#more so in Autumn... but to touch him then is not without risk

[yeleltaan]

How do you need to be touched?

Two results depending on the answer to one question:

gently.

You need to be held as though you're going to break. you need someone to trace your scars like cracks in a wall, crumbling. their touch is almost painful; you've been without it for too long, without someone to hold you. but, you cannot bring yourself to pull away.

fervently.

You crave a hug that cracks your ribs... the feeling of your wandering soul being crushed back into the bones that can't seem to hold it. you need a hand gripping yours so tightly you almost fear it may leave a bruise, a reminder that you are here. and that you are not alone.

Tagged by: @derjaegermond ! Thanks 8] Tagging: hey... hey you. Reader. I'm tagging you.

[jeankluv]

— I’m a sucker for reincarnation au, so imagine that after dying fighting curses at the age of 24, you are reborn in a new world with no curse and no sorcery. A normal world.

You remember almost everything about that distant life you had, for years you thought it wasn’t real, but as years started to go by the memories of that life started to be more and more clear, but one thing was still unclear. The blurry face who always smiled at you and that always made your heart flutter. For years you tried to picture that face, to try to remember them. But you always ended up empty handed.

Now you were already pass the age when you died, those curses didn’t exist and you didn’t have to risk your life on risky missions. But still, although you were happy with everything you had in life, something was missing.

You heart was still not full.

“I found you…” You heard one autumn morning when you were walking around the beach with your dog.

“Excuse me?” You asked.

The person was hide behind a cap, and you couldn’t see his face completely.

He approached you and your eyes finally met and you felt how your heart stopped beating when those blue eyes met yours.

“You…”

Memories of your previous life and those ocean eyes started to flash on your head. How you two met in the first year, how he would always tease you, how he would run through the whole Jujutsu Tech whenever you ended up on the medical area… How he held you in your last moments and how he promised you to find you in the next life.

He was there. Gojo Satoru was there. Your Satoru was there. He found you.

“Satoru…” You cried.

“Yeah that’s me.” He held you in his arms, but this time he was not letting you go, he was not going to waste his time.

“I missed you… Even though I couldn’t remember you, I did.” You said against his chest.

“It’s okay… now we found each other.” He whispered against your hair, even in that life he was still taller than you. “I missed you… Living without you was like being in hell… those five years…”

“Five years?” You looked at him, what did he meant by five years. It couldn’t mean what you thought right, it wasn’t possible right? He was Gojo Satoru…

“I died…” He touched your cheek and you looked at him with sad eyes. “But that life doesn’t matter anymore… I care about our now.”

You smiled. “Yeah…”

“So, would you let me take you out on a date?” He smiled and the two dimples that you used to see in your memories that didn’t have an owner, now they did.

_________

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Get Lost

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get caught in the corn maze after dark but you don’t think those footsteps belong to someone trying to help you find your way out.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: this is the fifth and final of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Jaden points across the dash, receiving a swat from Alexandria as she tries not to veer. 

“Hey,” she cries out, “don’t do that. I can’t see over your ugly sweater.” 

“Oh, whatever, Lex,” he snips, “I was just trying to show you that.” He points again, this time without blocking her view, “you see that sign ahead?” 

“Sure, I see it,” she leans over the wheel as your nail taps across your phone screen. You huff. You wish they’d stop arguing for one moment. “A maze?” 

“A corn maze. Doesn’t that sound fun? I haven’t been to one since I was a kid.” 

“Of course, you haven’t,” you scoff and let your phone hang carelessly in your hand. “We’ve all seen that movie with the evil kids. Who wants to go running through a field?” 

“I do,” Ashton says, “better than driving around looking for those shoes that don’t exist.” 

His girlfriend, Samira, laughs and leans into him. You blow a raspberry. 

“It’s all the way out in the middle of nowhere,” you sneer. 

“Well, Mrs. Xanny, you never want to do anything so your vote counts for nothing,” Jaden retorts. 

“Excuse me,” you roll your eyes. 

“I’m up for it,” Ashton raises his hand. 

“Me too,” Samira mimics him. 

“Me three,” Jaden declares. “So looks like you two are outvoted.” 

“Whatever,” you mutter and Alexandria sighs. 

“Fine, but nobody better leave me behind. I’m not getting lost because of you idiots,” she growls. 

“Don’t worry, Lexi, I’ll hold your wittle hand,” Jaden teases. 

The others laugh and you go back to your phone. You’re more interested in the new heels at your favourite boutique than some dirty and scarecrows. Alexandria steers on as she continues to snap at Jaden to stop distracting her. Her driving is a lot scarier than anything that might be hiding in the maze. 

You swipe and tap and tune out the world around you, especially the two lovebirds exchanging not so subtle touches beside you. Jaden had to insist on sitting in the front. Finally, the car rolls, the axle jostled by the lumpy ground, and you look up at the gray sky. You hate daylight savings. 

When the wheels are still, you’re reluctant to get out. You could offer to watch the car until they get back. It’s cold and you don’t feel like slogging through soil and seed. 

“Hey, Lex,” you begin. 

“If I’m going, you’re going,” she snips as she undoes her seatbelt. 

You curl your lip and make a face at her back. The others are already out of the car. Jaden’s bouncing eagerly, Ashton’s staring at the gate to the maze, and Samira is draped off her boyfriend’s arm. They probably just want to find a dark corner so they can makeout. They are so high school. 

“Fifteen bucks?” You read the sign above the table, “blech. I could put that towards my hair appointment tomorrow.” 

“Oh, boo hoo,” Jaden snorts. 

“Don’t act like you don’t have the money,” Samira jeers. 

You call these people ‘friends’ lightly. You all just kind of stick together out of familiarity. Most people you’ve met aren’t much better so why risk downgrading. 

You take a step and feel your tall heel sink into the mud. Ew. 

“Oh, my boots,” you whine as you lift your sole, the muck dripping off of it. 

“Wash em after,” Ashton says. 

“These are Louis’,” you snarl. 

“And you have at least three identical pairs at home. Lighten up,” he barks back. 

You cross your arms and seal your lips with a wry smile. You’re not arguing with him. He’s been a jerk ever since you turned him down at his sister’s twenty-fifth. You suppose it was his birthday two, them being twins and all. Not that he looks very much like Alexandria. 

You trod after the four others, trying not to step too deep in the mud. You growl at the ground. You know what’s not dirty, a salon or a store. 

“Nice boots,” a deep voice rolls over you as you join the queue for tickets.  

You lift your head and look over at the man nearby. He steps up next to you as you eye his bristly upper lip. It’s a look, not a good one. 

“Brave girl going in alone,” he comments. 

You frown, “I’m not,” you step closer to your friends and they chatter. 

“Oh, coulda fooled me,” he remarks as he reaches into his jacket. “So, those Louis boots... those are last year’s...” 

“How would you know?” 

He shows the lining of his jacket. Also Louis. He pokes his fingers into the interior pocket and slides out a pack of gum. He pushes out a piece and pops it in his mouth. He tucks the pack back into his pocket and drops his hands to his hip. 

“So,” he chews the gum loudly. “You’re not really dressed for a maze.” 

“And you are?” You scowl, looking him up and down. He copies your posture and does the same to you. 

“I’m not here for the maze, baby girl,” he winks and snaps the gum. “But you have fun.” 

He turns and struts away before you can respond. Your lips open in confusion. What could he mean? You blink and shut your mouth, stepping up between Alexandria and Ashton. 

“So, how long are we going to have to stand around?” You ask. 

🌾

You hold your phone up in irritation. Your bars are totally gone. Great. This maze thing is so fucking boring. What are you supposed to do now? 

You sniff and shake your head. You sigh and put your phone in your jacket pocket, keeping your hand in the fleecy insert as the chill creeps up your leggings. You guess you’ll have to help or whatever. 

“Alex--” you look ahead then back, and side to side. Your heart leaps and you rush forward as fast as you can on your six-inch heels, “Alexandria? Ashton?” You look around the next corner and the opposite way along the other pathway. “Samira?” 

You spin again, your ankles tangling together. You blink as the tall corner adds to the dimness setting over the horizon. You gulp as your heart pounds in your throat. You slip your phone free once more and turn on the flashlight. 

You aim it ahead and listen for voices. You don’t hear much past the dense wall of stalks. As you brush a bit too close, you cry out and back away from the hanging husk. You shake of the crawling sensation and turn back and forth again. You lost your sense of direction. 

You look up at the sky. The clouds are thick, you can see neither moon or sun. You stop and pull your phone closer. You bring up your maps but it’s just a blank screen. Still no signal. 

Fuck it. Just walk, you’ll find the way. 

You shine the light ahead of you, your heels sinking into the mulch of footsteps, husks, and stones. You walk unevenly over the soft ground. You mumble obscenities as your arches start to bemoan the height. If you had known about this special excursion, you could’ve worn your Uggs. 

There’s a scuff, a strange echo of your own steps. You stop but it keeps going. You squint and twirl around, the light glinting off the corner and slicing through shadows. “Hello?” You call out. 

The footsteps continue but no one answers. You can’t tell if they’re ahead of you or behind you. Or to the left. Or right. You sway back and forth. This is getting weird. 

You take a breath and set your feet. You nearly trip as your heels dig in once more. You grunt and pull them out. You’re about to just scream for help. 

A sudden rumble makes you squeal. What the hell was that? You twist around and it happens again. It’s laughter? Someone’s laughing at you? 

You look at the tall stalks of corn, searching between the tight rows. 

“Alright, not very funny. Ashton....” you holler. 

The laughter gets louder. 

“Jaden,” you hiss. 

The laughter stops. 

“I really am not amused, okay? I want out. I never even wanted to do this stupid thing--” 

“Those boys are long gone, sweet peach,” the voice drawls around you like the wind, “I’m all man.” 

“Where are you? Who are you?” You ask. 

“I’m right behind you, baby, and I’m your knight in shining armour,” he purrs. 

You gasp and turn around. You beam the flashlight of the phone in the man’s face. You only get a glimpse of that short brown mustache before the cell is knocked from your grasp. 

“What are you tryna do? Blind me?” He snarls as your phone disappears between the corn. 

“What-- What do you want?” You step back, dragging your heels from the mud. 

“I wanna help, baby,” he slithers. “You seem lost.” 

You blink at him. He’s a dark silhouette against the greyness trapped in the maze. You bristle and look over at the corn. 

“Sure, I’ll just grab my phone, thanks--” 

“Ah, ah,” he comes up to meet you, blocking you with his arm. “I don’t work for free, honey pot.” 

“Fine, then go away,” you spit. 

“Woah, ho, you haven’t even asked what I want in return, sweetie,” he brings his other hand up to touch your cheek and you flinch away. 

“You’re not getting it, dude,” you back up. 

“Just a little suck. Hell, you give the little guy a nice kiss and I won’t even make you finish the job--” 

“Ew, no way,” you smack his hand down as he reaches for you again. “Fuck off--” 

He’s quick. He grabs you by your jaw and snarls as he looms over you, “for such a pretty mouth it sure is fucking filthy. Won’t matter what I put in it--” 

“Hey,” you grunt and writhe in his grasp, twisting your hands around his thick forearms, “get off--” 

“I’m trying, trust me--” 

You ram your knee up and feel the crunch in his pants. He wheezes and lets you go. You shove him and stagger backwards. You look at the corn one last time. Your phone is somewhere in there. 

As he cradles his crotch and snarls, the urgency of the moment slaps you across the face. Fuck your phone. You need to get away from this creep. 

Thank god you got insurance on your cell plan. You turn and lift your knees. You land on your toes, keeping your heels off the ground as much as you can. You’re not going very fast and you know you look ridiculous but you don’t care. You want to go home. 

You pump your arms as you breath hitches. You hear groans and another set of steps, just like before. You get to a corner and turn before you crash through the corn. You heave as you race away, ankles threatening to bend. At what point do you just ditch the Louis’ and mourn them with your phone. 

You cough and slow down. Shit. You’re in terrible shape. You look over your shoulder, your breath foggy in the plummeting temperature. You don’t see him. You don’t hear him either. Good. 

You turn-- 

“Boo!” The man startles you so you shriek. 

You stagger back as he cackles and you hurl yourself forward. Your feet catch as your heels stab the ground and you stumble with your arms flailing away from him. Your shallow breaths thunder around you as you charge through the maze only to find yourself trapped at a dead end. 

You stop and waver, lungs filled with fire. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You stomp with each internal proclamation. 

“Look, sugar tits, you can keep running and I’ll keep chasing,” the man struts up behind you as you spin to face him. “But it all ends the same way.” He sets his feet wide and cracks his knuckles. “And since you bruised my left nut,” he snarls, “you can kiss that better first.” 

“Uh, like why are you doing this?” You ask. 

He chortles, “like because I can.”  

You snarl and cross your arms, “you’re a loser. And you’re old. Like, can’t you find someone your own age to creep on?” 

He laughs louder but there’s not much humour in it. He stalks closer and your defiance glimmers, just a little. You don’t know where he gets off. Does he really think he can just tell you what to do? 

“So, I knew you were gonna be a handful,” he grabs you by the neck and you wince. You slap his wrist and he tuts, bringing his other hand up to grope your chest, “in more ways than one.” 

“Hey, fuck--” you grit out. “Hey!” 

“Look, sweetie, it’s a simple transaction. I pull my pants down, you keep those teeth to yourself, and be real nice to me,” he glares down at you. “The way you crushed my balls, you’re lucky I don’t make you lick my boots.” 

“What is wrong with you?” You growl. 

“Oh, a lot,” he smirks. “Now, those boots must kill your feet so...” he jerks you roughly, “on your knees.” 

Your eyes tinge just a little but you won’t cry. Not because of him. You gnash your teeth and grimace at him as he peels his hand away. 

“You got one thing going for you, baby, and that’s that pretty face. I can change that, trust me,” he warns. You swallow avert your eyes. He chuckles again, “god, I love that pout.” 

You bat your lash and fight to keep the litany of insults inside. You caterpillar faced fuck. You viagra powered moron. You overgrown frat boy. 

“The next time you open your mouth, it better be to gobble my cock,” he sneers, “so don’t even say it.” 

You look at him again. You set your eyes and your jaw. You step closer and he lifts his chin just slightly as he stares you down. 

You grab his belt and he twitches. You unbuckle it and whip the ends aside. You pop the button open and yank the zipper apart. He watches you, his eyebrow tweaking. You push his fly wide and roll your eyes as you feel his naked pelvis beneath your fingertips. Of course, this weirdo is hanging loose. 

You reach under his pants and angle his hard dick through the teeth of the zipper. You stroke him up and down with a dry, tight grip. He hisses and shifts his weight. 

“Careful, like sandpaper,” he rasps. 

You tut and look down. You huff. You move one foot back and bend your leg. You put one knee to the ground then the other. You make a face as you come level to his tip. Ugh. 

“Don’t look so fucking enticed,” he barks. You roll your eyes again and he swats your head. “Keep doing that and your eyes are getting stuck.” 

Old. Man. 

You pump him again and slowly, inch by inch, lean in. 

“Ah, I said kiss the left one first, then you can get to the main dish,” he puts his hand on his hip. 

You swallow and push down a tide of disgust. You lift him and lean your head to the side. You crane around and pucker, pressing your lips to his left ball. He twitches and groan. 

“Damn, those lips are soft. Do the other one.” 

With bile brewing in your stomach, you obey. You pull back and put his tip to your lips. You narrow your gaze at his pelvis and spread your mouth around him. You wet his swollen head then work your way down his length. He might be a desperate loser but he’s not small. 

You bob up and down as you take more and more of him. He curls his fingers into his hip as his other hand goes to the back of your head. He urges you on and you bat his hand with yours. You push back against him and flick your eyes up. 

“You are a stubborn one,” he rebukes. 

Your lips meet your hand and you pump him emphatically with both, popping off his tip so he whimpers. He clutches a wad of your hair as his eyes gleam desperately. 

“I kissed it better,” you wipe your mouth, “you show me the way out, and you might just finish, old man.” 

He stares down at you. Agitation and amusement battle across his expression. He takes a breath and lets it out. 

“One last kiss and I’ll get you out,” he says, “And then you’ll get me off.” 

The cold air swirls around you and the darkness floods through the corn. You squeeze him slightly and put a sloppy kiss on his tip with a loud muah. You let go and tickle along his length. You grab onto his arm and pull yourself to your feet. 

“I want out. Now.” 

“Alright, princess,” he snickers. “Don’t you worry, I got a throne you can sit on when we’re home free.” 

[letterstodixon]

you're so lame

summary: Daryl goes on a run and returns home to a sweet reward.

pairing: daryl dixon x f!reader (established relationship)

word count: 951

era: pre-negan alexandria

warnings: not proofreading. fluff is a warning itself.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

a/n: i think this is more of a drabble and not a one shot, but i hope you enjoy it anyways ! it was inspired on this video.

taglist: @vaniniweenie

Generally, ever since the world went to shit, no one was allowed to have a bad day. If you were in danger, you had to protect yourself, hunt for food, or fight off some walker if you were unlucky... Or fight off other people, if your luck was even worse. If you lived behind a wall that protected you from the outside, you still had to go get food. Being considered one of the leaders forced you to put yourself at risk for the good of your community.

Well, Daryl hated being considered a leader.

Don't get him wrong, being a hunter was one of the things he was best at, and if you asked him a few years ago, he preferred to be in the comfort of the woods, in solitude.

Well, that changed since you came into his life.

From the prison to Alexandria, neither of you even imagined the idea of being friends. You came with Michonne and, unlike her, your nature was much more easy going and friendly, kind, seemingly naive. Daryl prejudged you all that time, until you proved to be loyal to the group, and you didn't hesitate to cut off a head or two. His attraction to you grew more every day, and who was he to fight against that? Well, he avoided the feeling for a long time... Until the tranquility of Alexandria came. It was enough to live under the same roof and have a bed to share every night, and that's when he knew he didn't want anything else for his life. Yes, he still knew how to move in the woods alone, but he also knew he was home when he had his arms around you on a cold autumn morning.

As soon as his walkie rang that morning, with Rick's voice urging him to get up, his mood changed drastically. He was usually a grumpy man, but it made him even worse to be insistently woken up when he didn't want to do something. He just hoped his call hadn't woken you up.

"Babe?" He heard behind him, your sleepy voice making itself heard in the room.

Rick's a dead man.

"Go back to sleep, sunshine. I gotta go." He replied as quietly as he could, turning to look at you. With his elbow on the pillow, his free hand came up to your face, caressing your cheek softly as a smile appeared on your lips, eyes barely open.

"Be careful out there, okay?" You told him, your hand on his while leaning into his touch. There was no better way to wake up.

"Always am, babe." He assured you, leaving a short kiss on your lips before getting out of bed. "Got any plans for today?"

Before answering, you rubbed your eyes, yawning as you sat up on the bed. "I should probably get up too. I promised Carol to help her with kitchen stuff, might do some desserts if we can."

Daryl listens intently, nodding as he finishes getting dressed, placing his crossbow on his back, which rested propped up right next to his nightstand. Leaning over the bed, he kissed your lips once more.

"Don't burn anythin'" He said, leaving the room and closing the door before the pillow could hit him.

...

The run had been better than they expected. They managed to get food, some medicine, and warm clothes to get the community through the winter without any problems. As he was making his way into the house that you shared, he couldn't help but smell the sweet aroma that was in the air, indicating that you had indeed managed to make those desserts you promised. As he took off his boots at the entrance of the house and left his crossbow aside, he walked into the kitchen, listening to you hum under your breath as you worked on the counter, a few candles lighting up beyond the light on in the kitchen.

"Glad you ain't burn anythin'" He exclaimed, making you turn around startled, a hand on your chest as you closed your eyes, while Daryl rolled his. Such a drama queen.

"You scared the crap out of me, Dixon. You're lucky I love you." You said, walking over to him as you placed your arms around his neck, scanning his face for any possible bruises or scratches, but finding none, while his hands rested on your hips, watching you with the same attention as you watched him. "Made it home safe and sound, I see."

"Had to, m'wife woulda kill me if I didn't." He replied, a smile threatening to appear on his lips. Looking behind you, he noticed a cake with something written on it, making him squint. "What's that?"

"Oh! I made a cake and managed to write something for you." You said excitedly, moving away so you could take the cake in your hands and bring it to him.

Who wants to eat anyways? Ew.

Daryl tilted his head, taking a step back as he blinked in disbelief. "I don't..."

"I got the wrong cake. Fuck, I'm sorry."

As you set that cake aside, you went to get the one in the fridge, presenting it to him the same way you did with the last one.

Congrats on the successful run, hunter!

There were few times that you had been able to hear Daryl laugh out loud, but this time, you had achieved it without hesitation. His laughter being too contagious, you laughed too, covering your mouth as he rested his hands on his knees, shaking his head.

"Yer lucky I love you, woman. As lame as you are an' everything'"

[clitorphosis]

AMATO AMAR PERDONA

notes: the title is taken from The Divine Comedy, Canto 5(second circle) of Inferno. Initially this was an idea I wanted to include in my other fanfiction, so I guess this can be considered as a bonus.

Priest Leon S. Kennedy x female reader | 18+ MDNI. smut, female reader, light religious themes, Leon is a priest, blowjob, blasphemy kink, improper use of confessional booth, snowball kiss, semi public sex.

tags: @sprawberry

After years of fighting B.O.W, he finally sets on something calm, helping and saving people without risking his own life, but as time passes by, a bitter realization hits Leon harder than he expected; that not everyone was born for this. Maybe it is adrenaline addiction or without noticing he had found comfort in his misery at that time, but he is grateful that the routine incorporated easily into one’s life as deeds accumulate, overshadowing any thoughts about changing his life again and he didn’t have any other way other than focusing on the work.

The church is old and is not located in the best place, which tends to have windy weather. He suspected those are reasons why the building doesn’t have a lot of visitors, not like people are deeply religious nowadays either. Sometimes it feels like walls are thinner than paper, the wind brushes and whispers sweet, quiet nothings, barely audible to human ears while Leon prepares for his tasks or just lollygags during his free time. It has been said that airy currents can bring many unwanted things; pebbles, the leaves during the autumn season and the smells that disclose people’s secrets. He could never have expected it to bring a woman into his life, making it more colorful than any light arrays coming from the glass-stained windows in his church. From a small spark, a Great flame has risen.

The only thing he needed to do was to help you with your husband’s funeral, but he fucked this up. Really fucked up all this, his mind was repeating multiple times that it was his job to console you, he should have put down your little advances, but he couldn’t, deep down the urge to delve into something prohibited was stronger. The conflict between his morality and passion had died down in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Your appearance was like a quick bullet going through his routine and destroying it, adding the thrill that consumed the guilt he was supposed to feel. Little touches of your fingers, while no one is looking, quickly have moved to more intimate encounters, indulging in each other’s body on the altar, under the eyes of Jesus.

Some days, even the confessional booth was filled with your voice, telling him your desires and how much you want him to fuck your brains out of your head, to make you a dumb slut in front of the son of God and there has never been a trace of shame in your words. A long time ago he deduced a devil would sound like you; with a sweet-sweet intonation describing, in the holy place and not trying to hide all details, how his cock would fill nicely your pussy. Leon’s mind didn’t help much in those cases either. It has always vividly recalled how good your moans echo against the walls of the church. Either there is no need to imagine anything he hasn’t already done in this building, every cranny has heard and the All-seeing eye has witnessed you indulging in the temptation of each other’s body. The gentle love transforms into a deadly sin, but it is better to suffer in hell together, than alone.

His cock was already hard, tucked out, stroking it with his hand while his blue eyes are set on your knelt state. He tugs your hair, pulling you closer to his aching length, pushing it against your lips. They almost envelop its head, the soft and plush skin of them on it, he keeps tracing and brushing his tip, smearing a little bit of his already leaking precum but not letting you go any further. Almost all day passed without even a light touch which is too much for him, a man like him can have a quick good time, and teasing himself was a bad decision.

“Daddy Kennedy, that’s not polite to make a lady wait” Your tongue peeks out to lick away the bitter substance on your lips, teeth bite down slightly on the lower skin after tongue retreated. His grip on your hair tightened, cracking out a smile and pushing your head closer now.

“It is ‘Father Kennedy’” his correction leaves his mouth quickly, leading to a light slap on your lips with his cock as a silent command to open your mouth. “and I still didn’t hear any holy words from this mouth”

You loll out the tongue, feeling him dragging his leaking head against the exposed wet surface, smearing and filling your tastebuds with the bitterness of his precum, which makes more saliva pool in your mouth. The man in front of you not only teases himself but you too.

“What do we say?” He inquires breathlessly, his blue orbs almost shining from intensity and heat in the dimly lightened booth. He slaps his cock on your tongue inducing a soft wet sound to escape when it connects with the flesh.

“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you and corrupted your man.” Your eyes keep the contact with Leon’s as the prayer leaves your mouth quickly, something you have already repeated a billion times and he is already familiar with those words, not his first time to hear from one’s lips and it wouldn’t be the last time. This is so boring in the end, repenting feverly about something you can’t help but spit on. So why not alter it? Punishment is much more tempting than forgiveness. Your lips ghost on his aching cock, movements of your tongue brush more against the tip, flicking ‘accidentally’ at it and leaving him to covet for more. “Alas, I don’t detest all my sins cause the pain of hell is more alluring than the pleasures of heaven”

“Do I need to teach you everything?” Leon’s voice breaks the silence with a rough tone after you alter the prayer. You wish he would strike you, but he doesn’t. His attention shifts, watching a string of saliva dripping along his flesh from the tip of your tongue. Your eyes are on his face, meeting his gaze and not wavering. “Don’t you have any shame in that body of yours? Carrying on your whoring so openly in front of me” There is a silence, but even with the lack of his order you can grasp what he wants right now; the grip on your hair lessens, letting you be more free in your actions. “But be not afraid, my dove, this don’t disgust me, I am here to absolve you from your sins”

You don’t need to be ordered around to know what he implies. His body shudders when your lips embrace his cock in the wet and warm sensations around him, your hand slides down with your mouth along the length until you reach the base. Leon doesn’t notice how his own palm returns its grip on your hair, his hips buck up pushing you deeper to get more from your mouth already. A greedy bastard you would call him. Deep inside guilt tries to crawl out, but your mouth around him let this bullshit disappear and focus on how your tongue flicks against the head, playing with the sensitive spot under the tip, while your hand keeps pumping along the flesh, spreading the dripping saliva with every stroke. The acolyte corrupted by a widow, he should be drowning in guilt and beg for forgiveness of the Lord, but the sight of you in between his legs reminds him that God can’t give a blowjob in the confessional booth, maybe is that what’s tempting.

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned, my last confession was a year ago” Leon’s ears catch another woman’s voice, pulling him out of overflowing pleasure. This can’t be you, your mouth is busy with his cock and for a brief moment, he felt his blood hitch in his veins, at this hour usually there are no visitors, but seems this isn’t your lucky day. Your head halts its movements, keeping his cock in your warm and wet mouth, looking at him with a clear surprise. An idea sparkles in your mind, and you try to move more, to push his buttons and see him struggle cause of your doings, but his hand prevents this by giving a quick tap on the back of your head; ‘Don’t move’. A quiet sob before a trembling voice speaks up again. “I accuse myself of adultery, I have been eyeing and lusting for the man who isn’t my husband, God, I-…I am so sorry”

O the irony of the situation having someone confess the sin of lust while you are kneeling in between his legs. His hand grips harder your hair to tilt your head better so the tip rubs against the soft and velvet of your cheek, stretching it and he can feel your drool roll down, staining his pants. Leon takes a brief peek at the shadowed figure in the grilled window, trying to recollect himself. Shaky breath leaves his lips, listening to a woman’s words fill the space, his blue eyes dart down to your messy frame; trying to swallow your saliva. Leon can’t keep still himself, his hips start rolling into your mouth, enjoying the wetness of your tongue brushing along his sliding length. The pleasure makes it too hard to stay still, making him greedier for more. Your tongue flicks on his tip every time his cock moves back and forth slowly, leading his head rests against the wooden wall behind him, his half-lidded gaze keeps eye contact with you.

“Have you given into the temptation?” Leon asks. His voice feels so sensual to your ears, but they aren’t addressed to you. The poor woman whispers something, but you don’t catch her words cause your attention is mostly on the dick in your mouth.

His cock slides further, the tip rubs against the back of the throat provoking it to squeeze and tighten around him nicely and you try not to gag, not to sink too deep but your efforts are useless. His grip holds you well as he pushes you lower, highlighting his control over you right now. Drool drips more, its excess gathering at the corners of your mouth. There can be heard some noises coming from you, sending pleasant vibrations over every nerve of his body, but those wet sounds get muffled by his own heavy voice and shaky voice, trying to control it and not to get caught. This wouldn’t do anything good for his reputation.

“I can hear you rue your sin… my child, so…” he swallows hard, pausing to admire your messy state; eyes are watered, some tears roll down and your cheeks are stained with mascara, your face starts to get redder and the lack of oxygen makes you feel lightheaded, holding your breath to not mess with your gag reflex. “God is… All-forgiving..” Another heavy sigh leaves his mouth, trying to control his voice and not to groan as you swallow the excess saliva, provoking another jolt of pleasure running through his body. The warmth and how you struggle made him almost choke on the moan and forget what he was saying. If not for that lady, he would be already face fucking you without any obstacles. He swallows hard again, his tone is lower now, but there is an audible shakiness. “Repent your sins and pray to be shielded” A pause, staring at you with a darkened and burned gaze. “By the temptation of the devil… my child“

He knows well who is the devil here. His voice almost breaks in a high-pitched tone at the end of the sentence, when he rolled his hips into you, again to grind his tip into the back of your throat, his leaking tip from precum fills your taste buds again and you swallow some of the salivas, making tight walls clench around him, almost begging to cum. Personally, Leon doesn’t have the patience to keep that visitor any longer here, it gets much harder to keep his voice steady and right now his own pleasure is much more important than one’s problem. And he is nothing but a man. Hearing a mumble of prayer on the other side of the booth. His grip lessens on your hair, giving you control of your movements. You pull back, letting air to reach your lungs finally. Your lips create a strand of saliva between his dick and your glistening and swollen lips, inhaling greedily for air, while his mouth is covered by palm, trying to not groan which threatens to crawl out from his lips cause of the messy sight in front of him. His struggle is like an addiction, you can’t stay away from him right now, your lips return to pepper his cock with kisses, making him twitch in the hot air of narrow space and you sink down with your mouth, sucking on the tip while hand returns to pump his length, watching him struggling not to moan. Too bad he got lucky, the other voice ceased to exist, leaving him with you.

“That’s how you pray, sweet dove” Leon teases, the corners of his lip tugging up into a smirk. You hum, sending another wave of pleasure. Another flick and he feels his balls tighten, his cock throbbing in your mouth and his fingers return to your hair, taking control of your movements back into his hands. “Such a good little thing, fuck…” Leon mumbles, feeling beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He chases the rising pleasure in his body, his hips bucking to meet your face. Deepening thrusts, his head grinds against your throat. Another low moan escapes his lips. “Sucking so well, God made you for this, right?”

All he can see is your messy face, sloppily taking him so well, Leon is so focused on you and your mouth, his orgasm approaches quicker than he expected. His body shudders and with the last thrust his cock throbs for the last time and spurts out a load of cum, filling your mouth. His legs feel numb, and with a heavy gaze he is watching your mouth fill with his fluid so well. Leon’s mind is still under the influence of his orgasm and the post-nut clarity doesn’t hit him, so he doesn’t register how you get up so quickly, your hand lays on his stubbled cheek to pull him into a kiss. Mouth opened kiss. Your tongue doesn’t shy to intrude into his mouth, sloppily kissing him and passing the warm, slightly sticky, and salty substance into his mouth. His own cum. His taste. It fills his mouth and a moan crawls out against your lips. He pulled you tightly against his body, kissing you back harder, tongue probing and sliding against each other, playing and mixing his cum with your salivas. His Adam’s apple bobs and he swallowed it, the devil cocktail, feeling hot underneath his collar. Leon pulls back from a kiss, a string of fluids connects your lips, and if there was more time, he would fuck you on some of the wooden pews or better, on the altar. Alas, all he can do right now is to reach for your mouth to trace along the swollen and wet flesh of your lower lip. Not like his are better right now, he can still taste himself on the tip of his tongue.

“The god has freed you from your sins” he whispers, still panting heavily and his gaze is intently observing you with a deep, burning desire.

“Amen, Father” you respond.

[marigold-hills]

June 19: found | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 483

(Nothing explicit but slightly in the NSFW category so read at your own peril)

PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART • FIRST PART

Remus holds a hand on Sirius’ jaw, fingers splayed and reaching the apex of his throat.

Sirius thinks oh. I found you. It’s nonsense. Moony, his Moony, has been there every step of the way, never once lost. Still: there you are, he thinks as the pad of Remus’ thumb brushes next to lips. A near-miss.

The sun has set and night falls softly around them, bird song giving way to the chirping of crickets. Remus has eyes like an autumn storm and strong hands. His sweater exposes the tops of his collarbones and Sirius wants to touch them, wants to feel the side of his neck where he bit in the library. Realises: it’s the only place his lips had touched.

“Open your mouth,” Remus says, and Sirius does, just like that, like a dog with a favourite trick. Gets a reward of a chocolate placed on his tongue. It’s… gods, he doesn’t know what flavour it is because Remus is looking at him like that, and his hand is there and how can he tell if the sudden weightlessness is from the chocolate or from the way Remus’s fingers guide his mouth closed?

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” he says with a voice which doesn’t sound like his own, “again. Please.”

Small smile somewhere in the mischief on Remus’ face. “Those impeccable manners of yours. Open.”

Another chocolate, but Remus’ fingers don’t withdraw straight away, and he can feel the roughness of them on his tongue. Sirius is a quill in Remus’ hands, a wand, nothing but an instrument doing his bidding. “Another,” he says, and he doesn’t know himself if he means another chocolate or another piece of Remus on his lips. Both, he thinks.

They should talk. They were meant to. Sirius is supposed to tell him, but how could he now, with this moment so sharp between them? How could he risk a single word that could make his Moony stop? He’s terrified, because no matter what happens this is just a moment in time, just a fraction of their lives, and no matter what Sirius does it will finish. So desperately he wishes to preserve them right here, make this permanent.

Without thought, fuelled by the inevitably of end, he reaches a hand to wrap around Remus’ wrists and pulls it lower, until those fingers are wrapped around his neck. More, he thinks. Always.

It must show, in his eyes or in his movements, because Remus is nothing but earnestness now. His hand is sure, not pressing but there, and the other comes up to run through Sirius’ hair. “I’m here,” he says. “It’s alright.”

Remus tightens his hand, once, delicately, then runs it down Sirius’ sternum to rest where the Great Wolf tattoo is etched into his skin. Smiles like everything is fine and like nothing had changed. “Come on, love. We need to head back.”

@moon-girl88 @digital-kam @tealeavesandtrash @sweetstarryskies @alltoounwellll @hunnybeemarie @hoje--aqui @annaliza999 @hihimissamericanbi @gipitothefrog @shamelesswolfstarshipper @a-pine-cone @cosmicweeds @cocoabutterandbooks @bloodoffire @residentdisaster @shamelesswolfstarshipper @ravenwordss @prancingpony42 @themoonlovesthestars @starving-marauder-lover

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts)

[separatist-apologist]

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

Feyre and Nesta come to Autumn the night before Elain’s wedding, tanned and a little blonder than normal. It was too late to intervene—Elain had already been fitted for the dress she’d wear tomorrow and was, essentially, under lock and key. No guards, but an endless parade of servants that seemed to pop up any time she tried to leave the room.

Elain knew that was Lucien’s doing. He’d been sleeping on the sofa she now sat on each night, keeping watch so she didn’t try to escape and vanishing before she woke up. They’d barely exchanged a sentences worth of words since she’d foolishly climbed over the balcony.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked as Nesta paced back and forth. If she told her sisters the truth, they were likely to do something foolish. Something that got them all in trouble. Nesta was already trying to angle out of her marriage and didn’t need Elain mucking that up. 

“Excited,” she lied, catching the way Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “And nervous, of course. We barely know each other.”

“Is he kind?” Nesta demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes,” Elain replied, not bothering to add that he was rude in equal measure. 

“All mother talks about is how handsome the Vanserra’s are,” Nesta said with a dark scowl. “I see nothing special about them.”

Feyre shrugged. “They’re not ugly.”

“They’re hardly beautiful, either,” Nesta argued. If Feyre said the sky was blue, Nesta would argue it was gray and if Nesta thought the Vanserra’s were ugly, then Feyre found them to be impossibly beautiful. They had always been that way, leaving Elain to mediate.

“There is a charm to them, certainly,” she agreed, not taking any particular stance. “I am acclimating well. How are things at home?”

“Dull,” Feyre said as Nesta opened her mouth. “I paint and Nesta plays piano and we wither away, waiting for our turn to be good, dutiful wives.”

“They’ve banned arranged marriages in Summer,” Nesta said sharply, her tone rife with implications. Run to Summer, she seemed to say. As if Summer would risk a war with their neighbors simply to harbor her. 

“Perhaps other courts will follow suit,” Elain said noncommittally. It was too late for her. Tomorrow she’d walk willing with Lucien through a priestesses temple, watched by her family and his as they pledged fidelity and honor to the other. It was a farce and one Elain was committed to seeing through, now. If her sisters managed to escape their own prescribed fates, she wished them well.

But there was no more escape for her. 

“Have you seen anything?” Feyre questioned. Elain bit her bottom lip.

Yes, she wanted to say. How did she explain that what she’d seen was a particularly steamy affair with the man she had sworn she wouldn’t touch until she was forced to. Elain refused to think about it lest Lucien scent the accompanying arousal that always followed and got the wrong idea.

Visions were imprecise, a snapshot of what could happen and not necessarily what would. A wrong turn, a different word spoken and the entire world rearranged itself. 

That did nothing to remove the image of Lucien without his clothes shifting over her, or the expression on his face—

“Elain?”

She blinked. “No, nothing. I haven’t looked, though, either.”

“Well, maybe you should tonight,” Feyre suggested. Elain only smiled, certain she did not want to know what the next day had in store for her. Let it remain a mystery, even from her. If she saw herself beneath him, she’d panic and never make it down the aisle. 

There was something she wanted, though, and Elain found exactly how to get it later that afternoon. Cadmus poked his head in, expression guarded.

“Lady Elain?” The second eldest Vanserra looked the most like his father, his red hair browner, his russet eyes lacking some of the ringed gold the rest of his brothers had. Even his features were those of the sharp elegance of the High Lord rather than the softer edges the Lady bore. “How are you?”

“I…” A dagger glinted off Cadmus’s belt, silver hilt inlaid with vibrant rubies. “Can I borrow that?”

Cadmus looked down at his body, hands hovering over the weapon. “My dagger?”

Elain made her eyes big and round as she bit her bottom lip, and hoped Cadmus was no better than the males back home. “I don’t know how to use it, if you’re worried for your brothers safety”

“What’s to know? Stick the sharp end in anything soft,” he said with a wry smile before unstrapping the hilt. “If you do stab my brother, try not to kill him.”

Elain blinked. “Just…just like that?”

“It’s become almost a tradition to provide my new sisters with a weapon to use against my brothers. I’m starting to think Vanserra’s like to be threatened.”

She frowned. “It’s not like that.”

“For you, maybe,” he chuckled, watching as Elain quickly hid the dagger beneath an ornate pillow. “If you’re frightened, though, you could tell me.”

That was curious. “Why? What would you do?”

“What any good brother would do. Knock him around like he’s a youngling again, and hope his good sense returns to him.”

“That’s…unexpectedly kind,” she murmured. 

“We’re nearly family, right?” he said gruffly, glancing back toward the hall. “Anyway ah…don’t kill him. And uh…if you need any help, ask Arina. You know, for plausible deniability.”

“Right,” she agreed, holding back the urge to laugh. The Vanserra’s could be so unintentionally funny when they wanted to be. Absently, Elain wondered what Nesta would make of Cadmus. Nothing positive, she decided.

Nesta was supposed to marry a High Lord, which was a tragedy given how she hated all of them. Maybe all men, truthfully—Elain had never once seen her sister betray any interest despite the numerous men who had been interested in her. 

Elain hid the dagger beneath her pillow once Cadmus left, just in case Lucien decided to try anything. Elain knew she was likely going to have to let him touch her, but if he tried anything she didn’t like, she’d whip the dagger out just to remind him that he might be married to her, but he didn’t own her. 

It made her feel a little better, though only marginally. As she made her way through the palace, Elain found servants hanging floral arrangements and cleaning every surface for the upcoming spectacle. Everything smelled like cinnamon somehow and if Elain was braver, she might have made her way to the kitchen to see what they were cooking.

If she was braver still, she might have asked to help.

Instead, Elain emerged into the gloomy afternoon with a heavy sigh. It felt like the world was mourning, too. She intended to meander through the apple orchard again, kicking the rotting fruit on the ground with the toe of her boot until she didn’t feel so angry anymore.

Instead, she found Connall and Tanwen standing off to the side, flanked by two smoke gray dogs, each holding a rather large axe. When they saw her, their eyes lit up.

“Baby sister!” They called in unison, making their way toward her. “Want to smash some pumpkins with us?” “Smash some what?” she repeated as one of the large dogs wound its way through her legs, sniffing at her clothes with curiosity. 

“Pumpkins,” Connall said, russet eyes glinting with mischief. 

“It’s an old tradition,” Tanwen added. Of the two, Tanwen was taller and built more like a warrior. Connall was slighter, with a prettier face and hands that didn’t look like they’d done a hard day's work in their life. Tanwen’s hair was longer and braided off his face while Connall sported a shaggier look that seemed like it was popular with whoever he was courting.

With a face like that, Elain guessed everyone. 

“Smashing pumpkins is a tradition?”

They nodded solemnly. Connall added, “Whenever the Forest House is overrun, we come out here and destroy the heaviest looking pumpkins we can find. C’mon, join us. Beats sulking through the grounds.”

“I wasn’t sulking,” she replied, though she fell into step between them. 

“Sure you weren’t,” Tanwen said, elbowing her gently. “I’m sure you are merely contemplating the marital bliss you’re soon to find with little brother.”

“I don’t know how to swing an axe,” Elain admitted. Connall’s smile sharpened.

“We’ll teach you.”

The pair, accompanied by a dog she later learned technically belonged to Arina—Apollo—and another that Tanwen was fond of—Artemis—made their way toward a sprawling pumpkin patch. Elain was fascinated as Tanwen and Connall picked out three large pumpkins, hauling them each one by one before dropping them at her feet.

“Ladies first,” Tanwen said, cheeks ruddy from exertion.

Elain considered them, before pointing at one that was still a little green and covered in warts. Connall picked it up for her and set it atop a tree stump before handing her the smooth, wooden handle of the axe.

“Hold it like this,” Tanwen began, positioning himself behind Elain so his arms were wrapped around her. Warm, callused hands covered her own as he positioned them on the handle.

“Pull it back like this—not too far or you’ll drop it and hurt yourself. Use the power from your thighs, okay? And then swing hard—”

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

The three turned and Elain realized Tanwen and Connall must have known Lucien was nearby. He looked furious, though it was hard to take him seriously with Arina skipping merrily at his side.

“I’m debauching your wife, what does it look like I’m doing?” Tanwen said, throwing a rather charming wink in her direction. “She doesn’t know how Autumn Court females treat a male on their wedding night—”

A snarl ripped from Luciens throat before he settled himself, running a hand through his windblown hair. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

“Am I not allowed to be here?” Elain demanded, pointing the axe at her soon-to-be husband. 

“Lucien’s just grumpy—”

“I’m not grumpy,” Lucien interrupted as Arina laughed, hands clasped in front of her body.

“Your sisters gave him a good dressing down.”

“It was pretty funny,” Eris Vanserra chimed in, wrapping an arm around his wife's neck to kiss the top of her head. “Nesta Archeron has a barbed tongue and no sense of propriety.”

“That’s not true,” Elain protested, interested in what her sister said. “You’re thinking of Feyre.”

“It was both of them,” Lucien grumbled as he rubbed his jaw. “I thought the ladies of the Spring Court were sweet.”

Elain took that moment to swing, her sharpened blade slicing easily through the pumpkin. Tanwen whooped as Connall and Eris laughed and Lucien…Lucien merely watched, his expression unreadable. 

“Who told you that?” Elain asked him, dress covered in pumpkin guts. 

It felt good, though, in that moment, to wipe the look off his face. She was sweet. 

Just not for him.

LUCIEN:

Lucien tugged at the golden cuffs on his maroon jacket. He was deeply uncomfortable and somehow sweating despite how early it was.  He hadn’t slept at all the night before and given the noises coming from behind the door that they were about to share, Elain hadn’t either. It hadn't been crying, exactly…but something akin to mourning had been happening. It occurred to him that perhaps Elain had her own Jesminda that she missed.

Lucien couldn’t bring himself to care much. Instead, he perched himself in a tree outside the palace, closed his eyes, and prayed. 

Bring her back to me. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything.

Easy words for a male who knew the Mother would not indulge this request. Lucien would have traded anything to see Jesminda right then. To hear her tell him it was going to be okay and somehow, someway this was all going to work out in their favor. He wanted to feel her hands on his face, her mouth slanted against his. He wanted to bury himself inside her and sob into her shoulder as he told her about the nightmare he was living.

And to do so would be the ultimate betrayal of the love he felt for her. To see her was to condemn her to death. She was gone, and Lucien knew she wouldn’t come back, and if she did, he wouldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t acknowledge her.

Wouldn’t look at her.

It didn’t stop him from pretending anyway. What kind of male was he, he wondered? His wife was inside preparing herself to marry him and he was outside wishing she was someone else. Daydreaming about another female. Would he think of Jesminda as he betrayed her later that night? 

Lucien half hoped Jesminda hated him. He certainly hated himself.

Lucien remained outside until Eris tracked him down, dressed in a deep brown jacket and cream colored pants. His brother swung himself easily into the tree, grunting softly as he sat on the opposite branch. “Brooding?”

It was almost comical. It was a scene they’d played before, only in opposite roles. Lucien had once gone looking for Eris the day of his wedding, finding him in the same tree likely with the same look of frustration on his face. Eris had wanted a way out, too, and he’d known what was waiting on the other end for him was his mate. There was something to work toward, at least.

Lucien didn’t care what Arina said—he didn’t believe he could love someone as deeply as he loved Jesminda and not be mates. 

“Just thinking,” Lucien said, wishing Eris would mind his own business. 

“You’ve got ten more minutes to find a last minute loophole,” Eris warned. “Though, I think you should marry her.”

“Of course you do.”

“She’s better than the females at court. Do you want father to pick one of them?”

“I want him to let me choose my own wife,” Lucien snarled, unable to keep his anger down.

“Love is for the lesser fae,” Eris said, ignoring the fact that he was in love with his wife. That was merely luck, Lucien supposed. “You are simply a cog in fathers political machinations. You know that.”

“Why not Tanwen? Or Cadmus?”

“Because Elain is a second daughter with no magical ability, unlike her sisters,” Eris reminded him, a cold edge creeping into his voice. He ought to have known better than to look for comfort from his brother. Eris had done his duty no matter how little he’d wanted to, giving Eris a mate and Beron a foot in the solar courts. “He needs sons he can marry off to all his most important nobles. Count yourself lucky that isn’t your fate”

“Is this luck?”

“Elain is nice,” Eris reminded him. “She’s not scheming and you’re unlikely to find her in Tanwen’s bed.”

“Are you sure about that?” Lucien asked, a surge of jealousy flooding through him. He didn’t want her, and yet didn’t want anyone else to want her, either. She was merely off limits. If he could have, he’d have ordered them all not to speak to her, either. 

Swinging his legs out of the tree, Eris landed smoothly back on solid ground. The world was mocking him—after two weeks of rumbling thunder and moody fog, the sun had come out blazing, igniting the world in a golden glow. 

“I’m certain. Now get down before father realizes you’re missing and takes the lash to your back on your wedding night.” Lucien considered it only briefly, but ultimately chose to join Eris on the ground, heart thudding painfully in his chest. 

Eris didn’t look at him at all, adorned in a crown of burnished leaves similar to the one Lucien wore. As they stepped back into the Forest House, Lucien felt the full weight of it for the first time in his life. Never had he ever felt more like a High Lord's son, the weight of his responsibility and duty dragging behind him like chains wrapped around his ankles.

He was drowning, and it didn’t matter. Lucien followed Eris through the labyrinth of halls toward the adjoining temple that spiraled deep into the ground, housing their family jewels and a private library you need permission to enter. Lucien knew on any given day, Arina would be down in the dark reading by faelight. 

Priestesses historically were not welcome in Autumn. Beron found them too scheming, but feared angering the mother by shutting them out entirely. His solution was using daughters of Autumn, deemed unlikely to marry by their families, and making them priestesses with fathers that had a vested interest in curbing their ambition. Housing them in the palace allowed the High Lord to keep a watchful eye on them via his wife, who was charged with overseeing the priestesses along with the ladies at court. 

Now the head priestess stood at the end of the temple, adorned by multicolored light from the stained glass behind her. Rows of benches held their families, though Beron sat behind the priestess on a throne built specifically for him, lest anyone forget the true power of Autumn. 

Elain was waiting in the atrium just outside, dressed, hilariously, in a fluffy gown of white lace and pale pink ribbon. Her hair was piled high atop her head, as if someone with a grudge had decided to try and make the beautiful Elain as unappealing as possible.

It was working, too. Lucien couldn’t help his barking laugh when he saw her, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceilings overhead. Elain turned, eyes wide with horror that melted into irritation.

“Be quiet,” she hissed, shoving the traditional red ribbon of Autumn against his chest. His brothers filed in behind them, not daring to make eye contact or otherwise react. 

“Who did you piss off?”

“This was my mothers wedding dress,” Elain informed him, chin held high in the air. “And the traditional bridal clothes of Spring.”

Lucien only shook his head, thinking of how lovely Arina had looked draped in red. There was no point in starting his marriage by telling his wife she looked awful, but…well. Lucien wondered if Elain felt beautiful right then.

“Come on,” he murmured, offering her his arm. Elain took a breath, eyes glassy, but otherwise nodded her head. She had more conviction on her expression than Lucien felt, and it was sobering. This was happening, he realized. Under the watchful gaze of not just his father, but the High Lord of Spring, Lucien was marrying this stranger. Lucien could barely breathe, couldn’t think as he stood in that beam of light, eyes trained on Elain without actually seeing her. Elain seemed to be employing similar tactics, repeating the words when demanded but otherwise standing utterly still.

Something was building, some emotion Lucien thought must be radiating out of him. It wasn’t fear and it wasn’t hatred, though it felt somehow like both mixed together. Holding the ribbon in his hand, Lucien began winding it around their wrists until the long sleeves of her ugly dress pushed upward, pressing them skin to delicate skin. 

The scene of Elain invaded his senses once again, making him dizzy. He needed fresh air, to get far, far away from her. Elain looked up at him through dark lashes, their eyes connecting just as the priestess pronounced them married. Something solid slammed into him. 

No, not slammed.

Snapped.

Lucien stumbled backwards, forgetting for a moment they were still tied together. Elain came with him, falling into his chest and oh, he wished she wouldn’t touch him just as his traitorous body ignited with pleasure.

Touch her, smell her, taste her—

Lucien righted Elain, trying to apologize but unable to get the words out. If he spoke, he might just blurt the truth out. 

You’re my mate.

If Elain knew, she was doing a far better job than he was hiding it. Her expression was one of confusion but not of recognition. If she didn’t know, good. There must be some way out, he reasoned, even as every other part of him rebelled at the thought. The Mother was mocking him. Elain Archeron was mocking him, with her beautiful face half lost under the weight of her gown and hair. Who had done this to her?

Lucien wanted to kill them.

“Are you okay?” Elain whispered, ignoring the crowd promptly descending upon them.

It wasn’t a lie when he said, “No. I’ve never been less okay in my life.”

And it was all her fault.

ELAIN:

Elain wanted to cry. The Lady of Autumn had done her best to try and make Elain look presentable, but it had been her mothers wishes to see her dressed like a traditional bride of Spring—the sort that had fallen out of fashion centuries before. She could still hear Lucien's barking laugh in her ear and the look of disgust on his face once he’d tied that ribbon around them.

It shouldn’t have mattered, truthfully, but Lucien had looked every inch an Autumn Court prince and she…she’d looked ridiculous. Embarrassing. Only her mother was happy, which seemed to be the only thing that ever mattered. Who cared if Elain was suffering internally so long as everyone else got what they wanted? 

Stomping from the great hall, where a lavish feast in her honor had been prepared, Elain made her way outdoors into the sunshine. It was only there that she began pulling pins out of her hair like a petulant child, tossing them to the leaves with reckless abandon. 

Why couldn’t she make peace with what was happening? Everyone else in her position had. Arina and Eris were in love, her parents were in love, the Lady of Autumn and the High Lord…tolerated each other. And Elain couldn’t even muster that. 

She hated Lucien with a passion that clawed at her chest and threatened to strangle her. She didn’t want him to touch her, not like this. Not when the sight of him cringing away as he disentangled himself from her and promptly walked away without so much as a reassurance that things would be okay.

She’d left him downing a cup of wine and imagined he’d be so drunk he was incapacitated for the night. That was a good thing, right? So why did it make her feel so awful? So ugly, so…so unwanted. Cast aside by everyone, loved by no one. She wanted to curl up somewhere and wait to see how long it took them to notice she was missing.

Elain turned her attention to the forest, determined to march right in. She bet Lucien noticed when it was time to do his husbandly duty. Then he’d be missing her. That's all she was good for anyway, right?

Elain didn’t make it two steps before someone stopped her. It wasn’t Lucien or his brothers, nor was it her sisters or anyone from the Spring Court. The male standing before her oozed darkness, with shadows trailing after him like a cape and eyes so vividly blue they looked like twinkling, violet stars.

Elain took a step back on instinct. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, knowing exactly who stood before her. She’d never met him, nor his father, though she had heard the rumors about the High Lord of Night. They said he’d killed Tamlins father.

They said Tamlin killed his. 

Rhysand didn’t need to wear a weapon to seem lethal. Tall and powerfully built, she was certain if he wanted to, he could end her right there. His lips curved upward into a smile and too late, she remembered the people in his court were rumored to read minds.

“I hear congratulations are in order. Married to little Lucien…how delighted you must be.”

“I…” Elain trailed off, heart hammering like a jack rabbit. 

“I don’t think I’d leave my new bride to wander the grounds,” Rhysand continued, jamming his hands into his pockets absently. “But perhaps the males of Autumn are more…liberated…here.”

Elain’s mouth was dry. “Can I help you with something?”

Rhysand cocked his head, a lock of blue black hair trailing into one of his eyes. “Can you help me?” he asked, pondering this question with faux concentration. “I suppose you can. I’m looking for—”

“Rhysand!” Eris Vanserra barked, crunching onto leaves without ceremony. “Decided to show your ugly face for once? Or will I find your spy lurking in my woods again?”

“There’s no need for hostility,” Rhysand purred, eyes trailing behind Eris toward Feyre, who’d clearly been trailing Eris. “I’ve come to speak with your father.”

“Does Elain Archeron look like the High Lord of Autumn?” Eris demanded, his annoyance plain.

“She is far lovelier, I’ll admit, though your father has his charms—”

“Stop talking,” Eris muttered, nodding his head toward the doors so Rhysand would follow. Elain watched the High Lord of Night even when Eris’s fingers curled around her wrist, dragging her back inside with him. Rhysand was looking at Feyre in her spring green gown, hair half braided off her face. There was something curious about his expression—as if he’d never seen a female before and wanted to study her.

Feyre wrinkled her nose back, betraying her unguarded disgust before turning on her heel and flouncing back inside and to Elain’s surprise, Rhysand chuckled. He didn’t know how skilled Feyre was with a weapon, training in secret with a sentry she’d once been friends with before Tamlin found out and had him sent to the border. It was too late, then. Feyre was a menace with a bow and arrow and not horrible with a sword, either. No one could control her and in truth, not many tried.

Elain wondered what Tamlin would do with a wife that liked to stalk the woods for monsters. Monsters like Rhysand, Elain thought, wondering if Feyre hadn’t sensed his presence and come looking for the disturbance. She half wanted to see the showdown, if only to watch a High Lord get trounced by a noble's youngest daughter.

Feyre was nowhere to  be found by the time they all landed in the Great Hall. The once lively feast fell silent—even the musicians stopped their playing to watch, wide-eyed, as Rhysand strolled into the room. His eyes slid over the long tables piled with food, the people stopped mid-dance, and those that sat at tables holding goblets, drinking until their fair skin was ruddy from wine.

He grinned when he saw Beron. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all. Beron looked murderous, though he stood quickly while eyeing Eris trailing just behind. Elain watched as Cadmus fell into step beside his elder brother, the two flanking their father when he came down the elevated platform that held the throne he’d been lounging on. Everyone tried to pretend this was merely business as usual.

The music restarted and chatter resumed as Beron and Rhysand made their way out of the room, but Elain knew every immortal ear was straining to hear what was whispered between them. Why now, she wondered? Tamlin was gripping his goblet so tightly Elain could see the whites of his knuckles and Nesta’s eyes danced with silver flames, arms crossed over her chest.

Elain started to make her way to Nesta to ask when Lucien caught her attention. He was drunk, she realized. Stumbling forward, he grinned broadly not at her, but at someone behind her. Elain didn’t turn to see the female he was making eyes at, unwilling to even acknowledge how humiliating his behavior was. 

“You reek,” Elain hissed, catching Lucien by the arm and turning him around. “Go drink some water.”

“Telling me what to do already?” he asked, eyes strangely glassy as he looked down at her. There was an intensity to his expression she didn’t think she liked. It was as if he was undressing her with his gaze. 

“Yes. Water. Now,” she hissed quietly enough that no one but Lucien could hear.

“And if I say no?” he challenged. Elain wanted to cry. 

“You are not the only one experiencing misery, Lucien, and yet am I out here making a fool of you?” she demanded, hating the way her voice cracked beneath angry tears. “You could at least keep it behind closed doors.”

Lucien considered this. “You’re right. I…” he swallowed, sliding his hand over hers in the crook of her elbow so she had to join him as he went for water. “Sit down and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do it, or I’ll feed you from my hand like a baby bird,” he threatened, pulling out a chair from a neglected, empty table. Lucien dropped beside her, gulping down icy water as Elain picked food from a platter in front of her and spread it over two plates.

“Here,” she said, pushing a plate toward a wide eyed, strangely ashen looking Lucien.

“I—I’ve eaten already,” he said, gingerly moving the plate further from view. “You’re kind to offer, though.”

He was so strange, she decided. If he didn’t want to eat, he could suffer, then. No one could say she hadn’t tried, though. Elain began chewing, lost in thoughts of Rhysand just outside the forest grounds and her family that would vanish before the night was over. Her stomach tumbled as she thought about what the night had in store for her. Perhaps if she closed her eyes tightly it would be over quickly without a lot of fuss.

“Was there another male?” Lucien asked abruptly, interrupting Elain’s considerations. Looking at him, she found that same burning intensity from a few moments before. She didn’t think she liked when he looked at her that way.

“What?”

“Back in Spring. Was there a male you…preferred?”

Elain shook her head, though she wanted to ask why it even mattered? She was here, wasn’t she, wishes be damned? 

“None?” 

“No, Lucien. I’ve been set aside for you my entire life.”

“Sure, but…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “That didn’t mean you had to…”

Elain wished a hole would open beneath her and swallow her up. Surely he wasn’t implying that he wished she’d been with someone else mere hours before he was about to be with her? If she’d been less of a lady, she might have launched herself across the table to throttle him. 

“Please do not worry about it,” she implored, desperate for this conversation to end. “Let’s just…lets just get through this afternoon.” Lucien eyed her dress again, but kept whatever comments he had to himself. “Fine.”

His reluctant compliance was better than expected. And Elain would take what she could get.

LUCIEN:

“You’re acting strange,” Arina said, catching Lucien in the hall on the way to his new bed chamber. His old one had been cleared out without ceremony, and he’d bet if he went to Elain’s room, he’d find her folding his clothing like a good little wife

“I’m not,” he lied. Lucien was desperately trying to avoid his brother and Arina, if only because he was afraid that might see him and just know somehow. Or smell it, more likely—the way he could currently smell the mating bond Arina and his brother shared wrapped around her like a lingering perfume.

It smelled like sex. Lucien hated it. It was like a warning pushing up against him, reminding him that she belonged to someone—a male who might rip Lucien’s throat out, should he feel like it. Elain seemed oblivious to what was happening which was the only mercy Lucien could find in their miserable situation. How long could he keep her in the dark before she realized? Before she felt the pull, the urge to touch him, too? Before someone scented him on her and told her? 

“What’s going on?”

“Besides being actually married to a stranger, nothing at all. I, for one, have never been better—”

“Don’t use that tone with me,” Arina snapped, clearly irritated. “There’s something else about you.”

“I’m just…” Lucien ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It's my wedding night, Arina, and my wife hates me. Put the pieces together.”

“I doubt she’ll be upset if you put it off.”

“Or she’ll run and tell her father to get out of the marriage,” Lucien retorted, though truthfully, Elain simply didn’t seem like the vindictive sort. His mind drifted back to lunch, watching as she put together two plates as his mind warred. On the one hand, the part of him driven by instinct had been screaming and clawing for him to simply accept it from her, thus cementing the bond before she ever had a choice.

The other, more rational part of him, wanted to throw that plate across the room before cursing at the Mother for what she’d done. It was supposed to be Jesminda. It was Jesminda. Lucien’s heart beat erratically at the realization that all the times he’d laid with her and sworn she was his mate, when they’d laced their fingers and talked about when it might snap…all of it had been a farce. 

Lucien couldn’t stop thinking about Jes’s own mate. He was out there somewhere. Maybe she’d find that male and she’d realize what they had paled in comparison. Would she laugh a little at their silliness? How young they’d been, how foolish to believe what they had transcended the gods.

Lucien would have left Elain if Jes appeared right then. If she’d asked him—he wouldn’t make her beg—he would have left. Damned Elain, his life, his mating bond, just to see her again. And he knew that if Jes learned he had a mate, she’d bow out entirely. When the bond snapped, there was a finality to it. 

He was a mated male. He owed it to Elain to try and make things work, and maybe he owed it to himself, too. That didn’t mean Lucien wanted it, either. Gods, he didn’t know what he wanted other than to drink himself into oblivion and wait for some obvious answer to present itself.

“When Eris informed you that you were his mate, what did you do?” Lucien asked, interrupting Arina’s self-important lecture about being a good husband.

“I suffocated the air in the room until he got on his knees and apologized,” she said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s different, Lucien.” Elain probably couldn’t nearly kill him—he’d been told she had no magic to speak of—but he imagined her reaction would go nearly as well. 

“Just…let me deal with my marriage my way, okay?” Lucien ordered, unwilling to be nice to Arina at that moment. Butt out, he wanted to add, though slipping into his bedroom and closing the door behind him was response enough. 

Inside was something out of Lucien’s personal hell. Elain rose to her feet when she saw him, eyes bright from what seemed to be some amount of crying. Her hair was unbound and artfully arranged around a night dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Lucien blinked, frozen in place as his eyes moved of their own accord.

BETRAYER

“I—put on a robe, please,” Lucien managed, turning in a circle like some kind of animal. She was his. He had no claim to her at all. The competing desires threatened to unmake him. Lucien heard Elain sniff.

“Shouldn’t we…”

“Not like this,” he breathed, certain he would have felt that way even without the mating bond. “I—we could just…go to bed?”

“What about…you know?”

Lucien took a steadying breath and turned again, relieved to find Elain had wrapped a throw around her body. Her face had a little more color, her eyes a little less red. 

“If I offered to just…pretend…would you tell someone?”

“No,” she breathed with the saddest look of hope on her face. “I would swear we did.”

Oh, thank the Mother. “Then we’ll turn the lights off, get into bed, and in the morning go about our business as if we did.”

Elain nodded, dropping the blanket gently to walk to their bedroom. Lucien nearly choked at the sight of her from behind. Mother spare him, she’d be the death of him. Lucien didn’t need to like a female in order to admit she was appealing and Elain…Elain was just as pretty from behind as she was from the front. His eyes slid down her spine, landing on the soft curve of her waist, the flare of her hip, the sway of her ass. 

Cauldron damn him.

Elain turned as Lucien steadied himself on the frame, wondering if sleeping beside her was a good idea at all. Servants talked—and everyone was nosy. If he was caught sleeping on the sofa, his father would know and put Lucien in a deeply uncomfortable position. Lucien wouldn’t put it past his father to demand to watch. He’d like enjoy knowing that he ruined every other coupling they’d ever have.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned, holding up a trembling finger. Was he looking at her in some particular kind of way? Lucien was certain he wasn’t. Still, he merely crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed his new wife. 

“I was lost in thought,” he said, forcing himself to look only at her face. As if that made things any better. She was so heartbreakingly beautiful it made his teeth ache. She’d always been beautiful, which had warranted the space—if he spent too much time in her presence, he might find he liked her, and liking the woman who’d been forced upon him felt like giving in to his fathers demands.

Or worse, admitting Beron might have been right about him. 

Elain still eyed him warily as he crossed the room, grabbing a pair of linen pants neatly folded in a drawer that had her scent all over it. In the bathroom, Lucien splashed cold water on his face and ordered himself to get together. The mating bond was making him stupid. He didn’t want her…and yet he did. Physically, anyway. Lucien wondered if he could get away with escaping to one of the nearby cities for a few weeks just to clear his head long enough to stand in her presence. 

He returned to find Elain dividing the bed in half using pillows. “That’s not necessary,” he mumbled, reaching over her to toss one to the floor. “And obvious.” “I don’t want you getting any ideas,” she replied in that prissy way of hers. 

Lucien bared his teeth. “Trust me, lady. My only idea is sleep.”

“I thought all males wanted—”

“I’m not an animal,” he growled, fully aware he was a liar. “I don’t relish the thought of forcing myself on someone, wife or otherwise.”

“And if I never want you?” Elain asked, eyes narrowed to slits.

“I’ll tell all of Pyrthian you are terribly infertile and I’m a martyr—”

Elain launched a pillow at his face. “You’re not funny.”

Lucien flopped into bed, one hand thrown over his face. “You wound me.”

“I don’t believe anything could wound that over inflated ego of yours,” she responded. Lucien was learning that despite her meek appearance, his wife had a sharp tongue. He rather liked it, if only because it absolved him of any guilt he might feel for his own remarks. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Lucien said, settling against the pillow. “You could tell me, you know. If there was another male.”

“There wasn’t. There isn’t.” There was something bitter about her tone.

“Never?” he questioned, his curiosity making him stupid.

“Never.”

“You’re not…?” Shut up shut up shut up— “You’re not curious?”

“Stop talking, Lucien.”

“If it were me—”

“I know where you’re going with this, and I’m telling you to stop while you’re ahead,” Elain gritted out. “Find someone else, if you’re feeling frustrated, but don’t try and frame my lack of experience as an opportunity.”

“Cauldron, Elain, I wasn’t…” But he was. Lucien knew it was a bad idea. If he got himself in her with the mating bond pounding in his chest, he was likely to take things too far, to do something he regretted. He couldn’t help himself no matter how badly he wanted to, and her proximity was clouding his judgment. He tried to pull up an image of Jes, but his mind shifted to Elain in sheer white lace and the rosy pink of her nipples—

Lucien rolled over, frustrated more with himself than anything else. There was no way he was going to sleep, no way he trusted his dreams not to betray him.

Not for the first time, he wished he was dead.

But maybe it was the first time he’d wished for it the loudest.

And the gods did nothing.

[shadowdaddies]

May I humbly request another Eris x reader? Autumn's Eden was so sweet and I had read it a countless amount of times already. Still with the secret mate element and something abou how she is a cat person and Eris is evidently a dog person with cat person energy

ahh I'm so glad you liked it!! 💜 lol as a dog person with cat person energy myself, I really feel Eris here

Bramble

Eris x Reader fluff

It was by the edge of the woods, far away from the Forest House, that you were meeting your mate in secret for time together when you were almost discovered. Eris had winnowed you to a place that was far from everyone else, where the two of you could be yourselves without anyone finding you. It was a high risk any time that you met with Eris - the both of you knew the dangers if his father or brothers discovered you, because you would not be an approved wife for him. But Eris was your mate, and it was worth any risk to be able to spend time with him, the other half of your soul.

It was a perfect afternoon, the sun shining through the crisp Autumn breeze creating the perfect weather for a picnic together. Eris had made his way on top of you, the sexual tension between you two escalating when he suddenly looked up, scanning the tree line. You could hear his brothers in the distance, apparently on a hunt as the sounds of their horses’ hooves approached you at an alarming rate. 

Eris was able to winnow you away just in time, burning anything you touched to eliminate your scent. After that scare, you decided that you needed to stay away from Eris as well as busier places in town for awhile until any possible suspicions died down.

After two weeks passed, you found yourself lonely. You were missing your mate, and needed someone to keep you company while you were forced to keep your distance from him. One day while buying groceries in the square, you discovered a black and white kitten trailing you down the street. Stopping at a cart to buy some fruit, you giggled at the feeling of the kitten winding its way through your legs, purring as it looked up at you.

You maneuvered your way out of the kitten’s hold, heading back to your apartment when you heard a small “meow,” and turned to see the kitten still at your heels. You bent down to pet it, heart melting at how it purred and pushed its head further into your hand. You grabbed a blackberry from your grocery basket, holding it out to the kitten. The animal sniffed it tentatively before chomping the fruit aggressively, nicking your finger in the process. “You’re a hungry thing, aren’t you?” you asked the cat as you watched it rub against your ankle, meowing for more food. Holding out another blackberry - more careful to avoid being bitten this time - you watched the kitten devour the fruit. “I bet you could eat a whole bramble of berries.”

~~~

It was about a month later when you came home, growing concerned when you didn’t see your cat, Bramble, come up to greet you as she usually did. Setting down your bags, you cautiously called out, “Bramble?” Peering around the corner, you nearly wept with relief as you took in the sight of Bramble curled around Eris’s neck, purring as she licked his ear. Eris’s lip curled at the cat’s show of affection, leaning away from the animal as he looked to you. You giggled at his expression - an attempt to appear annoyed by Bramble - but the mirthful look in his eyes proved otherwise. 

You practically ran to him, carefully lifting Bramble from where she rested on Eris’s shoulders and setting her down as he pulled you in for a kiss. You could feel the passion from him, so many words unspoken as you were finally reunited with your love. Eris pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as silver lined his eyes. “I’ve missed you so much, my dearest love.” You sniffled, twining your fingers in his brilliant red hair as you held him as close as you possibly could, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

Bramble chose that moment to jump on Eris’s leg, her claws digging into his skin drawing a hiss from him as he looked down at her and sighed. He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss to your nose as he teased, “you couldn’t have gotten a dog?”

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 10

Prompt: Night

Words: 1200~

TW: None (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

I went into this one with no plan and this is what became of it. Should I warn for miscommunication?

Enjoy!

Soap stood by the open window, watching the few late night stragglers walk by on the pavement below, politely blowing the smoke from his cigarette outside and dispolitely using his empty mug as an ashtray. The cool air breezing in carried the inexplicable crisp smell of autumn.

He could hear Ghost’s slow breaths in the bed behind him, and wasn’t sure if the man was asleep. Usually if Ghost was awake he was as silent as his namesake, but sometimes he liked to lend Soap the assurance that he was nearby, without risking his welcome by actually approaching. 

Soap was up because he couldn’t bring himself to keep laying there. 

He’d gone to bed and had expected that as soon as he was horizontal Ghost would make himself comfortable on Soap’s chest as he always did, but instead Ghost had curled up on the edge of the bed, letting no part of himself drift toward the centre line to touch any part of Soap. He'd laid there, flat on his back, bereft. Cast adrift by the sudden distance Ghost had sought from him. The need for Simon had flared in his chest like a physical ache, but he had long ago promised himself that he would never force Ghost to do anything that made him uncomfortable. 

Soap's love for Ghost, that carried Johnny’s heart safe and warm in its jaws, was squeezing tight. Lips pulled away to bare sharp teeth that cut bloody longing trenches into his heart with every beat it dared take without being assured of Ghost’s returned love. 

Taking another deep pull off his smoke, Soap tried to think back over the day, searching for anything that might have caused this. They were on leave, staying in Ghost’s flat in the city, and they’d gone out. They both got a bit stir crazy if they stayed in all day, so they took little walks, popping into whatever shops caught their interest. Soap had thought they’d had a nice day, no one had even said anything about the plain black half-mask that Ghost wore to keep himself comfortable. 

Soap had thought Ghost looked well bonnie in his wee snood, as he always did, but people got odd about that kind of thing. 

Cursing, he dropped his cigarette. The cherry had crept down to singe his fingers while he hadn’t been paying attention. Cursing again, he bent to snatch the butt up off Ghost’s floor and hastily dropped it into the mug before its heat could nip his fingers again. 

“Johnny?” Came a quiet gravelly rasp, Ghost letting the word draw out sleepily. 

“Aye, mo chridhe. Ah’m ‘ere.” Soap assured, nudging the mug further onto the lintel, distracting himself by debating if he should rinse it now or just hang it ‘til morning. 

“What’re you doin’ o’er there?” By the bed creaks Ghost had rolled to fully face him. He’d chosen to sleep facing the door, leaving Soap the side closest to the windows. 

“No’hing, m'anam. No’ a ‘hing.” Soap resigned himself to climbing back into that cold bed, if only to not worry Ghost. 

Turning around, he was met with warm calf brown eyes watching him in what he might have called a pout if he wasn’t sure that Ghost would steal his cuspids, bicuspids, and molars for saying so. Soap suppressed a smile and settled himself back in bed. Laying to one side instead along the centre, so as to allow Ghost more room to stretch out without risk of touching. 

He stared up at the ceiling, clenching and unclenching his hands, forcing himself to be conscious of all his limbs, so none could habitually stray over to Ghost’s tempting warmth. 

“Johnny?” Ghost was still watching him, Soap could see that much without turning his head. He hadn’t rolled back over to face the door. Hadn’t turned his back to Soap again. 

“Aye, Lamb?” Soap answered, trying to keep his tumultuous emotions out of his tone, while not letting it fall alarmingly flat, “Whit d’ye need?”

“Feel better?” The question was hesitant, like there was more hiding underneath that Ghost was afraid to say. 

The thought of Ghost fearing him in any manner punched a hole straight through Soap’s soul. 

Throwing himself upright, he turned to Ghost, remembering at the last moment that he didn’t want to be touched and clawing his fingers into the pillows instead of letting them hold Ghost’s face. He loomed over Ghost for a moment, nose-to-nose, watching the black of his pupils swallow the brown of his eyes, then Soap's higher thinking kicked into gear and he backed off as quick as he could.

If Ghost wasn’t keen on being touched, Soap getting in his face like that was probably the last thing he wanted. 

“Aye, Ah’m guid, Si.” The casualness Soap tried to project was completely undercut by the way he’d barely stopped himself from entirely falling off the bed and was currently addressing Ghost whilst precariously perched on the bottom corner of their mattress. 

“What’s wrong?” Ghost sat up, but made no effort to close the distance, the worry creasing his face pouring acid into the new hole he’d bored through Soap’s soul. 

“No’hing!” Soap tries for a smile, “Jus’ no’ sure if ye wan’ed me close like tha’, as ye dunnae wan’ me touchin’ ye.” 

“What? Why wouldn’t I want you to touch me?” Ghost’s honest confusion confused Soap.

“Iffin ye didnae wan’ me tae no’ touch ye, why’d ye not-” Soap scrabbles desperately for any word that isn’t some form of cuddle, fails, and gestures helplessly to the centre of the bed. Where they’d usually be cooried up and sleeping away at this time of night.  

“You said your knee hurt!” Ghost exclaims, “I didn’t wanna make it worse!” 

“Ye didnae say tha'! Ye jus' laid nex’ tae me, keepin’ away frae me like ye wan’ a divorce!” Soap can feel tears pushing at the back of his eyes, it’s a bit horrifying how the very idea of Ghost leaving him makes him want to cry. 

“I don’t want a divorce! I just didn’t want to hurt you!” There's a frantic edge to Ghost’s voice and he’s swinging his hands in wide explanatory gestures, as he only does when he’s truly worked up. 

“Well, ye failed.” Soap sniffles, pressing his hands hard against his eyes, as though he could physically dam his tears, “Ye no’ wan’ing me is hur’ful.”

A hand clamps around his wrist and Soap is hauled up the bed to be crushed against Ghost’s chest.

“I always want you, Coinneach John Mactavish.” The words Ghost breathes against his hair ring like a Priest laying a curse, like a Witch casting a blessing. Resounding with layers and levels of passion, belief, and sanity.

Johnny takes the time he needs to calm himself, held tight in Simon’s arms, basking in his warmth and how he presses his lips against Johnny’s temple in one endless kiss. 

“Will ye’ lay doon wi’ me, mo chridhe?” He raises his head to stare earnestly into Simon’s eyes, not able to rid his voice of the small uncertain plea that creeps in. 

Ghost answers by physically lifting Johnny off his lap, planting him in the middle of their bed, then flopping onto his chest to pin him there. Reveling in the delighted laugh that chases the shadows from Johnny’s eyes. 

They lay chest to chest, heartbeats slowing, breathing each other in. 

“Johnny,” Simon grumbles into Johnny's pecs, “We’re not fuckin’ married.”

“So ye dae wan’ a divorce?” Johnny exclaims with a theatrical gasp, pulling back to stare at Simon with wide betrayed eyes.

The pillow that immediately smacks him across the mouth is a small toll to pay for the fit of giggles that steals a smile onto Simon's face as he playfully tries to smother Johnny's snickering.

Thank You For Reading!

My notes for this prompt were "Sleepy cuddle fluff" and I suppose we got there in the end.

Simon likes sleeping on top of Johnny because it reassures him that Johnny is near and protected. He also hates feeling pinned down or trapped so switching is out of the question. Johnny loves it, Simon's like a warm weighted blanket.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[yaralulus-secret-santa]

a timeless gift

happy belated birthday, @yaralulu!

(Read here or on AO3.)

It’s his first year alone.

The last time the two of them had spoken was… ages ago. Before the War. Guilt seeps into his veins, straight out of his bleeding heart. What right do you have to care? He hadn’t made the effort to reach out before. For every excuse, a year slipped by—He couldn’t write because his father would know, or his brothers had broken his hand and his magic was too afraid to work in his favour. He was too busy making amends for being the worst son, the weakest out of all seven who couldn’t block out the world even if he wanted to. It just wasn’t… politically correct.

All of it was bullshit. Lucien worried about Tamlin, and he never did anything about it. He waited so long, watching his best friend lose everyone he loved one by one until there was no one left. Fuck. I’m the worst one, aren’t I?

Lucien slips out in the middle of the night, parcels tied tightly and neatly by the deft hands of the lesser faeries who work in the kitchen. He’d asked for discretion along with his order, specific down to the smallest detail. He enchants a satchel to carry everything while hiding the bulk of his baggage, a bottomless bag. He pulls a servant’s cloak over his bright red hair, the most traitorous part of him.

(No, the most traitorous part of him are his feet that guide him across the border between Autumn and Spring.

Or is it his cacophonous heart that beats louder and louder with his filial betrayal.)

The Spring Court has changed. No longer is it a High Lord’s pride, boasting bramble and thorn if only to expose the thin skin of emissaries and visitors. Its edges have smoothed out, but the forest and flowers wilt. Lucien reaches for a hanging leaf, thinning from lack of sun and water. It longs for these necessary things, elements that keep it alive, and withers while waiting.

Lucien gasps softly at the way the very land mirrors its Lord.

Is he… dying?

He picks up his pace, unwilling to winnow but rather using his strength as a High Faerie to cover more ground. His father would have sensed his movement, and would have likely sent his brothers to track him down before he crossed over. He casts one last glance over his shoulder. If he’s caught, this could have been his last night at home.

Is this worth the risk? Lucien asks himself, but his soul responds with a resounding ‘ yes ’. He needs to be here now, pushing through the golden wrought gates of Spring’s manor. There is no resistance towards his invasion, almost as if the very structures understand the depths of their Lord’s yearning. Tamlin needs someone— anyone —to be there for him.

His eyes adjust to the darkness, and he strains his ears to find a sign of the Spring Lord. Lucien scours the inside of the manor, finding each room empty. He reaches the end of the hall of the second floor, peering out the window to look over the grounds. Beneath him, the High Lord’s private garden awaits him, dull and without color save for—

Save for the bright yellow eternal roses and right there, in the center of them is him.

Lucien has never moved faster in his life, dashing back down the stairs and sprinting towards Tamlin. He needs to tell him a hundred different things. He needs to reassure him. He makes sure not to step on the flowers, all while falling to his knees before Tamlin, breathless and wild.

“You are not alone,” he gasps, voice raw with everything he’s failed to say. “ Tamlin. ”

The High Lord looks… defeated. Dark circles frame those once-brilliant emerald eyes. Lucien had loved them as a child, thinking he looked magical. The Autumn Court is so orange, yellow and red. It was always a wonder to gaze upon Tamlin’s leafy green eyes. None of the wonder is there, or the joy. Only pain.

Lucien squeezes his calloused and scarred hands. I’m here, his touch conveys.

“I’m so sorry for not being there for you.” For decades.

They promised to be best friends, despite it all. Lucien may be a fool for clinging to childhood promises, but Tamlin is worth fighting for. He could change his Court. He could change the entirety of Prythian. He’s still here, after everything. He is strong, and he is kind. Lucien can feel it just by holding his hand.

Pain silences Tamlin, but he squeezes Lucien back softly. Thankful?

“I brought gifts,” the Autumn faerie whispers in the cover of night. It pains him to release Tamlin, but he needs both hands to pull out all the food from his satchel. Parcels and parcels of food cover the ground around them, it’s not enough to make up for Lucien’s absence after all this time, but it’s more than enough to feed the High Lord.

Tears line those emerald eyes as each dish is unveiled.

“These are…” Tamlin croaks, his voice raw from disuse. Or screaming until he couldn’t take it anymore. Lucien cannot tell which.

“These are every dish prepared for your mother whenever she visited the Autumn Court. She also mentioned to the cooks that you were vegetarian. I’m unsure if that’s still true, but I elected to follow that directive as well.” Lucien offers Tamlin a hopeful smile, and his cheeks begin to ache when he realizes that Tamlin is in agony. Have I done the wrong thing?

Tears spill down Tamlin’s cheeks, staining the edge of the nearest parcel’s cloth.

“I have overstepped. My Lord, my sincerest apologies,” Lucien starts to pack up his gifts.

Tamlin’s voice gives him pause. “They’re not coming back.”

“Oh, Tam.” Lucien gets up and skirts around the little picnic he made for his friend. He kneels beside him and pulls him into a tight hug. The touch, the comfort—the support gets to him and Tamlin breaks down. Lucien holds him, rubbing his back and rocking him slightly to soothe him. “You’re alright. You’re not alone anymore.”

He feels the way Tamlin’s fingers curl into his vest, holding onto him with whatever he has left.

Lucien had worried about what to get Tamlin for this birthday, his first one alone. He had commissioned an ornate hand-carved fiddle that he planned to send over later, but he doubts that music will be heard anytime soon in this darkened place. Tamlin is in a state of survival. No, worse. He is in a state of wondering if there is a point at all in trying to survive. Lucien can feel it.

Material things won’t ever replace what Tamlin has lost, but Lucien knows what he can give. He can’t fix it, but he can try. 

“I’ll be here for you. However I can. Whenever I can.”

Best friends forever.

It is a gift he will continue to give for years to come.

[manicpixiefelix]

Thinking of our fae AU and okay, I know it's assumed Reader is also Summer Court like the Cattons

But! What if they're actually Autumn Court?

Thankfully, the Cattons still basically adopt them and they and Nate are inseparable.

The Castle of Reader's family is similar yet so different from the Cattons, suspended in perpetual autumn bathed in that warm golden glow of the setting sun giving it a dreamy quality. Leaves a fiery tapestry making the trees seem to be ablaze in shades of red, orange and yellow.

Sometimes, when they pass by greenery on the Catton estate, it will briefly change. Demifey!Oliver is fascinated by it and the way shadows shift in their presence.

Obsessed Obsessed OBSESSED!!

Autumn Fae!Reader is absolutely a spectacular concept, I love all of this.

Also I think that the changes that happen on the Cattons land because of/around them are pretty cosmetic because it's not Their Land. Which means instead, the grass turns pale and gold beneath their feet but it's still just as lush as the grass around it. Leaves on trees they touch briefly become a rush of red and orange and gold, but they'll never fall in the summer court. Some smaller plants will seem to bow to them in the way they shrivel and shrink, but give it time and they'll bounce right back to their full glory.

The opposite can be said for the one time Felix visited the autumn court to support the reader. He grabbed one of the many falling leaves from right out of the air and it turned green between his fingers. The grass crunches beneath him, no matter how lush and lovely it may look when he steps on it. Because he's Summer Court & because he's Felix, I fully believe he has this weird affinity with plants, like a lot of royal fae I want to believe have certain powers or effects on the world that they don't fully understand or realise. Felix discovered his when he touched a flower and it began to immediately move to turn to him more directly in the moment of contact. What Felix and everyone else has failed to realise is that every single flower on the Saltburn Estate is growing in the direction of his bedroom (because of sleep it's where he statistically spends the most time on the property). The flowers of Saltburn don't grow to the sun they grow to Felix.

Anyways so I love this and I think Autumn!Reader & Summer!Felixs magic has bled into each other over the years, and that's most noticeable when they're doting on Oliver.

Wreathed in vines and laurels whose greenery is gold and almost brittle, with leaves in red,yellow,orange so vibrant they're like gems, but they flutter, healthy and strong, and never seem at risk of falling.

Chainmail carefully created with so much love by the reader and Felix together, the plants woven and grafted together with such great pains taken to make sure Oliver could wear it without himself getting pricked by thorns inside the garment. The garment itself has your trademark colouring, as if it had spent a long time cut from the roof, almost as pale as Oliver's skin, drawing little attention to itself when something is worn over it, even a plain t-shirt. Still, it's very much alive, cool, comfortable and flexible to wear and fight in. The thorns grow back on their own, but you have a hand in those too, as they grow in at the point of death; dehydrated and sharp as a tack. When he wins, and he always does, the whole crowd will see small roses bloom in triumph across whatever is left over and visible of the tunic, up his arms, across his back and chest, always just where the thorns are. It was Oliver's request specifically, to soften the spikes since he didn't want to hurt either of you in the excitement of his celebrating.

Other things Oliver has noted about the ways your two courts have effected you and Felix that neither of you seem to think about but that he finds endearing;

Sometimes he'll be stroking Felix's hair and he'll find a little autumn leaf in there. Not even because they'd been around Autumn leaves or rolled in any, being so close to you manifests leaves in Felix's hair. Oliver wonders with hope about when there will be leaves found in his hair.

Oliver has helped you garden before. You can only ever garden at Saltburn because you know that even if the plants look half dead when you place them, they'll be fine the next day on the grounds of the estate. Sometimes, however, you're surprised that a few of them look healthy and green and strong, even compared to the ones you did a few minutes before that. Oliver wonders how long it will take you to figure out that plants literally bloom in your hands when you talk so lovingly and fondly about Felix.

Anyways, enough rambling from me for this ask. Yes to Autumn Court Fae Reader is the point. 💖💖💖

[arcadiaa-writes]

He hated working late, he always got home to her sleeping soft, and tonight was no different. The drive home had taken slightly normal, unusual autumn weather causing diversions, so she would definitely be fast asleep.

The house was in darkness, confirming his suspicions and he took each step up to the bedroom carefully, avoiding the ones that creaked and finally made it up. There she was, laid on her front, her hair slightly covering her face, his eyes raked over her. She’d, at some point, kicked off the duvet, exposing her little black nightdress. It had ridden to her thighs, just enough, but also not enough to completely expose her - but it wasn’t like he hadn’t memorised her every curve already.

He desperately wanted to touch her, run his fingers up the inside of her thighs, feel her soft skin, but he was freezing cold and he knew he’d startle her awake. He settled for giving her his usual forehead kiss and heading for the bathroom.

He had a tendency to zone out in his post work shower, enjoying the way the hot water cascaded down his body, the way the steam filled the room and he could just find a moment of peace. He was hazily letting the water engulf him, when a soft pair of hands slid up his chest from behind him, and a face nuzzled into his back.

“You should be sleeping,” he sighed, putting his hands over hers, enjoying the embrace.

She softly kissed his back, not quite tall enough to reach his shoulder, but she never cared, she just missed him, the long hours keeping them apart.

“So should you,” she whipped back and he couldn’t argue with her, he squeezed her hands, needing her touch. He felt her shiver against him, realising she wasn’t under the water.

“Come here, princess,” he guided her softly, so she was in front of him, them both in the heat of the water. He carefully pushed her hair out of her face, a ruse, before he cupped her face in his hand, causing her to smile. The smile that he adored so much. God, he’d missed her.

He couldn’t help but kiss her, tenderly at first; but her hands ran down his arms, and up to his face. Them both holding each other, and a simple, but playful, swipe of her tongue over his bottom lip ignited the passion in him.

He growled at her before kissing her harder, their tongues fighting against each other, his hands desperately pawing at her skin, cupping her ass so he could pull her closer to him.

“Oh!” She gasped as he ground her hips against hers, his hardness very much present.

“I’ve missed you,” he nuzzled into her neck, kissing and biting all those sensitive spots that made her mew so deliciously. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and the more he devoured her skin, the louder she got, the more desperate she became.

“I’m not going to be gentle, but I’ll make it up to you, okay?” He tenderly whispered into her ear, needing her to reply. She hooked her arms around his shoulders, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

“Okay,” she consented, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

He needed nothing else, as he lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his hips. Pushing her back against the tiled wall of the shower, he reached between them both, guiding himself to her entrance, and without a word, pushing himself inside her. She bit down of his shoulder as she adjusted to his size, and he just grunted loudly as he rutted into her, taking his frustrations out on her, his grip on her hard, hard enough to leave bruises.

“Such a good girl,” he praised her, slamming his hips into her on every word and all she could do was moan in response.

She risked letting her head fall back against the wall, and he took the opportunity to wrap his hand around her throat. He watched as her eyes rolled back as he squeezed a little and it just encouraged him more.

“Fucking perfect,” he ground against her more, and her submissive nature just drove him crazy. He felt her clench tight around him, and he stopped moved, taunting her. She shuddered against him, she knew she couldn’t please, he’d torture her more, and in turn, torture himself.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to be gentle,” she smirked dangerously, and he cocked his eyebrow at her. She was playing his game, and he was too riled up to stop now. He pulled out, and he didn’t say a single word as he dropped her legs to the floor and span her around, forcing her face against the wall.

He pulled her hips towards his, and in one motion, entered her again. He grabbed her hair, using it as leverage as he used to last of his energy to take her, to claim her, his nails leaving indents in her skin, as he couldn’t control the primal growl that left him as he finally filled her.

His bucking became involuntary as he rode out his orgasm, and she was nothing but a weak whimpering mess. He made sure to cuddle her close, and praise her, soft kisses on her skin as he tended to her, washing her hair and letting her come back to reality in her own time. He wrapped her up in the fluffiest town and carried her back to their bed, letting her curl up against him, as they both drifted off to sleep…

[readychilledwine]

do you ever feel awkward writing for Eris? I saw your poll about doing an SJM bad guys week, so I'm guessing not.

Warning - This is going to become SJM critical. Please know I am not anti any of these characters. I am, however, critical of SJM as a long-time fantasy reader.

You answered your own question in your ask there, friend.

I do not have issues writing for Eris. The main issue the fandom has with him is the situation with Mor, and here's my stance on that:

We have an issue with the timeline around this incident, so I will make my judgement call when SJM does her eventual retcon and fixes it.

We know Eris is younger than Mor and Rhys, who are around the same age. Mor was sold to Autumn as Eris's bride at the tender age of 17. When Helion is giving us his gorgeous monolog talking about his love for Momma Autumn, we find out that she and Beron were married young and had barely been married for two decades around the start of the first war. Meaning Eris was around 19 at the time.

This passage from Rhys is a little hazy and unclear, but from how I and several other people took it, he was around 28 at the start of that war, meaning Mor was also around 27 to 28. That makes Mor at least 8 to 9 years older than Eris. Meaning, he potentially was a LITERAL child when he and Mor were engaged. He would have been around the age of 7 to 9 and already had the mindset to fear Beron.

This where I am going to look SJM critical. She is great at a few things, creating plotholes by retconing, and fucking up timelines due to her retconing.

Let's say she retcons to correct that issue. We still know Eris is younger than Mor by a year or two. So, let's say he was 15 to 16. At 15 to 16 years old, I want you to think about what you would have done in this situation:

You are a young prince or princess. Your father is a known abuser and racist. You all have just found out your betrothed has sullied themselves with a person your father considers below all of you, and you know it was done to get out of a marriage she did not want to be in. You and your men find her on the border of your father's court, beaten and with a nail in her womb. Here are your options:

1. You take her back to your father, the known racist and abuser. Thus making her, in reality, his problem. You have witnessed how your father likes to handle his problems. You also know he's angry and embarrassed this female made the choice to sleep with a lesser born bastard Illyrian over marry his high fae princeling.

2. You cannot risk touching her, so leave her somewhere her friends can find her without risking her or them having to enter Autumn. This will allow her to go home, where she is safe, and heal.

In both scenarios, Eris could not win. He either took Mor to his father and risked her death and was blamed for that, or he left her knowing her friends were more than likely coming and be blamed for that as well. He was now the villain in Mor's story regardless of what actions he took, and he was that villain as a teen. A literal child. As a child he picked to allow Morrigan life. To allow her to live without being trapped the way he and his mother are.

Eris, in theory, made a selfless choice. He made the choice to damn himself and his reputation for the sake of Mor and as he says, it cost him..

As for me being willing to write other SJM bad guys-

It is perfectly normal and acceptable in every other fandom to be attracted to the bad guys and to write dark fanfiction about them. You see it all time in Tolkien, Harry Potter, and (grossly since they are all children) it has resurged in the Percy Jackson fandom. Please have several seats and let me, and the several other people who are excited for it, enjoy my little story about Pollux, my reader, and his heavy cock that sways to and fro.

It's also, as someone pumping out the amount of content I am right now, really nice to get to write a dark fic with a villain here and there for a change of pace, so thank you to everyone who is supportive and open to me doing that.

[katzkinder]

Setsugekka, Kurenai, Desire

A missing scene commissioned by @rwbypro featuring Tsubaki and his sublcass post reuniting after the hospital attack. Thank you so much, this was fun to write! Enjoy Tsubaki's weird headspace in this lol

Setsugekka: a snow white camellia cultivar with dark green, slightly matte foliage. Named for the Japanese expression of snow, moon, and flowers, embodying the three whites of the winter, autumn, and spring seasons. Satsuma Kurenai: as the name suggests, the bright red blooms of the kurenai camellia are approximately the size of a satsuma orange. Blooms show a small hint of yellow stamen, making it the true rose of winter Desire: A flashy and showy camellia which features large, up to four inch wide, double flowers in a formal style. Counting up to sixty petals, this pink to white camellia is sure to impress.

Black. White. Red.

Black. White. Red.

Black. White. Red.

The colors of the city at night, illuminated by his lanterns. The ethereal glow reflects off puddles, water, spilled beer, spilled stomachs, dancing on their surface in an eerie parade that would never be seen by mortal eye. Really, no matter how advanced humans became… The squalor of an inner city never changed. Trash. Forgotten, dirty corners. Forgotten, dirty people.

Thousands, at any given time, just out of sight. Abandoned. Betrayed.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Black. White. Red.

Black. White. Red.

Black. White. Red.

Black like bile. White like snow. Red like the camellia, which dies so gracefully. Without a single complaint. Without any inconvenient ugliness.

“I’m taking this city hostage.”

Black. White. Red. 

Black. White. Red.

Pink?

Three figures.

A black apron. A white uniform. Red, red eyes, just like his own.

Immediately, his heart lifts.

Someone with a melancholy heart is speaking to him. Someone with a love like fresh snow is telling him something. Someone with hands stained is touching him.

He dislikes this man. But he can’t fault him.

“There! ☆”

What matters the most… Is that his family is safe.

What matters the most is that they’re alive.

“Shamrock won’t be coming. It’s alright, though. Don’t worry about him.”

“Let’s go.”

He’s no longer sure who is following who.

He does know this. He could give a thousand apologies, carefully folded in his mouth like cranes… And it wouldn’t be enough. For the risk he took. For what he put them through. For…

Belkia brushes shoulders with him, energetic and bouncy as ever, and the thought flees from his mind.

The guilt remains, but it gives him perspective. 

Black, white, red.

A single wish.

He wonders if that makes him selfish. 

***

“You’re quiet. It’s a problem.”

“Is it?”

Otogiri peers at him, sitting with her knees drawn to her chest, fingers wiggling between her bare toes. He really wishes she’d wear shoes more often. There’s too much broken glass around, not just here, in their temporary base as they await the coming of the red moon… But everywhere in Tokyo. Glass, nails, rust…

“You’re spacing out again. Tsubaki-san.”

Her voice, soft and mellow, cuts through his thoughts once more.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to zone out.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Without regard for decorum or room for him to posture, she pierces right to the heart of the matter of what had been plaguing him.

“I know that,” he lies even so, and immediately regrets it. She only continues to stare at him. She’s making an effort, he can tell. To hold his gaze. She’s not really one to look directly at others for long periods. Like Lilac, she prefers for attention to slip harmlessly past her, to direct it anywhere else but herself.

“Tsubaki-san is an idiot.” Super blunt!

She sighs and adjusts her position to rest her chin on her knees, one pale, doughy cheek squishing up and doing absolutely nothing to degrade the elegant beauty of her features. His heart aches for her and how far she’s come. “To us. It was more important for you to not go back to that place.” That place of black, and white, and red. “We knew we would be fine. We’re strong, after all.”

“... Yes. You all are.”

“Good. If you understand that… Then please stop pitying us. It’s a problem.”

“Haha… Of course.”

***

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Tsubaki stares blankly up at his second in command. Higan only continues to look down at him, one arm, the sleeve rolled up to reveal more muscle than you’d expect from an artsy type, and about as much hair as you’d guess for an Italian, pressed against the dirty concrete wall of their little dilapidated parking garage. There’s a quirk to his mouth that says he’s aching for a cigarette. It might be a strange thought, but…

“Was just thinking about how good it is that you were born after opium fell out of fashion.”

Higan coughs on a laugh, shoulders shaking, and Tsubaki watches, distantly hypnotized, as his red hair sways with his movements. It’s beautifully glossy, even in the dim light of flickering overheads, broken and sparking occasionally with their disuse. How he misses their home, not just for its creature comforts, but for the safety it gave, and the bright, warm tinged light of shaded bulbs which cast everything and everyone precious to him in their glow.

“Hoo boy. You really know how to catch this old man off guard, even now.” Higan pushes away and slides to sit next to him instead. Tsubaki can’t help but reach for that cascade, red as fire, and draw it into his lap, just to make sure it doesn’t touch the dirty floor.

Higan smiles and puts his arm around him in turn. “Glad to have you back again, Tsubaki-san.”

The silence is comfortable, and the love unspoken.

***

Belkia finds him shortly before dawn. Well. Find is a strong word. It’s not like he was particularly trying to hide. He wasn’t, really.

It’s just.

This particular corner was very comfortable. Yes. That was it.

“They took my goddamn glasses.” There’s such an exaggerated pout on Belkia’s face about that, he can’t help but crack a smile.

“That’s very rude. Don’t they have any respect at all?”

“Exactly! Who takes a guy’s glasses?! I’m not at aaaall like that Greed guy! I need these!”

They’d discussed, of course, the practicality of contact lenses, laser eye surgery, you know. Cosmetic things like that. And it was cosmetic, to Belkia at least, just like those see through braces had been (not Invisalign. Some other brand), because in the end it had all come down to style. Belkia simply liked his glasses. Said they gave him an air of intelligent mischief, which had made Tsubaki laugh so hard he’d cried because Bel, his Bel, had been pulling such a serious face with such a silly pose, like an idol or something, or maybe a daytime drama actor. It was, in a word, goofy.

The very same kind of look he was pulling now, actually, head turned every so slightly and eyes narrowed somewhere between a scowl and some attempt at a smoldering gaze.

“A great magician needs to maintain his iconic appearance.”

“PFFFT.” That was it. He was done for. A single line, in a dramatically gravelly voice, pushed him over the edge. Echoing off the walls around them and into the faint glimmer of the Tokyo sunrise, Tsubaki felt his guilt wash away like ash, melt like snow, doused like flames.

Truly, Belkia knew the best magic in the world.

[dottielovegood]

Anything. Everything.

@elriel-month : Happy Solstice

This fic is based on the following prompt from @freepandahugs:

elriel with secret messages, where elain keeps sending little dirty messages to azriel while he is away in the cabin for the snowball fight 🤭 bonus points if smut ensues once azriel gets back

(I obviously went for the bonus points) Warnings: Explicit. NSFW. See tags on AO3 Word count: 6738

Azriel 

When Rhys told Azriel to stay away from Elain, he really did try to follow the order. He didn’t do so gladly, but he did it nonetheless. He might have filled a few snowballs with rocks during their annual snowball fight, but if Rhys understood why he did that, he didn’t let it show. And later that same day, he gave away the necklace he had bought for Elain, even though he regretted doing so just moments later. He just couldn’t keep it. He just couldn’t have one more thing reminding him of her. The vial of headache powder on his bedside table was enough of a reminder of what, and who, he so desperately wanted. 

It took him one week to grow resentful and one more week to question why Elain couldn’t choose her own fate. He didn’t really care much about himself – he never had, but Elain deserved better. She deserved a choice. It took a few more weeks to gather the courage he needed to talk to her about that night. He had behaved like an idiot and was fully expecting Elain to tell him so, but she didn’t. Of course, she didn’t. Because she knew. She had seen it. She had seen that he would come back to her. 

“I see many things, Azriel,” she had told him when he came to her room that night. “I just never know exactly when they will happen, so I’ve been waiting.”

“Waiting for me to beg your forgiveness?”

“There is nothing to forgive. Even though I am angry at Rhys for taking away my voice, I do understand him. He is afraid, and he needs to know that we will be here if anything were to happen to him. I don’t know Lucien very well, but I do not think that he would ever do anything to harm me or anyone in this court because of tradition, especially not an Autumn Court tradition. But if it will lessen the burden that Rhys has to carry at this moment, I am fine with keeping us a secret. For now.”

“You are a much kinder soul than I will ever be,” Azriel had murmured as he took her face in his scarred hands. “I might have filled my snowballs with rocks during our Solstice snowball fight.” 

Elain rolled her eyes and placed a hand over his heart. “Now I understand why Feyre calls you Illyrian babies.” 

Ever since that night, they had spent as much time together as possible. It wasn’t easy, seeing that they had to hide their relationship. After a few months, Elain moved into the Town House under the disguise of wanting more independence. In reality, it was the only way they could see each other without risking anyone finding out about them.

It was now one year later. One year, and no one knew about them. Well, the twins knew, and Azriel was quite certain that Cassian was getting suspicious, but apart from them, they had managed to keep their relationship hidden. 

This Solstice, they hadn’t been able to spend the night together either. Everyone had stayed at the River House and they had been forced to resort to stolen glances and careful touches all night, something so familiar yet foreign to them now. Azriel couldn’t wait to have Elain in his arms again. He had been away on a mission and had arrived home in Velaris just in time for Solstice dinner and even though it had only been little over a week since they last spent a night together, it felt like a small lifetime. Every single moment without Elain felt like an eternity. His life was better, brighter, with her in his life. So yes, he was aching to go to her, but first, he had a snowball fight to win. 

Azriel hadn’t thought much about that first message. 

When he woke up in the guest room in the River House, he found a small handwritten note on his bedside table. It smelled like jasmine and honey and he was quite impressed that she had managed to get it into his room without him noticing. During the last couple of months, she had been training with him and the twins and she often joked that she would steal the title of spymaster from him soon. Azriel had never felt more proud. 

I can’t wait for you to come home to me. My bed feels so cold when you’re not there. I miss you. 

He smiled at the note. Home. She was his home now and there was no place he’d rather be than with her. His entire soul was begging him to go to her room and take her away so they could be together. If it had been any other day, he would have done just that. It might seem silly that a Snowball fight was one of the most important days to three Illyrian males, but it wasn’t just a snowball fight. It was tradition. It was family. When Rhys had gone under the mountain all those years ago, Azriel and Cassian hadn’t been able to keep the tradition alive. They had gone to the cabin once, but it had felt all wrong without Rhys there. Everything had felt wrong when their brother had sacrificed himself for his court. Azriel and Cassian had left the cabin after just a few minutes and promised each other that they would stay away until Rhys came back, and that’s what they did. For almost fifty years, they waited for him to return, and when he did, Azriel promised himself to never miss a single snowball fight ever. What had once started as a silly game between friends, had now become one of his most cherished traditions. Even when Rhys pulled rank and meddled in other people’s lives, Azriel still showed up, and this year would not be different. Yes, he wanted to spend time with Elain and yes, he was aching to feel her soft body against his, but he also wanted to spend time with his brothers. 

And, in all honesty, he wanted to win. No, he needed to win. 

He couldn’t imagine a greater feeling than returning home to Elain after winning the game. 

It should be easy to win, Azriel thought. Rhys has a small baby and Cassian can’t spend more than ten minutes away from Nesta. Part of Azriel’s strategy this year was to play to their weaknesses - they would surely be tired and distracted. 

However, Azriel hadn’t accounted for Elain and how distracting she could be, even when she wasn’t there. 

The second message was not as subtle. 

Somehow, Elain had managed to put a small package in his bag that contained a cinnamon roll (his favorite) and another note. Luckily, he found it when he was alone in his room. 

I hope this tastes as sweet as I do. 

There he stood, next to the bed he had slept in so many times over the centuries, holding a cinnamon roll, thinking about the taste of Elain. He wanted to send her a message back telling her that nothing could ever come close to being as sweet as her. As so many times before, he wished that he had daemati powers, even though he probably wouldn’t be able to reach her when she was so far away. And once again, he hoped that the day would go by quickly. He was already planning on tasting her thoroughly once he made it back home. 

The third message wasn’t really a message, unless you knew what to look for. 

Elain had been given a book on the language of flowers for her birthday that year and, after reading it, she’d decided to teach him about how people used to send secret messages through flowers once upon a time. It had started out as a sweet way for them to send each other secret messages - a pink camellia to express longing when they hadn’t been able to see each other for a while, a white tulip to ask forgiveness when he had done something stupid, a bouquet of yellow flowers to show how happy he was that she was in his life. It was sweet and innocent most of the time. 

This flower was not innocent though. 

As he crouched down behind the wall of snow he had built to cover himself, a small, white flower fell out from somewhere in his clothes. He had no idea where it came from, but there was no question about whom it came from. 

Jasmine. The scent of her. The scent of home. 

In the snow, the small flower was almost impossible to see, but Azriel saw. He noticed. He knew. Not only was Jasmine the one flower that reminded him of Elain - of home. It was also the flower that represented love and desire. It was the flower Elain would give him when she wanted him to take her to bed. 

The small flower made him lose his concentration for just a moment, but a moment was all it took for Cassian to sneak up and hit him square in the face with a massive snowball. Roaring with laughter, he ran away just as Azriel bent down and crushed the flower into a giant snowball of his own. It was only fitting to aim for Rhys.

–-

Azriel lost the snowball fight. He hadn’t been able to get Elain out of his mind. He really should have insisted on them spending the previous night together because now he was not only aching for her, but he was also in a pretty bad mood since Cassian had won the snowball fight twice in a row now. Last year, he only had himself to blame but this time, Elain was definitely to blame. At least a little. 

He couldn’t wait to get home and take his frustrations out on her. 

Only a few more hours, he thought to himself as he undressed and reached for a towel. 

Once again, he was very happy that he had decided to go to his room before joining the others in the birchin. Cassian had shouted something about being a sore loser and licking his wounds, but in all honesty, Azriel just needed a moment to himself in order to try to get Elain out of his thoughts. He couldn’t very well sit in the birchin while thinking about the fact that Elain desired him and wanted him to come home and taste her. He couldn’t sit there, naked, while imagining how he would get down on his knees and worship her body for hours as soon as he got the chance. 

The fourth message, if one could even call it a message, was everything but subtle. 

When Azriel unfolded his towel and a small piece of lilac fabric fell to the floor, he knew that he wasn’t joining his brothers anytime soon. He bent down to pick up the lacy underwear Elain had somehow managed to sneak into his bag. It was the underwear he had bought her a few weeks ago on a trip to the continent. The underwear she had worn for approximately five minutes before he ripped them off her body and fucked her on the bedroom dresser. And against the wall. And on the bed. 

It had been a great night. 

Azriel curled his hand into a fist around the lace. “That little tease,” he muttered under his breath as he promptly started to dress again. Elain had him wrapped around her finger, and even though Azriel would never admit it, he loved it. 

She had sent him a very clear message, and Azriel was not going to make her wait for a response. So without saying goodbye, he stepped into a shadow and winnowed back to Velaris. Back to Elain. Back to his heart. Back to his home.

Elain

Elain was curled up in her green velvet armchair in what had once been her bedroom at the Town House. She now shared this room with Azriel, even though no one knew about it. They usually kept to this room, just to make sure that his scent didn’t linger if someone came to visit. She was reading one of Nesta’s books - the ones no one thought a good girl like her would ever enjoy. Except for Azriel, that is. He knew what she liked. He might have even known her preferences better than she did. Ever since that night when he had come to her to beg her forgiveness, he had shown her that she had no idea how good she could feel. Had shown her just how attuned to him her body was. Just thinking back on that night had her toes curling. 

She missed him. She hadn’t spent a night with him in far too long and her body was aching for him. She missed his touch, his tongue, and all the wicked things he did to her. She missed the way he could make her forget about all her troubles and the way he took care of her - not only sexually. When he was gone, she felt like a piece of her was missing. She knew that he felt the same, which is why she had left a few messages for him to find. Just the thought of him finding all of her little notes and gifts had her grinning to herself. Gods, she couldn’t wait for him to get home.

Little did she know that she was about to him sooner than she thought. 

She felt him before she saw him. There was something tickling her foot and when she looked down, a single shadow had curled itself around her ankle. She smiled at the unmistakable proof that he was nearby, though she didn’t move. She didn’t greet him. No, she only continued reading. Or she tried to, at least. It was a bit difficult to concentrate on the words when her entire body was suddenly more awake than it had been in days. She had to resist the urge to drop the book and look to the balcony where she was certain she would find him watching her. 

She could almost feel his eyes on her and when he sent another shadow to caress her hand, she couldn’t hide her smile any longer. “You’re home,” she said without lowering the book. She knew that he could tell that she wasn’t reading. She hadn’t turned the page since the first shadow had curled itself around her. Elain heard him come into her room, but he stayed by the balcony door. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet his, he was leaning against the door frame, his eyes set intently on her. She tried to ignore the fact that a lacy piece of fabric hung from his fingers. 

“I just came to return these,” he purred and lifted his hand. Elain had to bite back a grin. 

She eyed the underwear that she had put in his bag a few hours earlier. “I’m glad you received my messages,” she said sweetly. 

His eyes were burning into her and she could almost feel the heat as he dragged his eyes over her body. “And what message was it you were trying to send?” 

“I thought it was obvious.” She tried to play it cool, even though she felt everything but. Her entire body screamed at her to go to him. To press herself against his body and beg him to touch her. She needed his hands on her more than she needed oxygen. 

“Was it now?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “I would say that the messages were somewhat conflicting. So please, indulge me.” 

“I just wanted you to know that I missed you.” It was the truth, even though she had wanted to tell him so much more. 

“Uh, huh.” His shadows seemed to vibrate around him. He closed his hand into a fist around her panties. 

Elain swallowed, “And that I was waiting for you to come back,” she continued. 

“And?” Azriel took one step toward her and sent another shadow to slide along her body until it came to rest around her neck. Suddenly, she forgot how to breathe. She had to press her thighs together to relieve the ache building there. 

“And that I wasn’t wearing any underwear.” She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. He held her gaze as he stalked over to her. She had to crane her neck to look at him when he stopped in front of her. 

“Did you win the snowball fight?” she asked with feigned innocence. 

He regarded her for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest. When he spoke, his voice carried a tone of warning. “I did not.” Elain could feel her smile waver. “In fact,” Azriel continued, “I received one of your messages during the fight.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. That hadn’t been her plan. “Oh?” 

“Don’t act all innocent.” Azriel bent down and put one hand on the armrest. His face was so close to hers she could taste his breath. “You made me lose the fight, Elain,” he whispered and Elain could feel a shiver run down her spine. 

She had no idea why he cared so much about a snowball fight. Where she came from, only children played in the snow. But she knew that he was competitive, almost to the point of obsession. No matter the game - Azriel needed to win. He needed to be in control. Elain hadn’t imagined him losing the fight. When she prepared her gifts for him, she had counted on him winning. She was so certain that he was going to win, and that he would want to celebrate his victory with her. In bed. She had imagined that he would find her messages sweet, if maybe a bit cheeky. But if she had made him lose the fight - she was quite certain that he didn’t find them endearing. 

“And these,” Azriel continued and held up her panties in front of her. “They made it quite impossible for me to join the others in the birchin.” For just a second, Elain let her gaze drop. In the darkness, she couldn’t see if he was hard, but she knew that he had been. That just the thought of her had made him leave his brothers and come back to her hours earlier than planned. She had made him lose control. 

Azriel didn’t like it when things didn’t go according to plan. Suddenly, Elain didn’t feel as confident. She had known exactly how this would play out if he won – but now, when she knew that he lost because of her – all bets were off. She felt nervous, although part of her felt excited. There was a thrill in not knowing what Azriel would do with her. To her. 

Azriel had never been a gentle lover. Ever since their first time together, it had been obvious that he needed to be in control even in the bedroom. Elain didn’t mind. Gentleness was not something she needed. People had always been gentle with her; her sisters, her parents, Graysen – they had all treated her like a flower made of glass. Too delicate, too fragile – that’s all she was to them. Azriel was the first to truly see her. He was the only one who understood her needs, even before she understood them herself. She had come to crave his control – his darkness. The way he would devour her with his eyes and then worship her body until she was begging him for more or mercy – it was better than anything she could have asked for. Outside the bedroom, Azriel was a gentleman. The same could not be said when they closed that bedroom door though. 

“My eyes are up here, angel,” he mused and Elain felt herself blush. He put a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him again. “Always so desperate for me to touch you. Couldn’t even wait until tomorrow.” His lips ghosted over hers. “Do you think you deserve to be touched? You did make me lose the snowball fight, after all.”

Elain wanted to roll her eyes, but she also wanted to come tonight. Sometimes, when Azriel had his wicked way with her, he could keep her on edge for hours and she definitely wasn’t in the mood for that tonight. Instead, she decided to play along. 

“Are you going to punish me because you lost a snowball fight?” she tried to make her voice a bit breathy – hoping to sound innocent. 

There was a hint of a smirk playing on Azriel’s lips. He knew what she was doing. “Do you think you should be punished?” he asked, his lips just out of reach. She wanted him to kiss her. She needed him to devour every part of her. 

“If that’s what it takes to get you to touch me.”

When she finally felt his lips against hers she wanted to sigh in relief. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and pull him down to her. She could feel him smile and she parted her lips for him, but he never kissed her. He just kept his lips on hers, barely even touching. It was maddening. 

“Please,” she breathed. She didn’t know what she was asking for, she just knew that she might die if he didn’t kiss her. 

“Please what?” he teased. He always did this. Always made her use her words to ask for what she wanted. 

“Please, anything just– I’ve missed you. I need you.”

“Need me to do what?”

Frustrated, she put her hand over his heart and fisted the black fabric of his shirt. “Anything. Everything.”

Azriel chuckled and grabbed her wrist. “Dangerous words, love.”

“Please,” she begged again. She licked his lower lip, hoping to finally get a reaction from him. 

“So desperate for me,” Azriel teased. With a firm grip on her wrist, he loosened her hold on his shirt. “Always begging for more.”

Elain just nodded. Yes, she wanted more. So much more. She was going crazy. How could he be so calm when she was burning up? 

“Go stand by the bed.”

Before the words even had a chance to register, he had pushed himself off the chair and was once again standing over her, his arms crossed and his expression serious. She knew that they were playing - that this was part of the game. Yet, when he looked at her like that, she wanted nothing more than to please him. When he looked at her like that, she would do anything just to try to get him to lose control. Anything. Everything. 

Elain stood up on shaky legs and walked over to the bed. When she turned around, she found Azriel leaning against the wall again. He still had her panties in his hand. 

“What now?” she asked. 

“Strip.”

Elain started sliding the straps of her nightgown down her arms. Slowly, enticingly. Her eyes never leaving his. When she let the fabric fall to the floor, Azriel lost his control for just a split second. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of her and his eyes burned a path down her naked body. 

“Well, you weren’t lying,” he murmured, his eyes focused between her legs. Elain fought the instinct to wrap her arms around her body. 

“Get on the bed.”

Elain quickly did as she was told. She lay down on top of the covers and kept her eyes on him the entire time. She felt exposed. She needed him to cover her. “And now?”

A smirk played on Azriel’s lips as he watched her. Her heart was beating fast and the anticipation of what was to come made her even more desperate. She kept her legs pressed together and her arms lay stiff at her sides. She expected him to come to her now, but he stayed exactly where he was. He did nothing, said nothing. Elain could do nothing but wait. 

Azriel’s was covered in shadows and Elain could see a dark tendril slithering over the floor. She shivered when it reached the bed and started to make its way up her body. The feeling of his shadows on her skin was foreign yet familiar at the same time. They were neither warm nor cold, neither smoke nor solid. Yet she could feel them twist and curl around her legs, her arms. Her neck. One shadow came to rest around her neck and Elain arched into the feeling, letting her head fall back into the soft pillow. Azriel had always loved her neck. Always made sure to give it extra attention whenever they were together. On more than one occasion had she been forced to wear a scarf to hide the marks he so lovingly left on her skin. 

Elain tore her eyes away from Azriel for just a moment and looked down at her body. She was covered in shadows. When she tried to move her arm, she was surprised to find that she couldn’t. “Azriel,” she gasped when she realized that the shadows were pinning her to the bed. 

“You look beautiful like this,” he said, his voice low and full of wicked promises. “Covered in my darkness.” 

Elain whimpered when she felt one of his shadows move up her inner thigh. She had no idea what his shadows were made of, but they seemed to be vibrating against her already sensitive skin. They had never done this before. His shadows were usually nowhere to be seen when they were together like this. She didn’t know what to make of it, she just knew that her body was begging for more. 

“Please,” she breathed, her eyes pleading with him. This was the sweetest form of torture. 

Azriel’s eyes darkened and she could see him reach for something on her dresser. “Already begging?” 

“Yes.” If it pleased him, she would get down on her knees to beg him to touch her. She would do anything if he just made her feel good. Azriel walked over to the bed and Elain breathed a sigh of relief. He was finally giving in. Finally giving her what she needed. 

“Open your mouth,” he ordered. She turned her head to the side and opened her mouth, expecting him to unfasten his trousers and put his cock between her lips. She held his gaze as he stroked a finger over her jaw and caressed her lower lip with his thumb. “So eager,” he murmured.  “So beautiful.”

A shadow slipped over her eyes just as Azriel’s fingers left her skin. She didn’t have time to feel surprised before something was pushed into her mouth. It was soft. Some sort of fabric. Maybe…

Elain could feel herself blush when she realized what Azriel had done. 

Her panties. He had put her panties in her mouth. She couldn’t speak. He had gagged her with her own underwear. If she hadn’t been so turned on, it would have been humiliating. 

At the same moment, he put something cold in her hand. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that it felt like her hairbrush. “If it’s too much and you can’t speak, just let go of the brush and we’ll stop.” 

Azriel removed the shadow over her eyes and Elain found comfort in the warm brown eyes looking down at her. “Nod if you understand.”

Elain nodded and hummed. 

“Do you want to stop?” 

She shook her head. 

“Good girl,” he purred, and Elain almost moaned at the praise. If someone would have told her a year ago that Azriel had the dirtiest mouth in Velaris, she wouldn’t have believed them. Nor would she have believed that she would melt like butter every time he praised her. 

Azriel took a step back again, his eyes ravenous as they took in the way his shadows slithered over her body. When his eyes found hers again, he smiled at her. It was a wicked smile and Elain loved the promise behind those dark eyes of his. He was giving her exactly what she asked for.

The shadow between her legs started to move again and Elain pressed her head back into the pillow and closed her eyes, trying to savor the sensation. 

“Eyes on me,” Azriel commanded. “I want to see what I do to you.”

Elain whimpered as she met his gaze again. “Don’t forget, drop the brush if you want to stop.” 

That was all the warning she got before she felt another shadow at her entrance. She was so wet, so needy. When the shadow pushed inside of her, Elain gasped in surprise. She had no idea how this was happening. She didn’t understand. All she knew was that she was covered in Azriel’s darkness and that she was, quite literally, fucking a shadow. The shadow filled her slowly and the sensation of being so full while the other shadows caressed her body had her moaning. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. All she could was feel. She felt the shadow move inside her while another shadow tightened its grip around her throat. The sensations were both too much and not enough. She wanted to beg again but she had no words. He had taken her words and her body and all that was left was him. His shadows. His darkness. His eyes staring right into her very soul. 

She had no idea how much time had passed when Azriel finally spoke again. It could have been minutes or hours - she didn’t know. Didn’t care. 

“Do you enjoy getting fucked by my darkness?” his voice was dark, almost sinister. 

She nodded and tried to answer but all she could manage was a muffled sound. 

He chuckled and reached into the shadows. She felt his fingertips on her knee. It almost burned her skin. “I was going to come to you tomorrow,” he said and moved his finger slowly up her thigh. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed and fuck you slowly for hours.”

Elain moaned again when she felt his fingers tease between her folds. “But you couldn’t wait, could you?” Azriel stroked her clit with two fingers. “You had to send me that flower.” His fingers traveled lower. “You just had to put your panties in my bag.” She tensed when his fingers circled her entrance. “Were you trying to get me to come home early?”

Again, Elain tried to answer but the words never made it out of her mouth. 

Agonizingly slowly, Azriel pushed one finger inside. The shadow that had filled her disappeared and she whimpered at the loss and the new sensation. The shadows spread her legs to give him more access and Elain wanted nothing more than to move into his touch. 

Azriel’s finger stilled and he slid one knee between her thighs. His other other hand came to rest beside her head and Elain reveled in feeling his weight on her. She breathed in his scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. He smelled like home. Azriel dipped his head and she could feel his breath on her ear. “Message received,” he whispered just as he pressed another finger into her aching core. She moaned around the lace. The way he curled his fingers just right had her seeing stars. Azriel groaned and lifted his head again. His hazel eyes focused on her for just a moment before he leaned in and took the lacy fabric that hung out of her mouth between his own teeth. He held her gaze as he slowly pulled them out of her mouth. He dropped them beside her head and Elain managed to take one single breath before his mouth was on hers. She could feel him growl as he deepened the kiss and started fucking her with his fingers. She moaned into his mouth and felt herself clench around him. She wanted more. Wanted all of him. 

“Please,” she begged breathlessly against his lips. “Please, I want all of you.”

“You have all of me. Always,” Azriel murmured against her lips. He teased her lower lip with his tongue and she parted her lips to let him in. She melted into his kiss – into his touch. Azriel’s fingers brought her to the edge over and over, but every time she was close, he slowed his movements or changed the angle. She knew he was doing it on purpose. Elain let out a frustrated growl and fisted her hands in the fabric of his shirt. She didn’t even realize that she had moved until she heard the brush she had been holding fall to the floor.

The shadows disappeared and Azriel stopped his movements immediately. He withdrew his fingers from her, which was the opposite of what she wanted. She hadn’t meant to drop the brush, it had just been too much and not enough and she needed him closer. 

“Are you okay, Elain?” He asked, concern painted all over his beautiful face. “Do you want to stop?”

Shaking her head, Elain pulled him down until she could whisper in his ear. “I don’t want to stop. I want more.” Her voice was low and full of desperation. She was quite certain that she would go mad if he didn’t let her come soon. “Please, Azriel. Make me feel good.”

With a growl, Azriel crashed his lips to hers again and moved his body over hers. He was still fully clothed but she could feel just how much she wanted her. Elain reached down and palmed his cock over the leather. Azriel grabbed her wrist and pulled away from her. When their eyes met, she could see both fire and shadows in his. She loved everything about Azriel, but there was something so wonderfully forbidden when he was like this. Here he was, the spymaster, the male who never showed his emotions, burning for her. She had never felt so powerful before. 

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Azriel stood up next to the bed and Elain let out a shaky breath before pushing herself up to a sitting position. She watched as he reached behind him and unfastened the clasps on his shirt. He let the dark fabric fall to the floor and now it was Elain’s turn to devour him with her eyes. Gods, he was gorgeous. She couldn’t believe he was hers. 

“Angel, don’t make me wait,” Azriel said and reached for the fastenings on his trousers. “I really don’t like waiting.”

“Or losing,” Elain muttered under her breath and turned around. She placed her knees on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, balancing herself on her hands. She tried to ignore the fact that Azriel could see everything from his position behind her. She held her breath in anticipation as she waited for him to touch her. 

“Az–” she began, but his name died on her tongue when she felt a sharp pain on her left buttock. She gasped in surprise. He spanked her. He actually spanked her. 

He had never done that before. Elain had no idea why her body seemed to sing from the pain. She couldn’t understand how the feeling was so similar to pleasure. Azriel had always said that there was a fine line between pain and pleasure, but Elain had never experienced that for herself. Now though, she was beginning to understand what he meant. 

“That’s for being a brat,” Azriel said. When his hand came down on her ass a second time, Elain closed her eyes and let herself really feel the sensation of it all. She didn’t dislike it as much as she thought she would. 

In fact, she didn’t dislike it at all. 

“And that’s for making me lose the snowball fight.”

Should she ask for forgiveness? Should she tell him that she was sorry?She had no idea. She just knew that she didn’t want him to stop. 

He spanked her one more time and Elain couldn’t help the moan that left her lips. “And that’s for making it impossible to join my friends in the birchin.”

Elain smiled but kept quiet. 

His hand came down a fourth time and Elain could feel herself get wetter. Gods, she was really disturbed, wasn’t she? Who enjoyed getting spanked? 

As if he could read her mind, Azriel stroked his hand lovingly over her ass. “And that one was just because you seemed to enjoy that.” Elain could hear the smile in his voice. She turned her head so she could look at him over her shoulder. 

“What does that say about me?” She worried her lip between her teeth. 

“That you’re perfect for me.”

Azriel moved his hand over her back until it rested between her shoulder blades. He pushed her down until her breasts were pressed against the bed. She heard him shift behind her and she resisted the urge to look back again. She felt something warm between her legs and Azriel’s hand was once again grabbing her ass, holding her open for him. He stroked his cock between her folds. “So fucking pretty for me,” he said as the head of his cock pushed inside her. With his other hand, he grabbed her hip and without warning, he drove his hard cock into her warmth. She fisted the sheets and moaned as he started to fuck her. Hard. Azriel was not holding back as he drove into her again and again. 

“Such a good girl. Taking everything I give you,” he all but growled. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you too,” she managed to gasp between moans. She met his thrusts, her body begging her to take him deeper. She felt something wet between her cheeks and then Azriel’s thumb was there, massaging her asshole. She was too lost in pleasure to care about the fact that she should feel mortified. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” Azriel said, his breathing ragged and his voice dripping with lust. 

“Don’t you dare stop.”

Elain moaned when his thumb pushed inside. She had never been this full before. They had spent so many nights together, but it had never been like this. Never this intense, this raw.

“You like being filled like this, don’t you?”

Once again, Elain moaned into the sheets and pushed her body back against his, making his thumb slip in further. “Oh, gods,” she whimpered. “Azriel– oh, fuck…” 

“You’re doing so well, Elain.”

She felt a familiar sensation as he sent one of his shadows to massage her clit again. She had to bite the sheets to keep herself from screaming. “Don’t,” Azriel grunted. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.” 

And Elain did. She had no control of her body and Azriel didn’t let up. He kept fucking her. Filling her. Using her. He gave her everything and she gladly took it all. 

“Az, I’m gonna– Oh, gods, I–”

“Come for me, sweetheart. Go on, come on my cock.” 

She felt herself clench around his cock and his thumb. Her legs started to shake and she was glad Azriel was holding her up because she was falling. She came with a scream and she could feel Azriel fill her just seconds later. He fucked her through her pleasure. “Fuck,” he grunted as he pushed himself into her once last time before he stilled. 

They were both trying to catch their breaths. Azriel pulled out of her and covered her body with his. She could feel his seed run down her thighs. He kissed her shoulders, her neck. Licked that sensitive spot just below her ear. She barely even registered that they had moved until her head was resting on Azriel’s chest, her fingers following the path of his tattoos. Elain had done this so many times, she was certain that she would be able to trace the swirls of his tattoos in her sleep. She had spent every moment they had together memorizing his body and he had done the same with hers. 

“Can we stay like this forever?” She asked and kissed him over his heart. 

Azriel tightened his grip on her and kissed the top of her head. “Anything you want. You are my everything, Elain.”

“Anything and everything,” Elain said. “Dangerous words.”

[climbthemountain2020]

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 16

Part 17/26 | Ao3

Eris

It had been a week since the worst and best day of their lives thus far, and Eris was fighting every single base urge the mating bond thrust upon him each time he saw his mate and knew she was pregnant with their child. He’d barely let her leave the room since, both because of the sudden protective streak he was experiencing, but also because it had triggered something feral in him that required him to pull her naked body back into their bed every time she tried to depart it. She would giggle and they’d resume right where they left off, touching and laughing and exploring each other again. It was like they were experiencing the frenzy of the bond all over again, but Eris wasn’t complaining. 

He knew this couldn’t last–knew something would disturb this fragile, glorious peace–but gods, he wanted it to.  

That morning, a letter had arrived in their rooms requesting his presence in the throne room at sunrise, and he was regretting his duties every second he spent not in bed with Tilly. She was still sleeping, bordered by dogs on each side, as he kissed her gently and left their rooms. He knew she’d been tired lately, and he wasn’t going to wake her for no reason. He left a note with her breakfast, remembering fondly the first time he’d done so, and tried to make this one a bit sweeter. 

Good morning, beautiful creature 

You simply looked too peaceful to wake, and I hope you’re having wonderful dreams–of me, obviously. I brewed your favorite tea, set to stay heated, as well as procuring more chocolate tarts. I’ll be back in an hour or so. 

All my love, 

E

He tucked it under the pillow when he set her tray on the night table, taking another look at her and wondering how he’d possibly lucked into this. Beron aside, he didn’t know how anyone could have received such fortune in life. Perhaps the universe was finally allowing him a reprieve in exchange for the previous five centuries of torture. 

He walked to the throne room, cracking his neck as he went and preparing mentally for whatever Beron had in mind. He tried to smother the happiness he felt so it wouldn’t show on his face, letting that steel mask slide into place as it always did. He walked in with purpose, sketched a bow, and rose. 

“How may I be of service, father?”

“I need you in Dawn Court to finish brokering the deal for the new adaptive armor we commissioned.” Eris was aware of this deal. Thesan had agreed, after much negotiation, to create armor for the soldiers of Autumn. It had certain specifications in mind, made them stronger, heat resistant, and less likely to melt in the case of an onslaught of fire magic. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, but Eris hadn’t done much with it at this point. It wasn’t a particularly difficult trip, though. They might even be able to stop by Day Court and talk to Helion before returning home. 

“Yes, father. When will we be leaving?” 

“Tomorrow morning. You will need to go alone, and be subtle there. I don’t want to risk anyone seeing you and thinking we’re brokering some type of alliance. That’s the last thing we need.” Eris was immediately uncomfortable with Tilly being left behind, his instincts roaring within him to stay nearby and protect her, protect their baby.

“Understood, father.” 

“I will be off to the mortal lands for meetings with the human queens.” This information did shock Eris, but he kept his expression schooled. 

“The human queens? I did not realize we were still in contact after the mishap with Brialyn.” 

“Yes, I am building contacts with them. More allies can never hurt, especially not when they have a tense relationship with the Night Court.” Beron leered in a way that sent a chill through Eris. At least Beron would be far from Tilly in his absence. “Do not disappoint me, Eris. This is a very simple deal, and I need it to go through without any issues.” Eris simply bowed. 

“Yes, father.” 

On his way back to their rooms to pack, he thought about how he might approach the meeting with Helion. He could send a parchment from Day that was unlikely to be intercepted begging for an audience, then go straight there after Day to speak with him. He could see if Helion would be willing to at least help break the charm preventing Beron from being poisoned so that they could try again. Truly, he knew Helion wouldn’t do anything to compromise Alanna’s sons, as much as he hated Beron. He knew he’d be safe in Day, even if he wasn’t well-liked. He could explain the situation to Helion, and perhaps he would warm more if he knew the details. As a last resort, he could even exchange his knowledge of Lucien. Eris didn’t like it for anyone’s sake, least of all his mother’s, and he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

Tilly had just risen when Eris returned. She was sitting there on the still-ruffled bed, eating her pastries. She smiled at him as he came inside, and Eris thought he’d never seen anything quite so beautiful. Her red hair was tousled, waving lazily in the low light, and she was wearing a silk dressing gown that slipped deliciously off one freckled shoulder. 

“Got your note!” She held it up with a grin. “Thank you for the tea and tarts. I might live off tea and tarts if you let me.” He laughed as he came and sat on the side of the bed, giving her a kiss and tasting the chai and chocolate on her lips. 

“I’m surprised the dogs aren’t here begging.” He’d practically had to pry Hestia away from Tilly this past week. She and Cinder had become incredibly protective, going nearly everywhere she went and growling at anyone else who got too close. 

“I gave them their breakfast a bit ago and I may have given them some sausages to get a little reprieve.” Her smile turned guilty as she said it, but her eyes were filled with mischief. He reached up, letting his hand graze her jaw lightly. 

“I have to go away for a few days.” Her face dropped at the news, worry creasing her brow. 

“Why? I can’t come?” He knew she would worry–he understood. 

“It’s just a few days in Dawn. I need to finish a deal for Beron, who will, blessedly, also be gone from the Forest House.” Tilly breathed a deep sigh of relief. 

“Well, that’s not so terrible. Despite missing you while you’re gone.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. 

“I’ll be missing you every moment I am away. Perhaps you and my mother can spend some time together. I know she blooms when he’s gone, and it’ll keep you company, too.” She smiled and nodded. 

“I’d like that.” 

“And you’re good to keep the glamours up while I’m away?”

“Yes, I can do it. Not like I’d be using any other magic without you here.” She laughed a little, and he relented, kissing her again. A few quick pecks turned slower, more sensual. He could never get enough of her, and he knew that no measure of time would satisfy him. He trailed the kisses down her chest, sending all the love and affection that burned through the pathways of his heart down the bond and into her as she inhaled deeply. 

He pressed a kiss to the spot beneath her navel as she sighed in contentment. He inhaled, loving the mix of flames and oranges that washed over him. It was going to be the longest few days of his life. 

“Are you absolutely sure you’ll be alright while I’m gone? Perhaps I can figure out a way–”

“Eris, it’s fine. I have spent so much of my life by myself. I can manage a few days.” He pouted, putting on a dramatic show for her as she laughed. 

“I am hoping to get a letter to Helion. Perhaps he might be able to help.” Her expression sobered as she sat back up, Eris rising with her to press a kiss to her bare shoulder. 

“Let’s hope he will.” 

Tilly

Tilly rolled stiffly across the bed, bumping the sleeping dogs and earning grumbles as she did. 

“Oh, hush. I can’t help it that I can’t sleep. You’re the ones choosing to be here, anyway.” Eris had been gone for a day now, and she missed him sorely, but it was so much worse at night. She hated sleeping away from him–had grown so used to his warm body curved around hers that she couldn’t sleep without him here. Even with three dogs on the bed, she felt cold and lonely. She rolled again, tugging the bond lovingly and sending sweet thoughts through that mighty ribbon to him. It took barely a moment before she felt it echoing back, his amusement–likely at her still being awake–dancing around with love and devotion. 

At this distance, the bond was so incredibly faint–delayed, even–but she was glad for it only to know he was safe and to have that small bit of comfort. She and Alanna had done tea in the garden that afternoon which had been a nice reprieve, especially with the lack of Beron’s overbearing guard lingering over them like a dark cloud. Tilly loved how much lighter the Lady of Autumn was when she wasn’t being chained down by Beron’s presence, but it made it so much more painful to see her locked back down upon his return. 

They’d discussed flowers and the weather, and Alanna had tentatively mentioned the upcoming solstice, but nothing about the ticking clock hanging over their heads. A part of her wondered if Alanna didn’t sense it, didn’t already know about the grandchild cradled within Tilly’s womb. They would have told her, but they didn’t want to be responsible for giving her a single additional piece of information that Beron could torture out of her or punish her for keeping from him. They’d have to figure out soon how long they planned to hide this before they absolutely couldn’t anymore. She hoped Eris’ meeting with Helion would produce some good leads and keep them from worrying about it altogether. 

Another roll and a frustrated sigh. She was probably only about two months along at most, and the uncomfortable nights would only become more commonplace from here. At least with Eris around, he could provide his warm hands pressed against her back for some relief. She smiled at the thought. Eris was going to be such a wonderful father, and as terrible as the circumstances were, she couldn’t help but feel genuinely excited about the prospect of seeing him in the role. She could imagine him rubbing circles into her back, holding her hands as she brought their baby into the world. She could picture Eris so vividly holding him or her against his chest, tiny tufts of bright red baby curls perfectly puffing up from the blanket. The visual brought tears to her eyes, as most things seemed to these days. 

A frantic pounding on the doors broke through the darkness. 

“Matilda! Matilda, help!” 

Alanna. 

The dogs were barking and snarling, and Tilly shot out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown to wrap tightly around her as she ran to the door. The pounding was growing louder and more hectic. 

“Matilda, please!” She threw up her glamours and waved down the wards in the same breath, swinging the door open in a panic. 

“Alanna, what’s–” 

But it wasn’t Alanna she found on the other side. 

She was greeted with the twisted smile of Aradnus, holding a handkerchief covered in a bright blue powder. The voice had been a trick of magic, and in the seconds it took her to put it all together and try to slam the door on him, he’d gotten his entire arm around her throat and pressed the cloth to her nose and mouth. She could think of nothing as her vision began to blur, her senses dulling rapidly. She struggled wildly against him, the dogs snarling and snapping behind her as he kicked the door closed on them, dragging her out into the hall. 

As the darkness closed in, she tried to reach out through the bond to warn Eris, but the golden thread of flame was nowhere to be found. 

Taglist (lomls): @cauldronblssd@queercontrarian@byyalady@thelovelymadone@clockwork-ashes@lovingkelj @lilah-asteria