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zepskies · 3 months ago

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Lost on You - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Welcome to Part 1! You guys have really warmed by heart with all the anticipation for this series, so thank you so much. I think it's going to be a fun ride. 😉

Song Inspo: “Magic” by Olivia Newton-John. And check out the full “Lost on You Playlist” here. There’s going to be lots of ‘80s music in this series!

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: SB being an entitled asshole (strap in for a lot of that), misogyny, bullying, and a “meet cute” of sorts…

🎙️ Series Masterlist || YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 1: Siren Song

April 3, 1983

“Why the fuck wasn’t I consulted about this?” Soldier Boy groused.

Arthur Cohen, otherwise known as “The Legend,” released a heavy puff of his cigar within the relative privacy of his office. Vought afforded him a great deal of luxuries, at the cost of days like this.

So, he’d offered the supe one of his most coveted Cubans to pacify him. Because true to form, he was edging closer to a temper tantrum by the minute.

“This decision came from on high, my friend,” Arthur said, with a smile that hid his inner anxiousness. He tapped some ash off his cigar with a finger adorned by a gaudy gold ring. “Stan Edgar, Stillwell, even the entire board of directors signed off on this one.”

“I don’t give a fuck who bought into this PR bullshit,” Soldier Boy postured, crossing his arms across his dark green supe suit as he leaned into the plush seat adjacent to Arthur’s desk. He raised a solid boot on the edge of the newly polished mahogany, and then another, crossing them at the ankles. His cigar was balanced between his teeth in the corner of his mouth.

“The last thing we need,” he said, pausing to inhale. Then he took the cigar from his lips to blow out smoke in hot annoyance. “Is another broad on the team.”

Arthur inclined his head. “I understand your concerns.”

“Do you?” Soldier Boy snorted. “Countess is bitch enough to deal with, believe you me.”

Arthur sympathized. He knew Crimson Countess’s attitude well, but he supposed Soldier Boy had license to say so more than anyone else, considering she was his girlfriend.

“Look, I could give you the numbers: expected profit margins, demographics, etcetera, but you don’t get paid to hear that from me,” Arthur said, with a magnanimous hand gesture and a fair bit of old Jewish charm. “I’m askin’ you to trust me. This girl’s good, okay? Not just a wig and a pair a’ tits. Nah, she’s got talent. Got a set of pipes on her too, my God.”

Soldier Boy gave him a sly look.

“Not like that,” Arthur said. He shook his head in amusement, but not with the face of a man who hadn’t already thought about the girl’s pretty mouth. He stroked his chin.

“She’s…interesting. Well, you’ll see. If she brings up the ratings the way we hope, we’ll be able to relocate Swatto. Hopefully to Siberia. He’s a fucking PR nightmare waiting to happen.”

“All right, the guy’s a moron, but he’s fucking hilarious,” Soldier Boy said, smirking. “Like one of the three Stooges.”

Yeah. Arthur wondered if that homeless man Swatto almost split open in Central Park after a sneeze thought he was funny.

“And her powers. Really?” Soldier Boy went on. His brows drew together then, as he frowned. “Sounds like she blew something up someone’s ass to get this far, and it ain’t smoke.”

“Trust me, that’s the real deal too,” Arthur assured.

But he could see that Soldier Boy wasn’t convinced. The supe rolled his eyes and released another puff.

“Anyway. I’m fucking bored. What’s the next project?” he said. Arthur took an unfiltered breath and peeked at the files strewn across his desk.

“Well, Red Thunder is coming out this fall. We’re pretty sure it’s gonna be the blockbuster of the year,” he replied. “After that, we’ll see about writing a sequel.”

If it makes back the millions we spent in production going over budget, thanks to this asshole’s weekly benders, he mentally added.

“I don’t care about a bullshit sequel,” Soldier Boy said dismissively. “I want to do something new.”

“Something new,” Arthur intoned.

The supe raised a brow. Again, the cigar was balanced between his teeth.

“Yeah.”

He really must be bored, Arthur thought, if he actually wants to work.

“All right, let me brainstorm on that for ya,” Arthur said. “Matter of fact, tell you what. Give me ‘til the end of the week. In the meantime, we’ve got the security team monitoring the police scanner for potential saves.”

The supe didn’t look impressed. His brows furrowed, as if he was irritated that he didn’t get an immediate answer, but his slight nod signaled his agreement before he finally got up from his chair. His boots dragged off Arthur’s desk, knocking over a framed picture of his kids with it, and thudded heavily on the ground. He left the office thereafter.

Arthur heaved a breath of exasperation. He didn’t get paid enough for this shit.

Fucking supes.

But he didn’t dare utter that thought out loud.

It was days before Ben finally crossed paths with the new girl. Not that he’d been giving the idea much thought.

After that day in Arthur’s office, Ben became engrossed in his own devices—namely one of the assistants, Joanna, his stylist, Angela, and Rachel, his maid, after Donna blew him off for dinner for the third night in a row. This time for some tree-hugging conservationist gala of some kind.

Frigid bitch, he thought, shaking his head.

On his way to the gym, he passed the T&T Twins gossiping. Just the sight of them irritated him. Tommy was a kiss-ass, and Tessa shared a brain cell with her brother, so she wasn’t saying much for her gender either.

“Would you pick your tongue off the floor already! You’re so disgusting,” Tessa said, shoving her brother.

“What? She’s fucking hot,” Tommy snapped in defense. When they finally saw Ben coming, Tessa piped down with her attempt at a “demure” greeting.

Tommy came in hot with a too bright voice and a, “Hey, boss!”

Ben gave them a stoic nod, fully intending to blow past them.

“Have you met the new girl yet?” Tommy asked, with an unmistakable pop of his brows and indecent smile.

Ben nearly rolled his eyes. “No.”

And don’t fucking care, his tone conveyed. He continued on his way to the gym. Behind him, the twins gave each other a look, and a shrug.

When he got to the gym, Journey was playing overhead. Ben frowned as he saw Black Noir working out by himself. The young man wasn’t wearing his suit. Instead, he was bare-chested and running on a treadmill with a nearly 90-degree incline, sweat glistening on his skin.

Fucking show off, Ben thought.

Then there was Gunpowder, his young sidekick, practicing his archery. Ben went to him and slapped a hand on his back in greeting, none too gently. The teen stumbled, his arrow landing into the wall instead of the target.

“Spot me at the bench, ey kid,” said Ben. “And grab me a towel while you’re at it.”

“Uh, sure,” Gunpowder replied, ducking his head as he went. Ben got settled at his usual bench press machine, sliding his back down the thin leather cushion. He waited for the kid to add on his fifty-pound weights on either side, until it reached two hundred pounds. That was just the warm-up.

“You met the new girl yet?” Ben asked, after he began lifting his first rep. Gunpowder stood behind his head.

“No, sir,” he said. “Haven’t seen her yet.”

“I haven’t either,” said Noir. He’d come over on his way to the showers, regaining his breath all the while. Ben gave him a sharp side-eye.

“Did I fucking ask you?” he said.

Noir paused. He hid his frown behind a stoic front, since he didn’t have his mask to do it for him. He toweled off his face and chest as he left the gym.

Ben shook his head, but he never broke stride on the bench press.

You seemed to be mysterious.

Barely anyone had seen you, and you hadn’t gone out of your way to ingratiate yourself with every member of the team, like Ben would’ve expected. Donna had set him in her sights on her very first day.

With fake demure in her hazel eyes, a flick of her long red hair over her shoulder, and a sultry smile, she’d let him take her hand and bring it up to his lips for a gentlemanly kiss.

That same night, she’d accepted his invitation up to his suite and let him do some very ungentlemanly things. Ben smirked at the memory as he made his way down Vought Tower’s infinite hallways. She sure knew her way around some kinky shit.

And she still did, the little minx. She’d just been putting the freeze on his balls lately, for whatever her reasons were this time. He didn’t pretend to care or keep track at this point.

If people only knew what a royal pain Crimson Countess was.

Ben was only taken out of his thoughts when he heard someone singing in the breakroom, gently, but beautifully. He couldn’t make out the words though. He stopped and leaned inside the doorway, just to see who it was. It was early enough in the morning that he was surprised anyone but him was awake.

You were standing there at the counter, making some coffee from the percolator. Soft and dulcet notes fell from your lips in some kind of lullaby. Quirking a brow, the oddness of it managed to draw Ben’s steps into the kitchen. You were wearing a leather supe suit that molded to your every curve, not unlike Donna’s, except yours was black with violet trim lines.

You eventually noticed him with a smile.

“Good morning, sir.”

Ben gave you a charming grin, blatantly eying you from breast to toe before he noted that the coffee had finished percolating.

"Hey there, sweetheart,” he said. “Pour me a cup, would ya?"

You did so, and he admired the graceful movements of your hands, and the sweet sound of your voice as you continue to hum to yourself.

"You're a little crooner, aren't you?" he asked, taking the plain white coffee mug from you.

When your hand brushed his, he felt it.

Your power.

It threatened to overtake him, drawing you into him like the crash and current of a tidal wave, where he couldn’t help but be pulled undertow. There in that darkness, he craved your warmth as well as your body. The thought, the need gripped him at his core…

He wanted you to devour him, body and soul.

And he finally registered that your eyes were glowing violet, along with your knowing smile.

Then you blinked. The violet haze was gone, along with your hold on his mind.

You went back to sipping your coffee as if nothing had just happened. Ben faltered, mentally and physically as he was forced to grip the counter. He even had to catch his breath as his mind reeled from the loss of connection.

He covered his unbalance with a steely, angry frown. What the fuck just fucking happened?

He looked at you harder than before, drawing himself to his full height and towering over you. Still, you didn’t seem all that intimidated.

“What the hell did you just do?” he growled.

Your knowing, easy smile remained.

“Nothing,” you replied. “Just a little smoke.”

Ben’s eyes widened.

“Sounds like she blew something up someone’s ass to get this far, and it ain’t smoke.”

How the hell had you heard about that?

He quirked a brow, but you just sipped your coffee with a gentle slurp. Your gaze moved away from him as you went to the fridge to take out a carton of eggs.

“Want some breakfast? I’m thinking of making some eggs, sunny side up,” you said.

Ben’s hand clenched at his side, but then, he forced himself to relax. Or at least, to look relaxed. You had some fucking audacity to try toying with him…but he had to admit, you were something new.

Interesting.

“What’s your name?” he asked, in a tone that demanded.

“Sirena,” you answered. Your superhero name, which he’d already known when Stan Edgar told him about you a week ago.

Ben’s frown deepened, but he reminded himself to retain some charm. He took your chin between his fingers. His grip was light, but his green eyes were intense, and focused on you.

“No. Your real name, sweetheart,” he said, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

You blinked, but you obliged him with your name, and a smile that edged at flirtation.

“What’s yours?” you returned.

He had to smirk. He knew you knew full well who he was.

“Call me Ben,” he said.

Three Days Ago…

You tried not to be completely overwhelmed by the sight of this huge tower as you pulled your suitcase behind you. Vought-American was an institution of superhero production, and Payback was the face of it all. The absolute pinnacle.

I still can’t believe they chose me, you thought, but you tried not to let that show. You needed to make it seem like you knew what you were doing. You belonged here, and you were seizing this chance.

Madelyn Stillwell, the head of Superhero Public Relations, personally greeted you at the gate and showed you up to your room. However, you’d barely gotten a chance to step inside and look around before her pager went off. She wore a certain smile when she saw the number on the screen. She tossed a strand of strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder and glanced up at you.

“Sorry, sweetie. I have an appointment to get to, but the directory is there on your desk if you need anything. Feel free to get comfortable,” she said, gesturing at you with her pager in hand. “I’ll be back in an hour or so to give you a tour of the building.”

“Okay, thank you so—”

The door closed behind her before you could even finish your sentence. That deflated you a little, but you tried not to let that small exchange bring you down. Your apartment was huge. Or at least, it was much bigger than the shoebox you left in the Village, let alone the Brooklyn brownstone you grew up in, sharing with two other families on each floor.

You hefted your suitcase onto the bed and began to unpack your clothes, makeup, and toiletries.

You also took out the only framed picture you had—one that housed your parents and your older brother Chris. You were both grown already, but in this picture, you were barely twelve years old. That little girl didn’t know that her entire world was about to change, when her powers manifested for the first time.

That thought did succeed in dimming your mood for a moment, but you sighed and set the frame down on your new dresser. You’d have to remember to call Chris. His son was turning four years old in a few weeks.

Though your attention shifted to a black shape in the corner of your eye. It was a garment bag hanging on the closet door. You went over and unzipped it, revealing your new super suit. It was all black leather and violet accent lines down the sides, along the collar, and down between the breasts in a V-shape. It was strategic to accentuate curves and bust.

You whistled lowly. It was beautiful, but Jesus did it look tight.

“Wow,” you remarked, trying out the zipper up and down. “They really like their leather, huh?”

Still, you itched to try it on. After a few minutes of struggling and wiggling, you managed to get into the suit. They’d taken exact measurements, so it did look good. You felt like a new person…a superhero.

You smiled at yourself in the bathroom mirror. But then, you forced the smile off your face and shook your head, schooling your expression into something less doe-eyed and pathetic. More in control.

There you are, Sirena, you thought. You had long ago trained yourself with that enigmatic look. You knew how it felt on your face. The easiest way for you to get what you wanted in this world, the way you’d gotten this far, was with this exact face.

Only show them what you want them to see.

Almost two hours later, you’d finished unpacking your belongings and explored every corner of your new beautiful apartment, but still, Miss Stillwell wasn’t back yet.

You checked your watch and hummed to yourself. Your curiosity getting the best of you, you decided to leave your apartment and explore the tower by yourself. You took off the suit as well, so you could make your way around more anonymously. You were sure no one really knew who you were yet.

Your theory was proven true when you walked through the halls, passing Vought employees without even a blink in your direction. That was okay though. Soon enough, all these people would know your face, as well as your name.

You reached one of the top floors, where you thought you remembered The Legend’s office was supposed to be (according to the directory). Maybe you could meet him and get a jump start on your schedule.

You stopped short, however, when an office door slid open. Out came a slightly disheveled Miss Stillwell. Her blouse was hastily tucked into her gray pencil skirt, and strands of her blonde hair were a bit frizzy as they brushed her shoulders, as if she’d combed them down with her fingers. You plastered yourself to a wall around the corner, only peeking around after she passed by.

Your brows popped up incredulously when you read the name plate beside the door she just came out of.

Stan Edgar…holy shit. His signature was on my contract!

Along with Arthur Cohen, or The Legend, as Stillwell had told you when she welcomed you in. He was the Senior Vice President of Hero Management, so who the hell was Stan?

Well, whoever he was, he was giving it to the head of PR.

Okay then. You shook your head and continued on your way. At the end of the hall, you finally found the right office. You were about to open the door, when you heard male voices coming from inside—one older and dry, and the other deep and strong.

You reached out with your awareness and allowed your powers to engage, likely making your eyes glow with a violet hue.

Sure enough, you sensed two men in the room. And as the voices raised, you recognized one of them. It was unmistakable; you’d been taking the time to binge all of his movies for the past month, ever since you auditioned to get into Payback.

Soldier Boy.

A smile spread across your face. For a moment, you were incredibly excited…until you actually heard what he was saying.

“The last thing we need is another broad on the team.”

Your mouth fell open in shock as your brows drew together. You carefully pressed yourself to the door and kept listening.

“And her powers. Really?” he said. “Sounds like she blew something up someone’s ass to get this far, and it ain’t smoke.”

“Trust me, that’s the real deal too,” Arthur assured.

You glared at the door furiously, as if you could burn lasers out of your eyes. You crossed your arms, but you breathed evenly as you strived to keep your emotions contained.

Control, you reminded yourself. With another deep breath, you managed to let go of your ire, but the more you listened to the conversation, the more impossible that became. You turned away from the door and made clipped strides down the hall.

You knew you had to tread carefully here. You’d heard some of the real stories about Payback, because you’d taken the time to listen. You weren’t about to enter Vought Tower without having some idea of what you were getting into, and you knew you’d have to prove yourself as the rookie on the team. You just hadn’t expected their leader to be such a chauvinistic asshole.

Though inwardly, you snorted. Well, the guy is from the ‘40s. Best generation, indeed.

You rolled your shoulders and shook it away, like water off your proverbial feathers. Your mouth set in a firm line as you held your head high.

The game begins, you thought.

For the next few days, you watched. You studied each member of your new “team” as you encountered them, and you quickly realized that this team wasn’t much of one.

They looked out for themselves, and bickered amongst themselves, in the case of the TNT Twins. Crimson Countess had given you a lovely, polite face that still somehow mocked you when she walked away, along with the bounce of her red hair.

Your powers didn’t allow you to sense or read women, but you recognized a diva when you saw one.

Clearly, she was used to being the woman on top, especially as Soldier Boy’s girlfriend. You wanted to roll your eyes at the thought. From what you’d heard (and the masculine cologne you smelled on Arthur’s assistant Joanna yesterday), Soldier Boy got around. His relationship with Countess was either very open, or it was well-crafted PR.

You had another growing, unsettling thought. The more information you gathered just by observing the team, the more you had a hard time believing that you were ever going to fit in around here.

It was only your third day in the Tower though, you reminded yourself, as you got dressed for the day in your suit. That kind of negativity wouldn’t serve you here.

So you left your apartment in search of coffee and breakfast at the breakroom and lounge area, exclusive to the team. You supposed these guys were either late sleepers, or they got their food brought to them. You were relieved to find the room empty, and you let out a deep breath.

Remember why you’re here, you thought. It’s not about you.

It had never been about you.

You rummaged through the cupboards in search of the one thing that would perk you up—good coffee. You found it near the top shelf and began to prep the coffee maker. You hummed to yourself while your hands moved on autopilot. The tune strengthened, deepening and then sweetening on higher trills.

Suddenly, your spine prickled. Your mind buzzed faintly with awareness as you sensed a presence.

It was familiar and overwhelmingly male, with heavy, confident steps coming down the hall. You tilted your head and frowned.

Soldier Boy, that asshole.

But then, your lips curved upwards. This could be fun.

When Soldier Boy walked into the breakroom, he noticed you. You pretended not to realize he was there, but you felt the heat of his gaze roaming over your body. You wanted to sigh. Predictable.

Right then, you made a quiet, firm decision. Today, this man was going to learn your name. And he wasn’t going to forget it.

You turned to him with a smile when he approached—the most pleasant one you could manage.

“Good morning, sir.”

AN: Game, set, match. 😘💚 As many of you know, this story is expanding on this Soldier Boy imagine, which I wrote almost a year ago now. In the back of my mind though, I always thought this idea could be more someday.

So please let me know what you thought of Part 1! I'm so excited for you guys to see what's coming up next...

Next Time:

“Countess, I’m not trying to replace you. I’m not trying to take anything from you.”

“Except my boyfriend,” she shot back. Finally she turned her head towards you with cool disdain. “You think I didn’t see you flirting with him last night at the afterparty?”

You rolled your eyes, though you hid a sliver of embarrassment. You should’ve known she’d spot that.

“He approached me, okay?” you said. Maybe you were about to let your pettiness to get the best of you, but you couldn’t help it. You smiled slyly. “And from what I hear, I’m the least of your worries. Looks like Ben has quite the appetite.”

The cracks of Countess’s cool façade finally broke through to anger.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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florencemtrash · 11 months ago

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Two

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: None :)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“The sun’s barely gone down!” Cassian grumbled, following behind Helion, Rhysand, and Feyre as they walked the cobblestone streets of the Day Court. Every block of the small city contained at least two local bookstores, one cafe that also sold books, one flower shop that also sold books, and/or a small glass box filled with - as anyone could have guessed - more books to be given away for free.

Helion chuckled, “You’re not in the Night Court any more. My people are early to bed, early to rise. Unless of course you spend a night with me.” He winked at Cassian, who had the sense to blush. Indeed the Night Court members had been shocked when the party cleared out not even two hours after the sun had slipped beneath the ground.

Aside from the small scale bookstores which housed the most popular and recently published novels, every sector of the Day Court also had between one to three athenaeum’s - elaborate buildings of ivory stone laced with filigree and windows that lit up like the glowing eyes of an ancient beast. They were the pride and joy of all Day Court members. The windows flickered and shone with the magic used to protect the volumes from the sun. Even as the neighborhood lights slowly winked out, Azriel could track the diligent minds scouring the brightly lit shelves. There was a loving madness in their hunched backs, craned necks, and squinting eyes.

As their troupe reached The Alcove, one of the smaller and cozier athenaeum’s, Azriel couldn’t help but imagine you in a similar display of passionate madness, when you forgot about the world around you and could actually relax.

The Alcove specialized in housing diaries and novels of everyday comforts - quiet, unassuming stories that could steal your heart as swiftly as the grandest tales of war and romance, but with much more discretion. Here, the knowledge pressed between pages with ink was full of warmth and subtlety. The others in your cohort had scorned you for your choice in The Alcove. Why would anyone choose such a dull place to live and work? Why not be surrounded by books on war tactics or history or religion or biology? Someplace useful and worthy of a Librarian’s gifts. But The Alcove had offered you something you’d missed since your mother’s death - a sense of home.

You sat by the bay windows overlooking the darkened street below, breathing in the crisp and cool air that snuck in through the glass. On the other side of your apartment, a similar window overlooked The Alcove’s interior. Hundreds of mahogany shelves lined the high walls of the octagonal building with its signature domed roof. Grand staircases of gold twisted their way up from the ground, connecting to walkways that gave easier access to the volumes housed higher up the walls.

It was a blessing in disguise that you’d chosen to sit on this side of your apartment. Otherwise you would have never seen the Shadowsinger watching you with careful consideration, his eyes faintly glowing like the eyes of a cat. He raised one gloved hand up at you in a wave, a solitary gesture as the rest of his companions and Helion walked towards the stairs that led up to your apartment entrance.

He saw your mouth open in a shocked oh and couldn’t help the faintest smile gracing his lips as you disappeared from view.

“Oh shit.” You sprang up from your seat, eyes madly racing over the contents of your apartment. You were in the middle of a research project on magical signatures and your living space reflected the madness in your mind. Books lay open on the floor, on the desk, on the coffee table surrounded by carefully documented notes and half-scribbled ideas in equal measure. You wouldn’t be able to clean it up in time and, quite frankly, you had no interest in disrupting the chaotic organization. Did you really care about impressing the Night Court and Helion?

The terrifying answer was, yes.

The dining room.

It rarely saw use since you were disinclined to receive guests, and had more recently been repurposed to house stacks of romance novels… best not to let anyone see those…

In the five minutes it took for Helion and the members of the Inner Circle to climb up the dozen flights of stairs, and knock on your door, you’d successfully managed to hide all the smutty romance books in your bedroom, throw a table cloth and candle on top of the dining table, put away the dried dishes that had been displaced on the kitchen countertops, and set a kettle on the stove. Was there anything more that could be done?

Helion smiled brightly when you made your appearance, keeping the door slightly ajar to keep the worst of the living room out of sight. Perhaps this would be a short visit and they wouldn’t even ask to come inside.

“Y/n!” Helion said with a grin, “I present to you the Inner Circle of the Night Court.” He gestured with a grand flourish to some of the most beautiful fae you’d ever had the honor of witnessing.

“Some of us at least.” The High Lord’s voice was liquid honey and filled with enough charisma to seduce a nun.

“The most important ones.” The Lord of Bloodshed said with a boyish grin. The faint scar on his cheek pulled back with his smile.

“I’ll let Nesta know you said that.” The High Lady had swapped out her dress for a more simple pair of black slacks and a billowing shirt that cinched in at the waist, flowing over her body like smoke on water.

“Wait, no. Feyre, I was only joking. Feyre-”

She laughed, tipping her head back while her husband and mate looked on with a tenderness in his eyes you hadn’t expected to see. It wasn’t the love that shocked you so much as the casualness of it. High Lords and Lady’s - from the limited experience you had reading about them in books - were either unreadable or such outrageous flirts they looked ready to jump into the bones of anything that could stand upright or lay down for long enough. Both methods were appropriate to hide their true feelings, but Rhysand and Feyre seemed to take another approach entirely.

Helion coughed when you made no move to introduce yourself, still shell-shocked at the caliber of guests currently at your door, “And to the Inner Circle of the Night Court, I present Y/n Y/l/n. My dear friend and one of the most talented researchers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

“We’ve heard so much about you.” Feyre said, moving forward on instinct to embrace you. She stopped immediately when she saw you flinch back, but recovered quickly, smiling brightly, “My name is Feyre, and this is my mate Rhysand,” The High Lord tipped an imaginary hat, “And his brothers, Cassian and Azriel.”

“It’s an honor to meet you.” You said politely.

“The honor is all ours.” Rhysand said. He held Feyre closer to his side, one hand ghosting close to her stomach in memory of the child that had grown there not even two years ago. “Helion told us everything you did. Our daughter is alive and well thanks to you, as is my mate.”

You blinked in surprise. You didn’t know Helion had told them about that.

“Oh um, it was a joint effort. My High Lord is too kind.” You said with a respectful dip of your head and all at once your manners flooded into your brain again, “Please, come in.”

You sheepishly opened the door further, allowing the two High Lords and High Lady to grace your apartment. The Illyrians crossed the threshold last. Muscular, leathery wings rippled with power and prestige and it was incredible they managed to stay upright, let alone keep them from dragging on the floor.

You made a mental note to revisit some old anatomy texts on winged fae.

“I um,” You hurried to the kitchen, hearing the kettle start to screech, “I apologize. I wasn’t prepared for guests.” The screaming stopped and you remembered that you didn’t have any matching tea sets.

You reached into the cupboards, face blushing at the assortment of novelty mugs you’d acquired over the years. Hardly fit for a children’s tea party let alone some of the most powerful fae to have ever existed.

“There will be no apologies from you, tonight, my dear.” Helion said with a charming smile, “Not after we’ve barged into your home uninvited and taken over your dining table.”

From over the island you saw that Helion had already settled down at the table, the others following suit. Everyone except for the Shadowsinger.

He lingered by the kitchen archway, keeping a respectful distance as you poured boiling water into the teapot over a mixture of chrysanthemum and rosehip.

“Would you like any help?” He gestured to the tray now loaded with the teapot, cups, and a platter of biscuits that shook in your hands.

“Oh,” You stared at his outstretched hand, soft black leather molded over graceful fingers. “No, that’s alright. I can do it. But thank you for offering.” You stood face to face with him, silently begging him with your eyes to move to the table with the others so you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of touching him.

His hand quickly dropped to his side, then slid behind his back. You caught the flash of hurt in his eyes before he masked it.

“There are some cookies in the living room!” You said a little too loudly, “On top of the coffee table. If-if you wouldn’t mind bringing those-” The Shadowsinger was already gone on his mission and you breathed a sigh of relief.

There were more books on the floor than swords on a battlefield. Azriel stepped over them gently, careful not to disturb the precarious arrangement. Books on anatomy, microbiology, human medicine, and magical theory flared outward, tracing the path of Y/n’s mind. Azriel walked it with wonder at the brilliance hidden within the midnight thoughts that had been spilled on paper, before being organized later on with a loving hand. Because that’s what this all spelled out to him - some chaotic, maddening love. He was almost jealous not to be on the receiving end of it… almost.

He saw the platter on the table, but ignored it for the pile of books by the windowsill. These ones were different from the rest. Older and more worn. The bindings were cracked and flexible after being read hundreds of times. He could even trace the faint outlines of your fingers on the leather bindings where natural oils had eaten away at the dye.

He read over the titles and committed them to memory for no other reason than the fact that he liked things that had been well loved.

“I made a mistake don’t-”

Azriel straightened up, color washing over his cheeks as he turned to face you in a sea of paper and leather.

Without thinking, he’d fallen into old habits of poking through people’s belongings. There was a reason Rhysand had made him Spymaster of the Night Court after all.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Did you eat a cookie?” You blurted out in a panic.

“No, no I didn’t.”

Your shoulders dropped in relief, one hand brushing back your hair. Azriel caught sight of your ink stained fingertips, and the faint mark they left on your temple.

“Oh thank the Mother.” You muttered under your breath, stealing a glance over your shoulder to the dining room where Helion was playing host in your stead and doing a far better job than you would have been capable of.

“Are they poisoned?” Azriel asked, but the joke fell flat upon seeing the horror in your face.

“No! No, that's not why-I should explain myself better. I would never dare try and poison you. Or anyone for that matter!” You scrunched your eyes shut, face burning brighter than the sun at noon.

I’m a fool. I’m making a fool of myself. He’s going to think I’m an absolute idiot. And right after Helion called me a gifted researcher. What a fucking lie.

Azriel, the blessing in disguise that he was, gave you a moment to collect yourself, pretending to find more interest in a volume on snake venom that was laid open on the ottoman.

“A friend baked those for me.” You finally said.

Azriel nodded, a faint smile gracing his face and it caught you off guard. He was beautiful, there was no doubting it so long as you had eyes. What had surprised you was the faint slivers of warmth behind the facade of the cold, brooding Shadowsinger. It was… surprisingly comforting to be standing in a room with him, just the two of you. It was certainly better than the party you’d unceremoniously winnowed out of earlier that day.

“I would never hold it against you if you wanted to save those for yourself.”

Your lips twisted in disgust, “Oh gods no, Cherp is a terrible cook.”

“Cherp?”

“He’s another Librarian I know.” Probably the closest thing to a friend I have. But you weren’t about to tell the Shadowsinger that. “He specializes in chemistry and food history.”

“He’s a food historian?”

“Yes.”

“And yet he’s a terrible cook?” The Shadowsinger tilted his head to the side.

The corner of your mouth tipped up, “The worst.”

“How is that possible?”

You gave it a thought, eyes darting around the walls like the answer was hidden behind paint, “Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, um,” You weren’t sure what to call him.

“Azriel. Call me, Azriel.”

“Azriel.” You said, testing out the shape of his name. You liked it.

“Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, Azriel?”

He cocked his head to the side, “I do not.”

“Thousands, Azriel. Thousands. If I told you to bake a cake with an egg, would you know I meant a chicken egg?” This time you didn’t wait for an answer, “Because you’d be surprised how quickly facts we consider ‘common knowledge’ disappear. Will people know we meant chicken eggs 1 million years from now? Perhaps not! All this to say that when Cherp follows recipes, he usually doesn’t have the knowledge to make it correctly and they turn out bland at best, inedible and poisonous at worst.”

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed, prompting you to explain further, “He once spent ten years researching the evolution of average spoon sizes because so many of his recipes were measured in spoonfuls.”

Azriel smirked, “Is this what you academics get yourselves so worried about?”

You couldn’t tell if he was ridiculing you or not, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes said he wasn’t. “Well we...among other things, yes, I suppose that is something we concern ourselves with…”

“Y/n!” Helion called from the other room, “Stop romancing the Shadowsinger and join us at the table. It’s a futile effort. I’ve been trying for centuries.”

Your face turned a brighter shade of red as you watched Azriel pick his way through the empty spots on the floor. You pressed yourself against the wall to let him pass, a fact that didn’t escape his notice. And when he took a seat at the table, you ignored the unoccupied seat next to him, preferring to stand behind the island like a woodland creature ready to dive into their den at a moment’s notice.

His lips flattened. He’d hoped to make you more comfortable around him after the disastrous events at the party, going so far as to hide the shadows that were clamoring for release. He should’ve known better than to assume one conversation about the historical accuracy of egg recipes would make that discomfort go away.

From your island you tossed pleasantries back and forth like it was a game. But you couldn’t help the stiffness in your posture, the hesitation in your voice when they asked you about your life.

“I’m a Librarian.” You’d first answered, as if it were all that needed to be said. But they pressed onwards, tried to make you laugh. Cassian, especially, liked to poke fun, and despite your best efforts, you laughed.

“All these libraries would make Nesta go feral. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.”

“What kind of books does she like to read?” You asked, refilling the kettle as the cloudy sky outside darkened into a rich purple-black.

Cassian coughed, face turning red, “Romance.” He answered simply.

“Smutty romance.” The High Lord said, punching Cassian in the arm. His face turned redder.

“Lucky you,” Helion said with a wink that had Feyre bursting out into laughter. It was no secret that Helion had added Nesta onto his list of fae he’d one day like to have in his bed.

“There is an athenaeum that specializes in romance, and there’s no shortage of those sorts of novels… if you’re interested.” You said, hiding your face behind a sip of tea.

“And how would you know about that?” Feyre asked teasingly.

“I… am a Librarian. I know-I know things.” You sputtered unconvincingly. “I went once. Purely for research purposes.”

Azriel gave her a look, a look that said he somehow knew of the eight raunchy books that graced your bedside table and had been well-read indeed.

As the conversation evolved to less embarrassing topics, you were struck by the fact that you were actually enjoying yourself. It was a far cry from the parties that you’d previously been invited to. There was an ease to the Inner Circle. A familial love that flowed off them as easy as water off a whetstone. It was something you hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

Azriel noticed when you fell silent, your mind carried away to more sobering thoughts than Cassian’s most recent travels to the Human Lands. Feyre noticed as well and made her surprise at the time look natural and unscripted.

“Day Court members are early to bed and early to rise aren’t you? I’m sorry we’ve taken up so much of your time.” She said, gently pulling Rhysand up with her as she stood.

“No, not at all. Thank you for coming. I-I hope your daughter is doing well.” Was that an appropriate thing to say? Perhaps it was too threatening to comment on the wellbeing of a High Lord and High Lady’s child. But Feyre didn’t find any fault with that, a glassy look sliding over her eyes as Mor let Feyre into her mind so she could look at little Velaria dozing away in her aunt’s arms back home.

“She’s getting to be more and more of a handful everyday.”

“I wonder where she gets that from?” Cassian chimed in, throwing Rhysand a look as they collected their coats and slowly made their way over to the front door.

Rhysand threw his hand to his chest in indignation, “I was practically an angel.”

Cassian snorted, “More like the devil.”

Feyre rolled her eyes, shuffling the pair out the door into the still night.

Azriel once again lingered behind, the last to leave behind Helion. He stepped out into the night-chilled air, the edges of him disappearing like the darkness had come to reclaim him.

“It was lovely to meet you, Y/n, the Librarian.” He said, dipping into a shallow bow.

“It was lovely to meet you, Azriel…the Shadowsinger.”

He smiled shyly, then froze, the smile slipping off his face into a look of shock. You glanced over your shoulder, missing the explosion of shadows that spilled out from him.

You leapt back upon feeling their cool touch wrapping around you. There was a curiosity to the way they wound themselves through your hair and got tangled up in the folds of your dress. But thankfully, they carried no memories with them. No feelings but a faint relief and comfort that washed over you and gave you back your breath. For the first time in years you were experiencing a touch that you could handle. A touch that was stillness and peace.

“Is everything alright?” You finally looked back at Azriel, his eyes blown open and panicked.

He was not a man of many words. Never had been, never would be. But he wished he could speak everything on his mind.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re the one I’ve been waiting over 500 hundred years for.

But when he saw the concern in your eyes, the gentle tilt of your head that exposed the curve of your neck, he knew it wasn’t the time.

“I-I have to go.”

This time it was his turn to disappear. He swallowed his words, forced down the bond that now burned in his chest with the light of a thousand suns, and fled past the shocked faces of his family members before shooting off into the night sky.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Does this batboy deserve a nerdy mate to tease and have fun with? Yes. I will take no criticism (just kidding if you have thoughts about how my writing is, let me know, just be kind and respectful about it).

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 2@auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalaluch @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees @eleganttravelercloud @ghostwritermia @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @fussel9913 @st0rmyt

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x mate reader #inner circle #azriel acotar #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #helion acotar #helion spell cleaver

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solaiced · 13 days ago

Text

CASE 7: NANAMI'S FAMILY MATTERS.

!content!: daddy kink, tbc (day 29), cumming in pants and eating out.

wc: 1,4k

solace: idk why this took so long…

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You were a fucking tease. And your boss knew that. However, you didn't seem to know it. You didn't seem to know that your skirt was too short, riding up your thighs just enough that Nanami could see the outline of your pretty little pussy, hidden by your basic white or black panties. Sometimes, they were pink and once in a blue moon, they were lacy.

Apparently, today was a blue moon, because when you bent down to pick up a balled up piece of paper left on the ground by one of your coworkers, Nanami, ever the gentleman, passed behind you to give you the bin, and caught a glance of the white, almost transparent, lacy pair of underwear you innocently sported at work.

Nanami's eyes reflexively shifted as you dropped the ball into the bin and thanked him with a sweet, almost unknowing smile. But he knew. Or, well, he guessed. There was no way no one noticed the way your ass looked in that tight, little black skirt you wore everyday. No way no one noticed your bulging pussy lips straining against your almost too small undergarments. Unless you only did it in front of him.

"...ami, Mr. Nanami?" A soft hand, yours, waves in front of his eyes. Nanami looks at you, clearing his throat elegantly.

"What is it?" Shifting so that the both of you wouldn't be so close to each other, and he swears he sees your lips contort into a pout before you fix your expression.

"What do I do with the closed case documents? Do I put them in the storage drawers alphabetically or-"

He waves you off non comitially, shaking his head, "No need, I need to put them on the computer, first, so put them on my desk." Nanami rubs his temples, the day had been too long to be talking to someone, especially with his "work crush".

However, you notice this, and, like the sweet woman you are, you make a noise of acknowledgement and leave to get him coffee. Black, just how he likes it. Thoughtful woman.

He felt like a sinner in front of an angel as he gratefully accepts the cup, letting you sit him down but failing to notice the evil grin or the quiet click of the door when you lock it.

You go to close the blinds to dim the light and walk behind his chair, where he thanked you quietly. Hands on Nanami’s shoulders, you press down as he groans in pleasure, albeit a bit surprised at the unexpected but welcome massaged.

You had excellent and swift hands, perfect for soothing muscles.

“You don’t have to do this.” He pauses before moaning your name when your hands loosen his stress-locked muscles.

Nanami puts his coffee down, closing his eyes as he relaxes for the first time in what felt like forever. He throws his head back and muffles another sound at how magical your hands felt on him.

At some point, your hands drift down, down, down until they reached the hem of his pants, fingers slipping under. Your hot, minty breath hits the shell of his ear and he flinches, eyes shooting open and looking down at his lap.

His hand grabs your wrist, and you suddenly realize this is probably not a good idea, if you wanted to keep your job.

“What,” Nanami shakily asks. “Are you doing, right now?” You remove your hand and step away guiltily.

“I’m so sorry… I don’t know what came over me…” From your point of view, he looks angry, red with rage. But in his perspective, he has never wanted to disrespect (fuck) a woman so badly in his life. Your touch alone had made his cock twitch in interest, seeing you was worse, he could feel his own heartbeat in his pants.

You could lightly graze his shoulder and he’d cum.

Your mouth open to apologize once more, but he shakes his head and lifts a hand.

“You want to be like that? Let’s fucking play. Get on the damn desk.” Nanami orders, eyes dark. Your cheeks flush as you obey, thighs plopping prettily on the mahogany desk. His steps towards you were slow and predatory, like he was going to eat you alive.

You sweat, eyes darting around the room in embarrassment. When your boss reaches you, you brace yourself. But all you feel is warm hands finding their way to your face, gently cradling your cheeks.

When you open your eyes, Nanami’s face is closer, “May I kiss you?” The scent of his aftershave floods your nose. You nod, breathing in the comforting scent.

Soft lips press themselves on yours, moving against each other in harmony. You make a noise, putting your hands on his shoulders and tilting your head to let him kiss you deeper.

He pulls away, breathing heavily, “Good?”

“Y-Yes.” You stutter, the man simply smiles and slips a hand where it belonged, under your skirt. His calloused hand, rough from hard, manual labor, tugs your underwear down, but you stop him, turning around sending over the desh, lifting up your skirt to reveal the white, almost translucent lingerie under. You smirk evilly, after all, this was why you led him inside, “Unwrap me, Mr.Nanamin."

Nanami's whole face flushes, eyes wide.

"Fuckin' hell, I will "He swears, hands going to rest on your hips.

You wriggle them a bit, before he forces them to a stop.

He grazes your ass with his knuckles until he reached your lacy panties, tearing them open, and, before you can complain, he reassures you, “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll buy you more soon.” He promises, just as he lowers himself to face your pretty cunt, glistening in the low light.

On his knees, Nanami undoes his belt and pants, tongue darting out to lick your soft labia. You keen, elbows propping you up, legs spread only a bit for your boss to eat you out.

“Fuck, you taste divine.” His rough hands spread your lips, pink tongue dipping inside of your pussy and fully fucking your hole with it. He slobbers all over your clit, saliva coating your inner thigh as he uses his thumb to rub the sensitive nub.

“Daddy–ngh–I mean—Nanami!” You moan, hands gripping the edge of the desk, and he pauses, tilting his head to look you in the eyes.

“Say that again.” You’re mortified at your slip up, hiding your face in your arms. Nanami’s hands are back on your ass, kneading the flesh.

“I need to see you, sweetheart, you wouldn’t want to upset ‘daddy’, would you?” He circles your fluttering hole with a fingertip, teasing. “If you call me that… I won’t be able to hold back.” And with that, a finger is plunged into your cunt, making you arch your back in surprise.

“Come on, if you beg correctly, you might be able to cum for daddy.” The blond mocks, a second finger already preparing to intrude. Meanwhile, his tongue strokes your clit, wrapping his lips around it and moaning to making it vibrate. But he stops.

“Beg.” Nanami orders, pressing a hot kiss to your core.

“P-please. Please let me cum.” You lift your head and look back at him, eyes red and pleading. All he does is lift a golden brow and wait.

“Daddy! Please let me cum daddy! ineeditpleaseletmecumdaddy–ngh!” You blabber, mewling when he resumes his ministrations, now using two fingers to absolutely bruise your spongy g-spot, his other hand rubbing his hardon through his pants.

“Fuck,” Nanami swears, tonguing your clit so good, you can see stars. The tingles riding up your spine are a telltale sign; you’re gonna cum.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? Mmhyeah, cum for daddy, come on.” Your boss encourages, hips jerking to get friction from the palm of his hand. Your slick is all over the blond’s lower face, even dripping down to stain his pants.

Soon, it was too much, and the dam bursts, a cry rips out of your drooling mouth, back arching, hands gripping the desk so hard it would splinter, and toes curling in pleasure.

Your juice spill out of you like a waterfall, coating Nanami’s whole face. At the same time, your boss came in his own pants, eyes scrunched up and biting his lips to not moan too loud.

He shoves his mouth onto your sensitive pussy, muffling his moans and slurping your cunt’s sweet secretion.

When you wistfully drop back down from the state of bliss you had reached, your consciousness also returns. You had been eaten out by your boss. Holy shit. You’re getting fired. Definitely.

You feel Nanami’s hands on your hips, getting up from his position.

“I– Mr.Nanami, I don’t know what came over me, I’m so sorry–“

“You’ll be sorry if you don’t let me fuck you, right now.” You don’t recognize his voice, deeper, scarier. And fuck, if that didn’t make you wet.

You look back, and he looks terrifying. Oh God.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ TBC

(c u day 29 <3)

#jjk #kinktober 2024 #jjk smut #jujustu kaisen x reader #solace's works #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut #kento nanami

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distant--shadow · 2 months ago

Text

The Witch and the Widow – Chapter One – The Lake

Laudna Bradbury had murdered her husband.

Maybe murdered. Apparently. That is what brought Imogen here - indirectly, at least.

Not that she's with the law enforcement or anything. Not that, definitely, though ironically being an officer - an interrogator - would suit her well, at least on paper. Passion and enthusiasm would be a different question - and that's why she's here. Sorta. Indirectly, again, for a different question. Words travel, by means of mouth or ink or thoughts (apparently, she had found out), even though thoughts should not travel past the head that they were made in. But they did, and continue to do so, and Imogen had heard enough accounts about the man himself (the Lady’s husband, when he was alive and after the fact), had seen enough women squashed under the boots of the men they were tied to to intimately know and understand a flash decision made in a moment for self-preservation-

all too often women tempered their instincts to allow themselves to become the soil underfoot rather than the sole of the shoe

so much as to say that Imogen does not care much if Laudna Bradbury had murdered her husband.

She cares more about what the words whispered and weaved and waded in the time after wrote:

Laudna Bradbury had used witchcraft to murder her husband.

The only utterances of magic Imogen had heard of, had seen, had unexplainably received taken telegraphed by inner voice and grey matter before that rumour, were her own.

Imogen needs answers, desperately, as though a necessity purely imperative like breathing and eating, and so she brought herself to the source of the lake before it divided and weakened and meandered from river to muddy stream to drink directly from her-

(it.)

Laudna Bradbury is a widow, a widow who continues to live on the estate her husband’s heraldry and wealth had afforded them, company kept by a small team of housemaids and gardeners and the like.

and it is a large estate, a lot to look after, for sure, certainly, with its couple hundred maybe more years in age and just as many acres. There's hairline cracks in the stucco, a missing roof tile here and there

but there is no denying that it is a fine example of architecture, certainly was the highest of fashion at the time. A grand country house with an East Wing and a West, bay windows and towers and pleasing ratios between alcove and doorways and arches and walled topiaried gardens that extend from north to south, illustrations in stained glass ornately framed with flowering climbing ivy

statues that step out from domesticated bordering jungles, now appearing more as gargoyles thanks to the decay of time, noses eroded like they have rotted off, birds’ nests of briars thorned crowns or horns

rosemary bushes skirt the main building’s façade, perfuming the sometimes hot-and-humid, more often brisk-and-grey air carried through the opened lead-lined boiled sweet coloured window panes into the dark mahogany-panelled and silk-embroidered tapestried interiors.

Off of the West Wing there is an extension nearing the height of the gargoyled walls that surround the estate. This is the wall that fortifies the Lady Bradbury’s private garden; with doors adjoining directly to her study - both of which are off limits. Imogen doesn't know much of pretty and imported flowers, but she knows local common sense, knows what berries to pick and which weed’s sap causes a blister that will never heal again should it brush her skin.

Through small cracks in the masonry delicate tendrils curl out; leaves crawling, surfacing, small purple flowers with yellow tear-drop centres blooming.

Deadly nightshade.

She wonders what else grows behind the wall, patiently biding its time until the decay of such allows it through.

It is in the stables that Imogen spends most of her own time; her years of experience working under Master Faramore awarded her an earnest recommendation, and it sure helped that a couple of the Lady’s mares and a stallion were from his own livery, that they had been raised and trained by Imogen's own hands before they left them.

She needs answers, so she has taken herself to them, to the lake to drink from. She observes from a distance, listens to any whisperings and wonderings that bed with her in the servants’ quarters.

The days are long, mostly spent between mucking and feeding and exercising and grooming the horses and watching the Lady Bradbury taking a walk around the herb garden with knees as muddied as the kitchen staff’s, or cutting bark segments from off of the trees that dot the grounds as if she were operating in front of an amphitheatre of flora and fauna students whilst Imogen brushes down one of the horses or shovels hay

and despite the distance and Imogen's best efforts to remain subtle, the Lady Bradbury’s eyes would sometimes catch hers observing (staring, admittedly), and she would smile, and perform a barely perceivable curtsey (one of many behaviours outside of expectations), and Imogen would tip her brimmed suede hat in return, and would think of how despite the fact that the Lady’s practices of class and boundaries and what is proper were different, a bit odd, nothing of the woman's behaviour suggested that of a killer - only the situation that she stood in - the peculiarly beautiful widow with a walled off poison garden. And so maybe the same is to be said of her magic, should she even be harbouring or practicing any (although admittedly her appearance certainly is bewitching…)

and it's like the instances before but unlike them - Imogen stealing glances of the Lady Bradbury as she potters about her estate (she probably really does potter, she fills so much of her time with crafting and making. Imogen wouldn't be surprised to see her pale skin elbow-deep in caked-on terracotta pigment digging out clay rich soil into old whisky barrels to have carried by willing hands to a throwing room with a secret kiln.) but on this day, when their eyes in new routine now inevitably meet across the wildflower-speckled field (that in itself is unusual, highly out of vogue, it isn't the acres of well-kept uniform lawn and paths laid with talking-point pebbles imported from the coast that the other estates boasted and Imogen had glanced when ferrying Master Faramore’s horses elsewhere) the Lady Bradbury takes pause, before she starts to make her advance towards Imogen.

shit.

She's been brushing the same patch of short thick hair on Foie Gras’ shoulder for so long that she's surprised there isn't a bald patch. Maybe the Lady Bradbury is worried as such. Maybe Imogen has been too obvious in her observing (admitted staring). Maybe she has been found out.

She feels her brow start to perspire, the muscles in her limbs wishing to move erratically and awkwardly and restlessly and to carry her to stand out of sight hidden behind the thick neck of the horse like an obvious child playing hide and seek behind a tree trunk, or to flatten the creases in her breaches and her linen tunic and pick out the strands of hair and hay that have lodged themselves into their weave, untwist the grasp of her suspenders over her shoulders - but she practices restraint - is trained and cautious and intentional and thorough she was only being thorough with the mare, casts her gaze in iron like the blacksmith hammering the horseshoes and steels herself for the Lady Bradbury’s approach.

Her skirts are full and structured and plumed by many layers of petticoats that hide the movement of her feet across the wildflower lawn, causing her to appear to be drifting like the bees do from petal to petal, pollen dusting her pleats though ghostly her skin in contrast to the fine fabrics that she dresses for the part, black in mourning, still, bodice tight and sleeve leg of mutton, an ornate decorative layer of black lace laying over each yard of textured textile like spider webs on porcelain patterns, her husband's tableware collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard.

real impractical for how tending towards practical the Lady dares to be, hands on, too busy for errant hairs in piano key ivory and ebony windswept and loose from the high bun she pins in place with a cameo broach, a memento mori engraved in silver and inlayed with ruby eyes and tied with red ribbons. Her skin also proudly displays the age and perhaps trauma that her hair does, lines from laughter and furrowed brows and the feet of the crows that cry from the top of the chimney pots

Imogen has heard her call them her children (the birds that is, not the wrinkles) - has heard her talk to them as if they are responding, oftentimes giving her own tampered voice to do so (and to Imogen’s amusement)

The Lady never had children of her own; those are their own rivers of rumours within themselves. Imogen did not care for that stream of gossip at all.

The Lady steps closer, and the yet-to-be familiar fog of her mind cocoons Imogen, water transmuted into mist against jutting rock at the plummet of rapids, relief from the laborious work and humidity, her previous restraint to keep her body in check breaking as she visibly swallows and licks her lips, suddenly aware of how dry they had been.

The Lady Bradbury rests her hand on the back of Foie Gras’ neck, fingers long and pale and decorated in black lace like mother of pearl inlay and marquetry on a lacquered curious curio cabinet that perhaps Imogen had eyed through a stained glass window standing in the corner of the out-of-bounds office.

“Good day. It's Imogen, correct?” her delicately veiled fingers comb through the mare’s mane, her dark mahogany eyes seeming to look over the gloss of Foie Gras’ coat to inspect the way the late morning sunlight rests upon its sandy hues before turning her attention back to Imogen with a smile.

She hadn't spoken much to the Lady since she was hired a few weeks back - not much being that this is the third time, after her interview and a brief acknowledgment when being shown around by one of the housemaids the day she started.

The Lady Bradbury’s lips are painted a deep purple, an unusual colour for sure; Imogen had only seen illustrations and paintings of the dignitary from era’s passed in shades of peach and pinks and reds, stencilled in exaggerated shapes, and as with the landscaping of grounds, to wear such obvious make up itself is frowned upon, old fashioned, conveniently equated with providing false fronts.

The Lady’s teeth are bright, especially in comparison to the purpled dark lips.

and sharp

especially in comparison to how soft-

“You must pardon me, have I got it wrong?”

shit, fuck-

“Oh! n-no-” Imogen was staring, definitely “I apologise m’lady. You are right, it is Imogen.”

God dammit - she’s gonna get herself fired, fired for daydreamin’ and giving the horses receding hairlines and ignoring the Lady of the Manor when she addresses her-

The Lady chuckles to herself delicately, an act displaying a markable absence of frustration and bewilderment.

“From Master Faramore’s, yes? How are you finding the new environment? I am sure the stables here pale in comparison to his, but I do not believe that they afforded such space and the opportunity for frequent walks around such a beautiful lake…”

“Certainly, m’lady. There are less of them so they get more attention, they can be well looked after-”

“Indeed, plenty of grooming at the very least-”

Imogen can feel the hot blood rush to the surface of her cheeks, unable this time to wrangle her body’s motor reflexes.

“I have yet to visit the lake m’self, I am sure they enjoy bein’ taken by you though, they always seem happier when they come back.”

“Is that so? Well, I must insist you see the lake for yourself, if not only to relish the fact that you took great part in an amount of their contentedness.”

The Lady Bradbury looks to her expectantly, Imogen expected to have a reply for the unexpected.

“Would you accompany me this afternoon?”

Imogen can read thoughts. She can read thoughts but what if the Lady Bradbury can too? Or what if she can tell that she is imposing? Would she find herself in the bottom of that lake on her very first visit? A drink more filling than what she had wanted, her lungs full and void of buoyancy. Imogen can read thoughts but she dares not to read the Lady’s.

She can feel them, though, that first and second and now third time in her vicinity, feel how they are different, an audible silence amongst the swarm of bees wings and small talk and anxieties

At some point the Lady had stepped around Foie Gras’ head to stand beside Imogen

She smells like sage and gunpowder

On the day of her interview she had smelled of eucalyptus and raw animal fat-

“You’re quite the thinker, aren’t you?”

Of that she is guilty, though usually she can argue that the majority of the thoughts that weigh her down are not her own.

“Apologies m’lady, I wasn’t sure I had heard you right. Did you want a horse saddled for you for this afternoon?”

Imogen had never thought that her accent sounded particularly thick or clunky, but it felt as heavy as her mind tends to be around other company when speaking with the Lady, her tongue all thick tangled muscle swelling against the roof of her mouth and her teeth.

Perhaps this is some sort of witchery. She waits for the molasses to take a hold on her muscles and limbs, for the her skull to be crushed concave from the inside

But it doesn’t happen.

The Lady smiles (again)

“Almost. One for you and one for me, if you would accompany me around the lake - there isn’t a cloud in the sky today and it would be a shame to keep the clear reflections of the mountains to myself and Foie Gras here.”

Imogen is thrown. Yes, y’all could argue that this is exactly what she came here for; time alone with the Lady Bradbury, the opportunity to form a rapport or to subtly pluck at her brain but there is something in the way that she carries herself, how she talks to Imogen with ease and lack of formality that is alarmingly disarming, and leaves Imogen cloudy on why she came here in the first place-

“C-certainly, if it’s what the Lady wants-” she chuckles (again, again) waving her hand dismissively before catching herself and laying it over the patch of hair on the mare’s shoulder that surprisingly hasn’t thinned from all of Imogen’s enthusiastic (distracted) brushing.

“I will take Ceviche; you seem to have formed quite the bond with Foie Gras.”

Imogen can only nod with lips parted in silenced protest as she feels her cheeks flush again.

The walls of the stable are thick and stone, absent of windows save for the upper halves of the handful of wooden doors that allow for the horses to pop their heads out in eager greeting to Imogen as she walks towards them with their buckets of feed.

It is a clear day, as the Lady Bradbury has said, hot and humid and Imogen is grateful for both the surroundings and the company of the stable.

As she rakes the trodden-in and dirtied hay across the flagstone floor she allows the earthy scents of the dried grass to remind her of the smell of the sage, the crumbling mortar imitating gunpowder.

She wipes the back of her shirt sleeve across her brow, skin also sweating at the wrist where the gloves wrap work-beaten leather over shielded skin

Soft skin, mostly - save for where her fingertips appear to be frost-bitten.

A fairly visible reminder of why Imogen is here, should she forget again in the Lady’s presence-

Not that she would dare to take off the gloves.

That would only lead to questions.

‘Jammed in between horse-drawn carriage and stable door’ - she used to say, before the purple bruised tips started to migrate further, splitting out like surfaced capillaries that encompassed her fingers one knuckle at a time

They mark half-way over her palms now – like someone had dipped fine dense vegetable roots in an inkwell and struck them in lashings across her hand, punishment obfuscating her palmistry.

She hears one of the horses whinny – Ceviche most likely, a little restless, the black stallion not having been let out onto the fields yet today, as Imogen was now preparing him for his ride to be taken shortly.

The Lady’s saddle is very ornate, the leather finely tooled and decorated with organic flowing arrangements that resemble leaves and petals and insects with patterned wings or many many limbs

Its material and stitching is kin to the other saddles, the ones for notable guests and stablehands alike, brands the same maker’s mark

After a short amount of time observing (staring), Imogen suspects that the Lady tooled it herself.

The Lady does not ride sidesaddle – she straddles the stallion proper.

Imogen can only assume that she changes from her garden-strolling undergarments to allow for this, having never worn a crinoline herself - that would both be out-of-class, and, more importantly (to Imogen at least) - real impractical.

She had noted as such about the Lady on the first day she had seen her taking one of the horses (it was Carpaccio, a black and white paint) out of field.

It was the first instance of out-of-expected behaviour that she had witnessed.

Imogen can admit to herself that such a small thing had ignited her warming to the widow.

Imogen allows the Lady Bradbury and her steed to take the lead, pace set by the older woman’s enthusiasms making themselves known in short enough time from pointing out ‘notable’ forms in the sloping rock faces lining the well-worn path, covered in blankets of moss and ferns and tall stems of bell-shaped pink and white foxgloves and pomanders of wild thistles.

“I just can’t help but imagine what tiny creatures would love to make home between the cracks in the rock and the tree-stumps.”

“’lotta mice and rats I imagine, probably squirrels-”

“Well, yes, certainly…”

Ceviche’s slow walk carries on ahead of Foie Gras’, and the Lady sways with his gate in the saddle, though despite this Imogen could just about read the slight deflation in her shoulders when she had replied to the Lady’s statement.

Her head turns over her shoulder, gaze searching and challenging Imogen’s, caught staring (again), dark eyes hollows of homes burrowed in rocks, the high sun exaggerating high cheekbone architecture, pleasing ratios of brow to bridge of nose.

“…I refuse to believe that there are no imps or fairies when the land is so perfectly carved for them.”

“I can only say I’ve heard stories…” Rumours, rivers.

“Certainly, else you would not be here, would you?”

The Lady holds her gaze a moment longer, as if expecting Imogen to have an answer worth vocalising for that. Imogen feels her pulse begin to thud at her temples, the sweat returning to her hairline and underneath the cuff of her gloves.

The Lady giggles melodically and dismissively, returning her attention to whatever catches its fancy on the path ahead.

“How ugly it is that we must quarry and build. I have thought more than once about leaving the manor to the animals and the girls and making my home in the cave by the lake- oh, I am so very thrilled to show it to you.”

Her excitement cuts the atmosphere, spring back in her step transposed through the steed’s, one hand off of his reins and gesturing in the air.

“You can see it from the upper floors of the house – though that is rather rude of me to say, isn’t it? If you will allow that injustice to fall upon the architect and how societal structure seems to love its walls and assigning basement dwelling.”

Imogen finds herself inadvertently allowing Foie Gras to fall at a pace beside the Lady and Ceviche.

“That’s alright, most nights I tend t’lodge in the stables; eases my mind that I’ll be near the horses should anythin’ happen.”

“Plenty of wild animals around, yes? They do get spooked so easily.”

“I like how you’ve named ‘em – it’s fun.”

“Oh!, You do? I am so glad! You are the one who has to be calling their names most often after all.” Imogen may be in early days (hours) of learning the Lady’s tells, but the smile that creases the skin around her nose and mouth and deepens the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes feels genuine.

“It does often make me chuckle, I assume you’re fond of raw meats?”

“I suppose you would think so, wouldn’t you?”

“Are y’not?”

The Lady takes pause, her look introspective.

“Have you ever eaten horse?”

“w-what? Of course not – do people actually do that?”

“Mmhmm, across the waters – in all directions. It is certainly a common custom. What makes horse any different from beef?”

“I could never – we share a bond, they let us- they give us-” Imogen's tongue is too thick and heavy again, blubbering with words that do not come easily to it as they do her head. She allows herself a deep breath, collects what little face she has, remembers the presence she is in (a Lady regardless of murder or witchcraft) “-in all honesty I rarely eat any meat, the more time ya spend with animals the more guilty ya feel about doing so.”

“How peculiar…maybe you need to spend more time around carnivores.” The Lady laughs at her own joke this time, hand patting at the side of Ceviche’s neck, the horse unaware of what words have been said. Imogen is thankful, in this instance, though she will admit she has tried more than once to see if her mind reading extended to her four-legged friends.

“But they’ve got no choice, that’s how they were made.”

She mimics the Lady’s movements, lovingly patting Foie Gras at the same spot on her neck.

“Made…yes…You have incisors don’t you? Canines?”

“I do, but I don’t have a mouth full of ‘em. Most of our teeth are as flat as these fellas over here…” she ruffles the mare’s mane “-though I won’t deny that gettin’ bitten still hurts something fierce.”

“Makes you wonder what sort of damage you could do if you so chose to, after all, your eyes are not on the sides of your head.”

The lake is beautiful.

Of course it is. It displays itself naturally basined, wrapped in the embrace of the mountains surrounding draped in forest cloak, walls both man-made and much older obfuscating its view from the ground floor of the estate.

The lilac and blue hues of the pebbles are familiar, lining the vegetable patch borders in the garden, larger stones used for holding stable doors open.

It is quiet over the lake. The terrain raised around it shutting out the winds, only the quiet breeze that drifts through the canopies on the mountain crests giving a gentle whistle to the waters below, an enjoyable confusement between what is wind and what is the crashing of the tender tides.

The waters are clear blue with a hint of turquoise, green given by either the surrounding plant life’s reflection or by the ones that live underwater.

It reminds Imogen of the lakes in the mountains from her childhood. It is something else new.

Their horses slow to a stop, on the Lady’s cue.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

“It really is - no wonder why the horses come back so happy.”

“And will you be as such on your return?”

“Certainly m’lady, thank you for allowing me such a privilege”

“It is not mine to give, though I will make it explicit that you may come down here whenever you wish – providing the horses are happy, of course. That is what I ask of you.”

Imogen thinks she is blushing again, but the feeling is further inside her than her veins, a warmth radiating.

“You take good care of the servants at the estate, don’t you?”

For the first time, the Lady seems thrown by what Imogen offers, a step behind instead of two larger-horsed paces ahead.

“They take better care of me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone wish to leave their home to the help.”

“It would be the very least I could do.”

“You give ‘em food and a roof over their heads-”

“They sow the seeds, they tend to the animals, they butcher their meat and harvest the wheat to bake the bread. I have been so lucky that they have yet to poison me.”

“I can only say from ma short experience that I’d find that hard t’understand.”

Her face softens again. It feels both comforting like a blanket but then uneasing like having the lights blown out.

“Funny thing, perspective…”

Lady Bradbury slides off of her horse, heels of her fine boots falling into the gaps between the pebbles, though her footing remains certain, experienced.

On the surface of the lake the trees grow downwards, the birds fly with their bellies exposed to what lies in the waters.

The Lady halts, dropping to one knee as she makes short work of the laces on her shoes.

Imogen isn’t sure if she should be offering to remove them for her, jumps down from Foie Gras and jogs clumsily on uneven surface towards the Lady regardless.

“There are old stories of this lake, you know-”

Lady Bradbury confesses a little breathlessly, lung capacity limited by the press of her thigh into her stomach. She swaps her knee for the other on the ground, starting on the other lace.

“I won’t tell of them just yet, I would hate for them to be off-putting.”

She stands straight again, the sieved remnants of harsher winds that have made it over the mountains’ embrace wishing to make field mouse nests of her hair, spiderwebs of the lace collar around her neck, footprints of birds’ feet fossilised in the marble cornering her eyes.

She looks at home at the lake, certainly a natural thing - flesh and blood and bones cocoons to silk cotton to yarn to lace – Imogen wonders what a marvel the Lady could paint and chisel into the mouth of an open cave.

Balancing, she pulls each shoe free, grin knowing, slightly manic, intensely catching Imogen before she gathers the length of layers of skirts into one hand and steps into the clear waters.

Imogen swears she sees something conjure beneath its surface to greet her.

Laudna Bradbury had (maybe) murdered her husband – (maybe) with witchcraft, most importantly - but Imogen has bigger questions that require her answers, and so she follows the Lady into the lake.

#imodna #critical role #imogen temult #laudna #bells hells #here it is folks #the 1800s ish AU in an unspecified location!#thank you to my boy freshy for being my proof reader #im feeling more aware than ever about how much of a mess my writing is to read #this will be up on ao3 once ive got my invite #but unil then...#browz writes #(!!!!??????)#recommended reading #look at me use that tag on myself #comments are fuel for typing bbz

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illyrian-dreamer · 9 months ago

Text

Dance with the devil – Part 1

Rhysand x fem!reader series

Summary: You attempt to rob the High Lord of the Night Court.

Words: 3.3k

TW: Violence, death

Notes: Morally grey Rhysand below the cuff 😈😈😈

»»——-　★　——-«« ★ »»——-　★　——-««

Tick, tick, tick.

That stern voice nagged in your mind, laced with forewarning and impatience that only frustrated you further.

You had just minutes to find the scroll and get out.

With gritted teeth, you leaned closer, drowning out that voice - likely your mothers - as well as the drumming of your heart, waiting for that final click.

You were versed in charming locks, picking them when you had to, just as you did now. And what waited on the other side of this door was worth every swallow of bile, every rise and swell of panic that begged you to think of the consequence - of what would happen if you were caught.

It was only a half-moon prior that you had snuck into the infamous libraries of the Day Court while the city slept, hunting concealed maps and etchings of Helion’s castle. You studied the corridors and winding staircases of the impressive home, squinting through the flickering glow of the small fae light you had allowed yourself to cast, anxious eyes lifting reluctantly every so often, humouring the phantom furl of a page or shiver down your spine.

So you pressed those routes to memory – sewers, plumbing, hidden passageways marked in some maps and not others. They were your only true salvage if things went wrong.

Weapons were now strapped to every part of your leathers that would allow, layers of magic shielding your scent and sound so strong it made your joints ache, as if buckling under their weight.

Easy in, easy out, quick on your feet and don't look back.

That mantra was your only comfort as you silently slipped into the lavish guest suite, a breath of relief that its layout matched your efforts of breaking into the libraries. Because although night never found this court, there was only a small window in which the High Lords were away from their suites, and time was a persistent foe.

It was incredibly risky to break into the guest quarters of the High Lord of the Night Court, especially after Hellion had declared his home a neutral grounds for the High Lord’s meeting. But what Rhysand possessed was invaluable – that scroll of ancient tongue, the only one of it’s kind. It was worth the risk of your own life, of certain death if you were caught.

Careful, gloved fingers sifted through the papers on the desk, making sure not to leave anything out of place.

The details you had gained on the High Lord were valuable – he was neat, more than neat, really – his room immaculate and organised. A paper left rippled, a chair at a slight angle, even a stray hair on the sprawling marble floor – all were things he would surely notice.

But you could tread lightly, could play to that game of fine detail. Nimble as a mouse – that’s how your father had always described you, affection warming his face as he compared you to your boisterous brother.

With a clench of your heart, you forced the memory out. Once you had that scroll – soon. You would be together again soon.

As you crouched low to sift through the chestnut draws, mahogany carved with the kind of finery that made you sick, a hint of gold gleamed from the corner of the room, the light catching your eye.

Padding with quiet creaks from your boots, you allowed yourself only a moment to admire the array of scrolls that lay in the wooden chest – it’s lid tipped open, beckoning to be explored. In the centre perched the most exotic of the artefacts. Boring rings of gold, it winked at you, a true diamond in the rough.

With gentle inspection, you traced the characters etched in it’s casing, a cryptic ode of ancient tongue.

A whisper of magic kissed your face, stray hairs dancing as goosebumps prickling beneath your leathers. It was waft of excitement, danger, magic aged by civilisations – this was a powerful scroll indeed.

With a hand on each end of the casing, you gently lifted the scroll into your satchel, careful not to knock it or disturb the casing. You would return it after all, once traced.

There was a shift in the air then, and a sinking feeling rippled through your abdomen, like a stone dropped into still water.

Get out – that voice urged.

You had spent too long here already.

Swallowing the fastening hammer of your heart, you raised from your knees, eyeing the unsuspecting cupboard – behind it a hidden door, and behind that a winding pathway would lead you clear to the gardens.

You almost scoffed – this was easier than you had thought.

How could the High Lord be so reckless to leave something of this value lying about?

The pit of your stomach deepened.

Too easy – much, much too easy.

An open, gaping well.

Oh gods, this was a–

And then darkness – everywhere.

You gasped, catching glimpses of red and blue as you staggered back. Your back hit something solid – no, someone. Strong arms gripped yours wrists, pinning them behind you. You tried to yell, but your breath hitched as violet eyes glowered amongst the tendrils of midnight smog, choking any sound that whined in your throat.

“Well well, what do we have here?” a sultry voice purred, a refined silhouette emerging from the darkness, tall and broad.

A gleam of teeth pulled with a feline smile, the figure prowling closer. Dangerous, lethal, ever knowing with a hint of cockiness.

And as tendrils of night magic cleared around their master, the High Lord of the Night Court was revealed.

Rhysand’s eyes danced with amusement as he watched realisation set in – your own features taut with horror.

“Hello, Y/N darling.”

You were dead meat.

A heavy, intrusive sensation caused a shiver to rack through you as phantom claws tore through your useless shields, and you were suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of your own fear.

Rhysand’s pretty grin only grew.

In a hopeless attempt to flee, you barely moved an inch as you tugged against the impossible grip on your arms.

He was closing in, coldness seeping from him as his magic curling in on itself, devouring any hints of warmth from the room, from your own veins.

And then he stopped, just one agonising pace shy from your heaving chest.

Here he was – High Lord of the Night Court. Wickedly cruel, arrogant and unnervingly calm, a cat who toyed with its food. The legendary villain of whispered rumours and horror stories exchanged amongst children of your village in the court of Dawn, parents so tired from their youngens loss of sleep that he was a banished name from many households.

Your eyes danced with a panic as instincts forced you to look for any chance of survival. Dressed with finery, but not a weapon on him – that was good.

But as the shadows began to clear, another male was revealed perching patiently against the wall behind, blue siphons flickering as he stood with wide legs, arms crossed and face stoic. Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster, waited patiently for your attempt of escape, his own shadows at the ready.

Fuck.

That meant the male that bound you was Cassian – Warlord and Chief General of the Illyrian armies.

You were as good as dead.

Your breathing stuttered as you swallowed the plea for mercy begging at your lips. They were going to kill you, that was certain. You could only hope they would do it quickly.

“My my, Y/N,” Rhysand drawled, his voice playful and sensual. “We weren't certain if you were going to take the bait.”

Placing hands on knees, he lowered himself to your level, those violet eyes captivating you, their depth incomprehensible. You tried to break Rhys’s gaze, but you rendered helpless, realising the cruel use of his magic.

“But I’m so glad this is how we get to meet.”

He was expecting you?

You glared back, your breaths quickening at the dangerous proximity.

If not at his mercy, you would have spat at his condescending manner. But instead you fought aimlessly against Cassian’s hold, the male pulling you back against his chest with a jarring tug, his grip tightening until you felt your pulse in your wrists.

Your mind was scattering with each second, frantic eyes dancing at the High Lord before you. You hadn't expected him to be so… handsome.

“Why, thank you,” Rhys cocked an eyebrow at you, that cat like grin exchanged for a lob-sided one.

Had he just–? You scowled, cursing him silently. His abilities as a deamanti also deeming true.

Rhysand chuckled at your foul words, his laugh unexpectedly soft. “Such a feisty thing you are,” he commented, raking his purple eyes down your body. You suddenly felt incredibly exposed, despite the layers of leathers and weaponry you wore.

“Let me go,” you spat hoarsely, heaving against the General once more.

“You’re not in any position to make that request,” Cassian huffed, pulling back on the little distance you had gained. His voice was gruff as it hummed through your back.

You turned your head to look at the Warlord for the first time. He too, like the other males in the room, was noticeably handsome. His long hair fell into his face as he looked down at you, his eyes almost as amused as his High Lord.

Were you just a joke to them?

“Oh, sweet Y/N, you’re not a joke at all. We’re actually quiet impressed by you,” Rhysand toyed, his eyebrows raised with a mocking tone. “We know you’ve been trailing us for months, Azriel here picked up on your movements in our court a whole quarter year ago.”

You flicked your eyes to the Spymaster, his position and face unmoving at his mention. You couldn't help your scowl at the male who was responsible to securing your death.

“What we didn't expect, was for you to make it this far,” Rhysand continued with a chuckle, his head shaking in playful dismay.

Great – now on top of everything else, you were completely insulted.

“That’s why we set this trap for you. So we could finally meet.”

You frowned at Rhysand. You had been so careful, so stealthy about all your work in spying on the High Lord, slaving over maps and reports until you could no longer keep your eyes open, using the little money you had to buy off secrecy, and always covering your tracks. But it still hadn't been enough.

“Don’t look so disheartened, little mouse,” Rhysand purred, before he picked a piece of lint off his fitted black jacket. “The fact that you were able to break into my quarters alone is incredibly impressive.”

It had in fact, taken a lot of work. To sneak into Hellion’s home had taken three disenchantment spells, and compromised a suite of his guards who were yet to rise from their enchanted slumber. The locks and spells on Rhysand’s chamber were another thing in itself.

“What will you do with me?” you gritted, glaring between the males in front of you, desperate to know your fate.

Rhysand dipped his head back and laughed, his posture too calm, too casual.

“What will we do with you, hmm?” he repeated, and a shrinking instinct finding you, one that you hadn't felt since you were a child.

“Perhaps the question is, what would you like us to do with you?” It was a lovers voice, sensual and suggestive.

You couldn't help the thunder of your heart as his scent filled your nose, crudely laced with arousal as it found you with a phantom wind.

Rhysand was on you then, his face inches from your own as swirls of night filled your vision, his violet eyes the only light you could see.

You gasped at the sight before you – it was beautiful, but so, so deadly.

“I don’t like having my things taken from me, Y/N.” Rhysand growled, his voice now cold, unforgiving. Those same claws that tore your shields now traced the outskirts if your mind, talons sinking slightly in warning.

Despite the little pain, it was instinct to scream.

You tried to make quick peace at the thought of his violet eyes being the last thing you would ever see.

Open your eyes, he commanded mind to mind.

Without realising you had closed them, you found yourself unable to disobey.

Rhysand withdrew as quickly as he had pounced, his darkness disappearing with him as he slid his hands into his pockets, rocking on fine shoes. His behaviour was erratic, such a contrast to the moment before.

“Of course, it would be such a waste of good talent.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t toyed with your very consciousness just moments before.

You watched him pace, your eyes flicking to the spymaster once more, before noting the exits of the room you knew well.

“You don't stand a chance,” Azriel spoke plainly, his hand fingering one of many blades strapped to his strong frame. A warning, from one spy to another.

Rhysand grinned between you two, running a smooth hand through his black-blue hair.

Was he entertained by the idea that you were willing to give a fight?

You felt a low rumble from Cassian’s chest, all three males daring you to challenge them in their own way.

Azriel was right – it was suicide to try.

Rhysand hummed with pleasure, reading your submission as your body sagged every so slightly.

“I’ll tell you what, Y/N. I’ll make you a deal.”

A bargain, a promise, and perhaps a riddle from Prythian’s deadliest High Lord.

“I’d rather you kill me,” you said tightly.

Rhysand laughed again, and you felt the movements of Cassian’s chuckle from behind.

“Oh, sweetheart. Surely there’s a tad more fight in you than that?”

You scowled in return.

Rhysand approached you again, now holding the scroll of ancient tongue.

“What do you know of this scroll?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Try again.”

You winced. “I don't know anything.”

Rhysand tutted. “Little liar,” he grinned at you, his violet eyes sparkling with challenge. “I’ll ask one more time,” he sang.

You felt them again, and it took all you had to not crumble at Cassian’s boots at the flooding pain as Rhysand dragged a singular, scraping talon across your mind and back.

“Resurrection!” you yelped – a half breath, half scream escaping you as your legs gave out. Cassian held you up, your body rigid as Rhysand’s talon pierced your mind further. The pain was blinding, eliciting a howl from you as your vision flashed with white.

Yet Rhysand’s icy threat cut through. “I have a lot of enemies, Y/N. I don't suppose you are hoping to fetch a pretty penny for anyone who might seek to bring back the rightfully dead?”

“No, n-no!” you gasped, your body spasming and contorting as he continued to toy with you. “Please, it’s for m-my family!”

Rhysand left your mind as quickly as he had entered it. You sagged in relief, Cassian gently setting you down as your crumpled to the floor, your body shaking and twitching.

You had just enough energy to raise your eyes and meet the High Lord’s stare. Gone was his expression of cruel amusement, it was now replaced with a frown of serious, deep thought.

He had seen them – your family, their smiles and laughter as your memory flashed at their mention. That meant he had also seen their deaths, their limp bodies piled for you to find in your own home.

“You wish to resurrect them?” Rhys asked softly.

All you could do was nod. You were sure you weren't noting a sense of sympathy from the male.

Rhys shook his head, his eyes closing. “If it were that easy Y/N, I’d have the missing kin to my own family here today.”

You looked up at the High Lord through heavy lids, exhaustion overcoming your body with an occasional twitch.

“I have to try,” was all you could offer, your voice small and unsure.

Rhysand stared down at you with furrowed brows, serious yet unreadable. After a few moments, he blinked, a few stars returning to his eyes as he raised them to Cassian with a quick nod.

Strong hands unfurled from your arms, and Cassian stepped back, providing you some space on the marbled tiles as you shook.

Death then, at last. May the Mother have mercy, let it be quick, you prayed silently.

A gentle pull of your hand from your face, and your fingers were forced to close around a ovoidal object.

Rhysand was crouched in front of you, his face unreadable as his cold hand kept your fingers pressed to the scroll

“I’ll tell you what Y/N. You find a way to decipher this scroll and bring back your family. And when you do, you share that information with me, so that I may do the same.”

You pulled your hand back, eyes darting between his violet ones as if you read the trick that undoubtedly hid beneath his offer.

“And why in Mother’s name would I trust you?”

He smirked humourlessly. “Unless you prefer the alternative –“ Rhysand’s eyes blackened instantly, and your heart skipped a beat at the promise of death that beheld them. “– I don’t believe you have a choice.”

Make a bargain with the High Lord, or die. Not in a thousand lifetimes could you have predicted an ultimatum so soulless.

“Do we have a deal?” Rhysand offered his large hand as he still crouched before you, his eyebrows raising with a hint of impatience.

You flicked your gaze between Azriel and Cassian. Both of them watched patiently, their stances neutral, obedient of their High Lord’s business. It bothered you – how were both of them so complicit to his evil?

Looking back at Rhysand – you ignored the voice inside you that screamed at you not to trust him.

Letting out a short breath, you lifted yourself to your knees and clasped your hand in his. “It’s a deal.”

A gasp escaped you as a stinging heat spread across the hand held in his, and etched it’s way up your forearm. With wide eyes, you watched the burn and itch of a ink-like pattern forming on your skin. Swirls now covered your once naked arm, the picture of one hand shaking another stark on the inside of your palm. It was your hand in Rhysand’s – a symbol of the bargain you had just agreed to. For eternity, or until you deciphered this scroll you realised, with no lack of nausea.

Rhysand grinned, marvelling the matching tattoo that now tainted his skin. “I’ll be checking in on your progress frequently, Y/N darling.”

Unable to find the right words for you distaste, you snatched your hand away and pressed against your stomach, willing your self not to be sick.

You were now indebted to this hellish, sinister being.

Rhysand appeared as unfazed. “Perhaps you would consider a job in my court with Azriel?” he mused, flexing his fingers as he continued to take in the impressive detail of your bargain. “Again, we were quite impressed with your work.”

He was teasing of course, and Azriel’s hazel eyes winced with humour as all three males watched for your reaction.

You scowled at Rhysand, glaring up at him again. “I prefer my freedom, actually,” you snarled.

Rhysand laughed in his sensual way, before grinning a wicked smile down at you. “Or what’s left of it.

He straightened then, his wig men moving to his sides with grace – a practiced dance for all three.

“I suggest you excuse yourself from my quarters the moment we’re gone Y/N, I’ll know otherwise.”

With a clasp to his shoulders from Azriel and Cassian, the three males were gone in a ripple of odourless night.

Until then, little spy, Rhysand’s voice echoed in your mind.

»»——-　★　——-«« ★ »»——-　★　——-««

AN: Ok new series let's gooooo!! Welcome to DWTD! Hello morally grey mosthandsomehighlordofthenightcourt 💞😈 I am so so excited to explore this series with y'all. Pleeeeease let me know what you think of part 1, I wrote this over so many months lol I hope it tied together. General tag list is tagged, but if you'd like to join a tag list for this series (DWTD), comment below! La la love you guys, hope you're all safe and doing ok 💞

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ravenromanova · 1 year ago

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Sex in the moonlight

Pairings:Wanda x Female avenger reader. Wanda x Vision (past)

Warnings: SMUT!! DO NOT READ IF YOURE UNDERAGE!!!!!!!! Oral, Fingering, Magical and enchanted strap, Mommy kink, Slight breeding kink, Praise kink. Soft dom mommy Wanda, Very submissive reader. DO NOT READ IF YOURE UNDER 18!!!!!!!!!

Masterlist - Send me requests!!!

Pain. Guilt. And a little relief. Is all that Wanda felt as she got into the car and loaded it with her things. She started the engine and wiped her tears before driving off. The moonlight seemed brighter than normal as she drove to her safe place. You. It was almost like the moon was leading her right to you.

Wanda drove for what felt like hours until the light from the moon shined on your house. She drove into your gravel driveway and sat there for a minute and silently cried. After she wiped her eyes she grabbed two duffel bags. Her knees gave out as she walked up the brick stairs to your door. With a deep breath and shaky hands she knocked on the mahogany door.

You were in your kitchen when you heard faint knocking at your door. Putting down the tea you were making and looking at the clock that read 2:00 am you walked to the door. Needless to say your heart broke when you opened the door to see a crying Wanda. The moonlight had shined on her face and you saw just how red her emerald eyes were.

“Oh sweet girl come here” You said softly as you open you arms for the redhead. She doesn’t say anything as she quickly hugs you and sobs into your neck. Without another word you hug her back and rub your hand up and down her back. Wanda holds onto you as if she might fall if she doesn’t. You whisper words of affirmation in her ear as she clings to you and cries.

After a few minutes of Wanda sobbing into your neck you broke the hug. You took Wanda by the hand and grabbed the duffel bags she had dropped and walk inside. You placed the bags by the door and lead her into the kitchen. She sat on a stool by the counter as you made you both tea. While you make the tea Wanda doesn’t say a word but you can tell she’s lost in thought.

“What happened wands?” The question comes off sincere as it falls from your lips. She takes a deep breath as you hand her the tea and tries to find the courage to speak.

“Vision came home after a week long mission tonight, and i was making dinner when he came home. And before i could even get a word out i got this overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret, I asked him if he was okay and he just brushed me off. we sat down and ate in silence til he got a text. The second he read the message his thoughts went from regret to love,happiness and passion. That’s when i decided to read his mind, i found out that he wasnt on a mission. That he was cheating on me with some woman named eve” Wanda says as tears spill from her eyes. She puts her hands on her face and buries her head in them.

“Moya Lyubov i’m so sorry. That’s fucking awful and not to mention cruel. What did he say when you confronted him?” You question the witch as you wrap an arm around her in comfort. You stand next to her rubbing her back coaxing her to speak.

She slightly blushes at the nickname and how close you are but she swallows her nerves before speaking. “He denied it until i told him i read his mind and he knew that i’ve never done that before so i just screamed at him. He told me she meant nothing. I called him a fucking liar and told him i could feel how he felt about her- and i just lost my shit and my powers went a little haywire” She pauses before finishing. She looks down at her shaky hands reliving the events of the night and shuts her eyes trying to keep out the voices.

“Wands if you don’t wanna continue telling me it’s okay i promise. i know all i need to in order to justify kicking his android ass.” You comment as you take one of her shaky hands into hers and smile softly.

Wanda can’t help but laugh a little at your dig at vision. It takes her a second to say anything as she’s lost in thought. For a moment she loses herself in your comfort. She closes her eyes and lets herself get lost in the feeling. Your soft touch on her arm brought her back to reality.

“My powers got out of control, the lights were flickering, then the bulbs went out, i broke a couple windows, i may or may not have sent him flying out of a window as well” She confesses as she looks down at her hands.

“I mean it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. Shit i probably would’ve done worse.” You say honestly as you lead her into the living room. You two sit down and just sit in silence for a few.

“You know i always thought you deserved better than him anyways.” The words take Wanda off guard and she tilts her head.

“Why?” She asks as she moves a little closer.

“Because i could sense that you weren’t fully in it. From the second you came running into my room telling me he asked you out i could a sense uncertainty radiating off of you.” You respond truthfully sipping on your tea.

Wanda’s breath catches in her throat and she looks at you as if she’s about to cry again. She looks at you with her green eyes and you could tell she had something to say so you just wait.

“I was excited he asked me out but you’re right…I wasn’t in it fully.” Wanda confesses and she grabs your free hand. “Vision wasn’t the person i wanted to ask me out” She continues speaking as her thumb rubs against your knuckles. “I wanted you to” Her words made you look up at her and you nearly choked when you saw her green eyes full of lust.

“Me?” You asked in disbelief. It’s not exactly a secret that you were in love with the witch. Everyone on the team knew it including Wanda apparently.

“Yes you. But i was so nervous and in actuality i was going to ask you on a date when Vision asked me out on the way to your room. I got so flustered and nervous i just agreed before i knew what i was saying” Her hand was now on your thigh causing you to choke a little and cover it with a cough.

“Wanda i-“ You don’t even know what to say to her confession. It’s not that hearing those words don’t make you swoon but you don’t wanna take advantage of her in this state.

“Shh detka” Her finger presses against your lips. “Let me make up for everything” She whispered before she crashed her lips into yours. It took you a moment to realize what happened before you wrapped your arms around her and deepened the kiss.

The kiss was intense and messy and down right sinful. She broke the kiss for a moment to look at you with list blown eyes.

“Do you want this?” She asked a little breathlessly. You nodded in response to which she gently took hold of your chin. “Words detka” Her voice was soft yet seductive as she spoke.

“Yes- I-I want this” You said quickly making the witch smile and she pulled you on top of her. Her hands found your waist before she brought you in for another heated kiss. Your hips started to involuntarily grind on her thighs trying to release some of the throbbing at your core.

“Lay down dorogaya” She says laying you down against the couch. She then uses her magic and removes your clothes leaving you bare under her touch. You could tell by the look in her eyes that she was going to ruin you.

“I should have never let you slip through my fingers…I should’ve never passed you up for him” She berated herself as she took in just how beautiful you were.

“It’s okay Wands” You said softly caressing her cheek. Wanda looked up at you and smile before she gave you another bruising kiss. “You’re here now and that’s all that matters” Your words relived Wanda more than she knew.

She had always loved you since the moment she laid eyes on you. You were hidden away in one of Struckers cells and she had found you on a recovery mission that was to clean up his remaining facilities. When she had found you it had looked like you hadn’t eaten in weeks,you were weak and fragile and she did everything she could to help you. That’s when the two of you became closer than anyone on the team. You two did absolutely everything together…until Vision had asked her out.

That’s when everything fell apart and you ended up moving out of the compound because you couldn’t handle seeing them together. It was too much seeing the woman you loved be completely infatuated by someone else. The two of you only saw each other on missions after that point which Wanda hated.

Yes she loved Vision but not nearly enough as she loved you. You were everything she ever wanted and honest to gods if Vision hadn’t caught her totally off guard she would’ve asked you out like she planned. But unfortunately he did catch her off guard and for the past six months have been together. But that all changes tonight here and now because she can’t live without you any longer.

She didn’t really understand why she was so upset with Vision when she found out what he did. In all honesty she was more relived than anything. She thinks it’s because she finally got the go ahead to be with you that she didn’t know how to control herself. That’s why she drove straight to you.

Your kiss on her neck broke her out of her thoughts and brought her back to you. She looked at you before her hands found their way to your bare chest. Her lips circled around your nipple making you moan a sinful sound. While she sucked on one her other hand rolled your nipple in between her fingers.

“P-Please fuck me” You beg and Wanda’s eyes darkened more than you’ve ever seen.

“Oh i will detka” She said after she released your nipple with a wet pop. Her hands roamed your body for a few more minutes before she settled in between your thighs. Wanda’s eyes were glued to your dripping pussy.

“So pretty baby” She cooed rubbing her nimble and cold fingers up and down your soaked core. You couldn’t help but buck your hips against her fingers trying to get more friction.

“Please” You begged again and before you could say anything else two fingers were plunged into you. “OH FUCK” She smiled at your reaction as she pumped her fingers against your g-spot. Her fingers felt like magic as she hit all the right spots.

Wanda watched as your pussy swallowed her fingers with delight. She saw the juices spill out of you and her mouth watered at the sight. Before you could even really process how good you felt Wanda’s mouth was on your clit. Your hands flew to her hair and you started riding her face and fucked yourself on her fingers.

“Oh god mommy! FUCK” You screamed feeling your first orgasm crash through you. Wanda groaned in delight when she tasted you on her tongue.

“You taste so sweet baby” She says with a smile licking her fingers. You pull her back up to you and bring her in for a passionate kiss. The taste of you mixed with her makes you groan when you taste it.

Wanda flicks her wrist again and a strap appears around her waist and her clothes go on the floor.

“Oh fuck” Your eyes widen when you look at the strap then her. The strap is a dark red with a black harness that goes beautifully with her pale skin.

“You like it baby?” She asks bringing your attention back to her.

“Yes mommy” Wanda smiles at the use of the nickname and grips your thighs to bring you closer.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for mommy and let me fuck you dumb?” Her words send a chill down your spine as they pass her lips.

“Y-Yes mommy wanna be your good girl” You eagerly nod making the witch chuckle.

“Good girl” She praised making your cheeks heat up and softly smile at her. “Oh does someone like hearing what a good girl she is?” Her words made a soft moan escape your lips.

“Yes” She laughed at how soft and shy you had become under her. One of her hands held your thigh while the other grasped the strap and slowly guided it in you.

“OH SHIT” The feeling of the strap hit your g-spot almost made you come undone right then and there. Her hips snapped against yours causing the both of you to let out guttural moans. Luckily for her the strap was enchanted so she could feel everything, the warmth of your walls and how much you were squeezing her.

“You feel so fucking good detka” She grunted out loving the way your face contorted in pleasure. The way your walls squeezed down on you made her moan in delight.

“I-I’m gonna cum mommy! right there- oh fuck!” Your back arched as your second orgasm shot through you.

“That’s right baby let mommy feel you. Fuck- If i could fill you up and make you a mommy i so fucking would” She gritted out feeling her orgasm get closer to snapping.

“I’d love for you to breed me mommy” You confess and your words brought Wanda over to the edge and her thrusts stilled as she came. But that didn’t mean she was done with you quite yet. She started thrusting into you again causing you to go into overload.

“C-Can’t mommy. Too sensitive-“ Your pleas fell on deaf ears as she thrusted into you with force. The room was filled with your moans and skin slapping and gods was it music to your ears.

“You can take it baby. You wanna be my good girl right?” She said with a slight mocking tone bringing one of her hands up to cup your cheek.

“Y-Yes mommy wan’ to be your good girl” You said in a fucked out haze as your eyes rolled to the back on your head.

“Then take it baby” Her words her firm yet soft making your heart swell. You nodded in response knowing you weren’t able to form words anymore.

Wanda thrusted into you hard chasing her second orgasm and bringing you to your third. You could feel the coil building up again.

“R-Right there mommy oh god!” The words ripped through your throat and you grabbed onto her shoulders as you came again. Wanda’s orgasm wasn’t fair behind you and she came holding onto you.

“Of fuck baby” She said softly still holding onto you. The two of you were panting and breathless as you looked at each other in a fucked out haze.

“T-That was”

“Amazing” Wanda finished your sentence and you let out a breathless laugh.

“Very much so” You agreed with a goofy smile. Wanda flicked her wrist and the strap disappeared and she picked you up and headed to your room.

She took you to your room and laid you down before going to grab a wet cloth. When she came back she cleaned you up being careful not to overstimulate you.

“Come here my love” Wanda cooed bringing you to lay on her chest and she covered you two up with a blanket.

“I love you y/n…. I always have and always will” She confessed giving you a kiss on the head.

“I love you too Wands” Wanda smiled at you words and her heart filled with so much joy in that moment. The two of you ended up falling asleep wrapped up in each others arms happier than ever.

Within the next couple of months you moved back into the compound, moved into a room with Wanda, adopted a dog and Wanda proposed a year after you two made it official.

The love the two of you had for each other was something out of a movie and you couldn’t be happier.

~The end~

A/n: i may or may not have gotten a little carried away but oh well :) Enjoyyy 💋

#ravenromanova #wanda maximoff #marvel x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x female reader #wanda x reader smut #wanda maximoff x female reader smut #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda smut #smut smut smut #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction

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redtsundere-writes · 3 months ago

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Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Part 7: Potential

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering.Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst.

Word Count: 3856 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

A cheerful, badly played melody bounced within the dark walls of the castle. For a couple of hours, seemingly random notes sang a song that Sukuna knew perfectly well. One by one, it slowly played. The lovely song lightly drifted into the busy king's office. Usually, he liked to keep the door closed so that no one would disturb him while he worked, but since a pretty musician was playing, he didn't mind listening to the beautiful melody despite the mistakes.

Sukuna stretched his six limbs over the mahogany desk after a long day of reading and doing tedious paperwork. It was a necessary task to keep abreast of what was going on in the kingdom. Every decision he made only favored him, but being a curse, it gave his own race an advantage over humans. Nimbly, he stacked the documents on their respective shelves to finish for the day. He was the only one who could touch his desk, as his greatest secrets were kept there.

Sukuna prowled throughout the corridors, his footsteps echoing to the rhythm of the melody playing in the background. It was important to stretch the legs after spending a full day sitting down. The music gradually intensified as he approached the game room. Taking his time to enjoy the song more. He peeked through the open door to watch you carefully. There you were, in front of the giant piano as you stared at the beginner piano book you had borrowed from the library.

You had always wanted to learn to play the piano. When your mother used to take you to dances, you always loved watching the musicians move their fingers nimbly and elegantly on their shiny instruments. There was something about the pianists that caught your attention, maybe it was the way they swayed their bodies to the music or their intense focus. Whatever it was, it was fascinating how their hands could produce such magic. Unfortunately, you were from a modest family, so you could never get near a piano. Not until you started serving Sukuna.

The first time you entered the game room, your eyes sparkled at the sight of the magnificent black piano that sat mysteriously in the far corner. You were supposed to clean the library, but admiring the piano for a moment wouldn’t hurt. You approached it cautiously, inches away from the majestic instrument. Your fingers caressed the perimeter of the soundboard, and you smiled to yourself as you carefully admired it. Curiosity led you to inspect its interior, and you touched one of the strings, eliciting a short sound. You quickly pulled your hand away, worried someone might hear you wasting time. Glancing at the door, you waited to see if anyone would peek in to check who had disturbed the icy silence of the castle. Fortunately, no one noticed.

As soon as the king announced you as the winner of this year's hunt, you knew what you would spend on your week off. Every day, after breakfast, you would head to the game room to find the grand piano you had fallen in love with at first sight. You would read the beginner's manual, repeat the exercises to the best of your understanding and then rest your fingers for a while. Your free time was spent reading books that caught your attention, even though you didn’t understand half of the complex vocabulary. It wasn’t that you couldn’t read, but the intricacy of the texts was challenging. When you didn't want to play the piano or read, you would look for Mrs. Inoue to help her with some of her homework.

Sukuna had noticed your peculiar routine during your week off. Despite having received a wonderful week off from work, you were in the playroom practicing piano, trying to read complex texts or helping the other servants finish their work. Whenever you tried to help Mrs. Inoue, he always stayed in the shadows, watching you argue with your old friend. You would ask him to let you help and Mrs. Inoue would refuse your kind offers because you deserved a break. It didn't matter if it was hanging blankets in the sun, peeling vegetables or dusting vases, you wanted to help your companions, but they would end up running you out of the room. Sukuna was amused to see you return to the playroom, frustrated at your desire to be productive. You were hardworking, and that was both your best and worst quality.

Your fingers descended one by one on the piano as you stuck out your tongue in concentration. Although you often made mistakes, the song you were trying to play didn't sound too bad. Sukuna could follow the rhythm you had established in the room. Your body moving from side to side mesmerized him like a flirtatious snake in a pretty basket. The temptation to come closer until you released the bite was irresistible. You lost in your musical world until you heard the door open.

“King Sukuna,” you whispered in surprise when you saw who it was. You stood up and bowed out of fear and respect. “I'm sorry if I disturbed you, I…". You immediately defended yourself, worried you had disturbed him with the noise.

“Keep playing," he ordered as he approached you.

You didn't expect that answer at all, but you obeyed immediately. You returned to the position where you left the song. Sukuna sat next to you on the stool as he watched you play. Your breathing altered and your fingers began to tremble as you felt his imposing presence so close. You were making more mistakes now than before. You had to concentrate to satisfy the king's ear.

“I'm sorry, I'm not very good,” you apologized between stutters, without taking your eyes off the piano.

“I can see that," Sukuna said bluntly. It felt like a punch to your ego, but you didn't give up trying to please him. “Not bad for a beginner.” You smiled softly at the half compliment.

Sukuna watched you for a while before deciding to take possession of the piano. While you played the melody, he helped you with the chords. Little by little you merged in the music and the intimacy of the moment. Your fingers moved in tandem to create the same piece. At times, your skins brushed fleetingly against each other, dangerously close to wanting to do something beyond just touching. Your heart fluttered endlessly and there was no way you could stop it.

The king was a magnificent pianist. With four hands and incredible hand-eye coordination, it was clear he excelled. He could play any piece of music he set his mind to with ease and elegance. You were so amazed by his skills that, without realizing it, you stopped playing just to listen to him. As soon as your hands moved away from the keys, Sukuna stopped.

“What's wrong?” he asked, confused.

“The song sounds better without me,” you answered, ashamed of not being able to keep up with him. Sukuna took both of your hands with his left arms to subtly place them on the keys again.

“Once you learn, the song will sound more beautiful than you can imagine,” Sukuna promised, waiting for you to play again.

There was something in that sentence that stuck with you. You knew he was talking about a simple piano song, but your heart had been left with the impression that he was referring to you. You smiled broadly before playing again. Sukuna couldn't help but be infected by your smile. He faced away to prevent you from seeing the effect you were having on him. This was the perfect opportunity to ask you something that has been plaguing his mind for the past few months.

“You seem to like spending time with me," he said, glancing at you to see your reaction.

“I was afraid before, but I have gotten used to being around you,” you answered without taking your eyes off the book held by the lectern.

You were sure that Sukuna treated you differently from the other servants and liked that. It made you feel unique and special. Although, it could also terrify you and leave you frozen. However, you loved spending time with him. Whether it was tidying his room or washing his hair, being in his presence stimulated you mentally and physically. You couldn't help but want more of what was allowed, the forbidden fruit in the eternal garden.

“What do you think about spending more time with me?” Sukuna asked you, hiding his nervousness about what was coming.

“What do you mean?”

“Marry me.”

Your fingers fell on the keys, causing a shrill sound. You interrupted the song to realize the situation. "Did I hear that right?" you wondered in shock. Your head turned slowly to face him. Sukuna was looking at you with a poker face. He looked like he was serious.

“Me? With you?” you asked between nervous stutters.

“No, with the piano.” Sukuna answered sarcastically. You looked at the piano in disbelief. “Of course with you, dumbass,” Sukuna laughed, offended that you were paying attention to the piano in the middle of an important conversation.

“What? Why? I'm just a servant,” you replied nervously before getting up from the stool to process the situation you were suddenly pushed into.

“Are you going to refuse your king's generous offer?” Sukuna challenged you. Your eyes widened at the question.

“Of course not. I couldn't,” you said so he wouldn't take it as an act of rebellion, still confused.

A blush seeped into your face. You knew the king liked you to a certain extent. You never thought he felt so strongly about you…if he did. It was common for people to marry for the benefits that came along with the papers. Social status, sex in excess, and access to wealth were things your mother talked about every time she instigated the concept of marriage to you and your sisters. The thing was, you had none of those things. Social status? 0. You were just a slave who was treated well. Excessive sex? No idea about that. You were more virgin than olive oil. Wealth? You're lucky your mother received money for you, she would have sold you for a sack of potatoes. In your eyes, you had nothing of value to offer him.

Sukuna approached you and grabbed your chin so you could look him in the eye. A small touch that made your breath hitch. He could read the insecurity in your eyes. It was funny. A week ago you had jumped into his arms from a deadly height without a second thought, but here you were, hesitating to marry the person you were meant to serve with your life. Sometimes he wondered where your moral line was.

“So? What’s stopping you?” Sukuna asked.

“I want to know what will happen once I accept,” you explained.

“I didn’t expect less.” Sukuna thought, satisfied. He knew that you were wiser than you looked. You knew you didn’t have where to run. It was written in stone that you would marry him, but you didn’t understand what that entailed. Sukuna approached one of the bookshelves to pull out a map. You got close to the table where he extended it. Small particles of dust flew like tiny fairies that shined against the light coming from the skylight. You had seen maps before, but never such detailed one. It had a golden edge and the representation of every castle was a tiny art piece.

“You see, I've been thinking about it a lot and I've come to the conclusion that someday I'm going to leave this earth,” he explained with great disappointment in his own mortal body. “So someone must take my place to rule the lands that belong to me.”

Sukuna pointed to the western part of the world in which they live. On a large peninsula was the kingdom of Sukuna, the only thing separating them from the rest of the world were huge mountain ranges. On the other side, there was the great kingdom of Jogo that was divided into small kingdoms that were owned by other curses… or well, they were owned by other curses until Sukuna conquered them. Now all the kingdoms of the west coast were his. He only needed to conquer the rest of the kingdoms that were ruled under human hands like the Satoru and Zen'in kingdom.

“Uraume could do that,” you commented.

“That was my first idea, but Uraume is… too tenuous. They could never rule with an iron fist,” he explained without taking his eyes off the map. “I need to know that the person who will own all this will do a good job maintaining and expanding my legacy.”

“Do you think I can do it?” you asked in amazement.

“You?” Sukuna chuckled under his breath before looking at you. “Never. If Uraume is dim, you are harmless. You're as innocent as a little white rabbit from the prairies,” he said with a mischievous grin before grabbing you by the chin, one of his claws pointed at your jugular. One false move and he could rip it off with no issue.

You were completely at his mercy, how could you not be? He tripled you in everything. Size, power, intellect, evil… He had you beat in every possible way and there was nothing you could do about it. You were light years away if you had the stupid idea of reaching him, which you weren't even sure you wanted to do in the first place. You would never have the guts to even try to keep up with him.

“I need someone strong and a born leader.” That last word made you understand where this was all going. “I need an heir.”

Your eyes snapped open as your quick hypothesis was confirmed. "Having a child… with him?" you wondered as you saw the king for his race for the first time in a long time. He could behave like a ruthless human, but he was still an impressive monster. You didn't know if you were capable of giving him what he wanted.

“For that, I need you to become a queen to the level of being able to educate the next great mighty one who will be in charge of this great nation I will be forming until my time runs out,” he explained before rolling up the map to its original form. “Is that clear?”

“You still haven't answered my initial question,” you answered as you watched him put the map back in its place. “Why me? There are plenty of princesses out there who already have everything it takes to give an heir.”

“I can’t risk it,” Sukuna sighed, still turning his back to you. Her tattoos framed her shoulder blades beautifully under the translucent fabric. “Do you think one of those princesses would want to be with such a disgusting being like me?” You felt the need in your chest to say something.

“You are not a disgusting being,” you contradicted. Sukuna looked at you with a small smile escaping from his lips.

“Thank you, but I know what I'm talking about and I don't mind in the least,” he said before patting you on the head a couple of times. A fleeting act, but it set your body on fire. “If I kidnap any of them and take their bodies by force, they can kill the baby when I'm not looking,” he left his hand on your head and lowered his gaze to connect with yours. “You, on the other hand, I know you wouldn't be capable of such an atrocity, would you?”

He was absolutely right. Your mother had raised you for the simple but tedious purpose of being a good housewife and raising a rich man's children. Your life had been manufactured to do what the king was asking of you and you would do it perfectly.

“You are docile, obedient and attentive to my commands. I trust you will give me a strong heir and you will do everything necessary to satisfy me with the result,” he said as he examined your reaction. “And I will reward you greatly for it. If you accept, I will fill you with more luxuries and riches than you can dream of, take you to places you have never seen before and give you the most comfortable life in the world.”

Sukuna removed the hand on your head to see you from above as he used to do, a manipulation technique to make you feel smaller than you already were. If you refused, he would kill you. You knew it. His back was against the wall, but you were willing to do whatever it would take to be useful to him.

“Well? What do you say?”

“I agree. I will do whatever you ask gracefully,” you said before bowing to him out of respect.

A big smile appeared on his face. He had already done the hard part of his long term plan: finding a woman willing to be the mother of his children without complaining. He congratulated himself in his mind for accomplishing such a feat by having in his hands what he needed to lengthen his legacy. As pleased as he was, they still had a long road ahead of them.

“There is only one thing I need to know if you are really on my side,” Sukuna said with a mischievous smile. You arched an eyebrow at that unspoken part of the verbal contract. “I know you are loyal to me, but are you loyal enough?”

“What do you need me to do, my king?” You asked in confusion.

“You must kill one of your own kind.”

Your eyes widened after hearing that. It had never crossed your mind to do something as vile as that. You remembered all the blood spilled, the flesh cut off and the lives lost in front of your eyes during the 11 months you had been living with the king. You thought he was the one who would be in charge of doing that. You were not a murderer. Why should you do it? The question really was: Could you do it? You weren't sure, but you had to.

“As I now understand that this is against your nature. I will give you two months to process it and do it. As a test, I want you to deliver your head into my hands. Once you complete your task, I will ask you to marry me and we will begin trying for a child.”

You came back from your trip from shock to reality when you heard that he would propose to you. Something every girl your age yearns for with all their heart and soul. If your mother had heard that, she'd be dancing with excitement. Not giving a damn about the dastardly condition that came with it. You could already hear her screaming, "Do it, do it! It's our chance to get out of the shit!" You shook her voice from your mind and focused from what was in front of you. You tightened your skirt from the nerves of accepting something like that. You had no idea how to do it. You were just supposed to give someone's life, not take it away.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Good,” Sukuna pronounced satisfied before turning around to leave the room. You swallowed dryly before finding a seat.

“What did I get myself into?” You whispered as you hid in your hands.

The faint bells rang at 10 o'clock at night. Curfew for all servants. Everyone headed to the dungeon to sleep. You ran as fast as you could to catch up with the others in time. You knew that the servant who stayed outside would sleep with the curses. You had stayed the rest of the day in the game room trying to come up with a plan to kill someone, but your mind couldn't come up with one. You knew you had to kill one of the servants, since you doubted the king would let you leave the castle, but your chicken heart couldn't decide on a victim. You quickly reached the dungeon, ready to go to rest when a monotonous voice stopped you.

“Where are you going?” Uraume asked you as they checked the attendance list to make sure all the servants had already entered the cold dormitory.

“To sleep?” You answered confused.

“Follow me," they asked before lowering the bars of the dungeon.

You followed Uraume through the dark corridors of the castle. Corridors you recognized as the visiting rooms that were never used because the king never invited anyone to the castle. Uraume led you to the back room, a place you had never entered before. Your heart and eyes twitched curious to know what was on the other side. Elle pulled out a bunch of keys to open the heavy wooden door. On the other side, there was a beautiful room with a king-sized bed with silk sheets and curtains posing softly at the sides. You slowly stepped into the new environment to inspect it closely. It was larger than the rooms you had cleaned before. There was a giant closet with beautiful dresses hanging on padded hangers, a wooden dresser with a drawer full of jewelry, and a sleek quartz bathroom. Most impressive of all was the giant picture window in front of the bed. A bloody rose with tiny green thorns posed between navy blue and black glass.

“The king commissioned me to make this room especially for you. I hope it is to your liking.”

Uraume analyzed you as you sat on the bed to look out the window. They still remembered the day the king had asked him to make a special one that was on the level of a princess. She asked him who it was specifically for, but he refused to answer for the moment. At the time, they never thought it would be for you. They knew it had not been an easy decision. He had to take into account all the pros and cons that came with marrying and having a child with someone from the low class as you. Still, King Sukuna had finally decided to put you in training after months of cold thought.

“It is beautiful. Thank you, Uraume,” you smiled at them.

“Rest. The king is expecting you tomorrow at breakfast,” they bowed respectfully to you and closed the door behind him.

Seeing Uraume bowing like that surprised you as you were not used to it. You lay back on the bed to admire the small stars hand-painted with white paint on the stone ceiling. You smiled as you imagined Uraume painting them one by one with dedication. "The king commissioned this room for me, eh?" you thought as it dawned on you that he had in mind to marry you for a while. Your heart fluttered so much from excitement that it made you forget all responsibilities for a second.

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readychilledwine · 1 year ago

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can i please request an eris x reader where she has trouble sleeping so he helps her dooze off by putting her in his lap and cockwarms her whilst he does his reports🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

My Simping Eris Heart could never deny this 🥵

Lapcat

Warnings - NSFW minors DNI, owner/pet play dynamics, free use is mentioned, kind of leads to Somno vibes?

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

You rolled in the soft silk sheets again, trying to find any warmth you could on the cold Autumn night.

You loved the Forest House, truly you did, but at times, Beron allowed the weather shield to drop to cool his heat filled below ground rooms. You and Eris had always opted for a room above ground, wanting to see the trees, smell the fresh air instead of the lingering damp soil. This was a consequence of that choice, mainly since being a daughter of the Summer Court, you had no fire magic.

You pulled Eris's pillow closer to you, breathing in his scent and shutting your eyes. Maybe if you closed your eyes hard enough, the need for sleep would take over. A soft tug came down the bond, an invitation to join him in his office.

You got out of the bed, wrapping a sheet around your naked frame before wandering down the hall and into the luxurious space your mate had spent most of the night.

Eris was hunched over the desk, his long red hair cascading in waves over his shoulder as he finished whatever paper he was on. You couldn't help but to bite your lip at the way his brow was creased, his hand slightly clenched, the muscles in his arms and shoulders rippling. "Hello, kitten," he greeted you without looking up. "Can't sleep?"

"It's too cold," you shivered as you answered him, moving as he turned the chair and spread his legs for you to stand between them. "Miss you."

Eris's lips twitched into a soft smile as he studied you and brought his hands to your hips to bring you closer. "I miss you too, kitten. Want me to warm you up?"

It was his tone, the coy smirk, and way his hands squeezed the soft flesh of your ass that had heat pooling in between your legs and your stomach tightening into knots.

His hand gently tugged the sheet, growling as it danced off of you and onto the floor in a flowing pool. He began to roam your body. Fingers brushing each curve, every delicate dip of your flesh

Eris began placing soft kisses along your ribcage as his hands worked on kneading your breasts. "So beautiful, y/n." You head fell back at the praise, a soft sigh leaving your throat as his warm hands left goosebumps in every inch of skin they touched. "Need you on my cock, baby."

It never took you long to be ready for Eris. The male would simply look at you and your panties were soaked. You nodded eagerly, stepping back thinking he'd be bending you over the mahogany desk and fucking you into oblivion.

He didn't though.

He stood leisurely, taking his time with each button his shirt before putting in on you and leaving it open, smirking at the slight of you in his clothing. He then sat again, hands undoing his leathers until he freed his hard leaking cock from the confines of his pants. He motioned you over with two fingers before pulling you into his lap, hovering above his cock. "I need you. I desperately need you, but I have to finish my paperwork and reports, okay kitten?" You whimpered, tears beginning to form in your eyes. "No pouting, princess." His cock ran through your folds, gathering wetness. He allowed the head to smack against your clit pulling a moan from you. "We'll still both get what we want."

He lined up with your core and pushed your plush hips down slowly, watching intently as you swallowed him inch by inch.

The stretch burned, igniting your body in pleasure and heat as your head fell back again and you started panting. He groaned loudly, his eyes fluttering shut against his high cheekbones once he was fully seated inside of you. You went to hook your legs over his knees, aching for better leverage to ride him with, and he tutted you gently.

Eris pulled you into his warm chest, tucking your head against his neck and kissing your temple. "Stay right here while I finish working, kitten. Then you can ride me until dawn breaks."

Your core twitched on his cock on occasion causing him to shift and give you a soft thrust that was never enough. You took a few deep breaths, calming your heart as he began working again.

The soft scratch of the pen on parchment, the warmth of his body, the feeling of fullness as his hard cock rested in your wet pussy, and the scent of warm apples and bonfire embers had your mind falling into a safe place. One you had been previously searching for in the bed you two shared.

Eris placed another soft kiss on the side of your head. "That's it, kitten. Get some good rest for me so I can keep you up later." Your eyes shut slowly against his neck as you snuggled further into him leading to him pushing his cock back in further. "Doing so good, princess. Such a pretty little lap Cat warming my cock while I work."

Your breath fell into soft pants on his neck and cheek, causing Eris to smirk. He had purposely put the fire in your room out hoping this would happen, and now, only 20 reports stood between him and fucking you while you slept, a favorite free use habit you two had started enjoying together.

The only question he had, as your core twitched and soft moans and pleas began to fall from your lips from the dreams he knew you were having was this, did the heir truly have enough self control to finish his work first?

#acotar #acotar x reader #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #vanserra brothers #soft somno #eris fic #eris acotar

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morphids · 2 years ago

Text

linger, ellie williams

pairing: dealer!ellie x afab!reader

chapter: one shot (5.5k words) (theres hope for a continuation tbh) proofread but I'm dyslexic so if you see a missing word, double words and errors- mind ur business </3

warnings: explicit sexual content, 18+ so minors do not interact!!!, dealer!ellie so mentions of drug use and marijuana, afab!reader and gendered nicknames, poc friendly!! blasphemy, choking, use of trusty strap. ellie's a bit rough but it's all consensual she just gets pussydrunk tbh, (think that's all)

summary: reader returns from patrol to find her stash is empty, relying on her trusty masc dealer who loves calling her nicknames and teasing her.

Disclaimer: I do not support the genocide of the indigenous Palestinian people, and neither should you, please don’t buy the new Remastered or continue giving any more money to Druckmann. Educate yourself, learn the history, it is vital. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free 🇵🇸

A sigh escaped your lips, damn.

You looked at the almost empty baggie with a slight pout, almost pleading to the bag, hoping its substances would magically reappear. But you knew better than that.

You glanced at the clock behind you, it rested on a mahogany wall which had seldom been cleaned or decorated, you simply didn't have the time or effort, to be honest. Even after so many years.

There was too much to do in Jackson, whether you were on patrol, sorting out stables or farming crops. There was rarely any free time, but tonight you had returned from a three-week patrol, and all you had wanted was to spark up and relax for a few hours. Maybe finally get some good fucking sleep, in your own bed.

Alas, you had returned to Jackson to find your stash box considerably emptier than you remember. You could've sworn you had some more left, but knowing your habits, three weeks prior you had probably decided it would be best to smoke it all, as a going-away present to yourself. You sighed at your own stupidity.

The clock's hands ticked as you reevaluated your situation. Another look at the clock told you it was now 2:36 a.m. What were your options?

You could attempt to sleep without a joint and lie awake all night, your mind consistently reminding you of all the shocks and horrors you'd seen that you'd hoped had all been forgotten. Sometimes, you'd see the restless faces you had killed, sometimes you'd see the people who tried to kill you. Other times, flashes of infected, masses and masses of them charging after you. You shook your head to yourself. Needless to say, going cold turkey was not something you had wanted to do, especially at nighttime.

With that in mind, you collected some things and put some denim pants on, they were a bit on the baggy side but in the apocalypse, beggars can't be choosers, they fit around your waist that's all that matters. On top rested a tightly fitted green shirt, it was actually one of your favourites as it let you see what was going on underneath those clothes, it made you feel confident and you'd need all the confidence you had for this.

You had no other choice, it was almost 3 a.m and the only other person who was likely to be awake, someone with the same sleeping struggles as you, was none other than Ellie Williams. Your cheeks flushed. Would she even be awake? Would she even want customers at this hour?

You hesitated as you reached your front door, this probably wasn't a good idea but you were desperate, with a final sigh you unlocked your door and stepped outside into Jackson's winter weather.

***

With a light tap, you knocked on Ellie's door, suddenly unsure of yourself. A few moments passed as you thought no answer was going to come when you heard shuffling from inside the building and a shadow moving across the window.

You sighed, happy that she was awake.

You heard the door unlock before it opened revealing the auburn-haired girl you had hoped to see. Her brows were furrowed, a hint of confusion on her features.

"It's a bit late, you know." She spoke, her voice raspy, she was probably tired. It was then that you realised how desperate you probably looked, knocking on Ellie's door at ungodly hours of the night.

"Sorry, ran out of weed." You muttered, that was all you could say, a gust of condensation exiting with your words due to the cold. Hopefully, she'd be kind enough to give you some and spare you the embarrassment. Ellie had a reputation for being a bit of a menace, though.

Ellie chuckled quietly, looking down at you. "Well, that explains it," she hummed, her green eyes locking onto yours. Unable to hold her gaze, you looked down at your hands. They were slowly becoming numb from the extreme weather, your jacket not padded enough to protect you from this cold. "I know it's late, I just can't sleep without it..." you trailed off, "sorry, I can come back tomorrow if that's better."

Ellie simply shook her head, a soft smile grazing her plump lips, "I couldn't turn away such a pretty girl," she stopped, "especially at this time of night, it's dangerous out there."

At her words, you felt yourself fumble. You knew there was little to worry about in the safe confines of Jackson in terms of danger, except for a few raids here and there. Memories flashed in your head from a few years ago, you blushed at the thought, refusing to entertain it any longer. You wondered if she remembered it, too. Probably not.

"Only if it's no bother," you said, unsure. "Of course, not. It comes with the job of being the only source for miles," she reassured, to which you smiled and shook your head, agreeing.

"Come in, you look like you're freezing." That you didn't expect, usually in your meetings you would quickly exchange goods before returning home. But this time, she was looking at you with that smile of hers, and the cold was slowly decreasing your energy. "Yeah, okay." you hesitated, following her into her home.

Ellie closed the door behind you, before speaking again, "It's upstairs, I'll go grab it, you can take a seat wherever." She accommodated, I sat as she left the room, hearing her footsteps trail upstairs.

You took this time to look around, your house was comfortable, but it wasn't quite lived in as Ellie's, who seemingly had personalised and decorated her space. You wonder if she has people over often. For some reason, that thought tightened your chest.

You were quickly pulled away from your thoughts as Ellie reappeared in the living room. "Here," she threw a bag towards you, you smiled as your mission had been successful, catching the bag in your hands. "Thanks," you spoke, gratitude all over your voice.

"Don't mention it," she paused, "Seriously, don't mention it, Maria's been on my ass about it." "Having a domestic dealer probably wasn't what she wanted for Jackson." You joked, knowing Maria always made disapproving comments when she'd catch a whiff of it at your house. "Well, too bad. If I had to deal with an apocalypse sober, I'd have shot myself." She deadpanned, and you laughed in return.

"Thank you for providing sanity for us all." Ellie laughed at this. Her eyes looking over you, it reminded you of that day so many years ago. You shuddered.

"Well, I'll head off, don't wanna bother you more than I already have." You said, thinking that it must be at least four in the morning by this point. "Rude as always, I see." she joked, putting her hand over her heart in feigned hurt, "not even gonna stay for a joint?" Ellie pressed, finding herself entertained with the pretty girl in her living room.

To be honest, you were quite comfortable and warm. Not wanting to face that cold again, you mulled over what she said, surely one joint with her can't hurt right? "If you insist," you finally said.

With that, Ellie picked herself up off the floor, making her way over to Joel's vinyl player. You took this time to really look at her, she'd only gotten more attractive over the years you'd known her. Her short auburn hair was tied into a half bun, the rest of her hair left down, biting down on her lip softly as she scoured for a good record to play, god she really was attractive, you thought.

Against your will, memories of ardent kisses, lingering glances, heavy breaths and harsh touches appeared in your brain again. God damn it, you thought, not now. You pressed your legs together as Ellie had finally picked a record, placing it delicately on the player before turning her attention back towards you, music playing softly in the background.

"So, we've not really spoken for a while, huh?" Ellie said, grabbing the baggie and her paraphernalia as she settled down on the floor to roll. Ellie knew you could roll perfectly fine, you had been getting weed off her for years, but she couldn't help herself from wanting to show off her skills a little. You glanced at her arms, toned and tanned, adorned with a tattoo, your glance reaching her hands as you inspect the delicate way she grabs the items. Her hands are so pretty- veiny and strong, your thoughts roamed, thinking about what she could do with them, you blushed to yourself.

"I've been on patrol the past three weeks, only got back tonight." "I was wondering where the beauty of Jackson had disappeared off to," she half-smiled, looking up from hands to you, "Glad you're back."

You felt the blood in your cheeks rise, you were far from the prettiest girl around. "Me too, couldn't take another day of Jesse and Dina sneaking around during the night." You joked, those two thought they were so subtle and you couldn't shatter that blissful illusion for them. "Why do you think I refuse to go on patrol with both of them?" Ellie said, the joint rolled in less than a few minutes.

You couldn't help but be impressed, it usually took you a good amount of time before you could perfectly tuck the paper into itself, that part always annoyed you. But, Ellie? She did it all so effortlessly, her fingers habitually manoeuvring the paper before bringing it to her lips, licking the edge of the paper to stick it all together. Her eyes never left yours as she did this, lingering on you.

You watched, wordlessly as she finished rolling it. What could you say? Yeah, that was really hot, do it again, never. "Why are you so far away, I don't bite," Ellie said, trying to soften the tension that glazed over the room.

You didn't realise the distance there was between you two, you being happily sat on the couch whilst Ellie settled herself on the floor. "Alright," you scootered down next to her on the floor, resting your back against the couch. "That's more like it,"

With that, she held the joint up to your face, placing it lightly between your defined lips. You froze, watching her grab a lighter and bring it to the joint, lighting it for you. You inhaled, securing the flame was actually lit before pulling away and exhaling.

You remembered something Tommy had said, how before the outbreak, men would sometimes light cigarettes for women they find attractive and were actively pursuing. You wondered if Ellie was making a subtle move on you, but before the thought continued, you passed the joint back to her, fingers lingering on each other briefly. She established eye contact, not breaking it as she inhaled. You felt something in the air switch.

"You know something?" She broke the silence, exhaling the smoke as she did so, you thought she was about to say something really serious, so you listened. "I think you've never had to roll a joint in your entire life," she accused, an impish glint in her eyes letting you know she was officially reaching teasing territory.

"Excuse me, I can roll very well, thank you." You responded, feeling confident in your abilities. "No, I don't think that's true," she paused, taking a drag, "Pretty girl like you, I'm sure men are fawning at the chance to roll for you to impress." Ellie teased. "What, like you?" You retorted, not wanting her to have the upper hand. This seemed to catch her off guard, "What? You think I didn't notice you 'fawning to roll to impress me'?" Ellie was silent, then. Her teasing had backfired and she was left with nothing to say. You felt a swell of pride, you had made the confident Ellie speechless.

Passing you the joint back, Ellie thought back to the same day you couldn't stop remembering, she recalled that day clearly. The way your mouths had fervently collided, a haze of lust in each other's eyes. You had probably both been about 17 at the time, succumbing to each other after a night of secretly drinking Tommy's whiskey behind the stables. Of course, the lovely make-out session had been interrupted by Jesse, who was roaming around the stables. Ever since then, they never mentioned it, and nothing further happened. To make it worse, she found out that the day after you two had kissed, there was a certain man trying to grab your attention.

Ellie was never insecure, but seeing you laugh at this random bastard's jokes made her feel inferior, so she gave up. She left you alone and decided she wouldn't mention it. Though, her body craved to feel you again. She had assumed you were straight, in all honesty, but she never bothered to ask. If she did she would've found that you were the exact opposite. You had dated men in the past, slept with them, Ellie knew this. However, she was none the wiser to the truth that you were, in fact, dealing with a heavy dilemma as you realised you weren't actually attracted to men. You had always known you were into women, but finalising that you weren't into men at all, was a recent development.

Ellie sighed, thinking of that night. You had probably forgotten, she thought. It was so long ago now. "Penny for your thoughts," you said, after exhaling and passing it back to Ellie. "I'd rather stay penniless." She stated, not wanting to expose what she was really thinking about. "Come on, that's no fun." You said, feeling light-headed.

"I was just thinking," she trailed off, realising she had lost the upper hand. Ellie wouldn't have that, she craved being in control of the situation again. Ellie liked control, she liked to have her bearings and to be honest, you were making her lose it. "What?"

"I was wondering if you remember that night." You gulped, eyebrows slightly raising and stopped the movement of your hand raising the joint to your lips. There it is. Ellie thought, a smirk grazing her lips, she remembers. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ellie." This was the first time in the entire night you had said her name, and the rush it brought her was unreal, feeling more confident to press further. She saw you shudder and she wanted to see it again, she wanted to see you in all sorts of compromising positions.

"You don't?" Ellie teased, "Really?" Inching closer to you, gaze dropping down to your lips, not believing a word that was coming from them. You tensed, of course, you remembered. How could you possibly forget? The way she grabbed your waist, kissing up your neck. It was heavenly. You sighed, and she ate it up.

It was an unspoken thing, you both quietly decided that it'd be best to never mention it. But now, Ellie was reaching dangerous territory, and she couldn't pull herself back.

"Cos I remember," she leaned closer to your ear, "I remember everything." Your mouth hung open, feeling the heaviness of her breath hitting your ear, almost making you flinch. "You do?" you breathed, moving your head so it was level with hers.

"Everything," Ellie stated. Her eyes were blown out, the joint almost neglected as the smoke kept disappearing into the room's air. Ellie grabbed the forgotten joint from your hands, bringing it to her lips and inhaling, before moving it back to your lips. Your faces were so close, she blew the smoke at you. You latched on to the joint taking a final drag before Ellie stumps it out and throws it aside, "Let me jog your memory," grabbing the back of your head, bringing your lips closer.

With the smoke still in your throat, you close the gap, lips meeting in a needy manner. Her hand still latched on to your hair, pulls your head back as you have no choice but to sigh into her mouth. Ellie sucks the smoke from your lips, taking her final drag before ripping her lips from yours to blow it out.

You had never seen anything like it, you felt a rush down to your core at the action, then realised you were sad that she had taken away the warmth of her lips.

With a groan, she replaced her hands at the back of your neck, breathing heavily as she reconnected your lips together. God this was so much better than you remembered, Ellie's gotten good at this, causing a pang of jealousy to hit your chest.

Your hands travelled, meeting her waist and letting out a small gasp as Ellie grabbed the back of your head and pulled your neck back again, exposing your throat to her. This time, she leaned down and placed her soft lips on your supple skin, groaning as she sucked, causing soft hisses to escape from you. Ellie chuckled and continued leaving marks all over your neck, she was enjoying this, fucker.

Her roaming hands grasp the skin underneath your shirt, gripping you tightly. You let out a sigh as she manoeuvred her hands up, reaching the hem of your bra. Ellie brought her lips from your throat back to yours, almost laughing at how much she wanted this. She grabbed your thighs, a noise reverberating in her throat as she felt how warm they were, with a slight squeeze of your inner thigh, she hoisted you on top of her lap. Legs spread over hers.

Ever since that day, Ellie had never forgotten about you. Haunted by the memories of the night she held sacred. She often wondered if you thought about it. She wishes she had gotten further with you that night, but Jesse had to ruin everything. Here, today, she was given another chance, another chance to claim you, to mark you and make you feel the best pleasure you've ever felt.

It was almost carnal, her desire. She thanked her gods for bringing you to her tonight, she had a taste of you that night, and now she was ready to have the whole serving. "Ellie.." you trailed off, suddenly embarrassed, looking at her with those doe eyes. How can you look at her so innocently? Ellie almost melted at the sight, your eyes needy and chest rising rapidly, tugging on her waist harder. "What is it, pretty girl?" You almost moaned at the nickname, feeling a wave of shyness hitting you.

"Use your words, baby." Ellie hummed, placing her lips on your earlobe as she bit down gently, her hands caressing your back as she grabbed you tightly by the waist.

"Ellie... I.." You finally moaned, allowing yourself to give in, "Yes, angel?" Her raspy voice in your ear was causing your thoughts to run at a million miles per second. "Please," you finally said, covering your eyes with your hands.

Ellie was having none of that, she quickly raised her arms to grab yours, pulling them away from your face. "Why are you hiding, pretty girl?" You locked eyes, the longer you looked at her, the less resolve you had. She was just... so hot. The scar on her eyebrow brought a certain toughness to her appearance, her plump lips slightly red from kissing you, you could only imagine what you looked like. "I want you." You said, to which her smirk reappeared.

"Is that right?" she pecked your lips, "What do you want me to do?" She was teasing you, she knew damn well what you wanted. But she'll be damned if you weren't going to say it.

"Ellie!" You groaned, "Don't make me say it." hiding your face into her neck. "Say it." Her voice deadpan, "Say what you want me to do to you or this stops."

Her sudden change in demeanour took you by surprise, not expecting the way her words dripped with honey and hung in the air. You heard Ellie had a reputation, word travels fast in a small town, but you didn't realise just how quickly she could switch to being so dominating. You had no choice, now. Ellie wanted you to submit to her, assert her power and give you everything you needed. You just needed to say the word.

The tension hung in the atmosphere as you stared at each other, her pupils were dilated so large you could barely see the green eyes leaning on you. You couldn't take any more, you needed her, like a flower craves sunshine. "I need you to fuck me, Ellie." That's all that was needed. As soon as those sweet, sweet words left those tender lips of yours, Ellie knew she was a goner.

"That's all you had to say, pretty girl," she whispered into your lips, her hands at your thighs. It's like she just knew where to touch you, like she was born knowing. You let out a moan when she placed her knee in between your legs, grabbing her neck for support. You were still on her lap, your hips started moving automatically at the feel of her knee where you needed her the most.

"That's it, baby." she hummed, "Keep moving those hips for me," Her hands moved down to your ass, grabbing it and pulling you down further on her knee, all you could do was moan, and she had barely done anything. The power was quickly going to Ellie's head as she became unabashed. Loving how you looked so weak right now, so powerless, so... hers.

Ellie took notice of the way your cheeks darkened whenever she called you those names, she wanted to use that to her advantage. With a quick hand, she unbuttoned the pants that were still in the way, dragging them down your legs to reveal your silken thighs and lace underwear. Ellie groaned at the sight, fingers already making their way to your underwear before either of you noticed. She almost slapped herself for not doing this sooner, then remembered that guy.

"All those times you came here, saying you wanted a joint," she paused, "What you really wanted was for me to fuck you until you break." Her fingers teased circular motions at the inner part of your thighs, the sensation making you squeeze your legs. She was so close. "Isn't that right?" she questioned, "You just want to be fucked properly, can't fault you there, baby girl. These stupid men don't know what they're doing."

"Ellie... please." you moaned, feeling her fingers so, so close to your dripping core. "Is that what you want, hmm?" she cooed, her lips going to your neck again, "You want me to fuck you like those guys never did?" Fingers inching closer and closer, they slid the fabric of your underwear to the side. "Fuck.. Ellie.. please." You couldn't believe yourself, you were someone who liked to be in control, and Ellie was completely undoing everything you thought about yourself by the second. You heard the desperation in your own voice, almost ashamed that you could ever sound that needy.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby." She dipped her finger into you, rotating it in small circles that made your skin feel as though it was on fire. The slight pressure of Ellie's finger stretching you out brought moans from your lips, it had been so long since you had been touched. And even longer since you felt this turned on. You craved more, you craved her.

Rutting your hips against her finger, Ellie decided to add more digits. Watching you as your face contorted with bliss, your eyebrows raising slightly as your mouth hung open, delicious sounds escaping your lips. It was music to Ellie's ears. This was officially the furthest you two had ever gotten.

"Do you know how long I wanted to do this, to see you rocking on my fingers? God, I could've killed Jesse that night." She groaned, her eyes gleaming as she smirked, feeling your hand grab her wrist, almost to say, more, more.

You were becoming breathless, but it still was not enough. You wanted all of Ellie. For her to give you her hardest. "Mhmm..." you moaned, smiling at the thought of Ellie being annoyed that your time in the stables had been interrupted, she thought about it as much as you did. It was clear now.

Ellie caught the smile and grinned, bringing her hand up to your throat. Smiling darkly up at you as she applied gentle pressure to your windpipe. You gasped, anytime a man had even tried to lay his hands on you like that, you'd tell him to kick it where the sun don't shine, yet with Ellie? With Ellie you would let her ravage you, take complete ownership of you. It was so natural. "You think I didn't see you practically drooling over my hands, you're not as subtle as you think, doll."

Her toned arms gleamed in the dark as she fucked you, her other hand grabbing your breast under your shirt and rubbing your nipple, placing her lips over it as she sucked. You were getting close, the knot in your stomach tightening at her actions, and then she halted, pulling away from you and directing you onto the couch.

All you could do was whimper. Pathetically. That was until she leaned over you, your back resting against the couch as she spread your legs. She was tall, and she towered over you. Her fingers removed your shirt as yours removed her sports bra and shorts, throwing the garments with reckless abandon, uncaring of where they ended up, meeting each other's lips with a fever.

You felt your heart beat faster, the anticipation nearly making you come on the spot, you clenched wondering what she was about to do. Ellie lifted herself off you and onto her feet, "I'll be back, baby." She said before ruminating through a box in the room, you couldn't see what she was doing though, her back turned to you.

When she returned to you, she reconnected your lips, feverish hands moulding themselves over every inch of your body. As if she was worshipping you. Her head travelled down, dropping kisses on your collarbone, down to your stomach and finally reaching the top of your pelvis. You felt your thighs being pulled apart before Ellie placed her warm tongue down on you.

You moaned, relaxing at the sensation of her wet tongue lapping up your juices, she was good at this, there was no denying that. You were quick to lose control, hands clawing at the back of Ellie's head, as she wrapped your thighs around her head, bringing her tongue deeper. "Fuck..." you gasped, grabbing her head to relieve the pressure as she licked harder, alternating between soft and harsher pressures. It wasn't long before you were a moaning mess, whimpering and clenching around nothing.

Ellie decided to multitask, stretching you open with her fingers as she ate you out. She groaned herself, even without you touching her she was already so turned on, her mind reeling and all she could think about was you. You, those moans and that body. She felt drunk from the sounds you released, and wanted nothing more than to continue hearing them.

She removed her mouth from your core, fingers still dipping in and out of you. "You like that, baby? Huh?" She breathed, "You like having my fingers inside you?" She teased, looking up at you with those darkened eyes, before dipping her head back down to your core. "Ye-mhmm, yes, fuck!" You never knew head and fingers could make you feel so good, just goes to show the kind of previous partners you had.

"More, plea- Ellie!" The pace at which she was going in was unmatched, you were surprised a smoker had so much stamina. "Did you say more, pretty girl?" She hummed, waiting till you closed your eyes and nodded, "I think I know how I can help." There was an impish look in her eyes, as she stopped. You heard her shuffle around with something before you realised what it was.

Fuck. That had all just been a teaser, foreplay before the main event. Ellie had manoeuvred herself into the harness, glancing at you as you bit your lip, watching her silently, as she slid the plastic tip over your folds. Running the tip along the wetness of your core, you ground your hips against it, hoping Ellie would take the hint.

If she did, she made no acknowledgement of it, teasing you slowly as the tip became covered in your slick. Ellie just loved teasing, curious to see how long she could drag this out until you couldn't take it anymore. "Ellie, if you don't fuck me with that already, I'm leaving and never coming back," you groaned, your voice breathless as you tried to level out your breathing.

"Don't worry, darling, all in good time," she said, before finally slipping in the tip to your entrance. You couldn't bite down your moans anymore, feeling more full by the second as you stretched around the object. "Oh-," you gasped out, barely able to speak, this is what Ellie had wanted all along, you around her in this way as she grinded her hips into yours.

"Like that, baby?" she cooed, caressing your thighs, you nodded, "Yeah? Is this what you wanted?" "Mhm-my god," you moaned, finally feeling relief as the object dipped in and out, hitting you where you craved, filthy sounds left both of your lips. "No god here, just me," she smirked, with an air of cockiness, as she grabbed your hips, locking them into place as she went deeper inside you, relishing in the delicious sounds erupting from your lips.

"Ellie, feels so- so good," you nuzzled your face into your arms, feeling your eyes roll over to the back of your head, conscious about what you looked like, you hid. But Ellie seems to like it when you're confident, not shy.

Grabbing your arms and ripping them away from your face, she thrust into you as she held your arms over your head, keeping you in place, all exposed for her. She loved the filthy expression on your face, lips in the shape of an 'o', brows furrowed and eyes rolling. "Who knew?" she teased, "That you were just a dirty little girl just waiting for me to fuck you," she loved the way her words had an impact on you, feeling high off your reactions.

"Please," you were reduced to whimpers and moans, the air felt obscene. Ellie suddenly grabbed your hips, flipping you over so you were on your stomach, she delved her hips into yours and the new position left you seeing stars. Her hand grabbed your hair, and you raised your hips, arching your back and rocking your hips with hers. The auburn-haired girl rubbed her palm softly on your ass before smacking her hand down with force, you yelped, not expecting the sudden hit and Ellie almost got scared until she noticed you settle into yourself, moaning louder.

"Fuck, doll, you're so hot like this," Ellie breathed, smacking her hand down on your cheek again, this time there was the red mark of her digits imprinted into your skin, it was devilish how much that riled Ellie on, losing control over her mouth as the obscene words escaped her lips. "Look at you," she scoffed, smirking, "So perfect, just made for this cock," At her crude words, you cried out, almost feeling overwhelmed by all the sensations you were experiencing, that didn't stop Ellie, though.

"I bet no man has ever fucked you like this, huh?" Her hips thrust into you, slower this time but deeper, you were already close, she didn't have to do much, taking long pauses before entering you again. Her fingers moved down to your clit, rubbing the bud to enhance your orgasm, as she leaned over your ear, your hair still bunched into her hand, which was handy as it allowed her to bring your head closer to her own. "Answer me, doll,"

"No, Ellie-" you struggled out, "No one, ju-just you," You were delirious, evidently having lost your grasp on yourself as your body shook, you were so close. "That's what I thought," she whispered into your ear, dropping your head back into the couch, fucking you relentlessly.

Her fingers on your clit exacerbated your orgasm, as you let out a final "Fuck!" as your body rode out the high, twitching in Ellie's arms. "Fuck..." you whispered again, as you rested your head on your crossed arms, taking deep breaths as you slowly came back to reality. Ellie slipped herself out of you, rubbing circles into your thighs as she placed sweet kisses on your spine.

"You are... wow." she hummed, you were better than she ever expected. At a loss for words she decided to wrap her arms around you, you still lay on the couch, catching your bearings as you felt her strong arms cover your body. "I could say the same for you," You giggled, covering your face, "Come on now, still shy?" Ellie chuckled, "What we gonna do about this, then?"

"It's your fault, you're just so.." "So what?" She continued, her fingers rubbing against your skin. She was so different now, all affectionate when she had been a lust demon just seconds earlier. You two clearly had a lot to talk about. "Irresistible." "I'll take that,"

"I think I'll come down to your house at 3 am again," "I'd like that."

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