#if these images get out of order I will KILL | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

steveslevis · 5 months ago

Text

can you see right through me?

azriel x mate!reader

summary: after finding out you're mated to the Spymaster of the Night Court, you can't help but feel self-conscious, thanks to the jealous remarks made by patrons at your bookstore.

warnings: mentions of self-hatred and self-sabotage, angst!!!, body image issues, depression, mentions of death, azriel is an idiot but he figures it out ok, mentions of sex & the mating frenzy

word count: 9.5k (oops...)

Ever since finding out that you’re mated to none other than the High Lord’s Shadowsinger two months ago, everything in your life has flipped upside down.

You’re not just some ordinary bookstore owner anymore, you’re now part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle by default. Your status as a citizen in Velaris has completely changed, but you refused to quit working just because of your mate, much to his disappointment. He’d rather you just stay with him in the House of Wind, filling your days reading your favorite books instead of selling them, but you insisted. You wanted to get to know the male better before immediately accepting the bond, moving in and forgetting about your old life, especially after hearing all the things people say about you and your new mating bond when they’re in or around your shop.

You have to deal with sidelong glances and whispers from almost everyone who comes into your tiny shop next to the Sidra, have to hear the spiteful unmated females who might kill to be in your position.

“How do you think she got him? Do you think she slipped one of those banned love tonics into a drink or something?”

“He could be mated to anyone, and the Cauldron picked her of all people?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already rejected the bond, I don’t ever see them together.”

“She’s definitely just using him for his money and power, she had to have manipulated him somehow.”

“I thought he was with the Morrigan, she’s much more fitting for a male like him, much prettier.”

Every snide remark hits you like a knife to the heart, but still, you keep your composure throughout every single day. It isn’t ever until you’re in the safety of your own apartment above the bookstore that you allow yourself to mull over the comments, to let yourself fall back into old self-loathing habits.

You quickly learn how to contain your sadness to your end of the bond, blocking Azriel from seeing the pain that you endure on a nightly basis. You’re convinced he would be so embarrassed to see you cry yourself to sleep, to see you poke and prod at your skin in front of the mirror, to see you skip over meals in order to appease that incessant hatred filling your mind, to see you become filled with so much disgust in yourself when you replay the remarks over and over and over again.

The comments never seem to die down as weeks pass, and you slowly convince yourself that they’re all right, that Azriel is going to reject the bond because you don’t deserve him. You don’t see him often anyways, as you’re both preoccupied with your jobs throughout the week, which doesn’t help the fact that you’re convinced that he doesn’t want to be around you.

You’re stuck between trying to change yourself to fit what you think the Illyrian would like in a mate and rejecting the bond before he gets the chance to break your heart. You eventually decide it’s worth a shot to change yourself into the ideal, beautiful mate that you think he wants you to be before being stung with the inevitable heartbreak that comes with rejecting a bond.

Sundays used to be your favorite day of the week because you get to close shop at mid-day and spend the rest of the day reading at the foot of the Sidra or walking around to the nearby shops.

For the last few Sundays, you didn’t feel like doing anything aside from wallowing in self-pity in your bed. You never let yourself do just that, though.

You’d taken it upon yourself to change your lifestyle after thinking long and hard about the women that he’s surrounded by in the Inner Circle. All of them are tall and toned and so strong, more in shape than you’ve ever been in your life. All of them have natural beauty and grace that you could only wish to have.

Every Sunday for the last month, you’d spent the afternoon running or doing some kind of training in order to “fix yourself”, to look an inkling more similar to those beautiful high fae of the Inner Circle. This Sunday was no different.

You closed the bookstore around noon and headed up to your apartment, changing into training clothes before deciding to go for a long run after a day of extremely ruthless comments. You slip out the back door of the bookstore to begin your run, but are halted almost immediately when you walk straight into a wall of leather and warm skin, shadows skittering around your shoulders as you take a step back.

Azriel peers down at you as you frown at him, concern lacing his features when he takes you in. His heart races as you stand in front of him, excited to finally see you after not seeing you for over a week. He swears you look different every time he’s seen you recently, your frame beginning to thin out in ways that concern him, but he knows better than to bring that up.

“S–Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” you say meekly, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket while avoiding direct eye contact with the male.

“It’s quite alright,” he says gently, watching you closely as his eagerness extends down the bond to you. “Where are you going?”

“Was just gonna go on a run,” you reply with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as the self-doubting thoughts swirl around in your mind even more in his presence. “Did–did you need something?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my mate whenever I please?” he teases, which makes your eyes widen in fear that he’s actually upset.

“I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean it like that!” you stammer, shaking your head at him apologetically as you take a step back, backing into the door behind you.

“Hey, no it’s alright. I was only joking.” Azriel says quickly, one of his hands coming up to caress one of your arms. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise, I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure it was okay that I stopped by.”

You shake your head again, blinking before looking up at him with a frown. He wants more than anything to ask you what’s bothering you, but can see that you’re obviously already distraught about whatever it is, and doesn’t want to pry. Since he’s known you, you’ve always been closed off, like him, about your emotions. So, he opts to change the subject instead.

“I did have a real reason for coming over here though,” he suggests and you nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Rhysand requests your presence at dinner tonight.”

“T–The High Lord?” you question, and Azriel nods. “W–Why is he requesting my presence at dinner?”

“Well, we have family dinner once a week, and he claims it’s not a complete family affair if my mate isn’t present.” he explains, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I tried to tell him to fuck off, because I know you’re typically busy on Sunday nights, but he insists that you come this week, at least this once.”

There’s a pleading look in your mate’s eyes that makes you nearly melt at his feet, and you know you can’t say no to him at that moment.

“I–I, yeah, I can come tonight.” you say finally, giving him a weak smile as he grins down at you triumphantly.

“Perfect,” he retorts, his shadows dancing around you with equal excitement, “I’ll meet you here around five? It’s just over at the River House.”

You nod quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek before bidding you goodbye. The small gesture makes your heart flutter, but you can’t help but wonder how forced it is, can’t help but wonder if inviting you to dinner is a ploy to bring you in and publicly reject your bond.

There’s no way in hell you’re going for a run now.

You spend the next five hours pacing around, thinking about what you’re going to wear if you want to even come close to looking as good as the other females that will be there. The clothes in your closet are few and far between, but you finally decide on your nicest dress, one that's made of a gauzy navy fabric, adorned with silver embroidered stars littered over the bodice. It’s more revealing than most clothes you wear, but it’s the closest thing you have to the clothes that the Inner Circle wear. It takes you almost an hour to feel presentable in terms of makeup and hair, and by the time you’re done, you hear a knock on the back door of the store.

You throw your shoes on quickly before making your way down the stairs, mentally preparing yourself for the evening as you do.

Azriel’s eyes go wide when you open the door, something like amazement and confusion mixed in his gaze as he stares you down.

“I–I’ve never seen you wear anything like this, it’s beautiful,” he starts, unable to tear his gaze from the flowy dress, “You’re beautiful.”

Your chest aches at his compliment as your mind tries to convince you that he’s lying, but you smile up at him weakly nonetheless. He extends his arm for you to take, ready to lead you to the River House across the Sidra.

The two of you are greeted by more people than you’d expect when you enter the High Lord and Lady’s home, but you recognize them all before they get a chance to introduce themselves. You’ve only met Cassian and Nesta prior to this dinner, so the first hour was spent essentially introducing yourself to each of them one-by-one. Azriel stays by your side through each introduction, hand on the small of your back as his shadows swirl around your hands comfortingly. He can tell that something in you has changed since he met you a few months back, that the light and excitement in your eyes when you first found out he was your mate has since dissipated. There’s an unmistakable lump in his throat as he thinks too much into it, wondering if you’re having second thoughts about him.

Dinner comes and goes as smoothly as you hoped it would. The nauseous feeling roiling in your gut keeps you from eating much, only pushing the food around on the plate while taking miniscule bites to fight off any comments that any of them might have about your hesitancy. You’re only roped into conversations every once in a while, so you’re able to sit back and explore the dynamic between the group a little more without much involvement. Azriel mainly stays silent, only making a few remarks here and there.

With a snap of the High Lord’s fingers, dessert appears in front of everyone along with more wine in each of your glasses.

“I propose a toast,” Rhysand suggests after getting everyone’s attention, eyes landing on you finally, “to Y/N, for bringing our Shadowsinger so much happiness.”

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you force a smile, raising your glass as the others do too. ‘Cheers’ is mumbled by everyone before they all take a drink, and Azriel reaches over to squeeze your hand that’s sitting on the edge of the table. You turn to look at him, noting an unfamiliar look in his eyes that you nearly mistake for love, before your thoughts are interrupted by a loud laugh from Amren across the table.

“I, for one, am so grateful that Y/N finally came along after all this time.” she says with a sly grin, “because I think if she wouldn’t have, then the Spymaster would’ve continued to pine after Mor for the rest of eternity.”

There’s a collectively uncomfortable murmur from everyone at her words, and Nesta jabs her in the side with a warning glare as she notices the smile on your face falter for a split second. You could feel all color leave your face as your heart plummets to your stomach, the female’s words confirming all of your doubts about your current situation. Azriel shifts his eyes to you then, but you bring back the same composed mask to your face, the same one you’ve held for the last three months any time someone made snide remarks at you, while you try to avoid his burning gaze. You give the female a withering smile, ignoring the worried stare from the male at your side as you do.

“Truly, I’m grateful the Cauldron deemed me worthy of being a welcome distraction to such a male like him,” you say in response with a laugh, hoping your voice comes out in a joking tone as you try to mask the disappointment in your wavering voice.

The comment is enough to earn a few chuckles from around the table, pushing away any awkwardness that stemmed from Amren’s comment. You’re able to skate through the rest of the evening without any snide remarks from the Inner Circle, glad that you’re one step closer to getting the hell out of this house as the group finally starts to stand from the table.

Azriel follows closely behind you as you bid everyone goodbye, exhaustion raking over your bones as you give one final wave to the High Lord and Lady before turning toward your mate.

There’s a look of worry shining in his eyes when you finally peer up at him, shadows skittering anxiously around your wrists in the meantime.

“Ready to go home?” he questions, forcing a smile onto his face as he guides you towards the front door when you nod.

“You don’t have to walk me home, Azriel.” you start once you’re out of earshot of everyone else, stopping in your tracks to look at him again. The look on your face is almost unreadable, but his shadows whisper to him about your pain and embarrassment as the two of you stand on the outside of the front door to the River House. “I’m truly fine to go by myself, you don’t–don’t have to bother to go out of your way for me.”

His brow furrows and a frown pulls his lips down at your words, finally seeing the slightest glimmer of sadness and disappointment shining in your eyes as you speak. He only shakes his head, taking a step towards you before he speaks.

“I–You’re not a bother to me.” he says, unsure of what else to say to you, “If you’re upset about what Amren said, please know that she always says bullshit like that when she’s drunk, I have not thought about Mor in that way for centuries–”

“Truly, Azriel, it’s quite alright.” you interject with a pained smile. “You didn’t ask to be mated to me, I understand if you’re preoccupied with other love interests or if you just don’t want to be with me.”

The Illyrian opens his mouth to speak, but is downright dumbfounded by your words to the point where he simply closes his mouth again. He very obviously had been reading the situation wrong this whole time, as he thought that giving you space was the right thing to do in order to let you process the very new bond from your end. He realizes then that you needed reassurance and not space, but it could very well be too late now. Before he can protest, you’re taking a step closer to him in order to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before stepping away.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I get it, I really do. And–And if you need to reject the bond and never want to see me again after tonight, I’ll understand.”

Oh, fuck. You think he wants to reject the bond.

Hazel eyes meet yours then, and you swear you see a twinkle of regret and hurt shining somewhere between the bronzy flecks, but it’s almost undetectable. Such a miniscule expression that you tell yourself that you imagined it, that his face never changed and that he truly does not care about what you’re saying to him now.

He shakes his head as you take another step away from him, as you turn on your toes to walk away from the townhouse, away from him. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in then, as the bond to his heart hums with a sadness he’s never felt before. He can feel the bond quivering in pain between your souls, threatening to wither away if either of you even thinks about truly rejecting the bond.

But you don’t feel it because you’ve expertly blocked the bond out for the last month, because you truly believe that there’s no way Azriel could ever truly want you, because you’re convinced that he wants this.

There’s no hesitation in your step when you turn your back to the male, walking in swift strides towards the bridge to cross the Sidra to reach your little apartment on top of the bookstore. You refuse to let him see how much it kills you to freely offer up a rejected bond, you can’t let him see how you’re crumbling with each step you take. So you stay steady in your gait, hiding your shaking hands in front of you as you blink back the tears that threaten to spill.

If you would’ve looked back in that moment, you would’ve seen the tears that spilled down the shadowsinger’s cheeks. If you wouldn’t have blocked out the bond in that moment, you would’ve felt the way you almost tore his heart out of his chest as you walked into the darkness.

Azriel didn’t follow after you though, he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. He’d fucked up so badly by not showing you how much the bond truly meant to him, by simply assuming that you needed space.

So, he simply sent a shadow to make sure you got home safely and sat down on the front step of the townhouse.

He sat on that step for almost two hours, staring at the stars and cursing himself for all of the mistakes he’d made.

You only get one mate in your eternal life, and he really fucked it up this badly already?

Memories of the first few times the two of you had met replayed in his mind as he sat there, remembering how your eyes glimmered with the most love he’d ever been shown in his life.

You were shy and quiet, something he wasn’t used to from being around the Inner Circle for so long. After living with the loud, boisterous crown for centuries, he was used to emotions being expressed outright. So, he’d mistaken your meek behavior for disinterest, mistaken your nervousness for distaste. He thought you’d needed space, needed time to get used to his brooding and intolerable presence, needed room to process the sudden bond. But, fuck, was he wrong.

Everything becomes clearer to the male as as it nears midnight. The ache in his chest becomes more and more painful with each passing minute now, and he realizes that he has to get you back, he has to fight to make you understand how much you mean to him.

_______________________________________

Nesta Archeron started her Sunday much earlier than usual this week, thanks to her mate’s early morning departure. Cassian woke her by rustling around their shared bedroom before dawn, seemingly flustered as he tried to gather his leathers and put them on in the dark.

“You’re not very good at being quiet, General.” she remarks tiredly, sitting up in the bed to flick one of the bedside faelights on.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, shooting her a sympathetic smile as he nearly trips over the leathers he tries to step into. “Rhys said there’s an emergency in Windhaven, Az and I are leaving soon.”

She only hums in response, watching him finish getting dressed in comfortable silence. Cassian stands over her at the edge of the bed after tugging on his boots, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek before heading out for the day.

Nesta knows then that she won’t be able to fall back asleep, so she decides to reach for her latest read on her nightstand. Once she grabs the book, she realizes that she’d finished the night before and is completely out of books to read. She knows then that she’ll have to make her way into town, deciding to take a trip to your bookstore at the base of the Sidra for the first time.

She took her time getting ready, slipping into a gray dress and her usual boots before heading downstairs to eat breakfast. It was a little after seven in the morning when she made her way towards your bookstore, basking in the chilly morning air as she walked along the river.

It took her all of thirty minutes to reach the store, where she was met with a locked door and a dark front window. It was well past opening time for the store and there were no other signs on the door to suggest otherwise, but your store was definitely closed.

“I’m not surprised,” Nesta hears a female say from behind her, giggling to her friend as they pass the storefront, “I’m sure she’s been rotting away upstairs because the Shadowsinger broke their bond or something like that. The store’s been closed all week. A lesser fae store owner like her did not deserve a male as beautiful as him.”

Nesta turns to see the culprits of the spiteful comments and laughs, and the two High Fae females’ eyes widen upon her whipping her head towards them.

Their smirks fall immediately, the one who was speaking starts to open her mouth but Nesta only holds up a hand to shut her up.

“I don’t know either of you females–and I’m very glad I don’t–” the sharp-eyed female spat out, “but I do know the Shadowsinger and his mate. And all I have to say is that if I hear either of you coming around here to harass her or if I hear of you spewing more lies about her relationship, I will be sure to mention it to the High Lord and Shadowsinger. I’m sure neither of them would be very happy to hear the rumors flying around.”

The females nod feverishly as Nesta stares them down with that silver fire flickering lowly in her eyes, both mumbling apologies under their breaths as they scurry away.

Nesta lets out a huff, turning on her heels to make her way towards the other bookstore across town, where she only finds two new books for herself instead of the countless romance novels she knew she would’ve found at your carefully curated store. The remarks from the two females about you aren’t lost on her as she makes her way through the city, their spiteful words and evil giggles running through her mind as she replays the scenario.

Instead of trekking all the way back to the House of Wind after gathering her books, she makes her way to the River House in order to spend the day with her favorite person–Nyx.

The day goes by quickly between reading and rolling around with the toddler and his mother, and it’s evening before she or Feyre even realize it. Three Illyrian warriors clad in leathers make their way into the drawing room where the two females lounge on the couch, looking exhausted from a day of crisis management at the camps.

“Long day?” Nesta says as she raises her eyebrow at the three males, stroking Nyx’s hair as he sleeps silently on her chest.

Her mate only grunts in agreement, coming over to press a kiss to the crown of her head in greeting. The High Lord is greeted by Feyre with a loving stroke of his cheek, smiling up at him sympathetically. Azriel only stands at the threshold, looking more brooding and closed off than usual.

“Well, good news is you can tell us all about it at dinner.” Feyre suggests, trying to lighten the sour mood of the three males as she reaches for Rhys’ hand to intertwine into her own. “Nuala and Cerridwen just finished making some delicious stew and I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”

Dinner seems to lighten the mood quite a bit for the group, quiet conversation carrying through the dining room after Cassian and Rhysand get their complaints out for the day. Azriel sits on the other side of Feyre, silent for the majority of the meal, only engaging when Cassian involves him.

A burning question gnaws at Nesta as she takes in the sad, hazel-eyed male, she can almost feel the pain radiating off of him from across the table as he stares intently down at the barely touched food in front of him. It’s hard to read the male, so she’s not entirely sure what the sadness is about, but she has to know eventually.

“How was your day, Nes?” her thoughts are interrupted by Cassian’s words and his elbow nudging hers lightly.

“Great, for the most part. Got to spend it with my favorite nephew,” she jokes, grinning briefly over at the babbling toddler being fed by his mother. “But I did find something very interesting on my trip to get some new books this morning.”

She notes how Azriel’s eyes flicker towards her then, intrigued by the mention of going to a bookstore.

“Oh, did you go to Y/N’s store? I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to take a trip over there to get some new books.” Feyre asks while forking some food for her son.

“Well, that was the original plan.” Nesta retorts, lips pulling into a half-frown before turning towards the shadowsinger, “Have you heard from your mate lately, Azriel?”

Azriel drops the spoon he was holding into the bowl of stew with a loud clatter, obviously taken aback by the question directed towards him. The room is silent as he finally looks up, seeing four expectant pairs of eyes staring back at him, Nesta’s gaze the harshest out of all of them.

“No, I haven’t heard from her since Saturday.” he says, willing his voice to be strong as he feels as though he’s going to throw up.

“Hm, interesting.” Nesta hums, eyes sharpening even more, if that’s even possible, “I tried to stop by the store because I finished my last novel last night, but the door was locked and the lights were all off. Then I ran into the most interesting pair of females who I overheard say that the store had been closed all week.”

“All week?” Feyre questions, a frown on her face now too.

“You haven’t heard from your mate for a week and you haven’t thought to try to contact her?” Rhys interjects, disappointment laced in his tone as he stares down Azriel from across the table, his honed gaze rivaling Nesta’s.

“She–She hasn’t left her apartment since last Saturday.” Azriel grits out, stopping anyone else from their questioning. “She thinks I want to reject her, to reject the bond. And I’m starting to think I should.”

Everyone goes silent then, even Nyx’s babbling is hushed as a thick air of tension fills the large dining room. Azriel’s hands are shaking as he stares at his untouched glass of wine, shadows slashing around his wings angrily now.

“Why do you think that?” Nesta’s the only one brave enough to question him, unafraid of facing the upset male. “What makes you think you should reject the bond?”

“I fucked up. I thought she needed space, thought she was overwhelmed by me, by all of this, by being part of the Inner Circle by default.” he says, a pained expression on his face as he finally looks up to Nesta. “I hurt her and I didn’t even realize it. She needed me and I wasn’t there for her. I can’t figure out how to make it better, I–I don’t know how to take away her pain. I’ve been her mate for less than six months and I’ve already lost her trust in me. I don’t deserve such a sweet creature like her.”

“Do you want to reject the bond?” Nesta persists, and he knows she means to ask if he loves you or not.

“I don’t. But–”

“There’s no but, Azriel.” Cassian interrupts firmly, “You either want to, or you don’t. And you don’t want to reject it, I know you don’t. You’ve never been happier than you were when you realized you had a mate and that it was her. You need to get your head out of your ass, stop pitying yourself and start showing her that you want to be with her. If not, you’re going to kill the poor female. You’re gonna fucking kill her from a broken heart.”

_______________________________________

In all honesty, you don’t know what day it is anymore. You’ve sat in the dark in your apartment above the bookstore all alone for Gods know how long, letting yourself wallow in the sorrow that fills your chest every time you breathe.

You can’t remember the last time you ate, the last time you did anything aside from stare at the wall next to your bed, save for the times that you’ve gone to the bathroom. It truly feels like you’re dying, like you’re withering away into nothing, and you might as well be. You don’t know what day it is, but you do know that Azriel hasn’t tried to contact you since you left the River House on Saturday, you do know that he wants nothing to do with you.

You hadn’t realized how much you had grown to rely on the male’s visits and nervous glances, how much they’d excited you, until they were no more.

The golden thread in your soul quivers every time you think about him, but you don’t let yourself think about missing him for too long. You always shut down before it gets too bad, and push yourself back into the thoughts of self-hatred, the thoughts of how you wish you’d just cease to exist already. There wasn’t anyone around anymore to check on you, anyone to make sure you made it through this bout of depression like there used to be. Your sister and mother have been gone for years, and now your mate, the one who gave you a sliver of hope for the shortest time, is gone too.

When the first knock falls on the door to your apartment, you barely hear it over the incessant ringing in your ears. You choose to ignore it, thinking whoever it is will go away eventually if they stand out in the late evening cold for long enough.

But they don’t.

They knock, and knock, and knock, and knock for what feels like thirty minutes, each knock getting louder and more insistent than the last.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep to ignore the sound, but it doesn’t work. After what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, the knocking finally stops.

What you don’t hear–or see–in that moment is the shadows that slip under the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly unlocking it for their master to slip inside, and the other shadows ahead of their master that report back to him about your state before he makes his way up the stairs.

Moments later, you hear the creak of the stairs and your heart sinks, but you feel too weak to move, too weak to save yourself, and for a moment, you thank the Cauldron that some intruder has finally come to put you out of your misery in one way or another.

You don’t expect the weak, broken voice of a male at the top of the stairs as you’re laying with your back towards the threshold, the sadness in an all too familiar voice when you hear, “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.”

It takes every ounce of strength out of Azriel to walk over to the bed after taking in the sight of your studio apartment in complete disarray. The place is unkempt and needs plenty of repairs just from what he can see with a quick scan, but that’s not what hurts his heart the most in the moment. You facing the blank wall, staring mindlessly ahead as you’re curled up in a ball at the edge of your bed is what breaks him. He finally makes his way over to the wall that you’re facing, but you don’t look up at him, unable to take the energy to complete the small gesture.

Azriel falls to his knees in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke your hair. He takes you in fully then–your unkempt hair, chapped lips, red cheeks and heavy eyes–you truly were dying from a broken heart.

“Y/N,” he says gently, trying to keep his voice as strong as possible while choking back tears. You take a long moment to finally look up at him, a look of confusion and then delusion crossing over your face as you do–you had to be dreaming him, right?

“I’m–I’m so fucking sorry, love. Gods, how long have you been laying here?” he says, and you only blink up at him because you’re not even sure of the answer, numb to it all at this point. “Are–Do you want me to help you? Can I help you somehow, please? I–I wanna fix this, I wanna make you better.”

A strange noise leaves your throat then as your brow furrows at his words, your delusions during depressive episodes have never said anything like this to you before, and that’s when it all feels too real. You slowly realize that this is very much the real Azriel kneeling in front of you with tears shimmering in his eyes, clasping your very clammy hand between his very warm ones. Tears brim in your own eyes now, the weight of the entire situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d ruined yourself before he’d even broken the bond, so now you’ve hurt him by somehow signaling to him of your suffering.

“‘M sorry, A–Azriel,” you croak out, the first words to have left your lips in days.

“S–You’re sorry?” he says, voice more stern than before, shaking his head persistently, “No–No, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about, love.” He squeezes your icy hand then, giving you a weak, bitter smile, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner, okay? I’m so sorry and I’ll apologize until the day I die for not being here for you when you needed me. I–I wanna help you now, if you’ll let me. Will you let me help you? Can I take you home with me to get you some help?”

Despite the confusion and sadness swirling around in your deprived brain, you nod at the male, who jumps up almost immediately after you nod. He slowly peels the covers off your frail form, heart breaking at the sight of you. He pushes the ache in his chest down to be strong for you then, gently scooping you up into his arms. The two of you are engulfed in shadows seconds later as Azriel shadow-walks to the House of Wind as quickly as he can.

You don’t remember much from your first moments at the House of Wind, other than the fact that there were a lot of people around you in a very short amount of time. You recognized some of them, the High Lord and Lady, along with Cassian and Nesta, but other faces were less familiar. One woman came into the room you laid in, tugging a warm blanket over your body before using what you could only assume was healing power on you. She’d mumbled something to Azriel on her way out before patting him on the shoulder, and that was the last thing you’d remembered before finally falling into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week.

Sunlight streaming in through the curtains woke you later on, you weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been out for but you’re sure it had been for more than a few hours at this point. You groaned lightly as you stretched your weak legs, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings fully for the first time. The room smelled of mahogany and amber, a familiar and inviting scent you knew too well to not understand whose room you were in.

Though alone at the moment, you know he’s not far, as his shadows skitter excitedly around you as you attempt to sit up in the bed.

The door opens not even two minutes later, the shadowsinger standing in the doorway with a tray of what looked to be steaming food, a glass of water, and some medications. He nearly drops the tray when he sees you sitting up in the middle of his bed, not expecting you to already be awake and so alert. Without a word, he strides over to the large bed, placing the tray on the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d positioned on the side where you laid.

“Hi,” he says with a sharp inhale, giving you a weak smile as he searches your eyes for any emotion he can find.

“H–How long was I out for?” you ask meekly, the full weight of your actions crashing down on you all at once. “How long have I overstayed?”

“What?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down as his heart sinks. You truly think you’re burdening this male, when all he wants is for you to be safe and to feel loved. “You haven’t overstayed, I brought you here to heal, I wanted you to come here to get better.”

You shake your head then, blinking harshly at him as you refuse to believe what he’s telling you. “N–No, you only came to find me because I’m–I’m stupid and didn’t give you the opportunity to reject the bond before I mourned what we never had.” you insist, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this, please–please, you can reject it now, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

The level of self destruction going on in your mind was on another level that Azriel couldn’t deign to comprehend in the moment, but he knew it wasn’t just by your own doing. He can see the internal turmoil you’re going through, can feel your peril down the bond that he now realizes you’ve been shrouding in your own shadows for months, can feel the way you’re tearing yourself apart from the inside out. He reaches for you then, hands coming up to cup your cheeks gently as his shadows rub soothing circles along your back to calm you down, though you continue to babble apologetically about how he should hate you and how you’re the one who should be apologizing for everything.

“Y/N, hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” he coos gently, thumbs stroking your cheekbones softly to bring you back to the moment as you finally lock eyes with him, “I don’t want to reject the bond, I never wanted to reject the bond.”

You try to shake your head feverishly, but he doesn’t let you as his hands stay on either side of your face. “Nesta told me about some females she heard outside your store on Sunday, who said some pretty foul things about you.” he begins, having to reign his anger in as he speaks about the females, “Is that something that happened a lot at the store? Did females that come into the bookstore say things to you about us often?”

You can’t even look at him now, dread and self-loathing gnawing at your chest as you think back to all the hateful comments thrown at you throughout the last few months. You shake your head slowly now, brow furrowing as you try to push down the bile rising in your throat.

“No, it only happened a–a few times.” you lie bluntly, staring down into your lap as you try to pull away from his touch again and this time he lets you, watching closely as you attempt to stand from the bed. “I want to take a bath.” you say, attempting to change the subject to something less painful.

Azriel is there to catch you when you all but fall when trying to stand on your own two feet, hands landing on your waist to situate you back on the edge of the bed, “You’re not supposed to be getting up on your own yet. You didn’t eat for almost a whole week, you’re too weak to stand right now.” he says softly, hands firmly planted on your waist still, “Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? This food will still be warm when we return if you’d rather bathe now.”

You nod wordlessly, brow pinched in frustration at your current situation. Azriel easily picks you up, carrying you bridal style into the en suite bathroom and sitting you on the edge of the large tub as he draws a warm bath. He turns the tap off once it’s nearly full, turning on his heels to leave you alone in the bathroom for some privacy.

“A–Azriel,” you call out before he shuts the door, making the male stop in his tracks to face you, heart nearly shattering when you look at him with wide, shameful eyes. “Can you help me bathe?”

The male is at the edge of the tub in an instant, nodding at you gently. He looks away as you strip out of the clothes that you’d been in for a week, tossing the dirty pajamas into a pile at your feet before stepping into the tub slowly. He helps you ease down onto the bottom, letting go of your hand he didn’t realize he’d grabbed once you tug out of his grasp to wrap the arm around your knees you pull into your chest.

You settle into the water, letting the warmth engulf your cold limbs as you lean your head back to dip your hair, up to the scalp, into the water. Azriel gives you a few minutes to relax in the water, watching as your muscles finally relax slightly under the caress of the liquid. He reaches for the bottle of shampoo eventually, eyeing you closely as he pours some into his hands to lather it. You lean your head up as he does, giving him a small nod of invitation before he reaches for your scalp.

There’s nothing but love and tenderness behind his caress, fingers combing through your damp hair to thoroughly clean it. He’s careful with every movement, making sure to not make the wrong move and send you spiraling for one reason or another.

It’s such a tender moment as he gently tilts you back to rinse your hair with a cup of water that it nearly makes you sob, but hold back for him to continue.

“Can you promise me that you won’t ever let yourself get like this again?” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he runs conditioner through your hair. “I–I don’t know if I can handle seeing you so sad ever again. I won’t let you destroy yourself over my stupidity, not when I’m the one to blame for this whole situation.”

You tense at his words, chest tightening as you hear his voice crack when he chokes back tears. It takes you a moment, but you finally turn to face him, your own tears blurring your vision as you look up at the hazel-eyed male.

“It’s–It’s not your fault, Azriel.” you say, shaking your head insistently at him, “It’s my fault for making you feel obligated to be nice to me, I–I know you didn’t ask to be mated to a lowly, lesser fae bookshop owner when there’s plenty of beautiful high fae females out there ready to accept your hand in marriage at the drop of a hat. I shouldn’t have tried to pursue you after the bond snapped, I–I should’ve let you reject it then so you could go be happy with whoever you want to be with.”

“It’s you I want to be with, Y/N.” he insists, hands shaking as they fall from your head. He falls to his knees then, pivoting so he’s face-to-face with you when he continues, “I don’t care that you’re lesser fae, I fucking hate that you’re considered that anyways, it’s a disgusting term. I’m not even a high fae myself, I don’t care about title or status or whatever else, I only care that I’ve finally found my mate.” Azriel is trying his damndest to keep himself from falling apart as he speaks, “My mate, the love of my life, the one that I get to spend the rest of my days with. I know you feel like I pushed you away and I know I made you feel unwanted, but I thought you wanted space. I know now that you don’t, and I promise you that I’ll spend every waking moment, from now until we die, showing you that I am so fucking happy that you of all people are my mate. I love you.”

Whether he realizes it or not, Azriel projects his passion and love down the bond in the moment. Your deceitful brain would’ve told you he was lying had it not been for that tug and flow of warmth between your souls, if it had not been for the true, unadulterated ache you felt in your chest when he said that he was happy that you were his mate.

Tears well up in your eyes once more as you stare at him, really taking him in, in full form, for the first time. He’s so beautiful, and though there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that still tells you that he’s lying, deep down you know that he’s all yours. Something blooms in your chest then, something stronger than you’ve ever felt, something so compelling that you can’t just sit and stare at him anymore.

You don’t say anything as you continue to stare up at him, reaching your shaky hands out of the water to cup his cheeks. He almost flinches when you do, taken aback by you initiating the touch, but he doesn’t. With the strength gifted to you by the love confession of your mate, you’re able to maneuver onto your knees and tug him a little closer, crashing your lips into his in a gentle, watery kiss.

“I love you, Azriel.” you murmur against his lips when you finally pull away from the kiss for a short moment.

He smiles against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss as his hands grip your forearms to keep you from slipping in the tub.

“We really need to get you cleaned up before we can finish this conversation, yeah?” he encourages in between kisses, smoothing down your wet hair as it drips on the side of the tub.

You breathe out a laugh, nodding at him before turning to let him continue washing your hair, and then moving on to your body. Each touch threatens to set you on fire, but there’s no sexual intention behind them, only loving caresses meant to wash you clean of the last week of pain.

After getting you out of the shower, Azriel slowly dresses you in one of his large shirts, mumbling an apology about how he’ll be sure to bring some of your clothes over if you’d like him to. You only smile at him softly, knowing you’ll be bringing more than a few of your items over soon enough.

He insists that you eat after your bath, bringing you back to the bed where the soup is still steaming hot, likely thanks to the House that Azriel explained was imbued with magic and would do anything you wished it to. You eat the stew after taking the handful of medications and strength tonic that the healer, Madja, had given him for you, relishing the feeling of the warm food settling in your stomach.

The change in your energy level after the strength tonic is astonishing. You feel as though you can run for days, but know better than to try something like that in front of your terrified mate. But, there is one thing that you feel like you need to do at the moment, something that’s long overdue.

You’re laying in Azriel’s arms when you finally get your burst of energy, sitting up abruptly enough to make him sit up with you. There’s a look of wild concern on his face when he reaches for your hips, steadying you as you pull your legs to the side of the bed.

“Are you alright?” he questions immediately, brow furrowing when you miraculously stand on your own two feet. “Do you need something? The House can get you whatever you need.”

You give him a small smile, leaning down to caress his cheek before kissing his forehead gently.

“I wanna get this thing myself,” you state matter-of-factly as he raises a brow at you. “You stay right here, alright?”

Before he can protest, you’re walking towards the door of the bedroom to swing it open. You shut the door behind you, leaving the male in the room without a word.

The House is magic alright, you confirm that when you’re on your way down the stairs and it lights the way for you, only letting the fae lights on the direct path towards the kitchen light the way. It knew exactly what you were doing.

You’re met with a cutting board, a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a bowl of grapes next to an empty plate when you enter the kitchen, a lone fae light above the counter lighting the area so you can prepare the plate. You make quick work of cutting the cheese and bread, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking incessantly as you saw into the sourdough. It only takes you a few minutes to lay everything out on the plate and the House takes care of the rest, then you’re on your way back upstairs, on your way to change your life forever.

Azriel shifts quickly on the bed when you return, sitting up straight as he locks eyes with you. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when his eyes flicker down to the plate of food in your hand, realizing what you were up to when you left the room.

You give him a nervous smile, gripping the plate with two hands as you make your way over to the bed, careful not to tip its contents onto the floor as you quiver. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating in the moment, as you feel like it’s about to beat through your ribcage with one more loud thump.

“Y/N…” he trails as you shakily extend the plate to him when you perch on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with a look you can only describe as certainty. “Are you sure about this? You want to accept the bond right now?”

“If you don’t eat this food right now, you might as well send me back to my little old apartment so I can try to die of a broken heart again.” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you give him a watery smile and push the plate closer to him.

He takes the plate from you then, but doesn’t grab any food at first, looking back up at you before he does. He leans over, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before taking a shuddering breath.

“I promise you that after this bond is accepted, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you are so much more than all of those evil things that those females said about you. I’ll spend every waking moment showing you how perfect you are and making up for the time that we didn’t get to spend together,” he begins, planting a kiss on your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, “now eat that food, please. I’m tired of waiting.”

He smiles at you then, leaning back on the bed as he grabs for a piece of bread and cheese, ready to spend the rest of his eternal life with you, with his mate.

_______________________________________

It takes almost a whole month for the mating frenzy to die down enough for the two of you to be able to integrate back into society. Rhys insisted on letting the two of you stay in the Cabin for your time away, but you opted to spend your time in Summer in a secluded bungalow for the four weeks instead.

When you do return to Velaris after your time away, Azriel insists on taking another week off from spymaster duties to get your bookstore back on track and to help move your belongings to the House of Wind while the two of you look for your very own home, somewhere closer to the Rainbow where you can continue to run your bookstore. You don’t dare to protest your mate’s wishes, letting him alternate between packing the little amount of things you have upstairs and taking inventory in the store while you run the register.

It’s a sunny Saturday when you open your doors for the first time after over a month of being closed, and you’re much busier than you’d expected to be in all honesty, though it seems many of the females coming in are just being nosy to see how true it is that you’re actually back in the flesh.

There are less snide remarks thrown your way now, but still enough that they make you flinch every once in a while. They don’t bother you anymore, though. During your time away, Azriel showed you how much you meant to him and how beautiful he thought you were in many ways, with his mouth, with his hands, with his tongue, with his…

“Do you think she’s single again? Like…do you think he actually rejected the bond?” you hear a high fae female say on the far end of your busy shop, her eyes darting in your direction as she speaks to a friend.

“I hope so, there’s no way he actually–Oh my Gods.” her friend says, eyes wide when they fall on none other than the shadowsinger himself emerging from the back room of your store, a dozen books in hand.

A satisfied smile spreads across your face as Azriel walks behind the checkout counter to press a kiss to your forehead before placing the books next to you. The sound of the females whispering hastily falls on deaf ears as your mate turns to you, grabbing a small piece of paper off the top of the pile of books he’d been holding.

“Found six more copies of both of those romance novels you said you were out of, so no need to order more until those are gone.” he says while pointing at the books. “You really need a better inventory system.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll just hire you to do it for me instead, since you’re so good at it.” you tease, shooting him a smirk.

“As long as I’m compensated fairly, I wouldn’t mind.” he jokes with a wink, pulling you in for an embrace to speak to you lowly. “On another note, you are officially fully moved into the House of Wind. So once you’re closed up for the day, we’ll be able to go home and officially christen the bedroom.”

“We’ve already christened that bedroom,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at him, “it’s been thoroughly christened, multiple times at this point. And if I remember correctly, it’s the first place that was christened by us.”

“And?” he says, lips quirked up into a smirk, “I plan on christening it multiple times tonight, and the next night, and the night after that…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly as you pull out of his grip, “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re beautiful and the love of my life.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It was safe to say that you’re getting nowhere past the mating frenzy phase of your relationship anytime soon.

And you’re okay with that.

taglist (add yourself here!): @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @Buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #acotar x reader

2K notes · View notes

pellucid-constellations · 6 months ago

Text

Fable - During

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel was too late, and something was brewing. The fate of your wings rested in the balance and there was nothing left of him to reconcile with.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Angst, injury, violence

a/n: This is part of a mini-series but each part can be read on its own/out of order. The next part is going to be long guys <3 Thank you for reading all of this angst!!!

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

The ground beneath Azriel’s feet must have disappeared.

He was unstable, falling, plummeting into an unknown abyss.

When he looked down, Azriel saw the plush carpet at his feet, but as he replayed Rhysand’s words—four words, echoing—the blur behind his eyes made the physical obsolete. We can’t find her, Rhysand had said, followed by a multitude of questions from Cassian that Azriel could not hear. Everything was buzzing and the carpet was gone.

Where was Lucien? Azriel remembered that Lucien was to go with you. Where was he?

He had to be dead because if he were alive and you were missing, Azriel would kill him himself.

“Lucien,” Azriel spoke, his voice rough, interrupting the conversation he had not been part of.

“What?” Rhysand asked.

But Cassian ignored his High Lord’s confusion. “She was never bringing Lucien,” he growled, throwing his brother a sneer. “She only said that to make sure you went on your date. I told her I should’ve come. I told her—”

Azriel had lost his breath. He was grappling for it, trying to make sense of Cassian’s words as his lungs began to burn, but you wouldn’t do that, would you? Why would you lie to him? Over something like this?

“Cassian, enough,” Azriel gasped, the buzzing of his brother’s voice a constant barrier in the losing battle within his head. “Who’s looking for her? Where should we go?”

Azriel was dressed in a ridiculous button-up shirt with slacks that now felt too tight on his legs. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms and his shadows took advantage of the open space, trailing up to protect him from nothing. Because nothing was here—he wasn’t in danger.

You were.

Azriel had only gotten through drinks with Elain before the call from his High Lord sent him into the sky. He couldn’t remember if he apologized. Azriel’s shoes were pinching his feet.

“I had just lost connection with her when I called you. I sent her to the northeast camp. There’s a possibility that—”

Azriel was traveling through the shadows, darkness consuming him before Rhysand could finish his sentence. He should have grabbed Cassian for backup, but that was a thought Azriel would only have much, much later.

His mind was on you—only on you.

That wasn’t unnatural for Azriel; you were one of the most important people in his life and you had been in trouble before. Life-threatening, war-induced trouble, but somehow, this felt different.

You had been distant lately.

Azriel had noticed, but Azriel had also been so zeroed in on getting Elain’s attention that he figured he would have time to check on you in a few weeks.

When he landed in the camp, the foreboding quiet made him consider that he might never get to check on you again. Illyrian camps were never quiet. There was always shouting or fighting or nagging mothers getting after their young. But the insects in the bushes could be heard in this camp, and Azriel paused amid his racing heart to make sense of the noise.

And then he heard the scream.

Your scream.

And he was running.

His shoes groaned as they pounded into soft dirt and you screamed again. Azriel had never heard that sound come from you. The way it erupted into the air—it was as if it was ripped from your throat, evoked from nothing but agony.

He pushed himself harder, faster, until the screams became closer and a small hut materialized on the horizon. The image of the quaint house brought Azriel relief, but that relief was short-lived because your screams had become tired in his journey. With each step, your voice broke more and more and Azriel didn’t even feel angry.

The rage he expected to feel was consumed by the terror that gripped him.

He ripped open the door and that terror only increased tenfold.

Azriel was usually focused during battle, his mind razor-sharp. He was known for calculating every step, for remembering each life he took, and being able to recount each slice of his blade when asked for a report days later. Azriel was a warrior and a spy.

But Azriel could not remember his actions.

From the moment he opened the door and found you on the ground, surrounded by enemies and so broken, he lost the ability to calculate anything other than death.

He figured a few must have gotten away because he vaguely registered that the door made a sound. But over the screams, that sound was inconsequential, and with the image of you before him, lying in your blood, chest only minutely rising and falling, everything else was inconsequential.

He only remembered that the rage finally found him.

Only when bodies littered the floor did the anger make way for the visceral fear that came with reaching for you—grabbing you as you let out small, weak sounds and took labored breaths.

“Y/n?” Azriel stressed, eyes roving over your figure with haste that his hands couldn't match. He had to be careful; so much of you was broken. “Y/n,” he spoke again, as if the echo of your name would somehow fix you, snap you out of the hurt.

Azriel’s breath quivered. His scarred hands hovered over your skin now, afraid to touch you more than to bring you into his arms. His fingers shook. Your wings—it was your wings.

“You’re okay,” Azriel affirmed, whispering only to himself. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Salt tainted the surface of his tongue, and Azriel then recognized that he was crying. Fat, heavy tears blurred his vision and fell into his mouth as he repeated his mantra into the stagnant air.

Your wings looked beyond repair. When Hybern destroyed Cassian’s, the roots remained. The delicate flesh was burned and torn, but regrowth was still feasible.

Only small pieces of the membrane along your back remained.

Azriel’s soul wept.

You groaned, and Azriel stopped his inspection of your back, his hands brushing your hair off from where it stuck to your skin.

“Y/n?” he tried again. “Can you hear me? I’m—I’m going to bring you home, okay? You’re going to be fine, I promise.”

He shouldn’t have promised that. His voice broke as he spoke the words and Azriel knew he shouldn’t have promised that because you only let out a broken rendition of ‘my wings?’ that Azriel had no response to. He only squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to your temple before shadows consumed him once more. They had been rampaging around the pair, whispering worried, angry words in Azriel’s ear, but they remained faithful.

They brought you home.

Mor screamed first.

He assumed everyone would be out looking for you, but Azriel hadn’t broken the connection to Rhysand’s mind, and they had been expecting him. His family stood before him as your blood stained the rug of his High Lord’s favorite sitting room. Rhysand was missing, gone to retrieve Madja, but Azriel was only looking for those he knew could help you.

His throat caught on air as he frantically searched for Feyre in the room. When he saw her wide eyes, he let out a desperate, “Help her,” that sounded nothing like him. His High Lady’s shoulders rose and fell with hurried panic as she came forward and then hesitated.

Azriel heard someone vomit in the corner of the room—Cassian, he thought—and Mor came to kneel beside him.

“Feyre,” he sobbed. “Please. Please, try.”

Mor was crying. Cassian had wiped his mouth and come to stand beside Feyre, but everyone was too afraid to touch you. You rested in Azriel’s arms, but even his palms remained face up and did not connect with your skin. He would break you more, he was sure of it. Your wings bent at odd angles and hung from your body by only tethered threads and no one knew what to do.

Azriel thought that dying would be better than this.

His button-up was stained red.

“Fuck.” Rhysand’s voice rattled the air in the House. At some point, Feyre had broken her hesitancy and kneeled before you, a gentle glow emitting from her hands as she tried to stitch together the broken remains of your skin. When her mate appeared with the elder healer, she turned wild eyes towards him. Rhysand stood frozen, mimicking each person in the room, but he was the High Lord—a composed leader—so his reverie lasted only seconds before he was sent into action.

“The table,” Rhysand demanded. “Lay her on the table.”

No one moved.

Azriel couldn’t stop looking at you.

Madja then spoke, no, demanded, “Now.”

The table was cleared, everything swiped to the floor with abandon. As gently as he could, Azriel rose from the floor on shaking legs and heaved you up with him, offering soft apologies as you cried out. He wished you would pass out from the pain, be free of it all, but the agonizing reality that you might not wake up struck him harder.

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” he whispered against your hair. His body ached. Azriel leaned you against the table as the other members of his family turned you on your stomach. He kneeled to meet your lidded gaze, your face pressed against the wood. “Madja’s going to fix it, okay?”

The healer was giving orders—Cassian to get water, Mor to support your head, Feyre for support. It was all a buzz in Azriel’s ears. He licked his lips and tried to meet your eyes, but they were trailing off, unfocused.

“Y/n?” he tried. “Angel?” A name he had dropped once Elain came into the picture. Your lashes fluttered. His attention peaked. “It’s okay, angel. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry—”

Azriel was torn from his position on the ground, a heavy hand shoving him up and against the wall. His shadows remained caressing your skin, but a fist met Azriel's face and he lost sight of you.

“This is your fault.”

“Cassian!” Mor called, desperately pleading with no one.

“It is,” Cassian seethed, his arm pressed to the Shadowsinger’s throat. “If he hadn’t been searching for something with a woman not even meant to be his, he would have been there. She would have said anything to ensure your happiness. Anything, Azriel.”

Azriel blinked and Cassian’s face was inches from his own. “I didn’t—”

“You have been blinded, brother. You’ve been blind for years and now this is the price.”

“I don’t—what are you saying?” Azriel pleaded, trying and failing to look over Cassian’s broad wings to catch a glimpse of you.

“Cassian, this is not the time,” Mor scolded, but the anguish burned so deeply in Cassian’s eyes that Azriel could tell he wasn’t hearing her.

“She gave you everything,” his brother continued. “She—”

Your scream punctuated the building tension in the room. Cassian whipped around and Azriel used the opportunity to shove him away, the Shadowsinger racing to your side once again. But, once again, he was pushed away. Rhysand held his shoulder back this time, shaking his head with a furrowed brow.

The screams echoed in the room and they hurt.

They hurt everyone.

Feyre and Mor stood beside Madja, the three of them set to the fruitless task of saving your wings. A small part of Azriel spoke the truth that they were also just trying to save you. You had lost so much blood and he still knew nothing of your other injuries.

“Rhys,” Azriel begged, beseeching him with his gaze.

But Rhysand only shook his head once more. “They need the space.”

“She needs me.”

Cassian scoffed and ground his jaw, but a glance in the general’s direction found only tears and the quivering of his lips as he pressed them together.

“You need to let them work.”

“This is my fault,” Azriel spoke, his tone dead, lost within the echo of your screams. “I was seeing Elain,” he admitted. He met Rhysand’s eyes. “You told me not to. She lied so I could go.”

Rhysand didn’t even look disappointed. He didn’t look surprised. He only ticked his jaw to the side and breathed deeply through his nose as your screams filled the room once more.

Azriel flinched. The soles of his shoes were caked with blood and cracked along the stitches.

Rhysand would have the right to be angry. He had the right to send Azriel away and force him to sit in uncertainty and the consequences of the night, but Rhysand found something familiar in the Shadowsinger’s eyes—something different. Something that Rhysand could find in himself if he were to search his mind from the night he thought Feyre to be dead.

Impossible, the High Lord assumed, but you were still screaming and there was no time to inspect the intricacies of Azriel’s reaction.

So Rhysand only held back the maelstrom of his own emotions, his sister broken on the table just feet from him, and kept his response to that of a leader.

“Let them work, Azriel.”

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel angst

1K notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 5 months ago

Text

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL ♡

pairing: homelander x fem!reader

summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)

wc: 7.7k (oops lol)

a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33

At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.

It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.

That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.

However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.

He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.

"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.

Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.

"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.

Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.

"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.

He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.

"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"

Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.

"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."

He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.

The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.

You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.

Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.

Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers.

"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.

After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.

"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.

"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."

"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.

"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.

"I will," you agreed.

"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.

His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.

To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.

She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.

He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.

Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.

"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.

"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.

"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.

With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.

Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.

Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.

You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.

Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.

"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.

"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."

A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.

"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.

"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."

It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.

"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."

You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded. "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."

"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm.

His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.

He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.

"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.

His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.

You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.

"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.

He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.

It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.

When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...

Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.

But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.

"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.

"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.

You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.

At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.

"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.

You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.

He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.

The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him.

In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.

"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.

"It's... impressive," you answered.

But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him.

Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.

"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.

He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.

"No fear of heights?" he asked.

"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.

"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.

You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.

He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"

You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.

"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.

"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.

Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.

He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.

"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.

You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."

He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.

"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."

"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.

"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.

"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.

"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."

A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."

His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.

"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."

Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.

"You're still nervous," he observed.

In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.

"A little," you admitted.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

You shook your head without even thinking about the question.

"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."

"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.

You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.

"What?" you asked.

A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."

As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.

"That's better," he said.

With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.

They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.

"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.

Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.

"Yes," you responded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.

You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

"Yes," you whispered again.

"What did she tell you?"

It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.

"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.

"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.

"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.

"That's one word for it," he said.

"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.

He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.

His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.

He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.

"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.

On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.

"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.

He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.

"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.

At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.

Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.

That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.

"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.

He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.

His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."

You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.

"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"

"But nothing," he cut you off.

"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.

"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.

"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."

He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.

"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."

You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.

"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.

"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."

One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.

"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.

"That no one gets in your way."

"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."

That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.

Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.

The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.

He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.

"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."

Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.

You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.

Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.

He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.

His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.

Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.

After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.

He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.

Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.

"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.

His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.

He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.

"Do you want to touch?" he asked.

You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.

"Ask," he commanded.

"Please can I touch you?" you said.

"Please what?"

"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"

"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."

You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.

Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.

"Stand up and do it right," he said.

"Sorry."

The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.

Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.

You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.

You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.

"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.

He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.

"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.

You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.

It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.

His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.

"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."

There was no hesitation on your end this time around.

"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.

He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.

"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.

Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath.

You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.

He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.

Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.

"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you agreed.

"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.

He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.

With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.

"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.

His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.

Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.

You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.

Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.

"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.

"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."

He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.

"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."

"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.

"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.

You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.

"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.

Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.

"Say it," he huffed.

You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.

"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.

"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.

He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.

You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.

Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.

Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.

"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."

You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.

"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."

He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.

Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.

"My sweet little pet. All mine now."

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander x y/n #homelander smut #the boys x you #the boys x reader #the boys smut #ch: homelander 💌

2K notes · View notes

long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 1 year ago

Text

DPXDC prompt. Dead on main. Singer! Phantom x Red Hood!Jason

Laws are easily changed if businessmen smell money.

Paulina and Sam suggest Danny to try to become a singer in order to change society's opinion about ghosts a little. In the end, the otherworldly sound of his voice can at least be used for the benefit of Realms.

And it seems like the Everlasting Trio is really liked by the public. At first they just release a few songs (Exams kill, Battle with myself, What an Autopsy Won't Show, Among the stars). But a mysterious atmosphere mixed with understandable teenage problems begins to take over teens playlists. Their fans want more and more.

So, when under the pressure of the public and profit-hungry bigwigs all bans on the presence of ecto creatures in the United States are lifted, the Trio goes on their first Tour.

~~~~~

Jason stumbles upon Phantom's songs completely by accident. It was painful to hear them for the first time but at the same time it was as if he could breathe again because he had found someone similar. Someone who understands, and who doesn't judge him for coming back wrong. Jason listens to his voice on repeat and the rage seems to recede and subside. There is sadness of loss and fear in the songs but most of them end bringing some hope and this thought gives Red Hood more strength not to break down for another day. and then another, and another..And one day, the green eyes in the mirror do not scare Jason but shows him that he belonging to something more. Todd can't explain it more precisely, but it was as if the waters of Lazarus inside him had calmed down and he was no longer enemies with them. He even jokes with Tim that he is finally rest in peace and ready to live a full undead life when his brother (God, his lil brother whom he wanted to hurt recently because of his own stupidity), asks him about his strange behavior.

~~~~~

Jason forgets how to breathe again. His favorite band, and most importantly his favorite vocalist, is coming to Gotham with a concert. For many years now, none of the nonresidents have dared to take such a risk, but it seems like Phantom has absolutely no instinct for self-preservation. Well, as a true fan, Red Hood will do his best so that none of the gothamites spoil the Trio's impression of their first concert here. Danny is beside himself with excitement. Their concert in the hometown of the Red Hood was approved. Of course, there is no chance that he would be able to meet such a busy vigilante but Phantom continues to dream. If he'll fly a little over the city instead of sleeping after rehearsals, maybe he'll get an autograph from at least one member of the bat clan.

~~~~~ Phantom: Thank you very much Mr. Nightwing sir. Just sign it for.. Nightwing: For a Phantom, right? Huh, I recognized you, my brother has poster in his room. Nice hairstyle by the way. Danny*urgently*: Which one of them?

Nightwing: Jeez, and I thought it was just a stage image. Ghosts are kinda creepy. Terribly persistent, to be precise. And yeah, Jason, he absolutely not against you as a vigilante. You can safely ask Phantom to sign your helmet, I promise. Man was so happy when find out you're listening to his songs, you have no idea.

Jason *holds out a hand*. Nightwing: What? Jason: If you dared to meet Phantom before me, then where is my autograph? Nightwing: Em..oops? I gave him mine if it helps.

Jason: *sounds of an angry lazarus demon*.

#dpxdc prompts #dpxdc prompt #dpxdc crossover #dpxdc au #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dead on main #dpxdc memes #danny x jason

5K notes · View notes

slowburningechoes · 2 months ago

Text

office hours

Summary: After an unforgettable night, Wilson just can't seem to get his mind off you. It's a good thing you work at the same hospital, but it's too bad House is next door... right? (as promised @chardalton & @the-ultimate-obsessive-fangirl !!!)

Pairing: James Wilson (House, MD) x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: 18+ content (NSFW/NSFM) - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT / semi-secret relationship (only from House), inappropriate workplace behavior, semi-public sex, brief sexting, office sex, thigh riding, fingering, female ejaculation, secret lingerie, desk sex, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), breeding

Word Count: 5.4k

Inspired by: this post

Here is a link to ao3 if that is your preferred platform.

It was midday when Wilson’s text came through: Charting is killing me. I could use a break... preferably with you on my lap. My office. Now.

You glance at your phone as you wait by the nurse’s station for your next psych consult. The directness of his request makes your cheeks flush as you shift your phone from the threat of any prying eyes.

You move to lean against a wall (where you’re sure no one will see) and quickly type your response: You really know how to give orders, don’t you? Good thing I’m not feeling too disobedient today, I’m on my way.

When he calls your name to enter after you knock, you can tell from the strained tone in his voice he’s feeling impatient. As you let yourself into his office, it becomes even more apparent. Wilson’s hands are tapping across his desk and his facial features are even more defined from the tension in his jaw.

“Did you need a consult, Dr. Wilson?” you tease, tilting your head and batting your eyes.

There had been numerous “consults” between Wilson and you since started secretly seeing each other about three months ago and dating for the last month. House had only recently begun to get suspicious, but, of course, you’d already covered your bases, informing Cuddy and having a quiet chat with HR, just to stay ahead of things.

“Oh, hush,” he groans, his tone flirtatious but laden with desire. “Come here, darling.” Raising a finger and curling it, he beckons you over.

You obliged without hesitation, happily prancing over to meet him behind his desk.

As your message had said, you really weren’t in a disobedient mood today, though you did like to be bratty on most occasions. All day you’d been daydreaming about last night — how Wilson had devoured your pussy like a man starved before fucking you senseless in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. Admittedly, you had been wet all day, pressing your legs together desperately, trying your best to focus on clinic duty… but the images always slipped in, corrupting your mind and making you throb with need.

“You’re being awfully cooperative today, aren’t you?” Wilson smirked, caressing his hands over your hips, which were level with his face as he sat in his office chair.

You nod eagerly, biting your lip in an attempt to conceal the depth of desire you’ve been holding onto all day.

“That’s so unlike you,” Wilson hummed, voice coaxing. “Have you been thinking about me, angel?”

He senses your restraint and places a soft kiss on the sensitive spot near the crease of your thigh, the one he knows drives you wild.

A sigh escaped you and your admission slipped out, breathless, “Yes… fuck, yes. It’s been driving me insane all day.”

“I thought so,” Wilson grinned at your confession before adding his own, hands roaming across your torso, but one moving to grip your ass firmly, pulling you closer.

“I’ve been thinking about you, too. Trying to do all this damn paperwork…,” a small grunt comes from his throat. “It’s so hard to concentrate when all I can think about is this.” His hand runs up the back of your thigh, bunching up your skirt, fingers sliding under the sides of your panties.

Your skin practically aches under his touch, desperate for any contact it can get. Breathlessly, you moan his name, “J-James…”

“I can’t stop remembering how beautiful you looked last night — my dick buried so deep in you… hair all messy, your mouth gaping open, crying for me…,” Wilson whispers with need, pulling you onto his lap in one fluid motion. You were straddling his thigh, your back flush against his chest, reminiscent of how you were positioned against him as he completely ruined you in front of the mirror last night. “I know it’s only been half a day, but I couldn’t wait anymore…I had to get my hands on my gorgeous girl.”

You rest your head back against his shoulder, the heat between you undeniable as you roll your hips down into his thigh, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his neck. “Then touch me, please,” you whisper, voice thick with need.

Wilson’s groan is low and strained as his hands slide underneath your skirt, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your underwear. His touch is gentle, savoring every second of this tension between you. As he traces the intricate rose-patterned lace beneath his fingers, he stops suddenly.

“Oh?” His voice cracks slightly, full of surprise and lust, the weight of his discovery heavy in the air. “You’re wearing these… here?”

A rush of heat flooded through you, your body responding to the thrill of the secret you’d been carrying all day. You knew exactly what they would do to him when you chose them this morning. The sultry red lace, a cheeky cut pair of panties he nearly tore off you the first time you wore them.

Wilson's fingers begin to move once again, dancing across the meshed fabric before flattening against you

"You really walked around all day like this?" His voice is thick with disbelief and hunger as he lifts up the back of your skirt to reveal the trail of red trim that perfectly curves against your ass cheeks. Wilson muttered a few unintelligible words to himself before releasing a pained groan, “You sat across from me in this morning’s consultation, acted completely normal, while you had these on underneath? Knowing what they do to me?" His fingers press slightly harder against your still-clothed core, lace straining beneath his touch, applying enough pressure you can’t help but gasp.

You bite your lip, catching your breath before nodding earnestly. "I thought about telling you," you admit teasingly, rolling down into him again, your body aching for more friction. "But it was much more fun wondering if you knew."

He presses his thigh against the motion of your hips, almost as if he were answering your request. You feel his desire grow beneath you, making your throbbing need intensify. Wilson’s lips linger just below your ear, voice low and deep, “God, I should’ve known. You kept shifting in your seat, crossing your legs too tightly… I almost asked if something was wrong.”

You smirk, leaning into him until your neck meets his lips, “And if I had told you?”

He places a desperate kiss against your throat before lightly grazing it with his teeth, his hand finally sliding beneath the waistband of your panties. “I would’ve had you in here with the door locked before my first patient. I can’t believe you’ve been this wet for me all day.”

Wilson’s digits don’t hesitate to find your core, sliding between your folds and making small circles against your bundle of nerves. His touch electrifies your senses, sending shock waves through your body, hardening your nipples and making your clit pulsate, desperate for more contact. As his fingers dip between your labia, teasing your entrance, a pleasurable moan escapes your lips (louder, admittedly, than you had expected) in the heat of the moment.

“Shhhh,” Wilson warned, quickly bringing his free hand to clasp over your parted lips, muffling the sound of your moan. “You better stay quiet, doll,” he purred in your ear, the heat of his breath nearly distracting you from his fingers dipping into your heat, testing your restraint. “We wouldn’t want House hearing next door, now would we?”

You smirk underneath his touch, the threat of House discovering you both this way making you ache with need even more. But you can feel from the way his breath hitches, the way his hands tremble slightly against your mouth, and his twitching bulge beneath you, that the thought excites him too.

“Naughty girl,” he hummed, his smirk evident in his voice as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His teeth scraped lightly over your pulse before he soothing the slight sting with his tongue. “You really get off on it, don’t you? Seeing just how much you can get away with before someone realizes just how bad you really are.”

A pitiful near-whine of “uh huh” is all you can manage as you buck your hips into his hand, his fingers now finding their rhythm pumping in and out of you. The pleasure was already overwhelming, but all you could think about was wanting more. More of his touch. More of that very unprofessional dirty talk flowing from his lips. More of whatever he had to give you.

Wilson obliged without the request even leaving your mind, curling his fingers inside you and mindlessly beginning to press his bulge harder against you, soft grunts falling from his lips The circular motion of his thumb against your clit made your entire lower half numb with warm pleasure, forcing you to bite down on your lower lip hard to stifle the urge to cry out like you had the night before.

"You sat across from me today, acted so damn composed, knowing full well what you had on underneath," Wilson continues, voice tense and thick with the last bit of his restraint. "Now, you’re on my lap making such a mess, hoping that House will hear on the other side of that wall — aren’t you?” His fingers are still curled inside of you, picking up their pace until you feel pressure grow in your abdomen.

Heat floods your face as Wilson makes clear he knows exactly what you were thinking about.“I - I like that he could hear,” you admit, voice trembling with arousal as your clit and inner thighs begin to flood with heat. As you continue, you are practically babbling, mind consumed with numbing pleasure. Wilson’s fingers had found your most sensitive spot, knocking it over and over with just the right amount of force in his fingertips. “K-knowing that he could hear everything — how badly I need you. How good you make me feel. Him knowing what you do to me, how dirty I am — fuck...”

Your tangent comes to a halt as you feel your orgasm crash into you, one that was more intense than any you had experienced before. The pressure that had built inside of you was heavy and nearly painful, but the relief that washed over you as you released on his fingers was mind numbing. You rode out your climax on his fingers with a recklessness that was unfamiliar to you, driven by a hedonistic bliss that was desperate and raw. The satisfaction you felt made your entire body feel like it was on fire and — for once in your life — your mind was completely blank, drunk on some kind of animalistic ecstasy.

“Jesus Christ,” Wilson groans, his large hands on each of your ass cheeks, pushing you up to the edge of his thigh. “You just squirted all over me. Damn, t-that’s so hot…” He stares at his now-soaked slacks and your swollen pussy with wide-eyed admiration.

His trance is broken when you gasp, your sore clit grazing his knee, sending a shock of pleasurable pain through your upper thighs. Responding tentatively with care, Wilson brings you back to rest flush against his chest, pressing multiple tender kisses to your flushed cheek. “You did such a good job, darling. You were perfect, as always.”

Every part of your body is sensitive as he caresses your body, fingers dancing up and down your torso causing bumps to rise along your skin.

“But I hope you don’t think we’re done here, angel,” Wilson whispers teasingly, still gently caressing his fingers through your hair. “You nearly made me cum in my pants… and now, I want House to hear just how pretty you sound taking my cock.”

You whimper in response as your body melts into his touch, every muscle softening as he moves you to bend over the edge of his desk. It’s as if you’ve forgotten how to hold yourself up, hot cheek pressed against the cool wood as he hikes your skirt up around your hips and spreads your legs open for him. He pulls your panties down your thighs with careless want, the lace scratching against your skin before the fabric catches at your knees.

Wilson groaned at the sight of you laid out before him, completely pliant under his hands. His fingers trailed down the curve of your spine, slow and deliberate, savoring the way you shivered at his touch.

“Look at you,” he hums, voice thick with hungry admiration. His thumbs press into your hips, holding you in place as he leans in, lips ghosting over your ear. “So sensitive… needy… gorgeous...”

Wilson’s fingers are flat against you again, coaxing your body to open until all you can do is surrender under his touch. Your breath hitches as you feel Wilson’s swollen tip line up with your entrance perfectly before gliding through your folds, causing your pussy to instinctually clench around nothing. There is a deep wanting ache inside of you that hated his teasing, but your body numb with pleasure, could find no reason to complain, reacting with small jumps every time he brushed against your clit.

As you process the pleasure you feel as he continues to slide his cock through your slickness, Wilson’s left hand comes down to grip your ass firmly. Before you can process his touch, he releases his hold, only to apply a stinging slap that motivates a breathy cry to escape your lips. You were shocked at first, he had never spanked you before — even when you were being bratty — but the sharp burning made you become even more wet and desperate for him to fill you.

Wilson’s fingers brushed the warm, flushed skin of your backside. “Guess you really weren’t in the mood to be disobedient today,” the tone of approval in his voice made your clit throb harder. “So good for me… letting me take control like this. Letting me do whatever I want.”

You try to form a response, your mind still hazy and body trembling, but the words escape you. All that comes out is a soft, shaky (and admittedly, pitiful) whimper. You can feel Wilson grin from behind you, his confidence thick in the already charged air.

“Normally, I love that bratty nature of yours,” he chuckles softly, lining himself back up with your entrance. “You’re always so sassy, testing me, ready with some biting comeback. But this…,” Wilson groaned, finally pressing his cock into you at (a still) painfully slow pace, “...seeing you speechless, so fucked out of your mind already… it’s doing something to me.”

As he bottomed out inside of you, you couldn’t help but moan, a sound coming out that was some attempt at his name. You had already come to know how wonderfully Wilson stretched you, but this heat from your first orgasm made you feel as if you were melting around him, perfectly molding against every vein ridge of his dick.

Wilson began to move, thrusting in and out of you with small breathy grunts accompanying each movement. His hands braced against your hips, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh. You could feel his gaze drinking you in, flickering between your pussy gripping him and the expression on your face — cheeks rosy, lips slightly parted, and eyes heavy-lidded, rolling back every time he sank into you.

For the first time in your slew of inappropriate work rendezvous, you didn’t (and truly, couldn’t) hold back the noises that escaped your lips, one cry coming out as some semblance of his name. Wilson’s tip hit against your cervix with the perfect amount of pressure, tapping it just firm enough that you nearly felt it in your stomach.

Your sounds made Wilson twitch inside of you, prompting him to pause briefly to keep himself from coming undone entirely.

With a low groan, he leaned forward, his chest flush against your back and his lips hovering beside your ear. “Think House is sitting in there, pretending he doesn’t hear how wrecked you sound?” Wilson whispered, an almost mocking tone in his voice. His words send a chill of pleasure down your spine, as his hand comes up to wrap around your throat, pulling you from the desk, your back flat against his heaving chest. He continues, words still against your ear,“Or do you think he’s listening… really listening — wondering what I’m doing to make you come apart like this?”

The thought makes you gasp, the sound echoing , His fingers pressed slightly harder against the sides of your throat as you did. You clench around him, responding in absent-minded pleasure. “J-James,” is all you can whimper.

The idea of House, himself, hearing wasn’t what turned you on — it was the delicious anticipation of him discovering that his careful sensitive friend had completely lost control. The idea of Wilson, usually so measured and cautious, now completely undone, taking you raw, right here on his desk in the middle of the day, was intoxicating. It wasn’t just the thrill of it; it was the satisfaction of knowing you were the one who’d made him forget himself, made him lose his usual restraint. The tension between his normally composed, loyal nature and the raw, reckless abandon he was giving you sent a rush of heat through your veins, knowing it was all because of you. He’d never imagined being so reckless, and yet, here you were, the cause of his unraveling once again.

Wilson’s thrusts were becoming increasingly more sloppy, rutting into you at an uneven and needy rhythm. “God — you look so damn gorgeous, Y/N… letting me have you like this in the middle of the day…” his voice was breathy, trembling just like his legs as he fought to hold onto his control. “Y-you’re perfect… shit — you feel so, so good, my little secret… I - I can’t…” You thought it was so cute — how he always started to ramble when he was close to cumming, every bit of sense escaping him.

A deep, shuddering moan came from his lips, hand dropping down from your throat, fingers digging into your hips, holding you against him like he never wanted to let go. Wilson’s cock delved deeper within you, so deep it was nearly painful as his hardening tip hit against your cervix with relentless fervor.

You whimper at the sound of his voice, the sensation of his touch consuming you. “James, baby…” You felt close to the edge again, a familiar knot building within the pit of your stomach. “I-I’m about to…”

Wilson cuts you off with agreement,“I know, angel… me too.” His voice is rough, strained as he presses a gentle, reassuring kiss to your neck. “Let go for me,” he murmurs, nearly pleading, lips ghosting over your ear, breaths hot and uneven. “Come on, sweetheart… let me feel you cum on my cock, please.”

The way he says it, the way he’s holding you so tightly but with so much care — it’s all too much. Your body seizes, that coiling heat in your stomach rushing down your shaking thighs. “F-fuck…” A sharp, broken cry spilled from your lips as pleasure crashed over you. You didn’t care who heard at that point - House, Cuddy, anyone. Wilson groaned in response, as if the sound alone was enough to undo him… and it practically did.

His movements stuttered as your walls clenched around him, only to find euphoric relief as you became so soft and open for him. He was following closely behind you, hips thrusting once more until a guttural, shuddering moan tearing from his throat and you felt him release inside of you. He buried his face against your shoulder, forehead beaded with sweat and his whole body weak as he let go, completely and utterly undone.

Neither of you moves for a long moment, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure. Your breath is still coming in shallow gasps as you cling to him, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat slowing against your back. You both rest, regaining some composure in your muscles before breaking apart from one another.

Wilson presses a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your neck. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

“Then keep taking me, James,” You hum, leaning into his touch, your fingers finding their way through his soft and, now, thoroughly tousled hair. He continues to place kisses along your neck as you speak. “Keep taking me like this, over and over… take all of me, until you’re completely satisfied… until you’ve had every part of me.”

“Oh, I’ll take all of you, sweetheart,” he assured, voice still rich with lust. His hands roam over your body once more, possessive and gentle at the same time, savoring the feel of your skin beneath his touch. “But I’m not going to let you forget how much you want me to… I’m going to take you until you’re lost in me. Until every part of you is completely mine.” His hands drift lower, his fingertips teasing as they glide across your skin, making your body hum with need. “And you’ll beg for it, every time, won’t you?”

“Mhm,” you reply, feeling the tension build inside of you once more. Just as you begin to beg him to spread you open again, reality creeped back in — the cool air against your heated skin, the quiet ticking of the clock, and the ever-present threat of someone walking in. A frustrated sigh escapes you as your fingers slid over his hand, which was cupping your breast, pressing it there for just a second longer before reluctantly stilling him. The disappointment of having to stop was palpable, a slow, burning ache lingering between you.

Wilson shifted behind you, groaning as he peeled himself away from your warmth. “We should… probably make ourselves look decent.”

You stifled a giggle, watching him blush at the realization of what had just transpired. “Mmm, you think?”

His lips quirk as he reaches for his crumpled dress shirt. “Unless you want House walking in and figuring out why my tie is missing and my pants are all soaked.”

You adjust your skirt back down over your thighs before blinking quickly, confused. “…Your tie is missing?” When did that happen?

Wilson paused, his brows furrowed, equally as perplexed. His eyes look around the room, groaning when he finds it draped over his desk lamp. “Fantastic.”

Smirking, you remove the fabric and thread it under his collar, hands lingering against his still-heaving chest. Though the tension never left, it was palpable again. Wilson’s heart was thumping so hard in his chest, you could feel it beneath your trembling fingers. His eyes, gentler and warmer now, were still filled with lust and need as they admired you make the first loop of the tie knot.

The pulse of desire within the air, however, was so rudely interrupted by the unmistakable rap of a cane against the doorframe. Your heart skips, the rush of heat between your legs suddenly replaced by a sharp jolt of anxiety.

Wilson’s face falls, hand lingering on the edge of your hip, trying to hold onto the moment before reality rushes back in. You can feel his body tense as a whispered huff escapes him. “Damn it…”

House’s voice filtered through, ladened with an undeniably smug amusement. “Wilson! Open up or I start taking bets on what exactly I just heard…” Two more sharp taps from his cane shook the door. “My money is on ‘reckless desk defilement’, but I’m sure that Cuddy might have more creative ideas.”

A look of exasperation was plastered across Wilson’s face, eyes already rolling in annoyance as he reluctantly removed his hands from your side. As he moved to grasp the knob, he groaned in defeat, turning it until the lock clicked in release.

House didn’t let a second pass, stepping just inside the doorway with his usual aura of casual arrogance. He leaned against his cane, gaze flickering across the scene, taking in Wilson’s still undone tie, your messy hair, typically neatly placed desk accessories along the floor, and the undeniable tension that still electrified the air.

“Well, well,” he began, his lips slowly twisting into a cocky grin, “it seems I should have taken those bets. Could’ve made quite a bit of cash.”

“House —,” Wilson started, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying his best to regather a sense of control.

“Oh, dont ‘House’ me,” came the sing-song reply, teasing thick in House’s voice. “I heard everything… but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You couldn’t deny that his acknowledgement of your recent activities made your core ache in some sick way. Your muscles stiffened, fingers wrapping tightly around the edge of the desk as you felt your cheeks burn. You were enjoying this more than you thought you would.

“Tsk, tsk, Wilson,” House drawled, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment. “I expected better from you. Mid-day debauchery in your office? Highly unprofessional.” He smirked. “And here I thought you were all about romance.”

“House, please,” Wilson groaned, dragging a hand down his face, blocking his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not judging,” House interrupted, waving a hand to stop him from continuing. “If anything, I’m impressed.” His gaze slid to you, eyes glittering with mischief. “And you, didn’t take you for an exhibitionist, but judging by that glow…” he gave a slow nod of approval, “you enjoyed this.”

A slow heat crawled up your neck, but you refused to flinch. Instead, you tilted your head, feigning consideration as your cheeks grew flushed. “Maybe.”

House let out a sharp, delighted laugh. “Oh, I like her, Wilson. Try to keep this one?”

“Can we please just skip to why you’re here?” Wilson begged, voice crackly just slightly, painfully embarrassed that his best friend and girlfriend were having such an exchange.

House gave him a pointed look. “Oh, I actually do have a reason other than just confronting your kinky lunchtime rendezvous.” House leaned against his cane, grinning. “Cuddy’s looking for you. Says it’s urgent.”

Panicked questions fell from Wilson’s lips with urgency, “What? Why?”

House’s grin turned wolfish. “Could be about a case… hmmmm, could also be about the very audible display of workplace misconduct that echoed through the halls.” He rubbed his chin. “Really, it’s a toss-up.”

Your boyfriend let out an exasperated sigh, “Fantastic.”

“Wilson,” House said, moving towards the door as he motioned to Wilson’s chest and leg with his cane. “You might want to check a mirror before you go. You still look…” His piercing blue eyes flicked toward you. “Ravished.”

Wilson shot him a murderous glare but didn’t argue, running a hand through his already-messy hair in a feeble attempt at damage control.

House clapped his hands together, proudly pressing them against his lips. “God, this just made my entire week.”

You rolled your eyes, smoothing your skirt. “Try not to enjoy this too much.”

“Oh, don’t worry… I am.” House said teasingly. “The best part is.. it’s our little secret now…”

Wilson’s face grew more red, hot with embarrassment and anger. But with that comment, House strolled out, casually whistling away as if he was innocent to anything that had just occurred.

Wilson exhaled slowly as he fell back into his office chair. “I am going to kill him.”

You grinned sheepishly, stepping closer to him “Later.” Your fingers brushed his collar before continuing to adjust his tie. “Right now, you should probably focus on looking less like a man who just fucked someone senseless.”

“You’re not making that very easy,” he insisted as your lips grazed the skin beside his collar, nibbling lightly on his earlobe.

“That’s too bad,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, “because I’m about to make it even worse.”

“Oh?” Wilson said, suspicion and interest laced in his voice.

You stepped back slightly, letting the moment stretch as he watched you with a mixture of curiosity and hunger, breath becoming uneven once again.

Slowly, your fingers skimmed along the hem of your skirt, deliberately teasing. Your lips curved into a wicked grin when you saw his gaze darken at the sight. His breath caught as you slid your hands beneath the fabric, fingertips ghosting over your still-sensitive skin. And then, with unhurried precision, you eased your underwear down your thighs. The deep red lace slipped past your knees, pooling at your ankles.

You stepped out of them with a playful step before gathering the delicate fabric between your fingers and holding them out toward him with a knowing smile.

“Thought you might need a little something to remember me by today,” you murmured, voice rich and teasing.

Wilson’s throat worked as he swallowed, his eyes dark and sharp as they broke from the gift and lifted back to meet yours. He took the lace from your fingers, the brush of skin against skin igniting another spark of anticipation between you. He didn’t say anything at first, rolling the thin material between his fingers before wrapping it in a fist. His expression is nearly unreadable as the silence lingers, jaw tense and lips pressed together tightly.

Then, in a voice low and rough, Wilson spoke, “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Noooo,” you insist sarcastically, smile deepening at his response. “Just trying to make sure you don’t forget me while you’re off being a responsible doctor.”

Wilson exhaled sharply, his free hand gripping the armrest of his chair firmly, visibly struggling to get himself under control. He tucked the lace into the pocket of his dress pants, fingers lingering there for just a moment, as if resisting the urge to bring them to his face, to savor the warmth and scent still lingering on the fabric.

“You do realize what this is going to do to me,” he muttered, warm eyes scanning across your body as you straightened your skirt back down your legs.

His breath hitched as you stepped in even closer, bringing yourself to rest against his still-damp thigh. “That’s the point,” you murmur, voice smooth and sinful. “You’re going to spend the entire day thinking about me. About how I feel when you touch me, about the way I sound when I come undone for you… about the fact that I’m walking around bare beneath my clothes, still full of your cum… and aching for more.”

Wilson groaned deeply, his hand grasping your hip as he attempted to still himself, exhaling hard.

“Jesus, Y/N… you know you’re making it impossible for me to function today, right?” he said, almost like a complaint — but there’s no real protest in his tone, just a quiet, tortured amusement.

Wilson curses under his breath, his hands flexing against his chair again, like he’s a second away from grabbing you again from locking the door and taking you out on the balcony this time. Instead, he tilts his head back slightly, closing his eyes for just a moment, trying to will his restraint back into place.

When he opens them again, his pupils are still blown, voice still rough. “You are so unfair.”

“I like keeping you on your toes.” You pressed a tender kiss to his cheek before moving to stand.

Wilson huffed a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head as he glanced at the clock. “You better be waiting for me when I get home tonight,” he warns, straightening his tie.

“Oh, James,” you smiled confidently as you backed toward the door, his gaze following you with a barely concealed hunger. “I’ll be waiting… but I won’t be patient.”

You let your hand hover over the doorknob for just a moment, savoring the tension and truly, not wanting to leave him. With a slow turn of your head, you glanced at him over your shoulder. He was still in shock, sitting so stiffly, like he didn’t trust himself to move… or simply couldn’t.

You smirk, admiring the devastation you’ve left in your wake. “Oh, and James?” you purred, voice cloyingly soft. “Enjoy your meeting with Cuddy.”

Wilson made a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a curse, running a hand down his face. “You’re evil.”

You took a slow step towards the door, tracing your finger up your thigh, bunching up the cloth just enough to watch his eyes flick down to your legs, reminding him that there was nothing beneath it.

“Have fun,” your voice dripped with amusement as you finally turned the knob to go, winking playfully at him as you skipped into the hallway.

Wilson let out a long breath, so deep it sounded like he had been holding it the entire time. As you stepped out, just before the door clicked shut, you heard him mutter under his breath – half frustration, half admiration — “She’s going to be the death of me.”

#james wilson #dr james wilson #james wilson x reader #james wilson x you #james wilson smut #james wilson fanfiction #house md #house fandom #house fanfiction #house md fandom #house md fanfiction #gregory house #lisa cuddy #slowburningfics #fanfiction #smut #writer #writing

525 notes · View notes

simpjaes · 6 months ago

Note

ELABORATE ON OBSESSED!WORSHIP THE GROUND YOU WALK ON!HOUSEHUSBAND JAKE PLEASE!!!!!! MY MIND IS GONNA EXPLODE – byeol

i'll be the husband jake plug no worries. warnings: jake is suppppppppperrrrrrrr needy omg.

It's normal, natural to him to do these things.

You're so tired after a long day, he gets it. the days feel longer to him sometimes though, despite your tired feet and aching back. You're his wife, he needs you.

So what if he's unemployed? He's employed to you. Will do anything for you. everything for you. happily and willingly, with so much love in his eyes every single fucking time he hears that lock on the door click open.

Time to reiterate. He needs you.

It's been weeks. He gets it. Stress, big promotion you're going for or something. He can't say he cares too much lately due to the neglect he's been dealing with.

After all the cleaning, he massages you, bathes you, tucks you in, kisses you gently, and doesn't dare ask for more from you. After all, you're expected to do so much, from so many people. Not him. Not ever. Until now. He's a man. For three days now he's been trying to remind you. Trying all sorts of subtle tricks. Some blatant ones too. Generous groping that goes rejected. A few heavy makeouts dwindling to a pop kiss and a tired "goodnight." More subtle ones, where he simply tries to dress well for you, clean far better than usual, make your favorite foods. He knows it's not because you don't want him but...you're so stressed. He could kill two birds with one stone if you'd just... "Baby." He had said last night, sinking under the blankets and prying your legs apart. "Just rest, this is all i need." He continued, implying that he would be perfectly happy helping you relax with some bedtime head. You had closed your legs on him, pinching your brows together with the same stressed out face. All day today, his brows have been equally knitted together. Stressed. Fucking horny. Is it cringe for him to do this? Yes. Does he care? No. Fuck no. And so, you come home just like any other day to the smell of dinner. It's sweet smelling, which is an indication that your husband wants something. Never does he serve dessert for dinner, but tonight feels like a welcome change because everything else just started not only feeling, but tasting too mundane. You were more surprised when you werent greeted by Jake at the door. He didn't take your things, or slide your jacket off of you. Which, that's fine. You don't need him to wait on you hand and foot. He just tends to like doing that for you anyway... You search in curiosity for him, following the sound of clanking pots and pans. The sound would give you a headache if it weren't for the image of him as you enter the kitchen. There he is. Hair pinned back with one of your headbands, apron on... only an apron. Cock lending quite a large tent as he turns to you. You know he's trying to smile genuinely, but you see a hint of pain behind his eyes. Desperate pain. Almost like he's begging you for something. Anything. And he is begging. Only when he drops to his knees and looks up at you with those eyes do you recognize how terribly you've been neglecting him. So much so that you didn't even let him eat you out, which wouldn't have expected anything on your part aside from an orgasm. This moment feels almost emasculating for him, you can imagine. Like you've deprived him of everything he needs from you in order to maintain order in this household. Arguably, you have deprived him. You can tell by how big his cock looks peeking from the hem of the apron, and those sad glassy eyes looking at you as if this is a last resort. "Baby, ple-" Jake starts to plead on the floor, the dessert he was cooking long forgotten. You're speechless at the image, finally feeling a tingle between your legs for the first time in months. You feel so apologetic alongside the tingle, realizing how much suffering he must have gone through to be doing this. After all, there's no way in hell you could have satiated this need within you without him. How he's managed to do it all this time is beyond you. ''Jake," You interrupt him, dropping your hands to his cheeks and tilting his face further up to you. "What do you need?" You see those glassy eyes become more tearful, probably from happiness by now. No words and no apologies need to be said at this moment. He sees your realization, and understands the lack of seeing to his needs to an extent. But this... this can't happen again. Nothing is to be said after that when Jake immediately goes for your pants, missing the taste of you so badly. He was right in knowing that even just the smell of you could satiate him. And it does, his cock heavy and leaking just from the sensation of the apron rubbing against him paired with the scent of your pussy that has been long neglected.

And he devours you, getting off at least twice there on the kitchen floor with his palm desperately working himself to each high. You could tell he didn't want you to feel like you needed to do anything for him but...let him. God, fuck, you feel so guilty.

So you make up for it. Right here, sliding down on him raw, letting the mess he's made of himself make a mess of you too.

"Baby, wait-" Jake chokes, working against his words by helping you slide down on him entirely. "Fuck, you're-"

"Shh." You sigh deeply, realizing how much you needed this too. "Just keep going," He does. Fucking you so desperately that you believe he cums in you at least twice from you adjusting alone, messing your thighs with sticky fluids, the kitchen floor, and himself. So much of it, you're so full of it already. Plan B isn't such a difficult thing to buy anyway. Especially after he chooses to keep fucking you, as if he worries he'll never get to do it again.

#enhypen smut #jake smut #sim jaeyun smut #enhypen hard hours

848 notes · View notes

ruinix · 2 months ago

Note

Cock warming with Jack? Pls.

Hello, anon, lovely. Sorry for taking super long. Something took over my keyboard. I apologize if you don’t want a dom-sub dynamic, but I could NOT stop typing. Sorry, Jack got mean. Also, I am not used to writing this dynamic (a problem when my brain cells decided to brew this). We got another bonus here (you can skip it).

Caught

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Masturbation (usage of toy, then mutual), Dom-Sub dynamics (dom!Jack), Cockwarming as punishment, Degradation because Jack is angry -> slight Praise Kink, Unprotected sex (use protection, lovelies), a bit of Aftercare

Count: 3365 + 370 words | Masterlist

You must’ve not heard him. Jack is sure that you didn’t. If you had, you would’ve greeted him with a smile and a kiss while calling his name in such a melodic voice.

If you had, you wouldn’t still be fucking yourself with your head almost handing off one armrest of the couch, with your beautiful lips parted, your breathy moans escaping them, with your legs shaking at the pace you’re going.

If you had, you would just beg for his cock immediately.

If you had, he would just give it to you like he does with everything you possibly want. It wouldn’t matter if a game exhausted the fuck out of him or if he just arrived from a long flight after a road trip—which he did right now. He spoils you rotten.

You want a kiss? He will kiss every inch of your skin until you whine for him to bite.

You want his cock? He’ll let you feel every inch of him until he’s buried so deeply inside you.

You want his handprints on your ass? He’ll make your skin red and raw and bruised that you’ll feel him every time you sit down.

You want to be filled? He will spill every fucking drop inside your pussy until you are spilling around him. Too fucking full of his cum that you worry if he impregnated you.

You want to explore more kinks? He’ll fucking do it until you beg for more.

You touching yourself is fine. It’s hot. He likes it the best when he orders you to make yourself come. He likes the way your delicate fingers circle your clit, rubbing your folds, fucking your pussy. You’re always such a good girl. So you deserve everything including exploring and worshipping yourself—

Then he notices the dildo in your hand.

A dildo.

A fucking dildo. In. His. Pussy.

Worse thing about it, it’shis equipment—bespoke, molded from his cock. However, the dildo is secondary to the huge problem. The biggest bane of this encounter is the fact that you’ve entered the room. You’ve taken the dildo from there.

You are not allowed inside without him for reasons. He wants you safe. He doesn’t want you to use any of his equipment, because it’s not safe. What if you get stuck on the restraints, on the swing, on the inversion table? What if you used the wooden horse without prepping yourself? What if. What if.

He needs you to be safe.

You promised him that you wouldn’t go inside. You promised that you’ll wait for him. You promised. And you broke it. In turn, you’ve defied him and broken his trust.

Everything. He does every fucking thing for you. Simply because you were so obedient. You were his good girl. He was too trusting. Look what that got him. A fucking brat who doesn’t follow simple fucking instructions.

Right now, your image feels like a lie. A mirage that had successfully lured him in with a promise to quench his thirst, to satisfy his needs over his wants, to make him feel whole and alive. A mirage that killed him for its empty promise.

His heart hammers loudly in his chest, making his ears ring, as your leg falls over the couch, your foot immediately planting on the carpeted floor. His throat tightens the more you moan. His eyesight darkens as he notes his fucking dildo you are thrusting in his pussy again and again.

What the fuck is your problem?

He grips the wall, knuckles turning white. He is glaring daggers into your skin. Cursing your audacity, your idiocy, your mistake. Your betrayal.

People are sensitive that they’ll sense a glare on them. Not you. That irks him more.

His anger exponentially rises. His heated blood courses through his veins. His cock twitches, getting harder as your lewd sounds drive him further towards the edge.

“Jack,” you moan, still unaware of his presence, still digging yourself a deeper hole. “Jack, please. Oh, yes, yes.”

Fucking whore. That’s what you are. A bad whore.

It doesn’t matter if it’s his name that spills out of your lips. It doesn’t. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. You’re thinking about him. That clears his mind. You are so beautiful as you continue fucking yourself. It’s basically his cock in your pussy. He swears he can smell you—your arousal, your sweat, your delectable scent—in the air. His heart pumps in anger but also his ever-growing, everlasting love for you. He loves you. So much. Even more now.

However, he must correct this act of defiance. He doesn’t want this to happen again. So, he moves.

One, he grips your hair, tugging until you gasp, your pretty eyes opening so widely and full of fear of being caught. Your pleading voice sounds as he drags out the dildo, throwing it over his shoulder. Your arousal wets his hand which he uses to grab your throat, forcing you to look right into his eyes.

“Caught in the fucking act, baby girl.” His voice sounds deeper even in his ears.

Like the whore you are, he knows you like it. The blush burns over your cheeks. Your pupils threaten to engulf all of your irises. When he squeezes his hand—putting pressure on your arteries, limiting the blood flow to your pretty head, limiting your air—your eyes roll up as you let out a strangled moan.

“Just a fucking whore,” he lets go, letting you whine and chase after his touch.

“Jack, I was so close,” you plead, going to your knees on the couch.

Jack can’t stop his scoff nor his eyes rolling. Are you serious? On the couch? Oh, he truly spoiled you.

He grabs you by your arm and yanks. He forces you to the floor, swallowing the urge to coddle you when he hears the loud thud from your knees hitting the floor. He plops down the couch, dragging you between his thighs. He sees the tears running down your cheeks. He hears your apology then your complaints, so he grabs your jaw, leaning down so harsh that your forehead bumps against each other.

“Where’d you get the dildo?” he asks.

“Ja—” One squeeze to your jaw and you stop. You sniffle. “From the room.”

“Which room?” he challenges.

When your eyes stray to the left, he knows you’ll lie.

You say, “The bedroom…under your stuff…”

He sighs, pushing you away by your jaw. He’s seeing fucking red again. He leans back, closing his eyes, controlling his breaths to calm the fuck down, running his hand through his hair. Okay, maybe he’s more disappointed than angry.

“I’ll give you one last chance, baby girl,” he warns. “Where?”

“Just under your clothes—"

“We both know that it was not under my clothes, was it?” He growls, grabbing your shirt to force it off you. You sniffle, trying to hide his tits, so he slaps your hands away. He mocks, “Trying to hide now, hmm? When your cunt has been leaking and making a mess on our carpet? When you were fucking yourself with the curtains open for the whole world to see? You are such a fucking whore.”

“Jack, please,” you cry.

You are breaking and your eyes show it. Of course, you are. You’re not used to this. You’ve only ever experienced the joys of being his submissive. Only ever heard praises whispered in your ears. But he can see how much you want it. You are more curious than hurt. He knows. He understands you more than you do yourself.

Jack swears your pupils grow wider. Your lips—that are still so red from you biting it while you were masturbating—are parted as you pant. Your nipples are hard peaks, begging for him to touch for a smidge of relief, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t think you deserve anything right now.

“Did you enjoy it at least?” He motions with his forefinger and middle curling, commanding you to move forward. You follow, your hands daring to run up his thighs. He lets you.

“Yes,” you say so quietly that it’s a whisper. “But I didn’t come.”

He’s still not hearing an apology. Is it so hard to say ‘Sorry, Jack, I broke my promise’ or ‘Sorry, Jack, I needed you and the dildo was the only thing I have here’ or just ‘Sorry, Jack’? Is that hard? You’re a clever girl, but why are you so dumb right now?

“I didn’t ask.” He unbuckles his belt, undoes his pants, exposing his rock-hard cock, totally distracting you. You are so simple when it comes to sex. “If I spank you, you’ll just come. If I tug your hair, you might. You are such a whore that you’ll just come even if I just pinch nipples right now.”

The way your breath hitches, your anticipation is heightening. Too hungry for whatever punishment he’ll give you, because you know it is coming. Maybe that’s why you’re not apologizing. You are taunting him. Fine. You’ve got him.

“You don’t get to come anymore.”

“What—”

He grabs you by your nape, pulling you so close to his cock. When you try to lick him, he gives your hair a tug. “Ah, ah. You’re not going to suck or lick”—you whimper a protest but he slaps his leaking cock on your lips—“or tease. You’re not going to do anything because I know how much of a whore you are that anything would just make you come. You don’t deserve to come or my kisses or cock on your needy little pussy. You’re not my good girl right now. Just a bad, bad girl.”

More tears escape your eyes. More whine from your lips. He doesn’t let you say another word, guiding his cock inside your mouth. He can feel your sob, can feel your remorse, but he chooses to ignore it. He pushes every aching inch of his cock down your throat. You can take all of him, he knows. Fuck, you feel so good. When you gulp, he almost comes, but he holds himself back. You don’t deserve his come.

“This is a punishment, baby. We’re going to stay like this,” he murmurs, smoothening down your hair, sliding his foot between your legs to keep you from making any unnecessary friction. “While I watch the replay of my game, hmm?”

You sniffle. You look so adorable with his cock in your mouth. So cute with your little tears. So cute when you dig your nails into his pants-covered thighs.

“You have your word,” he reminds you.

With no forcing hold over your head, you can pull away and tell him your safe word. This can stop—punishment or not. Just one word. But you don’t step back, and no word escapes you. Jack’s heart beats with excitement about learning this new side of you, rather, a new layer of you.

When Jack’s sure that you won’t do or say anything, he turns on the TV with the remote conveniently on the couch. He starts the game. Although, he’s not really watching. He can’t just analyze the plays when you’re between his legs and his cock down your throat. He can’t. All his focus is aimed at you, despite his eyes are on the screen. All he hears is your soft breathing. All he feels is your tongue pressed on the underside of his cock, your chin putting the slightest pressure on his balls, your nails finally finding the skin of his thighs and digging into it. All he smells is your shampoo and conditioner—from when you are lying down on this couch—and your arousal. And in turn, all he tastes is your pussy just from the fucking smell. He’s losing it. It takes him everything to hold back and not fuck your throat.

Shamelessly, he prays for you to mutter your word. Maybe if you get overwhelmed, he can calm down while he eases you. What the fuck is he even saying? He doesn’t want you to say it. He wants you to want this as much as he does. He wants you to get used to a punishment, because he can’t just keep spoiling you.

You are such a delight to spoil.

Later.

Definitely later.

Still, he waits for you to pull away, but you never do. He swallows a groan. He can’t wait to spoil you after this. You’re taking this so well that his heart is aching from pride. He has forgiven you, even before the first period ends.

Who is he kidding?

He already forgave you the moment his name escaped your lips. Fine, not that. He was so pissed that you lied to him.

The moment you take in all of him, managing to breathe around him, controlling yourself not to such because he knows how thirsty you are for cum. That’s it.

From time to time, Jack pats your head once before he slides his hand down your hair. It’s almost like he’s petting you. Every time, you sigh through your nose, air hitting his pelvis, making him fucking shudder.

He can’t help it. You feel so incredible that he’s losing it. Your tiny gulps are enough stimulation. Fuck. Fuck! So fucking good.

Your drool—that you fail to gulp down—drips from your lips. You shift on your knees. He knows your eyes are begging him to give your pillow or a knee pad. He can feel them on him, takes all of him not to cave. It hurts him not to care. To ignore you. He hates this. He’ll find another punishment that doesn’t hurt your pretty knees. Find another punishment that doesn’t make him feel guilty.

He doesn’t fucking understand it. He can bruise you, tie you up, fuck you with a dildo on a machine. He can do all of that with no issue so why is he hurting? Perhaps, he’s not cut out for this? Nope. Not that. He loves dominating you. He just needs to get you kneepads when he decides to do this again. Good idea. Perfect.

‘Good job,’ he mentally congratulates himself. One simply needs to boost his ego. Nothing’s weird about this. At all.

The second period ends.

You are sagging against him. Your jaw probably hurt. Jack finally looks down and sees how tired you look, how blush still stains your cheeks, how sweat beads on your skin. He pets your head again but instead of running his hand down your hair, he caresses your cheek then your jaw.

You sigh, looking so happy and satisfied with his touch.

“Fuck. Such a good girl,” he says, failing to stop the words, the truth. “My good girl.” He praises, “My good little whore.”

You preen, your eyes shining with happiness and love. Any ache in Jack’s chest disappears. He didn’t lose you. Not one bit. He still has you. You still love him as he loves you. Fuck, he’s so lucky.

He's so weak. One look from you, he’s ready to pull you up and cuddle you. One look, and he has forgotten how he got angry in the first place. It feels so far away.

“I just don’t want you to be hurt if your curiosity gets the best of you,” he says. “I know you, baby girl.”

He can feel the shudder that wrecked your body. The slow blink you did shows your understanding. He grazes his knuckles over your cheekbones, swiping at the dried-up tear tracks, then over chin to smear your drool. Just a bit. Beautiful. How are you this beautiful?

The game ends with the Devils’ win.He needs to rewatch it again so he can truly analyze the plays. Not now though. Later.

Jack carefully slides his aching cock from your lips, hissing from the sensation, groaning at the sight of your saliva acts like a tether that connects him from your perfect mouth which only breaks when his pre-cum drips from his slit. He easily picks you up and settles you over his lap sideways. When you move to wipe away the mess on your chin, he stops you, kissing your pretty fingers. A slow and deliberate kiss on each of them. His eyes on yours. Then he grabs your nape, pulling you closer.

“Jack,” you whisper against his lips.

Not a whine. Just a gentle murmur of his name that sounds like a song that soothes his soul. Like an angel singing hymns of humanity. He loves it when you call him by his name.

He says your name in response, then he kisses you. Tongues feel and caress, tasting one another. He deepens the kiss to sooth any numbness that you may be feeling, yet he nips your lips here and there. He can’t help but trail kisses to your chin, licking away the mess, your saliva, your drool. It’s not much but he needs it.

He’s greedy for it.

He licks, licks, and licks, gulping in between.

Even your sweat that beads your skin.

His brain engraining your soft noises—your moans, sighs, and groans.

He needs everything of you.

He’ll die if he doesn’t.

“You did so well. I’m so proud,” he whispers again and again. He needs you to understand him. “My good girl.”

“Oh, Jack,” you breathe.

When his hand curls into your inner thigh, fingers feeling your wet pussy, teasing your folds and pressing on your clit with his thumb, you sob. When his two of his fingers dip into your pussy, your eyes roll up, hips grinding to seek more pleasure. He gives it to you. His other hand is on your hips, securing you to him, not letting you escape.

He curses when your hand wraps around his cock, giving him the same attention, matching his tempo. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily for every tug. Fuck. So good. So fucking good.

It feels like eternity. Just you and him, bringing each other closer and closer to your undoing. Jack wants to keep you forever. He will keep you forever. He’ll make it happen. No matter what the cost. He can’t live without you anymore.

Can’t.

He fucking can’t.

You let out a squeal, hiding your face into his neck, your pussy quivers, clenching his fingers, as your orgasm consumes you. Your legs tremble, trapping his hand in between as if you’re scared that he’ll just leave you hanging. Jack will never. He rides your orgasm, teasing your clit over and over again until you are shaking your head, biting into his neck to stop him. He won’t stop.

The pain you’ve inflicted only sends him over the edge. He comes with his eyesight darkening. He fucking blacks out for a second, shuddering as you keep tugging and squeezing him. Your other hand grips his wrist as he brings you to another peak as he finally stops spurting cum on your thigh, your hips, your tummy, your breast. He made such a mess. On your fucking skin that he almost instantly goes hard again.

Both of you are a mess of sweat and cum.

It’s fucking perfect.

“I love you, baby,” he says, pulling out his hand from between your thighs.

“I love you too,” you respond, smiling against his skin.

Then you start to lick his fucking throat. Fucking hell. Fuck. His. Life.

His sensitive cock is rock hard again.

“Say that I’m your good girl again, Jack,” you plead.

Shifting his head to the side so you can have more access on his skin, he nods, saying, “My good girl.”

Your satisfied moan seals your fate. He wraps his hand around your thigh and shifts you like you’re a weightless doll. He has your legs spread wide, your pussy leaking on his cock, dripping both arousal and your cum.

You pant as he pushes in the tip. Inch by inch. Until he’s seated inside you.

Until he starts fucking you while holding your hips to stop you from moving. Stop you from fucking him, when it’s his fucking time to do it to you.

You just need to take it.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

You sigh, watching Jack settle on the floor beside the bed. He’s wearing nothing but sweatpants. He lays his head on your sweatpant-covered shin, pressing a kiss over the fabric. His hand carefully holds your foot before he starts massaging the underside of your foot. You relax even more. That feels good.

His hair is still wet from the shower—he took after your bath—while yours is already dried. He dried it. He did a lot. He gave you a whole-body massage, pressing kisses on your skin. He gave extra attention to your knees, clearly fussing over how long you’ve been on your knees without kneepads. They were sore before, but not too sore. The floor is carpeted for fuck’s sake, and he worried too much. Him fussing over you was cute, so you let him. Besides, he needs it. You saw how his worry ate at him, so you appeased him.

He may think that he’s the only one spoiling someone in this relationship. You are too. By letting him have his control. By letting him take and mark you. By letting him take care of you.

This is special for him.

And for you.

“Jack, come here,” you call, taking a towel you’ve prepared under the pillow. He peeks up at you, his blue eyes filled with satisfaction, before crawling up, wrapping himself over you. You start to dry his hair. “Sorry I went in the room.”

He sighs, nodding. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t do it again.”

“Yeah…maybe.” You smirk.

A spark burns in his eyes. “You won’t,” he growls, still surrendering to you drying his hair, head resting between your breasts now, taking a non-subtle inhale. He murmurs, “Smells so good.”

You ran a hand through his hair, nails grazing his scalp that has him humping your thighs. You taunt, “I’m not promising anything anymore.”

He’s so hard but he still glares at you for your non-promise.

“You can’t stop me—”

He cuts you off with a deep kiss. His kiss is rough and deep that he’s basically fucking your mouth. He’s telling you—without words, just the kiss—that you are walking on thin ice.

Fuck that.

He’ll just have to punish you again.

493 notes · View notes

oystermark · 2 months ago

Note

No goggles, Mohawk, and Viltrumite mark with a poison ivy like reader? I’ve been OBSESSED with this idea for a while. Like during the war Cecil tried to deploy reader even tho he’s a villain (kinda) and reader is on his plant throne surrounded by poison kiss/mind controlled servants like “why should I help? Let the boys have their fun, I want humanity to be wiped out too.” Basically he wants to part in ‘helping save humanity’ and just wants to sit in his greenhouse and be fawned over.

Poison Ivy M!Reader x Mark variants (no goggles & viltrumite mark)

a/n: loved this idea, just changed the reader a bit. i think them having plants that act like pets, ones that purr and have responses to their affection (petting, feeding etc.) made it a little bit more interesting (no offense to your request at all! 🫂 i genuinely loved the idea i just want to make the reader a naked, isolated plant mess that hates humanity and heroes especially because they destroy the planet faster than anyone else) also the intro got wayyy too long im sorry about that. sorry if this is dumb in general and sorry i couldnt do mohawk aghhhhhhh i had a migraine while writing this :(((

🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴

a small smile blossomed on your face as the jasmine's you were petting gently started to purr, like a cat. adorable. a sigh leaves your lips as you let yourself get a little comfortable, the tree you're on straining itself to give you more coverage from the sun as the heat was getting to you.

you need some water, which means you have to leave your home, deep in the forest. for a little bit, but, you'll still, have to leave.

you hate that. you don't want to ve away from the only sentient beings that actually understand you, your purpose and you as a whole. you sigh, pouting like a child as the tree puts you down and long, tentacle like tree branches along with ivy trailing along your arms to soothe your nerves.

running into a human or one of those 'heroes' was slim but not zero and that made you more uneasy and angry then you'd like to admit to yourself.

as soon as you step outside of your cave -made up of trees and beautiful plants, bees buzzing and- okay stop, focus- you stop dead in your tracks.

the forest, it's heaving. and the pain slowly crawls up from your feet to your head, the sharp tinge of burning wood, desperate sounds of flowers dying, your eyes sting with tears and your hand flies to your forehead, clutching it with dear life.

"oh, good. you're already out of your man cave,"

your head snaps down as you hear cecil's voice, being a...plant person, you're well over 6 ft tall, "cecil, what is the meaning of this!? this is why i never worked for you, whatever you do whenever you do you hurt us," he interrupts you with a sharp sigh, looks at you with the most grim expression you've seen from him.

"i know, which is why i've never asked for your help before, our relationship isn't the best, i know, but (y/n)," his voice tinged with desperation, he takes a step forward, you can feel your branches and ivy stiffen with alarm. "we need your help, people, homes, animals, trees, flowers anything and everything is being destroyed at a rapid pace which we've never seen before it's a goddamn massacre out there," he then pulls up his phone and shows you an image of a boy wearing a spandex suit, "this is invincible, and there are versions of him from multiple dimensions destroying your plant life,"

he sighs and pulls the phone back as you stay silent, looking up at you with a grim expression, "every one of them except the one i showed you, is a hostile, having them alive for us to contain would be preferable but you have the order to eliminate them as well," he looks at your eyes, trying to read you as best as he can. you've always been a recluse, stating that clothes and this stupid standard of living would never go over well with you, you've killed some of his heroes and some villains for ravaging forests. right now though, you're the best shot he has. you're goddamn strong.

his shoulders drop subtly with relief as you nod sharply, "fine, but i am not doing this for you, i am doing this for us," he nods, "and that's more than enough for me, you can find-" you shush him, "i can already smell them, old man. i know where they are, the forest has eyes everywhere, now go."

he takes his leave and you growl as the pain in your head grows stronger,

you're going to kill these bastards.

🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴

no goggles mark

he hears you shouting before he's able to have his monologue after murdering the new guardians, he doesn't even dodge, interested in your... familiar scent.

your body slams into him, blood spills from his mouth and nose from the impact of the contact with your body alone as he's slammed down onto the floor. your branches trapping him under your body and your ivy finding his throat, no mercy, no talking, and as he opens his eyes, as the fog clears his vision, he sees...

you.

"holy fuck..."

he breathes out as he coughs up blood, some of it landing on your face but no muscles twitch. "leave this planet, surrender yourself, or witness the wrath of the forest," your voice rough and low, most likely from unuse, so you did have the same powers but now...you were less mister seductive and more mister... recluse. he could work with that, he could work with whatever you give him and more. it always has been like that. the ivy around his neck gripping his neck tighter pulled him back from his thoughts with a whine leaving his bloody lips,

"fuckin' hell babe, you still look... you still... look so hot..." he feels the ivy go still, your thighs tense above him, he bites his bottom lip in satisfaction, oh he's got you huh?

he only notices that you're like, fully naked when you press your body harder against him, your hand replacing the ivy on his throat, you pull his head up a little bit and smash his head through the concrete, "seems all that brain damage has got to you, who do you think you're talking to, boy?" he groans in pleasure from both the head smash on the concrete and your nails digging into his throat and your voice just right by his ear and-

"you're fucking intoxicating,"

he links his legs around you, caging you by your hips as he grinds your body closer to his, a small gasp of offense mixed with sudden weird sensation leaving your mouth as you look at him with as much a glare you can muster,

"come on, again. do it again, show me how much i've pissed you off, make me choke on my own blood,"

his voice gets louder with every word, his eyes never leaving yours,

"make me pay for what i've done, you want to hurt me, don't you? come on! go ahead, fuck-" he gasped out as your other hand pulled on his hair, pulling his hair to the side to break the eye contact.

he's getting to you, fuck he's actually...

this is what you get when you neglect the 'person' part of a plant person for so long, it seems.

you get up, untangling his legs from you by pulling him away from your body by his neck, his eyes sparkling with unmistakable glee as his body shakes from the pain, "show me you mean it then," you whisper as you get close to his face, you feel the ghost of his lips almost touching yours and you send him flying through the wall,

he lays there for a few seconds, his dick and whole body throbbing,

"god i fucking love you,"

you growl and leap at him as he giggles and does the same,

he can't wait to take you apart.

🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴

viltrum mark

looking at the carnage before him, he wills himself to feel something, anything for these people. anything to prove hes got some amount of humanity in him even after your death, the death that was his fault. he brought you to viltrum, he built you a room full of plants, he did his best, he really thought he did, but you couldn't take a month away from your own and you... passed away, because of the lack of, everything, you needed.

he won't make the same mistake twice, as soon as angstorm reached out to him, he had your room remade from as many plants he extracted and as many the scientists could make. he adorned your room with plants, flowers and bees and everything needed to keep you alive. because he needs you, needs you back with him, no one can stop that.

not even you.

he sighs and grabs the branch you shot at him, slamming you to the dirt. his heart pangs as he hears your struggle for breath, but he cannot relent, he has to have you under control, even for a viltrumite like him, you're strong. he pins you down by your chest, pressing his foot down, looking into your eyes, he-

fuck.

fuck. fuck. why did he do that, why did he look at those eyes that he knows disarm anything and everything he ever built up over the years, the eyes that hold the only key to his heart, he feels himself falter and you don't fail to take advantage of this, pushing him off of you with the combination of your branches and ivy, slamming him to the trees in your desperation and wincing when you feel the impact od his weight through the trees on your own body.

panting as you clutch your chest, you shake your head and look at him, he didn't even break a sweat! not even a scratch, a bloody nose, nothing.

your eyes widened as you took a wobbly step back, "what... what the hell are you?" his heart shattered and his brain rattled in his skull because of the scared but defiant look you gave him. thats not how you're supposed to look at him, you and this world's mark should be dating, you should be looking at him with all the love in the world, like you used to, not like-

like he's an abomination.

he walks closer to you and shoot your branches on him, he blocks them with ease before they even have a chance to wrap around any part of his body, "come with me," he finally spoke. your body reacted by setting off all the alarms in your head, "we'll get married, on our home planet, we'll be together again, you'll be happy i wont- i wont let you die again. never again,"

the implication that he had some part of the murder fo a version of you was more than enough for you to take a few steps back and try your luck with your own arms instead. if there is one thing about you thats never changing, its your stubborness, he notes to himself as both of you clash, hands tangled in each others as one tries to push the other over the non existent edge.

with a grunt, you root your legs down with the help of the surrounding trees, making yourself an immovable object, you feel a smirk growing on your face as he grunts, oh you're getting to him.

this was stupid, maybe, but its one less mark, less destruction for now.

or so you thought.

you feel him go weightless, your eyes widen in panic as your brain registers what he's about to do, "wait you fucking idio-" your words are cut off by your own screams of the excrutiating pain he's causing as he's ripping you apart from the dirt, from the roots that planted you there in the first place.

it feels like he's snapping your own legs, stretching them, like the branches are your own bones, you scream and tears flow from your eyes, his face is pained as your own, your screams making his head throb with guilt.

he has to do this, for your own good and his, he can't stand this pointless crusade anymore.

with a final scream from you that turns into a sob as you're finally fully snatched from the floor and up into the air, going limp in his arms as his grip tightens around your waist, your long height making it a bit awkward to hold you but he's never let things like that stop him before.

he places a kiss on your temple, cupping your face with one hand as the other is holding you up from your waist,

"you're coming with me, i dont care about anyone or anything else, not anymore."

🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴

i do not like this.... ghahhahj im so sorry anon

#invincible #invincible x male reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible variants #invincible variants x reader #mark grayson x male reader #no goggles mark x reader #no goggles invincible #viltrum mark #viltrum mark x reader

540 notes · View notes