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acourtofwhatthefuck · 7 months

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Practice On Me — Part Thirteen — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Backstreet’s back, ALRIGHT! Or rather, the Bat Boys™️ sort their issues out. Tathaln’s ball is officially announced. Azriel gives Kaeda a piece of his mind. Fin has no business being the sexy dad he is. Roza’s worried about reader.

Word count: 6.3k.

Warnings: None for this part.

All is silent, save for the rhythmic tick-tick-ticking of the clock. Cassian has always hated that clock. Finds it fucking annoying.

But it fills the vacant hole that exists in the absence of conversation. That hole is open and gaping between Cassian and Azriel. It’s not a table that sits between them — it’s a dangerous, yawning chasm.

Az stares at Cass, and Cass feels uncomfortable. He’s seen that cold gaze be levelled on people hundreds of times, thousands. To be on the receiving end feels a little like staring death in the face. He actually kind of wishes that Kaeda hadn’t been sent off to the dorms to sleep off her drunken state, because at least then he wouldn’t be the only one here, being subjected to…this.

So, he stands up, so abruptly that his chair almost topples over, and asks, “Want me to make you some tea?” The question feels stupid the second it leaves his lips.

Azriel’s eyes track him, drink in every uneasy shift and twitch. It’s not that Cass is afraid of Az — though anybody with half a brain cell would be — just that he’s not good in these situations. Situations where he has to be serious and…and listen.

“Cassian.” The shadowsinger’s cold voice stops him before he can move. “When, in our years of friendship, have you ever once made me tea?”

Cass peers over a broad shoulder and shrugs half-heartedly. “First time for everything…”

“Sit.”

The word brooks no room for argument. Cassian does, indeed, sit.

It’s then that Azriel heaves a deep sigh, his entire body taut as a bowstring, and says, “I’m sorry.”

Cass blinks. “What?”

“I’m sorry—for what I did in the mead hall. I…had no right.”

“…But Y/N and I…”

“It’s not for me to dictate whether the two of you should or shouldn’t lie together. My…jealousy…is my problem, and mine alone.”

This is hard, Cassian realises — for Az to say this. For him to face it. And Cass can relate to that. Not everyone can be as silver-tongued as Rhysand. The Mother knows, Cass himself isn’t.

But he also isn’t an idiot. Some people may believe him to be, and that’s their mistake, because being proved wrong is usually the last thing they remember before waking up to a healer standing over them. He’s aware enough of his surroundings to know that something was brewing between Azriel and Y/N for years before Cass took her to bed…or kitchen counter, or…whatever.

“I need to be better,” Cassian offers, “at thinking before I act. Thinking about who I might hurt with my decisions. I’m working on it.”

Az studies his friend, and he feels no anger. If anything, it’s guilt that claws at the shadowsinger. He gave poor Cass a pretty good hiding over something that was, essentially, none of his business. And it could have all been different if Az simply wasn’t a coward, afraid of his feelings.

Something he needs to work on.

And perhaps he’s doing that as, rather than burying the topic, he asks, “What…what actually happened? How did you end up sleeping together? I mean…do you have feelings—”

“No.” Cassian cuts him off, blinking. “Gods, no. I love Y/N, you know that. But not romantically. I just…I felt so damn useless that night, Az. If you’d seen the way Y/N was…the self-loathing. I didn’t know how to help.”

Immediately, Azriel’s brow pinches. “Self-loathing?”

“Because of what her father did to her. When we were flying to Fenlaros, and she was the only one being carried in…”

Azriel slumps back in his chair, feeling like a godsdamned idiot.

He blinks forward and wonders what the fuck the point is in being born a shadowsinger when he obviously can’t read situations very well. Within seconds, it’s clicking into place.

“And then you started that fight with that Fenlarion male,” Cass continued. “and Kaeda just declared that it was her you were fighting over…and everyone has a limit, you know? I think that night was just all too much for Y/N. And she was so upset, so downtrodden…talking about how she hated herself. And I’m not good with words like Rhys is, and I’m not as observant as you are, but I am good at physical touch. Physical comfort. And it seemed like the only thing I could offer in that moment to take that bleakness away from her. But I should have thought about how you would feel—”

“I’m glad you were there for her.” Azriel blurts, realising, with every word, how much he means them. “I wasn’t. I failed her that night.”

“I really didn’t know that the two of you had been exploring things. If I did, I wouldn’t have done it. I mean…that fight you started wasn’t over Kaeda at all, was it?”

Az’s eyes shutter. And it goes against every natural instinct of his to strip himself bare and just…be honest. Every steel wall he’s ever built up is screeching in its effort to stand strong and not be caved in. And those walls were necessary in a life of darkness and hate…but that life is long gone.

What good do those walls do him in an environment where he has love, has people who genuinely care for him? As much as he wants to run and hide from his feelings as he always has…he thinks that the key to happiness may be on the other side of those walls. That a new bravery lays in letting some light filter through the cracks and warm a guarded heart.

His voice is quiet, laced with a self-preserving fear, as he admits, “No. It was not.”

Before Cassian can offer an encouraging response, the front door is swinging open, and Rhysand is kicking snow from his boots and trudging in. Azriel tenses like a threatened animal — but there is no threat here. Only safety, only love. He forces his shoulders to relax.

The violet-eyed male takes in the sight before him. Goes still as he looks between his two friends. “Please tell me this is a positive conversation.”

Cassian inclines his head. “Work in progress. Why don’t you make some tea?”

“Fuck you, make your own tea—”

“Make me some tea—”

“Kiss my ass, dickhole—”

“I’m in love with Y/N.” Azriel blurts.

It promptly shuts the other two males up.

They turn away from their bickering to look at the shadowsinger. He looks…shocked, by his own confession.

“I’m in love with her,” he breathes.

Cass and Rhys share a glance, and then Rhys is slowly approaching the table, carefully taking a seat like he doesn’t want to startle Azriel out of the moment.

“We know, Az.” Rhys tells him gently. “I mean…I think we always suspected…”

“I started that fight in Fenlaros because I was jealous of that damn male having his hands all over her. Saying the things he was saying. It was nothing to do with Kaeda.”

“You should really tell her — Y/N, I mean. Tell her how you feel.”

Azriel’s eyes trace a mark in the table as he admits, “Kind of already have. When she came to speak to me earlier today.”

Another glance is shared between Cassian and Rhys. And both are equally surprised — figure they would have heard something about it. Unless…unless it hadn’t gone down well.

And now that Rhys thinks about it, Y/N had been tense whilst he’d flown her back to Velaris. Taut in his arms and barely uttering a few words. Perhaps this was why.

“Did she…not take it well?” Rhys hedges. He wants to be delicate, not go blasting in at full-force. So rarely do they get to see such a vulnerable side to Az.

Azriel shakes his head once. “It’s not that, it’s…” He clears his throat. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“How?” Cass pushes, and Rhys shoots him a warning glance.

But Azriel doesn’t balk from it, doesn’t slink back in his seat. Instead, he lifts his head, and he levels his friends with a desperate look.

“There’s more that I haven’t told you.” He says.

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A short while later, Az thinks that maybe talking through his feelings is a good thing. Just saying the words has a little bit of weight easing from his chest, his shoulders.

But Cass and Rhys aren’t saying anything at all. Cass and Rhys are staring at him like he has two damn heads.

And then Cassian sits up, barking, “Tathaln Baralas wants what?”

“Exactly what I told you.” Azriel shakes his head. “He wants me to move to Fenlaros and work alongside him. Has some sort of backing from the High Lord, though I’m not sure how much. In a nutshell, Kaeda’s interest in me has always been driven by her father.”

“I knew that little wasp was up to something. You know she tried to kiss me tonight?”

Az shrugs. Really could not give a fuck. “I figured something had happened from the look on your face.”

“I never liked her. Nor her father—”

“Her father,” Rhys cuts in, “walks a very fine line in presuming to exceed in his role as a Camp Lord. His ego and title are going to his head a little, it would seem, if he believes he has the authority to scheme such ideas.”

“It’s a terrible idea.” Cass says. Neither of the other two noticed him get up, but he’s returning to his seat, speaking around a mouthful of food. “All Illyrians in one big camp? They’ll kill each other.”

Rhys is inclined to agree. But he turns a neutral — maybe gentle — expression on Az and asks him, “Do you want to go to Fenlaros?”

It would kill him if Az said yes. Would kill Cass, too. These recent days of being torn apart by tension has been bad enough. Being in different camps and not seeing each other is an almost unbearable thought.

But they would find a way to live with it, if Az decided he wanted to go. They’d find a way to be okay with it.

Such thick silence fills the room that the thudding of all three of their hearts is audible.

But then Azriel replies quietly, “No.”

Neither Rhys nor Cassian bother to hide their relief.

“I told Kaeda I would think about it.” Azriel goes on. “And I told Y/N that I’d promised Kaeda that. But I don’t think I’ve ever really intended to think about it — or needed to. I think…I think I was just using it to bide my time. To create space for myself and…avoid everything else.”

“By everything else,” Cassian chomps into a loaf of bread, “do you mean facing your feelings for Y/N?”

Azriel can’t deny it. He nods. “It’s not an easy thing to face…to be vulnerable. Hiding behind this Fenlaros situation has just been easier. Cowardly, yes, but…easier.”

“You can’t keep pushing her away, though, Az.” Rhys says. “You can’t let her think that you might be leaving if you have no intention of doing so.”

The shadowsinger’s eyes flutter shut, thick, dark lashes grazing his cheekbones. “Do you think I’ve fucked it beyond repair?”

“No.” Cassian offers. “But you will, if you don’t start handling this the right way. Tell Kaeda and Tathaln to fuck off. Tell Y/N you’re in love with her and want to see her naked—”

“Watch it.” Azriel warns quietly, but Cass continues, unperturbed.

“Just start letting more people in. And I’ll stop letting so many people in, because it gets me into trouble. I think…I think we all need to grow up a little. Do better.”

Rhysand’s brow pinches. “What do you mean, we all do? I’ve done nothing other than put my own pleasure aside to advise you idiots. What could I possibly need to do better?”

Cassian shrugs. “That haircut, for one. It’s annoying.”

“And when was the last time your hair saw a comb, Cassian?”

“When was the last time you were generous and made tea for your good, long-suffering friend?”

“So this is about the tea.”

“Of course it’s about the tea, jackass. Zakai clearly isn’t with you for your observational skills…”

Azriel sits back, allowing their bickering to become background noise. There’s a warmth to the sight, the sound, that makes him realise he never again wants a repeat of this situation — of being apart from his friends for days, tension thick between them.

He loves Rhys and Cassian. Loves them dearly.

Another reason why he could never, ever turn his back on this place.

And he finds himself actually being…grateful…that Cass was there for Y/N that night. That she didn’t have to suffer her self-loathing alone.

There’s still a lot to get through, of course. Daunting emotions and truths to face head-on. But as he watches the two loveable idiots in front of him take verbal swipes at each other, it’s the first time in a while that he wonders if things might actually be okay.

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The news is announced the next day, when Lord Devlon gathers a rather colourful bunch of his soldiers in the mead hall and stands at the front, silencing them all with a single shout. Rhys, Cassian and Azriel stand against the far back wall, their arms folded over their chests.

Gods, they hope it’s not another training exercise. Not so soon. Az has things he wants to resolve before he saunters off and possibly gets himself killed.

But Devlon reads the roll of parchment in his hands, a frown contorting his features. He looks up, his eyes very deliberately finding Rhysand as he announces to the room, “A message from the High Lord.”

And every other gaze is then swivelling to turn on Rhys, too. There’s something accusatory about it, like they’re assuming he’s privy to whatever it is their asses have been dragged out of bed to hear.

He isn’t. He wants to be in bed, too.

“Looks like you pricks better get your dancing shoes ready.” Devlon raises his eyebrows. “The High Lord is calling for a ball. Legions from all camps invited.”

This — this is exciting news for the brutish males who could fill the mead hall with their egos alone. Not because they have a particular affinity for dancing, but because amongst themselves, they’re already murmuring about which particular camps they dislike for some reason or other, and what they plan to do about it. So many bloodthirsty streaks are painted in those males’ eyes, stamping out the tiredness that lay there only moments before.

Nothing pricks an Illyrian male’s ears up quite like the prospect of a fight.

“The legions from each camp have been carefully selected, and you lucky fuckers will be representing Windhaven.” The Camp Lord continues, disdain dripping from his voice. He wants his men out there training in the cold, not prancing around a dance floor. “Plus-ones are allowed, also, so it might be time to splash out on a pretty gown for whoever is warming your bed these days. The ball is to be held on Starfall, at a neutral venue of the High Lord’s choosing, and I expect you all to make Windhaven — and me — look good. Any questions?”

“Do we actually have to dance?” One male asks, while another one pipes up with, “Will those pricks from Camp Steelshore be there?”

Rhys shuts out the litany of battling voices as he turns a concerned look on Az and Cass. Their expressions mirror his own. Something about this feels…off.

So while he looks like he’s merely lounging against the wall, hands in his pockets, he sends his inner claws spearing straight for Devlon’s mind. He doesn’t give away what he’s doing, not even slightly, as he roots around in the Camp Lord’s thoughts and grabs for his glimpse of the letter. Rhys scans it, drops the thought, and he’s out of Devlon’s mind and straightening himself up before the male can so much as flinch.

“Let’s go.” He tells his friends, and not Devlon nor the males around them seem to care as Azriel and Cassian follow him, the formidable trio traipsing out into the thawing snow, regardless of whether the meeting is over or not.

They’re halfway back to the house, safely out of earshot, when Cassian finally barks, “A ball? What the fuck?”

“At the request of Tathaln Baralas.” Rhys reveals. “That’s what the letter said. He took the idea to my father, and the asshole is humouring him. This has all got to be part of Tathaln’s plan.”

Cassian scowls and spits his disdain at the ground. “Someone needs to drive a poison arrow through that prick’s heart already. I don’t like this one bit.”

“It’s my father’s intentions I’m worried about.” Rhys shakes his head. “Tathaln only has the power that my father gives him. One word from him and this idea could be snuffed out and never mentioned again. And I expected that to be the case. Arrogant as fuck he may be, but my father isn’t stupid. He’ll know what a terrible idea this is, and I would have predicted that he’d laugh in Tathaln’s face for mentioning it. I didn’t think he’d actually entertain it…which means—”

“There’s something in it for him.” Azriel finishes.

Rhysand nods. “Every single move and choice my father makes is, ultimately, for his own gain. He would never agree to anything if he weren’t getting something out of it himself. Whatever Tathaln has proposed to him…my father will be using it for his own gain.”

Cassian opens the door to the cottage and strides in, forgetting — as always — to kick the snow from his boots. “What, though?” He asks. “What could Tathaln have that your father could want?”

Rhys shrugs and waves a hand, magic promptly mopping up the wet, melting trail left in Cassian’s wake. “That, I don’t know.”

“So what do we do?” Az watches him closely, trying to read the thoughts on the male’s face. His shadows reach out to him, too. “Are you going to talk to your father? Make him see how ridiculous this idea is?”

“No,” Rhys shakes his head. “There would be no point. I could lay a whole host of truths out to my father, and he’d go against them on ego alone. He must want something badly enough for him to be throwing money into it. This ball won’t be cheap.”

“And it won’t be a ball, either.” Cassian cocks an eyebrow. Roots through the kitchen cupboards for food. “Blood will be spilled. And you can’t dance on blood. I’ve tried. Too slippy.”

Rhys chooses to ignore that little scrap of information. Mostly because he doesn’t doubt it for a second. “I don’t want us to pre-empt anything.” He says. “If I go straight to my father with concerns about any of this, it could blow up in our faces, instead. For the time being, I think we should just…go along with it. Watch it play out, and see what happens. My father is unpredictable. Even I can’t tell you what goes on in his head.”

“I can speak with Kaeda.” Az clears his throat. “See if she’ll tell me anything.”

“You have fun with that.” Cassian mumbles, biting into something. “I’d sooner chop my balls off and nail them to the front door.”

“Such a way with words. It’s no wonder, really, that females fall at your feet.”

Cass shoots him a wicked grin. And this…this is nice. What they’ve both missed. This is normal.

“I’ll keep an eye and ear out for anything.” Rhys drags them back to the subject at hand. “But my father’s good at not letting anyone know things until he wants them to know them. And he’s clearly serious about this.”

Cassian swallows. Takes another bite. “And until then? Until we know what he’s even serious about?”

Violet eyes sparkle with mischief, and one side of Rhysand’s lips tips up. “Until then, boys,” he says, “you’d better practice your dancing.”

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Azriel really hopes she’s not there, but sure enough, when he enters his room at the dorms, Kaeda is sitting up in his bed.

It gives him a little bit of satisfaction to see her look…less than perfect, for once. Her hair is knotted, and even the vibrancy of the red shade seems a little dulled. Her skin is sallow, her eyes bleary. He wonders if she’s as miserable as she currently looks.

She beholds him with a strangely coy look, like she’s waiting for him to rip into her. But if she really knew the shadowsinger, she’d know that that is not his style. He does not shout. He rarely fights physically. His danger lies in his quiet voice and icy stare.

Kaeda’s tired eyes fall to the blanket pooled around her waist, and she murmurs, “You’re angry with me.” Her throat bobs with a swallow. “I understand. But I appreciate you putting me to sleep in here when I was in a vulnerable state.”

“I would have done it for anyone.” Az presses his back against the wall, folding his arms. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The female merely bows her head. Doesn’t bother to argue.

“I have a question.” Azriel then says. “I’d like an answer.”

“I know that Cassian has probably told you about last night, and all I can say is I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I was drunk and upset and I—”

“I don’t care about that.” He really doesn’t, and it shows on his face. “I want to know what your father is playing at by organising an Illyrian ball. I don’t believe for a second that the gesture is an innocent one.”

She glances down again, but Azriel doesn’t buy the coy act for one moment.

“Kaeda.” His voice is laced with warning. “Tell me.”

“It’s just…a ball. A ball to have all camps in one place, so he can get a good look at what each one has to offer. It’s nothing sinister.”

“So, a chance for him to scout more supporters for his cause.”

“He’s trying to make a change, Azriel. A good one—”

“He’s interfering with lives. Tearing families apart.”

“Good results require difficult choices.” Her voice hardens.

The shadowsinger bites out a cold, brusque laugh, turning away from her. “Mother above, he has you trained well.”

There’s movement behind him. Kaeda is kicking the sheets away and pushing to her feet. And she’s…seething.

“You would laugh in the face of somebody trying to make a positive change?” She snaps. “What reason have you to be so arrogant? At least my father is trying to make a difference. All you’re doing is clinging to a miserable life in a miserable place where you don’t even have a family or home of your own—”

“Except that I do.” Azriel rounds on her so quickly that his wing knocks a fragrance bottle off a shelf. “I may not have your riches, and that’s fine, because I have a group of people — a family I made — who love me enough to care whether or not I come home at night. Who want nothing less for me than happiness and contentedness, and not just to use me as a pawn in some convoluted plan that will do more harm than good. I have reason to be in Windhaven, whether it’s miserable or not. I have love here. So much of it. And there’s nothing — not a damn thing — that would make me turn my back on it.”

Something in his impassioned speech clearly hits a nerve with Kaeda. She goes still.

And she looks…small, despite being fairly tall. She looks…insignificant.

Her eyes fill with tears. One spills over and rolls down her cheek as she whispers, “Please, Azriel.”

Azriel says nothing. Stares at her.

“Please.” She takes a step closer. “I’m not above begging. I…” Her voice cracks. “I need this. I need you to say yes—”

“Your father,” he interrupts quietly, “is playing a very dangerous game. And he’s using you to do it.”

“You don’t understand. I…if I can’t give him what he wants, I’m finished. I’ll have no home to go to, nobody on my side.”

“You already have nobody on your side. You’re his daughter and he’s dangling your livelihood over your head and ready to snatch it away if he doesn’t get what he wants. You’re already finished.”

“Please.” She says again. Tears are streaming, now, and she tries fruitlessly to wipe them away. “Please, just…if this is about Y/N—”

“Do not,” he grits out, “bring her into this.”

“She’s already in this. I know that you want her and not me…that you always have…and that’s fine. Bring her to Fenlaros with you, if you must. I’m sure my father could be persuaded on that. But just…please—”

“You’re not listening, Kaeda. This isn’t just about my family. It’s about all the other families that would be separated, ripped apart by your father’s scheming. He’s power hungry. This is just the beginning of a whole host of self-serving plans that will bring him glory — do not doubt that for a second. People like him are never satisfied, and he needs to be stopped. Not encouraged.”

“You’re wrong.” Her voice is so weak, Az isn’t convinced she believes her own words. “He just wants a better future for Illyria—”

“No.” Az levels her with a pointed look. “He wants a better future for himself. I will not play a part in that, and neither will my loved ones.”

“Azriel, please—”

“I will attend your father’s ball, just as Lord Devlon has ordered me to do.” He breezes to the door, not caring that this is his room he’s leaving her behind in. He stops, palm poised on the handle. “But as for delivering a male straight into your father’s den? You better start trying that seduction on somebody else. Because there is nothing that would make me follow you into that camp.”

He leaves without a glance back. And while it sits uncomfortably inside him that he made a female cry…he can’t help feeling like he’s finally doing the right thing.

About time, too.

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This — this is the last thing you ever would have expected of coming to Velaris.

The tonic you’d needed was an extended amount of girl time with Roza. And yet here you are…in the High Lord’s arms.

“This is useless.” You murmur, aware of every single place your body brushes against his. One of his hands is a firm weight on the small of your back, the other clasping yours. “I’m not a natural dancer. Fuck, I’ve never even been to a dance.”

Fin’s mouth tips up at the corners. “There’s that filthy mouth.” His hand lets go of yours, opting to move up to the cut of your jaw, where he allows his thumb to rest on your lower lip. “You,” the pad of it swipes slowly over your mouth, “are going to be exquisite.”

You square your shoulders. Cock a challenging eyebrow. “Is that genuine encouragement, High Lord? Or an order?”

A deep chuckle. Slowly — reluctantly —he lets his hand drop. “Both.”

Flirting with him like this, playing the part of the High Lord’s pet, is a necessary evil. You’re just so surprisingly good at it that you can’t discern whether it’s an affront to him, or to Roza. Or both.

But you can’t deny that you’ve been flattered by his undivided attention this past week. And perhaps he’s been flattered by yours, too.

Mother bless Roza for her undying support. The best you can do for her, right now, is to keep her in the loop. She merely tells you to be careful.

But a week — a week of cosying up to Fin, of breaking through his exterior and appealing yourself to him. You humour him with these dance lessons, with the preposterously expensive shopping trips and dinners, the late night fireside conversations. Anything, everything, to get him to tell you what truth lies behind the excited glint in his eyes whenever he speaks of the ball. To tell you what it is he’s planning.

Perhaps you’re not appealing enough. You are no more aware than anyone else. And that’s really fucking frustrating.

At least your hard work has kept you from thinking about Azriel every five minutes.

Your breath still heaving from your dance efforts, you make your way over to the table of refreshments by the huge, arcing windows that overlook the city. The High Lord’s palace, you have to admit, is a place you might miss once you’re back in Windhaven. You’ve never been one for luxury, never had more than a few things to your name — but the views are what makes you feel like the richest person in all of Prythian. These are not the cold, barren views of your camp, but a place of such vibrancy, it sometimes makes you want to cry. It’s like the setting of a storybook, laid out right before you.

From behind, slow, graceful footsteps sweep across the wooden floor. Fin comes to a stop so closely behind you that his body heat encases you.

Fingertips make contact with your skin, the back of your neck. The sleeveless tunic you wore for your practice now feels like nothing more than a paper towel.

“You have such beautiful skin.” Fin says roughly, and you tense. So far, this week, he’s kept a respectful distance away. Hasn’t put you in any awkward positions.

You pivot under his touch, pressing your back up against the table enough that his hand drops. It’s not entirely for show as you smile apologetically and tell him, “Sorry — scars.”

Such genuine, slicing rage fills his face. The intensity of it almost knocks you breathless.

“I will kill him.” He says the words like a lover’s promise. “With my bare hands, I will kill him for taking your wings.”

He had the power to stop the practice before you were even born. He is very old — over nine-hundred-years — and very powerful. What he says, goes.

And yet…he means it. You can see it. And perhaps you have seen so much unkindness, such brutality, that little scraps of ferocity, of passion, in your defence, make you a blinded fool.

But a part of him — however small — actually cares about you. Enough to mark your abuser for death.

But your father’s blood will soak your hands, and yours only.

You smile up at him, wickedly, cunningly, prettily. “No, you won’t.” You reply. “Because I will do it first.”

And the fury in his stare simmers immediately to a different sort of heat. Your words are a flirtation to him — a cut of raw meat dangled above a hungry, waiting animal. They make him feel something.

“Such a murderous little thing.” His soft laugh caresses your skin. He sounds pleased — impressed. “I like that. I like it a lot.”

“I would hope so. I am to be your special guest at the ball, after all.” A small voice in your head wants to coax him; tell me what you’re planning, tell me what to expect.

But, as always, he steers the conversation away, a vague, mysterious smile on his face. “Do you like it here in Velaris, my murderess?”

“I do, very much so.”

“I can’t help pondering how much you would thrive here. You were made for so much more than Windhaven. Illyria, even.”

A soft, coy smile — one that comes from deep within that part of you that wants the praise, the compliments — that needs them. “Many would disagree with you.”

“Show them to me, and I will twist their minds until they see in you what I do.”

“And what is it you see in me?” A disingenuous little liar. A good actress. A traitor.

Fin leans down, and for one startling, heart-stopping, stomach-lurching moment, you think his mouth might meet yours.

But his lips brush over your cheek in a tender, barely-there caress. He presses a kiss to the skin before retracting. Straightening himself out. The way he slides his hands into his pockets with casual arrogance reminds you so much of Rhys that you miss your friend instantaneously.

“I see beauty that is unappreciated, and intelligence that is underestimated.” Fin says. “And I see a female that I wouldn’t mind having at my side.” His eyes trace you from head to toe. “I wouldn’t mind it at all.”

No response sits on your tongue. You think you might be too surprised by the genuine praise. The fact that the High Lord actually feels some level of affection towards you.

Maybe you’re not so bad at these games.

He turns without waiting for your response, and only when he’s at the door does he make eye contact with you over his shoulder.

“Keep practicing the dancing, my murderess.” He says. “We’ll make a fine pair at that ball.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

If Roza weren’t so worried, she might laugh at the three expressions of outrage that meet her when she strolls into the cottage.

Rhysand jumps up immediately and demands, “Did you fly here? You’re supposed to be resting.”

Roza merely rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her. “Don’t get your undergarments in a bunch, Rhysand. I’m pregnant — not on my death bed. The babe is fine.”

Her son does not look convinced. Neither do Azriel or Cassian. As if they’re, like, experts on pregnancy, or something.

“What are you doing here, mother?” Rhys stalks straight to the fire and stokes it. Then straight over to the kitchen to make a hot drink. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Mostly.” Roza pauses. “I hope.”

Azriel sits up at that. “Is Y/N alright?”

“She’s fine.” If playing games with the High Lord of the Night Court can be considered fine. Roza eases herself into a seat, and Cassian is promptly propping cushions behind her back. “I want to talk to you about the ball.”

Cass’s lips turn up into a half-smile. “We’ll be on our best behaviour, Roz. Promise.”

“You’d better be. Because I want all three of you looking out for Y/N at that ball, do you hear me?”

The command is a firm one, and yet the three males don’t straighten up at her matriarchal tone like they usually do. Instead, they share a puzzled glance, frowns pinching their features.

“It’s a ball for Illyrian soldiers and their guests of choice.” Rhys explains, carrying a steaming mug over to her. “None of us are bringing her along. Not to that.”

“You may not be.” Roza slides a protective hand over her bump. “But your father is.”

All three males go so preternaturally still, it’s almost frightening.

Rhys bites out, quietly, “What?”

“Your father is taking Y/N to the ball as his special guest. He’s bought her a gown, taught her to dance — he’s serious about this.”

“He can’t.” The shadowsinger’s face is like rolling thunder. “He cannot take her there. All those males—”

“That’s precisely why I’m not attending. He needs someone in my place, and he’s taking Y/N.”

“He can choose someone else.” Azriel’s clipped tone, his panic, is not at all personal to Roza. Usually, he would never speak to her in such a way, but—

But this is Y/N they’re talking about. Y/N in the High Lord’s hands, at a ball with so many Illyrian males, too many Illyrian males.

“Watch your tone, Azriel.” Rhys warns, but Roza is holding up a hand. Because she gets it — the panic.

“I’ve tried telling him to take somebody, anybody, else.” She says. “He’s insistent — absolutely adamant that he wants Y/N.”

“But why?” Cassian frowns.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if his kindness to her is genuine or not.” She shakes her head, absentmindedly stroking her bump. “All I know is that he’s taking Y/N to that ball, and I’m not going to be there. You know, Rhysand, that there is no changing your father’s mind once it’s set. I need the three of you to look out for her.”

Because Y/N is just as much a daughter to Roza as the little girl growing in her belly. They know that.

Rhys inclines his head, reaching out to place a hand over Roza’s. “We will, mother.” He promises. “Whatever game he’s playing…we’ll look after Y/N.”

Roza’s eyes dart to Azriel, to Cassian. “Do you promise?”

“We promise.” Cassian, unfazed as always, grins. “You just focus on the little one, Roz.”

Azriel’s face is grave, but he nods once. “We won’t let her out of our sight.”

Y/N is in good hands with them, Roza knows. She may even be in good hands with Fin, depending on what his true intentions are. Perhaps being at the High Lord’s side is the safest place she can be. It’s an unknown.

But one thing Azriel does know, as he wishes and wishes for this damn ball to just be over already, is that he’s wracked with guilt.

He can’t help feeling like it’s his fault — that his actions, his behaviour, chased Y/N right into a viper’s den.

That he’ll stop at nothing to get her out of it.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

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Text

Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter Two

(Previous Chapter)

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 7,500 Chapter Song Inspo: Obey - Bring Me The Horizon

Chapter Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst kinda, eventual fluff, anxiety/panic attack, vomit (nothing graphic), Rhysand being an ass, Nesta x Reader friendship, Rhysand slander lol, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), fluff, some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish Note: So is this fluff? Debatable. But there is still plenty of Az fluff in it, you just got to work for it a little more this time. You don’t need to read the first chapter to understand what’s going on here, but they are connected!

XxXx

It took almost three years of employment with the Inner Circle for you to personally encounter the ‘Night Triumphant’ persona. You were not impressed. The most serious you’d seen your cousin was ‘High Lord Rhysand’, the fierce leader, but even that was limited to political business outside of Velaris. More so than not, it was just Rhys, your fun loving, sarcastic friend who so happened to wield an enormous amount of power.

The male sitting at his work desk was not your ‘Rhys’. Hell this wasn’t even High Lord Rhysand. The Night Triumphant held eye contact with you, gaze calculated and stern. You studied the authority in his expression, his mouth drawn into a tight line. Staring him down right back, you waited for the facade to break and reveal the male you had come to know as family. You searched his face for the guy who would rather face Amarantha again than put you in such a precarious situation. The very situation that plagued you with consistent nightmares since you left Hewn City.

You did not find that male.

Your gaze flitted to Mor, her body draped in a leather armchair off to the side, hoping to find a trace of humor in her expression. She tried to look nonchalant, but there was a sharp edge to her that betrayed her own trepidation.

Nesta stood an arm’s length away from you, uncharacteristically quiet in the wake of your High Lord’s orders. She seemed as if she was waiting to see who would escalate things first. Rhysand had summoned the three of you to his office to brief everyone on an upcoming…obligation. He prefaced the meeting by saying that he knew it wasn’t an ideal assignment. He wasn’t asking if you wanted to do it, it was non negotiable.

In two months time, you, Nesta, and Mor would be answering a summons to Hewn City. Kier had been requesting a personal audience with you for the last year. Mor and Rhysand could no longer postpone it, as you were a Night Court Courtier afterall.

Still, you did not want to believe that Rhys would ask this of you. “You’re kidding, right? This isn’t very funny, Rhysand.”

“I know you can tell that I am not joking.” His flinty tone brook no argument.

Any hope of reasoning with the Night Triumphant withered away. He summoned you to his office well aware that you wouldn’t take kindly to being sent back. Here you’d been thinking Rhysand understood your trauma best, having been held captive and used while Under the Mountain.

It appeared that you had misjudged him.

Just as you were about to say as much, Mor spoke up for the first time since the meeting started. “Kier threatened mutiny at the last Council meeting. At first he demanded a private audience, even after I informed him of our bargain. When we still refused to send you by yourself despite his threats, he agreed on these terms. You and Nesta because you’re a team, and me because I oversee The Court of Nightmares anyway. He couldn’t argue with that logic.”

You felt like you were going to be sick. After 300 years of being nothing but a tool for your father, the idea of seeing Kier’s face again so soon had your lunch sitting heavy in your stomach. It was inevitable, he thought you were loyal to him, his spy on the inside. You had zero idea how you were going to handle a reunion with him, simply thinking about it made you short of breath.

Your nights were plagued with stress dreams about what it would be like to return to your old home. You avoided stewing on the topic during your waking hours. The inevitability of it all often sent you spiraling, you couldn’t ghost Kier forever, but you thought you had more time. There was no fucking way you were ready. “I can’t do this,” You said, “give me any other assignment, and I’ll do it. Just not this.”

“You can,” Rhysand enunciated each word, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t sure you would understand him, “and you will.”

Oh hell no. You did not uproot your entire life to be spoken to like that. “Do not speak to me like a child, Rhysand–”

“Then stop acting like one,” he scolded, like you were the one being unreasonable, “this is your duty to your court, what I pay you to do. If you won’t do what needs to be done to protect your court then we don’t have a place for you here.”

Rhysand’s words hit like a blow. Your sharp intake of breath was echoed by both Nesta and Mor, but you couldn’t see them, they might as well have not been there, your world shrinking down to Rhysand as he regarded you coldly.

“So what will it be?” He addressed you, leaning forward over his desk, leering, “will you do as your High Lord asks of you, or will you be resigning today?” He pressured.

Your hands fisted, ire rising up so fast it made your eyes sting with unshed tears. If you got kicked out of Velaris you’d undoubtedly end up back in Hewn City. And you couldn’t let that happen, not after you finally got a taste of freedom.

Rhysand may like to believe himself better than Kier, but how was this any different from how Kier treated you? Was this your destiny? Undeserving of kindness unless you proved your worth?

What about you made people forget that you were a living, breathing being? Just like everyone else in the room, you had feelings that mattered, and hopes for your future. You’d been stripped of your freewill for the first three centuries of your life. It was a wonder that you hadn’t gone mad.

Were you only allowed a taste of freedom? Was that Rhysand’s plan all along? Get you hooked on life in Velaris then dangle it in front of you like you were a simple mule, your freedom the carrot held just out of reach.

It made your blood boil.

“My apologies.” You sneered at him, gone was the meek, conditioned wallflower. You meant all the disrespect. In a dramatic flourish you bowed low to Rhysand, making sure he saw your contempt for him when he met your gaze.

You maintained direct eye contact as you hissed harsh sarcasm at him, “I am at your disposal, High Lord.”

Rhysand’s eyes flared with something dark and aggressive. Time slowed, a pulse of his power cresting over you in a suffocating wave, a preview of how oppressive he could make it if he so wished. Dread replaced your anger, the confidence you’d displayed moments ago dissipating. You struggled to not show how he had shaken you, and by some miracle, you stood your ground. Still, he could probably hear your heart pounding from where he sat.

Amidst the theatrics, your own power had not been so keen on backing down. It had coiled around you like a viper ready to strike, protective, as Rhysand’s prowling darkness prodded your boundaries.

This version of Rhysand left you stricken, unable to reconcile the egregious behavior with the male you’d had breakfast with just that morning. It felt like his power was tearing you in half, and he wasn’t even exerting himself. He looked bored.

Did you escape the clutches of one villain, only to run into the hands of another? Were you really that foolish?

Mor stepped into your field of vision, mouthing something at you. You hadn’t realized your ears were ringing until the shrill noise faded enough for you to hear her calling your name. The frantic quality of her voice snapped you out of whatever daze Rhysand’s power had cast on you.

Right. Nesta and Mor had witnessed that entire thing. You’d forgotten about their presence in the heat of the moment, your attention tunnel visioned on Rhysand. He had humiliated you in front of some of the most important people in your life. The only thing that could have made it worse was if Azriel had been there too.

Intense embarrassment flooded you, a seed of distrust taking root deep in your heart. You felt so stupid, thinking you could trust Rhysand and his Inner Circle. Mor was still trying to get your attention, but you stared right past her, looking at Rhysand like you hated him.

Hell. Maybe you did.

Mor called your name once more with urgency, moving closer to you, half turned so she hadn’t given her back to her High Lord, but solely focused on you. “It’s the best we could do without inciting a civil war.” She tried to clarify, emphasizing on the ‘we’ as she gestured between herself and Rhysand.

“You have to know we wouldn’t put you in this position if we had any other choice. I personally promised I would never leave you alone in that city again, and there is nothing our father can say or do to make me break that promise to you. We will do this together.”

Rhysand’s power had receded, but you could still feel it loitering like a watchdog. Something you’d never imagined Rhys doing to you before the meeting. He’d always spun such pretty promises about your future in Velaris, and you believed him.

And now Mor was doing the same exact thing. More pretty promises, but no proof of her intentions to follow through with them.

Mor’s shoulders visibly sagged, “If you don’t believe me, then look.” She pleaded, offering her mind up for you to read.

You physically recoiled at her suggestion. “I will do no such thing!” You spat back in disgust, “You are my sister, this is supposed to be my family. I will not taint our relationship with my powers in a moment of weakness. You may not return the same respect, but I refuse to surround myself with people I can’t trust without rummaging around their mind for their truths first.”

Unlike some males went unsaid as you fumbled to tone it down for Mor. Your problem was not with her, and she didn’t deserve your harsh words. “I can’t…I won’t….I–”

Frustrated with yourself, you took a steadying breath, emotion burning behind your eyes. Despite your best effort to keep composed, your voice quivered, “I will not be like our father.”

The room was stunned silent, Mor regarded you with sadness, lips parting to respond, but then pursing closed in a tight line.

Rhysand was the one to break the silence. His power dispersed as he leaned back in his chair, acting like he hadn’t just wound you up tight enough to fracture you into pieces.

“So you accept the assignment then?” He inquired, brushing nonexistent lint from the cuff of his dress shirt.

His lack of remorse irked you. Did he not think he could have handled the situation better? Was this how he treated everyone in the Inner Circle? The list of things you wanted clarification on kept growing, so instead you settled on, “Yes.”

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement then.” He drawled, “We will go over details and strategy another time, when we are all more composed.”

You wanted to punch him in his goddamn face.

“For now, this meeting is dismissed.”

As soon as he finished speaking you stormed out of his office, nearly colliding with Nesta in your haste to get away from Rhysand. Originally you were going to visit the library after the meeting. Nesta had suggested a book for you to read, and you wanted to read it so you had something to talk to her about. But you were too worked up to do that now, you needed to get out of there.

You didn’t care where you ended up, so long as you put as much distance between you and Rhysand as possible.

XxXx

By step 174 your blurry vision cleared a smidge, too out of breath to cry for the moment. You didn’t have anyone to help you leave The House of Wind, so you took to the 10,000 stairs with the expectation of someone eventually coming to find you. There was no way in hell you’d actually be able to reach the bottom. You began the descent down the spiraling staircase so fast It was a marvel that you didn’t trip.

Any time you slowed down Rhysand’s words would play on loop in your head. The only way to drown it out was to pick up the pace, the exertion elevating your heart rate enough for it to overpower that nasty voice in the back of your head. If you ran fast enough the only thing you could concentrate on was counting the steps you took.

239 steps down, and you had no choice but to slow down to a more reasonable pace. It was a warm day, and you were getting dizzy. The last thing you wanted to do was pass out. In a desperate attempt to keep your mind occupied as you caught your breath you focused on the breeze cooling the sweat beading up on your forehead. You listened to the slap of your bare feet on the smooth, sun-warmed stone. You thought of the color of the sandals you left behind at the very top of the stairs. You pondered on which step you’d discarded your blouse on after it began to cling to your sweaty skin.

Your guess was step 148.

You hit the first landing platform at step 250, slowing to a walk as you panted, hands propped against your hips as you counted your next few steps. Woozy, you let your eyes fall closed for a moment, but the image of Kier sitting in his throne room beckoning you forward flashed across your mind. You flinched so hard you accidentally opened your eyes looking directly into the sun.

It felt like your head had a heartbeat of its own, vision blotching from the brightness. You didn’t know how your day could get any more bleak as you rapidly blinked the disorienting dots away. Glimpses of The Court of Nightmares throne room lurking behind every blink, Kier looked more like Rhysand each time you closed your eyes.

It made your stomach lurch, and you whimpered around a dry heave.

A particularly strong gust of wind ruffled through your hair, and you can almost hear Azriel’s voice reminding you to focus on your other senses. Your mind can lie to you, but it’s much harder for all your senses to be tricked at the same time.

The sunlight, the ever-present wind, the sound of birds, the smell of fresh air. Let nature ground you.

It just wasn’t enough. You’d only paused for a few moments, but your chest began to feel too tight for your lungs, anxiety squeezing the air out of you before you could properly inhale it. Two months. Just two measly months to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Kier–to your mom, after you’d gone no contact for almost 3 years. Two months to not be petrified of somehow getting trapped down there again.

So you continued down the stairs, pushing yourself harder.

251. 252. 253. Counting them like Azriel had taught you.

It had been after your first dinner with the Inner Circle at the House of Wind. Mor was a little too tipsy to winnow home safely, so the both of you decided it best to share a guest room. You were feeling antsy, Mor having fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The House of Wind was so different from Hewn City. Cozy and surprisingly casual in decor, but it was carved out of the side of a mountain. With the curtains drawn, in the dark quiet of the night, it almost felt like your bedroom in The Court of Nightmares.

You had thought a glass of water would do you some good, help you settle enough to get some rest. So you set out for the kitchen, taking care to walk quietly so as to not wake anyone. The hallway led to a flight of stairs, which brought you to more hallways that seemed to stretch on, and on, and on. The homey decor fell away, your balance wobbling with the sudden onset of vertigo. Closing your eyes didn’t help, dizzy and disoriented, everything felt like it was tipped on its axis. You couldn’t place where you were, where you were going, just that you were alone. Fear flooded your senses, and you swore you smelled the dank air of the streets of Hewn City like you were still there.

Azriel found you slumped against the wall on shaky legs, your pulse pounding so hard in your ears you couldn’t hear what he was saying to you. The touch of his rough hands on your bare arms was soothing enough to bring you back to yourself. You weren’t walking the streets of Hewn City. You weren’t alone. Azriel had you.

Each inhale had still felt like you were gulping in freezing cold water, your breath coming in irregular gasps. You thought you were going to die in that hallway, suffocating on fucking air.

Azriel took you to the training grounds on the rooftop of all places. You can still remember the brightness of the full moon that night as he coached you through breathing exercises. Then, coaxed you into walking laps with him around the perimeter of the huge training grounds. He counted each step aloud with you until you had calmed enough to tell him what the hell had happened.

And that was how you and the Shadowsinger bonded over Claustrophobia. An unfortunate thing to have in common, an even more unfortunate first thing to find you had in common.

In the moments after you’d come down from your panic attack you wanted to svirel up and fade away, so thoroughly embarrassed. But now, you thanked The Mother for sending Azriel to find you that night.

It was those same coping skills that led you to working out your anxiety after the meeting. 290 steps away from The House of Wind, and you were sure your legs were going to give out if you kept pushing yourself. You came to a slow stop, soles of both your feet planted on the same stair. Lulling your head back so your face was to the cloudless sky, you closed your eyes and pictured that moment with Azriel. Instead of Kier morphing into Rhysand, you saw Azriel walking laps with you around the moonlit training grounds.

You basked in the breeze against your face, your anger and fear still roiling in your stomach, but no longer all consuming. The relief was short lived, a concentrated pang of despair reared its ugly head, raw hurt so overwhelming it chased the warm memories with Azriel away. It made you so tired, so emotionally drained you felt it in the marrow of your bones. You wanted to just let go, collapse in a heap and never get up again.

Yet, by some stroke of willpower, you remained on your feet. You hadn’t warmed up before taking on the stairs, and you could already feel soreness settling into your muscles. Gingerly you sat yourself down on the steps, resting your elbows on your thighs as you rubbed your hands over your face, spreading fresh tears across the top of your cheeks.

If you won’t do what needs to be done to protect your court then we don’t have a place for you here. Rhysand’s words burned the part of you that had always suspected as much. There was this nasty little voice that lived in the back of your head. It would mock you when you were too content in calling this place home.

You wondered if that voice would start to sound like Rhysand.

The thought broke your heart a little bit more. You wanted so badly to make him proud, to earn your place in the Inner Circle, prove that they hadn’t made a mistake taking you in. The worst part was that you thought you were doing good. Not that you’d believed yourself to be one of them, you were still so new, but you thought…you thought…

You don’t know what you fucking thought.

Curling into yourself, your knees tucked in close to your chest, you made yourself as small as possible. The full body trembling made your sobs shaky, your entire being wobbled from the weight of your failure, your naivety. This was what you got for wanting to do it the right way. You’d never built relationships without relying on your powers to sniff out their loyalty beforehand, never truly trusted on your own violation.

Your father always thought it was a stupid risk to take when you could know for sure. You thought it was an awfully lonely way to live, to never trust fully. Perhaps you’d been wrong.

This was what you get, you silly girl. Kier’s voice taunted from the back of your mind. Or was that Rhysand’s voice? Did the difference even matter anymore?

The telltale sound of approaching footsteps closed in on you from behind, you couldn’t tell who it was, all you could smell was the salt of your own tears. Maybe it was one of them coming to take you out of your misery, maybe Rhysand took your display in his office as a sign of disloyalty.

The killing blow never came, so you glanced up to see Nesta taking a seat next to you. The last person you expected to come looking for you if you were being honest.

She didn’t look at you right away, which you appreciated. You were humiliated enough without her seeing you wiping your own snot on your forearm. Her icy stare was focused on the view, the only indication that she had run to catch up with you, a few fly away hairs having been jostled loose from her braids.

“You were pretty hard to catch up to, you know,” She leaned back, supporting her weight on her hands against the step behind her, “for someone who doesn’t regularly train, at least.”

Her attempt at humor, which earlier in the day would have made you indignant, fell flat. Instead inciting a new wave of tears to fall past your lash line. You dropped your head lower to hide it from her, but it did little to smother the sound of your quivering breath.

She didn’t try again, and her presence grew awkward when you didn’t try either, but she stayed next to you regardless.

When it became apparent that she would stay by your side unless you sent her away, you found your words. “What if I can’t do it,” You croaked out, voice absolutely wrecked, “Face my father, return underground? What if I can’t do what’s expected of me? What if it’s too much, too soon? What if I lose everything because I’m not strong enough.” Will never be strong enough.

“Then we will figure it out,” Nesta answered without hesitation, “Together.”

You are alone. That damned voice insisted.

“But Rhysand said–”

“I know what Rhysand said.” Nesta hissed, and you startled, your bloodshot eyes meeting hers for the first time since she arrived. She looked pissed, lips pursed in a scowl as if the High Lord was right in front of her. “Rhysand is an insensitive jackass. He won’t send you away because you messed up one job.”

“How can you know that?” You whispered, already knowing that she couldn’t know for sure.

“Because I’ve pissed him off by doing far worse, and I’m still here.”

You shook your head at her reasoning, not good enough, she can’t know for sure. “You're his mate’s sister, and Cassian’s mate. He can’t exile you.”

“And you're The Morrigan’s sister, and his own cousin.” Nesta deadpanned. “You’re not going to get exiled over a visit to The Court of Nightmares.”

“How can you possibly know that?!” You shouted, one of your hands clutching the fabric of your sweat soaked chest binding as your heart ached. Frantic to believe her, but knowing that you just couldn’t.

“Because Rhysand hates me, we barely tolerate each other on good days. He once threatened to banish me to the human continent,” she rebuked, hands flying about as she grew impassioned, “He loves you. He’s just an overpowered ass on a power trip. You questioned his authority and it hurt his fragile little ego. And even if he was stupid enough to try to cast you out, the rest of the Inner Circle would never let that happen.”

Your nerves were fucking shot. Whatever remained of your bravado frayed with every hagrid breath, it was impossible to stay focused. It was like your powers were waiting for you to be distracted, taking the opportunity to thrash against your mental shields. You didn’t know if it was skill keeping your powers in check, or dumb luck.

Your headache spread across your temples, sharp pain panging behind your eyes. You were already so tired, but the tears would not stop coming. That damned voice, still whispering its poison, adding to the agony. Nesta can’t know for sure, but you could if you just gave in.

You looked Nesta over, her relaxed body language at odds with the determined fire in her eyes. She left herself wide open, she wouldn’t even know if you read her. You’d be in control, your fate wouldn’t be left up to a gamble.

Nesta tried to meet your gaze, and you squeezed your eyes shut, turning away from her. It was impossible for you to think with her piercing stare studying you. What reason did Nesta even have to care about what happened to you? She didn’t say shit while Rhysand was ripping your world apart, and yet she showed up here? To do what exactly?

There was a dull ringing in your ears as your power surged against your restraint, and maybe you screamed, maybe you didn’t. Your fingers went up into your hair, fisting at your roots as you pulled, rocking yourself back and forth because it would be so easy.

And maybe if you gave in, that stupid voice would stop.

Nesta called your name, “I wouldn’t let Rhysand kick you out of Velaris.”

The cry you let out sounded almost feral. “I don’t know that!” .

“No, you don’t,” Nesta acquiesced, “but do you trust me?”

Did you trust Nesta? The question cut you into you like the edge of a knife, your heart answering with a resounding yes.

Wow, did you want that to be true. But that sinister voice oozed like an oil slick in the back of your head. Will you do as your High Lord asks of you, or will you be resigning today? You had trusted Rhysand too.

Even if Nesta wanted you here, did you think she would disobey her High Lord for you? You didn’t know, not for sure. Your power reared up again, and your head pounded at the onslaught. That oily voice so loud it was all you could hear. You could know.

“I-I don’t know.” You stammered, stomach churning into grotesque knots.

“Do you trust yourself?” Nesta continued her line of questioning.

That answer came to you quick, no, and it had you lurching forward, your balance lost as you scraped your knees sliding down a couple stairs. You wretched, violent heaves as your stomach emptied out on the stairs in front of you.

No. You didn’t trust yourself.

“There was a time where I didn’t trust myself either.” It was like you weren’t barfing up your guts right in front of her, Nesta spoke with such calm. “Didn’t let anyone close enough to trust, even myself, I didn’t know how.”

You wretched again, your hair getting in the way. Gentle fingers gathered the stray pieces that had fallen from your updo. You hadn’t heard her move over to you, but she was there, steadying you as you struggled through a bout of dry heaving. If you weren’t so miserable, the tenderness coming from Nesta would have shocked the hell out of you.

Her free hand rubbed soothing circles into your back as she continued her tale. “I hated myself,” Nesta confided, voice raspy with emotion, “so much that I drank myself stupid every night to escape the darkness of my own thoughts.”

Now, the random heart to heart did shock you.

Three years of trying to connect with the enigma that was Nesta Archeon. Three years of getting redirected when you asked something too deep. The most you got out of Nesta was what she liked to read, so you picked up reading just to have a reason to approach her outside of assignments. Three years of one sided heart to hearts, evaded personal questions, and turned down sleepover invitations.

And she decided that now was the proper time to trauma dump on you? While you were half dressed, ugly crying with vomit in your hair?

What a baffling female. The confusion helped you relax, so surprised you were by Nesta’s sudden urge to share. Her hand kept a slow, steady rhythm as she continued to rub gentle circles onto your back, you hadn’t realized how tensed you’d been until muscles you didn’t even know you had started going lax.

Whatever Nesta was doing, it was working. So you basked in the comfort her touch provided and listened.

“Someone taught me how to acknowledge those thoughts and let them go. To breathe, and still everything else in my mind, and let my mind think those things, but to not dwell, because that dark self loathing didn’t define me.”

The dark self loathing didn’t define you. Her words chipped at something that had been left festering for far too long. Had that been it all along, that terrible voice in the back of your head, had it been self loathing?

“Give yourself permission to feel, acknowledge it, and let it go.”

And it was so liberating, giving a name to what had been festering under your skin. Hate. Disgust. Cowardice. You cried, but not the agonized, tortured type of wails that had crippled you moments ago. This was a release, the type of ugly cry you do when something you didn’t know was broken starts to heal.

You hated yourself. And that was okay, because as you waited for that awful voice to mock you, it never did. You hated yourself, wept so hard you thought your eyes were going to fall out of your skull, but you had never felt lighter.

Nesta found your hand, gentle at first as if giving you time to pull away. Then she held onto you like the simple touch could convey what you were worth to her. “You are the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break you.” She whispered, but the words resonated like she had shouted them at you.

The smile started as a small twitch at the corners of your mouth, but you knew Nesta saw it all the same. You searched for that dreadful voice, waited for it to speak something dreadful, but the quip never came. The smile that bloomed on your cheeks was wide with astonish.

You couldn’t believe it, after 300+ years of letting that nasty voice ruin you, there was peace. In its place was something new and bright.

Hope.

XxXx

The sound of beating wings announced the arrival of Cassian and Azriel a moment before the weight of their landing sent vibrations through the hard stone of the staircase. The two hulking Illyrian warriors made quick work of the walk up the stairs, their casual conversation trailing off once they were within earshot of you and Nesta.

“Ness!” Cassian’s voice boomed in greeting, cheery and boisterous, “I see why you asked for me to bring Azriel now. Here I thought you were acting on your ‘secret’ fantasies finally. The location left something to be desired, but I wasn’t going to be picky.”

Nesta sat shoulder to shoulder with you, so close, you felt her stiffen at Cassian’s offbeat comment. If you weren’t so drained, you’d be cross with her for summoning more witnesses, but the idea of having to walk back up all those steps upset you far more. The adrenaline high from your anxiety had long worn off, and without its numbing effect, you weren’t sure if you could even stand without your legs wobbling.

Nesta sighed, deep and long suffering, but affectionate nonetheless. “Your inability to read the room will always astound me.”

“Good thing we’re outside, there is no–” Cassian’s breath hitched, now close enough to get a good look at your downcast expression, haggard appearance, and odd attire. You were careful to keep your emotions under control, unwilling to let anyone in the Inner Circle see you in such a vulnerable state. Years of cautious composer, wasted, all because of a meeting that lasted less than 30 minutes. You expected disapproval, your emotions had only been met with ridicule in the past, but the apparent emotions flying across Cassian’s face were anything but cold.

Worry. Guilt. Unease. Cassian’s emotions were so boldly displayed, you didn’t need your powers to disconcert them.

Cassian paused in his ascent as he looked you over for injury, but Azriel closed the distance in the time it took you to blind away the tingle of the latest round of tears. Their concern was almost palatable, and being shown that type of care felt too good to be real.

These males had no reason to care so much, Nesta had no tangible reason to care so much. You were so… you, so replaceable and plain. You breathed through the thought, let it roll over you, maybe that was why they cared so much, because you are you. It had never occurred to you that you were someone worth caring for. Not when your own father never cared. Certainly not after Rhysand gave you the ultimatum to get useful or get out.

You are the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break you. Nesta’s words repeated in your head, sending a zing of determination down your spine.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Azriel crouched down, his chest siphon reflecting the late afternoon sun. His questions made you feel queasy, but his presence soothed over you like a balm. This male simultaneously was the person you worried about disappointing most, and the person you felt most safe being vulnerable around.

Unlike with Nesta, you didn’t struggle with facing Azriel. He was inspecting the grime covered scrapes on your bare toes. “Where are your shoes?” He asked you, puzzled as he then took note of your sweat soaked bra, “and your shirt?”

A dark look passed over him, if his shadows could withstand the direct sunlight, you were sure they’d be writhing around you. He spoke your name like a whispered prayer, desperate. His gloved hands hesitated as he reached out to cup your face, only smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks when you didn’t jerk away, “please look at me,” and you did, meeting his amber eyes as he wiped remnant tear stains from your cheeks, “Did someone try to hurt you?”

You knew what he meant, but your explanation caught in your throat. A brief moment of shame overwhelmed you, because here you were blubbering over some harsh words from your High Lord, when people suffered far worse fates than your own every day. Azriel began to tense, an icy cold rage taking form as he mistook your silence as an affirmative.

You shook your head ‘no’, hating the troubling turmoil you had unintentionally sowed in him. His shoulders sagged, the sign of his relief so slight, many would have missed it. It was all it took for the remaining threads of your thin composure to snap.

Azriel all but scooped you into his arms as tears blurred your vision, and you crumbled into him, no further prompting needed. He held you so tight, it was like he was trying to hold all your pieces together for you. His wings flared to keep his balance, and maybe later you’d feel sheepish about almost tipping him backwards down those unforgiving stairs, but you relished in the comfort his strength brought you.

“I-I was–It was–” You couldn’t string the sentence together, “We were…I was–” you tried again but your breathing was off, your thoughts all jumbled, and Blessed Mother, you couldn’t do it again. Any words you’d thought about trying to say morphed into sobs, barely audible, but you couldn’t hide the way your body shook with them.

“Rhysand happened.” Nesta asserted, sparing what was left of your dignity by cutting off your senseless stuttering. She summarized the meeting, but touched on the major points that had triggered your anxiety. She was gentle with the recollection of your part in the meeting, scathingly critical of Rhysand.

“When I left Rhysand’s office, The Morrigan was getting in his face, and as much as I would have loved to see how that went down, it felt wrong to not check in with you.” Nesta explained like she was coming clean, “ I asked the house where you were.”

It was about as close to an apology you’d ever get from Nesta. You knew from experience that Nesta took her time warming to people, preferring to mind her business and stay out of Inner Circle drama. Once she’d made an offhand comment about being the center of the drama enough to last her the rest of her fae lifetime.

Keeping your head rested on Azriel’s shoulder, you turned your face to the side so your voice was less muffled, “Thank you,” your words carried on the wind, paper thin, frail, but so heartfelt, “for following me.”

Nesta didn’t respond, and you didn’t dare look at her out of fear of getting weepy again. But you felt it all the same, a shift in the relationship between the two of you. Like a bridge branching out, a new understanding solidified in place, and you knew Nesta had felt it too.

You shifted in Azriel’s arms, intending on testing your strength, but his arms tensed to keep you in place. In one graceful movement that had your head spinning, Azriel stood up right, adjusting to support your weight in a bridal hold.

“How about we get you home and clean you up?” Azriel suggested, loud enough for the others to hear, but the question aimed at you.

Home. As in the apartment you shared with Mor. He had called Velaris your home.

Your heart gave a painful throb, all choked up again at the sentiment. Going home sounded like the most splendid thing in the whole world in that moment. You didn’t want to think about Rhysand or Hewn City anymore, you wanted to go home so much it hurt.

There was some rustling, Cassian coming to stand near Nesta. “Wanna race me back up to the house?” His words were muffled as if his lips were pressed into the crown of Nesta’s head. “Winner gets head.”

The swift resounding slap Cassian received almost made things seem normal.

“Are you two good?” Nesta ignored Cassian’s taunting, and you nodded at the same time Azriel responded with, “Yes, I’ve got her.”

A beat passed in silence, all four of you waiting to see if anyone added anything else. Then rapid footsteps took off up the stairs, and you popped your head up from the crook near Azriel’s underarm to see Nesta sprinting up the stairs.

“Hey!” Cassian bellowed, charging after her, “cheaters never prosper, Nesta!”

“Prove it, you overgrown bat!”

If you weren’t about ready to pass out from exhaustion, you would have laughed at their antics. Azriel was watching them, an unguarded fondness in his hazel eyes you rarely got to see. The two of you stayed like that, Azriel watching his friends, you committing his soft expression to memory. By the time Azriel glanced down to you, Cassian had overtaken Nesta’s lead, their figures dots in the distance.

You were a melted puddle of female in his arms, all tension and stress slipping from your muscles as your eyelids drooped. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your eyes open for another second. Paranoia nagged at you, fear of what you’d see when you finally rested your eyes.

Nothing. Blissful darkness. Peace.

“I’m going to take off now. Loop your arms around my neck and hold on tight, okay? Once we get up high enough, the rest of the flight will be smooth.”

You did as you were told, any other time you would have been a nervous wreck, but you didn’t have it in you to fret. You’d always winnowed with someone, even learning how to land the drop through the wards when Mor winnowed with you to the House of Wind. You’d thought no one had noticed how you avoided the topic, but surprise surprise, Azriel had noticed.

The thought of being up that high in the sky and dropped sure made your pulse spike. Growing up in an Underground City meant your feet were always planted on the ground. So maybe it wasn’t a stretch to claim that you weren’t a fan of heights, you’d never flown with anyone before, but it would make a lot of damn sense.

Your musing was cut short. Azriel launched straight up into the sky, powerful wings effortlessly gaining momentum and speed. You clung to him, hands clasped together around his neck in a death grip, screaming bloody murder the entire ascend. Although you would deny it if anyone asked.

Things evened out once Azriel felt he was high enough, setting a leisure pace towards what you assumed to be the direction of Mor’s apartment. Your eyes were squeezed shut, wind whipping your hair out of what was left of your updo, tossing it across your face.

You must have been quite the sight, if the amusement in Azriel’s voice was any indication. “Are you going to look at the view?”

Your hair was a disheveled mess across your face, the wind burned your already sore eyes when you tried to pry them open. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t keep my eyes open,” It was probably beautiful, but you didn’t want to push your luck, you’d had enough panic attacks for the day, “Luckily, I don’t want to.”

He chuckled. “Next time then.”

Blame it on the fatigue, but you found yourself nodding in agreement. Something you may come to regret when he urges you to fly with him instead of winnowing the next time you travel together.

But maybe it won’t be so bad, if Azriel was the one carrying you. With your eyes closed, ear pressed to his chest, his steady heartbeat lulled the residual tension and anxiety away until all you felt was the security of his arms. You could almost forget that you were hundreds of feet off the ground.

In Azriel’s care, it was easy to relax, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen. It was in that half dozing state, snuggled up as close as you could get to him, that your sleepy mind realized moments like these were the ones you wanted to remember.

Ultimately, Rhysand’s nasty words were a small part of your day. The majority of your time was spent with Nesta, bonding with her in a way you’d never managed previously. Something that would have never happened if Rhysand hadn’t been a dick.

Yeah. You’d much rather remember the day as the Nesta heart-to-heart incident. Or the first time you flew with Azriel.

Drifting into a deeper sleep, you dreamt of the way Cassian’s laughter echoed with joy as he chased after Nesta up the stairs. You dreamt of soaring through the clouds with Azriel, the same fondness you’d seen in his eyes for Cassian and Nesta, but aimed at you.

It may take you the rest of your life, but you would replace all the trauma muddying up your memories with new memories you wanted to remember. New memories filled with laughter, affection, trust, and adventure.

One day at a time.

Rhysand could go pound sand though.

XxXx

Previous Chapter / Bonus: Chapter 2.5 / Next Chapter (coming soon)

A/N: Don't worry the next part is going to be more like the first chapter. There will be like two more chapters sprinkled in that have a more serious tone, but the rest will be fluff, drama, and tomfoolery a plenty. Stay tuned for cheeky Cassian in the next update!!

Tag List: @f4iry-bell @jediknightjana @microwaveallthedemons @olive-main

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @5onedirection5

@brieflyclassymortal @hauntedstudentobservationus

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff #Like Bugs in a Rug #my writing #kayjaywrites #nesta archeron #the morrigan #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand #cassian

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lowkeycasanova · 6 months

Text

baby it's hot out here

sanji x f!reader

plot: sanji seeing you innocently suck on a popsicle gives him inappropriate thoughts

warning: smut (18+)

It was hot.

Brutally hot.

The weather in the New World was unpredictable. From boulder sized hail, lighting rain, and now scorching rays. The relentless sun beat down on the Thousand Sunny. The air felt thick and stifling, as if nature conspired to make taking each breath a conscious effort.

The cool breeze of the ocean seemed to have abandoned the ship, leaving you all subject to the oppressive heat.

Amidst the sweltering conditions, everyone sought refuge where they could find it.

Luffy was sprawled out on the deck, his hat covering his face. Zoro was in the shadow of the ship's mast, still practicing his swordsmanship with beads of sweat running down his face, with Franky and Brook sitting close by. Usopp leaning over the edge of the ship in an attempt to catch whatever breeze was sent his way.

You, Nami, Robin, and Chopper, who diligently tried to cool himself with a handheld fan, laid in the shadows on the deckchairs.

"It's so hot, I'm sweating cola." Franky announces.

"You know," you heard Brook say as he flexed his arm and leaned on it like a pillar for support. "If you pretend it's a sauna, it's actually not so bad."

Sanji was in the kitchen, determined to whip up a refreshing drink for you ladies. Everyone else can get their own.

Bringing the drinks out, he makes his way over to you, Nami, and Robin, leaning down like a gentleman, offering the glasses.

"Thank you Sanji." Robin says politely and his heart skips a beat.

Nami takes one as she continues to examine her log pose.

"Thanks but, can I get one of those popsicles we just got?" You asked him, lifting up your sunglasses. It was at the last island the crew was at where you were gifted with a bag of these treats called popsicles that you never had before and had the desire to try.

"Of course, love. Anything you want." He replied with a suave grin. He made his way back to the kitchen, pulling out the bag from the freezer, ready to present it to you in a flourish.

You squeal in delight as you rummage through the assortment, Sanji watching with a lazy grin. You waste no time tearing the plastic wrap off a blue raspberry flavored one, bringing it to your lips. And it's so hot that it seemingly starts to melt already.

Sanji eyes a cherry one, but decides against taking it. He didn't need the sugar.

He puts the rest back in the freezer and walks back out on the deck with his own glass of ice water. He momentarily takes his cigarette out of his mouth to take a sip of water and he glances back at the beautiful ladies laid out adjacent from him.

Right then, you hold the treat in your mouth, as you take of your shirt, leaving you clad in a bikini top and shorts, leaving little to the imagination.

That alone would send Sanji over the edge, but now paired with the fact that your lips are stretched around the popsicle, sinking lower to the base and back up again, eyes fluttering closed.

His eyes go wide and his throat dry. He watches you slowly pull back off it, a sweet hum coming from your mouth and the wet noise pierces his ears.

His mind is going crazy. His cock is getting hard. Your eyes are closed and Sanji knows it's in part because it's hot and because you're enjoying the sweet treat, but part of him wonders if that's what you'd look like after getting fucked by him.

He tries to shake the thoughts away. He can't have one of his episodes right now. But the more he thinks, the more he can see it play out.

Him sitting on the bed, you kneeling down on the floor in front of him while you suck him off.

He's brought back to reality. You're in conversation with Nami, laughing at something she said, while using your tongue sweep over the length of the popsicle. Then using your thump to wipe away some of the stickiness from your lips.

Sanji was hanging by a thread. He abruptly sticks the cigarette back in his mouth and storms off, ignoring Franky's call.

"What's the matter bro?"

Luffy lifts his hat up and shrugs. "Maybe he has a stomach ache."

His cock gets harder with every step he takes. Making a beeline for the bathroom, he rushes in and immediately locks the door. He undos his belt, tugs his pants down, and frees the part of his shirt that was tucked in.

His back is pressed against the wall, head thrown back. His chest heaves with heavy breaths as he squeezes his length. He feels the pangs of a sinful conscious. Nami would punch him into next week if she found out that he had gotten off to the thought of you like this.

Maybe that's what makes it more exhilarating.

His eyes flutter closed and the cig is long gone. It must have fell out when he was coming here. But no matter. His thumbs his tip, spreading his arousal over himself.

"Fuck, love." he breathes. He can see it now. You on your knees with your delicate little hand around his throbbing dick. He feels himself spasm in his hand.

A groan escapes his mouth as his clenched fist begins to move up and down his thick shaft.

He imagines you wrapping your mouth around him. The soft feeling of your cheeks as his tip nudges that little dangly thing in the back of your throat. "Yes, mhm, take it. Such a good girl." he sighs. "Keep sucking for me, just like that. You know how to do it."

His knees are shaking and his dick is throbbing and leaking. He's soaked from his own arousal but so badly wants it to be from your own.

Your pussy. Oh god.

Now he can't stop picturing your swollen lips and pulsing clit. His imagination will be the death of him. The idea of you laying back for him, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can see him, and spreading your thighs.

He gets comfortable and puts a finger in between your soft folds. You're dripping for him. Him.

His hand picks up the pace and feels this tingly sensation in his stomach.

He slaps his tip against your clit a few times. That makes you arch your back as he pushes his way in. The feeling of being stretched makes your walls tighten. He gulps, trying to compose himself. "So fucking tight."

Your pussy squelches with every thrust, breasts are bouncing and nipples erect. You're desperate, begging him for more.

The veins in his head and the muscles in his neck pop. He's a grunting mess. Gritting his teeth, using the stamia he has left to focus. He is too far gone to tease himself.

He now sees you still laying on your back, but you're giving him a handjob. Milking him for all he's got.

"Ugh, fuck!" he cried out, slamming his back against the wall as he cums. It's thick and white and he imagines cumming all over your chest. But in reality, the sticky arousal is all over his hand.

His cock softens in his hand and he breathes to try to calm down. Sanji takes a look at the mess he made, letting out a blissed, fucked out laugh, not even trying to hide the smile on his face.

#one piece #one piece sanji #op sanji #sanji fanfic #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #sanji x reader #sanji smut #one piece fanfiction

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himezoro · 4 months

Text

love wins all (a roronoa zoro story, part 1)

tysm for your support on my last update ! i'm trying to post as much as i can. here is part 1 of a story called "love wins all" starring roronoa zoro, i hope this premiere will be of your taste ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

part 2 here.

warning! : smut (implied, so minors please DNI!), angst, female gender, (Y/N) insert.

wc : 2k.

・˚˖𓍢ִ໋⋆‧₊˚ ࣪⋆・

« So I guess my invitation got lost in the mail? » you heard the hoarse voice speaking through the opened door of your quarters. You kept on looking at yourself in the magnificent mirror standing in front of you, looking at how the white dress hugged your form, pretending not to have heard the said voice, ignoring the immediate chills it sent down your spine. You knew who these words belonged to, and so did your racing heartbeat.

.・゜゜・ 24 hours before ・゜゜・．

It was an ordinary day on the Thousands Sunny. Everyone in the crew kept busy attending their activities. Luffy was playing with Usopp and Chopper, Franky kept himself busy with the ship’s artillery, Sanji was preparing dinner with Brook playing beautiful pieces of violin by his side, while Nami and Robin were busy talking. Zoro was enjoying his nap under the sun. It was an ordinary day, but a perfect day to spend.

Zoro liked hanging alone, to concentrate on his goal, to meditate. Sometimes, and only sometimes, would he allow himself to wander through his memories, and the ones of one particular night, before he even joined the crew, before he met Luffy almost three years ago. The night he spent by your side, kissing you until your lungs gave out, making love to you like he never made love to anyone, because you were his first, and vice versa. The night he laughed his heart off, the night he traced hearts all over your thighs while gripping them hard as he fucked you with all his might. The night he heard you say “I love you”, the night he gave his heart to you, the night he swore won’t ever end.

The night before he walked away saying his dream was unstoppable. The night he said “it was not the right time”. The night before he broke your heart, the night before he heard you cry. The night you said you hated him, and wished it never happened.

The night he wished to forget.

For sure, there were times he tried to reach out for you. First, he thought of a letter, but only contemplated the paper he took from Nami’s stationary before smashing it into a ball and slamming it to the wall. Once the crew got a Den Den Mushi, he thought about calling you. And he did, multiple times, always hanging up when he heard the sound of the voice he loved so much it haunted him at night.

Sometimes he would catch himself thinking about how you would fit onto the ship, into the crew that became his family. He knew the girls would adore you, and that Usopp’s stories would make you laugh. He knew Luffy would live by your kindness and take advantage of it during dinner. He knew you would love hugging Chopper and eat Sanji’s treats, even though this latest thought triggered his jealousy, since he knew the cook would be head over heels for you.

And when he lingered there alone, his usual frown on his napping face, he suddenly felt his ears pick, tickling.

“Did you see the news on the paper? It says the wedding of the century is going to happen!” Nami exclaimed, the paper still in her hand while Robin sipped on her tea, tilting her head to take a peek at the head title.

“Ono Nusjuro, the rich bachelor noble, son of Ethanbaron Nusjuro, to marry (Y/N) tomorrow for the wedding of the century! It sure sounds decadent” Robin laughed, letting Nami get back to her commenting.

“Come on, doesn’t he look quite hot? Honestly, if he weren’t a filthy noble and I was not the Pirate queen I am today, I would definitely have tried to date him. I mean, look at his eyes? HIS FACE? I mean, the dude’s perfect.”

Before Robin could interfere, Usopp and Sanji got to their table wondering what the fuss was about, while Zoro remained at his place. After all, it was just your name. It didn’t mean it was you.

It can’t be, he inwardly scoffed.

“Oh LAWD, who’s that gorgeous girl? Don’t tell me she’s going to marry that jackass? I mean, yeah he’s got money and all and he’s a little handsome but did he live as much adventures as I have?” Usopp said while staring at the papers above Nami’s shoulder.

“Quelle beauté... (what a beauty). She’s an angel bestowed by the Gods to walk on this planet and let us dream. Such a shame that sloth is taking her away, while I would treat her like the Queen she is meant to be...” Sanji sighed.

It can’t be, it couldn’t. Zoro thought, his logic gaining power.

“Just imagine the amount of food there’s going to be. I mean, the guy’s family is loaded. And the clothes, the jewelry…” Nami kept on dreaming, not noticing that the captain ran towards them at the mention of food.

“Where’s that food you’re mentioning?” Luffy asked Nami while she pointed at the paper. Luffy took a while to read the title before stating they would go at that wedding’s dinner.

“Luffy, do you understand what you’re saying?” Usopp asked, wondering if his captain has fell onto his head and lost all sense of responsibility. “We’re talking about the wedding of the century, the one of Ono Nusjuro, son of a World Noble? And we’re kind of pirates?”

“Since when did that stop your sense for adventures, Usopp?” Luffy genuinely asked, not seeing the problem.

Robin took this opportunity to take the paper into her own hands and quickly go over the article again. “Actually, the ship’s heading into the direction of the island anyway.”

And this is how the Strawhat crew decided to crash the “wedding of the century”, and how Zoro’s countdown started.

.・゜゜・ 5 hours before ・゜゜・．

The whole crew felt excited at the idea of going to a wedding. It was a change to their routine, and it included dressing up and having fun, while remaining a tad careful as to not getting caught. Zoro could not bring himself to look at the paper that started it all, he did not want this to be true.

You were his. You were his only one. The first he ever had, and the last he ever would. You wouldn’t have hidden this from him. You couldn’t. At least, that’s what his brain kept on repeating as he stepped down from the ship with the rest of the crew.

As he followed the others to pick out an elegant outfit to fit into the sumptuous décor awaiting, he heard the thrill in the inhabitants’ voices.

“Miss (Y/N) looks so gorgeous. Master Nosjuro is so lucky to have her!”, “They’ll form such a brilliant alliance for their families.” “I can’t believe this is happening!” “What do you think Miss (Y/N) will wear for the banquet? I hope she wears a princess dress, like Cinderella!”

Zoro sighed, his stubbornness maybe doing his poor aching heart a favor.

They’re wrong, (Y/N) won’t marry that jerk. Not when she's mine.

.・゜゜・ 2 hours before ・゜゜・．

Zoro followed Usopp to the shop he picked and, while his friend checked the fitting room, laid his good eye on a beautiful ring with a rose quartz in the middle. It was shaped like a burning sun, and it couldn’t help but bring a small, sad smile to his lips. He paid for it before Usopp came out of the fitting rooms and shoved his new treasure in the pockets of his new found emerald green tuxedo.

I could resell it in case I get low on cash. He thought, not wanting to admit he hoped to give it to you someday, in a wild, feverish dream.

“Aren’t you excited to live such an event? I hope there’ll be beautiful ladies there, so I can find love as well.” Usopp enthusiastically stated, shaking Zoro’s shoulders as he walked out of the fitting rooms with his costume.

As they walked out the small shop and around town, Zoro felt his heart stop. Not because of the beautiful scenery in front of him, with the bright blue sky shedding hues of pink, nor because of the wonderful music that was played.

His heart stopped because there, on the wall, was a picture of yesterday’s article.

And it had your face on it.

The face he longed to see for so long, the face he could draw with his eye closed, the face he cupped in between his large hands as he glided his tongue on your luscious lips. The lips he had seen smile so bright, the lips he had seen suck onto his thick length, the lips that caged the most sinful noises he caused that night. And it had your eyes, oh, your eyes. The eyes he would gaze into absentmindedly, the eyes that twinkled when they would see him, the eyes he saw rolling when he hit your sensitive spots that night. The eyes he filled with love at midnight, only to fill them with anger and tears by five.

Zoro clenched his fists as he stared into your picture. His nails dug into his skin, yet, he did not feel any pain. The one he felt right now in his chest though, this one, he felt deep. He has been concealing this fear for the past twenty-two hours. Hell, he has been concealing his heartache with pride and dignity for the past two to three years. Seeing what he feared to be true shed a new sense of rage and hurt into his built body.

“I know right, she’s pretty huh?” Usopp said as he noticed his friend stopping in his tracks. “But these girls are not for us, we’re adventurers, pirates! Our adventures don’t have time for beautiful ladies… even though I have to admit, she looks stunning.”

“The most beautiful in the world.” Zoro muttered only for himself to hear, gazing at the picture of your face with a deep sense of nostalgia.

He kept at looking at your face for a while, going through his memories of you. That moment where you hit his face with the pillow because of his relentless teasing before he dived in to kiss you, that moment where you played with his hair and he almost fell asleep, that moment he let his hands caress your breast as you sat down on his lap and slowly grinded. That moment where he thrusted into you for the first time and felt your cunt swallowing and squeezing him whole.

It didn’t take him another second to tear that picture down and start running, leaving Usopp dumbfounded. He started running at full speed towards the palace the wedding took place in, clenching the picture of you in his large hand.

It felt right to run. He ran away all these years, he ran away that night. Now, he ran to you. For once in his life, Zoro knew where to go, and how to get there. It felt like his heart was a compass, and the closer it felt to yours, the closer he was to his destination, where he should have been a long time before.

It’s time, he thought.

Time to get to you.

to be continued here, in part two ♡︎

#one piece x reader #op x reader #opla x reader #one piece imagine #roronoa zoro #one piece smut #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x you #one piece angst #one piece headcanon #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro smut #roronoa zoro headcanons

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thewatcher727 · 21 days

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Writing Tip: How To Make A Scene Immersive

More writing tips

Immersion is all about making the story attractive, really painting the picture of what’s going on. Rather than just explaining this, I’m going to use some samples. Below, you'll see a scene from my friend’s story when she sent it to me for advice, and what I did to enhance the scene and make it immersive. We’ll go over general descriptions and dialogue.

This is her description:

As it turned out, most of Soleanna Forest's too dense for Tails to land the Tornado. He had no choice but to land outside of the city, which means he and the others need to go on foot through the city and to the forest.

Not that they minded; after all, Soleanna's a beautiful city. Selene, Curry, Petri, and Verde were in awe of its beauty.

This is my version:

As the Tornado descended towards the majestic city of Soleanna, Tails quickly realized that the lush forest surrounding it was far too dense for a safe landing. Reluctantly, he chose to set the aircraft down just outside the city's bustling borders. The group now faced the prospect of traversing the city and venturing into the enchanting Soleanna Forest on foot.

The city's charm was undeniable, captivating each member of the group. Selene's eyes widened, her gaze dancing across the elegant architecture that blended seamlessly with nature. The sun-kissed buildings seemed to rise like golden pillars from the embrace of vibrant greenery, painting an awe-inspiring picture.

This is her character dialogue:

Amy felt her phone buzz and took it out to see a text message. She read it and smiled. "Aww, Cream wanted to check in." She then got excited as she kept reading. "And Blaze is visiting!"

"Blaze?" Selene questioned.

"She's the other princess I told you about," Sonic explained.

This made the merhog excited. "That means I'll get to see her! Awesome!"

Amy giggled as she began to send a text back. "And I just know Cream's going to love meeting your brother and friends."

This is my version:

Amy felt a gentle vibration in her pocket, drawing her attention to her phone. Retrieving it, she discovered a text message waiting for her. A smile instantly graced her lips as she read the words, "Aww, Cream wanted to check in." The warmth of the message seemed to embrace her like a cozy blanket.

Her excitement only grew as she continued to read the text, discovering that Blaze, the other princess she had spoken about earlier, was planning a visit. This unexpected news sent a spark of delight through her, akin to discovering a hidden treasure in a vast ocean.

Curiosity piqued, Selene couldn't help but inquire, "Blaze?"

With a confident air, Sonic stepped in to provide the explanation. "She's the other princess I told you about." His words held the hint of pride, as if Blaze's presence was a testament to the grand adventures they had shared.

The revelation filled Selene with a heightened sense of anticipation, like a mermaid who had caught sight of a legendary sea creature she had always dreamt of encountering. "That means I'll get to see her! Awesome!"

Amy's laughter bubbled like a brook as she began composing a reply to the messages. Her fingers danced across the screen like graceful butterflies as she typed her response, a melody of words crafted with care and affection. "And I just know Cream's going to love meeting your brother and friends." Her words were like a gentle breeze, carrying a promise of new friendships and joyful moments to come.

So, there are a few things I did here for you to follow:

Show, don't tell. This is a very important rule of writing. If you just state that Soleanna is a beautiful city, you've told us, but not really shown us. Sounds confusing, I know; I used to have trouble wrapping my head around this. But see how I gave descriptions of the architecture and surroundings, along with the characters' reactions? I showed how Soleanna looks beautiful without actually having to say it was.

Reactions of the characters. There are a lot of times in writing when someone's facial reactions can speak more than dialogue. By giving specific character reactions to the city's beauty, such as Selene's widened eyes, you give a good idea of why Soleanna is so amazing.

Atmosphere. See how I used words like "majestic," "bustling borders," and "enchanting forest"? These are the types of words that make the story more engaging.

Vivid Descriptions. See how I replaced descriptions like "too dense" with "lush forest surrounding it was far too dense"? By doing so, I provided a full mental image of the challenging landing situation.

Emotions. See how I expanded on Amy texting Cream? "Her fingers danced across the screen like graceful butterflies as she typed her response, a melody of words crafted with care and affection." I infused the text messages with emotions so we know how Amy is feeling.

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rosie-writings · 4 months

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You’ve Got my Body, Flesh, and Bone Part Two

Summary: You didn’t think you would let it go this far, but alcohol always gives you the bite to challenge Colby until you’re both faced with the things that keep you from being together.

Warnings: Colby x Reader smut, Angst, Slow Burn, Dom/Sub dynamic, slight Predator/Prey kink, Overstimulation, Bondage, Overstimulation, Subspace

Words: 23.4k

No Y/N Used

Title is from ‘The Summoning’ by Sleep Token

Part One

My blood rushed my veins a degree warmer. I looked down the hallway from where I stood in front of the biggest mirror I had ever seen. The girls partied loudly with drinks and music, and they ruined the kitchen with snacks. I walked back over to them.

And that was the only time I broke the law for the next 10 hours.

The only recognizable thing were the messages from Colby that flooded my phone. Other than that, I woke up in a house I had never seen before. My head laid on the foot of the bed and my blanket hung over the edge. At least I was alone. But Tara and the others were not with me.

I shot up and raced out of the room.

Tana and Brooke were passed out on the same sofa in the living room.

I checked every bedroom and finally the erratic racing of my heart stilled when I found Tara curled up in a dark cozy bed alone.

What even happened last night?

I scoured the house for a quiet secluded place, and I went back into the bedroom I woke up in. There was a patio and private sliding doors, so I went outside. I didn’t want Tara to know that I was breaking the rule again.

He answered quickly.

”Holy fuck you sould like shit,” he laughed.

”Excuse me? I just drank myself to death and got sick like three days in a row; you can’t be mean to me.”

”No, I think this is the perfect time to be mean to you especially for how much of a lightweight you are. You’re sick all the damn time.”

”Hey! At least I get sick once and then I’m fine; you and Sam rot in bed for two days. How boring is that? That seems more like lightweight behavior to me.”

”Whatever,” he laughed. “Do you really not know where you are?”

”These are Tana’s friends I’m pretty sure. I kind of remember her talking to them, but it was kind of crazy last night, and there were a ton of people here.”

”At least you guys are safe,” he sighed. I didn’t enjoy the warmth that invaded my skin. “I’m suffering.”

”Why is that?”

”What do you mean ‘why is that?’ Now I understand why it’s taken Sam and I so fucking long to go to Australia; this flight sucks.”

“Aw poor you; willingly taking a first class flight to Australia to meet up with friends—“

”Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

”Call me a bitch again—“

”You would like that, wouldn't you?” I gasped in shock; my face flared.

”Not as much as you, you fucking asshole.”

”And who said I would like it?”

”You called me a bitch first, bitch.”

”Wow, now look who’s calling who a bitch.” I sighed in defeat. I took a breath to say something, but he interrupted me.

”You’re doing a poor job at entertaining me.”

”What? I’ve sent you two photos and have answered your texts at any chance I can.”

”Yeah like twice.”

”What can I say, I’m a busy girl.”

”Yeah, busy with partying like it’s the end of the world.”

”You’re one to talk,” I spat back. This time, my voice laced with a whiny teasing tone rather than spite. And dare I say, the joking tasted better in my mouth than the hatred.

I was fed up. I didn’t like how we leaned on one side of the fence anymore; was this uncharted territory really all that safe, albeit uncomfortable?

“You know what? You’re right. We too will be busy with partying like it’s the end of the world with friends.”

”Aw, that sounds nice. Have fun being so busy partying with bros and fucking bitches.”

“Whoa, no one said anything about that. Got something to tell me about last night?”

”Wouldn’t you love to know.” My skin crawled at the way he sighed my name.

”Oh? Did you break your stupid rule?”

“What? You know about the rule?”

”Tara told on you. Can’t believe you’re breaking rules for me, that's so embarrassing for you.” My hand held onto the roots of my hair for support.

”You’re making me feel gross, I’m going and taking a shower—“

”Or maybe you feel gross from the partying so hard you got sick—“

”Alright motherfucker, when you haven’t drank yourself sick come talk to me.”

”But it’s so fun talking to you now.”

”Colby,” I laughed and groaned his name simultaneously. “Yeah because you’re so bored now, right?”

”Yes I am. At least bring me with you when you shower.”

”Whoa,” I faked a shocked gasp. “At least take me to dinner first.”

”I fucking paid for your rent the past two months, bitch.”

“Your shower privileges are revoked.”

”No I didn't mean it,” he laughed.

“Aw, you’re sounding desperate now?”

“No, just want what you promised me.”

”And what’s that? I don’t remember promising you anything.”

”Entertainment.”

The gravity of the situation yanked my stomach out of its place. I sat in the chair frozen as my body caught on fire. I heard a singular uneven breath on the other side of the line.

He didn’t reroute his words. He doubled down on them with every silent second that passed.

”I’ll see what I can do.”

And I hung up on him before he could get another word in.

With every shaking fiber of my being, I collected myself and tried to get my ass in the shower without passing out. I would never admit to a soul—including my own—that a stupid man made me feel like this. A best friend, at that.

Completely undressed, I stared at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror that stood in the threshold between the bedroom and bathroom.

I sat on the floor.

I snapped a photo.

I didn’t respond but I didn’t tell him that I did as he told.

I washed the heat in my body out with a chilly shower.

When I got out, I found the crew zombified trying to pull together an edible breakfast. Somehow, someway, Colby’s conversation was the fuel I needed to not tear anyone apart.

This fuel came to a climax that night when a text message revealed itself on my phone.

It wasn’t me, this time, who broke the rules. It was his fault.

I tried to keep the breath in my throat, but it left me quicker than I could hold on. My eyes raced up and down his body, and I didn’t stop myself.

I scrolled to the message he emphasized; the photo of me undressed while I sat on the floor. My vision darkened as my heart beat loudly in my ears.

I very much knew the position I put him in. I needed him to say it; paint the picture for me.

My legs pressed together and I thanked the heavens that I sat in the chair against the window that overlooked the skyscrapers of the city. The girls were lounging. We watched a show and baked cookies. It was quiet time.

And, oh, how I hated how hot my body was. The ache in between my legs should have been illegal, and I took a glimpse at the girls. I couldn’t even make up a lie. Lying was my second language, and someone my first language was annihilated before I even moved to stand up.

My legs moved before my brain processed.

”Where are you going?” Brooke asked. I paused and words left me. Tara gasped.

”Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”

The girls teased me for a moment and I flicked them off.

I still went to my bedroom alone.

I locked the door.

I sat on the bed. My heart so ferociously worked that I wondered if I lived my last few seconds.

His lack of immediate response told me everything I needed to know. He wasn’t messing around. I never pinned Colby as the type of person to mess around with things like this; but I never anticipated him being so quick. So bold with it.

My uneven breath tangled in my throat as my back hit the bedding.

Tears welled in my eyes from the amount of desperation that his simple texts alone injected into my bloodstream. Perhaps it was my lack of quick response, or maybe he supernaturally sensed a morsel of my trembling need, but he went gentle on me without my asking for it. My phone buzzed one last time.

And so I did.

After that, Colby and I didn’t speak for a long time.

Perhaps the pressure was relieved, and the visceral irritation I felt towards him and our situationship cooled off for the time being.

He sent me photos and updates here and there, and I ate all of them up. Of course I reciprocated, and the tension between us nearly subsided completely. We were friends—best friends—again, and there was a part of me that was excited to go home and spend time with him and Sam.

When I got home, the excitement turned into nervousness. Butterflies drenched the inside of my organs as I waited for their not-so-distant return from Australia.

Four days.

When the morning of their arrival greeted me, a snap from Colby said hello with it.

I rolled my eyes at the way my body shuddered. Why did I allow him to swoon me like that?

I replied with finality; see you soon.

He responded with a black heart.

Two months ago, we all planned for a party at their house because it just so happened to coincide with trips our friends took as well. Friends from other countries and also states visited LA that week, and so Sam thought it would be a perfect end to a month of traveling. He wasn’t wrong. It sounded phenomenal.

Well, it sounded phenomenal before Colby and I became something.

I could see it in his eyes.

I didn’t say a word, a breath of relief washed over me. I wanted to cringe at it; spit it out of my mouth. But his eyes alone felt like a welcome home hug, as much as I didn’t want to come to terms with it, and I decided to give him the responsibility of approaching me and sharing the first word between us in person in over a month.

Colby didn’t look away from me; that was the problem. He didn’t smile either which should have been a good thing, but it was the alternative expression pulled at his face.

I didn’t think even Sam could take his attention from me.

Maybe if we were alone I would have withstood this staring contest, but we weren’t alone. The music, the voices, the partying was all too much, and even though probably not even a single one of them paid attention to us, I was convinced the world watched our every move. So I caved first.

”You made it back in one piece,” I said as he made his way towards me. He still wore the same flannel and that dumb hat. His eyes flickered to my mouth on instinct. I did talk a bit too low for him to hear in the chaos around us.

”Did you?” He asked me and chills raced across my skin from the unfiltered decibels of his voice. It wasn’t distorted by a phone call.

I also didn’t mean for that flirty smile to lift on my mouth. I shoved it back down with words as fast as it came.

”Does that matter?”

”What?” He gasped but I shook my head. A darkness covered his eyes as they lingered on me even as I broke our stare, and started conversation with other people.

I talked to Sam, to Kris, to friends I had longed to see for quite a while, and we settled in conversation about our trips. In between sentences, I took a glance at Colby, and a pit opened in my stomach when I locked gaze with his darkened eyes. He didn’t even blink. His hat and backpack were now out of sight. He swallowed the sip of his drink he took and I returned my attention to the conversation at hand.

Tara spoke enthusiastically about the night we had at the club that was particularly notable considering Brooke—of all of us who were there—was stood on the table screaming at someone. It never crossed my mind that Brooke would be the one permanently banned from a club in New York City, but I supposed I didn’t know much at all.

From the way Colby's presence ever followed me, surely I knew nothing at all.

I played it off well. His eyes were there when I searched, his back was closer to me as he spoke to people, and he moved from place to place as I did. I didn’t know how much longer we would play this game.

I was long past the finish line, and when we trapped each other in the kitchen with our best friends on either side of us, that was when I realized he had crossed it long ago as well.

Now, we simply waited.

Maybe it was the alcohol that gave me confidence to challenge him; if often did. But as friends were distracted with their games, their conversations and sharing of substances, I found him there in that hot kitchen.

“So what, are you second guessing the risk you took in coming back?” I asked him with eyelashes that were heavy. He looked down at me, not smiling.

”What are you asking for if not this?” He asked and the alcohol was the only thing that kept me from caving in on myself from that deep tone of voice.

”I don’t know; you didn’t kiss me when you saw me, didn’t even hug me. I was afraid you didn’t want it.” He laughed with a certain kind of venom on his smile.

”No. I’m just afraid that if I touched you right now, I wouldn’t be able to stop until I made you a mess of yourself lost in your headspace, and I didn’t think that was very appropriate for this party.” My eyebrows shot up as I stared at him in awe.

“I mean you’ve never ruined a party before so why not do it now?” Colby laughed back at me and shook his head.

”Why should I start now? Why should I ruin my own party?”

”If anything, this is Sam’s party.” He rolled his eyes.

“That gives me even more reason to not ruin it.”

”Whatever,” I sighed as I turned back to the island and grabbed a bottle to pour another drink for myself. “I don’t care. Make me wait.”

”Yeah, I will,” he scoffed. I felt his warmth on my skin as he stood impossibly close to me without touching me at all. “I mean I’ve waited all this time to tear you apart, what’s a few more hours?”

I stared through the alcohol that poured in my cup as my vision blurred with the nasty thoughts he gave me. Then the bottle was out of my hand.

”And that’s enough.” He took the cup from my hand as well.

”What? I’m not even drunk yet.”

“Uh, you think I don’t know you? You’re drunk as hell.”

”You’re an idiot.”

”No, I just know that only drunk you can talk back to me like that.” I stared up at him in frustration. “Fine, take it back.” He held the cup to me. “But I would rather you remember the first time I take my time with you.”

He smiled evilly as I walked away from him empty handed.

It was two hours later when I heard his voice again.

”Sam, you’re going home with her, right?”

”Obviously,” he laughed. “And I’ll either stay with her or Jake until you text me.”

My stomach was in knots.

It was only two am and the majority of people were gone. I hadn’t gotten as drunk as I anticipated, and Kris and Celina were sober enough to drive back to their hotel. Sam got in that Uber with the girl he introduced me to during Christmas, and then the front door was closed.

Besides the slight mess, the house was exactly the way we left it a month ago.

Only this time, it was silent. Beckoning.

Colby turned around and faced me, and I stood like a deer in headlights in the middle of the foyer.

When his lips turned up in a smile, as did mine, and when he took his first step, I took off deeper into the massive house.

”What? Where are you going?” He laughed. But I heard his shoes chase me faster than I ran.

”No where! Why-Why are you chasing me?” I laughed back. I skirted around the bar area and through the kitchen. I ran through the room that should have been the dining room, but he was still hot on my heels.

”I wouldn’t be chasing you if you just let me catch you.”

”If you can’t catch me then why do you think you deserve to tear me apart?” His uneven gasp switched the tone of his voice so fast that I nearly had whiplash.

”Oh alright, if you wanna play that way then maybe you should run faster so that when I catch you, you can get a bigger reward.” His smile was gone and his voice reverberated in my bones. I trembled with a desperation to run, run, run and I aimlessly chose my next escape.

“Colby!” I screamed when he also rounded the corner as scrappily as I did. “Get away from me!”

”Oh that’s not what you’ll be screaming when I catch you.” I knew better than to take the stairs; his legs were much longer than mine. I retraced my steps and took off into the kitchen again. “You’re making this too easy for me,” he sighed.

And he easily cleared the island.

”No! Colby—“

His hands grabbed my waist with an intensity I had never known.

He absorbed the shock from leaping over the island by pushing me back and back until I collided into the wall.

A hand pinned me to the wall with enough force to convince me that he actually thought I would try to run away.

He was finally mine, how could I?

He didn’t stop; it was all the same motion from when he cleared the island to kissing me like it was our last. It was always and forever would be like that between us, wouldn’t it? I cried into his mouth as I tasted him for the second time, but this felt like the first.

He licked into my mouth with fervor and my hands found his neck, his hair, and I yanked him closer as if it were humanly possible. I didn’t mean to moan when he pinned me against the wall so hard that I had nowhere else to go but up. My leg wrapped around his waist, and his hand grabbed the back of the other one to lift me fully off the floor.

“Colby—“ I quietly gasped his name in choppy breaths. He moaned against my skin as if he tried to say something, but simply couldn’t. My heart pounded from our chase, and this amount of contact didn’t aid it.

The world spun around us until there was nothing but us alone.

”Oh fuck!” I cried when he finally grinded against me. “Holy shit, I always dreamed of how you sounded,” he whispered against my hot skin before he kissed me again and again.

He drank down my moans as he kept a steady pace, and I wish he gave me the second to beg but he didn’t. My hands clawed at his clothes and he pulled them away over and over until he groaned in frustration.

”You are so impatient,” he spat when my wrists hit the wall above my head.

“Can you blame me, fucking asshole?” I swear his eyes turned black.

”If you’re going to keep talking that way then you better choose a safe word now.” My throat clamped shut. Dizziness overwhelmed me and I tried to stand my ground.

I laughed.

”You really think you can make me use it?”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more convincing, sweetheart.”

I stared at him dead in those fiery filled eyes.

“No. You should convince me already.” And of course Colby laughed at me.

He didn’t say another word as he all too sweetly kissed my skin. He must have felt the erratic beating of my heart, but he didn’t move furiously nor painfully. I tried to catch my breath as I sat in anticipation over his eerily gentle behavior.

When he unbuttoned my pants, I allowed him to pull them off and I graciously didn’t try to run away.

“Oh my god—Colby—“

”Shut up,” he demanded and went back to his work. “Just shut the fuck up already and let me have you.”

”Take me,” rushed out of my mouth faster than I could reel in the thoughts. “Take all of me—“ I cut myself off with a gasp when he dropped me. My feet hit the floor, but he still held onto my wrists high above me. Then I looked down and watched as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.

”Please-Please just let me—“

”You’re already begging for me?” He laughed. “That’s no fun now, is it?” My knees gave out at the sight of his mocking smile.

I paused, I looked up at him with a wide smile.

”I’m having fun playing along with you,” I said, and apparently it was the wrong thing to say because I was back in my place pinned to the wall with my legs wrapped around his waist.

”Alright, tell me when you’re not faking then.” My stomach twisted when his hand shoved in between us.

”Colby,” I whispered his name breathlessly. Heavy breaths came from his lips, and I couldn’t pull my gaze away from his mouth

Without another word, he pushed inside me, and he didn’t let me catch my breath.

”Colby—“ My voice rose. He didn’t answer me. Instead, he thrusted forward. Again. Again and again. “Colby.” This time my voice shook with weakness. His eyes found mine like he knew. His parted lips pulled in a small fond smile, and his free hand fell from my neck and to my hips to hold me still to the wall.

“Colby!” I finally broke, and my yell mixed with the sound of his body colliding into mine.

”What?” He sighed with a teasing pout in his eyes. “Having an issue with faking already?”

”You just feel so good,” I gasped. He faltered. His eyes glazed.

”Fuck—“ He gasped and hesitated. “The-The way you make me feel—“ He didn’t finish his sentence.

He didn’t change his rhythm and it drove me crazy.

He was too much, not enough; I couldn’t decide.

”How do-How do I make you feel?” I choked. He shook his head as his sanity melted before me.

So he fucked me harder.

”Oh my god—!” I screamed, but his thumb gouged into my side to shut me up. My back arched off the wall, and that was when his voice broke with moans as well.

“Fuck,” he grumbled lowly, and my eyes had to close our else another glimpse of his perfect face would put me in the ground. “I need—Fucking hell—“

”Colby!” I gasped, and when he let go of my wrists, my arms wrapped around his neck.

His arms held me under my thighs and I was whipped around towards the kitchen.

”Holy shit—“ I gasped shakily when my hands hit the island countertop. He stood behind me, hands on my waist.

”Need to tear you apart, remember?” He pulled my underwear to the side and shoved inside of me all over again.

My moans echoed across the granite, and I crumbled at the sound of his uninhibited moans. He was so—

Just so.

Speechlessness. It washed over me with every harsh thrust given. And when his hand met the back of my neck and pushed down, I closed my eyes and relaxed my body to give him all of myself. My fists and nails tore at the granite as if it could splinter, and I pushed my forehead to the chilling slick stone for support.

”Colby! Oh my god—I can’t—You feel so damn good.”

”Holy shit,” I think he mumbled again, and he breathed loudly as he raised my hips more. “Up here, baby,” he muttered gently, and I felt his hand link under my knee. I rested my knee up on the edge of the island so that he could have better access.

I think I blacked out.

I wasn’t sure.

“Yeah baby, you sound so good let me hear you.” His hands pushed my hips back more, and he reached the pressure point inside of me that melted my vision. I couldn’t hold on anymore and I forgot to act. Why did we act anyway?

This was better than I could ever imagine.

”Colby—“ My voice came off as a warning.

”What?” He spat. I think I mumbled. So, his fingers tangled in the roots of my hair, and he yanked.

I gasped as my back arched and his face came to the side of my head.

”Finish your sentence,” he warned.

”I’m—You feel too good.”

He laughed again.

”I don’t think I can feel too good yet, just wait. I’ll let you know when it’s supposed to good.”

”Colby, I’m going to—“

”You’re not going to do anything except sit here and take it like a good girl.” My voice was caught in my throat. It felt like cotton stuffed in my ears and replaced every coherent thought in my brain.

There wasn’t a feeling I experienced that compared to it, to this.

”Maybe—ugh,” I moaned as my eyes rolled back from another thrust and scratch of his nails. “Maybe you’re the one-the one who has to be good and-and fuck me like you mean it.“

”Oh my—“ He laughed loudly and pulled out of me.

”I said—“ He spun me around and his chokehold cut my sentence short.

”You’re really going to repeat that sentence?” The deafening weight of his whisper actually twinged whatever courage I mustered. I swallowed tightly, but his fingers squeezed the sides of my neck tighter. My vision blackened.

”I might if-if you don’t…”

”If I don’t what?” I opened my eyes again as I tried to keep myself from passing out.

”I-If you don’t fuck me like you mean it.” His grip lightened and his thumb dragged across my cheek.

”Look at you,” he mocked sweetly. “You’re such a mess for me already; how do you know I haven’t meant it?”

”I can still talk, can’t I?”

”And is that a problem for you?”

”It will be if you don’t-if you don’t give me everything.”

”Then it sounds like you should get your ass upstairs then, hm? Or can you not walk?”

So, in my stubbornness, I shoved him off of me and waver in my stance. His eyebrows shot up.

“I can walk,” I scoffed. “You’re the one who won’t be able to catch me.” He burst out laughing.

“I caught you once. This time you’ll just run into my trap, so—“

”How do you know it’s yours and not mine? Just ‘cause I’m not fucking you to hell and back doesn’t mean it’s not my trap.”

”You—Oh my god,” he laughed as I took off. I heard him follow me quickly, and I took three steps at a time; the adrenaline must have caught up with me.

It was flesh and blood after I burst into his room.

The only light was the orange glow from one of the bedside tables, and my stomach turned with the realization that this was getting real. He slammed the door behind him until the walls shuddered, and I stood in the middle of his room with my back to him so that he could catch me. His hands didn’t touch my skin, no, they yanked the rest of my clothes off without remorse.

I turned around.

He actually allowed me to undress him. I unbuttoned each button of his flannel slowly to test him. I watched him and waited for him to break, but he didn’t. When the soft fabric fell from his ever darkened shoulders—I forgot, it’s summer in Australia—my hands moved to his waistband. His pants were already unbuttoned, so I pulled them down.

My eyes locked with his as I dropped to my knees.

His clothes didn’t hit the ground—they didn’t even reach his knees—before I finally had him in my hand, and had my way with him. His eyebrows furrowed and lips parted with illicit moans pouring from them.

I didn’t take my gaze off him as I took him in my mouth.

It took all but two motions, and his head tipped back with pleasure. His fingers found my scalp and I moaned around him.

His moans filled the air that already thickened with a tension, a frantic heat I wasn’t prepared for. I didn’t use my hand, no. He grabbed my hair with two hands and I fell into him at will. His hips pushed forward until I couldn’t breathe, and I tasted him in the back of my throat. My eyes rolled back and I pushed the back of my tongue tightly around him.

Expletives shot into the air as I was the one who quickened the pace. Then he fucked his hips forward with every yank of my hair.

But, apparently I did too much. Or—

“Alright, baby,” he sighed unevenly. He let go of my hair. “Give me your hands.” So I raised them. He took my wrists in one hand and pinned them back to the bed. I still rested on my knees on the floor, and a high pitched whine escaped my mouth as my body bent backward in a compromising position. “You’ve had so much fun with me, but I thought you wanted me to use you. So be a good girl and relax that throat for me.”

My lips parted, and I looked up at him darkly. His legs stood on either side of me. My head hit the comforter as he thrusted back in.

“Oh fuck—“ he gasped and instantly, my knees spread and I fell deeper under him. Again, my eyes rolled back and I relaxed. One of his hands still held himself, though, and for that I was slightly grateful, but it took me knocking his leg with my knee for him to take his hand away and catch himself from falling.

In the jostle, he fucked into my throat as deep as he could reach, and I gagged but didn’t push him away. He gasped and looked down to make sure I was fine.

I didn’t know what I looked like, but apparently it was enoguh for him to fuck his hips more and more—

I moaned particularly loudly, and his grip on my wrists tightened to the point where I assumed when I got them back they would be blue with bloody crescent moons in them.

I couldn’t believe the heat in between my legs. I needed something—anything—and I rolled my hips like there was something in front of me that could grant me friction.

Of course cool air was all I was met with.

��You are so insane,” he gasped as he pulled out of me. I gasped for air and he pulled my hair out of my face. “Get up,” he demanded. “Get up now. I need both of my hands.”

I didn’t utter another word, no; I wouldn’t dare. Not when I knew where he was about to put the remaining of my control of self.

He tossed me to the bed and my head hit the pillows. Before anything else, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them above me. I stared at his face in a trancelike speechlessness; his eyes focused on the work of his own hands.

In mere seconds, my wrists pulled and they were so tightly locked in place that I hardly budged.

What caught me off guard, though, was the cold sharpness of the metal cuffs. I didn’t anticipate the pain. I thought my hands would be met with the warm softness of fabric cuffs or something; not a pair that no matter how much I wrestled, I would never escape without his key.

”Colby,” I cried; my voice roughened.

He sat on his knees in between my legs.

‘Finally,’ his expression seemed to convey. Then he slowed down and took the rest of his clothes off.

“Look at you,” he sighed and I melted under his gaze. He soaked in every ounce of my body. “Your cat and mouse game was so cute.” Chills fell across my body. He crawled hauntingly slowly over me; his warmth grazing my skin. I was so attuned to it that it felt like I held onto it like my only anchor in reality.

I looked across his body; the warm lighting of the light glowed his golden skin softly, and I wanted nothing more than to touch every inch of it. His fingers raised and touched my mouth. On instinct, I parted my lips, and his fingerprints rested on my tongue.

Oh, I pulled on him. I tasted him, licked them clean even though they weren’t dirty, and I didn’t take my eyes off of him. Then he dragged them down my chin, my throat, and my breath stopped heavily in my chest where they touched next. My stomach rose and fell again quicker and quicker as they reached my belly button and lower, lower—

His eyes looked back up at mine.

”I don’t even have to touch you,” he said. “Can already see how ready you are for me.”

’Please,’ I thought I mouthed, but no sound came from it. His head cocked to the side.

”Can’t talk already? Or are you still faking?” My heart couldn’t keep up. I blinked quickly.

My speechlessness told the whole story.

”And I haven’t even paid the attention to you that I wanted to yet.”

So he leaned over. My eyes rolled back in frustration because what now?

My chest caved in on itself when he came back.

A small wand vibrator sat in his hand.

“Colby—“ I choked.

”Oh, now you can speak?”

”I-I—oh god—I haven’t—”

”You haven’t what?” It was the calm tone; that’s what it was. That’s what did it for me. A storm was behind his eyes, but the calmness in his tone made every hair stand up on my body.

“Haven’t used a vibrator in so long—Please don’t—“

”Wait, what?” He gasped, out of character for a moment. “You don’t have one?”

”It-It broke so long ago and I-and I forgot to get another—Oh my god Colby, please don’t—“ His evil smile twisted my stomach with sparks.

”This got a lot more entertaining for me,” he remarked.

And he turned it on.

”Oh my—“ I gasped when he pushed it gently against my aching arousal.

Like that, I swear he brought heaven down on earth.

”Colby,” I gasped his name, and already my arms twisted in the restraints. “I-I’m not going to last long. I literally-I literally already feel like…”

”Like what?” That sweet airy tone should be the one in trouble next. No, it wasn’t fair.

“So close,” I whined.

”It’s on the lowest setting, baby, and it’s hardly touching you.” Another string of loud moans poured from me. “Fuck, you know I’m not taking it off of you until I’ve had my way with you?”

I nodded furiously.

”Good, then that means I’ll let you come, but the sooner you do, the more orgasms you’ll have.”

Shit.

This ounce of control he gave me was already wasted.

It built in my stomach, and my muscles contracted to keep it at bay, but holy shit, it was too entirely impossible with that look raining down on me.

”Colby, fuck, oh my god, you fucking, oh my—“

”Yeah?” He laughed. His eyes watched my body. He pushed it harder against me. I gasped and my back arched. I wiggled my hips from him, but he pinned them down with his other hand.

It didn’t help that my thighs were tossed over his, and he still kept his firm stance on his knees.

”How close are you?”

”Going to,” I gasped.

”Fine,” he sighed. His eyes watched me and maybe that was what pulled it out of me so fast. Maybe that was the reason my first orgasm crashed into me with such intensity I swore I blacked out. “Holy shit,” he laughed. “Yeah, come so hard for me. Oh my fucking god, you look so good.”

”Please—“ I gasped for air.

Then, the overstimulation.

It reigned over me without remorse. It wasn’t kind, and Colby was lesser. He didn’t take the vibrator away; he turned it onto the next speed.

I screamed as the burning pleasure turned into pain. His eyes glazed into darkness as they focused on my face.

”You know your safe word.” The challenge still hung on his words. I opened my eyes, and I smiled back.

He turned it higher.

Maybe it was a mistake to challenge him back, I couldn’t decide. This wasn’t a pleasure I was familiar with. We had never met before. His nails made permanent imprints on my thighs to keep them spread. I tried to kick my legs, but he was still so much stronger than me.

It was the first time that I thanked the gods that their house was big enough to contain the loudest noises.

“Please-Please, Colby please! Holy shit!”

”You are so fucking hot,” he laughed. “But no. I’m not done with you. I thought you were going to be good and take it.”

”I-I am! I did.”

”No, I’m not done yet.”

”Inside.”

”What?”

“Inside, please!”

”I don’t know what you’re asking me for. That’s not a full sentence baby.”

”Ugh! Oh my god, fuck you—“ The words hardly escaped my mouth before he slapped the fuck out of my hip.

”I’m playing nice right now, baby. If you want me to be mean I can be, but you won’t be too happy about it considering you can barely handle this.”

”I need you inside of me, please! Need to be full.”

”There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” I hummed a mixture of whines and moans.

He didn’t let up the vibrator. Two of his fingers accompanied it and pushed ever so slowly inside of me. I ached—writhed and gasped and moved—for more, but only his fingertips teased me.

”You want it that bad?” He asked sweetly.

”Yes, I need it. You-You were already inside of me once! How-How—I need it again.” My voice tore out of my throat harshly. He didn’t even flinch.

”Tell me how much you want me to fill you.”

”I need you so bad I’m going to cry; please! Give me your fingers I need them.”

”Tell me you’ll be so good and sweet for me, and that you’ll take what I give you.”

”I’ll be so-so good for you, Colby,” I whined as my hips shook with another harsh was of overstimulation. His eyebrows shot up as he pinned them down. “I’ll do anything you tell me to; I’ll take whatever you want to give me.”

”Alright, you said you’ll take whatever I want to give you so…”

My breath was taken from me when three fingers pushed into me. He thrusted them in and out with no remorse, and mixed with the vibrations, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I met another high.

Which terrified me.

Rarely ever did I finish more than once in a single session, but something about the way he touched me promised me another one and another—

Then he found it, aggressively.

”Fuck!” I gasped quietly. My back arched and he used his elbows to keep my legs apart still. “There, there, there,” I whined.

”Yeah? Does that feel so good?” He teased. I nodded quickly. Tears flooded my eyes. “You going to come again?” He asked.

”I-I—“

“Tell me, baby.”

”Yes, I’ll come again.”

He didn’t say anything else. He moved quicker and quicker, and my breathing rose and rose—

He pulled his fingers out of me when my orgasm was two paces in front of me.

”No! Please don’t! I’m—Oh shit—“ My orgasm was ruined on the vibrator, and I shook from the violent sting of it.

“And that was called punishment for teasing me for so fucking long and making me want you the way I do.”

”Colby,” I gasped. It was a habit at that point.

And just as the overstimulation came with a vengeance, he pushed himself inside of me.

Another wave of moans and noises poured from me, but he didn’t move. I saw it on his face, oh, he wanted to fuck me until I couldn’t breathe, but he waited. He watched, he listened. I writhed on him and humiliation showered on me when I realized he smirked at the fact that I was crying on him without him even moving.

”You’re so pretty when you cry,” he sighed.

Then he slowly pulled out of me.

”But only when you’re crying on my dick.” And he pushed back in. A gasp ripped from me. He pulled out and pushed back in again, and again.

”You’re-You’re fucking—Ugh, Colby,” I cried, and dragged out his name with a whine.

”Yeah, holy shit, you feel so good,” he moaned and he savored some selfish seconds for himself as he gained speed.

I dug my head into the pillow as he pushed my hips further back. One of his hands pressed against the underside of one of my thighs, and I couldn’t look away from him. His hair began to separate from the heat in the room, and his eyebrows furrowed with pleasure again. I only needed to watch his face to find my pleasure, so I tried to block out the feeling of the powerful vibrator in between us or else I would finish again.

”Colby.” Now I was embarrassed about the amount of times I chanted his name tonight. “I can’t take it, I’m-I’m going to again.”

”Fucking hell,” he laughed. “Again? You’re crazy. No way you can come that many times.”

”You—oh my god—It’s your fault.”

”My fault?” His tone pretended to be innocent. “How is it my fault?”

”You’re such…” My insult fizzled into inaudible moans.

”I’m so what? Do you want to try to finish that pathetic sentence?”

”You’re such-such a cocky asshole.”

”Oh yeah? And who’s making you feel this way?”

Before I could respond, his hips collided into mine harsher. I gasped and I swore in that moment, my nails tore into the skin of my palms. He fucked me like he meant it. I was to blame for that.

”The-The vibrator.”

”Oh yeah?” He choked a laugh. “It’s making you feel so good, isn’t it?” I only hummed in response because holy shit he nailed that spot inside of me. “God, you’re so close already. Can tell by the way you can’t even talk or look at me. You’re breathing harder and your moans are getting louder—“

”Colby!” I snapped at him, and just as my orgasm hit he pulled the vibrator away. “No,” I gasped, but the tidal wave of pleasure was too steep to ward off.

I writhed through my ruined orgasm with nothing but him inside me unmoving.

And his cruel laughs filled the air around us and mixed with my moans.

“You act so tough, like you have something on me, but now here you are crying and coming on my dick like a slut when I’m not even doing anything to you.”

And that was where I drew the line.

”Oh my god,” I gritted my teeth as my senses slowly came back to me. “Fuck you, you motherfucker. You’re such a—“

I knew he was testing the waters in a less confident way. That’s why when his hand met my face it certainly wasn’t hard enough to blush it red, but it was harder than any other time he touched my face. My eyes must have stared up at him wide and bright because his dominance began to melt into concern.

“Don’t act like I haven’t been slapped before.” The astonishment on his face was worth getting in trouble over.

”Jesus Christ, you are such a brat, honestly, I should just tie the vibrator to you on the highest setting and leave you here all night.” I burst out laughing.

”Yeah, like you’d be able to handle that. You wouldn’t be able to listen to me moaning for ten minutes before you’d run in to fuck me.”

”You’d be surprised. Wanna test it? We’re alone in this house.”

The gravity of the situation fell on my shoulders; I clearly was all bark and no bite.

”Yeah,” he laughed as he held my face. “That’s what I thought.”

”I want you to come in me now. Tonight, as soon as possible. I don’t want the vibrator without you.” More expletives rushed under his breath as he thrusted his hips forward. I hummed with him in contentment.

I was so entirely and utterly full under him that I couldn’t foresee myself wanting anything else, anyone else, like I wanted him.

“If that’s what you want, then you need to be patient for it.” His eyes searched mine. “I mean, you can be. I already see how hazy your eyes are. You think you can handle much more?”

”I can handle as much as you want to give me,” I rushed out before I could think about what I said. A twinge of question pulled at his face.

He knew.

Then I understood.

I stopped pulling at the cuffs long ago. I relaxed my hips, the pain was far from me. I was safe and desperate. I didn’t challenge him anymore.

”I’ve got you, okay?” The sudden real and soft tone was jarring.

“Okay,” I whined, and I inwardly cringed at the high pitched break in it. He brushed my hair back and fucked his hips into mine brutally.

The pleasure returned like a train and I was strapped down helpless on the tracks.

His hands wrapped around my waist and held me down as he used me as he pleased. I could only lie and take it, and my eyes closed. I couldn’t handle seeing anything at all anymore. I couldn’t handle hearing; that was thrown out the window a few seconds ago.

My senses were all so overstimulated that I could only handle and focus on the feeling of him viciously claiming what was his. I tried to grab onto something, anything at all, but there was nothing.

“You’re so good for me,” he whispered praises in between moans. I was sure his hands memorized every round of my skin. “Fuck,” he breathed with another wave of bated breath. “You piss me the fuck off.”

”How?” I gasped.

“You-You match me,” he grunted as he sat up more. The angle switch shoved a gasp out of me. How can he have a conversation at a time like this?

“What?”

”I don’t fucking know,” he snapped through a roughened moaned. “You-You just keep up with me and fucking bite back, and-and I’ve been so scared to break that.”

”You-You aren’t,” I whined.

But he nailed that spot inside of me.

The tears streamed down my burning face.

”You sure?” He laughed. “Because you’re falling apart for me.”

”No,” I cried. “This-This isn’t the bad break.” I was glad he understood because I used the rest of my vocabulary.

How disgusting, vile, wretched; I lost my mind and my sense of self and speech on a man’s dick. How low did he make me swoop? Never in my life did I allow myself such dissonance within myself. Or maybe he caught up with me. Maybe I didn’t swoop down and handed him my autonomy.

Perhaps all this time we kept up with each other, and I handed my autonomy over when he clearly trusted himself to hold it and protect it.

”Oh my god—“ And when he moaned my name, any concern that crept up my bones disintegrated.

“Please,” I whispered.

”What else do you want from me?” He sighed like it was a burden. Of course I knew it wasn’t actually a burden; he probably fucked me in shock as if he couldn’t imagine giving another layer of himself to me through all this time.

”Just-Just come, I need it. I need you inside of me. Please, fill me up; I want you to come inside of me.”

”Alright—oh shit—Okay baby, you don’t have to beg,” he gasped sweetly as his hand found my face again.

This time, he leaned over me, and as much as I could see it in his eyes—he wanted to kiss me, and I kiss him back—we couldn’t. It felt too good, like too much, and open mouthed moans pushed against my lips, my own breath.

He said my name again; clearly, with more purpose. I watched as his eyes couldn’t stay opened and I didn’t even consider another release for myself. I just needed him.

“Baby,” he warned.

”Please.” God, I hated begging. “Colby please—“

And a hand held my neck and face while the other snaked behind my back. He held me like I belonged in his arms. His open mouthed kisses, nose, and breath pushed against my neck, and his body shuddered when it fully pushed flush with mine.

I think I moaned his name again before a loud moan poured from him. At that point, every touch far surpassed his intentions. Everything he did, he meant it and then some.

A few seconds passed, and those open mouth moans against my skin melted into kisses. I caught my breath, and I still couldn’t open my eyes as if I was the one who found heaven in that minute.

”No!” I practically screamed when he pulled out of me. “Don’t I need—”

”Sh, I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was entirely gentle now, relieved. I opened my eyes. Not a cavern of his eyes elicited another ounce of dominance or frustration. I liked it. I liked that I stuffed those feelings in there and I liked that I was the only one who could yank them out.

What I didn’t wholeheartedly like was the fact that his man decided he could do the same to me.

He kissed down my body, and my breaths caught unevenly as I realized that we weren’t done yet. He wasn’t done.

”Colby!” I cried when his tongue dipped in between my legs.

“What?” He teased me. My skin crawled from his voice touching it. “You didn’t come with me.”

”Pf, yeah!” I shouted as my hips writhed away from his brutally gentle touches. I felt his breath on me while two fingertips lightly teased up, down, up and down. “But I already did like three times? I don’t remember.”

”Okay, then make this another one you can’t remember.” I hated him. I hated that banter; he always had to one up me, but I would never let him win. “I haven’t even tasted you yet.”

That was a lie; his tongue knew my skin.

I think I moaned his name again, and I didn’t concern myself about the feeling of the fluids slipping from me. He might have caught the mess or he might have let it fall to the bed. I didn’t care about it; I couldn’t admit to anyone except for my own conscience that I liked our mess, and I would bathe in it like it cleaned me.

His tongue met me again, and he moved with my hips this time rather than controlling them. Then his fingers pushed inside. I basked in the feeling of his giving; that was all he did, wasn’t it? How did I not realize it before? I built it up in my head that he took and took without fairness, but there clearly wasn’t a cell in his body cut out for that.

He ate me like I was made for him.

I didn’t warn him when he pleasured me through my orgasm. It came without my telling, and he knew it. I knew he knew me thoroughly already. I always knew he was a fast learner. The problem was, he knew when to stop but he didn’t care.

”Colby!”

“Let go,” he demanded. And when my body screamed at me to obey, I did. I gasped when his fingers fucked me faster than he did a second ago, and I made another mess of us. ”Holy shit—“ he gasped as if he wasn’t sure if he could get me to do it.

I was sure I chanted his name louder and louder until he finally eased up on me. When his bright eyes met mine, out of defiance, he dipped back down and didn’t break eye contact. He licked up the mess and, this time, pushed his moans against me.

”You taste so good,” he whispered when he finally crawled back up to me.

”Please,” I whined with the remaining of my strength.

”Now what?”

“Let me touch you.” His eyes flickered to the cuffs.

And he unlocked them.

I thought I would pounce, at least that was my plan, but my arms laid there rendered useless.

”Baby,” he gasped. He didn’t move to clean up. Instead, he lay next to me and kissed my skin. His fingers touched my skin again and again.

“Sorry—Hold on.”

”Don’t say sorry,” he laughed. “I can’t tell if I did my job well or not enough.” I laughed.

I shook my head.

”What are you talking about? I’m a mess.”

”Yeah, you are,” he laughed at me. “But you almost slipped and then I pulled you out of the headspace. I thought you wanted to.” I shook my head.

”I wanted to stay with you and feel everything you would give me.” His silent answer must have meant contentment.

Then, I opened my eyes.

I pushed him to his back and he drew in a sharp breath when his head met the pillow. I looked down on him as I straddled him and he looked up at me like he couldn’t dare to blink.

”When is it my turn to make you fall apart?” He actually laughed this time; his smile shined up at me like he wasn’t past the point of exhaustion. It neared four am.

”Tomorrow.” My eyebrows piqued in interest.

”And the next day?” I asked.

”Yeah, and for everyday you think you can get away with it, it adds on to your punishment.” I hated the way my throat tied in a knot.

”Oh okay, so what you’re telling me is to do it for a week?” That was when shock pulled at his face.

”What are you not okay with?”

”You keeping yourself back from me.”

”You just want me to test your boundaries.”

”What am I supposed to have boundaries with you for if you don’t test how strong they are?” I swore his eyes rolled back with something.

”You’re going to kill me.”

I was sure those words alone proved to the both of us what we knew all this time. It wasn’t him over me, it wasn’t me on my knees for him, no. It was us fighting and wrestling the fact that we pulled on each other equally.

And there I was all my life thinking I didn’t have a match.

“If you’re going to die, then at least I’m the one doing it.”

The nod of his head told me that he agreed and it was the same for me.

I didn’t remember much else aside from sharing the same body with him until the sun rose.

✧˖*°࿐

Taglist (Comment to be added):

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#colby brock #sam and colby #sam golbach #18+ only #minors dni #colby brock smut #colby brock x reader #rosie writings

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muiitoloko · 1 month

Text

Dressing room

Summary: Judge Turpin was insatiable and always looked for an opportunity to have you, even if it was in a dressing room at a suit store.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Just a glimpse into the early days of the Turpin marriage, from the series "Love?" Although honestly, I saw this one-shot as rubbish. I think I'm getting bad at writing. 😅

First, Second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth part here.

You sat alone in the opulent suit shop, surrounded by mannequins dressed in rich, elaborate suits that bespoke a life you had never imagined. The shop was grand, with polished wood floors and walls lined with shelves of tailored garments. But despite the luxury, a shiver ran down your spine as you glanced around nervously, feeling out of place in this foreign world.

It had only been two weeks since your marriage to Richard Turpin, a man who struck fear into your heart with his cold, unyielding demeanor and imposing presence. His hooked nose and baritone voice seemed to echo through your mind, a constant reminder of his dominance over your life now.

Turpin had brought you to London from your small village, promising a life of wealth and security. Yet, as you stood here in this shop, waiting for him to finish trying on suits, you couldn't shake the feeling of dread that accompanied you wherever you went.

The loyal employee, a man named Beadle Bamford, stood nearby, his sharp eyes fixed on you as if he were watching for any signs of disobedience. His presence unnerved you; he was a reminder of the control Turpin had over you, even in public places like this.

You glanced down at your hands, your wedding band catching the light. Turpin never let you forget that he owned you now, body and soul. He kept you on a tight leash, allowing you out of the house only when he was by your side. It was suffocating.

The sound of a door being opened broke your reverie, and you looked up to see Turpin emerging from the dressing area, adjusting the cuffs of a fine silk shirt under a dark, tailored suit jacket. His expression was stern, eyes cold as he examined his reflection in the mirror. He seemed pleased with his appearance, a dangerous glint in his eye that made you shiver.

"Is this to your liking, my dear?" Turpin asked, his voice low and demanding as he turned to face you. His words were meant to sound polite, but they carried an undercurrent of authority that left no room for disagreement.

"Yes, it looks very nice," you replied softly, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear rising within you.

Turpin nodded, satisfied with your response, and turned to tailor. "We'll take this one," he stated firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

The tailor nodded deferentially, his eyes flicking briefly to you before he turned to retrieve the suit from its display. As he disappeared into the back of the shop, you felt Turpin's gaze bore into you once more, his expression unreadable.

"You've been very well-behaved today," Turpin remarked, his voice deceptively calm as he took a step closer to you. "I trust you're learning to appreciate the finer things in life."

You nodded silently, unsure of what he wanted from you. The truth was, you were still struggling to adjust to this new life, surrounded by opulence and luxury that felt more like a gilded cage than anything else.

Turpin reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek in a gesture that should have been tender, but instead sent a shiver of dread down your spine. His touch was possessive, a silent reminder of the control he had over you.

When the tailor returned, you watched Turpin talk to him in a low voice. The exchange was too quiet for you to hear. The tailor nodded before walking away, disappearing into the back of the shop. Turpin turned to his assistant, barking a single sharp command at Beadle: "Go away!" Beadle complied without question, his demeanor subservient as he scurried off to attend to his master's bidding.

Alone in the store with Turpin, you felt a sense of unease settle over you like a suffocating blanket. His presence was suffocating, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over you as he approached, his eyes fixed on you with a predatory gleam.

Suddenly, Turpin grabbed your hand and pulled you with him into the dressing room, his grip firm and unyielding as he led you away from prying eyes. You stumbled after him, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to keep up with his brisk pace.

Once inside the dressing room, Turpin closed the door behind him with a decisive click, the sound echoing in the small space with ominous finality. You watched him warily, your nerves on edge as you waited for him to speak.

"Why are we here?" you questioned, your voice trembling with nervousness as you eyed Turpin warily. "What do you want from me?"

Turpin silenced you with a cold, calculating look, his eyes glinting with a mixture of desire and dominance. "I paid the tailor good money to leave us alone," he explained, his voice low and commanding as he stepped closer to you. "I have no intention of wasting this opportunity to fuck you."

You were shocked by your husband's shamelessness, yet another reminder of his brazen and insatiable nature. Despite your protests, Turpin paid you no mind, his intentions clear as he reached out to pull you closer to him.

And as he pressed you against the wall of the dressing room, his hands roamed over your body with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to protest, not wanting to engage in such intimate acts in such a public place, but Turpin's relentless advances left you powerless to resist.

With a rough tug, Turpin lifted your skirts, his fingers fumbling with the laces of your undergarments as he prepared to take you right then and there. You pleaded with him to stop, to show some restraint, but your words fell on deaf ears as Turpin's desire overpowered any sense of reason or decency.

But as Turpin dropped to his knees before you, instructing you to keep your skirts up, you nodded, a little stunned to see your powerful husband on his knees in front of you. But before you could fully comprehend the situation, he surprised you once again as he buried his face between your legs.

You gasped in surprise as you felt his warm breath against your skin, his tongue tracing delicate patterns along your folds. It was a strange sensation, one you had never experienced before, but you found yourself enjoying the unexpected pleasure as Turpin eagerly tasted you.

His movements were skilled and determined, his tongue exploring every inch of your sensitive flesh as he sought to please you. You arched your back in response, a moan escaping your lips as he found just the right angle to send waves of pleasure coursing through you.

With one of your legs draped over his shoulder, Turpin had a better angle to delve deeper, his ministrations becoming more fervent as he sought to elicit even more pleasure from you. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he devoured you with a hunger that left you breathless.

"Richard," you gasped, your voice trembling with desire as you looked down at him with lust-filled eyes. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

Turpin's only response was a low growl of approval as he redoubled his efforts, his tongue working tirelessly to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. With each flick and swirl, he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, his own desire evident in the fervor of his movements.

Turpin continued to pleasure you with his tongue. He couldn't help but revel in the taste of your essence, his curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar sensation. Despite his usual aversion to oral sex, he found himself enjoying the experience. His tongue delved deep inside you as he thrust with a fervor that mirrored his desire to possess you completely.

And as you moaned and writhed above him, Turpin felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him, knowing that he was the one bringing you to such heights of pleasure. He teased your clit with his hooked nose, the sensation driving you wild with desire as you begged for more.

But when you finally reached the peak of ecstasy, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm, Turpin knew it was time to move on to the next phase of their encounter. With a satisfied smirk, he stood up, undoing the pants of his expensive suit to reveal his cock, already hard and throbbing with anticipation.

"Get on your knees and bend over," Turpin instructed, his voice commanding as he gestured towards one of the benches in the dressing room. You obeyed without hesitation, still limp from your earlier orgasm as Turpin fell to his knees behind you.

With one hand, Turpin spread your ass cheeks wide, his gaze fixed on your little hole with a hunger that made you shiver with anticipation. He wanted nothing more than to plunge into you right then and there, to claim you in every way possible. But he knew he had to be patient, to prepare you properly for what was to come.

For now, he contented himself with your dripping pussy, which he had trained so well since marrying you. With a low growl of desire, Turpin thrust into you with a force that made you cry out in pleasure, the sound echoing in the small confines of the dressing room.

"You're mine, my dear," Turpin growled, his voice dripping with possessiveness as he claimed you as his own. "And I'm going to make you scream my name."

With each thrust, Turpin drove you closer and closer to the edge, his cock filling you completely as he claimed you as his own. And as you surrendered to the pleasure of his touch, you couldn't help but moan in ecstasy, your body trembling with the force of your desire as Turpin ravished you with a passion that left you breathless and begging for more.

Turpin leaned into you, his chest pressing against your back as he panted in your ear, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. "Soon, my dear," he whispered, his voice low and husky with desire. "Soon, I'll fuck all your holes until you're begging for mercy."

You whimpered with each thrust, the pleasure overwhelming as Turpin claimed you as his own. But before you could fully comprehend his words, he silenced you with a firm hand pressed against your throat, his eyes burning with possessiveness as he imagined other people hearing the sweet sounds of your pleasure.

"No one else gets to hear these sounds," Turpin growled, his voice laced with possessive desire. "They're mine, and mine alone. I'll kill any man who dares to lay eyes on you or hear you moan like this."

And as he continued to ravish you with a ferocity that left you breathless, you surrendered to the pleasure of his touch, your trained pussy accepting his dick with eager anticipation. With each thrust, each moan of pleasure, you knew that you belonged to him completely, body and soul, and that there was no escaping his grasp.

Turpin continued to ravish you. His grip on your throat tightened, and his fingers dug into your skin with a possessiveness that left you breathless. You gasped for air, your heart pounding in your chest as Turpin's mouth pressed against your ear. His hot breath sent shivers down your spine.

"You're mine, my dear," Turpin growled, his voice low and husky with desire. "Mine to use, mine to fuck. Your pussy was made for me, and soon your ass will be too."

You whimpered in response, the pleasure of his touch overwhelming as he claimed you as his own. Turpin's cock pounded into you relentlessly, each thrust driving you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

With one hand still wrapped around your throat, Turpin used his free hand to guide yours to his cock, urging you to stroke him in time with his movements. You obeyed without hesitation, your fingers trembling with desire as you pleasured him with eager enthusiasm.

"That's it, my dear," Turpin murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction as he felt your hand working his shaft. "Stroke me just like that. You're such a good little slut for me."

You moaned in response, the filthy words sending waves of pleasure coursing through you as Turpin's cock filled you completely. With each thrust, each moan of pleasure, you knew that you belonged to him completely, body and soul, and that there was no escaping his grasp.

As Turpin approached the peak of his own pleasure, he leaned in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered his filthy desires.

"I'm going to come inside you, my dear," Turpin growled, his voice laced with possessive desire. "And you're going to take every last drop, like a good little whore."

You whimpered in response, your body trembling with anticipation as Turpin's cock pounded into you with increasing ferocity. And as he finally reached the brink of ecstasy, you felt him explode inside you, his hot seed filling you to the brim as he claimed you as his own once more.

You cried out in pleasure as you felt the warmth of his release, your own orgasm crashing over you in waves as you surrendered to the pleasure of his touch. And as you lay there in his arms, spent and satisfied, you knew that there was no escaping the clutches of the man who had claimed you as his own.

Turpin held you close, his grip on your throat loosening as he pressed kisses against your skin, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his usual cruelty. He pulled out of you, slipping out with a wet sound before releasing you, letting you fall limply to the floor as he stood up, quickly changing into his normal suit.

You stayed on the floor, catching your breath, feeling a mix of physical and emotional exhaustion. When Turpin realized this, he ordered you to get up and compose yourself.

"Get up," he commanded sharply, his voice cutting through the silence of the dressing room.

You obeyed, slowly getting to your feet and smoothing down your crumpled skirts. You picked up your underwear from the floor, putting them on quickly before watching Turpin tie his tie in front of the full-length mirror. You stood next to him, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension.

As he adjusted his tie, you surprised him by stepping closer and hugging him from behind. It took him by surprise; in the two weeks you had been married, you had never initiated such a gesture. He stiffened slightly under your touch, his back straightening as he glanced at you through the reflection in the mirror.

"What are you doing?" Turpin asked sharply, his voice laced with suspicion.

You didn't let go, your cheek pressed against his back as you murmured softly, "I don't know. I just felt like it."

Turpin remained rigid for a moment, seemingly caught off guard by your unexpected action. His demeanor softened ever so slightly, though his voice retained its edge. "Don't be foolish," he replied gruffly, but he didn't shrug you off. Instead, he allowed you to hold onto him as he continued to adjust his tie.

You stayed like that for a few moments longer, feeling the tension between you begin to ease, if only slightly. Turpin didn't push you away, allowing you to draw comfort from the embrace, however fleeting it might be.

When he finished with his tie, Turpin gently extricated himself from your embrace and turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "Compose yourself," he ordered again, though his voice lacked its usual harshness.

You nodded silently, smoothing your hands over your skirts once more, trying to regain some sense of composure. Turpin watched you for a moment longer before turning away, dismissing the moment as quickly as it had come.

As he walked toward the dressing room door, you followed suit, feeling a mix of confusion and relief. The encounter had been brief, but for a moment, you had glimpsed a different side of Richard Turpin, a side that was not solely driven by cruelty and control.

You knew that such moments would be rare, but in that brief embrace, you had found a glimmer of hope that perhaps, in time, there could be more to your marriage than fear and domination.

Turpin opened the door and gestured for you to exit first, his demeanor reverting to its usual sternness. You stepped out into the shop, feeling a renewed resolve to navigate this new life, however uncertain and terrifying it might be.

As you left the shop together, you glanced at Turpin out of the corner of your eye, wondering what lay ahead for you both. The streets of London stretched out before you, a maze of possibility and danger, and as you walked beside your husband, you knew that you would have to tread carefully to survive.

But for now, you clung to the fleeting comfort of that brief embrace, hoping that it might signal a change, however small, in the harsh reality of your life with Richard Turpin.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #judge turpin x reader #judge turpin #sweeney todd

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