#its lit midnight i should be in bed

[drakkonyan]

Extremely self-indulgent icons, but they came out fire and im gonna use them until I finally force myself into redrawing the current one better, so yall can have em too

[acotarxreader]

Storybook

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Azriel's insecurities of not being good enough for the glowing Dawn emissary that had enveloped his world can't be silenced and erupt at Cassian's birthday party. But can he find his way again into the storybook life he believes you deserve?

Warnings: Angst, silly Azriel, fluff, typos

A/N; A cute lil fic while I mull over the end of Mirror for the thousandth time! Let me know what you guys think! Requests Open!

---------------------------------------

Azriel traced small circles along the base of your spine as you huddled close to his side, the buttery sheets of the gigantic bed swaddling you from the cold. Hazel eyes examined your snoozing state with a loving gaze, Azriel unsure why you spent any time at all with him let alone choosing to be his partner. Doubt swirled across the Spymaster's head, as it often did in the quiet moments when you weren't available to silence them.

As if hearing these very thoughts, your eyes gently fluttered open, a haphazard smile graced your face, his uncertainty faltering on sight. Azriel brushed a stray hair from your face, your own moving from across his abdomen to lace into his, gently pressing a kiss on cracked knuckles as you did so.

“We should get up Az” “You Dawn Court females are such sticklers for punctuality” He laughed down to you, kissing the top of your head before you rolled reluctantly away from the heat to stand and dress, Azriels focus never leaving your movement. You threw his tie back to him, breaking his stare.

“C’mon Az, Cassian won’t like if you miss his birthday because you were ogling at me” “True, he’ll be jealous” You smiled at his reply while he stood to find his discarded clothes across your studio apartment. Azriel found himself slightly struck by the simple contrast of his midnight blue and black suit decorating around your warm pastel environment. Sticking out like a drop of ink on a sundial. He scrunched his face for a moment, fighting through the feelings the visual representation of your differences brought.

Scarred hands locked buttons on his chest back together as he turned to land his eyes on the most beautiful female he could ever imagine. The dress you wore was relatively simple, a long light pink chiffon dress that shimmered in the soft glowing light of the space, its v-neckline and loose sleeves flattering you endlessly. You took no notice of Azriel's awestruck state as you sat at your vanity, plaiting your hair back, a few sneaky strands framing your face. You pinned small golden stars into the tendrils of hair while Azriel crossed the floor to stand behind you. 

“You look radiant YNN” “Not too Dawn Court-” You teased, standing to kiss his cheek “-Not too shabby yourself Shadowsinger” A small blush dashed across his cheeks as he took your hands in his, too Dawn Court, too perfect he thought to himself before winnowing the both of you back to the Night Court. 

-

It was a larger party than originally intended, they always were when Mor was organising them. Azriel sat close to you at the table of his friends in River House, fae flowing from every entrance and exit as the sound of celebrations filled the ancient streets.

You laughed wholeheartedly at Cassian's story of locking Rhysand out of the cabin one winter in nothing but his undergarments, the group's laughter almost as loud as the music. Feyre kissed your cheek lightly before sitting alongside her mate. Azriel thought of how perfectly you had slotted into his world and how he had still struggled to find his flow in Dawn and with your friends. She complimented your dress, it softly shimmering in the surrounding light, contrasting the deep blues, maroons and violets of his beloved city. 

“Az? Hello?” His arm shook gently with your grip, waking him from his trance to look at your grinning face directly again. 

“I’m going to get a drink, want one?” he just gave a small nod, you just laughed before finding your way towards the kitchen area. 

“She’s like a perfect little doll, the ones we played with as children” Feyre laughed, Nesta agreeing.

“Like a damsel from one of our storybooks”

“Yes Elain, Azriel is quite the Prince Charming” Nesta’s sarcasm added to her sister, the group laughing, Azriel forcing a chuckle. As much as they all loved you, they agreed you didn’t exactly fit into the image of fearsome Night Court and would find themselves constantly remarking about the storybook world you came from, to your equal amusement. Azriel not agreeing with its humour, the comments re enforcing a deep-seated fear within him. 

“One day you’ll tell us how you got that drop of sun to co-exist with the shadows Az” “I'll let you know when I find out myself” He painted a smile on his face at Lucien, the group laughing at his jest. You returned to the table with Mor in tow, her arm around your waist as you both laughed, some of Azriel’s drinking splashing over the rim. 

“C’mon, let's dance, we can sit and chat like old boring people tomorrow” 

“Who are you calling old Mor?” Cassian stood in playful defence, slightly wobbly from the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed.

“You, you old bat! C’mon let's move those hips while they still work” Her hand took his and pulled him back towards the dancing crowds, you, Nesta and Feyre following happily. It wasn’t long before Lucien and Elain joined the revelry, Rhysand and Azriel watching proudly from their seats. 

“To being old bats” Rhysand tipped the top of his glass off of Azriel’s, both brothers smiling into their drinks. Azriel watched you dance hand in hand with his brother, truly carefree and endlessly happy. 

“I’ve never seen you so happy Az, perhaps we’ll be making more visits to Dawn”

“What do you mean by that?” Azriel tore his smiling face from you to look at his brother. 

“I’m sure YN would rather settle in Dawn, they tend not to stray too far from their Court. Besides you can work from anywhere, but she glows best at home” Rhysand offered with a soft smile before he looked back towards his mate who had taken you from a drunken Cassian.  Azriel felt a small match light near the explosives in his head as the General of the Night Court came almost crashing back to the table, taking Rhysand’s drink from his hand. 

“They’re right, I’m getting old-” He chuckled, sinking back next to his best friends “-I’m going to have to work on my dance moves for your wedding Az” Azriel choked slightly on his drink, his two friends laughing loudly.

“Don’t kill the male Cass” “Oh c’mon, you two have been together for years now, I don’t see you finding much better Az and as for YN, she’ll settle for our best soldier, no prince charmings need apply” He teased. Nesta sat proudly on her mate's lap, reaching for her discarded drink. The match’s flame grew in size.

“YN should be Queen of Prythian, and it not the alcohol talking, I believe it-” She practically slurred, chasing her thirst from dancing away with the wine “-Darcoo might marry her” “Drakon” Rhysand corrected with a laugh, Azriel shuffling ever so slightly in his seat. 

“Whatever, she’s wasted as Dawn’s emissary to the Solar Courts, she should just assume all power of that court, marry one of you silly little High Lords even and ride into the sunset…or I guess sunrise” 

“Ahem” Azriel cleared his throat, Cassian looking apologetic towards him on behalf of his mate as she rolled her eyes and stood again, finishing off the drain of alcohol left in the glass before rejoining the party. Azriel watched you again, head tilted back as you laughed with his dear friends, the room feeling now completely silent, almost moving in slow motion. The match touched the explosives. 

“I know that look” Rhysand’s warning tone was a reaction to Azriel’s knitted eyebrows as he stood suddenly, crossing the dance floor before his brothers could stop him. Azriel moved with the quick precision he normally reserved for missions but he needed out of this now suffocating space. You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, instinctively following him only slowed by the mass amounts of crowds that Azriel transversed with ease.

Azriel seemed almost drunk in his movement as he reached the cobblestone streets but his thoughts felt stone-cold sober. By the time you had made it to the entrance of the house, Azriel had made it halfway down the street. You called out to him as you ran after him. 

“Hey! You didn’t hear me call you?-” You laughed as you reached his side, your face flushing from the brief bit of exercise “-What’s-what’s wrong?” Your smile faltered at his stony expression as it landed on you. 

“I-I just need to go-go for walk” “Okay cool, I’ll come with you, let me borrow a throw from Feyre and-” “NO” Azriel’s voice uncharacteristically got away from him and it startled you, instantly causing guilt to pace through him. You moved to take his hand from his side, only to see him tuck it into his pocket before reaching your touch, you took a small step back from him at the movement, laughing lightly with your own rising panic as you asked - 

“What?” “You don’t belong with me walking around the Night Court” “Don’t be silly Az, we walk all the time tog-” “No YN, you’re not listening to me, you don’t belong in the Night Court” he looked away from you again, fixating on a crooked stone in his path.

“What do you mean?” You quickly exchanged scared for offended, tucking your arms across your chest.

“I mean….I mean look around YN! You don’t fit in here! It’s like the sun trying to blend in with the shadows!”

“Az, what does that even mean?! You’re being ridiculous!” you shot back, standing in front of him to block him from walking away from the argument he had nightmares about every night. 

“It means that you've got this fairytale and it's just not mine!”

“Why can't it be ours?!” Your own voice was beginning to rise, some passing fae throwing side eye glances. 

“It-it just cant be! I think- I think it's time we say goodbye YN and I think deep down you agree”

“Az-I- What?! I don’t understand?! what did I do-” your shaking voice was cutting at Azriel as you continued “-I-I need you!”

“I don’t know why” His cold tone washed over your skin, freezing it on contact as he looked down to you, glazing his face over with an expression he usually reserved for his work.

“Becau-se because I love you Azriel” Your voice finally broke under the immense weight of heartbreak as you verbalised your first confession of love, making Azriel flinch slightly. He took a weighted breath through his mouth before biting down on his tongue, allowing the silence to fill the street in what he believed was mercy. 

“Don’t-don’t you love me too?” Your eyes were defeated by the charging fears and Azriel found his own glossy eyes fixed on yours. He bit down more harshly, drawing the blood of your heartbreak. He knew this would finish you off and it did. You took a big deep breath, trying to collect whatever possible composure you could before dragging a manicured hand across your face. Your tears were free-flowing now as you winnowed out of the street, Azriel’s whole body slumping forward as you disappeared. 

—------------------

“You absolute fucking asshole!” Mor threw a discarded book from the coffee table at Azriel who sat, head in hands on the couch of the Town House. Rhysand paced almost the length of the house trying to comprehend what Azriel had confessed, a week after its occurrence. 

“I just thought you two were off screwing but instead you were just screwing up!” Rhysand agreed with Cassian, scolding Azriel like a small child as he towered above his brother.

“You fucked up Az” Feyre sighed across from him as she watched her mate cease his pacing.

“But I didn't! It's what's best for YN! She wasn't fitting into this stupid fucking world”

“Except she was! You big idiot!” Mor hurled another book at the broken-hearted male, which he bearly dodged as he sat back into the plush couch.

“You don't get it, I did it for her best interest”

“Oh yes because brokenhearted and confused is much better for her than happy and in love!”  Cassian caught Mor’s arm before she could grab another weapon. 

“Az, fix it” Rhysand ordered, sinking next to his mate, their hands instantly lacing together.

“I fixed it by ending it! Now she can go off and be happy and live the picket fence dream in Dawn that she deserves!” Azriel stood suddenly, anger bellowing from him as his shadows swam lazily around the floor, unable to find life since the incident.

He moved with heavy steps to the window, looking out onto the stage of your battlefield. His family all shared knowing glances, deciding to proceed with caution. Mor stood and caught Azriel by surprise, dragging him into her for a hug. His figure practically swallowed her petite stature and yet he found himself resting the majority of his weight down her, tears finally winning their battle on the shadowsinger and free flowing from his eyes. Cassian placed a hand on his brother's back before joining the huddle, helping Mor to support Azriel’s heartbroken weight. 

“This is so stupid” Azriel let out a little laugh through weak tears, quickly wiping them from his face while pulling back from the huddle. 

“C’mon Az, let's go get your storybook ending” Rhysand smiled, placing a gentle hand on his and Cassian’s shoulder before winnowing them away from the Court of Dreams. 

-

Azriel stood outside the gate of your house, his eyes wandering up the manicured path, flowers leaking from every crevice. Rhysand and Cassian had agreed to make themselves scarce while he spoke to you, taking themselves on a walk around the neighbourhood.

Azriel cleared his lungs of air before taking shaky steps up the steps to your door, marred knuckles gently rapping off of the solid oak. After a moment, you opened the door smiling, only to have it drop from your face again as you tried to close the door, Azriel stretching his foot to block its path. 

“YNN, I need to talk to you” “I’m busy Azriel” Your sharp tone contrasted harshly against his sheepish one. 

“Please, give me two minutes” He stepped back, gesturing you to follow him to the porch steps where he sank into the wood. You sighed, looking back into your house and back to Azriel’s silhouette again. You joined his side, keeping some distance between the both of you as you sat. 

“Okay so firstly you look beautiful and-”

“I'm only giving you two minutes Azriel” You warned.

“Right right sorry. Okay I broke up with you because we are just from such fundamentally different worlds and-”

“-this doesn't sound like an apology” You knotted your arms deeper into your chest.

“Well I mean it's kind of not-” You went to stand only to be pulled back down again before you could escape him again “-because it's why I fell for you in the first place, it's why we work, you're so not who I pictured myself with and that makes you beyond perfect, I just didn't want to ruin perfect, I ruin everything, case in point. Us”

“Az-” “-I need to explain myself please, I just I really love you and that-that is why we can’t be together, the things I love get ruined, I’ll ruin you” He admitted quietly, looking down on the flowers in the garden again as your soft eyes traced the outline of his side profile.

“Azriel, I love you and you could never ruin me and I’ve never thought you would, you’re not capable of hurting me on purpose….well except that little scene at Cassian’s birthday party” You found a small genuine laugh leave you, a surprising smile growing on Azriel’s face for the first time in a week. 

“Yeah I fucked up”

“At least you know you fucked up” You laced your fingers through his the way he adored and he found his eyes landing on yours once again.

“So you're perfectly happy being with someone imperfect? No storybook ending?” You nudged him for his words and then nodded before meeting him in a sweet kiss.

“The only story I want to be in is yours”

-----------------------------------------------------

Whatcha think?

[sherewrytes]

T. A. R (Time, Appreciation, Respect)

(I'll always want you part 2)

Synopsis: Ony was calling Y/N constantly these days, trying to always reach out to talk and say his piece. Y/N wasn't sure if she was ready for it.

C.W. Angst, Black coded reader, Drug use (weed). Song links used as reference.

Fanfic inspired by the following song.

Solange: Cranes in the sky

Link for part one here

Time had passed since your confrontation with Ony on that fateful night. The sting of betrayal still lingered, casting a shadow over your every thought and action. You still find herself unable to shake the memories of everything that took place between you and Ony and the raw emotions it had unleashed.

It's 2:30 AM. You lie awake, replaying the conversation with Ony in your mind. A part of you acknowledges he may be right, yet you find it impossible to converse without being overwhelmed by emotions.

You heard Annie out on her part to play in all this but not Ony. You didn't have class until 2pm today so you had enough time to sleep some more if needed. You got out of bed, stretched, went to your desk to journal to clear your mind.

You lit the candle on your desk, opened your journal and poured your feelings into it. The pen felt heavy in your hand, similar to how your heart felt in your chest. You wrote about the confusion swirling within you, torn between the logic of Ony's words and the ache of betrayal that still lingered deep within your soul. Memories flashed through your mind of happier times, of sad times and every moment in between. You knew you should hear him out but, you couldn't decide if you were ready or not.

You closed the journal and texted Sasha to see if she was awake. You needed someone to talk to. Sasha responded almost immediately saying she's in the area, so she'd be over in a few and she has Connie and Eren with her.

You sighed and responded. You went to your kitchen to make a quick midnight snack for you and your quests. 15 mins later, at your apartment is Sasha, Connie and Eren.

Connie: "Is it okay if I smoke in here. Between Uni, my music shit and other shit. I'm stressed out."

You: "It's cool. I do smoke sometimes, well used to with Ony. Speaking of Ony. He's been calling my phone nonstop.

*Turns to Eren* He said you've been on his ass about me. Eren the fuck you on boy.

Eren sighed "Look I'm just looking out for him. Ony is taking this harder that I've seen him take anything. Him and I go way back. Ony only shows up to class, messages me for some weed well hella weed. He aint even in the studio much either."

You knew Eren, Connie, Mikasa and Ony were music majors at Paradis University which you all attended. Eren was the lowkey producer type that makes beats to rival the greats. Connie is a rising hip hop artist and Ony is a cross between Trap Soul and Rap. Mikasa was the soulful girl with a beautiful voice. You knew Ony never missed studio time for nothing, so you knew he was struggling.

"When last did he show up." Y/N asked Eren with some concern in her tone.

"Probably 2 months ago before that it was 3 months before that. Look you don't have to force yourself to talk to him or bear his wounds or help him heal from the mess he made on his own. It ain't your job to, What I'm asking is if you can hear him out even if its 5 minutes if you can't then Imma tell him to drop it."

You sat in silence for a bit truly wondering what to do, so you turned to Sasha. "Honestly I want to hear him out, I do but I need more time. I know everyone thinks I forgave Annie so easy, but Ony and I had something deeper than Annie and I had even with our years of friendship. Ya we were fighting and at odds that time but..I know I'm being dumb cause Annie is just as responsible as he was. I just need to clear my head some more."

Connie took a toke of his joint and passed it to Eren then Eren to Sasha. Sasha pulled out her phone and connected it to the speakers in your apartment and started playing L.E.S by Childish Gambino. They all passed the joint around the room you took a few hits here and there. Eren was mindlessly scrolling through his IG to see Ony posted a 15 sec video on IG with a link in the caption to his YouTube to his latest track Amphetamine.

Eren blurted out with a bit of shock, "What the fuck, Ony just dropped a new song. It looks like he changed his artist's name from Ony to Soro. I mean he mentioned the change last time he came in the studio. Yo Sasha disconnect real quick lemme listen to this real quick."

Sasha disconnected her phone to allow Eren to pull up the track. " The song is almost 8 mins WTF is Ony on" Eren says.

The beat kicks in with this smooth, laid-back vibe that immediately hooks you in. Everyone's silent giving the track a listen.

" It's like an amphetamine, how it marinate on my mind (stuck on me, yah) Got no doubt I'll be alright, if I just make it through the night."

You can hear, almost feel the range of emotions in the song. You can hear Ony's voice pouring out his feelings. The beat changes around 2:48 seconds in giving a whole different vibe to the song.

"Shawty cold as December, I still fold her, no Manila B-b-b-brr wit me baby, I hibernate, smoke the lettuce."

Everyone was vibing with the song until they heard Mikasa's voice drop on the track around 4:28 Everyone a bit surprised since Mikasa doesn't easily do features even if it's with her friends. Connie laughed a bit "He got Mikasa on this with him. Damn he really went all out. Aye Eren aint this the same beat he said he didn't want around 5 maybe 6 months ago?" Eren laughed thinking back to when he played this beat for Ony, and he said he hated it. Ony owed him big time for this, but he'll circle back to it. As the song finished. You sat with your eyes full of tears. You thought to yourself that you could feel every emotion Ony sang about in the song. The loss of their relationship, his struggles with his mental health and so much more.

Connie was the first the chime in when the song ended "Damn that was.... deep." "Yah it was Ony really flipped the script on this one." Eren chimed in.

Eren got a notification that Ony was live on IG. He clicked on it. He saw he was talking about his just dropped song and other usual shit that's going on in his life.

Ony's eyes were the newfound usual shade of slight bloodshot red from smoking and hardly any sleep. He was reading off a comment asking him who inspired him to write the song. he responded with "Someone but also no one."

Ony's voice flowed through the speakers in your apartment causing Eren to disconnect his phone to watch the live a bit easier.

He commented saying "Fire track man, wish you'd let me know you were droppin a song man."

Ony read the comment out loud and smirked and said "Sorry man. I wanted it to be a personal project, but I owe you one big time for the beat."

Ony and Eren were engaging in their usual banter in the comments of Ony's Instagram live. You were deep in thought when Ony read aloud a comment from someone claiming his song was inspired by his ex-girlfriend. Ony and you had a semi-public relationship, which is due to his rising fame as a Trap Soul/rap artist.

Ony sighed, his mind drifting back to the last time he saw you in person, when you came to return his belongings from your place. He had seen you around campus since then, but it simply wasn't the same. His response was "It was inspired by pain. Pain of loss, loss of love, loss of hopes, loss of dreams. Loss of self. She's part of something I lost in my life."

Ony paused, his gaze drifting off as he recalled the bittersweet memories. He took a deep breath, trying to push away the ache in his chest as he continued, his voice laden with emotion. "So yeah, she's part of what I lost, but 'Amphetamine' is also about finding myself again. It's about reclaiming my voice, my truth, and pouring it all out into my music."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, though sadness lingered in his eyes. "Maybe one day she'll hear this song and understand. Understand that she's not just a memory, but a muse who ignited something within me, something I'll carry with me forever."

With that, Ony concluded, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. The live disconnected indicating he ended it abruptly.

As the live session ends abruptly, the room falls into a heavy silence. You, sits with a mix of emotions swirling within yourself. Ony's words echo in your mind, resonating deeply with your own conflicted feelings. You can't shake the sense of nostalgia and longing that his music and words evoke. Sasha breaks the silence, her voice soft yet determined. "Y/N, are you okay?" she asks, her concern evident.

You took a moment to collect your thoughts before responding. "I don't know, Sasha," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sasha nods understandingly, her eyes reflecting empathy. "I get it. It's hard to hear someone express their pain so openly, especially when it's intertwined with your own." Eren chimes in, his tone reflective. "Yeah, but maybe that's what he needs right now. It's better than him bottling it up and tryna smoke it all away."

Connie exhales a puff of smoke, his expression contemplative. "True, but it's also a lot to unpack. Y/N, you don't have to rush into anything. Take your time to process everything, to figure out what you need and want. What Ony did was messed up"

You nod, grateful for your friends' support. "Thanks, guys. I think…I think I need some time alone to sort through my thoughts."

With that que, Eren, Sasha and Connie left your apartment. you walk through your apartment heading to your room, the melody of Ony's song still echoing in your mind. Your emotions even more confusing than when you talked to Ony earlier. You looked at the time. It was almost 5 am. You decided to shower and head back to bed, hoping to get some rest before class.

Your mind was restless, torn between Ony's latest track and his words during the IG live, you were conflicted. On one hand, you acknowledged missing him, but on the other, infidelity was something you could never condone in a relationship. You recognized a desire to listen to his explanation, yet you feared your heart might not endure his version of the events.

The weight of Ony's words hangs heavy in the air, suffocating your mind with intense thoughts. Alone amidst the dim glow of your bedside lamp, the words "Maybe one day she'll hear this song and understand." taunt you with the possibility of reconciliation and closure. You thought to yourself "How could I ever hope to understand the depths of his pain when my own wounds still bleed with the memory of his betrayal?"

Finally entering your room, you sink onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in trembling hands, desperate to silence the cacophony of thoughts threatening to consume you.

"Take your time to process everything, to figure out what you need and want." Connie's words echo faintly in her mind. With a trembling sigh, you rise from the bed, your steps faltering as you make your way to the bathroom. The steady stream of water cascades over your trembling form, washing away the tears that stain your cheeks.

"It's 5 am. I should try to get some rest before class," you think to yourself. Climbing out of the shower, your limbs feel heavy. Wrapping yourself in a towel, the fabric offers a feeble shield against the lingering chill. You dress slowly, abandoning your usual routine for the simple comfort of bed, seeking to calm your mind. Eventually, you drift into sleep, the confusion in your heart, perhaps even greater than before.

*Slight Time Skip*

You finished up her class for the evening, your Textile Science class drained your mind. you run into Eren, Connie, Armin and Pieck in the courtyard chattin it up.

"Yo, Y/N!" Armin hollered, his grin wide as he motioned for her to come over. You gave a small nod, casually strolling over as they kept chattin'. It helped take your mind off things for a sec.

"So, y'all ready for tonight?" Armin asked, his eyes sparklin' with excitement. "Tonight?" you echoed, feeling a bit lost.

Armin leaned in closer, speakin' low like it was a secret. "The party, It's goin' down at my place. everybody's rolling through." You thought about if Ony was gonna be there since going Armin's parties was one of their go to things as a couple.

You shifted uncomfortably, tryna come up with an excuse to bail but before you could say anythin', Sasha and Mikasa slid through, bringin' a burst of energy to the scene. "Hey, y'all!" Sasha greeted; her smile infectious as she pulled you into a hug.

Mikasa gave a nod, her expression serious as she peeped Y/N with concern.

"Y/N, you gotta come through tonight," Pieck chimed in, her voice smooth and persuasive. "You never show up to the parties, and it's gonna be lit." Y/N hesitated, caught between the comfort of being alone and the fear of missing out on the squad's vibe.

Just then, Ony strolled past, casting a shadow over Y/N's mood. She felt a surge of anger bubbling up inside, memories of their messy situation flooding back.

Armin, clueless as ever, turned to Ony with a hopeful grin. "Yo, you coming tonight, Ony?"

Ony glanced at you for a sec before turning back to Armin, his face unreadable. But before he could answer, you spoke up with fire in your voice. "I ain't showing if he's gonna be there," you stated, pointing your finger at Ony with a fierce look.

The air got heavy; the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Y/N's heart raced as she waited for Ony's response. But instead of coming back at you, Ony just nodded quietly, his eyes holding a hint of regret before he dipped out.

You caught the concerned glances of your friends. You knew your emotions were a bit confusing being torn between wanting to hear him out, missing him then not wanting to be around him. Even though almost much time had passed, her emotions still felt raw.

You looked around to your friend group who was gauging your reaction to seeing Ony. Each stare, felt like a trap a push to make a decision you weren't ready for.

"I can't do this," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you took a step back, your eyes darting between your friends and a mental escape route. Sasha's hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks, her grip firm yet gentle. "You can't run from this forever, Y/N, you're gonna have to address this or find the will to move on" she said softly, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding. You stared at Sasha's face trying to gauge her facial expression and reaction "I know, Sash I know." you whispered hoarsely, your voice cracking with emotion. "But I'm not ready to face him, not yet. I don't know if I ever will be."

With that said you turned and left them there, briskly walking back to catch an uber back to your apartment.

----------------------------While you left-----------------------------------

Eren stared at Armin, scoffing with annoyance "Bro, how you gonna forget they ain't together no more? Ony straight up did her dirty with Annie."

Armin sighed and took a step back. "I know but they're both my friends and I want them both to be happy and come out more. guess I messed up by asking them out around each other. It's just that we hardly get to chill with both of them around, you know...it's tough."

Eren shook his head, his frustration evident in his furrowed brow. "I get that, Armin, but you gotta realize it's not just about them being happy. Ony really hurt Y/N, man. And seeing him around just brings back all that pain."

Armin's shoulders slumped in defeat, his expression reflecting the weight of his guilt. "I know, Eren, I know," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just... I don't know how to fix this mess."

Sasha, who had been listening quietly, spoke up with a sympathetic tone. "Maybe there's no quick fix, Armin. Sometimes all we can do is give them space and time to heal, you know?"

Connie nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "Yeah, sometimes the best thing we can do is just be there for them when they're ready to talk or when they need us."

Armin sighed; his gaze heavy with regret. "You're right," he admitted, a sense of resignation settling over him. "I just hope they both find their way through this, somehow."

Previous Next

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

summary: every artist knows, inspiration can be found anywhere; so why not in the sheets as well?

pairing: piercer & tattoo artist! scara (from my genshin modern au) x fem! reader

warnings: nsfw/ minors dni, somewhat mean! scara, name calling (slut), slight degradation mixed with praise, pet names (doll, pretty), mirror sex, oral (f! receiveing), unsafe sex (rings probably shouldn’t go there, take ‘em off before you get nasty), unprotected sex (just remember you could get pregnant and if the thoughts of children doesn’t scare you… then the thought of an std should), porn without plot (what’s plot), talk about piercings and tattoos, pierced/ tattooed! scara

this is a repost because i'm moving my nsfw works onto this blog!!

genshin impact masterlist || modern au masterlist

You recalled stumbling into your boyfriend’s dark apartment, your feet catching the edges of various furniture as the two of you tugged on each other’s clothes, mouths not parting from each other on your way to the bedroom. It took all your strength to stay upright on wobbly knees, Scara’s tongue caressing your own and greedily swallowing all the noises that escaped you.

His iron grip on your waist and your arms slung around his neck kept you up as his tongue, pierced with a metal ball, grazed yours with every other motion, the difference in texture keeping you on your toes and making every kiss feel new and exciting.

The next moments were hazy but, soon thereafter, ringed hands travelled your body and slowly pulled your top off, exposing more and more skin to the indigo eyes studying every sliver of it. Lifting yourself from the mattress, you helped him get the article of clothing out of the way before sinking back into the soft pillows, stripped completely bare from the hips upwards, and Scara wasted no time getting to work.

Ever the artist, he dedicated the first few minutes to adding more reddish hues to the canvas that was your skin, already eager to run his fingers over the purplish bruises they’d leave around your shoulders and collarbones in the morning. You couldn’t help the shiver which overtook you as you felt him shift his weight lower on your body, his tongue travelling down your sternum, making goosebumps rise in the wake of the smooth metal on your heated skin.

Mischievous eyes drunk in how dishevelled you already looked, planning how to have you writhing in his sheets in no time. Before you could question the spark in his eyes, painted nails had already closed around one of your pebbled nipples, twisting the poor bud and pulling a surprised gasp from you which transitioned into a breathy moan as his lips wrapped around its twin. Watching for your reaction, he lightly pressed your nipple towards the roof of his mouth, rolling the sensitive skin between his lips and flicking his piercing against it.

“Ah-! Scara!” The sensation had you arching your back into his touch, your hands flying up to root your fingers in his midnight blue hair, as heat shot down to your core. You could feel his smirk against your body before he pulled off with a pop.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” He grinned, eyes darkened in the dimly lit room. Sitting up to straddle where your hips met your thighs, he pushed his flat palm down onto the valley of your breasts before slowly -teasingly- dragging it downwards, causing you to shiver at the temperature difference between his fingers and the rings littering them. “I wonder, is this all it takes to rile you up? I might as well check, right?”

After stopping his movements right at the waistband of your bottoms, he made a show of dipping his fingers under the material first before working them off completely with your help. When the garment landed in the pile forming on the floor next to the bed, he repositioned himself between your spread legs, calloused hands tantalisingly gliding up the plush of your thighs. A beat of silence passed in which you both drank in the sight of each other; you, undressed and with glazed over eyes spread out on his bed, and Scara, framed by the light highlighting the piercings on his cheek as he towered over your form.

“Let’s see then, shall we?” He whispered, not being able to resist the temptation of snapping the elastic of your underwear and making you jump at the slight sting. Trailing his fingers down at an excruciating, leisurely pace, his nails merely grazed the delicate skin around your core, just to hear you whine his name in frustration. Switching up his tune, he dragged the digit over the soaked material of your last remaining piece of clothing. An amused chuckle slipped past his lips, not hiding his glee even a little. “As I thought, you really are getting off on just this. When were you going to tell me I’m dating a little slut huh?”

“I’m not-” The sudden pressure on your clit combined with the mean nickname had you cutting yourself off with a high-pitched whine. Opening your eyes again, you found yourself staring up at your boyfriend’s expression curled into a smirk. “That’s not fair!”

“Oh but we both know you like it when I’m being unfair.” Leaning down next to your ear, you could feel his breath fanning its shell, his voice low as if he was sharing a secret. “You get off on being my little plaything, letting me do whatever I want with you. And the best part? You enjoy it. You enjoy it so much I can feel your thighs twitch just from talking to you like this, no doubt ruining those flimsy panties of yours even more when I haven’t even put my hands on you in earnest.”

The worst -or best– part was he was right and you were both well aware. Nothing wound you up faster than hearing the honey-dipped venom drip from his lips as he toyed with you and your release, cruelly denying it or giving you so much of it your senses were flooded with only him and the pleasure he brought upon you.

After continuing to dart his touch from one place to the other without ever staying in one place long enough to scratch that itch building in your core, he finally decided to show you some mercy and strip you completely bare. With all of you on display for him, Scara took the liberty of studying how your arousal shone in the bedroom light as your glistening cunt clenched around nothing from the anticipation.

“Stop staring and get on with it already!” Even to your own ears the plea sounded a little too desperate considering how little had happened thus far. And your boyfriend was quick to remind you, too.

“Listen to you, so eager to let me fuck you,” he laughed. “Fine, fine, guess I’ll give you what you want.”

That was all the warning you got before he thrust a finger inside to the last knuckle, embarrassingly little resistance stopping him. On the contrary, it was more as if your walls kept sucking him back in, clinging to skin and metal, when he pulled the digit back out. 

The difference in texture and temperature made for a combination that kept you on your toes, never quite able to anticipate how the next stroke would feel or which his jewellery would catch next. Adding a second finger, Scara distracted you from how he shifted his weight further down the bed and used one hand to push your legs further apart, slotting his shoulders between your thighs.

You squirmed in his hold as he lifted your legs over his shoulders, his mouth level with your core as he let his breath fan your slick-covered folds, which were still being abused by his cruel fingers. Tightening his hold on your thigh, he brought you closer to his kiss-swollen lips, only to stop when he was hovering right over your twitching clit. 

“Eyes on me, doll,” he breathed, mouth almost brushing against you with the ghost of a touch. When you looked down, piercing indigo eyes were already focused on you, half of your boyfriend’s face already obscured by your own body. Something about the intimacy of the position and the intensity of his attention on you made you heat up as you fought to hold the eye contact.

Satisfied, Scara lowered his mouth all the way down to close the small gap and now you were burning up. Feeling his lips close around your clit tore an obscene moan from you, especially when he flicked his tongue with the silver ball against it, much like he did earlier, with the sole intent of getting you to arch into his touch. Simultaneously, he curled his fingers upwards and curled them as if he beckoned you closer to him despite already enjoying the most intimate proximity, brushing the spot he knew you liked but purposely missing it, laughing at your whine.

When you were twisting and panting enough for his liking, clearly starting to unravel at the seams, he switched it up by increasing the pressure on the little bud and angling his fingers to hit that spot dead on. Tangling your fingers in his hair and the fabric of the sheets, you tried grounding yourself as your mind flew into overdrive and stars danced across your vision. It wasn’t the first time he’d eaten you out and that knowledge fuelled the fire in your belly, convinced he did it just as much for his pleasure as for yours. Something he proved with the groan escaping him as you clenched around the digits stroking your velvety walls. You couldn't help the involuntary jerk of your hips as you felt a sheen of sweat building all over.

“Hold still,” he mumbled, barely pulling far enough away to properly mouth the words. “I’m trying to work here.”

With that, he dove straight back in, tongue dragging over your clit, sucking it into his mouth as his fingers kept working you open. The sounds coming from between your legs were downright obscene, a lewd mixture of your obvious arousal and Scara’s enthusiastic movements, like it was the filthiest make-out session you’d ever seen (and heard). A certain degree of embarrassment climbed up your spine just to be drowned out by the pleasure of the prolonged stimulation you were experiencing. 

Subconsciously, you pulled on his roots, to which your boyfriend answered with a guttural groan sending vibrations right through you. With another high-pitched moan, your feet flexed against his back as your toes curled and your thighs clamped shut around his head, the metal of his nostril and dermal piercing cool against your heated skin. Desperate to snap the coil in your stomach, you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth and called out for your boyfriend, less to signal your building orgasm and more because it was the only thing you could think of.    

“I’m so close— Scara, please!” 

“Begging already? Go ahead, doll, and make a mess on my hand. I know you want to cum all over my fingers,” he purred against your burning up skin. His voice drifted off into a soft whisper, wafting through the fog of your orgasm to bring your attention back to the man between your legs. At this point you were barely coherent, only babbling moans intermixed with your boyfriend’s name.

“Keep saying my name, pretty,” he moaned against your folds. “Let me hear who’s making you cum like this.“

You complied with his request easy enough, not that you really needed the incentive. And then you let go, letting wave after wave of pleasure rush over you, giving in to the sensation spreading through your body. Meanwhile, Scara, who had slowly pulled his fingers out of you, was busy lapping up your release, guiding you back down from your high not letting a single drop go to waste. Only when he was sure there was nothing left did he carefully slip your legs from his shoulders, sitting up between them as your gaze remained stuck on him

And you were glad it did, because you didn’t want to miss the way Scara’s tongue flicked between his fingers to clean your essence off of them, his jewellery shinier than ever from your arousal clinging to it. The sight had you holding your breath rather than catching it. Cleaning his lips from the slick clinging to them, he leant down, so he could lean down and press a kiss to your temple. “That’s it, ‘did so well for me, pretty. How are you feeling? Doing good?”

“Mhm,” you replied, still a little drunk on the pleasure he just delivered to you. “Felt amazing.”

“Good,” he mused against your skin, unoccupied hands massaging your sore thighs, one of them smearing your release mixed with his spit onto the muscle. Pulling back to look into your eyes and check your reaction, he asked “Do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah, I want to,” you affirmed. Showing him a small smile and trailing your hand down his chest to the front of his pants, strained by a prominent bulge, you added, “Can’t make this all about me, can I? I want you to feel good too.”

“My, aren’t I lucky to have such a considerate partner?” While the statement came out sarcastic, you knew he actually meant it. If you had told him you were too exhausted to continue, you knew he would have respected that. But frankly, you needed him to fuck you stupid. “Or perhaps it’s less about me and you’re an insatiable little minx who wants to be stuffed even after already cumming? Well, not that I mind either way.” 

“A little bit of both maybe,” you chuckled, brushing some of his bangs out of his face. With some of your clarity returning to you, bantering came easy again. “I’d probably feel a lot more motivated if you lost some of your clothes as well.”

“So honest too,” your boyfriend laughed along, pressing another kiss to your forehead before granting your wish. Revealing his lean build and toned stomach by discarding his baggy shirt was always a sight to behold, especially with all the ink covering the skin and flexing alongside his muscles. But as much as you appreciated the view of your boyfriend shirtless, your heart leapt into your throat every time he undressed fully. You knew some of his friends made fun of Scara for his height but damn if they knew where all those inches went…

“Careful, you’re starting to drool,” he teased. Helping you up, he manoeuvred you to sit in his lap at the edge of the bed, your back pressed firmly against his chest. In this position you could clearly feel his hard dick against your backside, smearing precum along your skin and furthering his promise. “You know, if you wanted to get fucked dumb, you could’ve just said so. I’m more than happy to help you out.”

“Noted,” you said. But before you could add a quip of your own, you were cut off by your own strangled yelp when you felt him bite down at the base of your neck. Not hard enough to cause any serious irritation but enough to get your attention back on him.

“You know I love that smart mouth you have on you but right now all I want to hear you moan is my name and how good I’m filling you.” And with just this shift in his tone, you were already nodding along, clearly establishing who was holding the reins here. Lifting you by your hips, Scara aligned your pulsing core with the mushroom tip of his cock, groaning at the slick heat. “So pliant and obedient for me… Now be good and watch as you take me.”

For a second you were confused before your eyes met your own in the floor-length mirror across from you. The surprised arch of your brows only lasted for a second though before you felt Scara push the head past the muscles of your entrance, the initial sting eased by your previous release but still a delicious stretch. You shut your eyes and turned your head at witnessing the round ‘o’ shape your mouth parted into and, immediately, your boyfriend held you still, not allowing you to sink further down on his length.

“Didn’t I make myself clear?” He asked, one hand leaving your hips and grasping your jaw instead, angling your face to look forward again. “I told you to watch yourself. Don’t make me say it again. You wouldn’t want me to.”

Your weak ‘Y-Yes’ sounded pathetic even in your own ears but you craved nothing more than to stretch yourself further on his dick and you’d do whatever to get there. So you complied and cracked your eyes open again to take in the compromising position you were in, knees spread and hovering over your boyfriend's lap. 

“There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He cooed right next to your ear, the low timbre of his voice grazing your ear as he rewarded you by inching you down his dick at an excruciatingly slow pace. As you stared into the mirror you had a first row ticket to seeing the coherent thoughts slip from your mind as Scara mouthed down your neck, pierced tongue flicking over particularly nasty marks he left. 

Despite all the previous preparations made, it was still a tight fit as you struggled to take all of him. So when you neared his base and your walls clamped down hard on him, one hand slid up to play with nipples some more as the other traced circles into your hip and provided something for you to hold on. Your second palm found the back of his head again as you arched your back and a string of moans intersected with curses spilt past your lips.

“You’re doing so well, almost there, pretty. See?” Pressing down on his length through your skin had you positively mewling from the stimulation as well as the image you saw in the mirror. Relief washed over you when you finally sank all the way down and could rest your strained thighs against his. As he pressed a fleeting kiss to your cheek, the two smooth piercings on his own traced the turn of his head. “I knew you could do it, you always do. You were basically made to take me. Nobody else could stuff you this well anyway.”

“Fuck! Only you, Scara,” you whined as you accommodated his length and waited for the pain to give way to pleasure. “Please fuck me, I need you so badly.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” On the first drag out, he made sure you could feel each and every vein against your sensitive walls before slamming back in with a single thrust. His deep strokes never failed to knock the air from your lungs and soon enough you were gasping at your own reflection, pleasure intensified by watching how his dick glistened from your arousal more every time he pulled back out before pushing in with a wet squelching sound.

When your gaze drifted towards an indigo one, you were hardly surprised to find your boyfriend already watching you. Whether it was the furrow of your brows, your parted lips, the sweat rolling down your neck or the bounce of your chest, to him it was all incredibly alluring, especially because he was the one who got you into this blissed out state in the first place. 

“You’re gorgeous like this,” he mused into the crook of your neck, voice betraying just a bit of the strain he must be feeling. “But I have some improvement ideas.”

“Ye-ah?” 

Catching your bouncing breasts in his palms, his fingers trapped the skin of your areolas and rolled it around, applying just the right amount of pleasure. “Don't get me wrong, these are cute as they are but I bet they’d look even hotter with piercings in them. What do you think, doll? Would you let me pierce those gorgeous nipples of yours?” 

There was no need to actually nod your head, the way you squeezed his cock at the imagination was a dead give away of how much you enjoyed the fantasy of letting your boyfriend do just that. Just envisioning the exciting sting when he’d pull on the delicate jewellery while in a position similar to this had your hips buck down of their own accord.

“Yeah? You like that?” You could hear the self-satisfied smirk in his voice without having to tear your eyes away from the fingers playing with your chest, thighs trembling as the second high of the night creeped up on you, further amplified by the idea of shiny jewellery decorating your body. “Getting close again? I can feel you clamping down on me, no need to deny it.”

By now, there was no thought running through your head aside from your boyfriend and how deep he was hitting every sensitive spot inside of you. You were giving it your all to follow his command of watching yourself but at one point it became too much and your head rolled back into his shoulder, baring your neck and throat to him completely. 

But you weren’t the only one nearing your orgasm. Although better at hiding it, there was no concealing the laboured groans next to your ear or the heated throbbing of Scara’s cock inside you, his hips snapping up into yours more erratically. Snaking one hand down your front once more, deft fingers drawing figure eights on your aching clit.

“Bet you’d even let me pierce you down here, yeah? Making this little thing even more reactive, just so I can rile you up more? You’re such a slut, I bet you’d even beg me to do it,” he panted breathlessly, pinching the area in question to underline his point.

“Scara, please—!”

“Fuck, yeah just like that.” His laugh came out stuttered. “Let me mark what’s mine, yeah? Make sure nobody gets any funny ideas—“

Both of your voices trailed off into whines and groans as you gripped him like a vice, having him doubling his effort to pull back out as you sucked him back in. Then, your thighs locked up and you let out the sweetest yet most sinful moan of the night, trembling through your high as you milked your boyfriend for all his worth. With stuttering hips, he slammed in one more time as deep as he could and bit down on your shoulder as thick, hot spurts of cum filled you up. 

Catching your breath, you slumped back bonelessly against his chest as he rode out his orgasm before you pushed the hand that was still meanly tracing your clit away with a weak whine. You felt his chuckle as much as you heard it while he pressed a kiss to the mark he left with his teeth. Despite his cock still plugging you up, you could feel some of his load dribbling from your spent hole.

Slowly, you loosened the death grip you had on his hair, flexing your fingers to regain some of the feeling in them. Finding your voice again, you inquired “So, about those piercings… Did you mean it?“

“Oh, definitely.” Eyeing the darkening skin of your shoulders and collarbones mischievously, he met your gaze through the mirror, bucking his hips up just enough to feel you clench around him again. “Perhaps you could give me some more inspiration for a new tattoo as well~”

© the-travelling-witch 2023 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

➺ send in an ask to be added to or removed from my tag list

[vernons-girl]

what about like your in the car with mingyu at midnight, your just friends but a storm hits and the roads are closed so you go at the nearest motel to stay the night but they only have ONE BEDDDD(suggestive but no smut?)

a blessing in disguise | kim mingyu

fluff, suggestive? (making out and heavy petting),w.c:1k6

a/n: i'm living for the only one bed trope omggg!! i hope you like it <3 (also tumblr literally wouldn't let me post this so please give it lots of love hehe)

You and Mingyu were on one of your usual midnight drives, as the both of you often had clashing schedules, random night drives were the only way for you guys to meet up in the middle of your hectic schedules.

You guys were chatting, laughing, singing along to the music coming from the speakers, all in all, everything was doing great.

Until it started raining. Hard.

The rain pelted against the windshield as Mingyu navigated the car through the deserted roads. Midnight had long passed, and the world outside seemed to have fallen into a deep slumber. Inside the car, however, a tense silence hung thick between you two.

"We should probably turn back," you suggested, glancing nervously at the storm brewing outside.

Mingyu shook his head, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "No way, we've only been out for what? Like 30 minutes? Besides, the storm will pass soon." Mingyu tried to convince you.

You nodded, though you felt a little uneasy. You had agreed to this late-night drive under the guise of friendship, but lately, something had shifted between you two, at least that’s what you felt. Mingyu's laughter seemed to linger a little longer, and you found yourself stealing glances at his figure more often than before.

As if on cue, lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder that seemed to shake the very ground they drove on. The car swerved slightly, and Mingyu cursed under his breath, his knuckles turning white from gripping the wheel so tightly.

"We should at least find somewhere to wait until the storm calms down" you suggested, voice barely audible over the storm.

Mingyu nodded, his expression grim. "There's a motel up ahead. We can wait out the storm there."

The motel appeared out of the darkness, its neon sign flickering ominously in the rain. Mingyu pulled into the parking lot, the tires skidding slightly on the wet pavement. As rushed inside while he held a jacket over you guys’ head to protect you from getting too drench before seeking refuge from the tempest.

The receptionist eyed the two of you warily as you approached, water dripping from their soaked clothes onto the linoleum floor, the jacket had not been that useful, you thought.

"Um, good evening. We.. We need a room," Mingyu said, his voice urgent, handing out his card without a second thought.

The receptionist nodded, handing him a key without a word after handing him back his card. "Room 12," she said, gesturing towards the stairs.

You followed Mingyu up the creaky staircase. The air between you two crackled with tension as you reached the door to your room. Mingyu hesitated for a moment and looked back at you before unlocking it, the sound echoing in the silence of the hallway.

The room was small and dimly lit, with a single bed dominating the space. Mingyu cursed under his breath, running a hand through his damp hair. "Looks like we'll have to share," he said, avoiding your gaze.

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of spending the night in such close proximity to Mingyu. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach.

“You should go take a shower. Warm yourself up. We’ll have to put our clothes to dry too.” he said.

“Mh, yeah. Right.” you replied, heading to the small ensuite bathroom before jumping into the shower, the hot water almost burning your freezing skin.

Mingyu had taken off his clothes and hung them on a chair to dry, sitting on the bed, waiting for his turn in the bathroom.

After a few minutes, you finally stepped out of the shower and slipped your underwear back on as it was the only thing dry enough to be considered wearable.

You came out of the bathroom holding the towel tightly against your body, only to be welcomed by a half-naked Mingyu. You gulped.

“Your turn,” you simply said, “there’s another towel on the sink.” you added, feeling your face heat up at the unusual scene happening.

“There’s another chair for your clothes.” Mingyu said before standing up, his shoulder brushing against your arm as he stepped into the bathroom to shower.

After putting your clothes to dry, you slipped under the covers since it was so cold in the room.

You could still hear the rain hitting the window and the wind whistling as you waited for Mingyu to come back.

You closed your eyes, trying not to overthink the situation too much, the click of the bathroom door startled you out of your attempt as you caught a glimpse of Mingyu’s body in the doorway, the light behind him darkening his silhouette that was ever so perfect.

He wasted no time in lying down on the bed, over the covers.

“What are you doing ?” you asked “Aren’t you cold?” you questioned upon seeing him slightly shake.

“Yeah but, you know,” he started “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by being under the covers with you.” he finally admitted.

Gosh why did he have to be such a gentleman? Your heart swelled at his word before you urged him to get under there before he could die of hypothermia.

You two laid on your backs, trying to keep as much as a distance between your bodies.

Nothing could be heard aside from the storm that was still raging outside.

As the minutes ticked by in the dimly lit room, the tension between you and Mingyu seemed to thicken with each passing second. The storm outside showed no signs of abating, and you couldn't help but feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you both. Despite the awkwardness, there was a strange sense of intimacy in the air, as if the storm had brought forth an unspoken understanding between you.

Mingyu shifted slightly beside you, his warmth seeping through the covers and mingling with yours. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, tempting you to inch closer, to seek solace in his embrace. But you hesitated, unsure of where these newfound feelings would lead.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Mingyu spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen."

You turned to look at him, confusion etched into your features. "What do you mean?"

Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I mean... I didn't plan for us to end up in this situation. Alone. In a motel room. With only one bed."

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, the implications of his confession sinking in. "I know," you murmured, unable to meet his gaze. "But what are we supposed to do now?" you asked rhetorically.

The back of his warm hand lightly brushed against yours as Mingyu hesitated for a moment before reaching out to gently take a hold of it, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "I don't know about you, but... I can't ignore how I feel anymore."

Your heart skipped a beat at his declaration, the words you had been too afraid to say out loud hanging heavy in the air between you.

You turned on your side, facing him with your hand remaining in his before he did the same, your gaze now locked despite the darkness of the room.

His other hand reached out from under the covers to cup your face in his palm.

"I've been trying to fight it, but I can't deny how much I care about you," Mingyu confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Being stuck here like this, it's made me realize that I don't want to hide my feelings anymore."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened to his words, feeling a rush of emotions flood through you. "Mingyu, I... I feel the same way," you admitted, your voice trembling with vulnerability.

He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours as he spoke. "I've been wanting to tell you for so long, but I was afraid of ruining our friendship."

You reached out, tangling your fingers in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips meeting in a soft, tentative kiss. The electricity between you was palpable as you melted into each other, the warmth of his body pressing against yours as you shared a moment of deep intimacy.

He leaned into the kiss, pulling you closer to him by your waist, his touch hot against the expanse of your skin.

As the kiss deepened, all the pent-up emotions and desires came rushing to the surface. Mingyu's lips moved with a hunger that mirrored your own, his hands roaming over your body with a gentle urgency. The world outside seemed to fade away as you lost yourself in the intoxicating sensation of being with him.

With each touch, each caress, the barrier between friendship and something more dissolved until there was nothing left but the raw, unbridled passion that simmered between you two. Mingyu's fingers traced patterns along your skin, igniting a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment.

You found yourself tangled in the sheets, your bodies pressed together in a fervent embrace. Mingyu's breath mingled with yours, his heartbeat echoing the rhythm of your own as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming tide of emotion that swept over you both.

The intensity of the moment seemed to drown out the sound of the wind and rain, leaving only the sound of your beating hearts.

After a moment, you finally pulled away from one another, pants coming from the both of you.

Mingyu brushed a few strands of hair before speaking up :

"Maybe this storm was a blessing in disguise," he said softly.

You nodded, your heart racing as Mingyu leaned in closer, closing the distance between you once again. And as the storm raged on outside, you found solace in each other's arms and closure in your relationship, your growing feelings finally laid bare in the darkness of the night.

[daycourtofficial]

Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - Part 10

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author’s note: yall. I love this part. It’s all Azzy baby.

(Masterlist)

Cassian: I feel weird doing this

Cassian: it feels like an invasion of privacy

Rhys: just let me know, one way or the other, how she feels about Az

Rhys: it’s not really an invasion. They invited you.

Rhys: this way, if she doesn’t like him, we can help Az move on

Cassian: they’re grilling her about Az

Cassian: if she doesn’t like him she’s an incredible actress

Cassian: shit, the movie’s starting - talk later

-

You wake up sometime close to midnight, throat dry and in desperate need of water. You groan into your pillow, reaching for the glass on your nightstand only to not find it.

Cursing yourself for washing the dish and not replacing it, you push off the bed, not quite opening your eyes fully in the hopes of going back to sleep quickly.

You open your door, padding through the dark living room toward your kitchen. You grab a glass from the cabinet and open the fridge, filling your glass from the carafe.

Your legs start growing cold in the night air as you slide the pitcher back in, closing the door with your hip as you walk back to your room, only to stop short at a phone screen lighting up the living room.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, sitting on the couch at Azriel’s feet. He bends his legs, pulling his feet towards him to let you sit down.

He looked incredibly cozy - he was wrapped up in a massive blanket that showed the night sky, his tiny stuffed bat was perched on his chest. He locks his phone, putting it on the coffee table, giving you his full attention.

“Rhys and his dad were arguing over the phone, and those fights can last ages. I wanted to give him some privacy.”

To accent his point, you can hear muffled shouting through the wall, Rhys’s anger permeating the wall between you two.

“And to be somewhere more quiet.”

He pauses, then looks at you, hazel eyes glowing in the darkness, “I’m sorry, I should go, I kind of auto-piloted over here-“

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s fine,” you say, nestling into the couch.

“Does he have a name?”

He knits his brows at your question, until he follows your eyes to the bat in his arms.

“Uh, no, he doesn’t.”

“That’s a shame,” your gaze lingers on the bat as Azriel sits up. You two fall into a peaceful quiet, until he tells you, voice soft, “I uh - Cassian got me this plushie. When we were kids, my uh step-brothers lit my hands on fire.”

You turn to him, and he’s not sure if it’s how big your eyes are peering at him, or the way your hair is mused with sleep, or just how small and vulnerable you look, but he continues.

“Cassian bought it for me when I was in the hospital. He didn’t have much money, but with his last damn dime he bought me this stuffed bat.”

He looks at it, the thing that has brought him such comfort from such a horrifying experience. It was worn, its color inconsistent across the fabric from where his hands and arms have constantly held onto it.

“Sometimes in my dreams I’m that kid again, and they’re pouring the gasoline on my hands again. But the - the bat helps.”

Hence why he brought it over, you think.

He keeps talking, unsure why. “The bat can also be warmed up and it helps when my hands hurt.”

“Do they hurt now?”

“A little,” he tells you.

“May I?” You nod towards his hands, and he can’t hide the shock on his face at your question.

He’s never had anyone ask. Everything about this is so new. For someone to let him come to them when he was comfortable, instead of feeling entitled to his trauma.

He reaches his hands out to you, placing them gently in your hands. Your hands are cold, but soft. Your thumbs begin stroking softly, working their way into the muscle, and he moans at the sensation.

His cheeks redden, but you continue your task at hand, rubbing into his hands, soothing the dull ache that always accompanies them.

He almost misses your words, too focused on the way your fingers feel.

“I wish the world had been kinder to you.”

You don’t look up, your eyes focused on his hands as you continue your work.

“But at least you had Cassian and Rhys to be there. I know it doesn’t stop what happened, but at least you weren’t alone.”

His lips part, and his fingers twitch, the urge to wrap yours in his stronger with your kind words.

But he doesn’t, not yet. He lets you continue your work, massaging his hands, and a comfortable silence settles over both of you.

He shifts his legs as you turn to face toward him, and he cages you in with his legs. He pushes forward a bit, resting his forehead on yours as you continue massaging his hands.

“Was it hard? Having to let your hands heal?”

“Mm, yes. It was a pain, especially having to relearn everything. I dropped so many cups and plates because my grip would just give out.”

You’re quiet as you let him ruminate on old memories, your touch making him feel so calm. He feels so far away from that boy who had to learn how to grasp doorknobs, to put on socks, to hold a brush.

He thinks about those months and how Cassian and Rhys’s love carried him through those years. How they helped rebandage his hands every day, how they would massage his hands, how they would ensure he did his daily exercises.

They were the most important people in his life, but maybe you’ve wiggled your way into getting that descriptor too.

It’s quiet in your apartment, the only noise the humming from your throat.

“What are you humming?”

You squint your eyes, trying to remember the name of it. “It’s by Mitski, I think.”

He pulls his right from your grasp, pulling his phone back out, along with a pair of headphones. He opens the Spotify app on his phone, typing in ‘Mitski’ into the search bar.

“Oh yeah, it’s that one,” you point at the screen, as he plugs in the headphones, offering one to you. You move closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder to be close enough to share the headphones.

You nestle it into your ear, the soft sounds of “My Love Mine All Mine” playing into the earbuds that connect the two of you.

Azriel looks down at you, how soft and content you look. He wraps an arm around you, holding you to him as he moves his legs underneath you, stretching them out against the sofa. His hold on you causes you to shift with him, your body half on his, an arm around his waist as your face is buried into his neck.

Your eyes grow heavier, the soft melody of Mitski’s voice and Azriel’s fingers stroking through your hair lulling you back to sleep

-

Cassian opens the door to his room, ready to head out for this godforsaken 8 AM class he had to sign up for. He’s heading towards the kitchen to grab whatever fruit you two have, he thinks there’s either a banana or an orange, when he stops in his doorway.

You and Azriel are asleep on the couch. You’re on top of Azriel, your face tucked between his chest and the couch. Cassian looks closer and sees that your arm is wrapped around the bat plushie he bought Azriel all those years ago. Azriel’s arms are wrapped around you loosely, keeping you in place.

He laughs at the pair of headphones that are wrapped between the two of you, tangled amidst arms and hair, music still playing from them.

He pulls his phone out, snapping a quick photo. He opens his messages, searching for the chat entitled they’re idiots, which included Rhys, Mor, and Feyre, and sends the photo. He grabs an orange, heading to the door trying to be as silent as possible.

As he reaches for the doorknob as his phone starts vibrating with new messages.

Feyre: they look so cute tho ��

Feyre: omg Cass wake her up

Feyre: she has class early today!!

Rhys: and risk the wrath of Azriel in the morning?

Rhys: don’t do it

Rhys: he’s a cranky bastard in the morning

Cassian types out a response, shutting the door softly behind him.

Cassian: maybe he won’t be today

[thehistoriangirl]

Since ur doing blurbs too👀 TRICK OR TREAT! SURPRISE ME🤍🩶🖤

Yesssss, okay bestie, this is ur trick and treat :3

Hope you like it!

The Sweeter Trick

Viktor x gn!Reader----626 words---SFW

Summary: You have more than one trick under your sleeve to convince Viktor to go to bed.

Tags: Established Relationship | Domestic Fluff |

The clock had chimed midnight by now, its ticking the only company Viktor had while working on his new project.

Between the scribble of his pencil dragging among calculations and messy blueprints filled with fragments of eraser, Viktor heard the muffled rhythm of your feet against the wooden floor of the hallway. 

“Vitya…” you said, voice groggy; your figure almost shapeless with the oversized fluffy robe of your pajamas, almost like a cloak.

Viktor hummed turning to fully see you after settling his pen down, still comparing two equations to localize where the calculation had gone wrong. “Yes, my love?”

You sat in the armrest of the couch, leaning your body against the outline of the couch to rest your head against his. “Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?” you uttered, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I’m scared.”

He sighed, pretending to be annoyed for the interruption, though you could hear the smile in his voice. “I told you not to watch that horror movie at night, dove.”

“But today’s the day to watch them!”

“It was,” he pointed out, always the smarty-pants. “It’s past midnight now. You should be in bed.”

“Please, Vikky, Vikky,” you said, pouting and giving him your best puppy eyes. "I'll fall asleep quick."

You saw his eyes flickering as he pondered his options; for once, the crouched position in the couch had given him a sore back, though he also wanted to keep going with his project before any idea could slip off his mind.

“I suppose I can take a small break,” he said, his muscles protesting when he stood up, a groan accompanying his stretches. 

He took the cane, pushing the four empty coffee cups at the center of the table to not knock them over as he passed from the living room to where you were standing in the middle of the dim hallway.

“Come, my love, let’s get you to bed,” he said, going straight to the bedroom where you had already prepared the bed in case Viktor went to sleep with you in his own will, unsuccessfully. Until now, that is.

Your boyfriend tucked you into bed, using your reflexes before he could scoop away, pulling him by the lapel of his shirt so he had no choice but to lay next to you with a sigh. 

Viktor called your name, almost naggingly. Though the sound stopped when you hugged him, making him the little spoon.

“Alright, you have your teddy bear, now go to sleep,” you heard him mumble, his breath drawing goosebumps in the crook of your neck. 

“A very handsome teddy bear,” you said, and he chuckled. 

“Goodnight, my love,” Viktor answered, his lips brushing your neck though his tone was more like a memorandum about you falling asleep than a proper goodbye. 

You looked down at him, his pale skin from days to not have gone to a walk outside, the purple eyebags under those striking golden eyes. 

Taking in his scent, of coffee and ink and citric, you kissed his forehead, bathing him in your warmth and dimming the lamp so the room was barely lit enough to see the pale skin peeking under his baggy night shirt, the hollow ends of his hipbone under the hem of his pajamas. 

When you finished taking him in, you heard Viktor’s snores filling the room, his chest moving a soothing and even motion. 

Smiling that your tactic worked, you slipped one hand toward the end of the blanket, wrapping it around his body as he scooped closer to you, his right leg climbing to rest in your thigh. 

“Goodnight, my love,” you said against his hair, nuzzling into his presence as you too, fell asleep. 

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Return to Sender [5 of 7]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark! Andy Barber x Reader, Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: Andy Barber promised he would never let you go, and come hell or high water, he's going to keep that promise.

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Gaslighting, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Possessive behavior, Smut, MORE TAGS TO BE ADDED

A/N: 👀 is… is anyone still there? i promised i’d update this this weekend, and i delivered. an hour before midnight, but i delivered. 😅 i know it’s been a while for this fic, but it hasn’t been forgotten about. i really hope you all enjoy this latest installment, and please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think! as always, comments are great, reblogs are golden. thank you for reading, and mind the warnings. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

 Where am I?

You stare blearily at the distant ceiling, dull and rusting metal beams criss-crossing over exposed brick. You reach out for Dove, and when your fingers meet empty air, your throat tightens as you remember. 

Pronge walking away with your baby, and Ari—

You sit up, your fingers knotted in the thin blanket. The repurposed garage office is still and silent, the springs creaking quietly underneath you. The air smells like old motor oil, singed rubber and citrus-scented antiseptic, and it burns your nostrils. You’re almost afraid to shatter the fragile silence with the sound of your movement, but it can’t be helped as you shove your feet back into your sneakers. The office is long abandoned, the desks all pushed up against the sides of the room to make space for the bed.

The hallway is slightly better, boxes of papers and car parts lining both sides, lit by old yellow florescent bulbs that give off less light than they should. There’s a dusty, unlit neon sign that reads Gary’s Auto-body, leaning against the wall. Down the hall, you can see that the light is on in the garage proper, this one bright and brilliant white. You squint as you pass through the doorway, spots dancing in front of your eyes as they slowly adjust to the light. 

In its previous life, this place had been a car mechanic’s garage, but now it serves as something like a speak-easy operating room. The car lifts have been mostly dismantled, and sitting on the concrete in the rusted outline of where they used to be are two operating tables. Ari is on one of them, speaking quietly to the man winding a length of beige bandaging around his right shoulder. 

Zemo. Ari called him Zemo.

“Mouse, you’re up.” You cover your mouth with both hands to stop the surprised squeak from reaching him. Guiltily, you peer around the door frame, waiting for a reprimand that doesn’t come. The “doctor” regards you with cold, calculating eyes. 

“So this is the young woman Mr. Barber is tearing the city apart to find,” he says. “How nice to finally meet you.” Andy’s name sends a cold shiver down your spine, and you clutch yourself. Zemo’s welcome feels less like kindness and more like tolerance. It makes you wonder how long you’ll be staying here. 

“You know Andy?” You ask, careful to keep your face as neutral as you can manage. 

Zemo scowls. “Well enough to know we do not get along.” He shakes his head, before regarding you with a cold smile. “Your husband has just as many enemies as he does friends.” Beside him, Ari sits up on the table with a pained grunt, swinging his legs over the side. 

“We can trust him, Mouse.” Ari offers you a watery smile. Nervously, you step closer, skirting around the now defunct counter as you attempt to give Zemo as wide a berth as you can manage. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, cleaning his tools with a cloth before dropping them with a loud, metallic pap into the metal tray next to the table. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him in a quiet voice as you approach, fingers dancing nervously around the gauze. You shake your head, closing your eyes as you blow out an exasperated breath. “I mean, I know you’re not okay, but—” Ari places a warm hand over your own, a quiet laugh rumbling in his chest. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Lucky for you Pronge is a terrible shot.” Zemo quips. “He missed bone.”

“See?” Ari says, squeezing your hand tight before letting go. “I’m just fine.” 

“You’re not fine. You have a six millimeter hole in you.”  

“Semantics.” 

“Keep activity to a minimum. I shouldn’t have to tell you this,” Zemo replies dryly. “And keep it clean, I’m not going to do it for you. This isn’t a hospital.” You watch him pack up his tools, ferrying them over to the deep sink on the other side of the room. Ari slides off of the table with a grunt, and you watch him press his lips together as he stands upright, gritting his teeth against the pain. 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Ari mutters, cutting his eyes at Zemo over his shoulder. “Six millimeters.” The doctor tosses him a worn looking cloth sling. Ari tries to fit it over his shoulder, and you rush to help him. “Thanks, Mouse.” Your cheeks warm with an uncomfortable heat. “I could have done it myself.” 

“This is all my fault,” you mumble angrily, shaking your head. “I have to do something.” You step back from him, tucking your chin. He rests a warm, comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“No it’s not.” 

“If I—If I hadn’t—” Guilt is an achingly heavy cowl about your sagging shoulders. 

“Mouse, what good is this going to do you?” The gentleness in his touch makes you flinch.

“As much as I am enjoying this conversation,” Zemo clears his throat. “I have my own wife and son to be getting back to.” You watch as he places his cleaned tools back into his bag. “Do remember what I said about your… hole.” He gestures to Ari’s injured arm with a grimace. “I’m rather keen on not amputating.” 

“You and me both.” Ari says. The two of you watch as he makes his way over to the front of the shop, pulling the metal garage door up enough to slip underneath it. “What time tomorrow?”

“Noon.” 

The garage door slams down hard onto the concrete, and then there is silence. You stand there awkwardly, twisting your t-shirt in your restless hands. They’re so used to holding the baby, without her sure weight in them they feel… useless. 

You feel useless. Adrift. 

And it isn’t just Dove—it’s everything. Despite what Ari says, you know this is your fault. He’d never have been hurt if you hadn’t been so fucking helpless. And it’s your own fault, you’d let your guard down, let Andy back inside, let him make a home inside your head, and it was your fault. 

“What are you thinkin’ there, Mouse?” Ari’s voice interrupts the self-depreciating internal monologue running rampant in your head. “I hope it’s about getting some sleep, you need it.” Again, his earnestness puts you on edge. You don’t know what to do with it—it feels alien to you now, almost like you’d prefer Andy’s smug cruelty—at least then you know what to expect. 

You don’t want to admit that you’re blaming yourself, thinking about all the ways you could have prevented this exact course of events just by being better. 

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m exhausted.” If anything, you’re too awake, recalling last night’s events with perfect clarity. You can’t even look at Ari as the two of you silently make your way back to the repurposed offices, shuffling along beside him as your insides squirm. You feel too much to go to sleep, so many warring desires it feels like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.

You suppose that’s one thing you sort of miss about Andy—you didn’t have to think, didn’t have to feel. He did it all for you. You arrive back at your “room”, fidgeting nervously before you cross the threshold. You don’t think you can sleep in here now, now that the adrenaline has worn off. Now that the terror has been waylaid by your other earthly concerns. 

 Ari notes your hesitation. 

“I can stay with you util you fall asleep, if you don’t think you can.” 

You duck your head, shaking it emphatically. “I should be looking after you,” you reply, shooting him a look over your shoulder. “You should, um, rest.” Ari looks around, raising an eyebrow. Oh. There’s only one other bed—and it’s current occupant is currently snoring so loud you can hear it in here. 

“You sleep here, and I’ll—” You look around. “I’ll sleep in one of the rolly-chairs or something.” He laughs softly at your sudden determination. 

“You know I’m not letting you sleep on chairs, Mouse.” Ari rests a hand on your shoulder. “You take the bed.” 

“You got shot, Ari!” You hiss. “I-I-I can’t—”

He holds up his hands placatingly, like he can see you working yourself up. Hell, he probably can. 

“Okay.” He threads the fingers of his good hand through his blond hair. “I’ll sleep on one side, you on the other. Fair?” 

“Y-yes. Fair.” Your words shock the both of you, and you feel your face heat as he regards you with a look of pleasant surprise before you look down at your feet. 

“You don’t have to agree if you aren’t comfortable, Mouse. You know that. I wouldn’t—”

“I know.” You grip your own forearms tightly as you speak, like you’re afraid saying the words out loud will make them untrue—like speaking the name of your demon will bring him down upon you. “You’re not Andy.” 

Ari takes the left side of the bed, and the springs creak under his weight. You crawl in beside him, holding yourself as stiff as you possibly can to avoid even brushing him by accident. The truth is, you are scared—but not of Ari. 

And that frightens you, too. 

He’s a man, a stranger, wearing a face too similar to the one you’re running from. Now, though, when you’re brave enough to peek at him, you see Ari—not Andy. And the longer you’re here, the clearer you see him.

You lie there in the dark, your arms held painfully stiff over your chest as you search the dark with wide, glassy eyes. The ceiling is far enough above you that your brain begins to construct patterns and shapes on it’s popcorn-textured surface. Grinning faces, tall, shadowy figures—

“Mouse, are you sleeping?” 

You hesitate. “…No.” 

“Go to sleep.” You swallow against the thick lump in your throat, blinking back hot tears. 

“It’s… It’s hard without Dove.” It’s so silent without the baby, the darkness uncomfortably quiet without the sound of her sleepy burble. She’s probably awake right now, wailing for you. You press the heels of your palms against your eyes like you’re trying to hold the tears in. 

“I know.” The mattress creaks, and you feel Ari’s weight shift. The weight of your loss settles in on you, then, the crushing vacuum of your daughter’s absence sucking the air out of your lungs as you gasp for it. You can’t keep quiet anymore, your hiccoughing breaths rising in pitch until you’re sobbing, hot tears streaming down your cheeks to soak your hair and the thin pillow beneath. 

“Hey, hey, come here.” Ari’s touch is hesitant. He lets his fingers linger on your shoulders before he hugs you, like he’s waiting for you to rebuke him. You don’t. Instead, you curl into his chest, your wails muffled by his body as you tangle your fingers in his over-shirt. You cry so hard it hurts, your throat raw and aching. 

Ari’s hands don’t stray. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t murmur false platitudes or make promises he knows he won’t be able to keep. He just…holds you, his breath steady and heartbeat slow and even under your ear. 

And then, finally, you fall asleep.

—

In the light of day, Irene looks terrible. Her left eye is swollen black and purple, a patchwork of burst blood-vessels and yellow bruises spread out over  cheek. The other side of her face is not much better, the other eye open but blood red, and her nose swollen. It’s obvious she took a beating, a bad one. Still, she seems to be in higher spirits than last night as she shovels the last of her cereal into her mouth. You’re doing the same thing, hungrily crunching down the contents of your own bowl. 

“We need to talk about next steps.” Irene draws the back of her hand across her mouth, her one good eye focused on you. “We need to move.” 

“I’m not going anywhere without Dove.” 

“That isn’t an option anymore.” 

You clench your hands into fists on the table. “I’m. Not. Leaving.” 

“We will figure out a way to get her back, but right now? You cannot go back to Boston, he is never going to let you go, do you understand that?” It’s like you’re speaking two different languages, talking around one another in dizzying circles. You shove yourself away from the foldout table, knocking over your plastic chair. 

“I’m not fucking leaving without my daughter!” You haven’t felt like this in months, and something about it feels freeing as the hot rage pools in your chest.  No, it isn’t that you haven’t felt it, you haven’t let yourself feel it. Anger was hopeless with Andy, firm and stone faced in the hurricane of your rage until you exhausted yourself, your freedom, your life still frustratingly far out of your reach. 

You storm away from the table, kicking aside one of Zemo’s silver trays, and his tools skitter across the concrete. Behind you is the sound of Ari’s voice. 

“I’ll talk to her.” 

You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you need to be away from them. Alone. The bathroom is on the far side of the garage bay, and you slam the door behind you, your chest heaving. You can’t leave without Dove, you won’t. 

You won’t abandon her. 

You grip the porcelain edges of the sink hard as you blink back fresh tears. You turn on the water with a fierce jerk of the knob, and begin to rinse last night’s tears from your face. This is the cleanest room in the building, fresh towels stacked on on the shelves, and medical supplies arranged neatly in the glass cases across from the standing shower. 

It’s probably the only room Zemo actually uses. 

As you’re drying your face, a knock sounds at the door, and you glare at it as you huff. 

“What?”

“It’s me. Can I come in?” You chew your lip. 

“Fine.” 

You unlatch the lock, and fold your arms across your chest as it opens. Ari peers around the door. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” You repeat, and he chuckles, stepping fully inside as the door swings shut behind him. “I’m not leaving without Dove.” You say it firmly, watching his shoulders sag with his deep sigh. “It’s not happening.” 

“Mouse. Look at me.” Reluctantly, you drag your gaze from the air over his shoulder. “Your husband—”

“We’re not married.” You spit, and Ari rolls his eyes at the technicality. 

“He’s dangerous, Mouse. You know that.” Ari places gentle hands on your shoulders. “You know that as soon as you step foot back in that house that he will never, ever let you go again.” Your stomach twists at his words.

“I can get out again.” 

“Will you want to?” His bluntness feels like a slap across the face, and though Ari hadn’t struck you—would never—your cheeks smart anyway. You know what he’s implying—Andy scrambled your head all up inside, and half the time now you don’t know up from fucking down.

But it still hurts to know he knows. Knows how changed you are, even though he never got to see the before, just the after.  

“Fuck you!” You snarl. “I am not leaving her! And if you won’t help me get her back, then I’ll—I’ll go back my fucking self!” For the first time since you’d met him, Ari actually looks angry at this, his eyes darkening beneath his furrowed brows. “If you don’t care about her—”

“I let Leah go back.” It takes you a moment to realize who he’s talking about, what he means. “I let Leah go back, and then I had to bury them both.” Ari’s hand is a pale, trembling fist on the bathroom sink. His next words are hoarse. “I didn’t know they made coffins so small.” 

“Ari…”

“I care about Dove.” The words are heavy, and you hate that you know he means them. “We are going to get her back.” His eyes are shiny, but he doesn’t cry. “I fucking swear we will get her back, but you are not going to do that. Okay? You’re not.” 

“You promise?” Your mouth trembles. 

“I promise.” Ari wraps his pinky around yours, holding your entwined fingers up at eye level. “And you aren’t going back.”  

“I-I won’t.”

“Promise.” His dark eyes burn so fiercely you want to look away. “Promise.” He repeats it firmly. 

“I promise.” 

And then he’s kissing you, cupping your chin with his good hand as he presses his lips desperately against your own. Your heart pounds in your ears as you go stiff in his arms. Ari breaks away, releasing you with a soft curse. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Mouse, I—I didn’t mean to do that, I just—” For once, he’s flustered, his cheeks ruddy beneath the shadow of his beard. Ari cards his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.” 

The moment hangs between you in the air, held like a breath. 

Your body stays tensed, like you’re ready to fight, or run, like it remembers Andy’s strict instructions. Except… Andy isn’t here to deliver them himself. 

“It’s…” You don’t know what to say, hell, you don’t even know what you’re feeling. Everything is all mixed up, the emotions all biting the tails of the ones they’re chasing—you’re terrified, you’re exhilarated, you’re nauseous and scared and happy and—

“I’ll go. I should go.” Ari mutters the words more to himself than to you. You’re moving before you really mean to, leaning up on the tips of your toes to press a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I—I don’t want you to go.”  With a sigh, Ari melts against you, resting his forehead against yours.  You know you have done this before—many times, even just with Andy—but somehow there is a marked uncertainty as you lift your own hand to Ari’s face, stroking your thumb along his stubbled jawline. He hums, turning his face into your palm, and you feel the press of his lips. 

 Ari wraps his good arm around your waist, his fingers pressing into the meat of your hip through your pajama pants. His right arm flexes, his fist clenching and unclenches in the sling like he wants to move it, but he knows better. Instead, he buries his nose in your hair, the tips of his fingers creeping up beneath your t-shirt to stroke at your belly. You tense at his touch and then relax again, shivering. 

“You tell me to go, I go.” Ari repeats softly, nosing down the side of your jaw. “I won’t be angry.” You look for the pool of cold dread that usually sits in your belly whenever Andy touches you, the reluctant fear that you stamp down to please him but find it entirely absent. 

“You don’t have to make me happy, you don’t have to do what I want because I want it.” You have to stand on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around Ari’s broad shoulders. There is undeniable excitement uncurling in your belly, warmth skipping under your skin at his touch. You want Ari to touch you.

“What if… it would make me happy?”

Ari huffs out a breathy laugh, his lips curving against your own. “That’s all I seem to want to do.” He takes your mouth again with a fervor that leaves you pleasantly breathless. Ari tangles his fingers in the curls at the nape of your neck, holding you still. His teeth tug at the weight of your lower lip and you gasp, opening for him. Ari tastes faintly of cinnamon sugar and something distinctly him that makes you shiver. 

“Been wanting to do that for a goddamn week.” He sighs the words against your mouth. He smooths his hand down the back of your neck, tracing a gentle finger along the length of your spine. You don’t know you’re holding your breath until you release is as his palm skirts over the curve of your ass. He chuckles. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yes.” Ari palms your ass in response and you gasp, tangling your fingers in his over-shirt. It feels strange to be asked what you want, to even consider your own feelings as worth listening to. Andy tells you what to want, what to think, how to feel—Ari simply…allows you to be. Just as you are. 

“I wanna touch you, Mouse,” he breathes. The admission sends a sharp bolt of electricity straight down your spine. “Can I?” You can’t avoid his eyes anymore, reluctantly meeting his gaze with your own. The words stick in your throat.

“You have to tell me, Mouse.” He strokes your trembling chin with the pad of his thumb. “I’m not him.”Andy always played at giving you choice, but you know Ari isn’t. That if you tell him to, he’ll walk away, and he won’t punish you for it. 

You close your eyes hard, pressing the lids shut till they hurt. You don’t want to think about Andy right now, don’t want to think about Dove without you—you just want this. It feels like you have to reach down your own throat to find it, pulling your own voice up and out through your mouth with force.

“Please?” 

Ari groans, plunging his hand into your loose sleep-pants to wrap around your thighs. He’s strong enough to lift you one-armed as you adjust. You wrap your legs around his waist as a reflex and he hums approvingly, his fingers sinking into the meat of your hips. 

The hard planes of his body press against yours, and your face heats as you think of the new weight that has settled around your hips and belly, but Ari does not seem to notice its presence, his fingers skimming appreciatively along your skin. You can feel the bulge of his cock pressing against your core, and the breathy, surprised noise you make in the back of your throat at the feel of it prompts a chuckle. 

Ari grips your hip hard as he takes a few long strides backwards until you feel cool tile beneath your back. He holds you there, pinned comfortably between his body and the wall as he grinds into you. He ruts against you with a groan. The thin, stretchy fabric between you offers little protection, considering, you can practically feel him throbbing through his zipper. 

“See, Mouse?” He says lowly. “All for you.” Ari releases you, and your feet have barely touched down on the tile before he’s pulling at the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Let’s take this off.” You nod, tugging it up over your head breathlessly, unaware of where it lands after Ari tugs it from your fingers. He drops to his knees, hooking a finger under the elastic band holding up your pajamas. You tense, remembering the last person who had been between your legs, but Ari grounds you, his lips brushing over the curve of your hip. 

“Don’t.” His mouth moves softly against your skin. “Stay here. With me, right now. Don’t go anywhere else.” Ari peels the layers of clothing back from your skin, his hands roaming hungrily over each newly revealed inch. You step out of them and then quickly scoot off your socks. Ari looks up at you from between your thighs, making hard, heavy eye contact as he places a hand beneath your knee. 

“Can I do this for you, Sweetheart? Can I make you feel good?” God, you want to let him. Everything’s out of you control—Andy, Dove, your whole life, but this? This is yours. This, you get to choose.

“Yes.” Even the act of consent feels unfamiliar. “I—I want to.” You don’t know how to describe the way you see the relief leave his body, his broad shoulders relaxing as he widens your stance, pushing your thighs apart till he can kneel between them properly. He squeezes the back of your thigh reassuringly before slowly lifting it to rest on his good shoulder. Ari holds your gaze as he leans forward to place a kiss on the chubby curve of your vulva through your cotton panties. 

His mouth is warm and soft—reverent as he mouths at your swelling lips through the fabric. Ari strokes your hip as he catches the fabric with his teeth, before pulling it aside to marvel at your bare pussy. You want to look away but you don’t, your mouth dropping open as he delivers a sloppy kiss against your slick folds. 

“O-oh,” the sound falls from your lips unbidden, and you feel his mouth curve against you. He pauses briefly to shrug out of his flannel, and dimly you are aware of the sound of his zipper before he’s back, his face thrust hard into the soaking place between your thighs. You mumble his name. 

“Ari, Ari, Ari—” 

He rolls the pearl of your clit against the roof of his mouth, circling your entrance with one finger. You press your head back against the tile, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. You do not remember threading your fingers through his hair, but as you tighten them, tugging, he moans, throaty and low. When you chance a look down, Ari is staring at you with lidded eyes. He flicks your clit sharply with the tip of his tongue, humming appreciatively as you jackknife. 

“Go ahead and cum, Mouse,” he murmurs the words against your slick, twitching skin. “It’s okay, Sweetheart, I know you need it.” One hand remains buried in Ari’s hair, tugging on it helplessly as the other scrabbles for purchase against the tile, looking for something—anything—to hold onto. You push against the hot water knob, and the pipes rattle as water rockets through them. You are tangentially aware of the spray of warm water from the shower head—but only barely. You whine helplessly, hips rolling against Ari’s face as you cum. 

He presses the tip of his finger into your cunt, groaning at the feel of you, wet and swollen and sucking at him. He gently lowers your leg, and your trembling knees nearly buckle. You watch as Ari wraps his fist around his cock, pumping it slowly as he stares at the sticky, messy spot at the apex of your thighs. It’s thick, veiny like his forearms. He sweeps his thumb across the tip,  spreading the dewy drop of precum gathered there. 

Ari stands, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. From inside, he produces a wrinkled—but sealed—condom. He tears into the packet with his teeth before discarding it. He fumbles with one hand, nearly dropping it, but you help, gingerly pulling the condom from his fingers. Ari stands stock still as you roll it slowly down to the base before he grasps your chin, his mouth crashing against yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue. 

This time when he lifts you, he uses the wall to leverage your weight, sinking you down slow as you lock your ankles behind his waist. Ari’s head lolls, his lips parting in a silent “o” as he draws his hips back, and then fully sheathes himself inside. The air in your lungs escapes in a sharp, needy whine. 

“F-full.” You don’t even realize you’ve said it until Ari hums in agreement. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it Mouse?” He breathes. “Shit, you’re squeezing me so nice,” he breathes, drawing back until your cunt is sicking at the tip of him before driving all the way back inside. You manage a nod, your hips rolling greedily into his.

“I-I—fuck—again—” The words don’t want to leave your tongue in any sort of sensible manner, but Ari understands them, grinning hungrily as he picks up the pace. He skims your clit with his thumb, and you can feel the sparks skittering up your spine and you gasp as he does it again and again—

“Come on, Sweetheart, you’ve got one more in there for me, don’t you?” He mutters, angling his hips up into yours as you writhe against him. “Wanna feel it on my cock—mmm, fuck—” You do, leaning forward to bury your face against his chest as you wail, your cunt clamping down around him like a fist. Ari curls his massive body over yours as he empties into you, his hips pressing softly against yours. He holds you there, his cock jerking and throbbing inside of you as he mumbles soft ‘mm’’s and ‘yeah, fuck yeah’’s into your hair until he’s done. 

You stay like that, your body buzzing as the warm water streaming down over you. Eventually, when you can no longer feel the hammer of his heart against your cheek, he pulls out, and you press your lips together in embarrassed amusement at the crinkle of latex. He knots it off before tossing it into the trash bin. Your cheeks burn as Ari cleans between your legs, cupping your swollen cunt with an appreciative hum. He slides his fingers through the folds of your sticky sex, and your breath hitches. 

“I’m just cleaning you up, Mouse, I promise.” He’s true to his word, there’s   hungry, lustful intensity in his touches, only care. You str heady yourself against his shoulder, and your heart drops at the  sight of his bandages. The center is tinged with a pink circle, and as you stare at it, it darkens a little. 

“You’re bleeding.” Ari looks down at his shoulder and grimaces.

“Occupational hazard, Mouse. I’ll be fine.” He attempts to reassure you with a smile, but it doesn’t completely do away with the cold feeling in your belly.

“We’re going to need to change these, at least,” you say, fingering the edge of his wet bandage. “I think Zemo will be mad if we don’t.”

“He’s always mad.” Ari replies, and you laugh. “But yes. We’ll change them” 

It somehow feels more intimate to stand there in the shower with Ari, slowly washing off the events of the last day and a half. He shampoos your hair, rubbing it in gently at the roots with the tips of his fingers. When you’re finally done, he helps you towel off, before producing a generic grey sweatshirt and pants from one of the cupboards after a bit of rummaging. 

When the two of you return to the garage, dewy cheeked and differently clothed, Irene snorts. 

“Had a good time, did you?” 

—

Dove won’t stop crying. 

Andy isn’t a bad father, he knows he’s not, but for some reason, he can’t get her calmed down. Her little fists are clenched tight, beating the air above her head with a frustration Andy as her father, cannot seem to quell. He bounces his daughter tiredly as he paces around the nursery, mumbling soothing baby speak as he rubs circles on her back. 

She’s been wailing practically nonstop since Pronge had delivered her, his expression grim as he’d handed her over. 

I couldn’t get your wife.

Andy had wanted to rage, then, and he almost had, itching to slam the whiskey glass in his hand into Robert’s face for the trouble—but Dove’s fussing had provided a sufficient reminder that it might not be appropriate to do so. She cries herself to sleep, hiccoughing in his arms until her breathing evens. Andy carefully lays her down in the crib, stroking his hand over the curve of her cheek. He closes the door to the nursery, and to his disgust, Robert Pronge stands in the hallway, the decanter of whiskey from his office held in his hand. He takes a swig from it. 

“Who else was with her?” 

Pronge grimaces. “Irene. And her new assistant. Fucker’s as big as a goddamn house. Name’s Ari Levinson, he owns some shithole bar.” Andy’s eyes narrow.

“Get out.” He shoulders past the killer in his hallway, not bothering to take back the bottle.

“And do what, exactly?” He sneers. 

“Finish your goddamn job, and find my wife.” Andy waits to hear the sound of the front door before returning to his office. He’d had you—and you’d slipped right through his fingers again. You wouldn’t want to be apart from Dove, at least, that much he could be sure of. You’re a good mother, regardless of the doubts he knows he’ll have to plant in your beautiful head to get you to stay. 

Ari Levinson. 

The name is unfamiliar, and a search through both Massachusetts and New York state databases return no results. He does, however, get pings on basic search engines.

Ari Levinson. Dishonorable discharge, tried for murder, dismissed as self defense.

Now that is interesting.

It’s after midnight when he finally decides to turn in for the night, and as he closes his office door, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He reaches for it, frowning at the unfamiliar number—but then his eyes widen at the caller I.D. 

Albany.

“Hello?” At first, there’s only grainy silence on the other end, until finally, you speak. 

“I’m ready to talk, Andy.” 

He smiles. “Oh, Honey. I knew you would be.” 

to be continued…

previous next

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[oracle-of-dream]

Submissive and huh?

Minors DNI

Summary: Your friend Taerae recently learned a new term and wants your thoughts. Explaining it might help him understand properly, but do you have the strength to tell him.

Warnings: Male Reader, Idol Taerae, Student Reader, Lewd faces/Ahegao, Mention of arousal and breeding

Wordcount: 1.2k

Math classes had been kicking your ass all semester and tutoring from the professor wasn't working out. You'd ended up being assigned a study partner. The program was meant for students struggling with the class to help each other. That's how you met Taerae. 

He didn't originally introduce himself as an idol, especially since it was an online class. No one had seen his face. But when you met up with him for the first time to study together, you instantly recognized him from TV. You hit it off over a shared hate for math and spent more time together outside class.

He'd complain about his idol life issues and you'd give him any notes from class he'd missed.

You'd just gotten home from a late-night study session at the library. As if it knew, your phone lit up with a text as you sat on your bed.

TR: Yo! Y/N, I met some fans while out with the members today!

YN: Cool. Don't you meet fans wherever you go?

TR: Well these stuck out!

YN: How?

TR: Well, I noticed them, a bunch of guys, giggling in the convenience store and pointing at me and Hao while we were shopping. I didn't want to embarrass them so I just played it cool and ignored them. But then they came up to me!

YN: Okay, some brave fans? That's it?

TR: Just wait a sec! 

TR: They came to me and told me they were fans. But more specifically, MY fans! Of course, I was happy to hear, but they were foreigners because they used a term I didn’t know.

YN: What term?

TR: Submissive and Breedable?

TR: I know what submissive means, they mean I'm not an aggressive person. That's not entirely true, but I'm submissive at times.

You looked at your phone, blinking a few times. Some "fans" dared to say that!?

TR: I can't find anything when I look it up, it's probably slang, right?

Maybe telling him that his fans want to breed him wasn't the best thing to tell your friend. He was just too wholesome for that.

YN: Yeah, it is, but it's not something cool. No one says it really, it's not the trend anymore.

TR: Really? I know trends, I'm not old, but I haven’t heard of that.

YN: See? There's no reason to worry, just fans being weird.

TR: Well, the photo they wanted was also...off.

YN: Off how?

TR: They wanted me to stick my tongue out and look up at the camera, which was super high above me. To be honest–it felt a little embarrassing to pose like that.

You shook your head trying not to imagine his cute self making lewd faces for a group of boys, but it was hard. And so were you.

YN: You should be more careful, they could use photos like that weirdly.

TR: What do you mean?

YN: Let's drop it. Subject change, what are you doing now?

TR: I'm getting ready for bed, I just got under the covers.

You looked at the clock, midnight was on its face.

YN: Oh shit, I didn't even realize. You should sleep!

TR: No, no, I'm pretty awake. Plus, it's nice talking to you. Did you want to video call while you get ready for bed?

You’d done it before, talking on video call into the night, but it was always a little like Taerae just wanted to see you.

YN: Sure, I'll call you.

You pressed the video call button on your phone. It showed your reflection as you waited, automatically you straightened your hair a little and kicked some stuff on the floor out of frame.

Taerae answered the phone with a smile, the camera close to his face.

You laughed as you set your phone on your desk, "Well hello to you too, why so close?"

"No reason, I just want to see you closely."

"Well, I can see you so closely I can count your pores," You scoffed as you went into your closet to find pajamas for the night.

"Is it weird I'm holding it so close?"

"A little, but it's no big deal. If you don't wanna show yourself then why'd you wanna video call?"

Taerae didn't answer.

"Are you still thinking about what those guys said?"

He shuffled in bed, "Mmhm."

"I promise it's nothing bad."

"Then why don't you just tell me?"

You sighed, "Okay, fine, I'll spill."

Taerae's eyes peered curiously at the camera as he waited for you to come out of your closet. You settled on wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and shorts. You returned to find Taerae's eyes filled with impatience.

You swallowed awkwardly, "You already know what the submissive part means, but the other part..."

"Breedable," Taerae reminded you.

"Yeah–It means," You struggled to find a good way to break it to him with that look in his eyes. So full of trust and purity. "It means, they wanna do it with you."

Taerae's expression dropped into surprise, "Oh, that's it? I read about that kind of stuff of fans wanting me to have sex with them. That's not so bad."

"Well, breedable means, specifically where you'd be the one getting fucked. Likely by a man. Who wants to... finish in you."

You couldn't bring yourself to look at the screen to see his expression. He'd fallen silent, thinking of a response. It felt like ten minutes passed until he broke the silence.

Taerae's voice was deep and serious, "Y/n."

"Yeah?"

"Look at the screen." You looked at the screen to see Taerae in bed, holding the camera above him to show off his shirtless torso that was mostly covered by the bed sheet except for his collarbone and neck. "Am I breedable right now?"

You felt warm in your face as you answered, "Yeah, I-I guess."

"Submissive, too?"

"Sure," You said as you looked down at your hands.

"Yes or no! Sure isn't good enough, and look at me!"

You complied, looking at him. He smiled before making a face; his eyes looking up at the camera as he stuck out his tongue and held up a peace sign with his other hand.

"Jesus, Taerae!" You looked away quickly. Your heart was in your ears, pounding as the image of sweet Taerae's lewd face was plastered behind your eyelids.

He laughed loudly. "I am, aren't I? Submissive and breedable. I take it as a compliment, they like me that much! To be honest, you look all shy... You look a little submissive too."

You moved your phone so he couldn't see you anymore.

"I was kidding! Don't hide from me!" Taerae's muffled voice shouted from the speaker of your phone. 

After you calmed down, you turned your phone back over to see him still there. Still shirtless, and holding his phone at the same seductive angle.

"You're so weird!" You yelled at Taerae, who just giggled.

"And you still like me anyway. Even with all my breedable energy."

"I'm going to hang up–"

"What!? We gotta see you do the pose too, what if you're more breedable than me, we should test how–"

You cut him off as you pressed the red dial button. You turned your phone off before he could call you again. You lay in bed, alone in the dark, thinking about Taerae's face.

And in the privacy of your home, you test if you can also feel submissive and breedable, making Taerae's new iconic look. A secret he'll never know about... As if you didn't already have a big secret.

[sl-ut]

tipsy

pairing: jake lockley x fem!reader, slight marc spector and steven grant x fem!reader (reader is in a relationship with the system)

description: y/n returns from a night out with her girls and can’t resist from how beautiful her boyfriend is.

warnings: SMUT, reader is intoxicated (just tipsy, not wasted) and kind of a bitch, mocking, oral (m receiving), shower sex, moonboys arguing

words: 3K

date posted: 18/01/23

The apartment was silent when Jake jolted awake, save for the bubbling of Gus’s fish tank and the faded roar of London’s nightlife. He groaned, neck clicking back into place as he leaned back into the desk chair, cursing at Steven for nodding off in such an uncomfortable position. His sight was fuzzy, eyes still heavy with sleep as he glanced at his surroundings; several books on Egyptology laid spread open across the top of the desk, an uncapped highlighter tossed carelessly on the floor and a series of fluorescent yellow smudges staining his fingertips. Sighing, he pushed himself away from the desk, leaving it exactly how he found it–Steven could clean up his own mess–as he reached into the cupboard for a bottle of amber whiskey. 

He took three small sips from it, careful not to allow himself to feel any sort of strong effects from the alcohol, as he always did when Y/n went out with her friends, always prepared to go pick her up in the early hours of the morning if he needed. He glanced at the clock on the oven, squinting to read the bright green letters.

3:36 AM.

His eyes immediately shot over to the bed, alarmed when he found the blankets in the same haphazardly made fashion that Steven had left them in as he rushed out the door to work; the boys had quickly learned to do so in order to avoid a lecture from their girlfriend. 

“Damn it Steven, you were supposed to stay awake until she got home,” He swore as he turned to meet Steven’s snarky stare in the reflection of the window. 

I’m sorry, but she’s not normally out this late, Steven huffed, Usually a night out has her home and in bed by midnight.

Jake, He turned his head to find Marc in the reflection of Gus’s tank, He's right, she should be home by now.

Panic arose in his chest. Quickly, he abandoned the bottle of whiskey on the desk as he crossed the small studio apartment, forcing himself through the closed bathroom door. He called her name frantically, catching Steven once again in the bathroom mirror.

I’m sure she’s alright, maybe she called after I nodded off.

Jake nodded, turning into the bedroom and pausing. The personal cell phone that they all shared was not in its usual place on the bedside table, nor was it in the pants that Steven had worn to work that day, or small pocket inside his satchel. Jake ignored the Brit’s yelling of discontent as he watched him dump the contents of his brown leather bag on the floor, searching through the mess of papers and granola bar wrappers.

“Where the hell did you leave it, Steven?”

He stopped in his tracks at the sound of a key shakily being jammed into the lock, trained eyes watching as the lock began to turn and the door slowly creaked open, and finally letting out a breath of air as he watched his girlfriend stumble over the threshold of the apartment. 

“Helloooooo,” She sang out, jumbled giggled falling from her lips, “I’m here, somebody come love me, please!”

Jake shook his head as he stifled his chuckle, stepping forward and into the dim lighting provided by Steven’s desk lamp. His eyes did a quick scan over her body, searching for any sign of blood or injury, though the only sign of a struggle was the long run in her tights and her lack of shoes.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, though a mischievous grin spread across her cheeks as she leaned across the back of the couch, “Well hey there, big boy.”

He smirked, copying her posture as he rested his shoulder against one of the many vertical beams. He could tell by the way that she was looking at him that she was attempting to figure out exactly who she was talking to. Her eyes flickered over to the desk, taking in the dishevelled appearance of the books and the man who had once been sitting there. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

He nodded at her, refusing to speak so that she would need to guess which one of the three it was. On a regular day, it would be easy for her, but in her state it might have been more difficult. 

“Well,” she slid forward to stand in front of the desk, “These are all Steven’s books here, but from the looks of them,” she fingered at the crumpled and folded pages before glancing over her shoulder at him, “And you, he fell asleep.” She turned, pushing the books back so that she could boost herself onto the edge of the wooden desk, “But Steven doesn’t drink whiskey.”

Jake nodded once more as she gazed at him through hooded eyes, slowly fluttering her lashes in a manner that she knew would have any of them weak in the knees. He shifted, crossing his arms over his chest to mock the way that Marc might stand. 

“Hi Jake.”

He scoffed, dropping his arms as he crossed the room to stand right in front of her. He allowed her to tug him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist and sliding her hands over his arms to knead his biceps gently. 

“How’d you know it wasn’t Marc?”

She smirked up at him, leaning closer to whisper into his ear, “You didn’t look grumpy enough.”

His head rolled back as a hearty laugh rumbled out of his chest, growing even deeper as Marc shouted in protest and Steven agreed with her. 

“Oh,” He rested his hand on his belly, “He didn’t like that, princesa.”

She shrugged, leaning forward to nudge his nose with her own, “He can punish me for it later. But for now…” Her hands slid down his arms, around his back and landed just above his bum as she tightened her legs around him, “I’m all yours.”

He allowed her to press a warm, sloppy kiss to his awaiting lips, but didn’t allow it go any further as she began to wiggle against him. 

“We were worried about you,” He told her, “You’re usually home a lot earlier.”

“I know,” She shrugged, “I called and texted.”

“I couldn’t find the phone,” He admitted.

She raised a brow as she glanced down, nodding in the direction of where the phone was almost entirely covered in scattered paper, save for the corner. 

“Well apparently I didn’t look quite as hard as I could have.”

“Apparently not.”

Where are her shoes?

“What happened to your shoes?” He asked, both genuinely concerned and hoping to change the subject from his failure to find a scarcely hidden cell phone. 

“I took them off.” She shrugged, “I think Jenny has them.”

Now what if she had stepped on a needle or-or a sharp rock? 

Check her feet, they might be bleeding. 

Jake did as Marc instructed, stepping away and unwrapping himself from her limbs so that he could inspect her feet. They were dirty, of course, and the sheer fabric around the bottoms of her feet was torn up. There appeared to have been a few scrapes from the sidewalk, but the worst of the injuries were the two large busted blisters on each of her heels, oozing blood and various other fluids. 

“Shit, cariño.” Jake rushed to the bathroom, returning a moment later with the first aid kit. 

“That’s why I took ‘em off.” She shrugged, leaning back on her palms and allowing him to care for her feet, flinching as his fingers touched the swollen areas around the blisters. 

He sat in the unsteady office chair, carefully pulling her feet into his lap and tugging at the tights, “Can I rip these?”

She barked out a laugh, “Now you’re asking? You’ve ripped a lot of my nicer things off of me without any notice.”

He grinned up at her, ignoring the heat that grew in the tips of his ears at her lewdness. One thing that he always appreciated about these nights out was that she always lost all shyness and reservation the moment that a single drop of alcohol touched her tongue. 

“You certainly didn’t mind all those other times.”

“That’s because you rocked my world right afterwards. You gonna do that now?”

He glanced down, not ignorant to the way that his pants grew tighter at her words. 

She’s drunk, Steven argued, Don’t take advantage of her.

“You’re drunk,” He noted, tearing the material away from her feet and beginning to dab at the open sores. 

“Tipsy,” She corrected, “And horny. Please?”

He shook his head softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her kneecap, “Tomorrow, cariño.”

Y/n groaned, “I don’t want it tomorrow.”

He raised his brow as he finished cleaning her heels, “Oh really? I’ll keep that in mind. Now come on, let’s go to bed.”

She shook her head, pushing past him–making sure to bump his shoulder as she did so–and pausing in the bathroom doorway, “I need to shower.”

He sighed, carefully packing the first-aid kit back up and leaving it on the desk before making his way over to the bed. He leaned back against the headboard, glancing over to the partially closed bathroom door, only allowing him to see the vanity, though the mirror allowed him to see the figure he’d been longing for. 

He watched the reflection as she carefully peeled herself free of the ruined tights before reaching for the zipper on the side of her dress. His breathing became laboured as he watched each article to fall away, leaving her bare to the world as the mirror began to gloss over with steam. 

Go for it, Marc advised, If she’s really that mad about it then she’s definitely not that drunk. She’s never this unreasonable when she’s drunk.

Don’t, Steven argued, She’ll get over it.

Jake groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as the two argued in his mind, “Shut up, both of you. I can’t even hear myself think.”

He pondered for a moment, then finally made his decision. 

The bathroom was frosted in steam, Jake’s body temperature skyrocketing as he stepped inside. He glanced down at the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, withholding a groan as he recognized the familiar pair of pink lace panties that had been thrown on top, carefully dropping his own clothes on top. 

The curtain prevented him from spotting any details, but he could faintly make out her figure as she stood beneath the pounding stream of hot water. She did not seem surprised to hear the curtain run quietly along the track as he stepped in, refusing to turn to face him as he stepped into the stream as well, wrapping his arms carefully around her waist and holding her back to his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmured into her neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, “I don’t wanna take advantage of you, mi amor.”

She was frustrated with him, but she simply couldn’t avoid the way that she slumped into his embrace so easily. She sighed, tilting her head back to rest against his shoulder as their eyes met, a silent understanding.

“You wouldn’t be,” She argued softly, “But it’s okay.”

He kissed her lips softly, one hand coming up to grasp at her hair and help her to remove the remaining suds of shampoo. He pushed her gently to stand a bit further from him, allowing him to run a generous amount of conditioner through the ends of her hair. When he was finished, she turned, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and pressing herself against him.

“I love you,” She whispered into his shoulder, but he heard nonetheless. 

“Yo también te amo angel.”

He felt the corners of her lips turn up against his flesh as she glanced up at him, wickedness clear in her eyes.

“What are you–oh!”

He gasped as her hand moved down, wrapping firmly around his length, which had been unabashedly erect against her thigh as they embraced, proving to her that he truly did want her. 

“Let me do you,” She whispered to him, beginning to administer slow pumps, “That’s all. Please, Jakey.”

NO!

Looks like she’s going to either way, bud. May as well enjoy it.

She kissed him softly, taking his eager response to her as permission. Cautious not to slip, she lowered herself to kneel in front of him, gazing up at him through her lashes as she carefully dragged her tongue up the bottom of him, cupping his sack in her slick palm. 

He groaned, leaning back against the wall in submission to her. She giggled, pressing the softest of kisses to his flesh before finally taking as much of him into her mouth as she could manage. Jake choked on his own spit, one hand carefully finding the nape of her neck to support her movements while the other ran through his own locks, smoothing the wet curls out of his face so they couldn’t obstruct his view.

“Baby-shit,” His hips stuttered forward, his tip grazing the back of her throat.

Her mouth curved around him, though she did not pause or slow her movements to respond with some witty comment, as he knew she had wanted to. 

Hey!

His eyes snapped up, finding Steven staring back at him in the reflection of the stainless steel shower head.

“W-what now?” He stammered out, not noticing the way that she glanced up at him, but didn’t stop; she was more than accustomed to the boys talking and arguing with one another while she was having sex with one of them.

Shut the water off! I don’t even wanna look at the bill we’re gonna get this month.

Jake almost laughed, hell, he probably would have if he hadn’t been balls-deep in his girlfriend’s mouth. Reaching over, he grasped the handle and turned the water off before turning back to watching her. She raised a brow, a silent question.

“Steven complained about the water bill,” He explained, groaning as she choked slightly around him as a small laugh vibrated around her body.

He pressed on the back of her neck, prolonging the feeling of her choking around him for a few moments before pulling her back and hauling her up to her feet. His lips met hers in a furious kiss, tongues intertwining and teeth gnashing as he grasped at her thighs, carrying her out of the shower and dropping her onto the countertop as if she were a doll. 

Eagerly, she spread her legs, grinding against him. He pulled away, moving down her body in hopes of returning the favour, though he was stopped by her, grasping his chin tightly and pulling him back up.

“No, no,” She gasped, “I need you. Please, I just need–”

“It’s okay,” He soothed, pulling her to the edge of the counter and lining himself up, “I got you, I got you.”

He slid into her easily, her folds sopping with arousal. Another perk of these nights out was that she was always so ready for him, and was always so responsive to his touch. He laughed as she squirmed against him, crying out louder than she normally would as his tip kissed her cervix. 

Y/n rocked against him, meeting his every thrust without fail and shivering as her clit continued to be tickled by the dark curls on his pubis. Her arms wound around him, nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in his muscular back as she gripped him for dear-life.

“Jake,” she gasped, “I’m not gonna last long.”

“I know,” He grunted, hands grasping her bum to pull her into his thrusts even more, “Me neither, princesa.” 

“I love you,” She cried out over and over as if it were some spell that she might have been using to bewitch him–that was the only way that Jake could explain how he was so easily manipulated by her every whim and became so enthralled by her simple presence. 

“I love you,” He panted, “I fucking love you.”

His mouth took her lips, absorbing every sigh and moan that dared escape and committing them to memory. He wanted to encase every little bit of her being within himself, consume anything that she was willing to offer, especially her jerking movements and desperate whines as she tightened around him, spilling her release all over his member as he struggled to hold on.

“Come on,” She urged him, eyes hooded and hazy as she came down from her high, “Jake, come on. Please give it to me.”

Her words were enough, his hips stuttering through his final few thrusts before white-hot pleasure exploded within him. He groaned out loudly, following through with a few gentle movements to work himself through it before he slipped out.

They remained there for a few moments, wrapped in each other’s arms as they both came down, melting into one another and whispering sweet nothings. She kissed his shoulder softly, then reached up to meet his lips once more, allowing herself to force every ounce of love she had for him to flow through the embrace.

He chuckled when she pulled away, “Aren’t you glad I said no now?”

She shook her head, “You only made yourself suffer, I could have woken up Marc or Steven to do me the second you fell asleep. I was getting it one way or another.”

He frowned at her, pinching her thigh in retaliation, “You think that either of them could do what I just did?”

Watch it, amigo. I could have done her twice as hard as you did.

Jake grinned at his reflection over her shoulder turning back to his girlfriend, “By the way, Marc called you unreasonable.”

HEY!

[ms0milk]

𝟏𝟑 | 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐤𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐠

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"Inside of you, fury has been replaced by something black and entirely unfocused. He twists to glare at what has caught him under the arm. He blinks when he sees it is you."

no cw memories of an overprotective prince and high fever. author is blatantly in love with Kirishima. whole apologies, half apologies, wordless promises, technical treason. learning how to speak softly. covering each other's mouths so the truth can't slip out because I want them to kiss as badly as you do. somewhat suggestive. nonviolent touches in the palatial bedroom of a long-dead prince. part ii: fin 6.7k

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

Mina Ashido is sick, not like you finally breathing softly on a bed the size of a merchant village, but with guilt. She flicks a bric-à-brac she found on some grand writing desk and Denki punches her shoulder when her nail taps the metal absentmindedly. Click. Thud.

Their eyes dart to the far side of the room across a row of white windows and stop on the knotted body of their prince, folded like a trench soldier on a chaise half his size. His hair shags over his sleeping face and crossed arms but Mina can still see the veins of his jaw, clenched and dreaming of adrenaline.

One loud sound might be it for them– Bakugou would eulogize sleep schedule before skinning them like fish but it’s four in the afternoon and Mina knows it’s actually because your fever broke this morning and he would detonate if anyone disturbed you.

You can lay there like an angel because you never really fall asleep, right? Sick as a dog and dreaming of work. Sero pokes his head inside for a second to check the firewood cache and steps out again. Kirishima wears a path from the kitchen to your new bedroom with his constant lumber deliveries because he knows you wouldn’t want to see him at your bedside. Dead, conscious, or otherwise. All four of them rot.

You make a spectacle of the prince wherever he’s seen with you and this time you weren’t even awake to witness your destruction. Bakugou, dripping wet for some reason, roared through the halls of Takoba at midnight which wouldn’t have been special save for how tightly he held you and how little you moved. Safe but limp in the crook of his neck.

The castle at midnight is so much more lovely than during the day. There are no accusing Takoban eyes to make your Alderan shoulders itch and there was no loss of dignity in practicing her waltz in an empty ballroom. Mina swayed safe and alone and filled with excitement for the impending party. She anticipated Uraraka and practiced her flirtiest glances to deploy when the soldier inevitably found her, as she did every night, and sent her back upstairs. Mina was just a mage after all, not a lord or lady. Not a royal guard.

Boom! Rattled the ceiling from the floor above and where Mina was expecting a round-faced girl she’d gotten a heart attack. She snapped her candle in a startled fist at the first familiar eruption and darted up two staircases to Kirishima’s quarters with the second and third.

The champion was already half dressed. The heartbeat of the castle woke him up, the sound of hundreds of little bees mobilizing at royal orders.

They joined the flocks of servants and butlers in their night clothes all crowding, choking yawns, and rushing through the hallways, up higher and deeper into those frozen parts of the castle where their prince’s fury vibrated. The place no one dared breathe since the king left eleven years ago.

The North Wing was closed forever and someone had lit a spark at its highest point. Maids to her right, butlers and nurses to his left, Kirishima and Mina became insignificant in the river of nightgowns and candles and slippers and whispers. There is always more staff in Takoba than soldiers. Who could he have possibly picked a fight with at this hour? The farther Takobans hiked, the deeper their bones felt the cold in this place no one should be. Death march.

“Katsuki!” Someone rasped. The champion hoisted Mina onto his shoulders when they could no longer force themselves forward up stairs and through archways. Only little Shuzenji’s great big voice called out clearly for the crowd to hear, “Katsuki– you’ll be arrested, this– this is, I mean, you’re– fuck.”

At the end of the hallway, two red doors hung open, one truly dangling by its top hinges. The prince crouched just inside, squat by the light of a beautiful fireplace and its fine tinder. Chairs and ottomans, a writing desk, curtains and rugs, all delicate and silver and crushed and melting and screaming with moisture in a white Alderan fire.

“She needs fresh air and a fucking fireplace.”

You were melting in his arms too, quietly.

Sweating and indifferent to how carefully he supported the back of your head or with what level of self control it took for him to surrender you into the lap of the exasperated Takoban doctor. 

“This is a lot of fuss for a fever, Katsuki.”

“Get useful or die trying.”

Six footmen at the front of the crowd panicked at his words and knelt immediately to collect splinters from shattered furniture. They winced as the crowds continued to push around and above them to get a view of just what the Alderan guest would do with Prince Touya’s long dead bedroom.

He knelt in it. When the fire in its place wheezed, he fed it the dead boy’s gilded furniture and knelt again near you.

He lurched but didn’t strike when you were moved from the floor to the bed and found a seat again. He glared at loud noises from the foot of the bed but sat still as superstitious servants trembled while lighting candles. He rumbled when Princess Fuyumi squeezed herself through the frozen crowd with Uraraka in tow and immediately made an order for fresh bedlinens and firewood because before anything, before she was even a sister she was a saint.

He didn’t do too much more than that. He sat like a threat until dawn while staff and nurses buzzed around to make the North Wing breathe again. He waited for arrest.

He frowned at his Alderan company as they hovered in the doorway and sometimes he let them sit with you when he knew he needed to sleep. He balled his fists as he told them your misunderstanding and nothing else. More than anything he waited for you to wake up.

Prince Bakugou sleeps like a psychopath, you bewilder as you rub your eyes. He’s still pretty, knotted half a million ways to hell on the velvet chaise across the room and seeing him asleep is much more unusual than seeing him surrounded by books like this. There’s a pile at his feet and another at his head and a console table between them for his teacup and a pen.

It’s less scary to think about touching him when he’s sleeping. About rubbing his shoulder with your soft palm and stumbling back to this obnoxiously comfortable bed with his heat at your back– no. About rolling over in this obscenely large bed through morning chill and sunlight to find his magic-worn hands already pulling you against him. Fumbling to tuck every part of you inside his arms half-alseep– slipping under your–

About finally throwing your weapon aside as dust settles, victorious, and rattling his skull with the bloodiest punch you can manage. Breaking your fingers on his golden jaw– about kneeling over his battered body, panting, as he uses the last of his strength to raise his arms, to– no– to trace his fingers over your cheeks– no– and through your hair where you loom above him. About letting him pull you down with the last of his strength to kiss you on the battlefield.

Something outside clatters and crashes and your eyes fly open as you sit up in the room you made in a dream. You rub your eyes, deja vu, and spot your golden prince right where you left him. Scowling, pretty, on a sofa across the room in the afternoon sun. Someone shouts outside and you lurch from an aggressively comfortable bed with the confidence of a person who has just woken up without a question for reality. You are a captain and there’s violence outside the place where your prince is sleeping. No thoughts to your ten-pound beddress or the continental mystery bedroom or the fire that blazes in its white marble fireplace.

“You oaf!” Someone hisses as you pitter-patter pitter-patter and clear the room barefoot to throw open one of two elven doors. That someone is Mina. She is pretty and pink and she stares at you with her mouth open in a hallway cold enough to outline her breath in small puffs of shock.

Takoba is a series of beautiful rooms tied to tall hallways, this one’s no different. Mina is bathed in the warmest sunlight October can offer even in a place like this and she’s hunched and pointing in the middle of scolding Sero who has also frozen to stare at you on his knees halfway through reaching for a log that’s gotten away from him.

“Do you need help?”

Mina reaches for you like the air is too thick to move. You almost call her Lady again before you remember.

“Y/n,” she breathes. Sero is forgotten on the floor because you’re suddenly here in this doorway while the last vestiges of sleep drip off of you, gooey, onto the marble. “Y/n, are you–” she slips your hands into hers when she manages a step forward.

Bakugou and the sea, right? A column of fire in your chest and a trip back home. Was touching him a dream? They’re no lords. I hate you. One lost Alderan earring and two hands holding you. Last time they were golden and trembling.

Mina’s fingers twitch with every word out of her mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

“Mina, don’t–” Sero tries to stop her.

“We’re so sorry, Y/n, so so sorry, please gods we’re–” 

“Mina.”

Her body goes rigid but her hands stay soft on yours when she snaps at him, “Like you weren’t in tears two days ago! Don’t pretend to be cool.”

You become aware of your clothes for the first time when you consider their earnest Alderan faces and your tangled hands. Completely unarmed in a quilted dress that drags on the ground. Seashells twinkle when you move.

“Course I’m sorry,” Sero shudders. He rises and your eyes finally adjust well enough to sunlight to catch Kaminari standing statue-still beside a window where it appears you burst onto the scene as he was making to close it, “she’s my captain.”

If you weren’t still processing his lack of lordship you’d order him to his knees for the treason of calling you captain. What purpose does he serve in the castle? A mage like Mina? You cock your head and stuffy nose, and shift to shake away the inconvenient thought that someone’s been calling you captain for weeks with no punishment. Kaminari breathes, “Katsuki told us.”

“We thought you knew– we never meant to–!” And again your attention is on Mina, desperately closer than she’s ever been. Closer than anyone’s dared to hold you gently, “We thought you were playing Y/n, we– I should have said something.”

And of all the things to remember from that night, delirium and immodesty, a humiliating rescue, thoughts that meant to stay inside forever, I hate you, the taste of someone else’s teasweet breath– the one bites the least. They’re not lords.

It’s cold out here, you should invite the lot of them inside to warm up. You should ask them where the fuck you are.

“It’s my mistake Ms. Mina,” you smile pretty like you’ve trained for, “Harmless. Don’t worry.”

Three huge eyes blink out of sync surely because someone thought it was funny to put you in a queen’s night dress and hide your shoes. It’s better they’re not lords to be seeing you in the state.

“We,” Sero starts confidently and trails off with the syllable. Mina’s thinking.

Kaminari speaks beside the window and the three of you turn to his light, “We watched you grow up in that beautiful castle,” he hums. He has spoken with you twice, three times now, and it’s never been particularly affective or affectionate but he’s right that home is beautiful. Aldera is lots of things. You falter in the doorway now that adrenaline has bled from you into Mina’s hands. “You were in my letters class.”

Eight years old and late for Letters in a thunderstorm that swept you to the prince and clobbered you both with peaches. The students gaped when you stepped inside, dripping rainwater and bruised, to take your seat at the head of the class with a weapon still strapped to your back. Kaminari looks as if on the verge of tears which all feels a bit melodramatic for one damp day fifteen-some years ago. “I was afraid of you. Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“I –” Mina releases your hands so she can stand a bit taller, so you turn, “I believed what people told me, Y/n, I’m sorry. I listened in the kitchens and spellhalls when they told me you never eat or sing, I believed them every time I scurried past your post with an errand and back again where you hadn’t moved a breath for hours.” It’s kind that she’s not touching as she speaks but the cold of the hallway is pinching your stupid bare feet. You never cared enough to pay attention to her either, why should she apologize? You never noticed her out of the tens of children that studied with you, worked around you, served you, fell to you in training. 

“When you didn’t recognize us at the start of the trip I thought you were so cool. I thought, no, it was just so cool to be traveling with the only Alderan apprentice– Spear of the Queen– you– I watched you get stronger for years. Sero would come to the potion pantry while Kaminari and I organized and gush about any impossible whathaveyou Jeanist’s Second pulled off in the gallery that day. Any Alderan could recognize you from footsteps, you’re– I– I’m not doing a good job.”

“She’s sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” she confirms and hovers between your bodies like she’s warming her hands with your fire. “You’re a hero. I’m just a training mage the prince can’t get rid of and you’ve saved the skin off our skulls more times than there are calendars. Y/n,” you look between Mina who presses no closer and the boys behind her, “I’m a coward, I want to know everything about you.”

You are ridiculous, dressed up in a doorway at noon with no idea how you got there and a hunger that teeters on allconsuming. You are a soldier. You are Jeanist’s soldier, you are his prodigy you should have shoes– 

Something startles your Alderan company, shoulders jumping, and Sero drops to a knee when he registers the dark cloud gathering behind his commanding officer wilting in a nightgown by the sea.

“Wers, there he goes.”

“I am bound by blood and at your service, my captain! My behavior is unacceptable while you have been serving alone in Takoba.”

A soldier then. Mina turns from her friend on the floor to gauge your new reactions while Kaminari presses two footsteps closer. That night comes back in pieces. You reach for your ear and pinch one lobe in icy fingers while the Alderans look on. What part of the dream is this? First Bakugou, his warmth and anger now these three? What will this one melt into? More fevered confessions? Send them away.

You feel the bark in your throat and wait to see which one of them will scurry from you first. Have they heard your soldier’s voice before?

Go on. No one moves because you can’t actually make the sound. Sero doesn’t raise his head. They are mages and you outrank them. Be gone. “Just–” what finally comes out isn’t the voice of a soldier at all, “please.”

“I’ll help you to bed,” Mina tentatively leans forward as you lean exactly back.

“not necessary.”

“Y/n, you’ve been out for three days,” Kaminari closes in too, “We’ll throw some logs on your fire and get out of your hair, but first can we make sure you’re okay? Call the doctor and get you some food?”

You can only lean so far before you need to take a step, and then only so far after that before your back hits the door that has shut behind you. You haven’t been sick because you don’t get sick. You’ve been dreaming, too much, which is worse.

A series of hollow crashes startle the Alderans again half out of their coats but you haven’t been caught by surprise in seven years.

“Y/n,” Kirishima hardly whispers, barely breathes where he’s appeared a little ways down the hall, dropping stacks of lumber from his arms onto the marble. He didn’t grow up in the castle. He showed up a few years ago stuck to the hem of Bakugou’s cape like tree sap and he’s always made every effort to smile. A smile from a stranger doesn’t mean much.

“Y/n,” he whispers again and staggers forward like he’s tried to catch himself from tripping, “you’re–” at first he is relief and then you remember, in a moment of lucidity, that you’re upset with him. “You’re awake.”

His limp hair flounders red in your direction. What right does he have to look so disheveled? Dark circles and a creased forehead, for what? His palms and sleeves are flecked with splinters and filth that he tries to brush off as he steps over firewood– tree trunks really– that now litter the hallway.

Fury gives you the strength to step forward, “You–”

“You,” the distance is closed. Alderans have stopped pressing into you and watch their companion, rosy cheeks, dark stubble, smile lines thrown to the wayside and big, wet eyes, reach, “You scared me.” And on contact he dissolves into a sob.

Kirishima grabs your sleeve first without his usual care and wrenches you deep into his arms. Maybe you’re tired, you don’t strike him as he shakes.

“You, you have to tell someone, Y/n,” you can only hear the words through vibrations in his chest and now the whole hallway smells like sweet Alderan fire. You should be suffocated, furious, you shouldn’t close your eyes. “You can’t just collapse. No one needs to be that strong– it– you– ’m so sorry.” 

The champion’s fingers clutch at the back of your neck and shoulders but you’re too shocked to notice until his warmth, his fire and safety, pulls you away by the cheeks. Kirishima cradles your face in two hands that could crush and tries to speak through agony. Drowning teardrops plummet off his black lashes, “it must have been so lonely.”

And what Mina saw as exhaustion, Sero anger, folds the corners of your mouth like paper, lips trembling, and wets both eyes with a blink.

It is something inexplicable like being thirteen on your way home from Peruro. A day of joy, song dance and feats of strength. Fencing competitions. They don’t give toy swords to soldiers and so you slipped inside the quietest part of the celebrating castletown, victorious two years running, bloodied and something more than tired. Crunch. As you approached the basin in the stables for jockeys to rinse mud from their eyes, you lifted your boot just enough to watch the broken green body of a mantis fall apart between the ground and your tread. One thin arm, little just like yours, remained untouched by your footprint and detached entirely from the creature that was just two more arm’s-lengths too slow.

You were startled for the last time in your glance to the mirror. You usually rinsed muck or sweat off your cheeks in the stables and the horses were here, the smell and warmth were here, but today you were splashed in blood. And so much worse than that, tears ran clean streaks through the filth. When you fall to pieces in your beautiful dress beside the sea it is impossible to hide.

“Please can we help you?” Kirishima blubbers through a smile before you nod, and he pulls you back in tight.

It is so strange to be held and uninjured. A hand materializes at the top of your head and more bodies surround you in the dark of Kirishima’s chest. Splinters poke at your cheeks but you press through them. You hold tight to the fabric of his sleeves and wrap a warm finger around the cold fingers that find yours.

It’s condescending and so unnaturally welcomed. You can’t even cry right. The tears fall and your voice breaks uneven because you’ve forgotten how to breathe with a lump in your throat, how long has it been? Steady arms hold you upright as you try to remember. Anything for you, Majesty. Don’t need a babysitter. Who’re you lookin at? Cover yourself. Captain! Y/n! Yes sir. Yes sir. Yes sir.

“I’m.. ‘m so hungry,” you sob in muffled fragments and the champion rumbles with true tearful laughter,

“She’s hungry!”

Mina wraps herself around your back and grips the knit of Kirishima’s tunic to keep all three of you tight together. She’s crying too from the sound of it, and rambling as always through the tears, “Don’t just drop dead in the hallway for Kats to collect! Thought he was gonna torch the castle–” she shakes you all, Kirishima as the lighthouse, “my blood pressure’s never recovering from this week snakes on high I know we deserved it but we haven’t had a moment’s rest with that lunatic playing bedside officer,” she is still gentle when she touches you, when she rubs her cheeks to yours, when she leans herself into the champion’s hold to be that much closer, “I’m a much better nurse, Y/n, promise, I promise wouldn’t–”

“Talkin shit?” 

What if someone had found you that day in the stables, instead of clapping you on the back for the day’s bloody victories and ignoring your red rimmed eyes? Bakugou crosses his arms over his golden chest and leans against the doorway framed by fire whipping in the bedroom behind him. It’s subtle, but the heat’s made his ears pink. No one moves.

“A bit..”

Mina stuffs her hand over Kirishima’s wobbling lips before he says anything else to get you all sent to the gallows. You just watch and the prince watches back; over the champion’s soft forearms and part of a filthy cotton coat, and partially through Mina’s hair. Bakugou’s collarbones roll with his breath where they poke out from his soft tunic, same with his stomach. It fills slightly with each heartbeat like he’s still too sleepy to harden himself and his posture.

You’re warm in this October hallway and your heart has been picked open by fruithungry doves. Bleeding down the front of this nice white nightgown, pooling rich at your feet. It’s easier to look at him when you’re crying. You stare through a crack in the hug with stray tears tumbling from your eyes like springs.

I’m not letting you out of my sight.

“Go on then, down mutts.” The prince unfolds and steps forward to pry Mina’s arms apart, “Couldn’t trust you assholes to be quiet if I cut out your tongues.”

His Alderan company thaws slightly at the sarcasm and the hands tying you together unravel at every angle under his orders until you are the only one standing on the stain your bleeding heart made.

Prince Bakugou is not the same as he was when he carried you from the sea. He surveys your heavy beddress and bare feet with a frown but no fireworks and today he’s wearing no jewelry at all. Not a ruby, bone, nor sun in sight. He is still clearly out of place here, golden milk and glowing like coals; two red eyes that love to glare and his lips that called your name as you both choked on ocean foam.

“Hungry?”

You nod and the shake dislodges loose tears.

He grunts and tips his head towards the bedroom door, “Back inside. The rest of you,” and then turns to his company who has stiffly lined up along the wall to try and avoid the punishment their prince laid out very clearly in the event a series of Alderan shenanigans woke you up, “put your pea brains together and track down Uraraka– she’s late. And stop fucking crying.”

The prince would pull rank against a baby. He oozes control and ego and desperation for the self and it is infuriating how much he gets away with and how often he is right. His eyes are pomegranate seeds behind slits that shift constantly towards you in the cold hallway.

“Go on.”

You exchange a glance with your company behind you and each one of them is glowing with life. Mina has cleaned herself up with a smile and Kaminari leans against her, almost behind her, grinning nervously at his hellfire prince. Sero and Kirishima fight back tears and the lot of them hold their breath.

The mages delay their prince’s orders no longer. They file down the hallway. “Welcome back, Y/n!” Mina waves and rolls her eyes at Bakugou’s seething.

“Rest well,” Kirishima smiles and wipes his eyes with his filthy sleeve while collecting the logs he dropped. Kaminari manages a curtsy, which makes you laugh, and they all round the corner with unsubtle exhales.

For all his spitfire, cunning and rage, for all their worry and apology, your Alderan company never objects to leaving you alone with the prince. For all their apologies, for all his harsh words and actions. Is it their trust in you, or their trust in him? Alone and for a moment you stand just two arm’s lengths away from your prince while he looks pointedly down the hallway after their footsteps. His posture is returning. He rakes his hand like a claw through his hair to settle in itch and pauses for one more beat before turning to you. Prince Bakugou saved your life and you told him you hate him.

He cocks his head, “You look like shit.”

“Feel like shit, Highness.”

One fricative cough like laughter slips out of his chest and his eyes widen a bit, as if surprised by himself, before settling back to a scowl. He’s soft today, sleep deprived. You wipe the last of the salt from your eyes.

“Go back inside,” He instructs as he moves forward and corrals you back step by step.

“Where am I?”

Fury has been replaced by something wet inside of him, doused and smoking like a forest fire. He slips past you inside the white bedroom and marches to the camp he set up around his chaise to collect two books and a pen, which he tucks inside one cover before sticking both volumes under his arm. Prince Bakugou saved your life and slept beside you, and you told him you hate him.

You step toward him when he walks past again, this time out into the hallway, just too quickly for you to trap him with a stare. Your stomach cramps with hunger and your throat is dry from crying.

“Just go lay down.”

He does not get farther than one step over the threshold before you reach though, and clutch the hem of his tunic in a clammy hand.

Inside of you, fury has been replaced by something black and entirely unfocused. He twists to glare at what has caught him under the arm. He blinks when he sees it is you.

Prince Bakugou saved your life. He turns now when you dare to touch him, and when he looks at you the smoke inside him pours from his ears. The eye contact is not difficult like a spotlight or the sun, it’s more like a candle in the dark that stains the backs of your eyes for many few minutes. He looks like a dream in your delirium. What you must look like beneath him..

He squeezes his books tight under his bicep and fully squares himself to you, “I didn’t,” he starts. It’s a croak. It’s foreign to speak so softly as he speaks now, so softly you drop your hand from him and lean away. His ears are still red. “I didn’t tell them,” he frowns with thought, “about the sea.”

You stare at him like always and today like a void, and melt a little in front of the candle he is. What else is there to say? You nod and move away. His wax will burn you.

“Don’t–” he huffs. You weren’t surprised for seven years, not through contests or training, not under orders, not truly by the queen at the foot of your bed all those weeks ago, not camping with your new company and holding magic in your palms, not by blue fire. Bakugou clutches your wrist, your hand, when you turn away from him and the static shock makes each hair on your body rise. He squeezes your fingers through the goosebumps.

“Don’t ever–”

“Yes sir.”

“– not ever again.”

“Yes–”

“Y/n.”

You look forward unblinking while your prince reels you in like a fish, rolling your fingertips in his palm. You can’t even manage a frown when you face him, all that bubbles up is bitten lips.

You get one more chance to look at him, and when you do he doesn't bark or spit. Earnest red eyes watch under a frown.

“Just a prayer gone wrong, Highness. I promise.” You can’t feel the faint smile. You do not know what makes his eyes widen or scowl fall.

Someone clears their throat in the doorway behind him and the pair of you jump. Bakugou is quick to catch the books that fall from under his arm and you both rush to wipe your hands at your hips. Uraraka. She leans her weight against the door, “Sleeping beauties,” and smiles at you while your prince jerks away.

“You’re late,” he spits and pushes into the hallway.

“High Lords are waiting.”

“Spare me.”

Uraraka preens less than your Alderans but still ushers you to bed and rings a bell on the wall labeled ‘kitchen.” A log falls in the fireplace. Embers spit onto the marble hearth. The last glimpse of gold you catch is in your prince closing the bedroom door behind him, his hand like a claw again violently tousling his hair. You are a liar, you lie and tell lies, and you do not hate him at all.

Embarrassment is replaced with shame when you learn the princess has filled your new dressers with her old winter nightclothes. And when Uraraka tells you about her brother, the late prince, and his palatial bedroom locked away from the world with his mother’s sorrow.

You will find the princess tomorrow and press your head to the floor at her feet, you will kneel to the queen in thanks for her generosity, but tonight you will find your prince.

It won’t take long. Uraraka told you where his meeting was while she braided your hair and only half-heartedly instructed you to stay in bed when you asked for privacy. There is no lame guard stationed outside of this room, a room so high in the castle the fireplace can suck oxygen straight from the night sky above you. Warm like home. It’s easy to keep a fire that excited alive so you tent logs over the embers to feed it while you’re gone. Your white arming doublet blocks the cold– dragontooth brooch glowing– when you step into the hallway lit by torchlight, a gift and invitation from Master Aizawa.

The hallway is thawing slowly from it’s edges to its center and seems to be lined with every flammable item one could think of; candlesticks, torches, candelabrum, chandeliers– if a flame escaped from your fireplace the castle would burn from this hallway to it’s cornerstones like a match.

You smile watching the fire dance in place as you walk past them and into darker parts of the castle. Down staircases and through white hallways lined with their seed-sized carvings. Your temples ache with the change in temperature.

“Office of the King?” You ask a passing footman and they make a point to avoid eye contact before murmuring directions and shuffling away. Deeper you descend and even with rest and warm food in your belly your lungs start to work with great effort. “Office of the King?” You catch a housekeeper this time who is less timid but still keeps his head down like you are noble.

“Straight ahead,” he points and when he bows slightly to leave you no longer register his presence, because a fluffy golden head slips back inside a door in the hallway. You step down the last stair in front of you and into the corridor. Your boots would creak on wooden floors at home but along the marble you are silent.

There aren’t half enough torches down here to adequately light the way or warm the castle from the chill of its many windows. The door your prince tucked back inside of glows when you approach it. This is when you would steady your hand on your weapon, or shift your shoulder blades to feel the weight of your master’s halberd.

Office of the King. You trace the silver details with eyes and fingers because it is beautiful and you have finally found all the places your prince could possibly hide. With your relief you should have considered how to hide from him. The door flies open with too little forewarning for you to dodge and stops just short of knocking you across an already throbbing temple. Bakugou emerges in an air of tempest.

“Knew it,” he crackles like you are exactly who he was looking for and is wholly aggravated by it, “you’re fucking fired, get back in bed.”

He is wearing fine silks from Aldera and their golden fixtures and tassels stop your heart. His hair is soft tonight. It is pushed back with a jeweled comb so that pointed fringes fall barely over his eyes while medals and brooches pin silk in a bunch at the shoulder of his gambeson. He looks more like a general ready for war than a guest in a seashell castle.

The prince simmers, “We’re planning the ball not a coup, I don’t need a sentinel.” And squints when you don’t budge, eyes unfocused. He tuts his head in the direction you came, “Rest. Now.”

“Yes Majesty– Highness,” you snap and reach for a pair of passing maids who squeak when they can’t get past the Alderans fast enough to hide, “one of you, fetch me a chair.”

“Belay that,” he growls and they squeak again, “you’re a fucking handful.”

Bakugou pauses on you for three seconds and rolls his eyes before turning back inside to address someone, “Please continue without me,” with a voice you’ve never heard before.

When your prince walks you back to your bedroom he steers you from just slightly behind and at the exact angle you would use to escort a prisoner to the Hold. The only signs from him are in the thick of his black trousers beside your own legs or a sleeve ushering you up a staircase. When your breathing becomes obvious he slows pace. If you lean the wrong direction his head dips down close to glare and guide you with a trail of smoke. He’s only this quiet when he’s thinking.

What’s the time? Stars twinkle at the highest points of the castle lined with torches and tall windows.

“Ahead,” Bakugou murmurs and waves you forward with an open palm to the red doors around the bend. Your own corner of Takoba. You don’t remember the night that you were brought here. You don’t remember anything past, ‘I hate you.’

The prince clears his throat to answer your unvoiced question, “Shuzenji arranged it. Told the queen you needed a fireplace.” He walks clear through the logical spot to stop and leave you on your own for the evening, and marches right beside you to the doors. Add the doctor to your tour of thank yous and apologies.

“I told that shit apprentice not to leave you alone. You’re the gods' perfect little flight risk.”

It would be easier to stand close together if you still brimmed with unbridled fury. You drift beside him, too tired for any strong feelings one way or another. He does not hint at eruption. Your prince only grumbles and watches to make sure you step fully inside after pushing down the door’s silver handle.

The wave of hot air inside is a cushion at the end of what should have been a simple journey and instead knocked the four winds out of you. They were telling the truth, you must have been fighting something for days. It could be midnight, it could be dusk, your body cannot tell the time past its fatigue. There’s one more thing you have to do before you can give it what it wants.

“Kirishima’s coming to morning meetings tomorrow. I don’t need you both,” the prince speaks awkwardly loud like the thought came out too fast. He is telling you to rest.

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait for summons.”

He’s asking you to trust him.

“Yes sir.” You are too tired to lace the words with instigation and so Bakugou does not flinch like you like him to do when you call him sir. You turn away from the white warmth, fine cushions and curtains and fireplace, back to His Highness still stood stubbornly under your doorway. His headpiece glistens in the moonlight.

You will be his captain and you are not too good for a borrowed pair of greaves. You do not hate him. He can be the first stop on your tour.

Weary in your own little world and surrounded finally by fire, you steady your hands at your side and bend to take a knee. Forgive my…lots of things. “I’m–”

But Bakugou reacts again faster than you can fall. He jerks forward and catches you by both shoulders with his spark-leathered hands. The the last creature alive that can still startle you, not with his hold or speed, not with his magic, but his eyes. He stares through you in distress behind a pinched and stormy gaze. Spilled wine.

“Do not,” his voice rumbles through his touch. He pulls you up to standing and does not back away. Each hint his shoulders give promises that he will close any gap you try to make and so you do not move. He’s warm, his ears are red. Bakugou reaches between the gold clasps of his tunic and pulls out his fist for you to puzzle over in the few seconds it takes him, first to breathe, and then to open his hand.

One tiny sun, no bigger than an apple seed and polished to its core, twinkles like a spark on his palm.

He makes fine magic for you, he always has and you’ve never known it. He breathes again, “I. I’m..”

And you don’t mean to startle him, touch or stop him, but you do all three in rapid succession. Your hand jumps to his mouth because you don’t know how else to stop the birth of a star. You’re not ready for an apology.

His eyes mirror yours in their paralysis, his cloudy, yours panicked. His lips are damp. They part against your skin for a moment as he breathes once more deeply. As he closes his eyes– breathes you in. As you contend with the pulse of his tongue one last shock away from tasting the salt between your fingers. He is soft here. Here and when he wraps his own hand around your knuckles to disarm you. He does not let go when he lowers your hand, he does not let go after tucking the sun into your palm and closing your fist around it. Just for a moment.

Infinity is what exists in the void that replaced your fury and tonight it is full of fruit. Bruising peaches. Falling plums. Sneaking dinner under the Oak to watch his twinkling magic and to hide from crowds. Never questioning why students who told ghost stories about the child soldier never dared to bother you. Ignoring the peculiarity of Jeanist taking only one apprentice.

Inside, your expertly timed fire eats itself up in the silence and collapses to break the trance.

Immediately Bakugou dips away. He pulls back like you were the one holding him in place and leaves you briskly with his heart in your hands. He shakes his head and barks like a startled dog and does not look behind him, “Another time.”

The fire giggles and spits out embers. He hurries down the hallway because something in him died at sea to save you.

As you jump and skitter inside to the smell of smoldering rugs, your brooch and earring lay side by side where you toss them and leave them and try to sleep despite them, safe on the green velvet chaise.

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @nonomesupposedto @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @lunrai @km7474 @cathwritestragediesnotsins @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @falling4fandoms @katanaski @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @bakugouswh0r3 @zukowantshishonourback @ultracrii @chandiewashere @screechingdreameater @mecuryxmoonstone @onlysarcasm @ilovemushroomss @when-you-are-just-done @levisbae2 @flyhighinthesky @1astr0id1 @thebluespacecow @mizzfizz @butterscotch-ripple-icecream @phoenix-draws77 @ltadoriyuujl @keli-pie @dreamingoftomorrow @optimisticprime3 @misscaller06 @the-omnipotent-phlowr @definitely-notalissa

[totallynotcoffeeturtle]

Palm Kisses and Plum Wine

Genshin masterlist

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, confessions, affectionate drunk heizou Summary: What is one to do when there is a drunk detective in your lap at midnight?

This is bad. Very very very bad. Not because you committed some unspeakable atrocities for the best detective in all of Inazuma to be climbing into your house through the open window, but because said detective, namely Heizou, is your boyfriend and is extremely, horrendously drunk. 

Your pretty man, your favorite human being on this whole godforsaken continent is already adept at making your heart race like no tomorrow. And him now with no inhibitions? A menace to society, especially your poor overworked heart. You quietly stare up at Heizou’s slim figure straddling your lap, your hands clasped in his while he mutters whatever loving, sugar-filled sentences that appear in his mind. You cannot help but wonder inwardly how you even got into this situation.

To understand your current situation fully, you must turn back time to less than an hour ago. 

You were going to get a cup of water and something else to entertain yourself with for the night when you heard a rustle from the kitchen. You froze up. Usually, just Heizou’s reputation and the sheer frequency of him coming over is enough to chase anyone with evil intentions away. You gripped tightly onto the bottle of milk nearby and prepared yourself for a bitter struggle… Only to see the ‘criminal’ was Heizou, utterly drunk and could not find his keys for whatever reason (They were in his other pocket, courtesy of his brilliantly intoxicated brain). So of course the idea his brilliant mind cooked up was to climb through your window!

At the sight of you, still very distressed due to his decision, Heizou immediately jumps over. His body slams against you and the detective pushes you down along with the momentum, putting you into a rather suggestive position. It would be a heart pounding scene if your poor lower back did not have to take both his weight and gravity. Before you can question him, the strong scent of plum wine fills your senses with the sheer proximity between your faces. On his thin lips is a soft, oh-so-smitten smile that serves to make his eyes shine even bright under the moonlight and the dim lantern you just lit up.

He pulls you up by pulling on your wrists, making you lean on him, and proceeds to cup his own face with your palms. Heizou smiles even brighter at the coolness against his flushed cheeks. “Did… did you drink?,” you ask, just to confirm your already very sure assumption. In response, the burgundy haired man nuzzles his cheeks against your hold while slowly blinking his beautiful eyes. You sigh as you attempt to calm your heart from its 100 km per hour pace. He pauses for a moment and relief washes over you. Maybe you can finally get him to bed and no longer have to deal with this awkward situation?

“Love? Let’s get you tucked in?,” you suggest. A part of you wishes to continue to stay in this position, but for the sake of both your heart and your spine, you ask him the question. Heizou stares into your eyes, his gaze hazy yet clear at the same time. His hold on your hand refuses to budge. Moments pass as he seems to fall into contemplation. You wonder if you should try and escape while he is distracted but his grip would not budge at all. 

Slowly, his face turns between your palms, his cool lips making contact with the thenar sends a shiver up your spine. Heizou’s gorgeous eyes curve into little crescents at the warmth practically glowing from your pretty face, much like a smug cat getting away with messing up your house. But he doesn’t stop there, no no, he wants you to lose all of your composure for him. The detective’s whispers seem to echo in the quiet of the night, “I love you…” and he repeats his confession continuously, only ceasing for the brief moments he kisses your palm with reverence in his eyes. His peach blossom eyes reflect your flustered expression like a spring lake, no longer attempting to hold back his affection, every single thought he had been holding onto spills out in tides. Heizou kisses your palms slowly, each time lingering like he just wants the moment to be frozen forever. Between kisses, he makes sure to confess until you are completely sure of the feelings he holds until you are drowned in a sea of his adoration for you.

Heizou only stops when he falls asleep in the middle of kissing your left hand while still mumbling about how perfect you are in his eyes and how he would ‘arrest all the criminals in the world to keep you safe and sound’. In the end, you decide to drag him to your bedroom and let him cuddle you until the morning.

(Extra: Heizou screams like a maiden at the sight of you sleeping beside him when he woke up. He is genuinely worried that he might have hurt you in some way the night before and promises to take responsibility. So you tell him to explain to your neighbors as to why he sneaked in last night. Through the one that every single existence can see easily. At midnight.)

A/N: ngl this is the longest drabble i've posted yet lul and also my first ever heizou drabble so 🎉🎉🎉 i swear i will make a proper taglist soon pls and happi pride month! Signora x reader drabble soon bc i need her hands on my neck asap!!!

[the-travelling-bitch]

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

summary: every artist knows, inspiration can be found anywhere; so why not in the sheets as well?

pairing: piercer & tattoo artist! scara (from my genshin modern au) x fem bodied! reader

warnings: somewhat mean! scara, name calling (slut), slight degradation mixed with praise, pet names (doll, pretty), mirror sex, oral (f! receiveing), unsafe sex (rings probably shouldn’t go there, take ‘em before you get nasty), unprotected sex (just remember you could get pregnant and if the thoughts of children doesn’t scare you… then the thought of an std should), porn without plot (what’s plot), talk about piercings and tattoos, pierced/ tattooed! scara

genshin impact masterlist

You recalled stumbling into your boyfriend’s dark apartment, your feet catching the edges of various furniture as the two of you tugged on each other’s clothes, mouths not parting from each other on your way to the bedroom. It took all your strength to stay upright on wobbly knees, Scara’s tongue caressing your own and greedily swallowing all the noises that escaped you. His iron grip on your waist and your arms slung around his neck kept you up as his tongue, pierced with a metal ball, grazed yours with every other motion, the difference in texture keeping you on your toes and making every kiss feel new and exciting.

The next moments were hazy but, soon thereafter, ringed hands travelled your body and slowly pulled your top off, exposing more and more skin to the indigo eyes studying every sliver of it. Lifting yourself from the mattress, you helped him get the article of clothing out of the way before sinking back into the soft pillows, stripped completely bare from the hips upwards, and Scara wasted no time getting to work.

Ever the artist, he dedicated the first few minutes to adding more reddish hues to the canvas that was your skin, already eager to run his fingers over the purplish bruises they’d leave around your shoulders and collarbones in the morning. You couldn’t help the shiver which overtook you as you felt him shift his weight lower on your body, his tongue travelling down your sternum, making goosebumps rise in the wake of the smooth metal on your heated skin.

Mischievous eyes drunk in how dishevelled you already looked, planning how to have you writhing in his sheets in no time. Before you could question the spark in his eyes, painted nails had already closed around one of your pebbled nipples, twisting the poor bud and pulling a surprised gasp from you which transitioned into a breathy moan as his lips wrapped around its twin. Watching for your reaction, he lightly pressed your nipple towards the roof of his mouth, rolling the sensitive skin between his lips and flicking his piercing against it.

“Ah-! Scara!” The sensation had you arching your back into his touch, your hands flying up to root your fingers in his midnight blue hair, as heat shot down to your core. You could feel his smirk against your body before he pulled off with a pop.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” He grinned, eyes darkened in the dimly lit room. Sitting up to straddle where your hips met your thighs, he pushed his flat palm down onto the valley of your breasts before slowly -teasingly- dragging it downwards, causing you to shiver at the temperature difference between his fingers and the rings littering them. “I wonder, is this all it takes to rile you up? I might as well check, right?”

After stopping his movements right at the waistband of your bottoms, he made a show of dipping his fingers under the material first before working them off completely with your help. When the garment landed in the pile forming on the floor next to the bed, he repositioned himself between your spread legs, calloused hands tantalisingly gliding up the plush of your thighs. A beat of silence passed in which you both drank in the sight of each other; you, undressed and with glazed over eyes spread out on his bed, and Scara, framed by the light highlighting the piercings on his cheek as he towered over your form.

“Let’s see then, shall we?” He whispered, not being able to resist the temptation of snapping the elastic of your underwear and making you jump at the slight sting. Trailing his fingers down at an excruciating, leisurely pace, his nails merely grazed the delicate skin around your core, just to hear you whine his name in frustration. Switching up his tune, he dragged the digit over the soaked material of your last remaining piece of clothing. An amused chuckle slipped past his lips, not hiding his glee even a little. “As I thought, you really are getting off on just this. When were you going to tell me I’m dating a little slut huh?”

“I’m not-” The sudden pressure on your clit combined with the mean nickname had you cutting yourself off with a high-pitched whine. Opening your eyes again, you found yourself staring up at your boyfriend’s expression curled into a smirk. “That’s not fair!”

“Oh but we both know you like it when I’m being unfair.” Leaning down next to your ear, you could feel his breath fanning its shell, his voice low as if he was sharing a secret. “You get off on being my little plaything, letting me do whatever I want with you. And the best part? You enjoy it. You enjoy it so much I can feel your thighs twitch just from talking to you like this, no doubt ruining those flimsy panties of yours even more when I haven’t even put my hands on you in earnest.”

The worst -or best– part was he was right and you were both well aware. Nothing wound you up faster than hearing the honey-dipped venom drip from his lips as he toyed with you and your release, cruelly denying it or giving you so much of it your senses were flooded with only him and the pleasure he brought upon you.

After continuing to dart his touch from one place to the other without ever staying in one place long enough to scratch that itch building in your core, he finally decided to show you some mercy and strip you completely bare. With all of you on display for him, Scara took the liberty of studying how your arousal shone in the bedroom light as your glistening cunt clenched around nothing from the anticipation.

“Stop staring and get on with it already!” Even to your own ears the plea sounded a little too desperate considering how little had happened thus far. And your boyfriend was quick to remind you, too.

“Listen to you, so eager to let me fuck you,” he laughed. “Fine, fine, guess I’ll give you what you want.”

That was all the warning you got before he thrust a finger inside to the last knuckle, embarrassingly little resistance stopping him. On the contrary, it was more as if your walls kept sucking him back in, clinging to skin and metal, when he pulled the digit back out. 

The difference in texture and temperature made for a combination that kept you on your toes, never quite able to anticipate how the next stroke would feel or which his jewellery would catch next. Adding a second finger, Scara distracted you from how he shifted his weight further down the bed and used one hand to push your legs further apart, slotting his shoulders between your thighs.

You squirmed in his hold as he lifted your legs over his shoulders, his mouth level with your core as he let his breath fan your slick-covered folds, which were still being abused by his cruel fingers. Tightening his hold on your thigh, he brought you closer to his kiss-swollen lips, only to stop when he was hovering right over your twitching clit. 

“Eyes on me, doll,” he breathed, mouth almost brushing against you with the ghost of a touch. When you looked down, piercing indigo eyes were already focused on you, half of your boyfriend’s face already obscured by your own body. Something about the intimacy of the position and the intensity of his attention on you made you heat up as you fought to hold the eye contact.

Satisfied, Scara lowered his mouth all the way down to close the small gap and now you were burning up. Feeling his lips close around your clit tore an obscene moan from you, especially when he flicked his tongue with the silver ball against it, much like he did earlier, with the sole intent of getting you to arch into his touch. Simultaneously, he curled his fingers upwards and curled them as if he beckoned you closer to him despite already enjoying the most intimate proximity, brushing the spot he knew you liked but purposely missing it, laughing at your whine.

When you were twisting and panting enough for his liking, clearly starting to unravel at the seams, he switched it up by increasing the pressure on the little bud and angling his fingers to hit that spot dead on. Tangling your fingers in his hair and the fabric of the sheets, you tried grounding yourself as your mind flew into overdrive and stars danced across your vision. It wasn’t the first time he’d eaten you out and that knowledge fuelled the fire in your belly, convinced he did it just as much for his pleasure as for yours. Something he proved with the groan escaping him as you clenched around the digits stroking your velvety walls. You couldn't help the involuntary jerk of your hips as you felt a sheen of sweat building all over.

“Hold still,” he mumbled, barely pulling far enough away to properly mouth the words. “I’m trying to work here.”

With that, he dove straight back in, tongue dragging over your clit, sucking it into his mouth as his fingers kept working you open. The sounds coming from between your legs were downright obscene, a lewd mixture of your obvious arousal and Scara’s enthusiastic movements, like it was the filthiest make-out session you’d ever seen (and heard). A certain degree of embarrassment climbed up your spine just to be drowned out by the pleasure of the prolonged stimulation you were experiencing. 

Subconsciously, you pulled on his roots, to which your boyfriend answered with a guttural groan sending vibrations right through you. With another high-pitched moan, your feet flexed against his back as your toes curled and your thighs clamped shut around his head, the metal of his nostril and dermal piercing cool against your heated skin. Desperate to snap the coil in your stomach, you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth and called out for your boyfriend, less to signal your building orgasm and more because it was the only thing you could think of.    

“I’m so close— Scara, please!” 

“Begging already? Go ahead, doll, and make a mess on my hand. I know you want to cum all over my fingers,” he purred against your burning up skin. His voice drifted off into a soft whisper, wafting through the fog of your orgasm to bring your attention back to the man between your legs. At this point you were barely coherent, only babbling moans intermixed with your boyfriend’s name.

“Keep saying my name, pretty,” he moaned against your folds. “Let me hear who’s making you cum like this.“

You complied with his request easy enough, not that you really needed the incentive. And then you let go, letting wave after wave of pleasure rush over you, giving in to the sensation spreading through your body. Meanwhile, Scara, who had slowly pulled his fingers out of you, was busy lapping up your release, guiding you back down from your high not letting a single drop go to waste. Only when he was sure there was nothing left did he carefully slip your legs from his shoulders, sitting up between them as your gaze remained stuck on him

And you were glad it did, because you didn’t want to miss the way Scara’s tongue flicked between his fingers to clean your essence off of them, his jewellery shinier than ever from your arousal clinging to it. The sight had you holding your breath rather than catching it. Cleaning his lips from the slick clinging to them, he leant down, so he could lean down and press a kiss to your temple. “That’s it, ‘did so well for me, pretty. How are you feeling? Doing good?”

“Mhm,” you replied, still a little drunk on the pleasure he just delivered to you. “Felt amazing.”

“Good,” he mused against your skin, unoccupied hands massaging your sore thighs, one of them smearing your release mixed with his spit onto the muscle. Pulling back to look into your eyes and check your reaction, he asked “Do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah, I want to,” you affirmed. Showing him a small smile and trailing your hand down his chest to the front of his pants, strained by a prominent bulge, you added, “Can’t make this all about me, can I? I want you to feel good too.”

“My, aren’t I lucky to have such a considerate partner?” While the statement came out sarcastic, you knew he actually meant it. If you had told him you were too exhausted to continue, you knew he would have respected that. But frankly, you needed him to fuck you stupid. “Or perhaps it’s less about me and you’re an insatiable little minx who wants to be stuffed even after already cumming? Well, not that I mind either way.” 

“A little bit of both maybe,” you chuckled, brushing some of his bangs out of his face. With some of your clarity returning to you, bantering came easy again. “I’d probably feel a lot more motivated if you lost some of your clothes as well.”

“So honest too,” your boyfriend laughed along, pressing another kiss to your forehead before granting your wish. Revealing his lean build and toned stomach by discarding his baggy shirt was always a sight to behold, especially with all the ink covering the skin and flexing alongside his muscles. But as much as you appreciated the view of your boyfriend shirtless, your heart leapt into your throat every time he undressed fully. You knew some of his friends made fun of Scara for his height but damn if they knew where all those inches went…

“Careful, you’re starting to drool,” he teased. Helping you up, he manoeuvred you to sit in his lap at the edge of the bed, your back pressed firmly against his chest. In this position you could clearly feel his hard dick against your backside, smearing precum along your skin and furthering his promise. “You know, if you wanted to get fucked dumb, you could’ve just said so. I’m more than happy to help you out.”

“Noted,” you said. But before you could add a quip of your own, you were cut off by your own strangled yelp when you felt him bite down at the base of your neck. Not hard enough to cause any serious irritation but enough to get your attention back on him.

“You know I love that smart mouth you have on you but right now all I want to hear you moan is my name and how good I’m filling you.” And with just this shift in his tone, you were already nodding along, clearly establishing who was holding the reins here. Lifting you by your hips, Scara aligned your pulsing core with the mushroom tip of his cock, groaning at the slick heat. “So pliant and obedient for me… Now be good and watch as you take me.”

For a second you were confused before your eyes met your own in the floor-length mirror across from you. The surprised arch of your brows only lasted for a second though before you felt Scara push the head past the muscles of your entrance, the initial sting eased by your previous release but still a delicious stretch. You shut your eyes and turned your head at witnessing the round ‘o’ shape your mouth parted into and, immediately, your boyfriend held you still, not allowing you to sink further down on his length.

“Didn’t I make myself clear?” He asked, one hand leaving your hips and grasping your jaw instead, angling your face to look forward again. “I told you to watch yourself. Don’t make me say it again. You wouldn’t want me to.”

Your weak ‘Y-Yes’ sounded pathetic even in your own ears but you craved nothing more than to stretch yourself further on his dick and you’d do whatever to get there. So you complied and cracked your eyes open again to take in the compromising position you were in, knees spread and hovering over your boyfriend's lap. 

“There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He cooed right next to your ear, the low timbre of his voice grazing your ear as he rewarded you by inching you down his dick at an excruciatingly slow pace. As you stared into the mirror you had a first row ticket to seeing the coherent thoughts slip from your mind as Scara mouthed down your neck, pierced tongue flicking over particularly nasty marks he left. 

Despite all the previous preparations made, it was still a tight fit as you struggled to take all of him. So when you neared his base and your walls clamped down hard on him, one hand slid up to play with nipples some more as the other traced circles into your hip and provided something for you to hold on. Your second palm found the back of his head again as you arched your back and a string of moans intersected with curses spilt past your lips.

“You’re doing so well, almost there, pretty. See?” Pressing down on his length through your skin had you positively mewling from the stimulation as well as the image you saw in the mirror. Relief washed over you when you finally sank all the way down and could rest your strained thighs against his. As he pressed a fleeting kiss to your cheek, the two smooth piercings on his own traced the turn of his head. “I knew you could do it, you always do. You were basically made to take me. Nobody else could stuff you this well anyway.”

“Fuck! Only you, Scara,” you whined as you accommodated his length and waited for the pain to give way to pleasure. “Please fuck me, I need you so badly.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” On the first drag out, he made sure you could feel each and every vein against your sensitive walls before slamming back in with a single thrust. His deep strokes never failed to knock the air from your lungs and soon enough you were gasping at your own reflection, pleasure intensified by watching how his dick glistened from your arousal more every time he pulled back out before pushing in with a wet squelching sound.

When your gaze drifted towards an indigo one, you were hardly surprised to find your boyfriend already watching you. Whether it was the furrow of your brows, your parted lips, the sweat rolling down your neck or the bounce of your chest, to him it was all incredibly alluring, especially because he was the one who got you into this blissed out state in the first place. 

“You’re gorgeous like this,” he mused into the crook of your neck, voice betraying just a bit of the strain he must be feeling. “But I have some improvement ideas.”

“Ye-ah?” 

Catching your bouncing breasts in his palms, his fingers trapped the skin of your areolas and rolled it around, applying just the right amount of pleasure. “Don't get me wrong, these are cute as they are but I bet they’d look even hotter with piercings in them. What do you think, doll? Would you let me pierce those gorgeous nipples of yours?” 

There was no need to actually nod your head, the way you squeezed his cock at the imagination was a dead give away of how much you enjoyed the fantasy of letting your boyfriend do just that. Just envisioning the exciting sting when he’d pull on the delicate jewellery while in a position similar to this had your hips buck down of their own accord.

“Yeah? You like that?” You could hear the self-satisfied smirk in his voice without having to tear your eyes away from the fingers playing with your chest, thighs trembling as the second high of the night creeped up on you, further amplified by the idea of shiny jewellery decorating your body. “Getting close again? I can feel you clamping down on me, no need to deny it.”

By now, there was no thought running through your head aside from your boyfriend and how deep he was hitting every sensitive spot inside of you. You were giving it your all to follow his command of watching yourself but at one point it became too much and your head rolled back into his shoulder, baring your neck and throat to him completely. 

But you weren’t the only one nearing your orgasm. Although better at hiding it, there was no concealing the laboured groans next to your ear or the heated throbbing of Scara’s cock inside you, his hips snapping up into yours more erratically. Snaking one hand down your front once more, deft fingers drawing figure eights on your aching clit.

“Bet you’d even let me pierce you down here, yeah? Making this little thing even more reactive, just so I can rile you up more? You’re such a slut, I bet you’d even beg me to do it,” he panted breathlessly, pinching the area in question to underline his point.

“Scara, please—!”

“Fuck, yeah just like that.” His laugh came out stuttered. “Let me mark what’s mine, yeah? Make sure nobody gets any funny ideas—“

Both of your voices trailed off into whines and groans as you gripped him like a vice, having him doubling his effort to pull back out as you sucked him back in. Then, your thighs locked up and you let out the sweetest yet most sinful moan of the night, trembling through your high as you milked your boyfriend for all his worth. With stuttering hips, he slammed in one more time as deep as he could and bit down on your shoulder as thick, hot spurts of cum filled you up. 

Catching your breath, you slumped back bonelessly against his chest as he rode out his orgasm before you pushed the hand that was still meanly tracing your clit away with a weak whine. You felt his chuckle as much as you heard it while he pressed a kiss to the mark he left with his teeth. Despite his cock still plugging you up, you could feel some of his load dribbling from your spent hole.

Slowly, you loosened the death grip you had on his hair, flexing your fingers to regain some of the feeling in them. Finding your voice again, you inquired “So, about those piercings… Did you mean it?“

“Oh, definitely.” Eyeing the darkening skin of your shoulders and collarbones mischievously, he met your gaze through the mirror, bucking his hips up just enough to feel you clench around him again. “Perhaps you could give me some more inspiration for a new tattoo as well~”

© the-travelling-bitch 2023 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

[prettytranzboy]

You were a prince of a far away land, people worship you and you couldn't help that you loved the attention. Your dark chocolate skin in the sun make you glow.

But you had your eye on someone, Vox Akuma. He was your personal guard and one hell of a demon, he says he 20 but the way he talks about his past its seems like he's been alive for a lot more.

It was no midnight, not a sound can be heard in the castle, not even a mouse could break the silence of the night.

You couldn't sleep that night and just stared at the tall castle ceiling, thoughts feeling your head but soonly stop before deciding to get up to get a drink of water. You slips on your slippers as your night gown falls before his knees. You exit your room, you walked down the long dimly lit hallway to your kitchen. As you enter, you look around to fine Akuma out his armor. He was only wearing boxers, once he made eye contact with you he smirks.

"What are you doing up so late in the night, my prince~"

"I should be asking you that, why aren't you in gear nor right at my door?"

"Can't a demon get something to drink~?"

"Nevermind that, since you can't stand in once place, at least get me a cup of water?"

"Of course my prince~"

As Vox was kindly getting you a cup of water, you came up with an idea but not sure to go through with him- I mean his a demon for fucks sake. After lots of debating himself he decided to go through with it, he just hope it'll work on Vox Akuma himself.

"I need you in my room by 12:30 sharp, no later."

Thats all you said when you took the cup from Vox and head back to your room. What felt like hours as you look around your now dimly lit room as you sat on the edge of the bed. As if on cue, Vox slipped in the room like a shadow in the night.

"What do you need me for, my prince~"

Vox smirk, as if he knows your plans, which he did. At that moment, you couldn't mutter a word. Vox inch closer to you, now his hands were on your thigh, centimeters away from your wet cunt.

"Awa cat got your tongue~?"

"S-shut up..."

"So you don't want me to touch you~?"

"I do you dick head! Just hurry up~"

"Alright boy~"

Vox rips your night gown like a beast, now having a perfect view of your pussy. He didn't waste any time and dived in. You moan like a slut as Vox tongue your cunt before taking his long slender finger and inserting one in. As it enter, you couldn't help but let out a high pitch moan. Then he added other, then other, now having three inside of you. Out of nowhere, Vox piston his fingers in and out, he even curled it a few time which made your mind fuzzy.

You were close to cumming on his fingers but Vox quickly slipped his fingers out and smirked again at you.

"Why the fuck did you stop! Please I need to cum~!"

"You'll only cum on my cock, so if I were you I would behave like a good whore you are~"

You stayed quiet as you bit your lip.

"Good boy, now lay down and beg to be fucked into submission by your lord~"

"Please please please Vox, fuck me! I've been good, I need you, I want you please~!"

You laid down as Vox was on top of you, you didnt even notice that his boxers was off and for a moment you regretted your words once you saw his monster of a cock but there was no backing out now.

"Since you ask so nicely, fine but I can't promise I'll be gentle"

Before you could say anything, he shoved his cock inside of you. Tears were forming in your eyes as you grabbed onto the sheets of the bed. You didn't even notice that his cock was bulging out of your stomach.

Vox held onto your waist and started to thrust slowly before speeding up, both of you didn't notice that the bed was slamming against the wall with each thrust he made.

"Fuuuck~ s-slow down you b-beast~!"

"I can't hear you doll~"

Vox leans down and kisses your neck listening to your moans as he fucked you deeply and roughly before removing himself from your neck. You wrap your legs around the demon as he thrust deep into your wet yet tight. You slowly get addicted to Vox's cock, your cunt was still sensitive after the fingering.

"Shiii- Agh~ S-slo-AH~!"

"Can't even form a sentence, shit are you that cock drunk as well~?"

Vox teased you as he continues at his pace, he watches as your slowly get overwhelmed with pleasure. You know no one can give you pleasure like this.

"Y-your such a good boy, you want me to cum inside~? Risk of y-you getting pregnant with my offsprings~?"

You could barely speak but with your tone you surely want the same thing. You can feel yourself about to cum, yet you didn't wanna anger Vox for not ask first.

"I know you wanna cum, you're getting tighter~ your cunt wants my cum deep inside you, fuck your so hot~!"

As if it was wasn't possible, Vox faster than before making you scream. If your parents didn't hear you before they surely did now. You couldn't hold it in anymore and

"Voox~! Cumming~! Gah~ Fuuck~!"

"Thats right bitch, cum for me~! Cum for you lord~!"

You both cum at the same time, Vox filled you up leaving a small yet noticeable inflation in your stomach as for you, you came all over his dick that did not stop while cumming which overstimulated you.

"W-wait~! Too M-m-mu-AH~!"

"D-don't worry baby~ I-I'll be quick~!"

Vox lifts you up, making sure his cock doesn't slip off, and goes as fast as a demon can. You wrap your arms him using the little strength you have left, which wasn't much.

Let's just say Vox being 'quick' is fucking you until the sunrise, you passing out in the middle and no breaks. The best and only fuck you'll ever have~

[rippersz]

3. Lover’s Fear

︶꒦︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷︶︶꒦

October Challenge Day 3: Lover’s Fear

(Lady Dimitrescu x Reader oneshot) (Threats and discomfort)

︶꒦︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷︶︶꒦

Days had gone past with no talk at all.

No chatter.

No rumors and no notice taken of what was clearly out of place.

Maidens were gone - so where was the punishment?

Where was your chance to be indignant and rude and finally finally brave? Where was your chance to stick it to them? To tell them that you’d done what was previously seen as impossible and got the victims out?

Where was your chance to be the hero?

You’d grown disappointed and lazy in your time waiting. The days after your gesture were full of tense moments and fearful nights. Every dream turned into something dismal and grey and heavy with the weight of anxiety. But as the hours passed, and your soul went unharmed, you began to wonder if perhaps they just didn’t know it was you.

The maid numbers hadn’t dwindled though, not from what you could tell. Perhaps they were still investigating? But how? Your scent was all over those victims; put there from your proximity- when you pushed your hands onto their shoulders and arms and forced them to go forward through the tunnel. And you brushed past so many walls and walked upon so many of the long cobblestone floors in the dungeons and even, at one point, pressed yourself up against some of the blood-rusted torture devices so the girls could sneak past without rustling chains or equipment. Realistically speaking, they should have found you by now.

And yet? Not a fuckin peep.

Even the daughters fell into silence - which was so unusual that after weeks had gone by, you simply gave up. Clearly, there was no reason to wait around. Clearly, there was no reason to be tense and worried. Clearly, there would be no chance to throw the Dimitrescu’s cruelty back into their faces.

So you went on with your life.

You did your duties, you ate, you bathed, and slept, and were on time, and were just as good at your job as you had been the entire time. As though nothing was out of place. As though nothing had changed.

Until the day you realized that they did know.

They’d known the entire time.

All of them.

You were just a fool for believing otherwise.

A stupid, soon to be dead, fool.

—

You were retiring for bed, nearly limping your way over to the maids quarters as the castle’s bell-tower struck midnight. Technically, curfew was at nine, but you were a special case. The dishes, after all, would never clean themselves. And the kitchen, likewise, would never remain tidy on its own.

After a long day of working through the long corridors of Castle Dimitrescu, your feet were aching. They carried you far, keeping you upright, but you slowed down quite a bit once the trek to your comfortable bed became shorter and shorter. Exhaustion pulled at your sleeve, the most evil of all temptresses. And you were on your way to give into her, eager to feel the bliss of sleep - if it weren’t for the sudden shadow that fell over your body, blocking out the light of the lit candles behind you.

Your heart stumbled.

“Well, well…” the monster purred, “out after dark again are you, girl?” You could practically feel the way she tilted her head. “Surely you remember the rules, don’t you?”

You nodded, clasping your hands in front of you, all lingerings of sluggishness gone - replaced only by wild anxiety.

“Yes, Lady Dimitrescu. I was just cleaning the-”

“I don’t care,” was the quick response. Simple. Sharp. Dangerous. “I was looking for you. We have important matters to discuss.”

Oh.

You thought they’d forgotten.

You thought they didn’t catch you.

You thought it was a thing of the past.

Since the release of the old maidens, they got new ones.

No harm no foul. None of the previous ones had returned. You did a good job.

You did a good thing.

Whatever she’d do to you would be worth it.

“Whatever about, My Lady?”

But of course, only a safe woman thought like that.

There was a low grumble from behind you; gravelly and hissy and deep.

And you were not a safe woman.

There was a sudden pressure on your hips and waist, leaving bruises, leaving you without breath, as the world spun in one big loop and had you growing sick with dizziness. Your head went bonking off of the wall behind you. Your body was crushed against the hard surface, and saved only by the soft contrast of Lady Dimitrescu’s body.

She smelled so good… and she was so angry…

“Don’t play coy,” she spat, face hovering in front of yours, keeping your eyes connected as her gaze burned into a furious gold.

She was kneeling. She probably didn’t care enough to tug you up to her level. You’d seen her with other maids before; lifting them to her height, pressing them to walls and showing them the true extent of impending consequences. But your situation was new. And thus, uncharted. And thus, terrifying.

“You’re not as smart as you think you are, girl.” Lady Dimitrescu seethed, nostrils flared and nose scrunched and every muscle in her body tensed. “I could smell you everywhere.”

Then why did you wait so long?

You wanted to conjure up some bravery; you wanted to tug your heart into place; you wanted to tell her that you were glad you did it - but you couldn’t look at anything other than her eyes. And you couldn’t feel anything other than the warmth of her chest. And you couldn’t think of anything other than how beautiful her lips looked when they were curled with fury.

“Are you proud of yourself? Hm? Do you think you made a difference?” She snarled, getting so close that you pressed the back of your head so hard against the wall, you thought you’d pass out.

The heat of her breath smelled like metal and death and smoke. You wanted to taste it. But that would never happen. And you would never make it out alive - not at that rate; not with the way her hands moved from your waist to land on either side of your head. Long fingers pressed to the wallpaper; palms as large as your skull lay flat next to your ears.

A silent warning.

A silent command.

Speak. Now.

“N-no, My Lady.” Hm. Interesting how courage fled in the face of Lady Dimitrescu’s ire.

But your submission wasn’t enough. A perfect eyebrow rose in mocking question.

��No?” Her velvet tone grew deep. “No? You don’t feel accomplished?” Her fingers shifted. “You don’t feel… relieved?” Two thumbs lined up with the sides of your strained neck. “You don’t feel… like a hero?” Gold eyes flashed. The sound of blades pulled from their sheaths went swinging into the tense silence.

And you could feel your pulse stutter.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to die.

It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth it at all. Please don’t do this. Please don’t punish me for my foolishness.

But you couldn’t speak. And you couldn’t plead your case - or beg for mercy - hell, you could barely breathe.

The sharp tips of her thumb’s nails hovered above the thin skin of your neck. So close, you could feel the hairs rise to greet the predator’s intrusion.

If you spoke, you’d die. If you swallowed, you’d die. If you breathed just a little too hard, you’d die.

So the only thing left to do was listen.

“If you ever try something like that again, girl,” The Lady of the House whispered, her voice soft and slow, “and if you ever think that you can get away with it,” the blades felt cold against your neck- pushed only half a centimeter away from your arteries, “then you will suffer a fate far worse than death. Am I understood?”

She pulled away to get a better look at you; to pierce your eyes with her own; to write your contract out in soul instead of blood.

You weren’t sure why she hadn’t killed you, but there was no use in questioning.

All you could do was agree.

So you nodded- a snail’s pace up and down- until Lady Dimitrescu pulled her thumbs away from your neck and allowed you to breathe air freely again. Your eyes burned with the effort to stay quiet.

“Good. Remember this moment the next time you want to obey. And understand it won’t end well for you.” And just like that, while you were busy blinking yourself away from near death, The Lady of the House disappeared - leaving you alone, sporting two points of raw red skin on either side of your neck.

︶꒦︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷︶︶꒦

Awkward thumbs up - Rip x

︶꒦︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷︶︶꒦

[bearlytolerant]

15 Lines of Dialogue Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Tagged by @thevikingwoman thank you!

These are from a wip and it’s Gwyn from dragons dogma 2. Putting below the cut for length.

1. “A senseless request when you are all that consumes my thoughts now.”

2. Ah, another pretty boy in distress. Shall I throw you over my shoulder then?”

3. “You can leave, if you wish. Know I would miss you dearly, if you choose that path, but my joy is brightest when you are defying what destiny has ordained for you.” She reaches up to tuck a stray hair behind his ear. “And you shine brightest when your actions are of your own volition.”

4. “Raise your hand against her again and I’ll wear your fingers as charms on a chain around my neck.”

5. “Now if I told you that, it would no longer be a well kept secret now, would it?”

6. “Do you three gossip about me as well while I am away?”

7. “Have you lost your senses?” She reels on him in the dark recesses of the dim lit halls, a draft sending a chill down her spine and raising the hairs on her neck. “Times such as these require playing the part of the feckless dullard. Either play the part with me or wait here.”

8. “No, it does not bother me that he takes Disa to his bed. In another world perhaps—“ She laughs. “I have always enjoyed a bit of sugar with my cream.”

9. “If this is my destiny,” she spits, fists balled in seething anger. “If this is only what I was made for in this world, then perhaps I should unmake this world.”

10. She hovers in the doorway, eyes fixated on the bandit leader. “You can milk him all day but I believe this billy goat is better repurposed for slaughter.”

11. “Fear grips my heart nearly every waking hour, but when we are yoked together, I know only courage.”

12. “Senseless from the moment I met you.” She tsks. “You are a fool to think my heart does not ache for you. Not just your touch but those words whispered and carried off by the winds during our midnight trysts.” She takes another brave step toward him. “I miss you and long for you. I did the night we met and even more so now.”

13. “Have you seen the view from here? How unfortunate to have been made arisen. I should have liked to have been made with wings.”

14. “I hear the brine calling and it sounds like it’s begging for supper,” she says and delivers an arrow to its eye.

15. “His objective is dubious at best but I admire him. Though I believe his thorough research methods could be used for better means, his spirit is unwavering in resolve.” She offers a wry grin. “And I’m not just saying that because he carries the same resolve in the bedroom.”

Tagging @ellstersmash @fangbangerghoul @lisa-and-shadow @myreia @staticpallour @a-cosmic-elf @roguelioness and anyone else who sees this and would like to do this for their oc (and no obligations of course)!