#its not all smut i promise 😅

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[supernotnatural2005]

The Great Sam Winchester C*ck Block!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean and you have been desperate for some much needed alone time. However, a certain Winchester keeps getting in the way.

Word Count: 4106

Warnings: Smut! 18+ ONLY!!! Fluff, Sam is a massive c*ck block (yes that’s a warning!)

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since i posted anything. Life has been wild. But i miss writing so much and have a few WIP. This just happens to be the one i’ve finished! 😅 Just something fun and spicy. I hope you enjoy and feedback is always welcome!

My Masterlist

You sighed, head thrown back against the leather seat, back arched and legs spread wide as Dean scissored two of his thick fingers inside of you.

Soft lips caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and suckled at the spot behind your ear, which only added to the desperate throb of the walls of your pussy.

Your skin flushed and breathing laboured as he expertly rubbed at that spongey spot inside you, making you gasp and tense at the thrum of pleasure, tingling from the tops of your ears down to the tips of your toes.

The soft praises of; “you’re so wet”, “so beautiful” and “come for me baby”, followed by the lewd sounds of your dripping core against the harsh thrust of his digits, echoed in the small confinements of Baby’s backseat. Resulting in an ecstasy like state of desperation to reach your peak for him.

Your hands found purchase on his broad shoulders, the material covering his skin all but assaulted by your vice-like grip, as he brought you closer and closer to your impending crash.

You opened your eyes, gaze heated and glazed as you met fiery green orbs, drinking in your wrecked state with satisfaction and pride.

With his thumb now rubbing against your clit, you could feel your body begin to tense. The coil in your lower belly wound tight, ready to just about snap, when something over his shoulder caught your attention.

“Sam!” You gasped in an attempt to warn him. Though in your current state, it came out as more of a gasp of unmeant pleasure. But it had Dean’s fingers stilling instantly, drowning the flame he’d brought to life inside of you.

“What?” The shock was evident in his voice and the same eyes that had been filled with lust just moments ago, now laced with hurt at your outburst of his brother’s name. Made ten times worse at the fact it was whilst he was fingering you into oblivion.

Dread filled you at his harshly retracted fingers and you scrambled to explain before another fire brewed in his eyes, but this time with intent to burn rather than pleasure.

“Oh God, no baby! Sam is coming.” You guided his head in the direction of the other end on the motel’s parking lot, to where Sam was indeed approaching.

Relief flooded him like a cold drink of water quenching one’s thirst in a hot desert. His rapidly beating heart simmered somewhat at the realisation and he welcomed the soothing hand you ran through his short strands as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

You felt the rumble of his chuckle before you heard it, finding yourself joining in at the absurdity and worst timing ever of your boyfriend’s baby-bro.

“I guess we’re gonna have to pick this up another time.” He sighed disappointedly, but his eyes held a promise you clung to.

Sam Winchester was many things. A great hunter, empathetic and kind, your best friend. But mostly, he was the most oblivious cock block known to man.

For weeks you and Dean had been trying to have a little alone time. If it wasn’t the motel’s having only one twin room left, or a case taking its tole on you both to the point of pure exhaution, it was Sam’s impeccable timing.

You righted yourself by pulling on your discarded underwear and sleep-shorts, grimacing as the fabric met the mess between your legs.

Dean casually sucked his fingers clean of your juices, making your jaw drop and clit pulse in want.

Noticing your longing stare, he winked and slid a hand beneath his sweat pants to adjust the obvious tent, just in time for Sam to tap on the window.

“What are you guys doing out here? I tried calling you both for the past half hour.” Dean had opened the back seat and stepped out, allowing you to shuffle to the edge of the seat.

“I had a nightmare.” You lied easily as you stepped out of the car as well.

“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you, so Dean offered to sit with me, calm me down.”

If oscars were awarded for best lie told, you’re sure you’d be up there in the nominees. It wasn’t necessary to lie to Sam but it beat, “your brother was just fingering me in the back of his car because we never have any time alone away from you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sam was sincere and his look sympathetic. It allowed for a shred of guilt to be had.

“Why were you looking for us anyway?” Dean interrupted, voice slightly rough and irritated, although Sam didn’t seem to notice.

“I found a case a couple of miles out. Three victims have turned up dead in the last week, all with their hearts missing. Sherif is calling it a vicious animal attack but, i figures we got ourselves a werewolf.”

Silence.

“And that couldn’t wait until morning.” Dean speaks up first. His agitation clear this time.

“Well, technically it is morning. It’s like five A M.” Sam shrugs like it’s nothing and you internally sigh.

“You’re right, we just lost track of time.” You force a smile and ignore Dean’s pointed look as a sudden plan forms in your mind.

“Let us freshen up and maybe you could grab us some coffee and breakfast? You know, since you’re the only one dressed and all.” You ask sweetly, hoping he takes the bait.

“Yeah sure. I was going to grab us all some breakfast anyway.” Sam offers.

Bingo.

“That’d be great, i’m starving.” You exaggerate with a hand on your stomach. In the corner of your eye, Dean gives you a funny look and it takes everything in you not to smirk.

“Okay, well i’ll see you in ten.” Sam says before making his way across the street toward the 24 hour diner.

Wasting no time, you grab Dean’s hand and roughly pull him with you toward the room.

“Woah, what in the-“ You shut him up with your lips roughly pressing to his once you enter the room. His back hitting the closed door with a dull thud.

“If you think i’m going to wait for God knows how long before i feel you inside me again. You’ve got another thing coming.” You explain in a rush as you tug his plain-black t-shirt over his head.

A smirk forms on his lips at your eagerness and Dean has to admit, it turns him on just how desperate you are.

“Oh, i like the way you think sweetheart.”

You sat in the backseat of baby, irritable, uncomfortable and beyond sexually frustrated.

Your attempt to finish what you and Dean had started back in the room was short lived, when Sam returned only 2 minutes later, having forgotten his wallet.

To say you were in a mood was an understatement. And the permanent scowl on Dean’s face and his white knuckling grip on the steering wheel, told you he was right there with you.

In the end, the three of you figured out who the culprit was, or should you say culprits were, relatively quickly. It was a young man, Johnny Turner who was recently turned, which explained the sloppy kills. And you later discovered the pack who’d turned him, hiding out in a cabin just outside of town.

Overall, it was a successful hunt with minimum injuries and you had prevented a young girl from being the fourth victim. But three people had still died and a young man had to spend his last moments of life as a monster he never wanted to be.

You still remember the fear and confusion in his eyes at what he’d done. But then he’d went to attack you and ended up with three silver bullets from Dean’s gun lodged in his chest.

So, when you climbed into bed that night, Dean following shortly after you as Sam lightly snored away on the bed opposite. There were no wandering hands under the covers, working each other up until you were desperate enough to find yourself back in the back seat of baby. Just silence.

All in all, Sam’s case had inadvertently been another giant cock-block in itself.

3 Days Later.

It wasn’t your most classiest moment, but you found yourself knelt on a grubby restroom floor; Dean above you with his jeans and boxers pushed down mid thigh as you took his heavy, achingly hard length into your mouth.

You could be ashamed at how horny you were. That you’d stoop so low as to pushing him into a disgusting bathroom stall; dropping to your knees and blowing him right then and there.

But after a whole day of watching him work on Baby, greased up, sweaty and watching his biceps flex as he adjusted loose bolts and nuts under the hood. It was like dangling a piece of meat in-front of a starving dog. You just had to take a bite.

After being unfairly teased all day, you had all ventured to the local dive in town. Of course, Sam came along, actually wanting to join in for once.

Despite your own sexual frustrations, you’d had a good time. Drunk Sam was a lot of fun and it was nice seeing everyone relaxed and with a smile on their face for once.

However, once Sam’s attention was preoccupied by a pretty brunette; and with a strong bout of liquid courage in your system, you’d taken advantage of the situation and summoned Dean to join you in the restroom.

You knew he was just as worked up as you were. You’d felt as much whilst playing a game pool earlier on in the night, when he’d pressed up against you, not so subtly and let you feel just how much the skirt you’d opted to wear turned him on.

So now here you were, sucking off your boyfriend in the restroom stall of a dive bar, like some horny teenager. But if his moans and grunts as he lightly thrusted his hips intime with the bobbing of your head, told you anything. It was that he was more than on board.

Your panties were beyond soaked and uncomfortable but, Dean’s laboured breath’s and flushed cheeks as you looked up at him; his balls drawing up tight in your palm as you let him fuck into your mouth, a tell tail sign he was close, had you doubling your efforts to get him there.

“Holy shit baby. Right there.” He panted as you breathed deeply through your nose and took him as deep as your gag reflex would allow. The hand holding your hair back tightened, bringing with it a sharp sting of pleasure, making you moan around him.

He was seconds away from his release, when a loud bang interrupted you. It was as if an ice-cold bucket of water had been poured over your heads.

Startled, Dean’s slick cock slipped from your lips as you jumped back in shock. The loud bang was shortly followed by a girly giggle and a mans chuckle.

You looked up at Dean, wide eyed and silently asking if he wanted you to continue, when you heard it.

The stall next you rattled as the couple stumbled inside, the sounds of lips lewdly smacking together and then a voice you’d recognise anywhere, instantly cleared your sex hazed fog and had you as dry as a desert.

It was Sam.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Dean’s look told you.

One week later found the three of you pulling into Bobby’s for some much needed R&R.

After a week of non stop hunts, your bruised and beaten body needed at least a long weekend to recover. And the boys were more than inclined to agree.

As soon as your feet hit the gravel outside of Bobby’s house, you sighed in relief. The drive was long and your back, legs and butt ached from the lengthy position held.

“S’good to see you idgits.” Came the gruff greeting from Bobby as he stepped out the front door. You smiled at the term that had always been more out of endearment rather than as an insult.

You were the first to make your way over and fall into his embrace. Bobby always did give the best hugs. You’d missed him, a lot you realised as he gave you a big squeeze.

Although, your wince had him pulling back immediately to assess you with concern.

“Im all good, it’s just been a long week.” You explained truthfully and though he let it go, you could see he wasn’t fully satisfied with your answer.

“Mind if i grab a shower? I need to get the stink of hours being hot-boxed with the most gassiest man alive off of me.” You jab your finger blindly in Sam’s direction and miss his offended look.

Dean however, barks out a laugh to which Sam throws him his signature bitch-face.

“Hey, she’s not wrong man. S’probably all that rabbit food you eat.” Dean shrugs innocently, but is unable to contain his amusement.

“I’m not going to apologise for eating healthy Dean. Wouldn’t kill you to eat a salad once in a while mister, two double cheese burgers with extra bacon for breakfast.” Sam sasses back, mocking Dean’s gravelly voice. And in doing so, starts the endless bickering between the two brothers.

You decide then to make your escape, passing Bobby with a thankful hand on his shoulder and an apologetic look in your eyes as you make your way inside and upstairs toward the bathroom.

You drop your duffle to the floor and rummage through for some clean clothes. Luckily, you find a faded band t-shirt that you’re pretty sure once belonged to Dean and some leggings. It’ll have to do until you can take advantage of Bobby’s washer and dryer.

You’ll have to cook dinner as a thank you, you decide before peeling off your two day old clothes; grimacing slightly at the pain in your overused muscles and possibly bruised ribs.

You turn on the shower, making sure it’s on the verge of scolding, allowing for a billow of steam to encompass the medium sized bathroom, before stepping into the tub.

At first you flinch at warm spray in contrast to your much cooler skin, but quickly melt under the pressure and warmth seeping deep into your bones.

As you stand motionless, the weight of the last few weeks, possibly months, of being tense, unsatisfied and in pain, gradually releases it’s vice-like grip on you and washes away with the muck and grime accumulated on your skin.

Bliss. Thats what this was. Pure unadulterated bliss.

You’re so enraptured with the feeling, you don’t even notice him enter the room. Nor do you hear the shuffling of clothes being removed, or the curtain pulling back for him to step inside behind you.

It’s not until the coolness of his palms makes contact with your hips, do you startle and turn to meet the vibrant green eyes of your intruder.

“You don’t mind if i join you, do you?” Dean asks. As if you had a choice on the matter, as if you’d ever refuse.

You shake your head in both amusement and in answer to his question, and turn back around as he begins to lather his palms up with the body wash you’d brought with you.

A welcoming fruity smell of strawberries invades your sinuses and you soon hum in pleasure as his large, soapy hands glide across your skin. The act is incredibly intimate without the need to initiate into anything more than Dean simply taking care of you.

However, as his slick hands wander to your front, gliding across your stomach and up to lather your breasts. A fire that had been put out one too many times, reignites within you.

You bite your lip and lay your head back against his shoulder as his hands travel back south. Your breathing grows heavier as his seemingly innocent actions spark you to life.

The feel of his smile against the side of your head, tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing though. So as a form of punishment, you subtly press back against him, smiling devilishly at the feel of his hardening length against your lower back.

His breathing shallows as you slowly gyrate your hips back against him and your pussy throbs in need of something, anything.

The famous saying, ‘great minds think alike’ had never proven more true as Dean’s right hand continues its journey, until two of his thick digits part your wet folds.

You gasp as his middle finger begins to slowly circle your clit, causing an electric jolt of pleasure to course through your entire body.

“You’re so wet already baby.” Dean husks in your ear, just as he briefly dips a finger into your dripping hole before returning the coated digit to your clit.

Adding his forefinger, Dean begins to quicken the pace of his fingers and adds pressure onto the pulsing bundle of nerves, making you cry out and twitch and convulse in his embrace.

He holds you tightly to him by wrapping his other arm around your waist, as you shake and your stance falters, gripping onto the arm wrapped around you like a life line.

“Come for me baby.” You hear him all but growl, before you feel his soft lips begin to nip and suck at the sensitive junction between your neck and shoulder. His fingers are vigorous now and the coil wound tight within in you finally snaps.

Everything goes white; your veins like molten lava, fiery hot and melting your bones as the tremors of your well- overdue orgasm course through you.

“Fuuuck.” You can’t help but moan as your tense body slowly becomes like jelly against the strength of your boyfriend. Dean holds you upright as you slowly come to and only loosens his hold when he knows you’re able to stand on your own.

For a moment you feel like you had died and gone to heaven. Utterly relaxed and boneless, you smile dopily until the numbness fades and the overwhelming need to feel him inside you takes over.

You twist in his embrace and pull his face down to crash your lips to his. It’s messy, all tongue and clashing teeth, both blinded by pure desire and pent up frustrations.

You slide a hand between your bodies and glide your hand up and down his length. He’s hard as a rock and seeping at the tip, which you gather in your palm as you continue to jerk him off.

“Shit.” He pulls away with a hiss, eyes closed tight as he presses his forehead to yours. You bite your lip as you take him in, forever impressed of the beauty that is Dean Winchester.

His hand moves to stop you suddenly and he meets your questioning look with pupils blown wide.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep it up. Need to be inside you now.” He all but growls before sliding his hands under your thighs and lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

You wrap your legs securely around his waist as he pushes you against the tile. The coolness brings out a gasp that’s soon swallowed by Dean’s all consuming, toe curling kiss.

“Please.” You beg as you pull away for a needed breath. Too worked up to vocalise anything else. Dean understands you though and shifts you higher up the wall, using it as leverage as he frees an arm to guide himself into you.

Your eyes cross as he slowly descends you onto his cock. The stretch is both overwhelming and not enough at the same time as he bottoms out. It’s a feeling you’ve missed gravely and he hasn’t even moved yet.

“Holy fuck.” Dean groans deep in his throat at the feel of your tight, warm walls finally wrapped around him. A feeling he’s been starved of for too damn long.

“You feel so good baby.” You praise and cup his cheek to guide his lips back to yours. He slowly slides his way out of you until just his tip remains, before thrusting back in with a sharp snap of his hips.

The action makes you cry out breathlessly, eyes wide in the most painful pleasure. You keep your eyes locked when he does it again, mouth agape in a silent scream with each drag of his length against your sensitive walls.

He builds up a confident rhythm, hitting you in the sweet spot every time, making your toes curl and breathing labour.

“Fuck i’ve missed the feel of you.” You moan particularly loudly when he hits the right spot.

“You’re so tight and wet. Fuck.” Dean groans as he picks up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, almost overshadowing the patter of the showers spray.

You’re close, you can feel it. Feel it in the way your lower belly clenches and limbs tense as your nerve endings spark with each thrust.

Dean’s close too. His panting breaths making way for the odd growl to slip out as he strains with effort to keep you both up. His own limbs starting to flutter in strength at his impending release.

Just as you’re about to loose it, there’s knock on the door, causing Dean to still and you to bite your lip in attempt to stop a frustrated groan.

“Hey Y/N? Have you seen Dean? I need the keys to the impala.” Sam’s muffled voice carried through the door.

Dean looks livid, but you look at him questioning eyes. ‘What do i say?’

It takes a moment, but Deans irritation fades and a sly smirk replaces it.

“I’m in here Sammy!” Dean calls out and your eyes widen in shock. However, you’re unable to say a thing when he shifts his hips, slowly dragging his cock almost all the way out, before pushing just as slowly back in.

Your mouth drops open and eyes flutter as he repeats the action.

“Wait why are you…” Sam trails off and you almost don’t hear his “oh.” Of realisation.

“Might not wanna traumatise yourself Sammy.” Dean calls out, just before he snaps his hips harshly into you again, and you can’t help but cry out. Your cheeks blush at the fact Sam could hear you.

“Dean!” You scold in a hushed whisper, but he doesn’t stop, making you bite your lip to stop from crying out more. Thankfully you hear Sam’s footsteps quickly retreat.

“I’m done with interruptions.” Dean all but growls before crashing his lips to yours. His hips begin to piston into you at an almost bruising, quickly bringing you both back to the brink. Your cries of pleasure muffle against his lips and your hands tangle in his hair harshly, making him moan.

“Fuck i’m going to cum.” You gasp, head thrown back and back arching as much as was possible in the position you were in.

“Let go baby. I’m right there with you.” Dean pants and you meet his eyes in a silent cry as you tense up. Your orgasm rippling through you like a bolt of electricity.

“Fuuuuck.” Dean quickly follows you with a couple more thrusts. His body tensing as he grunts into your neck, each twitch of his cock as he empties his seed deep inside you, sending little aftershocks through your body.

You’re both breathing hard, even when he pulls back to look at you. Dopy smiles rise on your lips simultaneously, and laughter soon follows. Dean slowly puts you down on shaky legs, but keeps you close as he leans down to claim your lips once more.

It’s slow and passionate and striking you back to life as we speak. The smirk on Dean’s lips is all knowing and you want to smack away his smugness, but you can’t find it in you to make on that promise when his wandering hand cups your aching sex.

“Someone’s a needy girl, ain’t they.” He mumbles between kissing his way down your neck as his thick digits stroke you to life.

You gasp at the sensation, torn between too sensitive and desperate to feel more.

You glide your hand up his broad shoulder and through his damp hair before gripping tight enough to make him hiss. His eyes darken lustfully and you smirk a little at the feel of him twitching against you.

“You have no fucking idea.” You whisper, before pulling his lips to yours.

It’s safe to say Bobby’s water bill paid a price that day.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Finale — Azriel x Reader

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

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

Word Count: 10.6k (oop, sorry 😅)

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

This place is cold and unforgiving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I said something similar.”

“It wasn’t even close to that.”

“Be grateful of my winning charm—”

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

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

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

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

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

And then it’s just you and Azriel.

Your love. Your heart.

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

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

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

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

“What I am,” he murmurs, “is yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you calling dickhead?”

“I’m calling you dickhead, dickhead.”

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

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

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

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

Just this. Only this.

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“Who knew so many Illyrians could dance?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So badly, you want to lean into his touch. But…not now — not with Fin watching. You dare a quick glance at the dais, and sure enough, his eyes stalk you. They follow everywhere Azriel touches your body. Strangely, the hunger in them intensifies. The hickory shade of them has darkened until it’s almost a stark black. He licks his lips and watches Azriel’s fingers caress you through your dress.

“I’m just…ready for this night to be over. You know all this luxury isn’t my thing.”

His hands press firmer against your skin. “I must say, as much as I’m loving this dress, I’m equally excited to rip it off—”

“May I?”

Two seconds. You look away for two seconds, and Fin is suddenly off the dais and behind you. The guests around you all watch with curious eyes.

Azriel pauses, his lingering touch letting you know just how reluctant he is to let you go.

But ultimately, he is wise. And ultimately, he concedes.

“Of course, High Lord.” He inclines his head. “She’s your special guest, after all.”

“Yes.” Fin’s eyes don’t stray from you. “She is.”

You know it’s deliberate — the way he makes sure everyone is watching as he scoops you into his arms with a small lift off the ground. And then he begins dancing, and everyone else resumes.

As you follow his steps, you allow yourself the chance to look at him. Look at him, and wonder if he’ll hate you after all this is over. You…you don’t want him to hate you. That complicates things, but gods above, it’s true.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, and you may as well be the only two people in the room as he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear, “When you look at me like that, Y/N, it makes me think I’m not such a bad male as most would think.”

“You’re not.” You respond almost immediately, and you mean it. “I think it’d surprise you to know how highly you’re regarded. Everyone in this room who is looking upon you—”

You yelp as he suddenly dips you, his lips at your ear.

“Everyone in this room,” he says, “is looking at you. And rightfully so. You’re a masterpiece — my masterpiece.”

The compliment — the possessiveness — all seems extreme. But then, you think everything about Fin might be a bit extreme. He doesn’t do anything by halves. The blush that dusts your cheeks seems to please him.

“You like it, don’t you?” His voice is like gravel. “That not a single male in here can take their eyes off you. You are the envy of every female. Stripped of wings, but not of raw, natural beauty.”

He straightens you out before you can reply, and your head spins — with the sudden movement, and with the whiplash of the comment. It both pleases you and reminds you how exposed your back is — the trauma that everyone can see.

“Charming as ever.” You swallow, hope the smile on your face is convincing. “I don’t quite know what to say.”

“Words are not necessary — not tonight.” The song you’re dancing to fades to an end, and he steadies you gently on your feet. His gaze sweeps you again, and he remarks, “The stars will begin their journeys soon.”

In the strange headiness of the evening, you almost forgot that this is, essentially, two events wrapped up in one. Starfall, and Fin’s lavish ball. Perhaps seeing those stars will bring you some semblance of peace — make you feel less lost than you do right now, as they travel somewhere unbeknownst to you, and perhaps unbeknownst to themselves, also.

“Will you be joining us outside to watch them?” You ask.

A strange smile curves his lips. “Indeed I will. It’s a magnificent sight to behold.” He steps back, bowing to press a kiss to the backs of your fingers. And then he straightens up. Retreats.

“However,” he says, “I do believe the entertainment I’ve arranged for you may just outshine those stars this year.”

He saunters away, back to his dais. And as he lowers himself into his throne, he meets your gaze.

That same old thirst in them is unquenchable.

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The males are treating the stardust like it’s the snow that so often coats your respective camps.

The first specks of it showering down on you were surprising, beautiful. But in true Illyrian fashion, what started as a cordial gathering to observe the soaring, luminous beings, has been reduced to little more than a drunken bust up.

You don’t know which camp launched the first clump of glimmering dust at another, but that was all it took for chaos to break out. The fray jostles you away from your friends until you can no longer feel Azriel pressed to your side or hear Cassian’s constant chattering. Try as you might to locate them, it’s impossible to see past giant, burly males with alarming wingspans. It’s a sea of dark hair and tan skin.

You push and push your way through, looking for a small exit through the gathered bodies. Your gown is trampled on, and you’re shoved this way and that, taking a few handfuls of stardust to your face and neck and arms. The feel of it is a cold contrast against your hot skin.

Just as you spot an opening to squeeze through, a male is careening into you and taking you down with him. It stuns you so much that you forget to brace yourself for impact. You’re about to tear your skin open against the sharp ground—

But huge, warm hands from behind catch you beneath your arms and keep you upright. Set you on your feet.

You turn, smacking straight into a broad expanse of chest. And a little higher up — long hair and wicked eyes. A taunting grin. Too-sharp teeth.

Tathaln Baralas seems to command the area around him so much that the fighting moves away from you both. A fact that makes him so incredibly smug.

“You’re welcome.” He sounds as rough and rugged as the mountain rock.

You clear your throat and incline your head in reluctant thanks. You’re not too keen on the idea of lingering for a chat with him.

But before you can so much as turn, his hand is fastening around your wrist. It’s not a tight grip, and yet it’s a warning — that it could become tighter if you tried to move.

“I’d like to go and find my friends—”

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to work out why the High Lord is so taken by you.” He angles his head, and his eyes travel down, a smirk toying with his lips. “Besides a magnificent pair of tits, of course.”

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to rip your arm away. “You do him a disservice by thinking him so shallow—”

“Does Rhysand know you’re fucking his father?”

“You’re mistaken, my lord, and I’ll thank you to let go of me.”

“My daughter’s warning was clearly of no use. Perhaps I’ll be able to drive the message in harder. Whatever you’re planning—”

“There you are.” Out of seemingly nowhere, Rhysand’s voice saves the day. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The most minuscule, tiny beat passes — but Tathaln Baralas is no damn fool. With such blatant reluctance, he lets go of your wrist and takes a step back.

Rhys presses himself against your side, slinging an arm around your shoulders. He stares at Tathaln as he says, “My father wants everybody rounded up. It’s time for the entertainment he has planned.”

It’s a cloaked order, and you can see how much the Lord of Fenlaros wants to grit his teeth against it. But again — no damn fool.

“I’ll help gather everyone up.” He relents, and then he turns and pushes through fighting males as though they’re not there.

Rhys turns to you, concerned eyes taking you in. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” You respond vaguely, linking your arm with his. “When this is all over, I will be.”

Little does he know, it’s not only the ball that you’re referring to.

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Like petulant children, the bustling males don’t want to go back under the mountain for the remainder of the ball. They want to stay outside and frolic in the fallen stardust and maybe fight or fuck in it, too.

But somehow, Fin commands their return. And the silence with which they now all stare up at the dais has you wondering if there’s anybody he can’t get to obey him.

Roza, probably. The thought brings a smile to your face.

Gods, you’d love to be with Roza right now, Spending quiet, quality time together. Blocking out the world in its entirety. You’re glad, so heavily pregnant as she is, that she’s not here tonight — but still, you can’t help wishing she was—

A loud clap sounds through the room, jolting you from your thoughts. You force your eyes into focus once more, and though you’re buried a few rows back, Fin finds your gaze immediately. He smiles.

“I wanted to thank each and every one of you for coming here tonight.” He addresses the room. “I understand that Illyrians have a way of life that you like to keep loyal to, and that integrating with other camps is not normally a done thing. I appreciate you keeping your minds open and straying from your traditions to honour this event.”

The crowd stirs and murmurs, and every person packed within it must be wondering why Tathaln Baralas is the only camp lord up on that dais with the High Lord while the others all congregate on the floor, common as muck. They are not privy to the things that you are. You have a horrible feeling that that is all about to change.

“While there have been a few…hiccups, this evening, I have mostly been impressed by how well you were able to interact.” Fin goes on. “That is exactly what this little experiment was intended for. Because that’s what this ball was — an experiment. I address each and every Illyrian when I say this: change is coming.”

No.

Your stomach bottoms out. Hands turn clammy in an instant.

Surely…surely he hasn’t just ignored everything you’ve said. Surely this hasn’t all been for nothing.

“You may recognise the male behind me.” He’s not looking at you now. His eyes skim the room, but they don’t stray in your direction. “Tathaln Baralas — Lord of the Fenlaros camp.”

At that, a small burst of cheers breaks out from one section of the room. Fenlarions, you can only assume. You’re too panicked to care.

Tathaln takes a step forward, not quite in line with Fin, but almost. He seems to be fighting back a smirk. And as you feel another heavy set of eyes on you, you look to your left — to a few steps down, where Kaeda stands. She eyes you with what must be triumph in her eyes, and she doesn’t bother to hide her smirk.

This…this has all gone very, very wrong. You’ve fucked up — failed. Perhaps even doomed the lives of countless people. Fin may have poured sweet sentiments into your ear and boosted your confidence, but you so clearly weren’t enough. Weren’t enough to appeal yourself to him, and weren’t enough to save Illyria as you know it.

You’re not at all certain that you aren’t going to faint. Whatever is about to be said or done, you don’t want to be here for it. You want to gather up Azriel and Cassian and Rhys and get the fuck out of there, far away from this, from him. You look frantically around for them, but you’ve lost them again. Can’t even glimpse the backs of their heads.

“A short while ago, the Lord of Fenlaros came to me with a suggestion. A proposition.” Fin slides his hands into his pockets; a strangely arrogant gesture that tells you just how at ease he is. “But before I tell you all about that, I would like to speak to you about somebody else. Another one of your own who I have recently had the delight of spending my time with. Getting to know.”

It takes a delayed moment for you to realise he’s staring at you once more.

Staring firmly, unflinchingly at you.

He extends a hand in your direction, and everybody — every single fucking person around you — turns to get a look, also.

“Sweet Y/N,” He cocks his head. Smiles. “Would you join me up here, please?”

You falter on the spot, forgetting entirely how to move. Every pair of eyes…the attention…it’s all too much. Everyone is looking at you. Everyone can see you, your scars.

“Y/N.” Fin repeats. “This is for you, after all.”

Someone shoves you in the back, and snickers titter around you, the sounds swimming from one ear to the other. On shaking legs, you slip between bodies. Bodies with faces attached that won’t stop looking at you, staring at you, wondering why you, of all people, have caught the High Lord’s attention. A lowly Illyrian female without any wings.

Numb from head to toe, you climb up onto the dais. Fin takes your trembling hand. Pulls you to his side.

Only then do you find Azriel, Cassian and Rhys in the crowd. All staring up at you with alarmed, horrified expressions. They can sense something very terrible is about to go down, too.

“For all of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her — this is Y/N.” Fin speaks loudly, clearly, his tone clipped. “She hails from the Windhaven camp. She is Illyrian in her own right. She has a brain wise beyond her twenty years, and a heart of solid gold. She cares for Illyrians — for all of you. Cares for your futures.” A very, very potent pause. His expression changes — darkens. He purses his lips. “But you all do not care for her, do you?”

Silence. Nobody knows where this is going. There’s a slight movement in the crowd, and out of the corner of your eye, you see your friends pushing closer to the front.

“You cannot claim to care about her — about your own females — when you are willing to do this.”

So quickly, Fin’s hands are gripping your arms, and he’s wrenching you around on the spot. Forcing your back to them. Forcing them to swallow down the sight of your ruined back.

But your scars poking through the sheer fabric is not enough for him, it would seem. Those hands of his, gentle at times and dangerous at others, skate over your shoulders. Stop at the top of your back, where you hate so profoundly to be touched.

And he rips the fabric open like he’s cleaving air.

The cold air hits your exposed back, and surprised murmurs ripple through the room. Each and every one of them will have seen clipped wings before — but not this. Not the brutal hacking you were subjected to.

On instinct, you’re fighting against Fin, trying to turn, trying to hide. He holds you steady.

“Her own father did this to her.” He announces. “As so many of you intend to do to your own daughters, no doubt. Look at her. Look at how she suffered, and believe me when I say, again, change is coming.”

“Father.” Rhysand’s voice reaches you from behind, severe, outraged. “Stop this.”

It surprises you that Fin immediately turns you back around. But you are under no illusion that he’s listened to his son’s plea. He simply isn’t finished.

There is not one part of you that isn’t shaking. You stare firmly at your feet, refusing to meet any of the gazes pinned on you. Some may be pitying. Most will be delighted.

“I understand that Y/N may not appreciate what I just did. And rightfully so.” With a theatrical wave of his hand, the rip at the back of your dress is mended. But the damage is already done. “She has a right to those feelings. A thing I believe you Illyrian males do not understand. That your females feel. That they can rightfully be hurt, and they can rightfully want to be avenged. Y/N?”

You know he’s addressing you, asking you to look at him. But you can’t move. You can’t…can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop feeling like you want to throw up.

“Y/N.” He repeats, softer this time. “Look at me please.”

You pause.

And then you do.

You turn, and you look at him with an expression that will never promise forgiveness.

To his credit, he studies your face. It’s like he’s searching for an answer as to whether his little stunt was irredeemable. His eyes swallow your expression, and a moment passes between you. One that doesn’t include everybody else in this room.

You imagine you look hateful. You imagine you are sneering, and clenching your jaw, and allowing him to see that you will not stand for such disrespect from anybody, including him.

And he…he looks upon you like he wants the rest of the room to disappear. Like he wants nothing more than to steal you into his arms and spirit you away, far away from this.

You take a small step back.

“I got you a gift.” He says, too quietly. Extends a hand again.

You feel yourself shaking your head. You cannot speak. But this does not deter him. He retracts his hand and murmurs to somebody — somebody you can’t see around the roaring in your head — “The box, please.”

As blurred movement stirs in front of you, you angle yourself towards the crowd — towards your friends. You search their terrified faces without seeing them, and you know that they are just as powerless as you are. Even Rhysand. That throwing themselves in the mix may just make the situation worse.

And you don’t even know what the situation is. All you know is that your heart is thudding and your ears are screaming. All you know is that you feel…betrayed…by Fin making a spectacle of you like this. That your body and mind are having such violent reactions because your vulnerabilities, insecurities, may just be the evening’s entertainment that you’re supposed to somehow enjoy—

“Y/N.”

Your eyes snap back to the High Lord, and a tear escapes the corner of it. You pretend it doesn’t exist, even if Fin’s gaze tracks it and softens.

“For you.” He holds a box out to you.

For a moment, you weigh up the likelihood that you could just dart off the stage and make a run for it. Find somewhere to hide and cry. But as your hands extend outwards without you telling them to, you know it’s no use. You’re seeing this through, however reluctantly.

Your trembles are violent as you take the box into your hands — and almost drop it. It’s heavier than you’re expecting. Fin smiles.

Every single person in that room watches you slide the lid off the box.

Every single person in that room watches you peer inside — and drop it. Stagger back.

“What the fuck is this?” You choke. “What have you done?!”

There are murmurs, people angling to get a look, as Fin casually strolls over to that box. As he reaches in.

As he lifts your father’s severed head by his hair and holds it up like it’s a fucking show and tell. And grins at it.

Steeled Illyrian warriors who have been bred for violence scatter back, curses and noises rolling off their tongues.

“Allow this to be a lesson to each and every one of you.” Fin speaks loudly, entirely unperturbed by the head dangling from his fingertips. “That while your camps are overseen by your camp lords, I am still your High Lord, and I am always watching, and listening, and waiting to act, if necessary. This male wronged somebody I care for. The only fitting punishment was this.”

Without a care, he drops your father’s head back into the box and kicks it away. You stumble back, back, toppling off the dais. Somebody catches you.

“I am your High Lord.” Fin repeats, seemingly unaware of the panic roiling in his audience. “I do not take kindly to being used or manipulated. I do not take kindly to somebody presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my court. And Illyria is part of my court — no matter how much you try to distance yourselves. You are under my jurisdiction. What happens to you is my call to make.”

For a split second, you can only hear certain words; used, manipulated, presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. You think he’s addressing solely you, but he isn’t.

People are moving around you. Arms wrap around you. It takes a moment for you to register that it’s Azriel. That he’s tucking you between himself and Cassian and Rhys. They’re shielding you.

Fin is now pacing the dais, hands behind his back. “The Lord of Fenlaros spent months concocting –and perfecting — a self-serving scheme that he then presented to me, as though he has the authority to do so.” He stops, turning to Tathaln — a very pale Tathaln. “And while I agree there would be some benefits to what you proposed, your methods have pissed me off. And I don’t like being pissed off.”

Tathaln squares his massive shoulders. Steps forward. “I—”

“What gives you the right to delegate your daughter and sons to rival camps to do your bidding, without bringing your case to me first? I should have been your first port of call. I should have decided how this plan of yours should play out. Yet you schemed behind my back and tried to build power and gain favour in case I disagreed to your plan. So you could then build a cause against me.”

“My Lord, I assure you, that is not—”

“Yes — your Lord.” He reiterates.

And then quick as a flash, he’s drawing a sword.

Quick as a flash, it slices through the air and hacks Tathaln Baralas’s head clean off his neck.

It drops to the dais with a wet-sounding thwack. The rest of his body crumples to the floor.

You can’t breathe, or think, or hear. Can only stare at Tathaln’s open, glazed eyes, peering off into nothing. There are gasps and curses and panic. Hands claw at you. You can’t move.

And then a high-pitched, wailing scream rents the air, like nothing else you’ve ever heard. So loud, it snaps you out of your shock.

You turn, despite the hands that hold you firm and still. Through tear-blurred eyes, you glimpse Kaeda on her knees. Her beautiful face is screwed with despair. She stares at her father’s head, and she wails.

“Change is, indeed, upon us.” Fin says calmly, as though a river of blood is not pooling at his feet. “But it will be dealt by my hands, and my hands only.” He sheathes his blade once more. “This ball is over. You can all leave.”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolls off the dais, tracking blood with each step. He disappears through a door without looking back.

And then chaos is erupting. Kaeda is still screaming. People are scrambling to book it out of there. You turn back to Tathaln’s head. Turn to your father’s, still in that box. You think you might be sick—

“Y/N.” Hands grasp your face tightly. Azriel is staring into your eyes, pleading with you to stare back. “We need to get out of here, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

You open your mouth, and a strangled noise escapes you. “I…I can’t…move.”

“You can. You can. Come.” His arms band around you. And though he holds you strong, you can feel that he’s shaken, too. “We’re leaving before the High Lord comes back. I’m getting you out of here. Hold onto me.”

You have no choice other than to comply. But your grip is as weak as you are. You can’t stop yourself fucking shaking.

You don’t hear the words that Azriel speaks to Cassian and Rhys. All you can hear is Kaeda’s screaming. All you can do is stare over Azriel’s shoulder at your father’s lifeless face. That face didn’t once look upon you with love in twenty years. Now, it certainly never will.

You keep on looking until Azriel spirits you both out of there, and the coppery tang of blood follows you all the way back to Windhaven.

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“Please try to drink some of that.”

Azriel perches before you, his eyes fixed upon the steaming cup between your hands. You can’t remember how long ago he handed it to you, or how long ago you made it back to Roza’s cottage, or how long ago you watched Fin cleave Tathaln’s head from his body.

The fire is roaring, and more than one blanket is draped around you, but you can’t get any warmth to seep into your bones. You shiver from head to toe.

“It’ll warm you up.” Az reaches out, pressing a hand to your cheek. “I added a drop of whiskey to take the edge off.”

“I need more than a drop.” Cassian’s voice comes from behind the sofa, where he’s been pacing pretty much since he entered. “What the fuck was that? Your father is insane, Rhys.”

Rhys hasn’t breathed a word — that you’re aware of, anyway. Just sat in the armchair and stared into space. 

But his eyes shutter now, and he murmurs, “I know.”

“Absolutely insane.” Cass repeats. The pacing continues, up and down and up and down. “I didn’t realise you’d gotten so close to him, Y/N.”

As if you need reminding.

Fin had made it clear that in some fucked up way, everything he did tonight was for you. He’d slaughtered two people for you. You’d wanted to stop Tathaln, but not like that…never like that.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and you hear Azriel utter a quiet warning to Cass. Cass stops his pacing.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says, softer. “I just…didn’t realise there was so much going on while you were in Velaris.”

“I was trying to help.” You whisper. “I didn’t mean for…I didn’t mean—”

“None of what happened tonight was your fault.” Azriel moves to your side. He pulls you close against him, arms soothingly wrapping around you. “Don’t you dare start thinking that. The High Lord does what he wants.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. What if he’s coming for me next? I was scheming, too.”

Az growls quietly. “He can try. He won’t get close.”

“My father doesn’t want you dead.” Rhys rests his head back against the chair. He doesn’t open his eyes, and you’re wondering if he’s replaying the picture of bloodshed as much as you are. “If he did, he would have killed you there and then, alongside Kaeda’s father and…yours.”

Cassian spits on the ground. “And may your father never know a shred of peace.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, allowing yourself to slump fully against Az’s body, be supported by it. You’re not sure you can hold yourself up right now.

And it’s not that you disagree with Cass’s statement…you’re just not sure what to feel right now.

You hated your father. Despised him. But—

But that kill was supposed to be yours.

Fin had taken that from you in some fucked up display of…of affection, you supposed. Maybe even of ownership.

“He may not want me dead,” you whisper, “but I don’t think he’s finished with me. He’s surely not going to let me come back to Windhaven as if nothing happened. And what of Roza and the babe? Are they safe with him?”

Rhys gives a slow, meditative shake of his head. He’s exhausted. You’re all exhausted. The smell of blood clings to you. “I checked in with her. Despite what he did, they’re always safe with him. As for everything else…I don’t know what he intends.”

“Change is coming.” Finally, Cassian sits down. “That’s what he said. Over and over again.”

You don’t want change. Not the kind that Fin is probably thinking. You don’t want extravagance or luxury. You just want…this.

This little cottage. Your friends. Your love. Your simple, quiet life.

It feels like it hangs in the balance more than ever.

Eyes open, you’re staring at everything you may just lose. But the second you squeeze them shut, you see such thick, alarming red. Hear the thwack of Tathaln’s head falling. Hear the carnal scream that rips from Kaeda’s throat.

Your heartbeat picks up, and tears prick in your eyes — but Azriel’s arms tighten around you.

“Easy.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “I’m right here. All three of us are.”

You know he can’t possibly be as calm as he’s making out. But he’s doing it for you — staying strong for you.

“You should try to sleep, my love.” He murmurs into your hair. “We all should.”

You focus on his warmth, his scent, but the tears keep coming. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Try.” He kisses you again. “For me.”

All you can manage is a relenting nod. And that’s all it takes for him to slide down and pull you with him. He holds you so tightly, as though he’s terrified of letting go. He bundles you against him, wraps a blanket around you both. It can’t be comfortable for him, his wings, but he lays there like it is.

A soft snoring from the armchair tells you that Rhys has already succumbed to exhaustion. You bunch your fingers in the front of Az’s shirt and force your eyes to close, even despite the horrors that await you behind them.

But after a while, you’re aware of the sound of Cassian traipsing to the kitchen. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey that sits mostly drained on the side.

And you realise that in Azriel’s arms, you’d started to drift off, too.

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You wake with a gasping start.

It’s pitch black in the room, besides the dying embers of the fire. Their muted orange glow illuminates the space enough for you to glimpse Rhys, still fast asleep in the chair. Cassian is sprawled out and dozing on the floor.

Any one of you could have stowed away upstairs in the privacy of a bedroom, but…you need each other right now. Each other’s comfort.

You don’t know what the time is; the middle of the night, judging by how dark it is. But there’s a lot of noise and foot traffic that’s carried past the house. You assume it must be Illyrians who have attempted to drown the night’s events in alcohol and are now skulking home.

You try to block it all out. Roll over. But as arms tighten around you and pull you flush against a warm body, you glance up to find Azriel awake, already staring at you.

You stare back.

That’s all you do for a while. Just…stare. Drink each other in. He is so beautiful. So brilliant. Your friend, lover and so much more.

“Hi.” He eventually whispers.

You scan his face. Murmur back, “Hi.”

“You should be sleeping.”

“So should you.”

A small shake of his head. Strands of hair fall from where they were earlier slicked back. The grandeur of the ball seems like eons ago, now.

“I can’t.” He says. “I’m worried about you.”

It’s rare…for him to lay vulnerable thoughts and feelings out like that. You study him again. And you want to reassure him, tell him you’re doing okay — but you’re not. Not right now. And don’t you owe him honesty in return?

“I’m scared.” You admit. Keeping your voice hushed doesn’t stop it from cracking.

Azriel leans down, dropping his forehead against yours. His hand rests at the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles.

After a moment, he asks, “What went on in Velaris?”

You don’t know what to say. It was so easy, in the City of Starlight, to pretend to be someone else. Someone that Fin would desire and eventually trust. So easy to follow a plan unflinchingly.

But back in the frozen grips of Windhaven, you do not feel like that person. You do not know her.

“You said you were scheming.” Az presses. “What went on?”

“I told you…I was trying to convince Fin to reject Tathaln’s idea—”

“Convince him how?”

You swallow. Because you hate the truth. Back in the ordinariness of your Illyrian environment, your behaviour seems so, so bad.

“Did he touch you,” Az breathes.

“No.” You immediately shake your head. “I made him want me. I made him want me so badly that he would trust me and listen to me. I never wanted him to kill for me. And I never wanted him. Every single second I spent there, I just wanted to come back to you—”

His lips fold over yours, and he breathes deep and slow. You waste no time in kissing him back. That kiss is truth, and it’s love.

“Only you, Az.” You whisper as you pull away. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

But he’s not done with you. His mouth is on yours again, and he promises into it, “I’ve only ever wanted you, too.”

Not merely wanted, but needed. And you need each other now. It doesn’t matter at all that you’re not alone in the room — that Cass and Rhys are sleeping mere footsteps away.

Your hands are on each other, grasping at each other, and your bodies come together. It’s unhurried and quiet. Azriel’s eyes don’t leave yours once, from the second he slides into you and you both gasp onto each other’s mouths.

Every slow thrust is one of love. Every one of them is a promise.

“Whatever happens,” he pants quietly, pleasure straining his voice, “whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

“Together.” You vow. A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and Azriel leans in to kiss it away.

He holds you as both your climax and his build together. He holds you as you bury into his shoulder to stop you from crying out. He holds you as you clench around his cock and he spills every last drop into you.

And he holds you as you catch your breaths and press your foreheads together, exhaustion beckoning you once more. He’s held you through so much, and he’ll continue to do so to whatever end.

Only when your eyelids are threatening to close does he brush his mouth against yours once more. And he says again, “We’ll face it together.”

There’s a stirring behind you. Cassian rolls over. Croaks out, “Can you quit fucking?”

And then he snores and he’s back to sleep, the fire warming his wings.

You and Az stare at each other and pause. And despite it all — everything that’s happened tonight — you both break into laughter. It vibrates through his chest and into you, the feeling pleasant, reassuring.

He kisses your forehead, a smile still ghosting his lips.

It stays there as he drifts to sleep.

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“What the fuck is that?”

Your groggy eyes wrench open and squint at the weak daylight that filters through the cottage. Both Rhys and Cass have bolted upright. Az, too, is jerked awake.

A thumping lands on the front door, urgent, panicked. Anxiety floods your gut.

“I’m coming, fucking hell.” Rhysand clambers to his feet. He’s dishevelled and uncoordinated as he clambers to the door and rips it open.

“Rhys,” Zakai pants from the other side. “What the fuck is your father playing at?”

“What—”

It’s then that the sound hits you all. The sound of authoritative voices calling out. Of people shouting — arguing — back.

Rhys follows Zakai out of the door. You, Azriel and Cassian share a glance before the three of you are also following.

And what you find outside is…chaos.

The sight of Illyrians fighting is nothing new, but males are being ripped from their houses. Children and wives watch, tears staining their cheeks. Paper and clothes and belongings litter the ground as if they’ve been stolen and discarded. The sky is shadowed by the temporary night of soaring Illyrians

Your wide eyes swivel to a roof a few cottages down — where a male stands upon its tiles, his voice bellowing out. He’s leather-clad and puffed up by his own importance — one of Devlon’s cronies, you think.

He seems unperturbed by the pushback on the ground — the gathering, angered males, as he addresses anyone and everyone around him.

“If I call your name, you’re coming with me! You pack the bare necessities — we leave for Steelshore in thirty minutes!” He announces. “Rahu Sepheron, Venia Char, Falkon Galos, Telarion Krin—”

“He’s lost his damn mind.” Rhys grits his teeth, shaking his head.

“He’s actually doing it.” Ice shoots through your veins, nothing to do with the brisk spring morning. “The High Lord is actually splitting everyone up.”

“Zakai Athalar—”

“Fuck this.” Rhys grabs Zakai’s hand, turning to you, Az, Cassian. “Everyone get back inside. None of us are doing anything or going anywhere until I’ve spoken to my father.”

You don’t hesitate to turn on your feet and pull Azriel with you. You want nothing more than to hole yourself up inside the cottage and pretend that none of this is happening. That anxiety and panic isn’t turning your stomach—

But the second you step foot inside, you’re halting in the doorway so suddenly that Cassian smacks into you from behind.

Fin sits at the table, cleaning his nails with a dagger.

He drinks in the sight of you greedily. Glances down at yours and Azriel’s joined hands. Smiles.

“Do you want to tell me what the fuck you’re playing at?” Rhys pushes past you, storming over. “What the hell is all this?”

“This?” Fin sits back. “This, Rhysand, is the reality of war.”

His son grits his teeth. Clenches his fists. “What.”

“War is upon us. Days, weeks, months away. People will have to fight and people will have to die. It is my duty as High Lord to take necessary action to ensure we come out victorious. If I have to sever some relationships for that outcome, then so be it.”

Cassian barrels forward, nothing but anger given flesh. “And what is this supposed necessary action? Tearing families apart?”

Even he, with his quick temper and loose tongue, would never normally address the High Lord in such a way. But Cassian cares. He’s passionate about what’s right.

And what Fin is doing is not right.

But Fin vaguely smiles and picks an invisible piece of dirt from his jacket. “If need be, Cassian, yes.” He says. “I’m delegating Illyrians where they will serve me best in this war. That includes your cosy little unit here.”

“If we are truly at war,” Azriel says quietly, dangerously, “now is not the time to play games.”

“Who’s playing games, shadowsinger?” Fin shrugs. “Not me.”

You don’t think it’s accidental, the way the High Lord’s eyes slide to you in that moment. You look away, refuse to hold his gaze. You could swear he chuckles quietly as he stands up and tucks his chair in.

“So here’s how it’s going to be.” He rests his forearms atop of the chair. “Rhysand — you will be commanding a legion in Camp Theriel.” He glances — barely — at Zakai. “I do believe your lover has already received a summons to leave for Camp Steelshore, so he should probably run along, lest he gets left behind.”

“Father—”

“Cassian.” He interrupts. “You will remain here, in Windhaven — as a common foot soldier in this war.”

“A foot soldier?” Cass spits. “That’s beneath my rank and you know it. You’re only doing this because you’re threatened by Az, Rhys and I being together. How powerful we are. Everyone knows that.”

Fin simply tsks. “Watch yourself, foot soldier. You don’t want to slip further down the ranks, now, do you—”

“Fin.” Finally, you find your voice. You step forward, despite Azriel trying to yank you back. You stare pleadingly at the High Lord.

He turns to you. His eyes sweep your face. His expression seems to go somewhat…quiet.

You had begun to respect this male in some roundabout way. You don’t think you’d ever have fully trusted him, but…there was an understanding, for a time. An allegiance of sorts.

You’d seen a side to him that so few did. And though it’s nowhere to be seen now…you have to believe that it’s still under there somewhere. You have to.

“Please don’t do this.” You whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “Please. This is our home. Our family.”

At the first sight of a tear rolling down your face, Fin swallows — hard. He clenches his fists at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and wipe it away.

It seems like so, so long that he stares at you. So long that he seems to be fighting something internally.

So long that a small glimmer of hope ignites in you that perhaps he cares enough to listen.

But then his eyes are shuttering, and he’s looking away. He says, stiffly, “We all have to make sacrifices in war.”

“Fin—”

“Rhysand will go to Camp Theriel. Cassian will stay here.” His eyes open again. He looks from you, to Azriel, back to you. “You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.”

“What?!”

“You’d better say your goodbyes.” He squares his shoulders, not looking at you at all, now. “It’ll be a very, very long time before you all see each other again. If you see each other again.”

You open your mouth — to say what, you don’t know.

But Fin disappears before your eyes, leaving you — your family — alone.

What sounds far, far away is Cassian’s outraged ranting. Rhysand cursing his father. Zakai trying to talk to him, calm him down.

You and Azriel are the only two who don’t say a thing. Just stand there in silence.

Because you know you can curse all you like. You can shout and throw things and damn Fin to a miserable existence. It may bring you some temporary reprieve.

But it will not change a thing.

Fin is your High Lord. His mind is made up. This is just the next round in his game.

Your family is being cleaved apart. You stand in that cottage where you all slept in each other’s company — not realising it might be the last time, ever.

Your head roars and your tears keep on coming. But you can do nothing but stare at Azriel. He stares at you, too.

You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.

It makes you sick to your stomach. Probably makes Azriel sick to his stomach, also.

But your locked, silent, crestfallen gazes communicate one sacred promise to each other.

Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.

Authors note: Oooooof how are we all feeling? Good? Bad? Sad? Mad? Tempted to commit arson?

I just wanted to say thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. What started out as a fun little smut piece turned into a whole story I didn’t even know I had in me, but I’ve enjoyed every bit of it — especially hearing from all of you. Your likes, reblogs, comments and asks have meant the world to me through this. Thank you so much for the wonderful responses 🫶🏻

For anyone who didn’t see my answer to an ask regarding this last part — I understand it might not be the ending everyone wanted or expected, but I felt there was still so much potential in the story that I wanted to leave it open to — perhaps — write a sequel at some point. I have so many ideas, and I’m totally willing to talk about it and answer any questions about it you have any!

Thank you, again, for all the support, darlings. And I truly hope you enjoyed Practice On Me. 💕

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

[doe-eyed-fool]

Hey, I'm back with another idea Wich I hope will spark ur interest

Would be an alastor x reader

(can be fluff or smutt)

Imagine the reader was out with angel and cherry in a club and in a moment of not paying attention a guy buts a love potion in there drink. After a while reader starts to feel a little funny and tells angel who calles her boyfriend /husband (whatever u like better) to pick her up. After getting reader home alastor takes care of the reader and notices that she is getting more touchy and he realises it could only be a love potion(cause it's out of character for reader) . After reader is asleep the radio demon gets to the club and wrecked the whole place apart till he finds the guy and kills him slowly and gruesomely.

Hope u like it.

Love Potions Are No Fun

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): Drinking, Reader Gets Drugged(nothing happens), Murder, Dismemberment, Gore, Torture, Basically Alastor Does His Thing, Spicy But No Smut(sorry😅)

It was suppose to be a fun night. Angel and Cherri had invited you out to the club, and you were excited to go. However, your husband, Alastor, was not too thrilled with the idea. You tried over and over telling him that you would be fine, and you wouldn’t drink too much, considering the two you were going out with weren’t too wise when it came to limiting their alcohol intake.

But Alastor was still hesitant, and even suggested going with you. Though, you knew he wouldn’t enjoy himself or be too comfortable. Unfortunately, he could not doubt you.

So, reluctantly he decided to let you go and he stay home. But only if you promised to be very careful. And you were. You were wise cautious of the people around you, and sipped slowly on a few drinks.

Although, you could not keep track of everyone in the club. And while you were distracted, some guy had slipped something into your drink. He had been eyeing you the moment you walked into the club.

And luckily for him, he had a love potion tucked away on his person. He took the chance you were paying attention, to pour a few drops in your drink before easing his way back into the crowd. And waited…

You were chatting with Angel and Cherri as you sipped on your drink. And everything was fine for a while, until suddenly you felt an odd sensation wash over you. Your face became heated, and your heart was pounding in your chest.

Maybe you drank too much after all. With what little consciousness you had left, you informed Angel of how you were feeling. Suspicious, Angel looked at your drink and felt his heart sink.

Angel quickly grabbed you and excused himself from Cherri as he rushed you out of the club. He knew he’d get his ass shredded for this, but he needed to let Alastor know what happened.

Because Alastor didn’t own a modern phone, Angel called up Charlie and let her know what was going on. It didn’t take long for Alastor to show up as soon as he was told.

“It seems my worry was warranted.”

Angel flinches before turning to face Alastor, who materialized from the shadows. “Uh, h-hey Al!” Angel mutters. “Don’t worry! I uh, kept Y/n out of trouble!”

You blinked a few times, letting your vision adjust. “Alastor?” Your voice slurred. “I feel…weird.”

Alastor approached Angel and carefully takes you from his arms. “I’ll take it from here. But you and I will have words later.” Alastor’s smile was stretched to its limits, a slight growl in his tone as he spoke. “But not before I devour the filth that dared to pull such a stunt on my wife.”

With that, you and Alastor faded into the shadows, leaving Angel alone and shaken up.

Alastor teleports to his room and lays you down on the bed. You let out a breathy sigh as you felt your body become light as a feather. Every nerve in your body fluttered, the slightest touch from Alastor sent a new shiver down your spine.

“My love, how are you feeling?” Alastor asks you. You give him a lazy smile. “Good…” You laugh lightly. “Al…come here. Please…”

Your face felt hot, your stomach fluttered and your heart still pumping fast in your chest.

When Alastor didn’t make a move, you sat up and crawled towards him. “Al?” You place your hands on his chest. “My whole body feels like it’s on fire…” You whisper, making his ear twitch.

“I’m sure.” Alastor says simply. “But I’m afraid there is little I can do for you in this condition.”

Alastor was never interested in sexual intimacy. He would show his love for you in other ways. He would kiss you, hold your hand, hug and cuddle you. Though, most physical acts like that were mainly done in private.

With this all said, on your wedding night, he did give into pleasure. The two of you took things slow, made sure each of your were comfortable.

Alastor was a gentlemen, he knew better than to take advantage of someone when they weren’t in their right mind. It didn’t matter if you were his wife or not. He would not touch you like this. Not unless you were fully aware of what was happening.

“Alastor, please…” You begged, voice slurring. You plant small, albeit sloppy, kisses along his neck and jaw. “Please…”

Alastor takes hold of your hands gently and pulls back. “My dear, I believe it would be best if you get some sleep. You’ll feel much better, I assure you.”

He carefully lays you down on the bed. You wrap your arms around his neck. “Join me?” You smirk. Alastor brushes your hair out of your face, before planting a kiss on your temple.

“I wish I could. But I’m afraid I have some business to take care of. I will be here when you wake up, I promise, love.” Alastor’s hand glows a dim green, he places it on your forehead.

And just like that, exhaustion takes over your mind and body. And you gave into slumber.

Alastor’s soft smile turned twisted as he makes his way back to the club.

Alastor wasted no time finding the scumbag who drugged you. And made quite the scene as he dragged him out of the club by the neck with his inky tendrils.

The broadcast sent out that day was one of his favorites. Alastor took his time as he tore that bastard limb from limb, slowly remove each non-vital organ, making sure he felt every moment of it as his life slowly slipped away.

Before death could claim him, Alastor slowly ripped his heart out and made that man watch as he ate it. Alastor was sure not to waste any of him after he died. He’d have to find an amazing new recipe to make his putrid body taste somewhat decent.

Alastor, after cleaning himself up, made his way back to his room. Just in time for you to wake up. You yawned and rubbed at your eyes. “Alastor? How’d I get here? Aw man, did I get wasted?” You sighed.

Alastor chuckled as he approached you. “Don’t worry my dear. I made sure everything was taken care of.” He sat next to you. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug. “Exhausted.” Alastor wraps an arm around you. “Well, you’re more than welcome to relax with me. I just had quite the meal, and I could use some rest.”

“Find another deer?” You question as you snuggle up to him. Alastor grins. “I wish. Might have been more pleasant.”

“Another unfortunate soul then?” You ask. “That’s it.” Alastor nods. “But enough of that.” He lays back, taking you with him. “Let’s just get some well deserved sleep.”

Alastor strokes your head gently, holding you protectively in his arms. That will be the last time anyone tries to use those horrid potions on you again. Not unless they want their souls ripped to shreds.

[meanbossart]

So I’ve just completed ANE and I have so many questions! First of all, I love these characters and you’ve written them so well, thank you for sharing your talents with the world. I’m so excited for the next installment!!

Now for the questions, spoilers ahead!

1. Will there be more horror/violence in the upcoming chapters? The fight scene where Astarion’s arm falls out of its socket made my skin tingle. It was so well written, and I’m looking forward to more fight scenes if possible.

2. Any ideas/plans for our favorite disaster couple to get more alone time?? *wink wink*

3. I’m a little confused why there’s existing art between Izz and Grodderick? Will they meet in ANE? Have they met already?

OH BOY, I LOVE ANE QUESTIONS!

Absolutely, you can look forward to more fights/violence coming up, as well as some medical grossness that strikes a similar chord. These are all bound to ramp up as the story progresses and I'm very glad you enjoy those portions of the writing, they are my favorites to get into!

To be frank, sex so far in this story has been more of a tool to characterize DU drow's and Astarion's relationship as it progresses than anything else - not that I have anything against completely gratuitous pornography (I mean, have you seen my NSFW art) that's just not what this particular story is for. They will have more ✨love-making✨ scenes, but they will be in line with the ones we had so far both in nature and distribution. Hopefully that's okay! (Addendum: anyone is free to write some smut of their own with these two, if they would like to - just please let me know about it so I can read it LOL)

Izzy's and Grodderick's relationship is more a background thing rather than significant for the story - but yes, they do eventually become a canonical couple. It will make more sense later, I promise 😅

Thank you so much for your questions and for your kindness! Have a lovely night.

[iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning]

so i think this might have been top three, if not top one, worst years of my life; and while i still don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, as i’m still concerningly depressed and consistently declining (my therapist just quit her job so now i have to start all over w someone new AND my psychiatrist wants me to take 6 wks off work to do iop dbt so that’s fun), i’ve managed to conjure up some teeny tiny shreds of hope that next year will be even slightly better

i don’t drink much bc i really hate the taste of alcohol lmao so i probably won’t be drinking tonight and i’ll probably be in bed asleep when the ball drops

but i wanted to say thank you to all of you, who have been so so kind to me since i decided to join our little tumblr community. you guys have provided comfort to me in some really really dark times (and i literally suck so much at responding to people so i apologize for that and rest assured, its one of my resolutions lolol), and even in the not so dark times when i get one of those cute ask trends (the ones where its a cute message and then you send it to your favorite blogs too, y’all know what i’m talking abt) in my inbox bc truly i love them sm 🥺. they make my day every single time i see one, even if i don’t respond to it right away

happy new years everyone🍾🎊 hopefully this next year is better for all of us, even if this year wasn’t all that bad for you

(also even though i quite literally just admitted to being terrible at responding ((again so sorry)), send me messages bc i love this little community and i want to talk to more of you guys and be lil friends bc y’all seem so fucking sick and cool as shit and i promise i’ll try so hard to respond better stg but also pls have some grace if i don’t sometimes bc sometimes i don’t have the mental capacity to formulate any kind of sentence or response in any way but stg i’ll try my best😭)

(also also thank you to every single person who puts any kind of time and effort into writing any and all of the fics that are out there ((check out my fic recs for all of my favs (((i’m a smut whore if no one could tell😅))) )). genuinely and sincerely those get me through every day of my life ((esp when i reread my absolute favs in the entire world)) and i love to see all of your different writing styles. i’m so looking forward to whatever different directions you all go in with your writing and ideas. cheers to y’all for making my life a whole lot more bearable lmao🥂)

edit: i’ve decided i’m forcing myself to stay up until midnight so that i can ring in the new year listening to miracle (specifically the “i wanted to dress a blade up in red w both of our necks…” part🥹) yk to drum up good vibes for the new year. upward and onwards everyone🤝🏻

[m-jelly]

I don't know if you've done this. 😅

Can I ask for a reader x Levi x reader? Not a twin situation just some spells practice by reader and this happen. And yes reader is a witch. It can be smut and not. I just love at how you Levi. And I'd imagine with the way you write him Levi would be super flustered having two of his y/n.

I don't think I have done this before, but I'll give it a go.

Kenko Panda <3

Magic love

Levi x fem!reader

Fantasy, magic, married, two readers (one is made of magic and you feel what it feels) comfort, being a couple, romance, spoiling Levi.

While practising some of your magic, you accidentally make a version of yourself made of light. The light you is just an extension of you, so you feel everything she feels. Levi sees both you and the light you, so you decide to spoil him a little.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a

@youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn

@bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza

@hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously

Light sparkled around your hands as you pushed all your energy into your spell. The sacred words you spoke sounded like a song that drifted so beautifully from you. Wind rushed around you as your magic intensified. It felt like something was being pulled out of you like you were making an extension of yourself.

When everything settled you blinked a few times and saw a shimmering light version of yourself before you. She glowed nicely and reminded you of the sun shining on a lake. When you moved, she moved also.

You reached towards her and touched her, it was warm and tingly but you could also feel your own touch. It was clear that she wasn't another you, but really an extension of you. So, it was close to astral projection, but you were awake.

You grinned brightly. "This is wonderful. You're me. It means I can be in two places at once and experience everything."

"Woah." Levi interrupted you and the light version of you. He moved closer and inspected you both. "You made her?"

You nodded. "She's an extension of me. I can feel everything she feels. Two bodies but one consciousness and feeling."

Levi caressed its cheek making you hum. "Did you feel that?"

You shivered. "Yes, it's like a tingle."

He smiled. "It's cute."

You tackled Levi into a hug causing light you to hug him also. "Thank you."

He stiffened up at being held by two of you. "A-Ah." He felt his head swimming at feeling two lots of breasts firmly pressed against him, so plump, so warm, so soft. "F-Fuck."

You looked up at Levi. "What's wrong?"

He looked down to see both you and the light you pressing your breasts against him and looking up. "I am having very naughty thoughts."

You giggled and kissed his cheek as light you kissed his other cheek. "You're cute."

He wrapped his arms around both of you and squeezed. "You're incredible."

You squeaked in delight. "This...this feels...wow."

He released you. "Nice?"

"Mm." You gasped. "I have an idea." You sat down and patted your lap. "Pillow."

Levi lay on the grass and rested his head on your lap. "Lovely pillow."

Light you sat on the grass next to Levi and began soothingly rubbing his chest. You tangled your fingers in Levi's hair and began massaging. The two of you harmonised in a song sending a magical vibration through your husband's body allowing him to relax and heal both his body and mind.

Levi released a long sigh. "This...this is...thank you."

You smiled. "You're welcome. We can both give you a massage too when you're ready though, don't want to rush this." You released a long sigh. "Plus, I don't know how long I can keep her projected. This is a first for me."

Levi reached up and lightly touched your cheek. "Don't push yourself."

"I won't. I promise."

"Good girl."

[cherry-holmes]

RIVER - Javier Peña x f!Reader

Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña

Chapter —

MASTERLIST

Summary: Javi took you to his favorite place on earth: heaven.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word count: +3k

Warnings: Angst with happy ending (sad!Javi) Parent loss. | SMUT. Again, there's a lot of plot before the smut😅P in V sex. Unprotected sex. Rough-ish sex. Fingering. Sex in a public place -ish. Breeding kink. Praise kink. Pregnancy talk.

A/N: Hello, Hola! First of all I want to thank all of you for the support you gave me on my first work! Muchas gracias! I been writing for almost ten years now, but I haven't publish anything since my first fanfic on Wattpad in 2017😅

I hope you like this one as much as the first one!

I repeat, I'm not a native English speaker, but I'm a translator student so I hope I'm doing it well!

If you wanna send me a request, my box is open!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Several daily high temperature records were broken Tuesday in Texas, including at Houston Hobby Airport, Corpus Christi, Laredo and Del Rio. Laredo hit 115 degrees, marking its 10th consecutive day of record highs...

Indeed, as the reporter mentioned on the radio, those were incredibly hot summer days. The air was dry and the sun was burner, it drain all your energy.

You tried to be helpful at the Peña's Ranch during your work vacations, but the chores felt like torture. Javier and his father used to spend hours under the unforgiving sun, repairing fences, tending to horses, herding cattle, and dealing with clients looking for meat animals. The life of a ranch owner was undeniably tough but prosperous.

Sunday arrived with the thermometer hitting nearly 115 degrees. When you woke up that morning, you anticipated a challenging day ahead. However, Javier woke up with a plan in mind. He mentioned knowing about a river around 22 kilometers from the ranch were he used to spend all summer with his cousins when he was a child. You hadn't explored much of the city since you'd been living there for five months since your return from Colombia. So, you were excited about the idea of discovering your new home state, and most importantly, having a day off to immerse yourself in nature. He was delighted that you had agreed to the plan and suggested that you wear sportswear for hiking and a swimsuit.

You inquired him if his father would join, but he explained that Don Chucho would attend the morning mass and then spend the rest of the day at his brother's house.

"It's just you and me today, mi vida," he promised, his large hands squeezing your hips as he left soft kisses on your shoulders as you prepared containers with cubes of watermelon and mango seasoned with lemon and chile Tajín.

Javier placed a small cooler in the back of his '94 Dodge Ram and filled it with beers, water, the fruits you had prepared, and some tamales you had bought and had leftover from the night before.

You jumped into the passenger seat, and Javi turned on the radio as the truck roared to life. The sound of cumbias tejanas played softly as you admired the view of Laredo's countryside. The wind blew through your hair, and Javi drummed his fingers on the steering wheel syncing with the rhythm of Bobby Pulido's song. You felt his free hand touch yours, and when you looked at him, he took your knuckles and placed a kiss on them. He briefly took his eyes off the road to gaze into yours and said, "You look so beautiful today."

Your cheeks turned red as you laughed shyly, but you couldn't resist teasing him, "Only today?"

He grinned and replied, "You've always been a beauty, chiquita."

Thirty minutes later, Javier parked the truck in an improvised parking lot used by visitors to the river. You grabbed your backpack, which was packed with clean towels and dry underwear, while Javi carried the cooler and his own backpack. As you followed him through the lush vegetation and the cool water of the river, you welcomed the fresh air and the shade of the trees. Families and groups of young friends, some with dogs and others who appeared to have camped there overnight, were scattered about. But you notice that Javi didn't follow the same path as the rest of the visitors.

Curious, you asked Javi, "Where are we going?"

He grinned and replied, "It's a surprise."

You continued hiking uphill, leaving the main river trail further and further behind. However, you could still hear the gentle rush of the river. The air was filled with the fresh aroma of blooming flowers and damp earth. Butterflies fluttered everywhere, and you spotted squirrels and birds with vibrant-colored feathers.

After thirty minutes of hiking, you began to feel very sweaty and tired, especially in your knees due to the rocky path.

"Javi," you called to him, noticing he was climbing effortlessly. "Javi," you called again, a bit more concerned, "Are we lost?"

"Be patient," he responded, sounding a bit agitated but not as much as you were. "You hear that? We're almost there," he encouraged.

You focused on your surroundings, and you could perceive the sound of a waterfall nearby.

You followed him through the large rock formation, and before you knew it, a lagoon fed by a waterfall appeared in front of you. The sun reflected on the surface of the crystal-clear water, making it shimmer. The breeze from the waterfall caressed your face, a soft wind drying your sweat with a gentle, cooling touch, rustling the leaves around you.

The warmth of the sun on your skin and the cool breeze from the river created the perfect atmosphere. It felt like heaven on earth, like an Eden. And the fact that you were there with the person you loved the most made it all feel ethereal.

"You like it?" Javi asked gently in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as he wrapped his broad arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

"Oh my God, Javi, it's so beautiful," you exclaimed, "I love it."

"Nobody will find us here, mi vida," he promised, "People follow the marked path, not all of them explore the surroundings," he explained. "As I told you, it's just you and me. Wanna take a swim?"

"Oh God, yes!" you exclaimed as you placed your backpack under a tree. You were wearing a black swimsuit under your shorts and oversize sports crop top, so you just had to take them off, and you jumped into the water.

The water was so clear that you could see the rocks at the bottom perfectly, and the shimmer of the sun on your skin. You swam to the center of the lagoon, and you heard the distant splash of another body jumping into the water. By the time you surfaced, Javier was already at your side, hugging your body and placing a peck on your lips as you wrapped his torso with your legs. You combed his hair disheveled by the water, running your fingers through his black hair. Then, you caressed his face, passing your thumbs on his mustache and bottom lip. He closed his eyes, absorbing your gentle petting. Your fingers wandered through the freckles painting his broad chest and shoulders. You cupped his face with your hands and kissed him with the perfect combination of tenderness and passion that you knew drove him completely dumb for you.

When he opened his big brown puppy eyes, he looked at you as if you were everything he had ever known.

"Te amo mucho, flaquita," he expressed tenderly.

"Yo también te amo, mi corazón," you promised.

"Are you hungry?" he asked after a couple of minutes of tender kisses and sweet nothings in the water.

"Very much," you laughed and started swimming to the shore.

Javi placed a towel on a rock near the water, and you both sat down to start eating and drinking what you brought. You even fed a squirrel with a piece of tamal, which made Javi laugh as he watched you melt in cuteness for the little animal.

"So, you used to come here with your cousins?" you asked him, eager to learn about his youth and his family. He nodded.

"We used to climb to the top of the mountain and swim in the river that everyone knows," he explained. But his expression shifted from a normal nostalgic sentiment to almost sadness in his eyes. He fell silent for a moment, and you regretted asking and potentially ruining the great moment you were having. However, he continued, "After my mom passed away, I was very angry with the whole world. I started being rude with my father and I started to smoke and get drunk with my friends." He let out a laugh, but it was empty. You knew little about how he lost his mother, since he didn't like to talk about it. He had told you that she was sick, that he was fifteen at the time, and that his father never married again. "One day I had a big argument with my dad. He was very angry because I failed all my exams, so I ran away and came here to the river. I was so angry and lost in thought that I didn't notice I had taken the wrong trail and got lost. So, I kept walking until I found this place."

He looked at the waterfall and the treetops, and you felt a shiver and a lump in your throat.

"I sat on this very rock and cried my eyes out, thinking about how much I missed my mom and that I was ashamed of my behavior towards my father," he added. "This place became my refuge. I used to come here every time I felt anxious, tired, or sad. I never told or brought anybody to this place, not even my father."

You couldn't help but wonder if he had ever brought Lorraine here. After all, she had been his first fiancée, and you wondered if he had considered sharing this secret place with her. However, you didn't dare to ask him, afraid of his response or of making him lie just to please you.

But he knew you so damn well, almost as if he could hear the unspoken question burning in your mind. He loved your low-key jealousy.

"Not even her," he clarified. His hand took yours and caressed your still-wet fingers, then he placed his big brown eyes on yours, so devoted to you. "The very first moment I saw you, I swear that you reminded me of this place. I don't know if it was the heat of the Colombian summer or the blue dress you wore that day, but seeing you seated at your desk brought me a peace I haven't felt in a long time."

You felt tears of happiness gathering in your eyes, butterflies in your stomach, and your cheeks turning cherry red. Javi moved closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his intense gaze still on your bright eyes.

"In that moment, I told myself that I have to bring you here, as my wife. Today is the first time I came back in seven years since I left for Colombia. And you are the only person I've ever shown my most precious secret."

Your hands reached for his face, making him stay still as you kissed him deeply and passionately. His hands went to your back, pulling you closer and kissing you back. You tasted the saltiness of your tears in between the kiss, but so did Javi, so he wiped them away with his thumb.

"I promised to you to be worthy of you, baby, and I intend to make it last forever," he promised.

"You have my heart, Javi," you promised back. "You're everything I have."

He leaned in to kiss your lips again, and then he stood up, pulling you up too.

"Enough of crying, babygirl. Let's swim," he said as he stepped into the water, but you let go of his hand, making him frown.

"Wait," you said, looking around, "Are you sure nobody knows about this lagoon?"

"I'm damn sure, baby. What's the matter?" he said, a bit confused, until he saw you taking off your swimsuit. His eyes darkened as they roamed your completely naked body, and you noticed his Adam's apple moving up and down.

"Is it okay?" you asked him, a mix of innocence and naughtiness that made his cock throb inside his shorts.

"You're amazing," he said as he started taking off his own swimsuit and then pulled you to him and into the water.

He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your chest, and you felt his cock half-hardened against your lower belly. But he let you go, and instead of diving straight into sexual matters, you both swam all around the lagoon, drank all the beers, bathed under the stream of the waterfall, and explored the depths searching for weird-shaped rocks. Sex was an amazing experience in your relationship. You both enjoyed each other's bodies and could spend hours tangled in your shared bed, on the couch, or in any other intimate place. The two of you also knew that there were many ways to make love, and not all of them were about sex. This was one of the connections that Javier learned from being with you. He adored your naked body, and it turned him on. There were days when he just couldn't keep his hands off you. However, he also learned to appreciate it in a way that went beyond lustful desires, reaching a level of intimacy that felt almost divine. He saw you through your nakedness, connecting with your soul, and vice versa.

But when you do fuck, you mean it.

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the lagoon. You felt his bare body behind you, his arms around your torso as he kissed your neck. You began to rub your buttcheeks against his cock, making him hiss.

Javi's hands disappeared under the water, looking for your core. His index and middle finger found your clit and began to traced gentle circles as he squeezed one of your breasts with his free hand.

You let out a couple of soft moans, trying to keep as quiet as possible, but Javi fastened his touch, making it so hard for you.

"Don't worry, nobody will hear us," he assured you, whispering to your ear, "C'mon, bonita, let me hear you begging for my cock."

"Javi...", you whimpered, feeling his dick slipping on your ass and his fingers between your folds.

"You're such a Goddess," he praised. Javier knew every detail about how to make love to you. He was proud of knowing every corner of your body, every angle, every freckle and every beauty mark over your body. He knew how to made you whimper and scream, and how to make you undone. Yet, he never get bored, not even after three years of relationship and the most wonderful four months of marriage. He would never had enough of every aspect of you.

"I... I need to... feel you inside," you whimpered.

He wanted to made you cum with his fingers and his mouth first, as he always do. But the scene was so kinky and erotic, making his cock throb so painfully.

"Fuck," he hiss, as he carried you, making you gasp, and took you back to the towel.

Javi laid down and you jumped on top of him. His cock was lying on his belly, so you started rubbing it between your wet folds, massaging your clit with his head. His hands captured your hips, so tight you think it would let bruises with the shape of his fingers. But you didn't care, it felt so good.

"I don't brought condoms, baby," he confessed.

"Are you telling me that you planned all this so I let you cum inside of me?", you teased, he shrugged playfully. "You're such a bad boy."

"What are you gonna do about it? Don't tell me that you don't want it too, feel your tight pussy filled with my cum," he whispered, making your core throb around his cock. He grinned, feeling you become even wetter. "I was thinking about starting to build that second bedroom I told you about. How does that sound?"

That was the signal. You and Javi lived in a house that he build years ago. It was at three kilometer from his father's ranch, and since he was not planning to get married at that time, the house only had one room. But now that the panorama had changed, the house was about to transform from a bachelor house to a family home. Starting for make a baby's room next to the the main room.

And just like that, Javi was asking you about starting to try. You answered with a nod and a shaking sigh, your body reacting to his words.

"C'mon, cowgirl, let's put a baby on you," he added, as you took his cock to your entrance. You moan hard as you felt his length stretching your walls, clenching around him. "Fuck, I love that pussy," he groaned.

He was also mesmerized by the view of you on top of him: your skin glowing at the sunlight, drops of water over your shoulders, your wet hair waving with soft air, your hands on his chests, your hardened nipples and your drop-shaped breasts. You looked gorgeous as always.

"You feel so deep, Javi," you moan, starting to moving back and forth, up and down with gentle movements. His pubic hair caressing your swollen clit, his hands over your hips and waist. "I want you to fill my pussy with your cum."

His cock felt different without a condom. You were a married couple, but you still had intercourse with protection, given that you didn't have plans to have a baby until now, and Javi wasn't selfish to make you take pills full of hormones and side effects. He always tried to have condoms on hand, and even though he had insisted that you didn't have to take morning-after pills, you both had sex without protection a couple of times. You always let him know how much you loved his bare cock inside of you and you knew how much he loved it too.

Your whimpers mixed with the sound of the waterfall was music for Javi's ears. He began to push his hips up at the same time as you went down, meeting each other halfway. The air was filled with filthy sounds of wet bodies and moans and whimpers. His name escaped your lips like a prayer, as he watch his cock disappeared inside your dripping cunt.

"I'm comin'... I'm... fuck...," you cried, as you felt a knot buildup on your lower belly.

"I know baby, I can feel your pussy clenching for me," he said. Javi took control of the situation, as you let him fuck you nice and deep, one thumb on your clit and his free arm around your waist to make you stay still. You placed your hands at both sides of his head, so he was able to capture your nipple with his mouth, making you cried and soaking wet.

"Don't you fuckin' stop, Javier! Just like that, me gusta cuando me coges así," you pleaded as he fastened his thrusts.

"Quiero verte corriéndote en mi verga," he commanded.

You reached your climax with a silent scream as the waves of pleasure washed over you, squirting over his cock. You pulled your hips up unconsciously, but he pulled you back down again, buried so deep into you. You felt him almost rubbing your cervix as his warm and thick load painted your walls.

He was also growling and letting out soft whimpers as he watched your pussy dripping a mix of his cum and your honey.

Javi pull out and placed your body beside him, kissing your collarbone and caressing the curves of your waist as you came down from your cloud of bliss.

"That was amazing," you murmured after a minute, your cheeks burning. You cupped his cheeks and kiss him on the lips again.

"I wanna swim again," he said, starting to stood up taking your hand to follow him.

But you pulled him closer, pressing his chest against your breasts as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, your tongues entwining. "You're not going anywhere. I told you that you were a bad boy, and you must be punished for that behavior, mister."

He grinned devilishly as you placed your hands over his shoulders and pushed him down your body.

[unanswered-stars]

Thank you so much for tagging me @jules-writes-stories @highlordofkrypton @achaotichuman

1. How many works do you have on AO3? I'm a but a wee babe in the ao3 world so just 7 but I have several WIP's that are on pause currently. I had originally had a fic planned for each day of Eris week but haven't been able to write in awhile so might be some time before those are published but once I start posting again you can expect Eris chaos to reign.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 36,487 I struggle to write long chapters and most of my works end up being around 2,500.

3. What fandoms do you write for? A Court of Thorns and Roses

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Shadows of Regret and Redemption| Azris - My first published work. A oneshot that grew legs and started to run. I am not completely happy with it thus far but I have the end plotted and I'm excited to eventually bring that to life.

Daughter of Autumn | Azris - Now this one absolutely shocked me with its popularity. Started as a fun little drabble for Gwyn Week 2024 and of course turned into Azris central.

The Beginning and End of Friendship | Azris - So many people screaming in the comments at me on this one. More screaming to come when I post part two I’m sure.

Two Souls Entangled| Azris - A tiny part of my soul via a short poem for Azris Week 2024.

Heaven Help the Fool Who Falls In Love: The End | Azris - This is the first piece I wrote for fanfiction and it is my precious baby. Only one chapter posted but I have several in need of editing before I publish the remainder. It's very heavy and I haven't had the mental space to read through it again.

5. Do you respond to comments? Every single one! They bring me so much joy. I have currently stayed away from my comment section for my own mental health but when I start posting again I will get back to everyone's comments, promise.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? All of my works are fairly heavy on the angst. TBaEoF comes to mind but I think for published works I’ll go with The Ending of Darkness which is a short little piece about @jules-writes-stories OC Mithras x Sylvan which I have a part 2 almost completed which is equally as angsty (sorry). Unpublished works definitely The Burning of Leaves and The Death of Shadows which are two fics I had planned for Eris week but are currently on pause (poor Eris I was really putting him through the wringer for Eris Week).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Daughter of Autumn. Mostly because Cassian has the closing line and he just always says the darndest things.

8. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I have not, nor do I plan on it. Please don’t hate me 😅 Just not my writing jam. I love finding unique ways to explore a relationship and conveying those same emotions and feelings without the smut. That being said some of my favourite stories and authors use smut as such a wonderful exploratory storytelling device and it is delightful. I love reading others contributions to the smutsphere. So so many talented writers out there giving us all our smuttiest dreams. I truly do not think that my smut contribution is even necessary when you have things like To Become a Vanssera by @acourtofladydeath and Why Not Me by @thomasisaslut both absolutely rife with smut and use it beautifully to convey their story (albiet in very different ways).

9. Do you write crossovers? Not yet, and probably not ever because I can hardly keep up with writing ideas I have for one fandom.

10. Have you ever had a fic translated? No.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but it sounds delightful.

12. What is your all-time favorite ship? Azris most definitely for writing. I definitely have a big soft spot for Samwise and Rosie from LOTR (my husband is Samwise reincarnated and I am irrevocably in love with him). I have a WIP for Thesan and his lover and that dynamic and storyline has been so incredibly fun to explore as well.

13. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I started writing a Tarquin UTM oneshot that is incomplete and while I am still in love with the story I really struggled with writing the voice of Tarquin. This one will only ever get finished if I can finally figure out the right tone for this man’s internal dialogues.

14. What are your writing strengths? I have been told my writing reads like poetry which is one of the biggest compliments you could ever give me. I also love writing parallels but there’s definitely a lot of room for improvement there.

15. What are your writing weaknesses?  Editing haha. But actually, I find that my characters voices don’t feel very distinct and that there is a lot of overlap in the way they speak and think and it can be hard to distinguish who’s talking/thinking. I feel like my characters resemble a cookie cutter suburban neighborhood where the walls and trim might be a different colour but they’re all built exactly the same. If anyone has some tips please feel free to comment or message me!

16. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I absolutely love reading it but unfortunately the only other language I know isn’t really a language at all. Pidgin, which is basically just native slang. I was playing around with it in my Tarquin fic a bit but seemed a tad too niche.

17. First fandom you wrote for? LOTR in middle school. I have a printed multi chapter booklet that is a rewrite of Sam and Frodo’s journey through Mordor that I made for my English class one year.

18. Favorite fic you’ve written? My favourite multi chapter by another author is undoubtedly A Court of Shadows and Ashes by @futurehunt Mother Save Us From Your Twisted fate by @chunkypossum which got a stunning part 2 for Eris Week this year! My favorite of my own published works is either HHtFWFiL:TE or The Ending of Darkness. Of my unpublished works honesty The Burning of Leave or The Death of Shadows are both strong contenders. For non Azris I have a Beron fic WIP for @sjmvillainweek day 1 that will probably get prioritized over the other two.

No pressure tags (and sorry if you've already been tagged): @the-darkestminds @born-to-riot @chairofchaos @thomasisaslut @chunkypossum @acourtofladydeath @shadowsandlint

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Good wife

Part 2 of Princess

Sihtric x reader

Authors note: initially intended as a Part 2 of Princess, but can also be read as a stand alone fic. This is my attempt for a happy ending for my little princess and I think I managed pretty good 😉

And before you start asking, I know I am not following the poll 🙈. I was carried away by the impression that Part 2 of Princess will win anyway and continued writing even before the poll was over. The modern!Sihtric smut request will follow next week, I promise 😅

My biggest and warmest thanks to awesome @arcielee for agreeing to beta read this fic and for all your comments and suggestions! You are incredibly talented writer! The way you play with words and conjure incredibly vivid descriptions make me awe each time anew.

Warnings: 18+, angst (you probably have noticed by now, I simply can't without it🤨), forced marriage, abuse, domestic violence, smut, revenge, blood

Summary: you return to Winchester for your father's King Alfred's funeral just to discover that Sihtric hasn't kept his promise.

Word Count: 4,966

Princess

It's early morning, and the sun is poised to rise above the horizon as you move silently through the corridors of the still-sleeping palace. Your dress glides over the worn steps with a light hush being the only sound disturbing the peacefulness of the new day rising. Upon reaching the garden, you effortlessly locate your favourite secluded spot – a stone pew  in the far corner, partially concealed by an ivy-covered wall and a sprawling bird cherry flower bush. You recall how it bloomed exceptionally early in spring, its inimitably sweet fragrance making you almost dizzy. It’s a scent of your happier days, and you inhale deeply, hoping to infuse every cell of your being with its essence. 

You settle down, embracing the calmness of the moment. A few birds are singing a praise to the sun, its golden fingers slowly stretching to brush the world awake. A gentle breeze frolics in the branches of the trees, adding to the calm beauty of the morning. You're aware that this tranquillity is illusory, yet you cling to it, you need this moment of calmness and silence to gather your thoughts.

The King is dead. Your father, King Alfred, is dead. You still haven’t had a chance to grasp the whole gravity of it. Wessex now stands vulnerable as never before with Cnut and his army preparing to invade, Aethelred of Mercia dreaming about restoring Mercia’s glory and your husband Ethelwold secretly seeking to sever ties with Wessex and secure his claim to East Anglian throne. Politics. You hate politics. Nevertheless, you are not blind and you are definitely not obtuse; the shifts in power and allegiances are impossible to ignore. 

You feel anger slowly unfurling within you, making your cheeks blush. Your fingers impulsively shred into small pieces the flower you had just plucked. You can't change anything and your helplessness suffocates you. You're nobody, a mere toy bestowed upon your husband to secure an alliance. This is exactly how he treats you – as a doll that gets retrieved from its box to showcase during special events, to be mistreated and locked away thereafter. There is nothing even close to love or mutual respect in your marriage. You’re his property, and he delights in ascertaining himself of it, evidenced by the concealed bruises and scratches beneath your dress’s long sleeves and high collar. Coward as he is, he's avoided striking your face – possibly fearing that would cause scrutiny from others, perhaps even your father. You catch yourself thinking that this might change now, that your father is dead. Although you are not sure he would have interfered anyway.

Led by a silly sense of duty to your land and your father, you’ve endured five years of this arranged marriage with a man that revolted you in every aspect, bearing mistreatment and humiliation. And what had it brought? Nothing. Your brother is weak and dependent on the support of his ealdorman. Will he manage to assert himself as the king? You haven't seen him all those five years. He has changed a lot, grown up and matured, but will it be enough? At least he had braved to disobey your mother, aligning with Lord Uhtred. His words and the way he spoke justice, keeping up the pardon your father had given Uhtred on his deathbed, ignited a flicker of hope in you. First hesitant and insecure, he had managed to seize control over the gathered crowd, including the ealdormen, and even the queen, whose authority seemed to prevail from the very beginning. Your brother steps into daunting shoes, but his first step was promising, you rethink the events of the previous day.

Your heart quickens its pace, and a wave of embarrassment begins to rise from your neck, tinting your cheeks with an even more intense shade of red than the preceding anger as the memory you try to suppress emerges. 

He was there. You had seen him. Keeping himself in the shadows, leaning against an aged wagon with his hand resting on the shoulders of a young girl with plain features and dark hair, Sihtric watched in anticipation the scene transpiring before the palace entrance. Five years have passed since you appeared at his doorstep, head over heels in love with the handsome warrior, hoping for his feelings to mirror yours. 

The memory of that night when you willingly gave yourself to him remained untarnished; you have never regretted it. His tender, hesitant confession of love, the gentleness of his touch, the tenderness with which he had made love to you that night, and his eagerness and care to please and satisfy you, aware that it was to be your sole night together, were imprinted in your mind forever. You clung to these sweet memories with all your strength, them becoming your refuge, your shield against the day after and all the other days that followed, when your half-drunk newlywed husband flung you onto the bed, barking at you to disrobe. Undoing his breeches and letting them half down, he flipped you over to your belly, pulled you up to your knees, spread your legs, and placed his hard, dripping cock at your entrance.

“I will teach you now to be a good wife, princess. I am your husband, and you are to obey me. Do you understand? You are mine and only mine. Don’t you ever forget that,” he hissed, leaning closer to your ear, grabbing your hips with both hands and without any warning, forced himself into you in one single motion until the very end of his rigid length. 

You screamed out in pain, tears welling up in your eyes, to which he just started relentlessly thrusting into you, his groans of satisfaction echoing in your mind. Too drunk and consumed by chasing his own pleasure, he didn’t even notice you clutching a tiny pouch in your hand, blood reddening your fingers and your dress, as you squeezed it and hastily wiped your fingers against your thighs, faking the loss of your virginity. 

A chill crawls up your spine as these memories flood back. Why did you remember this? Wasn’t it torturous enough to witness Sihtric holding that young and pretty woman in his hands? He had promised to wait for you, a promise you never demanded, knowing how impossible and foolish it was. Yet, Sihtric’s earnest tone and self-assuredness as he made that promise, made you believe him. The notion that someone out there truly loved you, cared for you, recalled you and eagerly waited for you had become the light that guided you through your existence. It made the days bearable and warmed you when your husband's cruelty and neglect threatened to extinguish your will to live. 

Now the fragile and ridiculous illusion you had clung to for all these years lay shattered into thousand shards. You shouldn’t have come to Winchester. If only you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, you could have still preserved that naive dream. When Edward pronounced his verdict and the crowd erupted in cheers as he embraced Uhtred, you glimpsed the satisfied smile on Sihtric's lips. He playfully ruffled the girl's hair, and she nestled closer to him, her eyes gleaming with admiration. Unable to bear the sight, you turned abruptly, a heavy weight settling in your chest like a ballast stone, threatening to suffocate you. In that fleeting last moment, your eyes locked with Sihtric’s, surprise flickering across his face, followed by a glimmer of recognition before you managed to flee back into the palace. Your fairy tale had ended abruptly, leaving you with nothing more than bittersweet memories of that single night, when you felt genuinely loved, cherished, and valued. 

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, leaving a glistening trace behind them. All you can do is to hide your face in your hands, permitting yourself to cry out all the pent-up despair that accumulated over five years of abuse and humiliation. Your magical wand, capable of summoning light and dispelling darkness is gone, leaving you drowning into a bleak, frigid expanse of misery and hopelessness. 

The sun had already risen when sudden voices startle you from your melancholy. The palace has awakened to a new busy day, and you can clearly distinguish the voices of your mother and sister calling your name.

Of course, the feasting this evening! There will be a war council summoned by Edward to discuss how to deal with Cnut and his army, followed by a feast. Not that you anticipated it, but you obviously did not have much choice as your husband was invited to both and expected you to accompany him. Still taunted by the lingering thoughts and memories, you reluctantly rise from the pew  and head towards the palace, hastily wiping away your tears before anyone can see them.

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

 It is quite late already when you finally manage to bring up enough composure to get dressed. You had complained about a heavy headache to your husband, hoping he would agree to leave you alone in the chambers.

“Don’t be foolish and dress yourself,” is the response you get as he leaves for the council, which is supposed to start earlier.

You slow down as you reach the staircase, pausing to survey the hall beneath you. You see your mother and sister engaged in a lively conversation, sitting at the high end of the long table. Strangely you find your husband discussing something with Aethelred  – your sister’s  spouse – whom you know he can’t bear and despises deeply for being Alfred’s puppy – as he loves to call him.

Vultures start circling a carrion, Edward needs to be cautious in choosing whom to trust. I must speak with him later, you think to yourself.

And then your gaze lands on him. Your fingers clutch the railing with a desperate grip as you steady yourself, feeling your legs tremble, threatening to buckle beneath you. 

At the far end of the hall, alongside Lord Uhtred, stands Sihtric. His hands envelop an ale mug, his gaze fixed downwards, hovering between the table and the floor, concern and seriousness in his expression. Your breathing fastens as you strive to regain your composure; your knuckles whiten as you continue to clutch the railing. And as much as you try, you can’t force yourself to look away. He is still so handsome. Everything about him makes your heart pound faster and your breath twitch – his tall and robust frame with his black, curly hair braided on the top, but falling to his shoulders in the back. His strong jawline, the scars tracing his forehead and right cheek, his muscular arms covered by the long sleeves of his leather jerking decorated with gold and silver armbands. 

You can still recall these strong arms holding you tightly against his chest, his fingers tenderly raking through your hair. The memory is so vivid in your mind that you almost moan in longing. A captivating mixture of confidence, calmness, and strength emanates from him with the same intensity as when you first met. There is not enough strength within you to descend to the hall and confront him in a dignified manner, there is only one escape for you – to turn back and run to your chambers. Even if it means enduring your disappointed husband’s wrath later, you prefer it a thousand times to the possibility that you would need to speak with Sihtric, now that you are aware he is no longer yours. With the last remnants of your willpower, you force yourself to let go of the railing and want to turn away, your eyes casting one final lingering glance at your former lover as Sihtric lifts his eyes, his gaze meeting yours.

You are frozen, trapped by an invisible spider web that is restraining all your movements, paralysed by the intensive gaze of his big, expressive eyes that are scanning you from head to heels. There is something in his eyes, a lingering mix of confusion, sadness, and some hint of anxiety. Why is he looking so at you? He must be happy; you remember the gleam of happiness he directed to the girl in his arms.

“My dear wife, I am so glad to see you’re feeling better and could join us,” you hear the voice of your husband and in this very moment his ever so repelling voice sounds like a salvation to you. He beams at you, arms stretched as though you were the love of his life, like he has been desperately waiting for. Slowly, you manage to shift your gaze toward him forcing a smile to appear on your lips. Descending the stairs, you extend your arms toward him until you’re by his side and he clasps your hands, lifting your palms to his lips for a kiss.

“What a perfect couple,” you smirk inwardly. You have never understood this masquerade. Why all this pretence to be the loving and caring husband, only to let all his fury on you behind the closed doors?

You can still feel Sihtric’s gaze on you, his eyes drilling into your back as he observes your happy reunion with your husband. You spend the whole evening meticulously avoiding Sihtric. You notice him trying to approach you several times, but you anticipate his every move by hurriedly engaging in conversations with your mother or tugging your sister’s arm, leading her to follow you into another part of the hall away from Sihtric. You accept all invitations to dance, fully aware this will earn you additional scorn from your husband later.

At some point you see Lord Uhtred rising from his seat and striding toward your brother. There is a short conversation between them; Uhtred bows his head respectfully and nods toward Sihtric to follow him. They both leave the hall, and a sigh of relief escapes you. This is finally over. Absentmindedly you wave away the young ealdorman advancing you with a request to dance and head out of the hall, casting a stealthy glance at your husband. He is drunk beyond imaginable. Sitting in his place of the most honoured guests next to your mother, he struggles to keep his eyes open. With his ale mug still in his hand, his face droops onto the plate before him. A knowing smile graces your lips. His love for ale has actually made the last years more bearable, as he was often too drunk in the evenings to force himself upon you or to be able to hurt you. You head to the garden, to the very same place you sneaked out this morning; this will always remain your happy place, even if this morning turned out more sorrowful than you had anticipated.

You lower yourself on the stone pew and breathe in the sweet, intoxicating smell of the flowers, your gaze marvelling at the intricate maze of ivy covering the back wall. Lost in your thoughts you almost jump at the sound of an all-too- familiar voice.

“Good evening, my lady,” Sihtric greets you, obstructing the only way out between the wall and the bird cherry flower bush. “I am sorry if I scared you,” he quickly adds, noticing your wide eyes and face losing its colour.

“Good evening, Sihtric,” you manage to mumble, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

The silence between you both hangs heavy in the air as nobody dares to speak, your gazes scanning each other with an awkward intensity. You rise from the pew and make a step toward Sihtric trying to side-track him. His hand reaches out, gets hold of yours and lets go of you instantly as if burned.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Your marriage seems to be very happy, my lady. I’m very glad to see it,” he murmurs, stepping closer, obliterating your attempt to escape. His breath is heavy and itching as his gaze locks with yours, an inexplicably sad and painful look in his eyes. His hand rises as if wanting to cup your jaw but lowers again, not daring to touch you, his uncertainty palpable. He is so close that you can feel his breath vibrating on your skin. His proximity suffocates you, his scent mingling with the aroma of the flowers, making your head spin with dizziness. In the moon's faint glow, his handsome face appears almost timeless, surreal. You are drawn to it, incapable of averting your eyes. His enigmatic, mismatched eyes scan your features full of awe and a hint of something that could be sweet longing, although you know it is not. 

You want to touch him, to caress his cheeks and let your fingers tangle in his dark hair, but instead you gather all your inner strength and utter, “Yes, indeed, as happy as yours I presume. Are you married to that lovely girl?”

“Married? Which girl?” Sihtric's genuine surprise momentarily throws you off, but in the next instant you discard your silly hopefulness. You can’t ignore what you saw. What does he want from you anyway?

“Sihtric, please, there is no need for pretence. Spare me the courtesy. I saw you yesterday before the palace. I don’t blame you. I understand. It’s been five long years. I never truly expected you to keep that promise,” your words tumble out in such a rush, you are surprised of yourself, “I just… I…” you can’t finish your saying, your voice breaking, tears welling up in your eyes. 

This is more than you can endure and with your face in your hands, you storm past him, pushing completely thunderstruck Sihtric aside. It’s unbearable. Your feelings for him are unaltered. You run. You thought you knew the garden as your own pocket, but in the weird moonlight everything looks different. You turn left and then right as you hope to be heading to the palace entrance just to find yourself facing the wall again. Tears roll down your cheeks obscuring your vision and making it even more difficult to navigate through the narrow passages as you feel yourself colliding with a muscular frame, strong arms enveloping your waist, pulling you against a broad chest. You can’t see anything, but the scent of the body you are pressed tightly against is so familiar that you have no doubts who is holding you.

“Let go of me!” you struggle against the firm embrace, “What do you want from me?” you shout, desperation evident in your voice as you can’t control yourself anymore.

“Please, calm down, my little princess. My love, just let me explain,” Sihtric’s voice is just a gentle flurry against the tempest of your ever-growing anger, but something in his tone makes you hold your breath, leading to a short pause in your frantic struggle against his embrace.

“What is there to explain? That you got tired of waiting? That you’re just a man …? That there is no hope anyway… I know, I understand… It was never meant to be…” your sobs become uncontrollable at this point, and you resume your futile attempts to break free from Sihtric’s hold, which gets only tighter in return.

“Please, listen to me. The girl you saw, it’s Uhtred’s daughter, Stiorra. She was terrified that Uhtred would be expelled again, forced to be an outlaw once more with no home, no hope and no man to follow him. I love her as my own child. I held her to assure that whatever happens I will never leave Uhtred. We are bound, we are brothers. And we were both just happy and relieved when Edward acknowledged Alfred’s pardon. That’s all. Since that night five years ago, there has never been another in my life. My little princess, my love, do you hear me? I love only you. Nothing will ever change that,” Sihtric’s voice remains a mere whisper against your ear as you let every word slowly sink into your consciousness. Can it be true? You want to believe him, you feel each and every cell in your body screaming in longing for his touch, telling you to cease your needless struggle and melt into his embrace if only for this one single short moment. It’s only your common sense that tries to object, whispering in the background that it does not matter. It will not change anything. You are bound to another forever. You can never be his. Why torture yourself and him? It’s time to let go. For his sake and for your own. You can’t live in a dream all your life. 

Sihtric’s embrace does not loosen, and your struggle gradually loses its intensity as you surrender to the burning need coursing through you. You let your body absorb the warmth, memorising this embrace for the future. One of his arms drifts from your waist to your hair, as his gentle caresses soothe you.

“Every single day and night, I’ve dreamed of holding you again,” Sihtric murmurs, his lips brushing your hair as your face rests on his chest, your tears soaking his fine leather armour.

“My silly little princess, I thought myself the happiest man alive when I saw you yesterday. But you wouldn’t even look at me. I thought you regretted our past, that you wanted nothing more to do with me. I simply couldn’t accept it just like that, I needed to hear it from you. Can’t you see what you do to me? I practically begged Uhtred to take me with him to that damned council,” Sihtric continues, his words lullabying all your fears and concerns. There is nothing else in this world for you, just the sweet sound of his voice, and you don’t care what the morning will bring. Tonight you want to be with him, you want to feel loved again, you want to be his.

 “Can you just take me away from here? Please, Sihtric,” you lift your head, and your pleading gaze meets Sihtric’s eyes.

“Princess, believe me, I don’t want to let go of you. But your husband is probably searching for you. Allow me to guide you to the entrance,” you hear his words, yet you sense desire consuming him, his arms refusing to let go, wrapping even tighter around you and pulling you closer. He can’t bear to let go of you, the same as you can’t let go of him.

“My husband is drunk and sleeps, his ugly face buried in the leftovers on his own plate,” you hiss with deep disgust in your voice, and Sihtric stiffens in astonishment as you grasp his hand and start pulling him towards the other end of the garden.

“Come with me. I’ll show you how I got out of the palace last time,” your voice is suddenly resolute and confident. Something has changed deep inside you. You have always silently let your life be predetermined by others, and have accepted your fate without questioning it. Except for that one single night, when for the first time you seized control and made a decision you never regretted. And now, you want to feel it again – the power to be able to choose, to make your own decisions. Good or bad, time will tell, but these will be your choices and you will atone for them. You are so sick of just watching life go by, of not partaking. It might have been easier to submit, blaming others for your suffering, but you can’t do it anymore. And with that thought, a surge of newfound power courses through you. 

You find the small concealed side door, trembling fingers gripping the handle; a squeak, and it yields. Your first step into the night feels like stepping into a new life, a fresh destiny. Sihtric follows you, his hand holding yours in a steady and tight grip, and you smile at him as you look back into his mismatched eyes. Once outside the palace walls, Sihtric leads you through the narrow town streets to the same tavern he stayed in previously. You climb the steps to his chamber, the doors close behind you and his hands and lips are upon you. His kisses, initially tender and soft, soon grow feverish and urgent. Desperate fingers rend at clothing, eager to get rid of layers that separate your heated bodies. 

As soon as the last piece of clothing has fallen to the ground, Sihtric grabs your thighs, pulling you up, and you follow his movement, wrapping your legs around his waist and letting him effortlessly carry you over to the bed. He sits down with you straddling him. 

Your lips trail down his jaw to his neck, so greedy, so hungry. Your fingers tangle in his braided hair, pulling hard on them as you allow yourself to immerse in the arousal, building up in your lower stomach and quickly taking you over. You lean back and your hips start moving against Sihtric’s body rubbing your clit against him, your pussy aching in anticipation. Holding you with one arm around your waist, Sihtric’s hand reaches down, and you feel his fingers rubbing at your clit, parting your folds, and sliding inside your soaked pussy.

“Gods, how wet you are,” he grunts against your skin, his already hard and leaking cock is the wordless confirmation that he burns with the same overwhelming desire as you. His lips travel around your breasts, covering them with wet open-mouthed kisses and sucking at your hard nipples.

“I need you. Now,” you moan, and your hand takes hold of his throbbing length, placing it at your wet entrance. A loud groan of relief and satisfaction escapes you both as you lower yourself on Sihtric’s cock, taking him in completely, to the very end of his shaft, instantly starting to move against it. 

His hands land on your buttocks, helping you to push yourself deeper against his pelvis, but allowing you to determine the pace of your movements, which grow faster with each thrust. A loud moan vibrates deep in Sihtric’s throat as your pussy clench around him and your thrusts get frenzied, almost hysterical, your climax building up unstoppably fast and intense.

“Oh my god, Sihtric! I am close … I …” your head snaps back and your nails dig into Sihtric’s flesh as you come with a loud scream, your body twitching and your walls spasming around his cock. 

His hands grab your waist and start moving you up and down, not letting you stop, his hips pushing up against you deeper, faster, just a few more thrusts and he follows you with a heavy moan, his breath panting. Your shivering body collapses against his and he wraps his arms around you, steadying, holding, caressing you. You remain in each other’s embrace, savouring the sweet aftermath of your peaks, before he gently lowers you on the bed next to him. His fingers trace the contours of your figure, and suddenly his eyes widen in astonishment as he notices the bruises of varying colour on your skin – some fading, faint, and pale, while others in intense shades of blue and violet.

“Gods, what is this?” he breathes, his voice quivering, “Who did this to you?” His hands cup your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze. There is no need for an answer; a pained growl escapes his lips as he pulls you into his embrace, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly, “I should never have let you go. I’ll kill that wretched bastard with my bare hands. Let them hang me for it, but you’re not going back to him.”

“I am not leaving this time,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair. “But that bastard is mine. Promise me.”

Sihtric lifts his head, gazing into your eyes, disbelief plainly written on his face, but the certainty in your gaze is unwavering.

“Whatever you wish, my little princess. As long as you are finally mine,” Sihtric whispers, a broad smile gracing his lips as he wonders silently what he's done to earn the favour of the gods, to have his wildest dream come true.

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

“Are you sure about this?” Sihtric cups your face with both hands, his eyes questioning yours.

“More than anything else,” you reply.

“He’s all yours, my love. Do you want me to stay?”

“No, this is between him and me,” you respond, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. Sihtric nods, steps aside, and heads toward the door, opening you the view on a man’s frame sprawled on the bed, his hands and legs tightly tied to the grid, a gag obstructing his mouth and muffling all sounds and attempts to scream. He looks at you with eyes widened in fear, struggling against the ropes with all his strength. His head starts shaking vehemently as he sees you drawing a dagger and walking slowly toward him. You lift your dress and climb the bed, straddling him.

“I will teach you now to be a good husband, my dear,” you murmur into his ear.

—----------------------------------------------- 

With a heavy breath, you shut the door behind you. Your eyes are wide, your hands smeared with blood, clutching bloodied dagger against your chest. Sihtric waits outside, and as you stagger towards him, your legs wobbly, he catches you in his arms. He doesn't utter a word, merely enfolding your trembling shoulders and pulling you close in a firm embrace.

 “Is he dead?” he finally inquires.

“He lives, but he’ll never be able to hurt anybody, the way he hurt me,” you reply with a quiver in your voice. “I must speak with my brother,” you add, wiping your hands on your dress.

“I am here with you. No matter what comes, we’ll face it together,” Sihtric leans in to kiss you and squeezes your hand encouragingly.

Princess

[violetsiren90]

All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader

💜 Chapter 3: Part 1 💜

Table of Contents: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 (part 1), Chapter 3 (part 2)

Pairing: idol!Namjoon/f!Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU; idol AU; chapter fic; strangers to lovers; a bit of idiots to lovers, tbh; slow burn; eventual romance; eventual smut; angst (life is messy & hearts are complex); OT7 featured

Summary: You found your soulmate - or rather, he found you. Turns out he's an idol of much acclaim who needs you for very real and unglamorous reasons. What could become of two hearts so used to giving of themselves when they are confronted with needing each other?

Chapter Word Count: ~6k

Chapter Warnings: This fic is 18+, as is all my work and my page as a whole; Talk and depictions of cancer, its treatment, and the symptoms of both; implication of some disregard for personal agency by entertainment industry; character experience and description of disassociation; flashbacks of a distressing situation; soulmate skinship; cursing; conversations surrounding soulmates and sex; character experiences an emotional breakdown; light embarrassment; CONFLICT (you knew it was coming, right?), there is plenty of fluffy stuff too I PROMISE 😂😅

Author's Note: Wow. It's been a minute. If you're still reading this story, thank you for sticking with me, and I apologize for the stretch of time between updates. For the longest time, I just couldn't get this part right...and then it was far too long, so I split it up, and I'm still editing the second, and (potentially) third parts. I got several messages from readers who were worried I might have abandoned this fic, and let me assure you, far from it! I am not a speedy writer, and struggle with doubting if what I'm putting on the page is good enough, so sometimes it takes me a minute to update, but let me assure you, these characters are so special to me and so alive in me, and I ask thank you for your patience as I work to tell their story! Thank you for your lovely words of encouragement and feedback on the story - I appreciate each and every one of them!!

P.S. If you want to join the tag list, drop me a comment or ask!

P.P.S. If no one has told you yet today, you're loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

"I needed the light of your energy, I looked around, devouring hope."

~Pablo Neruda

Chapter 3: My Windows Ache

  "FUCKING FINALLY."

    "Hey, Di."

    "How dare you ghost me for the forty-eight most interesting hours of your life?!"

    "Well, I was low-key occupied..."

    "TELL ME EVERYTHING." 

     You sighed, settling down on a shaded bench in the garden grounds of the hospital to which you had escaped for a little privacy and an important phone call or two.

    "Uh oh. That was your 'things are complicated' sigh," Diana prodded.

    Your eyes tracked a swallowtail as it flitted from azalea to azalea.

    "Well, things certainly aren't conventional or straight-forward, that's for sure. But where's the fun in understanding the basic parameters of what you're getting yourself into on a life-altering scale, right?"

    "Ummmm...what does that mean? You met him, right?"

You could barely hear your sister's question over the crinkle of plastic in the background.

    "Yeah, I did. We bonded too."

    "Oh mah gah!!" Diana choked out amidst sounds of crunchy chewing. "So what's he like?"

    You thought for a moment.

    "He's kind and intelligent. Obviously extremely resilient. His presence is impressive, but he has something about him that's very disarming. He's kind of clumsy and at moments almost...shy? Like, I don't know what I expected, but there's this sweetness to him that you wouldn't anticipate from someone in his position."

    "As a cancer patient?"

    "As an idol."

    You sighed again.

    "I don't know...he's..."

    Diana let out a strangled sound and uttered an enthusiastic string of words you couldn't make out.

    "I have no idea what you just said. Could you please decide whether you want to talk to me or consume an entire bag of Doritos?" 

    "Hey, it's dinner time here!" she whined, "And I said," her voice quickly changed to take on a smug sing-song tone, "That last sigh was your smitten-kitten one..."

    "It was not!" you cut her off sharply. "And get every single idea of Namjoon and I as a couple out of that scheming head of yours because he's very much taken. I'm meeting his fiancée for lunch today."

    "What? He's engaged?"

Diana let out an exasperated huff.

"Why didn't they tell you about this right off the bat? You're going to be the soulmate of a married man? What does that even mean? This is bullshit."

    You had a hard time disagreeing with her there. It was, in fact, bullshit that Namjoon's team had kept his relationship status a secret. Would it have changed your decision? Probably not. This had been about saving Namjoon's life, not some bizarre attempt at matchmaking. But having a third person to consider, and so intimately, as part of the equation for the rest of your earthly life felt like something you should have been made more immediately aware of. Navigating your boundaries with your soulmate had already been complex enough without introducing the prospect of being a fixture in his married life. When Namjoon had breached the prospect of meeting her, he had been taken aback at your surprise - he, like you, had assumed that Hybe's representation had disclosed everything of significance.

    "So it's a good thing I came here as a lifeline, not a mail-order bride," you reminded your sister, "And that seems to be working, by the way. His vitals are already stable. They stabilized overnight, in fact. And his white blood cell count was way up this morning, which is good because I guess he was experiencing immunosuppression from the chemo."

    "Oh, nice," Diana murmured.

You had to remind yourself that she was young and excitable, and not to be annoyed at the disappointment that he crept into her tone. However, never one to be down for long, her voice brought its usual bright mischief through the speaker as she posed her following question.

    "By the way...how was bonding?"

    She had said it with an inescapably salacious undertone, which is why, you told yourself, heat had begun to creep up the base of your neck. You stammered, switching the phone from one ear to the other as you bought yourself time to reassemble your decorum. 

    "Ah...I mean...it was...intense?"

    "Ooooohhhh," Diana trilled, only making you more uncomfortable as the heat spread from your neck to your cheeks, "Intense, huh? Like in a good way?"

     You squirmed uncomfortably where you sat, thoughts of Namjoon's pleasure-stricken face and the strength of his hand and how his skin felt against your own hitting your hippocampus like a flash flood.

    "Y/n?"

    "It was fine, okay? And it worked - so that's what's important."

    "....Okaaay..." Diana drawled skeptically.

You scrambled for another talking point.

    "That kid visited. The one who came to the States - Jungkook. And another one of the members too - Jim...Jimin? I'm still trying to get their names straight. Some of them don't go by their actual names on stage - Namjoon is RM...but you knew that. Anyway, I digress. Both the boys were really sweet. Seems like they're all very close. I'm supposed to meet the rest of the members at some point next week at dinner. They wanted to have a sort of 'last supper' for us since we're probably going to start rejecting food soon."

    "That's cool, you get to meet the whole team! Oh my gosh, you're just going to casually have dinner with BTS...this is still so unreal!"

    "Yep," you affirmed, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Namjoon had hit you with a couple of whoppers last night, but this was one you were actually looking forward to. You told Diana all about your first two days in Seoul - about the impressive hospital and its kind staff. About meeting Namjoon, and his condition. About how everything was still so fresh and new. About how so many things were still unsettled, so many questions unanswered.

    "So are you nervous?"

    "About what?"

    "Meeting his girlfriend."

    You had been so wrapped up in filling Diana in on it all that you had actually forgotten about the impending lunch date. As you pulled the phone away from your ear to check the time, your stomach lurched. 

    "Shit, I better get going. It's almost eleven-thirty." You sprang up and started quickly back toward the building.

    "That wasn't an answer," Diana scoffed, "But, hey, sis?"

    "Yeah?" You pressed the "up" button on the elevator.

    "Don't be."

    You smiled.

    "Love you, Di."

    "Love you too. And so does anyone worth a damn."

    After deciding that you smelled like outside, you showered quickly then slipped into caramel-colored corduroys and an off-white tee. You rummaged around the small suitcase Matt had brought from the hotel for you in search of a sweater. After several exasperating minutes of unsuccessful digging, you heaved the bag of laundered clothes that had been returned to you by the hospital staff this morning, having gone through much of the what the Hybe staff had initially pilfered from your luggage in the last two days.

You grumbled in relief as you pulled out your dark green cardigan and slipped it over your shoulders, wondering what the hell the hospital laundry services had done to stretch it out so badly. But, you didn't have time to fuss - so you bunched up the sleeves and headed to the opposite end of the hospital's outdoor grounds where you suspected Namjoon and his guest were already waiting. 

    The hospital grounds were extensive and beautiful, sporting a garden that extended from the western wing, and a lawn punctuated by traditional pavilions to the east. He had pointed out the one he had reserved to you last night - tucked away in the shade of the large gingko trees flanking the little man-made stream that delineated the border of the grounds.

As you made your way toward the shady spot you chided yourself for being so uneasy - everyone surrounding your soulmate had been as lovely and warm and welcoming as he had been, and the woman he loved would likely be no exception. After Namjoon had disclosed that she was a musician like he was, you had done a bit of online recon before going to bed that night.

Her given name was Kim Hyung-seo, but her stage name, by which she was well-known, was Bibi. She was four years Namjoon's junior, but seemed nearly as ambitious. From what you could tell, she seemed to share a similar drive for artistry and honesty in her musical process as her future husband, and though her tendency for loose-canon candidness had landed her in hot water more than once, her earnest sincerity had engendered her to the hearts of her peers and fans alike. In an industry that seemed to often censor and restrict women, Hyung-seo didn't seem to give much credence to the rules. You liked that. You were actually kind of excited to get to know her a bit and ask her about her art - you had always been a woman's woman, and being in the company of strong feminine energy was something you found deeply empowering and grounding. You anticipated that your soulmate's girlfriend was someone you could respect, and you allowed yourself to venture to hope that feeling would be mutual.

    You trotted up the steps of the pavilion and took in its contents. The center had been fitted with a low, round table bearing a colorful and mouthwatering spread of gogi, bibim guksu, gimbap, and banchan. Cushions had been placed on the floor for seating, but none bore the lunch companions you had been anxious not to keep waiting. You were about to take your place at the table when a figure moving near the creek caught your eye.

You moved to the far side of the structure, to see your soulmate deeply engaged in conversation...with a duck.

He was standing near the edge of the water, his tall figure clad in silky modern navy blue hanbok. The top was untied and hung loosely over a white tee - the only contrast to the deep muted tone apart from his cognac loafers. He wore a dark beanie pulled low on his head, which was bowed in affectionate greeting to a juvenile Gadwall who had paddled away from his family to sample the little bits of starchy fluff that the stranger had sprinkled onto the water.

You pressed your palms against the painted wood, taking him in with a smile as he crouched down, extending a bit of bread between his fingers slowly toward the curious little water foul.

This man, you were learning - this erstwhile underground rapper, this leader of men, this brilliant intellectual and genius artist - this great, powerful, impressive man could be called out of his poise in an instant by the sweet and tiny things of the world.

You watched as he waited patiently, the little duck swimming in to-and-fro circuits and drawing closer and closer to Namjoon with each pass, until finally it was close enough to snatch its prize from him and scuttle off quickly to rejoin its mother and siblings. Namjoon chuckled, smiling fondly as he watched the duck make his way back down the creek.

This man, you thought to yourself, could not possibly be real.

    "So you're a Kpop idol and a Disney princess, huh?" you called, causing Namjoon to startle and rock back on his heels, landing on his posterior in the damp grass.

    You slapped a hand over your mouth to repress the laughter that threatened to bubble up at the site of his large well-dressed figure tipped back haphazardly on the creekside. He huffed a sheepish laugh as he stood, swiping at the back of his pants.

    "Give a person a little warning?" he chided lightly, approaching you where you leaned on the railing.

    "Sorry," you chuckled, "I didn't want to scare your little friend."

    "So you settled for scaring your soulmate? I see how it is." 

    You smiled and ducked your head.

    "Sorry," you murmured, flicking your gaze back to his.

He looked up at you, fixing you with his warm brown eyes and bringing his hands to grip the railing on either side of yours. Suddenly, you felt shy. You shook yourself.

    "Hey, hang out with the ducks and you'll end up with a wet tail," you teased.

Namjoon's eyebrows drew together in mock disgust.

    "Yikes, you're almost as bad as Seokjin hyung," he remarked disparagingly.

    You shrugged, smirking.

    "I have no idea what that means, but whoever Seokjin is, he must have a superior sense of humor."

Namjoon was opening his mouth to respond, but was cut short, as the tiny motion of your shoulders had slid one of your hands just a centimeter down the railing and barely flush with his own. The slight contact was enough to send sudden little tingles of comfort shooting up your arm and across your chest. In a millisecond you felt yourself relax where you hadn't realized you were tense. You could have imagined it, but you thought you felt Namjoon press his hand just a fraction more into yours as he swallowed and heaved a deep sigh.

You reminded yourself for the hundredth time since you arrived that this was biological. Clinical. The means to an end. Damn, he felt good though.

You found yourself snatching your hands away to push up your cardigan sleeves and then stuff them into your pants pockets where they would stop confusing you. You distracted yourself from Namjoon's subtle look of disappointment with an apology.

    "Sorry about your pants," you rocked back on your heels as you looked out over the little ribbon of water rippling over its stony bed behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder and brushed himself off again before waving a hand in dismissal. Your eyes focused back on the blue silk.

"I didn't realize this was a fancy lunch. I feel under-dressed."

    "You look nice," Namjoon rebutted, as he glanced over your attire. Then his brow pinched as his eyes halted on your torso, flitting over your arms and shoulders. "But isn't that -"

    "Joon?"

A voice behind you caused you to turn.

Standing at the top of the steps was the woman it belonged to. She was tall and beautifully slender - her svelte figure draped in a slinky chrome dress with a triangular cutout that displayed the smooth skin of her upper abdomen. Her glossy raven tresses were styled away from her face in a high ponytail, drawing sharp attention to her sultry features. Her smoky eyes glanced over your form with a lazy intensity, lids half-raised over dark irises, and her pouted lips pursed in appraisal. You wondered just exactly how many ridiculously beautiful people traveled in Namjoon's circle.

She stepped toward you, her chunky pink heels marking her confident strides on the floorboards, before bowing and extending a small hand with sharp white acrylics and icy sliver rings.

    "I'm the girlfriend!" she hummed, her deep, velvety voice matching her features.

    You bowed in return before shaking her hand politely.

    "So nice to meet you," you smiled, "I'm -

    "The soulmate," she cut you off, glancing over your shoulder at Namjoon, who still stood outside the pavilion, "of that weirdo." '

Namjoon circled around to the entrance of the pavilion before joining you with a wry smile. He introduced the two of you formally, before being the first to take a seat at the table. Hyung-seo joined him, shimmying her cushion closer to Namjoon's as she used a pair of chopsticks to load her plate with selections from the spread. 

    "Oh my god, I'm STARVING," she gushed, staring at Namjoon impatiently as he took a bit of kimchi fried rice and a few slices of samgyeobsal.

    "My stomach feels like it could take some real food for the first time in a while," he said with eager enthusiasm, glancing up at you with a smile of gratitude. 

    Hyung-seo tapped her chopsticks against her plate as she watched you survey the dishes before you. You took some kimchi fried rice and carefully ladled out a small bowl of doenjang-jjigae. You pulled your hands into your lap and watched the steam rise from the fragrant broth.

    "Ah, unnie..." Hyung-seo began before Namjoon shushed her and lightly tapped her knee.

You glanced between them in confusion. Namjoon merely smiled at you, and you smiled back, glancing down from his warm gaze to your plate.

    "Oh for the love of god, would you take a bite?"

    You looked up rather startled at Hyung-seo, who was leaned forward, her desperate eyes tracking your movements, and the chopsticks clutched in her right hand hovering over a plump, sweating mandu.

You blinked, fumbling for your chopsticks as your soulmate admonished the woman next to him. You took a heap of fried rice onto your chopsticks and brought it to your lips, looking questioningly between the two across from you. Hyung-seo groaned in impatience, her head lolling back.   

    "In Korea, the eldest eats first," Namjoon offered in soft explanation, his features trained in apology.

    As realization washed over you, you all but shoved the rice into your mouth, hoping to swallow your embarrassment with it, followed quickly by Hyung-seo, who popped two mandu into her mouth consecutively. Her eyes rolled back as she let out a groan of appreciation. You watched Namjoon carefully savor a piece of samgyeobsal. He smiled a dimpled smile. You smiled to yourself as you tucked into your fried rice. Namjoon's fiancée watched you both. Her cheeks were full, but she wasn't smiling.

Your little trio ate in contented silence until your visitor, having satisfied her belly, fixed her eyes on you with a different sort of eagerness. The time for questions had come, you realized. You set down your chopsticks, taking a drink of water.

    "I'm sure there is so much we'd like to know about each other," you offered with a smile.

    She pulled her lips into a brief grin, sipping from her own glass as her eyes trailed over you. You cleared your throat.

    "So, I read that y-"

    "How does it feel?" she interrupted, starring at you raptly. You blinked.

    "I'm sorry?"

    "When he touches you." She licked her lips. "I heard it's like cumming. I heard it's better."

Namjoon slid a large hand over her thigh. You saw it squeeze.

    "Jagiya..." he murmured.

    You glanced at him and gave him a reassuring grin which he returned, though not as readily as before. Not the start to the conversation you had hoped for, but she was living up to her brusque reputation. You let yourself laugh a little at the question, and saw Hyung-seo's mouth curl up a bit at the corners, though it didn't reach her eyes.

    "It's nothing like sex, actually," you mused, trying to be as forthcoming as possible without abandoning politeness. "Strange, I guess, because it is all about physical exchange and contact. But...it's more like...nourishment? I don't know...I haven't had long enough to think about it."

You had had quite long enough to know that it was ineffable, but in the most intoxicating, magnificent way - and a hell of a lot better than most of the sex you'd had. This, however, wasn't the time and place for descriptions of the bond that could be ripped from the pages of drugstore romance novels.

    You found yourself turning to Namjoon with a questioning gaze, as if to ask if he had anything to add. He nodded in response, not meeting your eyes.

    "Yeah, it's different," he murmured succinctly.  

    Hyung-seo hummed in assent, chewing on her lip, her gaze still roving over you. You decided to try again.

    "So how did you m-"

    "How do you do it?"

    You stifled a small sigh that threatened to escape your lips.

    "Do what?"

    "Use the bond. Like, do you hold hands, or...or what?"

    You looked to Namjoon who murmured something in Korean that sounded like a warning. This wasn't going as you'd hoped. Her questions were natural ones, but not the first you thought you'd be asked, and not so pointedly. In fact, they were ones she should probably have put to her partner. Had they not spoken since you arrived?

    "The bond works with any physical contact. When I first got here, I had so many questions myself. The hospital personnel were very informative while helping us navigate our questions. I still know very little, but as someone whose partner is bonded, I'm sure they would have someone who could better answer these types of questions than I can," you offered.

It was the opposite of forthcoming, but you were absolutely not prepared to launch into a conversation about you and her fiancé spooning in your undergarments. The trajectory of the exchange had to go elsewhere, so you resolved to take the wheel.

    "Is there anything you'd like to know about me? Maybe I could tell you a little about myself. My job in the states wasn't glamorous, but I loved it. I was -"

    "A social worker, I know," she murmured with a sigh, and Namjoon's head snapped toward her.     

You could feel your confusion pulling into a frown. In your beat of silence, the woman in front of you gave into another impulse as she placidly launched into an answer of your unasked question.

    "You're a social worker from the West coast, oldest of three kids. Your father died when you were ten. You graduated summa cum laude, and chose a career in women's services. You support your mother's living - you have been, long-term. Your brother is an engineer and your sister is in nursing school. You've never committed any crimes, but you were arrested once in college at some political protest about immigrant rights. Your blood type is O positive. You don't seem very good with your money, but you've never asked for financial assistance. You've never been married." 

    Silence.

    Your ears were ringing.

    You blinked as you tried to focus, grappling for something on which to stabilize your composure. This isn't how this was supposed to go. You felt your control slipping as the words pierced you in echoes that knocked you back down each time you reached out to steady your mind. 

    "Your father died when you were young..."

    "...You support your mother's living..."

    "...You don't seem very good with your money"

    Your mind whirred as the silence closed in, and for a moment you were suspended.

        Diana and Henry weren't pillars, you thought - they were tiny little babies as your mother clutched them on either side of her prone, shaking form as shovels of dirt were shifted back into the gaping hole that held a pine box covered in flowers. You looked down at the flag in your hands, and then up at the white flowers, still fresh and blooming, being caked and sodden with damp soil. You felt something rising up in your chest - something that never reached the surface. You turned from the wound in the earth as Dianna reached out and tugged at your arm. The babies looked afraid. You couldn't see your mother's face from where it was buried in her skirts. You tucked the flag reverently under your arm and took the little hands.

    Somewhere outside the amniotic sack of your mind, you saw Namjoon's figure stand. You heard his garbled voice speak to the woman beside him. He was angry, his voice pitched low. Hers in response was sharp and high.

    You took a deep breath and exhaled. Your chest was beginning to labor and your inhaler was on the fifth floor of a building on the other side of the property.

You willed yourself back into this world you had chosen. This place which, like the others you had inhabited, would discover its new tenant didn't take long to adapt. She was built to withstand.

    "Namjoon," you called softly, as you looked up at your soulmate. His eyes snapped to yours, his face showing subtle but unmistakable signs of distress - eyes reflecting remorsefully and jaw flexing.

You smiled at him gently, reassuringly.

    "It's alright," you insisted, your eyes not leaving his.

You saw his shoulders sag, and his head bow. His hand came up to scrub over his face. You realized then that she was looking at you. Hyung-seo's expression was apprehensive, her eyes scouring your face.

    "This must be an extremely difficult thing for you, whatever the reason," you offered earnestly.

    She regarded you in silence, her eyes flickering like the flame of a candle.

    "I would say, 'I understand', but I don't. I have no idea how hard it must be to fall in love with someone only to watch them suffer at the hands of disease, and to suffer so greatly and to come so close to losing them that you turn to finding a person who can save them, and who - if they are saved by - they will need and desire for the rest of their natural life. A person who isn't you." 

    Her eyes quivered as they held you in their gaze.

    "I know I'm supposed to be a saving grace," you continued, having gained your ground, "But I know I could also look a lot like a threat. Trust me when I say that you can be open and honest with me about how you feel. This is a difficult situation where we're going to feel burdened by things we shouldn't. Namjoon and I discussed this."

    You smiled again at your soulmate, who was watching you with relief and something else in his features. You wanted to call it admiration, but you had only known him for two whole days.

    "Whatever fears you're carrying that make you feel like a burden in this moment, could I ask you to set them aside? For a chance to get to know me in the real way that you deserve? This isn't a trap. Or a cage. We've all chosen to be here."

    You regarded Hyung-seo in the silence that followed. Her eyes had fallen from your face - they glanced over toward where Namjoon stood, barely raising toward his figure, when she suddenly dropped her face into her hands and began shaking with sobs.

    You let out a sigh of relief too soft to be heard by the others.

    "Fuck...." Hyung-seo choked out against her palms, "I'm such a piece of shit..."

    Namjoon moved to place a hand over her back and assure her she wasn't. You wondered what she felt when he touched her. Your heart ached with pity for her. Namjoon drew her into his chest and held her as she cried her makeup off. He stroked her hair as her regarded her with weary, worried eyes. You couldn't help but feel that you were encroaching on a private moment...expect that you were a part of this as much as they were. Was there a lifetime of this feeling to be endured? You sighed again.

    "I'm gonna give you guys a minute," you whispered as you clambered to your feet.

    Namjoon nodded silently over the woman in his arms. 

    You watched scattered leaves from the boughs overhanging the far side of the stream spin as the were swept away. Your eyes tracked one in particular, twirling as it sailed around a protruding rock and under an arching root, only to be stopped as it was doubled at the middle by a thin, swaying reed. You found your feet moving to where the water rushed around it as it billowed helplessly on both sides of its obstruction like a flag of surrender. You slipped off your shoes and rolled up your pants. You waded into the cool, clear water and, reaching out, tugged the little leaf free. You watched as it sailed on, disappearing around a bend in the waterway. You glanced back up at the pavilion. If you could have been sure it was the right move, you would have left altogether, but you wouldn't want your sudden departure to be taken the wrong way.

    You sighed. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket as you waded back out of the stream. Dead. You were bad about keeping it charged, and your conversation with Diana had drained its aged battery. You wished you had a book. Glancing about, your eyes caught a fairly large patch of clover flowers a few yards down the bank, and crossing the soft grass, you sank down in its center.

You smiled weakly to yourself as you plucked one of the little white buds near the base of its stem. You and your siblings would spend hours at the park under the shade turning sprawling patches of the puffy blooms into garlands, crowns, bracelets, and rings. You picked another flower and tied its supple stem into a knot just under the other flower's head. 

    By the time Namjoon came to join you, sinking down across from you in little clover patch you had fashioned yourself a crown and a necklace, and were working on a garland to send to Diana. You set down your handiwork to look up at him. He was regarding you with soft, somber eyes and a little smile that looked like one he didn't have the energy for but couldn't help besides. He picked a flower and twirled it between his fingers.

    "I'm so sorry," he murmured, "If I would have thought that things would go that way, I wouldn't have insisted on her meeting you before she left. She's going on tour and I thought...well, I thought if she just met you her anxieties would be eased."

    You nodded thoughtfully.

    "Thank you for your patience and kindness. She was out of line saying those things to you like that...you were...that was everything she needed to hear, I think."

    You cast your eyes down as you tied off another knot in the garland.

    "Is she okay?" you asked quietly.

    Namjoon sighed.

    "She's...embarrassed. Ashamed of herself. She wasn't in any condition to finish that conversation, so I suggested she go home."

    "Understandable," you assented, nodding again.

    Silence hung between you for a moment before you raised your eyes to his again.

    "Namjoon...there are some things I think we should discuss."

    He nodded earnestly, his eyes falling, brow creasing and tongue pressing into his cheek.

    "I know we haven't had much time," you continued, "And we have literally the rest of our lives...but, I think we should be on the same page about what we've been told about each other. I think it will make this whole process easier? I don't know. There are some things you assume you'll have to tell someone at a certain point in knowing them - some things that are...deeply personal..."

    "Aren't things between us already that way? Deeply personal?"

    You looked up and those half-lidded brown eyes were looking right at you in a way you weren't prepared for, in a way that flooded your veins. Soulmate. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to feel him and what he brought to you. You wanted him to feel it too. But you didn't know him, and he didn't know you, and he needed healing, which is why you were here. He loved someone who loved him whose lives you were disrupting. This feeling was basal, you knew - came with the territory...but you were going to need some strong boundaries if this was going to function. You were going to need honesty, for a start.

   "They are," you relented slowly, "But I have questions that I need answers to. Your trust in me is clear, and I appreciate that...but...I need time to get my footing here."

    Namjoon nodded in assent.

    "I get that. So, what do you want to know, specifically? I'll answer any question you have."

    You nodded gratefully.

    "Thank you. Do you think I could take a little time to think about what I want to ask? I'm kind of still processing everything that just happened."

    "Of course," he was quick to answer, "Whenever you want to talk, just let me know. Did I say how sorry I am?" he asked smiling weakly as he looked up from where he struggled to knot the stem of one flower around another, suddenly looking down again when its stem snapped between his fingers.

    You huffed out a little laugh.

    "Yes, you did," you did, you answered, offering him a rueful grin.

    He picked another flower only to realize he had cut its stem too short for his purposes. He tossed the little blossoms back into the grass.

    "Can you make me one?" he asked pathetically, pouting at the garland in your hands.

    You chuckled as you tied off the one in your lap and leaned forward to slip it over his head. He adjusted it around his neck, looking down at it with a pleased expression.

    "You know...if you can believe it, we actually got lucky in there," he smirked, his forehead creasing as he raised his brow.

    You gave him a look of confusion. His eyes trailed over your torso again before flitting back up to yours.

    "She didn't notice that you're wearing my sweater."

    You froze. Then you blinked down at the giant green cardigan that had, in fact, slipped down off of one shoulder. Then you gaped at him.

    He snickered.

    You scrambled to yank the sweater over your head, even as he laughed and protested, you blustered apology after expletive after apology.

    "Shit, it was in my laundry bag!" You whined in explanation as you shook it out and began to fold it in your lap.

    "Stop, just keep it on," Namjoon insisted, still clearly amused at your state of panic.

    "I have one just like this. Like, identical but obviously smaller. I just assumed it had stretched out in the wash..." You extended the sweater toward him.

    He shook his head.

    "Just give it back later, you'll be cold." He looked up at your exasperated expression and started laughing again.

    "Stooop..." you whined in embarrassment, and when he only laughed harder, you tossed the sweater in his face. As he balled it up with a smile where it fell down into his lap, his smart watch trilled. He glanced down at it.

    "I've got labs scheduled now," he sighed.

    "Hopefully they'll bring more good news," you offered, at which he nodded. "I seem to be getting the job done, if I do say so myself," you teased, leaning back on your hands and offering him a smug look.

He nodded, tongue in his cheek, then pushed to stand - with effort, you noticed - and extended a hand down to you. You didn't realize what the little smile on his mouth was for until you accepted his hand with your own, by habit, and were nearly knocked back off your feet as the bond surged through you like a wave of mind-numbing euphoria that left you unable to process information outside of what was sent coursing through your every cell from where he touched you.

    You blinked up at him as you got your wits about you, and he was looking down at you through little slits in his barely-open eyes, head tilted back and mouth hanging open - little smirk still tugging at its corner. You pursed your lips, trying not to grin back.

    "You did that on purpose," you chided, trying and failing to train your features in a scowl.

    His smirk deepened.

    "What? I was just being courteous..."

    You rolled your eyes.

    "I'm feeling a little weak, I think it would be best if you helped me back to the room," he muttered slyly, turning to head back toward the building.

The smile that was dimpling his cheek and creasing the corners of his eyes did something to your stomach that had you yanking your hand out of his grasp.

    "Yeah, right," you huffed, forging a few steps ahead of him, "You're putting a lot by your poorly reputed coordination to think you could walk while I was touching you." 

    He let out a laugh behind you. It was loud and bright and had you biting back a smile to match it.

    "What happened to getting the job done, sweater thief?" he called after you teasingly.

    Shit. Yeah. Boundaries. You were going to need them.

_________________________________________________

Well, they met! Next part to follow soon.

Thank you for sticking with me here!

Tag list: @butterymin @little-dark-empress @aretha170 @kamilamb @jlee97 @thephotoend @callmenoona25 @felicityroth @softforyoongles @berlianv @honneypies @deadrose287 @n0pesir

[pandoradoesotherstuff]

Joel Miller x (fem) reader

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

A/N: Oh boy, here it is! My very first "The Last of Us" fic and of course it is smut. 😂😂😂 Blame @astrandofgold I told them to pick a blorbo and here we are. 😅 (edited to tag @savage-rhi because I feel like you asked me too but now I'm doubting myself. 🤦‍♀️apologies!)

Full disclosure: I've only ever played TLOU 1 and even that was a while ago so if it's kinda OOC then I'm sorry, I tried. 🙈

So uh, yeah...Enjoy! ❤️

The tension was practically palpable as you sat next to each other on the scavenged lumpy couch. His thigh was almost touching yours, his sheer body heat driving you crazy as Ellie sat on the mismatched equally lumpy armchair, excitedly explaining everything she’d seen outside the walls of Jackson while Tommy had been showing her the perimeter.  

“Looks like you’re settling in great kiddo”. You grin, subtly elbowing Joel in the ribs to add something. 

“Just be careful out there, don’t let your guard down”. 

Ellie rolls her eyes in response but you both know from the way his lips curl in a subtle smile that he’s secretly pleased that she’s doing well. You squeeze his thigh just above the knee, his eyes darkening ever so slightly as his eyes meet yours. 

“Are you guys gonna kiss or something?!” Ellie asks with a note of teenage disgust in her voice as she looks at both of you. 

“Ellie…” Joel grumbles in warning, quickly looking away from you as you feel your cheeks start to heat up. 

“Gross”. She stands up with a stretch and grabs her backpack she’d thrown haphazardly on the floor when she’d entered earlier unannounced. “I better go, promised Tommy I’d help him with the horses. See you at home for dinner?” She leaves without waiting for an answer, the door closing loudly behind her. You were alone at last. 

Joel’s demeanour changes as soon as you are alone. He stands up without a word and walks to the door, swiftly locking it. You can’t help but watch the way he moves, all solid muscle and sinew from years of surviving the outbreak. Heat prickles along your skin as he stalks back into the living room, dark eyes raking over you like a predator cornering its prey. 

“Joel, I-” 

“-upstairs, now”. His words are quiet but firm, holding out a large hand for you to take. You don’t hesitate to put your hand in his, heat already beginning to creep through your veins as he leads you quickly up the stairs to the small bedroom that was his. 

The door is barely shut before Joel has you pressed against it, lips working feverishly against yours as his hands grip your waist tightly. Your arms fly up to wrap around his neck, unable to get physically close enough to him as you kiss him back with the same passion. A small whine leaves your lips as his tongue snakes its way in, fighting for dominance with yours. All too soon, he breaks away to leave a trail of blazing kisses down your neck, fingers tearing open your shirt, scattering buttons across the room. 

“Jesus Joel, that’s my on-”

You cut yourself off with a yelp as he grabs your breasts, kneading them in his strong hands before pushing the shirt fully off your shoulders and unclips your bra swiftly. His knee slots between your parted thighs snuggly as he rolls your hardened buds between his calloused fingertips.

“Gonna make you mine, sweet heart. Gonna fill you up so good you won’t remember anything except my name, would you like that?”

You can only pant and whimper and nod as you grind your hips down onto his thick strong thigh, already feeling yourself dripping wet against your now ruined underwear.  

“Use. Your. Words”. 

“Y-yes…oh god! Please, p-please…fuck me Joel!”

You’re not sure if you imagined it or not but you could have sworn you heard a slight growl as he leads you roughly by the hips onto the double bed crammed into the corner of the small room. The old springs and boards creak and groan under the sudden impact of your weight as Joel unceremoniously pushes you back. You loved seeing this rougher side to him, the side that was wild and untamed, passionate and dominating. It didn’t make an appearance often but when it did, he didn’t hold back. 

He wastes no time crawling over your body, lips back on yours as he makes short work of undoing your pants and yanking them down. You kick them off a little clumsily as his hand is splayed over your sternum before sliding down to push your underwear aside. A loud gasp tears itself from your mouth as one of his fingers finds your already swollen and needy clit, rubbing infuriatingly gentle circles on it before making its way to your soaked core. 

“That’s it”, he breathes heavily. “So fucking ready for me already, huh? That how bad you want this, sweetheart?” Joel’s belt hits the floor with a loud clunk, quickly freeing his painfully hard erection as his jeans also hit the floor next to yours somewhere. Your thighs are already quivering slightly with need, whimpers pouring forth unable to be stopped as his engorged tip nudges at your dripping entrance before sliding in ever so agonisingly slowly. His forehead presses against yours once fully seated inside you, giving you a moment's respite to adjust to his sheer girth and length.

Joel’s kisses trail down your neck again before he starts moving his hips, ever so slowly at first. You wrap your legs instinctively around him, playfully squeezing him with your thighs to let him know it was okay to speed up. 

The older man affectionately kisses the tip of your nose before once again burying his face in your neck, teeth biting into the delicate flesh of your shoulder as he gives you a few slow powerful thrusts, drawing himself right out to the tip each time before slamming back in. Your nails rake at his back hard enough to leave bright red scratch marks as he finally stops his teasing ways and fucks you properly. The bed creaks dangerously, headboard repeatedly banging against the wall so loud that you couldn’t be sure all of Jackson hadn’t heard it. 

“I’m going to -fuck- breed you so fucking good, g-gonna fill you up so every one knows who you belong -jesus christ- …belong too. A-and you’re gonna lie there and…ugh…gonna lie there and take it!” 

You moan loudly in agreement, every nerve in your body on fire as he repeatedly fills you to the hilt over and over again, clinging to him for dear life as he fucks the very soul out of you, your walls fluttering and clenching around him so perfectly. 

“P-please…please…” You barely manage to stutter out in between continuous moans, not even sure what you were asking for. 

“I got you, sweet heart”, he mumbles before just managing to slide a hand between your bodies to roughly stroke over your clit. It was rough and sloppy but it was more than enough to tip you over the edge. Your mouth hangs wide open in a silent scream, nails digging into his shoulders sharply as you cum hard, Joel’s name now echoing around the room. His hips stutter and lose their rhythm as his own release starts getting closer. 

“Cum for me Joel, need to feel you filling me up”. You whisper encouragingly in his ear as your body trembles with delicious overstimulation. With a deep groan of your name you feel him spill inside you, your walls clenching him tight to milk every drop of his seed you could. Joel collapses next to you with a grunt, pulling you into his arms as you both try to catch your breath. He nuzzles into your hair, kissing the top of your head softly as you bask in your post orgasm glow. 

“Are you hurt?” His gruff voice is low and almost soft as he gazes down at you with an affectionate look that was saved for when you were both completely alone. 

“No more than I wanted to be”, you tease. 

“Yeah yeah yeah, tease the old man. Sure”. 

You can’t help but laugh as you snuggle into his chest. 

“That’s what I’m here for”. 

Joel kisses the top of your head again as his breathing starts to even out slow and deep. 

“Ellie will be back later”, you whispering some sort of warning.

“Why do you think I locked the door?” 

You can’t help but laugh quietly to yourself as you allow your eyes to slip close and drift off into the most comfortable sleep you’d had in a long time.

[dawn-moths]

I just recently read your fic bout Itto and I was so amazed by your vast imagination in writing. I could never 😭 Plus I really really love Itto so much 🥺💞 Would it be possible to write a same Itto x reader wherein he totally lost control of his animalistic side? But s/o liked it in the end tho XD (Gahd, blame my immoral kinks) Also his s/o giving him a head. (Again, blame my weird fantasies lmaooo.)

If you're not comfortable with it, please ignore this. Still thank you! I'm amazed by how good you are in writing 🌻💓

Well, anon, I certainly didn’t think my first fic of the new year would be something this… intense 😅 But I’m happy to write your request nonetheless. Also thank you so much for your nice words on my previous Itto fic. I plan on writing a part two to that one in the future :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy~!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“It Feels Better Biting Down”

Itto Arataki x Female Reader

word count: 3600+

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! this is just full on smut no plot not gonna lie, dubcon, rough sex, reader is called “little one” and “good girl”, biting, manhandling, oral (mutual), blood, hair pulling, choking, aftercare, title taken from “Biting Down” by Lorde, hope i did well by you anon lol.

*ao3 mirror*

***

It comes on quickly, too sudden to change the course of the storm before you already find yourself swirling within the eye, the worst still yet to come.

The way he morphs from being his usual jovial, goofy self one minute into a dangerous, feral monster the next.

Sometimes all it takes is a taste, a scent, a single look, and something about you has Itto forgetting any and all of his learned humanity.

The amber of his eyes dilates from a thin ring around blown out pupils, his gaze overflowing with adoration for you, to all that gold swallowing up his affection, a predator honing in on its prey with a vicious kind of focus.

The moment his grip flexes harder on your hips, tugging you closer, his jaw clenching, you know it’s too late. You could try and get away, put up a fight, as feeble as you know such an attempt would be, but testing that theory in the past only earned you deeper scratches, darker bruises, and a worse aching between your thighs when all was said and done.

So instead, you sit there, trying not to wince as you swallow down the dry lump forming in your throat. The first few times you experienced this, it felt like it was choking you, but Itto taught you soon enough what it really was to suffocate with his two large hands wrapped around your pretty neck.

He holds you close, not in a way to comfort you, but to keep you. Control you.

Your eyes widen with nervous anticipation, a shuddering breath exhaled through your nose as you see Itto’s nostrils flare. He used to joke about being able to smell your fear, the sweet scent getting him drunk the more you squirmed and struggled. Now you think he’d been telling the truth all along, the sharp points of his fangs glinting as one corner of his mouth pulls up into a wider smirk, mean and selfish and hungry.

Yet still, you attempt to bargain. “Itto…” you begin, slow and stern yet with a little tremble of trepidation etched in your tone. “Why don’t we just—” But the rest of the suggestion never comes. It’s sliced in two as a sharp gasp cuts through your words, your back meeting the ground as Itto grabs both your wrists and pins you down, squeezing them until you let out a squeak of pain and start to writhe.

His mouth fills with saliva, sticky and warm with the promise of how delectable the salt of your skin will taste once he latches onto you, how hot your blood will run once his incisors pierce your shoulder and let crimson burst into his mouth.

“Hurts— Itto—!” You weakly try to plead with him, his fists curling tighter around your wrists, pulling your hands up above your head until he can take both your wrists in one of his massive palms, grinding your bones together and drinking in every whimper and whine that spills from your quivering lips as he forces his mouth against yours, his tongue savoring the flavor of you, wanting more, more, more like even if he consumed all of you it could never be enough.

And you bite his lip.

Hard.

Hard enough to draw some of his blood. It’s only a fair trade. Only, none of this is ever really fair, because Itto’s so much bigger than you, so much stronger, able to effortlessly dominate you even in his gentlest and most grounded state. But you continue to allow yourself to count the taste of iron on your tongue as a victory, as it’s probably the only one you’ll be able to claim during this whole ordeal.

And the oni actually laughs when he pulls away to see the dark red of his blood spotting the corner of your mouth, but it’s not a sound of amusement or joy. It’s the low, dark rumbling of a vengeful growl, a vow that he’ll get you back for that.

“Little one wants to play, huh?” he teases with a sinister rasp, flipping you over so that your chest is pressing into the patch of grass he’s pinned you down on, painfully twisting one of your arms behind your back while the other stays shackled against the dirt in his clawed fist. “Fine—” He hooks a talon in one strap of your tank top, gathering the other thin strip of fabric under the same nail and pulling back hard, ripping your shirt and fully exposing your shoulders and clavicles to him, hinting at what he’s planning next. “Let’s play.”

Itto licks his lips, takes in the sight of you like this, completely and unquestionably at his mercy. You feel the hand that had been twisting your arm ball up in the waistband of your shorts then, tugging them down with the sound of tearing threads until they’re tangled up around your knees, being kicked off to your ankles and then abandoned completely.

His teeth always come as a surprise, no matter how many times you feel the shape of his bite imprinted on you, moulding themselves into your skin as if to terraform your body with his molars and incisors, scraping along your pulse to carve out new trails and excavate those sweet, helpless little sounds from deep within the unexplored caverns of your chest.

You might’ve thought the initial sting would be less by now, become dulled the more times you felt it, but it never does. Not quite. And the moment just before he applies enough pressure to break the skin, your eyes well with tears, all your muscles tensing in tandem with the urge to outlast this torment, to prove you can take it.

Because you can.

You can and you will.

As blood trickles down the curve of your shoulder and spots the damp earth beneath you, you hold back a scream, choking on it as you feel it thrash around wildly behind your clenched teeth. Itto laps up your blood, nursing the wound newly created only to gift you with a fresh one minutes later, this time on the other side over the meaty spot right between your shoulder and your neck.

That time, the ghosts of a shriek slip past your lips, the pain sounding like the curling tendrils of fading smoke, elusive and never the same twice. You feel Itto smirk against you before removing his mouth, a few viscous strands of his saliva keeping the two of you connected for a moment before they snap, mixing in with your blood and making you hiss.

More of your tears fall, meeting under your chin in thick droplets that conjoin into one bead that races down the raise of your throat, one of Itto’s palms guiding to lift your chin, craning your neck back as the other hand begins to spread you wider for him, collecting your arousal on his taloned fingertips and spreading it through your folds, pleased with how wet you are for him already.

“Itto— Please—” you can barley utter, your voice a mere whisper as the strain on your vocal chords worsens, his grip curling a little tighter until you’re only able to draw in frantic, panting breaths, feeling like it wouldn’t take much more to turn your vision black and numb the rest of your senses for a little while.

But Itto’s become accustomed to this routine as well, the small sliver of him that remains in control during these animalistic impulses knowing how to read you to ensure that you actually do want this to some degree. And if the desperate pulsing of your needy little hole isn’t the perfect indicator of your mutual craving of him, then it’s the pounding of your heart he can feel against his wrist in your lower stomach as he reaches around to tease you from a new angle, reveling in the way your belly tightens and lurches as he toys with your neglected clit, rubbing tight circles over you relentlessly until your eyes roll back and your jaw goes slack, your own breed of feral moan clawing its way out of you.

“That’s it…” he seems to coo at you, though with a sharp-edged kind of praise, like a shard of broken glass learning how easily it can cut through a sheet, wanting to test its limits until it becomes dulled and the flowing fabric had been reduced to ribbons and shreds. “So good for me— Fuck—!”

He slips a finger into you, feels how your body sucks him in like the first breath of air after breaking through the surface of deep water, relieved but greedy for more. So he slips in a second and you keen, back arching as his thumb continues to nudge at your clit, overstimulating you until your vision spots with bursts of violent vibrance, flashes of gold forming fissures and cracks in your mind, little pathways that always lead you back to him.

You’re about to spill over the edge and he can tell, but then he’s withdrawing his fingers and turning you back to face him, causing a whine of frustrated protest to sneak through your veil of satiated exhaustion as the coil in your core that had been so close to snapping slowly starts to relax.

You want to argue that it’s unfair, that the agreement the two of you made for when situations like this arise is that, so long as Itto pleasures you, he can be as rough as he wants. But the moment you look down and see the intimidating bulge in his pants, you know what he wants. And you’ll give it to him, for a price.

“Are you coherent enough to remember the deal?” you nearly spit at him, face furrowed with what might’ve been fury— a challenging dagger of a glare— if not for the masochistic undertones your desperate little doe-eyes were implying.

Itto nods, though the vacancy in his stare tells you he doesn’t care to honor it, that he hadn’t even been listening in the first place, so when he gets close enough, you comb your fingers into his mane of shaggy white hair, form a fist, and give a sharp tug.

“Then say it to me,” you order, a small groan of pleasure stuttering past the oni’s lips as your grip remains unrelenting.

Itto cracks another one of those sharp-toothed smirks, his eyes shimmering with mirth for a moment before remembering that he was the one in control. He pulls you on top of him as he leans back, you already beginning to unbuckle his belt as he answers with only a hint of sarcasm, “I’ll do yours if you do mine.”

As his aching cock springs free, already dripping with that pearly pre-cum, more leaking from the blushing tip as you take it in your hand, you say with a sharp, warning tone, “Don’t forget it.”

And, while you always looked forward to the magic Itto could work with his mouth over and inside of you, the deep, rumbling groans and stifled, high-pitched whines you were able to draw from him as your lips wrapped around his tip, tongue teasing along each vein and curve of him as you worked further down his shaft, new tears wetting your lashes as he hit the back of your throat and made it hard— if not damn near impossible— to breathe, well…

Those sounds were more than enough to keep you going.

Now it was his turn to take a fistfull of your hair and tug, needing something— anything— to tether himself to as your warm, wet mouth and tightly constricting throat washed wave after wave of pleasure through the shores of his body. He was so lost in the lust-fueled haze that he nearly forgot that he liked it best to be inside that tight little cunt of yours when he came. Not that he would’ve minded watching you wince and struggle to swallow the bitter ropes of his thick, white seed, but he knew that, if this were to be allowed to continue he needed to make sure you felt good too.

“F-fuck…” Itto stuttered through a sigh, unsure whether the fist balled up in your hair was trying to pull you away or force you to take him deeper, his cock twitching as you choked on him, your eyes beginning to flutter and roll from the lack of oxygen. “Alright, alright, alright—” he stammered, finally gaining enough willpower to pull you off of him lest he finish before he could start his real work on you. “Fuck… You’re too good at that…”

For a second, it was almost as if that blinding ferocity had melted away, even the most jagged of rocks worn down smooth when placed in the path of a river for long enough. But then the softness of his placated desire seemed to return to itself, all that raw power and fanged instinct flooding back into him as the dam broke and the smooth rock of reprieve was completely washed away.

Itto pinned you back to the ground with a force hard enough to rattle your bones, stirring fear back into your bloodstream and injecting it into your marrow as he slid you closer to him, fingertips digging into the plush meat of your thighs, hooking one of your knees over his shoulder before pushing the other closer to meet your chest, splitting you open wider for him like he would a ripe pomegranate with his bare hands, eager to lap up the sweet, tangy juices that burst from the ruby fruit.

But he makes good on his promise, on your deal, and that’s all that really matters, right?

How’d he put it? I’ll do yours if you do mine. Yeah, that sounded about right.

“Fuck— Itto—!” you moaned through a shuddering gasp as his tongue pressed hard and flat against you, laving up your drenched cunt to suck on your throbbing clit, once again twisting that coil in your gut into a near painful kind of pleasure. When he speared his long, wet muscle into your neglected hole, you cried out loud enough for the upturn of your pitched moan to echo through the little glade you two had found for yourselves today.

Good thing camp was more than a mile away. Though, if you really stopped to think about it, if any of the others had ever heard what you and their leader got up to during the off hours in the day and the odd hours of the night, would they dare say anything about it?

You often thought how Itto’s love was a lot like how some animals eat their young— the mothers devouring that which is weaker than them to give themselves more strength— the way he wanted his mouth and teeth and tongue to know every single inch of your being, especially when there was the anticipation of a battle on the horizon, the intensity sometimes causing you to question your own safety. Though, the oni had yet to truly go too far and scare you to the point of making you reconsider whether you wanted these kinds of relations between you two to cease entirely.

Plus, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t crave the thrill of it all from time to time too.

By the time you were coming completely undone for the first time that session, Itto’s face was shiny and slick from the obscene mixture of his spit and your glistening arousal, his tongue repeatedly poking out to lick at the corners of his lips and collect the excess so as not to waste any parts of you he was lucky enough to get, all the while watching as your trembling, broken form lay in the grass, limbs sprawled out in this angle and that as you failed to register anything concerning your own body beside the immense pleasure that was fading as the slow drip of reality fused back into your veins.

But the two of you were far from done.

Itto hadn’t even come yet.

And, by your own moral standards, that wasn’t very fair, now was it?

Just barely able to feel the grass under your back and catch your breath again, Itto was back on you, slotting himself between your hips and allowing his shadow to engulf you, blocking out the glare of the setting sun behind his silhouette.

“Think you’ve had enough?” the oni taunted, cradling your face in his palms, burning the image of your fucked-out expression into his mind. When you didn’t respond, he gave your cheek a light slap, startling you back to the situation at hand. “Well, I guess that doesn’t matter…” he chuckled, wrapping his hands around your throat. Once again, it was too late for you to react before you realized what was about to happen. “You’re done when I say you’re done.”

The fading embers of your adrenaline burst back to the scorching life of a raging wildfire, not even given the chance to finish sighing out your current exhale before your right to breathe was confiscated.

You clawed at his hands, his wrists, his arms, fighting with everything you had to steal even a quarter of a breath, but Itto wouldn’t allow it. He’d only surrender to your struggling when all your fight had died and you fell limp beneath him. He liked it when you went all soft and slack for him, pliable like the beautiful red clay that sometimes lined the cliffsides near the shore, their natural dyes bleeding into the lapping ocean. 

Itto’s flesh was marked with dozens of tiny, red scratch tracks now, your little nails biting into him until the asphyxiation claimed you and you stilled, your eyes fluttering shut as your chest convulsed and stuttered. Itto let you go then, of course, but got straight back to his main objective while you slowly returned to the land of the living.

By the time you were registering your surroundings again, the vast canopy of trees overhead sending lilac sakura petals drifting down with every new gust of wind, Itto had already positioned himself between your thighs, his aching cock in one hand and lined up with your drooling hole.

He didn’t even warn you that time, just buried himself down to the hilt inside of you with one harsh thrust, knocking the wind from your lungs in an entirely different way as your body struggled to accommodate the sheer girth of him.

You only had a moment to adjust, though, with someone of Itto’s size, even when you two were taking it slow and he was being as gentle and considerate as possible, it was still hard to get used to the sweet, stinging stretch of his length.

You were sure he was going to tear you in two, split you right down the middle until you were broken and ruined and unraveled in a way that only he knew how to put back together again. So when his pace quickly became the ravenous, relentless speed that it often was in the end, all you could do was lay there and let him take you, gripping his horns in your sweaty, trembling fists to anchor yourself to something other than the pain that someone with so much raw power could bestow upon you.

But, as Itto knew well by now, he had a responsibility to ensure that you were able to enjoy this too, even if only by a fraction of the pleasure you allowed him to pillage from your body when he got like this.

So he let you come again, your insides constricting around him in tandem with your final, tortured whines and finally giving him exactly what he needed to overflow you with his balmy love.

There was always so much of it— so much that your body could never quite contain it all, both your combined juices dribbling down your ass and staining the tender insides of your trembling thighs— and no matter how many times the two of you engaged in your bodies’ mutual desires, the bulge that formed in your belly from how much he’d filled you up always came as bit of a surprise.

“That’s it…” Itto sighed, sated, nearly collapsing on top of you as he started to go soft inside, always loving the way you felt cockwarming him in the afterglow of your orgasms. “That’s a good girl… Knew you could take it… So good for me…”

And just like that, with the monster inside of him now fully fed— for the time being, at least— you had your gentle giant back.

Itto carefully pulled out of you, scooping you up in his arms and cradling you against his chest, feeling your warm breath fanning over his dewy skin as your heart rate steadied and the post-sex sleepiness began to overtake you.

You looked like you’d just been through hell— all bitten and bruised and hair mussed in a tangled mess— but Itto stared down at you dozing off against him like you were his little angel, perfect enough to rival the Archons themselves.

He found you beautiful in every way he’d ever seen you, but when you looked like this, with proof that you were his, only his marked in reds and blues and violets across your tender flesh…

It might’ve been his favorite.

So, after carrying you the short distance to a little cave he’d scouting out near the glade, Itto made you comfortable while he cleaned you up, gingerly tended to your wounds the best he could, and then snuggled you back up to his chest, smoothing your hair away from your face and watching you drift off into sleep, already looking forward to when your bruises and bites would inevitably fade and he’d catch you out in some deserted area of the island by chance, both of you ready to partake in this feral ritual all over again.

Because, similar to sinking your teeth into the tender, juicy flesh of a ripened fruit, Itto’s love felt better biting down.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[crimsonedquill]

Hey I love you're writing so much! If you are comfortable with it could you write a aged up f!Mc x Sebastian where they are busy having sexy times 👀 It is really rough and obviously Seb is in charge but then MC feels like it is getting to much and she rather wants soft, gentle Seb

Hope that makes sense! And if you don't feel comfortable with my request then obviously feel free to ignore it 😅💛 Anyways have a wonderful day!

In Heat (Sebastian Sallow x f!MC)

Sebastian ends up hurting MC in the heat of the moment, then needs to make it up to her...

Full disclosure, I don't have that much experience writing F/M smut so writing this had me 🥵 for more than one reason – though I'm still quite happy with how it turned out!

Also, I now seem to have a backlog of requests for the first time since ever (gee, how'd that happen) so I want to promise all of my lovely requestors that I'm getting to your asks, it might just take some time because I want to give you all the quality content you deserve 🖤

Content warning: NSFW (18+). Aged-up characters, obvious dom!seb, yadayadayada

“Fuck,” Sebastian growled.

He was propping himself up on his hands, looking down at his lover like a wolf regarding its prey. His eyes wandered over her exquisite body; her blouse, having been ripped open to reveal a pink lacy bra, which he ripped between his teeth so that her delightfully perky breasts spilt out. His eyes lingered just enough to induce a hot shade of crimson in her glowing skin, a wave of primal exhilaration surging through him. He let his gaze wander, to her neck, a pale canvas for him to utterly ravage; then to her beautiful features; her soft lips, half parted to allow her short, heavy breaths to escape; her cheeks, radiating with a feverish warmth he was able to feel even at a distance, and then her big doe eyes, staring up at him with an arousing mix of lust and fear. Merlin, she was beautiful, and she was entirely his for the taking.

“Look at what you do to me,” he snarled at her, grinding his hardness against her thigh, the thin barrier of clothing hardly doing anything to conceal his excitement. MC let out a high-pitched whimper at his touch, and he sensed that there was little holding her body back from giving in to his corruption. It left him hard and aching for the feeling of her tightness clamping down on his cock as he palmed her breasts and mashed them together, burying his face into her damp flesh, tasting the thin glaze of sweat coating her skin. MC’s head fell back against the pillow and she let out a strained cry as he feasted on her bosom, her legs convulsing at the sensation of his teeth grazing her nipples. Fuck, she was too good. Usually she was so calm, so collected in her emotions, the contrast with the complete mess underneath him so great that he had a hard time keeping himself under control, only briefly pulling back to rip off his shirt before diving back in.

He resumed kissing her breasts as his fingers slipped down into her skirt, dipping into the wetness waiting there for him.

“You depraved slut,” he whispered through grinding teeth, “you really thought I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t find out just how much of a cock-starved whore you are?”

MC blushed heavily at his brashness, the unseemly language causing her to involuntary twitch on his fingers. He had never been this forceful with her, never this… rough. It honestly frightened her a little, for she knew just how impulsive and carried away he could get even when he wasn’t pinning her down, eager to fuck her raw. She wondered if she should say something, anything to convey at least her uneasiness – but then his fingers curling inside of her drove the words from her lips as her back arched up from the bed, a whimper working itself out of her throat.

“That’s right,” Sebastian grimaced, “show me just how much of a needy little bitch you are –”

Without warning, his hand lashed out and struck the side of her face. Her eyes widened in surprise, a tear quickly beginning to run down her red cheek, the sight only seeming to fuel his desire. He withdrew his fingers to ram them right between her lips, cutting off her breath.

“Taste it,” he ordered, and she did as she was told, obediently sucking her sap off his digits as she looked up at him with teary eyes. She couldn’t exactly deny that the expression of primal lust on his face turned her on, but even so, she was slightly unsettled at her lack of control in the situation. They had never deemed it necessary to come to any sort of agreement about their boundaries in bed; heck, she’d gleefully taken an aggressive pounding from him on more than one occasion, though she sensed that something was different tonight. He seemed to be losing himself to his own urges, driven by nothing more than animalistic instinct – and she didn’t know just how far he was willing to go.

He finally pulled his fingers out, leaving her gasping; saliva dripping down her chin. She was barely able to draw another breath before his lips crashed into hers, a deep growl rising from his throat. He dragged his tongue along her jaw, a shiver running down her spine as he settled into the crook of her neck, teeth pressing against her flushed skin.

There was a sharp, stinging pain. Then a sudden shriek, and finally nothingness, as his mouth disappeared from her neck and his weight shifted off her body. She opened her eyes and looked up to see him staring back at her. There was no more lust in his eyes, only guilt.

“M-MC…” he stammered, “did I hurt you?”

“It’s all right,” MC said, hasting to prop herself up on her elbows even though she was still seeing stars, “things just… spiralled out of control a little –”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I – we should stop.”

“Don’t be silly, it just was –”

But he’d already slipped out of bed before she could finish her sentence, disappearing into the bathroom. MC was left more than a little perplexed as she sat alone in the remains of their short-lived rodeo, her naked chest still exposed to the cool night air. She sighed and shook her head, making a half-assed attempt to cover herself up as she went after Sebastian.

There was only the sound of running water as MC entered the bathroom. She saw him slightly hunched over the basin, his dark eyes staring down into the small whirlpool. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, softly kissing his nape. “Hey… stop torturing yourself so much. I know you didn’t mean to do it.”

“That’s not the point.” His voice was heavy, full of anguish. “I… I lost control of myself. Who knows what could have happened if I hadn’t come to my senses, I could have ended up harming you –”

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit. Do you really think that after an army of goblins and dark wizards, I couldn’t protect myself against one hormonal brat?”

She was relieved to see at least a hint of a smirk forming on his lips. Taking his hand, she turned him around and cupped his face in her hands, lovingly looking into his gentle brown eyes.

“Sebastian, I know you would never hurt me on purpose,” she assured him. “And really, my body having this effect on you is more of a compliment than anything, but… I think I would prefer for this to be more than just fucking, do you understand?”

Sebastian frowned at her. “You’d like me to dance and sing too?”

“No, you goof,” she giggled, moving her hands down to rub his bare chest, “what I’m saying is… I would like for you to make love to me.”

His gaze lingered a little longer, taking in her pretty features as he finally cracked a smile. “I think we can make that work,” he said, and then his lips brushed against hers, hungry but tender, and she parted them to allow him in, feeling his arms close around her waist as his warm breath tickled the roof of her mouth. He spent only a brief few moments caressing her lips before kissing the corner of her mouth, then proceeding along her jawline until he reached the sore spot on her neck, drawing a soft gasp from her as he used his lips to ease the pain.

“There there,” he whispered, the gentle tone in his voice doing more to get her dripping than his fingers ever did, “I’m going to make it all better, my love. Just relax, deep breaths, let it all go –”

“Y-yes…” she whimpered, closing her eyes as he moved further down, letting her blouse slip off her shoulders. He nipped at her collarbone, sending a hot pulse down her chest that immediately caused her nipples to harden again. Sebastian seemed to take note, teasing her with a mischievous smirk before kissing his way to one of the pink buds, closing his lips to suck on it. A moan left her lips as she looked down through hooded eyes at her lover, cradling his head in her arm as she nursed him; a muffled grunt signalling just how much he wanted her.

Yet, in spite of his own clear desire, he took his time to love her, to put her as much at ease as possible before he let his treat go with a wet ‘plop’. “My love, I need to taste you – can I…?”

His chivalry led a redness to blossom on her cheeks; she bit her lip as she nodded, watching him kiss down her abdomen until he reached the top of her skirt, which he slowly worked down her legs. He couldn’t help but smile as he noticed just how soaked her tights were, their brief intermezzo clearly having done nothing to abate her arousal.

“So wet,” he hummed to himself as he hooked his fingers into the band of her panties and pulled them down, a cool breeze of air meeting her heat. “So needy.”

She wined slightly as she felt his fingers near her core, so close but not quite near enough to offer her the release she craved the most. Sebastian grinned as he drew lines in her inner thigh. “I can tell someone’s excited.”

“You talk too much,” MC scoffed.

“But I thought you like it when I tell you unsavoury things?”

She blushed. “I do, but –”

“So,” Sebastian said, leaning forward to blow on her clit, the sensation quickly driving her to the very edge of her sanity, “tell me, my sweetheart, what do you need me to do?”

She barely managed to keep her voice under control as she looked at him kneeling on the floor, ready to rock her world with just one command. “I need you to eat my fucking pussy,” she said.

The instruction was all he needed. He offered her one last smile before he grabbed hold of her legs and forced them apart, his tongue shooting past his lips to drag agonisingly slow along her clammy folds. She let out a cry as she fell back against the basin, hands clamping around the edge. His nose nuzzled her sensitive bud while he lapped at her with broad strokes, the reward of her delicious honey leaving him throbbing hard against the fabric of his trousers. She could feel the wet muscle carefully exploring her hole, eliciting a content moan from her as he finally dipped inside and started fucking her properly. She made no effort to behave as he feasted on her cunt with the ferocity it deserved; riding his face until her juices were dripping from his chin, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. The added stimulation of one of his digits thrashing her to release was enough to break her resolve, and she came hard, crying out in quick hiccups as Sebastian tugged at her lips to suck out every last drop.

The Slytherin was quick to veer up to lift MC on top of the small drawer next to the basin before unbuckling his belt and dropping his trousers to his ankles. He was aching for the feeling of her walls on his cock, and he sensed his desire was shared. Still, he took care to make sure that MC was all right at first, wiping a pleasure tear from the corner of her eye as he lightly stroked her hand. “My love, I’m going to put it in now, all right?”

Armed with a soft nod, he stroked his length up and down a few times before placing the swollen head at her entrance. They moaned in unison as he pushed through her wetness, her walls stretching to accommodate him. He kept still for a few seconds to allow them both to relish the moment, his breath heavy as he throbbed inside of her.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he whispered to her, catching her whimper with his lips as he began thrusting. She wrapped her arms around his neck, observing the flush of determination only slightly hidden under the scattering of freckles. How he managed to be so kind and caring and – ah, she mewled at his prick hitting a particularly sweet spot – yet so utterly driven by passion was a mystery that kept eluding her, though she found herself in no position to complain.

The symphony of their combined gasps and breaths and his pelvis slapping against her bare ass was the only sound filling the room for a while, and she rested her head on his shoulder as she settled into his rhythm. He hooked his arms under her legs to pull her hips towards him, fucking her onto his cock with increasing fervour, dictating her pace perfectly to her release.

“Look at you, all nice and tight,” he grunted. “Come for me, princess, I want to hear you scream while you drench my prick –”

There was no disobeying his commands, and she even managed to coax a moan out of him as she crashed over the edge, squeezing down on him with a scream of his name. Sebastian had to fight the urge to unload in her right then and there, though he somehow managed, waiting for her to ride out her climax before picking her up and dragging her off the drawer. She let out a yelp of surprise, giggling as she tightly locked her legs around his ass, revelling in the feeling of bouncing up and down on his cock with every step as he carried her over to the bed. He threw her down on the sheets, quickly crawling on top of her.

“Look who’s excited now,” MC teased him with a smile, palming at his chest.

“I guess you should be flattered.” She gasped at the feeling of his hardness dragging along her folds, his head red and swollen and slick with her juices.

“Oh, I very much am,” She grabbed a hold of him, guiding him back into her tight hole. She moaned as he felt him filling her to the brim once more, locking her legs around his butt again to keep him close as he resumed pounding into her. Sebastian lost himself in the shared flow of their sex, looking down into her gleaming eyes, which were so filled with innocence and lust that he couldn’t help but softly moan her name as he loved her. She was so warm and snug, the way her walls perfectly hugged his cock leaving his balls swollen and tingling as they slapped against her damp skin, ready to be milked dry.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered to her, “I’m close. Where do you want me?”

“Inside,” she whimpered back, her eyes practically speaking the words. “I want you inside of me, Sebastian.”

He smiled before kissing her, tasting the longing on her lips as he sped up his movements, thrusting himself inside of her at a greater pace. With her arms enveloping his neck, she clung to him, yearning to be as close to him as possible as he claimed her as his own.

He came with a groan, burying himself into her neck as she milked him. She cried with joy at the feeling of being rewarded with his warm seed, the sensation bringing about a small orgasm of her own as she held on for dear life, never having felt more closer as she was then, full of him in every sense of the word.

They lay basking in each other’s release for a while before he withdrew, making himself comfortable against the pillows so she could settle against his chest. He lightly stroked her hair, sighing before looking down at her. “So, was that more to your satisfaction?”

“Hmm,” she purred. “I’d say it was certainly… adequate.”

“Adequate? Are you pulling my leg?”

“Maybe I am.” She turned to meet his gaze, chuckling as she saw the expression of disbelief on his face. “Would you start feeling insecure if I said I wasn’t?”

“Well no, it’s not that, it’s just – I merely wish the best for you, you know?”

She laughed, reaching up to touch his cheek. “See… this is why I love you. Now, let’s kiss and go to sleep.”

He finally smiled, hunching forward to meet her lips with his own. “Let’s.”

[lizzy019]

Could you pretty please make a johnny Cade x fem reader smut but its best friends to lovers thank you so much💗💗💗

Oh man, you all are stacking me with requests!

Yes, I'll happily do that. It may come near the end of the week just because I have 4 requests going rn 😅 but I promise I'll get it out to you!

Thanks anon!

[hellhound5925]

Alrighty, so as I have mentioned before, I am switching gears to write a Mandalorian fic. I have finished what I’m calling the Prologue for now (idk if I really like that) but its a little story from a time before the actual fic itself takes place. I hope you enjoy! There will be plenty more Din/Raven where this came from and don’t worry I’ll still write for Hunter from time to time!

Welcome to,

Cyare Verd *Beloved Warrior* The Mandalorian Edition (I know, I know, I’m not original but I suck at titles)

Prologue - The Encounter

Summary:

This is setting up a little backstory for the beginning of my new fic. There will be fun mood boards for each chapter created my both myself and my wonder friend @lune-de-miel-au-paradis who is hella talented! (Thanks girl 💖) I hope you enjoy and be on the look out for Chapters going forward! If this is something you would like to be tagged in please drop a comment, send me an ask, send a message, whatever fits your fancy 😊 I promise I’ll shut up and we get right to it!

Warnings:

Always gunna put 18+, violence and thats bout it for now. Smut will be in the actually fic itself but I’ll post the warning accordingly. Also, If I miss something I’m sorry, I’m not very good at warnings 😅 There will be Mando’a but ya girl always provides a translation so have no fear.

————

The entire time I've been looking for this bounty, someone else is a few steps behind me. How do I know? Well I backtracked and paid a bar keep to get ahold of me with any information about someone asking about the individual I had. The Twi-Lek contacted me only hours later with a description. She sounded worried but not for me when she said "All I know is he looked just like you." Two Mandalorians hunting the same bounty? Strange but not completely out of the ordinary. I mean a lot of our people resorted to bounty hunting, with our skill sets and love for getting into fights makes us the best at the job. I decided I would make my way back and tail him for a bit, seeing if he took the bait. Thanks to my cunning wit he did.

    This must be the one the barkeep was talking about - I think to myself. A Mandalorian man walks a few paces ahead of me covered in mismatched pieces of armor topped off with a shiny chrome helmet. I chuckle to myself, knowing that because of my cloak he won't know who or what I am. He stops momentarily like he's aware of my presence but little does he know, I'm a master of hiding in the shadows. Spinning around on his heel he walks my direction, hand hovering over his side arm. I take the opportunity to slip further into the dark, down an alley. He stops in almost the exact spot I was only moments ago. Now that he's closer I can now get a good look at his stature, he's taller than me and definitely more muscular.

    His shiny helmeted head slowly looks my way down the alley - so he's smart...I'll give him that. Taking a few cautious steps, he makes his way towards me. I climb up onto the rooftop of the short building next to me. He should paint that armor, he sticks out like a Bantha in the ocean of sand on Tatooine. Smirking to myself I wait until he is directly below me before clearing my throat. He immediately looks up, drawing his blaster taking a shot at me. Crossing both vambraces in front of me, the bolt pings off my armor, breaking the cold dark silence of the night with a loud crack.

    As if time stood still, I jump down in front of him and one hand connects with the elbow of his outstretched arm causing it to bend, pointing his blaster away from me. Using my other hand, I free the blaster from his grip sending it somewhere into the shadows. He counters with a left hook which passes over my head as I duck, rolling back into the shadows. He loses track of me and frantically spins around preparing for my next move.

    I slink around him in the darkness just out of his view, like a predator circling its prey. He reaches up in a slow careful movement, for his vambrace likely to change the setting on his HUD - I would do the same. To stop him, I crouch and in one swift movement of my foot I catch his ankle, pulling hard, and sending him to the ground face first with a grunt. Standing to my full height, I can't help the chuckle that escapes watching the large man hit the ground by my hand...or foot.

    His head snaps in my direction and I'm immediately full of regret. Using his whip cord, he grabs my leg pulling me flat on my back into the light. I hit the ground so hard it knocked the wind out of me. Next thing I know, he's standing over me staring down at me through his visor. His body language shifts and I realize why, my hood fell while I was being pulled to the ground exposing my helmeted head. Slamming my fist and throwing my head back on the ground, a string of curses in Mando'a leave my lips. When I pick my head back up, he is still standing there staring down at me, the T-snapped visor is almost menacing at this angle.

"You could at least help a girl up" my sassy tone, exaggerated by my helmets modulator.

    He offers me a hand, I take it and he pulls me to my feet.

"I'm sorry if I had known—"

"You weren't supposed to" I cut him off, my tone annoyed "Kinda the point of the hood." I'm not sure what annoys me more, his reaction or the fact he actually got one over on me. I brush myself off and straighten out my Kama. Looking up, I realize he is watching my every move.

I break the silence, getting right to the point "So you've been tracking me? Or my bounty at least. Why?"

"Quite honestly, I didn't know I was tracking you. You cover your tracks well." He compliments me and for a moment my pride swells. I didn't work this hard to become the expert I am just to have some di'kut (fool) ruin it. He pulls out a bounty puck from his pocket, showing it to me. It displays the face of the same man I'm hunting.

"Well I hate to break it to you, but I was here first." I say, poking him square in the chest plate. Now with how close we are and standing still, I can see how worn his armor is. It probably belonged to a family member of his or something. Although with the shiny shoulder pauldron and helmet, it makes me wonder if he's a foundling. They often use whatever armor they can find or are given until they can make their own. These days however, beskar is quite difficult to come by.

His voice pulls me from my thoughts, "How about we work together. Share the profits?"

I immediately scoff, crossing my arms over my chest and shifting my weight to one leg. "I don't think so. I work alone. Plus I'd be taking a pay cut."

"Your loss" He says monotone before turning to pick his blaster up before walking away.

    I'm taken aback by his comment. Does he really think he's better than me? One of my biggest downfalls is people doubting me just because I'm a woman.

"You know...the last man to doubt me ended up with a broken nose and stitches."

He continues walking as if he didn't hear me, but I know he did. "Te jatne beroya kelir parjir (may the best bounty hunter win)" I whisper under my breath. Flipping my hood back over my head, I storm off in the opposite direction he went.

    Cursing to myself in my native tongue, I take a few moments to collect myself from the encounter and get back to work. Before the Twi-lek had gotten a hold of me about my tail, I had tracked the bounty to a small village a few kicks due north. It's quite a distance to walk but I really don't feel the need to take my ship there. Thankfully I've stashed my speeder bike on board, it makes for tight living quarters but it works I guess.

    Once I reach my ship, I give the bike a quick once over before dragging it down the ramp. Giving it a quick start, it seems to be running fine. I hop on and speed off towards the small down, in hopes my counterpart hasn't already caught on. Luckily for me, I paid the Twi-lek a little extra to send him astray.

———

    By the time I make it to the village, the early morning sun is beginning to brighten the sky. The village also appears to be waking up which is perfect. A few people are milling around giving me strange looks and at first they are stand offish - which really is not a surprise to me...people seem to be afraid of Mandalorians. I approach an older woman who doesn't seem to be bothered by my presence.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you but I'm looking for someone and was wondering if you might help me?"

She doesn't stop what she's doing and speaks quietly, "Not here...follow me." She turns and heads between two of the small huts.

Leading me into a small hut that appears to be some kind of storage shed, she stops. "I figured it was better we talk here."

I cock my head at her. "The locals around here are uneasy about people asking questions. I think I know exactly who you are looking for. You see there have been mercenaries lurking around."

I don't move or say anything and she continues, "You look like a capable warrior....get rid of them." She must sense that I'm eyeing her.

"You must be wondering why I would trust some stranger...I've heard the stories about Mandalorians...it will be easy work for you and solve our problem."

I offer her a curt nod, "Where can I find them?"

———

    Having followed the exact directions the old woman gave me which lead me to a camp just east of the village. I find a good scouting spot and perch myself at the top of a hill near some brush. Using my HUD's thermal scan, I get a read on how many are down there - 12...I've taken out worse...Leaving my perch, I walk towards their camp and they do exactly as I had expected. A group of 2 meet me at the road while 2 others stand guard.

"You lost?" One of them asks. I tilt my visor between the four of them, calculating my move depending on how this conversation goes.

"I asked you a question."

"I heard you" I sass.

Scoffing the man turns to the others laughing.

"Did I say something funny?" I snap, starting to lose my patience.

"This one seems to be a little slow" another one says, his tone mocking me.

"You've got quite the mouth on you, young lady" The first man says walking a circle around me checking out my armor.

I'd take him out right there but there's always a bigger fish. Not only that, he'll get what he deserves,

"No. I'm not lost. I'd like to speak to the one in charge, since it's clearly not you."

After he finishes his circle he stops in front of me with a disgusted look on his face, "Follow me." He leads me into the camp with the others trailing behind.

Stopping at the fire, and the man turns to me "Wait here." He disappears into their ship.

    Looking over my shoulder, I make a mental note of where the other 3 are standing behind me. As I look around more come out of the woodwork, coming to a grand total of 10 - someone's paranoid and rightfully so. Just then the man from earlier appears followed by 2 more - one wearing the face of the man on my puck.

"I hear you asked to speak with me" he says, voice booming through the camp.

"There's a bounty out for you. I'm here to collect" my tone is flat, this group seems like one that would get spurred on by irritation.

The bounty takes out a blade and starts walking towards me laughing "Darling..." He starts and drags the flat side of the blade across my chest, to my shoulder, and around my back.

"Wonder how much we could get for armor like that? What'd ya think boys?" There's a series of whoops and hollers.

He stops dragging the blade and leans in to whisper, "or maybe I'll just keep it as a trophy."

I smirk to myself, "Be careful what you wish for" venom dripping from my words.

Sliding my hands down towards my blasters, I get ready to draw them. Just as I'm about to, their leader takes the knife and puts it to my throat, getting in close, "I don't think so."

    Kneeing him in the crotch he drops to the ground in pain. Seconds after blaster fire begins to ping off my armor. I let out a low growl that sounded quite feral through my modulator. A few of the mercs begin to drop but not by my hand, blaster fire from an unknown source rings out through the air. The men in front of me look around in confusion and I take the opportunity to quickly restrain my bounty and knock him out. I then draw my blaster firing at the 3 closest to me and their bodies slump to the ground. Bending over I grab the blade - that was previously dragged across my armor - and send it flying through the air before burying itself into the chest of the man taunting me earlier.

    Getting both myself and my bounty to cover, I make mental note of the direction the blaster fire comes from. Once I figure out where they are, I pick the bounty up - who thankfully is a small human man - throwing him over my shoulder, and racing to my speeder. Putting as much distance between me and the sound of the fight behind me as fast as I can.

    Once I get there, I quickly throw him on before starting it up and jumping on myself. A blaster bolt flys over my head and a familiar modulated voice yells something that I can't quite hear over the speeder's engine. Annoyed, I whip my helmeted head around, to see the Mandalorian from last night running in my direction. With a smirk plastered on my face, I speed off towards my ship. Getting away with the bounty we both wanted.

"I guess we know who the better bounty hunter is."

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