#like he came back and those arms...that chest | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

persicipen · 2 days ago

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₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓟𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. KAMISATO AYATO ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 2.1k ノ fem reader — distracting him from work in a certain way ノ petnames — dear . wife . darling ノ implied breeding kink . fucking against the wall ノ teasing and flirting . established relationship . marriage

When he sees you in his office room this late, he knows his frustrations with endless paperwork finally end as the long-awaited — and, what is wee embarrassing to admit, long-forgotten — break came to visit. Break, albeit used to describe many situations and events, in this particular case means you, his most beautiful wife. Ayato’s favourite type of break.

“It’s late, my dear,” he says, tone playful. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping already?”

Your fingers graze against his temple in a caring manner, and he purrs with satisfaction, allowing you to sit right beside him near the low table.

“I wanted to see you. It’s so cold in bed without you…” Your hand slowly slides from his temples to the nape, feeling your husband tremble ever so slightly at your meek touch. The warm pads of your fingertips trail across his shoulders and the area where the neck meets the broad back, resting for a bit and then gently rubbing circles against it, working through the layers of expensive garments. You don’t say anything for a few long minutes — rather, you’re fully immersed in taking care of his stiff muscles.

“Judging by the warmth of your palms, perhaps your claim is not entirely true, hm? Leaving your cosy bedding just to visit me in nothing but a flimsy robe? I sense an intrigue rather than a genuine concern.” Ayato’s hands grab yours before they escape anywhere else. He gives your knuckle a quick peck. Only once, unimpeachable, and he does this every single time you crave some intimacy after what seemed like eternity without him.

Frankly, you do not appreciate it. A pout forms immediately on your lips. They feel lonely, unkissed.

“Spare me a moment or two.” You wrap around his neck, burying your face in the curve of his shoulder and inhaling the intoxicating scent. Camellia flowers and cherry blossoms — a fragrance almost too sweet and innocent for a man such as Lord Kamisato. “I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself anymore if you’re not near me.”

What could have been better than enjoying all those delectable noises reserved only for him? A solid offer. No wonder you two are together, one always outsmarting another, always trying to bargain a better deal, be it a kiss, a hug, or an indecent touch during a walk in nature where even butterflies can’t seem to find a way to your secret place.

Insufferable are his thoughts now that you’ve inflicted this venom of lust into his system. If anything, the first dosage was administered long before this evening and had gone untreated due to your husband’s own unwillingness to firmly stop himself from overworking.

Ayato must say that it takes both more patience and determination than usual to fight off your beauty. The purple of his eyes never loses its enticing luster — a mystery worthy of thousands of poems dedicated solely to you. Why should he torture himself any longer while you’re within his reach, offering yourself so obediently?

“My sweet wife is already going for the kill.” His arms encircle your waist in one fluid motion. As expected, he grins to himself, feeling you shiver with excitement against his chest, gaze wandering between your parted lips and star-stricken eyes. “If your request wasn’t so very irresistible, then maybe… Oh well.”

None of you waste any more time, shamefully clawing at each other’s garments just to open them enough to continue making out. You cling to his nape as he puts one hand beneath your ass to hoist you up in order to carry you closer to him.

Every breath burns his throat until he presses you onto the nearest wall — away from the main corridor and prying ears of curious servants, which is unfortunate since he has planned something particularly scandalous involving said corridor. This one he will remember for another occasion, that is. Nothing lost. It does not matter anyway — whatever idea would’ve come to his head can be used tomorrow, a day after tomorrow, anytime, provided that the opportunity arises once again.

Ayato allows himself a brief evaluation of his abandoned tasks before getting down to business. A mere moment later, he’s fucking you relentlessly against the wooden column, your hair tangled with the surface and messy behind your head. With a warm hand on your cheek, it contrasts with the cool breeze coming through the window.

Debauched noises escape your throat without regard to decency, like waterfalls running dry after a hot summer, until there is nothing left but a silent heap of exhales.

Still starving for attention, deprived of everything your beloved husband has been reluctant to provide these past evenings, even the most minuscule gestures spark flames below your navel.

Supposedly, getting so easily wet could be considered unwelcome, always messing up your underwear, but in the company of your adored man, it’s perfect. It’s foolishly easy to slip past the entrance of your pussy and force it to catch every tiny shift of his shaft.

The quick work on your clothes made you too flustered to act before you could even explain your presence here in more detail. With an arm sneaking around your waist, he pulls you closer with a goal to slip his painfully hard cock deeper into your sodden cunt.

Alongside the kiss pressed to your forehead, his mouth lingers there for a brief moment, humming praises against your sweaty skin.

“Is this exactly what you wanted?”

“I love you.” You pant in desperation, fisting at the back of Ayato’s embroidered suit. A string of needy whines flows from your tongue in rapid succession while his lips pepper kisses over your jawline, up and down and across your heated skin until they land on the juncture of your neck, eliciting a small gasp as a reward.

“Aren’t you the most precious one? You should be aware that your words are more dangerous to my heart than any blade or poison.�� The Commissioner lets his guard down, a ripple of relief and solace washing over him in the loving warmth of your closeness, and he leans into the embrace while holding you as careful as one holds an ancient vase.

“Hmm, isn’t that adorable that even you have a soft spot?” Your giggle turns into a wanton yelp as he manhandles you to fit against his lean body like a missing puzzle piece.

“Only because I adore you so dearly, I will allow myself to pause the work of utmost importance.” His fingers are brushing against the soft material of your night robe, creeping under the fabric to keep your thigh high enough for him to push his pelvis right against your clit. “It’s not as important as you, I have to admit.”

He kisses your cheek, and his lips travel down your jawline, the feather-like pecks on the side of your collarbone, and you can’t help the content sigh that escapes your mouth. His breath is ticklish, and when his teeth gently nibble the delicate skin, the gasp that follows makes him chuckle, his pace not slowing down.

“If my darling is not silent,” Ayato whispers, his hot breath fanning against your ear, “the servants may notice something unusual is happening in my private quarters.”

As if it would not rouse is excitement…

Such a threat is empty, just a fickle of a joke to raise your pulse before his pace returns to the previous rhythm. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes betrays his amusement, knowing that he will most likely fuck you dumb until you whimper out his name pleadingly, for he does not care if others hear how much of a perfect lover he is. Those working under him are long adjusted to the questionable ways of their Lord’s doings.

You can’t deny the effect it has on you, though. Especially with his hand moving to your mouth, covering it completely to muffle any delicious mewls slipping down your tongue.

“Bite it, if you have to.”

A rush of heat engulfs the pit of your stomach, your cunt squeezing his shaft hungrily. He doesn’t slow down — no, quite the opposite, as if motivated by the shame that strikes your silhouette. His thrusts are steady and merciless, and you are glad that the column is keeping you upright; otherwise, you’d collapse into his arms like a lithe rag doll.

It works like a charm on you. Heavy weight of his words, a need for control in every little detail, always caring, always considerate towards you. Although there are times where your husband will bend to your will and please you thoroughly, there are also moments like these when he won’t give you a chance to think straight, all because of such a simple reason.

He adores you to the point of addiction.

And now he wishes to enjoy you to the fullest without further pauses, reducing his duties to mere distractions that otherwise would stop him from revelling in your body.

No longer form a coherent sentence, you accept the mind-numbing sensation of his cockhead hitting the deepest spots simultaneously with his fingers rubbing at your wet, puffy clit. The tension in your core is threatening to snap at any moment, your juices soaking his length as your pussy greedily milks his shaft with each and every snap of his hips into your pliant body.

Even with limbs unable to muster out any strength to cuddle to your husband, the feeling of your hole gripping him like a vice rewiring Ayato’s mind into a mush, a delirious haze of lust. He removes his hand from your mouth, cupping your face and wiping the drool that is trickling down your chin, his thumb gently caressing the damp skin.

Dark lavender eyes follow sparkles dimming in your fluttering gaze as you try your best to not fall into bliss and close your lids. His forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy and shallow, his lips dangerously close, and the Commissioner swallows at the familiar heat pooling in his abdomen.

“Just like this, dear,” he says softly, his voice trembling and strained. “Just a bit more.”

With a shaky sigh, he shoves his mouth against yours in a sloppy kiss to avoid any loud noise to escape him, savouring the flavour of your tongue as if you were the finest dessert prepared solely for his appetite.

Despite being unsure if you could truly make it last until your husband finds relief as well, you fight for balance on your shaking thighs while even a portion of your weight feels too much to bear on your wobbly knees. His cock swells, the pressure coiling and tightening from the inside of his balls as the release hits him like a tidal wave. As soon as his essence souses the walls of your womb white, you sob and join him in the moment of sweetest carnal satisfaction.

The sudden contractions of your cunt bring you both to the sweetest peak of pleasure, all too intense to not slump down the polished floors in a puddle of fine silk stained with your mixed essences.

Although Kamisato Ayato is the epitome of politeness and strict discipline, there is no way to deny the truth that he might turn the world upside down just to rest between the thighs of his darling wife.

The delirious euphoria comes to an end when he slips himself out of your snug cunt, soft and worn, satisfied but also amused upon noticing that some of his cum already leaked out of your hole. A pity, such a waste that his seed is seeping through the slippery gash. Maybe the idea of making you pregnant will stay with him until the next close encounter, then.

There is nothing left of composure that usually defines him as the leader of the Yashiro Commission. Instead, the sight is almost unnerving compared to his usual image. Clothes crumpled and skewed, hair ruffled atop his sheen forehead, and the pink blush adorning his cheeks. Perhaps you did him some good tonight after all, clearing his mind and relaxing the muscles tense from sitting still for hours. There are plenty of tasks left to be done — he won’t sleep even after exhausting himself — but perhaps now he’s willing to consider joining you in bed for the rest of the night.

As if hearing your thoughts, he chuckles breathlessly, scooping you up in his embrace without worrying about cleaning the mess just yet.

“There are several things I’d rather do instead of dealing with t-those reports right now...”

“Do I r-really have to coerce my beloved husband into sleeping together?”

“Obviously, no. It’s only a matter of fact that I forget about the passage of time until you have to visit my office. But wasn’t it just as sweet?” His teeth nibble at your earlobe before he laughs under his breath again.

#—writing.#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin smut #kamisato ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x you #kamisato ayato smut #ayato x reader #ayato x you #ayato smut #cw breeding

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inkedinshadows · 2 days ago

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The Path To Healing

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: A glimpse into different moments of Azriel's life: from his childhood trauma to the physical healing, from his struggles and his acceptance to the beginning of his mental healing journey.

Warnings: angst, self-hate, self-consciousness, violence and blood, mentions of torture, language, fingering (brief)

Word count: 8.9k

A/N: I might or might not have cried while writing some parts of this. I focused only on Azriel's hands, and I'm sure I only scratched the surface of what his trauma is. I'm nowhere close to an expert on any of this, but I tried my best and hopefully did it justice. @azrielappreciationweek

Pain was all he knew.

His eyes hurt from crying, and he desperately wanted to rub them, but he couldn't. He couldn't, because his hands… His hands…

More tears poured down his already puffed cheeks, and his cries turned into a choked sound—sobs that tore through his chest and shook his little body, his wings a dead weight on his back.

“Shh,” his mother murmured, her voice soothing, her touch gentle as she cupped his face. “It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay, baby.”

Azriel didn't know how to believe her. It seemed to him like nothing could ever be okay again. He couldn't feel his hands anymore—they had been replaced by a blinding pain that reached up to his elbows. All he could see when he looked down was a red splotch, too red to be normal.

When his father had heard his screams, he’d called the healers. By then, it was too late, and the damage was already done. But his father had merely given his half-brothers a disappointed look and dumped Azriel in his mother's care, as if he had become even more of a burden than before. He didn't know what he had done to deserve it.

His mom began to hum a lullaby, but Azriel could barely hear it over his sobs and whimpers. She took one of his shaking hands in hers as gently as she could, touching his marred skin when strictly necessary, but even that drew a shriek from him.

“I know, baby,” his mother whispered as she began wrapping his hand in new strips of clean fabric. “I know it hurts. But I need to bandage it so it can get better, okay?”

Azriel tried to hold back his cries of pain as she worked. He tried to focus on her face and the lullaby instead, but he kept praying through it all—to the Cauldron, to the Mother, to whoever was listening—that it would be over soon. Just like he had begged and prayed while his half-brothers had burned him, but no one had come then.

Now, though, his silent prayers were answered.

“There you go, my love,” his mom said softly, placing a kiss on his forehead. “All done. See? Does it hurt a bit less now?”

He looked down to find his hands covered in white linen. The tight bandages applied just enough pressure to reduce the pain, even if only by just a fraction. He met his mother's concerned gaze and nodded weakly, watching as the corner of her lips twitched upward. It didn't help much, though, and tears still streamed down his face.

“Come here,” she whispered, gathering his shaking body in her arms and holding him close to her chest. “My precious boy. You'll get through this, Az. I promise.”

Azriel buried his face in her neck and cried until he was too exhausted to do even that. But his mom never stopped singing him an old Illyrian lullaby, rocking him back and forth as if he were a newborn baby.

She kept going long after he fell asleep.

~~~~~~

Azriel was staring at his hands, at the ridges of his new scars. He knew he should be practicing, but he could only stare.

“What is it, sweetie?”

His mother came up beside him. His father had allowed her to see him a bit more over the last few months, not wanting to spend money on healers more than once every other week when they came to check on him and his progress.

Azriel turned his hands over, now looking at the backs of them. He still wasn’t used to seeing them like this. How much time had he spent looking at them? During those long hours in his cell with no light, he had thought about them endlessly.

Sometimes, he could swear the darkness whispered in his ear, soothing his mind until he finally fell asleep.

“They're ugly,” he said. His voice was flat, as if he was simply stating a fact. Because that's what they were to him—ugly, ruined, useless. Always shaking and itching.

His mother's soft hands enveloped his smaller ones in a gentle hold. “Look at me.”

He obeyed, meeting her tender, reassuring gaze. Even at his young age, he knew she loved him. His stepmother never looked at him like that, on the rare occasions she even bothered to acknowledge his existence.

“Your hands are not ugly, my child,” his mom assured him. Her tone was calm, but there was a new resolution etched onto her features. “They've just been through a lot.”

Azriel shook his head. “They're ugly,” he insisted. “No one else has hands that look like this. They're full of scars and cuts and…”

His voice trailed off as his mom extended her wings behind her. A twinge of pain crossed her face, and she could only unfold them a few inches, but it was enough for Azriel to see the twin long scars running down their length. He didn't know how she got them, but she once told him she couldn't fly because of them. He’d felt an odd sense of relief at that, knowing his mom couldn't fly either—that her blood, like his, urged her to take off and roam the skies, yet neither of them could.

“Do you think my wings are ugly, Az?” she asked. She still spoke with that soft tone, but it was now tinged with firmness.

Azriel immediately shook his head. “No,” he answered. “No, they're not ugly.”

“But they have scars. They're ruined and useless.” How had she known those were the words he used for his own hands? Had he said them out loud? “What are wings for, if not for flying? Yet I can't fly anymore.”

He shook his head again, more firmly this time. “Mom, no,” he said, decisive and unyielding. “Your wings are beautiful. You're beautiful.”

Her face softened, a smile blooming on her lips as she gently squeezed his hands. “Then your hands are beautiful too.” She lifted them to her lips, kissing each one. “Think of them not as reminders of pain, but of strength. You've suffered a lot, but you're stronger. You're healing. And one day, it won't even hurt anymore.”

Azriel was silent for a long moment. “Is it really like that?”

“Of course, baby,” she reassured him, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair.

He knew she was lying. He saw the pain on her face when she moved her wings. They still hurt sometimes. But he believed her anyway, because he needed to.

His mother let go of his hands and picked up the pen he had discarded just a few minutes ago. “Do you think you can practice a little longer?”

Azriel didn't want to. His fingers had gone stiff earlier, the constant itching even stronger now. But he didn't want his hands to be useless, so he took the pen from her.

Almost two sheets of paper were covered with just one word, repeated over and over. His own name. Easy enough to write, yet the letters were crooked and shaky, the ink smeared where his hand had accidentally trailed over it.

With a sigh, Azriel set the pen on the paper and tried his best to keep his hand steady as he resumed the exercise.

~~~~~~

Azriel really wanted to get laid.

There was no other way to say it. Every time he heard Cassian and Rhysand talk about a new girl they had slept with, he felt a pang of jealousy. He wanted to experience it too—to know what it felt like to have that kind of connection with someone and not have to resort to his own hand whenever he couldn't ignore his need.

But he had always been too shy to approach the pretty girls his brothers chatted up so easily. His hands did nothing to help his confidence.

Tonight, though, was bonfire night. Organized twice a year, it was held on the Spring and Autumn Equinox to celebrate the new season. And this year, Azriel had every intention of going home with a girl.

His brothers were laughing and pushing each other as they walked through the muddy streets of Windhaven. He wasn’t paying much attention to what they were saying—something about their earlier fight during training. No, Azriel’s mind was already focused on his plan.

He would keep a safe distance from the fire, where no incidents could happen. But he would scan the crowd of Illyrians for a female who caught his interest, and when he found her, he would approach her, talk a little, and then ask if she wanted to go somewhere more private.

Simple enough.

He was a warrior in training, after all. He had seven Siphons. He was a Shadowsinger.

He had nothing to fear from interacting with girls.

Yet, he couldn't recall the last time he’d started a conversation with a female. In the ten years he'd been at Windhaven, it had probably happened only with Rhys's mother. But she didn't count.

Someone bumped into Azriel, and, lost in his thoughts as he was, he almost fell to the ground. He managed to flare his wings to steady himself, glaring at Cassian as he regained his balance.

“Sorry about that,” Cassian said, though his snicker didn't make him sound particularly sincere. “I've been talking to you for two minutes, but you didn't hear a single word. What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Azriel mumbled, folding his wings behind him again. “Maybe you're just not worth listening to.”

Cassian gasped audibly, clutching his chest in mock heartache as a group of children sprinted by, headed for the square where the first booms of laughter and echoes of chattering rang out.

“Don't worry, Az,” Rhys chimed in before their brother could come up with a retort. “You'll get your first taste of sex tonight.”

Azriel shrugged off the hand Rhysand had placed on his shoulder. “Don't look in my mind,” he nearly growled, checking his mental shields just to be sure.

Both his brothers halted their steps and stared at him, twin shit-eating grins on their faces.

“I didn't,” Rhys said. “But thank you for confirming my suspicions.”

Cassian nudged him with an elbow, already teasing him about girls and first times and wingspans. With a snort, Azriel shoved him away and continued toward the bonfire, leaving the other two behind to push each other around, their chuckles chasing him down the street.

How they had guessed what he was up to, he didn't know. He’d been careful not to tell them, knowing their reaction would consist of snickers and jabs that he was in no mood for.

As he turned the corner, the square came into view. Just like every year, the bonfire stood in its center, rising several feet high and adorned with little homemade trinkets meant to bring good luck and a prosperous season when burned.

They would light it soon.

The square was already packed with people when Azriel reached it. Children ran around chasing each other, their laughs and screams echoing into the night. Warriors gathered in small groups, swords on their back and knives at their thighs or hips, not letting their guard down even during a festivity.

And then there were the females. Most sat together in a corner, chatting idly and glancing at the children from time to time. But some of them—the younger ones, the ones around Azriel's age—strolled in groups of two or three.

How was he supposed to approach them if they were always together? It was difficult enough when they were alone.

Azriel spotted Cassian and Rhys from the corner of his eye and moved deeper into the crowd, choosing to stand on the opposite side of the square from them. The last thing he needed was for his brothers to make fun of him.

Someone shouted a warning, and a moment later, the pyre was lit. Azriel flinched as flames erupted, pressing himself closer to the wall behind him. Even from this distance, he could feel the heat of the fire, warming his skin and casting a flickering glow all around.

He shut it out. He shut out the memory of what fire could do to flesh, the smell of burned skin, the screams and cries of a terrified eight-year-old boy. The shadows suddenly swirled around him, brushing against his arms and neck.

Past. Gone. Gone. Just memories.

Azriel closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, letting the truth they whispered calm his racing heart.

He sensed the girl before even the darkness could murmur of her approach.

He let his shoulders slump a little and slid his hands into his pockets, assuming a more casual stance. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him from a few feet away. Her head snapped around to stare at the bonfire as soon as she realized she'd been caught staring.

Azriel couldn't suppress his smirk. He had grown accustomed to females looking his way from the moment he’d hit puberty, but it still made him feel smug every time. Never mind that they didn't approach him—or that he never approached them.

But now, though. Now he would.

Taking one last deep breath, he took a nervous step toward her. And then another. She glanced in his direction, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, but one more step and Azriel was standing in front of her.

A few inches shorter than him, she didn't back away, her big brown eyes meeting his hazel ones. Her delicate face was framed by strands of wavy black hair that flowed past her shoulders, and he stopped himself before his eyes could travel downward to the curves shaping her slim body. She was pretty. Beautiful, even.

“Hi,” he said, attempting a smile. He wasn't sure it looked right.

The girl offered a small smile back. “I'm, uh… I didn't mean to stare. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It's alright.”

For a brief, awkward moment, they just stood there, looking at each other. Then Azriel realized she was waiting for him to say something more. Right.

“What's your name?” he finally asked, silently thanking the little shadow that had curled around his ear to whisper the suggestion.

“I'm Teagan.” The girl's smile widened. “And you're Azriel.”

Caught off guard, he blinked. “You know me?”

Teagan chuckled, a clear and crystalline sound that eased some of the tension in Azriel's body.

Some of it.

“I've seen you around,” she answered with a shrug. Firelight danced on her features. “There aren't many Shadowsingers here, you know. None, in fact. You're one of a kind.”

Her initial shyness seemed completely gone now. Good. That made one of them, at least. Because if her words were meant as flattery, they didn't work. Instead, they only made Azriel more nervous.

What if she had expectations? What if she started asking questions about his powers? What if she would be disappointed now that she was talking to him? What if she—

Azriel cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind at the same time. “Thank you,” he said.

Too stiff. Too short. Not an acceptable answer. But he didn't know what else to say. How was he supposed to talk to a girl when he’d barely had any social interaction for the first eleven years of his life?

But Teagan must have found his awkwardness endearing, because she smiled, amusement shining in her eyes. “Aren't you going to offer me some food?”

A blush crept up his cheeks as he glanced over to the few tables laid with food in one corner of the square. People were already gathering around them and filling their dishes. Cassian was there too, shamelessly flirting with a girl whose hands were already wandering over his chest.

Azriel turned back to Teagan and nodded, a shy smile forming on his face. “I am, actually.” He cleared his throat—as if it could help him sound more confident—then gestured to the tables with his head. His hands remained buried in the pockets of his coat. “Would you like to get some food?”

It came out too formal, and his posture was too rigid. And simply nodding toward the tables? Rude. How could Rhys do this so smoothly? How could Cassian be so bold and smug?

Teagan chuckled again, though. She looped her arm through Azriel's and steered him toward the food. “You've never done this before, have you?”

He almost choked. It was worse than he'd feared, then.

“No, not really… I…” His voice trailed off, and he had no idea how to recover.

She leaned in closer as they walked, and Azriel became acutely aware of just how close she was. Her body pressed against his side, and he could feel her breath on his neck now. He wanted to take her hand, or maybe even slide his arm around her waist. If only he had worn gloves, maybe he would have dared. Though he'd need to find the courage first.

“Am I the first girl you try to flirt with?” she asked, her tone teasing.

Try. Not just flirt, but try to flirt. He was failing so miserably. Maybe he should just give up and leave.

Azriel could only nod, his face a deeper shade of red than Cassian’s siphons.

“I think it's cute,” Teagan said, her big smile lighting up her pretty face. “I'm glad you chose me to be your first.”

If only she knew what kind of first Azriel hoped she would be… but judging by how things were going, he suspected they wouldn’t get that far.

“I… don't really know what I'm doing,” he admitted, unsure why he was even saying that. It probably wasn't a smart move to reveal it, but it was too late to take it back.

As they weaved through the crowd, Teagan stepped even closer to him, and in doing so, her wing brushed against Azriel’s. They both gasped, and though she smiled sheepishly, he didn’t miss the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I just wanted to be closer to you. I really think you're cute. And I appreciate your honesty.”

Azriel smiled warmly, his heart thumping in his chest. He could still salvage this, maybe, so that his first interaction with a girl wouldn’t be a total failure.

As they stopped in front of the tables, he stepped back slightly to face her. “I think you’re cute too,” he said, meeting her gaze. He did his best not to sound shy or awkward. “You're very pretty.”

Her face lit up. “Thank you, Azriel.”

He was about to offer her some food when a group of kids suddenly weaved through the crowd and ran by. Azriel heard them coming and tucked his wings tightly, but Teagan either noticed them too late or couldn't fold her clipped wings any further.

The children bumped into her as they sprinted past, and she sucked in a sharp breath when one of them brushed her wing. Azriel was quick to grab her elbow to steady her, and something fluttered in his chest when she smiled in thanks. But then her gaze moved to his hand, still on her arm, and her eyes widened—in horror or shock, he couldn't tell.

He pulled his hand back as fast as he could, tucking it back into his pocket.

Too late.

Teagan swallowed, and the silence that stretched between them hit Azriel as painfully as a punch to the jaw.

“So,” he said eventually, feeling beyond awkward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What kind of food would—”

“I'm sorry,” she interrupted, already taking a small step back. Her eyes darted to the pocket where he’d hidden his hand before looking at him again. No warmth shone in them now. “But I forgot I had to… do something very important with my friend. Maybe another time.”

Azriel stood there, watching her turn and walk away without another glance. The rejection left him reeling. His mother could say whatever she wanted about his scars not being ugly or horrifying, but he now knew better than to believe her.

His hands balled into fists, and he took a deep breath, flexing his fingers. Without bothering to inform his brothers—who were probably on their way to sleep with yet another girl, since their hands were perfectly normal and unscarred—Azriel left the square. He put a few buildings between himself and the ongoing festivities before taking off to the skies.

He didn't return until long after the sun had set over the horizon.

~~~~~~

Azriel wished he could say he felt at least a bit bad for his half-brothers as Rhys and Cass threw punch after punch at their jaw and stomach. But all he felt while watching the scene unfold was a deep sense of satisfaction, which only grew with every new groan.

When Rhys had told him he needed to talk to his father for court matters, Azriel had refused to go. He had no interest in seeing his father or the rest of his family again, and Rhys had understood, asking Cassian to accompany him instead.

But Azriel had followed them. There was no reason for Cass to be there too, not when he was no good at playing courtier. He doubted Rhysand's father had told him to bring Cassian along.

Hidden in the shadows in the corner of the room, Azriel watched in silence as his brothers—his real ones, the only ones who mattered, as far as he was concerned—landed blow after blow. He knew now this was the real reason they'd come here.

Cassian had been itching for a fight from the moment they arrived and he didn't do a good job at hiding it. Azriel wasn't sure Cassian even tried to hide it. Rhys looked more composed, the perfect picture of the future High Lord dealing with minor problems of his Court. But as soon as Azriel's father had left, both of them had turned to his half-brothers with pure rage in their eyes.

One of them had been either bold or stupid enough to smirk. “How's our bastard brother doing?”

Rhysand and Cassian had both snapped. Despite being a few years older, his half-brothers didn't stand a chance. A warm feeling of affection was the only thing filling his chest as Azriel watched the two Illyrians who had taken him in, taught him how to fly, and showed him what a real family looked like, beat the shit out of whom was supposed to be his actual family.

He didn't make a sound, using his shadows to conceal even his scent. They were all too busy to pick up on it, even more so now that the metallic scent of blood filled the air, but he preferred to be careful.

Azriel didn't know exactly how much time had passed when Rhys and Cass finally relented, their chests heaving and their knuckles smeared with red. They straightened their backs, Cassian’s wings still spread in a fighting stance. Rhys, on the other hand, looked more relaxed, but his cold expression betrayed him.

“Don't you dare speak of him like that again,” Cassian snarled. His voice was just slightly breathless despite the beating he'd just given. “Especially after what you did to him.”

Azriel fought the urge to look down at his scarred hands. Being back in his father's keep was enough to stir memories he had long tried to forget. Instead, he focused on his brothers, on how much they must love him to risk hurting and threatening the sons of an Illyrian lord because of what they'd done to him.

Rhys exchanged a knowing glance with Cassian, and they turned to leave, abandoning his half-brothers on the floor. But they stood with a groan, battered and bloodied, still as arrogant as before. If not more so, now that they needed to make up for their bruised ego after being beaten so easily by a half-Illyrian and a low-born bastard.

One of them, the oldest, flared his wings as if trying to appear more intimidating. “He deserved it,” he spat.

Azriel had to stop himself from lunging forward and burying his own fist in his half-brother's stomach. He wanted to make him understand, to wave his hands in front of his face and yell at him. See this? This is what you did to me. I was eight! How could I have deserved it?

But he remained still, standing in the corner with his hands balled into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms.

Rhysand held back Cassian as he tried to pounce on Azriel’s half-brothers. Cassian looked outraged, as if he couldn't understand why he suddenly wasn't allowed to fight. But Azriel could see the expression on Rhys's face and knew his brother had something different in mind.

“You think Azriel deserved it?” he asked, his voice unnervingly calm. He looked a lot like his father now—aware that he didn't need to raise his voice or his fists for people to obey.

“Well, fortunately for you, I can't show you exactly what I think you two deserve,” Rhys continued, slowly slipping his hands into his pockets. “But I can at least give you a taste of it.”

Before anyone could move, a crack pierced the air, immediately followed by a sharp cry of pain as his half-brothers both collapsed to the ground once more. Their legs lay beneath them at strange angles, the bone of one protruding where it had pierced the skin. The scent of blood grew stronger as the white tiles turned red.

His mother would have disapproved, Azriel knew that. She believed vengeance should not be sought out, and that living well in spite of what had happened was more than enough. Perhaps she was right, and Azriel was as bad and cruel as his half-brothers, after all. But as he stood there, watching them bleed and whine and scream for a healer who didn't come, all he felt was a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that they now felt a fraction of the helplessness he had felt when they burned him.

Cassian crossed his arms, a feral grin spreading across his face. “Stop crying, boys,” he taunted. “It's not like you won't heal.”

The corner of Rhys's lips curled into a smirk. “I put a shield around the room. No one can hear you or smell the blood. I think I'll leave it in place and let you crawl out to ask for help.”

With a glance to Cassian, Rhys gestured toward the door in a silent command, and they walked out without sparing the two Illyrians another glance.

But Azriel stayed a few more moments. Just long enough to see his half-brothers try to rise, fail miserably, and fall back on the floor. When they began to crawl, using their hands to drag themselves across the floor, smearing their blood over the tiles and their clothes, Azriel smiled.

He didn't care if they were spouting insults at him and his brothers. He didn't care what kind of person that made him. The sight of his half-brothers crawling and bleeding delighted him.

With one last look at them, Azriel winnowed away, his heart full of love for the two brothers the Cauldron had blessed him with.

~~~~~~

It felt like centuries had passed since Azriel had last been this nervous around a girl. It had likely been over a hundred years, if not more, since he couldn't recall the last time he went on a date. Even longer since he’d had a genuine crush. Normally, he just approached girls, or they approached him, and things quickly escalated into a night of sex. But it was nothing more than that—just fucking.

With you, it was different.

He met you a couple of weeks ago when he walked into your little bookstore to buy a present for Nesta's birthday. You were so nice and radiant that he couldn't stop thinking about you, and he lost count of how many times he came, buying books he didn't need and asking for recommendations only to listen to you talk. And then he had finally asked you out, and your smile had lit up the whole shop as you said yes.

He was standing on the other side of the street, watching as you closed up the store for the day. Your dress flew around your legs in the evening breeze, and your hair was styled in a simple bun on your head.

Azriel smiled as you crossed the street. As usual, he had to hold back his shadows as they swirled excitedly around him. “You look lovely,” he said when you stopped in front of him.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, lowering your gaze for a second before looking at him with a smile. “You're not too bad either.”

He chuckled softly. “Thank you.” Offering his arm, he gestured to the street. “Shall we?”

You looped your arm through his, and together you strolled along the Sidra, your steps unhurried.

Conversation flowed easily, and Azriel relaxed more as you talked about everything from your job to his preference for flying over winnowing. His shadows, which had lingered around his wings, vanished completely. But then you got to the little restaurant where he had reserved a table, and he grew nervous once more.

Even with your arms linked, your focus never drifted to his hands during the walk. Your eyes were either on him or your surroundings, making it easy to forget his marred skin.

Until you sat across from him and the food arrived. There was no way now you wouldn't notice his scars, which normally wasn't a problem—he'd stopped caring about strangers' opinions years ago. But you weren't a stranger, and you weren't just another girl he wanted to fuck.

You were sweet and beautiful, and he was drawn to you in a way he hadn't experienced in decades. He didn't want you to run away from him.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken you out to dinner on the first date, because now it was probably going to be the last one too.

Yet you didn't stare at his hands. You acted as if everything was normal, never commenting or asking what had happened to him. You carried on the conversation just like before, and when Azriel, hiding his distress behind a carefully crafted mask, asked you about a theater play you'd just mentioned, you launched into a passionate description of its plot and themes. His uneasiness slowly faded as he watched your eyes light up. You leaned closer over the table, so engaged in your story that Azriel found himself smiling and nodding along, only half listening, his worries about his hands momentarily forgotten.

Your voice suddenly trailed off mid-sentence, and you leaned back in your chair, tilting your head to the side. “What?” you asked with a soft smile. Before he could answer, you tensed and added, “I've done it again, haven't I? Rambling on about something you don't care about.”

Azriel shook his head, his hand itching to reach across the table and brush yours, though he held back. “Y/N,” he said, his voice quiet and reassuring. “I do care. I asked you that question. You just had that look on your face.”

Your brow furrowed. “What look?”

“The one you have when you talk about something you like,” he answered, watching your expression grow confused for a second. “You have it when you talk about books too.”

You were quiet for a moment, and then your eyes narrowed slightly. “Azriel,” you said slowly, but your lips twitched up in a smirk. “Did you ask for all those recommendations just to hear me talk?”

“Maybe,” he conceded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. His heart fluttered as your eyes met, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

He’d forgotten having a crush could feel like this—like being a boy again. Only now he knew what to do.

He’d never been much of a talker, preferring to listen and chime in occasionally, but with you, it was easy. You had your own way of involving him, asking questions or simply waiting for him to share his thoughts. Even though you barely paused, Azriel never felt like you were hogging the attention. On the contrary, you made him more at ease.

After you left the restaurant, you went strolling through the streets of Velaris. Azriel was just about to answer your question about how fast, exactly, an Illyrian could fly when you let out a delighted squeal, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward a small bakery.

“Oh, I was waiting for this place to open!” You stopped in front of the window with a dreamy sigh before turning to look up at him. “I forgot it was today. Can we go in? Please, tell me you like pastries!”

Your enthusiasm was endearing, but Azriel couldn’t help glancing down at your hand still holding his larger, scarred one. You didn't seem to notice—or if you did, you didn’t care.

Your grip loosened slightly as you noticed the shift in his attention, but you didn't let go. “Sorry,” you said quietly, your eyes searching his face. “I got a bit carried away. Is this alright?”

He wasn't sure what to say. The lump in his throat made it hard to speak. That you had grabbed his hand without thinking was enough to leave him speechless, but what you were asking now… it wasn’t just that you weren't bothered by his scars. It was that you wanted to keep holding his hand. Azriel couldn't wrap his mind around it.

You probably misunderstood his silence because you started to pull back. He immediately held your hand tighter, gently squeezing it, as if to silently reassure you. “No, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his voice softer than usual. “I’m just…” Not used to it. “You caught me off-guard, that’s all.”

“I caught the spymaster off guard?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Should I be worried? Do we need to inform the High Lord?”

Azriel shook his head with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on you before he gestured toward the bakery. “Would you still like those pastries?”

Your eyes lit up, and Azriel made a mental note of how much you liked sweets. “Oh, yes, please!”

“Then let’s get you some, shall we?”

You walked past him as he held the door open for you, a grateful smile lighting up your face. Your hand remained entwined with his, and for once, Azriel didn’t feel the need to hide it.

You did not let go until he walked you home and you closed the front door behind you, and Azriel had never felt such lightness as he flew back to the House of Wind.

~~~~~~

Azriel sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands with a grimace on his face.

Someone had tried to infiltrate Velaris, likely sent from the Hewn City, and Azriel had been called to find out why. He could still recall the blood and the pleading whimpers. But in the end, he got the information he wanted. He always did.

At a cost.

He had long since learned to keep a cold expression, even in the face of the suffering he caused. He was used to it after centuries, and as long as it kept his city and family safe, he didn't care how cruel he had to become. Maybe it made him a horrible person, but his soul wasn't the cost.

The cost was his hands.

Even after all this time, being in the cells beneath the Hewn City was like being back in the cell in his father's mansion. He had to shut down every part of him that felt, bury those memories deep down in his mind, and remind himself that he wasn't a helpless child anymore.

He was a five-hundred-year-old warrior, and he had a job to do.

But once the job was done, and Rhys decided how to deal with the prisoner and the consequences, Azriel would go back to his room knowing he didn't have much time.

He would wash his bloodied hands, though he knew no matter how much he washed, he could never cleanse them completely. He had five centuries worth of blood on them. After they were clean, if he was lucky, like today, he had time to peel off his leathers before the inevitable happened.

The pain.

No matter how many times he’d been in those dungeons, no matter how many years had passed since he’d last been locked in his father’s cell, he still didn’t know how to stop the pain from returning.

It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first few times, and it was nothing compared to what he had felt while his hands were being burned and in the days after. But Azriel still gritted his teeth, a low hiss escaping from him.

He tried clenching them into fists, but the relief lasted only a few seconds before he had to relax them again. His fingers were stiff as he reached for the drawer, a fresh surge of stinging pain hitting him when he pulled it open. Shadows dove in before he could and quickly whisked up a small jar of white cream. They undid the lid, and Azriel felt grateful for the dark companions that had never once left his side now more than ever.

Willing his hands to cooperate, he scooped up some of the soothing balm a healer had made for him. It always took a little while for its effect to show, but pain was an old friend he had learned to live with.

The herbal scent filled the room as Azriel did his best to spread the balm over every inch of his hands, trying to ignore the stinging itch. Scratching would only make it worse, reddening his already scarred skin until it threatened to bleed again.

He shifted to lie on the bed, wings spread beneath him. He just had to endure the ache for a few more minutes before the balm took effect, and then he could try to sleep. He needed some rest after such a long day, if only to have a clear mind when he met you the next afternoon.

As his shadows hummed in his ear the Illyrian lullaby his mother used to sing him as a child, Azriel let his eyes drift close, flexing his aching fingers every few seconds, hoping for a faster relief.

~~~~~~

Things moved slowly with you.

Neither of you wanted to rush into anything and potentially ruin what you both knew could be the beginning of something great.

You went on several dates, and some ended with him spending the night at your apartment, snuggled up in your bed, which was too small for an Illyrian. Azriel didn’t care as long as he got to fall asleep with you in his arms.

But things had never gone this far.

When he came to your bookshop earlier, he had only planned to walk you home. You were tired from a long day dealing with customers, and he had to wake up early the next morning to leave for Illyria for a few days. Maybe it was the thought of not seeing you—even if only for a week—or the fact that you looked stunning in your simple dress, with strands of hair escaping from your messy bun. Whatever it was, Azriel wanted you. He needed you.

His lips parted from yours, both of you already breathing heavily. “I don't want to go home,” he murmured, his hands on your hips, twisting the thin fabric of your dress, wishing it weren't there.

“What do you want to do then?” you asked, amusement clear in your eyes. But there was desire there too, mirroring his own.

“I want to take off your dress,” he whispered, his fingers already moving to the straps on your shoulders. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Take it off.”

With deft fingers, he slid the straps down your arms, and the fabric slipped off your body, pooling around your feet. You stepped out of it, and Azriel swallowed at the sight of you clad only in your cream underwear.

“If I had known we'd be doing this, I would have worn something more enticing,” you said quietly. There was no shyness or embarrassment in your voice, as if you were simply stating a fact. You did have a point—your lingerie was simple, something you wore every day. It didn't matter to Azriel.

He shook his head, stepping closer to you. “You don't need to,” he murmured. His hands cupped your face, tilting your head up to kiss you tenderly. “You're always stunning, sweetheart, no matter what you wear.”

You hummed, a smile playing on your lips. “Now I want to know what you think when I'm not wearing anything.”

Azriel chuckled, even as desire coiled in his groin. A part of him wanted to toss you on the bed and fuck you senseless. But most of all, he wanted to take his time exploring your body, finding every spot that made you squirm and sigh. Only after he'd thoroughly tasted you would he bury himself inside you.

“Let's find out,” he replied with a smirk, already knowing that, no matter what, you'd always be perfect in his eyes.

He reached behind you to unclasp your bra, and as he tossed it on the chair, he felt himself harden. Your breasts were full and supple, your pink nipples so inviting that he wanted to wrap his lips around them. Yet as he lifted a hand to touch you, he hesitated.

The stark contrast between your soft, smooth skin and his scarred fingers made him pause. He had touched you before, but never so intimately. How could he do that? His hands had so much blood on them. With how they looked, it felt only fitting he would use them for horrible things—to hurt people. Not to touch the wonderful girl he was falling for. How could he be so selfish as to sully you like that? You deserved so much better than him. Someone who didn’t torture and kill for a living, who didn’t have a dark past still haunting him.

Someone good.

He took a step back, lowering his hand.

“Azriel,” you called gently. There was no sign of judgment or disappointment in your voice. You just wanted him to look at you.

Slowly, his eyes met yours. To his astonishment, a soft smile bloomed on your lips.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, taking his hands in yours. He fought the urge to pull away. “You can touch me. I want you to touch me.”

He wanted to. More than anything. He wished he could.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“Why?”

How could he explain? He never told you what had happened to him. He didn’t want you to pity him or, even worse, to drive you away. Selfishly, he wanted to keep you in his life.

When he didn’t answer, your fingers slid around his wrists. Neither of you spoke as you lifted his hands to your mouth and kissed each scarred palm. Azriel’s throat worked, his heart pounding in his chest. Without a word, you placed his hands on your breasts. You let go of his wrists, giving him the freedom to pull away if he wanted to. But your eyes never left his, and that soft smile never faltered.

Azriel swallowed hard. For a moment, he just stood there, not pulling away but not moving either. Your face was open and serene, as if his scars didn’t bother you, even now that they were touching such an intimate part of your body.

Seeing you like this, so calm and accepting, so soft and warm under his palms… his thumbs moved, brushing over your nipples. You shivered, and he couldn’t stop himself from doing it again, feeling the small buds harden under his touch.

As if sensing his impending question, you nodded slightly. “You can touch me, Az.”

Though he knew it was wrong and still didn’t understand how you could want his bloodied, scarred hands on you, he gave you what you wanted—what you both wanted.

He slid one hand behind your neck, pulling you closer and kissing you again. The other remained on your breast, kneading the soft flesh, savoring every small sigh that escaped your lips. You leaned into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, deepening the kiss until Azriel’s control hung only by a thin thread.

When you pulled back, you didn’t give him time to lower his mouth to your neck. You grasped his hand, gently moving it away from your chest, and a wave of fear tightened in Azriel’s stomach. You had changed your mind. Of course you had. He should have seen it coming.

But instead of stepping away, you guided his hand down. Between your legs.

His breath caught as his fingers brushed against your panties, feeling the already damp fabric beneath his touch.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “Are you sure?”

You were smiling again. “Yes. Please, Az.”

He didn’t know how to say no. He knew he should have, that he was unworthy of touching someone so pure and lovely. But you had already pushed the fabric aside, and he groaned as your slick arousal coated his fingertips. Before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers found your clit, drawing a soft moan from you.

The thin thread holding his control snapped at the sound, and Azriel let himself give in.

He pulled you closer, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers explored what they shouldn’t. At the first sign of hesitation or revulsion, he was ready to stop. But pleasure was the only emotion etched across your face, and he could see the desire for more burning in your eyes. Yet you were letting him set the pace, giving him time to accept your permission to touch you.

He slipped a finger between your folds, teasing your entrance before tentatively easing it inside, just a little.

Your hips bucked, and your voice came out as a needy whisper. “Please…”

Azriel hesitated for only a split second before pushing his finger all the way in. You were soft and warm, and you both groaned as your walls clenched around it. He couldn’t believe you were letting him do this, but he couldn’t stop now.

As he slowly pumped it in and out, your hips began to rock against his hand to match his movements. He watched in contemplation as your eyes fluttered close and your lips parted slightly, a breathy moan slipping out when he couldn’t resist the urge to add a second finger.

“Azriel…” you murmured. “Feels so good…”

The sound of his name on your lips sent a wave of heat through his body. His wings rustled quietly behind him, and his cock throbbed in his pants. He pulled his hand away, relishing your disappointed whimper.

You hadn’t run away from him. You didn’t let his scars intimidate you, or shape your opinion of him. You weren’t bothered by his marred fingers touching you; on the contrary, you craved them inside you. So why, despite the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t worthy of it, should he deny you something you both wanted so badly? He wanted to taste you, to make you come on his fingers, and see how much pleasure they could bring you.

“I want to do this properly,” he murmured, gently guiding you to the bed. “Will you lie down for me, sweetheart?”

Your face lit up with a smile, and you slipped out of your panties. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you spread your legs, baring yourself to his hungry gaze.

As Azriel knelt between your parted thighs, he pushed every thought about his hands out of his mind, focusing only on the beautiful girl before him and the warmth settling in his heart.

~~~~~~

Azriel jolted awake, his chest heaving. He lifted his hands in front of him, the dim light of the moon casting shadows across them.

They were fine. Scarred as always, but fine.

He took a deep breath as he lay back down. It was just a nightmare—memories coming back to haunt him in his sleep every now and then. Even after centuries.

“Az?”

He cursed silently as you stirred beside him, turning to face him. He could see your struggle to open your eyes, your voice a sleepy mumble.

“Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It's alright.”

It always was with you. You never complained when his nightmares disrupted your sleep. He didn't have them as often since you'd moved in together, fortunately. Sleeping next to you helped, but it wasn't a cure.

“Did you have a nightmare?” you asked quietly. With your head resting on his chest, you could probably hear the rapid thumping of his heart. He willed it to slow.

“It's fine, sweetheart,” he sighed. He pressed a kiss to your hair, and his tone was softer when he spoke again. “Go back to sleep.”

You curled up against him, and he thought you might let it go. But instead, you continued to look up at him. “You know you can talk to me if you want.”

“I know,” he murmured. You’d always been there for him when he needed it. You had been since the moment you met a year ago, and he was grateful for it every single day. He couldn't wait for your mating ceremony in two weeks and prove once more how much you meant to him.

You shifted in his arms, and then your head was on the pillow next to his, your face only inches away from his. You reached for his hand and lifted it up to your lips, kissing his palm, his fingers, his knuckles.

Azriel watched in silence, a lump in his throat. His heart still raced, and he felt the sudden urge to cry. He didn't even need to tell you what he needed, what burdened him. You always knew. Even before the bond snapped, you'd understood him effortlessly.

“Your hands are fine,” you murmured against his marred skin. “And so are you. You're fine. They can't hurt you anymore.”

Azriel closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. He buried his face in your neck, freeing his hand from your gentle grasp so that he could hold you tighter and press his body against yours. He draped his wings over you, unwilling to let go.

Your fingers stroke through his black curls. “I'm here, my love.” Your voice was soothing and soft, and Azriel felt like the helpless child he'd been five hundred years ago—needing reassurance, care, love. Maybe he would always need those things.

“You're here with me. You're safe now.”

He couldn't stop them, then. Tears slipped past his eyelids, rolling down his cheeks and dampening the skin of your neck. But your gentle caresses and soothing words never faltered.

“It's alright,” you whispered. Your warmth seeped into him, and he felt so cared for that even the last of his walls began to crumble. A broken sob tore through him.

“You're safe, my love.” You cradled his head against your neck, lips brushing his hair. “You can let it all out.”

Azriel did. You'd helped him through difficult moments before, but he had always held back because he didn't want to feel weak. He didn't want you to think he was weak. But if he’d learned anything from you, it was that crying didn't make him weak. That letting his feelings pour out through tears was better than burying them deep down for centuries.

So, he let them rise to the surface. The pain, the anger, the grief for the childhood he’d never had, the bitterness and frustration.

He had never cried about it before, but as he did, he could see it, for the first time in his life—a small light, a way out of the endless cycle of self-pity and hate he'd fallen into.

Maybe his mother had been right all those years ago. He was still healing, even after five centuries. He didn't know how much longer it would take, but maybe he’d reach a point when the nightmares stopped, his hands didn't hurt, and he could accept his scars. And maybe, one day, he wouldn't need his mother or his mate to remind him that his hands weren't ugly.

Azriel had no idea for how long you let him cry and sob in your arms. He had so many pent-up emotions, so much he still couldn't express, words he couldn't voice. But it was a start. And as exhaustion dragged him back to sleep, the weight on his chest, on his heart and soul, felt a little lighter.

Yet you still held him close, stroking his black curls long after he fell asleep.

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illbegottenfaith · 2 days ago

Text

bad day - theo nott x reader

a visit from your boyfriend perks you up even on the most frustrating of days

a/n - my first theo nott fic! I’ve written for other fandom(s) so this was a nice change, hope you enjoy :

tropes/warnings - established relationship, a pet name here or there, nothing overwhelming, fluff, comfort, nothing 18+ but a brief alluding to it

word count - 1k

“Off.”

As a general rule of thumb, you were typically the clingier half of your relationship with Theo. There was something about the feel of his skin against yours and the way his touch grounded you that made you feel safe and cared for in ways you were still too embarrassed to express out loud. Theo was always happy to indulge, casually draping an arm across your shoulders and rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder.

However, like all rules, it came with its exception - particularly, when you were studying. You needed to focus on your work, and that wasn’t exactly possible with the delicious warmth of Theo pressed against your back or hip. For the most part, he stayed well away when you needed him to, but something about the adrenaline of Quidditch practice made him extra excitable. Which was how you found yourself pouring over a hellish Charms essay in the Slytherin common room late one night, when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle and a familiar weight rest in the crook of your neck.

“Theo, I mean it,” you whined as he slid into the seat next to yours, refusing to relinquish his hold on you, effortlessly dragging you onto his lap. Your irritation evaporated at the sight of his boyish blue eyes and his sloping smile. It was a problem, really, how you could never stay mad at him. Merlin knows his ego is bad enough as it is.

“Hey, doll.” His nose nudged yours and you finally relented, wrapping an arm around his neck as he kissed you. His face felt cool against your warm forehead, and he smelt pleasantly of some non-descript yet refreshing soap.

“My neck is killing me,” you mumbled against his lips as you broke apart. Theo leaned back to get a better look at your wan face, distractedly running a hand down your spine.

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“Yes,” you frowned, “with you. Remember?”

Theo stared at you blankly. “Y/N. I’ve been at Quidditch practice for the past four hours.”

“What are you talking about? We had dinner, then we came up to the common room, and it was, y’know, freezing, and I said I needed to buy more fleece-lined tights, and you started saying something about liking me best without any tights, but then those fifth-years started wrestling each other over that game of -“

“- Gobstones?”

“Exactly!”

“Babe, that was last Thursday.”

Your face fell. “…it was. Merlin.” Theo watched, amused, as you let out a string of curses under your breath as you flipped through your planner, scowling. “It’s this stupid Charms essay that’s doing me in. I haven’t had my head on straight all week. Remember when I wore my earmuffs to breakfast on Tuesday?”

“Mhm.”

“Made a proper arse of myself at 8 in the morning. And I genuinely thought I saw you just an hour ago. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I didn’t know I was so forgettable of a boyfriend,” Theo teased, as you buried your face into your hands.

“Stop. I feel awful enough already,” came your muffled voice. Laughing, he took your hands in his own, his features softening at the exhausted look on your face.

“Rough day, baby?” You groaned, burying your face into his chest as he wrapped his other arm around you. Before meeting Theo, you took pride in how fiercely independent you were. Even now, you were more than capable of handling your daily stresses just as well as the next guy, but you still had the tendency of being tightly wound more often than not, and sometimes it just felt nice to have someone hold you while you cried about how awful life was. No one could help you or get you to decompress the way Theo did.

“Rough week, more like,” you mumbled into his collarbone. He hummed sympathetically, hand still running up and down your spine.

“You didn’t say a word.”

“It could have been worse. I thought I’d just…you know. Deal.”

You could hear the amused lilt to his voice. “Deal?”

“Deal with it. On my own, I mean.”

His hold on you tightened a fraction. “Have dinner with me.”

“Didn’t you eat before practice?”

“Hm. Have supper with me.”

“Theo.”

“What?”

You sighed. You were never one to turn in an assignment late but, Merlin - he didn’t make things easy for you.

“I really need to get this essay done.”

“So you’ll get it done. After supper. I could take a look at it for you. Or your neck. Or both.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure, because a distraction is just what I need now. You don’t even take N.E.W.T level Charms.”

“So you find me distracting?”

You pressed your lips together, biting the inside of your cheek. “Let me put it this way. If I, um, ‘have supper’ with you now, this essay will not reach Flitwick’s desk by 10 am tomorrow.”

Theo didn't look too happy about anything you were saying. “So what do you want me to do?”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Like any other guy, Theo could only sympathise for so long before he was bursting with advice or solutions. You glanced at the clock, getting the distinct impression that he was valiantly trying to stifle a yawn.

“Go, leave, shoo. Get some rest, read a book, start a fight with some fifth-years, I don’t know. I just need to bully myself into finishing this. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But I don’t want to start a fight with some sticky-fingered Gobstones-playing fifth-years.”

Still, he reluctantly slid you off his lap, pressing a kiss to your forehead before briefly disappearing. He returned with a huge, ancient book whose weathered cover seemed somewhat related to Potions. He arched an eyebrow as you made a face at it.

“What’s that?”

“What’s that?” You shot back, looking greatly repulsed by the gnarly volume.

“Some light bedtime reading material,” he quipped. You watched his face nervously, the tell-tale signs of fatigue knitted into the creases of his achingly beautiful face.

“I mean it, Teddy. You really should go to bed.”

“Can’t. I’ve got a date in an hour.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I’m taking this really pretty girl out for supper.”

You rolled your eyes as Theo settled into his seat, cracking the disfigured tome open.

“Smooth-talker.”

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott fluff

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rmadridcore · 1 day ago

Text

NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Requested

Word count: 2.3K

Warning: Smut! (Minors DNI)

Author’s note: Another request I had on my list that came just in time lmao 🤍 Enjoy, anon!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Aftercare with Jude is practically a ritual. No matter how intense the moment, he makes sure you end the night feeling cherished and at ease. He’s meticulous — cleaning you up with a warm cloth, whispering soft reassurances as he gently wipes away any lingering mess. If he’s gone rough, you’re guaranteed a warm bath where he’ll tenderly wash every inch of you, his touch as gentle as his words, massaging your skin with care. Jude gets extra affectionate afterward; he wants to be close, savoring the post-intimacy warmth with his arms wrapped tightly around you. For him, holding you is almost like another way of saying "I love you" and he needs you to feel that just as deeply.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you, Jude is truly torn. He adores your eyes, especially how they’re filled with love, but also how they look when he’s making them roll back. Then there’s your hair — soft and fragrant, perfect for his hands to pull when he’s got you on all fours or on your knees. Naturally, he’s captivated by your body, your curves, but if he had to pick a favorite, it’s your lips. Those soft, inviting lips that kiss him tenderly, speak words of love, and do...other things that drive him crazy. The way your lips look wrapped around him or just lightly kissing his fingers, or how they brush over his sensitive spots; it’s irresistible.

For himself, it’s between two: he loves his hands, for what they can do to you — massaging, exploring, or lifting you closer when you’re arched back. And, well, his other favorite…take a lucky guess. But those hands of his? They’re his pride and joy when it comes to you.

C = Cum (anything to do with come, basically)

Jude’s favorite place to is definitely inside you. It’s like he’s on another level when he feels your warmth around him, holding him close — he loves how intimate and possessive it feels, and nothing compares to hearing you ask for it. That alone drives him wild. But if he’s feeling extra smug, he’ll finish on you, usually your face. He loves seeing his release on your lips or the stray drops on your lashes, and the way you look with him still covering you leaves him in awe.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Jude loves marking you, even if he rarely admits it. Knowing the hickeys he left are hidden away on your thighs or chest makes him feel smugly possessive. When he’s in a more playful mood, though, he’ll leave them somewhere visible and watch you try to hide them the next day. Seeing you subtly covering up the spots, his love bites just barely hidden, makes him lose his mind.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jude’s had his fair share of experiences, he’s learned a lot over time and he definitely knows what he’s doing. But with you, he’s dedicated to learning you — he’s incredibly observant and pays attention to all the tiny details about what you like. Every sigh, every shiver, he notes it down mentally, building a whole guide to pleasing you specifically. His experience shows, but he doesn’t coast on it, he’s always looking to make each moment even better, to discover new ways to make you feel good. He’s invested in making every time together feel like it’s just for you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves anything that lets him see you. Whether it’s missionary, or having you on his lap facing him, or you riding him, Jude is addicted to watching you. Seeing your face flushed and eyes struggling to stay focused on him? It’s everything he wants. The way your expression changes when he’s deep inside you, seeing every little reaction up close — it just drives him to keep going, to watch you unravel bit by bit under his touch.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous etc.)

Jude’s mood is flexible, sometimes he’s lighthearted, laughing softly and whispering silly things to make you giggle. Other times, he’s intensely focused, his full attention on you, dead serious about making you feel every inch of his passion. But no matter the mood, his smugness is always there; he can’t help those teasing remarks and that cocky grin, even at the height of intimacy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is definitely a man who takes pride in keeping himself well-groomed. His hair on top is always styled and maintained, and it’s no different down below. He keeps everything tidy and natural, making sure he’s clean and presentable for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

With Jude, it’s all about intimacy. He knows that true intimacy is about genuine connection, and he feels that connection with you. His favorite moments are when he’s as close to you as possible, his gaze holding yours if you can keep your eyes open long enough. He’s deeply romantic, telling you all the things he adores about you as he kisses down your body. His intensity and passion grow when he’s with you — nothing matters more to him than making you feel cherished and loved.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jude likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? When you’re not around, he’ll definitely take matters into his own hands, but he much prefers if you’re on the other end of a phone or FaceTime call with him. If that’s not possible, he has a stash of Polaroids he’s snapped of you, his favorites that he keeps hidden away to help him out when he needs it. To him, nothing compares to the real thing, but he’ll make do when he’s missing you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This man has the most obvious praise kink. When you tell him how good he’s making you feel or how much you love what he’s doing to you, it’s all he needs to melt into a mess. The more you praise him, the more he ramps up his efforts, practically obsessed with hearing your approval. There are moments when your compliments even make his cheeks heat up, and that vulnerability drives him to work harder, making him practically feral in his need to satisfy you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

While he’s up for a lot as long as you two have privacy, his favorite place will always be the bed. It’s where he can fully take his time, exploring you without limits. The bed gives him the freedom to do whatever he pleases with you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It’s honestly everything about you, he’s helplessly attracted to every detail. However, nothing drives him crazier than seeing you in his jersey, with his name and number on the back. He can’t get over the sight of “Bellingham” and “5” emblazoned across your shoulders; it’s a powerful reminder that you’re his, and he’s yours. If you wear it around the house, you’re almost guaranteed to end up pinned against a wall, bent over a counter, or pulled onto his lap as he can’t resist making the most of the moment.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s quite open-minded and loves experimenting with new things together, but he has hard boundaries, and bringing other people into your sex life is a firm no. He’s fiercely protective over your bond and can’t even stomach the idea of sharing you with anyone else. Naturally, anything that might hurt or make you uncomfortable is off the table; that goes without saying.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jude’s mouth was made to worship you — or so he often tells you with a smirk. He’s got serious skill, and he knows how to use it. When he’s between your thighs, it’s his favorite place, and he’s almost desperate as he laps you up, savoring every moment like it’s his last. He’s obsessed with making you come on his tongue and has to physically restrain himself from keeping his mouth on you for hours.

As for you going down on him, that’s a whole different high. Seeing you on your knees, with that gleam in your eyes and your tongue teasing him, brings him to his limit almost instantly.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

His pace varies with his mood, and he loves mixing it up. If he’s been yearning for you all day or feeling a bit possessive, he can get lost in a faster, rougher rhythm, his need for you overpowering everything else. But when the moment’s tender, like on your anniversary or after he’s missed you, it’s slow, steady, and dripping with affection. Every thrust is measured, intimate, filled with soft kisses, whispered promises, and hand-holding. He knows exactly when to be soft or rough, and it keeps things electric between you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Though quickies can be fun, Jude doesn’t favor them. He loves savoring every moment and finds it hard to rush through it; he’d much rather have the time to build up and bring you to the edge slowly. For him, foreplay is essential, and when he doesn’t have the time for all that care and buildup, he’s usually happier waiting until you can fully enjoy each other. That way, the anticipation only makes everything feel even more intense.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

You and Jude are both open to some risks, but you two tend to prioritize safety and privacy. The thrill is there, but he’d never want you both to risk getting caught in any real trouble. However, that doesn’t mean he’s a complete angel: he’s sneaked a hand under your dress at a fancy dinner, given you that mischievous smile, or pressed his hand over your mouth in rooms where you could easily be overheard. Those little thrills are more than enough for him, and they make every private moment afterward even more cherished.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Jude’s stamina is borderline legendary. He’s trained as a top athlete, and while he’s only human, you might be convinced he’s superhuman with how long he can last. He has a strict rule of making you cum at least once before he even thinks of reaching his own high, ensuring you’re completely taken care of. He’s always ready to go for more rounds than you might expect, coaxing you to “give him one more,” until you’re out of breath and only his name remains on your lips.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He enjoys keeping things interesting, so he has a few favorites like handcuffs, a blindfold, and a vibrator for when he’s in the mood to tease. But more than anything, he loves relying on his own body, his hands, mouth, and everything in between, to make you scream his name. He believes his personal touch is more satisfying than any toy could ever be.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jude is, without a doubt, the king of teasing. This is because he has learned all the tiny, almost unnoticeable things that turn you on and he exploits them like a motherfucker. He’ll make you flustered with a single look, drag out the anticipation until you’re practically begging, and won’t even touch you until he knows you’re fully aching for him. He loves seeing you on edge, desperate, and completely at his mercy.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He knows how much you enjoy his sounds, so he doesn’t hold back. His deep, husky grunts, the way he moans in that accent, and his whispered, filthy words keep you coming undone. He’s vocal because he knows his sounds drive you wild, and he loves to let you know exactly how good you make him feel.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s got a thing for mirror sex. He loves watching you watch yourself as he has his way with you, making you see just how needy and beautiful you are. It’s a game for him — if you close your eyes or look away, he’ll slow his pace and tease you until you’re back to looking at the reflection. It’s a control thing, and he absolutely relishes seeing you struggle to keep your eyes open.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

“Impressive” doesn’t quite do him justice. Jude’s perfectly large and proportional, the kind of fit that has you thinking about him hours after he’s left. When he’s fully hard and deep inside you, it’s a feeling you never get used to, almost as if he’s about to split you in half.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jude’s sex drive is fairly high, almost perpetually ready to show you how much he loves you. If he’s not dealing with major stress from his career, he’s pretty much down anytime, anywhere. Just a hint of flirtation or a touch from you is often all it takes to get him started.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As much as Jude loves sleep, he never nods off until he knows you’re completely settled. Watching you fall asleep in his arms, seeing your breathing slow and your face at ease — it gives him his own kind of peace. Once he’s sure you’re comfortable and content, then he lets himself drift off, happy to have you curled up beside him.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x y/n #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham imagine #football player x reader #football fic #jude imagines #imagine #real madrid #rma #rmafc #football imagine

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rootedinrevisions · 3 days ago

Text

Five Years

SUMMARY: Five years of friendship. Years of silent longing. One night that changes everything. When Tyler Owens, a charming, rugged man with a penchant for keeping things casual, finds himself at a crossroads with the woman he's secretly loved for years, he realizes he might have waited too long. After one too many moments where you've been left wanting more, you find yourself torn between the comfort of their deep connection and the pain of being stuck in the friend zone. Tyler has one last shot to show you that he’s not just the man you turn to in the hard moments—but the man who can make you believe in love, again.

A/N: Sorry for all the angsty Tyler lately! It's just been the mood/vibe lately so I've been rolling with it! Thanks to the person who sent this request in! I hope you like it!

PROMPT: "What was he doing back there? Flirting with you like he has a fucking chance?"

WARNINGS/TAGS: Angst.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

It’s late, the kind of quiet that comes when the night has softened everything into shadows. You and Tyler are back in the motel room, tangled together in bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arm drapes over you, and you’re curled into his side, your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. The scent of whiskey lingers between you, mingling with the warmth of his skin, and you can still taste him faintly on your lips. Another night, another round of kisses exchanged under the dim motel lights, like something fragile and fleeting.

He stirs, his hand brushing along your back, and you wonder if he’s on the edge of sleep or just drifting in that space in between like you are. For a moment, you’re tempted to ask him the question that’s always on the tip of your tongue: What are we doing?

Instead, you stay silent, breathing in sync with him, wondering if he can feel the way your heart skips each time he holds you like this. He shifts, drawing you a little closer, and you catch a glimpse of something in his expression—something soft, maybe even vulnerable. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly slurred. “You’re comfortable, right?” His hand rests at the curve of your hip, fingers grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver through you.

You nod, managing a quiet, “Yeah. Always.” You know he’ll pretend he doesn’t remember this in the morning, brush it off like it’s nothing, and you’ll let him because it’s easier that way. But tonight, you can pretend a little too—that these quiet moments mean the same to him as they do to you.

You close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat beneath your ear, wondering how much longer you can keep pretending before you’re forced to admit the truth—to yourself, if not to him.

Then, out of nowhere, he says, “So… I just found out I’m being inducted into the PBR Hall of Fame.”

You blink, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. A smile lights up your face. “Tyler, that’s amazing! I mean, I knew you were a big deal, but… Hall of Fame?”

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head with that familiar modesty. “Yeah, kinda crazy, huh? Guess all those years getting tossed around finally paid off.”

You laugh, knowing he’s downplaying it. You’ve seen some of those old videos, clips of him taking on bulls with more force and heart than anyone you’d ever met.

“No one deserves it more than you,” you say softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest. “I’m so proud of you.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks as he looks away, and then, clearing his throat, he glances back at you.

“Thanks, means a lot,” he says, his voice softer. Then, after a moment, he adds, “Actually… I get a plus one to the induction ceremony. I was thinking maybe you’d want to come with me?”

Your heart skips at that. He doesn’t even pause to consider anyone else; he’s asking you. For a moment, you feel a surge of excitement that maybe this is more than just a friendly invite. But just as quickly, doubt seeps in. If he had a girlfriend, he’d take her, wouldn’t he? A familiar ache settles in your chest, the quiet reminder that maybe this is just about convenience for him.

“Are you sure?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, and casual. “I mean, you could take anyone.”

He glances at you with a soft smile, his eyes sincere. “Nah. Can’t think of anyone better. You’d come, right?”

The words are on the tip of your tongue—Of course, I’ll go.

Instead, you hesitate, just for a second, wondering if this is just a placeholder invitation until he finds someone to fill the spot he’s never openly said he wants to be filled. But you can’t bear the thought of missing the moment, so you nod, managing a smile. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

He grins, pulling you back into his chest, and you settle against him, feeling the warmth of his arm around you. But even as you breathe him in, letting the steady beat of his heart calm you, a question begins to take root in your mind. Where do we really stand, Tyler?

It’s a question you keep to yourself, swallowing it down as you close your eyes and listen to the silence settle around you once again.

* * * * *

The ballroom buzzed with energy and anticipation, and you could sense the excitement radiating from Tyler beside you. The event space was elegantly decorated, with every table set with crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. But you hardly noticed any of it; all your focus was on Tyler. This was his night. And you were honored to be here with him, even if you didn’t quite know what that meant for the two of you.

You eventually found your way to your seats near the front of the room, and Tyler’s hand brushed against yours as you sat down. His fingers lingered just a moment, a subtle contact that sent a rush of warmth up your arm.

Before you could say anything, the lights dimmed as the emcee took to the stage, announcing the start of the ceremony. The audience fell quiet, and Tyler’s hand was warm on your knee, a comforting weight that made your heart race. You glanced down at his hand, then back up to his face, wondering if he even realized the effect he had on you.

A part of you wanted to reach for his hand again, to close the gap between you both once and for all, but you stayed still, holding your breath as the ceremony began.

As the awards were announced one by one, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Tyler. He seemed to sit straighter with each name called, his eyes never leaving the stage. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the emcee announced Tyler’s name, and the room burst into applause. You clapped the loudest, your heart swelling with pride.

You watched as Tyler walked to the stage, his stride steady and confident, shoulders back with that natural charisma he carried wherever he went. When he accepted his award, he stood there with his plaque, his gaze scanning the crowd until it landed on you. The spotlight hit his face, highlighting the small, crooked smile you knew so well. And his eyes—dark, intense, focused on you—seemed to say something unspoken.

You felt your breath catch, frozen under his gaze, and for a second, it was like you were the only two people in the room.

His acceptance speech was simple and heartfelt. He thanked the people who had been there with him through the highs and lows. He spoke of long, hard days, the sacrifices he’d made, and the passion that drove him. But you could’ve sworn that when he mentioned his gratitude for “the people who kept him grounded,” his eyes found you once again.

As Tyler wrapped up his speech and made his way back to his seat, you barely had a chance to process the pride you felt for him, for everything he’d accomplished. But that brief moment when he’d looked at you on stage lingered in your mind, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Could it have meant something more?

He sat back down next to you, and you leaned over, unable to keep the smile from your face. “That was incredible, Ty. I’m so proud of you.”

He looked at you, a soft chuckle escaping as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. I think I might’ve fumbled a little bit up there.”

“Not even close,” you replied, squeezing his arm. “You were perfect.”

The atmosphere at the afterparty was more relaxed, a contrast to the formality of the ceremony.

The room buzzes with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone here to celebrate the achievements of legends, past and present. You’re standing beside Tyler, trying to blend into the background of the room’s energy. But then, without warning, Tyler reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before intertwining them completely. It’s such a small gesture, but it sends a rush of warmth through you. He glances at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment, almost as if he’s silently asking if this is okay, if you’re okay. You squeeze his hand, hoping he’ll understand that, yes, this is more than okay.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he says, his voice low and soft. He leads you through the crowd toward a man with a broad smile and lines etched deep around his eyes—Tyler’s old mentor. Tyler introduces you with a genuine warmth that makes you feel like you belong here, like you’re not just an accessory to his big night but someone he wants by his side.

As they begin chatting, Tyler’s hand drifts to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into your hip as he pulls you closer, fitting you against his side. You feel a warmth blossom in your chest, and for a moment, the nagging doubts you’d been harboring vanish. His mentor jokes about old times, and Tyler laughs, giving your waist a small squeeze as if to share the moment with you. You let yourself lean into him, letting his warmth melt away the walls you’d tried to build around your heart.

But then, as the conversation comes to a close, he lets go. Just like that, his hand falls from your waist, and he takes a step back, sliding his hands into his pockets, a casual smile on his face. He glances around the room, no longer focused on you, and the sudden distance sends a chill down your spine. You’re standing side by side, but the connection feels fractured, like a missed beat. He begins walking next to you, his attention now elsewhere, no hand-holding, no gentle touches to keep you close.

Half an hour later you’re standing next to Tyler, trying to stay engaged with the conversation he’s having with an old friend he used to ride with, someone who knows a side of him you’ve only heard about in stories. Tyler’s posture is easy, his laugh warm and unguarded in a way that you rarely get to see. You watch him as he reminisces, letting yourself get lost in the sound of his laughter, in the way his eyes light up with a spark of the past. But as they continue to talk, it becomes clear that he’s in his own world, like you’re not even there.

The laughter between them grows, each memory shared drawing them further back into the years before you knew him. You shift your weight, feeling a slight ache in your chest as you realize just how separate you feel from this part of his life. A sense of loneliness creeps in, one you can’t shake, and you find yourself glancing toward the bar. Maybe a drink will help dull the sting.

You start to turn, your heart heavy, but just then, you feel Tyler’s hand reach out, his fingers wrapping gently around yours. The touch is so familiar, so comforting, and for a brief second, that hopeful warmth flickers back to life.

You glance over your shoulder, catching his eye, a hint of something unreadable there.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice quieter, as if trying to break through to you despite the noise around.

You swallow, forcing a smile to cover the twinge of sadness that’s growing in your chest. “Yeah,” you say softly, nodding toward the bar. “Just thirsty. Thought I’d grab a drink.”

He nods, giving your hand a slight squeeze before letting go, turning back to his friend with that easy laugh that now feels like a barrier you can’t quite cross. You turn away, your heart sinking as you walk toward the bar, feeling the absence of his hand like a chill creeping over your skin. You can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that settles heavy and cold. Just moments ago, he was intertwining your fingers, holding you close with his hand on your waist, like you were more than just a companion for the night.

How did it change so quickly? How did he go from holding you, grounding you with those intimate touches, to leaving you in this limbo of almost but not quite? You realize that, despite how much he means to you, there’s a line between you that he doesn’t seem ready to cross. And that thought hurts more than you want to admit.

You’re leaning against the bar, lost in thought, when a voice breaks through the noise, smooth and warm. “Hey there. You look like you could use some company.”

You glance up to find a guy with a charming grin and a relaxed confidence that’s instantly disarming. He extends a hand. “Eli Vastbinder,” he says. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

For a moment, you’re taken off guard, but you shake his hand and introduce yourself, motioning to where Tyler’s standing in the distance. “I’m here with Tyler Owens.”

At the mention of Tyler’s name, a flicker of something—maybe disappointment, maybe surprise—crosses Eli’s face before he recovers his smile. “Owens, huh? How do you know the Tornado Wrangler?”

You can’t help but laugh at the nickname, feeling some of the tension ease as you explain. “We work together. I help him run his YouTube channel.”

Eli’s gaze shifts from Tyler back to you, a curious glint in his eye as if he’s sizing up the situation. He doesn’t linger on it for long, though, before flashing you a daring smile. “So, just coworkers, huh? In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I bought you a drink?”

The question lingers, sparking a twist of hesitation in your chest. You glance over at Tyler, hoping for some kind of sign, some acknowledgment of what you’re feeling. Your eyes meet his, and he offers you a casual smile before turning his attention back to his friend. The moment leaves you cold—another reminder of all the times he’s pulled you close, only to leave you feeling as if you’re just out of reach.

You turn back to Eli, a decision settling in your mind. Tyler isn’t claiming you. He never has. And he’s had five years to do so.

You give Eli a small smile. “Sure, why not?”

Eli’s grin widens as he orders your drink, leaning in just slightly as he asks about your work with Tyler. He’s charming, effortlessly making you feel seen and appreciated. There’s a warm intensity in his gaze, like he’s genuinely interested in hearing about your life, in learning the pieces of you that Tyler seems to take for granted. You laugh at his jokes, leaning in as he tells stories about the crazy things he’s seen on the road. Every so often, his hand brushes yours, sending a little thrill through you—like something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in far too long.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the weight lifting from your shoulders. There’s no ambiguity with Eli; his attention is clear, unburdened by mixed signals or unspoken boundaries. It’s refreshing, exciting, even, to be the center of someone’s focus without second-guessing their intentions.

You glance over at Tyler once more, but he’s still wrapped up in conversation, seemingly unaware of the ache you’ve carried alone. A part of you wants him to notice, to see what’s happening, to finally feel the urgency you’ve held onto for years. But there’s another part of you that’s finished waiting.

As you turn back to Eli, you find yourself smiling, the kind of smile that feels like letting go.

You’re laughing at something Eli just said, a relaxed warmth in your chest that’s been missing around Tyler lately, when you feel a familiar presence behind you. You glance back, and there he is—Tyler, wearing that easy smile that’s disarmed you a hundred times before. He leans close, his hand slipping around your waist, fingers warm and possessive against your hip. “Hey there, darlin’,” he greets, the pet name rolling off his tongue as naturally as the smirk tugging at his lips.

But Tyler doesn’t stop there. His gaze shifts to Eli, assessing him for a beat, and then extends a hand. “I see you’ve met my date,” he says, voice casual but with a certain edge, like a claim staked.

You freeze, glancing up at him, surprised and confused by his sudden assertiveness. Eli’s expression mirrors your own—slightly perplexed, eyebrows lifting as he takes Tyler’s hand and shakes it firmly. His eyes flicker back to you, questioning. “Date? I thought you two were just coworkers,” he remarks, eyes shifting meaningfully to Tyler’s hand, still resting on your hip.

Before you can answer, Tyler lets out a dismissive scoff, as if the notion of you two being “just coworkers” is absurd. “Coworkers?” he echoes, his hand tightening just a fraction. “Yeah, we’re a little closer than that.” He shoots a look at you that’s both playful and possessive.

You feel your blood simmer, heat rising in your chest at the presumption in his tone. As if you’re some claim he can lay when it’s convenient, without any real commitment. You step out of his grip, your voice firm as you say, “We are just coworkers.” The words come out sharper than you intend, but you don’t soften them.

Tyler’s smile falters, his brow furrowing, but you’ve already turned away, excusing yourself quickly to Eli before slipping out toward the exit.

Humiliation washes over you, prickling your skin as you push through the crowd, needing fresh air, needing space. You had been enjoying a perfectly nice conversation with Eli, feeling appreciated and even flattered, until Tyler decided to swoop in and turn the moment into something possessive and confusing.

As you reach the hallway, you feel a sharp sting behind your eyes. Tears blur your vision, and you blink them back, furious with yourself for letting Tyler get to you like this. You’re tired—tired of being in his orbit only when he wants you to be, of being treated as something more only when it suits him. Because heaven forbid another guy notices you.

The hallway is quiet, save for the soft murmur of voices drifting from the ballroom as you stand there, waiting for the elevator. The moment stretches, tense and thick, when you hear his footsteps behind you, his voice calling your name.

You don’t turn around. “Tyler… don’t.” The plea is barely above a whisper, but he ignores it, closing the distance between you, his face etched with frustration.

“What was he doing back there?” he asks, motioning down the hall toward the ballroom, his tone hard, possessive. “Flirting with you like he has a chance?”

Your heart twists painfully at his words. His tone says it all—like he assumes you’re his, like it’s obvious. Like you should know.

But you’re done with the assumptions. The words spill out before you can stop them, thick with months, years, of unspoken hurt. “And why would you care, Tyler?” Your voice cracks, and you feel the first tear slip down your cheek, quickly followed by another. “It’s not like we’re together, right? You said it yourself—we’ll never be anything more than friends. We’re just…” You falter, searching for the right words, but the truth tumbles out, raw and painful. “We’re just really close, and we make out sometimes. Nothing more.”

The weight of it hangs in the air, and you can see the impact of your words in the way his face falls, his expression softening, regretful.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out, but you shake your head, a mix of anger and sadness bubbling to the surface.

“No, Tyler.” You step back, keeping the space between you. “I’m done. I’m done with this… with you.” Your voice shakes, but the conviction is there, clear and sharp. “I’m done not being good enough. Done being yours only when you want someone on your arm or in your bed. I can’t keep doing this.” You wipe a tear from your cheek, gathering whatever strength you have left. “I’m done with everything. Our friendship. The channel. All of it.”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open with a quiet chime. You glance back at him one last time, taking in the hurt and confusion in his eyes.

“Go back to the party, Tyler. It’s your night. You deserve it.”

You step into the elevator, pressing the button as the doors start to close. The last thing you see before they shut is him standing there, looking lost and completely, utterly alone.

Back in the quiet solitude of the hotel room, you feel the emotions from the hallway encounter with Tyler crash over you. It’s almost overwhelming, but you shake your head, determined to focus on the immediate task. You kick off your heels and reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, letting it slide down as the gown falls in a pool around your feet. You step out of it, scooping it up to drape over the chair, and head to your bag, ready to change and leave before you can overthink it.

Digging through your clothes, you pull out the first shirt, but frustration prickles at you when you realize it’s one of Tyler’s. With an annoyed huff, you toss it on the bed. You dig deeper, pulling out another… his again. Why didn’t I pack more of my own clothes? you think bitterly, remembering that his shirts have been your usual comfort, your routine.

Finally, you find one of your own t-shirts and pull it on, then slide into a pair of jeans. You run a hand over your face, taking a deep breath to keep yourself from falling apart, and open your suitcase, methodically folding the rest of your things and stowing them away. As you pack, a plan begins to form, each step sounding clearer in your mind. You’ll finish packing, get a car downstairs to a nearby hotel for the night, and fly back tomorrow. It might be an awkward plane ride home, but you’ll put in headphones, turn away, and then… you’ll walk away from Tyler James Owens for good.

With your bag nearly ready, you look around the room one last time, eyes falling on the small pile of his things on the bed. His shirts, the ones you’ve wrapped yourself in so many times, now just reminders of all the blurred lines that never became anything real. You turn away, inhaling deeply to steady yourself, willing the resolve to carry you through whatever comes next.

You reach for the handle of your suitcase, ready to walk out of Tyler’s life for good, when the hotel room door opens behind you. Your heart races, and for a second you want to pretend you don’t notice him there, but when you turn, his expression says he’s already figured out exactly what’s happening. His eyes drop to the half-packed suitcase, then back to your face. His look of confusion shifts into something desperate.

“Please,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, almost raw. “Please, stay. We can talk about this. Just… don’t leave. Not like this.”

You shake your head, fighting the tears that are already building again. “Tyler, I’m done,” you say, your voice trembling. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either. You keep me close enough to feel like there’s something between us, but it’s never anything more. It’s just not fair anymore.”

You curse under your breath, blinking hard as the tears spill over. You don’t want him to see you like this—vulnerable, broken, hurt. Swallowing back a sob, you start to walk past him, head held high even as you feel yourself shattering. Just as your hand reaches for the door, he says it. Those three words you’ve been waiting for, holding onto, for what feels like forever.

“I love you.”

It stops you cold, and you stand there, hand frozen on the doorknob, not sure if you actually heard him or if it’s just some desperate wish in your mind. But then he speaks again.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steady, almost pleading. “And if you love me—if you can still love me—then I’m asking you to stay and just… hear me out. But if you’re done with me, really done, and I’ve already lost you… then go.”

The silence hangs between you, thick and charged. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze, and there’s a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before. Vulnerability, sincerity, something real and unguarded. He’s finally opened himself up, given you the one thing you’ve been longing to hear, but the choice to stay or leave is yours.

Your chest tightens as you search his face, feeling the weight of all the years, the almosts, the near-misses, the longing. He stands there, his hands clenched at his sides, waiting, as if he’s holding his breath.

“You… really love me?” you whisper, the words barely audible.

“Yes,” he breathes, stepping toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve loved you for a long time. I just… didn’t know how to show it, and I was afraid if I did, you’d walk away. But losing you… that’s the one thing I’m really afraid of.”

You take a shaky breath, looking into his eyes, feeling every bit of his honesty, and for the first time, he’s offering you everything, without conditions, without holding back. The pain and hurt are still there, but as he waits, the tears in his own eyes now, you feel something else rising to the surface—a glimmer of hope.

The words are out before you can stop them.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Tyler steps forward, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand the storm inside you. He reaches up, hesitantly at first, as though unsure if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, his hands gently cup your face, his touch warm and grounding. His thumbs swipe at the tears still streaking down your cheeks, wiping them away as if he can erase all the pain he’s caused with one simple gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry. For not telling you sooner, for not making a move sooner… for making you feel like you don’t matter. For making you cry. You deserve so much more than that.”

You’re frozen, his words sinking deep into the cracks of your heart that you didn’t even know were there. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, a silent apology that speaks louder than anything else could.

He takes a deep breath, his voice low but sincere. “I know I’ve messed up, but I’m asking… can you give me another chance? To do it right this time? To take you on a real date, to buy you flowers, to tell the world that you’re mine… to be proud to have you by my side. I want to do this right, with you. Will you give me one more chance?”

The weight of his words hangs between you, and you feel the walls you’ve built around your heart begin to crack. He’s standing there, fully exposed, offering you everything he’s held back for so long. The room feels smaller, the air thicker as you look into his eyes, where you see nothing but vulnerability and hope.

You swallow hard, emotions warring inside you. You’ve wanted this—wanted him—to say it, to fight for you. And now that he is, you’re not sure whether to run or to stay. But as you stand there, feeling the sincerity in his touch and his words, something shifts. The hurt, the confusion, the loneliness—it all starts to unravel, replaced by a flicker of something new: hope.

You take a breath, your voice barely more than a whisper, but clear enough for him to hear. “Last chance, Owens.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but it’s softer, more relieved than triumphant. He doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Instead, he just pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a hug that’s full of promise, the kind that says he’s never letting you go. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe him.

You stand there, still in his arms, the weight of his words sinking in. The tension that had built up over the last few days—hell, the last few years—seems to fade away in that moment. Tyler’s hands are warm on your back, his arms strong around you as if he’s holding on, not just to you, but to everything that was between you two. His breath is steady, the pulse in his chest calming yours. He doesn’t let go, not yet. You don’t want him to.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. Words were said, the hurt was aired out, and now, the only thing left is the silence between you—a silence that feels like the promise of something better, something real.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft, full of regret and hope. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the last of your tears. "I meant every word," he says quietly, his voice steady but raw. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

You nod, feeling something inside you shift, finally able to let go of the heaviness that had been pulling at you for far too long. You offer him a small smile, your fingers brushing his lightly as you give him a gentle squeeze.

He exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Hey…” His voice is quieter now, almost like he's considering his next words carefully. "How about we skip the rest of the party downstairs? We can grab some pizza, put on a movie, just... relax in here."

You glance at him, surprised by the suggestion, but something about the simplicity of it feels perfect. You nod, the corners of your mouth lifting into a genuine smile. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

Tyler’s eyes light up, a grin spreading across his face. “Good. Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll order the pizza. Whatever you want.”

You feel a sudden sense of relief wash over you. It’s not just the break from the chaos of the night, but the quiet, intimate comfort of knowing that it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure.

Tyler watches you for a moment, his smile softening as he watches you dig through your suitcase for something comfortable. You pull out a pair of sweatpants, replacing your jeans, and as you move to crawl onto the bed, he’s already a step ahead of you.

Before you can sit down, he reaches for the bottom of your t-shirt, pulling it up over your head. You freeze, giving him a confused look, about to protest. "Tyler, I’m really not in the mood—"

He cuts you off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Not like that," he says, his voice teasing but warm. "Trust me, I’m not asking for anything like that."

Your brow furrows slightly in confusion, but Tyler doesn’t give you a chance to dwell on it. Instead, he reaches down into your suitcase and pulls out one of the t-shirts you had tossed aside earlier—one of his shirts. He holds it out to you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Here,” he says, “put this one on instead.”

You take the shirt from him, still a little baffled. “What’s wrong with my other shirt?”

Tyler grins, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He steps closer, leaning down slightly as if he’s about to let you in on a secret.

“Because it’s not your boyfriend’s,” he says, his voice low and almost teasing. “If you’re gonna be my girl, you wear my shirt to bed.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. It’s the little things like this—the small gestures, the inside jokes, the way he’s already making you feel like you belong—that make the tension from earlier seem a little less heavy.

You slip the shirt on, and Tyler's eyes soften when he sees you in it, the way it fits just right, the way it looks like it belongs on you. You glance up at him as you finish adjusting it, your voice quieter now, full of warmth. “This better for you, boyfriend?”

"Yes." He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "I think you look pretty damn perfect in it."

You laugh softly, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened earlier melts away, leaving you with nothing but the quiet comfort of his presence. You sit down on the bed, pulling the blankets up and patting the spot beside you. "So, pizza and movies?"

Tyler nods, settling in beside you, having traded his tuxedo for sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hand finds its way to yours as he lets out a contented sigh. "Sounds like the perfect way to spend the night."

And for the first time in a long while, it feels like things are exactly where they need to be.

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens x you #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction

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dreamsofmoney · 2 days ago

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-> L&NDS Sylus x reader

GN!reader, sub!Sylus who resists but defeated at the end, dom!reader (kinda mean and harsh reader), slightly yandere Sylus, suggestive but nothing explicit

Sylus is portrayed as very dominant in game, the first meeting with him alone is enough to give a clear understanding of what kind of person he is (or at least how he wants to show off in front of others) : a strong and ferocious man whose authority rules over everybody around him.

For that reason, it was quite a shock for him to witness you being so daring around him during that night, the one after he had saved you from those delinquents (more like kidnapped you, but he sees it differently) .

To think that you were so helpless just a few hours ago when he had found you and kept you safe in his mansion ; at night you were suddenly brave enough to enter his bedroom, quietly pushing the doors, stepping in as quickly as a little mouse. While he was sleeping, you carefully took his large hand, clasping the handcuffs on his soft wrist and attaching the other end to the bed frame.

Sylus was a light sleeper, the minimal sounds of the bedsheets moving, the click of the handcuffs or even just your steady breath were enough to avert his attention. As the predator that he usually is, the white haired man was ready to pounce on his prey, catch it, and imprison it again for daring to prowl around him.

He was just about to open his eyes, until he felt a ghostly touch on his bare shoulder, going down to his chest, pushing the thin blanket further away. Now he could only feel amused by your manoeuvres ; really, the little hopeless prey he saved was taking their chance in seducing him with their charms, right in his moment of vulnerability in the middle of the night? He restrained a smirk forming on his lips. But what could happen anyway after he takes the matter in his control?

All of a sudden you grip Sylus's chin in your left hand, making him wince under you. He lets out a grunt when he feels his teeth clench under your grasp, urgently alerted by your actions he glares towards your direction but he can't see you yet. The lights above blind him and he can only make out your silhouette on top of him : one thing that he is sure of is that you're smiling widely at him, as you let out a quiet guttural laugh, mocking his reaction.

However, Sylus is a man who knows how to keep calm and stay level-headed.

" The little bird came for somethin'? " he teases between his gritted teeth. Sylus wonders what exactly has motivated you to act like this; perhaps revenge, perhaps you've realized he is your savior and you've grown a liking into him, hence your seductive approach for the night - or something far more sinister is in your plans.

Silently, you trace your right handed fingers over different areas of his upper body, your soft feathery touch lingering and making him shudder. Although he keeps his composure stable, you can feel the goosebumps of his skin and his body hair rising up. He grows impatient of your little game, as you keep playing with him and you tighten your grip on his face, you know it's only a matter of time until the tiger snaps : you must tame it quickly.

You push the blanket further down, revealing more of his naked body ; the coldness that hits him makes him tense even more, his glare becomes more menacing, trying to pierce right through you and yet, you keep an immutable tranquility in your movements. Suddenly, you violently turn his face to the right, Sylus lets out a small gasp, then he feels a crushing pain in his left wrist, his arm forcibly pinned above his head. He ignores the pain and when he turns his gaze back at you, you tower over him, you're much closer, he can finally observe the traits of your face from up close. He notices this intense shining in your slitted eyes, with a big grin plastered on your face, somewhat of an evil look that he cannot help but find adorable too. You seem amused by the situation, while Sylus cannot feel more frustrated than now, he's not in for the teasing and playing around anymore.

"Birdie I don't know what you're trynna do here, but I suggest you to stop. Prying on me so noisily, with this kind of ridiculous method and accessory isn't gonna lead you to a good outcome."

"No. You just don't understand what's coming for you Sylus, and you had no idea of what I am capable of when you decided to bring me here. Now I'll show you just that."

Sylus frowns his eyebrows at your answer, utterly astonished and confused by your words.

The swift touch of your right handed fingers comes in contact with the supple skin of his chest again, lightly pinching at it here and there, then caresses up his neck, while a subtle pressure between his legs makes him impulsively squirm underneath you.

"I'm sorry Sylus, but I'm the one keeping you trapped this time."

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

Obviously this was inspired from the first encounter with Sylus in game and the moment when MC comes into his bedroom to steal the brooch. I really liked that moment in the game so I wanted to give it different turn hehe.

Writing is so hard!!! It's been so long since I wrote anything and this is my first or second time posting a drabble on here - I don't remember - so please do share, repost, like and comment if you like it and if you want more. Don't hesitate to come chat with me too if you wanna!

Also, excuse me for any spelling mistakes and grammar errors, english isn't my first language and I learn my language the way I eat my ice cream : messily.

#lnds #lads #l&ds #l&ds sylus #sylus #yandere sylus #sub sylus #sub!yandere #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #I listened to flyleaf while writing this #it inspired me idk why lol #dom reader #dom reader x sub sylus

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neuvilyney · 19 hours ago

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— 𝑤𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟

★ soft!lover!wanderer x shy!reader requested by @dobadoo

★ I don't actually remember the specific request that was sent in, but the reader was supposed to be more innocent and naive with scaramouche being more cold and distant, so hopefully I got that right lmaoo enjoy!

★ disclaimer: you and wanderer are in an established relationship and there's definitely a lot of physical touch, Wanderer's also more of a soft yandere here.

A gift from the heavens, an angel amidst lowlives, perhaps even a miracle, was his precious flower. He couldn’t help but admire the way rays of morning sunlight danced over the slopes and curves of your body as you slept. If only his creator had installed a lens inside his eyes that’d allow him to photograph this moment, bury it somewhere deep inside him beside the remnants of his past selves. And to think other people would’ve been able to see you like this had he not sunk his claws into your heart first and foremost…no, no that wouldn’t do.

Luckily, you stirred before your lover could conjure yet another fictional scenario to get angry over. “Go back to sleep, flower.” Wanderer murmured, the tips of his ball-jointed fingers gliding over the line of your brows to brush away any sleep-tousled hairs from your bleary eyes. You looked so lovely like this, just barely rousing from sleep to the sight of him sitting up in bed with those piercing eyes staring down at you- calculating, almost cold had it not been for the way your warmth melted the ice around his heart.

“What time is it?” You mumbled, rolling onto your side and then slumping forward with a groan. His hand naturally found its way to your back, briefly tracing the line of your spine up to your nape- bare skin compared to where his electro sigil remained etched into his skin as a permanent reminder of what was meant to be his legacy. “Hey, you’re-...you’re staring, stop that…” He could only smirk, feeling the warmth of your skin nearly double as blood rushed to your face in embarrassment under his wordless stare.

“It’s early. And it’s not like you’re stopping me, quit your whining.” Cold fingers trace around your neck when he tilted his head to find your eyes with his own, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. A sweet gesture, though like everything he did, calculated. Each pass of his hands on your skin, each smile you gifted him, he absorbed your light like darkness. Your stars to be lost in his skies. You’d never have to worry, of course, not when he took such good care of you. From the first day you stumbled into him, in disarray and a flurry of apologies over tripping into him or something- he couldn’t quite remember what you said, not when he was so entranced by how alive you were. His personal sunshine for skin damned to run cold.

Similarly, it was his detached demeanor that drew you closer to the puppet. Like smoldering embers, a flame dormant- just waiting for a spark to render it alive again. “You look like a mess.” He snorted, tugging at the wrinkled fabric of your sleepwear. In retort, a huff left your lips as you grabbed his shirt and tugged him backwards- an uncharacteristically bold move from his sweetheart of a lover.

“And you look pristine. Something you wanna tell me, mister?” Came your playful chiding, knowing that he rarely slept. Sleep to you was necessary- to him, it was an excuse to lay with you.

“Careful,” Wanderer scoffed, his whole hand laid over your giggling face and pushing you back onto the bed. “You’ve gotten a bit too cheeky as of late.” He griped, scowling with his arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t tell me I’m already influencing you?”

When you only bashfully smiled and shrugged where you lay, the blankets enshrouded about your bodies like clouds, the frown lines about his lips softened. With an exaggerated sigh, the former harbinger lay beside you and dragged you by the head to lay on his shoulder. “Fine. We’ll rest an hour more, but that’s it.” He begrudgingly speaks, as if it wasn’t his idea.

And as you slowly fall back asleep, overheating the bedsheets with your warmth while his cold body cools you back down, he stares up at the ceiling with a lazy smirk. All this song and dance to keep you under his control when it was plainly obvious that it was you who had the lone wanderer wrapped around your pretty little finger.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓇼⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Word Count: 626

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓇼⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅

- Ky♡♡

#ngl this one was harder to write but I DID IT so sorry about the wait haha #kywrites #wanderer hcs #wanderer genshin #genshin fluff #genshin x gn reader #genshin hcs #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche hcs #scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #tried to make it mitski's my love mine all mine coded lowk #also wtf do y'all call wanderer??#it's hard to use scara or kuni anymore

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100jewels-between-teeth · 3 days ago

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18+ Oneshot

Word count: 3055

AO3 ¤ Ko-Fi ¤ Masterlist

~ Summery: They both could not truly understand if this was the reality they were gifted, or elaborate hells that they were still stuck within. But through late night reassurances before their final fight, they both find themselves grounded in a crazed reality that could only be blissful as long as they are with one another.

Lucanis x f!Rook de Riva

Cw: Smut, just pure lovemaking smut, overstimulation AN: So... this is my first smut posting here so... well enjoy. Im def not nervous. Huge massive shoutout to @enterthedreams for the beta!!! Honestly youre my favorite person.

Something about the sound of his steady heartbeat harmonizing with the calm breathing that caressed her damp, flushed face, was nothing short of bliss. The couch had been abandoned at some point during their second round. Now they were just content to lay on the floor, surrounded by blankets and candles bathing them both in a romantic glow. Between that and the reflective veins of the aquarium above, Avantika could not help but think this all looked to be the most ethereal dream.

To see Lucanis like this, to even hear him like this, made him more godlike than any of the Evanuris could think to achieve. Lucanis must have noticed the silent adoration that Rook was giving him. A brow arched as he reached to move some hair that remained stuck to her skin away. His hand did not immediately retreat, taking a moment to trace the outline of her cheekbone. It followed down until the tip of his finger was resting at the bottom of her chin. Without even a silent command, Rook leaned in to have her lips grace his own – a kiss of gentle tenderness and love. “What has your mind distracted, mi diosa?” The look of concern on Lucanis’s features immediately tugged at her heart, wanting to eradicate any kind of emotion that was not happiness in this moment, in this little world they had created.

Concern was for what would take place in the morning, not now. Not here. “Would you believe me if I said you?” The smile that she gave him was one filled with dimples on her cheeks and teeth.

Lucanis’ own reflected straight back, a smile that would tear down the heavens. It was a privilege to Rook that she had been gifted his smile. His trust and comfort. That kind of smile could only be reciprocated with another kiss, moving from his lips to the bags under his eyes. For the first time, Avantika felt the exhaustion in those beautiful eyes was warranted. They both had given up on sleep a long while ago.

Lucanis was right.

How on earth could either sleep when the other was like this? “I could only hope it is good. I know it has been a while so my skills might take some ti – ” Before Lucanis could even finish the sentence, Avantika was quick to cut him off. “Oh, shut your fucking mouth.”

She all but pounced on his broad chest, attacking his face with her lips while tenderly pecking and nipping as his own laughter filled the room. Strong arms wrapped around the woman as he took her in a roll, accepting this defeat as he got Rook on her back. The sight of him above her, eyes filled with nothing but love looking into her own almost brought her to tears. But in this light, the reflections of water mixed with the flickering candlelight, she could not help but have her eyes drawn to that silver puckered skin on his chest. Which only brought her eyes to all the others that littered his body. It came with the job, the scars.

Lucanis probably noticed at some point with all the clothes flying off that Rook had her own. Some Crows – usually Viago – would tell anyone that scars meant a sloppy job. Crows were meant to be clean. Quick in and out performances. From what Avantika could assume, neither her nor Lucanis were exactly fitting that description.

Catching the direction of her eyes, a small smirk grew. He raised himself into a seated position on her lap as Avantika rested upon her shoulders. “My cousin gave me that one, funnily enough.” Lucanis shrugged, the pad of his thumb tracing over the two inch long pinkish line. “We were sparring in the garden, and snuck a couple of Caterina’s knives. You know how it goes, stupid kids playing with knives.” “So what you’re saying is that he beat you?” It took everything in Avantika not to let out a little snicker. “What?! No! I beat him and he gave me this because he is a sore loser!” Lucanis placed his hand over his heart in mock offence. But the flint in his eyes gave away that jovial mischief. “I killed a god, Rook! You think my cousin is going to best me?” “Okay, okay!” Rook lifted her hands in surrender, seating herself up more so that they were both level with each other. Lucanis made sure not to keep his whole weight on her legs or hips. “I'm just saying it only took until the second chance and – ” “And I did not have a demon, nor a woman like you, distracting my thoughts then, pequeña cuervo.” Lucanis’s voice dipped to a playful low growl, taking her face in his hands as he traced the tip of his nose against hers. “I'd say that is unfair.”

For as much as this man tried to play that intimidation game, they both knew with Avantika, he could only be this soft man. “Ah yes. My fault, I see your game, Dellamorte.” Avantika playfully pushed the man away, moving to stand with the destination of nowhere in mind. “I see how it is.”

The arm that wrapped around her waist was expected, Avantika letting Lucanis pull her back as he assaulted her neck with kisses.

“Forgive me diosa, I mean it as the greatest compliment.” His nose buried in the thick wild mass of her hair as he took a deep breath of her scent.

Rook felt him rock their bodies back and forth, his bare chest pressed against her bare back as his face travelled from her neck to the line of her shoulders. Avantika had learnt much from this night. Like how this man could spend literal hours just memorizing every dip and valley of her body. How there was not an inch of skin he would leave unappreciated, unadorned with his branding lips and igniting breath. How Lucanis could be so determined to find every spot that made Avantika shudder, whimper, bite her lip to suppress that moan he was chasing.

Maybe it was for the thrill of the sexual experience. That carnal desire both had suppressed for however long in their lives, let it be their choice or otherwise.

It was so much more than just a simple desire. It was reassurance, to make sure that what they were tasting, kissing, loving, was real and tangible. That what they were trusting with their most vulnerable hearts was real, that the safety and love they both wanted to shelter them was truly existing.

So the lingering touches, whether it be to explore a desire or just for the comfort of feeling they were there, helped the both of them. When Lucanis kissed from one shoulder blade to another, humming happily to himself as he felt the trail he left behind bloom in blush, she smiled, nuzzling into the skin. “And the others? Were those Illario too, or do you just have that many sore losers you fight?” Rook could not help but giggle at the small bite Lucanis left in warning following a growl.

She turned around in his arms. Now Avantika sat in his lap with both legs on either side. Leaning back, she could hear that stifled whimper Lucanis gave, not wanting her too far away from his adoring touch and gaze. Her fingers went to his lips, playfully hushing him. Those wide brown eyes looked to her with deepest reverence, his lips automatically capturing the pads of her fingertips between his lips and his beard tickled the skin he kissed softly. Finally breaking her focus away from that beautiful face, her amber eyes fell back to those scars decorating his body. Some were jagged, rough, and others seemed so precise and delicate. It truly was a strange kind of tapestry of his life he bore. Where some were faded, only a ghost of a story lingering, others seemed quite new, possibly no less than a year old. That thought made Avantika swallow the sudden lump in her throat as Lucanis reached to gently brush her cheek. Rook’s eyes flickered back to him.

A silent question being asked as her hand fell away from his face, instead ghosting over the scar they both had just focused on. Compared to the others, it was rather tame. Of course, if touching such wounds was far too fast, too personal for Lucanis to deal with right now, Avantika would stop immediately. But with a shivering breath, goosebumps appearing on his skin, he nodded. His right hand took hers softly, directing her to another, far more jagged scar over his right bicep. Her touch was featherlight. As if Lucanis would just shatter like glass if she applied any more pressure. Whether it was her touch, or his scar being touched specifically, Lucanis let out a shudder, his breath hitching in his throat as Avantika slowly traced over every curve. His hand fell away, letting Avantika fully explore the canvas of this man.

“Ambushed on a job.” For how jovial he sounded, Lucanis's voice was almost breathless. “Not that the target had any backup, but the attic I chose to enter seemed to have a hermit also residing there. Maybe I deserved it for disturbing the peace of his sleep.”

When he finished speaking, a few deep breaths followed. Avantika’s hand traced over the valley of his chest, finding a scar just on his shoulder. This one was much different – not a stab or a cut, but instead a burn just slightly smaller than her palm. “A couple years ago, one of my targets really didn’t want to go down without some sort of blaze of glory.” Something in Lucanis’s voice became quieter, more wistful as Avantika’s finger traced small circles within the taut skin. “Burnt their entire estate to the ground. Still managed to get him, but I didn’t really consider the falling debris.”

“Viago had told me about that incident.” Avantika could not help but snicker and flick the nose of the man whose expression went from light to deadpan. “Said that is the reason if you take a contract, make sure you case the home for the smell of oil.”

But hearing the woman laugh, he could not stop the smile reappearing. Seeing the smile too, Rook nuzzled her nose to the corner of his lips, eliciting another low chuckle from the Crow as she continued her discoveries. That finger of hers trailed from the shoulder down his arm, asking about every little story Lucanis could remember. Some were from little accidents; falling from roofs, lost drunken bets, Illario being the cousin that he is.

Others, she could feel his body stiffen at the stories, some much harder to stir in his memory than others. For those particular reflections, Avantika’s hand would reassuringly stroke Lucanis’s hair, not wanting such memories to take over his heart and mind from the small bubbled world they had created. There came a point where Avantika stopped asking. Where both of their voices just somehow drifted away as she traced over the scars over and over.

Then she felt, to herself at least, her touches were not enough. That just a lingering touch could not help heal the wounds of memories left behind. She may not be able to heal them completely, but the least she could do was make sure he was never alone in facing the dark. At this point, Avantika had homed herself behind Lucanis, the man’s back to her chest. When her finger disappeared, and for a moment there was just the ambient air around them, a soft and fleeting whimper escaped Lucanis, having grown so accustomed to her adoring touches. But what was once just the feeling of a featherlight finger became replaced with the burning warms of Rook’s lips, capturing the puckered flesh of the healed wound between her lips.

Where Lucanis had just let out near breathless whimpers before, this touch had made those sounds change to something far deeper, more guttural. The sound sent shivers and pleasured waves through Avantika’s body, only able to take that as the go ahead to keep moving forward.

For the next blissful eternity, Avantika worshipped every scar, every physical remnant of a memory on Lucanis’s body. Her lips, tongue, even teeth did everything they could to kiss away whatever metaphorical demons lingered within them. It did not take long for Lucanis to lose whatever sliver of control he had over himself in this moment, his body shuddering every time her lips graced another scar.

Bit back moans became guttural growls and whined pleading, words incomprehensible. But, slowly, so agonizingly slowly, Avantika made her way around the man’s body. From his back, down the length of his arms. Even his hands and fingers did not escape her worship, those small worn knicks and weathered callouses receiving nothing but love from her mouth and breath. By the time Avantika returned to straddling Lucanis’s hips, he had become a shivering, opened mouth mess. Gasping open-mouthed breaths, skin fire-hot and oversensitive. Avantika could only assume not once had this man ever felt this kind of care, this kind of much deserved appreciation given to his body. If together meant forever showing this man the love and adoration he deserved to feel for the rest of his life, Avantika would willingly take it.

For the next million lifetimes over. Her lips finally broke away from her journey. Then Lucanis’s arms shot up to hold her own, white knuckled like she was the only lifeline he could cling to. For a moment, Avantika saw the panic in his eyes – one that the two seemed to share. The panic that this was not real, that the two were in some elaborate and cruel dream. His mind still in the Ossuary partly, this being some new method of torture concocted by Calivan.

To her, this could have been another visage in the Fade. Solas being cruelly sympathetic and letting her live out the rest of existence in the Fade in some warped, tortured dream. But as his breath once again caressed her face, his heartbeat thrumming in his chest, Avantika knew that this was true.

This was real.

This was their eternity, together. And if she had to prove that, by the gods she would. Before he could speak of their worries, her hand found his lips again. Lucanis’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at the contact, his breath shuddering. Rook kept her own mouth nearly a breath away from his, drinking in every gasp and moan that he fed her with. His arousal was already quite prevalent against her thigh, exhausted and oversensitive from the prior adorations of the night, but still somehow more.

For a long moment, Avantika just kept herself still, falling into the abyss that was his gaze. A stare filled with love and pure bliss at what was being held in his arms. Letting her hand slowly slip away again, she silently allowed Lucanis to help lift her waist, their faces not breaking the miniscule distance from each other. Both wanted to drink this in, drink each other in. To witness their eyes, their breaths, their very beings connecting as one. And so it did.

Slowly, he sheathed himself within her warm walls once more. The overstimulation of the night prevented him from fully entering completely, letting out a long whine at the surge of overwhelming pleasure that shot through him. Avantika could not blame him, her own mewl following as her sex automatically tightened as much as it could from the entrance.

Both were well spent, well satisfied, but this coupling was far more than just sex, just chasing pleasure. This was the two solidifying themselves in reality, within each other. Drinking in her moans, Lucanis canted his hips upward, sharply letting the rest of himself become engulfed. The cry that ripped through his throat was quickly devoured by Avantika’s kiss. Not a kiss of precision, but one full of teeth and tongue – one that just needed to devour him completely.

He groaned into her mouth, his own kiss sloppily reciprocating as the two began to move together as one. Both of their hips rolled simultaneously as they cried out in a frenzied ecstasy. Rook finding all the scars again to drag her nails along, eliciting the most erotic and passionate cries from the Crow beneath her. That is when the first tear fell from Avantika’s face.

She did not know what exactly made her cry through all this. The immense pleasure he was giving her with every stuttering thrust, the wailing cries and whimpers they both fed each other, or just the knowledge that he was here with her.

That all of this was real. That their love was real.

So when the tear fell to his cheek, he immediately latched his lips to her face, kissing away every exhausted tear she produced as his own materialized. Neither knew how long they rocked with each other, neither really seemed to care. Avantika had let herself go, losing count on how many times Lucanis had made her unravel into jaded oblivion. He had come with her, his seed filling her core and overflowing, dripping like the tears on her cheeks, thighs slick with the physical representation of Lucanis’s adoration. It could have been an hour, to them they did not care if it was days spent like this either. But pulling away one more time, collapsing on their side to the floor as their legs were wrapped in a tangled heap, Lucanis kissed the remaining tears away, Avantika following suit. “Diosa mía, mi vida, mi corazón y mi ser son sólo tuyos. Te amo, mi pequeño cuervo.” Lucanis followed his words with a long, lingering kiss, one that carried the love of his words. Avantika could not help but let out a choked sob at the beauty of his words. A language she had to learn, that she thanked every god above she kept remembrance of. With her own reciprocating kiss, capturing his lower lip between her teeth, she looked up into his eyes, her hand wiping away the remaining tears staining his cheek.

“Lucanis… You're really here, we are really here. My love for you, truly, is here.”

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

mi diosa - my goddess pequeña cuervo - little crow Diosa mía, mi vida, mi corazón y mi ser son sólo tuyos. Te amo, mi pequeño cuervo - My goddess, my life, my heart and my being are yours alone. I love you, my little crow.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv #dav #lucanis dellamorte #lucanis #da lucanis #dav lucanis #lucanis x rook #rook de riva #rook #lucanis dellamorte smut #lucanis romance

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thestrangepoet · 2 days ago

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The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 4/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.)

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

──── •✧• ────

Martin – no, Champion, for that was who he was now – crept through the institute, his ears flat against his head.

How long had he been technically missing for now? At least a week, if not more. And no one had notified the police. Not Jon, not Tim, not Sasha. Not his own mother, despite the fact Martin would call her almost daily to check in on her. Not his neighbours nor his…well. He didn’t have any friends outside the institute.

He didn’t have any friends inside the institute either, it seemed.

Champion padded past the grand oak reception desk in the front lobby. Almost immediately, his paws left the ground, which drew a purr of surprise from him, his little blue eyes growing wide.

“Oh, Champion! You came to visit me, did you?”

Rosie, Elias’ assistant, gathered Champion into her arms, her thin, angular face all smiles and framed with bouncing red curls. Everyone’s face was all smiles when Champion arrived. Champion, who did nothing at all to actually help the institute. He couldn’t read properly like this. He couldn’t research, staying up all hours of the night to finish reports. He couldn’t go investigate leads across the country, nor pitch theories for statements. He couldn’t even make a cup of tea like this.

Martin could do all those things. And not once had he been given a genuine smile in return, not a single sparkle in someone’s eye to say they were actually happy to see him. But as Champion?

All he had to do was walk on by.

The first few days, that attention had overjoyed Martin. All he’d ever wanted. But now, it stung, jabbing him in the chest and reminding him that all this fuss wasn’t for him. Not really.

That people liked him better as a useless cat than a man who tried too hard and apologised for existing.

“Oh dear, little guy, why the sad ears?” Rosie continued, sitting down and depositing Champion onto the immaculate desk in front of her. “Was Jonathan a meanie to you? Do you want Rosie to accidentally misplace his expenses form this month?” She scratched behind Champion’s ear with a perfectly manicured nail, but he couldn’t even muster a false purr in response.

Everyone liked him better as a cat. Hell, maybe he was better at being a cat?

Maybe he should just…stay a cat. Let Martin Blackwood become just another missing person, lost behind a veil of barely asked questions.

Something stirred under his skin at that thought, like a cold fog rippling through his blood, sending all his fur on end. Champion jolted in shock; all too easily, he had forgotten what he wrestled with here. Sure, being turned into a cat sounded silly enough, but the architect of all this had been a Leitner book.

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts, caring not for the jovial packaging they came in.

Champion, now dealing with an alarming amount of adrenaline, leapt from Rosie’s desk and scampered away. He dashed through the corridors, paw pads skidding on the hardwood flooring, his tiny heart hammering away.

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts…

He practically slid across the Research Department, not stopping even when one of the researchers reached for a bag of cat treats.

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts! What if it could see him or hear him or—

He bounded through the austere, silent library, not sure what he was running from or if anything was even truly chasing him. But instinct tore through his limbs, too aware now of the sense of some unspeakable shadow prowling after him and delighting in his isolation.

When the panic finally subsided, Champion had to take a moment to look around the room he’d bolted into. The room loomed around him, gloomy save for one desk light working hard to chase it all away.

His desk light.

Champion padded through the archival assistants’ office, wandering past Tim’s empty desk and Sasha’s neglected chair. Was Tim at the station, weaving a story as to why they hadn’t reported their colleague missing sooner? Was Sasha in Elias’ office, distracting him from the whole affair?

He hopped up onto his old chair at his own desk. He hadn’t been here since the day he’d read that damned book in the first place. Jon’s office took the place of his regular workspace, either curled up on Jon’s lap or snoozing under the radiator.

Being a cat, admittedly, had been a lot more comfortable than being Martin Blackwood. The temptation to remain like this had, he realised, not been entirely out of spite and anger of the others not being too fussed about Martin’s disappearance.

It had come from Martin’s own disregard for Martin’s disappearance. Like this, he couldn’t annoy people. He didn’t have to worry about messing up conversations or making a fool of himself. He could stay away from people in that way, yet reap all the benefits of getting affection and having his company be greeted with a smile.

But…he also couldn’t offer Jon a cup of tea and get to see that momentary lessening of his scowl, the only time his frown eased up in the office. The silly little bloom of pride Martin got at being able to coax that out of him with a nice cup of tea – a silent victory, proof he’d done something right.

He couldn’t sneak out five minutes early for lunch with Tim on a Thursday, because they both loved Thursday special at the German kebab shop three blocks away and wanted to avoid the lunch rush queues.

He couldn’t buy a lemon and poppyseed muffin on a Monday to drop off at Rosie’s desk before she got in, earning him first dibs when she baked her amazing Malteser brownies during charity bake sales at work. She pretended she didn’t know Martin brought her breakfast every Monday, when he knew she ran late for work because she had to drop her father off at the physio, but somehow, a hearty slice of brownie would be wrapped in a napkin in the fridge with his name on it all the same.

He couldn’t go to the little tea room five minutes from his house every Saturday and Wednesday, order the same cup of Earl Grey and the same ham-and-cheese toastie, and beam as the owner called him his favourite and most reliable customer.

Maybe…Maybe Martin Blackwood did get noticed after all. Little nods, little appreciations. Maybe…that was enough?

The cold retreated from his fluffy legs, though it didn’t fully subside. It loosened its grip on his tiny heart, but it didn’t uncoil.

He had to completely undo this, Champion – no, Martin decided. He had to find the answer. And the best place to start had to be the book itself.

Martin jumped down from his chair, flattening himself on the floor to scoot under the bookcase where he had bashed the book out of sight weeks before.

A few cobwebs…a pen he’d lost months ago…some paper clips…a scrunched up ball of paper that stole all of Martin’s attention for five minutes or more as he bapped it between his paws in delight…but no book.

Wriggling his way back out from under the furniture, he looked left and right. Where was it?

Martin headed out of the archival assistants’ office and made his way towards Jon’s. Had Jon returned to the office to retrieve the book? Martin hadn’t noticed him doing so, nor had the book shown up on Jon’s desk lately. Given that desk doubled as one of Martin’s many napping spots, he was sure he would have spotted it if it had.

Unless…he’d picked it up recently. Tim had just told Jon that there was no sign of Martin at all at his flat. Tim had done something incredibly important in that conversation, Martin realised in horror.

He’d given Jon a mystery to unravel. He’d sparked his curiosity and given him a challenge – could he find Martin before a professional?

Oh no.

Martin scampered into Jon’s office at full speed, miaowing in a vain attempt to yell Jon’s name. But the room was empty.

Panting, his head whipped this way and that. Where was he? It was 4:12pm – not a time that Jon would take a smoke break he thought no one knew about, nor a time he’d go for a tea or try to heavily hint for Martin to make one. He was always at his desk. Where was—

“Mrrrrowww…”

Martin blinked, his ears twitching. That…hadn’t come from him. “Miaow?”

A horrified pause stretched out across the office. And then, that same, low rumble of a miaow, sorrowful and irritated.

“Mrrrrrooooowwww…”

Plucking up his courage, Martin followed the sound, his fur already sticking up on end. He tip-toed around the leg of Jon’s desk, already suspecting what had happened, yet praying it hadn’t.

There, beside Jon’s chair, was The Ninth Life, open on the last few pages. And on top of the book was the saddest, skinniest, scabbiest-looking black cat that Martin had ever seen in his life. Flecks of grey mottled his fur, which was missing in great clumps all over. Most of his right ear was missing, leaving a ragged edge in its wake. His eyes were far too big for his head, a brilliant green that somehow didn’t complement his black fur. Worst of all, the cat was sitting with its hind legs in front of it, as though determined to sit like a person.

The black cat looked at Martin.

Martin looked at the black cat.

It scowled at him. Somehow, despite everything, the cat managed to scowl at him.

The cat knew who he was, Martin realised. He knew he was Martin.

…Jon? Is that you? Martin wondered, pacing slowly over to the scabby cat. He just wanted to get close enough to sniff him, to confirm that this was Jon and—

Bap!

A paw plonked down squarely on Martin’s head, followed by a warning hiss.

Bap! Bap bap bap!

Yes, Martin realised, as he lay down on his front and tried to cover the top of his head with his own paws to shield himself.

The scruffy cat before him was definitely Jonathan Sims.

──── •✧• ────

#cat!martin #tma cats #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #jmart #tma

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wcnderlnds · 2 days ago

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drive ins and twinkie kisses | peter maximoff

・❥・ summary: peter takes you to the movies and uses his favourite snack to make a move ・❥・word count: 1.2k ・❥・warnings: none really. just kissing. ・❥・ authors note: i haven't wrote in a week because i've been sick but this idea came to me after some shenanigans in the evanverse server so <3

The new drive-in opening had been the latest buzz around town. Anywhere you went, everyone was talking about it to the point that you needed to go check it out yourself. All your friends had already been and were raving about it but you? Well, you didn’t exactly have anyone to go with. The night your friends had gone, you’d been on a mission with the X-Men so, although they’d invited you, you’d had to decline. The frown on your face anytime someone brought the drive-in up was enough to melt even the coldest of hearts including Peter Maximoff. Now, he wasn’t heartless – not at all but he wasn’t one to cave in just by seeing a pretty face. He had resisted for as long as he could but he couldn’t take it anymore when he saw you sat looking miserable when you had yet to pass up another opportunity to go.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed heavily, arms folded across his chest as he appeared in front of you in a blur of silver. “I’ll take you but don’t make a big deal about it or anyth- oof.”

Peter stumbled back slightly as you threw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his midsection while you hugged the life out of him. His hands hovered in the air, awkwardly wondering what the hell to do with them. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone - other than Kurt because for some reason he liked to tell him everything - Peter wasn’t the best when it came to physical affection or relationships. Maybe it was the lack of experience. Or maybe he was just a complete idiot whose brain short circuited at the feeling of another person touching him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in relationships before. He had but they hadn’t lasted longer than a few months before he lost interest or they got fed up with his consistent need to be moving. With you, you seemed to have captivated his interest the moment he met you. He remembered the day so vividly – how you’d walked into the mansion looking lost, almost scared. He’d been zooming through the halls but had come to a comedic halt when he spotted you. Introductions had been made thanks to him worming his way into Hank who had been giving you a tour of the place and it had gone from there.

Peter found himself wanting to make you smile. On those dark, dreary days where he got lost in his own mind, the image of you smiling could always make things seem a little brighter. The fact you’d been moping around the mansion for the last week just didn’t sit well with him at all. If he had to take you to the drive-in himself then so be it. He could totally sit through a movie with you. Totally.

…so, maybe he couldn’t. Being in a car in the first place was enough for him to go on a rant about how he was much faster and cars were pointless to him but then there was the fact that he had to sit still for at least two hours. It was enough to drive the poor man crazy. A form of torture. His eyes darted around the place, the car full of all the candy wrappers the two of you had been eating since you’d first drove in. His deep brown eyes zoned in on you, the corners of his lips quirking up into a soft smile. Just watching you focus on the movie was enough to calm him, the knee he’d been bouncing up and down slowly coming to a halt. How was it you could make him such a mess yet so calm at the same time? Realising he should probably stop staring at you before he seemed like a creep, he eyed the last Twinkie sitting in the middle of you both.

His hand reached out to grab it but you must have had the same thought because he felt your fingers brushing against his. Peter instantly looked up, his eyes catching yours. “You tryna steal the last Twinkie from me, huh?”

“You were trying to steal it from me!” You protested, cheeks flushing. The feeling of his fingers touching your skin still sending shockwaves through you.

“Me, steal? Never. Can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing.”

“Okay, Mr Kelpto.”

Using his super speed, Peter quickly snatched the Twinkie, unwrapping it. “Okay, here’s an idea. I’ll eat from one end and you eat from the other. I won’t even cheat and use my super speed to eat more than you,” Peter stuffed one end in his mouth before you could reply, his hand gesturing for you to take the other end.

Peter could feel his heart beating a mile a minute as he began to chew the sugary treat. The closer the two of you got to the middle, the more he realised how stupid of an idea it was. Like, really? What did he think was going to happen? That was the problem – he didn’t think. Peter got an idea and rolled with it without really thinking next. He was almost certain his heart was about to beat out of his chest and fall into his lap as his face got closer to yours. Then he felt it, your lips gently brushing against his as the two of you ate the final piece. That was all it took for his brain to once again short circuit. Throwing all caution to the wind, his hand reached behind the back of your neck to pull you closer, eyes closing at the sensation of your lips against his. The kiss was cautious at first, Peter’s soft lips moving slowly against yours but when he felt your hand resting on his thigh, he gained the confidence to test the waters a little bit more. His tongue darted out across your bottom lip hoping and praying you wouldn’t push him away. When you parted your lips, he felt like he was actually going to ascend into the heavens. There was no way this was actually happening. Was he about to wake up and find out he was dreaming the whole time? He damn well hoped not.

Peter finally, eventually pulled away. His forehead rested against yours, a breathless laugh passed his lips. He took in your face, the slight red tint to your cheeks, your swollen lips and messy hair – he was making sure to take a mental photograph to look back on. This wasn’t something he wanted to forget anytime soon. Not that he wanted to ruin the moment but he had to speak. The silence unsettled him.

“Lady and The Tramp ain’t got nothin’ on us, babe,” he finally pulled away. He gently smoothed your hair down, reluctantly pulling his hand away from you. The music playing in the background caught his attention. His eyes darted to the movie screen seeing the credits rolling. “Oh, shit. We missed the end.”

“...eh, I’m not complaining,” your hands rested on the steering wheel as if you needed to ground yourself from that Earth shattering kiss. The only thought in your brain was how badly you wanted to do it again.

“Yeah? Should I start carrying Twinkies around with me everywhere now?” He raised his brows, leaning back against his cheek with a smirk.

“Yeah, you definitely should.”

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @ldydeath @jazz-berry @lemoniiiiiii @bohnerrific69 @lacucarachapisser @honeymoon8 @evanpetersbf

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #evan peters #my fics

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ppssession · 3 days ago

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The hottest server

Long is a huge fan of body-swapping and other genres and is often on various Discord servers to talk to you about his interests.

One day, on a discord server, a strange link suddenly appeared. The sender said that it was a link that would allow those who clicked on it to receive a new body, and he also sent many pictures of handsome men, claiming that they were all his bodies.

On the first day, he sent me a picture of a big muscular guy.

The next day, he sent me another picture of a cute guy.

Of course, most people on the server don't believe it, they think it's a picture that the person copied from the internet.

But strangely, long thought that what this mysterious person said was true. long spent hours thinking about whether to click on this strange link, hoping that it was not a virus that would destroy my computer. long thought anxiously. Finally, he chose to click on the strange link.

As soon as I pressed the strange link, the computer screen turned completely blue. A message popped up. "Will you keep this a secret from society?" Long didn't hesitate to press OK immediately. A series of messages popped up one after another. "We will allow you to tell this to people who have the same interests." Okay. "This has a cost. Are you sure you agree?" "Okay." When Long pressed all, the user window appeared. This is a website for you to choose your new body. Here, there are many bodies for you to choose from, both male and female, of all ages, of all races in the world. We will let you use the body you choose for free for 1 hour. If you want more time, you have to upgrade your floor.

This website has a very good management system. It's been a while since I've found the race I want. He selected for a while and then pressed on the body of a handsome man. A message popped up asking if he wanted to use this man's body. "Yes." Note: Your old body will be paralyzed. You should put your old body in a safe place to prevent harm (including malnutrition from not moving for a long time). Do you agree to possess this man's body? "Yes."

As soon as the screen was pressed, it turned white, leaving the last message, Have fun. Long's body felt the electricity flowing into his body, his body slowly twitched, the images gradually darkened, long felt the surroundings gradually changing like he was swimming in a current. Cut to the handsome guy that long had chosen, his body while he was playing with his phone, his screen turned blue, a message popped up, Have fun. Suddenly, electricity slowly flowed into his body. It came from the fingers that touched the phone, the electricity slowly flowed up to his arms, neck, face, ending with the electricity. He went into the man's brain. "Ah." The man stretched out his chest, his body twitched, his eyes rolled back and forth until after a while, his body slowly calmed down. Long slowly opened his eyes in his new body. He liked the feeling in this body very much. He started to explore the young man's body back and forth, finally stopping at the large penis of the body. "Wow, it's not even hard yet, it's already this big." Long smiled before noticing the phone with the message on it.

He read the text on the screen of his phone, You are in Li Bai's body, then followed by some information, this man's age, birth date, family, when I read further, I saw the information of the website.

This website is a website where you can choose a body of any gender, age, or race. It is a secret that only some people know. The length of time you can possess a body depends on your level. When you register for the website, the system will set you to the "Pron" level, which has the right to use the body of another person for 1 hour. You can upgrade your level to receive more time. Long read until the point where you can upgrade your level.

Upgrade from Bronze>Silver(You can possess other people for 10 hours, cost 10,000$)/per month

Upgrade to Gold level (You can possess other people for 20 hours Receive memories immediately upon possession without reading history., cost 100,000$)/per month

Upgrade to Diamond level (You can possess other people's bodies forever without having to return to your original body. Not only that, you can immediately receive the memories of the body you possess without having to read the history that we will possess you via your mobile phone. We also have a security system that when you have an accident or are in prison, we will move your body to the safest body near you. The cost is 1,000,000 $)/per month

When Long finished reading, he noticed that thirty minutes had already passed, so he looked at how he could pay to upgrade his level. Fortunately, the website could accept transfers from all currencies and from all over the world. It would be no problem if he paid with his Yuan in $. However, he thought about where he would find so much money. He remembered to open the account of the body he was possessing, Li Bai, and found that there was so much money that he could possess this body easily. Li Bai was a very famous person in the country. He must have a lot of money as a top celebrity. He chose to upgrade to diamond level, the website immediately displayed a thank you message, “Thank you for upgrading to our highest level, hope you will stay with us for a long time.” Long didn't care much, he exited the website, he rejoined the discord with the strange link again, sending a picture of his new body, “Hey everyone in the server, I want to say that this link is real, you can have the body you want at a great price.” Sending Li Bai's picture into the group.

Don't forget to send me a picture of you in your new body. I'm looking forward to it, but I have to deal with the erection in my pants first… The new Li Bai.

#การครอบครองร่างกาย #body theft #male body possession #male bodysuit #male transformation #gay possession

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aalixsturns · 2 days ago

Text

Growing Together

The first hints had been subtle. Y/N felt a bit more tired than usual, and there were a few mornings when the smell of coffee—a scent she usually loved—suddenly made her queasy. At first, she brushed it off as just a busy schedule catching up with her. But soon, those little signs became harder to ignore.

It was a chilly morning when Y/N finally worked up the nerve to take a pregnancy test. Matt had already left for a meeting, and she was grateful for a quiet moment to herself. As she waited, her heart pounded in her chest, anticipation and nerves swirling inside. Finally, the result appeared—two little lines. Positive.

Y/N sat there in shock, trying to process what this meant. She and Matt had talked about their future so many times, imagining what their lives might look like someday. But this wasn’t something she’d expected to happen just yet.

When Matt came home later that day, Y/N tried to keep calm, though every time she looked at him, her heart filled with an overwhelming mix of love and excitement. She waited until they’d settled on the couch, wrapped up together in a blanket as they watched TV, before taking a deep breath and deciding it was time.

“Matt,” she began, her voice soft but filled with emotion. He glanced over at her, sensing that something was different.

“What’s up, babe?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

She hesitated, then took his hand, placing it gently over her stomach. “We’re going to be parents.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and she watched as his eyes widened in surprise. Slowly, a smile spread across his face, his gaze shifting from her stomach back to her eyes.

“Are you serious?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. “I found out today.”

Without another word, Matt pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, just letting the reality of it sink in. She felt his hand gently stroking her back, as if reassuring her that they were in this together.

As the weeks went on, they found themselves talking late into the night about their dreams and fears for the future. Matt would hold Y/N close, rubbing her back when she felt anxious and reassuring her that they would face everything together.

One night, as they lay in bed, Matt placed his hand on her stomach, a small smile on his face. “I can’t wait to meet our little one,” he whispered.

From the first flutter of movement to the day they heard their baby’s heartbeat, each moment brought them closer. And through it all, Matt’s love and support remained steadfast, showing Y/N that they truly were building a beautiful life together—one heartbeat at a time.

pt 2 ?

tags : @madifilipowiczslvt @sweetreliever @daysonend @sophand4n4 @phone4pills

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #mattsfavseason🍂🍁☕️🧸#matthew sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt x reader #matt sturniolo fanfiction #aalimux💓#aalixsturns✨️

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coquettemouse · 1 day ago

Text

Breakfast

The kitchen was already alive with the smell of oatmeal cooking on the stove when Jason walked in, carrying a sleepy-eyed Sofia on his hip. Her head lolled against his shoulder, but as soon as she caught sight of the high chair, she perked up.

“Up, Daddy!” she commanded, pointing at the chair like a queen giving orders to her loyal subject.

“Your Highness,” Jason said with a mock bow, settling her down carefully. Her feet swung back and forth, thumping lightly against the base of the chair. He tucked a stray braid behind her ear, and she gave him a lopsided, toothless grin.

“What’s on the menu today?” she asked, puffing out her chest like a food critic ready to give a harsh review.

“Oatmeal with berries and ‘the crunchy stuff,’” Jason announced, waving a wooden spoon for emphasis. “Only the finest for my princess.”

“Good,” she said seriously. “But no weird green stuff.”

“Who do you take me for?” he scoffed, pouring oats into a pot. “Some kind of spinach wizard?”

She giggled, and he felt the corners of his lips pulling up. As the oats bubbled on the stove, Jason tossed in a dash of cinnamon, stirred, and then turned to face her. She was trying to grab at an invisible something above her head, small fingers stretching.

“What’re you doing, Sofi?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Catchin’ fairies!” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They always try to steal my crunchy stuff. It’s their favorite.”

Jason grinned as he stirred the oatmeal. “Well, those sneaky fairies better watch out because I’m putting extra crunchies today.”

Sofia gasped, eyes wide. “Extra? They’re gonna go bonkers!”

With a dramatic flourish, Jason scooped the oatmeal into a small bowl, added a handful of strawberries and blueberries, then sprinkled granola over the top. He brought it to her like a prized offering. “Here it is—the one and only anti-fairy oatmeal deluxe.”

“Thanks, daddy!” She grabbed the spoon and dug in, but not before giving the bowl a serious look. “No fairies allowed,” she whispered to it, then took a big bite. Her eyes lit up. “Mmm! It’s crunchy!”

“I told you,” Jason said, leaning against the counter with his own burnt toast. “The kitchen elves helped out.”

“Not elves again!” Sofia groaned between bites. “They’re always leavin’ their crumbs everywhere.”

Jason nodded gravely. “The worst. Absolute crumb bandits.”

Suddenly gggles echoed through the hallway, bouncing off the walls. Jimena burst into the kitchen, hair flying in all directions, her laughter coming in breathless gasps. Hot on her heels was Leo, a grin plastered across his face. Keeping his pace slower than her.

“You’re too fast!” Leo exclaimed, throwing his hands up as he came to a dramatic halt beside the table, pretending to be out of breath. He bent over, resting one arm on the tabletop for effect. Jimena skidded to a stop, still giggling, and tiptoed back toward him, eyes bright with mischief.

“Gotcha!” she declared, poking his shoulder. It was exactly what Leo was waiting for. He lunged, wrapping his arm around her waist and lifting her up, her legs kicking wildly as she squealed.

“No!!” Jimena shrieked between bursts of laughter, squirming in his grip. “Dad! Dad! Help me!”

Jason, who had been watching from the counter with a faint smile as he sipped his coffee, raised an eyebrow. “Oh no, a damsel in distress! What should I do?”

Jimena pointed at him, barely able to get words out through her giggles. “Save me, Dad!”

Jason set down his mug with deliberate slowness, like he was considering a life-or-death mission. “All right, hero mode it is.” He walked toward them, his frame casting a playful shadow over them. “Leo, prepare for battle.”

Leo held Jimena a bit higher, shifting her like a human shield. “You’ll have to go through me first!” he declared, mock-seriousness in his voice.

“Dad!” Jimena wheezed, caught between laughing and catching her breath. “Don’t let him win!”

“Never.” Jason moved, hands darting out to tickle Leo’s sides. Leo yelped, losing his grip just enough for Jimena to wiggle free and land on her feet, victorious.

“Ha! We got you!” she crowed, pointing at Leo while clutching her sides.

Leo, feigning defeat, sank dramatically onto a chair. “Betrayed by my own daughter and out-tickled by my husband. Is there no honor left in this world?”

Sofia, still munching on the last bit of her oatmeal, chimed in with all the wisdom of a five-year-old. “You shouldn’t mess with dad,” she said seriously, a bit of granola sticking to her cheek. “He’s a hero.”

#heroes of olympus #leo valdez #jason grace #valgrace #fanfic #au

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aspergerasparagus · 3 hours ago

Note

What if... Lucky Contestant and/or Real Frankie angst? 👀

<Incorrect-Finding-Frankie

You asked for this. Bad Ending unlocked. Also on Ao3

They were on the 65th season when things finally came to an end. The chat was slowly starting to lose interest in their winner. They needed someone new and Lucky had seen the writing on the wall before the new season had even started. So in hindsight it was no surprise that he had come out of the gate swinging. Literally.

Of course Frankie had been the first to face him. He'd been getting used to playing with them first before trying to catch them so he'd let his guard down. It was only when Lucky drove the knife he'd concealed into his eye did he finally realise what was happening. Of course the fight had still been a brutal affair. Lucky being tossed around like a rag doll as the rabbit screeched in pain, lashing out blindly in search of his target. Both were bloodied by the end but living up to his name, Lucky had managed to strike the final blow by tripping the beast and sending them careening into a saw blade trap. Bloodied and beaten he continued on, clutching his broken ribs as he breath came out in short ragged bursts.

He'd ignored the Frankie on the tvs for the most part. It's not like they could do anything but to throw curses and insults his way. But even that Frankie fell silent after Lucky had made his way to the server room. Leaving only one “Frankie” left to deal with.

And so here they were, finally at the end and it was everything the rabbit had wanted and more. Frankie lay pinned under a piece of parkour equipment Lucky had managed to dislodge during their confrontation. His legs pinned down meaning he had been easy pray for when Lucky had plunged the metal pipe into his chest. Pity he didn't have the strength to hit a little deeper, seeing at the rabbit was now slowly “bleeding” out rather than the quick end his contestant had hoped for.

“You're beautiful you know that.”

“Shut up. I've heard enough from you…” Lucky was leaning against the broken screen, the chat still visible behind the cracks. He was caked in blood, sweat and oil, his breath laboured as he tried to keep himself standing. It was impressive he was still upright given the damage Frankie had done to him, the rabbit was pretty sure he'd broken their arm in the scuffle, along with their collar bone. He must be in annoy and yet he still refused to back down. Frankie could only grin wider. He was perfect!

“It's true tho. After all you've been through, all we've been through, here you finally are. My “Lucky” contestant, my money maker, my lover, my everything.” Frankie could stop the purr that escaped him as Lucky glowered at him, disgust clear on his face for the first time in a long time, haven finally discarded the mask Frankie had become accustomed to.

“Look at me more like that, my little rabbit. You know what you do to me when I get to see you angry~” Lucky went to spit out an insult, only to hiss in pain as he clutched his side the exertion of such an act too much for him right now.

“Go to hell you bastard…”

Frankie just chuckled as he watched Lucky force himself to pick up a jagged piece of scrap and begin to stumble his way over to the rabbit. He wasn't going to let the rabbit just bleed out, that was too kind of a death, no where near befitting of their relationship. He wanted it to be close and personal. A suddenly shiver went down Frankie's spine as he realised this was it. This was his end. He was going to die. When he first realised that the higher ups were going to terminate him he'd felt real fear for the first time. Terrified of the ceaseless void of nothingness that was going to take him. But now, here, facing his end, he couldn't feel anything other than absolutely ecstasy! This was beyond anything he had ever felt before and he was intoxicated.

Grinning wider he held his hand out to the man as he shuffled towards him, as he had when they had first made that deal all those years ago. A wonderful memory he had come to cherish. Sighing the man reluctantly took it as he shifted his weight to it as he continued on, it's not like Frankie could do anything now. He'd lost. Lucky had won. As he always did.

Finally reaching him the man took a moment to catch his breath, the rabbit studying him, memorising each and every detail of him in this moment.

“I wasn't lying when I said you were beautiful. Right now you are stunning, Lucky.”

“I know and that's why I wish you'd stop talking for once.” Frankie just snorted as he gently rubbed the back of their hand, soothing them for what they had to do next.

“I wonder if a small part of you will miss me? I'll miss you.”

“I… Maybe a sick part of me will miss you. But it'll fade. I'm not letting you control my life anymore. I'm getting out of here and taking what is rightfully mine.” Lucky held the rabbit's gaze as through his confession, even at this stage refusing to hide his true feelings. Truly a stunning man~

Frankie just smiled and nodded before directing the man's attention towards a spot on his head.

“My main CPU is stored here. A hard enough strike there will shut me down permanently. So try and not mess it up, it would be embarrassing to miss with such an audience watching us.” Lucky could only roll his eyes before offering a small smirk, unable to resist Frankie's charm one last time. Helping him up onto his chest, he watched as Lucky steadied himself before he raised the metal above his head ready to deal the finishing blow. To end this all. For both of them.

“Do you remember my promise? The one I made to you on our first date?” Lucky hesitated, the scrap still raised.

“Yes, as if I'd forget that. But it doesn't matter now Frankie. You've lost.”

“I know but I still intended to keep my promise my sweet little rabbit.”

Lucky didn't have a chance to react as Frankie wrapped his arms around them and contracted the springs in his arms.

The sound of the pipe impaling them was a mix of the sickening cracking of bone and squelching of meat. His poor little contestant didn't stand a chance. He heard them cry out, gasping in pain as they tried desperately to expand their chest, but the blood quickly filling their chest charity and lungs made it impossible. (Not to mention the pipe.)

“Shhhh it's okay Lucky. I'm here. Frankie’s got you.” His tone was so soft, like a mother with their child as he cradled their shaking form closer. Coming up to pet their hair he could hear them gargling, before they hacked, blood spluttering out, covering them both. Now this was the ending they deserved. It was perfect. The triumph of the hero over the villain, only for the twist and betrayal at the end. This story was already written the moment Lucky had agreed to stay. There was no happy endings here for them.

Holding him Frankie could only let out a purr, this was practically orgasmic. The feeling of Lucky dying in his arms, by his hand, was even more perfect than he could imagine. He'd have to make sure the techs didn't erase his memory when they repaired him. He needed to remember this moment for all eternity, just so he could have it on a constant repeat in his head. This is how he wanted to remember his Lucky. Hearing them gag he snapped back, offering a small apology he nuzzled this head before leaning down to place a soft “kiss” against their forehead.

“B-bastard… t-this was always the plan wasn't… it.” Even with his injuries he still had the ability to talk. How impressive~

“It was. You were never going to leave this place alive Lucky. And I think you knew this.” Lucky could only give a weak nod, tears slowly starting to drip down his cheeks, leaving streaks in the blood caking them.

“I… did. I…just had t-try still… Frankie i-it hurts…” Hushing him, the rabbit cuddled him close, burying his face against his hair.

“I know, just close your eyes Lucky. Just give in. It'll be over soon. I promise I won't leave you here like the others, I'll put you somewhere special. So we can be together forever~”

Lucky could only let out a weak sob, but just as Frankie had said soon he closed his eyes. His breaths becoming shallower and shallower until nothing. His body lay limply against the rabbit as they soon succumbed to their own injuries. The only sound left was the hum of the facility and the sound of multiple footsteps approaching them.

#my writing #finding frankie #real frankie #rabbitroyale #but angst and someone dies.

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1-800-local-slut · 2 days ago

Note

I so desperately need more liam smut 😫😫 literally searching the ends of the universe to find good liam content and i found your blog!

And idk if you write for Issac Lahey but if you feel up to it id love some Switch!Issac smut

Nasty Dog

Liam's never wanted something so bad, and things get a little nasty when you come over to watch a movie.

Liam Dunbar x Black! McCall! Reader

Warnings: smut, male masturbation, unprotected sex (guys please wear condoms) , Liam is a munch, Liam is pathetic over you like he literally drools at the sight of you

Note- Scott and the reader are cousins, so obviously you have a black parent. Black people can be any shade of black despite having a white parent! I'm always going to be a whore for any of Scott's friends being down bad for his sister, but I wanted to switch things up a little

Thank you for the request and I hope you like this enough to send another one <3

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Pathetic, Liam felt so pathetic. He felt his cheeks burning, not only from the shame but speed of which he was pumping his hand up and down his dick that also felt very hot.

He just met you. Not even an hour ago, it took 45 minutes and a game of Twister that he had to hide in the bathroom and attempt to make it fast. He had gotten lucky; Scott had gone to the airport to pick up your mom since you took the train in so he couldn't hear him pathetically humping his hand to the mental image he couldn't erase of you bending backwards with both feet firmly planted to put your left hand on red under Stiles's arm (who's heart sped up so fast when you jumped into his arms thrilled to see him again that Liam thought he was about to have a heart attack) and victoriously grin.

How else could you bend for Liam? It was close to the Supermoon, and lately Liam's anger was channeling into horniness. Your arrival literally could not have been at a worse time. His shirt shoved into his mouth; his abs flexed as his thumb rubbed over his sensitive tip and he bit back a loud growl.

Before the game of twister, they were all sitting around having some fruit punch and kid friendly drinks and you revealed you were a cheerleader for your school and Scott showed them this video of the two of you having an acrobatic little race across through your backyard last Summer. He was hard the minute he saw you in that swimsuit- holy shit the swimsuit.

His eyes squeezed shut as he recalled how you looked in that bikini in the video. Your tits bounced each time you came up right, your legs toned and entire body a darker brown than it is now due to the Summer Sun. His heart pounded through his chest, as he aimed into the toilet to save himself some decency. He was losing it. He was imagining you kissing him with those soft, plump lips. You, hugging him again but this time being completely naked. You, sitting on his dick and riding it like a rollercoaster. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit-

He came with a hardly contained growl, blood rushing through his ears as he felt like a bottle of champagne was just popped in his groin. In a good way. He, because he was ridiculously horny kept aggressively fucking his hand, whimpering from the overstimulation. He couldn't stop pumping himself until he went limp and felt the world start to revert to normal.

And after a very shameful washing of his hands, he checked his watch and saw he kept it to a very inconspicuous two minutes. His legs felt like jelly, and he willed his heart to slow down and rinsed cold water over his face praying the redness of his cheeks would fade fast enough. His legs felt like warm jelly, he bets you feel like warm jelly inside, and with shakey hands opened the door as he made his way back downstairs. It was probably his turn.

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Since becoming a werewolf, Liam had gained some animalistic tendencies. He found himself wanting to chase down squirrels who were unlucky enough to cross his path, scratched the back of his ears like his life depended on it, and the game of catch was far more thrilling now. Oh, and drooling. Whenever he gets excited now. According to Scott, this wasn't applicable to all werewolves because Scott has never had that problem.

But right now, Liam found himself excited at the fact that you two were locked in an intense make out session. Like a virgin Liam basically forgot how sex works for a second. You'd been here three weeks and each day was impossible for Liam.

And apparently, he'd done a number on you as well.

You whined on top of him, as you two parted for air and Liam wished you had just let him suffocate under the weight of your smooches. You pulled your shirt off and revealed your chest, and Liam didn't even try to stop himself. He tenderly placed both hands on the sides your boobs, running his thumbs over your covered nipples. His eyes went wide as he admired the delicate lacing on your bra, and he was starting to think that when you came over this was your plan all along. You let out a sensual moan, neck rolling and your body shuddered you let your eyes gently flutter shut.

Liam felt his mouth watering at the sight of you, you just looked so perfect. Part of him wanted to leave your bra on you. The color perfectly matching your skin and the dim lights of Liam's bedroom made you look like an angel, the TV on behind you two illuminating you with an angelic glow behind you. He felt shakey, his insides trembling.

What does he do next? It was like he'd never seen a girl before, the way he forgot what to do. Did he unhook your bra? Slide off your bottoms and then your underwear? Shit was he thinking too long?

Pressing a kiss to the top of one of your boobs, he felt how hot your skin was underneath his touch as he felt his legs twitch and his dick jump in his sweatpants. Speaking of; you slowly snaked your hand down his chest, and down his stomach. Fingers trailing over his happy trail before you slipped you hand into his boxers before you gently wrapped your hand around his cock.

His heart started jumping and he was so happy you couldn't hear the way his pace was picking up. He pressed kisses across your chest, sucking bruises into your chest passionately and with shakey hands he unlatched your bra. It was a cute sigh of relief as you felt your chest freed, eyes looking down at him with a look that Liam couldn't place but his suspicion was starting to feel right. You certainly had planned this.

He shook underneath you, as you planted kisses on his face and the two of you became an untangled mess of heavy breathing and rough kisses. Your nipples pressed against his chest, and he leaned backwards, hitting the headboard and the next time you two pulled apart it was his turn again. He pulled his shirt up and you helped him the rest of the way by basically ripping his shirt off him.

If he wanted to make out all night, he would continue his pattern of kissing you, but he'd be stupid to just make out with the topless girl sitting on top of him. Slowly, he started to prepare to do what he had too.

Liam enjoyed very much the strength of being a werewolf. It was helpful when it came to lifting you off of him and placing you down on the side of the bed. God, you were so perfect. Your pupils massive as you observed him with curiosity, while he got up and came around to the side, bending down to capture your lips in a kiss. Slowly, he worked his way down your body, and you were never slow on the uptake.

He slid down the biker shorts you wore that made your ass look like a pillow. He went down, his eyes pleased to see the matching underwear you wore. Totally planned it. Running his tongue over the lining of your underwear, he felt a surge of confidence and power when you shuddered, hands running through his hair like it was a life line.

His lips found your inner thighs, leaving hickeys and bite marks all over the inside of your thighs as he licked you once more. Then he planted a kiss against your cunt, feeling how wet you were through the thin fabric. Your shaking legs would've been great if he couldn't feel the fear radiating off your body. Popping his head up to look at you he tilted his head up and you let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Is something wrong?"

"No!"

It was cute how desperate you were to continue. You were horny, you were. But something else seemed wrong. He laid his head on one of your soft thighs and looked up at you with pleading eyes. He couldn't in good consciousness go on with how he could sense you feeling.

"No one's ever...eaten me out."

And Liam's brain was rewired immediately. How? From the moment he met you, he wanted you to sit on his face and crush his skull open with your legs. He had to keep the perversions at bay for long enough not to scare you away.

"It's okay." He assured you running his thumbs over the flesh of your legs.

Pressing a kiss to your hip, while he slowly slid your underwear down your legs and tossed them somewhere behind him.

"I'll take care of you. Promise."

With that boyish charm that girls found it basically impossible to resist. You nodded and gave you this smile that made your heart flutter. Slowly he pushed your legs open, eyes never leaving yours and then looked down at you.

You were perfect down there. Wet and shiny, it was calling to him like a cool spring in the middle of the desert. He ran his tongue over your opening, and you let out a soft 'oh' with your head rolled back and you gripped his hair tightly. From there he couldn't just stop.

He started slowly, basically making out with your pussy in a way that had you moaning out soft cries. Perfect, just perfect. His strong arms lifted your legs, placing them over his shoulders, while he sucked on your clit and your legs began to shake around him.

Liam was a dog, in more ways than one. His hips rolling into the mattress like it was you. You were letting out moans that spurred him on while he flicked his tongue over your clit and your back arched for him. He couldn't help but slide his tongue inside of you, and you jumped at the intrusion. How did anyone resist the urge to do this to you? To have you, basically the most perfect woman he's ever seen, unraveling under their tongue.

To have you gasping and sweating as he flicked his tongue over your clit with legs squeezing tighter by the moment. He wanted to taste you cumming on his face and he would do so or die trying. He pulled your entire hips into his face. You began grinding your hips, one hand pulling his hair and the other gripping his bed sheets.

Hips jumping while he slurped on you. The noises and sounds coming from the two of you were filthy, he couldn't live without hearing those noises again. He gave one particular thrust into the bed that had him on the verge of cumming in his pants. Your hips started jumping, voice getting louder and louder, and you began aggressively riding his head.

You came with a loud cry of his name. He gave your thighs a squeeze while you locked your legs around his head while using him to ride out your orgasm. What a great way to suffocate.

Your eyes were shut until you came back down to Earth while you unlocked your legs and flopped backwards onto the bed. Fighting the urge to give himself a pat on the back, Liam licked his lips savoring the taste of you on his lips. He was throbbing in his pants, like his dick was about to explode.

Never, in all the years of his life, has Liam wanted something so badly. He cupped your sweaty face and pressed a passionate kiss to your lips. His hands over your head while you grabbed his wrist and melted into his touch.

Slowly, he slipped out of his sweatpants and out of his boxers. He was leaking from his tip and he mentally started trying to remember something- anything- to keep him from ending the show early. You looked him in the eyes, like you were saying 'hurry up please'. Liam wasn't one to disappoint .

Making space in between your legs, he kept his gaze locked with yours. All at once he went inside of you and it was better than he had imagined. Better than the past three weeks he spent stalking your Instagram while scrolling through your summer pictures and ignoring the growing possession he felt when he saw you posing with a male friend while he spat on his hand and jerked off until he saw stars. For a few rounds, when he was finding porn stars who looked like you or sounded like you. Until one night he was shooting blanks and passed out for about ten seconds covered in his own mess. The shame he felt when he woke up didn't even matter because it all led up to this.

You were warm and tight, and already soaking him in your juices. You both let out a disgusting moan as he tried to get his bearings. He slowly started moving, setting a passionate pace as he let himself roll his hips into you with no self-restraint. Liam's drooling issue almost shot him in the foot there, and he ducked his face in between your boobs as he let out a low groan. He felt you let go of his wrist, and pulling his face up from your chest.

You held eye contact with him, your eyes revealing just how badly you'd been wanting this. How badly you wanted to feel him twitching against you while he tried to keep himself from giving you a creampie. You kissed him, tongues roaming eachothers mouths and while picked up the pace. Your boobs jumped, underneath him while his abs pressed against the smooth skin of your stomach. He hit a spot, that had you break apart to let out a high-pitched moan.

Righttt there. That's where he needed to be. You stared into his eyes, biting one of your lips on instinct while trembling. He pushed himself up, to end this little body roll thing he had been doing into you. Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, as if you couldn't stand to not be touching him and Liam felt his heart warm a little at how clingy you were to him.

He set a rougher pace, he needed to see your boobs moving up and down. He needed to see you unravel, to hear you plead for more. You began letting out high pitched moans, and your legs wrapped around his hips. He was hypnotized. The way you sounded, looked, felt, smelt, you were driving him crazy and didn't even know it. He slammed into you like it was his last day on Earth.

He kept going, the way you were basically begging him too with your eyes shut. You looked amazing. He couldn't help but to reach down and hold you softly by the neck and leaning down. Truthfully, he was about to explode, and he had to still his hips for a second. And he wanted another kiss. Eventually, he resumed his strong thrusts and pressed his thumb to your clit.

He was amazed when he looked down, looking at the way cream of liquid you left around the base of his cock. He began moving his thumb and for a moment you stopped breathing. It was like all the air got sucked out of your lungs as your voice climbed in volume. He was so thankful his mother and step-dad were out for the night because then he'd have to have a very uncomfortable conversation.

The headboard slammed into the wall. Liam was on a mission; he was hell bent. He needed to cum with you. And he was just about to get what he wanted. You let out small whimpers, whispering between gasps and moans that you were about to cum. He couldn't even force himself to stop for a second to delay his own orgasm, he felt it rushing through him like water. You gripped the hand he was holding your face with and jumped off the mattress as you squeezed him tightly while gushing around his base.

He came so hard his entire body tensed up. He did mean to pull-out, but his impulse control wasn't always the strongest. As he slowed his hips down, you two slowed your breathing. It was like he just ran a marathon and got a runners high. Perfect. That was perfect, you were perfect.

Slowly he pulled out of you, watching a stream of his cum leaking out of you. Damn, he was already ready for round two.

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