#i could unpack this more but these tags are long enough

[friendpilled-visitmaxer]

it's 4am y'know what that means (romanticize and grieve parts of my past where I was miserable)

[manfred-volkarin]

still don't know if anders was hearing the false calling during the events of DAI btw. Hawke's warden contact mentions that "every warden in orlais" hears it and says he hears it too...but you're in eastern fereldan when he says it????

so is it every warden in southern thedas? (so anders would hear it too) every warden in orlais and it follows you if you leave? (so anders wouldn't hear it)

[grassbreads]

I finished Silent Reading!!

Overall I'd say that I liked and had fun with it despite my criticisns, but it has some pretty noticeable problems. This is the second priest novel I've read after Tai Sui, and I knew it wasn't going to live up to my utter adoration of TS, but I'd still say that Mo Du was pretty notably not as good. It's a fun novel! But it's good rather than amazing.

On the positive side, I really enjoyed Luo Wenzhou and Fei Du's whole dynamic. It wasn't the most romantic romance I've read, and I could nitpick how I feel about their end state, but they're always a ton of fun to watch going back and forth. I especially enjoyed their book 3 "flirty game of chicken" era, as well as their more fraught confrontations in book 4. "I’d really love nothing better than to dig out your evil heart and rotten lungs and have a look" remains one of the most brilliantly insanity-inducing lines of dialogue that I have ever read.

Lang Qiao, Tao Ran, and Xiao Haiyang all made for very charming side characters, and the mysteries themselves were interesting. I also love the choice to work literary references into the novel in such a big way. I was *thrilled* when I started book 2 and realized what priest was doing with the book titles.

There really is a lot to like about Mo Du, and priest tells a great story with Fei Du. Watching a character intent on destroying himself be pulled from a dark path and manage to exact an almost perfect revenge while remaining unsullied is, uh, really satisfying. It's fun to watch the forces of justice be victorious!

However, as is the case with any ultimately pro-police story that tries to tackle the failings of the justice system, it feels like it bit off more than it could resolve thematically. The conspiracy has been unwound and the crooked cops have been exposed, but the novel makes a legitimate point about the failings of the police to really help people, especially early on, and the ending does not fully fix that problem. Things are definitely better than they were when the story ends. Fei Du is a rich man that likes to spend his money helping victims, and Lwz and his team are all very dedicated to bringing justice no matter the cost. But I don't think it's realistic to say that Lwz's people will somehow solve every crime in Yan city, or that no victim will ever be tossed by the wayside again. It just feels like there's this terrible looming extant problem in the background that neither priest or the characters can recognize.

Fei Du gets his happy ending and catharsis, and the victims of the Zhangs and Fan Siyuan get some version of justice in the end, but the problems of the justice system as presented in the story simply cannot be fixed.

Like I said, this is ultimately a failing that the story was bound to have, given that it's both pro-police to a large degree and concerned with how the justice system fails people, but I still feel it's worth pointibg out. Not to mention the overall copaganda-ness of how LWZ and his team are portrayed.

Besides my beef with police narratives, I also think that the mysteries in this one may have gotten a bit too convoluted for their own good at times. The crimes in Silent Reading are a complex fucking web, and keeping track of everything that happens would require following a near unfathomable number of tiny details over a long (540k) novel. Once we hit a certain point, I just had to accept that I wasn't going to be able to follow the details of the mystery or figure anything out for myself, which isn't necessarily what you want from a crime novel.

Also, as much as I enjoyed Fei Du, there were some points where I felt his backstory kinda failed to land. I think I'm honestly just spoiled by VnC at this point. Vanitas is a character with a truly horrific backstory and a bonkers personality, but it never feels like too much because every horrible thing in his past is reflected so well in his present traits (and vice versa). For Fei Du, on the other hand, his past sometimes felt like a little much. He's obviously going thru it in the present, but not quite a degree of fucked up that could sell me on the sheer insanity that is the whole metal ring situation.

Also, as I've complained about previously, I don't love how this novel treats women. I don't like how things ended with Yang Xin, and though I ended up enjoying Lang Qiao, I'm bothered by how she's basically the only woman that's relevant through the whole novel (compared to just SO many dudes).

Overall, a solid 6 or 7 out of 10. A lot of fun and very interesting, and it does have some compelling thematic things to say, but there were aspects which I found very much frustrated me. I might recommend it to anyone who likes Tai Sui and wants to see an interesting Zhou Ying precursor, as well as anyone who really likes mystery and crime novels with super intricate, complicated plotlines. However, I only make that recommendation if you promise to take the novel's portrayal of good policemen with a MASSIVE grain of salt lmao. I cannot stress enough the degree to which the portrayal of LWZ and his team ends up being copaganda-ish, even if that's unintentional.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Back To Work | Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader | Drabble - 800 words

Retirement, a new house, a romantic evening planned, Bucky just knew that life was all going too well . Especially when he starts being hounded to return to his superhero life.

Warnings: language, fluff, a little angsty at the end. Featuring domestic thunderbolts Bucky.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Bucky, are you ready to go baby?” Your voice carried through from the living room as he clicked his arm back into place, shrugging his shoulder to get the fit right. 

You'd been excited all day, buzzing around the new house and opening boxes, trying to unpack at the same time as finding the perfect outfit. Bucky was only half regretting making plans so soon after moving, sure it was stressful trying to dig out his nice shoes from the piles of boxes and bags, but seeing you so happy was completely worth it and knowing you’d be coming home to your house, together, was just the icing on the cake. 

Now the sun was setting and you had turned on the downlighters in the kitchen, void of your usual clutter it looked lonely. 

“Just checking my phone, Doll.” He called back picking the offending item up from the counter - so many missed messages, he sighed.

 He'd been better recently, replying to Sam and catching up with him every week or so. He'd even managed to facetime Steve in his retirement home. He quite enjoyed the easy freedom of digital communication. But today, of all days, it had been pinging non-stop all driving him crazy during the drive and ruining the relaxing and, he hoped, romantic atmosphere he was trying to create. 

“Come on, baby, I don't want to be late.” You strolled into the kitchen and he dropped the phone again to focus his attention on you instead, taking in your dress and heels, your lipstick perfectly done. How could he worry about a stupid phone when you were together. 

“C’mere,” he pulled you close, tucking you under his chin and planting a kiss to the top of your head. 

He smelt lovely, fresh from the shower but with the hint of cut wood from building furniture. His vest revealed the hint of his dog tags, outlined under the fabric, as well as his tanned skin from a summer well spent outside, your traced your fingers over the chain and up his neck. Tangling your fingers in his long hair you tugged him down for a kiss. 

“Love you, Buck.” You whispered against his lips, heat surging through you just at his presence. 

“Love you too.” His lips tickled your cheek, behind your ear, and then he was swinging you up onto the counter. 

“Don't make us late!” 

“If you don't like it, stop giggling.” His fingers tickled up your bare legs, eyes twinkling with desire. 

Ping 

“That fucking phone,” Bucky growled, grabbing it again. More messages, more missed calls. 

“You should see what they want,” wrapping your arms and legs around him as you tugged Bucky closer, every line and curve fitting against him perfectly. He was sun warmed and cuddly, still ridiculously strong, but the hard lines and plains had softened since his retirement and you couldn’t get enough. 

“Fine, for you, then we're going to go and have a nice dinner and I'm leaving this stupid thing here.” He grumbled, chin on top of your head. 

You giggled again, leaving kisses on his chest. Bucky was so attached to that thing you didn't believe it for a second. Until his breathing went funny, heartbeat speeding up beneath your cheek. 

“What is it?”

His eyes had lost their sparkle, looking sad and serious. 

“I might have to rearrange dinner.” 

“What? Why?” You couldn’t see the phone, but his eyes raced across whatever he’d been sent.

“Where did we pack the gear?”

“The what? Oh - uh,it's in the trunk, in the garage but -” 

Bucky slid away, eyes glazed, focussed, intent and you were suddenly so cold without his presence.Your heart sank listening to the movement in the garage on the other side of the wall. 

He emerged ten minutes later, his smart trousers and vest discarded in favour of leather, the dirty t-shirt he'd been wearing while you were unpacking was back and he’d at least grabbed his soft leather jacket for protection. 

You threw yourself into his arms, tears springing to your eyes. “Are you needed?” 

“I think so,” his voice was low, sinking into the headspace required to take on whatever danger was lurking. 

“Come back to me in one piece, okay?” Your voice cracked, arms squeezing him impossibly tight.

“Of course, doll.” He looked at you then, tears welling in his own eyes, his lips so soft against your own. 

“You're my hero, you know that? You don't have to do anything else?” 

He nodded, letting you slide back to the floor, heels clicking on the tile in a sad reminder of your ruined evening. 

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, lock the door behind me, okay? Don’t let anyone, anyone, in.” 

It was your turn to nod, you knew the protocols, the rules that reassured him. 

His bike roared to life, then he was gone, and you were alone in the echo of your home. 

[anyamaris]

Reciprocity

Summary- Your unrequited crush on Hoseok seems to have played itself out as you overhear a conversation between him and Yoongi. But Yoongi has a secret of his own to tell you.

Word Count- 11372

Pairing- Yoongi x F!Reader (x Hoseok in a way?)

Trope- Friends to lovers au, smut/angst

Warnings- Unrequited love, a bit of a love triangle? Adult language, vulgarity, unprotected sex, lots of smutty things, minors DNI 18+++

Tags- @ksmutsociety @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @yoonguurt @shinestarhwaa @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @starlitmark @millennial-fangirl @ericssmile @wooahaeproductions @changbinslovelylegs @yeosxxx @starillusion13 @duchesskaren @minki-moo @woosanbby @frenchkisstheabyss

@cafekitsune Thank you for banners and dividers! 🤍💜🤍

A/N- Well this started out as a Hoseok fic....but Yoongi kind of took over? This is my first attempt at a BTS fic so please be kind. Thank you to @kwanisms for the gorgeous header and to @frenchkisstheabyss for beta reading all of this process and encouraging me...this wouldn't have been written without you!!

“What do you mean?” You hear the familiar sound of Hoseok’s voice from the other room as you walk in.  

Smiling, you open your mouth to announce yourself, but the next words have you clamping it shut. 

“She’s just my friend, I don’t see her that way.” 

Curious, you set the bag of food down on the coffee table in the living room, wondering who he’s talking about.  

“Liar, I see how you two are together.  You’ve been friends for ages, and I can tell-”

“I’m not lying.  Seriously, man-maybe you’re projecting.  She’s just my friend.  As if I could ever see her as a woman.” 

Hoseok’s laugh at that last line has your heart dropping two stories below the apartment, the tingle of hurt burning the back of your throat.  

“Hobi-” You can hear the tightness of Yoongi’s voice as you try to calm the tsunami in your stomach.  

“Why are you so intent on matchmaking us? It’s not like you, dude. Stop meddling, it’s weird.”

“As long as you say so, man. I just figured I’d check before-” 

Their voices halt the moment you begin to make noises, unwilling to hear your two friends talk about you like that. 

You already felt invasive enough having listened in on that little bit.

Fighting down the tears pricking the back of your eyes, you manage to call out to them.  

“I’m back with food!”  

You’re certain your voice is normal as you make your way into the kitchen, settling the bag down on the counter to pull out containers for everyone.  

“Come eat while it’s warm…” you manage, ignoring the two men as they wander out from Hoseok’s bedroom.  

“That was quick…” Yoongi mutters, and you don’t catch the glare he throws at Hoseok.

Shrugging, the latter man comes over to give you a big smile.  

“Want to eat in here or the living room?” Hoseok asks, nudging your shoulder playfully as you finish unpacking the food.  

Trying to school your features, you just shrug, glancing over at Yoongi.  

He’s just looking between you, eyes narrowed before he sighs and finally shrugs back at you.  

“Whatever works, I’m just hungry.” Yoongi grabs a carton of noodles to sniff it, glancing around at the little buffet you’d brought.

“Thanks for the food.” he says, shooting Hoseok another look as he hovers beside you, bumping into you as he picks through the array.  

After you all eat your fill and clean up the kitchen, you find yourself on the couch beside Hoseok as he rambles on about his day.

Eyeing him, you can’t help but think about what he’d said earlier.

“As if I could ever see her as a woman.” 

As long as you’ve been friends with the man, he’s always been playful and flirtatious with you.  

While that was all fine with you, there were times that you could swear there was something more.  

That he may have something beyond just your close friendship.

That he may feel the same way that you do for him.

The crush you’d had on him existed long before you’d called him your best friend.  

Long nights talking about everything and anything, lingering on the phone even after one or the other passed out.

How he’d show up after he’d heard you had a bad day, bringing you your favorite coffee or treat.  

How willing he’s always been to make you smile.  

Yes, that’s what friends are for.  

They care for you in your bad times, as well as the good.

You’ve told yourself this so often that you’d convinced yourself at this point.

You’d had to, the silly crush you had on him had slowly become true feelings.

Feelings you’d been struggling to suppress because your friendship had always meant more to you.  

Yet, he was always cuddling with you, touching you, brushing back your hair….

The flirtatious nature of how you were together had of course been noticed by all of your friend group as well.  

Yoongi asking Hoseok about it was nothing new either, so that’s not what bothered you.

Even as much as you’d told yourself that you were only friends, hearing him say that he couldn’t even see you as a woman had your heart dying in your chest.

It shouldn’t hurt, you’ve told yourself that very thing night after night after he’d done something to get your pulse racing, your emotions stirring in ways you couldn’t ignore.

Lost in your thoughts, you jump as you feel Hoseok’s breath on your ear.

“Whatcha thinking about?”  He asks and you turn to look at him, swallowing heavily.

There it was-that cheerful smile.  

The one that always had you wondering how you would ever survive being around him.

“Nothing.” You mumble, turning to glance at Yoongi, pulling back to put some distance between you.

“How’s your work going?” you ask, pretending not to notice how Yoongi shoots yet another look at Hoseok.  

Before he can answer, there’s a knock at the door and you eagerly jump up to get it.

You’re not sure if you can handle Hoseok’s touchiness tonight.

Not while you were still reeling from his painful words.

“Hey, are you ignoring me? You’d better be free that night, what would I do without my bestie beside me?”

You just sigh at the text, chewing your lip as you ponder how to deal with him.

Your writing had been taking a toll ever since your mood had plummeted.  

After that evening, you’d recovered some from the hurt.  

You’d known that you two were only friends, but apparently there was a part of you that had clung onto a small bit of hope that he’d secretly felt something more for you.

At least you had your answer to that now, you keep telling yourself.  

Don’t act weird, you think, shaking your head at how ridiculous and emotional you were over something you knew already.

Flirtations or not, he’d never attempted to do anything beyond just that.  

Don’t be a greedy bitch, and don’t whine about stupid shit, you think to yourself.

“Fine, fine, but you’re buying the drinks.” You send him, smirking.

“DEAL!” he sends back with his typical emojis, making you laugh despite the ache.  

Checking the rest of your messages, you manage to see a missed text from Yoongi.

“Huh, weird…”  you mutter, opening it.  

“Hey, so…are you free sometime this week for coffee or lunch?”  

You frown at the text, tilting your head in wonder.

Curious, as Yoongi wasn’t one to reach out suddenly for no reason, you just message back:

“Sure, I can meet whenever you’re free.  Is everything okay?” 

It’s a bit before you get a response, which was typical for the man, as he was always doing something in his studio.

“Yeah…just wanted to talk to you about something personal.” 

His response has your curiosity peaking, and you immediately respond back to him.

“Well, let me know when you have the time and I’ll come meet you wherever!”

Interesting, you think.  

Yoongi and you had been friends for as long as you and Hoseok, but you’d never developed the same kind of closeness.

Mostly because of how different they are, of course.

Yoongi is reserved, a bit more quiet and serious.  

He rarely spends a lot of alone time with you, so something must be up if he’s asking for a one on one.

Hoseok is cheerful and upbeat, talkative and he never shies away from physical touch with you.

Frowning, you realize that’s part of what got you into this mess in the first place.

It’s not his fault that I have inappropriate feelings for him, you chastise yourself.

You take a moment longer to read the next text from Yoongi, responding that he will text you when he has time.

Setting down your phone, you turn to your laptop to see if you can break through the writer’s block today.

You make your way inside the quiet little coffee shop, glancing around to see if Yoongi was inside yet.  

None of the tables were taken, and there was a lone barista behind the bar, cleaning.

I must be early, you think, checking the time.  

Figuring you’ll get drinks while you wait for him, you make your way to the counter.

“Hello, what can I get started for you?” The man asks, and you place your order, deciding to get something for Yoongi as well.  

By the time the young man is setting your two drinks on the counter, you hear the chime over the door ring.

“Hey, sorry, I got held up at the last minute.  Freaking Taehyung and Jungkook and their normal antics.” He grimaces.

You can’t help but grin, knowing all too well how hard it was to escape the little menaces.  

“No problem, here I got you a drink already.” You hold it out to him, his eyes lighting up as he takes it.  

“Thank you…my intention was to buy your drink, but you beat me to it.” He smiles, gesturing to the open tables. 

Choosing a two seater by the window, you slip into the chair as he does the same across from you.

“So, how is work going? Super busy?” You start as he sets his coffee on the table.

He sighs, running a hand over his face as he glances out the window, nodding.

“Always, and those two little-” he begins, then shakes his head.

“Anyhow, it’s nice to get away.  How is your writing going?” He inquires, leaning forward as he turns to face you fully.  

Letting out your own sigh, you look down to toy with the lid of your cup.  

“Eh…I’ve had better weeks of writing. Lately….” you let the words drift off, just giving a small shrug to fill the void.

You notice his frown as he studies you, concern in his eyes as he tilts his head.

“Lately? Did something happen? What’s going on?” He asks, his sudden worry apparent.

Waving him off, you take another sip of your drink.

“Oh…just…things.  Life.” You try to smile, “Just stupid thoughts and trying to work through something.  But it’s nothing important.” 

You try to look reassuring but the concern stays on his face.  

“What about you? You said you had something personal to talk about?” Changing the subject was the best bet, you think.

“Mmmm….” he hums, his voice deep and low as he seems to ponder how to start.

“I…well…” he chews his lip, glancing down, then back up at you.  

“We’ve been friends for a while, right?” He asks, taking you off guard.  

You merely nod, thinking for a moment before you respond, “Eight years, yeah.”

He nods once at your answer, studying you before glancing away again.  

“You haven’t…dated anyone since we’ve all been friends.” He says and you furrow your brow at him.

“I mean…no…I actually haven’t.” You mumble, frowning, worried about where this is going.

“How come?” he asks bluntly.

You can only blink at him with a blank expression.  

“Not to be rude but…I thought you wanted to talk about something personal?” You deflect, wondering why he’s suddenly so curious about your dating life.

His cheeks flush pink and he looks down at his cup as he idly spins it on the table.

Clearing his throat, he manages to say, “Well…yes, this is personal…” 

Glancing around the little shop, you try to think of how to word it. 

It’s not like you can blurt out, “Because I’m in love with Hobi.” Because…just no.  

“It’s…complicated, I suppose.” you finally respond, tapping your foot against the table leg.  

His eyes meet yours, flicking back and forth as they seem to want to see beyond your evasive answer.

“I have you guys, why do I need to date? I guess the right person just hasn’t presented themselves.”

He hums, leaning back to watch you as you speak.  

“You mean you have Hoseok?” He asks simply, causing you to choke on the sip you were taking.  

Reaching for a napkin to clean up the coffee that shot out of your nose, you dab at your face as he watches you with a serious look.  

“I don’t-” you start but he puts up a hand, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to pretend that I don’t notice how you two are together, everyone has asked at some point if you two are a couple.” He says softly, his words obviously not intending to hurt but damn, do they.

You just take a moment to tamp down on the surge of pain at the reality of things versus what everyone “thinks”.  

“Yeah well…he has a way of making people think that, doesn’t he?” The bitterness in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Yoongi, who leans forward once more.

“Is this why you asked me to come out, Yoongi? To talk about my personal life?” You say a bit more harshly than you intended, wiping up the little droplets of coffee off the table to distract yourself.

“Hey-not…like that.  I’m not trying to…” he waves his hands around, flustered at your reaction.  

“Look, I heard you two talking the other night, alright? I’m very well aware of how  he sees me, so it matters little what I think about anything, doesn’t it?”  You tell him, finally looking up at him.

His frown tugs down even more now as he reaches out to place his hand over yours.  

Sighing, he shakes his head.  

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that…I’m sorry-” 

Cutting him off, you blurt out, “He doesn’t even see me as a woman, so-” 

“Well he’s fucking stupid then.” Yoongi counters, almost growling the words as he spits them out.

You can’t even think of what to say, shocked at the tone of his voice, the anger in his dark eyes as he squeezes your hand in his.

“I swear, I wanted to slap the smile off his face the other day when he said that to me,” he continues.

“How could anyone not see you as a woman? It’s fucking rude to say something so disrespectful, even if he thought you couldn’t hear him. I don’t care if we’re friends or more.” 

You swallow the pain at the memory, but the fact that Yoongi is getting so defensive for your sake has a warm feeling blossoming in the pit of your stomach.  

You manage to blink away the tears threatening to slip from your eye as you listen to his tirade.  

“He can think whatever he wants…” You mutter, glancing out the window to watch the people walk by, life going on outside of this painful conversation.

“Well, he doesn’t need to be so blunt about shit like that.  He’s the one always clinging to you like you belong to him-” Yoongi almost snarls out, but he stops, sighing as he blinks down at his drink.  

“Well, for the record, I don’t belong to anyone.” You tell him, intrigued and curious about his reaction to everything.  

You swear he almost sounds-

“I sound jealous, don’t I?” He says, a humorless laugh accompanying the words.  

“You sound like you just didn’t like what he said, I wouldn’t think you were jealous, Yoongi.” You tell him, giving him a reassuring smile.

He pauses as he looks down at your hand beneath his own, rubbing his fingers along yours.

“What if I were to say I was jealous?” He asks, continuing to look down before he raises his gaze to meet yours.  

It seems as if time stops in the tiny cafe as his words echo through your head.   

Jealous?

Yoongi?

“Yoongi, I’m not in the mood for jokes today.” You sigh out.

He purses his lips, his jaw working as he holds your gaze.

“I like you.” 

Your heart stutters, his sudden confession taking you completely by surprise.  

There wasn’t a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

Not an ounce of teasing in his tone.

He slips his hand off yours, leaning back as if he expects an outburst, but he never takes his eyes from yours.

Your mind is reeling at the idea that he’s being deadly serious.

Min Yoongi just confessed to you.

Yoongi…the serious, stoic friend you’d had for years.

When you don’t immediately respond, he just wipes a hand over his face.

“I wasn’t trying to be intrusive when I asked him about how he felt about you the other day.” He admits, finally breaking eye contact to look out the window, tching with his tongue as he considers his next words.

“Honestly, for years, everyone has had the idea that the two of you had some secret relationship going on.  That you just were being completely quiet about it, though to us it seemed very obvious.”  

You glance down at the hand he was just holding, feeling as if you’re floating in some weird alternate universe.  

Hearing how you and Hoseok had been viewed, mixed with the fact that Yoongi has had feelings for you….

You try your best not to zone out, hanging on his words as he continues.

“Of course, if that was the case, I’d be happy for the two of you.  You’re my friend, first and foremost.  Despite how I feel about you.”  

The low timbre of his voice lulls the pain of what he’s talking about a bit.

You’d always loved his voice, especially when it dropped low and deep like this.

Eyeing him as he watches the people walk by, you tilt your head to look at him in this new light as he talks.

It wasn’t a secret that you found all of your friends extremely attractive, every single one.  

Sometimes it felt almost unreasonable how handsome they all were, and you’d told them as much on many occasions.  

You certainly weren’t afraid to voice that opinion, it was just a fact at this point.  

It had just been so easy to look beyond the physical with all of them and Hoseok had definitely always been right up close, demanding all of your attention.

Never once past getting close with all the guys did you consider that any could have feelings for you, with the exception of Hobi of course.

“You…like me?” You finally respond, your entire worldview turning on it’s head.  

He winces at your words, turning back to meet your gaze.  

Pursing his lips, he merely nods.  

“I’m sorry if it’s abrupt, and if it upsets you at all.” he says softly, reaching out to grab his cup to drink from.  

“So the conversation you had with Hoseok….” you let the question linger as he sets his cup back down.  

He clucks his tongue, nodding gently as he finishes the thought.

“I figured if there was something between you two, if there was no hope…” he shrugs, chewing his lip as he looks down.

His words feel so very close to how you’ve been feeling lately about Hoseok, hitting you harder than you expect.

“Then you’d know…then you could let go.” You say without thinking, blinking at having uttered the words out loud.

His dark gaze meets yours, understanding passing between the two of you as he nods.

“I was shocked, honestly.  When he said nothing had ever happened between you.  But when he said-” he stops, his jaw clenching.  

You only manage an anemic smile as he continues, shrugging off the almost familiar pain.

“I’m not good at this kind of thing.” he tells you, “Confessing…admitting to you how I feel.”

You can’t help but feel a smile creep across your face as his cheeks tinge with a blush, unable to feel anything but excitement at his bravery.

“Yoongi-”  You start, but he stops you before you can say more. 

“Look…I asked him because I wanted to know how he felt about you.  If there was something there that I shouldn’t touch. On his side.” 

You just nod, understanding his logic with that.

“I want you to know that…telling you this, I don’t expect anything to come of it.  I know we’ve been friends a very long time and…I doubt you’ve ever seen me in that way.” 

Before you can respond, he only gives you a look and you let him continue speaking before saying anything.

He fiddles with his now empty cup, seeming to be turning over how he’s going to proceed.

“I’ve had feelings for you for a while now.  I thought eventually that they’d fade away and I wouldn’t have to deal with them.” he shrugs a shoulder as he says this.

His words still stun you, even though he’s already admitted to liking you.  

“Now I know how he feels about you, but I also want to ask you the same thing.  If it’s not too intrusive, of course.” he says, watching you closely.

You swallow the immediate urge to deflect and deny your true emotions for Hobi.  

But Yoongi was being completely honest with you, not to mention the courage it was taking to confess like this.

It felt dishonorable to lie at this point.

Feeling your cheeks heat, you can only let out a shaky sigh as you build up the courage to admit your true feelings out loud.

“I …. I have had emotions for Hoseok for a long time.” You finally say, watching him as closely as he’s watching you now.

He blanches a bit, but he seems unsurprised as he nods.

“I had the feeling that was the case.” he mumbles, his eyes narrowing as he glances out the window, his tongue in his cheek.

“It’s not like I expected anything, but…” you can only spread your hands out, as if to say, it is what it is.

“So his words the other day must have hurt.” He says, as a statement rather than a question.  

Feeling the slight ache at the memory, you can only nod as you shrug a shoulder.  

“It did, but it’s not as if I expected anything else. He’s never expressed any interest in me.”  

Yoongi’s head snaps around to look at you, his eyes narrowing even more.  

“Don’t lie to yourself, it’s obvious that he’s encouraged your feelings.  Even if it’s been unintentional.  I can’t tell you how much that pisses me off, now that I know how you feel.”  

His words seem to snap something inside of you, and suddenly he’s sitting forward as he reaches out to you, his eyes widening.  

“Hey…shit I’m so fucking sorry-” 

It takes you a moment to realize that tears are streaming down your face, and you’ve been holding your breath.  

He is out of his chair in a heartbeat, suddenly kneeling beside you, using a napkin to gently dab at your cheeks.  

You let out a shaky breath, intending to tell him it’s alright, that you’re fine but the moment you open your mouth, only a sob escapes.

“Damn it, I came here to admit my own feelings and here I am, hurting you.”  His voice is laced with anger, directed at himself.

Shaking your head, you just cover your mouth, trying to not draw the concern of the poor barista as you try to compose yourself.  

“No-” you choke out, looking down at the deep, concerned eyes of Yoongi.  

“Can I…?” He gestures awkwardly with his arms, and you immediately nod, slipping into his hug.  

“Shhh, hey, it’s alright.  I’m so sorry I’m digging up painful things for you, I never intended to upset you.”

You cling to him, gripping the back of his leather jacket as you try your best to collect yourself.

He rubs a hand down your spine as he continues to soothe you with small, simple words, giving you time to calm down.

“You-didn’t.” you finally manage, pulling back as you wipe at your face.  

You take in his pain filled eyes, and it’s an odd feeling to be filled with wonder at his sympathy and care all while wanting to bawl your eyes out over Hoseok at the same time.  

“I-I’m just confused, and frustrated.  At myself, mostly.” You say, trying to laugh.

“At yourself?” He asks, still kneeling before you, holding you at arms length as he reaches out to wipe away an errant tear.  

You just nod, taking in a deep breath.

“Yeah, I know he and I are only friends, so it’s stupid to think of anything else between us.”  

His eyes darken as he grimaces at your words, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Hey, don’t do that.  Your emotions are valid, even if you don’t want to have them.  It’s not something we have much control over, believe me.” He smiles but you can tell he’s empathizing more than he’s letting on.

This man had just confessed to you and here he was, comforting you over another man.  

Your head spins from the day's events, feeling overwhelmed from it all.

“Yoongi…” you start and he hums in askance.

Unable to stop yourself, you reach out to cup his cheek, almost laughing at the shocked and panicked look that washes over his face.

“Things have been…confusing.” you tell him, and he can only nod, but he leans into your hand as you continue.

“I’ve known for a long time that Hoseok doesn’t have feelings for me.  That…it’s in my head.” You admit, albeit sadly.

His lips thin into a line, but you continue before he can say anything.

“I’m still processing this…” you gesture with your free hand.  “It’s the last thing I expected…especially from you.” 

He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head at your admission.  

“Especially from me?” He asks softly.

You just smirk and nod, “Yes, especially from you.  You’ve never given me the impression that you’ve…been interested.” 

He just grins, and you still with shock over just how ridiculously sheepish and handsome he looks kneeling before you.  

Maybe...there was something here.  

Something you never considered because you’ve been blinded by Hoseok standing in the way.

Before you can jump on that train of thought, you manage to focus on what you were trying to say.

“Would you be willing to give me some time?” You ask him quietly.

His eyes widen and you can see him trying to fight back a smile at your words.  

“You…you’re not outright rejecting me?” He asks in surprise.

Smiling at his shock, you merely shake your head.

“No, I’m not.  But...knowing I have feelings for someone else has to have you lose some  interest.” You tell him, not even posing it as a question.  

You know it’s not something most people would tolerate.

“Hey…I’ve had a feeling that you two had a thing at some point.  It didn’t make me any less interested in you. And…I’ll be honest…” His eyes graze over you slowly, causing your face to flush at the deepening of his voice.

But it’s nothing compared to how his next words turn your world upside down.

“I’ve always seen you as a woman.  And not just any woman…an intelligent, strong and beautiful woman.”

His fingers brush your cheek, collecting the tear that leaks down your face as he gives you his signature lopsided smile.

“Take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere, alright?”

Time seems to fly by, yet it feels as if you’re trudging along in a slow fog all at once.

Since your coffee meeting with Yoongi, your emotions have been all over the place.

The one good thing about being in this state is that your writing block is nonexistent.

After getting home from your talk, you’d naturally gone to your laptop and opened it, your thoughts racing like mad.

On a whim, you just started writing.

Pouring your heart out into the void of white on your screen, tears blurring your eyes as you let your imagination work through some of the confusion and stress that had been building.

Knowing this would never see the light of day, you just ran with it; allowing your frustrations out on your fictional characters as day bled into night, then into day again.

Picking up your mug, you pause as you realize that it’s empty.  

Glancing around, you blink at the morning sun peeking through the blinds, suddenly feeling a yawn claw its way out as you stretch and crack your neck.

6:44am, the clock seems to judge you with its ticking second hand.  

Well…you’ve definitely gotten quite a lot of work done, even if it’s never going to become anything.

Standing to stretch out your back, you glance around at your empty apartment.

The tension headache you’d developed over the last week still lingered, but you felt a bit lighter now that you’ve worked through the swirl of emotions that had been threatening to drown you.

Padding into the kitchen, you turn on your electric kettle and lean against the counter to wait, thinking back on the way you’d left things with Yoongi.  

His words still didn’t seem real, and you can’t help but think about him on his knees before you.

His long dark hair hanging in his eyes, one side tucked behind his ear.

Eyes narrowed, biting his lip as he professed his concern for you.  

It would be a bold faced lie to say you’d never looked at him as a woman does a man.

You and your girlfriends had often had some seriously depraved conversations about the men in your friends group, but you felt that was only natural.

You hung out with a group of handsome men, who wouldn’t give them the once over and imagine?

When you’d all first started hanging out, it was impossible to not find them all attractive.  

Have you ever even considered Yoongi?

For certain you’d appreciated his looks, his deep voice, his laid back demeanor.  

But from the beginning, it was always Hoseok’s sunny smile taking up your entire vision.

Gorgeous, cheerful, energetic-you had both been drawn to each other in a way you couldn’t explain.  

It was easy to get sucked into his energy, to let yourself get swept away.  

Before long, you and Hoseok were best friends, sharing everything with one another.

All of your friends were convinced that one day you’d just announce that you were together.  

Yet here you were, eight years later, hearing that he didn’t even see you as a woman.

That sentence just stuck like popcorn lodged in your gums; the more you teased at it and tried to dig it out, the more painful it became.

Then Yoongi out of the blue drops that bomb on you.

As much as you know you have to work through these emotions for Hoseok, you can’t help but think about how there’s really nothing to get over.

You never had anything together.

Sure, he flirted and teased.

Yeah, he almost always had to touch you, be next to you.

But…there was nothing more.

Not one kiss.

Not even an “almost anything”.  

In the end, it seems like it was just his way of being your best friend and you resent that you feel like he’s hurt you in some way.

He hadn’t done anything wrong and there wasn’t even anything to be angry at.

Sighing, you pour some hot water over a teabag, forcing your thoughts away from Hoseok for the moment.

Your last conversation with Yoongi replays in your mind as you steep your tea, a small warmth blooming in your stomach at the memory.

Not much had been said that hadn’t been talked about over coffee; he’d walked you home as you both awkwardly discussed going forward.

“I hope you don’t feel any pressure to give me an answer-” He’d said as you approached your building.

His hands were in his pockets, dark strands dangling as he kicked at the pavement outside of your building.

It was a rare sight to see Min Yoongi being shy and nervous, and you couldn’t help but smile softly at him.

Stepping forward, you’d drawn his gaze, his eyebrows raising as you cut him off.  

“Yoongi, do you want to come over sometime this week and watch a movie?”

Your words had shut him up for a solid thirty seconds as he blinked at your invitation.

“Eh?” He finally managed, then he was tilting his head in confusion.  “I thought you needed time?”

“Time to think about things, yes.  But that doesn’t mean we can’t hang out.  Unless you’d rather not-” 

“No-I mean, yes, sure, I’d love to come watch a movie.”

Even now, you can’t help but smile at the delight in his dark eyes before he looked away, even as he clucked his tongue and cleared his throat.

Shuffling back to your cozy chair, you check your phone and notice a bunch of missed texts.  

Of course, you think, opening the familiar name on the screen.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Hey, are you sleeping?”

“I bet you’re writing and you have no idea what time it is! GO TO SLEEP!” 

Shaking your head and smiling, you just ignore Hoseok’s texts for now, scrolling through the others just checking in and saying hello.

Reluctantly, you make your way to your room, slightly annoyed that Hoseok knew you well enough to call it.

“Jerk.” You mutter, curling up with your blankets and drifting off.

“I swear, you guys just want something to gossip about.”  Hoseok scolded the nosy men in the room.  

“Don’t lump me in with them.” Namjoon says, turning his back to ignore the chatty trio.  

“Really, though, what would happen if she got a boyfriend?”  Jimin was asking, glancing at Taehyung as if to ask him for backup.  

Hoseok just leans back, sighing as he rests his hands behind him.  

“Then I would congratulate her and wish her well.”  He shoots back without hesitation, shaking his head.

He ignores the looks the two share, nodding at Yoongi as he makes his way into the practice room.

“Really? Just like that?” Taehyung asks, disbelief in his voice.

“Just like that.” Hoseok responds, shrugging his shoulders.  “You’re all overly concerned with my personal life right now.”

Yoongi stays silent, merely observing as they continue their conversation.  

“So, if-” Taehyung begins but Hoseok groans in annoyance, giving him a dark look that stops his question.

“If you’re not going to focus on practice-” He growls, causing the two to scramble and make excuses about things they need to do.

“What is it with these questions lately?” Hoseok mumbles, shaking his head as he stands to resume his choreography.  

Yoongi just grunts in response as he turns to focus on his own work.

Answering the door, you smile as you’re greeted with Yoongi’s familiar smiling face.  

Opening the door wider to allow him in, you can’t help but admire how handsome and soft he looks.

He’s wearing a loose grey sweater and jeans, and his long dark hair is pulled up into a half ponytail.  

Honestly, he looks...really sexy.

“I brought snacks.” He says, holding up the bag as he walks in and takes off his shoes.  

“Great!” You respond, taking the bag to the kitchen to put into little bowls so you can enjoy them during your show.

It’s been almost a month now that he’s been coming over for a movie night, making this number five.  

They weren’t dates, necessarily.  

Nothing had happened.

You’ve talked, laughed, watched movies, dramas, music videos.

Chatted about work, food, life in general.

Everything but touched on the topic that started all of this.

The respect he has had for you has been amazing, not once asking about your feelings towards anything, never inquiring about Hoseok or being intrusive in any way.

And he almost always sat with something between the two of you on the large couch, you think, watching him make his way to his normal spot.

Much had changed in a month, yet it also felt as if you were in this kind of limbo with Yoongi.

Of course, you were well aware that you were the one who asked for time.  

Hoseok had started to notice the little things as well.

Once upon a time, you’d have been on the phone with him at least a few times a week, ranting about your most recent writing project, or listening to him talk about dance practice and everything in between.

Those calls had slowly dwindled as you found yourself focusing more on yourself, on your work, on learning how to exist without him being your primary focus.  

On the other hand, you had been exchanging alot more conversation with Yoongi over this time.  

You’d been friends with him just as long as you have been with Hoseok and the others, yet you were learning things about him you never knew.

As you set the dishes down on the coffee table, you glance at where the pillow sits beside Yoongi, creating a makeshift barrier between the two of you.  

It wasn’t a sudden thought to remove it and toss it, to slide in beside him and see what it felt like for Yoongi to be the one to pull you into his side, to lay his head on yours as you curled into him.

No, it wasn’t sudden at all, it has been building up over these little drama dates you’ve been having with him.  

Settling on the couch beside the pillow, you chew your lip, considering how to even go about wanting to close the distance with him.  

Perhaps it was still too early, you think, returning his smile as he looks over at you, nodding along to his suggestions for your selection of the night. 

You both settle on a drama that has been airing, finding yourself involved and before long, two hours have passed.  

“Did you want to sleep or-?” He asks, turning to you as he holds the remote in his hand.

“If you don’t mind, I’d love to watch another.” You say softly, admiring him as he gives you a cute little smile as he turns to queue up the next episode.  

“Alright, bathroom break, I’ll be right back.”  He says, wandering off down your hallway.

“Need anything while I’m up?” you ask, going to get two more water bottles.  

“I’m good!” He calls as you go to sit back down.

You hesitate a moment before you grasp the irritating pillow and toss it over to the chair beside you.  

“There.” you mumble, proud of yourself before you’re filled with a sudden anxiousness as he comes to join you again.  

“Oh…” he says, eyeing the now empty space between you, glancing at you in askance as he sits down.

“It was in the way.” You say, cheeks heating as he nods slowly, and you catch the cute little eye twitch as he settles into the couch.  

“Ready?” He asks, side eyeing you as you adjust so you’re a bit closer to him.

“Yep.” You nod, trying to act nonchalant.

It’s slow, but as you make your way through the next hour-long episode, you find yourself bumping his knee with yours when you exclaim about what is going on.

Leaning in as you laugh, turning to see if his reaction matches your own.

Little by little the distance closes before your shoulder is brushing his, his deep throaty laughter evoking little tummy trembles.

And before you know it, you’re more focused on his facial expressions, his little grunts of surprise, the way his lips turn down as he finds something displeasing on the screen.  

Swallowing heavily, you reach out to brush an errant strand of hair back, causing him to freeze in place.

“Oh…sorry…you just…I-”  

“It’s fine.” He says, his eyes no longer taking in the show as his gaze sweeps over you.  

Your breath hitches a bit as you watch his adam’s apple bob, swallowing as  he licks his lips and clears his throat.

Brushing the strand back, you catch his dark gaze as it lingers on your lips, causing your stomach to flip.

He winces as he meets your eyes, clucking his tongue in that adorable way he does.

“Are you enjoying the show?” He asks, his voice a bit deeper and softer than normal and you can only nod as your fingers linger on the soft strands of his hair.

Somehow you’ve moved directly beside him, and you find yourself wondering what the exact distance is between his mouth and yours.

He clears his throat once more as he watches your gaze drop to his lips, seemingly unsure of what to say or do next.  

“I am.” You respond softly, your eyes just taking in the entirety of his face this close, unable to resist rubbing the silken strands between your fingertips.  

“Are you?” You ask after a long pause, the voices on the television fading into the background as you hear your heart thump in your chest.

How long had it been since you’d kissed someone? you wonder.

Since someone touched you in ways that were anything but friendly?

Feeling almost starved, you blush as you watch your hand tremble as you tuck his hair, your fingertips skimming the shell of his ear.

Suddenly, his hand is around your wrist, gently halting your motion as he studies your eyes.

“I don’t mean to sound…rude but…” He halts as your tongue darts out to wet your lips, his lashes fluttering as he appears to calm himself.

“Are you aware of what you’re doing right now?” He asks huskily, the timbre of his voice seeming to tickle something so deep within you that the very awareness of it is enough to cause you to squirm.

You hesitate to answer him, but not because you’re unsure of your response.

No, you need him to know that you’re very much aware.

Holding his gaze, your teeth capture your bottom lip as you nod slowly, intentionally.

“Good.” He grates out.

Within the next breath, the distance is bridged and his lips are capturing yours, the fingers around your wrist loosening as they trail down your forearm.

You don’t even have time to feel ashamed of the needy moan that gets lost in the depths of his mouth, because he’s too busy slipping his fingers up into your hair, kneading your scalp as his lips quiver against yours.

The show is forgotten as you both cling to one another, his free arm slipping around you to tug you closer.

Your fingers finally delve into the long, satin strands of hair that have been tempting you for weeks.

It’s a shock and yet not surprising at all when your hand slips over his back, across his shoulders and you feel the taut muscles bunching as he slowly pulls you ever closer to him.

You’re not even sure which noises are his and which are yours as you allow, no, you encourage him to tug you halfway onto his lap.  

Before you know it, you’re looking down at him, your fingers skimming his cheek as your lips part and meet, again and again with hot breathy sighs and groans.

“Yoongi-” You breathe out, and you can’t help but flush with shame at the desperation in your wavering voice.

He freezes suddenly at the sound of his name, unsure as he pulls back to check on you.  

The whine that escapes you as he withdraws causes his eyes to widen with concern, misunderstanding the meaning behind the embarrassing noise.  

“Too much-?” 

Unable to stop yourself, you straddle him properly, one thigh on either side of his, crushing your mouth to his as you cut off his sentence.

“No-” you manage as his hands immediately grasp your hips, a soft groan escaping him as you cup his face.  

It’s as if every touch of his is burning a trail along your body as his palms skim up your sides, sliding around your back, then down to cup your ass.  

Your head is swimming with the sensation overload as you roll your hips against him, finally realizing how very hard he is.  

Heat pools in your abdomen as his fingers knead your plush ass, his tongue dancing delicately over yours between his breathy groans.  

Your hand slips between you, a sudden need causing you to tug at the button of his jeans.  

Belatedly, you register how his body freezes, his hands gripping you to still you as he slows the kiss.

Drawing back, you swallow harshly, doing your best to not cry out at the loss of his lips on yours.  

His dark, anxious eyes study you as he brings a hand up to trace your cheek, and it takes you a moment to realize that those gorgeous lips are moving, that he’s speaking to you.

“Hey…woah…let’s slow down for a moment…” 

His voice sounds almost pained, gravelly and hoarse as he clears his throat.

“Yoongi?” You ask softly, concerned that you may have pushed him a bit too far, that maybe he doesn't want this.

He clears his throat again, eyes darting down to your lips before he looks away.

Yet he keeps you seated right there in his lap as he finally manages to get his words out.

“Let’s talk before…” His thumb caresses your cheek gently and you can feel his body shudder under yours as you blink at him.  

Nodding, you take a deep breath, pushing down the desperation and need within you in order to clear your mind.

“As much as I want you…want this…we should have a conversation.” He continues, finally meeting your eyes once more, “I don’t want to rush into anything either of us will regret.”

You process his words slowly, chest heaving as you do your best to calm yourself.  

The emotions that had gradually been building for him over this past month seem to evolve at his care for you, making your next words hold even more weight.

You slip your fingers into his hair, brushing it back as you admire the man you’d come to see as much more than a friend.  

“Yoongi…I like you, too.” You manage, your voice hoarse with the need you’ve pushed back for the moment.  

His eyebrows twitch upwards, lips parting with the tiniest little gasp as you smile softly at him.

“I want you…I want this. I want…more.” 

His eyelashes flutter at your words, eyes closing slowly as if he’s savoring the meaning behind them, the gravity of them.

“Are you sure? I don’t want something casual. We both deserve more than that.” He says before opening those deep chocolate eyes to observe you, gauging your reaction closely.

Without hesitation, you nod, running your thumb over his beautiful lashes.  

“I wouldn’t do that to you or myself, Yoongi.  I don’t want a pillow between us anymore.” You whisper, leaning down to brush your lips over his.  “I wouldn’t have removed it if I wasn’t ready for this. For us.” 

Your eyes are locked on his as you do so, curling your lips gently as his arm slips around your waist to hold you close.

“What about…Hoseok?” He whispers hesitantly, apprehension written all over his face.  

You knew this would come up, and it’s all that’s been on your mind over the weeks since he’d confessed.

Emotions are so complicated and slippery, especially when nothing is clear, when all you have is doubts and nothing is ever communicated.  

He watches patiently as you try to think of how to communicate the choice you’ve made properly to him, so he won’t think this is a rash decision on your part.

“I’ve had years to process those emotions, and nothing has ever come of it.  Perhaps it’s because I never communicated them properly, or maybe I just didn’t have the courage to face the rejection.” 

You smile fondly at him as he listens intently, your heart stuttering at the complete open trust and acceptance in his eyes.  

“Honestly, I’ve been blinded by my own wants and needs for so long with him, yet I never took the time to find out how he felt.  He’s my friend, and that will never change.  As much as it hurt to hear how he truly felt about me, I needed that. I can’t be even remotely mad or upset with him, as it’s me who was hurting myself all this time.”

“What I feel, or felt for Hoseok has nothing to do with you and I.  It’s a fleeting possibility that I spent far too long being preoccupied with.  I didn’t need the time I asked for just to solidify how I felt about you, Yoongi.” 

As you speak, you can feel the confidence and determination in your words as he holds you close, giving you the courage to continue.

“I wanted to make sure that when and if I was able to take this step with you, I would be giving you all of me.  Not just fragments warring with an unrequited crush for someone else.  I’m laying that part of me to rest, even if you decide that you want to stop right here.  That you want to just stay friends-”

The limbo you’ve both been suspended in seems to pop like a bubble as he suddenly flips you on your back, drawing out a small surprised cry from you.

“That’s all I need to hear.” He growls, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

The force behind it has your teeth digging into his lips, his tongue plunging into your mouth desperately as you meet his need with your own.  

Clinging to the soft fabric of his sweater, your legs slip around his thighs as he presses you into the couch with his hips.

His erection is even more prominent in this position as he presses wet kisses along your jaw, his hands slipping down to slip under your shirt to caress the bare skin of your waist.

Soft cries leave your parted lips as he rolls his hips, your already damp panties starting to soak through as he grinds against you.  

“I don’t want to be just friends.” The heat of his breath brushing over your neck causes you to shiver, your fingers grasping frantically at his sweater until your fingertips meet the hem, slipping your hands up his naked back.

“Give me all of you.” The rough timbre of his voice alone has you arching your back as he helps you yank his sweater over his head, tossing carelessly to the side.

The sight of him bare chested, hovering over you with that long hair hanging down almost undoes you right there and then.  

Placing your hands on his stomach, you run your palms slowly upwards, enjoying each and every twitch and spasm you extract.  

The way he bites his lip, the soft, throaty gasps.

How his eyes seem to darken to onyx in lust.

Pushing against him, you sit up as you slip your hands up his chest to his shoulders, then down his arms.  

Without uttering a word, you take his hand and tug him up, leading him to the darkened doorway of your room.  

As you reach the edge of your bed, he spins you around, tugging your shirt over your head before crushing his mouth against yours once more.

Your head spins from his familiar fragrance of warm spice and tobacco from his cologne, reveling in the fact that he’s covering you in his scent.

Rough calluses brush against your bare flesh, his hands eager yet gentle as he explores you as if they’re dying of thirst and your body is the only thing that can sustain him.  

He reacts to each soft whimper, every drawn out moan with his own, heightening the ache between your legs as he backs you towards the bed.

Your nails graze lightly down his back as his teeth nip the sensitive skin of your neck, his tongue laving at the tiny marks he’s leaving behind.  

“Harder.” he commands, his hands finally slipping down to grab handfuls of your ass to press you into him.  

Without even having to question what he means, you dig your nails into the skin of his back, raking them harshly down his skin to leave angry red lines behind.  

The room upends as he topples you onto the firm mattress, clinging to one another as you tug and pull, your hands finally making their way back to the button of his pants.

This time he doesn’t stop you, propping himself up to watch as you yank and unzip, pushing down the material keeping him from you.

His ragged panting fills the air around you as he helps you kick them off along with his boxers, your stomach tightening as you encircle his cock as it springs out.  

“Oh fuck-” He grunts, hips jerking forward as you stroke along the length.

Before you can respond, he’s returning the favor, yanking off your pants, leaving you only in your bra and panties beneath him.  

“You’re so fucking beautiful-” his voice is coarse as he rakes his gaze over you, dipping down to press his face between your breasts to inhale you.

“Yoongi…” You whimper, shivering as his hair tickles your sensitive skin as your hands slip around his back to stroke over the harsh marks you’ve left.  

He settles his weight on you, his hips dragging the underside of his dick along your panties as he palms your breasts through the fabric of your bra.  

“So soft..” He mumbles, tugging down the lace harshly and at this point, you don’t give a damn if he’s torn it.  

His words contrast with the feel of him against you, stiff, thick and throbbing as you soak through your panties with every motion he makes. 

“Yoongi, oh my god-you’re driving me-insane-” You manage to stutter as he wraps his lips around your taut nipple, suckling gently as he gazes up at your flushed face.

Your fingers find their way back into his hair, grasping desperately as he grins, his eyes shining with delight, your other hand clinging to his shoulder for dear life.

He releases your nipple with a wet pop, slowly kissing his way along the valley of your tits, making his way over to give the other fair treatment.

His warm breath tickles your skin, and you suck in a sharp breath as he laughs softly at how you’re reacting to him.

“Lose your mind then, love.  I’ve been losing mine over you for years.” 

He punctuates the words with a harsh suck as he claims your other nipple, causing your back to arch for him, digging your nails into his shoulder as you tug at his hair.  

Your eyes roll as he circles his tongue around the tightened bud, his eyes never leaving your face as the ache between your thighs throbs with need at his every touch.  

Years…

You’ve seen many sides of Min Yoongi but nothing compares to the sheer control he has right now, all while holding back the desperate need you can see in his stare.

Your cries grow louder as he reaches between you, his strong hand gripping the side of your panties and ripping the flimsy material, flinging them to the side. 

The moment your panties are gone, his fingers are slipping between your lower lips, parting them as he lets out a soft, deep whimper of his own.   

You barely register his hand slipping behind your back, unclasping the hooks of your bra to tug off the now damaged garment.

Your mind is consumed by how deftly his fingers tease at your core, his thumb honing in on your sensitive clit.

“You’re so gorgeous like this…” he rasps out, eyes hooded as he watches you arch your back as he gently circles his thumb, licking his lips as his breathing becomes even more ragged.

Choking back a moan, you writhe under his palm as he teases a fingertip into you before pulling back to rake his eyes over your naked form.  

The tightness in your stomach builds as you shudder beneath him, yanking harshly on the hair clenched in your fist.  

The moment he flashes that sexy lopsided smile, you can’t hold back anymore.  

The last thing you want to do is lie here losing your mind when he looks far too in control.  

“Min Yoongi, if you aren’t buried deep inside of me in the next ten seconds-”

Your words are punctuated by another tug of his hair, your legs slipping around his thighs, hips tilting to offer yourself up to him in desperation.

Before you can even finish your sentence, his mouth is on yours once more, his fingers parting from you to guide the head of his cock against your aching entrance.

He lets out a shuddering breath against your lips, a soft groan building in his throat as you feel him start to sink into your warmth.  

He brings his hand up to cup your face as he slowly fills you, the sound of your name on his lips swallowed up as you deepen the kiss.  

You gasp as you feel yourself clench around him, your body already shaking beneath him as he draws back just to thrust forward once more.  

“Fuck-!” he growls as his lips leave yours, looking down between you to watch his cock delve into you, “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?” 

All you can muster is a moan, then a sharp gasp as he pulls almost all the way out, then thrusts forward suddenly as he bottoms out within you.  

“Yoongi!” you cry out, wet noises filling the room as he starts snapping his hips into you, setting a hard but steady pace.

All you can do is watch his face as he fucks you, that gorgeous dark hair dangling above you as he bites his lip in concentration.  

“Look at me.” you demand between moans, drawing his attention back to you.  

His eyes flick up to your face, then rake down your body and back up as the force of his thrusts cause your body to shake beneath him.  

“I can’t take my fucking eyes off of you, fuck you feel so good-” He moans as he dips down to reclaim your lips.  

“Don’t fucking stop-” you whimper between kisses, and he only responds by grasping your wrist and pinning it over your head.  

His mouth leaves yours, hot breath skimming over your chin, then your neck as he kisses and licks his way over to your ear.  

“Do you like it when I fuck your pretty little pussy?” He growls, the deep tone of his voice sending a shock through your body alone.  

His pace quickens as you tighten around him, your moans and whimpers only encouraging him as you begin to feel the familiar need building in your abdomen.  

“Fuck, yes, Yoongi! Harder!” you scream, the heat of his breath, the sounds of his guttural moans vibrating in your eardrum pushing you closer and closer to tipping over that precipice.

Your back arches, angling your hips so that he’s hitting your sensitive clit with each thrust as his cries grow louder, melding with your own. 

The sound of your name in your ear almost undoes you, and you let out a choked scream as he draws back to look down at you.  

“So close-” you gasp as he releases your wrist, threading his fingers with yours above your head.  

“Yeah, baby? Gonna come for me?” he rasps out as he watches your face contort with every motion.

You nod your head frantically, feeling as if you’re balanced on a tightwire and all you want to do is fall off.  

You can feel his entire body quaking as he continues to speak, the sexiest filth dripping from his lips in that rich deep voice.  

“Let me feel you come around my cock, baby, that’s it.  You’re all mine, all fucking mine, and I’m all yours-fuck! God, your cunt is perfect, so tight and wet, I just want to fill you full-”

Each word is like a nudge, and finally the sensation that’s been bubbling up within you this entire time seems to erupt from every single cell in your body as you finally tip over the edge.

“Yoongi! Yoongi!” is all your brain can manage as your orgasm crashes into you, clenching tightly around him as your body lifts from the bed.

Your strangled cries are met with his own, ripped from his throat as his eyes widen, his lips parting in an “o” as he throws his head back and thrusts forward once more.

A warm burst fills you as his whole body tenses above you, trying your hardest to watch him fall apart along with you.  

The ringing in your ears starts to fade, and the only sounds in the room are your combined labored breathing as he slowly lowers himself down to nuzzle his face into your neck.  

You gasp as you involuntarily clench around him, a hoarse moan escaping him as he slowly gives you a few small thrusts as he finally empties himself deep inside of you.

Swallowing harshly, you do your best to catch your breath as you comb your fingers through his damp hair.

You’re both covered in sweat, you think, a small smile curling your lips as you close your eyes and bask in the after effects of your joining.

“Fuck.” Yoongi grumbles into your neck, his lips dancing over your sticky skin.  

“Mhm.” you agree, humming softly.  

Floating through the haze of bliss, you finally open your eyes as you feel him draw back, withdrawing from you to leave a wet mess seeping out.  

Your eyes meet his and he just gives you a sleepy smile as you continue to run your fingers through the strands of his hair.  

He rolls you both to the side, arms wrapped around you as he kisses you softly, no words spoken for what seems like eternity.

No words are really needed, just soft touches, kisses, little smiles and laughs as your eyes meet.

The sun starts to creep through the blinds before he finally whispers that he will return in a moment, leaving you only long enough to bring back a warm cloth to clean you up a bit.  

Blushing slightly, you help do the same for him, tossing the cloth into the laundry before you settle back into his arms.  

Pressing a kiss to your temple, he lets out a long breath.

“You’re not leaving yet, right? You’ll stay for a bit?” You ask him, finally breaking the silence as the birds sing outside the window.

He laughs softly, propping himself up to look down at you with an eyebrow raised.  

“Of course I’m not just leaving…unless you’re kicking me out?” He responds, biting his lip as he runs his finger along your shoulder.  

You snort, shaking your head, “Sorry, no.  You told me you’re all mine so I think I may just keep you.”  

You do your best to keep a straight face, failing horribly as he feigns shock, his brows drawing together adorably as he protests.

“You think?!” he teases, sliding his arm around you to pull you closer, rolling you both so you’re on top of him.  

“Hmm…” you straddle his hips, brushing back his dark strands as you admire the handsome man beneath you, “I can be convinced…”

He gives you that familiar gummy smile you love so much before he’s growling out your name, tugging your mouth to his as he laughs.  

“Oh, really? I’m actually quite good at pleading my case…” he hums as his hands slip down to take two handfuls of your ass.  

“By all means-”

It’s midday by the time you both manage to uncling to one another.

“I shouldn’t have let you shower with me…” you hum as you make coffee, shaking your head as you feel his arms wrap around you from behind.  

“Well, we were just conserving water…” he answers, and you can’t help but giggle as you contemplate what to make for an early dinner.

By the time you get around you checking your phone, you sigh at the many missed messages and calls.

“I think Hoseok is going to send the police to my house.” you tell Yoongi as you both sit down to finally eat something.  

He just rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he gestures to your phone.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up yet, honestly.” He grumbles, taking a bite as you read through your messages.

“Well that would be a fun conversation…” you hum, biting your lip as you contemplate how that is going to go over with everyone.

“Speaking of…” Yoongi says, placing his utensils down as he leans back to look at you.

You glance at him, knowing what he’s thinking. 

“Should probably leave that to me.” You tell him before he can continue.

Feeling suddenly shy, you clear your throat as you look over at him.

He’s only wearing a pair of your sweats, his naked shoulders and chest distracting you as you try to think of your next words.  

“We are…together ... .like…” you gesture with your hands, embarrassed at asking. 

He only blinks at you, shock on his face before he is leaning forward and taking your hand.  

“Are you asking if I’m your boyfriend now?” He asks, an amused lopsided smile growing on his face at how flustered you are.

You just slap his hand, but then slip your fingers through his, nodding shyly.  

“Yes, baby.  I told you last night…I want you.  All of you.”  he whispers.

Your eyes meet his and you can only blush, your cheeks heating at his words.  

“You have me, then.  All of me.” you tell him.  

“Where the fuck is she?” Hoseok mutters, doing his best to contain the rising panic as he makes his way to your apartment building.  

Checking his phone for the hundredth time since last night, he sighs.  

Over the last month, it feels as if you’ve been withdrawing more and more, but you still respond to his messages.

If he’s being honest, it didn’t feel very good.

All he can think of is the comments everyone has been making.  

What if she does end up dating?

What if she has someone she likes?

Hoseok can only frown as he finally gets in the elevator to take him up to see you.

Of course, that would eventually happen.

Someone she’s interested in, other than me, he thinks.

The idea is so completely foreign, he has a hard time wrapping his mind around it.  

More important than me?

Shaking off the thought and this feeling of discontent it brings, he pushes himself off the side of the elevator wall as the doors open.

Making his way down your hallway, he glances up as your door opens, a sense of relief filling him as he hears your familiar laugh.

That relief is short-lived as he hears a man’s voice responding to your voice.

Not just any man’s voice-

He stops in shock as he watches you emerge from your apartment, hand in hand with another man.

He can’t make out the words, but his heart seems to drop into his stomach as he recognizes the owner of the hand in yours.

Min Yoongi.

Fucking Min Yoongi…holding your hand.

The hand holding his phone clenches tightly as he watches his friend lean in and brush your hair back, your eyes seeming to dance with happiness as you gaze at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” he hears faintly as he watches you nod to him.

“Tomorrow.” he hears your voice respond.

The world seems to stop as he watches two of his closest friends lean towards each other and kiss.

“No way…” he whispers, but it’s not amusement or happiness at watching two obvious lovers leaving one another.

No…against everything that is logical, he feels a burning rage and betrayal building deep in his stomach.

Before he can even process it, he’s turning on his heel, making his way to the emergency stairs and rushing down and out of the building before either of you notice him.

His phone starts to buzz as he makes his way home, and he sends it to voicemail immediately.

He can’t even form the words to say to you right now.

Not while he’s feeling like this.  

Whatever this was.

[wndaswife]

To your stepmother’s surprise, you come home from a Christmas party asking for her to care for you; it’s been months since her wedding to your father and months since you’ve paid her any attention at all.

Tags: angst, kiiinda fluffy, stepmom wanda loving you so so much, almost nearly unrequited love

drabble for matriarchal disturbance

I forgot my keys. 

You texted Wanda some time during the evening once you realized you had forgotten them, and since she was the only one at home until tomorrow, she’d have to let you in. Or at least keep the door unlocked. 

Oh no. It’s okay, I have work to do so I can unlock the door when you come home. :)

It was Christmas break and you were home for just a little, so you were out drinking with some friends from high school and some of their new college friends. 

Wanda had texted you a week or two prior asking when you might be coming home. You didn’t answer — you didn’t ever feel in the mood to talk with your stepmother — but you knew it was still her curiosity talking through your father when he called a few days after you left her on read, asking the same question. 

They were both happy to have you home, but Wanda particularly, though you could tell she was trying not to be overbearing. 

She offered to make you tea or coffee once you were unpacking and offered to make you whatever you wanted for dinner that evening, and very subtly tried asking if you’d be home all break or if you might consider staying longer than when you planned to leave. 

Your holiday break ended much later than the day you were planning on leaving, but you didn’t want to stay around much longer than was necessary — you’d spend New Year’s at home, and then you’d leave. 

You weren’t really excited to be home, but you weren’t so cruel as to not come back for the holidays. 

Still, you weren’t really looking forward to having to deal with your stepmother’s longing, curious looks, always wanting to talk with you or bring something up but not knowing how to and not wanting to spoil her limited time with you. 

The feeling you got from seeing her look at you from the corner of your eye wasn’t necessarily all a form of annoyance, but some kinds of pity too, and perhaps some guilt. 

There was something about the Christmas party that sorta had you feeling down, and you weren’t quite sure what it was, though perhaps it was simply because there were many things that had bothered you and you just couldn't pin it down to one thing. 

It was something about meeting some of your friends’ other friends, and even some of their new partners. You hadn’t drunk anything, and perhaps it would’ve been worse for you if you did — you tended to get a bit more emotional while drunk. 

All in all, you just felt… left out. And like you were missing something, or like you never wanted to be there at all. 

You wanted to be somewhere you belonged and where your presence was not only enjoyed but needed — somewhere it was warm and loving and kind and soft. 

While seeing all your friends together with their new ones and their partners, you just kept thinking of Wanda.

And you really hated yourself for it. 

You wanted to go home to see her, and you knew you couldn’t stop it, because you’d been thinking of her all night. So you drank enough to feel just a little drunk — to get just enough confidence to make a bad decision — and went back home early. 

From the window facing the street, you could see through the curtains that the living room lamp was on.

Wanda opened the door when you knocked like she said she would. From the door, you could see a book laying on the couch. She smiled at the sight of you. 

“Did you have fun?” she asked immediately, stepping back a bit to allow you in. Then she said sympathetically after taking a better look at you, “You look a bit tired.”

You thanked the stars for having taken a few shots before you left. 

You stepped into the house and wrapped your arms around Wanda, feeling the warmth of her knitted sweater against your cheek, then against the tip of your nose when you turned your head to bury your face in the crook of her neck. Her hair tickled the space between your eyebrows. 

There was a split moment before she wrapped her arms around you that would have been indiscernible if you hadn’t felt how immediate her embraces were a million-and-one times before. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Wanda asked, having turned her head to look down at you so the breath of her soft whispered voice blew warm and gentle against your ear. 

“I wanna be your baby again,” you confessed — stupidly. 

Wanda tried to speak immediately for how she felt deep in her chest when you spoke the words she had only dreamt would come out of your mouth ever since the wedding, but found she could speak only in stutters. 

Then she finally said, “You’ll always be my baby, Y/N.”

You hugged her tighter and you knew that if you hadn’t been just a little bit drunk, you would’ve been angry at what she had just said. But now, it could nearly make you cry. 

“Can you bring me to bed?” you mumbled quietly into her neck, still seemingly a bit embarrassed through your drunken state. 

“Of course,” she answered, smiling down at you. This was the closest you’d been to her in months, and likely the longest you’ve spoken to her with undivided attention in that same span of time too. She almost didn’t want to move at all for how you’d unwrap your arms from around her once you headed up the stairs together. 

You unwrapped yourself from around her body and she closed and locked the front door; you’d literally just been standing embracing each other in the wide-open doorway for several moments. 

Then you swiped at your eyes when you pulled away in case you accidentally had cried. 

Wanda smiled at you sweetly, and a bit tiredly too, and you knew she must’ve finished her work a little bit ago and decided to stay up to wait for you. She took your hand and you walked up the stairs beside each other in silence. 

She squeezed your hand and you squeezed back, and Wanda looked over her shoulder at you shyly as you stared down at the steps of the staircase. 

“Can I help you get ready for bed?” she asked once you both arrived in front of the washroom. 

You nodded silently then looked up at her with a small smile. “I just have to get my stuff from my bags,” you told her. Then, a bit hesitantly, you let go of her hand and walked towards your bedroom. 

Wanda turned on the washroom light and paced around a little, playing with the knitted fabric of her sweater nervously and checking her hair a bit in the mirror, and even trying to repress a tiny smile as she couldn’t help but make comparisons to how it all used to be before the wedding. 

But she didn’t want to get ahead of herself — after all, every day after this would be different, and whatever had caused you to come seeking her comfort wasn’t guaranteed to happen again from tonight onwards. 

You came into the washroom with a little bag of your toiletries and started unpacking them, starting with makeup wipes and face wash then everything else. 

“Come lean against the counter,” Wanda said, and you did. She began removing your makeup with one of your makeup wipes, the fingers of her other hand delicately perched under your chin to keep your face in the light. 

She was gentle with how she swiped against your face, and thorough with taking all the makeup off. 

Wanda was always so nice and gentle. In taking care of you, and in treating you in any way, really, she always did it as if you were delicate, and special to her too. She never wanted to hurt you, never wanted to make you feel like you weren't the most important thing in the world to her. 

You felt like crying, but really didn’t want to ruin how casual you were trying to make everything seem. 

She must’ve noticed how your eyes were filling with tears because once she finished she set the makeup wipe down and held you to her chest wordlessly, running her hand down the side of your head soothingly with her other arm wrapped around your waist. 

She seemed to understand that you still had your reservations about being with her like this again, and that you weren’t trying not to get into things too quickly. 

Even so, she couldn’t help but… hope, even just a little, that the feeling of how she held you and brought you close might make you miss her enough to want to be her baby again for more than just an evening. 

“I’m gonna brush my teeth and stuff,” you mumbled and straightened out of her hold, swiping at your eyes again.

Wanda packed up your makeup wipes and slid it back into the toiletry bag you brought. 

Quietly, you asked, “Can I sleep with you?”

You weren’t really sure where to look when you asked, so you tried to keep busy getting your toothbrush ready. 

But when Wanda replied with a gentle, almost eager, ‘Of course,’ you couldn’t help but look over at her to see her smiling at you.

You looked away while she told you that she would also change and get ready while she waited for you — her shared bedroom had a washroom in it. 

Wanda felt ridiculous for how she felt in her stomach — a familiar fluttering feeling dancing around where it would when you were still together. Sometimes Wanda reasoned the memory of the feeling up to a fantasy, that perhaps she may have recalled it as differently as it had been for it’d been so long since she’d felt it. 

But it was exactly the same as she recalled. 

And it was only with you. 

She hadn’t realized she had been smiling until she heard you come into the bedroom, and she instinctively relaxed her face so as to not be overzealous and overwhelm you. 

“Are you ready for bed?” she asked, closing the door of the walk-in closet as she stood in her pajama shorts and tank. 

You nodded then looked away from her for how happy you felt to be asked that, to soon be adorned by Wanda’s kisses and touched by her gentle, loving hands and embraced by her arms the moment you got into bed. 

Wanda seemed to be hesitant at your reluctance for a moment. Her fingers twitched with the urge to walk over and embrace you, to kiss your lips and lead you to her bed. But instead, restraining herself, she went to bed first, getting under the covers and looking over at you encouragingly. 

Silently, you followed after closing the bedroom door. 

She turned off the lamp on her side and you hesitated for a moment before you reached over and did the same. 

Then you were blanketed in the darkness of the bedroom, and for a moment you couldn’t see Wanda in your peripheral vision at all; you could for a moment construe the feelings of blankets under your hands as being in your own bed instead of hers. 

For a moment you felt glad to imagine you had made it all up, but then you felt terribly disappointed and lonely again. 

Without Wanda, it was always just a little bit… lonely. 

But the burst of sudden feelings was contained only within a few moments’ time, for your eyes soon adjusted and you could see the shadow of your stepmother beside you. 

She reached out for you, her hand moving under the blankets and placing it on your bare thigh. She moved closer. 

“Don’t be nervous,” she said quietly. “It’s okay.”

You’d been here before — in Wanda’s bed without your dad being home, in her company, in the spotlight of her undivided attention, in the warm shower of all her heart could pour out for you and only you. 

It was was familiar with Wanda and you knew it for it was the closest thing you’d felt in a while to being somewhere you were certain you belonged in. 

Then she added, “I want you here, Y/N.”

Like you had asked her, Wanda babied you — she cared for you. Her other hand wrapped around your waist and she slowly urged your body to lay down beside her. 

She didn’t stop there; she moved herself onto her elbow only slightly to gain height over you, then cupped your furthest cheek with her hand. She kissed your face gently, tenderly, on your temple then on your cheekbone, and your chin. 

Not your lips — not unless it was you who made an advance towards her first. 

You turned and wrapped an arm around her torso securely, burying your face in her chest. She lowered herself back down and wrapped her arms around you immediately. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you muttered against her, “I love you.”

In the morning when you arose before her, you carefully peeled yourself away from a soundly-sleeping Wanda. There was a pang in your chest as you sat at the edge of the bed, recalling how she held you close after you had told her you loved her.

She held you in a way that communicated desperation and longing; it wasn’t only sweet and tender like she always was, but pained, too. She had cradled the back of your head to her chest, rubbed your upper back and pressed her lips against the top of your head. 

She might’ve nearly said that she loved you a fourth time, though you presumed she had tried to contain the way she wanted to pour herself out for you right then and there. 

You turned and watched as she dozed, her body the very same that you were held against through the night, the same you had thrown yourself into her arms of and were accepted and loved and cared for like you wanted, like Wanda wanted. 

How at peace she seemed having gone to sleep with you in her arms, with all she had been longing for warm in her embrace and sleeping in the eternal comfort of her loving. 

If you were honest with yourself, and you tried to be for how often you lied to Wanda, you didn’t think it was a lie when you told her you loved her, for you still did. 

And you still could, inviting her over to your place and responding to her calls and texts when you were away, letting her care for you and at the very least not pretend she wasn’t always looking at you, waiting only for your eye contact as cue for her to bring up one of the dozens of questions and worries she had about the life that you no longer shared with her — which was to say, all of it. 

Wanda stirred and her fingers flexed outwards slightly, reflecting a slowly-rising sun’s beams against her wedding ring, before she relaxed again, still in deep sleep. 

Just under an hour later once Wanda woke up to find you gone, she texted asking where you were. 

When she texted, you knew that she must have looked first to see if you had moved to your own bed, for you had left and decided to go on a drive. 

She messaged: Have you gone out?

Sitting in a parking lot of a walking trail with the breakfast you picked up, the sun only just having fully risen, you texted back. 

Forgot something at Kate’s last night.

She asked if you were going to eat breakfast there or if you would be home to have breakfast with her; she’d make some now so it could be ready by the time you got back. 

You tried to keep eating after choosing to leave your stepmother on read, but soon lost your appetite. Instead, you went on a walk that lasted until the early afternoon when your dad got back home. 

As you had planned, you went back to your place on the second of January, and that evening wasn’t ever brought up. 

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Finale — Azriel x Reader

Summary: The grand Illyrian ball is here. Reader is more than ready to return to Windhaven and Azriel, but daddy Fin throws a huge spanner in the works. Life as they know it is about to change.

Note — I’ve tried to tag everyone who’s asked but there are some people that it simply won’t let me tag 🥲

Word Count: 10.6k (oop, sorry 😅)

Warnings: There’s a looot to unpack here. Depictions of violence and gore. Some light smut. 18+!

This place is cold and unforgiving.

The air in your lungs is constricted before you’ve even stepped through the giant gates. They call it the Hewn City due to its entirety being hewn from cold, hard rock.

But you get the feeling these walls are more than that. You can feel the horror in the cracks, the loneliness that screams behind its surface.

You don’t know how Mor has survived so long here. You’re already itching to get out.

A warm hand splays across your back, and you turn to face Fin. It’s not the first time he drinks you in so hungrily, but you could be forgiven for thinking so, by the way his eyes heat all over again. He glances quickly at your lips, and in this empty meeting room that he’s stolen you away to, you’re not at all sure that he isn’t bold enough to act on that hunger.

“Focus, High Lord.” You murmur, brushing the lapel of his tailored jacket. “You’ve an audience waiting for you.”

Somewhat of an infantile groan leaves him — one you’re not sure he’d share with many others. He dips down and allows his forehead to drop against your shoulder, slowly breathing in your scent.

“And if I said fuck the audience,” he murmurs, “and decided to stay here to dip under this gown and ravish you? What then?”

“Then I wager your subjects would be mighty displeased that you brought them here for nothing.”

“I could make you moan,” his nose nudges your neck, “loud enough to give them a show.”

“Later.” You promise falsely, and the lie is sour on your tongue. You step back and straighten yourself out. “You have a duty to attend to.”

The way his eyes sweep you tells you that you are the only duty he wishes to attend to. But he relents with a sigh and inclines his head.

“I do.” He admits. “And I will have to play my role out there. I’ll be mostly unavailable for the duration of this ball, so…I want you to go and have fun. Just don’t stray too far. I’ve organised the evening’s entertainment with you in mind, and I want you by my side when you see it.”

For a beat, you can only blink at him. You’re…touched, that he would do that for you. And your mind immediately starts swirling with possibilities of what that entertainment might be. Perhaps a show of professional dancers or a theatrical performance.

You study him, attempting to glean information merely from the expression on that granite-hewn face. “It’s Starfall.” You remind him. “Is that not the evening’s entertainment?”

He merely smiles. “I’ll send for you when it’s time.” He leans down, coasting his lips over one cheek and then the other. “Enjoy yourself.”

Without another word, he turns. Rolls his shoulders and slips into his High Lord roll. But before he can take a step towards the door, you're grabbing his hand.

“Fin—” You blurt, and he stops. You swallow as you stare up at him. “Just…please don’t let Tathaln Baralas ruin the camps.”

His gaze searches your face. You can’t get a read on his expression.

But then the corners of his lips curve up, and he’s squeezing your hand.

“I won’t let Tathaln become a problem.” He says, and then repeats, “enjoy yourself.”

The way he prises his hand from yours has an air of finality that stops you from pushing any further. You want to ask — beg, if you have to — for his reassurance. But he strides to the door, sleek black shoes clipping against the marble floor.

And left alone, you think you may have done all you possibly can do. That the rest is out of your hands.

So you attempt to shake off your relentless anxiety, and you go to find your friends.

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

Weaving through the mammoth structure and the sea of Illyrians that fill it, you’ve already witnessed three fights and two couples damn near fucking in nothing more hidden than the alcoves carved into the walls. Pretty tame for your people, but alas, the night is young.

There are so many pairs of wings. There is such a thick air of arrogance and ego and brutishness. You’re not quite sure where you fit in here, but before you can find a refreshment that will dull that feeling, strong arms are wrapping around your waist and yanking you backwards.

You scream, and no one around you bats an eyelash. You thrash and buck, but the attempt is met with—

Deep, smooth laughter that you know so, so well.

You relax in the offender’s hold immediately, and their arms loosen enough for you to twist in them.

You glare up at Cassian and send a punch to his bicep. “Asshole.”

“Ow!” He chokes on another laugh, and then he’s grinning brilliantly, white teeth gleaming in the fae light. “Hello, Sweetpea. I’ve missed you.”

Fuck, you’ve missed him too. And that’s all it takes for you to throw your arms around him and squeeze.

He smells like Cass. That rugged scent of his that is such a comfort. And the way he hugs you back, firm yet gentle, warm and loving and present, tells you that any previous anger he had towards you is a thing of the past.

“Windhaven is fucking boring without you.” He pulls back, holding you at arms length — and blinks. “Holy gods, look at you.”

“Look at you.” Your eyes rove over him, from his tailored, maroon-coloured suit to his brushed, slicked-back hair. His wings are squeaky clean and flared proudly. He’s stunning. Breathtaking.

He cracks another Cassian grin. “Who knew we could brush up so well, hey, Sweetpea? You’re absolutely gorgeous. I’ll be the envy of all these Illyrian males, knowing I fucked you—”

“Cassian.” You land another hit to his bicep. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ve actually been sent to collect you. A certain someone is waiting for you on a patio. I’ll give you a clue — he, too, has fucked you—”

With a roll of your eyes, albeit a fond one, you’re breezing past him with a feeling of…need. To see Azriel. To have him ground you in a place and circumstance of such unfamiliarity. You need that comfort.

Cass follows promptly, slinging an arm around your shoulder — not just because he’s missed you, but because the leering eyes of hundreds of Illyrian males follow your every step. Those gazes seem to drink in your dress bead by little bead. They’re hungry for sex and for violence.

“Out here.” Your friend steers you down a hallway, untouched by not only guests, but also the horrific brilliance of the rest of this place. This is an area that most aren’t supposed to see, with chipped concrete floors and peeling walls. It’s so cold, so ugly and uninviting, that you can’t imagine why Azriel would summon you here, of all places.

But then a door appears at the end of the winding hall, open just enough for a sliver of moonlight to touch the threshold. The fresh air has goosebumps spreading over your skin.

“He wanted some private time with you. Rhys and I said we’d keep watch.” Cass studies you and huffs a deep, dramatic sigh. “I’m trying really hard not to feel left out right now.”

“I’m sure you don’t really want to be the third wheel—”

“Sure I do. I’ve told Az that he wouldn’t even know I’m there, but no, he wants you all to himself. Selfish bastard.” He reaches out, pulling the door open wider for you. And then he calls, “I hope you heard that, fucker!”

Strong footsteps emerge from argent moonlight, and Azriel’s voice is a lilting shiver across your skin. “You know I heard it, you idiot.” He says. “You…”

His words trail off as he takes you in, and suddenly you don’t know what to do with your hands, your face, with any part of you.

His stare holds the weight of a very ancient love, so much older than the both of you. It somehow translates that you had his heart in a previous life, when you were different people entirely, and you’ll still have it in the next, when your souls begin anew.

He swallows, loud enough that you all hear it. And his voice is husky as he says, “There are no words worthy of you.”

And you’re hit with a strange urge to cry. Mostly because you feel exactly the same way about him.

He is…exquisite. He’s slicked his hair back, and that alone is a huge thing for him — to openly show each and every curve and line of his face, with no strands to hide behind. The curtain of his thick, dark lashes only accentuates the honey of his eyes and the gold of his skin.

And the suit he’s donned for the evening — that same maroon colour that Cass is wearing. You wonder if Rhys, wherever he is, is wearing the same. Whether the trio look as breathtaking together as you expect them to.

“No words.” Az repeats, shaking his head. “The Mother herself must have sent you to me.”

Cassian smirks and rests an elbow atop of your head, regardless of your perfected hair. “I said the same.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I said something similar.”

“It wasn’t even close to that.”

“Be grateful of my winning charm—”

“Cassian.” Az cuts him off. “Why don’t you go and find Rhys?”

Cass lets out an infantile whine. “But he’s having private time with Zakai.”

“And I’d like to have some private time with Y/N, so. Run along.”

Your friend offers a great, dramatic huff that makes you grin, but he removes his arm from your head and turns.

“This whole coupling up thing is boring!” He calls, retreating down the hall.

And then it’s just you and Azriel.

Your love. Your heart.

You turn back to him with a coy smile, reaching up to fix your hair.

“Let me.” Az murmurs, and he steps closer, his fingers sinking into the strands of your hair. Up close, you drink him down even more, greedy and insatiable. You want to know every expression, every thought.

“There are no words worthy of you, either.” You whisper, and his eyes drop down from your hair to meet yours. “You’re a vision, Az.”

He studies you for a moment. And though his hands leave the strands, they lower only to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek.

“What I am,” he murmurs, “is yours.”

Your eyes shutter, and you drop your forehead against his. Every last bit of trouble and turmoil you’ve experienced has been worth it to hear those words. You want them to mark your skin.

You push up onto the tips of your toes, slanting your mouth over Azriel’s. He wastes no time in sliding his hands to your waist and hauling you close to him.

You kiss him like doing so here isn’t risky. Like you have the freedom to kiss him whenever and however you both want, and there are no outer forces getting in the way. You long for the day when that will be the case. When you can love, and love proudly.

Perhaps that luxury isn’t too far out of reach.

Az seems to think so, too, as he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours once more, and he says, breathlessly, “Things are going to change — after tonight. I can feel it.”

You study him, searching for deeper meaning. And as though they can sense your anxiety, his shadows snake around your ankles in a soothing caress. “A good change, I hope.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. Me and you. I’m yours.”

You peck him once, twice. “And I am yours.”

Those words alone are enough to make heat blaze in his eyes. With adoration making way for passion, lust, he allows his gaze to rake over you, and he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

“So fucking gorgeous.” His voice is guttural. “If we didn’t have to attend this ball right now, I would—”

The door flies open behind you, and Az looks more than ready to throttle Cassian as he prances back into sight and announces, “Found Rhys!”

“And we brought booze.” Rhys swiftly follows with a smirk. “Raided personally, by me, from my asshole father’s stash.”

Sure enough, his suit matches the other two. And seeing the three of them together like that, looking so beautiful, so proper, so…matured—

A lump forms in your throat that you force down. You furiously blink away the tears that sting your eyes.

Because it hits you, just then, how much you’ve missed this — the four of you, just being together, like old times. You were always such a strong unit, always driven by your love for one another, and the dysfunctional, unconventional, beautiful family you became. It’s been a long while since you looked upon these three males without burdening thoughts always remaining a step away. You miss the ease. You miss the love.

But here it is, right in front of you, just like it always will be. And in that moment, nothing else matters but your little unit. Just you, Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand.

As you shake out of your thoughts, you realise Rhys is staring at you just as intensely. Strong emotion swims in his eyes.

“…What?” You ask, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“You just…look incredible.” He smiles softly. “Every single star that soars above our heads tonight will have nothing on you.”

Just as you think you’re about to get choked up all over again, Cassian smirks and declares, “I said the same.”

You scowl, reaching out to swat him. “No, you did not. Just accept you’re bad at compliments and move on.”

“I’m a master at compliments, thank you very much.”

Az slides an arm around your waist and quirks an eyebrow. “You took Sacha for a drink and complimented her by saying you look like you bathed. You’re hardly a poet, Cass.”

It’s Cassian’s turn to scowl then. “Well, what I may lack in poetry, I make up for in the bedroom. As Y/N clearly knows.”

A snarl rips from Azriel’s throat. “Watch yourself.”

Rhys rolls his eyes and smacks Cassian upside the head. “Don’t wind him up, dickhead.”

“Who are you calling dickhead?”

“I’m calling you dickhead, dickhead.”

The bickering becomes background noise as you prise the bottle from Rhys’s hand and take a generous swig — none of which he even notices, as he and Cass continue taking swipes at each other.

And as the liquid burns your throat, you meet Azriel’s gaze. Both of you grin. He takes the bottle from you.

In that moment, all you feel is happiness. Beautiful familiarity. Rhys and Cassian tearing chunks out of each other while you and Azriel watch and laugh from the sidelines. It makes your heart feel heavy with such warmth that it may just burst.

You do not need lavishness or luxury. Your life is nothing special, but you do not want for anything.

Just this. Only this.

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“Who knew so many Illyrians could dance?”

Rhysand’s steps are swift and flawless. It’s situations like these — ones of strict propriety and, dare you say, class — that you’re reminded he’s only half-Illyrian. The other males around you may be trying their hand at dancing, but Rhys flows through each number with barely a thought.

You smile up at him, secure in his hold. A dance floor full of Illyrians is a temperamental and, quite frankly, stupid idea. Anyone who gets too close to another’s wings is asking for a punch. Or five.

But so far, it’s been surprisingly uneventful. And you might even begin to relax and enjoy yourself — if not for the images you keep glimpsing in your periphery.

Every now and then, a flash of bright red will pass you by as Kaeda is spun from one set of burly arms to another. Her dress is the same shade as her hair. It’s alarming. Makes you think of blood.

And even more alarming, perhaps, is the pair of eyes that follow you from the dais. Fin spares only cursory glances to the rest of his guests, from where he sits on his throne in pensive silence, but his eyes linger heavily on you. Hungry, flaming eyes that follow your every move. And standing at his side — Tathaln Baralas.

The Lord of Fenlaros is even bigger than you remember. In a tailored suit, he looks…all wrong. That kind of finery will never work with him. He’s rugged, and cold, and something tells you that while Fenlaros is considerably more civilised than the majority of Illyrian camps, Tathaln Baralas feels most at home with the bare necessities. Luxury is nothing but a fly buzzing in his ear.

But he will tolerate that fly, you know — can tell, precisely from the way his dark, frightening eyes watch the room with more intensity than any single person should harbour. And that intensity is directed solely at one person. Azriel.

Tathaln watches the shadowsinger as though he’s weighing up whether he can kidnap him from this event and force him to Fenlaros. It makes your stomach turn.

“You seem on edge tonight.” Rhys’s deep gaze studies you. His hand presses firmer against the small of your back. “I won’t let anything happen to you, don’t worry.”

You’re not sure if he’s referring to his father, or to Kaeda, or to her father. Or even just to the evening in general. But you squeeze his hand, all the same.

“You’re the best.” You tell him. “And you should be dancing with Zakai.”

His eyes glimmer with his signature charm. “Oh, I will. But I always intended to save the first dance for my best girl.”

The sentiment is so…Rhysand, so comforting, that you almost — almost — start to think that everything will be alright.

But he spins you under his arm, and it’s like being spun straight back into reality. Because as you turn, that gaze from up on the dais meets yours again.

And this time, it’s not just hungry — but possessive.

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You dance and dance until your feet feel like they might fall off. Although, you’re not sure how much of that can be attributed to Cassian stepping on them throughout his uncoordinated prancing.

But the more the night wears on, the more your stomach churns with deep, unrelenting anxiety. You feel sick. Like a shadow of doom is looming over your shoulder and waiting to pull you into its thrall. By the time Cassian hands you over to Azriel, you’re not entirely sure that you won’t be sick.

Az studies your face with clear concern on his own — concern that doesn’t make his steps falter. He’s a natural dancer, taught and honed by Roza. Almost as good as Rhys. He moves as swift as flying, but his expression doesn’t hold the same ease.

“What is it?” He asks, and his thumb sweeps a stroke over your hip. “You don’t look well.”

So badly, you want to lean into his touch. But…not now — not with Fin watching. You dare a quick glance at the dais, and sure enough, his eyes stalk you. They follow everywhere Azriel touches your body. Strangely, the hunger in them intensifies. The hickory shade of them has darkened until it’s almost a stark black. He licks his lips and watches Azriel’s fingers caress you through your dress.

“I’m just…ready for this night to be over. You know all this luxury isn’t my thing.”

His hands press firmer against your skin. “I must say, as much as I’m loving this dress, I’m equally excited to rip it off—”

“May I?”

Two seconds. You look away for two seconds, and Fin is suddenly off the dais and behind you. The guests around you all watch with curious eyes.

Azriel pauses, his lingering touch letting you know just how reluctant he is to let you go.

But ultimately, he is wise. And ultimately, he concedes.

“Of course, High Lord.” He inclines his head. “She’s your special guest, after all.”

“Yes.” Fin’s eyes don’t stray from you. “She is.”

You know it’s deliberate — the way he makes sure everyone is watching as he scoops you into his arms with a small lift off the ground. And then he begins dancing, and everyone else resumes.

As you follow his steps, you allow yourself the chance to look at him. Look at him, and wonder if he’ll hate you after all this is over. You…you don’t want him to hate you. That complicates things, but gods above, it’s true.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, and you may as well be the only two people in the room as he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear, “When you look at me like that, Y/N, it makes me think I’m not such a bad male as most would think.”

“You’re not.” You respond almost immediately, and you mean it. “I think it’d surprise you to know how highly you’re regarded. Everyone in this room who is looking upon you—”

You yelp as he suddenly dips you, his lips at your ear.

“Everyone in this room,” he says, “is looking at you. And rightfully so. You’re a masterpiece — my masterpiece.”

The compliment — the possessiveness — all seems extreme. But then, you think everything about Fin might be a bit extreme. He doesn’t do anything by halves. The blush that dusts your cheeks seems to please him.

“You like it, don’t you?” His voice is like gravel. “That not a single male in here can take their eyes off you. You are the envy of every female. Stripped of wings, but not of raw, natural beauty.”

He straightens you out before you can reply, and your head spins — with the sudden movement, and with the whiplash of the comment. It both pleases you and reminds you how exposed your back is — the trauma that everyone can see.

“Charming as ever.” You swallow, hope the smile on your face is convincing. “I don’t quite know what to say.”

“Words are not necessary — not tonight.” The song you’re dancing to fades to an end, and he steadies you gently on your feet. His gaze sweeps you again, and he remarks, “The stars will begin their journeys soon.”

In the strange headiness of the evening, you almost forgot that this is, essentially, two events wrapped up in one. Starfall, and Fin’s lavish ball. Perhaps seeing those stars will bring you some semblance of peace — make you feel less lost than you do right now, as they travel somewhere unbeknownst to you, and perhaps unbeknownst to themselves, also.

“Will you be joining us outside to watch them?” You ask.

A strange smile curves his lips. “Indeed I will. It’s a magnificent sight to behold.” He steps back, bowing to press a kiss to the backs of your fingers. And then he straightens up. Retreats.

“However,” he says, “I do believe the entertainment I’ve arranged for you may just outshine those stars this year.”

He saunters away, back to his dais. And as he lowers himself into his throne, he meets your gaze.

That same old thirst in them is unquenchable.

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The males are treating the stardust like it’s the snow that so often coats your respective camps.

The first specks of it showering down on you were surprising, beautiful. But in true Illyrian fashion, what started as a cordial gathering to observe the soaring, luminous beings, has been reduced to little more than a drunken bust up.

You don’t know which camp launched the first clump of glimmering dust at another, but that was all it took for chaos to break out. The fray jostles you away from your friends until you can no longer feel Azriel pressed to your side or hear Cassian’s constant chattering. Try as you might to locate them, it’s impossible to see past giant, burly males with alarming wingspans. It’s a sea of dark hair and tan skin.

You push and push your way through, looking for a small exit through the gathered bodies. Your gown is trampled on, and you’re shoved this way and that, taking a few handfuls of stardust to your face and neck and arms. The feel of it is a cold contrast against your hot skin.

Just as you spot an opening to squeeze through, a male is careening into you and taking you down with him. It stuns you so much that you forget to brace yourself for impact. You’re about to tear your skin open against the sharp ground—

But huge, warm hands from behind catch you beneath your arms and keep you upright. Set you on your feet.

You turn, smacking straight into a broad expanse of chest. And a little higher up — long hair and wicked eyes. A taunting grin. Too-sharp teeth.

Tathaln Baralas seems to command the area around him so much that the fighting moves away from you both. A fact that makes him so incredibly smug.

“You’re welcome.” He sounds as rough and rugged as the mountain rock.

You clear your throat and incline your head in reluctant thanks. You’re not too keen on the idea of lingering for a chat with him.

But before you can so much as turn, his hand is fastening around your wrist. It’s not a tight grip, and yet it’s a warning — that it could become tighter if you tried to move.

“I’d like to go and find my friends—”

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to work out why the High Lord is so taken by you.” He angles his head, and his eyes travel down, a smirk toying with his lips. “Besides a magnificent pair of tits, of course.”

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to rip your arm away. “You do him a disservice by thinking him so shallow—”

“Does Rhysand know you’re fucking his father?”

“You’re mistaken, my lord, and I’ll thank you to let go of me.”

“My daughter’s warning was clearly of no use. Perhaps I’ll be able to drive the message in harder. Whatever you’re planning—”

“There you are.” Out of seemingly nowhere, Rhysand’s voice saves the day. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The most minuscule, tiny beat passes — but Tathaln Baralas is no damn fool. With such blatant reluctance, he lets go of your wrist and takes a step back.

Rhys presses himself against your side, slinging an arm around your shoulders. He stares at Tathaln as he says, “My father wants everybody rounded up. It’s time for the entertainment he has planned.”

It’s a cloaked order, and you can see how much the Lord of Fenlaros wants to grit his teeth against it. But again — no damn fool.

“I’ll help gather everyone up.” He relents, and then he turns and pushes through fighting males as though they’re not there.

Rhys turns to you, concerned eyes taking you in. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” You respond vaguely, linking your arm with his. “When this is all over, I will be.”

Little does he know, it’s not only the ball that you’re referring to.

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Like petulant children, the bustling males don’t want to go back under the mountain for the remainder of the ball. They want to stay outside and frolic in the fallen stardust and maybe fight or fuck in it, too.

But somehow, Fin commands their return. And the silence with which they now all stare up at the dais has you wondering if there’s anybody he can’t get to obey him.

Roza, probably. The thought brings a smile to your face.

Gods, you’d love to be with Roza right now, Spending quiet, quality time together. Blocking out the world in its entirety. You’re glad, so heavily pregnant as she is, that she’s not here tonight — but still, you can’t help wishing she was—

A loud clap sounds through the room, jolting you from your thoughts. You force your eyes into focus once more, and though you’re buried a few rows back, Fin finds your gaze immediately. He smiles.

“I wanted to thank each and every one of you for coming here tonight.” He addresses the room. “I understand that Illyrians have a way of life that you like to keep loyal to, and that integrating with other camps is not normally a done thing. I appreciate you keeping your minds open and straying from your traditions to honour this event.”

The crowd stirs and murmurs, and every person packed within it must be wondering why Tathaln Baralas is the only camp lord up on that dais with the High Lord while the others all congregate on the floor, common as muck. They are not privy to the things that you are. You have a horrible feeling that that is all about to change.

“While there have been a few…hiccups, this evening, I have mostly been impressed by how well you were able to interact.” Fin goes on. “That is exactly what this little experiment was intended for. Because that’s what this ball was — an experiment. I address each and every Illyrian when I say this: change is coming.”

No.

Your stomach bottoms out. Hands turn clammy in an instant.

Surely…surely he hasn’t just ignored everything you’ve said. Surely this hasn’t all been for nothing.

“You may recognise the male behind me.” He’s not looking at you now. His eyes skim the room, but they don’t stray in your direction. “Tathaln Baralas — Lord of the Fenlaros camp.”

At that, a small burst of cheers breaks out from one section of the room. Fenlarions, you can only assume. You’re too panicked to care.

Tathaln takes a step forward, not quite in line with Fin, but almost. He seems to be fighting back a smirk. And as you feel another heavy set of eyes on you, you look to your left — to a few steps down, where Kaeda stands. She eyes you with what must be triumph in her eyes, and she doesn’t bother to hide her smirk.

This…this has all gone very, very wrong. You’ve fucked up — failed. Perhaps even doomed the lives of countless people. Fin may have poured sweet sentiments into your ear and boosted your confidence, but you so clearly weren’t enough. Weren’t enough to appeal yourself to him, and weren’t enough to save Illyria as you know it.

You’re not at all certain that you aren’t going to faint. Whatever is about to be said or done, you don’t want to be here for it. You want to gather up Azriel and Cassian and Rhys and get the fuck out of there, far away from this, from him. You look frantically around for them, but you’ve lost them again. Can’t even glimpse the backs of their heads.

“A short while ago, the Lord of Fenlaros came to me with a suggestion. A proposition.” Fin slides his hands into his pockets; a strangely arrogant gesture that tells you just how at ease he is. “But before I tell you all about that, I would like to speak to you about somebody else. Another one of your own who I have recently had the delight of spending my time with. Getting to know.”

It takes a delayed moment for you to realise he’s staring at you once more.

Staring firmly, unflinchingly at you.

He extends a hand in your direction, and everybody — every single fucking person around you — turns to get a look, also.

“Sweet Y/N,” He cocks his head. Smiles. “Would you join me up here, please?”

You falter on the spot, forgetting entirely how to move. Every pair of eyes…the attention…it’s all too much. Everyone is looking at you. Everyone can see you, your scars.

“Y/N.” Fin repeats. “This is for you, after all.”

Someone shoves you in the back, and snickers titter around you, the sounds swimming from one ear to the other. On shaking legs, you slip between bodies. Bodies with faces attached that won’t stop looking at you, staring at you, wondering why you, of all people, have caught the High Lord’s attention. A lowly Illyrian female without any wings.

Numb from head to toe, you climb up onto the dais. Fin takes your trembling hand. Pulls you to his side.

Only then do you find Azriel, Cassian and Rhys in the crowd. All staring up at you with alarmed, horrified expressions. They can sense something very terrible is about to go down, too.

“For all of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her — this is Y/N.” Fin speaks loudly, clearly, his tone clipped. “She hails from the Windhaven camp. She is Illyrian in her own right. She has a brain wise beyond her twenty years, and a heart of solid gold. She cares for Illyrians — for all of you. Cares for your futures.” A very, very potent pause. His expression changes — darkens. He purses his lips. “But you all do not care for her, do you?”

Silence. Nobody knows where this is going. There’s a slight movement in the crowd, and out of the corner of your eye, you see your friends pushing closer to the front.

“You cannot claim to care about her — about your own females — when you are willing to do this.”

So quickly, Fin’s hands are gripping your arms, and he’s wrenching you around on the spot. Forcing your back to them. Forcing them to swallow down the sight of your ruined back.

But your scars poking through the sheer fabric is not enough for him, it would seem. Those hands of his, gentle at times and dangerous at others, skate over your shoulders. Stop at the top of your back, where you hate so profoundly to be touched.

And he rips the fabric open like he’s cleaving air.

The cold air hits your exposed back, and surprised murmurs ripple through the room. Each and every one of them will have seen clipped wings before — but not this. Not the brutal hacking you were subjected to.

On instinct, you’re fighting against Fin, trying to turn, trying to hide. He holds you steady.

“Her own father did this to her.” He announces. “As so many of you intend to do to your own daughters, no doubt. Look at her. Look at how she suffered, and believe me when I say, again, change is coming.”

“Father.” Rhysand’s voice reaches you from behind, severe, outraged. “Stop this.”

It surprises you that Fin immediately turns you back around. But you are under no illusion that he’s listened to his son’s plea. He simply isn’t finished.

There is not one part of you that isn’t shaking. You stare firmly at your feet, refusing to meet any of the gazes pinned on you. Some may be pitying. Most will be delighted.

“I understand that Y/N may not appreciate what I just did. And rightfully so.” With a theatrical wave of his hand, the rip at the back of your dress is mended. But the damage is already done. “She has a right to those feelings. A thing I believe you Illyrian males do not understand. That your females feel. That they can rightfully be hurt, and they can rightfully want to be avenged. Y/N?”

You know he’s addressing you, asking you to look at him. But you can’t move. You can’t…can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop feeling like you want to throw up.

“Y/N.” He repeats, softer this time. “Look at me please.”

You pause.

And then you do.

You turn, and you look at him with an expression that will never promise forgiveness.

To his credit, he studies your face. It’s like he’s searching for an answer as to whether his little stunt was irredeemable. His eyes swallow your expression, and a moment passes between you. One that doesn’t include everybody else in this room.

You imagine you look hateful. You imagine you are sneering, and clenching your jaw, and allowing him to see that you will not stand for such disrespect from anybody, including him.

And he…he looks upon you like he wants the rest of the room to disappear. Like he wants nothing more than to steal you into his arms and spirit you away, far away from this.

You take a small step back.

“I got you a gift.” He says, too quietly. Extends a hand again.

You feel yourself shaking your head. You cannot speak. But this does not deter him. He retracts his hand and murmurs to somebody — somebody you can’t see around the roaring in your head — “The box, please.”

As blurred movement stirs in front of you, you angle yourself towards the crowd — towards your friends. You search their terrified faces without seeing them, and you know that they are just as powerless as you are. Even Rhysand. That throwing themselves in the mix may just make the situation worse.

And you don’t even know what the situation is. All you know is that your heart is thudding and your ears are screaming. All you know is that you feel…betrayed…by Fin making a spectacle of you like this. That your body and mind are having such violent reactions because your vulnerabilities, insecurities, may just be the evening’s entertainment that you’re supposed to somehow enjoy—

“Y/N.”

Your eyes snap back to the High Lord, and a tear escapes the corner of it. You pretend it doesn’t exist, even if Fin’s gaze tracks it and softens.

“For you.” He holds a box out to you.

For a moment, you weigh up the likelihood that you could just dart off the stage and make a run for it. Find somewhere to hide and cry. But as your hands extend outwards without you telling them to, you know it’s no use. You’re seeing this through, however reluctantly.

Your trembles are violent as you take the box into your hands — and almost drop it. It’s heavier than you’re expecting. Fin smiles.

Every single person in that room watches you slide the lid off the box.

Every single person in that room watches you peer inside — and drop it. Stagger back.

“What the fuck is this?” You choke. “What have you done?!”

There are murmurs, people angling to get a look, as Fin casually strolls over to that box. As he reaches in.

As he lifts your father’s severed head by his hair and holds it up like it’s a fucking show and tell. And grins at it.

Steeled Illyrian warriors who have been bred for violence scatter back, curses and noises rolling off their tongues.

“Allow this to be a lesson to each and every one of you.” Fin speaks loudly, entirely unperturbed by the head dangling from his fingertips. “That while your camps are overseen by your camp lords, I am still your High Lord, and I am always watching, and listening, and waiting to act, if necessary. This male wronged somebody I care for. The only fitting punishment was this.”

Without a care, he drops your father’s head back into the box and kicks it away. You stumble back, back, toppling off the dais. Somebody catches you.

“I am your High Lord.” Fin repeats, seemingly unaware of the panic roiling in his audience. “I do not take kindly to being used or manipulated. I do not take kindly to somebody presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my court. And Illyria is part of my court — no matter how much you try to distance yourselves. You are under my jurisdiction. What happens to you is my call to make.”

For a split second, you can only hear certain words; used, manipulated, presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. You think he’s addressing solely you, but he isn’t.

People are moving around you. Arms wrap around you. It takes a moment for you to register that it’s Azriel. That he’s tucking you between himself and Cassian and Rhys. They’re shielding you.

Fin is now pacing the dais, hands behind his back. “The Lord of Fenlaros spent months concocting –and perfecting — a self-serving scheme that he then presented to me, as though he has the authority to do so.” He stops, turning to Tathaln — a very pale Tathaln. “And while I agree there would be some benefits to what you proposed, your methods have pissed me off. And I don’t like being pissed off.”

Tathaln squares his massive shoulders. Steps forward. “I—”

“What gives you the right to delegate your daughter and sons to rival camps to do your bidding, without bringing your case to me first? I should have been your first port of call. I should have decided how this plan of yours should play out. Yet you schemed behind my back and tried to build power and gain favour in case I disagreed to your plan. So you could then build a cause against me.”

“My Lord, I assure you, that is not—”

“Yes — your Lord.” He reiterates.

And then quick as a flash, he’s drawing a sword.

Quick as a flash, it slices through the air and hacks Tathaln Baralas’s head clean off his neck.

It drops to the dais with a wet-sounding thwack. The rest of his body crumples to the floor.

You can’t breathe, or think, or hear. Can only stare at Tathaln’s open, glazed eyes, peering off into nothing. There are gasps and curses and panic. Hands claw at you. You can’t move.

And then a high-pitched, wailing scream rents the air, like nothing else you’ve ever heard. So loud, it snaps you out of your shock.

You turn, despite the hands that hold you firm and still. Through tear-blurred eyes, you glimpse Kaeda on her knees. Her beautiful face is screwed with despair. She stares at her father’s head, and she wails.

“Change is, indeed, upon us.” Fin says calmly, as though a river of blood is not pooling at his feet. “But it will be dealt by my hands, and my hands only.” He sheathes his blade once more. “This ball is over. You can all leave.”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolls off the dais, tracking blood with each step. He disappears through a door without looking back.

And then chaos is erupting. Kaeda is still screaming. People are scrambling to book it out of there. You turn back to Tathaln’s head. Turn to your father’s, still in that box. You think you might be sick—

“Y/N.” Hands grasp your face tightly. Azriel is staring into your eyes, pleading with you to stare back. “We need to get out of here, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

You open your mouth, and a strangled noise escapes you. “I…I can’t…move.”

“You can. You can. Come.” His arms band around you. And though he holds you strong, you can feel that he’s shaken, too. “We’re leaving before the High Lord comes back. I’m getting you out of here. Hold onto me.”

You have no choice other than to comply. But your grip is as weak as you are. You can’t stop yourself fucking shaking.

You don’t hear the words that Azriel speaks to Cassian and Rhys. All you can hear is Kaeda’s screaming. All you can do is stare over Azriel’s shoulder at your father’s lifeless face. That face didn’t once look upon you with love in twenty years. Now, it certainly never will.

You keep on looking until Azriel spirits you both out of there, and the coppery tang of blood follows you all the way back to Windhaven.

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

“Please try to drink some of that.”

Azriel perches before you, his eyes fixed upon the steaming cup between your hands. You can’t remember how long ago he handed it to you, or how long ago you made it back to Roza’s cottage, or how long ago you watched Fin cleave Tathaln’s head from his body.

The fire is roaring, and more than one blanket is draped around you, but you can’t get any warmth to seep into your bones. You shiver from head to toe.

“It’ll warm you up.” Az reaches out, pressing a hand to your cheek. “I added a drop of whiskey to take the edge off.”

“I need more than a drop.” Cassian’s voice comes from behind the sofa, where he’s been pacing pretty much since he entered. “What the fuck was that? Your father is insane, Rhys.”

Rhys hasn’t breathed a word — that you’re aware of, anyway. Just sat in the armchair and stared into space. 

But his eyes shutter now, and he murmurs, “I know.”

“Absolutely insane.” Cass repeats. The pacing continues, up and down and up and down. “I didn’t realise you’d gotten so close to him, Y/N.”

As if you need reminding.

Fin had made it clear that in some fucked up way, everything he did tonight was for you. He’d slaughtered two people for you. You’d wanted to stop Tathaln, but not like that…never like that.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and you hear Azriel utter a quiet warning to Cass. Cass stops his pacing.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says, softer. “I just…didn’t realise there was so much going on while you were in Velaris.”

“I was trying to help.” You whisper. “I didn’t mean for…I didn’t mean—”

“None of what happened tonight was your fault.” Azriel moves to your side. He pulls you close against him, arms soothingly wrapping around you. “Don’t you dare start thinking that. The High Lord does what he wants.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. What if he’s coming for me next? I was scheming, too.”

Az growls quietly. “He can try. He won’t get close.”

“My father doesn’t want you dead.” Rhys rests his head back against the chair. He doesn’t open his eyes, and you’re wondering if he’s replaying the picture of bloodshed as much as you are. “If he did, he would have killed you there and then, alongside Kaeda’s father and…yours.”

Cassian spits on the ground. “And may your father never know a shred of peace.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, allowing yourself to slump fully against Az’s body, be supported by it. You’re not sure you can hold yourself up right now.

And it’s not that you disagree with Cass’s statement…you’re just not sure what to feel right now.

You hated your father. Despised him. But—

But that kill was supposed to be yours.

Fin had taken that from you in some fucked up display of…of affection, you supposed. Maybe even of ownership.

“He may not want me dead,” you whisper, “but I don’t think he’s finished with me. He’s surely not going to let me come back to Windhaven as if nothing happened. And what of Roza and the babe? Are they safe with him?”

Rhys gives a slow, meditative shake of his head. He’s exhausted. You’re all exhausted. The smell of blood clings to you. “I checked in with her. Despite what he did, they’re always safe with him. As for everything else…I don’t know what he intends.”

“Change is coming.” Finally, Cassian sits down. “That’s what he said. Over and over again.”

You don’t want change. Not the kind that Fin is probably thinking. You don’t want extravagance or luxury. You just want…this.

This little cottage. Your friends. Your love. Your simple, quiet life.

It feels like it hangs in the balance more than ever.

Eyes open, you’re staring at everything you may just lose. But the second you squeeze them shut, you see such thick, alarming red. Hear the thwack of Tathaln’s head falling. Hear the carnal scream that rips from Kaeda’s throat.

Your heartbeat picks up, and tears prick in your eyes — but Azriel’s arms tighten around you.

“Easy.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “I’m right here. All three of us are.”

You know he can’t possibly be as calm as he’s making out. But he’s doing it for you — staying strong for you.

“You should try to sleep, my love.” He murmurs into your hair. “We all should.”

You focus on his warmth, his scent, but the tears keep coming. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Try.” He kisses you again. “For me.”

All you can manage is a relenting nod. And that’s all it takes for him to slide down and pull you with him. He holds you so tightly, as though he’s terrified of letting go. He bundles you against him, wraps a blanket around you both. It can’t be comfortable for him, his wings, but he lays there like it is.

A soft snoring from the armchair tells you that Rhys has already succumbed to exhaustion. You bunch your fingers in the front of Az’s shirt and force your eyes to close, even despite the horrors that await you behind them.

But after a while, you’re aware of the sound of Cassian traipsing to the kitchen. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey that sits mostly drained on the side.

And you realise that in Azriel’s arms, you’d started to drift off, too.

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

You wake with a gasping start.

It’s pitch black in the room, besides the dying embers of the fire. Their muted orange glow illuminates the space enough for you to glimpse Rhys, still fast asleep in the chair. Cassian is sprawled out and dozing on the floor.

Any one of you could have stowed away upstairs in the privacy of a bedroom, but…you need each other right now. Each other’s comfort.

You don’t know what the time is; the middle of the night, judging by how dark it is. But there’s a lot of noise and foot traffic that’s carried past the house. You assume it must be Illyrians who have attempted to drown the night’s events in alcohol and are now skulking home.

You try to block it all out. Roll over. But as arms tighten around you and pull you flush against a warm body, you glance up to find Azriel awake, already staring at you.

You stare back.

That’s all you do for a while. Just…stare. Drink each other in. He is so beautiful. So brilliant. Your friend, lover and so much more.

“Hi.” He eventually whispers.

You scan his face. Murmur back, “Hi.”

“You should be sleeping.”

“So should you.”

A small shake of his head. Strands of hair fall from where they were earlier slicked back. The grandeur of the ball seems like eons ago, now.

“I can’t.” He says. “I’m worried about you.”

It’s rare…for him to lay vulnerable thoughts and feelings out like that. You study him again. And you want to reassure him, tell him you’re doing okay — but you’re not. Not right now. And don’t you owe him honesty in return?

“I’m scared.” You admit. Keeping your voice hushed doesn’t stop it from cracking.

Azriel leans down, dropping his forehead against yours. His hand rests at the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles.

After a moment, he asks, “What went on in Velaris?”

You don’t know what to say. It was so easy, in the City of Starlight, to pretend to be someone else. Someone that Fin would desire and eventually trust. So easy to follow a plan unflinchingly.

But back in the frozen grips of Windhaven, you do not feel like that person. You do not know her.

“You said you were scheming.” Az presses. “What went on?”

“I told you…I was trying to convince Fin to reject Tathaln’s idea—”

“Convince him how?”

You swallow. Because you hate the truth. Back in the ordinariness of your Illyrian environment, your behaviour seems so, so bad.

“Did he touch you,” Az breathes.

“No.” You immediately shake your head. “I made him want me. I made him want me so badly that he would trust me and listen to me. I never wanted him to kill for me. And I never wanted him. Every single second I spent there, I just wanted to come back to you—”

His lips fold over yours, and he breathes deep and slow. You waste no time in kissing him back. That kiss is truth, and it’s love.

“Only you, Az.” You whisper as you pull away. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

But he’s not done with you. His mouth is on yours again, and he promises into it, “I’ve only ever wanted you, too.”

Not merely wanted, but needed. And you need each other now. It doesn’t matter at all that you’re not alone in the room — that Cass and Rhys are sleeping mere footsteps away.

Your hands are on each other, grasping at each other, and your bodies come together. It’s unhurried and quiet. Azriel’s eyes don’t leave yours once, from the second he slides into you and you both gasp onto each other’s mouths.

Every slow thrust is one of love. Every one of them is a promise.

“Whatever happens,” he pants quietly, pleasure straining his voice, “whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

“Together.” You vow. A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and Azriel leans in to kiss it away.

He holds you as both your climax and his build together. He holds you as you bury into his shoulder to stop you from crying out. He holds you as you clench around his cock and he spills every last drop into you.

And he holds you as you catch your breaths and press your foreheads together, exhaustion beckoning you once more. He’s held you through so much, and he’ll continue to do so to whatever end.

Only when your eyelids are threatening to close does he brush his mouth against yours once more. And he says again, “We’ll face it together.”

There’s a stirring behind you. Cassian rolls over. Croaks out, “Can you quit fucking?”

And then he snores and he’s back to sleep, the fire warming his wings.

You and Az stare at each other and pause. And despite it all — everything that’s happened tonight — you both break into laughter. It vibrates through his chest and into you, the feeling pleasant, reassuring.

He kisses your forehead, a smile still ghosting his lips.

It stays there as he drifts to sleep.

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

“What the fuck is that?”

Your groggy eyes wrench open and squint at the weak daylight that filters through the cottage. Both Rhys and Cass have bolted upright. Az, too, is jerked awake.

A thumping lands on the front door, urgent, panicked. Anxiety floods your gut.

“I’m coming, fucking hell.” Rhysand clambers to his feet. He’s dishevelled and uncoordinated as he clambers to the door and rips it open.

“Rhys,” Zakai pants from the other side. “What the fuck is your father playing at?”

“What—”

It’s then that the sound hits you all. The sound of authoritative voices calling out. Of people shouting — arguing — back.

Rhys follows Zakai out of the door. You, Azriel and Cassian share a glance before the three of you are also following.

And what you find outside is…chaos.

The sight of Illyrians fighting is nothing new, but males are being ripped from their houses. Children and wives watch, tears staining their cheeks. Paper and clothes and belongings litter the ground as if they’ve been stolen and discarded. The sky is shadowed by the temporary night of soaring Illyrians

Your wide eyes swivel to a roof a few cottages down — where a male stands upon its tiles, his voice bellowing out. He’s leather-clad and puffed up by his own importance — one of Devlon’s cronies, you think.

He seems unperturbed by the pushback on the ground — the gathering, angered males, as he addresses anyone and everyone around him.

“If I call your name, you’re coming with me! You pack the bare necessities — we leave for Steelshore in thirty minutes!” He announces. “Rahu Sepheron, Venia Char, Falkon Galos, Telarion Krin—”

“He’s lost his damn mind.” Rhys grits his teeth, shaking his head.

“He’s actually doing it.” Ice shoots through your veins, nothing to do with the brisk spring morning. “The High Lord is actually splitting everyone up.”

“Zakai Athalar—”

“Fuck this.” Rhys grabs Zakai’s hand, turning to you, Az, Cassian. “Everyone get back inside. None of us are doing anything or going anywhere until I’ve spoken to my father.”

You don’t hesitate to turn on your feet and pull Azriel with you. You want nothing more than to hole yourself up inside the cottage and pretend that none of this is happening. That anxiety and panic isn’t turning your stomach—

But the second you step foot inside, you’re halting in the doorway so suddenly that Cassian smacks into you from behind.

Fin sits at the table, cleaning his nails with a dagger.

He drinks in the sight of you greedily. Glances down at yours and Azriel’s joined hands. Smiles.

“Do you want to tell me what the fuck you’re playing at?” Rhys pushes past you, storming over. “What the hell is all this?”

“This?” Fin sits back. “This, Rhysand, is the reality of war.”

His son grits his teeth. Clenches his fists. “What.”

“War is upon us. Days, weeks, months away. People will have to fight and people will have to die. It is my duty as High Lord to take necessary action to ensure we come out victorious. If I have to sever some relationships for that outcome, then so be it.”

Cassian barrels forward, nothing but anger given flesh. “And what is this supposed necessary action? Tearing families apart?”

Even he, with his quick temper and loose tongue, would never normally address the High Lord in such a way. But Cassian cares. He’s passionate about what’s right.

And what Fin is doing is not right.

But Fin vaguely smiles and picks an invisible piece of dirt from his jacket. “If need be, Cassian, yes.” He says. “I’m delegating Illyrians where they will serve me best in this war. That includes your cosy little unit here.”

“If we are truly at war,” Azriel says quietly, dangerously, “now is not the time to play games.”

“Who’s playing games, shadowsinger?” Fin shrugs. “Not me.”

You don’t think it’s accidental, the way the High Lord’s eyes slide to you in that moment. You look away, refuse to hold his gaze. You could swear he chuckles quietly as he stands up and tucks his chair in.

“So here’s how it’s going to be.” He rests his forearms atop of the chair. “Rhysand — you will be commanding a legion in Camp Theriel.” He glances — barely — at Zakai. “I do believe your lover has already received a summons to leave for Camp Steelshore, so he should probably run along, lest he gets left behind.”

“Father—”

“Cassian.” He interrupts. “You will remain here, in Windhaven — as a common foot soldier in this war.”

“A foot soldier?” Cass spits. “That’s beneath my rank and you know it. You’re only doing this because you’re threatened by Az, Rhys and I being together. How powerful we are. Everyone knows that.”

Fin simply tsks. “Watch yourself, foot soldier. You don’t want to slip further down the ranks, now, do you—”

“Fin.” Finally, you find your voice. You step forward, despite Azriel trying to yank you back. You stare pleadingly at the High Lord.

He turns to you. His eyes sweep your face. His expression seems to go somewhat…quiet.

You had begun to respect this male in some roundabout way. You don’t think you’d ever have fully trusted him, but…there was an understanding, for a time. An allegiance of sorts.

You’d seen a side to him that so few did. And though it’s nowhere to be seen now…you have to believe that it’s still under there somewhere. You have to.

“Please don’t do this.” You whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “Please. This is our home. Our family.”

At the first sight of a tear rolling down your face, Fin swallows — hard. He clenches his fists at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and wipe it away.

It seems like so, so long that he stares at you. So long that he seems to be fighting something internally.

So long that a small glimmer of hope ignites in you that perhaps he cares enough to listen.

But then his eyes are shuttering, and he’s looking away. He says, stiffly, “We all have to make sacrifices in war.”

“Fin—”

“Rhysand will go to Camp Theriel. Cassian will stay here.” His eyes open again. He looks from you, to Azriel, back to you. “You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.”

“What?!”

“You’d better say your goodbyes.” He squares his shoulders, not looking at you at all, now. “It’ll be a very, very long time before you all see each other again. If you see each other again.”

You open your mouth — to say what, you don’t know.

But Fin disappears before your eyes, leaving you — your family — alone.

What sounds far, far away is Cassian’s outraged ranting. Rhysand cursing his father. Zakai trying to talk to him, calm him down.

You and Azriel are the only two who don’t say a thing. Just stand there in silence.

Because you know you can curse all you like. You can shout and throw things and damn Fin to a miserable existence. It may bring you some temporary reprieve.

But it will not change a thing.

Fin is your High Lord. His mind is made up. This is just the next round in his game.

Your family is being cleaved apart. You stand in that cottage where you all slept in each other’s company — not realising it might be the last time, ever.

Your head roars and your tears keep on coming. But you can do nothing but stare at Azriel. He stares at you, too.

You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.

It makes you sick to your stomach. Probably makes Azriel sick to his stomach, also.

But your locked, silent, crestfallen gazes communicate one sacred promise to each other.

Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.

Authors note: Oooooof how are we all feeling? Good? Bad? Sad? Mad? Tempted to commit arson?

I just wanted to say thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. What started out as a fun little smut piece turned into a whole story I didn’t even know I had in me, but I’ve enjoyed every bit of it — especially hearing from all of you. Your likes, reblogs, comments and asks have meant the world to me through this. Thank you so much for the wonderful responses 🫶🏻

For anyone who didn’t see my answer to an ask regarding this last part — I understand it might not be the ending everyone wanted or expected, but I felt there was still so much potential in the story that I wanted to leave it open to — perhaps — write a sequel at some point. I have so many ideas, and I’m totally willing to talk about it and answer any questions about it you have any!

Thank you, again, for all the support, darlings. And I truly hope you enjoyed Practice On Me. 💕

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-a-girlie @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

[heartzfromel]

hey! i’ve got a request for youuu. totally optional :)

Lilia x reader with a transfiguration witch gf who pulls her out of her “visions” when they become too much through touch. they’re traveling the road with the coven, but the coven doesn’t know they’re dating and thinks they’re just friends. cut to surprise and shock when reader pulls Lilia out of a particular rough “vision” with a kiss.

i’ve been thinking of writing this for a while, and honestly might still do it, but for now it’s just an idea and i would love to see your take on it!!

-kenzie 💛

snap out of it || lillia calderu x fem!witch!reader

omg thank u sm for this request this is such a cute idea 💕💕

a/n; i feel like i haven’t written her right but bare w me its my first lilia fic

taglist; @multixfan @yourbasicqueerie @angeliccss @walkethisway @audreylise @confuseuniverse @babythere @kenzie-floops @delusionaforolderwomen @ex-t3rr3strial

tags; established relationship, i tried to write lilia’s visions like in the show but more dramatic but idk if i like it, kissing, flirting, agatha is a menace to society, alice wu gulliver third wheeling

they had started coming back again a few days before you and lilia had joined agatha harkness’ coven. lilia’s visions hadn’t been this erratic for a long, long time, and it was starting to worry you.

you’d been dating lilia only a few months, but you’d known each other for centuries. you met her as she was fleeing sicily and ever since then your lives had become entangled with one another’s, sometimes seeing each other every day for five years at a time, and then not seeing each other again for a decade. your attraction to lilia had always been known to you, but you’d never made a move, for 4 centuries you had longed for her, and maybe she’d done the same with you. the two of you had this sort of unspoken regret, for not being brave enough sooner, but you’d decided that you were just glad that you finally had her now.

the last time lilia had had visions that distressed her as much as this was almost a hundred years ago. luckily, you’d been there both times, and so you knew how to jolt her out of it. for most visions, it just had to be a simple brush of your fingertips against her skin, but it changed depending on the vision. funnily enough, you were the only one who could could get her to snap out of it, but she didn’t seem to mind.

right now, you were sat on her kitchen counter, messing with a rose quartz pendulum, belonging to your girlfriend. lilia was out the front of the shop, and you stayed away. lilia did most of the work at the front, (doing readings, talking to customers, things like that), whilst you preferred to unpack orders to be taken into the store and stink up your girlfriend’s kitchen with cinnamon insence, which drove her up the wall constantly as she hated the smell, she was always getting on at you for it, but you loved it when she was all annoyed at you because she couldn’t stay serious for more than five minutes.

you’d just lit a new stick when lilia barged into the room, frustration painting her features. you jumped to blow it out, tossing it to the side as if nothing happened.

“hey, lils what’s wro-“ you began, but your words were interrupted when your eyes trailed over to the doorframe, spotting one agatha harkness leaning against it, a permanent smirk etched on her mouth, followed by an awkward looking boy, couldn’t even have been seventeen, smiling and waving. you rolled your eyes.

“oh gods” you mumbled.

turns out, agatha wanted the two of you to join her and her coven on the witches road.

“we are in desperate need of a divination witch, you know. and transfiguration always comes in handy.” she mused, trying to persuade you.

“no witch in her right mind is going to join agatha harkness’ coven.” lilia argued, clearly not having any of this.

“not looking for right-minded witches, as it just so happens…” agatha smirked, turning to face the boy behind her who mirrored her expression.

“no.” you answered, taking your eyes off of the pendulum in your hand and turning to face her.

“why not?” she asked.

“because you’re the reason why there are so many misconceptions about us.” you answered, getting frustrated now.

“moi?” she clutched her chest, feigning innocence.

“you’re the reason people thing we poison apples, and steal children, and eat babies!” lilia listed, the disgust evident in her voice.

“babies are delicious.” agatha grinned, she knew she was getting lilia riled up.

now you, for one, didn’t believe in the road, and you didn’t think that lilia really did either, but agatha was really convincing, so you ended up on the sofa in her sitting room, the awkward boy from before smiling at you again, and lilia passing you some sort of food item on a skewer. soon enough you were all singing the ballad in agatha’s admittedly creepy basement.

after you’d done, the teenage boy from before came running down the stairs, yelling for agatha. you wondered how they knew each other, but there wasnt too much time left to think as you’d been informed that the salem seven, whoever they were, were after the lot of you.

her visions got worse once you’d reached the first trial. you and agatha had been sent off to find ingredients for an antidote for a poison, but lilia had insisted she joined you because she didn’t trust agatha. it happened upstairs, whilst you and agatha rummaged through the potions witch, jen’s, skincare, she seemed to freeze, before simply yelling “try to save agatha!”

you grabbed her arm and rubbed it soothingly to break her out of it quickly, but it didn’t stop agatha from taking notice, but she didn’t say too much on the matter.

there were a few more as you walked the road to your next trial, but lilia was quieter than the first one, she hadn’t yelled outwith a trial. you understood that the road was likely messing with her, so you linked your arm with hers to help keep the visions at bay as the coven ventured further down the road.

with the unfortunate passing of mrs davis in the last trial, the coven were now in desperate need of a green witch, and so the coven had decided to summon a new one, a terrifyingly beautiful witch crawling out from underground. she seemed to have a history with agatha, but the coven left it alone.

it was during the second trial that lilia had that vision. the coven explored the 70s inspired room that you had been transported to as agatha admired herself in the mirror as per usual. you were looking at various paintings with alice and your girlfriend, when she started to spout nonsense, which scared you a little bit.

“which is it, am i wispy or am i kooky?” she babbled.

“uh… both?” alice answered, glancing at you in confusion. lilia just looked confused.

“what?” she asked, tone suddenly dripping with her usual sass.

you just looked at her, a slight smile on your face as your hand rubbed her arm. alice had seemed to clock the endearment in your eyes as she looked away, clearly trying not to giggle whilst simultaneously attempting to get jen’s attention, and fsiling miserably.

“you look good, by the way doll.” she smirked, one hand snaking around your bare waist. you looked up at her, leaning your head on her shoulder.

“you don’t look too bad yourself.” you giggled, taking her in properly. she really suited that lipstick.

your moment was interrupted by alice clearing her throat awkwardly.

you looked at her, mortified, “oh i’m so sorry-“

she stopped you, giggling. “don’t. i think it’s cute.” she grinned, before sauntering off to find the rest of the coven.

your eyes followed her as she made her way over to jen, and you smirked knowingly to yourself as alice messed with her hair before going to talk to her.

you were pulled from your thoughts as you heard lilia mumbling to herself again, quickly turning to face her, grabbing her arms, rubbing them both soothingly.

“lilia, sweetheart, you okay?” you asked, having to raise your voice as she began to yell, becoming more distressed by the second.

you reached your hands up, so that they now cupped her face.

“lils.” you yelled. still no answer. you didn’t know what to do, she wouldn’t stop screaming. normally, you’d just do this and she’d be right back from wherever she was, but this time you tried with no avail. the pair of you were now gathering concerned stares from the rest of the coven.

you kept your hands on her face as she seemed to quieten down, but you could tell that she was still in a vision.

if only you could get her to snap out of it.

and that’s when it hit you. pulling her face close, you closed the gap between you, pressing your lips to hers. within seconds her hands were on your waist, lips moving in sync with yours as she pulled you closer.

you broke the gap between you and lilia placed her forehead against yours. she let out a giggly breath and then mumbled into your ear, “i hated that the last time” referring back to a few weeks ago when she’d had another vision similar to that, but had been broken out of it more easily.

“thank you baby.” she grinned, placing her hands on your face and pulling you forward for one more quick peck on the lips.

it was then that jennifer kale cleared her throat, causing you to turn around to face the coven, who all failed miserably at holding in their laughter at the sight of you after your little pda session with your girlfriend. lilia was literally glowing whereas you looked slightly disheveled and yoir face was covered in smudged red lipstick that you didn’t even have on. you couldn’t understand how lilia’s makeup had managed to stay pristine when her lipstick covered half of your face, but she had seemed to find it hilarious.

“so how long’s this been going on?” agatha asked, and for some reason you didn’t really know what to answer. you had only been official with lilia for a short while, but she’s been your soulmate since the day you first met, you knew that, and so did she.

“i’d say 400 years, give or take” lilia answered for you, causing you to grin, you were so glad that she was finally your girlfriend, but you only wished you’d been brave enough sooner.

[animehideout]

LOVE IS THE MOST TWISTED CURSE OF THEM ALL

PART ONE.

read part 2 here

GOJO SATORU X FEM! READER.

a/n: Here's part one, since all of you voted for Gojo satoru arranged marriage. Once I'm done with this story I'll start writing Long distance relationship x geto suguru.

Let me know if you want to get tagged in the next parts🫶🏻

"You can use the main bedroom; I won't be home much anyway," Satoru casually said glancing your way.

You silently agreed, carrying your bags to the spacious new bedroom.

The house was fancy; everything looked classy and pricey, but it's Gojo Satoru we're talking about.

You didn't exchange many words. It's your first night together after saying your vows. Still in your wedding dress, changing felt awkward with his intense gaze, so you began unpacking instead.

Leaning against the door frame, he observed you before finally speaking.

"Let's agree on something, okay?" he said.

"Huh? What agreement?" you asked.

"Listen, I have no idea how I ended up in this marriage mess, and I think you feel the same, even though you're the one benefiting. But let me be clear—this marriage isn't real."

"But how the curse will break?—"

"It doesn't matter how. The prophecy said it will so you can save playing as real husband and wife to yourself," he interrupted. "I'm not interested in you, and I don't need to know more about you. I already know enough," he added.

"I'm not interested in you either, and you know it Satoru."you spat.

"Yeah, right. That's why you needed my help." he mocked.

"I DIDN'T. I was fine with not breaking the curse, but my family and the higher-ups insisted for some stupid reasons."

"Yeah, right. STOP LYING. I know you wanted this; otherwise, you could've refused."

"If I had any power to do so, I wouldn't have wasted a second" you glared at him, feeling offended.

"You just confirmed that y/n, I really don't wanna see your face, you can wander this house as much as you want. I'll be in Jujutsu high” he said closing the door forcefully, leaving you all alone.

You removed your dress, changing into comfier clothes.

You were more than relieved that he left, you couldn't stand him anyway or stand his annoying voice. You wanted peace and you finally had it.

You couldn't understand why your family and the higher-ups insisted on breaking your curse, you were completely fine with it. With not being a sorcerer, breaking the curse will only bring a huge responsibility on your shoulders and you'll end up like every one in your family...A jujutsu sorcerer, exorcising curse day and night to help those who can't defend themselves.

Even though you weren't capable of seeing curses, you still could sense them roaming in the space..

It scared you at first, knowing that something is near but you can't do anything about it, unlike your other siblings.

But you grew to accept it and see the whole situation as a blessing not a curse.

But here you found yourself, marrying Gojo Satoru the strongest sorcerer, by an order of both your family and the higher-ups, saying that this bond wouldn't only break your curse that's stopping you from using your Jujutsu but it will also bring a new balance to the jujutsu world.

You're stuck with him, stuck with Satoru. You don't know him well, all what you know is that he's extremely powerful and from what you've seen, he's also a dick and a pain in the ass. Only a few hours in your marriage and he managed to offend the shit out of you.

“its just a matter of time” you said to yourself, while getting under the covers.

The night was truly terrifying for you, you weren't used to spend a night all alone in a big house like this, but it was 100 times better than spending it with Gojo.

So you just shut your eyes, hoping to fall asleep before falling apart.

_________________________________________

•In Jujutsu High•

“Huh Gojo what are you doing here?” asked principal Yaga.

“What?” he answered coldly while shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Its your wedding night, why'd you let your bride alone?”

“Hah bride?” he laughed raising an eyebrow. “And I thought she's the only one being delusional.. I did what all of you wanted, I married her, but thay doesn't mean I wanna live with her” he added.

“But Goj-”

“Sensei- I did my responsibility as the strongest sorcerer for the sake of the jujutsu world.. you can't ask for more”

“but if the higher-ups learn that you'-”

“Well screw the higher ups hehe” he laughed then headed to his room, reserved on Jujutsu high to spend the night away from you.

[sunnie-angel]

Part 1: The Meeting

part 2 | series master list | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: a friendship with jason todd hovers on the edge of something more but there are reasons lurking just out of sight that complicate things.

tags: fluff

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.6k

a/n: this first chapter is fairly light, but this series is intended to get much darker in tone and content. i’ve got most of the series planned out so i’m going to try and be more consistent with updates (but no promises).

The first time you see Jason Todd, he’s chewing on the end of a pen and staring off into space. He’s in your Theories of Poststructuralist Literature class, sitting two rows up and one seat to the left of you. What catches your eye is how lonely he looks. The seats around him are empty and there’s an air of loneliness to him that goes beyond first day jitters. The professor’s at the front, still unpacking her bag, so you’ve got still got a few minutes to stare as much as you’d like. Your friend, looking up from where she’s fiddling with her computer notices your interest, knocks her elbow into you.

“So who’s that,” she says in an undertone, “your new classroom crush?”

“Oh I am not that bad,” you retort, mock offence dripping from your words. “No, I just think he looks lonely.”

“Yeah, and cute.” This time you elbow her, hoping he didn’t hear Danika over the sounds of shuffling chairs and feet. Mercifully, the professor clears her throat to begin class, cutting off whatever else your friend was going to tease you with.

“All right, welcome to Theories of Poststructuralist Literature. I’m Dr. Okafor, and I’ll be…”

Throughout the rest of class, you can’t stop stealing glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye. Danika has to prod you twice to get you to take a copy of the syllabus and pass it along the stack of papers. You manage to pay attention just long enough during the self-introductions to find out that his name is Jason, and that he’s doing a degree specialization in British Literature. Class ends a half-hour early and your head’s already swimming, a list of readings and concepts already tripping up your thoughts. It means that you’re distracted, not paying attention to what your friend’s doing as you scramble to get your things situated back into your bag.

“Hey! Hey new guy!” Your head snaps up at the sound of Danika’s voice, loud and moving away from you. To your horror, she’s walking right up to Jason, and worse, he’s starting to look around for who she’s talking to. With no one else around him, it becomes evident that there’s no one else she could be addressing.

“Yes, you. Hi! I’m Danika. Me and my friend,” she gestures lazily back at you and you can already feel the mortification burning up your cheeks, “were planning to meet up with some other friends in the program for lunch after class. Want to join us?”

“Oh, um, sure? I need to talk to Dr. Okafor first, but I can meet you both right after.” He says, a little bit flustered by the invitation. He runs his fingers through his curls as he speaks, you notice.

“Great! We’ll just wait outside for you.” Satisfied, your wayward friend turns around and grins, giving you a thumbs up from where only you can see it.

“Seriously?! What was that?” You hiss at her when she finally reaches you.

“What, you said he looked lonely. Now, he’ll be less lonely. C’mon, have you texted the group chat yet that we’ve got a plus one for lunch?” Shouldering your bags, you pick your way out of the classroom, hopping over errant bag straps littering the aisle and maneuvering around people going through the motions of first day back greetings. Keeping Danika’s blonde head in sight, you pull out your phone and shoot off a message, slipping it back into your pocket before there’s time for any responses. She’s already waiting for you by the door, one hand twisting the ends of her hair in the way she only does when she’s uncertain.

“Really though, is it okay that he’s coming to lunch with us? Because I can go right back in there and tell him you suddenly came down with a stomach bug and I have to get you home.” Her concern cools the panic and annoyance knotting your stomach.

“No it’s fine.” She gives you a look, the one that says she doesn’t believe you. “Really. I’m kind of annoyed you didn’t ask me first but it’s whatever. Best case scenario, we get a new friend out of this. Worst case, he goes back to just being classroom crush.”

“I knew it!” She crows. “Wait, wait this is big. You never talk to your classroom crushes. Do you need to practice your pick up lines on me?” Faux seriousness drips off of her. Jason appears as if summoned, popping up behind Danika’s shoulder with uncanny quietness.

“Hey Jason, were you able to talk to the prof?” You ask, forcibly trying to keep your voice casual. Danika freezes, mouths sorry at you, before whirling around to face him.

“Yeah, thanks for waiting. And thanks for inviting me to lunch.”

“Anytime!” Smoothly your friend steps in to direct conversation. “We were just planning to head to the food court in the student union.” She starts walking, confident that the two of you will follow her and you do. “So Jason, how come we’ve never met before this class? Between our friend group, I think we’ve met or at least know of all,” she waits for your nod in confirmation, “of the literature and writing students in our graduating class.”

He exhales before answering, taking the moment to gather his story together. “I’m a transfer student. I started my degree a couple of years ago but had to stop for family reasons. I finally got the chance to get my records together so I could transfer to Gotham U and finish the last few credits to get my diploma.”

“But you’re from Gotham originally?” You can’t quite keep the weight of Jason’s full attention on you yet, breaking eye contact but still feeling his eyes on you. “Your accent sounds a lot like the neighbourhood I grew up in.”

“Gotham born and bred. The city called me home.”

At the entrance to the food court, Danika catches sight of your friends first, waves excitedly over at them, before heading off at a rush to the booth they’ve secured. She leaves you and Jason to trail behind in her wake.

��So you’re from Crime Alley then?” Jason takes the chance to ask you.

“Hmmm? Oh yeah, my family lived there until I was maybe 12 or 13. I moved back when I started at Gotham U because it was the only area I could afford without roommates.”

“I’m back in that neighbourhood too. D’you know that place—”

The two of you reach the table with your friends and then there’s no time for him to finish whatever he was planning to say.

“Everyone, this is Jason. Jason, this is Will, Rei, and Catalina.” As Danika introduces them, each person gives a nod or little wave. Will, as always, seems bored by everything going on around him that isn’t related to the book in his hand. Rei’s got one arm around Catalina where she’s curled into his side. He lifts his hand quickly in a sort of half wave, a genuine grin causing his cheeks to push his glasses up his face.

“Please, call me Lina,” Catalina says warmly. “Sit down, sit down, tell us all about yourself and why we haven’t seen your pretty face around here before.” If you didn’t know her any better, you’d say that Lina was flirting with him. Since you do know her, have since your Intro to Creative Writing in first year, you know that this is just what Lina’s like. Always a compliment for everyone ready on her tongue, unafraid to say a good thing no matter how it might appear. Jason, having only been introduced to her seconds before, did not know better. A tinge of red dusts the top of his cheekbones and he rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck.

Trying to ease the moment, you say, “Here, do you want to sit down first before the interrogation begins?” You gesture to one of the two open seats right next to Will, Danika having slipped into the empty spot beside Lina. She must have hurried over to say something to them, because this isn’t your usual seating configuration and it’s got you a bit wrong footed.

“No, no it’s fine. You go first. D’you need me to hold your bag or something?” He offers instead.

“I’ve got it. I’ll just tuck it under my legs so there’s enough room.” You slide into the booth, Jason close behind. It’s a bit cramped with the three of you on one bench. Jason’s pressed up along the length of your side, and you can feel Will’s knobby elbow digging into your rib. In such close quarters, you can’t help but notice just how big Jason is. Your head barely clears his shoulder and unseen below the table you can tell his knee extends far past yours.

“I was just telling these two that I’m a transfer student. Only a few more classes and then I graduate at the end of the year.”

“Any plans for the great beyond yet?” Rei asks, head cocked like a bird to rest on top of Lina’s head.

“Oh give him a break, the poor man hasn’t even had any lunch yet. Let us grab food before you continue the 20 questions, yeah?” Rei looks a little sheepish at your interruption and the reminder that the table in front of you and Jason is conspicuously bare.

“I packed too much for lunch today, first day jitters. We can split.” Jason interrupts.

“I— are you sure? It’s supposed to be yours.” You’ve known Jason less than three hours, exchanged maybe five sentences. It’s not the grandest gesture in the world, but it’s so nonchalantly thoughtful and offered freely. It sends warmth through you as he pulls out Tupperware, brushes your fingers as he hands over a fork.

“Don’t worry about it. And if you hate it, just pretend you don’t.” There’s absolutely no worry about that because it smells amazing. It’s some kind of pasta smothered in a creamy rosé sauce, chorizo and vegetables adding spice and colour. It’s the best thing you’ve eaten all month and he’s offering you half.

“You didn’t say that you were training to be a chef too.” You mumble around your second forkful. Skipping breakfast to catch the bus this morning had finally caught up with you and you’re starving. Turning as far in your seat as you can, you hunch over, left arm resting on the table to defend your excellent lunch from any thieves whose names did not start with J. Jason raises an eyebrow at your positively feral behaviour, satisfaction at your reaction filling his chest.

“That terrible, huh?”

“If you don’t give me the recipe eventually I might actually cry.” That startles a laugh out of him.

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“Why don’t you give him your number, and Jason can text it to you?” Danika interjects.

“Oh yes! Add him to the group chat too,” agrees Lina. Feeling rather cornered, you fish your phone out of your pocket and pass it to Jason for him to add his number one-handed. As he types, you give Danika a look that screams what are you doing. She shrugs, then bites into the foil-lined wrap she’d pulled out of her bag. Rei says something, trying to draw Will into the conversation, but is met with the usual non-committal hum. Giving up with a sigh, he starts talking to Jason, Lina and Danika chiming in every few questions or so. It’s an easy dynamic, far easier than you thought it would be when you first laid eyes on him that morning. Focused on your food, you don’t take notice of most of the conversation going on over your head. Your phone alarm starts to chime and vibrate. Fumbling with the fork and your phone, you manage to switch it off quickly as Jason looks at you inquiringly.

“Sorry, I’ve got another class across campus in Meade Hall starting in 15 minutes. I’ll have to run in five.”

“Is it ‘From Wollstonecraft to Frankenstein’ with Baird?” He asks between bites. “I’m taking that too.”

“Funny story, that. But we’ve really got to go soon if we’re going to make it on time.” He quickly downs the last bite, the two of you gathering your things in a rush to go.

“It was nice meeting you all. Thanks for the invitation Danika.” He throws the farewell over his shoulder, then turns to keep up with you as you speed walk your way out of the building. His longer legs eat up the distance you’d accidentally managed to put between the two of you. It’s completely unfair because while you have to keep up your awkward jog-walk, he settles into a loping walk that’s stupidly attractive, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket and bag slung over one broad shoulder.

Quickly, the two of you find your way to class. This time, instead of sitting alone, Jason’s right beside you sharing a table for two. His pen scratches over the pages of his notebook, handwriting spiky but neat. He takes care not to bump you with his elbow, aware of the space his body takes up. Class flies by quickly, Professor Baird an engaging speaker despite the long time block. It’s dark by the time the two of you leave the classroom, and it’ll get darker still as the days get shorter. You stretch your arms above your head, lean side to side in an attempt to work out the stiffness of your lower back.

“So what now?” Says Jason’s voice from just behind you. You turn to face him, aware of just how far you have to tilt your head back to look him in the eye.

“For me? Catching the bus home and throwing something together for dinner. What about you?”

“Something similar. You’ll be okay to get home though? Crime Alley after dark s’not the best place to be alone.”

“Yes, mom. I’ll be fine. The bus stop’s only a block from my building.” This is a conversation you’ve had with all of your friends, family, and even casual acquaintances and hearing it again has you rolling your eyes. But it was meant in kindness so you don’t take offence at the implication that you can’t look out for yourself. “But I wouldn’t mind it if we walked to the bus stop together.” Jason’s grin is so bright even in the darkening evening, lit by the campus street lamps.

The walk to the bus stop isn’t far from Meade Hall, but the two of you manage to stretch out the minutes. Feet get placed one in front of the other slowly, heels dragging behind. The night’s a wonderful cool Fall evening, not many people bothering to stay late on campus during the first week back. It’s only the two of you on the path cutting across the quad.

“What about you? Are you back in the Alley too?” you ask.

“Most of the time. Even if you leave, it doesn’t really leave you.” He responds.

“Jason Todd, are you secretly a romantic?” You tease.

“Incurably. Wouldn’t be able to survive Brit Lit otherwise.”

His grin is cheeky as he waves you off on to the bus. There’s something still lonely about him, face drained of colour by the bus stop streetlamp, a lone figure watercolour blending into the shadows at the edges. The bus pulls out with a rough jerk momentarily pulling your attention away. By the time you look back through the window he’s walking away, hands in his pocket and shoulders hunched over with that same unfairly attractive walk.

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 25: Strong, Fast & Almighty

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst. Beta read.

Word Count: words.

A/N: Sorry, I got sick and couldn't post uwu

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

“Red?!”

The night had started badly. The ball was just a few hours away, and you were already on the verge of collapse. You stared at the dress with a mix of amazement and bewilderment, unable to believe that the king had chosen that color. The corset, coated in rubies, the soft suede skirt and the sequined bodice sparkled so brightly that you had to squint to keep from going blind. It was a masterpiece, yes, but it also went against all dress codes. Part of you knew it was your fault; after all, curses hardly understood that society ball dresses were supposed to be white, simple and coquette; not flashy, alarming and, much less, sensual.

“Yes, a very deep red,” Kenjaku, who was holding the large box containing the dress, answered your hypothetical question.

“No, I can’t wear this,” you said before reluctantly closing the box.

“Why not? It’s beautiful.”

“It is, but if you want me to infiltrate the sorcerers, this will do the opposite,” you explained.

This was a mess, a crimson-tinged mess. If you dared to wear that dress, you would stand out more than a flare in the middle of winter. It was too daring, too provocative, and wearing it would be the equivalent of throwing a glass of red wine in the king’s face. Now, infiltrating the Zen’in would be much more complicated than it should be, as if that scandalous dress wasn’t already enough of a problem.

“Is there a problem?” Sukuna asked. He came closer, seeing you arguing with your master. They had drawn the attention of some curses, distracting them from unpacking the camp for the night.

“This dress is against the dress code of the ball. If you give me some gold, I can buy another one at…” 

“I know,” Sukuna interrupted you.

“You know?” You and Kenjaku asked in unison, stunned.

“It’s not the first time we spied on the sorcerers,” the king explained.

“So, did you choose a red dress on purpose?” You asked, confused.

“Our presence alone is going to make a big impression. So, if we’re going to draw attention, we might as well do it right.” Sukuna took you by the chin so you could look him in the eyes. “I want my queen to shine above all those obnoxious princesses.”

Sukuna gave you a proud smile before leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. Then, with his authoritative voice, he ordered Kenjaku to help you get ready, before retreating to personally oversee the curses keeping the camp in order. “He just wants to make my job harder,” you thought with a mix of annoyance and resignation.

The dress flowed down your long legs, further enhanced by the vibrant heels that seemed to lengthen each step. The sequins hugged your figure like a second skin, while the second suede skirt held on your waist perfectly and fell into an elegant train that followed you with every movement. This dress was unlike any Sukuna had ever gifted you; so much so, that you barely recognized yourself in it.

Kenjaku worked with meticulous precision, brushing and braiding your hair into an elaborate updo that exuded elegance. Then, he applied makeup that was more dramatic than you had imagined. Your face was sculpted with strategic shadows, dark eyeliner highlighted your eyes, and a passionate red lipstick became the finishing touch, lighting your lips like a fire that no one could ignore.

You looked at yourself in the makeshift mirror inside the small tent as Kenjaku added the last of the golden accessories to your hair. What that glass reflected was not your familiar image; It wasn't the dress, the jewelry or the complicated hairstyle that made you feel different. You were no longer the countryside girl who ran through the hills looking for the sunset with her sisters. Now, you were the fiancée of a tyrant. A question, heavy as a rock, settled in your chest: Did that make you a tyrant too?

"You look wonderful, powerful," Kenjaku whispered proudly as he placed the small gold rose-shaped necklace over your cleavage.

Powerful. Even if you didn’t feel it, you had to pretend, cling to that illusion to keep a plan built on fragile probabilities going. Now you were facing the tyrant on the immense chessboard, but blindfolded. You couldn’t see his pieces, and all you had were a handful of pawns to defend yourself. Surrendering would be the easiest thing to do. All you had to do was bow down, obey your king’s every command, and let the chains of fate hold you down completely. You still had time. But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Because even if you were no longer that countryside girl running barefoot under the open sky, you knew you had to move forward. Not for yourself, but for the hundreds of girls in the commune who still were, who deserved a world where tyrants didn’t decide their destinies. You were all they had, and that responsibility was enough to harden your gaze and keep you steadfast.

“Thank you, Kenjaku.” You smiled at him through the mirror. Your teacher patted you on the shoulders, indicating he had finished his part of the job.

“Since we don’t know exactly what awaits you in the Zen’in castle. In case it is a trap, you must escape as soon as possible and get out of here. Don’t go back to camp, go back to Sukuna’s kingdom,” Kenjaku explained.

“How am I going to get there?” You arched your eyebrow.

Kenjaku pulled out of his loose sleeve a yellowish sphere that reflected a rainbow against the light. You had seen it before. It must be one of his curses.

“This is the rainbow dragon. Once it senses that you are in danger, it will come out on its own.” Kenjaku handed you the sphere.

“Where should I keep it?” You rotated the sphere, producing a beautiful change of colors on the palm of your hand.

“Swallow it.”

Your body froze at that instruction. The sphere was the size of a grapefruit. There was no power on earth that would make that go into your mouth willingly. Kenjaku had to be joking.

“I’m not joking,” Kenjaku answered you as if he could read your mind. He took the sphere from your hand. “Open your mouth.”

“He-!”

You didn’t manage to finish your complaint before Kenjaku, with relentless force, began to force the sphere into your body. You squirmed, instinctively fighting against him, but his grip was unbreakable. He mercilessly shoved the sphere down your throat, and the bitter, abrasive taste burned you as if you were swallowing poison. You coughed, trying to resist, but Kenjaku didn’t relent. With one last push, the sphere descended completely, leaving a strange, oppressive weight on your stomach that made you double over from the impact.

“Kenjaku!” You gasped, spitting out the taste of burnt oil that lingered on your lips. It was so intense that it would probably stay there all night.

“It’s for your safety, young lady.”

“Are you done?” Sukuna entered the tent.

Sukuna was wearing one of his classic black kimonos, an outfit as practical as it was imposing, designed to offer comfort and freedom of movement in case war broke out. However, his choice of clothing also blatantly defied established codes. These were much more flexible with men, allowing them to wear formal suits or military uniforms, if they hold a rank of authority. But the great king, with his characteristic disregard for convention, looked somewhat loose, flowing, even markedly feminine. It was an act that would undoubtedly ignite murmurs among the courtiers. Sukuna, as always, seemed to enjoy the provocation.

“Yes, of course.” Kenjaku said with an obedient bow.

“Get out then,” he ordered.

Kenjaku left the tent without a word, leaving the space in a silence that seemed to amplify his absence. You were now completely alone. You looked at your reflection once again, and a smile of approval appeared on your lips as you contemplated how the dress fit your figure perfectly. It was a work of art, a weapon in the form of elegance.

Sukuna approached with his imposing presence, taking one of your hands with a confidence that brooked no resistance. With a slight gesture, he indicated that you should turn on your axis. You obeyed, letting the shining fabric of the dress dance around you, while he watched you with a satisfied look that seemed to say that you were now everything he had imagined... and more.

"Who knew that a daisy could look like a rose?"

There he was again. Comparing you to a daisy. You no longer knew if he said it to mock your innocence or to flatter your beauty. Knowing him, it could be both at the same time.

"You look good, too." You smiled back at him. "Are we leaving now?"

"You just need something else."

From behind him, Sukuna handed you a small sheath. You clicked open the latch and uncovered a red dagger. It was small, the size of your hand, and had a rose engraved on the wooden handle. A subtle but lethal weapon.

“It’s cursed, it will help you in case the dance is a trap,” Sukuna explained before putting the dagger back into its sheath.

“Where am I going to put it? This dress doesn’t have pockets…” You quickly realized a possibility. “Don’t make me swallow it,” you said in fear.

“No, no, no. I wouldn’t do something like that to you.” Sukuna laughed as he saw that Kenjaku’s sphere left you with a minor trauma. “That’s what I have this for.” From his back, he pulled out a garter that was in his other hand.

“Oh, it’ll be hard to put on,” you muttered, complaining about how tedious it would be to put the garter on your thigh with such a tight dress on.

“Not if I do it,” Sukuna offered.

Sukuna made you sit back down, his low, firm voice leaving no room for protest. Then, with a calmness that belied the tension in the air, he knelt in front of you. His gaze locked with yours for a moment, before he reached for one of your legs in a gesture that took your breath away. Your breathing hitched as you realized what he was about to do.

With unexpected gentleness, he placed the tip of your foot on his knee. His rough, battle-hardened hands brushed your skin as he began to slide the garter up your leg. His thumbs moved with a slowness that seemed deliberate, almost cruel, as you bit your lower lip, struggling to hold back any sound that might betray you. The warmth of his fingers was an electrifying contrast against the cold of your skin, a fire that seemed to ignite something deeper within you.

When he reached the right height, he pulled your skirt aside with a precise movement. He pulled out the dagger that had been waiting its turn, and with almost ceremonial skill, secured it between the garter and your leg. He pulled the white ribbons firmly, tightening them in place. His hands lingered just a second longer than necessary, as if he were marking you with something more than just a weapon.

“Are you ready?” Sukuna looked up to meet your flushed face. You could only nod.

The carriage, having been destroyed in the forest of curses, had left you with fewer options. Walking was the only solution to get to the castle. Sukuna, with a mix of authority and pragmatism, carried you for much of the journey. He didn’t say anything, but his actions spoke for themselves: he wasn’t going to let the heels ruin your feet before facing what awaited them.

The path took them to the heart of the Zen’in kingdom, a place that exuded natural splendor and tradition. Leafy trees stood like ancient watchmen, while vines coiled around natural rock formations, creating a landscape that seemed straight out of a painting. The fresh air was an unexpected caress after the stuffy atmosphere of the forest. But the most disconcerting thing was the presence of humans. Elegantly dressed civilians strolled through the cobblestone streets, their suits and jewelry reflecting the opulence of the anniversary they were celebrating.

Their gazes bored into you like sharp knives. Disbelief painted their faces, some filled with fear, others with astonishment. How was it possible that a curse, the king of them all, was walking through their lands, accompanied by a human figure? You could only respond with a nervous smile while keeping a firm grip on his arm. Despite the bewilderment that hung in the air, Sukuna advanced with the same confidence with which one claims what is his.

The castle appeared before you like a colossus of stone and power. Larger and much more imposing than you had imagined, its towers seemed to touch the sky, and the shadows they cast on the drawbridge were almost intimidating. You looked up, trying to take in the full magnitude of it, but soon realized that the walls seemed more of a threat than a welcome.

When they reached the bridge, the guards tensed instantly. There were no words of warning, no attempts at negotiation. The cursed swords glowed as they were drawn, and their wielders assumed attacking stances. “Is this how you’re going to do things…?” Sukuna thought, not even bothering to hide the cruel smile forming on his face. He was ready, more than ready, to cut them into pieces if they dared to challenge him. To him, this was nothing more than a game he had already won.

“Wait!” You stepped between your king and the guards with your arms outstretched. “We were personally invited by the Zen’in kings!” You exclaimed.

“Why would the king invite a disgusting curse?!” One of the guards yelled at you.

“Hey, have more respect for King Sukuna Ryomen!” You defended your king with equal volume.

The two guards froze, as if the surrounding air had stopped. Their eyes widened, and a thin layer of sweat began to glisten on their foreheads. It was obvious that they knew exactly who they had in front of them: Not a man, but a monster, one who could end their lives with a simple snap of his fingers. Sukuna’s aura seemed to fill the space like a crushing shadow, robbing them of every last vestige of bravery. Calmly, you pulled a neatly folded invitation from Sukuna’s pocket. You held it up to them with the friendliest smile you could muster. Not out of fear, but out of empathy, as you fully understood how the poor men felt.

As they took it and examined it, the guards’ expressions changed from terror to nervous embarrassment. It was unmistakable: the invitation was authentic. They clumsily lowered their weapons, the blades clanging against the stone floor. One of them tried to stammer out an apology, but the mere lift of Sukuna’s hand reduced him to silence. They had made the mistake of defying the king of curses, and the echo of that mistake would still haunt them.

“We just want to have a nice night,” you said.

The two guards exchanged quick glances, assessing who would dare lead the unusual guests into the castle. Finally, the guard on the left let out a deep sigh, resigned to the inevitability of the situation, and with an awkward gesture, motioned for them to follow. Sukuna offered you his arm again, and together you began to advance into the castle.

The moment had come. You had to infiltrate among the most powerful humans in the world, and you would do so to the beat of the piano, with the elegance of a piece of music that begins softly, but with each note gaining in intensity. As they crossed the threshold into the courtyard, a crowd of citizens watched them with eyes full of wonder. Surprise quickly turned to fear. Whispers spread among them, wondering if they should do something about it, although, upon seeing someone as imposing as Sukuna, it seemed that not even the air dared to move. Eyes diverted, unable to sustain the weight of his presence.

Sukuna, however, was already used to this kind of reaction. The discomfort, the rejection, the repulsion… he had experienced all of it all his life. It was nothing new to him. He remembered the rocks thrown at his head, the burn marks on his arms, the bitter taste of the poisonous berries he was given when he was still just a child. He had endured it all, like someone who gets used to wounds that never heal, like someone who learns that the world will never have mercy. He was just a child, but even in his vulnerability, he was already a force that others feared.

“My king, what kind of flowers are those?” You snapped him out of his thoughts, pointing to the large purple flowers growing on the vines.

You looked at the castle with a seemingly indifferent gaze, as if everything that happened around you was of no importance. However, deep down, this was not the case. The reality was that other people's opinions affected you more than you wanted to admit. You had grown up in the shadow of a troublesome sister, and so the disapproving glances of old ladies and the murmurs of neighbors annoyed by her ineptitude were no strangers to you. You couldn't even escape when you became a maid. You were used to being the target of criticism, to living with that constant pressure of being judged for the mistakes of others. But what really worried you at that moment, more than the judgment of others, was a simple truth: you were wearing the wrong color.

“They are Clematis. They are related to wisdom, aspiration and mischief,” Sukuna answered, distracting himself from what was happening around him.

“Mischief?” You asked curiously.

“It’s known as the ‘devil’s darning needle’ because it can be toxic to humans and animals,” Sukuna continued.

“Oh, it’s a shame they’re cute,” you commented with a pout.

“The danger doesn’t take away the cuteness,” Sukuna smiled. You could only return the gesture.

You climbed the majestic white marble stairs, the steps seeming to glow under the light of the torches and the hanging chandeliers. Each step echoed softly, like a prelude to the spectacle that awaited you. Before you, the castle entrance loomed imposingly: a gigantic door, carved with intricate details that told stories of wars, victories, and dynasties. Behind that door, you knew, were kings and queens, princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, the most influential figures in the world.

You had attended balls before, but never like this one. Your previous experiences had been with the middle class, or at public celebrations hosted by the kingdom, where crowds shared laughter, music and simple dancing. But tonight was different. This time, you would be surrounded by people who could truly change the course of history with a single word. And, though you tried to keep your composure, the weight of that thought made your heart beat faster.

The guard leaned toward the announcer, whispering their names in an almost reverent tone. Sukuna, at your side, barely seemed to notice the exchange. His gaze remained fixed on the door, though out of the corner of his eye he watched you with a slight expression of interest, as if he were gauging your reaction. As the announcer gave instructions to the trumpeters, preparing them for what would clearly be an important welcome, you felt the pressure of his hand on your back. With a firm, but almost imperceptible gesture, the king indicated for you to correct your posture.

“You are standing next to the most powerful king in the world, act like it.” He asked you not to be intimidated by what was on the other side of the door.

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with air as if that could dissipate the tension that compressed your chest, and nodded with determination. Sukuna was right. You had no royal blood, no superhuman powers, nor the refined education necessary to compete with that elite. But you did have something that they could not take away from you: guts. And that would be more than enough to stand firm and not let anyone trample you.

The blare of the trumpets broke the air just as the huge doors of the hall swung wide open. Their sound abruptly interrupted the melody of the orchestra and the perfectly choreographed dance that filled the room. The gazes of those present immediately turned to the entrance, where two figures defied everything they expected.

“Sukuna Ryomen, the king of curses and owner of the East Coast, has arrived, along with his partner, Miss Y/n!” The announcer exclaimed to the four winds.

No one applauded. The room, a sea of ​​impeccable military uniforms and white dresses that radiated purity and tradition, was filled with expressions of shock and horror. The contrast could not be more striking: Sukuna, a colossal curse that seemed to absorb all the light in the room with his mere presence, and you, a small lady walking beside him in a red dress as intense as blood itself, as if every step you took was a statement against their norms and customs.

The murmur began to spread like a wildfire, drowning out the last echoes of the trumpets. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, unable to take their eyes off the scene unfolding before them as they moved out of his way. Aware of every gaze that was fixed on you, you clung a little tighter to Sukuna's arm. You could feel the gazes piercing you, but you stood tall, remembering the guts that had brought you here would also be the ones that would take you further.

The hardest part was about to begin: presenting yourself before the kings. You had imagined finding an elderly couple, figures covered in gold from head to toes, with faces weathered by years and responsibilities. However, the reality was completely different, and you couldn't help but feel surprised.

The Zen'in kings sat on majestic thrones, made of white gold, with intricate details of emeralds and green quartz, which shone under the light of the huge chandeliers in the hall. Their youth was disconcerting. At first glance, they seemed only a few years older than you.

The queen was the first to catch your attention. Her dark hair, elegantly cut, framed a kind, almost innocent face, which was illuminated by a calm smile. Her white dress, designed with a simplicity that contrasted with the excesses of the room, made her appear ethereal, as if she were more spirit than flesh. There was something about her that was disarming, a warmth that almost made you forget where you were.

It was the king, however, who truly dominated the space. Even seated, his figure projected an imposing presence. He was tall, his black hair falling naturally over his forehead, and his burly body was hinted at beneath a familiar military uniform. You had seen that design on Commander Naoya, but here, on the king, it seemed like a perfected version. The medals that adorned his chest were not just symbols of achievement, but trophies that spoke of undisputed authority and power. And then there was his face: handsome in an almost insulting way, as if nature itself had decided to give him everything it took to rule. “If Mrs. Inoue saw this, she would faint right here,” you thought wryly, while trying not to let your amazement be evident.

Unlike the rest of the room, they showed no fear. Not a hint of doubt was reflected on their faces as they saw you and Sukuna cross the threshold. Instead, they watched you with measured curiosity, almost as if they were sizing you up. It was a complete contrast to the palpable tension that filled the room. Here they were, the two monarchs of the Zen'in Kingdom, sitting on their thrones as if nothing in the world could touch them, not even the arrival of the King of Curses. And that, more than any murmurs or glances from the others, put you on alert to begin the real party.

"King and Queen Zen'in. It's a pleasure to meet you. We deeply appreciate your invitation," you said as you bowed respectfully to them, unlike Sukuna who only scrutinized them in the same way.

"It's about time. After years of sending the poor idiot Commander Naoya to deliver the invitations and not a clue given in return," King Toji laughed at the situation, cutting the tension in half as the rest of the party continued to watch the scene intently.

“It's a pleasure to meet you as well,” Queen Nozomi added.

“Let me tell you, you have a beautiful kingdom. It's so warm and vibrant, unlike Sukuna's kingdom,” you commented with a friendly smile.

That's how your plan began. The art of conversation. Starting a pleasant chat until you got to the information you wanted to get. You had no idea what information you wanted to get, so anything would be good.

“I'm glad you enjoy our architecture. The vast majority of our buildings are over 400 years old. A true heritage to our culture,” the queen replied elegantly.

Queen Zen'in was just as she appeared to be: charming, warm, and above all, exceptionally polite. Her voice, soft but clear, flowed with impeccable diction, as if each word was measured with precision. Her eloquence was enviable; a skill that you, despite the endless lessons Kenjaku gave you, could barely replicate without nervousness creeping into your tone.

The king, on the other hand, observed everything with a different attitude. His fixed and calculating gaze soon realized that the orchestra had stopped playing, the waiters remained in the kitchen, hesitating whether to come out or not, and the guests continued to look at the scene in disbelief. A slight snort escaped his lips, as if all that uncertainty was an unnecessary distraction.

“What are you waiting for to play?! This is a party! What?! Have you never seen a curse before?!” Toji scolded everyone. Even you felt scolded.

The orchestra, without further delay, began to play again, its notes breaking the silence that had filled the room. People returned to their conversations as if nothing was happening, even though they could now only talk about what was right in front of their noses. The first meeting of King Ryomen and King Zen'in. Something that seemed impossible after a long history of enmity.

"Seriously, I'm very glad you came. This is a historic day!" Toji said excitedly.

"Let's get to the point. Why did you invite me? What do you want?" Sukuna answered coldly, causing the Zen'in kings to become dissatisfied.

"Oh... excuse him, King Sukuna is a very direct person," you said to dispel the tension.

"There's nothing to apologize for, young lady. I'm the same," King Toji told you. "I invited him for business, obviously."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, becoming curious. That simple action, so subtle and loaded with meaning, only fueled his growing curiosity. What kind of business could King Toji be seeking with him? The very idea seemed absurd. It was unthinkable that a human being, whatever his status or power, would want to negotiate with someone like him. Sukuna, a curse of such magnitude, so distant from everything human, so imposing and destructive, could not understand what could lead a human king to even consider such a proposal. But something in the king's gaze, something in the calm with which he had made his offer, told him that there was more than met the eye. And that "more" was precisely what kept him on edge.

"Why don't we talk about it in private? The sooner we talk about it, the quicker we can get back to the party, right?" King Toji stood up from his seat. Sukuna gave you a look to be alert outside his presence.

Toji led him down a hallway, leaving the party behind. People were dancing harmoniously to the song with great elegance and joy on their faces. Under the bright chandeliers, around the soft music and on the beautiful marble floors. The piano sounded harmoniously in your ears. You smiled at the sight of the pianist, the star of the show, playing his master instrument while his body couldn't help but move to the beat. You wanted to join the dance floor already.

"Why don't you take a seat?" Nozomi offered you the king's seat when she saw you standing.

"The throne? No, I couldn't," you refused flatly.

"Oh, come on. The queen is ordering you to." Nozomi told you sweetly. Since you didn't want to offend the queen, you sat on the great throne. "Tell me, what exactly are you to King Sukuna?" She asked you curiously.

"His servant. He only invited me so he wouldn't arrive alone. What kind of king would arrive alone to a high society ball?" You said as if he had forced you to come.

"No... You're not just his servant." Nozomi smiled at you with a certain mischief in her eyes. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. "You're his lover, aren't you?"

"H-how did you realize?", you asked while you thought: "Great, I went from servant to sex object.”

"You can see it in his eyes. It's easy to notice when he has four," Nozomi joked, but then her expression turned nostalgic. "He reminds me of my Toji, he had that same look when we were dating. King Sukuna is completely in love with you."

You quickly realized that she didn't mean "lover" in the vulgar sense of the word. But in the romantic sense. You had noticed it too, that was why it was so easy to sweet-talk him with the technique Yorozu had taught you. The problem now wasn't with him, but...

"The real question is, what do you feel for him?" Nozomi inquired, thinking she would make you blush in embarrassment.

"I love him," you admitted seriously, surprising the queen suddenly. "But, I can't allow it. He's a damn tyrant," you said, holding your skirt in anger.

You had accepted, albeit silently, that you were in love with him. You had known it long before you dared to admit it. You looked for any excuse to be near him, to steal moments from him amidst his constant authority and his world of chaos. You strove to make him happy, to offer him the best of yourself, to be at his level and feel you could walk beside him with dignity. You loved him. There was no other way to describe what you felt. You had loved him even before you realized it, perhaps even before he, with his cold, but undeniable determination, had first proposed to you.

There was something about him that captured you, something that made you feel alive, that lit a fire inside you that no one else could awaken. The way he managed to surprise you, how he saw something unique in you, how he treated you with a delicacy that clashed with his brutal nature, all of that made you think no one else in the world could compare to him. He had transformed you, not only into who you were now, but into someone who had learned to desire, to yearn, to need.

But there was a dark weight to that love. His actions, often cruel and vile, were a poison that ate away at the foundations of what you felt. Over and over you found yourself caught between two extremes: the man who made you feel like a precious flower and the tyrant who destroyed without mercy. That duality tore you apart inside.

And then you wondered: Was it really love? Did you love him for who he was, completely, with his virtues and his monsters? Or had you simply fallen under the spell of his attention, the way he made you feel wanted, special? Was it love or a disguised obsession, born from his ability to fill every empty corner of your heart? That doubt, always present, was the crack in your passion. Maybe, what you felt for him was not as pure as you liked to believe.

“Such a dilemma,” Nozomi whispered beside you.

“Sure it is,” you nodded.

“You remind me of myself when I first started dating Toji. I loved him, but I was too afraid to get close because he was a strong commander and the heir to the throne, while I was just selling bread.” Nozomi scratched the back of her neck, somewhat embarrassed to admit it.

She told you her love story with a warmth in her voice that seemed to envelop every word. It was simple, almost like a tale that could have been lost between the pages of a forgotten book, but in her eyes shone the intensity of something unique.

“I was just a countryside girl,” she began, with a nostalgic smile.

Nozomi worked as a delivery girl at the family bakery, bringing freshly baked breads to the castle every two days, always before breakfast. Her routine was simple, almost monotonous, but she had a secret that made those trips special. From the courtyard, she could see young Prince Toji getting ready for the day through his window. Her eyes always ended up looking for him between the huge windows. One day, driven by a mixture of nerves and bravery, she timidly waved at him. Against all odds, he returned the gesture, but not in an indifferent way, but with a flirtatious smile that made her heart beat faster.

From then on, every morning, the same scene was repeated. Week after week, Toji began to wait for her at the same window, as if the day could not begin without that brief exchange. And then, after months of silent greetings and furtive glances, the king finally took the next step. He waited for her in the kitchen, a place where the walls of royalty seemed to crumble, to meet her face to face.

In the middle of her story, Nozomi's stomach began to hurt. Quickly, you approached to try to assist her, but she gestured to you that she was fine.

"This pregnancy is really testing my patience," She joked softly.

“Are you pregnant?” You asked, surprised you didn’t notice before.

“I’m barely two months pregnant,” she commented. “Do you want to feel?”

On the opposite side of the castle, hidden in the shadows of the maze of vines, a commander and a young woman who the former only known for a few hours were in a scene that was far from anything romantic. He was kissing her aggressively, squeezing her breasts tightly and possessing her ass as if she were nothing, just another toy in his collection. The poor girl was screaming in pain, but she didn’t push him away as she was dealing with the attractive Naoya Zen’in. The brightness of Naoya’s position and his almost perfect face seemed to override any desire to defend herself, even as her moans of pain mixed with the whispers of the wind in the labyrinth.

For Naoya, this was simply an empty ritual, another distraction in the middle of a busy and frenetic life. As a commander, he rarely had moments to “relax”, and these events became the perfect excuse for his personal hunt. There were always women willing to fall into his trap, fascinated by his lineage and his looks. But to him, they were interchangeable, ephemeral toys that lost their luster in a matter of minutes.

This one, in particular, was so boring that she seemed more like a rag doll than a companion. Not even her screams or her dedication could hold his interest. With a mix of contempt and disgust, he pushed her aside as if she were a used garment, leaving her there, alone and humiliated. The young woman called out to him, her voice cracking with confusion and pain, but Naoya had already left, ignoring her pleas with devastating indifference.

With a cynical smile and the air of someone who knows he can get away with anything, Naoya appeared back in the ballroom. His superhuman speed made him stand to the epicenter of the party in the blink of an eye. He adjusted his uniform, impeccable despite his recent “amusements” and let his gaze wander around the room, looking for a new victim to pass the time. It was then that something caught his attention. Amidst a sea of ​​white dresses, a flash of crimson glowed like a living flame.

“What the fuck…?” He whispered angrily to himself.

There you were, the damned servant who had the nerve to shoot an arrow through his back, chatting calmly with Queen Nozomi. The two of you were laughing, as if you were old friends sharing a secret, with your hands holding her belly in a relaxed posture, as if you didn’t have a care in the world. And worst of all, you were sitting on the king’s throne, with a naturalness and impudence that stabbed a pain in his chest.

He strode forward, every movement emanating suppressed fury, as his teeth ground together with each step. His gaze fixed on you was all it took to make the air in the room thick, tense. When he finally stood before you, his presence was imposing, charged with a silent rage that only someone like him could possess.

“What the fuck are you doing here?! Get your stupid ass up!” Naoya grabbed your arm to pull you off the throne.

“Commander Naoya!” Nozomi scolded him. “I asked her to sit down!” She defended you.

“No, Queen Zen’in. It was my fault, I shouldn’t have agreed in the first place,” you said to calm the waters. “See you again, Commander Naoya.” You greeted him with a bow.

“And what a horrible sight you look like,” Naoya replied, crossing his arms.

“And that’s why it’s not good to see you again.” You mimicked his stance.

“There, there.” Queen Nozomi stood up from her seat to scold the two of them. “Now King Toji is making a deal with King Sukuna. If all goes well, it means we’ll see each other more often. You two should try to be friends,” she said with a friendly smile.

“Friend of this disgusting maid? I’d rather die,” Naoya muttered, to which Nozomi gave him a smack.

“Enough!”

The room erupted in applause as the last note of the song faded into the air. The musicians, after a brief sigh of rest, prepared to begin the next number: The Phantom Waltz. An ethereal and moving melody, so perfect in its complexity, it felt as if time itself vanished in its lullaby. You knew it almost by heart; It was one of the first pieces you had tried to play on the piano, though its difficulty had led you to look for something simpler to begin practicing without ever losing the desire to master it one day.

The queen, noticing your gaze fixed on the musicians and the slight glint of recognition in your eyes, smiled to herself. A flash of cunning crossed her face, as if she had just conceived an idea that could change the course of the night.

“Commander Naoya, invite the young lady to dance,” Nozomi ordered.

“What?!” They both objected.

“Do you really want to disobey the queen?” She raised her eyebrow in threat. Naoya sighed dramatically in surrender. He knew his cousin would kick his ass if he disobeyed. You felt like you no longer had a say in the situation.

“You better know the steps,” Naoya took your hand before pulling you onto the dance floor. You looked at Nozomi with pitying eyes, but she only gave you a thumbs up in good luck.

Naoya held you by the waist firmly, his fingers gripping as if claiming something that never belonged to him. His posture was rigid, clearly making it known that this dance was not a gesture of courtesy, but a display of control and superiority. Wasting no time, you adjusted yourself into position, placing your hand on his shoulder, while his other hand maintained its possessive grip. Without a word, the two of you began to move, merging with the stream of dancers who twirled to the beat of the waltz.

The steps were fluid, perfectly synchronized with the music, but there was a palpable distance between you. Each of you looked in the opposite direction, like two children caught in an awkward interaction, pretending not to notice the other's closeness. Naoya kept his expression of bored arrogance, while you tried to keep your composure despite the surrounding gazes.

The ladies in the hall watched you with a mix of jealousy and resentment, whispering behind decorated fans. For them, you were an intruder in their territory, a mere stranger, occupying a place they believed was reserved for one of them: the arm of the young commander of the Zen'in. But, despite their obvious disdain, you couldn't ignore how some envied the attention he bestowed on you, even if it was laced with barely concealed condescension.

“They really hate you,” Naoya mocked you.

“Let them keep doing it,” you said indifferently.

“Hey, just because you have a dress that stands out from the others, doesn't mean you do. You're still a useless servant of a disgusting curse.” His intentions were clear. He was trying to annoy you as much as possible, but you wouldn't let him.

“I don’t care about in the slightest what a stupid, pedantic commander thinks.” Your partner smiled with satisfaction.

“Oh, honey... I know I'm the worst,” Naoya whispered in your ear. “But I still have status, strength and a face carved by angels.”

“By demons, you mean,” you replied quickly.

“You can pretend all you want, but I know you're melting being so close to me.”

“I better go back to the damn hell where you came from,” you whispered to him so no one would hear you.

Naoya smiled, enjoying the spectacle of your frustration. For him, your emotions were a toy, something delicate and easy to manipulate, and he did it with the same ease with which a cat plays with a mouse. The song reached its last beat, marking the perfect moment to execute the final twist: a tip. An opportunity that he, of course, planned to use for his own entertainment. 

Even though he didn't consider you the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, there was something about you that intrigued him. Maybe your resilience, your stubbornness, or simply the challenge you represented. His eyes briefly lingered on your lips, tempting and painted in such a deep red that they seemed like a beacon calling to him. Yes, he had already decided.

"Wait... He wants to...?" you thought, confused, noticing the direction of his gaze. It was absurd. What kind of man enjoys irritating a woman and then pretends to kiss her like it was nothing? It was clear you had to act quickly. The music was ending, and Naoya, confident in his ability to get his way, already had the plan outlined in his mind: a smooth and controlled movement, lower your body elegantly and seal the moment with an unexpected kiss in front of the crowd. He was so sure of himself that the sparkle of triumph was already appearing in his eyes.

But you weren't willing to be part of his game. As he moved his hand down your back, preparing to execute the final twist, you took control. With a calculated move, you slid your arm behind his back and, in one swift movement, pushed him off balance. Before he could react, you lightly kicked his foot, destabilizing him. In the blink of an eye, it was him who fell towards you, caught in your arms.

The entire room held its breath, surprised by the unexpected twist. You had made the perfect tip, but with Naoya in the role he would never have imagined: vulnerable and at your mercy. His arrogance was now replaced by a mix of disbelief and a spark of irritation. But you only smiled, triumphant, making it clear that you were not a piece on his board, but a player on yours.

“Look who’s melting now,” you whispered to him as his lips were just inches away.

Naoya had never felt so humiliated, embarrassed, angry, blushing, aroused… His emerald eyes were in shock that his heart was racing as fast as him. No, this couldn’t be happening to him. He was Commander Naoya of the great Zen’in nation, he couldn’t fall under the charms of a maid. A maid who stood up to him. A maid who beat his speed. A maid in a beautiful red dress. A beautiful maid… The applause at the end of the song submerged you, but you didn’t raise it. You wanted to make him suffer a couple more seconds. Naoya parted his lips thirstily, but you weren’t going to give him a drop of yourself.

The trumpets began to sound again, just in time. Someone important had arrived. You reluctantly picked Naoya up and moved away from him to make way on the dance floor. He backed away, confused, lost in the chaos of his emotions. The people around you gasped at the sight of who was in the Zen'in Kingdom, lining up so they could reach Queen Nozomi easily. You felt like you did when you were a maid, lining up against the wall to greet Sukuna.

“Here they are, King Kento Nanami of the Nanami Kingdom and King Satoru Gojo of the Gojo Kingdom!” They announced.

You were stunned to see the kings enter the hall, their presences capturing every glance. “Why are all the kings so handsome?” you thought, almost offended by the injustice of their beauty. First there was Sukuna, with his lethal and magnetic aura; then Suguru Geto, enigmatic and imposing. Then, Toji Zen'in with his great musculature. Now, King Nanami and King Gojo seemed to raise the standard even higher.

King Nanami was a work of perfection: tall, blond, with an impeccable bearing that seemed sculpted for a royal portrait. His navy blue military uniform, adorned with medals, reflected his discipline and elegance. His perfectly coiffed hair and shiny shoes made him look like the ideal dream husband, the kind of man every mother would want for her daughter. His seriousness only amplified his attractiveness, as if every gesture of his was a poem of sobriety and strength.

And then there was King Gojo, your sister hadn’t lied. King Gojo was prettier than her.. His snow-white hair shone under the lights, and his flawless skin had a glow that defied all logic. He wore a white yukata with traditional patterns of the Gojo kingdom that made him look even more ethereal. The blindfold covering his eyes only added to an air of mystery, though it couldn’t hide his colossal presence. If Naoya was a devil made flesh, Gojo seemed to have descended straight from heaven.

Both kings advanced through the hall, their steps filled with a natural majesty. Those present fell into a collective bow, bowing deeply to their authority. Naoya, who had known both of them for years, was already ready to greet them with that friendly arrogance he reserved only for his equals. But he stopped short when he noticed that Gojo had changed direction, advancing directly towards you.

Nanami also stopped, his gaze shifting to where his colleague directed his attention. Suddenly, you felt as if the surrounding air was compressed. Halfway into your bow, you found yourself looking up, caught up in the curiosity of the moment. A shiver ran down your spine at the strange feeling of déjà vu…

Gojo, with carefree ease, pulled the blindfold up to his forehead, revealing what could only be described as a pair of divine treasures: lapis lazuli blue eyes that seemed to hold the entire night sky within them. You were instantly mesmerized, your breath catching in your chest. “Those eyes!” you thought in awe, unable to look away. It was as if a spell had been cast on you, one impossible to break.

“Yorozu?” He asked you.

“Huh?”

Next →

THE UPDATE DATE WILL BE SUNDAYS FROM NOW DUE TO PROOFREADING! THX :3

Masterlist.

taglist:

Tag list: @bbnbhm @pxnellian @kbirdieee2540 @konigswifeyforlifey @kyo-kyo1 @calico-cheriies @imas1mpp @alone-the-honored-one @vlads-dracula3 @bigraga-sk @neeke-lilac02 @shaazd @airandyeah @energiepie @awkward-walking-potato @delightfully-studying @catobsessedlady @danniwerner @paradisestarfishh

(let me know if you want to be tagged in next chapters!)

[dominarava]

Angel

Ghostface × Female!Reader

CW: Dub/Non-Con, Blood, Stalking, Breaking & Entering, usual fucked up GF stuff

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: The quiet guy in your discord server decides to chat you up in the general vc, and as expected, has a lot more to unpack than you ever expected.

Notes: I was lazy and just posted the ugly default AO3 link when I first posted this, so I'm coming back and making it look nicer with new and improved tags lol

This piece doesn't specify who is really behind the mask, so whoever you want is up to you~

I had fun with this and left light references to the movies, Dead By Daylight, and Mortal Kombat to honor some of my favorite appearances of him-- hopefully it doesn't ruin the immersion lol

I don't usually leave notes, but it's been a while and I've adored all the comments and kudos I've gotten in my absence, cause at the end of the day, that's what will always bring me back. I love all your support and time reading this and hopefully I have more soon to come for you all!

Thank you again so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy! 🔪💕✨️

AO3 Link

This had become the nightly habit: get off work, make dinner, chill with the lads in a Discord call until bedtime. Mindlessly playing a game, you weren't surprised by the sound of someone joining the call, however you were surprised by who it was. He was a rando that had joined a while back, was nice enough, but didn't have much to say as he relegated himself to really only short replies or emoji reactions. You could have sworn he posted a thirst trap without his face in the #selfies channel, but you weren't 100% sure. When he would join calls he would always stay muted, opting to reply in the text chat or not at all, merely listening to and enjoying just being around the good times happening. All the same, you felt it rude to not say at least a little hello. 

“Hey! How’re you doin’ tonight?” 

“Hey there~” 

The voice on the other side was low, having a bit of a flirtatious twang in the sigh of his greeting. Your heart skipped a beat, you weren't sure if he had ever spoken to you, much less anyone else in the server. And if you were being honest, he sounded kind of hot. Letting the giddy feeling ride, you tried to keep him talking since it was just the two of you. 

“Woah–” You poked cheekily, “I dunno if I've heard you say anything before.” 

“I'm more of a one-on-one kind of guy,” He offered smoothly, “But I enjoy listening to everyone having a good time.” 

“Fair–” 

The air fell dead as you wondered what to talk about next, letting him cut into the silence with a question, “So.. what's your favorite scary movie?” 

Having just finished a server horror movie night not too long ago, the question felt like a natural segway into your interests, “Hmmnn that's actually a good question– I think if we're just talkin’ horror in general my first and favorite would have to be Silence Of The Lambs. The back and forth relationship between Clarice and Dr. Lecter was probably one of the most challenging to my mind at the ripe age of twelve, since then I've loved horror that has a female protagonist that is put under pressure by the killer to make difficult choices and solve the puzzle he left for her.

“But– that's not to say pieces like Substance or Midsommer aren't incredible mentally challenging works of art to me, I love both, along with movies like The Empty Man, Smile, It Follows, The VVitch, The Void, V/H/S–”

He cut your train with a light chuckle, “I definitely want to know which you thought was better, Smile or It Follows, but I meant to ask, what’s your favorite slasher movie?” 

You gave this one a lot more consideration as your heart swelled with a damning excitement at the thought of your favorite killers, “That's such a hard choice! Of course Micheal Myers from <i>Halloween</i> is like everyone's big daddy– but I think if I had to choose it would have to be Stab! Ghostface is just a lot more fun, playful, and let's be honest– horny.” 

“Oh yeah?” He hummed, “Why's that?” 

How his tone seemed to curl at the end of his words made your chest tighten and a heat rise to your cheeks, “I mean, at the heart of it.. the voice actor responsible for his voice changer in the movie said that his tone is flirtatious, beyond that– between the fact that the first Ghostface seemed to get off on the idea of causing his object of obsession, Sidney, the most pain possible by the mocking of her mother being the town bicycle and it's even pointed to at the end of the movie that the two who were behind the Ghostface killings were the same two that brutalized Sidney's mother–” 

“Goddamn–” Nearly groaning his words as he cut you off, he cleared his throat and pressed, “Good girl~ You sure do know your stuff.” Praising you with words that melted like chocolate over your tongue, your mind tilted at his words, ‘Good girl’. 

Good girl?!

“Excu–”

“I fuckin’ love girls like you–” He went on, swearing you could hear the ache of him through the call, “Your type always knows how really appreciate us..” 

‘Us’?

Before you could get a word in, he went on, “Buuut it looks like that's my cue– I hope you're ready for some fun this evening.” Leaving the conversation with the disconnect sound chiming through your ears in silence to process what just happened. 

The sound of him leaving the call let a wash of relief run over you, only lasting for a moment as the floor creaking caught your attention with arms wrapping you in a winding embrace. Having your arms pinned at your sides, your hands flailed looking for any sort of way out. Only, the way your grip seemed to find his length caged behind his pants before skirting over to the long hunting knife strapped to his leg, making your struggle against him stop with a gasp.

“Yeah.. that's all for you Babe, whatever you need– so.. let's behave.. alright..?” The same voice that was lingering in your headset only moments ago was in high definition against your back. 

Firmly pressing his hand over your mouth, you froze as someone else joined the empty call with you, “Hey you there?” 

Your headphones loud enough for him to hear, an uneasy pause passed between you two as his hold over your lips lessened, “Yeah-” He let you breathe through his nitrile gloved fingers.

“Good, kinda glad he's gone, he's chill and all, but it kinda bugs me that he's just in here just dead-ass silent all the time. Fuckin’ weird.” 

Looking over your shoulder a bit to get any sort of a look at him, you were only met with the deep black drooping eyes framed by a gasping bone white mask. Familiarity of the visage made your heart drop into your stomach, forcing you to chew on the harsh fact that that same familiarity you knew to fear, also brought the flutter of butterflies in with it.  

A rough bump of his hips to your back-end snapped you out of your own mind and made you bark out, “Uh– Same– he is kinda weird, I've– talked to him a little bit and he just– seems like a bit of a creep..”

“Oooh shit whaddaya mean?” 

He peered over your shoulder to look at you, curious to see how you would pull this along as his other hand pushed at the elastic of your pajama bottoms, “He uh– waited for everyone to leave– and then started hella chatting me up–” 

“Are you good? It sounds like you're doing something.” 

Eyeing him, the slight nod of his head coaxed you to keep talking while his fingers made their home in exploring your heat, “Yeah I'm fine– I think I pulled a muscle and I–”

“Oh shit– sorry, one sec– groceries are here, I'll be back in a minute!”

At the sound of her disconnection he lifted you up with a near effortless toss onto the bed, wasting no time crawling on top of you to get at what little clothing was left with his blade. Watching the fabric dance away from your frame, he gripped your wrist as you tried to switch your mic off.

“Go on.. stay in that call.. let ‘em all know what a stagy little whore you are.” He pushed, lifting the hem of his hoodie above the glimmer of the silver button hiding his length behind the black denim. 

No time was wasted getting into you, making himself at home between your legs with a few rough thrusts and shivering grunts that made your mind twist. Squirming under him the grit falling off his boots into your blankets made you buck against him in frustration, earning a low sigh from him as his beat picked up. 

“Mmn if you keep fighting me.. I'll gut you like a fucking pig.” Groaning into your ear, the delicate touch of his knife teased itself between your breasts. 

Defiance sparked in you to bite back, “If we're– oh god– following the rules, you'll just do it anyway–” 

The blade pulled its edge against your skin, splitting you like a ripe peach under its cut, “True.. but the killer's favorite little slut never dies.. she's gotta make it to the sequel, the trilogy, hell! Maybe a whole fuckin’ saga..”

Suddenly ringing in your ear the sound of the bluetooth assistant chimed,

Battery Low.. Please Charge Soon.

You held your lips tight as the length of him pushed to the hilt over and over, letting the air in the call stay dead as your friend and others passed through, thinking you were away from your keyboard. 

“What’s wrong? Suddenly have nothing to say? I thought you liked the idea of being yanked around by a big man with a knife? Little different than on the big screen, ain't it Babe?” 

You could practically hear him purring behind the mask, his pace slowing to deep grind as you felt the rub of his metal pants zipper dig into your skin like a threat.

“Mmmm– remember a couple weeks back– we were all watching that scary movie– when you wouldn't shut the fuck up about how you wanted to ride that slashers cock like a carnival ride– fuck you don't know what that did to me– hearing you get all giddy about bouncing on dick after a kill– goddamn you don't have a fuckin’ clue– how bad I wanted bust through that fuckin’ window and tear you apart–” 

Gripping his palm across your eyes to pin your head to the bed, the unrelenting barrage of what came was less of a kiss and more of a hostile takeover of your senses. You couldn't tell how long you were left to his devices, using you with the excitement of a new sex doll he'd been waiting months for. The fight in you began to fade with the swipe of your tongue to his, earning the zeal of him rutting into you harder. 

“See.. I knew you'd love it..” 

Battery Low.. Please Charge Soon.

Dipping down to your chest to kiss the fresh wound that lay spilling blood around your breasts, taking in the heavy scent of your rubies like a jewel thief making his biggest heist. Slipping his free hand over your chest to the slick of your nipple made you gasp as a perfect distraction before pulling his mask back down. Adorning his usual visage now laid a smeared print of your life in blinding crimson, letting that be the first and only thing you saw as he let you have your vision back in the darkness. Against the blur of your eyes readjusting from the pressure of his weight on them, the dip of his frame dropping against yours with his hands gripping the sides of your head in a vice made you dizzy with a feral beat between your legs. Throughout his treatment you didn't feel that familiar latex rub of a barrier between you, forcing your stomach into a twist as his panting behind the mask got heavier. 

The first grace of the evening came when you finally heard the powering down beeping of your headset giving its last bit of juice before cutting out. Unbound by the fear of being heard, your voice let out a moan that vibrated the silence of the dead air room. Relaxing a little under him, he pushed your rear up, angling himself better to pump deep before running his fingers over the tacky blood joining the fresh on your chest in a macabre mess. Having the dig of his fingertips into the open wound weeping from you was a new kind of violation before he breathed out a shaken manic pleasure from the mask that captivated you. 

“Oh fuck– I'm going to smear your blood over my every  fucking pore!” The bubbling frenzy in his tone gave away his devouring bliss as it promised to swallow you whole. 

Honestly, you weren't long for the session either way as he found just the right spot to rub his tip into the soft warmth of you hugging his length and perfect grind of his mound against your bud aching to come undone. Seeing him watch you in those last moments before you went over the edge was enough to send you there as you trembled and cried out under his grip. Moaning and reaching to touch him in any way you could, you couldn't get enough of him as your body craved the closeness it needed. Expecting swift punishment for the affection, he surprised you by taking your hand in his, slowing his pace. Lacing your fingers as one, the gentle caress of his thumb to your skin had your rose colored glasses as red as they could be. Watching with a affectionately hazed gaze while he pinned you down, your skin when cold as his words dripped from his lips like sweet poison: 

“You think you're getting away that easy? I'm just gonna cum and that be that? No.. I prepared for this all day. You're not goin’ fucking anywhere.”

[polaroidpascal]

let me || frankie morales

AO3 || MASTERLIST

pairing : frankie morales x f!reader

summary : after two weeks of frankie coming home knocking on death’s door from exhaustion, you decide to give him a break.

tags : fluff !!, no use of y/n, you taking care of frankie, very small nods to sex, undressing, showering together, cuddling, short and sweet glimpse into domestic life with frankie 🥹

WC : ~1.8k

a/n : i’ve never written pure fluff before, but the frankie brainrot has reached an all-time high and i desperately need to take care of this man. hope you like this little slice of domestic life with frankie 🫶 (not beta read or proofread much, just psa!)

You’re cozied up on your recliner reading a book in the soft light from your lamp when Frankie finally comes home from work.

He opens the door gently, tiredly. He never knows if you’re going to be asleep or not, so he errs on the side of caution just in case. Plus, he’s too exhausted to make more noise anyway.

You watch him from the corner as he sets down his keys. They clink against the ceramic dish that he made for you forever ago after you had moved in together. He sets down his backpack opting to unpack it tomorrow and hangs up his hat, running his hand and fingers through his curls with a long, tired sigh before he kicks off his boots.

He turns around to see you in your pajamas wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, book in hand, the lamp illuminating you from behind like an angel descending from heaven.

No amount of exhaustion can keep the tired smile from blooming across his face. “Hey, baby,” he says, his hand now rubbing the back of his neck to soothe the sore muscles there.

“Hi, love,” you say back sweetly. “How was work?”

He answers with another sigh and tired eyes, his smile fading just a bit remembering the absolutely packed couple of weeks he’s had. “It was alright, just tired.”

Frankie has come home beyond exhausted every day for the past two weeks. The first few nights, you were already asleep by the time he came home, unable to keep your eyes open any longer to wait for him. You had sent him a text telling him to wake you up when he got home, but of course your sweet boyfriend would never do that, not when you look so peaceful in your sleep.

One night, you happened to be awake when he came home, much to his surprise. He tried to play off how drained he was, bringing you in for a hug that swallowed you whole in his broad figure, whisking you off to your bedroom to try and ignore his exhaustion. But you could see it in his eyes from the moment he walked in that he was barely hanging on, and he definitely slept hard that night.

After that, you made sure you were up every night long enough to catch him walking through the door, picking up a new novel series to pass the time while you waited.

You rise from the recliner and shuffle over to Frankie in your fuzzy socks and his t-shirt loosely fitting your frame, the wide neckline exposing your collarbones. “You look tired, Frankie. And I’m not saying that in a mean way.”

He takes you in his arms and kisses the top of your head breathing another sigh, like he’s relearning how to breathe after being so busy all day. “I know, baby.”

You stay wrapped in each other's arms for a minute, Frankie’s head resting atop your own. His dead weight grows each second that passes and you let him stay until you can’t hold him up anymore. You rub and pat his back gently before you whisper, “Why don’t we go take a shower, hm?” looking up when he lifts his head again.

He looks back at you with his big, brown, pouty eyes and mumbles, “But you’re already in your pajamas…”

“I know,” you nod, reaching your hand up to cup his cheek and glancing across his face at his tired and beautiful features. “You’re always taking care of me. Can you let me take care of you this time?”

His eyes are still pouting and nearly half closed now as he pauses, then gently nods, letting you lead him to your bedroom.

He stands in the middle of the room reaching down to the hem of his shirt to undress but your hands stop him. He looks at you confused.

“Let me,” you say. He has no protests.

He watches you lift his shirt exposing his stomach and chest, raising his arms so you can slip it over his head. You toss it to the side while Frankie reaches down to take his socks off. Your hands move down to his belt, slipping it out of the loops of his jeans. It clinks to the floor and you unbutton his pants, slipping them down with his underwear. He watches you the whole time, stepping out when you reach the bottom before you stand up again.

When you meet his gaze, the love radiating from his eyes almost makes your heart burst from your chest. You smile gently at him, reaching up to give him a soft kiss before leading him to the shower.

You run the water warm, more on the hot side, and start to undress yourself. Frankie watches you strip, the way your shoulder blades move as you pull your shirt over your head and unhook your bra. The way your spine flexes as you reach down to pull your pants off and shimmy out of them. How angelically perfect the curves of your body look.

You turn around to look at him and see tears welling in his eyes.

Immediately, your heart drops and you rush to cup his face in your hands. “Oh, Frankie, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing, I just…” He looks your face up and down examining all the features he finds so beautiful and takes a breath. “I love you so much,” he says, the end of his sentence getting quiet, tapering off choked in emotion.

You stare at the gorgeous boy in front of you, exhausted from his hard work, so full of emotion that he’s brought to tears, and you feel your own eyes start to sting. All you can do is hug him and bury your face into his chest, his warm, soft skin pressed against you as your arms clasp around him. “I love you too, Frankie.”

You feel his breath get a little quicker as he tries to keep himself in check, the fight against his tears getting harder and harder. You pull back and wipe away a few strays that started rolling down his cheeks before pulling him into the shower.

You wash Frankie head to toe helping him clean the day off. He leans down some so you can wash his hair, making sure to give his scalp a little massage while you suds up his curls. His eyes close and he softly hums as your fingers card through each strand. He loves when you play with his hair.

You gently wash his back, watching the soap slowly roll down his body as you rub circles into his skin. The muscles look tight, flexing some just with the slow breaths he’s taking. You reach up and dig your thumbs into the visible knots you see near the base of his neck where he was rubbing before. His head drops forward a bit, a soft groan leaving his lips at the relief.

You turn him around and wash his chest, watching the soapy water cascade down his pecs and stomach.

He watches you as best he can, wanting to savor every second, and he can’t help but close his eyes at the soothing feeling of the warm water flowing across his skin… the soap erasing the dirt from the day… and most importantly of all, your feather-light, loving touch behind every movement.

You rinse his chest a little and give him a soft kiss to his sternum, handing him the sponge to wash the rest of his body while you wash your own.

He silently watches you move, feeling himself get emotional again thinking about how lucky he feels to have you. That you’d do this for him. That you care so much about him. The love in his heart threatens to burst at the seams.

When you’re both done, Frankie grabs your hips and carefully spins you around before leaning down for a kiss. A kiss that’s worth a million words all condensed into one little action. A kiss that screams I love you, endlessly and eternally.

You stay under the shower head, lips locked with the silent words of affection being exchanged. You only think to get out when you feel the water starting to run cold.

When you get out, you loosely wrap a towel around yourself before grabbing another to dry off Frankie. You rub his hair and his face, draping it around his shoulders and tip-toeing up to kiss his nose before you finish drying yourself off.

You slip back into your pajamas and Frankie puts on his sweatpants before you both climb into bed together. Frankie immediately plops down on his side of the bed, lying on his back and draping his arms over his eyes as he sighs deep, finally comfortable after the long, long day he’s had.

He feels you crawl into bed with him, your weight shifting the mattress around him as you climb on top of him, legs straddled over his sides.

He moves his arms to look up at you staring at his chest tracing circles onto his skin. His hands rest on the tops of your thighs and he rests his head back on his pillow, but you swear you can feel his entire energy shift.

“You okay?” you ask, resting your palms on his skin.

“I…” he starts, looking up at you with sad eyes. “I love you so much, you know that… I’m just… I’m really tired, baby. I don’t know if I can—“

“Frankie,” you cut him off. “I’m not in the mood either.”

He looks at you with his pouty doe eyes again. “You’re not?”

“No,” you assure him. “I just wanted to look at you. How pretty you are. How lucky I am to have you.”

Frankie’s chest gets tight, the tears stinging in his eyes again as he wonders what he could have possibly done to deserve someone like you. Who loves him unconditionally. Who takes care of him so tenderly. Who is straddled on top of him just because she wants to look at him.

Before you can catch his eyes getting redder, he pulls you down to lay by his side, cradling you in his arms and kissing the top of your head. “It’s me who’s lucky to have you, amor.”

You hum and settle into his embrace, inhaling his clean scent and relaxing against his soft skin. Just as you’re starting to drift off, you hear a faint mumble, “Thank you.”

And you don’t even need to respond. You just press your body closer somehow, planting a kiss to his chin before nuzzling into his neck.

And it’s the only answer Frankie needs.

[ak319]

Hello, I love your writing so much, if you can do so, could you please write a Yandere!Arthur Morgan x infant daughter reader where he's a papa bear to her, and he finds out she's being bullied by other kids in school. Ofc familial /platonic please

Thank you and hope you have a great day!

AN: moi heart AGH! Cute!! Tsym btw! (^///^) Warnings/MDNI: None, jus' fluff fluff nd' fluff! A little angst, bullying +++ Arthur is 30, Modern AU🍼 tag list: @nayykura @shackspossum @whalecage

Arthur's ears perked at the sound of your soft burp, a tiny noise that brought a tired but satisfied smile to his face. Finally. One of the trickiest tasks, but one he wouldn’t trade for the world. He adjusted his grip on you, gently patting your small back, his broad hand covering you almost entirely. Rocking in his old chair, the rhythmic creak matching his soft coos and steady breathing, he lulled you into a peaceful slumber, and before long, he drifted off too.

After a long, grueling day this was what grounded him. You were his balm, his anchor, the only thing keeping him steady after everything he’d been through. Holding you brought him a peace he never thought he’d feel again.

Stirring awake, he carefully laid you on the bed, making sure to stack pillows securely on the empty side. Then he stretched out beside you, his rugged face softening as he traced the curve of your cheek with a rough, calloused finger. He couldn’t resist placing featherlight kisses on your tiny forehead and rosy cheeks, his heart swelling with a love so fierce and pure it almost hurt

He couldn’t be more grateful for your presence. Just you, him, and this quiet farmhouse nestled in a peaceful community. The same family farmhouse he had nearly sold, back when everything seemed simpler, before life turned upside down.

Then he almost lost it all. Your mother, his wife (M/N), taken from him in a senseless tragedy during his time as a cop. The memory still felt like a jagged wound, one that would never fully heal. By some miracle, you had been spared, untouched by the violence that claimed her. God knows what he would have done if… if something had happened to you too. The thought alone twisted his stomach into knots. He knew he wouldn’t have survived it, he would’ve lost himself entirely.

So, he made a choice. He left it all behind after ensuring the culprits got caught and sentenced. The city, the job, the chaos. He packed up what was left of his life and came here, to the farm. Away from those dangerous, vengeful people who had shattered his family.

He wasn’t alone in the transition. His childhood best friend, John, stood by his side, helping him find his footing in this new chapter. With John’s support, he rebuilt, trading badges and bullets for the quiet rhythm of rural life. Now, he works from home as a graphic designer, balancing his new career with the role that means the most to him: being your father.

The move to the farmhouse was no easy feat, but Arthur didn’t care about the logistics, his top priority was you. Arthur let only Abigail watch over you while he handled the chaos of packing and unpacking. He didn’t trust babysitters, no way in hell. He’d heard enough horror stories from folks and read about things in the news that made his blood boil. The idea of leaving you with a stranger wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was unthinkable.

The only person he trusted was Abigail. “You’re family, and you’ve got Jack, so you know how it is,” he’d said when asking her to keep an eye on you. His version of breathing was checking in every ten minutes, asking Abigail if you’d eaten, slept, or cried. Even when he knew you were safe, his mind wouldn’t rest until he saw you again.

The farm itself had seen its fair share of upgrades, some subtle, others impossible to miss. The once-simple property now stood fortified with long, reinforced fences and modern electric security gates. The kind designed to deliver a harmless but sharp jolt to anything attempting to breach them, ensuring no unwelcome visitors, human or otherwise, made it in.

Security cameras were mounted everywhere, their lenses scanning every corner of the property without missing a spot. Arthur had spent weeks installing them, triple-checking blind spots until there were none.

And for those thinking of trying their luck? Booby traps, carefully concealed and strategically placed, added an extra layer of insurance. He hadn’t been sure at first, was that going too far?--but the idea of anyone getting past his defenses to threaten you erased any hesitation.

Inside, the house was an entirely different kind of fortress. Childproofing was everywhere, every sharp corner was padded, and cabinets latched tight.

Then there was the basement. What was once a dusty, forgotten space had been transformed into a stockpile, his grandfather’s old cavalry arsenal, now fully restocked and meticulously maintained. The weapons had been relics from a long-forgotten outlaw era, but Arthur saw them as a necessity. A last resort. If anyone dared to cross that line, they’d find out the hard way what kind of man they were dealing with.

Because nothing, nothing, was more important than keeping you safe.

❀˖°

“Hey--no, no-" Arthur picked you up, his glare faltering under the effort to stay stern. “You don’t claw or brawl with Pa’ on this matter, miss.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as your legs thrashed in the air. 'Aren't you a tiny feral adorable kid---no be strict , Arthur-'

' “You, ma’am, are going in the tub-”

“WAIT! I’ll go myself!” you blurted, words tumbling out so fast they were practically gibberish. But Arthur, seasoned in the art of decoding your toddler babble, understood every syllable.

“Fine,” he huffed, setting you back down and straightening up with his hands on his hips. He gave you a look that screamed, I’m watching you.

Your eyes darted everywhere but to him. “Um-kay!,” you muttered with exaggerated determination, shuffling your feet as if preparing for the world’s longest journey.

“1,” you started.

“2…”

“um..4? 3-”

“You ain’t counting to ten for the tenth time, young lady. That’s it.” Before you could stage another dramatic delay, he swooped you up mid-mock-Olympian stance and plopped you straight into the tub.

“NOOOOOOO! NOT FAIR! you wailed, your indignation echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Nothing’s fair in baths and bedtimes,” he said with a grin, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, Bunny.”

❀˖°

Arthur set the plates and a steaming dish of soup and garlic bread on the table, his ears perking up as your voice carried in through the open window, accompanied by Mouse’s sharp barks. His German shepherd was stationed outside, a necessity for security, Arthur didn’t trust Mouse’s temperament indoors, and keeping the dog outside served as both a deterrent and a watchful guardian.

He glanced out and spotted you with a ball, your tiny frame dwarfed by the expanse of the yard. His jaw tightened. What’d I say about being out at this hour?

He stalked to the lawn without hesitation, his boots crunching against the gravel. He scooped you up without warning, setting you on his hip like you weighed nothing.

“When it’s near dusk, you are to be inside, you get inside without me needing to remind and call you every time,” he said, his voice firm, though not unkind. “Why do I always have to repeat myself?”

“I was gonna come, Pa’!” you protested, squirming slightly. Jeez, he needs to loosen up sometimes.

Arthur stopped, fixing you with a look that left no room for argument. “Some things I say are meant to be words on stone, you hear me? No arguing, Bug.”

He set you down gently but guided you firmly toward the house, casting one last glance at the fence and Mouse, whose ears twitched as if sensing Arthur’s unease.

❀˖°

The early morning mist still clung to the fields as Arthur loaded up the old truck, a fishing pole in the back, tackle box rattling as he slid it into place. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and fresh earth mingling with the faint smell of dew on the grass. You sat in the passenger seat, your legs swinging with excitement as you clutched your little fishing hat, a hand-me-down from Arthur that was still a bit too big for your head.

The drive to the lake was peaceful, the old truck rumbling along the dirt road as the first rays of sunlight broke through the trees. The lake, just a short distance from the farm, was quiet this time of morning, still and calm, with only the occasional ripple as the wind stirred the water.

Arthur parked the truck by the shore and hopped out, stretching his arms over his head. He opened the back, grabbing your tiny fishing rod first, a smaller one he had made sure to get just for you. He handed it over, his large hands carefully guiding yours to the handle.

“You know what to do, Bug?” he asked, crouching down to your level, his tone soft but serious.

You nodded, eyes gleaming with determination. “I throw it in, wait, then reel it in, Pa’!”

“Good girl,” he said, pride swelling in his chest. “But remember, patience is key. The fish don’t always bite right away.”

You gave him a mock serious look, puffing out your chest. “I can be patient.”

Arthur smiled and ruffled your hair before picking up his own rod. Together, you both walked to the edge of the water, the soft crunch of grass underfoot. He demonstrated how to cast his line, showing you the way to swing the rod before releasing it into the water. You watched carefully, eyes focused on the movement, and then it was your turn.

Arthur stood behind you, guiding your hands as you swung the rod and released the line, the soft splash of it hitting the water echoing in the quiet morning. You let out a little cheer, stepping back to wait.

“Good job, Bug. Now we wait.”

You sat down on the grassy shore, your legs dangling, and Arthur followed suit, sitting close enough that he could keep an eye on you but still giving you the space to enjoy the moment. The world seemed so still here, only the sounds of the water lapping gently at the shore and the occasional bird call filling the air.

Minutes passed. Arthur cast his line again, his concentration on the ripples in the water, but he always kept an ear out for you. You were so quiet, so focused on the task at hand, that he couldn’t help but smile.

“Pa’?” you asked after a while, your voice soft but curious.

“Yeah, Bug?”

“Can we do this every month!?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to look at you, his chest tight with love. “Of course, Bug. We’ll always fish together, whenever you want.”

You beamed, your little fingers still wrapped around the fishing rod, staring out at the lake with a peaceful contentment that mirrored his own.

And then, as if on cue, there was a tug on the line. You gasped, your eyes wide, and Arthur was there in a flash, his strong hands guiding yours as you struggled to reel it in.

“Got it, Bug! Reel it in, slow and steady. You’ve got this.”

You grinned, your little arms straining against the weight of the fish, the excitement in your eyes contagious. Arthur stood close, his hands still hovering just in case, but he could see you were doing it all on your own.

With a final pull, you brought the fish to the shore, Arthur helping you hold it up for a brief moment, both of you staring at the wriggling catch.

“We did it!” you cheered, jumping up and down with excitement.

Arthur laughed, lifting you up into his arms. “You did it, Bug. You caught the first one. I’m proud of you.”

You giggled, your face flushed with happiness. “We’re gonna have fish for lunch! YAY!👹 "

Arthur laughed, holding you close. “Yeah, we will. And we’re gonna have a lot more days just like this.”

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you both spent the rest of the morning fishing, the peaceful quiet of the lake wrapping around you like a blanket. Every now and then, Arthur would catch a fish of his own, but it was clear which one of you was the real star of the day.

❀˖°

One evening, as usual, Arthur sat at his desk, working on his laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused face. You were sitting nearby, playing quietly, but after a moment, you turned to him, your small brow furrowed in thought.

“Pa,” you asked, your voice soft but filled with curiosity, “why don’t I have a mommy like Jack? Like the ones on T. V. ?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this question, dreading it, but he knew it was time to answer. He paused for a moment, setting his laptop aside, and turned to face you, his expression gentle.

“Well, Bug,” he started, his voice warm and tender, “you know how some kids have two parents, right? They’re like a big team, helpin' each other out. But you,” he said with a wink, “you’re extra special. Sometimes, God decides one parent is all a kid needs. Just one, but that one’s enough to love ‘em, protect ‘em, and make sure they’re always happy.”

He leaned down to your level, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “And that’s you, sweetheart. You got me, and I got you. We’re a team too, just the two of us.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, and a small smile tugged at your lips. Arthur ruffled your hair affectionately, the worry in his chest easing as he saw you begin to understand.

“Some kids might need a bigger team, but not you. You’re my girl, and I’m all you need, ain’t that right?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes lighting up with trust and love. Arthur smiled, his heart full. “You don’t need a mommy to be loved, Bug. You’ve got all the love you could ever need, right here with me.”

He pulled you into a tight hug, feeling your little arms wrap around him. “And I’m gonna love you forever, no matter what.”

❀˖°

Arthur couldn't believe how quickly time had passed. One moment, it seemed like you were still a tiny thing, curled up in his arms, and now, the time had come to enroll you in school. He didn't want to let you go. He'd kept you close, always close, and the thought of someone else seeing you, taking care of you, made a cold knot form in his stomach. But he knew John was right. You needed to make friends. You needed to grow.

"Y/N needs to learn how to be around other kids, Arthur," John had said, his voice filled with that well-meaning confidence. "Jack goes to the same school too, so it'll be fine. It's just school. Let her have a chance."

Arthur had reluctantly agreed. He trusted John, mostly, and if Jack was there, well... that was a bit of relief. Still, the idea of you being away from him, surrounded by others, made his chest tighten. He was used to keeping you safe, keeping you all to himself. The thought of someone else influencing you, teaching you things....but he would do this for you.

And so, with his heart heavy but his determination set, Arthur had filled out the papers and enrolled you in school. He kept telling himself it was for your own good, that it would help you grow, make you more confident. Even if it was hard to admit, you were growing up, and he had to let you experience the world outside the walls of their home.

But Arthur knew something else, too. You were shy. You didn't like being around other people, especially strangers. He'd always been there to protect you, to shield you from the world outside. But now, the world would be coming to you.

As he walked you to school for the first time, his hand lingering a little too long on your shoulder, he whispered softly, "You stick close to brother Jack, alright? If you need any help, you go to him. You don’t need anyone else. Just him, just me, and you. No one else matters."

You gave him a shy nod, looking up at him with those wide eyes that always seemed to need reassurance. Arthur smiled down at you, brushing a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

"Good girl. And don’t let anyone take advantage of you.”

❀˖°

“You eat your lunch today?” Arthur asked, his tone casual but observant, as you stood in front of him with your hands tucked behind your back.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Uh-huh!”

Arthur opened the lunchbox, finding it spotless inside, not a crumb left. For a moment, he felt a spark of pride, was he really lucky enough to have a kid who finished her lunch every single day? But then, something about your overly innocent expression made him pause. He set the lunchbox down and folded his arms, tilting his head.

“So,” he said, setting the lunchbox down and crossing his arms, “how was it?”

“Hmm?” You glanced up at him.

“The sandwich,” he said, watching your reaction closely. “Was it good?”

“Oh, yeah!” you said too brightly. “Really yummy.”

Arthur tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “What did I make again? Just slipped my mind.”

“Uh… peanut butter and jam?” you mumbled.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, though his expression stayed calm. He crouched down to your level, his presence steady and unyielding. “You sure about that, darlin’? Because I know I packed you a chicken and cheese sandwich this mornin’.”

You froze, the color draining from your face.

He sighed, shaking his head lightly. “Now, you and I both know you didn’t eat that sandwich. So why don’t you go on and tell me what really happened?”

You looked down at your shoes, your voice trembling. “I… I was going to eat it, but some kids… they took it.”

Arthur’s heart sank, though his expression remained calm for your sake. He reached out and gently lifted your chin so you had to meet his eyes. “They took it?”

You nodded, biting your lip as tears threatened to spill. “I told them to stop, but… but they wouldn’t give it back. They laughed and said it wasn’t m-ine anymore.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched a flicker of something dark flashing in his eyes. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Bug,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “you listen to me. No one, and I mean no one, gets to treat you like that. You understand?”

You sniffled, nodding against his shoulder.

“They got names, these kids?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with a steel promise that this wasn’t going to be ignored.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. Then, in a barely audible whisper, you murmured a few names.

Arthur nodded, his jaw tightening. “Alright. I’ll deal with ‘em. You ain’t gotta worry about that anymore.”

As he reached out to hold your hand, his fingers brushed against a faint redness across your skin. He stilled, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”

You instinctively tried to pull your hand away, but Arthur held it gently, his thumb brushing over the red mark. “Bug,” he said, his tone dropping to that low, firm register that always made you listen. “Who did this to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you sniffled. “It... it was the teacher,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Arthur blinked, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “The teacher?” he repeated, his tone deceptively calm, though you could feel the storm brewing beneath it.

“I told her about the kids taking my lunch,” you explained, your words coming in halting gasps. “She... she said I was tattling and hit me with a ruler for ‘causing trouble.’”

Arthur’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, but only for a moment.

Arthur stood so abruptly that his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Get your shoes on, Bug. We’re going to the school.”

“But-”

"No buts. No one lays a hand on my girl, now c'mon, Pa’s got somethin’ he needs to take care of."

The sound of Arthur’s boots echoed ominously in the otherwise quiet hallway as he strode toward the principal’s office, his expression carved from stone. His hand hovered protectively over your shoulder as he guided you along.

The principal looked up as Arthur entered, his usual composure faltering at the sight of the respectable ex-cop's stormy glare.

“Mr. Morgan,” the principal began, forcing a tight smile, “is there-”

Arthur didn’t wait for pleasantries. “There a reason my daughter came home with a red welt on her hand?” he demanded, his voice low but seething.

The principal blinked, momentarily caught off guard “I--I’m not sure what you mean-”

“She told me her teacher hit her,” Arthur interrupted, his words sharp enough to cut. “With a ruler. After she reported kids stealin’ her lunch. That’s what I mean.”

“Well, if a teacher disciplined her, I’m sure-”

Arthur stepped forward, leaning over the desk, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You think layin’ a hand on my girl is ‘discipline’? You call ignorin’ the bullies and punishin’ the victim a job well done?

“We have rules about-”

Arthur leaned forward, his presence towering even as he kept his voice level. “You got rules about discipline, huh? How about rules about protectin’ kids?! Or do you only enforce the ones that let you blame the victim!?”

“Mr. Morgan, I understand you’re upset-”

“Upset doesn’t cover it,” Arthur snapped, his voice rising slightly. “My girl’s been comin’ home hungry because you let bullies run wild. And now she’s got a bruise on her arm because she finally got tired of takin’ it? You think that’s how you run a school? By punishin’ the one kid who’s just tryin’ to eat her damn lunch in peace? Because if that’s how you run this place, we got a bigger problem than I thought.”

The principal held up his hands, visibly nervous. “I assure you, Mr. Morgan, we take such incidents seriously. I’ll speak to the teacher and-”

“No, you’ll do more than SPEAK!" Arthur took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, you’ll make sure she’s held accountable. And while you’re at it, you’ll deal with those bullies, too. My daughter’s been hungry three times this week because of them, and now she’s got a mark on her hand for speakin’ up?! That ends today.”

“Of course, of course,” the principal stammered. “I’ll handle it immediately.”

Arthur straightened, his gaze never wavering. “You’d better. You’re gonna deal with those bullies and that damned teacher, properly. And you’re gonna make damn sure no one here ever lays a hand on my daughter again. Otherwise, I’ll be takin’ this to the school board, the police, and anyone else who’ll listen. You got no idea what I can do. You got me? You’ll be answerin’ to me."

He turned, placing a reassuring hand on your back as he guided you out of the office. As soon as you were outside, he crouched down and looked you in the eye.

“You did the right thing, Bug,” he said softly. “And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. But you leave dealin’ with grown-ups to me, alright? Nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes as he pulled you into a hug.

“Now, let’s go home,” he said, ruffling your hair. “We’ll make somethin’ good for dinner and figure out how to make sure this never happens again.

❀˖°

“So... no school?” you asked hesitantly, peering up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, and sighed. “No, Bug. You’re still gonna study--but at home, alright?”

He could already hear John’s voice nagging in his head, telling him he was being too overprotective, that keeping you out of school might isolate you further. But Arthur dismissed it. You were still so young, still figuring out the world, and he decided what was best for you. Nobody else.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he brushed a hand over your hair. “Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you go back there to get hurt again. Not by kids who don’t know how to act, not by some teacher who should’ve never had a classroom in the first place. You’re my responsibility, and I ain’t lettin’ anybody mess with you like that. Ever again.”

You nodded slowly, relaxing into the bed. His words felt like a shield wrapping around you, and you trusted him entirely.

Arthur watched you settle, his jaw tightening slightly as anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. He’d been right on the edge of losing it, of storming over to those kids’ homes and making their parents pay the price and make them understand what it meant to raise decent human beings. And that teacher? Though fired, it still didn’t sit right with him. The thought of her laying a hand on you made his blood boil. It had taken every cell to control to not blow her brains out.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on you instead of the anger that threatened to bubble over. “I’ll teach you myself,” he said, his tone lighter now as he tried to make you smile. “We don’t need teachers like that, anyway. I’ll make sure you learn plenty, and we’ll even have fun doin’ it.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice small but hopeful.

“Really,” he said, tugging the blanket up around you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now, you get some rest, Bug. We’ll figure out all the details in the mornin’.”

❀˖°

After finishing up the dishes and double checking all the doors, Arthur made his way back to your room. He found you sitting at your small desk, scribbling on a piece of paper with intense concentration.

"What’re you workin’ on, Bug?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You looked up, a hint of shyness in your eyes. "A thank-you card," you said quietly.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. "For who?"

"For you." You held up the paper, a drawing of you and him making a cake. Above it, in your wobbly handwriting, it read: "Thank you for being my Pa."

Arthur froze, his chest tightening at the sight. He stepped closer, kneeling beside you to get a better look. "Well, I’ll be..." he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "That’s real nice, darlin’. Prettiest thing I’ve seen all day."

You smiled, a little bashful but proud. "You always take care of me. So, I wanted to make something for you too."

Arthur reached out and gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "You don’t ever have to thank me for that, sweetheart. Lookin’ after you? That’s the best thing I’ll ever do."

You nuzzled into his chest, your small arms wrapping around his neck. "Still. Love you, Pa."

"I love you more, Bug. Always and forever."

[venus-haze]

Baby Let's Play House (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: After noticing your exhaustion in trying to balance managing Homelander’s day-to-day and your relationship with him, he decides that you’d be happier behind a white picket fence than an office desk. You initially agree, but the housewarming party you throw reveals how differently the two of you view your relationship.

Note: This can be read as being related to My Destruction Is an Hour Late, but you don’t need to read that to understand what’s happening in this. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. First time incorporating Homelander’s perspective into a fic, also I took some creative liberties on how his costume works. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: Homelander is his own warning (I never tag his stuff as yandere because that’s just how he is), but toxic relationship that includes possessive tendencies, gaslighting, guilting. Mirrorlander makes an awful, misogynistic appearance. Sexually explicit content which involves coercion/dubcon, oral (m. receiving), brief orgasm denial and choking. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Dating your direct superior was undoubtedly an ethics violation, but the trembling HR manager who signed off on Vought’s workplace relationship disclosure form couldn’t conjure up any protests when Homelander and you showed up at her office to make your relationship “HR official.” When you’d expressed concern about how dating him would affect your career, he scoffed, ‘What are you talking about? Babe, I am your career.’ You faltered under the weight of his gaze, knowing full well he could hear your heart skipping frantically along as you thanked him for his reassurance.

He’d resisted the idea at first, one you brought up almost immediately after you’d become his girlfriend and he gave you a promotion. He was The Homelander. He didn’t need Vought’s permission to date you. It wasn’t until you reframed it as a declaration rather than permission that he was on board. Stan Edgar could read the damn form and weep. No more publicity relationships, not when he had you. It didn’t take long for things to spiral out of control from there.

Your coworkers treated you differently, with a nervous politeness that was unsettling and isolating. Loneliness settled in soon after, almost as if by design. Suddenly, Homelander was the only one you could turn to, and by the nature of your job, he was almost always there, ready to fill whatever emotional void you needed filled, from co-worker to lover. He thrived off of your dependence, each display of it a hit that coursed through his veins. An addict in thought, he couldn’t get enough of you. 

When he brought up this idea to you, not long after his grandiose proposal, you welcomed it. A cozy house in the suburbs didn’t sound so bad compared to the whirlwind of your responsibilities at Vought managing Homelander’s day to day on top of your relationship with him. 

Now, as you walked up the pathway to the front door with the last of the groceries you’d needed before the housewarming party you were hosting the following night, the white posts of the picket fence that surrounded the house looked more like teeth rising out of the ground to devour you, red roses planted along the perimeter painted droplets of blood on the unhinged jaw. You knew it was never your choice. 

Most of the time, things were good, and you and Homelander fell into a comfortable, domestic rhythm. When things were bad, however, there was nothing you could do but sit back and wait for it to end. That hadn’t happened in a while, and despite your excitement for the party, you could tell he wasn’t nearly as enthused. You foolishly hoped that the night you’d been planning for weeks wouldn’t end in disaster.

Almost as soon as you finished unpacking the groceries you’d bought, you considered what to make for dinner. Despite Homelander’s enhanced palette, he wasn’t that picky when it came to your meals. You wished he expressed some preference, though, since your Pinterest board for recipes was out of hand, even with your organizing it as best as you could.

“Hey babe,” Homelander greeted you with a smack on the ass, a domestic yet outdated gesture he favored upon seeing you in the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

He never used the services of Vought’s chefs after you and he began “going steady,” even though he did like their food more than yours objectively. Getting food cooked by a chef in an industrial kitchen and then brought up by an intern was too impersonal. You cooked with love, always adding a personal touch that made even the overcooked chicken cacciatore you’d served a few nights before worth eating. 

“Do you consider soup a meal?” 

“What is this, a Seinfeld episode?” he asked. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on the soup.”

“French onion.”

“That’s basically a deconstructed French dip. Sure, that’s a meal.”

“Perfect, I’ll make that, then.” you said. “I’m so excited for the party tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’ll be a blast,” he mumbled, leaning against the kitchen counter and folding his arms across his chest.

“C’mon, I get to spend the whole night showing off my amazing fiance and our incredible home,” you smiled, giving him a kiss on his clenched jaw.

His pouty mood cracked just the slightest bit, though he didn’t like how your attention had been all over the place in the week or so leading up to the housewarming party rather than solely on him. It was all you could talk about, and to add insult to injury, you’d started ordering him around far too much for his liking. You’d ask about his day as if it were an obligation to do so, a segue into ‘Pick up these streamers’ and ‘Remember to ask Jason and Patricia about their baby’ and ‘Tell Vought you need to be home by five.’

His biggest reason for even getting you this house and convincing you to quit your job at Vought was so you’d have more time for him. Even though your work schedule had been mostly dictated by him, you found yourself exhausted most nights, passing out in bed almost as soon as dinner was over. That was no fun at all.

Far too soon for his liking the next day, your stupid friends made their way up the street and to the house, bottles of wine and wrapped gifts in tow. He realized that he shouldn’t have left so much of the planning to you. To his displeasure, the guests were evenly co-ed. Though your hugs and greetings to the men who entered your home were polite and platonic, he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit. Who the fuck kissed someone’s cheek as a greeting anymore anyway?

He watched as you played hostess, a tornado of hospitality as you ran yourself in circles around the house to refill drinks and jump in on conversations. You looked like you were having the time of your life, and his gloved hands balled into fists at his side every moment your attention wasn’t squarely on him, especially when you were all dressed up the way you were. None of them deserved to see how perfect you looked.

Finally, he crept up on you while you were speaking with your old college roommates who’d asked you to give the details on how you and Homelander got together. He was more than happy to indulge them, his arm tight around your waist as he took control of the narrative.

The version of the story that left Homelander’s mouth almost made you choke on your own spit. Of course, it started at work, with you harboring a crush on Homelander for far longer than he’d even noticed you. Your persistence was cute, though, and soon enough you’d wormed your way into his routine. Curious about your infatuation, Homelander would make excuses to keep you in the office late, until the projects became canoodling. He’d finally asked you out on a date, and you graciously offered to cook dinner for him. 

He’d flipped the whole thing on its head. You had helped him with one project, and in the months spent building up your reliability, he was the one who’d become infatuated with you, until almost your entire life revolved around him. His story was far more palatable, as evidenced by your friends’ expressions of congratulations and how lucky you were.

You supposed you were lucky in a way. Homelander made sure you had nothing to worry about, except for him, of course. His moods were increasingly volatile as he was slowly pushed out of the spotlight of The Seven. The glance he gave you, loving to the untrained eye, was a warning. Despite your hope that the housewarming party would open up Homelander to the idea of you getting a bit more social interaction outside of just him, it was proving to have the opposite effect. 

Then again, he never wanted to have a good time at the party, as you dejectedly reminded yourself. It was a shame, your friends all seemed to like him well enough, even if you did catch him being backhandedly rude to some of them a few times that night. He was so good at pretending when it came to the fans he supposedly hated so much. You weren’t sure why he couldn’t put up a front for a few hours for your friends.

By the time everyone left, you were exhausted. Drained physically and mentally from the demands of the party and your fiance, you were glad you’d opted for disposable plates and cups. The little clean up you had to take care of was just manageable enough to take care of before you headed up to bed.

“Glad that’s over,” Homelander said, drying the charcuterie board you’d handed him.

“Why were you so determined not to have fun tonight?” you asked.

“Excuse me if I don’t find entertaining your idiotic friends fun.”

“Then you suck it up and pretend, for me.”

“Don’t—don’t pull that.”

“Pull what?”

“That ‘for me’ thing. Everything I do is for you,” he said, huffing before lowering his voice, his icy glare making your breath catch in your throat. “You don’t need them. You don’t need anybody. Not when you have me.”

“Homelander, codependency isn’t—“

“Don’t pathologize me!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the granite countertop which cracked from the force he used. Upon noticing your terrified expression, he drew back a bit, letting out an unnerving laugh in an attempt to ease the tension he’d created. “You almost made me lose my temper there, missy.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, wide-eyed as you moved to take a tentative step back from him.

He quickly grabbed your arm, keeping you in place. “I know you are, darling, but a love like ours–it can’t be put into clinical terms.”

Fuck. You hit that specific nerve. It took him a while to open up about his childhood, the real one, not the Midwest little leaguer who loved god, mom, and the good ol’ US of A, in that order. That story sold comic books, it was comforting to watch on screen, the warm apple pie with a scoop of melting vanilla ice cream. Not even born in a lab, by his own accounts, but dumped from a test tube and caged like any other animal used for experimentation. Except Homelander had been a boy, scared and alone as white coats filtered in and out of exam rooms and testing labs, poking and prodding. Though, torturing was more like it, pushing him to see the extent of his powers, whether their unbreakable hero was truly unbreakable. Then he was unleashed onto the world, the weight of it on his shoulders.

Something was wrong with him, psychologically at least, and you knew the unhealthy fixation on your relationship as his sole source of emotional fulfillment would have sent you packing if it were anyone else. Every time you considered leaving, as if you even could, you just as quickly thought of how scared and hurt the most powerful man in the world looked when he recounted every painful experiment he endured, the plethora of human rights violations that became so entrenched in his identity. The ensuing tug of empathy and guilt at your heartstrings made you stay.

Still, you had to let him know that you wouldn’t tolerate an outburst like that just because you’d had a lapse in judgment when it came to your phrasing.

“I think you should stay at your old place tonight,” you said.

“Babe, c’mon, the counter can be fixed. I’ll have someone at Vought call a contractor tomorrow and—“

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You still love me right?” he asked, desperately searching your face for an answer. “Right?”

“Of course I do, but we both need space to cool off.”

He huffed, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Fine, have it your fucking way. As always, babe.”

He stormed out before you could get another word in, you mentally sent your apologies into the universe to whoever would end up being at the receiving end of his wrath. 

A few cars were lasered to smoldering hunks of metal on his way to Vought Tower. He didn’t care, the company had millions of dollars set aside each year for superhero-related collateral damage. After all, they weren’t even nice cars as far as he could tell. He was doing them a favor that’d go unappreciated, not unlike you.

Homelander’s arrival to his suite was devoid of any fanfare or announcements of his return. He was embarrassed to be back. Standing dejectedly in the dark doorway, he glared at every object in the room with disdain. It’d been a fine place to live before he knew any better, before he’d experienced what a home truly felt like. You’d once described it as like being in a museum, and he couldn’t disagree. At one time he thought it was to his taste. Now, the suite he’d resided for so many years without you felt cold, hollow, and unfamiliar. 

He looked out on the city, rage boiling in his veins. Things were fine when it was the two of you against the world. Your shitty friends had to come in and ruin that. No matter how hard he tried, it was like you refused to listen to reason and see that he did everything because he loved you. He loved you so much it hurt.

“Now this is really pathetic.”

“You saw how pissed she was.” Homelander argued weakly against his sneering reflection.

“She’s a woman. That’s their default state when they’re running the show.”

“She’s not running the show.”

“Really? So that’s why you’re banished to the proverbial couch?” his reflection taunted.

Homelander swallowed the lump in his throat. “What do you suppose I do, then? Flowers? A box of chocolates?”

“No. That’s practically admitting you did something wrong. Do you remember how you got her in the first place? You didn’t ask. You took.”

Homelander nodded along as his reflection spoke.

“What you do is remind her who’s in charge. You’re the man of the house. Take the respect, the devotion, you deserve.”

You awoke suddenly in the middle of the night to a figure standing at the end of your bed. At first, you thought it was a dream, until the figure began to move. Turning on the lamp on your nightstand, its soft glow illuminated your side of the bed, casting shadows over your fiance’s face.

“Homelander!” you gasped. “Oh my god, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he said.

“You know what I mean.”

“You know the old saying, ‘Don’t go to bed angry.’ I already forgive you for tonight, but things need to change.”

“I need you to leave.”

“You don’t call the shots, babe. I’ve been way too lenient with you,” he said, a dangerous grin spreading across his face. “Think you need a reminder of who’s in charge here.”

“Honey, what’s this about? You know I love you.”

“Sure, but you don’t respect me.”

“Of course I respect you—“

“No, you don’t. By the end of the night, you will,” he said, before beckoning you over to him with a curl of his index finger. “C’mere, sweetheart. You haven’t even welcomed me home yet.”

You felt his eyes practically burning a hole through you as you silently complied, pushing back the covers you’d been bundled under and padding your way across the room to where he stood. He somehow loomed over you, stony-faced like a marble statue honoring a god with disdain for humanity. His eyes glistened as he took in your face, though, betraying the whirlpool of emotions that rushed through him whenever he was in your presence. 

Dozens of dresses and lingerie sets had been casualties of his lust and strength, the material torn from your body like gift wrap and promptly replaced within a few days. This night was no exception, as with a flick of his wrist, your satin nightgown was a pathetic pile on the floor.

Though you expected as much, he captured your lips in a heated kiss that almost made you lose your balance with his intensity. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you the way old tree limbs twist and tangle around objects left in their course, time and nature making it impossible to separate the two without irreversible damage to both. 

“John,” you whispered against his lips.

There were plenty of men named John. It was a disgustingly common name, chosen for him by Vought to give him that relatable, everyman persona. Bullshit. He wasn’t an everyman. He was a god. People praised and worshiped Zeus, Jupiter, Jesus, Homelander—not fucking John. 

Whenever you used it, though, suddenly the name was his. His. Not some stupid placeholder the white coats gave him instead of “subject whatever.” He was grateful you couldn’t sense the crack in his facade, his heart skipping a beat at how lovingly you said his name. How could you ever expect him to want to share that? Reluctantly, he pulled back from you, releasing you from his embrace. He still had a point to make.

“Get on your knees.”

You looked almost confused by his words.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned.

Slowly, you knelt on the shredded satin that lay at your feet, and with trembling hands unbuckled his belt, avoiding eye contact with the eagle that adorned it as if the metal bird of prey were judging you. You tried telling yourself there was no reason to be nervous, you’d given Homelander plenty of blowjobs before, but his mood was always much, much lighter when you did. 

When you pulled down the spandex pants of his suit that was practically painted on him, you were greeted with an eye full of his hardening cock, already leaking with precum when you took it in your hand, eliciting a moan from him that seemed to echo through the bedroom. You stroked his cock, leaning in to give a teasing lick to the head that made his breath hitch.

“You like that baby?” you asked. “Do you want more?”

He whined, struggling to respond as you pumped his hardening length.

“C’mon, baby, use your words and—“

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped, grabbing you by the root of your hair and shoving his cock in your mouth. 

You gagged, trying to adjust yourself to the sudden change. Although, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to how big his cock was. The bulge in his suit certainly wasn’t compensating for anything.

“Go on, put that smart little mouth of yours to good use,” Homelander said, fingers still tangled in your hair as he tugged at your scalp. “Or are you so helpless without me that you can’t even suck a cock on your own?”

With a whimper, you did your best to massage his length with your tongue, taking as much of him as you could, though you never managed to fit all of him in your mouth. It wasn’t without a lack of trying. You gagged again, and this time he seemed to bore of your struggle and instead began fucking your throat at a merciless pace.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re it. You’re the only one for me. Why don’t you—fuck—get that?”

Your response was a garbled choking noise as you placed one hand on his thigh to steady yourself. The other reached out to fondle his balls, prompting an erratic thrust from him that nearly knocked you over. As unpredictable as Homelander could be, if you thought too much about how much self control he used to not accidentally kill you whenever the two of you were remotely intimate, your brain would start to feel fuzzy. Or maybe it was the way you couldn’t seem to catch your breath. 

When you looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, he was barely able to keep his own open. Blonde hair flopped across his forehead, he looked at you with hooded eyelids, the faintest smirk flashing across his face before he groaned again, throwing his head back.

He never lasted all that long to begin with, woefully sensitive and touch-starved despite his experience. Normally, you found it endearing, but tonight you were grateful as you weren’t sure how much longer you could handle his mercilessly fucking your throat. 

With another involuntary thrust, his cock twitched against your tongue. You struggled to swallow his cum that was pumping into your mouth. Some of it mixed with spit as it dribbled from the corners of your lips down your chin.

As Homelander pulled his cock from your mouth, he observed your ruined state—disheveled hair, puffy lips, tears tracked down your face. Pride filled his chest as he watched you try to catch your breath. He’d never pushed you quite this far before, and he wanted so much more.

“Messy little thing, huh?” he asked, swiping what had escaped your lips on his thumb and bringing it to your mouth. 

With a shaky sigh, you wrapped your lips around his finger, weakly sucking the residue from it until he was satisfied, pulling it from your mouth.

He smiled, caressing your cheek with his wet thumb. “That’s my girl.”

You hummed in response, the most you could manage with how sore your throat felt. It was good enough for him, because he offered you his hand, pulling you up from your knees with ease. His gentleness as he laid you back on the bed felt almost foreign compared to his ruthlessness just minutes earlier. 

The reprieve was short-lived, however. As soon as he shed the rest of his suit, he pounced, his eyes betraying the intention to devour you whole. Animalistic, manic, from his predatory gaze to the prominence of his canines, he could rip your throat out if he wanted to. There was no point in trying to conceal your concerning arousal at the thought, even if he hadn’t reached between your legs to feel your wet pussy, he could smell it on you from a mile away. 

He licked his lips, leaning over you as he teased your clit while sliding his cock inside you.

“Oh my god,” you moaned.

Homelander grinned, rolling his hips against yours. “I know I am.”

He’d been aggressive in bed before, usually due to jealousy or possessiveness. The way he moved was far more calculated than impulsive, as if each thrust intentionally pushed you closer to climax as he rubbed circles on your clit instead of just him releasing pent up frustration and insecurity. 

“You love taking it all, don’t you? Love the way I fill you up?” 

His mocking tone went straight to your pussy, and you could hardly manage a coherent response as he pounded into you. Even then, it didn’t feel like enough, as you bucked your hips to get more of him.

He was studying you, observing every contortion of your face, feeling the way your wet pussy clenched around this throbbing cock as he thrust into it, the sound nothing short of obscene as it echoed with your desperate moans. Then, just as you were about to orgasm, he moved his hand away from your clit and pulled out of you so quickly, you almost started crying.

The look of hurt and betrayal on your face gave him conflicting feelings, but the one that won out was a smug superiority. He’d never loved anyone as much as he loved you, and it seemed like this ‘tough love’ approach was working. He wrapped his hand around your sore throat, his cold and intense stare as he leaned closer to your face sending a shiver down your spine that he could surely feel.

“You don’t come unless I say you can. You got that, sweetheart?” he asked, voice dripping with condescension. 

You nodded weakly, a pained whimper trapped in your throat. As soon as he gave you a wicked grin in return, you knew that he wanted you to give in to your base desires like humans do. With so much of his life spiraling out of his control, he wanted to be sure he didn’t have to worry about you. 

He released his vice grip on your throat, and, as if reading your thoughts from just a few minutes prior, leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck before grazing his teeth down the tender flesh, feeling your racing pulse’s vulnerability.

“John,” you breathed, your voice inaudible to anyone but him.

“I know, darling. You want it so bad, don’t you?”

“Please,” you whimpered, “please.”

“It didn’t have to be this difficult, you know,” he mused, his fingers playing with your sensitive clit.

You choked out a sob at the almost painful feeling of overstimulation. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not that hard to be good for me, is it? To just do as I say?”

“No.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to remind you again,” he said, his voice soft and low as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

The emptiness you felt between your legs was soon filled again by his cock. 

You fell limp at this point, no movements in an attempt to match his thrusts. His reflection had been right, he just needed to take what he wanted and remind you who was in charge. He was in control, all you needed to do was lie back, look pretty, and take it. You should be thanking him for making things so easy for you.

He kissed you, reveling in how sweetly you moaned in his mouth now that he had you exactly how he wanted you. Your heart was racing, he could tell you were getting close, and he was too, but he wanted you to come first, to be the one to fold and give in to him completely.

“It’s all right now, darling. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

It felt like all of your muscles tightened before your release, your hips rocking involuntarily as your orgasm rippled through your body. The pent up pleasure was almost too overwhelming, and you had to grab his bicep to ground yourself, digging your nails into his skin. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like you could break it anyway. 

With the way your pussy squeezed his cock as you came, an unhinged moan and tears and vision clouded by stars, his own orgasm followed soon after. He never bothered with the pretense of pulling out. Filling you with his cum was right, it was natural, another way to lay claim to you. He hated condoms, but he knew his next course of action would be doing something about your pesky birth control soon. 

You winced as you moved closer to his chest, allowing him to hold your body against his. Your muscles ached, and you knew that in the morning you’d hardly be able to move at all. It wasn’t uncommon with Homelander, and he loved your dependence on him on those mornings when he’d carry you from room to room, a reminder of his strength. He was the most powerful man in the world, you might as well have been a feather.

“How’re you holding up babe?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said softly.

He smiled, stroking your cheek. “I’m glad we’re on the same page now. It’ll make things so much easier, babe, you’ll see.”

You gave him a weak smile before closing your eyes, knowing fully well that he could hear by your thumping heart that you were faking sleep.

[bunnydollprincess]

꧁༒☬𝔼𝕟𝕛𝕠𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘☬༒꧂

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader.

WordCount: 1.6k

Summary: Leon wants to be with you before doing anything else after returning from a mission.

Tags: Nsfw (MINORS DNI), oral (F recieving), p in v, creampie, unprotected sex, female reader anatomy, pet names, Leon soft dom, bitting.

A/n: What am i doing w my life? anyways, not proofread lol.

Leon was back, today was the final day of his mission and you counted down every second of it, looking st the clock and at the door over and over again barely paying any sort of attention to whatever it was you were playing on tv, knowing he would walk in any second.

"Lee!" you Squeaked and ran to the door the second he walked in, he always did it, he always opened the door and then his arms before even getting his luggage in, more eagered to have you on his arms than unpacking, than eating, than sleeping.

"There's my Princess" He spoke into your hair, petting it and kissing the top of your head.

He unwrapped one of his arms from you and pulled his luggage in with it, closing the door with his foot once all of you—Yes, he counted the Luggage as one of you— were safely behind it.

"Oh i missed my girl so much" He returned his arm that held the luggage to it's correct position, that being wrapping you up until eventually in wasn't enough, so he tilted his body and without any particular struggle set his arms under your ass and picked you up.

"Couldn't stop thinking about my sweet girl the entire mission"

He kissed at your jawline, so gently, like his lips were made of feathers. And his hold was strong and steady as he had you away from the floor, like his arms were made of solid teflon.

"Missed you too"

You spoke, lowering your head so your foreheads would be together, eyes looking into eachother. Despite how tired he told everyone he was, despite how much he wanted to sleep. He wanted something else before, something he saved stamina for.

"Such a sweet girl" his voice a little coarse as it seemed he had been shouting during the mission, he, still with you on his arms, brought you to the bedroom, settling you down on the bed and climbing on top of you, careful to were he sunked his knees so he wouldn't crush you.

He was quick to go back to brush his lips against your beautiful skin, pulling down you tanktop's straps to not have anything in the way of worshiping you.

"It tickles" you said with a soft and happy laugh, he snorted a second before going back to giving you affection, then, a small thought came to your mind.

"Leon?"

"Mm?"

"Have you eaten?"

He froze, like stopped as he was about to playfully bite down onto your soft shoulder. And looked up at you, he already told you the answer before he even let his tounge move and articulate the words.

He pulled away, sitting in between your legs and looking down at you— staring— and you did so too.

"Yes?"

He said in that tone that he did when he was lying.

"LEON!"

You complained crossing your arms and furrowing your brow as he goes back down to kiss your face, trying to apeace your annoyance.

"Hey shhh, it's ok, I don't want to eat" his voice was gentle as he took one of your wrists, so gently, pulling it away so he could reach for your tits and play with them "please baby, I've been away for so long, i just want to play with my princess, i promise I'll eat later"

He moved your other arm out of the way and slipped his hand under your shirt, cupping your breasts and making circles over your nipples with his thumb, making you whimper a second— So sensitive, so needy.

"Please? Let me enjoy my princess before anything else" He hummed into your ear, landing kisses and little bites all over the side of your face.

You finally agreed, sending your arms under his and up his back, and guiding your legs up to rest on his waist. He became rather deseperate, pulling down your tanktop and out the way in one Clean swipe, going down from your neck to your breast and kissing them.

His hands cup and squeeze at you tits while he opens his mouth to suck on them, making circles with his tounge around your hardened nipples.

"God i missed doing this" he grunts out, one of his hands going down and undoing the button of your Jean short, pulling it down so his hand is running along the silk of your panties that already had a wet spot.

You made a small whimper, pent up since he left; way too sensitive.

"Leon" you purred as he moved his hand up and down your silk cover slit. Before he got inpatient and, of course, moved the panty out of the way to, sunking his fingers in your puffy folds and reached for your clit with hid thumb. Making circles with a gentle pressure and smirking at the lewd noises you made.

"Oh such a sweet girl" he praised, before lowering himself and burrying his face against your cunt. Laping your slick with the thirst of a man in a dessert.

His nose pressed against you clit while the flat of his tounge passed up and down your hole, just enjoying every last drop of slick.

He groaned, sending vibrations over your sensitive heat before he went a little up and put his mouth over your clit, sucking it and spelling out his name with his tounge.

You reached for his hair, instinctively pushing his head down even more and your pelvis up. Wanting, needing more. He caught on rather quickly and slipped two fingers inside you, pumping them in an out with a motion wave.

He really did know how to make you mewl his name and make your legs shake in want— in need. You didn't notice when, he reached for his belt, unbuckling it and throwing it to the side of the room, opening his pant and with no particular care pulling out his cock.

You just felt as the pressure building up on your lower belly released, making your lip quiver and your hips buckle up and down, coating Leon's chin and fingers in your heat.

"There we go" he cooed, lifting up from you while stroking his hardened cock. He chuckled as he saw you practically drool while staring at him, his head whinning with precum.

"Please?" You whimpered.

"No need to beg sweetie"

He reached under your thigh and pulled you to him, helping you angle up just a little more before running his head against your slit. The noise you made, a combination of complain and pleasure, which he knew was you telling him to hurry the fuck up.

He grinned, before pushing himself inside you, promting you two to groan. Your arms went up and he complied moving his body forward so you could steady and grip to his back and shirt.

He started out slow, making sure you wouldn't hurt at being streched by him. But of course the second he felt your nails dig into him, and your moan against his ear.

"Fuck" he mumbled and picked up the speed, drilling into you and making you see stars. His hands pressed over your hip pushing you into him, making the squelching sound of your dripping cunt louder.

"Mmm good" you said with a struggle, already feeling a second peak building up.

Leon was enjoying your whimpers, your whines and your moans, he had been waiting to hear them; to hear you chant his name for days. And it drove him closer and closer to his own peak, as your obscene sounds merged with the oh so nice feeling of your walls tightening around his dick, as your cunt sucked him in greedily.

You two being pent up made the ordeal quicker, rougher and undoubtedly more enjoyable.

"God your pussy is just made for me" he grunted "so tight and wet over my cock"

It was almost hipnotic how he grunted and growled while he pounded so hard you could no only hear him hip slapping your thighs, but also how get you were.

Finally your eyes rolled back, as you let out a whinny "Leon" with a heavy sigh, only knowing to hold so tight with your fingers you thought maybe your nails would pierce through his shirt and skin.

But he didn't seem to mind, no. In fact he almost returned it, going down and bitting down and hard right at that meaty triangle between your shoulder and neck.

It seemed like the final pushed as suddenly he felt your walls clenching around him, dripping with your orgasm as you just let out a tiny cry before shoving your head against his shoulder, letting your legs twitch.

"Good girl" he said still drilling at your pulsating pussy before his pace stuttered and he went as hard and deep as he could, realising rope after rope of hot sticky cum inside of you, filling you up until you were also leaking his cock.

Panting he slowly pulled out of you, before kissing your jawline.

"God i missed my perfect little princess"

You could only whine in agreement before he collapsed at your side and held you tight.

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

Morning after, you woke up sore and feeling your thighs sticky. Leon was already up on his phone while still Holding you.

"Morning pretty lady"

His voice still sounding tired.

Suddenly, you remember what he said before he got his way.

"Leon"

"Yes?"

"Did you eat already?"

You couldn't help but burst out in laughter as he stared at you with this 'oh fuck' look on his face before Bolting to the kitchen and coming back with a bowl of cereal, a spoon full on his mouth so you wouldn't get pissed at him.

Thank you for reading.