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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 16 days ago

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Ludos Imperiales IIII

Summary: Princess!Reader tries to convince her mates to leave the Empire, but they have other ideas.

Content Warnings: Mentions of Slavery/Abuse

Part 1, 2, 3

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Anise is right; I do look like shit. No attempt at washing my face or fixing my hair or changing my clothes changes the sickly color that remains on my skin from the time spent with my head in the toilet. Secluding myself in the house these last couple months have already sapped the color from my cheeks, but today’s events have not helped bring any life back into my features. The dull, lifeless gray of my eyes, the limpness of my hair, the way my dress hangs limp off me… I do not recognize the face in the mirror.

“Anise?” She’s still pacing in my chambers, biting on her weathered thumbnail. Her anxiety makes the vines sprouting from her head grow, leaves and tiny, yellow flowers blossoming as the thick strands slither down her waist.

“You shouldn’t see them alone,” she persists.

I brush a strand of hair over my yellowing cheek, then push it back behind my ear. I can explain away a bruise. Besides, it is not as if I can expect them to care enough about me to ask how it got there.

I sigh as I push the hair back in front of my face. I do not want to appear weak and frail, not in front of my mates. Not in front of anybody. I need to remain strong.

“Anise,” I try again, turning away from the mirror. There is nothing I can do to change it now, the damage is done and it’s too late in the evening to call for one of my lady’s-in-waiting to come help me fix it. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Get the guard? Yes, a splendid idea!”

I snag her arm as she goes for the door. “No, Anise.”

She huffs her irritation. “You’re being foolish, Little One.”

Probably; she won’t hear that from me though. “I need you to look into something for me and I need you not to tell a soul about it.”

She goes still at that, her emerald eyes widening in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to see if there is passage out of the Empire and into the Wastes through the sea.”

Her bark-like features twist in surprise as I continue. “I need a passage my Father doesn’t know about, and I need it quickly.”

“What have you done?” She whispers.

“Nothing. Not yet anyway.”

Anise fights her way out of my grip so she can take my face in her hands. “Now you listen to me, child! I have already lost your Mother, do not ask me to sit here and lose you too.”

“It’s not for me.”

Her eyes flick to the door and back. “Them?”

I nod.

“Why?”

“They’re dead men if I don’t,” I say, hoping the heaviness in my voice is enough to keep her from pressing further. I do not have it in me to admit what they are after what I’ve done, not even to her. Her loyalty was always to my Mother first, and I trust her more than anyone, but there are some secrets best kept close to the vest. Maybe she’d never tell anyone, but her mouth wanders sometimes, and if it were to slip… any number of the staff would sell me out to my Father in a heartbeat. I have to be careful. This is all I can tell her for now.

“I don’t like this,” she whispers. “You are entering a dangerous game. If your Father finds out…”

“Don’t let him find out,” I counter, pulling free of her grip. If I linger any longer, I will lose my nerve. I need to see them now.

My hands shake as I open the door. Moonlight spills into the hallway from the high, open windows on either side of me. I’d kept the heavy, silk curtains pushed against the far walls closed for months and months, refusing to accept that time was moving on without me. Anise had opened them this morning, when I’d announced I was finally ready to go out again. She’d hoped the fresh air would be good for me, truth be told, so had I. I didn’t expect so much to change in such a short time frame.

There are guards on patrol outside the windows. A couple torches had been lit along the path through the gardens, bathing their armored heads and ridiculously large horse hair plumes in an orange glow. As a kid, I’d thought they were monsters when I’d see them in this light, stalking through the palace grounds; maybe I hadn’t been so far off.

Anise trails after me. “I will do it, but you will let me accompany you for this first.”

“No.” I should head out the side door and follow the footpath to the guest house, but I make a show of walking towards the kitchen instead. There is a servant’s passage through the cellar that will keep me out of sight. As far as the guards are concerned, I’m getting a snack in the kitchen with my maid. No one needs to know that I’m meeting the Illyrians.

“Why are you…” she stops when we come to the kitchen. All the lights are off. The staff asleep earlier than usual so they can, undoubtedly, rise earlier in the morning in order to prepare bigger meals than they’re used to. They have to be in an uproar over the sheer amount of guards they’ll have to feed every day now. The House has not seen much attention in the last couple of months; I certainly wasn’t hosting any parties.

“Is this a sex thing?”

I am grateful the dark hides the blush working its way up my neck and cheeks. “What!?”

“It’s not like you to sneak around, I’m just wondering if there’s something happening here between you and them?” She is the only other person that knows about the secret passages in the house. Mother had them built as a safety measure against intruders, and promptly found an excuse to execute the architect before he could show Father the plans. There are a number of false doors and hidden hallways throughout the house, a couple of secret exits and a panic room only accessible with a key I keep around my neck at all times. She was as paranoid as my Father, but at least hers had practical applications. And could now serve as a means to move around my house without arousing suspicion.

“This most definitely is not a sex thing!” I hiss.

I mean, yes, some sponsors do sleep with their champions. Hels, some sponsors sell their champions for a night of pleasure to the highest bidder. Amarantha and my cousins included. It was an abhorrent practice that I tried not to think about in the past, but the mere suggestion of it has me clenching my fists. Did she truly think I’d stoop to that?

“You’re being strange is all I’m saying,” she returns.

“I don’t have time for this. If you’re going to insist on hovering, just make it look like we’re in here making a snack, will you?”

“Will you tell me why this is necessary?”

I pry the door that leads down to the cellar open slowly, conscious of how loudly it squeaks and trying to minimize the noise as best I can. “No.”

“Then I’m coming with!”

I slip behind the door and hold it nearly closed as she approaches. “Fine, we’ll talk when I get back. Happy?”

Even in the dark I can see her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Don’t get pregnant.”

“I’m not fucking them!” I hiss as I close the door. She’s impossible! Once she sets her mind on something, she just can’t let it go. At least she doesn’t try to follow me.

There’s a slim set of stairs that leads down into the cellar lined with fae lights that flicker to life as I descend. Rows of dried meats and herbs hang from the rafters, casting eerie shadows over the shelf lined walls. The cellar is lined with rows of more shelves and barrels of wine, everything cataloged and arranged in alphabetical order. Our steward has always been exceptionally neat, and the concealed door in the backs sits connected to the wall where he keeps all his flour. I will have to remember to sweep the floor upon my return, just in case anything falls from the shelf and gives the door away.

The door opens by turning one of the panels in the wood in a full circle, disturbing a sack of flour as it swings inward with a groan. The hallway is dark and dusty, a heavy layer of cobwebs disturbed by the door. I haven’t used this tunnel in years.

I take one of the bobbing fae lights out of its perch on the stairs and carry it with me into the dark, making sure the door closes behind me, just in case any of the guards decide to come do a sweep of the place now that they’ve seen Anise in the kitchen. I can’t be sure of their orders, I have to assume that they will check on everyone in the house if there is the slightest deviation from the routine. Which also means I need to make this quick.

The silence of the tunnel is not good for my nerves, I find myself once again digging my knuckle into the knot in my chest. Without Anise to distract me, I’m once again consumed with the guilt of having to look at them after what I’d done. Not knowing why they’re asking to see me doesn’t help either.

The tunnel slopes downward, filled with cobwebs and the occasional rat I startle back into holes in the walls. There’s some rain damage along the supports I should really have looked at, but updating these means having to tell someone about them, and that’s not an option. Not unless I wish for Father to find out about it, or worse, be forced into a situation where I have to consider killing an architect after rebuilding it as my Mother had done. There haven’t been any reasons for the tunnels since I was a child, I’ll avoid having to make any decisions on it until I absolutely have to. As long as the roof holds, I can make do.

Mother wanted to ensure that this place had multiple advantages, one of them being strategically placed and concealed vents for both air flow, and espionage. The vent hidden in the garden lets me hear the stomping of boots as the guards pass overhead. Some of them complain about the quiet as they pass each other, but it doesn’t sound like they’re yet suspicious of me moving around the house this late.

I keep moving, comforted just a little by the fact that I don’t have to worry about dealing with them yet.

The tunnel curves in a crescent shape to come around the back of the guest house, where there’s a door carefully hidden behind the lararium built for the Mother. The carefully carved statue of our beloved Goddess hides the door, and the altar serves as a deterrent to keep people from looking too close at the seams in the wall. It also hides the vent that lets me hear three, arguing voices, even in hushed tones:

“This is a bad idea, Rhys!” Cassian.

“It is our only shot,” Rhysand shoots back.

Their voices are so different: Cassian’s gruff and husky, Rhysand’s smooth and rich. Having them near soothes an anxiousness I didn’t know was inside me, I find myself drawn closer and closer to the door, just for a chance to listen to them speak. I’ve never had something as simple as a voice cause such an intense reaction before. All of this is so new and foreign; it will take some getting used to.

“I don’t care!” Cassian returns, the words sharp as a knife. “I don’t want anything to do with her.”

And just like that, my revelry is broken and that pesky knot in my chest returns. It is an effort to get a deep enough breath in, as if someone had sucker punched me right in the stomach. He really does hate me. It was one thing to think it, but it’s another to hear it so openly. I really have ruined this before it even had a chance to begin.

“She is our only chance,” Azriel chimes in, voice a hissed whisper. He sounds agitated, I can picture him pacing in front of the altar.

“She’s his daughter! Am I the only one bothered by that?” Cassian protests.

“That’s exactly why we need her,” Rhysand counters.

Time slows to a crawl. Need me? Hope is a pesky, irritating, thing that I shove down inside me, even as my body moves to press itself against the door, waiting for them to continue.

“We can’t trust her.”

“Yes we can,” Azriel retorts.

I wonder if they can hear my heartbeat stuttering through the door--no matter that it’s waded so I can hear them and they can’t hear me, it’s so loud it still feels like a possibility.

“What, because your shadows can smell that on her?” Cassian sneers.

“Because I looked in her head,” Rhysand hisses, his voice rising.

I know that I have a limited amount of time to do this, but I can’t bring myself to open the door, not with a confession like that. What does he mean he looked in my head?

“She’s terrified of him.”

“She could have fooled me. She didn’t look a bit terrified of branding us.”

“Because she didn’t brand us at all!” Rhysand snarls. “I did.”

“You hit your fucking head harder than I thought.”

“Asking for us to be spared threw Hybern off his game. Whatever plans he has for us got derailed because of her. And we need whatever edge we can get right now. When I slipped into her mind, she was panicking, she couldn’t do it and we would have all been fucked. I moved her hands around that iron, I touched it to your skin. Not her. She was so distraught over it I had to hold her upright the whole way back. Trust me, she liked it as much as you did.”

“But the collar…?” Cassian stammers.

“It dims a lot of my powers, but not all of them. I threw what I had out there. It only works when I’m close. Whatever she felt after we separated, whatever she’s doing now, I can’t get a feel.”

Rhysand was that invisible hand on me? I hadn’t just imagined it? How is that even possible? The twins are Daemati, but even they can’t reach into someone’s head and control them like that, especially with the gorsian chains in the way. At least, they’d never shown me they could. I suppose I’d never thought to ask.

“We have to act fast,” Azriel chimes in. “The quicker we get ahead of this, the more time we have to work around Hybern. Until now, he’s always been one step ahead of us. We’ve been playing his games on his terms. She… changes things.”

Does he know that we’re mates? Could that really mean something to him?

“Why are you so quick to trust her?” Cassian challenges. “Let's say what Rhys saw in her head is even real, because let's face it, she very well could be like the twins and been throwing those things up to see if you’d take the bait, but for the sake of the argument, sure they’re real. So what? What do you think she’s going to do here? Throw in her lot with us and help us overthrow her father?”

“Yes,” Rhysand says, as if it’s just that simple.

They can’t really be serious with this, can they?

“What could she possibly get out of it? She’s a spoiled princess who has not had to feel the effects of this Empire a day in her life! The best of this place has been handed to her and you think she’s just going to give that up to a couple of bastards like us?”

I dig my knuckle into my chest again, trying to ease the tension that feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my skin.

“You don’t get it,” Azriel hisses.

“Explain it to me, Az!” Cassian shoots back. “Explain to me how the limited interaction we had convinced you that she’s a good person who would help us for the hell of it?”

“You don’t have to trust her, Cass,” Rhysand interjects. “That doesn’t change the fact that we need her.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth. I’m supposed to be saving them; I’m supposed to be getting them as far away from this place as possible and they want me to what? Overthrow my Father? It’s delusional. No one can outmaneuver him. Mother tried and failed. How many rebels has Amarantha executed? How many slaves have been carted from the far reaches, having been defeated for daring to oppose the Empire? Everyone that has ever gone up against him has lost and paid for it with their lives. I can’t let them do this. It’s suicide!

I get my hand on the hidden lock and turn. It’s my responsibility as a mate to save them from themselves. I have to put this foolish notion to bed. By tomorrow, Anise will have an answer about a way out of here. I just need them to stay put for the night and this mess will be over.

I get the impression they are not males used to being taken by surprise, if the way they stand their gaping at me is any indication. Dark shadows wreath Azriel’s, still bare, shoulders, curling around his ears like they’re living things whispering in his ear. His scarred hands twitch over his hip, as if he’s reaching for a weapon instinctively, despite there being nothing there.

Rhysand grins wolfishly as he leans a bruised shoulder against the doorframe, violet eyes once again roving over every inch of me. “Aren’t you full of surprises, Princess?”

“What if we had been indecent?” Cassian retorts.

“You’re barely dressed now,” I blurt before I can stop myself, though it is true. He’s stripped down to his boxers, using what was once a white towel, but it’s now brown, to clean up a gash across his thigh. Judging by the color of the bruising and the still forming scab, the wound is from before the arena. He needs to have it cleaned and looked at by a healer. I should be focusing on that. I should not be focusing on how large his thighs are, or imagining what it might feel like to sit in his lap.

Rhysand’s grin broadens like he can hear my thoughts, and then I remember that he can.

Shit! I need to focus. I need to put my shields up, just like I do when I’m around the twins. Just because they’re my mates, doesn’t mean they’re incapable of using their abilities on me. Who’s to say, if Rhysand really is powerful enough to move me around like a puppet, even with the collar, that he won’t simply reach in and use me as he sees fit if I don’t cooperate. I don’t know anything about them. I have to be careful.

“We can strip down if you’d like?” He purrs.

“Did you make me come all this way just to harass me, or…?” I let the question hang there so I can give myself an extra second to reinforce my mental shields.

“Sorry to pull you from your ivory tower,” Cassian snarls.

I instinctively take a step away from him, the venom behind each word enough to make me flinch despite myself. Azriel moves away from where he’s been sitting on the edge of the altar, effectively putting himself between us. “No, we didn’t.”

“Then what do you want?” My shields are in place, but I feel my confidence waning. I thought that this would be easy, that the bond would make everything click into place for us. They could trust me and I could trust them and this thing that tethered us together would put us at an even playing field. But it doesn’t. Our goals are off and I don’t know how to get them even, I don’t know how to get them to listen to me.

“We want your help,” Rhysand says.

“We need your help,” Azriel corrects.

I should just tell them that I heard them and skip all the repetitiveness, but there is a piece of me that worries I was naive before, and that they will tell me something different to my face. Maybe I’m the only one who feels the bond and they merely see me as something to be manipulated and used. I have to be sure.

“With what?” I ask.

“We want Hybern off the throne,” Rhysand explains. He hasn’t left his perch against the wall; though his gaze lingers on me, he gives me space that feels intentional. As if I’m a rabid dog he thinks might bite if it feels cornered. “We think you do too.”

“And why would you think that?” It is only from years of training that my voice doesn’t shake. How can they be so flippant about this? Saying those words out loud is enough to have their heads removed from their shoulders. The thought that any guard walking past might hear has me shaking, yet they don’t even flinch.

“He scares you,” Azriel says. His voice is already a low whisper, but it softens when he looks at me. A tendril of shadows slithers down his leg and across the floor, tentatively drifting across the pale tiles to come poke around at my ankles.

“He scares everybody and for good reason.” I need to keep my original goal in mind here. I’m here to get them out. They need to see the necessity of it. “Do you know how many people are dead because they underestimated him? No one is safe.”

“That’s why he needs to be stopped,” Rhysand presses.

Cassian folds his broad arms over his tattooed chest, frowning, but he doesn’t jump into the conversation. While Rhysand’s gaze is assessing, Cassian’s is cold, unyielding. He’s made up his mind about me.

The fact that the others haven’t gives me more hope than I know I should have. They will have to leave anyway. I should hope they haven’t felt the bond, hope that it doesn’t convince them to stay. They need to be far, far away. But there is a small, desperate piece of me that clings to it anyway.

“He can’t be stopped.” I bite back all the bitterness and rage that threatens to escape out of me and try to keep my tone even, unbothered.

“You stopped him this afternoon,” Azriel counters as his shadow brushes up my calf like a phantom cat. They feel like a slight brush of breath against my skin, gentle and strange and I might giggle against the sensation if I wasn’t so focused on keeping my composure.

I don’t kick it off either. A broken, desperate piece of me claws after the attention and blatant need for affection like a lifeline.

“He listened to you,” Rhysand presses, doubling down when he sees me hesitate. Azriel isn’t wrong, though he’s not, technically right either. Still, he sees an opening and he swoops down like a vulture to take it. “No one else has that kind of influence.”

“It was a fluke,” I retort. “He was surprised. That won’t happen again.”

“It will if you keep surprising him,” Rhysand counters. “He has you, and everyone else, in a quaint little box, but if you deviate from the script he’s written for you, you can maneuver him where you want him.”

My hand goes instinctively to my bruised cheek, right as Azriel’s shadow comes slithering up my shoulder. It lets out a soft huffing sound as it follows my wrist to see what my fingers are doing. The shadow still curled around Azriel’s ear hisses softly, like the two are communicating. Maybe they are, given the way his eyes darken.

“You cannot fight him.” I pull my hand away from my face a little faster than I mean to, and the shadow curls into my palm, inspecting the indents my fingernails had left earlier. “You might as well quit while you’re ahead.”

“I wouldn’t call this being ahead,” Cassian huffs, turning his wrist to flash the brand I put there.

“I can find passage out of the Empire for you.” We’re going to run out of time if we keep standing here talking in circles. The guard will get curious eventually. They are bound to wonder why the lights are still on and no one is preparing for bed soon. “I should know by morning when it will be here.”

“If that’s true, why haven’t you taken it?” Cassian challenges.

Azriel takes a tentative step towards me. For someone so large, he’s surprisingly quiet on his feet. “I was terrified of my father too,” he says gently.

I can’t help but look at his hands. Had his father done that to him?

“I thought it was normal, how he treated me. I thought everyone was afraid of their father. I didn’t know any better until I got out. Until I met these two jackasses.”

Rhysand snorts a laugh behind him.

Cassian grumbles out a retort that sounds like it’s in another language.

Azriel stops when he’s only a few inches away from me. I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. “Sometimes you just need a little help. We can help each other, like you helped us earlier, right?”

I’ve lived around the ass kissing and political games of the palace long enough to know when someone’s trying to work an angle on me, and this isn’t one of those times. He means it. As hard to imagine that someone his size, someone who just took down a Giant and a bunch of Wargs, even with his wings broken, could be scared of anything, I believe him.

The bond warms, just a little. It’s nice, after years of feeling like no one could hear me when I whispered my complaints, to have a kinship with someone. I cling to that little shred of warmth like it’s a roaring fire amidst a blizzard. How long have I begged the Mother for even a shred of solace like this?

Perhaps that makes me weak. Perhaps I am a fool, but I want this. I want them.

“A lot of good my help did,” it comes out in a whisper, like it’s dragging itself out of my throat.

“But it does help,” Rhysand interjects. “Being your champions gives us an excuse to be close, and it gets us into places we couldn’t get before. You give us direct access to your father. That’s all we need.”

Azriel reaches out and brushes that loose strand of hair I’d pushed over my cheek behind my ear, scarred fingers brushing over my jaw with a feather light touch that is not unlike the one his shadow gives me. My whole body trembles all the same.

“We won’t let anyone hurt you,” he promises.

I am entirely unprepared for that kind of promise. I’m supposed to be protecting them, not the other way around, but I’ve been on my own for awhile now, and I can’t help the way my body leans into that faint brush of his hand over my skin. Am I so starved for affection that even this feels like some grand gesture?

“We’re not asking you to do any fighting. You’re not challenging him.” Rhysand assures. “We merely need you to use these brands to your advantage. Drag us around with you. Show off the prize you’ve claimed like anyone else in the Empire would.”

My stomach twists.

“Play the games the rest of the court plays, and we will do all the rest,” he assures.

“I don’t understand how that helps you?”

“For now, we need to observe his habits. There’s a parade tomorrow, right?”

Shit, I’d forgotten about that!

“Yes.”

“Take us with you,” Rhysand explains. “Lots of people bring their champions out like bodyguards or trophies, right?”

“Or dogs,” Cassian hisses.

I wince. “Yes.”

“We don’t know much about the city. Just act like you’re showing us off so we can get a look around.”

He makes it sound so simple.

“And then what?”

He shrugs as he finally pushes off the wall. Though the touch had been brief, Azriel hasn’t moved out of my space, and seeing that it hasn’t sent me running, Rhysand takes this as a sign that he can move closer too. He’s just barely shorter than Azriel, and despite the fact that I inherited my Mother’s height, I cannot help but feel small next to them. I don’t think I entirely mind though.

“Leave the strategies to us. The less you know what we’re doing and when, the safer you are. This is a long game, we have to take it one step at a time.”

“I don’t think you realize how dangerous playing this game with my Father is,” I warn. If anything were to happen to them because I didn’t insist on getting them on that ship in the morning, I’d never forgive myself!

He grins, flecks of starlight glinting in his eyes. He really is the most beautiful male I’ve ever seen, even with all the grime and blood on him. Which reminds me, they still haven’t seen the healer. Ember will never let me hear the end of it; I’m surprised she didn’t come with Anise to bust down my door.

“Let us do the worrying, Princess.” He’s very confident for someone who had just been thrown into a pit and been forced to fight a bunch of monsters. I hate to admit it, but that confidence worms its way through the bond like a rat chewing through a wall. No matter how hard I try to fight it back, a bit of it hits me anyway. Even without his presence inside my head, I feel safer when he’s near.

My gaze flicks from him to Azriel for confirmation that this is something they have both agreed on, and he nods reassuringly.

“You really think you can win?” I ask.

“Darling, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my people,” Rhysand vows. “Whatever it takes to see them free, I will do it.”

So much for me finding a way to get them out of here, they’re pretty determined to stay, influence from the mating bond or not. On one hand, if I do this, I can keep an eye on them; maybe I can find ways to rig another Game, can make sure they have everything they need to survive. On the other hand, this is crazy! We’re talking about taking on Hybern. Take him being my Father out of the question, no one has ever won anything against him, he’s always two steps ahead, always sees the outcome before it happens.

I take my lower lip between my teeth again. I’m going to need a dark shade of lipstick in the morning to hide all the teeth marks I’ve undoubtedly left in it today.

“Let’s say I agree, but only on a trial basis,” I begin, trying and failing to organize all my thoughts. The bond pulls me one way and rationale pulls me the other. I cannot find a happy middle ground. “If tomorrow goes poorly, will you get on the boat and leave the Empire behind?”

“Happily,” Cassian huffs.

Rhysand shrugs, “Ask me again tomorrow.”

I have a sinking feeling it’ll be the same answer tomorrow, but I’ll take whatever I can get, as long as it means there’s a shot at keeping them alive.

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#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #azriel x reader #Cassian x reader #bat boys x reader #poly!bat boys #poly!bat boys x reader #gladiator!bat boys #gladiator!bat boys x reader #acotar au #acotar fanfiction #enemies to lovers #slow burn #my writing #my fanfic #eventual smut

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lucysarah-c · 2 months ago

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Mounting Spring Ch. 4

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21.Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another. Masterlist to the previous parts! Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

A weariness clung to his body, one he couldn’t quite explain beyond being so utterly drained that even taking a shower felt like a monumental effort.

With a weary sigh, he pushed himself up from where he’d been slouched against the desk and slowly blew out the candles scattered around the office. Darkness didn’t bother him. He was used to it—had spent years orienting himself in the black void of the underground. The faint moonlight spilling through the window was more than enough. Compared to those shadowed depths, this was child’s play.

That night, the moon seemed unusually bright. His tired gaze drifted to the large arched window behind his desk. Waxing moon… or was it full already?

‘Don’t they say some bullshit about omegas going into heat during the full moon?’

He scoffed. “Urban myth,” he muttered. It sounded like something out of a witch’s tale. But, come to think of it, wasn’t she supposed to be in season?

The stack of paperwork on his desk taunted him with the reminder that he’d probably have to pull an all-nighter. The thought made his jaw clench. After everything that had happened that day, he muttered a curt, “Fuck it,” and extinguished the last candle. The room plunged into shadow as he dragged himself toward the bathroom.

But then his attention snagged on the slightly ajar door leading to his bedroom. It wasn’t wide open, but it wasn’t shut either—a hesitation in its placement that mirrored her presence in his life. Maybe she didn’t feel she had the right to close it entirely. Or perhaps she didn’t want to invite him in.

Levi wasn’t sure what possessed him to check. Maybe he wanted to ensure she was asleep. Maybe it was just an excuse, though he hated the idea of coming off as some kind of creep.

The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the sound of his footsteps. His sharp ears picked up no stirring from the other side of the door. She was asleep—curled into a small ball beneath the blankets. Her face was peaceful, framed by a tangle of hair splayed across the pillow.

‘She looks young,’ he thought absently, then corrected himself: Younger.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and tore his gaze away. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered, retreating into the safety of the bathroom.

As he stripped off his clothes, a faint scent clung to the fabric. It wasn’t unpleasant—not even close—but it was strong enough to make his body react in a way he resented.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, frowning deeply. “It’s not my fault,” he groaned, trying to shake the thought from his head. She wasn’t in heat, after all. If she had been, he’d already be climbing the walls. He grimaced at the thought of what that would’ve meant—both a curse and a convenience. Her hormones would have made her eager, desperate even, and he… well, he wouldn’t have had the luxury to hesitate. Instinct would’ve taken over, and by now, it would all be over—messy, but over.

But she wasn’t in heat, and that was both a blessing and a complication. On one hand, it spared them both the humiliation of fumbling through something neither of them wanted. On the other hand, he was standing half-naked in his bathroom, trying to keep his thoughts clean while the girl he barely knew slept just a room away.

‘It’s like jerking off to the thought of a coworker,’ he thought with disgust. ‘Not illegal, but it feels like it.’

He needed a clear head—desperately. Most of his squad had gone through their ruts recently, their youth amplifying every primal urge. She smelled too good for a group of young, horny alphas to ignore. A cold shower might’ve been the smart choice, but the chill of the rain earlier still clung to his skin, and he just wanted to collapse into bed.

His bed wasn’t an option, though—not tonight. Instead, he grabbed a pillow from the couch in the corner of his office. He propped it against the armrest and sank down, throwing a thin gray blanket over himself. His head rested against his arm, and his other hand lazily scratched at his stomach, the hem of his shirt riding up. The dim glow of the moonlight played across the room, and he stared at the ceiling, eyes heavy but his mind restless.

“What the hell am I going to do,” he murmured to himself.

The sharpness of his fags could be perceived by his tongue that, under the foreign texture couldn’t stop feeling it. That, the thickness of his saliva and the clear feeling that his loose pants were perhaps a bit tight. It was obvious, she smelled too good, his own nature being highlighted by the time of the year and, in particular, the lack of exposure. Frowning and sighing loudly, he rolled over to a side searching for a position comfortable enough for him to fall asleep into.

Sleep came eventually. For Levi, sleeping on a couch with a makeshift pillow and a mission-worn blanket was a luxury compared to the alternatives. For once, exhaustion was kind.

On the other side of the room, her mind kept replaying the scene.

“Die. Just go. You’re making this harder for me,” she whispered, gripping the edge of the small French balcony of the borrowed household. The late-night air was cold against her skin as she stared down at the street below. It was late, the streets below barely lit, and her eyes darted nervously toward the door of her room before returning to the darkness beyond.

The young man standing below, dark-haired with striking gold eyes, still wore his military uniform. He looked up at her with an pleading expressing, “Come on, Y/N,” he called up, his voice a mix of desperation and imploring. “Are you really going to let it all go? I can talk to someone—someone higher up that with what’s going on. We can change this. You don’t have to do it.”

Her grip tightened on the balcony’s iron railing, her knuckles white with tension. She shook her head sharply, pressing her forehead to the cold metal. His words only deepened the ache inside her. Referring to her loss of the season to “what’s going on” made it sound trivial, dismissive, when it had torn her apart. “Stop it,” she whispered. Her voice trembled as she added, “I’m doing this for my family.”

“You don’t deserve this,” he said softly, his eyes locked on her. “You deserve the life you’ve worked for—just as much as your siblings do.”

“Y/N!”

The shout startled her, and she flinched, slamming the window shut as the door to her room swung open. She spun around, pressing her back against the glass, hands behind her to brace it closed. Her heart thundered in her chest, afraid of being caught—not by her two-year-old sister, but by someone who might hold more authority.

“What is it, Mae?” she asked, forcing calmness into her voice as the toddler raised her arms to be picked up. She obliged, hoisting the little girl onto her hip before sitting on the bed, her exhaustion evident. Her tangled hair framed her face, damp from the cold towels she’d used to try to soothe her pounding headache.

“Are you leaving because I used your makeup?” Mae pouted, her large, curious eyes searching Y/N’s face.

Y/N managed a tired smile. The memory of her two younger sisters destroying her makeup a few days earlier flickered briefly in her mind. Back then it had infuriated her, now it seemed like a distant worry. “No, Mae. I’m leaving because I’m getting married. Remember?” she said, her tone soft, trying to explain in a way the toddler could understand.

“What about being princesses?” Mae pouted harder.

It broke her. Tears welled in her eyes, and she pulled her sister into a tender hug. The pounding in her head and the dull ache in her lower belly were relentless, her body rebelling against her refusal to conceive this season—as if she’d had a choice.

Mae was innocence incarnate, her wide-eyed questions too pure for the weight they carried. But her older brother, on the other hand, had been no help. She’d found one of the WANTED posters of her soon-to-be husband plastered on her dressing table as a joke.

“You think this is funny?!” Y/N snapped, shaking the boy by his shoulders. Her anger surged, raw and unrestrained, but she bit back the urge to slap him. “I’m doing this for you, idiot! For you, for Ed, for Mom!”

“You’re not in charge,” the boy spat, his voice cracking but defiant. “Dad’s home, remember?”

The arrogance in his tone made her blood boil. Ever since their father’s return, the boy had become insufferable, emboldened by his status as the favored child and the budding dominance of his alpha nature.

“You want to be a man so badly? Then act like one and know your place!” she hissed, shoving the crumpled poster into his chest.

“You’re marrying a subversive,” he sneered with disdain, parroting words he clearly didn’t understand.

“I’m marrying someone who’ll make sure you don’t have to live off scraps and pity from the military, you little fool!” she snarled. Her hands trembled as frustration and heartbreak collided.

That memory dissolved into another—curled on her bed, her body wracked with cramps. The bathroom light, still on, spilled into the room. From the cracked door, she could hear her parents arguing. The light from the corridor illuminated the carpeted floor by the ajar door, casting her parents' distorted shadows like a muppets show against the ground.

“She needs to rest,” her mother said, trying to placate the man’s rising fury. “These things happens —”

“She’s ruining us!” her father screamed. “This was our chance, and she’s screwing it all up!”

Her sobs grew louder, muffled only by the pillow she pressed against her face. She lay with her back to the slightly open door, as if trying to shield herself from the conflict. They had been arguing for a while about the possibility, the events all pointing in one direction. That alone had fueled this outrage. ‘How am I going to tell them?’ The thought made her chest tighten with anxiety.

They argued over a possibility, now she had to confirmed them that it was a reality. Only minutes ago, she had walked to the bathroom—the golden light of the candle still flickering there. When her fingers came away stained with blood, the confirmation of what she already knew—her heat had passed, her body rejecting what it was supposed to do.

“She’s not doing it on purpose!” her mother argued.

“Then fix her! Give her some calming tea, call the damn doctor, do something! You think he'll keep her if she’s not useful?!”

She gripped the pillow tightly before tossing it over her head and pressing it hard against her face, as if she could make the world vanish for a moment. Silently pleading for the shouting to stop. ‘Please… just stop.’

None of the memories from the past week came to her in order; they just replayed chaotically in her mind. When her tired eyes fluttered open in the dim light of the room, she realized she had been tearing up in her sleep. The shadows cast inside the room weren’t her parents', and the voices weren’t theirs either. Sitting up slightly, she became aware of her surroundings. The sheets felt rough, and the mattress was smaller than what she was used to.

The memory of when she had fallen asleep completely eluded her, but the clock on the nightstand indicated it was already morning. She couldn’t tell by the window; the rain was still pouring heavily outside. The hushed whispers of two people on the other side of the room made her debate whether to sit up or feign sleep. She quickly chose the latter as the sound of someone opening the door reached her ears. Curling up in the bed, she pulled the sheets over her face, nearly hiding herself entirely.

With her face almost fully covered, the scent of the bed surrounded her. There was something subtly unsettling about the lingering fragrance of someone else on the sheets—a constant reminder that this wasn’t her bed. Yet, it wasn’t unpleasant. Quite the opposite, it was oddly soothing. Her decision to pretend to be asleep shifted into the realization that she could drift off again. Perhaps her subconscious was taking over, responding instinctively to the alpha's scent that enveloped her—a primal comfort, making her feel safe and protected.

—

“Hi~” came Hange’s singsong voice as they opened the door without knocking. “Knock, knock,” they added playfully, as if mocking the concept of knocking before barging in.

Levi, standing in the middle of the room with his uniform half on and a toothbrush in his mouth, turned to glance at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, I thought you’d be less ready at this hour,” Hange remarked, stepping fully into the room.

Levi spit out the toothpaste and wiped his mouth with a towel before muttering, “What are you doing here?” His eyes landed on the tray they carried. “And with a tray?”

“I brought breakfast for the newlywed couple!”

“Shh!” Levi hissed, moving swiftly to grab the tray before Hange accidentally dropped it. He motioned for silence, his expression stern. She was still asleep, and the message was clear.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hange whispered. As Levi set the tray on the coffee table and resumed getting ready, an unusual silence settled between them. It didn’t last long.

“So…” Hange began, their curiosity bubbling to the surface. “How was it? How is she?”

Levi ignored the question, muttering a vague reply through clenched teeth as he moved about the room, clearly trying to avoid the topic.

Hange’s sharp eyes followed him, their face shifting into a grimace as the tension grew. “I’m not exactly a purebred alpha,” they finally said, “but… you don’t smell very taken to me.”

Levi, who had just sneaked inside his room a little while ago to pick up his stuff, sighed loudly and stopped moving, giving himself a moment to respond. “… I couldn’t,” he admitted finally.

Hange pressed their lips together, unusually quiet for a moment. When Levi turned to face them, their expression said it all.

“Come on,” Levi snapped. “You’re a non-stop talker, and now you shut the hell up? Say something.”

“I’m… finding it.”

Levi rolled his eyes, grumbling in frustration.

“Oh boy…” Hange finally ventured. “Well. Maybe she was just tired? Tonight, after she’s settled—”

“We agreed I wouldn’t do it if she didn’t want to.”

The blank stare Hange gave him was enough to make Levi snap. “What did you want me to do?!”

“I don’t know?!” Hange exclaimed, throwing their arms in the air. “Claim her? Maybe?!”

From an outsider’s perspective, the exchange might have been hilarious—their expressions exaggerated, their words intense, yet still whispered fiercely to avoid waking her.

Levi scowled. “Well, excuse me. Excuse me for not being a fucking rapist.”

Hange’s attempt at a lighter tone wasn’t helping. “Some would argue that you are—you’re an alpha, after all.”

“You’re an alpha too, you idiot,” Levi shot back, finding no humor in their dark joke.

“Hardly. I’m more beta than alpha.”

Levi ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You should’ve seen the puppy eyes she gave me. I’ve got fucking lots of kinks, but that’s not one of them.”

Hange clicked their tongue and shook their head. “Omega puppy eyes… the deadliest weapon of all.” They crossed their arms, leaning back thoughtfully. “Zackly’s going to kill you, though.”

“Tch.” Levi rolled his eyes. “He can suck my dick.”

That made Hange laugh more than they should have. “Seriously, though—what the hell are you going to do with an unclaimed omega in the middle of a military facility? I can catch her scent, and I’m a low-breed alpha.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d help me with,” Levi admitted, reluctant to ask for help but clearly out of his depth.

Hange didn’t answer, instead moving toward the door.

“No, no, no,” Levi muttered, darting across the room to stop them, but they had already cracked it open to peek inside.

“You’re going to wake her up,” Levi hissed, his whisper dropping to an even lower register.

Hange ignored him, their eyes fixed on the small portion of her face visible above the sheets. “… What about a convent? Maybe I can talk to a priest.”

“A convent?” Levi echoed in disbelief as his exasperation grew “That’s your solution?”

“Either that or bars on all the windows. No one gets in, no one gets out.” Hange turned to him, smirking.

Levi shot them his best deadpan expression. “We’ve gone from a convent to a prison. And you’re supposed to be the brains here?”

“I gave you a solution,” Hange retorted, leaning closer as their whispered argument continued. “Claim her.”

“I can’t!” Levi snapped, his frustration boiling over.

“Then trust,” Hange said, spreading their arms in a gesture of faith. “Then trust our soldiers. I trust them—they’ll behave,” though their tone sounded less certain with each word. “Maybe Jean will get a little too excited, like a puppy with a new toy, but he’s a good kid.”

Levi’s flat expression didn’t waver. “You trust Floch around her without me in the picture?”

The brunette, who had been sporting a confident, almost cheerful smile while defending the few original members of the Scouts before they were nearly wiped out, suddenly shifted to a serious, defeated expression. Waving a hand in the air, they muttered, "You made your point loud and clear."

The silence that followed was thick, as both stood by the door frame. Levi, arms crossed, was deep in thought. Meanwhile, Hange continued to stare at her, their eyes scanning her face across the dimly lit room.

"I’ll just… lock her up here for a couple of days until her scent calms down. It’s not ideal, but—"

Levi’s quiet musings, spoken with a defeated tone, were abruptly interrupted by Hange muttering under their breath, "She’s hella cute, though."

Levi’s hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, clicking his tongue in frustration.

"What? Can’t I compliment your wife?" the brunette asked jokingly, still admiring the sleeping girl. They tilted their head to the side, trying to get a better view. "You’re one lucky bastard."

"Four-eyes!" Levi snapped, using the old nickname he hadn’t used in years out of respect for his friend’s new position. The commander chuckled. "Stop staring at her," Levi ordered.

"I’m doing nothing," Hange shrugged, though their eyes remained fixed on the sleeping girl.

"I can fucking smell you, idiot!" Levi growled, clearly indicating that he could easily detect how Hange’s body reacted to his new wife. The spicy, interested aroma they gave off was more than enough for Levi to know that Hange found her more than just pretty.

Hange barely contained a laugh, forcing a straight face to speak. "Question, and this one’s serious," they said, their eyes twinkling. Levi’s tired expression only seemed to amuse them more. "If you two… ever get down to business, would you consider a threesom—"

"DON’T HIT ME!" Hange quickly added as Levi’s hand moved with lightning speed to smack the back of their head.

"Shut the fuck up. You’ll wake her up," Levi muttered, but Hange was already caressing the back of their head where Levi had smacked them. "And over my dead, cold body. You heard me?"

"Ugh," Hange groaned, rubbing the back of their head with their left hand. "You purebreds… are so territorial. You’re missing half the fun."

Levi remained with his arms crossed, eyes narrowing. "And you’ll be missing your only remaining eye if you ever bring that shit into my room again."

When she woke up again, the clock on the nightstand read 11 am.

(I'm sorry if this chapter was shitty, I'd been so stressed with work lately but I didn't want to let you all down another week in a row T-T)

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

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cal-flakes · 2 years ago

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okay but imagine reader posting new swimsuit on her story but rafe makes her take it down 🤑🤑

╰┈➤ “delete it”

warnings: mean!rafe, toxic relationship, swearing.

summary: y/n knows exactly how to get rafe’s attention.

she sighed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone as she lay on her stomach, legs crossed behind her. it had been an hour, and she hasn’t heard from him yet, and that wasn’t like him, what was he doing?

swiping out of instagram, she checked her messages once again. delivered, the small text said below her last message. so he’s definitely got it, but he hasn’t opened it. petty, she thought.

rolling her eyes, she diverted her attention to the numerous shopping bags scattered around her bedroom floor, quickly jumping up with an idea. if he’s too stubborn to reply, this’ll surely get his attention.

pushing yesterdays argument with rafe out of her mind, she grabbed the smallest shopping bag, reaching in to retrieve one of the many bikini sets she’d purchased earlier that day.

she unraveled the white strings delicately, laying it out in her bed with a smirk on her face. oh, how he’ll hate this.

she hummed along to the quiet music sounding around her room as she tied the bikini strap around her neck, huffing as she positioned herself awkwardly to do so.

once all the strings were tied and adjusted to compliment her curves perfectly, she played around with the light dimmer before grabbing her phone.

opening instagram, her thumb pressed down on add to story, and situated herself seductively in front of the large expensive mirror. snapping a quick photo, and adjusting the contrast, she sighed in delete as she typed in a basic caption and posted it to her story. now we wait, she thought.

thirty minutes- or so, passed while she lounged around her room, having replaced the bikini with a comfortable pair of shorts, and one of his oversized graphic tee’s. by this time, she’d forgotten all about the post, focusing on her skincare routine as she pinned her hair back in preparation.

a quite shriek escaped her lips as the first hard bang landed on the door of her apartment, her frame jolting in fright.

gathering herself, she smirked slightly as she tip-toed to the door, listening for the usual torrent of abuse to fall from his mouth.

“open the fucking door y/n, i know you’re home!” his stern voice called, full of anger. she rested her back against the wall near the door, sure to keep her footsteps quiet. she knew what she was doing, and she knew it was wrong, but she missed him- and if this was her only way to see him, then so be it.

“i swear to god y/n i’ll put this fucking door through if you don’t let me in, now!” he yelled again, followed by three more loud raps, which echoed through her small home.

giving in, she pushed back off the wall, deciding she’d had her fun. “okay-okay! chill the fuck out dude!” she shouted, hastily padding over to the door and unlocking it.

she smiled sweetly at him as he stalked through the doorway, almost squaring up. “dude?- did you just call me dude?” he seethed, nostrils flaring as he towered above her.

“yeah? what’s the big deal?” she chuckled, nonchalant closing the door behind him before making her way past, launching herself onto the couch.

following suit, his heavy footsteps taunted hee as he rounded the couch, stopping between her legs to look down on her. “delete it” he spat, fists balled up either side of him. “delete what?” she cooed, twirling her hair as she looked up at him through her lashes. “you know what y/n, don’t play fucking dumb, it won’t work this time” he snapped.

“ugh, you’re no fun” she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she picked up her phone to unlock it. “no fun? you think being a little whore for the world to see is fun?”

gasping, she feigned offence as she held a hand up to her chest, mouth agape. “woah- that was rude, very uncalled for rafe..” she teased, smirking as she felt his eyes watching her while her fingers tapped away at the screen.

“see? all gone? you happy?” she laughed, tossing her phone back to its original spot on the couch. “oh, so you just do this shit to piss me off huh?” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“well- see, i missed you, and you were being all stubborn and rafe-like because of yesterday, so what else was i supposed to do..” she muttered, delicately taking ahold of his hands to pull him onto the couch.

deflating, he allowed himself to fall into the spot next to her, his hands moving to her waist instinctively as she straddled him. “you drive me fucking insane y/n, i don’t even want to know what other stupid shit goes on in that little head of yours..” he groaned, throwing his head back as she cuddled into him.

“yeah, but you love me” she stated confidently, pressing soft kisses to his exposed neck. “mhm..” he hummed, pushing some stray hairs behind her ear.

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musclefantasytf · 1 year ago

Text

mysterious package

Luke had always been a scrawny, bookish guy. He spent most of his time studying and working on his computer, rarely ever leaving his house except for school and occasional trips to the library. So when he received a mysterious package with his name on it, he was both confused and intrigued. He had no idea who could have sent him something, but he felt a thrill of excitement as he tore open the package.

Inside was a jockstrap with a note attached that simply said, 'Enjoy the trip.' Luke furrowed his brow in confusion. What trip? He wasn't going on any trips anytime soon. And what did this jockstrap have to do with it? He shrugged and tossed the box onto his bed, planning to deal with it later. But as he continued working on his computer, he couldn't help but be drawn to the mysterious item. With a shrug, he grabbed it from his bed and headed to his bathroom to see what it looked like on him.

As he pulled on the jockstrap, he couldn't help but notice how it hugged his body perfectly, enhancing his slim frame and making him feel surprisingly confident. He checked himself out in the mirror, posing seriously as if he had large muscles. He couldn't help but feel a little silly, but also a little envious of the image staring back at him.

But just as he was about to take off the jockstrap and toss it back onto his bed, he felt a sudden pressure building inside his body. He looked down in surprise as he watched his dick grow in size and thickness. Not only that, but his balls were expanding as well, almost the size of oranges. He couldn't believe his eyes as his body began to change and grow in front of the mirror.

His muscles began to bulge and swell, slowly at first but then picking up pace. He watched in awe as a sexy layer of hair began to appear on his chest, making a happy trail that led down towards his now impressive package. He couldn't believe what was happening, but he couldn't deny the surge of pleasure and power he felt coursing through his body.

As his balls continued to grow, releasing more and more testosterone, Luke couldn't resist the urge to run his hands all over his new, manly body. He felt like a new person, full of raw masculinity and vigor. He couldn't control his urges as he grabbed his thick dick and began to stroke himself, feeling like he was on top of the world.

And just like that, he exploded with a force he had never experienced before. Thick ropes of cum covered his body and splattered across the bathroom walls and floor. He couldn't help but let out a deep, primal roar as he reveled in his newfound masculinity and sexual prowess.

As he caught his breath and looked around the now messy bathroom, Luke couldn't believe what had just happened. But he knew one thing for sure, he was no longer the scrawny, bookish guy he used to be. He was now a confident, strong man with a wild side he couldn't wait to explore. And he had a feeling this mysterious jockstrap it was the trip that the note said.

#gettinghairy #muscle transformation #muscle growth tf #male transformation #transformation

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jayaury · 6 months ago

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Mistress of the Pale

Another short story from my patreon backlog https://www.patreon.com/JayAury.

Enjoy!

***

Ravel had considered himself fortunate to get an apprenticeship with Madame Moora. Every young wizard had been hoping to be selected to study under the mysterious mistress of the Ivory Tower, but it had been him she’d chosen and sent for.

Yet now, he wondered if it had been a blessing.

He wasn’t sure when the seeds of doubt had first sprouted, but perhaps it had been the very first day he’d arrived at the Ivory Tower, when he’d been greeted by the servitor. He still remembered that pale beauty. A woman of lovely proportions, her figure pale like she’d been carved of marble, and her only attire a loincloth with a belt of silver thread.

He’d stared, shocked at the topless woman, who merely bowed, her eyes lidded and dull as foggy mirrors. “You are Ravel?” she’d said.

“Uh, y-yes.”

“The mistress shall see you. Come.”

The servitor had turned, her perfect ass swaying as she walked away, leaving Ravel to jolt back to the present and hurry to catch up. They’d walked through marble halls so pure white they seemed to glow with an inner light. Other near naked servitors, men and women, wandered about, their expressions empty as they went about their tasks tending the grounds. Any question Ravel posed to his guide was met with blank silence, as if she never heard him, or even noticed him, but merely walked like some automaton along a set path.

They’d moved up through the tower and to a door framed with golden ivy. The servitor knocked twice, and then opened it without a moment more of hesitation, stepping aside and bowing. Taking the hint, Ravel entered.

The study of Madame Moora was a large room filled with tall, narrow lines. The thin windows rose along the back wall and tall bookshelves like pillars were here and there. Madame Moora herself sat in a rounded chair like a tilted ball cut in half, and at the sight of her, Ravel realized he had never seen a more beautiful woman.

Her hair was a deep black and her skin tanned a golden bronze. A slim cloth slipped between her legs from a gown cut so low it was a miracle or, far more likely, magic her curvaceous breasts did not pop out of them. Her face was strikingly beautiful, her eyes lidded, her finger slender as they held open a book before her. She looked up, and Ravel stiffened instantly at her lidded eyes. It was like her gaze had struck a silver pin through him, and a smile slowly alighted her lips.

“Ravel,” she said, rising with a whisper of her dark gown. “Finally. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. You may go, Lakia.”

“Mistress,” the pale woman said, bowing low, and Ravel couldn’t help but notice a quiver of pleasure seem to surge through her, the servitor’s thighs tightening as if she had nearly cum right there.

But he had no more attention to spare the pale woman, for in the moment Moora was moving towards him, her gown softly swishing in the silent chamber. “Let’s get a look at you,” Moora said, gently cupping his cheek and turning his head this way and that. “Hmm. Yes. Not bad at all. You are quite cute, my apprentice.”

He felt his cheeks burn at that. “M-madame, I uh…”

“Oh, but don’t worry,” she said, patting his blushing cheeks. “I didn’t decide to make you my apprentice just because you’re so adorably handsome. Oh no. I was very impressed by your new logistical theory of arcane usage. I always try and get my hands on the cleverest of new students. They have such… potential…”

Ravel swallowed hard, the way she lingered on that word making his heart race and jump. “I ah… I’ll t-try not to disappoint you, madame.”

“Good boy. In which case, shall we have our first lesson?”

“A-already?”

“We haven’t a moment to waste, apprentice. And I simply can’t wait to see what clever little ideas you might come up with.”

“Oh, well, I…”

“What’s wrong, apprentice? Shy? Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

“Huh?”

She laughed, a full throaty sound that seemed to reverberate in his groin. “Don’t worry, apprentice. It’s a simple thing. A relaxation technique. Perfect for nervous new apprentices to the fold.”

“W-well…”

“Ah ah! Madame knows best. Now, let us feel the magic within you. Feel the channels of power that flow through you. Follow my finger, apprentice. Follow the sensation…”

Ravel nodded. That… that seemed fairly standard. Magic of course followed certain paths through the body, and certain techniques were common among sorcerers in order to ease the use of their powers.

But he’d never felt one like this.

His breath hitched as her finger slid along his arm, hairs rising in its wake in a wave of sensitive awareness. “Just relax, apprentice,” Madame Moora crooned, pushing in closer, her eyes gleaming like jewels. “Just relax… and follow my voice…”

Ravel realized she was easing him down, and he found himself lying back on a couch he hadn’t noticed before. Like everything in the room, it seemed strangely delicate. Tender. Like the stem of a flower ready to be snapped at the slightest force. Yet it took his weight easily, and Madame Moora’s as she knelt over him, her finger still tracing his body, drawing lazy spiral patterns that tingled and shocked through him like electric wires.

“M-Madame, I…”

“Shhh. Just repeat after me, apprentice. I am relaxed. In control. I am feeling good all over.”

“I uh… I am relaxed. In control. I…”

“Am feeling good all over.”

“Feeling good all over…”

And he was.

Ravel realized he was feeling good all over.

Feeling light, like the mana channels in his body were filled with fizzy water. Bubbles popping and sparkling and making his body tingle from end to end.

It felt good.

So very good.

“I am relaxed,” Moora said smoothly.

“I am relaxed.”

“In control.”

“I am feeling good all over.”

“I am feeling good all o-over.”

“Gooood,” the sorceress purred.

And Ravel sucked in a breath as he felt her hand move lower.

“Keep going, apprentice,” Moora cooed as her finger lazily traced circles around his bulge, spiraling up the swell of his pants.

“I-I am relaxed. In c-control. I am feeling good all… all over…”

“Keep going,” she murmured as her finger slid around his tip, teasing him as his balls throbbed, aching with need.

Ravel continued, his mouth moving almost automatically, all his focus trained on his cock. On how good it felt as her finger slid around and around and around. As she deftly undid the laces. As his cock sprang into the open, twitching and hard.

Moora’s smile deepened. Her delicate fingers wrapped around his length. “Mmm. It seems you still have some… tension here, apprentice. But not to worry. We can fix that.”

“O-ohhhhhh,” he groaned.

“Keep going, apprentice. Don’t focus on distractions. Focus on what matters. Focus on those sweet words. Try and resist, apprentice. Try and resist…”

“Y-yes. Um. I… I am… ah… I am relaxed. I-in con… controooool. I am f-feeling good all… mnn… all over…”

“Good apprentice. Keep going. Keep talking.”

Ravel obeyed, the words spilling out of him in a flood, gasped as her hand went up and down his cock, stroking him slowly. Drawing it out of him. And yet, strangely, he didn’t feel the painful urgency of orgasm. It certainly was there, but it was more like a dull ache of throbbing pleasure. Of teasing anticipation, relentless, constant, making him whimper and groan, wriggling while his mana channels buzzed with the clarity of the mantra.

But there was no way for him to resist forever. Not when a woman of such aching perfection was pleasuring him. Not when it felt so good. So perfect.

“I-I’m relaxed. In c-control. In… In… Ohhhhh!”

He shuddered as he came, orgasm bursting through him like a wave of heat, his mind going white with the pure pleasure that wrapped around him, squeezing him in its embrace.

He sagged upon the couch, panting, watching as Madame Moora’s eyes grew lidded, her lips parting as she breathed in deeply, almost as if she were joining him in his orgasm. She sighed, a shiver coursing through her as she lifted her hand and delicately licked his seed from her fingers. One. By. One.

Ravel watched in dull fascination as she sucked her pinky clean, then turned a radiant smile down upon him. “Mmm. Good, apprentice. I think you will make an ideal student. And no doubt a quick study. Now, I trust you will keep that mantra in mind while you’re in my tower. Right?”

“O-of course, mistress,” he said, chest heaving from his exertion of pleasure.

“Good boy,” she purred, her jewel eyes shining bright. “I think we’ll get along just… swimmingly…”

Training in the Ivory Tower was a strange experience for Ravel.

He didn’t have much to do other than practice his arcane currents, and Madame Moora insisted he perfect them before she trained him further.

“My methods are not to be taken lightly, my student. Your body must be prepared for my spells.”

And so he practiced.

And worked.

And trained.

It would have been dull, truth be told. But the longer he focused on his mana channels, the easier it became to just… zone out. He found himself almost floating about the tower when he focused on the mantra. It made him feel so light and empty and perfectly at peace.

But something still worried him.

Though he knew that Moora wouldn’t teach him magic until he mastered her first lesson, that didn’t mean he couldn’t study independently. Or, so he thought. But whenever he opened a textbook retrieved from the tower’s extensive library, he found the formulas so…

Confusing.

This made him uneasy. He’d always been a quick learner. In fact, it was what he’d been most praised for. But now, the words on the page just… slipped away from him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand them anymore. Instead, he grew bored with them almost instantly. No sooner had he read a word than his mind seemed to drift, and he would read the same paragraph almost six times before he caught himself. What was wrong with him?

Sitting at his desk, he slapped his cheeks and shook his head, scowling. He could do this. He could…

“Trouble, apprentice?”

Ravel gasped as he felt Moora’s delicate fingers on his shoulder. He looked back, and found himself staring at the firm curves of his mistress’s breasts, the plunging valley of her collar hinting the tantalizing truth of those bronzed orbs.

For a moment Ravel found himself unable to look away, as if enthralled by those perfect breasts as they gently rose and fell with her breathing, but belatedly he managed to shake it off and jerk his eyes to her face.

“M-mistress? I ah…”

She smiled and leaned over him, her finger touching the page, running along the words. The motion was slow, almost sensuous, and Ravel couldn’t suppress a shudder that seemed to reverberate in his groin.

“Hm. Studying? Now why would you need to do that when your arcane channels remain undeveloped?”

“This is fairly simple magic, mistress,” he said.

She gave him a tender smile, then glanced back at the book. “‘A demon,’” she said, reading as her finger slid along the page, “‘is that most notorious of creature. Their aim is, inevitably, to devour the soul of mortals, and they have any number of means to arrange that. They are powerful creatures, masters of temptation, and have a variety of methods to steal the souls of their victims. Once they have done so, their prey become little more than thralls to their whims. Mindless slaves to their new masters.’”

Ravel felt his blush deepen as she leaned forward, the back of his head nestling against the softness of her breasts.

“‘But though a demon is a creature far more physically powerful than any mortal, there are many ways to best them,’” she continued. “‘The most effective is a spell of sealing, which can be inscribed upon a piece of steel, and upon plunging into the demon’s heart, will banish them once more to the infernal plane.’ My my, apprentice,” she said, giggling softly. “Looking to become a demon slayer?”

“E-every mage should know how to defeat a demon,” he said uneasily. “It’s well known that demons love to devour not only the souls of mortals, but find the magic of mages delicious.”

“Putting our poor sorcerers in quite a state, true,” Madame Moora said, her hand slipping from the page to touch his stomach. Ravel gasped as her other hand joined it, her arms crossing over his chest, pushing him back and against her breasts. “Demons do love the taste of a mage’s magic. And they love the taste of a willing one’s far more. And yet, sorcerers still try and summon them. Do you know why, apprentice?”

“Because… because demons know much f-forbidden lore,” he gasped as her hands massaged his chest, her fingers teasing down him. “And can share it if… if bound properly…”

“But it’s so very hard to properly bind a demon, apprentice,” she crooned as her fingers found their way once more into his lip, teasing his cock through his pants. “So very hard. They’re so skilled at distracting. Tempting. So many sorcerers never even knew what they were doing. Do you know why?”

“I ah… I d-don’t…”

“Because they were too… distracted.”

Ravel moaned as she undid his pants, drawing out his cock and into her waiting hand. Her palms were warm as she began to stroke him, lazily pumping his cock as he gasped and quivered in his seat.

“They just couldn’t focus. Which is why, dear apprentice, we must repeat the mantras. Must ease the flow of mana. Can you do that?”

“O-of c-course, mistress.”

“Hmmm. I’m not sure I believe you. I think we should… test that… On your knees apprentice.”

“Mistress?”

“Obey.”

The word seemed to vibrate through him. Before he knew it, Ravel had slipped out of his chair and was kneeling on the floor. He looked up, dazed, only to find Moora sit on the edge of his desk, her legs parted, her finger teasingly opening the front of her slinky gown. His eyes widened as she brushed open her dress, revealing the lush folds of her pussy, her breasts nudging aside the fabric to reveal her firm, heavenly tits.

“Let’s test your focus, apprentice,” she said, smirking down at him, her finger gliding up and down her cunny, stroking herself slowly. “Show me you won’t easily get distracted. Lick me, nice and slow.”

“I… I…”

“Come now, apprentice. If you do, I’ll even teach you a binding curse.”

A binding curse? That was very advanced magic. Ravel hesitated, but then, many sorceresses had stranger methods of instruction, and learning such a potent magic would be a tremendous boon.

“Yes, mistress.”

“Good boy. Now, get to it.”

Ravel tried not to focus on how the words ‘good boy’ made him feel. He tried to distract himself by leaning in and running his tongue along her slit. Her taste tingled on his tongue, shooting down into him with a shock of ecstasy. He shifted where he knelt, his cock throbbing. He’d utterly forgotten it was jutting out of his pants until he felt Moora’s foot rubbed against his manhood.

“Goooood boy,” she moaned, the underside of her foot pressing his cock back against his groin and stomach. “That’s it. Lick mistress like a goooood boy.”

Ravel groaned as her toes slid around the head of his cock, rubbing and teasing his tip, his hips rocking to further pleasure himself against her. His face burned bright pink with the humiliation and pleasure he was receiving.

“The mantra, apprentice. Don’t forget the mantra. Keep you… mmm… nice and even.”

Oh, yes. Of course. He had to… had to repeat it. But not aloud. No. His tongue was… was much too busy. In his head. Yes. He could do that. Yes… He was relaxed. In control. Feeling good all over.

He moaned as the words echoed in his mind, his cock throbbing with new sensitivity. The words seemed to wash over him, soothing the tension in him, leaving him composed. Calm. Able to appreciate every wonderful moment of her foot rubbing against his cock. Every delicate tingle of her taste as he lathed her pussy with his tongue. He whimpered, squirmed, relishing every moment.

“Keep licking… apprentice…”

Yes.

Yes, of course. Must keep licking.

Licking mistress.

Adoring mistress.

Showing her what a good boy he was.

What a good apprentice he could be.

Because he was relaxed.

In control.

And feeling good alllll over…

His tongue lapped, loving, stroking, teasing, adoring her pussy. The mantra swirling in his mind, enabling him to focus so easily. To discover all of Moora’s favorite places. Every spot that made her gasp, jolt, quiver in sweet pleasure.

Yes.

Yes, he was relaxed. He was in control. And feeling so very good aaaaaall over.

“Yes. Oh pits yes. Apprentice. I’m so close. Cum with me, apprentice. Cum with mistress my good boy. My good toy. My… my… Ohhhhh!”

Her thighs tightened around his head, squeezing him as she came. Her juices splashed onto his tongue, the sharpness of her taste pushing him over the edge, Ravel groaning in utter pleasure as she gave him a taste of her orgasm. The sensation seemed to shoot from his mouth, crackling down his veins, bunching in his balls before… before…

“Mmmmm!” he groaned, tongue buried in her pussy as he came, his body bucking as his cock spurted, coating her toes, his shirt and his lap in his seed.

Moora cooed, lifting her foot from his lap and wiping her toes on his pants. “There we are. Excellent work, apprentice. I’m quite pleased.”

“Ohhhh…” Ravel groaned.

Moora chuckled and rose, turning about and grabbing his pen. She scribbled something on a sheaf of paper, then strolled away.

“Best of luck with your studies, apprentice,” she called over her shoulder.

Ravel wasn’t sure how long he remained kneeling on the floor, but when he finally managed to pull himself back to his feet, he found a spell of binding written on the waiting paper. He gaped at it, able to feel the power in that spell even as he held it. Remarkable! He smiled, moving back to his book, endeavoring to read once more.

And didn’t even mind that only the mantra echoed in his thoughts.

Ravel frequently wandered the halls of the tower when he hadn’t anything else to do. Still, Madame Moora hadn’t taught him any magic beyond the mantra and that one binding spell.

“Not until you’ve mastered the first lesson, apprentice,” she’d crooned.

And surely he was getting close. Madame Moora was training him almost every day. At any time during his studies he might suddenly find his mistress beside him looking to test him, gently pressing him down to his knees so he might show her how good he’d gotten at… focusing.

“Mmm…”

Ravel stopped, startled. He looked around himself, wondering where he was. He’d wandered far this night, and he realized was in the Hall of Pillars, the ivory rows lining the room like a forest of petrified trees.

“Ah…”

He blinked, realizing the sound had stirred him from his thoughts. Curious, he moved among the pillars, drawn to a soft whimpering and moaning deeper in the room.

“Ohhhh…”

Not sure why, Ravel halted behind a pillar and peeked around it.

One of the tower’s servants was pressed against a pillar, their slender body quivering, their simple attire loose around them and disheveled. It was a man, his eyes rolled back, his pale skin flushed hot with lust, quivering with ecstasy.

Against him was pressed Madame Moora, the lovely sorceress holding the man’s chin, her lips locked with his and her eyes lidded, gleaming gold with a fel inner light.

But that wasn’t what made Ravel gasp, suck in a breath.

No.

It was the horns growing from her hair.

Ravel’s jaw fell slack as he watched Madame Moora hum in delight, pressing closer to the quivering servitor, her lips moving against his and… and dear gods, Ravel could see it. A wispy essence passing from him to her, sucked into her hungry mouth in fluttering wisps.

She… she was drinking his soul!

Madame Moora broke the kiss with a gasp, licking her lips, catching the last teasing tendrils of essence. The servant slumped against the wall, breathing hard and fast, glassy eyes gazing up at her adoringly.

“Good boy,” she cooed, stroking the man’s chin. “Mistress is very pleased.”

Ravel’s legs buckled, the sheer power of her words sending a shiver of delight shooting through him, his legs wobbling as the strength threatened to leave him. He gasped, and saw Moora’s head turn his way. He jerked himself back behind the pillar, heart pounding. Had she heard him? Did she see him?

He heard no sound, then a low chuckle. “You were delicious, pet,” he heard Moora purr. “Mistress is most pleased.”

“Th-thank you… mistress…” gasped the servant.

Steeling himself, feeling returning to his legs, Ravel pushed himself off the pillar, hurrying away as quietly as he could.

A demon.

His mistress was a demon!

Ravel took a deep breath and stroked the etchings he’d made in the dagger.

It had been a nerve-wracking few days. He’d avoided Moora as best he could, trying to think of what to do. Reporting her would be a fool’s errand. She was far more powerful than him, and could easily track him down if he tried to run. The servants would be of no help. Now that he knew what was happening, it was clear their essence was being drained constantly, feeding the hunger of their succubi master, their minds lost in the ecstasy of their servitude to her.

He’d since seen the servant she’d fed on that night. He lived, so it seemed Moora left her pets a portion of essence, only drinking enough to reduce them to mindless obedience to her. They would be of no help. A thrall to a demoness would fling themselves on his sword before they’d let him harm her.

So he’d worked.

It had been hard. So very hard. The words to magic came only with the greatest of struggle to him, but his need compelled him until, at last, he’d done it. Finally he’d managed to carve a spell of banishment onto the dagger.

He picked it up, took a deep breath. It was time. He had to slay her. To let a demoness exist in the very heart of the mage’s circle couldn’t be abided. But he could do this.

He could.

Rising, clutching the sheathed dagger in his hand, he poked his head out the door of his chamber and glanced around. The halls were empty. Cold moonlight washed down through high windows to play along the ivory stone, making it glow. Slipping out of his room, Ravel hastened through the halls.

Moora’s personal chambers were high in the tower, but were unguarded. What need had she for guards in the very heart of her power? Uneasily, Ravel opened the slender, towering doors a crack and peeked through.

Moora’s bedchamber was a strange thing. It was a large, round room of pale stone, the only furnishing a large round bed that could sleep a dozen people, but only held one. Moora lay atop the dove-white sheets, sprawled lazily upon it, utterly naked. Utterly defenseless.

Trying to calm his pounding heart, Ravel eased open the door without a creak. Even the soft sound of his bare feet padding on the cool stone floor made him flinch, fearful Moora would awaken.

Yet he reached the side of her bed without incident. His heart pounding like drums in his ears, he climbed with the greatest of care onto the bed and moved towards her. He found himself looking down on Moora, her face radiantly beautiful, hair splayed out around her head in a careless wave of silver. Her full, plump lips parted. Her firm, ample breasts peaked with dark nipples rising and falling with her steady breaths. Rising and falling. Up and down. Up and down…

No. No! Focus. He had to focus! He yanked the dagger from its sheathe, raised it up.

And found her eyes open and looking at him.

The shock of it seized him. He trembled, staring down at her as Moora slowly propped herself up on her elbows, smirking at him. She tilted her head, glancing at the knife, the runes along its length burning red with sorcery.

“My my, apprentice. Is that for me?”

Ravel opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Lazily, Moora tilted her head back, her eyelids low, her smirk growing. “Well then, I suppose you must have discovered… this…”

Ravel sucked in a breath as Moora changed. As horns grew from her head and her pupils sharpened to cat-like slits against a background of molten gold.

“D-demon!” he gasped.

“So I am, my dear apprentice. So I am. And now, I suppose you must slay me. It’s the right thing to do, after all, and you even have that delightful dagger all made up. What a pity it would be to see all that hard work go to waste. So go on,” She said, pushing out her chest. “Do it. Seal me away, my sweet apprentice.”

She couldn’t be serious. Was she mocking him? That smirk seemed to say so. He grit his teeth, drew back his arm again to plunge his blade into her chest.

Between her… her big… soft breasts…

“Why, whatever is the matter, apprentice?” Moora cooed, pushing forward more, sitting up. She raised a hand, gently stroking his cheek, sending a shiver racing through him. “Do you perhaps… not want to seal me away? Do you not want to banish your lovely mistress from the material plane? Have you, perhaps, become too… obsessed with me?”

Ravel grit his teeth and pushed the dagger towards her. But it was like he was fighting against invisible weights. He didn’t even have to try so hard. He just needed to let gravity do the work. Plunge the dagger down. Impale this gorgeous unholy beauty.

“Don’t you want more?” she breathed.

Ravel sobbed, his dagger an inch from her heaving chest, her breasts rising, falling. So perfect. So firm. He trembled against the strain of it.

“Don’t resist it,” Moora cooed, leaning in closer, her infernal gaze like molten gold, seizing his eyes. “Just relax, apprentice. Just surrender. Just do… what you need… to do…”

Ravel shut his eyes tight, his head pounding. He was relaxed. In control.

And feeling good all over…

As those words rushed through him, unbidden, but irresistible, he felt the strength bleed from his arm. The dagger fell from his loosened fingers and hit the bed with a soft sound. His eyes lifted open.

And when he saw Moora’s smile, his heart soared.

“Good boy,” she cooed, leaning in closer. “My good… obedient… boy…”

Her lips met his, and Ravel groaned at the soft sensation. The gentle press moving against his own. Her tongue sliding against his parted lips and inside his mouth. Her skill put his own experience to shame, conquering him like a master swordsman against a child armed with a stick. He shuddered, arching as she rose further, her breasts pressing against him. Firm yet soft. The perfect contrast. Just like her. Beautiful. Desirable. Deadly. A suicide of ecstasy in her arms that he couldn’t back away from.

Ravel found himself toppling back, falling among the downy white sheets. Moora loomed above him, smirking, her bronzed body faintly glowing in the moonlight, her horns glistening like onyx as she arched over him, her hands pinning his arms down.

“Poor little wizard,” she crooned as she mounted him, Ravel whimpering as her pussy rubbed against his shameless bulge. “You came so far, but it was all for naught. But don’t despair, my darling boy. You came closer than any other of my many… many apprentices. Oh yes,” she laughed, her breasts lazily swaying as she ground him beneath her. “I’ve had a great many. All the servants in my halls had sought to learn the ways of magic from me, only to discover that their true purpose was to serve me. Their mind drained away by my power, their bodies and souls snacks in which I might indulge at my pleasure.

“And you will join them,” she crooned, letting a hand brush his blushing cheek, letting him feel the cool sensuousness of her touch. “Just another of my mindless slaves. My eager, obedient playthings, your mind filled with nothing but serving me. Your body a toy for me to indulge in. Feed on. And you’ll love every minute of it, my dear apprentice. You will adore it. Helpless to it. You didn’t know it, but you were mine the moment you saw me. And yet you had the pride to think you could stop me. The idea that you might resist me.” She giggled, leaned down. “How cute.”

“I… I…”

“Shhh,” she murmured. “Just obey, my sweet apprentice. Just give in… to your lovely mistress…”

Her lips again met his, and just the feel was enough to set him off. Ravel groaned, quivering as he came, surrendering and spilling his seed in his pants. The pleasure rocked him, drained him, sucked him down into the ecstasy of surrender.

Her heard her chuckle above him as her lips broke their torrid kiss, her tongue teasing over her lips. “Good boy,” she cooed. “But a slave should never wear more than his mistress.”

She snapped her fingers and Ravel gasped, his clothes incinerating in a flash, leaving him nothing but his nudity. His cock was instantly pressed against the warm groove of the demon’s cunt as she moaned, continuing to grind him beneath her, and even though he’d just cum, he felt his balls ache with more to give the salacious succubus.

“Mmm. There it is. Oh you poor, silly young mortal. You never had a chance. It was ordained you’d be mine the moment you saw me. But that’s okay. Some women love a challenge. But I savor the triumph above all else. And it’s time… to show you what I mean…”

She leaned down, kissed him again. And as she did so, her hips rose, his cock sprang straight up, and she lowered herself, sheathing him within her.

“Mmmm!” Ravel moaned, his eyes rolling back as the glorious warm, soft tightness of her pussy swallowed him. As she lazily rocked her hips, riding atop his aching, needy cock.

“Good boy,” Moora whispered between kisses. “Surrender to mistress. Surrender your soul. Feed it to me, my slave. Give mistress what she wants.”

He groaned in despair, for he knew he could not beat her. Not now. Not like this. Her lips descended upon him once more, her kiss seeming to swallow her world.

And even the chance to fight… slipped away.

Ravel moaned, shuddering, arching beneath her as her lips moved against his own. A numbness began to seep through him. A sense of loss as she kissed him, as if she were stealing the breath from his lungs with the intensity of that kiss. His head grew light. Spun. His vision danced.

But he was calm.

He was relaxed.

Because mistress was in control.

And as he remembered this, an ecstasy oozed through him like nothing else before. The sense of loss that seemed to steal from him instead filled him with a floating pleasure. As if every cell were buzzing with a sensitive delight. Overwhelming him in a wave.

“Mmmmm,” he moaned, his eyes rolling back as Moora rode his cock, fucking him into the bed. Taking her pleasure from him in rolls of her hips. His essence flowed into her. The misty gasp of his soul seeping from his lips as he was fucked to damnation.

And he loved it.

Loved it more than sanity.

Than freedom.

Than anything.

Moora lifted her lips from his, smirking down at him. “How was that, my slave?”

“M-mistress,” he gasped. “P-please. Mooooore!”

“More?” she cooed coyly, slowing her thrusts, grinding herself atop his cock teasingly. “But my darling, if I do, I’ll turn you into nothing more than my mindless slave. My helpless, hopeless thrall. Do you want that? Do you really want mistress to claim that?”

“Anything,” he gasped, quivering with desperation, his orgasm aching on the edge. “Anything! Please! Mistress! N-need it. Need you! Pleeeease!”

Moora laughed, and even her mocking mirth was like music to his ears. “Ah, well, if my pretty boy begs for it, how could I say no?”

And still smiling, her eyes burning like polished gold, she kissed him again.

And he came.

Ravel wasn’t sure if it was when she sucked out more of his soul or his orgasm that turned his mind white. That made him shudder with the high of pleasure unlike any he’d known before.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t care.

Because it felt so good.

It was like he was floating in a heavens of endless bliss. Sinking among white clouds that cradled him. Soothed him. A void of thought. Of will. Of anything. No suffering. No anger or fear or hate. Merely perfection. Merely pleasure.

And ss he descended, quaking with pleasure back into the world of reality, his vision cleared, and he saw…

The most wonderful, beautiful, glorious woman above him.

“Did you enjoy that, slave?” she cooed.

He shivered at her words, his cock throbbing anew, already hard with desire. “Yes, mistress.”

“Would you do anything for more?”

“Yes, mistress,” he gasped, smiling dumbly.

She laughed. “Good boy. Ah,” she sighed, smirking. “I do so enjoy you wizards. Just… delicious. And you’re quite the tasty one to be sure. I can’t wait until I can snack on you again, slave.

“Mmm. But until then, I’ll have to get you set up with your new loincloth. My slaves can’t be wandering around fully clothed, after all. That would be so very wrong.”

Ravel nodded eagerly. “Yes mistress. Wrong.”

“That’s what I thought. But you ruined my nap, slave. And I know you want to make it up to me.”

He nodded even faster. “Y-yes, mistress! Anything!”

“Good slave,” she said, rose off him and turned around. Ravel stared, enraptured as her perfect, soft bronzed bum hovered above his face. “Now, get to work.”

She descended atop him, and Ravel moaned in bliss as he was buried under the softness of her gorgeous ass. Instantly his hands were on her hips, pressing her down further as his tongue delved into the tightness of her rear, his lips lovingly kissing her, his tongue lavishing her puckered star with adoration. Slowly, steadily, pleasuring her like a good slave.

Because he was relaxed.

Under mistress’s control.

And feeling so very… very…

Good…

#brainwashing #mind control #mindless #brainless #hypnosis #mind corruption #hypnotized #brain drain #jay aury #dumbification #intelligence reduction #gentle domination #gentle fdom #ai artwork

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lessi-lover · 1 year ago

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all is fair in love with you II a.russo x reader

summary: alessia comes with you for christmas. ★ all is fair in love with you II a.russo x reader

in the gentle embrace of the morning sky, the sun casted an unusual warm, golden, light through your large bedroom window. the window, adorned with soft, rustic curtains, slightly ajar, allowing the peaceful glow of the morning to filter through. framed photographs decorated the walls, each capturing a memory in time, all shared with your favourite blonde.

the same blonde lay peacefully in bed, with her hair spread out across your cream sheets. her face, half - buried into her pillow, only allowing calm, rhythmic breaths to leave her parted lips. a softly painted, hand draped itself across your waist, light pink nails slightly digging into your hips.

after a tough, but rewarding game against tottenham, all you wanted to do was allow your body to be welcomed by your lover’s comforting embrace, to feel the joyfulness of the holidays. you had quiet conversations discussing your plans for christmas, and enjoyed the unusual peacefulness you both felt.

her thumb gently traced patterns on your bare thigh, which was tucked tightly between her own pair of legs, a soothing gesture that would be able to ground you both in the moment.

“only if you’re ready to meet my family, lessi. they can be quite overwhelming.” your voice muffled by the blonde’s neck. during your 'cuddle session', your girlfriend had brought up the idea of potentially meeting the rest of your family for christmas. she had already met your parents couple months ago and the introduction couldn’t have gone smoother.

the blonde lifted her head from between your shoulder blades, her eyes filled with love and affection. “i’m willing to face the storm of mccabe siblings if it means i get to keep you,” alessia replied, arms wrapping tightly around you. a cheeky smile adorned her face, small dimples forming on the girl’s cheeks.

“absolutely love, and i promise i will tell them to keep the interrogating to a minimum,” you added, hoping to ease the girl of any worries. you had been dating for almost a year now, and making this step felt like a natural progression for your relationship.

“then saturday night sounds perfect, amore mio,” kissing your cheek, she gazed out the window.

the fading sunlight danced on her features, highlighting each perfection of her face, and you found yourself lost in captivation by her beauty.

"darling, are you sure i don’t need to go buy anything, and this outfit is appropriate?” the blonde asked, gesturing to what she was wearing. you had offered to help her get ready, knowing she was quite nervous about meeting your family.

“yes, i promise you don’t need to bring anything. and you look perfect, lessi, you always do,” you reassured her, a soft smile on your lips. you let the girl fuss over herself in the mirror one last time, the judgement in her own eyes, enough to make you cry.

“ready to go?” you asked the blonde, again she gave herself another look in the mirror and nodded, taking a deep breath. “okay, i can do this,” she said shakily. taking your hand, her confidence growing with your support.

the living room was alive with the sounds of a long - separated family finally together again. the house decorated with red, green and white tinsel, your christmas tree displayed proudly by the fire. the air thick with the smell of home- cooked food, and the walls echoed with laughter.

“hello, everyone!” you called out to your family, with a beaming smile, as the two of you entered through the front door, her hand firmly intertwined with yours. the living room erupted with cheerful greetings.

your family members were quick to welcome the both of you with open arms, instantly making the blonde feel like a part of the family. “how are ya!” your sister ella, was first one to reach you, excitedly engulfing you in a long awaited hug, nearly lifting you off the ground.

then came your youngest sister lauryn, and perhaps the one you missed the most. she crashed into you both, wrapping her arms around the both of you, before extending the invite alessia, pulling her into the embrace.

letting go, your sisters immediately started to create conversation with the blonde. her brows furrowed, both your sister's accents somehow stronger than the irish woman she saw daily, making it difficult for her to understand. questions about where you too met and how she dealt with you were dished out.

your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head, as your siblings told your most embarrassing moments to your girlfriend. about to cut into the exchange and save the poor girl, you were abruptly swept up in another embrace, by another set of arms wrapping around you, this time belonging to your mother.

cupping your face, your mom let a few tears slip, in which you wiped away with a small chuckle. "far too long, darling," your mother whispered, holding you so tightly in her grasp, as if you would slip away if she let go.

you hadn't been home in almost a whole year now, your thigh injury meaning you missed the ireland camps, and were forced to stay in london to recover. "i know, but i'm here now, that's what matters," you reassured her, rubbing her back up and down.

then suddenly, her watery eyes shifted to the left of you, arms immediately letting go. curious, you turned to see what had captured her attention. as if a moment in time paused, you saw your mom extending her arms out to alessia, enveloping her in a warm hug. you watched as your mom and girlfriend chatted, your mom making cheesy jokes that she can call her 'mom', and alessia doing her best to keep up with her rambling.

after exhaustingly greeting each of your family members you were finally able to speak to your girlfriend. although not without a few sly comments from your siblings, about the "fashionably late couple", courtesy of your well complimented outfits, - which the blonde would profusely deny she chose.

my father's entrance from the kitchen was perfectly timed, strutting around in his 'dad apron', he announced that dinner was ready. the heavy scent of food was now flowing freely through the house, everybody sitting down, excited to finally eat.

throughout dinner, alessia charmed everyone with her wit and kindness. your family was captivated by her presence, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride seeing how well she connected with them, effortlessly joining conversations. the blonde once shy, began opening up more, cracking jokes and adding the playful banter between your siblings.

"can't forget the time when y/n tried to bake a cake and it ended up looking like a deflated football?" your sister, katie pipes up. laughter erupting amongst your family. "never letting that one go. it's in the mccabe hall of fame now," your older brother added. laughter breaking out through the dining room.

"was it at least edible?" alessia asked, with a playful glint in her eye. "hey! it was, it tasted… well, it tasted interesting, i'll have you know." you responded before any of your siblings could, feigning offense to the comments about your cooking skills.

"interesting is one way to put it. i think even dad had second thoughts." your youngest sister said teasingly. the table bursts into laughter, even louder this time. "i think we've found a new judge for our family cooking contests!" your mother exclaims. alessia laughs, looking more relaxed than she had felt in a long time. "just wait until you hear about the time y/n tried to fix the sink on her own, and flooded the kitchen!"

alessia's eyes widen in amusement, turning to you with her eyebrows raised. "i'm being ganged up on! that didn't happen!" you threw your arms up, trying to think of any excuse to save yourself. "oh that reminds me!" your mother changed the topic, everyone confused as she swiftly left the dining room looking for something.

a moment later your mother returned, but this time with 12 wrapped gifts in her hands. "presents!" she exclaimed, your siblings faces lighting up and their mother's clear excitement. handing each gift, you waited patiently for your turn.

your mother handed you a wrapped gift box, a deep blue wrapping with a golden coloured bow lay in front of you, attached the gold ribbon read a small handwritten tag with your name on it. next to you alessia's eyes glistened, face lit up in anticipation. until, the blonde was given her own gift. "and one for our newest family member," you mother said, her voice laced with warmth. the comment making the blonde's eyes twinkle, a large grin plastered on her face.

"well don’t just stare at em, open them!" wrapping paper flew, a series of cheers chorused as each sibling opened their gift. each gift contained a christmas styled sweater, customised for the sibling.

for alessia, her sweater was a classic, elegant design, in a soft heather maroon colour. it featured a ribbed pattern, and a vibrant red turtleneck, perfect for chilly nights in london.

opening your own gift, you were given a similar sweater to the blonde. a chic, oversized sweater, with a trendy off the shoulder cut, although yours was a slightly richer red, more of a deep burgundy, both sweaters again complimenting each other.

a wave of cozy, oversized sweaters were lifted up in hands across the table, a mix of black, blue, greens, reds and pink sweaters clouded your view, each sibling as happy with their gift as the last. your mom stood at the end of the table, and you could only describe her facial expressions as truly at peace, her children finally together in time for christmas.

giggling with the blonde, you felt so at ease. she really was the one for you. ahead of you, both your parents stood, looking so proud and content. your father's arm was wrapped around your mother, holding her close, eyes glistening. they shared a knowing glance, their gazes both loving and approving. an unspoken message laying in their eyes, a silent affirmation that seemed to say, "she's perfect for you."

as the night went on, you found yourself falling even more in love with alessia, appreciating the way she effortlessly fit into your family and made everyone feel at ease. it was a night you would always cherish, the beginning of many more gatherings to come. you had never felt your family bond feel so strong.

after all, this was what christmas was about.

Liked by leahwilliamsonn, @y/m/n_ and 93,048 others

alessiarusso99 beautiful way to end a really positive 2023, with my girls and thank you mom for the sweater, the girls loved <3

view all 728 comments

y/n_y/l/n understatement of the season. that sweater is incredible. 💗

victoriapelova ❤️❤️

leahwilliamsonn I want my own one @y/n_y/l/n

y/n_y/l/n @y/m/n_ leah wants one as well

bethmead_ i think we all deserve a sweater for christmas? 🧐

katie_mccabe11 😍

lottewubbenmoy love you, sis ❤️

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15 hours ago

#arsenal wfc #woso #alessia russo #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community #katie mccabe #leah williamson #lotte wubben moy #victoria pelova

468 notes · View notes

andvys · 1 year ago

Text

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 19

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of drugs, alcohol consumption, reader getting high, spin the bottle.... don't hate me,

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, Eddie Munson x fem!reader, Robin Buckley x Chrissy Cunningham

Summary: The last high school party ends in a way you never thought it would

Word count: 8k+

A/N: @hellfire--cult Roe, you are such a big help, thank you so so much for always helping me with ideas and dialogues, ilysm

series masterlist

The dreamy look in Chrissy’s eyes isn’t very hard to miss, it’s been there for weeks now. The smile that lingers on her soft features matches the lovestruck eyes. Lost in her thoughts, she completely dismisses the things you and Heather are talking about. You don’t take it to heart.

It took you a moment but once you noticed how her eyes light up and how her cheeks flush a deeper color every time Robin comes around, you realized what was happening to your sweet friend.

And by the look on Robin’s face every time she sees Chrissy, you know that she is feeling just the same.

Chrissy giggles more than usual whenever the taller girl speaks – she could say anything to her and Chrissy would smile and look up at her dreamily with her cute red cheeks. She probably doesn’t even notice how flustered Robin gets or how she stutters over certain words sometimes.

You are happy about Chrissy’s newfound feelings for her, knowing that Robin reciprocates them. She doesn’t have to hurt anymore.

“Are you gonna wear that to the party?” Heather asks, eying the dress on your frame.

You stop applying mascara and pull back to look at her reflection through the large mirror on Chrissy’s pink wall.

“Yeah, why?” You ask, looking down at yourself – self consciously.

She shrugs, closing the magazine she was previously reading, she throws it on Chrissy’s bed.

“It’s a shame that Munson isn’t coming tonight, I know he would’ve loved you in that dress,” she says, winking.

Chrissy stops brushing her hair and turns her head to look at you.

The look on Heather’s face is smug, she is twirling her curls with her finger, wiggling her brows at you.

It is a shame that he isn’t coming but tonight is his last campaign before he gives up his beloved Dungeon Master position to someone else, Gareth probably. High school is over and Hellfire club will no longer be a part of his life – he will still play but it won’t ever be the same again.

You are no longer Cheer Captain and Eddie is no longer the Dungeon master.

There is something sad about having to say goodbye to your High School days but there is also something exciting about stepping into the unknown and getting out into the world.

You and Eddie celebrated by having lunch with your mom and his uncle after the graduation ceremony. It was nice, you had fun but a part of you couldn’t rest, knowing that Steve’s parents couldn’t make it to see him graduating.

You haven’t seen much of him either, you saw him in the crowd and on stage when he got his diploma but that’s all, you couldn’t find him anywhere else afterwards. You couldn’t congratulate him.

A part of you hopes that he will be at the party tonight, though you doubt that he will come.

You don’t feel your cheeks warming up, nor do you notice the look in your own eyes. You shift uncomfortably, breaking eye contact, you lean closer to the mirror again. You place the mascara bottle back in your little bag and reach for the powdered blush.

“Oh honey, you don’t need any more of that,” Chrissy says, giggling as she touches your hot cheek.

You roll your eyes and shake your head at them, “you are both insufferable,” you mumble, “it’s a normal dress, he wouldn’t think anything of it.”

Heather giggles behind you, “oh my sweet y/n,” she sighs as she kneels down behind you, carefully wrapping her arms around you, she leans her chin on your shoulder, “you are so oblivious.”

You wonder what she would think if she found out that Nancy would agree with her words.

“And so blind,” Chrissy adds.

“Maybe our girl needs a pair of cute glasses,” Heather says, running her fingers through your hair.

“I don’t need glasses!”

“Sure, you don’t.”

“Heather,” you mumble, raising your brows at her, “how about we talk about you and pizza guy.”

“Pizza and weed guy,” Chrissy corrects you with a smile.

Unlike you, Heather doesn’t blush or get flustered. She smiles and shrugs, “what about us?”

You and Chrissy face each other with surprised looks on your faces.

For weeks, you have been speculating about Heather and Argyle, wondering if the two of them are a thing or not. Heather had been secretive about the meetups. At first, you both thought that she continued seeing Billy but then you saw him making out with a girl from the cheer squad.

Apparently Heather and Billy have never been a ‘thing’ in the first place. It was a ‘no strings’ kind of thing until one of them got sick of the other – which, you could easily suspect Billy to be the one who got sick but it was the other way around.

Heather had stood him up for Argyle. Billy didn’t give much of a reaction to it but unfortunately, he set his eyes back on you – much to your dismay.

“There is an ‘us’?” You ask in surprise.

Heather smiles brighter, she bites her lip and leans back, “maybe,” she grins, “I mean he just asked me to be his girlfriend the other day,” she says casually as she looks down at her nails.

You and Chrissy gasp at her words, you both turn around to face her and squeal in excitement as you both throw your arms around her, catching her off guard. She falls down against the carpet and you both join her, giggling.

“Oh my god!” Heather laughs.

“Heather has a boyfriend!” Chrissy says in a sing-song voice.

“We gotta celebrate it,” you say, squeezing your friend tightly.

“Oh we’re going to,” Chrissy smirks at you.

“I guess we’re getting drunk tonight.”

You would be lying if you said that you aren’t feeling the slightest bit nervous. You haven’t had any alcohol since the night you went on a date with Ray and that night ended badly.

By the time you actually make it to the big graduation party at Tina’s place, it’s already in full swing. The music is picked and chosen by her best friend Faithe – who strictly listens to 80’s pop music; Duran Duran, Wham!, Madonna – especially Madonna.

Your friends scatter away from you the moment they lay their eyes on Robin and Argyle – Argyle who scoops Heather up in his arms and kisses her in front of everyone to see. You can’t help but laugh.

Robin and Chrissy disappear in the crowd, giggling and leaning closer to each other, both sporting deep blushes on their faces. Cute.

Now that you’re alone, you can’t help but wish that you didn’t come. You wish Eddie was here. You are not mad at them for leaving you behind – they’re in love and in their own little worlds. You don’t blame them.

Though you can’t help but feel out of place and awkward standing here in the doorway, all by yourself.

Is that how your friends always felt when you would leave them just to be with Steve?

With a sigh, you walk further into the house, pushing through the crowds until you make it to the kitchen. You feel relieved to see that it isn’t as crowded as the living room or even the hallway.

The kitchen counter is littered with various drinks and snacks, greasy junk food that will surely look more appealing to you when you’re drunk. You grab yourself one of the red solo cups. Just as you’re about to pour yourself some punch, you get interrupted by a hand closing in around your wrist.

“Don’t drink that shit.”

You look over your shoulder, only to roll your eyes in annoyance when you notice the smirk on his face and the gross look in his eyes.

“Fuck off, Hargrove,” you mumble as you push your hand off your wrist.

“Let me make you a real drink, baby.”

Once again, you have to roll your eyes at him. You place the cup down and turn around to face him, “what and spike it with drugs?”

He raises his brows, lifting his hand up, he places it on his chest – of course, he wears the shirt unbuttoned, well almost.

“What do you think of me?”

“You don’t wanna know,” you murmur under your breath.

His blue eyes glisten with something, the smirk of amusement never falls. He takes a step closer – at least, he smells good.

“You look like you can use a drink, let me make you one. It’s better than the shit you were about to drink,” he says as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey behind you, purposely leaning closer until his chest is almost pressed against yours and you can feel his minty breath on your skin. He glances down at your lips.

“Billy.”

“Yes, sweet thing?”

You put your hand on his chest and push him away, “you’re not slick, stop trying to get in my pants.”

He chuckles and leans back again, he unscrews the cap of the glass bottle.

“Tell me,” he reaches for the red up and pours in some of the whiskey, “don’t you want to have a good time?”

“Uh, I am having a good time,” you lie.

He chuckles again and places the bottle back on the table before he reaches for another. He gives you a doubtful look, “you don’t look like you’re having fun.”

“I just got here.”

“And you already look like you wanna get out.”

You clench your jaw and look away, not saying anything.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Eddie is not my boyfriend,” you mumble, narrowing your eyes at him.

Eyes smug and lips curled into a smirk, he shakes his head, “how’d you know who I was talking about?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff.

“Is he not here tonight?” He asks as he holds out the cup to you.

You look down at the mixed drink, hesitating before you give in and take it from his hand.

“No,” you shake your head and lift the cup up to your lips, ignoring the way he looks at you as you take the first sip. The strong and bitter taste trickles down your throat, you can’t help but squint your eyes, “wow, that’s strong,” you say before taking another sip.

Billy groans, “shit, and here I thought I could make him jealous enough to finally confess his feelings for you.”

You swallow the drink just in time before you start choking.

You have been good at avoiding that topic after your conversation with Nancy.

“Are you okay?” He chuckles, stepping closer to pat your back gently, “do you need me to make you feel better?”

“Billy!” You groan as you push his hand off.

“It’s so hot when you say my name–”

“Leave her alone, Hargrove.”

Steve.

His voice sends shivers down your spine but it also fills you with relief.

Billy is not a threat, at least not to you. He might get on your last nerve but he is not Ray. Still, you are always annoyed by his presence.

Billy’s eyes light up like the ones of a kid on christmas morning. His smirk widens and he turns around.

Eddie may not be here but Steve is. Steve who wants you just as much as Eddie does. Steve who got jealous at every small interaction you had with Billy – Steve who still gets jealous.

Steve glares at Billy, with his hands on his hips, he waits for the latter to step away from you.

They look at each other and you are surprised to see Billy so relaxed, the sight of Steve usually makes him angry. Tonight, he seems to be in a different mood though. The scowl is replaced by a smirk.

He looks back at you before he steps away, “if you wanna have a good time, you know where to find me,” he winks.

“No thanks,” you scrunch your face up in disgust.

He chuckles and finally walks away, passing by Steve only to halt beside him. Billy stares him down, another chuckle of amusement falls from his lips. He slaps Steve’s shoulder, “lighten up, Harrington. Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.”

Steve shrugs his hand off, he clenches his jaw and glares at the blond.

Billy shakes his head, “you sure need to blow off some steam,” he smirks, raising his brows, he gestures to you, “she needs it too – although, I’m sure Munson helps her with that,” he whispers with a smug look on his face.

“Fuck off,” Steve grumbles, though he can’t stop himself from feeling jealous.

Surprisingly, Billy drops it and walks away. Though, both you and Steve know that this isn’t the last you will see of Billy tonight.

Steve rolls his eyes and huffs in annoyance before he makes his way over to you.

Still with the drink in your hand, you stand in the same spot as before. Staring at him, unknowingly making him nervous.

“Hey,” he smiles.

He takes in the sight of you in your little black dress, your hair is falling softly over your shoulders, the front pieces are secured with glittery clips, your lips are a soft pink, shiny with gloss. Your manicured fingers are wrapped around the red solo cup.

You look beautiful. He wants to say, but he’s not sure if that’s something you want to hear from him again.

“Hi,” you smile up at him.

“Did your friends ditch you?”

“Yes, actually,” you chuckle, “Chrissy is hanging out with her… new best friend Robin and Heather is with Argyle.”

“Oh, the new guy with the long hair?” He asks, gesturing to the hair.

“Yeah!”

“Ah,” he nods.

Steve looks better, there are no dark circles under his eyes anymore, though his eyes still hold the same sadness as before.

You didn’t expect to see him here tonight. Him and Tommy aren’t friends anymore and now that he and Nancy are broken up, he doesn’t have her either. Steve always hated coming to parties alone so that leaves you wondering…

“Are you here with someone?” You ask, feeling a rush of jealousy at the thought of him being on a date with some other girl.

He shakes his head. Watching the way your features soften and your shoulder slump with relief when he says ‘no’.

“You’re here by yourself?”

“Yeah, I-I didn’t want to come but it’s the last high school party,” he says, shrugging. “I didn’t want to miss it.” I didn’t want to miss you. He reaches for one of the beers on the table, though when he opens the can and takes the first sip, he scrunches his face up in disgust. He hates lukewarm beverages, especially alcoholic ones.

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

“You don’t either,” he chuckles, eying the bored expression on your face.

“Well, getting drunk by yourself isn’t fun.”

Steve’s eyes are soft in a way they had never been before, not even when you just started dating, when things were still good, when he was still good to you. And just his eyes alone, the look in them is enough to cause a whirlwind of emotions inside of you.

You remember your night together. The one back in december. The one that was supposed to be your last night together. The one when you said goodbye – the one that was supposed to be your last goodbye.

There will never be a goodbye for you and Steve, not really.

“But… we could spend some time together.”

The look in his eyes is one of surprise. You may have been kinder to him in the past few weeks, but he still didn’t expect you to want to spend time with him.

“Y-You want to spend time with me?”

A mixture of emotions rush through him. Excitement, happiness but also nervousness. The last time you had spent a night together, it ended with you both crying.

You look around and he just now notices the sadness in your eyes.

The last time you went to one of Tina’s parties, he got smashed and he broke your heart. You want to replace those memories with new ones. As though it could ever kill the old ones.

“You don’t have to say yes, there’s plenty of girls who’d want to–”

“I wanna spend time with you.”

A shy smile appears on your face when your features relax again.

He smiles back, though he can’t help but wonder where Eddie is.

“Eddie isn’t here tonight?”

He watches you closely, the way your lips set into a slight pout and your brows furrow.

“No.”

Did something happen? He wonders. Where you go, Eddie goes. It’s odd to see you without him after seeing you with him, everywhere.

“Right so… Uh, what should we do?”

“What do you mean?”

You give him a smirk, placing the drink back on the counter, you lift your hand up. Steve can’t help but follow your movements with his eyes, only to stare in surprise when you lift your hand and reach for something… in your bra. He just now notices how the locket rests perfectly between your boobs.

He clears his throat and looks away with a blush on his cheeks.

“Are we getting drunk or high?” You hold the joint in front of his eyes, giggling when his eyes widen even further.

He grabs your hand and pulls it down, trying to hide the joint in your hand.

“Y/n!” He yells in a whisper, looking around to see if anyone saw, but there is no one looking at the two of you, there is no one in the kitchen at all. He turns back, looking down at you with a bewildered look on his face.

“Or both?” You giggle, “Eddie and I do both sometimes.”

He knows that it’s not only your looks that have changed in the past few months – it’s nothing drastic, it’s only different clothes, different makeup and your hair that you wear differently – maybe your perfume too. Clearly, you have changed too. You will always be a sweet girl, the one that is too kind to the world despite how harshly it treated you in the past, but he wasn’t aware that your opinion on drugs has changed.

He shouldn’t be surprised about the joint in your hand. You do hang out with Eddie, after all. Though, he didn’t expect you to be so open about this. Now, he can’t help but wonder if there are other things that you do with Eddie.

Steve won’t ask questions that he might regret asking. Instead, he agrees to both and pushes any thought that only leaves him upset, away. He wants to have a good night. He wants to have one good last high school party with you.

So, he takes the joint from you with the hand that is still holding the beer and with his free hand, he reaches for yours. Interlocking his fingers with yours. He feels his heart skipping a beat when you don’t pull away.

“Let’s do both.”

A smile tugs at your lips, you grab your drink from the counter, “let’s go outside.”

As Steve leads you out of the kitchen, he pulls you even closer to him before you walk into the crowded hallway. Neither of you notice the eyes that have set on you.

“Would you look at that?” Carol smirks as she turns her head to look at Tommy, who is looking down at his beer in boredom.

He lifts his head, looking down at Carol, he raises his brows at her.

She rolls her eyes and nudges her head in your direction.

“Oh,” he chuckles when he sees the two of you.

“Let’s make this party more interesting.”

Chrissy is drunk, not drunk on alcohol, drunk on something else.

Robin is talking about her favorite bands, the ones she wants to see live at some point. She’s waving her hand around as she talks – rambles. Robin’s cheeks are flushed but Chrissy doesn’t know whether it’s from the heat, the alcohol or something else – she hopes that it’s from something else.

Chrissy nods along with a smile on her face, admiring the girl in front of her. Loving the way Robin leans closer to her so she doesn’t have to scream over the loud music. She can’t unsee the small differences between them; Robin’s nails are painted black, silver rings adorn her long fingers while Chrissy’s nails are painted a baby pink color, a single golden ring is on her middle finger. Robin’s clothes are dark, Chrissy’s clothes are bright and girly. Their music taste is not the same, though Chrissy is open for changes. She loves how different they are.

Robin’s hair is short, her curls are messy, her bangs are long and they need to be cut, Chrissy can’t help but raise her hand to brush them away from her eyes so she can see her beautiful eyes.

Robin’s eyes widen at Chrissy’s action, the already pink blush on her cheeks takes on a red color and the blonde girl in front of her can’t help but giggle to herself when Robin stops all her rambling and starts staring at her instead, in silence.

Neither of them know how the other actually feels, if they weren’t so scared, they’d see the obvious signs.

They look into each other’s eyes, both trying to fight the smiles off their faces. Neither of them notice the girl that stopped in front of them with a worried look on her face.

“Hey, lover girls. Have you seen y/n?”

Both of them tear the gazes away from one another, clearing their throats and looking awkwardly at the brunette.

“W-What?” Chrissy asks, feeling grateful for the foundation she had put on her face earlier tonight. She can feel her hot cheeks.

Heather looks around the room, trying to spot you in the crowds but you are nowhere to be seen.

“I haven’t seen her since we got here.”

Robin straightens her back, a worried look takes over her face as well. She hasn’t even greeted you properly, too focused on the blonde beside her.

“Oh,” Chrissy mumbles, getting up to look around as well, “do you think Eddie came?”

“No, he takes his campaigns very seriously,” Robin says with wide eyes, “he got mad at me for even asking if he’d come. It’s the cult of Vecna tonight – whatever that means.”

“I’ve looked for her everywhere but–”

“She’s playing spin the bottle with Carol and the others.”

All three of them turn around to face the girl that chimed in. Tina.

“She’s what!?”

Tina chuckles in amusement, she nudges her chin into the direction of the dining room.

“Looks like she’s having fun,” is all she says before she walks off again.

The three girls share a look of confusion before they make their way over to the other room. Trying not to bump into any of the drunken girls who are dancing carelessly.

They all expect to walk in on a very drunk you. Because, usually it takes a lot to convince you to join a game of truth or dare, never have i ever and let alone spin the bottle. You don’t like kissing strangers or risking the possibility to kiss someone you cannot stand.

Though when they walk into the room and they see you sitting in a circle with a few people you don’t like, they can’t help but halt in their tracks and stare in confusion.

Tommy, Carol, Billy, Nancy, Jonathan, and a few girls from the cheer squad are sitting in the circle. None of them which you can stand – well, except for Jonathan, maybe.

And then there is Steve, who sits beside you.

You look… sober. Maybe a little intoxicated but very far from drunk or high. Although, when Robin takes a closer look at you, she notices the redness in your eyes, maybe you are a little high.

“What the hell,” Chrissy mumbles, looking at all the people in the circle.

Your lipstick is still intact, you probably haven’t kissed yet.

Carol is the first to notice the three girls, a smirk appears on her smug face, “oh, why don’t you join us?”

You turn your head, suddenly feeling flustered when you see your friends. Heather’s face says it all, ‘what the fuck?’

“No thanks, Carol.”

Billy smirks at Heather, “oh come on, Heather. Don’t you want a little kiss?”

She scrunches her face up in disgust, “no thanks, Hargrove. I’ve had enough of you.”

Chuckles sound through the room and Tommy claps his hand on Billy’s back, “you got burned.”

Billy chuckles, “not really, I’m gonna kiss someone else tonight,” he smirks, turning to look at you.

You don’t even know how you let yourself get roped into this. This wasn’t even supposed to be a game of spin the bottle, it was supposed to be truth or dare – though Tommy changed his decision at the last minute and managed to convince all the others as well. You didn’t want to chicken out, so you stayed and luckily, you didn’t have to kiss anyone yet. Neither did Steve.

For the first time tonight, you feel relieved that Eddie isn’t here.

You glance at Robin and Chrissy who stare at the men in the circle – both sporting looks of disgust. You smile in amusement. They both take a seat on the loveseat, clearly not interested in joining the game.

“Heather, come on,” Tommy smirks, eying her up and down, “it’s the last time you get to play one of these silly games. After this night, we’re all adults.”

“No thanks,” Heather snorts as she crosses her arms over her chest, “you still need to grow some, Hagan.”

This time it’s Billy who laughs at him, he leans closer, “burned,” he chuckles.

Nancy rolls her eyes, “I’m done playing.”

“Oh but Nancy, the game hasn’t even started yet,” Carol smirks at her, stopping her from getting up by placing her hand on her upper arm.

Nancy glares at the redhead and pushes her hand off. Jonathan looks tense beside her, he sits there awkwardly, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here.

How did Carol even convince these two to join?

Tommy and Billy look like they are having the time of their lives. The cheerleaders look… bored. Carol looks smug as always. You and Steve? You are both trying not to burst into giggles.

When Carol found the two of you in the backyard, you were laying on the grass, passing the joint back and forth and laughing about things that weren’t even funny. She got you at the right time, you and Steve would have said yes to anything in the states you were in. You were looking for amusement and now, well, now you got it.

Sarah kisses Tommy. Tommy kisses Hailey. Carol looks pissed.

You guess that the rumors about them are true. They are broken up. But what is new? No one has a messier on and off relationship than these two.

Hailey, one of the girls from the cheer squad, is the one who always makes up all these rumors that the people love so much. Her bright red hair makes her skin appear even more pale, though they match with the red lips which are now smudged. She spins the bottle and finally it lands on the one who has been waiting to be kissed.

Billy.

You are pretty sure that Billy had a taste of the redhead before – there aren’t many girls he hasn’t been with yet. He gets around.

You scoot a little closer to Steve and glance at him in disgust at the makeout session that is happening in front of your face. Gross.

Steve can’t help but chuckle at the look on your face.

“Dude,” Tommy laughs at his friend, “calm down.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Robin and Chrissy leaving.

When Billy pulls away, he gives Hailey a pat on the cheek. She giggles at him and licks her lips as she sits back in her place.

“This is gonna appear in my nightmare tonight,” Steve whispers to you.

You hold your hand in front of your mouth as you laugh at his words.

When Billy spins the bottle, your night changes for the worse.

You watch it spin with a pounding heart, for the first time, you watch it nervously.

Please don’t let it be me, please don’t let it be me, please don’t–

The glass bottle stops spinning and it’s pointing right at you. Oh god. No.

The music in the other room is still playing just as loud as before, though the laughter from Tommy and Carol somehow sounds louder than Billy Joel’s voice blaring through the speakers.

You don’t notice the way Steve tenses up beside you or the way his eyes flash with anger and jealousy.

“Fuck yes,” Billy chuckles.

You only feel the despair in your body and the annoyance that rushes through you when you look at a smug Billy, who looks like he’s won the lottery. His eyes are filled with excitement, his lips that are now red thanks to Hailey’s lipstick curl into a smirk.

“Come here, y/n.”

Steve clenches his fist and his jaw. The fire inside of him is burning.

“Yeah, y/n,” Carol tilts her head as she takes in the hesitation on your face, “don’t be such a pussy.”

Of course these words would come back to you. It’s what you said to her when she refused to kiss Lily, who already left after a few rounds.

You roll your eyes and take a sip of your drink before you put the cup down.

Heather, who is still around, gives you an apologetic look. God, you are glad that she doesn’t like him anymore, you would have preferred to be a ‘pussy’ than kiss some guy that your friend likes.

You meet Billy in the middle.

He doesn’t even hesitate to cup your cheeks with his hands. He doesn’t lean in, right away. He looks over at Steve for a split second, almost laughing at the look on his face. He turns his attention back on you.

You really don’t want to do this. You really don’t want to kiss him. You’d honestly prefer to kiss anyone else in this room except for Billy Hargove. Anyone. You feel the eyes on you. You feel Steve’s eyes burning into your skin. You feel Carol’s eyes on you. Heather’s and even Nancy’s.

Billy smells like cigarettes, whiskey and cologne.

He smashes his lips against yours and kisses you. You close your eyes to make it less awkward. You begrudgingly kiss him back. He slides his hand down to your waist and pulls you closer until your chest is pressed against his.

You want to roll your eyes at Tommy’s whistle and at Carol’s giggle but you ignore them.

Billy kisses you roughly – it’s not as bad as the kiss you have had with Ray but you still can’t shake the fact that you are kissing him. At least, his lips are soft. They taste like strawberry – probably thanks to Hailey and her strawberry lip gloss that she always wears over her red lipstick.

Billy’s lips move slower now but still just as deep, you feel his breath on your skin, his touch that is surprisingly soft. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that he is trying to savor every second of the kiss.

You make the mistake of letting yourself get lost in your thoughts. Suddenly, it’s not Billy kissing you anymore, it’s another man.

It’s his lips that you are kissing, his shoulders that you are touching, his ring that is digging into your waist, it’s him, it’s–

Billy. You are kissing Billy. You instantly pull away when the realization sinks back in, you push him away and pull back.

Billy chuckles, he looks at you through hooded eyes and leans closer, “that made me really fucking hard,” he whispers.

You scrunch your face up in disgust and turn away from him, wanting to escape him quickly. You glance at Steve, who is looking at the ground with an angry and powerless look on his face. Shit.

“Well, that was one hell of a kiss,” Tommy laughs, not looking at you, not looking at Billy but at Steve, he is looking at Steve and he is smirking.

“You must feel stupid, huh Harrington?”

“Shut up, Tommy.”

He pays you no mind, his attention is solely on Steve. And the others are staring at him as well. You can’t help but glance at Nancy, she’s looking at him with an almost pitiful look in her eyes.

You quickly reach for the bottle, wanting to kill the awkward tension in the room.

This night can’t get any worse. You think to yourself.

You spin the bottle as you inwardly curse at yourself for letting Carol convince you to join this stupid game. You didn’t even want to kiss anyone, let alone Billy. You didn’t want to upset Steve. You didn’t want to think about–

“Oh!” Carol laughs loudly, clapping her hands together.

Hailey snickers next to her, looking at you in amusement.

“Oh damn,” Tommy snorts.

Your heart begins to race in your chest but you don’t even know who it’s pointing at yet. You have a feeling who it is. And when you see the apologetic look in both Jonathan’s eyes and Heather’s eyes, you know.

You blink and take a deep breath before you glance at the bottle.

The bottle that is pointing right at him. Steve.

The girls around you are giggling, giving you smug looks. Carol is staring at you expectedly. Bitch.

Steve is staring at you already, suddenly, every ounce of anger has faded away. His eyes are wide, lips parted as he looks at you.

This isn’t ideal. This shouldn’t have to happen this way. But, he would be lying if he said that it’s something he doesn’t want. Maybe, this will be the last time. Maybe, this will be the only chance he gets to feel your kiss again.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers to you, but you are already moving closer to him.

You won’t walk away now. It’s exactly what they want, they want to see you running away. But you won’t run away, not now, not yet.

You ignore the pounding in your chest, the butterflies that dance in your stomach when you lean closer to him. He looks at you, wide eyed.

You don’t want it to happen this way but would you deny a kiss with him, right now? No.

“It’s just a kiss right?” You whisper as you gaze into his hazel eyes.

How could it ever be just a kiss?

You are the one to move even closer to him. You are the one to cup his cheeks.

Steve’s heart is surely about to explode.

He hates that this has to happen like this – that it’s caused by a game. That this isn’t supposed to mean anything.

Despite the others in the room, the loud music, the eyes on you. You both fade out everything around you.

It’s just you and him now.

You lean in, he leans in.

And for the first time in a long time, your lips brush against Steve’s and that is enough to set all your insides on fire. Just a simple touch.

You peck his lips, you only peck his lips and Steve is already in bliss. But then you smash your lips against his and suddenly, he is back in heaven. The light is shining again, the warmth is flooding back in, the sweetness of your lips is enough to mend his heart that he broke himself.

He doesn’t hesitate for a single second to kiss you back. He cups your cheeks and pulls you as closely as he can.

Everything around him stops existing.

All there is, is you and him.

He feels you, he feels your touch, your lips, your kiss.

He feels your love that is pouring back in.

He feels you.

You, you, you.

Everything falls back into place again.

Your lips are moving ever so softly with each other. Desperately but still passionately. Your lips still taste like cherry, his still taste minty.

His heart is racing, yours is too.

He holds you tightly but gently, he doesn’t want this moment to end, he doesn’t want to stop kissing you, he never wants to stop kissing you again.

This is right. This is what he is meant to do. This is all he’s ever dreamed of and more. He missed this. He missed you so much.

But the moment could never last long enough and he crashes back into reality when you pull away in need of air. Your lips part from his, your touch leaves his body and everything that is left behind is the kiss that lingers – the kiss that will linger for the rest of his life if this is the last one he gets from you.

His lips tingle and he fights the urge to touch them.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes, he doesn’t want to crash back into a world where you aren’t his anymore.

When he does open his eyes and he sees the look on your face, the shock in your eyes, the emotions that are still there, the love. He knows, he still has a chance.

He can still have you.

He can still fight for you.

He can still get you back.

But, for now, he lets you walk away when you make up some weak excuse and rush out of the room.

Heather doesn’t even hesitate to follow you out, calling your name and rushing after you. She passes by Argyle who is talking to a group of guys, she gives him an apologetic look.

You push past Jason Carver, pushing him out of the way.

“Hey!” He yells, “watch where you’re going!”

“Shut it, blondie,” Heather snaps at him.

You grab the leather jacket that you have left on the counter earlier and finally leave the house. The fresh air calms you down in an instant, you embrace the silence and feel grateful that there is no one out on the porch, right now.

No one except for you and Heather.

She shuts the door behind her, she crosses her arms over her chest when the chilly wind touches her bare arms.

“Are you okay?”

You lean against the railing and sigh.

“Yeah. You should go back inside, Heather.”

“No.”

She refuses to leave you alone when you’re upset.

“I’m okay.”

“But–”

You turn back around, “I’m okay,” you repeat, trying to smile at her.

“I promise, I just need a moment to myself after all of… this.”

“Are you sure?”

The sincere look in her eyes makes you smile, genuinely, this time.

You nod.

“But if you need anything, you tell me and I’ll take you home and we can have a girls night with Chrissy. Robin too.”

Your eyes soften.

“We should actually do that sometime.”

“We should.”

“Now go back inside, I’m sure your boyfriend misses you.”

She looks down and smiles, “alright..”

She turns back around, hesitantly.

“I can’t believe you used to kiss Billy all the time.”

Heather turns around to glare at you, “don’t ever mention that again.”

You giggle at the look on her face.

“I can’t believe that you kissed Billy and Steve in one night,” she smirks, winking at you before she walks back inside, leaving you by yourself.

“Right..”

You want to forget about the kiss, the one with Billy at least.

You reach for the pack of cigarettes in your pocket, walking over to the porch steps, you sit down and light a cigarette. You don’t smoke very often, only when you’re stressed.

You enjoy the silence, though, it doesn’t last very long. Someone steps out on the porch and you inwardly pray that it isn’t Steve or Billy.

The footsteps give it away, it’s neither of them.

You lift your head to look, it’s no friend of yours either.

It’s Nancy Wheeler standing in front of you – no, sitting down beside you.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

For a moment, you both sit in silence. You offer her a cigarette, to your surprise, she takes one and lights it up.

“So, did you start paying attention?”

You shake your head with a small smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sure you don’t,” Nancy chuckles.

You turn your body towards her, you lean back against the railing and look at her curiously.

Nancy crosses her legs and smokes the cigarette, giving you a tight lipped smile.

“Still oblivious, I see.”

You’re not fully oblivious. Not anymore.

“Y-You think that Eddie and I like each other.”

“No.”

You furrow your brows.

“I don’t think, I know.” She shrugs, “I guess, I just wonder why you and Eddie aren’t dating.”

You’re a little flustered by her words.

“Because he is my best friend?” You mumble as you stub out the cigarette and look down.

“Yeah, that’s what you already said, last time and it still doesn’t look like it.”

You give her a questioning look, you stare at her, and suddenly, she feels flustered.

“Why do you even care?”

Nancy hesitates, she looks down at the cigarette between her fingers. Her shoulders are slumped but she is still tense. Nancy pities Steve because she can see how much he is suffering, how much he loves you, how much he still wants you but she can’t deny that you have been in pain for so many months, some of the pain which has been caused by her. The least she can do is help you, help you understand, help you to see.

“I’m just, I’m sorry.”

She folds her hands in her lap after stubbing out the cigarette. She glances at you, almost shyly and with a hint of guilt in her blue eyes.

“What?”

She closes her eyes, she fidgets with her fingers and takes a deep breath before she opens her eyes again.

“For everything.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry for taking him away from you. I-I saw the way you two looked at each other back there. I guess, I just now realized what I’ve ruined.”

“It would’ve been someone else if it wasn’t you, Nancy.”

She furrows her brows, looking at you, almost bewildered.

“No, I don’t think so. He loves you.”

“Well, that realization came a little too late.”

“Did it?” Nancy asks, carefully.

You hesitate before you say ‘yes’.

She nods.

“But, why do you always bring Eddie up?”

“What?”

“You always talk about.. Eddie,” you frown, “do you want him now?”

The thought of it angers you. Does she always want what you have?

“Do you want Eddie now that you realized that Steve isn’t the prince you thought he was?”

Her eyes widen, “no! No, it’s not that! I-I just, I was jealous of you, not because of Eddie,” she says, shaking her head at the thought of Eddie. “I wanted what you two have.”

“A best friend?”

“That’s the thing.. I never thought you two were just… friends.”

You wait for her to continue.

“I wanted that hand holding in class, that cute bantering in the hallway, someone to lend me a shoulder whenever I need it, I wanted to be free like you were. Showing my love openly – and I found that in Jonathan. We started of as friends b-but that would have never been enough. He taught me about true love, about feeling cared for, and he waited for me. He waited and waited and I hurt him over and over by not breaking up with Steve.. Does that sound familiar?”

“Oh.”

By the look in your eyes, she knows that you begin to understand a little. Your eyes that soften when you think about him.

She opens her mouth, but she never gets to say the words she’s been meaning to say all night, because the man you have been talking about steps out. Interrupting your conversation.

Both you and Nancy turn to look at him.

He looks taken aback by the sight in front of him. He figured that you weren’t by yourself, he didn’t expect Nancy to be the one out here with you.

“Uh, can we talk y/n?” He asks, still looking between the two of you with a confused look on his face.

You and Nancy can’t help but share a look of amusement.

“Yeah, sure.”

Nancy pushes herself up with a sigh, she glances at you and gives you a small smile before she walks past Steve and walks back into the house.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, he stands there, awkwardly for a moment.

He still hasn’t told you about the break up but, he knows that you know. Everybody knows.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “are you?”

He walks towards you and you get back up on your feet, looking up at your ex boyfriend. Your ex boyfriend that you just kissed.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks.

You shrug, “you just kissed your ex girlfriend in front of your other ex girlfriend.”

His mouth set in a hard line before he looked away with a chuckle.

An amused huff escapes you. You try to walk around him but you trip and stumble, almost falling backwards but his large hands catch you, he wraps them around your waist and pulls you closer. This time you stumble forward, right into his chest.

He uses the opportunity to wrap his arms around you fully.

“Let’s not repeat your fall from years ago.”

You gape at him.

“Can’t you let it go?!”

His eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Fuck no, I’m not letting it go. I saved you and you panicked and pushed me down – I still have the scar on my hip from it!”

You roll your eyes, chuckling.

“What did you want to talk about?”

He doesn’t answer your question, instead, he takes your hand and leads you away from the entrance, away from the porch lights, away from the place where people can see you.

You don’t question him, you follow him, just the way you always did.

Behind the house, there is no light but the moon shining down on you. And Steve can’t help but want more of what he just had.

He whispers your name and you know, you know what he wants.

“Will you forgive me for what I’m about to do?”

“What–”

He cups your cheeks and leans down to kiss you. He needs more of what he just had.

You gasp against his lips but you so easily melt into the kiss.

And the moment you kiss him back, he wraps his arms around you and suddenly, his hands are all over you, your back, your waist, the back of your neck. He is pulling you in, closer and closer until there is no space left between the two of you.

You are kissing him. You are kissing him back. Not because of a game. You are kissing him because you want to kiss him. You want him.

His heart soars.

Everything inside of him screams in joy.

He needs you, he needs you closer and closer.

He kisses you desperately.

Your tongues meet and the kiss gets more feverish, more passionate than before. Maybe more passionate than ever.

You whimper into the kiss and he is sure that it’s enough to make his heart explode.

You kiss him just as desperately. You are needy, like him.

Warmth blossoms Steve’s chest. His heart is feeling whole for the first time in a long time.

You are both breathing heavily in between kisses. He can’t get enough of you. How could he ever get enough of you? How could he ever throw this away? How could he ever push you away?

His feelings, his emotions seem to get in the way – they seem to get in between the two of you because you can feel it, you can feel what he is thinking about.

Because you begin to feel it too. The more you open your heart to him, the more you let him in – the more it hurts. You curse at it, you curse at the pain and at the dark stain that he had left on your heart.

You savor the kiss, just like he does.

He savors it too. Your kiss isn’t a promise. Not even your love is.

He destroyed too much.

And though you don’t want it, you push him away and ignore the way you already miss him and the feeling of his lips on yours.

“W-What are you doing?” Your voice is shaky and your eyes are glossy. You look up at him with saddened eyes.

Steve’s hair is disheveled, his lips are puffy from the kissing.

And he looks defeated because the look on your face tells him that this won’t mean anything.

“I-I’m sorry.. but I-I just needed to do that, at least one last time.”

You frown at his words. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he can’t help but think that you look cute.

“You can’t just kiss me after everything!” You snap at him and push past him, walking away from him.

“Dolly!”

“No!”

next chapter

tagging mutuals

@mysticmunson @taintedcigs @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @wroteclassicaly @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @xxhellfirebunnyxx @take-everything-you-can @nemesis729 @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked @chrissymjstan

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #stranger things angst

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impala-dreamer · 6 months ago

Text

The Beat Of Your Heart

A Supernatural Story

~ Friends become lovers who turn into the darkest evil that one can endure... ~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader; Michael!Dean x F!Reader

8,587 Words

NSFW, Fluff, Cute Banter, Friends To Lovers, There Was Only One Bed!?, All the Sex, Passionate Love, Hope, *record scratch*, Extreme Angst, Violence, NonCon, Torture, Blood, Major Character Death

For @jacklesversebingo “Friends to Enemies to Lovers” square

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

She wasn’t bound by metal or rope. He hadn’t held her down with force or threatened her obedience with a blade. He had simply invited her to sit in the plush white armchair in front of the large wall of windows and she’d complied.

As the sky darkened over the Chicago skyline, she sat with a blank expression, utterly frozen by fear. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and she held her hands clasped in her lap. She waited for him to speak, to move, to attack- she had no idea what was coming and it terrified her more than the icy flight he’d taken her on.

Ripped off her feet in the middle of the street, he’d wrapped an arm around her middle and taken to the skies. The air was frigid; his grip unyielding. She’d hid her face from the cold, cringing into the lapels of his coat, and held on as tightly as she could.

Minutes? An hour? A Day? She had no idea how long they moved through the clouds, but it was long enough to say a prayer and beg for help.

There was no answer except his callous laughter in her ear.

“They’re not coming to save you.”

Those were the only words he’d spoken before and since.

Y/N watched as he got comfortable. He took off his cap and carefully shed his coat. The ensemble was strange and only added to the unease in her gut.

Dean would never wear something so tailored, so proper.

Michael wore it well.

He paid her no mind while walking around the posh suite. He hung his coat in the closet and placed his cap on the empty shelf above the rail. He checked his countenance in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair, setting it back in place after the long, windy flight.

Y/N let her eyes turn to the room. Despite his seeming familiarity with the area, the place seemed untouched. The bed was made with crisp corners and perfect lines. Every fiber of the white carpet was fluffed and in place; every pillow on the couch was plump. The walls were paneled in dark mahogany wood, interspersed with calming muted blue trim and highlights. Prints of black and white cities hung catty corner on the walls by the door, and dual vases of tall white orchids framed the large bed. Everything was in perfect order, fit for a celebrity in residence.

The seating area she occupied held a bar to the left and Michael busied himself there, filling two crystal glasses halfway with scotch.

He held one up to the window, letting the evening sun shine through. He turned it slowly and a tiny rainbow swept across his cheek.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of it, or him.

Michael’s eyes turned to her and narrowed. He rounded the bar and offered her the glass in his right hand. She hesitated but ultimately took it. One last drink for the doomed.

“I’ve never had a taste for alcohol,” Michael said, settling into the chair opposite her. “But Dean’s… tongue seems to enjoy it.”

She shivered at the name, at the idea that Dean was sitting there but not. That Dean’s voice was speaking to her but not. She raised her glass and mustered up the courage to go down without giving him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

“To your health,” she toasted.

He grinned and lifted his tumbler. “To yours.”

Michael took a delicate sip, but Y/N drank hers down in three hard gulps, hoping the sting would clear her head and the alcohol would steel her nerves.

“Gluttony… How quaint.”

Michael never seemed to blink. His eyes stayed clear and focused on her face no matter how she reacted or moved.

“Yeah, well, I was thirsty.” She clung to the glass as if it were the only thing holding her together. Her fingers tensed so tightly over the intricate designs cut into the sides, she wondered if she would bleed. “So, this is your… lair or whatever?”

He laughed gently at the term. “It’s just a room.”

Y/N nodded and looked away as if scanning the decor. “You bring all your victims here?”

Michael took another drink. “Only the special ones.”

“I’m special?” Y/N managed an impressed laugh. “Well, at least I got that goin’ for me.” She went to take another sip and remembered she was out of scotch. Holding up the glass, she shook it a bit and nodded towards the bar. “You mind?”

Michael nodded slowly and Y/N managed to peel herself off the chair and walk on shaky legs to the bar.

“Do you not think you are special?” he asked, not bothering to look over his shoulder at her.

“Not at the moment, no.” Y/N unscrewed the bottle and tipped it into her glass. She drank it down quickly and refilled. Drunk was better than feeling the pain of whatever was coming.

“Dean certainly believed that you were. He… begged me not to harm you.”

His words stung her deep and she knocked back a third shot.

“Oh?”

“He’s… struggling even now.” Michael rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “He’s screaming… beating his fists… ordering me to set you free.”

Y/N swallowed back the hurt and guilt. “Yeah, that sounds like Dean.” A fourth pour filled her glass. “He probably won’t stop, so maybe you should just vacate and go about your business in another suit.”

Michael exhaled sharply and the lights flickered. His hand opened and closed over the arm of the chair, tensing over the fabric in an attempt to calm himself.

He growled. “Come sit, Y/N.”

She grabbed the bottle and followed his command.

Michael set his unfinished scotch on the glass coffee table next to them and sat back, his spine straight, his face a cool mask of authority.

“You need to contain your… attitude.”

The sharpness in his voice forced fear to coat her skin. Goosebumps rose on her arms and chest as she sat down, pressing as far into the back of the chair as she could.

“Hard not to be sassy when you’re on your deathbed.” She hid her shaking hand by gripping the glass and taking a heavy sip. “Kinda wanna go out with a bang.”

She expected anger to follow, but Michael tipped his head to the side, curiously staring at her.

“You are special, aren’t you?” He leaned forward a bit, peering deeper into her soul.

Y/N could feel the prying gaze as if he were methodically peeling back her being layer by layer. A tightness closed around her heart and she held her breath for fear of crying out.

“Dean was right in that assertion.” Michael dipped his chin and his eyes glowed a faint blue as a trickle of his Grace seeped free. “I have no concept of physical beauty, but… your… soul is quite intriguing. Your mind…”

The intrusive feeling worked its way up to her head and Y/N felt as if her brain were swelling. A migraine-like throbbing began at her temples and she shut her eyes tight.

“...Very impressive…” He licked his lips slowly as if tasting her essence. “Not overly intelligent, but you do make up for it in… what do they say? Personality.”

She wanted to snap back with a witty dig, but the pain worsened. His Grace prodded her mind and the throbbing grew worse, spreading across her scalp and localizing between her eyes. The bottle and glass fell to the floor as she grabbed her head. The amber liquid ran free, soaking into the pure white carpet.

Pain spread like fire through a labyrinth, following the pathways between the gray matter of her brain. “S-stop!”

Impressed, Michael’s mouth turned up in a half smile, and he dug in deeper.

“The way your human brains work is so… fascinating.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled back, unable to focus. She clawed at the sides of her head, desperate to ease the pain or at least divert it.

“Electrical impulses shoot through every cell, keeping the brain alive… controlling the body… but the real you- your… soul… is in there as well.”

Nausea struck her and Y/N doubled over, dry heaving with her head between her knees. “Please! Stop…”

“What you perceive as ‘You’ is crammed up in the folds and crevices of your physical brain and yet… If I take you away… The brain still functions.”

She hit the floor with a trembling cry. The vice in her head was tightening and she was sure she’d be gone in less than a minute.

“So what good is your soul, Y/N?” he asked, falling to one knee and hovering over her. Curled in the fetal position, she had no defenses against his hand, or the Grace he pushed harder into her skull. “What are you if not a heavenly battery?” Michael traced a finger slowly down her cheek and the pain stopped.

With a gasping breath, she sat up and scrambled away. She coughed hard, blinked to clear her vision, and tried to stand. Her legs were numb, her arms practically useless. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, barely a whisper above her tears.

Michael spread his hands in a holy gesture. “Because I can. Because it’s slowly killing your lover.”

Her eyes went wide. Tears stung but she refused to look away. “Dean?”

“Yes.” Michael smiled softly. “He’s fighting me. Clawing at me.” He sighed. “He wants you safe but… I think this is more fun.”

Her stomach churned. “This is fun for you?”

He shrugged. “Not really, but it is amusing hearing him beg for your life.” Michael closed his eyes for a moment, listening to Dean plead and threaten. “So sad.”

Panting, Y/N fell forward onto her hands and knees. She was as close to him as she dared get, and she grit her teeth, hoping Dean could hear her.

“Fuck. You.”

Michael laughed.

“You pathetic excuse for an archangel.” Her body ached but she pushed on, watching the twitch in his jaw as his anger surged. “I’ve met angels. Hell, I fucked one once. But you- you are no angel…”

Electric blue flashed through his eyes and Michael sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure you wish to continue?”

Y/N pushed herself up, rising as he did. “Oh, I am. You distorted, alternate universe, bland Xerox copy of an angel.” She swayed on her feet but defiance kept her upright even as Michael towered over her. “I’m amazed you can even possess Dean, you weak excuse for the Commander of the Holy Hosts.”

Having had enough of her, Michael lifted his left hand and sent Y/N flying back towards the window with a burst of ethereal strength. Her scream echoed through the room, covered only by the sound of glass as it shattered around her.

Pushed through the window, Y/N felt a moment of pure weightlessness before gravity took hold. Her body was pulled by the ground and she began to plummet the twenty-seven stories to the cement below.

She held her breath against the rushing wind and the sting of a million shards of glass cutting into her flesh.

She stared up into the pink dusk of sunset and said goodbye to the world, to Dean, to everything above and below.

“Holy shit!” Y/N doubled over, hands clutching her knees as she panted, amazed and out of breath from the fight. “That was insane.”

Dean rushed up behind her. His boots came into view and Y/N looked up in time to see him collapse against the Impala’s hood. He leaned back and exhaled heavily. His face was splashed in blood; the left pocket of his green canvas jacket torn by fangs.

She cringed and reached for his pocket. “Did it bite you?”

Swallowing hard, Dean shook his head and reached into the canvas. “No. Just took a chunk out of my damn phone.” He pulled the useless thing out and flashed her the screen. It was punctured by a single hole that shattered the glass in a thick web.

“Well, it’s… just a screen,” she said hopefully. “They can replace it.”

With an annoyed brow lifted, Dean flipped the device over and showed the three additional holes piercing through the phone.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She laughed.

He rolled his eyes and shoved the ruined cell back into his pocket. “Fucking dogs.”

Y/N’s initial shock returned and her jaw dropped. “Right? Have you ever seen a pack of demon-possessed dogs before? How- What?”

Dean laughed this time. “I have not.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and pulled away a glob of fur and blood. “Ew.”

Y/N tried to politely hide the fact that she nearly gagged as he flicked the muck aside.

“You’ve got a bit…” He pointed at her throat and then gestured to his own, showing her where to search.

“Oh, come on!” She beat at the side of her neck and smacked the mess away. “So gross!”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

Dean looked from her to the house they’d left behind and shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t know.”

Laughter trickled between them.

“I’m glad you called,” Dean said offhandedly as his gaze returned to her. “I’d hate to hear through the grapevine that you’d been ripped to shreds by a pack of wild purebreds.”

Y/N ran a hand over her hair and tugged at her ponytail, tightening the elastic. “I’m so confused. Why purebred poodles? Why?”

Dean shook his head and bit his lip, just as confused. “Wish I could tell you I understood this shit. I don’t. I just kill it.”

She let out a heavy breath and lay a hand on her chest. “Fuck, my heart is beating so fast!” Amazed, she took a step closer to Dean. “Feel it-” Taking his hand, she covered her heart.

He could feel it pounding, racing to restore blood flow to the proper areas while her muscles relaxed. “Damn…”

He didn’t move to pull back and she didn’t cringe. They stood in the newborn quiet for a moment, just enjoying the fact that they were alive and the problem had been solved.

When awkward struck hard, Dean smiled shyly and took a step back.

Y/N coughed a bit under her breath and looked away.

He cleared his throat.

“So, yeah-”

“You wanna-”

He froze. “I’m sorry?”

She laughed. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to go grab some food. I’m strangely starving.”

Dean exhaled away a breath of worry and licked his lip. “As long as you’re buyin’ I’m eatin’.” He fished the car keys from his pocket and walked around to the driver’s side.

“Me?” Y/N followed to the car, yanking open the passenger door with a loud creak of metal on metal. “I saved your life in there, man. I think you owe me.”

He paused with one foot in the car and squinted over the roof. “Who saved who now?”

“I saved you,” she said again, hopping in. “That hair-bowed bitch had you by the short an’ curlies before I got to you.”

The leather crackled under his weight and the door eeked shut. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did.”

He turned the key and shot her a look over his shoulder as she settled into the seat. She was sassy and cute, and only slightly annoying. He liked hanging out with her, so he’d give her this one.

“Well…” The engine roared to life and he cranked it into gear. “Thanks.”

Y/N rolled down the window and took a breath of fresh air. A smile lit her lips and she sighed happily. He was fun. Annoying and stupid at times, but brave and kind. She liked being around him, so she decided not to push it too far. But a little never hurt anybody.

“You can thank me with extra cheese.”

Dean laughed. “Deal.”

Y/N woke with a gasping scream, finding herself safe on the plush mattress and not splattered like a bug on the Chicago pavement.

Michael was nearby, tinkering with something on the dresser by the foot of the bed.

She cleared her throat and felt each rip her screams had caused. “What happened?”

Michael turned his head, slowly looking over his shoulder at her. “You were angering me, so I stopped you.”

Her heart was racing, terror pulsing through her limbs. She sat up against the pillows. “You- You pushed me out of the fucking window!”

The glass-less window showed her the truth, letting in cold streams of air and the faint sounds of traffic below.

“I did warn you.”

The icy air hit her skin and Y/N looked down to see that she was naked. A hundred tiny cuts marred her arms and neck, but they no longer bled. Michael had healed them enough to keep her alive. He’d saved her from being crushed by gravity and concrete, but for what?

Y/N hugged her chest and crossed her legs, hiding her body as best she could.

“Why did you save me?” she asked, calmer yet trembling.

Michael turned around and she saw that his clothing had been reduced to a simple white t-shirt and plain white boxers. She shivered at the sight. Dean’s broad shoulders, muscular arms, thick thighs- but it was wrong. So wrong.

“I wasn’t finished with you,” he replied simply. “I’m not through… examining you.”

Her stomach flipped. “Examining me?”

“Studying… observing… experimenting.”

The word dried her mouth, tugged at her heart, flashed horrific scenes behind her eyes. “What- what are you going to do to me?”

A bit of metal flashed in his hand as he approached. He held the scalpel tight between two fingers and knelt on the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight and Y/N cowered higher up against the padded headboard.

“I’ve looked into your mind, Y/N.”

He came closer and fear blurred her vision.

“I’ve tasted your soul.”

Unexpectedly, he reached over and set the blade down on the nightstand. Y/N held her breath as he bridged over her body, refusing to sully the memory of Dean’s scent.

“Now I want to know the rest of you.”

Her brow furrowed with question but it was soon answered. Michael lay his palm against her cheek and Y/N shivered at the cool touch. Slowly, he dragged his fingers down to grip her chin and lift it upward.

“I want to know… why Dean thinks you are so… incredible that he’s willing to trade his life… for yours.”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t.”

Michael grinned devilishly and pressed his lips to hers.

The intimacy was torture.

She remembered the push of Dean’s lips, every line of his chapped skin, the rhythm, the taste. Michael’s kiss was different. There was no swift breath escaping to float across her cheek; no desperate pressure behind it, no hunger. It was clinical, as if Michael had studied a textbook explaining the basic mechanics of the act.

When he pulled back, he cocked his head and peered down at Y/N as if she had done something wrong.

“It’s… rather… pointless, isn’t it?” he asked.

Y/N stiffened and tried to squirm away, but Michael placed a heavy hand on her stomach, halting any movement.

“What is?”

“Kissing,” he clarified. “It’s crude and unsanitary.”

She couldn’t help but laugh under her breath. “If you think that’s unsanitary, you should try oral.”

His eyes widened with the sparkling idea and Y/N shook her head quickly.

“No. No. It was… just a joke. You’re so right. Kissing is disgusting. I hate it. I hate kissing.”

“Dean recalls that you enjoyed it.” He bent down again, this time letting his breath coast across her lips. “He has many memories of your body, your… lips… the way you kissed him. He appeared to savor it.”

Again, he kissed her. This time, he drew from the memories he had stolen from his host, and the kiss was warmer, deeper. She shuddered when his tongue pushed through her lips, cringed when he licked the roof of her mouth. She wouldn’t engage, refusing to kiss him back. When he wouldn’t relent, she shoved at his chest and he pulled back, eyes bright with rage.

“Did you not learn from your skydive earlier?” He grabbed the offending hand and twisted her wrist. The bone cracked and Y/N screamed as he shoved her arm into the pillow by her head. “Do not resist me.”

Pain splintered up her arm and heat swelled around her wrist. She had felt worse before, but it had never been his hands, never been his face.

“Please…”

She cried through a heavy sob but Michael was unmoved by her pain.

Continuing his investigation, Michael licked at her lips once more. His lips trailed across her jaw and settled on her throat. “You will not fight me,” he warned. He pressed his lips against her pulse and closed his eyes, listening to the artery work. “You will submit.”

Y/N’s skin crawled and rebellion raged inside her. Dean wouldn’t want her to lay there helplessly whimpering. He’d tell her to fight no matter what.

“If you gotta go, go down swinging.”

She took a breath and brought her knee up as fast and hard as she could, jamming it into his crotch.

The angel fell back, not in pain, but surprise.

He straightened up and grit his teeth, seething. The lights flickered and Y/N braced herself for whatever punishment she had coming.

Instead of widespread pain doled out by invisible force, Michael balled his fist and swung at her. Unprepared, Y/N didn’t even attempt to move out of the way, and his knuckles sunk into her cheek.

Another jolt of pain, another snapped bone. She screamed behind the hand he closed over her mouth.

Leaning back down, Michael inched close to her face, green eyes twitching over the skin, watching as the blood vessels ruptured and oozed beneath the surface.

“Miraculous…”

It wasn’t just the pain, she could handle that.

It was the way his eyes ticked over her face. The eyes that she loved, now utterly corrupted.

It was the way his knuckles broke through her bones. The knuckles she had so often kissed, now brought devastation.

It was the way his face contorted with clinical interest; the way words fell from familiar lips with otherworldly cadence. The voice she had loved her whole life, the lips she had kissed a thousand times, the face she dreamt of every night: it was infected with all the evil that Heaven could produce.

Sick with pain, but flooded with spirited, dumb courage, Y/N pulled back her lips and sank her teeth into Michael’s palm.

The punishment was severe.

Another broken bone, another prodding investigation as the welt blossomed on her nose and her right eye sealed shut.

“You will behave.”

Out of hope, Y/N agreed. “Yes. I’m- I’m sorry. I’ll behave!” Her voice sounded foreign, so defeated and raspy she barely recognized herself.

Michael’s eyes glowed a bright, piercing blue. “I know you will.”

She felt it again, that startling and somehow arousing burst of sensation as his Grace flowed into her. It worked on her instantly: stretching her arms out across the bed and spreading her legs wide. It locked her head in place and pulled her jaw slack. Not a muscle could move by her will, not a sound could be made except the quick, panting breaths that left her lips.

She was frozen, held captive by his heavenly magic.

Her eyes filled with tears as he straddled her hips, making himself more comfortable now that she was agreeable.

The blue faded back to green, but the Grace stayed inside of her, holding her still. Without her resistance, Michael was free to inspect every inch of her body, inside and out.

He reveled at the length and thickness of her eyelashes, plucking one from each open lid and tested them against each other.

He pulled her lips further apart and ran his fingers through her mouth, feeling each minuscule bump on her tongue, the cut of each tooth, the strands of muscles lining her throat.

Horror flashed through her eyes, unable to swallow or gag as he forced his hand deeper down her esophagus. With the passage obstructed, her breathing became heavy and labored. Her heart struggled and Michael counted each tick of the muscle.

“So… intricate.” His wet fingers traced her collarbone. “So mechanical, every bit of you.” Scooting down, Michael set his sights on her chest. He ran his palm across her right breast and marveled as her nipple hardened at his chilly touch. “Humans truly are works of art…” He toyed with it, pinching and flicking, tugging hard and rolling gently.

Y/N couldn’t shy away or even close her eyes as his unwanted touch continued.

Fascinated, Michael swirled his tongue over her nipple. Her skin warmed and he felt the faint increase in temperature. Moving to the left side, he bit down on her tit and watched as blood met the indentation. He groped both breasts, kneading and pinching like he’d seen Dean do in his memories.

Y/N couldn’t help the automatic flush of her body or the way her pussy throbbed and leaked. She could only pray that he wouldn’t notice, that he wouldn’t understand.

Michael felt everything. He heard the blood as it rushed to her sex, smelled the arousal, and sensed her heat rise.

“I have watched humans for eons… but never have I observed a body so… closely.”

Her eyes burned. She screamed inside.

Michael slid a hand down her body and pressed it flat between her thighs.

If she could have moved, she would have fought. She would have raged and kicked and thrashed at him. She would have fought until her body gave out and she had no choice but to jump through the broken window. She would have fallen happily.

His touch was worse than death.

The wetness he touched made his eyes widen and his lips curl into a rapt smile. He dipped his fingers into her cunt, pulling out the warm slick and examining it closely.

“How… wondrous.”

Falling down, Michael jabbed his tongue between her folds and lapped at her hole, sucking the wetness and swallowing it down. His angelic mind calculated every molecule, sorting out cells and mapping its creation. As he licked, he saw her pussy respond. Blood filled her clit, making it hard. The skin of her lips darkened. He watched the muscles clench and heard the blood pump.

“Blood… is everything, isn’t it?” He floated back up to look into her paralyzed face. “It is in every part of you, controlling your muscles, allowing your mind to churn, your cunt to ache. It’s… the perfect fluid.”

Y/N prayed for release. She called to Castiel, to Gabriel, to any and every angel she’d ever met and those whose names she’d only read on the thin pages of her father’s bible.

Michael wiped a tear from her cheek. “They cannot help you, Y/N.”

She called to Rowena; she screamed for Jack.

“No one can hear your prayers. You’re with me and I am hidden from all.”

He held her gaze, listening to her thoughts. In one final, pathetic attempt for help, she cried for Dean. If he was in there, if Michael could see Dean’s memory, then maybe Dean could see through his eyes.

Help me…

Michael laughed softly and kissed her forehead. “Nice try.”

Her heart beat against its cage, thrumming faster and harder as she realized there was no end to the torture and no cavalry on its way to save her.

Distracted by the pounding beat, Michael dropped his hand to her chest, covering her heart. He closed his eyes and felt each thump, heard the valves opening and closing, allowing the sacred wine to flow through.

“Blood…” he whispered, entranced by the rhythmic palpitations. “Each beat keeping you alive… and for what?”

“I’m so glad you called, Dean. It’s really nice to see you.”

Her whisper invaded his senses, making him temporarily forget that they were trapped in a closet together with death tiptoeing beyond the door. Dean held his breath when she looked up at him. In the dark, she looked so small and delicate, like a thing he needed to cradle and protect. The light streaming in through the seams of the door struck her face in the most beautiful ways, highlighting the curl of her lashes and the turn of her upper lip. She pressed in closer, simply trying to readjust herself in the cramped space, and Dean found himself against a rock and a soft place. His blood surged south and he had to shake the idea away lest she feel it too.

He cleared his throat gently and stood up straighter, hoping to give himself an inch or seven. “Yeah, well, you could have ignored the call.”

She let out a faint laugh. “I could have. But then where would we be?”

“Not hiding in this closet, that’s for sure.”

Y/N bit her lip and stared up at him as he squirmed. The light was hitting his chin and the long line of his neck. She could see the hint of a scar by his ear and the shadow of a beard creeping up. He looked so big like this. So broad and muscular, safe. She swallowed hard and prayed he couldn’t feel how hot she suddenly was.

“Jokes aside,” she whispered. “I am glad. I missed you.”

Her smile was soft and he wanted to press the tips of his fingers to her lips and feel the pull.

“Me too…”

Realization struck them both like lightning and for the first time in years, they were on the same page. Attraction hit like a tidal wave and they both jerked back as far as they could, taking to the tiny corners of the dusty old closet in the back of that long hall in that big house on a hill in Tannersville.

“Um… Dean?”

He breathed in deeply, instantly regretting it as the sweet perfume of her shampoo flooded his brain and made his mouth water. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking, maybe- I mean if we ever get outta here-”

An inconvenient fact reared its face and broke the moment. The witch they were dealing with threw something against a wall nearby and the closet shook. Her wretched screech echoed through the darkness and Dean jumped, pressing one hand to his ear and the other to his gun.

“How ‘bout we, uh- put a pin in this. Yeah?”

Y/N winced at the sharp pitch of the witch’s scream and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Murder first, chat later. Gotcha!”

“Hey, it’s not murder if she’s an evil bitch.”

“Let’s debate semantics later, shall we?” Y/N gripped her blade tight.

He grinned and reached for the doorknob. “After you…”

“Such a gentleman.”

“Always.”

The witch went down with more than a bit of a fight and the friends were too tired later for anything more than a drive-thru burger and a side of aspirin.

They stuffed their faces with grease and questionable meat; washed it all down with a few warm beers.

Dean managed to somehow smear ketchup on his ear and Y/N wiped it clear with the only remaining clean napkin.

Y/N burped so loud that it shook the bed and sent Dean into an impressive fit of laughter.

They took turns showering, and when Y/N was done, she found Dean setting up the couch like a bed, spreading out a spare blanket, and beating a pillow into submission.

She rubbed her hair with the shitty motel towel while watching him. He was down to a single layer of light blue boxers and a tight black tee. His hair was still damp from the shower and spiked up on the top like an early 2000s flashback. She stared a bit too long and was startled when he turned around.

“Have enough hot water?” he asked.

Y/N shrugged. “You didn’t quite use all of it. Most. But not all.”

He grinned and let his eyes fall down her body. She was ready for bed- braless in a purple tank top and loose cotton shorts. She flipped the wet towel onto the floor and Dean realized he was staring too much.

“You sure you don’t wanna get another room?” she asked, moving over to the bed and tugging the sheet down. “You shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.”

A dangerous idea sparked in his brain, but he pushed it away. Sure, he could insist on sharing the bed, but there was a line he was too afraid to cross. They’d been friends for so long, sharing thoughts and dreams over text messages. There had been hundreds of video calls late at night when the world was crashing down around them; casual meet-ups when monsters brought them to the same part of the country. Despite how he felt, she’d never given him a hint, so he kept his feelings to himself.

If he shared the bed, he knew he’d try something.

If he tried something, she’d have to respond.

If she rejected him- well, he wasn’t ready to ruin a friendship over a shitty motel room with only one bed.

“Nah,” he replied, turning back to the sofa. “I’ve slept on worse.”

Y/N shrugged as if she didn’t care where he slept, but inside she crumbled a bit. It was dumb to assume he’d want to share a bed with her, but she had hoped he might. Hope wasn’t a bad thing, just an annoying inconvenience that generally left her unsatisfied and listless. Hope kept her dreaming that someday he’d finally recognize the chemistry between them. Dreams made her long for his touch, praying that he’d rush at her, scoop her into his big arms, and kiss her so hard the whole world would fade away. Sure, she could make the first move but rejection was worse than hope.

“Cool.”

Dean hung his head. “Cool.”

Sleep was a lofty goal that neither could achieve.

The alarm clock on the nightstand was buzzing slightly as if electricity was leaking out of it and sizzling in the air. Y/N tried to ignore it, but the irritation kept her from shutting her brain off.

She rolled onto her left side and tucked the blanket between her legs. In the darkness, she could see Dean stretched out on the sofa. He was facing the door but she could make his perfect profile in the shadows. One hand was tucked beneath his head and the other rested on his stomach. Y/N watched it rise and fall with each breath, wondering what he was dreaming about.

She sighed and he shifted a bit, readjusting his hips.

Her exhale rang in his ears and Dean chewed his bottom lip as he stared at the ceiling. He’d fallen asleep twice, but each time his imagination pushed him awake. He wasn’t sure if it was a dream or his mind running wild, but he saw Y/N lying in his arms, face shimmering and lips wet. He felt her legs quake as he tasted her sweetness. Each time, he’d wake up with an aching cock and unrequited desire.

He huffed gently and she sat up on her elbow.

“You up?” she whispered, squinting at his silhouette.

Dean smiled to himself and waved at her over his head. “Why are you?”

“Dunno. Brain won’t shut up.” She threw back the blanket and the bed creaked as she swung her legs over the side. “Why are you?”

“Same.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and scratched at the tiny hairs on his jaw. “You wanna get a dr-”

Y/N was at his side before he knew it, biting her lip innocently as she knelt on the sofa.

His eyes went wide and he sat up a bit. “Hi.”

She smiled. “Hi.”

Without asking, she turned and moved to lay down beside him. Dean shifted, pressing himself into the back of the couch to give her room.

“This OK?” she asked, already settling down.

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh. Yeah…”

She grabbed his hand and tugged his arm to fit around the curve of her waist.

“And this?”

He lay down and curled up behind her. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

It took a moment for their bodies to relax, for their brains to interpret the closeness or register the meaning. Y/N nearly kicked herself for taking such a chance, but when she felt Dean relax against her back, she smiled. He pressed his face into her hair and took a breath, nearly moaning when he exhaled.

Y/N rolled her ass back just an inch, but it was enough to set him on fire. His mind was racing with a thousand imagined scenarios, all ending with her brilliant smile and his name on her lips. His fingers tensed on her stomach and she let out a tiny whimper.

Slowly, Dean dared to press his cheek against her ear. His hand moved up a fraction of an inch and Y/N dragged a finger across it, caressing his hand and up his arm.

He kissed her cheek.

She threaded her fingers into his.

He breathed hot against her ear.

She dragged his hand up her stomach, leading him up higher.

He sucked her earlobe between his lips.

She shivered and closed his palm over her breast.

He moaned.

She twisted her neck and found his lips, breaking their friendship with a deep kiss.

Dean licked into her mouth and his blood boiled, pushing every sensation into hyperdrive. Her lips felt like heaven, her touch was like fire. He palmed her tit, rolled her nipple gently, nibbled on her ear.

Y/N melted for him. Her body went soft and pliable; her pussy dripped, her breath grew heavy and fast. She could feel how hard he was, pressing into her ass. She snuck a hand between them and rubbed at the tip of his cock.

Dean hissed and groped her tits a little harder.

Her fingers snuck into his boxers and she traced a gentle line down his shaft, teasing him. He pinched her nipple hard and her gasping moan filled the room.

“Fuck, Y/N…”

Her fingers closed around his thick cock and she arched her back, laying her throat bare for him.

“You know,” she whispered, “the bed is bigger…”

Dean turned his wrist and dragged his hand down to her shorts, gently teasing at the elastic hem. “True, but then we wouldn’t be so close.” He kissed her neck.

Her jaw dropped when his warm hand slid down, covering her pussy with light pressure. “Good point.”

She stroked him slowly as he rubbed her cunt. He licked at her pulse while she caressed his sack.

When his breath grew hot and fast, Y/N spun around and attacked his lips. She held his face in her hands and pushed every late-night dream, every lonely fantasy into her kiss. She wanted him to feel it. Wanted him to know how long she’d waited to touch him like this; how desperate she’d been to feel his hands on her.

Dean tried to keep his eyes open, wanting to remember every second and sear it all into his memory, but her lips tugged them closed. Her kiss was so deep, so devastatingly perfect that he couldn’t hold on. His will vanished in a rush of lust and he grabbed at her soft flesh, plucked at her sensitive spots, rolled his hips against her wetness.

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad,” he groaned, fingers digging into her ass while she bit down on his shoulder.

Y/N hummed and licked at the bite marks she’d left. “Me too. Fuck, Dean…”

He pulled her closer and she sat up, straddling his hips as she pulled her tank top off. Dean gripped her hips and stared in awe at her beautiful body writing above him. She rocked down onto him and he had never hated cotton so much. The layers between them prevented his cock from sliding in, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind. She rubbed her slick cunt up and down his shaft, driving them both insane.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, Dean sat up and wrapped his arm around her back, holding her tight. He tried to stand but stumbled and Y/N laughed softly while fumbling for balance.

They made it to the bed without injury; shed their clothes without hesitation.

Dean pushed her onto her back and licked deep into her mouth. She moaned into him and scratched a hand through his hair. Her legs spread wide for him and Dean kissed his way down her body. She held her breath when his lips pressed into the softness of her inner thigh.

“Always wanted to taste you,” he breathed, running the tip of his middle finger down her slit.

Y/N’s legs shook and her fingers tensed over his scalp. “Please…”

Dean smiled and exhaled gently while slipping his finger into her. She was wet and warm and he hummed darkly.

“So fucking beautiful…”

His tongue pressed flat over her pussy and then slid inside, swirling around her clit like a spiral that entranced her body and mind. Y/N squirmed against his mouth, held her breath when the pleasure spiked, tugged on his hair. It was as if her dreams were seeping into reality and God was answering every blasphemous prayer.

Dean was ravenous, licking her hard and pushing his fingers deeper with each thrust of his wrist. He closed his eyes and listened to the hitch of her breath, the exquisite moans she set free. Every pulse of her cunt on his fingers made his cock twitch. Every buck of her hips made him suckle harder. He wanted to drown in her juices, happy to let this be his last act on earth.

She came hard and fast, leaking pleasure onto his tongue.

Dean pushed back enough to see her face. He kept his hand in place, fucking her through the throbbing orgasm even as she tried to push him away.

“Dean… please…”

Her brows creased and her lips pushed out in a pout that nearly broke his heart. He floated up to her, climbing up the mattress and shifting his right thigh between hers. She pressed down on the thick muscle and rocked hard as he kissed her again. She tasted herself on his lips and moaned.

“You’re amazing…”

Dean’s heart raced at the whispered praise and he kissed across her jaw and down, lapping at her throat and sucking a tiny mark on her shoulder. She scratched a hand down his back and grabbed his ass, tugging him forward. He fell down, his full weight crushing her into the bed.

Y/N wrapped herself around him, arms and legs holding on tight. With every bit of strength she could muster, she rolled him onto his back and popped up, sitting on his stomach.

Wide green eyes fell down her body, soaking in the perfect view.

With the tables turned, Y/N followed his previous trek, laying kisses down the length of his torso and biting his inner thigh. Dean jumped at the sting and then relaxed into nothingness as she licked the head of his cock.

She kissed and hummed at the peak of him and a drop of precum zinged her taste buds. Enthused, she took him in until she gagged and then pulled back with tightly sealed lips.

Dean let out a moan that she’d remember until the day she died. His big hand fit against the top of her head, gently guiding her up and down until he was curling in on himself and fighting to hold back.

“Fuck, Y/N/N… Ya... ya gotta stop or I’m done…”

She retreated with a loud pop of her swollen lips and Dean reached for her face. He dragged her up and kissed her hard while rolling her back onto the pillow.

“Want you, Dean…”

He hummed and shifted between her legs. “Yeah?”

She nodded quickly and clung to his broad shoulders. “Yes. So fucking bad…”

He nudged at her cunt, dipping his cock in only an inch. She shuddered and her nails sunk into his arms.

“You OK?” he asked, watching her eyes flutter and her mouth go slack.

Again, she nodded; her face washed in frustrated agony. “Please…”

He kissed her gently and then set his arms aside her head.

When he pushed fully in, they both stopped. Time froze around them and for a long moment, there was nothing else in the world. She could feel him trembling and lay her hand on his cheek. He turned towards her hand and kissed her palm.

There was no banter, no salacious teasing, no further begging. Dean fucked her slowly, taking his time to wind her pleasure back up to the highest point before they both gave in, breaking in each other’s arms and stealing the air from the rest of the world.

When his pulse steadied, Dean rolled onto his side and held his head in his hand. He couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t stop smiling.

Y/N felt a wave of shyness as he stared but it was the good kind. She wanted him to keep watching. She reached for his free hand and brought it to her lips, carefully kissing the pads of each finger.

He sighed happily. “You know… I really think… I mean…” His stomach flipped with nerves and he bit his lip, holding back everything he needed to say.

She laughed gently. “What?” She kissed his middle finger again.

He took a deep breath. “I think I could really fall for you.”

A soft smile turned her lips. “I’m pretty sure you already have.”

His cheeks burned. His soul felt at ease. Dean laid his hand over her heart and felt the steady beat.

“I’m pretty sure you’re right…”

Y/N felt each swipe of the scalpel, every drop of blood that leaked from the wounds. Locked and awake inside her immoble body, she tried to think of other things, to keep her mind away from the torture. She called up old dreams, sacred poems, and blissful moments with Dean.

Whenever she drifted, Michael pulled her back.

He kissed her again and again, breathing more Grace into her body to keep her alive. The deeper he cut, the harder his magic worked. The wounds lay open and he dipped his fingers or tongue inside, learning her flesh, tasting, feeling everything.

His expression was crazed but childlike. He truly wished to understand everything about her, to figure out why she was so important, why God loved his pathetic creations more than his firstborn sons.

Most of all, he marveled over her heart. He listened closely to the flow of blood, trying different techniques to make it quicken or slow. If he stopped her breathing, her heart would race and then halt. If he cut an artery, it would slowly pump her life force out onto the crisp white sheets, staining the bedding in deep crimson. If he stimulated her sex, it would race and skip, meeting his touch.

Twice, he’d killed her only to bring her back. He wanted to hear the absolute death of her heart and before kicking it back into motion.

Y/N remembered every second, felt the pull of his Grace waking her back up. She had long ago given up on prayer, and sank into the pain, letting it consume her soul. She deserved to bleed. She couldn’t save Dean, couldn’t help him in any way. She deserved the torment.

“Human skin is so… delicate,” Michael mused, running the razor edge down the length of her chest, splitting the flesh wide. “So… easily broken…” Again, he dragged the blade through her, deepening the gash until he saw a peek of white bone. “Like your hearts.”

Y/N screamed as intense pain shot through every bit of her.

Michael pushed the bleeding meat aside and exposed her ribcage.

She felt every touch and her vision faded. Consciousness was slipping away and she welcomed the darkness like an old friend.

“No, no, Y/N,” he whispered, laying a hand on her cheek. “Stay with me.”

Grace jolted her awake and she cursed him with everything she had. He heard her silent blasphemy and smiled.

“Don’t you understand? You’re doing a good thing. You’re helping me.”

Digging into her chest, Michael wrapped two fingers between the fourth rib on each side.

“You’re teaching me.”

He pulled his hands apart and her sternum splintered. The cage tore open and Y/N felt the terrifying sensation of cool air on her lungs.

“You’re teaching Dean that I will always win.”

He ignored her screams and pressed his fingers to her exposed heart, observing the blood pumping from the source.

“No matter how he screams, how he… begs, claws, fights… I will always win.”

On a whim, Michael shifted to sit between her legs. Watching her heart, he pulled his cock free and tapped her clit with the tip.

Y/N struggled to break the spell, to move, to scream, but there was no escape. Her fate was sealed.

“Interesting…”

The muscle pumped faster. Michael narrowed his gaze on the aorta and slipped his stiff cock into her vagina. Blood moved quicker, the aorta swelled, the beats quickened. He grinned.

“How exquisite.”

The faster he fucked her, the harder her heart beat. He watched like a scientist, tracking individual blood cells as they moved through her system, rushing through the expansive highway of veins to visit every part of her body. When they returned to the heart, he chose another part to focus on until he had learned all that he could.

There wasn’t much left of her mind, only a fading memory of her first kiss with Dean. That single, exhilarating instance when friends became more, and this vile moment was far, far away.

Michael knelt between her thighs and straightened up, fully filling Dean’s impressive form. He looked deep into Y/N’s frozen face and felt a surge of pride and understanding.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Inside, Dean was fighting. He tore at his cell, screamed and cursed until his throat filled with blood and then started all over again.

Michael leaned close and kissed her lips, retrieving his Grace and setting her free.

Her shrieks shook the room, but Michael had no pity for her. She was simply a thing to him now. A toy made of cells and air and blood.

He snapped his fingers and her neck, finally giving her peace.

Dean had seen every moment, felt his hands digging into her chest cavity, tasted her blood on his lips.

Insane with grief and enraged beyond what he could truly feel, he let out a surge of strength that tickled Michael’s insides.

“Calm down, Dean. It’s over.”

You fucking monster!

“Now, now… Relax.”

I’m going to kill you. I’m going to rip you apart.

Michael wiped the blade clean on the ruined bedsheet and smiled.

“Good luck.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester x reader #dark fic #michael!Dean x reader #angst #spn fanfiction

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ducktoo · 4 months ago

Text

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

32. Whipupulashu

Note: ….I want them all to kabedon me with those looks-

Masterlist here

The studio buzzed with excitement as aespa dove into preparations for their next album, Whiplash. The girls were seated around a large table, scribbling down notes, lyrics, and potential ideas for their upcoming songs. The atmosphere was intense but filled with anticipation.

Y/n leaned against the doorframe, taking in the scene. The shift in aespa’s style was immediate and bold—darker, edgier, with a mysterious allure. The title track was already sending chills down his spine with its haunting melody and fierce beat. It was still very "aespa," but something about it felt… elevated.

He stood at the back, trying to focus on logistics, but something else kept grabbing his attention:

The black lipstick.

(AAAAAAAAAA-)

The girls were experimenting with their new stage looks, and the black lipstick, combined with their sleek, all-black outfits, was hypnotic. Especially on Winter. Her bold new appearance, complete with a sharp bob wolf cut that framed her face perfectly, was hard to look away from. The dark, edgy makeup made her already striking features even more intense.

Winter caught his eye as she casually adjusted her outfit. She had always been beautiful, but this was something different—a new kind of allure, one that had Y/n feeling like he was seeing her in a whole new light.

He tried to focus on the meeting, but his mind kept drifting back to the way Winter looked with that black lipstick. She caught him staring more than once, and each time, she smirked, clearly noticing his flustered state.

"Y/n," Karina’s voice snapped him out of his daze. "Are you okay? You’ve been kind of... spaced out.”

“Wha—oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Y/n stammered, standing up straight as if he had been caught doing something wrong.

“Uh-huh,” Karina smirked, her eyes flicking toward Winter, who was now looking at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting her wolf cut. “You sure it’s not something else?”

Y/n quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in his tablet. “It’s fine. Just a lot on my mind.”

Giselle, always quick to jump in, chimed, “I dunno, looks like our idiot’s been daydreaming again.”

“I wasn’t daydreaming,” Y/n muttered defensively, though his flustered expression only made the girls giggle.

Winter, sitting across from him, smirked but didn’t say much. Her eyes, however, lingered on him just a bit longer than usual. “Do you like it? The black lipstick? The hair?” she asked, her voice soft but teasing.

She’s doing it on purpose.

Y/n gulped. He could feel his face getting warm as he nodded. “Yeah. It’s definitely a bold look.”

Winter’s smile grew into a playful smirk. “Bold, huh? Good. I like bold.”

Karina leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, clearly enjoying Y/n’s awkwardness. “Careful, Y/n. You might get hypnotized if you keep staring.”

“Tsk. I’m not staring,” Y/n said quickly, trying to hide his embarrassment. He shifted his gaze back to his tablet, but even as he pretended to check something, his mind kept drifting back to Winter’s new look—the bob cut, the fierce aura, and that black lipstick.

It reminded him of that night in the dorm, the way she’d pinned him against the wall, bold and confident.

A few moments passed, and Winter finally broke the silence, glancing at Y/n with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I think you’ll like this concept. Reminds you from that night, huh?”

Y/n nearly choked on his own breath. He turned bright red, his mind flashing back to that night she had cornered him during the prank. The girls had laughed it off, but Winter’s lingering gaze and the way she had brushed it off as a prank had left him wondering ever since.

Karina looked between them, her smirk growing wider. “Oh, what’s this about a night?”

Giselle gasped dramatically, acting as if they weren't the mastermind of that event. “Wait, did I miss something?”

Winter shot Y/n a look as if daring him to explain. He waved his hands defensively. “Ya, you guys planned it and got me by surprise. Of course I am flustered.”

“Yeah, flustered because his childhood friend kabedoned him, pff.” Giselle said with a grin, causing Karina to burst out laughing.

Winter just shrugged nonchalantly. “Meh, I was being serious back then,” she said coolly, her eyes locking with Y/n’s again, teasing him further.

Karina sighed dramatically, interrupting the moment. “Okay, okay, enough teasing our poor manager. He’s got work to do.

Y/n chuckled, grateful for the change of subject. “Right. I’ll leave you all to it,” he said, walking over to the whiteboard and trying to look busy.

But the truth was, he was distracted. The darker, more seductive vibe of Whiplash was throwing him off his game. The girls were already powerhouses on stage, but this album… this would be something else.

And the black lipstick? It was… dangerous.

As the shooting moved forward, Y/n kept sneaking glances at Winter. She was focused, switching her poses as the photoshoot went on. But every now and then, she’d catch him looking and smile—just enough to make his heart do that weird flip again.

Giselle noticed it too. "Are you sure you’re with us?" she asked with a grin. “You’re acting all spaced out today.”

Y/n forced a smile. "Totally! Just thinking about logistics and how to make everything work," he said, though in reality, his mind was nowhere near logistics.

Had she really meant what she said back then?

Weeks later, aespa’s schedules became even more intense as the comeback release day of Whiplash drew closer. In the midst of their promotion schedule, the group was set to appear on a popular variety show, and Y/n was roped into joining them for the games.

At the back stage, Y/n stood off to the side, still grappling with his growing feelings for Winter, who, to make things worse, was standing right next to him, leaning in far too close for comfort. But it wasn’t like he minded. It was just… confusing. Especially with the way she’d been acting since the “prank.”

"You okay?" Winter asked, her voice soft but teasing. "You’ve been fidgeting all morning."

"I’m fine!" Y/n replied a little too quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Winter raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You’ve been acting weird ever since…”

Y/n’s face flushed, and Winter just smiled knowingly, stepping back before she could tease him any further.

“I love these kinds of shows,” Ningning said, bouncing on her heels as the production crew set up. “It’s fun, and we get to mess with each other.”

Y/n, finally got himself together, wasn’t as enthusiastic. “I’m just here to make sure you all don’t cause too much mess,” he joked, though there was a hint of nervousness in his voice. He knew these shows could get wild, and being the manager didn’t exempt him from being dragged into the games.

Karina shot him a sly look. “You think you’re safe, but just wait until they pull out the mystery box challenge.”

Y/n paled. "I’ve seen what’s in those boxes. No thanks."

And so, there he was, sitting next to the girls on set, trying not to look completely out of place. The show started off with introductions, and immediately, the teasing began.

“So, Y/n, we’ve heard that you’re quite the… viral sensation,” the host said, grinning widely. “You’ve danced to Supernova and made quite a splash online, haven’t you?”

The girls burst into laughter, with Karina practically doubling over. “You mean Supernova boy? Oh, he’s famous for that now!”

Y/n tried to hide his face behind his hands, groaning. “I swear, that video’s never going away.”

Winter leaned over, smirking. “It’s legendary. You can’t escape it.”

“Looks like we’ll have to get you to dance again today,” the host teased.

Y/n’s eyes widened. “Wait, what—”

The first game was a relay race, but with a twist—everyone had to balance a spoon with a ping pong ball in their mouths while running. Karina, Ningning, and Giselle were naturals, but when it came to Y/n’s turn, the ball fell within two steps. The girls burst out laughing as Y/n scrambled to pick it up, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Ya, you’re really bad at this,” Winter teased, grinning as she watched him struggle.

“I don’t see you doing any better,” Y/n shot back, but he was smiling too. Despite the nerves and the growing heartbeat, he was having fun, even if he was making a fool of himself.

The next game was the dreaded mystery box challenge. One by one, the members reached inside the box to guess what was inside, their reactions ranging from giggles to screams. When it was Y/n’s turn, he hesitated, eyeing the box warily.

“It’s not gonna bite, Y/n,” Karina teased, pushing him toward the box.

"Yeah, but it might move," Y/n muttered, reluctantly sticking his hand inside. He flinched when something soft brushed against his fingers, and the girls erupted into laughter as he yanked his hand out.

“Is it… a stuffed toy?” Y/n guessed, still looking horrified.

Winter smirked, crossing her arms. “You’ll never know.”

While the girls took the challenges in stride, Y/n was clumsy in every task, much to the delight of the audience. Every time he fumbled, Winter couldn’t help but laugh, but she also threw in the occasional reassuring glance, as if to say, Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.

The chemistry between them didn’t go unnoticed by the other members either. Giselle nudged Karina, whispering, "You see how Winter keeps looking at him? Something’s definitely going on."

Karina smirked. "Yeah, but do you think Y/n even realizes it?"

"Absolutely not," Giselle snorted. "The guy’s clueless as f-."

After the show ended, the group gathered backstage, laughing about the day’s events. Y/n slumped into a chair, exhausted but content. “I survived,” he muttered.

“You did more than that,” Giselle said, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder. “You were the highlight of the show.”

Karina grinned. “I think the fans will love seeing you on screen again.”

Y/n groaned. "Great. More viral moments to haunt me."

After the variety show wrapped up and the group headed back to the dorms, Y/n found himself alone with his thoughts again. Winter’s playful teasing and the stolen glances during the show replayed in his mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

Was she serious? he wondered, thinking back to that kiss. Every time he tried to convince himself it had just been a joke, her lingering looks and gentle touches made him question everything. And it wasn’t just him—Winter seemed to be making subtle moves too, like how she’d started sitting closer while waiting for her turn or how she’d casually brush her hand against his when passing by.

As the rest of the group relaxed in the common area, Y/n paced back and forth, trying to gather his thoughts. The weight of his feelings was heavy, and he wanted to talk to the girls, but he wasn’t sure how to start.

He found Giselle and Karina lounging on the couch, chatting animatedly about their favorite variety show moments. Ningning was nearby, flipping through her phone.

"Rina, Aeri, Ning, can I… talk to you guys for a minute?" Y/n said, his voice tinged with anxiety. The girls looked up, their expressions curious.

"Sure, what’s up?" Giselle asked, setting aside her phone.

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It’s about Minjeong… and me."

Karina raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "What about Minjeong?"

"Well…." Y/n started, "I’m…starting to realize that my feelings for Winter are more serious than I thought. And I… I don’t really know what to do about it."

Ningning walked over from the kitchen, her curiosity piqued. "Wait, you mean you like Jeong-unnie as more than just a friend?"

Y/n sheepishly nodded. "I'm still figuring it out…but I guess it's heading towards that direction."

Ningning and Giselle exchanged glances, while Karina leaned back, crossing her arms. "Are you asking for our advice or…?"

Y/n nodded. "Both, I guess. I want to know if I’m doing the right thing, and also, if you guys are okay with it. I…don’t want to cause any weirdness between us or make things uncomfortable."

The room fell quiet for a moment as the girls processed what Y/n was saying. Finally, Giselle broke the silence with a soft smile. "Honestly, Y/n, if you really like Minjeong and you’re being genuine about it, then we’re all for it."

"Yeah," Karina added. "Winter’s a grown-up. She can make her own decisions. If you like her and she likes you, then who are we to stop it?"

Ningning, who had been watching the exchange closely, gave Y/n a reassuring smile. "We all see how happy Winter is when she’s around you. It’s pretty clear she likes you too. Just be honest with her."

Y/n let out a sigh of relief, his tension easing. "Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it."

"Plus, you guys took too long." Ningning groaned. "You're too obvious, Y/n-oppa."

"Eh?"

"She's right, you know?" Karina followed. "You think we didn't notice how you like messing with her and acted differently with her? Sheesh, we girls especially paid attention to those."

"uhhhh…" Y/n scratched his head. Now that they pointed it out, the manager noticed that they had been more than obvious than they thought. "Surely, Jeong just think of it as childhood friend thing-"

"Y/n," Giselle stood up grabbed his shoulders. "Trust us bro and go for it."

"…right. You're scaring me, Aeri."

Giselle chuckled. "Just make sure you’re not a bumbling mess around her. Winter deserves someone who can handle her as well as you handle a crisis."

"Hey!" Y/n protested, though he couldn’t help but laugh. "I’m not that bad."

Karina winked at him. "Right. And don’t mess this up. We’ll be watching."

Y/n grinned, feeling more confident about the situation. "Got it. I’ll keep that in mind."

#aespa #aespa x reader #kpop #aespa giselle #aespa karina #aespa ningning #aespa winter #karina #ningning #giselle #aespa x you #aespa x male reader #ning yizhuo #yoo jimin #aeri uchinaga #kim minjeong #minjeong x reader #winter x reader #x reader

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coqxettee · 1 year ago

Text

Coquette Winter Gift Guide:

🎀 Gift ideas for yourself or your friends who love the Coquette aesthetic:

Clothes/Fashion:

1. Anything from Brandy Melville (Amara heart lace pyjamas)

2. Bailey bow uggs or normal uggs

3. Ralph Lauren sweaters

4. A ballet wrap

5. Floral pyjama sets, Cami’s & Long sleeve shirts

6. Grandma cardigans

7. A cable knit sweater

8. Legwarmers/pretty tights

9. A pair of cute gloves

10. ANY clothing from “Mymummadeit”

11. ANY clothing from “Favourite child collective”

12. Any clothing from the “Cutey” section on Romwe

13. A dress/anything from “Selkie”

14. Any slogan tee’s / baby tee’s from small businesses and independent brands

15. Victoria secret Pyjamas/Robe

16. Pink puffa coat

17. Tiffany & co earrings or necklace

18. The “Mymummadeit” puffa bag

19. Kate spade heart bag/Vivienne Westwood one or just a heart purse

20. A printed tote bag

21. Ted baker bags/cosmetic bags

22. Any dresses from - Cider, Motel rocks, Pretty little thing, Oh polly

23. A ballet skirt

24. ECOSUSI summer garden romance bags

25. A cape/fur shaul//A glam doll coat

26. Vintage nightgowns/nightwear

27. Cute earmuffs & things to decorate them with

28. Mary Janes & frilly ankle socks

Beauty:

29. Any products from “Glossier”

30. Dior (addict) makeup products (Lip oil’s, Blush, lip balm,

31. Anything from “Flowerknows” “Etude house” “Too faced” or “Charlotte Tilbury” “C beauty mall products”

32. Chanel lipstick

33. A quilted floral coquette makeup bag

34. W7 Tinted kiss lip oil

35. Miss Dior perfume

36. Chanel mamoiselle perfume

37. Any of the Ariana Grande perfumes/body sprays

38. Penhaligons “The favourite”

39. Oriana “Parfums de Marly”

40. Victoria secret body sprays

41. Paul & Joe Cinamoroll collection

Homeware:

42. The Amazon floral bedsheets

43. A heart mirror

44. Love shack fancy homeware items

45. Anything from Paris Hilton’s new cookery line

46. A ballerina/music box jewellery box

47. Pink/Vanilla Yankee candles

48. FreePrints photos to make a wall collage

49. Roccoco style picture frames

50. An angel tray dish

51. Fake flowers

52. Pretty Cushions / A large throw fluffy blanket,

53. Caroline medium jewellery case

54. Fake cake jewellery boxes

55. Tall candles and a candle holder

56. Posters of celebrity’s/artists etc

57. Any pretty art that can be displayed/put into frames

Self care:

58. Spa headbands, and wrist bands (Kylie skin headband)

59. Inn is free skincare products

60. Philosophy shower and skin products

61. Chanel eye patches

62. Mulberry silk eye mask (pink)

63. Look fantastic heartless hair curlers

64. Dior prestige skin products and body lotions

65. Baylis & Harding products

66. Angel tangle brush

67. Charlotte Tilbury skincare gift sets

68. Elasti - cream

69. Embellished claw clips

70. Sol de Janerio body cream

71. Mugs, hand warmers, face masks, lip scrubs

Miscellaneous: ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚

72. AirPod max

73. Wildflower phone cases & airpod cases

74. A pink waterbottle (Stanley or Lululemon)

75. Lana del rey vinyls

76. Coquette notebooks

77. Dior & Chanel fashion books

78. My year of rest and relaxation

79. The seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo

80. Jellycats

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛

I hope this helped you think of some ideas of things you want to ask or get someone for Christmas 🎀✨🎄

Merry Pinkmas coquette doves

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛

#baby pink #coquette #coquette aesthetic #lana del rey #girly pink #girly #girly aesthetic #girly girl #girly kei #girly stuff #coquette christmas #pinkmas #christmas

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littlest-w01f · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter Four

Series Masterlist

Cw: None

The day he had started to dread was upon him, the day he and his family would visit the Court of Nightmares, he had no idea what he was to expect in Hewn City, the home to the horrible folks who loved being there.

Nyx sat up in his bed, removing his covers and looking out to the darkness of the Night Court, his room in the Riverhouse was gigantic, beautiful and every inch of it held a homey warmth. It was a massive expanse filled with rich hues of purple and blue, glittery shimmer on the room's roof, mimicking the night sky outside, painted by her mother when he was just a babe, preserved in his ceiling forever.

He slipped off from his bed, a large window overlooks the city below, casting a soft glow of moonlight onto the plush carpet beneath his feet, he groaned as he stretched his wings behind his back, letting them flex, he curled his wings around himself to shield the expansion of his chest from the cold air in his room.

His bedroom had its walls adorned with paintings depicting different landscapes and mythical creatures from various cultures. There was also a grand canopy bed draped in luxurious silk sheets that matched perfectly with the room, royal blues and purples with silver accents. On one side stood a full-length mirror framed elegantly in gold leaf while opposite to this stood another door leading further into the house.

In front of the window was a sitting area furnished comfortably with couches covered in velvet fabric and scattered throw pillows embroidered intricately in black threadwork patterns reminiscent of stars against night skies. Atop an ornate mahogany table sat several books about astronomy and mythology and sketches depicting various celestial bodies and creatures from folklore.

Nyx gazed out at the shadowed expanse of the Night Court beyond his window as he walked into the balcony, faerie lights lighting up The Rainbow and the streets leading to it, the Sidra rippling gently under the moonlight filtering through the beautiful city. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he contemplated the unsettling encounter that awaited him and his family later that morning. He had heard nothing but the worst of Kier and the people like him who resided there.

As Nyx stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air enveloped him, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming jasmine and the distant aroma of the Sidra river. The faerie lights lining the streets cast an ethereal glow over the city, making it seem almost magical despite the ominous tales surrounding the Night Court. The gentle lapping of the water against the riverbank created a soothing melody that contrasted sharply with the unease churning in Nyx's stomach.

His skin glowed with a natural luminescence, highlighting the intricate tattoos that snaked across his shoulders and arms, telling tales quite similar to what his father and uncles had experienced. Each line and curve of the markings added depth to his already imposing physique.

His wings, folded neatly against his back, shimmered subtly under the faerie lights illuminating the balcony. They were large and powerful, the leathery texture of them not hard to see with how polished they were.

As he pondered the unknown terrors of Hewn City, Nyx's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his mother's soft voice calling up from downstairs, making him lean over the balcony to see her. "Nyx, dear! We have a big day ahead of us, come have something to eat."

"Coming, Ma!" With a heavy sigh, Nyx reluctantly pulled himself away from watching the sun rise in the Night Court over the Illyrian mountains and threw on a shirt.

Diving from the balcony, wings spread completely to land headfirst in the dining room. "Mornin'."

"Cauldron, Nyx!" Mor yelped as Nyx appeared in front of his aunt, his uncle Azriel's shadows hiding him well, the male in question was watching in amusement, taking a finger-full from a bowl of melted chocolate she would be adding to some pastries. "Get back here you horrible child!"

"But I'm such an innocent babe," Nyx pouted and made a run for it around the room as he licked his fingers clean, his mother and father laughing at Mor throwing her apron at his face then glaring at the couple, while Cassian carried Nesta bridal style to another of the little chaoses Nyx had been causing since before he was born.

After breakfast, the sun had risen up, and Nyx stood outside his giant wardrobe, thinking about what to wear, he certainly didn't want to be too comfortable.

Nyx opened the massive wardrobe doors, revealing rows upon rows of clothing tailored specifically for his physique. Leathers of armour designed to accommodate his wings, tunics suited for nothing less than the Heir of Night, and trousers reinforced with magic to withstand the flexibility he needed to move and fight.

He scanned the options, and finally, after much deliberation, he settled on a set of dark grey leather breeches that hugged his muscular legs tightly. Over this, he donned a snug vest of Illyrian leathers that did little to hide the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen through the fabric.

A belt adorned with an intricate pattern encircled his waist, holding up both his trousers and a pair of knee-high boots crafted from supple black leather, on the leathers of the back of his hands sat two twin black Siphons. They were symbols of his lineage and his heritage, the power of distruction.

He heard a knock on his door and made his way to open it, seeing his father outside, "Da?"

"No." Rhysand said instantly seeing Nyx's attire, the Illyrian leathers, the Siphon, "You're not wearing that."

Nyx crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "It’s appropriate for the place, is it not?"

"I know that look," Rhysand muttered under his breath, stepping past his son and into the room. His gaze swept over Nyx's outfit critically before landing on the siphons etched into the leather at the back of his hand. Rhysand sighed heavily, running a hand through his onxy hair. "But you're my heir, not my warrior."

"You’re going to be meeting some very important people today, Nyx. You need to make a good impression," He explained patiently.

Rhysand went through Nyx's clothes and pulled out a fitted black tunic with intricate silver embroidery at the collar and hem. The ensemble struck a balance between practicality and elegance, suitable for the formal yet unpredictable nature of the occasion ahead.

Nyx watched his father's actions silently, though inwardly he was bristling at being treated like a child. Still, he knew better than to argue further, especially when it came to matters of etiquette and presentation. He let out a sigh of resignation as he allowed his father to give him a change to a more appropriate attire.

He selected a pair of knee-high black leather boots with silver buckles and fastened them securely to his legs. He then donned a wide belt adorned with a silver buckle in the shape of a crescent moon.

The fitted black tunic felt strange against his skin at first, the silver embroidery at the collar and hem added an elegant touch without detracting from the overall simplicity of the outfit. His wings melting into himself, not suited for the tunic he wore before slipping his feet into the knee-high boots with silver buckles.

Rhysand watched his son, dressed in clothes appropriate for an Heir, and gave him a smile, "Now you look like the Heir, remember, the people in the Court of Nightmares will be expecting you, you can not show them any weakness."

Nyx nodded, with a deep breath, his features sharpened, his eyes void of emotion as Rhysand motioned to his door, just as cold, "Come now, your mother is waiting."

The moment Nyx stepped foot into the Court of Nightmares, he was immediately struck by the biting cold that seeped into his bones. It was as if the very essence of the realm itself was designed to chill one to the marrow. The air was heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional creak of ancient stone beneath their feet as they navigated the twisting corridors.

Glowing orbs of an unearthly blue hue, suspended mid-air by magic, provided the only illumination, casting an otherworldly pallor across the scene. The walls, constructed from a labyrinthine network of obsidian and jet-black marble, seemed to absorb what little light managed to penetrate, leaving everything shrouded in an impenetrable darkness that pressed in from all sides.

As Nyx followed his family deeper into the Court of Nightmares, they approached the imposing gates that marked the entrance to the castle. Carved from a single block of black stone, the massive doors depicted a scene of primordial chaos, great, scaled beasts coiled together in a nest of claws and fangs, locked in a perpetual cycle of combat. The creatures appeared to be devouring each other even as they slept, their forms blurring together in a macabre dance of death.

Yet, amidst this tableau of darkness and destruction, there was an unexpected beauty. Vines of jasmine and moonflowers wound their way through the coils of the beasts, their delicate petals glowing softly in the dim light.

His aunt Morrigan entered first, the throne room falling silent, his uncles and aunt Nesta, all of them had a coldness that he could feel in his bones, he'd be with his parents, with a deep breath he walked by his father's side, both of his parents had a crown made of starts on their heads, his father's features were distant, like he was a different person, like his mother was too.

Nyx's heart pounded in his chest as he followed his parents into the grand throne room. His gaze darted around, taking in every detail of the courtiers gathered there. Despite the palpable tension hanging in the air, he noticed a certain kind of reverence in their demeanour towards his parents, a respect born out of fear.

Morrigan, clad in a gown of deepest red, strode in first, her presence commanding the immediate attention of everyone present. Her eyes met Nyx's briefly, and he felt a chill run down his spine. All of them had a regal bearing about them, exuding an aura of authority that was almost tangible.

Nyx zoned out as his parents sat on their throne and he stood beside them, the people of the Hewn City kneeling to them, his eyes landed on a young female among the crown, porcelain skin that seemed almost translucent in its paleness, too pale to be healthy, with black hair down her back, the dress she wore was the same raven black as her hair, the dress was nothing fancy, at least not compared to the silver he wore, but he couldn't help keep his eyes off her.

As the kneeling courtiers rose, there was something hauntingly captivating about her, something that drew Nyx in despite himself. Her eyes met his, and he felt a jolt of recognition. It was as if he knew her somehow, despite never having laid eyes on her before. A curious sensation stirred within him, a feeling he couldn't quite place. But amid the sea of faces, hers was the only one that held his interest.

As his father ordered them to relax and mingle, he turned to his parents, mostly his mother, "May I go too?" He asked, his uncaring look not wavering.

His mother gave him a soft smile, "Of course you may, Nyx," she nodded, people were drinking, dancing, talking, and his uncle Azriel had disappeared into the room, Cassian and Nesta dancing to themselves, Mor talking with Kier with a look of boredom clear on her face as they walked to his parents with another male beside them.

He knocked into someone far smaller than him while he was distracted by the males around his parents and aunt, his hands shot out instinctively, "Oh, apologies, I didn't know where I was..." His gaze met the dark blackhole-like eyes of the female he had been looking at, her hand gripping onto his, slightly tilted from tripping half way. "Hello." He smiled.

"Hi..." The female watched his face, probably gauging his reaction Nyx thought.

"I'm Nyx," He offered a smile hoping it would make him come off as friendly.

"I know who you are, my lord," The female put some distance between them, giving him a little courtesy.

Nyx's eyes went as she saw her bow for him, "Oh, none of that please," He couldn't hide his cringe and looked away. "You don't need to do... That."

"It's just a smile courtesy," She laughed and he was sure he had heard it before somewhere, "I'm no fool to not show respect to the Heir of Night."

"Well, then, would you like a dance?" Nyx asked, turning to face her. "Just to one song." He offered her his hand and gave her a cheeky grin, "To respect me, of course."

The female paused to think for a moment, and then her eyeliner went by him, probably to the diaz where a conversation Nyx couldn't find in himself to care about was going.

"Of course," She rested her hand on his, the corner of her lip tilted up just slightly and Nyx counted that as a smile.

{General - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Meeting in Grey - @sleepylunarwolf @achaotichuman @sarawritestories @bakananya @sheblogs @anuttellaa}

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oristian · 2 months ago

Text

S E C R E T S A N T A ; —

HO HO HO, I hope you enjoy your gift @thedeviltohisangel !! I really and very thoroughly enjoyed this piece and it really allowed for me to connect back with both Nesta and Cassian in such a unique way! It is currently just a one shot, but I have been entertaining the idea of writing a second part from the other perspective—I will be sure to let you know if I do so! Without further ado, I so hope that you enjoy this gift! AO3

SONG 01 — SONG 02

WARNINGS — Mentions of death, alcohol abuse, depression, and language

@acotargiftexchange

Redacted (I’ll name you later),

I tried to light you on fire, but the leather only singed; it did not burn. Rhys told me that it was borderline pathetic that I would not even use you for a day. What does he know? Perfect hair. Perfect reputation. Perfect family. I am the only stain in his life—The fucked up adopted brother that should have been left in that orphanage. They took pity on a little boy in rags, but little did they know how he would grow up to abuse their kindness.

Cassian

15 DECEMBER

“My name is Cassian, and I … I am an alcoholic.”

The group replied in a practiced, almost mechanical monotonous chorus: “Hello, Cassian,” accompanied by a few distracted grunts from the older folks. They sat in a loose semi-circle within the sterile, detached space of the YMCA gymnasium, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and faded, yellowing motivational posters clinging to the paint-peeled block walls. Cassian sat at the head of the circle, occupying the lone backless metal chair, his body coiled tight, his teeth grinding. His palms, slick with sweat, scraped against the rough denim of his jeans as he tried to steady his nerves, the harsh light above him making everything feel too bright, too exposed.

The meeting had been in session for the better half of an hour, though Cassian had sat ram-rod straight, bitting down on his tongue as the others spoke. The sheer vulnerability of the group set him on edge, how comfortable these folks were with sharing their stories with absolute strangers.

“I killed someone.”

The words held a bitter aftertaste upon his tongue, his throat suddenly tight as the thoughts that had plagued him for weeks—months—finally breached the air surrounding him. The group was silent, save for the buzzing of the lights above-head.

Redacted,

That woman was there again, the one with the blue eyes. She never speaks. She wore something different this week—A large woven sweatshirt with a mini pegasus embroidered across the front. She looked damn funny with her blank expression and the grinning pegasus, but I liked it. It made her seem real. Human.

Cassian

05 SEPTEMBER

The light above the porch flickered as the car pulled into the driveway, a few moths knocking into the exposed bulb once, twice, three times before falling to the wooden slates below. The front door was ajar, a few stumbling individuals gripping the frame to steady themselves, and neon LED lights shifting between colors from the crack of the entryway.

Cassian whistled lowly under his breath before tossing his head back, downing the mini shot of tequila silver.

“The rules are as follows,” Rhysand began, pulling the key from the ignition and glancing at his the two men piled against each other in the backseat. “We leave by midnight, and no extra passengers allowed—Yeah, I’m looking at you, Cassian. Feyre would actually have my balls if I bring my car back smelling like cheap perfume again.” He adjusted the rear view mirror, sending a stare back to Cassian, raising a brow until his brother held his hands up in surrender, a wolfish grin tugging at his full mouth. “I got it. No girls, or else your balls will suffer—The imagery is great, by the way.”

The dreams all begin the same. A flash of light, a distant screech of wheels, and a scream so piercing it could cut glass. In this world, there is only the absence of pain—the broken ribs, shattered bones in his arms and chest, they do not exist. The repeated record scratch of that damned scream is pain enough. Recently, though, the dreams have begun to shift and something unexpected has seeped into the scene.

Hands; that of a woman. Hands that wrap around his wrists, thumbs that run against his scars, and lips pressed flush beside his cheek.

15 DECEMBER

Her eyes were the same shade of fresh fallen snow under the hue of midnight—an icy blue tinged with a ring of silver. She watched him as if she were undressing him, though not his clothes, him; down to the very essence of self that resided just beyond his ribcage. If his body were floating, she would be the gravitational pull that grounded him once more. Cassian felt breathless.

His hazel eyes darted to the chairperson, a dark-skinned woman with graying hair and wide-rimmed red glasses. “Call me Sandy,” she had said upon their first meeting, gripping his hands within her own and flashing him a yellowing smile. She was charming, albeit a tad bit spacey.

Sandy nodded towards him, a jut of her rounded chin, and gestured for him to continue speaking. Despite it all, she would listen.

Cassian cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his elbows atop his knees, rubbing at his bruised knuckles.

“I used to say that it was, uh … That it was an accident.” His head was low, hair tumbling loose from his top knot and brushing against his face, and his gaze remained locked on the scuffed tennis shoes he wore. “The truth is,” his jaw clenched, “I chose to drink that night. I chose to take my brother’s keys. I chose to have that girl get in the car with me.”

Cassian trailed his fingers from his knuckles down to his wrist and back up, repeating the motion as he huffed a breath. “She told me no, at first. Said she was worried about the weather.”

Redacted,

That woman was at the coffee shop next to the YMCA before the meeting. She takes tea over coffee, Earl Gray, with two packets of sugar and a splash of cream—She doesn’t know that I saw her nose scrunch when she realized it was not sweet enough and she added four more packets. Seeing that content smile on her face was damn near worth nearly running into someone else.

She wore a leotard under her jacket. I wonder if she’s a dancer.

Cassian

11 OCTOBER

“You need to see someone, Cas.”

The mid-afternoon sunlight was a stark contrast to the previous pitch black, though his brother paid no mind as he drew the heavy drapes back. Cassian groaned, rolling over in his sheet cocoon and pulling his pillow over his head. Footsteps sounded across his room as his Azriel and Rhysand busied themselves with clearing the empty takeout containers and crushed beer cans from his furniture and opening windows to allow fresh air into the stuffy, pigeonhole apartment.

The pillow was ripped from his hands. Cassian slowly opened one eye, glancing blearily up at Azriel.

“I heard you got fired,” Azriel frowned, crossing his arms around his broad chest. He wore a dark-wash jean jacket, and Cassian had to remind himself that the temperature had begun dropping—though, it had been weeks since he last stepped foot outside.

“Eris has a big mouth. Did he tell you my shitting schedule, too?”

Rhysand slammed his fist against the wall, his teeth clenched as he turned fully to face Cassian. “You just are not getting it, are you, Cassian?” The light reflected off of his brother’s face, tears welling in his indigo eyes as he gripped the doorframe, his chest heaving from the exertion. “We’re fucking losing you right in front of us. You don’t give a shit, do you?”

The door slammed shut in his wake; the glass from the frames shattered as they hit the floor.

Cassian knew that he was dreaming—could see the headlights and hear the scream, but he was floating. Weightless. Adjacent to him was a cracked door, a soft ambient glow emitting from the viewport. Classical music poured from the opening. Despite himself, Cassian shouldered forward until the golden knob was gripped between his fingers.

And there she was, the light reflecting off of her fair skin and cascading down her braided bolden-brown hair. Her body moved as if it were made of liquid; up and down, around and back, as if the music flowed freely through her.

The dancer pivoted on her heel, facing him.

05 SEPTEMBER

Her body was pressed flush up against him, her back and his chest rutting together and he gripped her waist, her hips moving back towards him as the liquor and music removed their inhibitions.

Cassian knew that she was some younger girl from his graduate seminar, some advanced non-major that had too many credits and needed to be moved upwards to remain on scholarship. He had flirted relentlessly with her throughout the semester, but he knew that she prioritized her academics over romance and rejected him just as fiercely.

Until that evening, when she watched him walk into the foyer and pulled him onto the dance floor, maneuvering his hands so that he was touching her bare skin.

Fucking finally.

Redacted,

The physical therapy is much less humiliating, and moreso actually something that I look forward to. The doctor says that my recovery is progressing much faster than originally anticipated, though my damned knee still hurts. Everyday. Walking is fine, that is slowly getting easier.

I may never run again. That is my worst fear.

Cassian

15 DECEMBER

“There had been a flash flood warning that afternoon and it had started raining halfway through the party. The roads were wet and the visibility was too low. No one should have been driving that night.”

A hand pressed atop his shoulder, fingers squeezing assuringly. Cassian did not have to look up to know; she would always root for him, despite it all. Though, it was debatable if he deserved such kindness—such care.

“I had crossed lanes, couldn’t see the fu—I could not see the lines.” He could see it so very clearly in his mind; the solid yellow lines, the headlights, the night sky as the car overturned—

He watched her dance. The rhythmic movements of her body, paired with the dynamics of the scene, painted an artwork so beautiful that it brought tears to Cassian’s hazel eyes. He tapped his foot along with the best of the music, humming softly under his breath.

He yearned to dance with her, to take her hand within his own and sing a duet only audible between their bodies. Though, would she have him? A man with sins far deeper than scars.

What would she say if she knew?

12 OCTOBER

Cinnamon, and the scent of something full, aromatic and nutty, wafted in from the side kitchen as Cassian entered in through the door. The man shrugged off his overcoat and hung it from the rack before toeing his shoes off in their wake. From deep within the house, he heard laughter and the patter of children’s feet as they ran across hardwood.

“Uncle Cassian!” Something small, yet incredibly hard, slammed into his shins. Tiny arms wrapped around one of his legs and Cassian bit down on his lower lip, grinning softly as he glanced downwards at his nephew, Nyx. The soft blue eyes that stared back at him were reminiscent of Nyx’s mother, Feyre, but the wild grin on his face was all Rhysand—a mix so perfect of the two that even Cassian sometimes struggled to keep up.

Cassian roused Nyx’s dark hair and the toddler giggled, scrunching his nose and bringing his shoulders up to his ears. “Hey, buddy, I missed you.”

He was led into the living room where the other children were spread out on the carpet, various games and toys layed out around them. Cassian took a seat in the brown leather recliner and pulled Nyx up and onto his lap. Glancing upwards, he caught sight of Azriel and Gwyn playing a card game at the back table—though, Gwyn were on her second loss, it appeared, and she was instructing Azriel to show her the inside of his sleeves. Azriel smirked back at his wife, a teasing sort of smile, “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Uncle Cassian, I heard that you’re sick. Do you need to go to a hospital?”

Heart stuttering in his chest, Cassian met the worried state of his nephew. Despite himself, he allowed a small smile to form on his mouth. “Uncle Cassian is a little sick, Nyxie, but I will get better soon. Pinky promise.” Nyx furrowed his brow and puffed out his cheeks before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Cassian’s face. “There,” Nyx said as he smiled widely, “mommy says kisses make everything better!”

Cassian rubbed his fingers against his skin, his throat constricting. “Yeah, buddy,” he muttered after a slight pause, “they always do.”

Cassian,

I hope you don’t throw this away. Here is the number and address of a really good therapist. Her name is Alis and she really helped me after Tamlin. Please, if you do this for anyone, do it for yourself.

Alis — (XXX) XXX - XXXX

309 Rainbow Alley, Velaris, NC 23467

I love you,

Feyre

Redacted,

I am such a fuck up. I know that. My brothers know that. Hell, even my nieces and nephews probably know that. Do you know that, journal?

Alis knows too much—or, at least it feels that way. She has this look in her eye like she can see everything that I’ve hidden from everyone else. It’s weird, but sitting in her office, in that chair, I don’t feel afraid. I don’t feel like my chest is going to cave in.

She gave me this journal. Told me to write how I feel. Said it would make me better.

Cassian

05 SEPTEMBER

Pilfering the keys off of Rhysand was a simple task, especially with his brother passed out on a dirty frat house couch.

Cassian pivoted on his heel and jingled the key ring, grinning as the girl giggled into her hand, brushing her long hair back behind her ear. The goal was to get out of there, find something quick to eat—Cassian had a plan, and that plan included a greasy burger and fries from the local diner—and head back to her place where her roommate was out of town for the weekend.

It was pouring as they stepped outside and she had hesitated by the door, asking if Cassian was sober enough to drive—she had considered staying the night at the house, but Cassian had assured her that he was fine, that they would be fine.

“You’re gonna love the diner, baby,” he had said as they piled into the car. She had smiled softly at him and the reflection of the rain on her skin made her look almost ethereal.

Cassian stood, tired of waiting for the woman to come near enough—his fingers itched to touch her skin, to know her beyond the scene. She continued dancing, though, as he walked behind her. His breath caught as she spun, turning to him, her face merely inches from his own.

That face—that damned face, was the same of the woman from the meetings. The same sharp chin. The same steel blue eyes. The only difference was the lack of her braided updo; her hair was wild and free, framing her face and disappearing down the length of her bared back.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Please,” he whispered, desperation intertwining with his tone. “Please tell me your name.”

The woman only stared blankly at him for merely a moment longer before hooking her hair behind her ears—arched ears, covered in silver jewelry—and stood on her tip toes. Her lips pressed softly against his cheek before she whispered something faint in his ear. She pulled back, cradling his face in her hands.

“Find me in the next life, Cassian.”

01 NOVEMBER

The ticking of the time clock, paired with the soft waterfall noise of the bonsai tree figurine perched precariously on the edge of the mahogany desk, filled the silence.

Alis had long since finished compiling this session’s notes and she instead took to staring at Cassian, her brow raised and her lips pulled taut. He felt as if he were being observed under a microscope and he almost wanted to ask the woman for a blanket—something thick to wrap himself within.

“Have you been taking your medication?”

The medication was an anti-depressant, his second filing in the last thirty days, and it was the one thing in his life that remained consistent. “Yes,” he responded hoarsely. Morning and evening, the pill was the first thing he took before beginning any standard routine. It appeared to be working, in a way. Cassian felt less numb recently.

Alis nodded. “Good. Now, about the meetings I asked you to go to—Have you gone yet?” The meetings in question were hosted at the local YMCA, and Alis’ older sister volunteered as the chairperson. Alcoholics Anonymous. A group of others who may be able to relate to what he is going to, even if it was not to the same extent.

Though, Cassian has not felt the courage to step into that gymnasium. For the last two weeks, he had stayed silent in the adjoining hallway and only listened.

“I—I’m getting there,” was all he said, his focus falling back to the bonsai tree.

He has not dreamed since.

Redacted,

I think I am ready to talk about what happened. I cannot keep living like this, as a shall of who I was. I cannot change what happened, no matter how badly I want to reverse time and stop myself from taking those keys from Rhys. There is no bringing her back.

I have to live, even if the days get hard. I cannot let those hard days win.

I wonder why that woman is in the group. She never speaks. Is she like me?

Cassian

15 DECEMBER

“I swerved to avoid hitting the other truck and went over the guardrail. My seatbelt locked into place, but she had not been wearing one.”

Cassian licked his lips and finally looked upwards at the other folk, his eyes red-rimmed and his hands uncoiling from fists atop his thighs. “She died on impact.”

The blue-eyed woman stared back at him, quizzically, and he could have sworn something akin to sympathy softened in her gaze. Cassian almost wanted to ask her what she felt, what she thought of him, and where she could relate. Above all else, he wanted to hear her speak.

“She was twenty-two and a Master’s student. She wanted to be a doctor.”

Sandy once again placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Cassian placed his own hand atop her’s, squeezing as he offered her a small smile. “I cannot reverse what happened that night,” he said at last, the memory of that final, harsh scream ricocheting within his mind, “but allowing myself to waste away is benefitting no one. I need to live, if only for myself.”

Cassian stood, finally, despite the shake in his knee, and walked out of the gymnasium.

Redacted,

I wonder if I will ever name you. Thank you for being here for me. I would like to think that I am better now.

Cassian

24 DECEMBER

“Earl Gray, six sugar, splash of cream. Oh, and a vanilla scone.”

Cassian glanced over his shoulder at the woman, her brow raised high in amusement, as he handed the barista his debit card. “Memorizing my order now, huh?”

It had been an off-chance that they would run into each other at a local shop a whole town away from the YMCA, yet here they are—Cassian knew the fates above had worked overtime to make this work, and he would not miss such an opportunity. He flashed her a grin.

“Believe in coincidences, sweetheart?”

The woman rolled her eyes, but he could see the twitch in her lip as she forced herself to remain expressionless. Cassian gestured to a table in the back and was overjoyed as she followed suit.

Cassian held out a hand. “To formally introduce myself, my name is Cassian. I am twenty-four, working to be a physical trainer, and I love my family. I am allergic to pollen and Spring is the worst season ever created. I used to love to run, but I messed up my knee real bad.” The woman watched his outstretched hand for a moment, contemplating, before she took it into her own.

“Nesta. I’m a dancer without a studio and a sister without a family, but I’m—I am trying. To be better, I mean.”

Cassian’s hand shook in her grip, the memory of lips pressed against his ear and the whisper of a name—Nesta, Nesta, Nesta—said so softly, so lovingly, that he was nearly brought to his knees in a coffee shop. “Nesta,” he said, tasting the name upon his tongue. “Nes.”

He could have sworn that something sparked in those blue eyes as he said her name aloud.

Redacted,

I came across this the other day. It has been a few years, old friend. I missed you.

I asked Nes to marry me and she said yes. She wants a Spring wedding, but I sincerely hope that she is being playful.

I see Alis every week, even though the dreams are gone and the pills are finished. The pain in my knee never goes away, and that is the memory that grounds me to that night. Nes rubs a salve into the scars every night and kisses them. We dance together, as best as we can. Every night we turn the living room into our own personal studio and dance to the classics.

I wonder if she knows that we are the same.

Cassian

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bardic-tales · 2 months ago

Text

The following is from a Tumblr game that went on a few months ago. I found it in my Scrivener drafts under Bia's character folder.

Full Name: Bianca Moore

Age: 28 (human years)

Gender: Female

Species: Celestial-Infernal Nephilim (hybrid of angelic and demonic lineage, infused with Jenova cells and S-cells)

Sexuality: Demisexual

Appearance:

(Pre-Fall): Bianca has golden hair that frames her brown eyes with round pupils and flawless skin. She stands 5 feet tall with an hourglass figure, measuring 36-24-36, and wears a D cup. She has elongated canines with white wings.. Her eyes glow with a golden sheen when she is using her divine powers.

(Post-Fall) Bianca's appearance is marked by indigo eyes with feline-like pupils, waist-length wavy black hair styled in a half-up half-down do with a white ribbon, and porcelain skin. She has sharp fangs, a long prehensile tongue, and blood-red stiletto nails. Her wings are a mix of black and indigo feathers, embodying her corrupted celestial and demonic heritage with Jenova and S-cells.

Occupation: Published romance novelist / Self-Proclaimed Priestess of Jenova

Family Members:

Biological Father: Azrakiel (also known as Asmodeus)

Surrogate Father: David Moore

Biological Mother: Seraphine

Surrogate Mother: Sarah Moore

Daughter: Aurora (Sephiroth & Bianca’s)

Son: Lucien (Sephiroth & Bianca’s)

Spouse/Partner: Sephiroth (current), Mordecai (deceased)

Best Friends: Sephiroth (also her soulmate) Pets: None (sometimes refers to the Dark Dragon as her 'pet')

Ideal Bedroom: Bianca's room is a blend of elegance and gothic charm. Soft, ethereal lighting illuminates dark walls adorned with silver filigree patterns. A large, canopy-style bed with black silk sheets and feather pillows dominates the space, complemented by bookshelves filled with ancient tomes and romance novels. A single vase with white roses sits on her desk, next to a framed photo of Sephiroth.

Way of Speaking: Bianca speaks with a soft, sultry tone, choosing her words carefully. Her speech often carries an air of poetic eloquence, masking the sharp wit and occasional venom beneath.

Physical Characteristics: Petite yet striking, Bianca stands at 5 ft tall with a curvaceous hourglass figure. Her weight is 105 lbs (128.6 lbs with her wings). Her most distinguishing features are her indigo eyes, sharp fangs, and intricate wings.

Items in Their Bag/Purse:

A black notebook and pen for jotting down ideas

Healing salves (potions) and antidotes

A compact mirror and blood-red lipstick

Ornate silver hairpin with a ruby tip.

Hobbies:

Writing romance novels

Reading ancient texts and poetry

Practicing swordsmanship

Exploring ruins and celestial lore

Favourite Sport: Swordplay, particularly dueling

Abilities/Talents/Powers:

Abilities: Reality manipulation, shadow magic, ice spells, and casting nightmares. She can also communicate with the souls of the departed and navigate temporal and spatial rifts. Can fly

Talents: Journeyman swordswoman and an adept in manipulation and persuasion.

Powers: Her celestial powers are corrupted, allowing her to bend reality and wield destructive energy. They come at the cost of emotional and physical stability.

Relationships: Bianca is devoted to Sephiroth, sharing a deep soul bond and a history of trauma bonding. Her relationships are marked by loyalty and passion, but her past losses (Mordecai, her first husband, and other loved ones) deeply affect her trust and attachments.

Fears:

Losing Sephiroth to Asmodeus or his madness

Reliving her traumatic experiences with Shinra and Hojo

Being captured or experimented on again

Faults:

Obsessive devotion to Sephiroth, often leading to morally questionable decisions

Emotional instability due to her corrupted powers

A tendency to manipulate others to achieve her goals

Good Points:

Fierce loyalty and determination

Compassion for those she loves and considers family

A creative and strategic thinker

What They Want More Than Anything Else: To bring about a new world alongside Sephiroth, fulfilling both their destinies and securing their place as rulers of a reborn omniverse.

Theme(s):

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @prehistoric-creatures

@seastarblue

#oc: bianca moore - ff #characters: fwc #characters: fwc: ff #my ocs #ff vii oc #fantasy worlds collide #fwc: ff #character sheet: fwc #character sheet: bianca moore #long post #now that's what i call music #Spotify #gif

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roanofarcc · 14 days ago

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BABYDOLL: CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE PRINCESS & THE PARCEL

jj maybank x fem!routledge OC // read on Ao3

In which a boy with zero self preservation falls in love with a girl clawing at life.

chapter summary. lottie is living her princess dream in the cameron's abode; axe murderers are bad at locking doors; teenage girls sure do know how to hold grudges

word count. 4.2k || masterlist

previous chapter < >next chapter

When Lottie was six, despite her shaggy haircut and being mistaken for John B.’s twin brother, she was dead-set on being a princess. It seemed like a totally plausible career choice. She’d live in a castle, wear dresses made out of tulle and jewels, and spend her days doing whatever princesses did.

For her birthday that year, she asked for one thing, a crown. She wanted one of those little plastic ones that came with Halloween costumes, with the little clips that helped it stay on your head. Instead, she was gifted a fishing rod she had to share with John B. After that, for the next few birthdays she asked for a crown until she received one made of weeds and flowers stolen from someone’s garden that JJ and John B. had knotted together for her.

Not long after the crown rotted and she had to throw it away, Lottie turned toward more realistic career options, but becoming a princess was a silly little thing that remained tucked away in the safe corner of her mind where her childhood imagination lived.

As she and John B. rode in Ward Cameron’s convertible up his driveway, Lottie realized that the Cameron’s practically lived in a castle. The nickname ‘Princess’ for Sarah only seemed more fitting after laying eyes on the house, and not in a mean way either, just in a simple fact kind of way.

The house was absurd, as were most homes on Figure Eight. They lived tucked just out of the view of the main road, so Lottie had never seen more than the roof of the house when she rode by on her way to work.

Sarah had shown Lottie her room first. Having one guest room was a luxury in Lottie’s mind, but the Cameron’s had at least three. John B.’s room was on the first floor while Lottie’s was on the second. The room had a view of the water just beyond the backyard, showing off their yacht docked on their private pier. The room itself had a queen-sized bed made up of rows of pillows and a plush comforter. A large, antique dresser sat across the room from the bed, right beside a spacious closet. A vase of fresh flowers sat on the nightstand and nature photographs hung on the walls. There was even a loveseat in front of a large window that let in the sunlight through lace curtains.

With a content sigh, Lottie fell backward onto the bed, sinking into the soft mattress.

“Not too shabby, huh?” Sarah’s voice startled Lottie upright.

A part of Lottie was a little embarrassed. She wanted to seem collected, not like some orphan who had secretly longed for a Kook-like house and someone else to take care of her. She and her brother didn’t need anyone to look after them. Yet, the idea was too nice to shove completely out of Lottie's head.

Sarah wasn’t watching her with judgment, as Lottie had come to expect. Instead, Sarah wore a small smile with no malice.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a bed this soft,” Lottie said, mirroring Sarah’s smile.

The blonde chuckled, resting her hip against the door frame. “Funny. John B. said the same thing.”

“Twin telepathy,” Lottie joked, running her fingers across the bedspread.

Sarah lingered silently for a moment, chewing on her lip. “I know this is probably weird for you, being here,” she said.

“A little. But it’s better than a foster home on the mainland,” Lottie said. “Don’t tell my friends this, but living a little like Kook doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.”

Sarah seemed to relax at Lottie’s words, some tension rolling off of her shoulders. “Your secret’s safe with me.” She mimicked zipping her lips and tossing away the key. “If you need anything, my room’s just across the hall.”

With that, Sarah left and Lottie fell back onto the bed.

Sure, she was technically behind enemy lines, but she and John B. no longer had to worry about DCS breathing down their neck and they were still on the island with their friends. The only thing she had left to worry about was breaking the news to Kie.

Lottie held up her phone and clicked on Kie’s contact before she could chicken out. It only rang once before it was answered.

“Lot! Where the hell have you and John been? We’ve been freaking out!”

“We’re fine. Actually, we’re pretty great, all things considered,” Lottie said. “John was released from the hospital a little bit ago and we sort of found a way around DCS.”

There was murmuring on the other line before Kie’s muffled voice yelled something Lottie couldn’t make out. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. “Pope and JJ are here too. So, what? Did DCS change their mind and fuck off?”

“Not exactly,” Lottie began. “We found a guardian on the island. Well…we didn’t really find them, technically. More like they found us and volunteered to take us in after some convincing from, uh, someone…”

“Why are you being so cryptic right now? You’re freaking me out.”

Lottie let out a sigh, rolling over onto her stomach and gazing out the large window. “Promise me you won’t get mad, okay?”

“Why would I be mad about you and John getting to stay on the island?”

“Because of who took us in.” Kie stayed silent, waiting. “Sarah Cameron kind of convinced her dad to help us out and take us in.”

There was a long pause before Kie slowly repeated what Lottie had said, followed by a hum that was unreadable without seeing Kie’s face.

JJ’s voice replaced Kie’s. “I bet their place is crazy. Does it smell like money?”

Lottie smiled and shook her head. “No, JJ. But it is nice, crazy nice. I feel like I’m in a castle right now.”

In a terrible British accent, JJ said, “Ah, Princess Lot rubbing elbows with the Kook Princess herself, how scandalous!”

“It’s not like we could have turned them down,” Lottie said. “Is Kie still there? Is she mad at me?”

There was another pause, muffled voices, and then Kie’s voice returned. “I’m here, and I’m not mad. I’m just…concerned. Something about this feels off.”

“Maybe that’s because my brother lied,” Lottie admitted. “There’s definitely something going on between him and Sarah. Something big enough for her to ask her dad if we can bunk with them. That’s not really uninterested behavior.” When you’re rich, you don’t have to be a good person. You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to.

“I had a feeling,” Kie sighed, sounding upset. “Just be careful, okay? You can’t trust her.”

Lottie was too tired to argue, plus she hardly knew Sarah aside from what Kie had told her and the few interactions she had- all of which had been pleasant, which made things more confusing. She hoped, for her brother’s sake, that Sarah had changed from her time as friends with Kie and proved the “spitting cobra” comparison wrong, or else things were going to get messy and fast.

➤

With the map they needed from Sarah, the Pogue's quest for the gold was in full swing.

Lottie stood with her friends on a plot of land that was once home to Battery Jasper, an old fort. It was upon a hill that overlooked the ocean, which was a nice vantage point if you were scoping out enemy ships incoming.

The location was marked by a couple of old rocks that were once a part of the fort and a sign that no one but a couple of history-loving tourists and locals ever visited.

Lottie’s dad had taken her and John B. there a couple of times, rattling off the history of the place that she couldn’t remember.

Pope spread out the map on one of the rocks and pointed to their location. “If this is parcel nine, the gold is somewhere northeast of here.”

“So it’s somewhere over there.” Kie pointed northeast, which was nothing but rooftops.

JJ, standing up on one of the rocks with his brows furrowed as he glanced in the direction Kie pointed. “That’s not Tannyhill. That’s a subdivision.”

“Tannyhill Plantation was the entire island,” said John B. “It got sold into small pieces over time.”

“So, we’re just looking for an old stone wall.” Pope pointed to the drawing on the map of exactly that.

When Lottie peered at the map, she feared a simple stone wall would be difficult to find, but it turned out to be the opposite. The stone wall sat worn and weathered, acting as a crumbling fence around the Crain house.

The house was your typical, local house chalked full of stories and conspiracies. It was believed to be the home of a crazy old axe murder. Did Lottie believe the stories? Not as much as she used to when she was little. It still creeped her out, stretching tall with a pointed roof, stained siding, and overgrown shrubbery surrounding it.

“Are you kidding me?” Kie groaned.

“This is the worst-case scenario,” JJ said. “I heard that Mrs. Crain buried her husband’s head on the property.”

Lottie spotted a worn path that led up to the house, barely carved between overgrown weeds. “At least she’s like super old now, right? It’s probably a lot harder to cut someone’s head off when you’re old.”

Beside her, JJ shook his head. “Thanks, Lot. That’s super reassuring.”

“Eyes on the prize,” John B. muttered, taking the lead down the path. To make the place feel even more like fresh out of a horror film, the yard was littered with statues decorated with moss and some pieces cracked. It felt like their eyes watched the group’s movements through the yard.

Kie swatted away a fly with an annoyed grunt. “You guys know whose house this is, right?”

“Honestly, I don’t believe all of the stories about this place,” said John B.

“I heard she killed her husband with an axe and that she’s been holed up here ever since,” Kie said. “On certain nights, when the moon is full, some people say you can see her in the window.”

JJ’s eyes widened, shoving Kie’s shoulder lightly as they trudged through the grass. “That’s not funny ‘cause it’s true!” he said. “I swear to God, guys, it’s all read. I knew Hollis-” JJ cut himself off as they rounded a corner and a statue popped into view, startling him.

“You knew Hollis Crain?” Lottie asked, her interest peaked. Maybe it was a tad unreasonable, but she was pretty certain she knew all there was to know about JJ. She had missed that, however.

“Yeah, she was my babysitter and used to tell me all about it. She told me the truth about her mom and what happened in this house.”

JJ launched into the story of how Hollis Crain had grown up hearing the stories about how her mother had murdered her father in cold blood. At first, Hollis hadn’t believed the rumors until one day she recalled a memory long buried inside her head from when she was six. She had heard her parents arguing, and a little while later walked in on her mother washing blood off her hands. Her mother had claimed she had cut herself while cooking, and the next day she said she and Hollis’s father had split up. Shortly following the split, her mother began acting weird, making trips in and out of the house’s parlor with plastic bags. Weeks later, Hollis used the outhouse only to find her father’s head staring right back at her.

“You’re so full of shit,” John B. said the second JJ finished his dramatic retelling.

He held his hands up in defense. “I swear to God, man!”

Pope, had seemed to believe every word JJ had said, stared wide-eyed and worried at the blond. “Did she call the cops?”

“She didn’t have time.” John B. shoved past both JJ and Pope and tried to make his way toward the house once more, but JJ grabbed a hold of his arm, pulling him to a stop. “Wait, dude. Just hold on. Are you sure you wanna do this? She’s an axe murderer and you’ve got a cast on.”

John B. pulled his arm out of JJ’s grasp. “I don’t give a shit if she’s an axe murderer! I’ve got nothin’ to lose, right?” He looked between the group members. “So, are you guys coming or what?”

Lottie shifted in her shoes, lingering back out of the boys' conversation with Kie, who looked annoyed with their bickering. Out of habit, Lottie started picking at the skin around her nails, her stomach sinking at her brother’s words.

“Hey.” Kie’s voice was soft as she slipped her hand into Lottie’s to stop her from picking at her skin. Together, they followed the boys further through Mrs. Crain’s yard, ducking behind the weeds, bushes, and stone statues.

Once they were nearly at the house, they stopped and John B. laid out his plan.

According to the letter he had obtained, with the hidden message that told them where the gold was, they needed to find water. Denmark didn’t specify the type of water they were looking for. Pope suggested a pond, while JJ unhelpfully suggested bong water. They decided the best way to cover the most ground was to split up. Pope volunteered to search the northeast side of the yard and stuck JJ with the northwest side. Kie had followed John B. and Lottie decided to accompany JJ due to his complaining about that side of the yard being the “decapitation quadrant.”

“This is such bullshit,” JJ grumbled. “If my head gets cut off, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Lottie stifled a laugh, pushing low branches only to reveal another statue. “Jesus!” she yelped, startled by the stone. “What is it with rich people and statues?”

Sticking close to her side, with a hand gripping her shoulder, JJ shook his head. “Beats me. I take back what I said about having one of me when we go full Kook. This shit is wack.”

“Guys!” John B. grabbed their attention, crouching beside the home near a small, opened door that led under the first story of the house. He waved them all over and slowly pushed the crawlspace door open wider. “This is the only place we haven’t looked.” The room looked dark from what they could see, a basement that didn’t seem occupied. John B. headed inside first and they all followed.

The basement was full of dust and cobwebs with a low ceiling and an awful musty smell. It didn’t look like anyone had visited the basement in a long time, which would make sense considering Mrs. Crain lived alone and she was well up there in age.

They all looked around but found no sign of water. Even the pipes along the ceiling were dry.

Lottie killed a mosquito that landed on her arm and sighed in disappointment.

“You know why we didn’t find anything?” said Kie. “Bad karma.”

“Oh, God,” John B. groaned. “Here we go.”

“We had a good thing going and then you decided to rope in Barbie, and now the trail’s gone dry. Coincidence? Probably not.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you about Sarah! What the hell is the deal with you two?”

“What’s the deal? It’s that you won’t listen to me! I told you what she’s like and you completely ignored him. Worse than that, you lied to me! Lottie told me just today that there’s something clearly going on between you two, something way more than you just using her to find the gold.”

John B.’s gaze snapped onto Lottie, who cringed under the flashlight beam and wished Kie had left that part out.

“Are you serious?”

With a shrug, she replied, “It’s clear you like her! And we don’t lie to each other.”

He scoffed. “You’re unbelievable!”

“I’m unbelievable? Why is it so hard to just admit that you like her?” Lottie asked, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her head. “She broke up with her boyfriend for you, dude! And the second she hears from anyone that you told your friends you were just using her to find the gold, she’s gonna leave your ass like she left Topper.”

John B. looked actually angry, which wasn’t totally out of the ordinary for the siblings, but it had started happening a lot less since their dad vanished.

“Can you stay out of my business?!”

It was Lottie’s turn to scoff. “Yeah, well that’s kind of hard to do when we’re literally living with your girlfriend.”

John B. threw his hands up in the air. “She’s not my girlfriend!”

“That’s not what she seems to think.”

“Just shut up-”

A slap echoed through the creepy basement, landing across John B.’s cheek. He was stunned for a moment before he turned to glare at Kie. The girl raised her hand, showing a dead mosquito squished on her palm. With a smile, she said, “Skeeter.” She wiped her hand off on her pants before she added, “And don’t her to shut up.” A buzzing sounded in Lottie’s ear as another bug flew around her head. She swatted the mosquito away, only for another to start buzzing. The bugs were everywhere, causing the Pogues to swat at the air. There shouldn’t have been that many mosquitoes, not in the dry basement.

“Can we get the hell out of here? These little vampire bugs are festin’ on me right now,” said JJ, slapping his arm.

Lottie already felt itchy welts forming on her exposed skin.

“Guys,” Pope called out, standing on a couple of planks of wood in the middle of the basement. He stomped his foot twice, in two different spots. Near the edge of the odd flooring was solid and sounded like he was simply stomping on concrete, but when his foot hit near the center of the planks, it sounded like nothing was underneath them. “Help me move this!”

He started pushing away the junk to clear the wooden planks before everyone started to peel back the wood. They took turns shushing each other, scared to wake the old lady above. As they removed the wood, they realized it had been used to half-ass cover up a well right in the center of the basement.

A smile spread across Pope’s lips. “We found water.” It seemed like they had built the house right over the well. Lottie wondered if Mrs. Crain even knew it existed. JJ had suggested it was where she hid the bodies she axe-murdered, which earned him multiple groans from the groups.

John B. shined his light down into the well, which was much deeper than Lottie had anticipated. “We’re gonna need a really big rope.”

Back at the Chateau, the Pogues - sans John B. - were on a mission to search for supplies venture into the well, and see if the gold was actually in there. Lottie and JJ searched the shed for rope, sifting through the piles of junk and boxes of things Lottie’s dad refused to throw out. He would always say you never knew when you may need something, so he kept nearly everything.

“So, how’s it feel to slum it with us after moving into the Cameron’s place?” JJ asked, his tone light and teasing as crouched on the cement floor, looking through a storage box.

Lottie stepped around her and John B.’s old bikes as she made her way toward the haphazardly built shelf along the far wall. The dust pricked her nose and the mosquito bites were irritating along her arms, but she tried to focus on their mission rather than those things.

“Sneaking around an old lady’s basement and getting eaten alive by mosquitoes does make me feel a bit less like a princess, but it’ll keep me humble.”

He let out a laugh, abandoning his search in the box and following her to the back wall, holding up a flashlight so she could see what she was doing. She scoured the shelves but found no rope. Turning around, she faced JJ. Even in the dim light of the shed, she could still make out the healing cuts and bruises along his face.

“We never talked about it, you know,” she said.

He made a face. “Talked about what?” She sighed, eyes flickering to the muddled bruises. It took him only a moment of silence to understand what she was talking about. JJ closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “What’s there to talk about? You know better than anyone how my dad is.”

The way JJ spoke was too casual, it made Lottie furious. She wanted to shake the dismissive attitude out of him but knew that would get them nowhere. “You could at least tell me what happened. We don’t lie to each other, JJ.”

“I’m not lying,” he muttered under his breath.

“Okay, well, we don’t not tell each other things either.”

He fiddled with his fingers, a sign he was getting nervous. “We have more important things to-”

“Stop that,” Lottie cut him off, taking a step forward. “The gold’s important, sure. But it’s not more important than you.”

With a scoff, he curled into him, crossing his arms and avoiding her gaze. “That’s bullshit.”

“No, it’s not,” she said quickly. “What’s bullshit is you thinking we could care about anything more than you. Especially some treasure hunt. We’re your friends, JJ. I’m your friend! Friends tell each other things like when their dad’s leaving welts on their face.”

A stretch of silence fell over them. JJ pressed his lips in a thin line, looking like he was in deep through. Lottie was unbudging, waiting. Finally, he sighed and let his arms fall limply down at his side. “All right,” he relented. “The cops called my dad to have him pick me up from the station after the whole boat sinking shit. They want me to pay restitution, which is a shit-ton of money that we don’t have. After got to his truck he let me have it.” He rubbed his cheek, wincing.

Lottie’s heart felt heavy. It had been like that for far too long. JJ’s dad always took out his anger on him, no matter how big or small a situation.

Closing the small space between them, Lottie wrapped her arms around JJ’s neck and hugged him tightly. It shouldn’t have surprised JJ, but it always seemed to. He was only surprised for a moment though, before he hugged her back, resting his head on her shoulder with a sigh of something that resembled relief.

“Once we get the gold, you’ll be able to pay it off and your dad won’t be able to say or do shit,” she said.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice quiet in her ear.

After a moment, Lottie pulled back but kept her hands on JJ’s shoulders. “I mean it. Once we get the gold, you can ditch your dad for good and we can, I don’t know, go slum it on some island or something.”

Raising his brows, JJ said, “We?”

She smiled. “Yeah, we. Who else would I go off grid with?”

What was probably a trick of the light, JJ’s cheeks looked slightly tinted pink.

John B.’s voice rang out and the two abandoned their search to see where he had run off to. When they walked out of the shed, they spotted everyone gathered on the porch, along with Sarah Cameron.

JJ let out a dry laugh before he said, “This is not gonna go well.”

As they walked up the front steps, Kie was already pacing back and forth. They passed her and made themselves comfortable knowing it would be a while before they got anything done.

“No fucking way!” Kie yelled. “So what? She’s in on this now?”

John B. looked to Lottie, Pope, and JJ for some backup, but they were as unhelpful as they could be. Pope simply shrugged, and JJ made a comment about Sarah’s cut of the money coming out of John B.’s. That left Lottie to at least attempt to be the voice of reason.

“Look, there’s got to be some kind of compromise-”

Kie cut her off with a scoff. “Compromise? Are you kidding me? You’re taking her side?”

“No!” Lottie shook her head. “There are no sides, Kie.” Expect there kind of was. Sarah was full-Kook, leaving a stark line between them and her. Lottie hoped the gold could erase that line, for her brother’s sake. If he really liked Sarah, they couldn’t ice her out without him leaving too. Then there really would be sides and Lottie wanted no part of that.

Kie crossed her arms in a defensive stance. “I don’t remember taking a vote. This is our thing. A Pogue thing!”

“I gotta say,” Pope piped up, shifting in his seat beside Lottie. “I am a little uncomfortable with all of this.”

“When are you not uncomfortable?” John B. asked with a roll of his eyes.

“I don’t know, man. I rode here on the back of JJ’s bike pretty comfortably.”

JJ nodded. “It’s true. I’ve never seen him so relaxed.”

“That’s cute, guys,” John B. muttered, the boys all getting off track.

Clearing her throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the issue at hand, Kie glared at Sarah. “We all were pretty comfortable until you brought her here.”

Sarah finally spoke, her face also set in a glare as she stared at Kie. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

“Then leave.”

Turning to John B., Sarah said, “I told you.”

“Told him what, exactly? That you’re a liar?”

“No, that you’re a shit-talking bitch!”

The two started bickering, their voices overlapping. Lottie stood up before Kie started swinging on Sarah and John B. took the liberty of knocking her out with his heavy arm cast. She grabbed Kie’s arm and pulled her back from Sarah’s face.

“Enough!” Lottie yelled above their voices. “Jesus Christ, what are we, twelve? Can we not get along for one day to get this gold? And then you two will never have to speak to each other ever again.”

Kie didn’t shake Lottie off, but she still looked beyond pissed. “Yeah, well, that’s only if John B. was telling the truth about using her for information than cutting her loose.” There were moments in Lottie’s life, as much as she loved her friends, that they would shut up. It was out of love and to stop from making matters worse. Expect Kie clearly wanted to make matters worse.

“You said you were using me?” Sarah said, her anger transferring onto John B.

After a beat, John B. rushed out, “No,” which was a lie immediately clocked by all of them. With a flustered stutter, John B. added, “Okay, fine! But then love just…just walked in!”

“I’m gonna vomit,” Kie muttered.

“I didn’t expect it,” he continued. “But it happened and I’m not gonna deny it, right?” He looked at Sarah expectantly, but the look on her face was anything but loving. She said nothing.

“Cut the bullshit,” Kie said. “If she’s in, I’m out.”

John B. shook his head. “I’m not doing this.”

“You’re gonna decide,” Kie demanded. “I’m very interested, actually. Me or her?” Was it a fair choice? No. It was between one of John B.’s best friends and the girl he had discovered he didn’t hate less than a week ago. The choice wasn’t fair, but Lottie did think it was a little obvious. Sarah wasn’t some evil Kook, but she wasn’t one of them. Unfortunately, if Lottie knew anything about teenage boys, it was that they didn’t often make decisions with their brains, especially when a girl they liked was involved.

He tried to take the easy way out by answering, “both,” which only pissed both Kie and Sarah off even more. Kie stormed off without another word and Sarah left shortly after. As much as Lottie wanted to go after Kie, she knew how the girl got when she was upset. Kie was the kind of person who needed space to cool off alone, and when she was ready to vent or cry, she’d shoot Lottie a text.

Until then, Lottie would berate her brother.

“That was bad, even for you,” she said.

John B. threw his head back with a groan, covering his face with his hands. “We need a plan. This doesn’t work without both of them.”

“Hey man, I get it. When love just walks in…” JJ mocked, earning himself a laugh from Pope and a glare from John B.

Ignoring JJ and Pope’s echoey laugher, Lottie shook her head. “Unless you lock the two of them in a room and force them to have a conversation, I don’t think you’re gonna get anywhere.” She did not mean for her words to be taken literally, but John B. shot upright with a look in his eyes that she did not like. “Whatever you’re thinking, I don’t wanna be involved,” she said quickly.

He smiled apologetically at her. “You’re gonna get them to make up.”

Lottie dramatically whined and fell back into the seat between Pope and JJ, looking at the two of them with pleading eyes. “Please, put me out of my misery before he makes me play mediator.”

JJ patted her knee sympathetically. “I’m afraid you’re the only woman for the job.”

#outer banks #jj maybank #john b routledge #sarah cameron #pope heyward #kiara carrera #jj maybank x oc #jj maybank x original character #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks season 1

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