your leg that you didn't tell anyone about. An ash arrow was imbedded in your back. Imbedded! You didn't see anyone about it and then- you run into battle and get yourself stabbed.'

'I didn't get myself stabbed!' you argued, your temper rising above all other judgment. 'I didn't rush out in there, wanting to die!'

'I held you as you bled out!' he yelled, standing up from his seat. You were swinging your legs over the bed, ignoring every twinge in your body. 'Do you have any idea what that's like? Not even to hold you as you die in my arms the first time but the second. And to know this time, I was holding my mate?'

You bit down on your lip. He had to use the word with such care and love even when angry. You could feel it. For once, guessing his emotions wasn't needed as you felt it all. The taunt anger in him, the pull of anxiety and above all else, the weight of his love.

Azriel walked around you. 'Please, you have to tell me. Why didn't you say something to me? Why wouldn't you tell me you're my mate? Am I that repulsive to you?'

'What?'

He gulped.

You shook your head as he knelt in front of you, shadows pooled around the two of you, as if they were trying to hold the two of you together. You took his hands, holding them and let something like love flow down the bond. 'You are the most beautiful thing in this world. Something better than me. I wouldn't burden you with that.'

He rose his gaze to you. 'Burden me?'

'Do you think i've enjoyed lying to you?' you ask, finally finding your words. 'Do you think I've liked being your mate and never being with you? That I left you for fifty years and thought of you every moment of every day, all day long. That when I come back I wonder if you or Mor had grown closer? Or if Elian would finally tell you how much she loves you? It's been eating me alive. But it's a small price to pay.'

Azriel grasped at his words, chocking on them. 'Elian is nothing to me, nothing.'

You pushed yourself up, using his shoulder to steady yourself before you move around him. 'Why? Have you only just decided that because I’m your mate? That’s not how it should go, Azriel.'

He was following you around your tent as you slipped on armour and leathers over your night dress. ‘I want you, only you.'

'Because of the bond?'

'Because I’ve always only wanted you!'

You laugh. 'No, you haven’t.'

'If we’d talked about this maybe fifty years ago you’d know that!'

You shook your head. Perhaps a part of you didn't want to believe him and all those wasted years at your fault, but you didn't want to believe his words either. Because what did that mean? That he loved you and wanted you. But that seemed just as impossible to you. How could he want someone so wrecked who'd done nothing but run away from her feelings and does nothing to make anyone happy?

'I don't want you to feel like that,' said Azriel, approaching her. She thought she'd spoken aloud before she realised he could feel everything that was hers. She'd only ever had to shield her thoughts from her brother- and he rarely sort her thoughts. 'Please, please-' he took your shoulders, turning you around and gently resting his head on yours.

You could feel his warm breath over your lips. You almost lost all resolve, with him that close. You'd never been so close to him, close enough to touch. To kiss. To know finally what it mean to have that deep connection that everyone was meant for.

One person in the whole world to belong to.

And he was stuck with her.

'Azriel-'

'Whatever you're thinking about yourself, i've thought about me a thousand times. And ever since we were kids you've always stopped me from thinking that. You've always told me what I was worth,' he whispered. His hands were wondering down your arms, sending shivers down you. He could've been doing it on purpose, distracting you. 'Why won't you accept it for yourself?'

You gulped down every uneasy thought. 'Because you're good, Az and i'm-'

'You're everything.'

'I'm not,' you look up at him, his own face blurry from your tears unwilling to fall. 'I'm not a fighter, i'm afraid of pain. And I could never be a leader, because i'm scared of losing people. I'm terrified about it half the time. Why do you think I followed Rhys down to that stupid party that I knew I wouldn't come back from? Because he'd do the same for me? We both know he wouldn't. But what would losing him mean for you? or Cass, or Mor? I was a coward and I wanted to hide from all the pain his leaving would have caused.'

Azriel shook his head, words sinking in. You were comparing yourself, to warriors like him and Cass, to the high lord- your own brother. 'It was unbearable without you. Maybe if it was just Rhysand i'd have still been able to be spymaster, because that's what he needed. But when I realised you'd gone to, it ruined me,' he admitted. 'I didn't care what you would've wanted, because you weren't here to tell me.'

You rub at your forehead, the tension creating a pain in your already aching body.

'And to anyone who made you feel inferior or worthless, i'll kill them,' he said. It was a shine of the real Azriel. The one who made a promise and never broke it.

You smirk. 'Can't kill the high lord.'

'No,' huffed Azriel, like it was a mild inconvenience. 'But I sure can punch him in the face.'

You laughed at that and Azriel smiled. He'd cracked you.

But your amusement dropped quickly, he felt it like a penny dropping. He let go of you as you turned away, wiping at your eyes. He didn't want to see you cry, didn't want to be the one to make you upset. He only wanted to make you feel loved.

'This isn't how I wanted this to go.'

Azriel suddenly felt conscious of himself. Maybe this wasn't so much about what you felt, maybe it was more about what you felt toward him. 'You really hate the mating bond that much?'

You look over to him. 'Being your mate is my greatest honour. But I don't want you to love me just because you have to.'

'It's not that-'

'And I know you're gonna keep saying that.'

'Until you believe me,' he assured her. 'Even if I have to tell you every day until I die.'

'I can't ask you to do that.'

He smiled at you, a heart-breaking smile of love. 'You haven't.'

You open your mouth to say something, but you're interrupted by Cassain poking his head through the tent flaps. The rest of his whole body was hidden, only showing his bronze face and hair framing him. There was a sheepish smile on his lips.

Azriel huffed. 'Cassian.'

'What? It didn't sound like much love making going on.'

'Mother above,' you sighed.

'What?' whined Cassian. 'I'm just saying, didn't sound like I was interrupting anything.'

'Personally I didn't know he was capable of saying that many words,' said another voice, familiar and dull. Nesta.

You frown. 'I'm sorry, is the whole camp out there.' You storm out, without Azriel to stop you.

He let you get away, again, and now there was no way he'd get you to accept the bond until the battle was done.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The next time you and Azriel spoke, the war was over.

Elian had stabbed Hybern, Nesta had delivered the killing blow, to the head. And your brother had died.

For those few minutes of his death you wanted Feyre weep for him as you stood paralyzed, unable to move. This was the brother you worshiped, the one you’d follow to the end of the world. Did he know that when he went where you could not follow?

Feyre had done everything she could, she begged for his life back. And when her wish was granted, you were collapsing on his other side. Tears of joy in your eyes that Rhys wiped away.

Your family, safe.

Everyone seemed happy to return to Velaris. Home. Scars were left over everyone, fears and pains. Some wore them better than others.

You'd thrown yourself into life. And avoiding Azriel. Suddenly there were many friends you'd neglected that you needed to take dinner with, or so many spontaneous Rita nights with Nesta.

And none of it escaped his notice. The steady thump of the bond still thrived inside of you, his shadows followed everywhere you went, even loitering in your room.

If he was doing it in an attempt to annoy you, then you weren't gonna break first.

After a particularly harrowing Rita's night, the only thing you wanted to do was sleep in for the rest of the day, hide away from everyone and everything. Call it your coping mechanism.

Alas, there was no peace as your curtains were thrown open, light spilling in and burning through your eyelids.

'Knock it off!' the shadows had never bothered with waking you up before- it seemed they'd picked the worst time to start.

'We need to talk,' said a voice that certainly wasn't a shadow.

Rhysand.

You groan, rolling over. 'Can't you talk to me when i'm not hungover.'

'And when would that be, sister? you're getting as bad as Nesta.'

You throw your pillow off and at him, but he dodged it easily and with a smug smile. 'I hate it when you call me that.'

'What? When I compare you to Nesta? Clean up your act then.' He stood over your bed, his arms folded over his chest.

You glare at him. 'I meant sister.' You shuffled up, brushing your hair back.

Rhysand frowned and perched himself on the edge of your bed. There was something he wasn't saying, and you watched it weight heavy on his shoulders. 'You know the last time I was in your room you were throwing glasses at me and yelling at me to get out.'

'Well, don't give me ideas.'

His lips curled into a smile of amusement before he turned solemn again. 'Do you love me, y/n?'

You hadn't expected that. Your hangover could only get worse, your head swimming with possibilities as to why he was asking. And nervous, you were nervous. Maybe you'd never said you loved him out loud but surely your actions were enough of a tell. 'You're my high lord and my brother, of course.' you shrug it off, as if it was nothing.

The shadows trailed up the bed, as if sensing your anxiety.

Rhysand glanced over at you. 'Do you think I don't love you?'

You hesitate, chewing at the skin of your gum.

'Because I do. I do love you. You're my little sister, how can I not?' he muttered. 'And I didn't know you felt like that.'

'It was just sort of... obvious,' you said. 'I was never your sister, not really. I always knew that. You'd never see me like that so, I gave up thinking you would. But you're the only family I have.'

'No, I'm not,' he denied. 'Y/n, everyone in this house loves you. They're your family. And i'm sorry- i'm so sorry if my actions have ever made you think different.'

'Why now?' you ask, eyes screwed up looking at him. 'Why are you saying all this now, what's changed?'

He shook his head, strands of his hair- the same as yours- falling over his eyes. 'You almost died, died on that battlefield and I-I wasn't the first one there. Granted, it was your mate that reached you first but I, I wasn't there quick enough.'

You meet his gaze, his purple eyes sad in a way you'd only ever seen under the mountain. 'You died.'

'And as I was dying one of my deepest regrets was not calling you sister enough,' he shifted closer, taking your head in his hands as if you were a little kid. 'You are my sister. Full flesh and blood. Full love of mine. You are my family. After everything you've done for me. You were right, I needed you under there, when there was nothing good to keep me grounded, but you. My little sister.'

You were sure you were tearing up in front of him.

'You'll always be my sister.'

You laugh. 'Maybe I should get stabbed more often.'

'No,' he said seriously. 'I don't think Azriel would like that very much.'

The mention of him changed the tone in conversation, changed the very beating of your heart.

'What's going on with you two?'

'Oh, I see,' you tease, 'talk to me above sister and brotherly relations just to get in my love life. Not a good look on you high lord.'

He laughed. 'No, it's not that. I just care about the two of you, a lot. And you both deserve to be happy. And I think you'd be happiest with each other.'

You look down, twirling the rings on your fingers.

'Would it be so bad to try to love him?'

You shake your head, smiling as a tear rolls down your cheek. 'I don't even have to try. Feels like i've loved him forever.' his shadows climbed up your arm, leaving Rhysand to smile at the affection.

'You'll work it out,' said Rhys, leaning over and kissing the crown of your head.

Your door was thrown open, startling the two of you.

Azriel stood there. For his entrance, he didn't at all seem that confident when he stood in front of the two of you. His hands didn't know how to hold themselves in front of him.

Your brows rose. 'Were you listening at the door?'

'Azriel,' scolded Rhysand with a stupid grin.

'Get dressed,' he said simply to you. 'There's something you need to see.'

Without much room for argument, you kicked them both out and dressed.

You'd grudgingly let Azriel hold your hand as he led you through the woods. You'd winnowed in at an illyrian camp before he took you through it and into the woods close by.

It was the same camp you'd first met Azriel in. The oldest where you'd all become friends. You'd asked what you were doing there, but he was quiet as he led you through, helping you over roots or breaking twigs from the trees so they didn't hit you.

'Azriel, to any other girl, you leading her silently through a woods without saying anything would be a bit suspicious,' you tell him. His shadows trailed behind the two of you and his hand was secure in yours. You knew not to be scared, but you were still cautious.

'I wouldn't show any girl this,' he said.

After another half hour of walking, the two of you stumbled across a small hut. It was a tiny thing really, made out of twigs and sticks, hay and mud. It looked like something a child was capable of making.

Azriel paused in front of it. He let go of you hand and reached for the door. He was as tall as it and his wings had to tuck in tightly behind him.

Hesitantly, you followed in.

It was just as small as it looked and dirty, like it hadn't been touched in years. Cobwebs hung low (his shadows quickly tried to bat them all away for you) there was dirt and hay all over the floor. Glasses were dust filled and left around with a hundred other things. Some looked new, others old.

And yet, strangely familiar.

'I made this place,' said Azriel.

You looked back at him. He was hunched over a large box that was overflowing with things. 'You?'

'The first time my brothers picked on me, I came to these woods, working on this for days. Every time things got too much back then, i'd come here. I've been coming back for years.' he glanced at you, a sheepish look on his face. 'I've never showed anyone this before.'

You look around the place in new perspectives. The shadows settled around the place. You pictured a little Az, running here and hiding from his brothers. Did he feel alone? Did he feel un-loved? You were so enamoured by it you didn't realise he'd settled on the ground, pulling out things from his box.

'This is your glove, the one's you were wearing when we first met. You took them off to beat up some kid who was being mean to me. You didn't go back for them, you didn't even care.'

He said, pulling out a pair of red wool gloves. In spite of the hut, they were in perfect condition. Pristine. You remembered first meeting him, remembered the little soldier who'd been horrible. Those gloves wouldn't go anywhere near your hand now.

Azriel went in again. 'This is the empty glass jar of the cream you used to help my burns. Here's a book you read to me when I couldn't flip the pages myself. The notes you'd leave when you had to go back to camp. The flowers you picked for me and gave me for my birthday. Dried and stamped from every time you gave them to me.'

You stood, in shock as he kept taking things out.

'A terrible drawing I did of you when I was young. A locket of yours that broke and you never wore again. Stamps from our first theatre trip. Empty bottles from our first night together in Rita's- and Cassian's too. A letter you wrote to me when I was on a mission. A black ribbon from your hair, you used to always wear it with these things. Honestly, the amount I have in here,' and he pulled out several, of varying shades. Black, white, grey, red, dark green. All yours.

Azriel wasn't done. 'A page of annotations you did in one of Rhysand's books. A copy of your favourite poems. A coaster from the first time just you and I went to dinner. Here's some stones from when I first taught you to skim them. A quill that I used to use to write you letters. An old ring of yours is here too. Here's the first dagger you got me. It's too precious to me to be used to kill.'

Tears were falling down your cheeks as you watched him pull them all out and explain them in depth. There was more but the sight of it all was becoming blurred through your tears. The bond felt heavy and beautiful in you.

Azriel finally put the box down and fell to his knees in front of you. His hands came around the back of your thighs, holding you there as his eyes looked up into yours. 'Don't you ever think I don't love you, when I have loved you since we were eleven years old.'

You stutter on you breath. 'H-how?'

He rests his head on your stomach, looking utterly at your will and completely in love. 'How could I not?'

Slowly, as you could not move too fast, you settled down on your knees across from him. His hands moved up to your arms as yours went to his cheeks, brushing back his hair.

'It was always going to be you, wasn't it?' you mumbled. 'How could it be anyone else?'

Azriel kissed you then, finally. His lips were as soft as they'd looked, as you'd always imagined. His hands drifted to your waist, finger tips digging into to hold you close. His hands were strong, but his lips were gentle. He pulled away, only to groan in need before reaching for your lips again, harder, desperate.

His teeth bit down on your bottom lip, tongue sliding in to feel every corner of your mouth as his hands wondered around you, trying to grip onto any bit of you he could. Your arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer. Close enough to consume, to breath in.

You pulled back enough to catch your breath, arms still around his shoulders. 'Mother above, am I gonna make you the best meal of your life.'

But that could wait. For now, you'd settle for a dusty floor in the little house in the woods.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Taglist: @tothestarsandwhateverend @darlingbravebelle @lil-lupa @haileycannotcometothephantom @fairywriter-oracle @isa1b2h3 @tele86 @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @unleashthelion @naturakaashi @aurora1115 @sirens-and-moonflowers @azriels-shadowsinger @willowpains @crazylokonugget @abysshaven @anuttellaa @wishfulwithwine @one-big-fangirl @harrystylesfan2686 @charlotteintumbleland @mellowarcadefun @starseedsamurai

#azriel x cassian x reader #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar #rhysand #cassian #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #azriel x oc #azriel x elain #azriel x female!reader #azriel x original character #swifties

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happy74827 · 9 months ago

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A New Moon

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite his gut telling him he shouldn’t, Dexter can’t help but fall deeper into the trap of his own emotions. And the more time he spends with you, the more he starts to realize what exactly those emotions are. {GIF Creds: beautifulguycollector}

WC: 2889

Category: Slight Lime/Spice, Friends to Lovers + Forbidden Love (if you squint) Tropes

Gotta keep this fandom alive somehow 🥲 (also… why are titles so hard to write? That and the synopsis are harder to write than the actual fic)

『••✎••』

You were too good for him. Plain and simple. You were a smart, beautiful, hard-working woman who had goals and dreams. He was a cold-blooded killer. Not to say that he hadn't been there for you, though. The two of you had been friends since… well, a while. A long while.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the moment he started to notice the changes in your relationship. It was a slow, subtle buildup, and the first time you called him your friend, Dexter thought nothing of it. The second time, it made him pause, but not enough for him to consider what the implications of you saying that to him could mean.

But when you said it again and again and again, he realized the meaning behind your words, the affection they held. Dexter couldn't say that he was particularly close to many people. There were a select few he'd consider his friends, but he wasn’t emotionally invested in any of them. And he didn't think he was invested in you, either.

But maybe he was.

Debs was different, and it made him question how much he was supposed to care about someone. But that was his sister, the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. That reason alone made his relationship with Deb unique. He was sure of that.

The same went with Brian—his brother, as it turned out. And Harrison, his son. Dexter felt things for those people, but they were different. Those were family, the people he was genetically tied to. Of course, he would care about them.

But you weren't family, and yet he still cared about you. It was a different kind of caring. And it was confusing. Dexter had convinced himself for years that he was a high-functioning sociopath, but lately…

Lately, he was beginning to question if that was true. Simple glances from you could bring an unwelcome smile to his lips. And when he heard the sound of your voice, he could feel his chest getting warm. It was a nice feeling, something he'd only experienced briefly with Rita, but then, that relationship was different too.

It was hard to put his finger on it, but being with you was just… easy. And it didn't feel like work. There was no pretending. Dexter didn't have to act when he was around you. He didn't need to try to be someone he wasn't. It was the real him.

It was terrifying.

Because now, as he sat on your couch, watching as you moved gracefully around your small apartment, the feeling was back, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

He should have been home with Harrison, but the little boy was staying over at Debra’s tonight, so he didn't have any responsibilities. The passenger within him didn’t see it as a problem either, considering he’d just recently “disposed" his latest target.

It was nice, Dexter decided, to relax every once in a while. Work and family didn't give him a lot of opportunities to do so, and now that the two were temporarily taken care of, he felt he deserved to be lazy for a bit.

You didn’t have a TV in your living room, so the two of you settled for movies. Dexter didn’t really have a preference for them. He could watch a comedy, action, drama, or horror and not feel strongly for or against any of them.

Apparently, you didn't mind what he watched either because he could see the spark of excitement in your eyes when you pulled out the case for one of the worst comedy films Dexter had ever seen.

He'd seen it before. Not with you, one of the movies Vince shoved down his throat when he planned a night out with him, Angel, and Quinn.

It wasn't his favorite, not by a long shot, but the grin on your face and the way you eagerly skipped to the DVD player, set the disk inside, and closed the hatch made him bite his tongue.

Dexter had learned a long time ago that you were a very expressive person. And even though most of the time your feelings weren't displayed on your face, your eyes told another story. Such opposites to his own, Dexter often found himself fascinated by the light they held.

You had a passion for life that was rare, and it drew him in. It was a quality he lacked, and he could see it in everything you did. Whether it was talking about the newest book you read or making coffee, you put all of yourself into your actions.

It was something that Dexter had never understood. How could you have such a strong sense of self? Didn't it get tiring, having to live up to a standard of being so… so good?

But then again, you'd always been better than him. He might’ve been smarter in some regards, but what was intelligence if it didn't come from a place of morality? You were better, purer than him. He knew it, and everyone else did, too, even if they weren’t aware of how pure he wasn’t

That's why this was so wrong. This thing that had been going on for the past couple of months between the two of you. The subtle touches, the longing stares, the late-night calls. It was all wrong.

You were similar to Rita in some ways. You were kind and compassionate, always looking for the good in others. You had a knack for taking care of people, whether they needed it or not.

Dexter could tell that was your nature, and it was one of the things that initially attracted him to you. All the things he lacked, you had. But that didn't mean that you could replace Rita. He didn’t want you to.

And that was the difference. While he may have found qualities in you that resembled the ones he'd found in Rita, you were not her. Rita was gone, and it was his fault. She didn’t deserve to die, and yet she did. She deserved to grow old, to see Harrison grow up.

She deserved better.

The same went for you. You didn’t deserve a monster like him. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that he should stay away. It was for the best of both of you.

And yet he was here. On your couch, watching a shitty movie and drinking the beer you'd offered him. Because, despite his efforts, he couldn't keep his distance from you.

He should've known. When it came to you, Dexter didn't have a choice.

His gaze drifted over to your form as you sat down beside him. You were smiling, your eyes bright and focused on the television. A lock of hair fell across your face, and you pushed it back, the sleeve of your hoodie falling down slightly.

Dexter had never been so tempted to reach out and touch someone in his life.

It was a feeling that had been creeping up on him the last few weeks, and now, sitting with you, watching a bad movie, it was at an all-time high. He'd never craved intimacy. But there was something about you, a pull that he couldn't deny.

It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. Reminded him of that need with Lila. God, Lila. What a mess that had turned out to be. Another thing to add to his growing list of mistakes.

And yet, the longer he stared, the more he found himself leaning forward. He didn’t register what he was doing until his lips were a hair width away from yours.

You froze but didn't move away. The only indication that you were startled was the widening of your eyes. They bored into his, unflinching. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He was scared. Scared? Yes. That was what he was feeling. Why? He didn't know. Fear was new. It was a feeling reserved for Deb and sometimes his son, but even then, it was different.

But as Dexter gazed at you, so close and so beautiful, the fear melted away. It was replaced by a warmth that he was quickly becoming familiar with. It made his body thrum and his blood rush. It made him feel alive.

You were the first one to make a move. Well, not really a move, just the smallest shift forward, and then you were breathing the same air as him. You weren't kissing. You were just… waiting. Waiting for him to make the final move.

It was like an unspoken rule between the two of you, the power dynamic. He was the dominant one, and you were the submissive. You had never fought against it. You were a people pleaser, and he knew that.

It was one of the reasons he knew this was wrong. Because he couldn't stop, and you would never ask him to. Even now, as he hesitated, you waited patiently. You trusted him.

Why did you have to trust him? Why couldn't you be more selfish, more like him?

But deep down, Dexter knew that it wasn't your nature. You couldn't change, not any more than he could.

So, after another agonizing second, he closed the distance between you.

It was gentle, the way his lips pressed against yours. A stark contrast to the usual forcefulness he applied when taking his victims. No, with you, he was careful. Almost timid.

Your lips were soft and smooth, and the kiss was sweet. Nothing more than a simple caress. Dexter didn’t expect the tingling sensation it would cause, but the slight brush of your mouth sent shivers down his spine.

The kiss was short and chaste, but it was enough to leave him feeling dizzy. The heat spread through him, from the tips of his toes all the way to his cheeks.

Dexter pulled back, and you stared at him. His breath hitched in his throat at the look in your eyes. There was something there, something that mirrored his own emotions.

Was it possible? Was he really capable of such intense emotion?

Maybe he was.

You didn’t move. It was like time had stopped, and the only sound that could be heard was his own uneven breathing. That, and the movie playing in the background, which was forgotten as soon as your lips touched.

The urge to reach out and grab you was there. He could feel the need deep in his bones, in his soul. But instead, Dexter sat, staring. Staring into the eyes of the woman who had somehow managed to break down all the walls he'd spent his life building.

You didn't speak. There was nothing to say. No words could describe the feelings that had surfaced between the two of you. So, instead, you smiled. A simple, beautiful smile that had him feeling weak.

He could have stayed there forever, just looking at you, taking in the beauty that was you. It was a new experience for him, and it was nice.

“Debra is going to be pissed," you finally said, breaking the silence. “I’ll be bullied into telling her every detail."

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, his lips curled up in amusement. It was true. Eventually, she’ll figure it out. Maybe she already knew but was waiting for confirmation. Debra was good at figuring out things, even if it wasn’t the most obvious answer.

His sister was good at a lot of things, like being a detective. And, apparently, being an interfering matchmaking nuisance.

At least she wouldn’t call you the things she called Lila.

The thought made him chuckle, and you looked at him in confusion, but it would have to stay a mystery to you. For what was life without a few private jokes between siblings, right?

You didn’t press for answers, though. You did what you’ve always done and waited for him—waited for him as if it was his turn in Chess.

And he did the only thing he could think to do. He kissed you again. And again. And again. And again. Until he had you pinned beneath him, your arms around his neck, and your breath coming out in heavy gasps.

The kisses were still innocent, just as you were. But he could feel the passion behind them, the hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that. It had been a long, long time.

But the longer he kissed you, the more the heat grew, and soon, he was lost in the sensation. Your hands found their way into his hair, and you tugged at the strands. His heart was racing, and the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.

It was exhilarating.

Your lips parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and the innocence was gone. Replaced by a desire that left him trembling. The feeling of your tongue against his, the taste of you on his lips, the smell of your shampoo mixed with your unique scent—it was all intoxicating.

The movie continued to play in the background, forgotten as you pulled him closer. The warmth in his chest intensified, and Dexter didn't fight it. Instead, he embraced it. He gave in to his emotions and let himself feel.

He didn’t go too far; he knew you weren't ready for that yet. The craving was there, and it was strong, but the moment wasn’t right. Instead, he satisfied himself by touching your skin, mapping out every inch of it, memorizing the way it felt under his fingertips.

And, when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, he held onto you, refusing to let go. His eyes searched yours, searching for something. Anything. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he didn’t find it.

He mostly saw fear, anger, and some regret when he had them pinned down beneath him. Of course, that was usually the case with his victims. Fear, anger, and regret were normal emotions—a reaction to being trapped by their own demise.

Having someone look up at him with emotions on the other side of the spectrum was different. Not a bad different, just... different.

Rita had been the first to look at him like that. Lumen did, too, once upon a time. And Lila, well, her emotions were never consistent.

But you? You looked up at him with an expression that was all too familiar and yet not quite the same. Your eyes were full of affection and desire, yes. But they were also filled with something else. Something he couldn't place.

Something he couldn’t understand.

"Dex,” your voice was so soft, a whisper. He almost didn’t hear it, and yet, he felt it. He felt the way his name rolled off your tongue, and it was like music to his ears.

"Yeah?" he whispered back. He didn’t know why he did that; it wasn't like the two of you were speaking in a library or something. Maybe it was the way the light danced in your eyes, the way the colors reflected off the white walls, casting an ethereal glow.

"I didn’t expect you to be… like this," you murmured. You ran a finger over his cheek, down to his jawline. He swallowed thickly. He could feel his pulse quicken.

"Like what?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Not bad," you replied. Your lips curved up, and his eyes were drawn to them. They were red and swollen from kissing, and it was such a contrast to the pale skin of your face.

"You think I'm not bad?" he said, raising his brows. "I'm flattered."

You shook your head. "You know what I mean," you said. "I just meant that you're different than how you come off. I didn’t think you'd be so... bold.”

He snorted.

Bold.

If you only knew.

"I guess I'm full of surprises," he said, smirking. You rolled your eyes and punched him lightly in the shoulder, only for him to catch it and press a kiss to the back of your hand. It was something he picked up from a movie once, and it seemed to be a pretty romantic gesture. And by the look on your face, it seemed to be appreciated.

You didn't say anything else. You didn't have to. There was nothing else to say. The two of you simply enjoyed each other's company, content to just be together. The movie might've been a failure, but the night wasn’t.

And when Dexter finally left, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Not the type of relief he felt after a successful kill, but the type of relief one feels after a burden is lifted off their shoulders. The type of relief one gets when they are finally honest with themselves.

Rita was gone. Lumen was gone. And although his guilt and shame were still there, his self-loathing and fear were slowly starting to fade away. It wasn't gone, it was never going to be, but it was a start.

A fresh start.

A new beginning.

A new moon.

Yes, tonight was the night that changed everything. Tonight, Dexter Morgan learned that maybe he was more than the monster he thought he was.

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 7 months ago

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34 / 3.2k / part 2 of shark mermen Gaz and Soap for mermay >:)

...

You wake up to the morning sunlight glimmering off Gaz's salt-glazed skin. He's leaning over you, watching you intently with those fathomless all-black eyes.

You gasp and immediately drag yourself away--or try to, given the way his tail is wound under your legs like a snake's. In your haste, you bump up against Soap, who lurks behind you, somehow again taking you by total surprise.

Your heels scrape against sharp gravel as you fight to get out of reach. Gaz's tail coils inward as if to drag you back in, and you almost collapse over it in your scramble. But you finally manage to get out of reach. You stare down at them, your heart pounding in confusion and panic.

Soap smirks like this is the most fun he's had in weeks. His tail swishes in the shallows behind him. "G'morning."

This is a nightmare. A hallucination.

"Don't look so shocked," Soap says. "You've still got all your pieces. You really should try being more thankful. We saved your life."

"Saved my--" You cough and sputter. Salt and sand coat your throat. "You tried to kill me!"

"You would've died anyway," Gaz says. His matter-of-fact tone of voice is somehow more terrifying than Soap's high-energy arrogance.

"We were havin' a little look at you," Soap says. "That's all."

"You bit me!"

"Just a nip," Gaz admits. "I was curious."

"I wasn't," Soap says with a flash of his sharp teeth. He looks down at the second set of teeth marks--his teeth marks--on your calf. "That's a love bite."

⬇ nsfw, monster mermen, overt predator/prey dynamics, blood kink ⬇

You pull your legs in, withdrawing further up the rocky beach as you get to your feet. You don't have much space to get away from them. Worse, this tiny cove will be all but swallowed by high tide. The only way out is either back into the water or up the rocky face of the cliffs on all sides. You can only imagine the rock cutting into your bare hands and feet--or worse, climbing halfway up, slipping, and landing on the carpet of glass-sharp gravel.

There’s nowhere to go.

Soap stretches toward you again as you back away. He does it in this motion like a shrug, like he's luring you into a false sense of security by making you think he just happens to be putting his hands near your ankle. He can’t hide how the muscles in his shoulders bunch, wanting to pounce. "You'd have a better chance jumping back into the sea and holding your breath than climbing those rocks, human. Maybe you outswim us this time, even. Want to try?"

"I'll take my chances," you snap. His claw brushes your foot, and you quickly backpedal, climbing up onto the biggest boulder you can manage. It's only about as waist-high, though, and unsteady. Not quite tall enough to boost you toward any solid footholds up the forty-or-so-foot cliffside. Still, you have to try.

Gaz watches with annoyance as you reach for a shallow indent in the rock. "You'll kill yourself. Be reasonable," he scolds.

Your fingers find uncertain purchase in the shallow ridge overhead, and you force your toes to get with the program and grip what might be a rocky shelf to your side.

The two mer watch you haul yourself up a few feet. Soap pushes himself up the beach to get a better view, tail curling. Gaz studies the muscles in your legs. Then he watches your hands grip the rocks. You look even more defenseless in the sunlight, skin battered from exposure and clothes torn from the waves. His eyes follow the curve of your calf to the blood that's dried on your ankle. It looks bad.

He doesn't see you making it high enough for the inevitable fall to kill you, but it irritates him that you're choosing to act like this. You're fragile. Obviously, if he and Soap wanted to kill you, you'd be dead. They did their best to not kill you. He did, anyway.

"You think we'd let you drown when the tide comes in after keeping your fragile human body alive and intact this long?" Gaz calls up.

You ignore this in favor of boosting yourself up another foot. Your fingers slip on the next hold. Gravel clatters down the rock and showers both mer.

Soap smirks. "Gonnae fall, aye?”

Gaz's voice is flat. "Let her."

You make it up another two footholds before you slip.

Soap's smirk morphs into a wild laugh as you topple backward. You land on the rocks, hard, air knocked out of you with a surprised gasp. Both mer prowl toward you.

You dig the heels of your hands into the wet sand to scramble to your feet again. A sudden, sharp pain makes you hiss. You rip your hands out of the gravel to see a shard of curved glass sticking out of your palm of your dominant hand. Blood stains the base and wells up, trailing down your wrist.

Soap clocks the smell of blood. "What d'you want to try next, hmm?" he muses, tail swishing behind him. "Hurry up before the tide comes in or that cut'll attract somethin' unfriendly."

You glare at him. You want to scream. Or cry. You need help, but what are the chances the rescue boats will come back this way?

"So?" you snap, hiding your hand against your chest as he leans closer. "What does it matter to me if you eat me or something else does?"

"We don't care to eat you," Gaz says. "And if we did, we wouldn't share."

"Don't know about that, Gaz," Soap purrs. "You think she looks delicious, don't ya?"

You look from one to the other, still clutching your bleeding hand. "Why would you bring me here if you didn't want to eat me?"

"Curiosity." Gaz's eyes dart back to your face. “I told you.”

Frustration burns in your chest. "You bit me. You dragged me around the water. What else is fucking left to be curious about?"

Gaz hesitates. To him, you are a sight. Tattered clothes clinging to your damp body, he can see more of you than when he first spied you on that little boat, sitting so carelessly with your legs dangling in the water.

He stares at the bite wound on your arm. It's not just a “nip” like Soap’s--it's deep. A bite that left a deep, dark, ugly mark surrounded by a ring of dark blue-purple bruising. It will scar. The memory of his teeth will always be in your skin. He can still taste you: fresh adrenaline, copper blood, and seawater.

"What you feel like." His voidlike eyes are half-lidded, his voice soft. "Up close."

You glance back at him, your heart pounding. You're defenseless right now--you have been since they threw you onto this beach. So there has to be some truth to what they're saying, right? You remember reading somewhere that sharks are curious. That they sometimes investigate with their teeth, biting without any real intent to injure. So... maybe...

Soap leans in behind you and skims his clawed fingertip up your arm, his voice just past the shell of your ear. "We can take you back to shore, easy. We just need to clean those wounds. How about it," he purrs into your ear. "Gonnae help us help you?"

You shy away from his touch, feeling goosebumps break out all over. "Okay. Okay, fine." You glance down at your hand, then at Soap. "But not... not you."

You look at Gaz, hesitant, but your meaning is clear.

Soap's smirk twists into a frown. "Why not me?"

Gaz snatches your wrist. "Come here, then."

You find yourself pulled into the arms of a shark again as Gaz shuffles you into the crook of his arm. You're awed at how much bigger than humans these shark mer are. He coils his tail under you both. He grips your bloodied wrist in one hand and plants the other firmly on your hip to slide you even more flush against him. Any protest you had dies in your throat as he repositions your injured hand in his and plucks the glass out in a single, rough motion. A gasp punches out of you. The noise has Gaz pulling you closer, his arm wrapped tight around you.

You tense up, watching the claws on his hands very carefully, but he seems to maneuver you in such a careful, conscientious way to keep from hurting you with them that, once he has you positioned on his tail, you relax somewhat. They really are being careful with you, you realize. Some of the tension leaves your shoulders. You breathe out through your teeth. You can let this happen. Some people would love to be in your position, even. There's something tender but not quite gentle in how he grips you and how his thumb presses into your thigh.

He tucks your head under his chin. A low hum vibrates in his chest. Something about the sound is soothing. Or at least distracting enough that you don't notice him moving your hand to his mouth until his hot tongue laves over your wound.

Your blood--in his mouth--and roaring in your ears. How did you let yourself be tricked into letting a shark lap up your blood while he’s holding you close enough that you can see the beads of sea water clinging to the scarred ridges of his chest?

Even Gaz is somewhat surprised at the way his tongue instinctively scrapes over your wound to stem the blood flow. It's not an entirely animal compulsion to lick the wound clean--it's a practical enough way to clear away the blood. Tasting you is a bonus. That's what he tells himself as he trails his tongue down your arm to catch what's dripping down in rivulets to your elbow.

You squirm at the sting. Gaz tightens his grip.

"Is that all you were curious about, then?" Soap asks, sliding closer. He's talking to Gaz but looks down at you with glimmering solid blue eyes.

"Steady," he breathes, his voice still rough. He can smell your nervousness. He can feel your heart pounding. "She's got cuts all over. Let me..."

You feel his hands begin to peel away your tattered clothes and slide under them. You bite down on a squeal, grabbing his wrist. "Hey--!"

Before you can voice your protests fully, Soap's fingers brush the small bite mark on your ankle. You jolt, pulling your legs away and hugging them to yourself. Distracted by this, Gaz lets his free hand glide over the outside of your leg. His calloused fingers follow the curve of your hip, your thigh, your calf. He tugs your leg free so he can study the underside, too. He runs the pads of his fingers all the way back up to the bend of your knee, along the flesh of your hamstring, across the inside of your thigh. You shiver.

At the same time, Soap tugs at the bottom of your tattered shirt with interest. "Why d'you humans wear cloth? Is it because your skin is too thin?" Before you can reconsolidate yourself enough to answer, he scoffs. "All the good it does you. Shreds easier than seaweed."

“Mm,” Gaz agrees absently. He shifts you so your back is back braced up against his chest, your legs bunched up atop his tail. This way, he can keep you here and keep his hands free. He’ll have as much access to you as he needs.

At this angle, you feel rather than see the smooth dark planes of Gaz's chest and stomach. It should be wrong to notice the scars that run over his arms as they pass over you. Or the way his muscles ripple under your back. His body is a dichotomy: warm to the touch and smooth as fine silk, but rough and coarse with scars. Plus there’s the shark half.

Soap snatches up one of your ankles. He prods at your foot. "You get around on these?"

You huff. "When I can, clearly."

He runs the edge of one of his claws over the top of your foot, follows the arched bone underneath, and presses into your instep. He pokes and prods and presses hard on the ball of your foot with a curious look. "Must be slow."

"Doesn't have to be fast," you mutter.

"Then how d'you catch food?"

"I don't have to catch my food."

"You're a predator, though. You've got eyes facing forward."

"I can hunt what I need to hunt.” Salads and instant noodles, but you don’t bother saying that.

"That's good." Soap's hands slide to your toes. He finds it weird how your feet sort of resemble his hands. Little fingers and claws and everything. "As long as you've got prey slower and smaller and softer than you are."

"If that's even possible," Gaz says.

You scowl. Rude.

Gaz seems to enjoy your sour reaction a little too much. "I suppose your prey must be stupid, too."

"Watch it."

A smirk plays at his lips as his gaze flicks down to the rest of you, curled up on his lap in his arms. "Do you think you can make me? What'll you do--scratch me with your claws?" He laces your fingers with his. Your soft, blunt human fingers and his thicker, sharper, callused ones. "Bite me with your razor-sharp teeth?"

"Maybe."

"How vicious." He nudges your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "Go on, then."

You consider it. Then you realize it would just prove his point, so you turn your face away with a huff. You wish you'd paid more attention to all those National Geographic specials about mer. You don't specifically remember any real-life cases of shark mer eating humans, but there are definitely made-for-TV movies about it.

Soap's hands creep up to your calf. His thumbs prod your shin and then your kneecap. "I can feel her bones," he says in surprise.

"We both have bones.”

"Well, yours are like rock. Ye got thin skin, hard bones. 'Cept your claws." Soap's fingers wander up your bare legs past your kneecaps. When they make it to your thigh, he grips it with his whole hand and squeezes lightly.

He's fascinated--amazed, even--by your body. It's almost enough to make you feel self-conscious, but everything you'd cover up is a fascination for them. Bumps, stretch marks, pock marks, folds, fat, stubble--you feel yourself tense up when hands wander to those parts of yourself you've learned to be ashamed of, but they don't react. Of course they don't, but still. It feels strange.

Gaz notices your discomfort. He keeps his grip light and loose on you, but his eyes linger on the flesh of your thigh in Soap's hands, the way your skin dimples under the pressure. "It's like a seal,” Gaz says.

"My thigh is like a seal?"

"Soft and blubbery,” Soap adds. "And seals are delicious." He leans down and pinches a bit of skin in his teeth.

You squirm a bit at the harmless little nip, but moreso at the way his hand slides a little too far up your thigh. You put your uninjured hand over his to stop it from going any higher.

Unfortunately, that just seems to draw his attention to what might be up there. His eyes flick up to your shorts. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't seem like nothing." He grabs the hem of your shorts to slide them higher.

You grab his hands. "Hey!"

He grins. "You're a bit twitchy.”

"That's not allowed," you tell him, face burning.

"Isn't it?" Gaz says. He loops his long fingers under your thigh and lifts it up as if to give Soap more room. "Whose rule is that?"

You quickly snap your thighs shut anyway, curling your legs into yourself as best you can. "My rule. Don't touch."

A low noise of frustration rumbles in Soap's chest. "Why do humans cover up so much?" His hands slide up your outer thighs, and he bends until his face is almost level with your stomach. His frown deepens as if this were the thing he was really curious about. "Just let me look for a second."

"Absolutely not."

"Waste of nice soft human skin," he mutters. "Hiding it all away."

“Let us in,” Gaz says.

“No.”

"Not even me?" he asks.

"No."

They both frown.

"Why not?” Gaz asks. “What are you keeping there?"

You huff. "It's my-- my reproductive things. Happy?"

"Your... reproductive things." Soap furrows his brow and turns his head to Gaz. "Reproductive like a fish?"

Gaz's fingers continue to squeeze your inner thighs in slow, deliberate motions. "No," he says after a beat. "Like a mammal."

"Ah. So?" Soap gives you a blank look. "Those are all up inside you then, aye? Nothin' to see."

He takes hold of your knee again. You immediately pull out of his grasp and turn to the side, sitting up on your knees this time as Gaz shifts his tail to accommodate you. "Nothing to see as far as you're concerned," you respond, curt.

Soap continues to leer at you, but his prodding is less insistent at your clear refusal. "Just tell us then. Where is it exactly? In the front? Or the back?"

You cross your arms. "None of your business."

"Don't humans mate for fun?" Soap asks.

“I didn't say that.”

"They doooo," Soap singsongs. He smiles and bares his teeth, the sharp points on his canines glinting in the light.

All the heat that had gone out of your cheeks comes rushing back in. " Do you?"

Soap grins again in that annoying way. "We do. Very fun. So what's the big deal?”

"We're not mating is what," you snap. You push yourself off of Gaz’s lap and stumble a bit, catching yourself with a splash into the deepening tide. "When are you taking me back home?"

Soap looks disappointed at the possibility of being deprived so suddenly of his new toy.

Gaz frowns too. "Now you're talking like you didn't enjoy yourself." He pushes himself up and follows you into the water, his fins cutting through it smoothly. "But a deal is a deal. We’ll take you back to shore. Once night falls, of course."

"But it's morning!"

"So it is." Gaz circles your legs, forming a crescent around you as he comes to a rest on his side in the shallow water. He smirks at you like he finds your confusion endearing in a tedious way. "Night will come again. We've got time until then."

"But the tide will come in," you remind them, casting a look back at the tiny little cove.

"It will,” Gaz agrees.

You don't like the way his smirk grows. Soap grins, too.

A slow realization that you're being toyed with comes over you. "What am I supposed to do, then?"

Gaz's smirk turns to a lazy little grin to match Soap’s. "Keep letting us entertain you.”

You hem and haw, but ultimately, when they pull you back into the shallow water with them, you don’t fight it. You’d rather conserve your energy.

Soap's hands join Gaz's, running up your strange human legs again. "We're going to keep her. Right, Gaz?"

"Of course," Gaz murmurs. The sea doesn't like to release its gifts. "Why would we bother leaving a catch intact without keeping it?"

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

more Gaz / more Soap / more mer au / masterlist tag

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