#please dont burn yourself out

[that1notetaker]

@wixenforever HEHEHEHAHA HI AGAIN. A FRIEND LENT ME THEIR PC FOR A WHILE TO DRAW. NOTTPOTT TBOTL BLAST!! (Also for any followers who see this AND were here during my hijack era (it still is its just lurking) I think you can see the pattern in which my interests reside. You might also want to give this fic a shot. It's a very cool HP story, I promise)

Wixen, I saw your earlier response in the other post!!! It was fantastic, you added so many cool little details, and I ate them up SO fast as I waited for the bus to arrive. I was giggling and kicking my feet at the bench It all gave me a better idea of how to picture Theo in order to draw him better. I had a similar idea of him in my head, but I love the way you vision him having high cheekbones, making him appear a little more stoic and such. He's sort of gangly and sticks out but I love characters that aren't uniquely written off as pretty or handsome. Let the boys have twisted teeth and the possibility of freckles!!

I really, REALLY loved Theo's and Harry's first meeting. It was so much fun, and because we share Harry's POV, we're in for the surprise just as Harry is. Harry's gay panic is awesome btw, especially because he's got no idea what's going on. Very relatable. The whole conversation they had after their first meeting, followed by the next, really cemented their dynamic fast. In a good way. They were two strangers half hidden from each other AND YET. AND YET THEY MANAGED TO BE TRUE IN SOUL. AUGH. I LIVE FOR THAT. Man. And then having John clocking Harry in right afterwards made me laugh SO hard.

ALSO! I roped a friend into reading your story. Now we're both nuts about it. @imdeadtiredtm Im exposing you btw. COME SAY HI.

[luna0713hunter]

Walking to your apartment,you don't expect to see Sukuna down on his knees,with a baby Yuji sitting on his back.

The man gives you a flat look,as Yuji tugs at his identical pink hair,and babbles something.

"don't even dare-"

You burst out laughing.

In your defense,its not often to see your boyfriend,CEO of his own company,one of the scariest man alive, crawling on his hands and knees to please his nephew. Its not often to see Yuji happily tug at his hair more,only to make Sukuna crawl towards you.

"oh my god-"

"i said dont-"

"he has you wrapped around his tiny finger!"

You giggle and wipe the tear from your eye; already feeling the exhaustion of the day long at work fading away. You sigh,and crouch down to Yuji's eye level on your boyfriend's back,and pinch his chubby cheek.

"look at you go! making scary uncle Ryo kneel for you!"

Yuji giggles happily and wraps his tiny fingers around yours. The sight makes your heart soften and you lean to press a gentle kiss to his chubby cheek over your boyfriend's head. When you hear him grumble under his breath,you chuckle and kiss Sukuna's forehead as well. He glares at you,and it makes you press another loud kiss to his cheek.

"stop that, woman!"

"or what?" You tease and brush his bangs from his eyes, "you're gonna make me sit on your back too?"

"oh baby," a sudden dangerous glint takes over his red eyes,and you feel yourself growing hot under his hungry gaze, "i can think of more entertaining ways to punish you, we both know that."

You huff,and try to ignore your burning cheeks.

"not in front of Yuji. Behave, Ryo." You stand up from you position,and move toward kitchen, "did you guys eat anything?"

"i could eat you, instead-"

"Ryo!"

And even though he doesnt understand a word,Yuji lets out a loud laughter over your banter. You just have to pray to all the gods above so he doesn't pick up anything from his uncle as his first word.

[meowkol]

artfight teams are fun this year but i still dont know if i will be able to participate

[skitskatdacat63]

Idk if chair wip will ever be completed :( it's a bit too early on for me to say so tbh, but IT'S FRUSTRATING ME UGH

[mminghaos]

here and now , choi seungcheol x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: after seungcheol pushes you to your limit during a party, the tension finally snaps once you make it to his car.

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex (dont do this !!), public sex (parking lot), car sex, jealousy

requests open, do send some in!!

seungcheol was being such a bitch. it was like he was purposely trying to make you jealous, trying to rile you up. why? all because you had a five minute conversation with an old friend from highschool.

and god, was it working.

he had the sleeves of his white button-up rolled to his elbows, and he leaned against the counter as he talked to the woman who was getting too close for your liking. the house party you two had been invited to was hosted by both your friends, but there were so many people there, and you couldn’t seem to focus on anything but him.

every time the woman laughed — too loudly, too flirtatiously — your stomach twisted. you watched as she leaned in, her hand lightly brushing against his arm, and seungcheol? he didn’t pull away. he acted like he didn’t even seem to notice the line she was crossing.

he was doing this on purpose. he knew you hated this, the way people threw themselves at him like he was some kind of untouchable god. but right now, it felt like he was testing you, pushing you to the edge to see how much you could take before you snapped.

he had to know what he was doing. he wasn’t oblivious to the tension in the air, to the way your gaze never strayed from him for too long.

you knew he wouldn’t go anything as far as hurting you — he wasn’t like that. but he always founds ways to make your chest tighten, to make you burn with jealousy.

finally, the woman stepped away, her lips curling into a smile as she walked off, leaving you and seungcheol alone, but not really. he was still leaning casually against the counter, and his eyes flicked to you, noticing the way your jaw clenched, how your body had stiffened with anger.

you walked over to him, setting your glass of champagne down on the marble counter before grabbing his arm firmly. “we’re going home.”

“why? i thought you said you wanted to stay out later tonight before we left the house.” his voice was teasing, the smirk practically oozing from behind you as you pulled him toward the door.

you didn’t say anything as you led him outside, your grip still firm on his arm, ignoring the way he was looking at you with that infuriating, amused expression. the cool night air hit your skin as you stepped onto the sidewalk, the distant sound of the party muffled behind you.

seungcheol finally spoke, his voice low but still laced with amusement. “so, you’re mad?”

you spun around to face him, the words bursting out before you could stop them. “you’re such an asshole.”

his smirk deepened, and he took a step closer, closing the space between you two. “am i? i was just talking to her.”

“bullshit,” you snapped, stepping back as your heart pounded. “you were flirting with her.”

“and what if i was?” he asked quietly, his tone suddenly serious, the teasing edge replaced by something more dangerous.

your breath hitched in your throat, caught between frustration and something else you couldn’t name.

you needed him so bad.

both of you stood there for a moment, the tension between you thickening. before seungcheol could say anything else, you gripped his wrist, pulling him toward his car.

he immediately unlocked the car as if he knew what was coming next. (he did).

“backseat,” you said, letting go of his wrist. your voice was filled with need. “please.”

seungcheol slid into the backseat smoothly, his eyes never leaving you. you followed him, the door clicking shut behind you as you positioned yourself in his lap. the air was thick, charged, but neither of you moved yet, the anticipation hanging between you like a heavy weight.

you tried to stay calm, to hold on to whatever control you had left, but it was slipping away with every passing second. finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips meeting his with an urgency that surprised you both.

“wondered how long it would take” he pulled back, his voice low, teasing, but with an edge that sent a shiver through you.

all you could do was scoff, but it was light-hearted. “of course you did.” you responded, your fingers twitching, wanting him, needing him.

you couldn't help but lean in again, your breath warm against his skin. with a slight tilt of your head, you brushed your lips against his jaw, lingering there for a moment. your fingers tightened on the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as you slowly kissed your way down to his neck. the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the heat of the moment made your senses reel.

seungcheol let out a quiet breath, his hands resting gently on your waist, pulling you even closer as you paused at his neck. the warmth of his skin under your lips made your heart race, and you felt the tension between you both thicken, every second stretching, making the moment feel impossibly intimate.

slowly, your hips began to move back and forth, the motion steady and deliberate. your dress crept up your thighs as you shifted and seungcheol took advantage if that to place his hands there.

a low groan escaped from his lips, right by your ear, and it sent a rush of satisfaction through you, boosing your ego.

“please, baby,” he breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper.

the heat that pooled in the bottom of your stomach intensified, making it hard to focus. you pulled back just enough to undo his belt, your fingers trembling slightly as you slid his pants down.

his cock hit against his abdomen, and your mouth drooled at the sight. “fuck, cheol.” you whispered out, positioning yourself over him after sliding your panties down.

you were already wet enough to not need any prep — it was evident with the way you were dripping all over his lap.

you slowly slid yourself down onto him, nails clawing at his shoulders as you took time to adjust. he was so big, you don’t think you’d ever be able to get used to it properly.

“oh my god,” he groaned out, hands going out to rest on your hips again as you began to move. “thats it. just like that.”

thank god the parking lot you were in was one, around the corner from the house the party was thrown at, and two, empty, because you don’t think you could bear the embarrassment of someone catching you.

“was— was doing fine before you rolled them damn sleeves up.” you whimpered out, your hips moving at a pace you didn’t even know you could reach until now.

“yeah? i bet you were,” he hissed into your ear, placing wet kisses along your collarbones as one of his hands left your waist to rub tight circles onto your clit.

you let out a strangled moan, your climax building rapidly. your thighs burned and you dropped your head on seungcheol’s shoulder. neither of you slowed your actions, desperate for release.

“im so close.” he whined. “come with me, please, please, please.”

that’s what sent you toppling over the edge, your eyes rolling back in your head as your movements fell sloppy. “fuck!” you cried out.

a second later, you felt seungcheol’s hips stutter and his head fell back against the leather seats with a gasp escaping his mouth. he spilled ropes of his warm cum inside you, mixing with your own release.

you both stayed in the same position for a few minutes, catching your breath before seungcheol placed a soft kiss to your nose.

“maybe i should make you jealous more often.”

[marsdql]

laced up baby — s.jy﹙심재윤﹚

snyopsis ៸ you try to tie your boyfriend's hands and tease him, but you forget to tie the last loop of the ribbon—resulting in him figuring out how to untie it himself. -> masterlist

genre ៸ smut, pwp, fluff at the end ┊ wordcount ៸ 2,2k content warning ៸ sexually explicit content, teasing, corruption!kink, unprotected sex, rough sex, a little degration, needy!jake, needy!reader, bruising(from ribbons), fingering, oral (f.), praise!kink, overstimulation, begging, aftercare ┊ not proofread ៸ ┊

“Baby!” You screamed as you closed the door behind you—your other hand holding a bag full of goodies you just bought.

You jumped on Jake, your boyfriend who was sitting on the edge of the bed, as soon as you entered your shared bedroom and gave him a warm embrace. "Hey sweetie, mhh—what did you get from the mall, love?" He asked, his eyes on the bag you put on your vanity as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Oh you knowww… it’s a surprise! Close your eyes, okay?” You responded, leaving his lap to go get the bag while he closed his eyes and giggled—not knowing what he just got pulled into…

You positioned yourself behind him, swiftly took a velvet ribbon rope from the bag, sliced it with your teeth, and drew his arms toward you, putting them behind his back. That’s when he realized, his facial expression turning into a curious look. "Y/n, what are you doing?" He inquired, to which you responded with the laughs you have been trying to conceal.

He opened his eyes when he realized you weren’t going to respond to him, and tipped his head behind him to see what you were doing. That’s where his eyes met the thick red ribbon getting attached to both his hands. It’s past Christmas and you already have him as the best gift, so what was the occasion?

“y/n… who taught you this? Ain’t no way, get this off me—shit.” He said as you finished your last knot. “You always get control, now look how the tables have turned!” You added a tiny pout to your lips as you spoke, but your eyes were full of thoughts. You abruptly shifted positions and landed back on his lap, causing him to groan a little at your forceful plop.

"fuck I actually cant get out of them. How long have you been watching stuff on this..." he said as he tried to get his hands out of the knot you created. "I let you go out and spoil yourself and this is what you buy?"

You started trailling your hand all over his chest, slowly going lower, teasing him as you slowly grinded on him, making him grunt in pain, the heat in his pants slowly getting bigger. He tried getting out again, failling horribly. "Fuck y/n..get me out" you shook your head, placing your lips on his to shut him up but quickly pulling away before he could deepen it.

You switched to his neck—his sensitive spot, placing hickeys all over and getting all the way to his collarbone. Jake started breathing heavily, muttering incoherent words. As you were about to go lower, placing your hands on his shaft through his sweatpants, he begged, "no, baby, please—fuck... dont go lower." He never listened to you when he would tease you, you're not going to stop so easily.

you squeezed him a little, your mouth watering but not wanting to give in just yet, you started rubbing it, at an extremely slow pace, making him whimper. "Stop playing with me, use your mouth.." he managed to get out. "no.. not yet." "fuck!—you mean not yet." "beg for it.." "Im not going to beg y/n—what has gotten into to you." his wrists are burning by now from the amount of friction that he made when attempting to break out of it. "Im not doing anything until you beg, jakey.."

He paused for a bit, then quickly bucked his hips towards you, trying to feel something, he was desperate. You quickly removed your hand, not wanting him to get anything. Then suddenly, he spoke. "You want me to beg?" you nodded. "Yeah? You're not gona' give me anything if i dont? Just wanna keep teasing me?" You nodded again. "uhuh? Is that true.. Nothing i can do about it right? Im tied up.. you can do whatever you want to me right?" Repeatedly, you nodded.

"Hey, guess what." he said, "what?" you replied, confused at his actions and his sudden change of mood, his words becoming bolder. He leaned his body closer to you, his voice deep and low, slowly whispering, "You forgot something, this little loop—this little loop at the end, you forgot to tie it under." making your eyes widened as he removed the ribbons off his wrists, showing it to you.

He quickly took you buy your hair, yanking you onto the bed, making you moan. "You still want me to beg?" Hm? You still want me to fucking beg?" he grunt, flipping you onto your stomach, "give me your fucking wrists, this is how you tie a knot." He used the ribbon that was previously on him, tying it way tighter than you and—the right way.

"Hm? Whats wrong, youre so quiet now baby.. You couldve just asked me how to do it, but instead you wanted to be a brat and do your own thing." It took him a couple minutes to digure out howto undo your knot, now youre stuck in this situation—after wanting him to beg for you—you’re the one tied up now—and this time, you actually cant get out, poor girl.

"You kiss me on my neck, my chest, teasing me and touching me whenever you want, hm? you wouldnt want me to do that to you, right, baby?" you shook your head against the bed, not having enough strength to put your head up.

He took you by the hair "when I speak to you, you answer, slut." he didnt even do anhything yet, yet you were at lost for words, a moaning mess. "r-right, jak—hmph.." "Goodgirl.. see? was that so hard? Lift your chin up for me, com’ere pretty girl"

He slowly gave you sloppy kisses. Way longer and deeper kisses compared to the ones you were giving and teasing him with. You hungrily kissed him back, then pulled away—gasping for air. He leaned to your ear again, uttering something now, "you dont deserve it."

"jakey... please..." you whined. "Please what, baby? Use your words, you can do it." he smirked, knowing exactly what you wanted, but hes not sim jaeyun if he doesnt tease. "Want you.." "Where do you want me? I cant understand you, clarify baby.." he said, enjoying the moment. You were too needy to respond, attempting to push yourself on his fingers to get some friction but he quickly pulled away—repeating exaclty what you did minutes before.

you whined louder, "jaake.. please.. need your fingers.." hesitating wether you should be clearer or not, "in me.." "in my pussy.." arching your back even further, hoping to have satisfied your boyfriend enough for him to fulfil your request. And to your surprise, he listened to you, making your body jolt from his cold touch.

He slowly slid your skirt off, not wanting it to get in the way and pushing two fingers in one go. He hasnt going too slow, he was going too fast, making you get to your limit faster than usual. "H-hah.. J...aakkeeyy..mmhhhh" "What is it baby, hm? You wanted me didnt you? You're getting it however I give it to you" He said, looking at your fucked out expression, already shutting your eyes close.

"J-jake... Im clooose... please..please!" As soon as those words came out of your mouth, he removed his fingers, quickly bringing them to your mouth, shutting you before you could whine about him not letting you cum. Though, he still saw the stare you gave him. "Have you forgotten what you did to me? I cant be all that nice to you, yet."

He effortlessly turned you over, changing positions—making you sit on his lap again. He enjoyed teasing you—but he himself couldn’t wait to be inside of you, so he gave up—not giving you any warning about him sliding himself into you.

“A-aah…” you moaned. Jake usually lets you adjust to his size before putting it all in, but this time—he didn’t even give you a second. He leaned back, watching you squirm around his dick at the uncomfortable feeling. “Go on, you wanted me so bad, no? Use me baby.”

You’re entire body was heating up, too hot to bouce up and down—you lazily but greedily grinded against his dick, your hands stuck in his chest. “Comon sweetheart, is that all you’ve got? I know you can do better..” he murmured, his eyes stuck on your face—your lips turning dark pink from your agressive lip biting due to the pleasure.

He stared at your tank top—thinking, ‘this is really getting in the way’ before ripping the fabric off of you. “Jake… I can’t anymore..” you fussed, “please…” he held your waist tightly, “you need my help? Hm? You think you deserve it after everything? Think you’ve been a good girl?” He asked you, a smirk planted across his face, he knew you were too out of it—you’d beg in an instant. And that, is exactly what you did.

“Y-yes jakey… I’ve been a goodgirl—hic—just for you..” he quickly tightened his grip on your waist, fixing his posture to at last—help you. “Yes you a—fuck—are..my cutest girl..” he said inbetween hard thrusts, quickly finding you g-spot—making your jaw drop, slowly reforming into an ‘o’ shape.

“J-ja..jake..jakey..jake!” You screamed, “I know baby, I know” he coo’s, watching you grip his knees since it’s the only thing you hands can reach—trying to hold on for dear life. You were close, so close already. “nnnghh.. Jake please” as tears started forming in your eyes, hoping he doesn’t stop like last time.

“Let out, it’s okay let it out all on me” he reassured you, going deeper to help you reach your high. “My laced up baby” he says, making you cum right then and there.

“Dirty girl, that turns you on? Being my tied up doll.” He teased, “just a little more, hm? You’ll let me cum in you right? You wanna’ get filled up don’t you baby?” You quickly nodded at his words, feeling extremely overstimulated and exhausted. As he got closer, “fuck-fuck-fuck, that’s it baby stay still for me” he groaned, his hips rutting into you harder.

The ropes slipped away, leaving your wrists free, and Jake immediately noticed the faint bruises dotting your skin. He tilted his head, a soft, mischievous smirk forming on his lips.

“You’re all bruised up,” he murmured, running his fingers over the tender marks. “Awh, so cute. I love how you wear me on your skin.”

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth in your chest betrayed you. “It’s not that cute. It hurts a little...”

At that, his teasing demeanor shifted, his touch becoming softer. “Awh, baby,” he said, his voice full of mock-pity, though the way he leaned in to kiss the bruises was nothing but sincere. His lips pressed gently against the tender spots, lingering as if his kiss alone could soothe the ache.

“You know I like seeing you like this,” he said quietly, looking up at you. “But I’ll take care of it. Always.”

He grabbed a soothing balm from the bedside table, warming it between his hands before carefully massaging it into your bruises. His touch was gentle, methodical, and as the ache started to fade, you found yourself relaxing completely under his care.

“You’re too good at this,” you mumbled, your voice growing softer.

Jake smirked, finishing with a kiss to each wrist. “Of course I am,” he said, leaning back to take in your sleepy expression. “you sleepy, love?”

You nodded, your body feeling heavy with exhaustion.

“Wait here,” he said, standing to grab your favorite pajamas from the dresser. He unfolded them with care, then turned back to you, his voice taking on a softer tone. “Let’s get you dressed.”

You lifted your arms as he slid the pajama top over your head, guiding your hands through the sleeves with practiced ease. His fingers brushed against your skin as he adjusted the fabric, making sure it was comfortable before moving to your bottoms.

“Step in for me,” he said gently, holding them out for you. Once you did, he tugged them up snugly, smoothing them into place with a quiet hum of satisfaction.

“There we go,” Jake said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “All comfy.”

As he helped you settle into bed, he reached for the water bottle on the nightstand. “Drink,” he said, holding it to your lips. “You’re not sleeping until I know you’re hydrated.”

You gave him a tired glare but drank anyway, knowing better than to argue. Once you’d had enough, he set the bottle down and climbed into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms.

“Good girl,” he murmured, tucking the blanket around you. His hand smoothed over your back as he pressed a kiss to your hair. “Now sleep. I’ve got you.”

Wrapped in his warmth, you let the comfort of his care pull you into rest, feeling completely safe in his arms.

A/N: guys I know those hands were def not tied the entire time but let’s js pretend they got loose or something ok fank u bye

[dollwonz]

𐙚⋆°｡⋆ 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖽! 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇 — 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗋𝗈𝗍! 𐙚⋆°｡⋆

a/n — emowonz new comeback ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝!

thinking about.. nerd!jungwon helping you study for your upcoming final. you've been failing all of your test, quizzes, even project! if you didnt pass this final you could even get kicked out uni! but lucky for your intelligent boyfriend wonnie can help! the two of you sat at your pink desk in your room sharing a chair because you only had on leaving you sitting pretty on wons lap.

thinking about.. how distracted you get when you see wonnies hands as he writes, the grab he has on the pen — you wished his hand was around your throat. snapping back to reality once you hear your boyfriend rasp, "princess, are you focusing? im trying to help you" he speaks in such a gentle tone making your entire body shutter. "but wonnie I need you" you feel yourself grow needy causing you to roll your hips onto the boys hard on. Jungwon gasped immediately grabbing your hips still. the black frames resting on his nose even more intelligent than he is. "listen baby you need to focus, you know I dont reward bad behavior mhm?~" he teased in your ear as his fingers danced with the hem of your pink laced shorts, making you sigh as you felt a puddle form in your panties.

thinking about.. how jungwon slaps your clit anytime you get a question wrong! he could be so mean to you sometimes (｡>﹏<) you were spread out on the bed as jungwon eyes burned through your body like lasers. he's been toying with your clit for a good 15 minutes now which felt like forever! "cmon princess you got this one more time, "what two elements are alike in reactivity?" he questions you rubbing your slimy cunt to sooth the sting, lapping your juices all over his fingers. "Ba and mg!" you shouted feeling your high about to collapsed onto you. "thats my smart girl, go ahead baby, cum — come all over my fucking fingers please" he rasped speeding his pace amongst your clit causing you to jerk upwards onto his fingers. your sweet cream dripping down his fingers placing his two digits into your mouth "suck" he spat and you did as you were told, he loves the control he has over you.

thinking about.. you finally passed the final! you may have only got a 70% but hey its not horrible! calling jungwon that your ready to go home and your so excited to break the good news to him. you run toward the taller blond man who's wearing a black compression shirt which you love on him, along with grey sweats with a black yankees hat. not even caring that your pink skirt was rising causing your pink thong to show as you jumped on him, jungwon immediately noticed making him place his hand over your heat to hide it from the public, but you were used to things like that. "baby baby baby!, look I passed all from your help!" you cheered as your boyfriend looked down at you like you were an angel on earth. "my pretty genius" won praised you pecking your forehead multiple times making heat rise to your cheeks. "looks like you need a reward mhm?" he whispered in your ear making you nod with a shy smile. leading the two of you in the back of his car in no time rewarding you with the gift of creaming on his dick soooo many times ㅤ♡!

[therightbeaches]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 ⋆ 𝐚. 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

synopsis: following a near-encounter with death, your not-quite-boyfriend slash boss takes it upon himself to take care of you. [5.7k] contents: fem!bau!reader, reader was mentioned to be hurt but no gory descriptions about what happened, but theres semi-graphic (?) descriptions of hypothetical injury, first kiss, soft hotch, this is fully self-indulgent fluff (forgive me) a/n: i've never written for criminal minds before and i am rather nervous so please dont criticize too harshly :') + i tried to not make him too ooc (not sure how well that worked out.) i also beg for one-shot requests because i love writing them :p reblogs and comments are more than appreciated ♡ i hope you enjoy!

Sense by sense you come to.

Taste. On your tongue lingers the metallic taste of blood. It coats your throat thick like petroleum jelly. The aftertaste of artificial sweetener. Saccharine.

Smell. It’s sterile, alcohol swabs. Dully sweet like laundry. Coffee and creamer. So good and warm it’s nauseating.

Hearing. Steady beeping somewhere from your right. The rustle of fabric. Birdsong bleeds through thick walls. A phone rings, shrill and stark amongst the dull hustle and bustle outside of your room, and a woman speaks unintelligibly.

Touch. A pinprick tag itches against the back of your neck. Scratchy cotton sheets and a gauzy blanket and a too-flat pillow. Then a slow-burning hurt that climbs through your limbs like being devoured by flame, and you think that if you didn’t already meet your end then this must be what it’s like.

Your eyes blink open. The fluorescent lights above are too bright for you to see anything. Metal clinks as someone opens the curtains, then, Aaron’s face comes into your view in a hazy blur. He has a big bandage on his left cheek and prominent dark circles but otherwise looks well enough.

“Hello,” he says, and a warm paper cup of coffee is pushed into your stiff hands. “How do you feel?”

“Bad.”

“I know. I’m sorry. How much does it hurt?”

“Um... a six and a half. I mostly feel really out of it.”

“They’ve given you as much painkillers as they can. I bet that the brain fog will lift once you have something solid to eat.”

You push yourself up slowly as he edges into focus. In one hand he has a black duffel bag with your old shirt’s dirty sleeve hanging out of the zipper top, white fabric stained rust-brown with dirt and old blood. In the other, a thick manila folder with a seal adorning the front and his pen shoved into the crease.

There’s a strange silence then; strange within itself and strange in the fact that, with him, silence is never strange. His lips twitch downwards: he can feel it too. Then he inhales sharply as though it stings to speak.

“You were more than brave out there. You saved Julia’s life.”

“Thank you. That’s what I wanted to do.”

Your tone must not be convincing enough because he puts the bag down and curls his fingers around the half-rails of your bed, reinforces the idea with a pointed look and sighs, “I’m being serious. We wouldn’t have made it in time to help her without your courage.”

“Thank you,” you say again, milder this time.

He doesn’t say anything further. He doesn’t need to. The sort of unspoken communication that blossoms with time and effort; he looks out for you, and in turn you look out for him. It’s the same for the rest of the team, of course, but it’s no coincidence that you’re the one he always picks to watch his six in the field. And, again, he needn’t speak for you to know. Perhaps born from the innate desire to wane the burn of vulnerability; words stamped across his skin invisible to the untrained eye.

It’s different this time, though. He’s leaving not because he wants to — rather, he has to, stolen away from you as you were him by your profession (a whole thirty-six hours he had to spend without you around to nag him, what a tragedy it was!) You’d expected him to come just to leave since the moment you saw him, but perhaps foolishly, you’d clung to a shard of hope that’d cut up and bloodied your palms. You rub them together self-consciously.

He waves the folder in the air unenthusiastically and, despite him knowing you’ve already put the pieces together, voices it anyway.

“I can’t really stay for long,” he says simply.

“Where are you going?”

A prompt, disguised by niceties in typical fashion, though entirely unnecessary with him: when will I be able to see you again?

He sucks on his teeth and flips the folder open. “Albany. I think a day or two at most and we’ll be back.” He spares the details of the case lest you worry yourself to your grave. Your recent brush with death has already been nearly too much for the team to handle.

You don’t mean to slip into the habit of doubting him, not Aaron, who knows better than to lie to you because always he’ll splinter, crack, then crumble into a fine powder under the weight of your gaze. He’s smart, so smart, and so perceptive and by God if you know anything, you know him — down to the lines of his fingerprints and each individual eyelash across his waterlines, and you know now that something is troubling him.

“What is it?” you ask.

His brows crease in the center like you’ve said something offensive. “What is what?”

“You’re sulking.”

“I’m not,” he says, sounding like he’s sulking.

He knows something that you don’t and he doesn’t want to tell you — evident through the bob of his Adam’s apple with a thick swallow, the whitening of his knuckles around the bed’s guard rails. You give your cup a perfunctory squeeze and the plastic lid pops off and skitters to the ground.

There’s another silence wherein you wait, he waits too, staring at you dumbly. An eternity passes till he brushes his thumb over the length of your forearm, elbow to wrist, then traces the ridges of your knuckles before letting his arm drop limply to his side. He looks around to make sure nobody is within earshot and draws the blue privacy curtains around your bed to enforce extra precaution.

“I was just worried,” he finally says, his voice lowered. “I still am, honestly. You know, seeing you like… this.” Like, sick and weak, strung up with IVs like a puppet and unable to move without strain. “And I don’t want to leave you,” he adds as an afterthought.

In the presence of other agents, doctors, strangers, he’s a professional. He knows how to keep things curt and platonic, but when it’s just you and him, I missed you, I was worried about you, I need you around, I can’t lose you.

The way he speaks to you makes you feel something. He worries about you every moment you’re on the field. He frets over you when you’re ill, misses you when you’re apart, thinks about you all the time. Long ago you’d passed the threshold between mere team members to friends, and now, you’re touching base with what’s next. Beyond friends. Borderline lovers. Whatever that could mean for you. And the vulnerability in his voice strikes you, making him sound so small, so pained by your pain.

“You don’t need to worry,” you say, hoping to soothe his qualms. “I feel alright.”

“I can’t help it. I thought... I don’t know what I thought.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” is your light response, then a switch of the topic, and you ask again, “Will you tell me about the case?”

He puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, then it moves to push your hair out of your eyes. Lingers in a soft caress on your cheek and your palm fits over the back of it when you lift your hand to cover his.

“Like I said, I think it’ll only be a couple days. Don’t stress yourself out over it. I want you to focus on getting better, alright?”

“Can you call me?” you ask.

“Every chance I get.”

And, trapped in the makeshift prison of your hospital bed, you can only croak out a weak goodbye that scratches your throat as you watch him leave.

⊹₊ 𐙚

It’s been a week since they discharged you from the hospital, assigned a lot of rest and fluids. Seldom a word from Aaron, though, and you, too, are beginning to fret just like he had over you. Your cuticles are peeled from existence, you’ve bit your nails too short and raw and red, your lips are chapped to the point your mouth tastes of metal more often than not.

Penelope has been more than kind and has kept you company in your too-empty apartment, even bringing over the case file and a grainy image of the evidence board sent over by the rest of the team for your viewing pleasure. You didn’t have much of value to add and ended up feeling more useless than you were to begin with.

Now, your gaze is trained on the toes of your too-big socks. A seam is misaligned along the top and the heel has pulled up to the back of your ankle. And you think of him. He’s all you can think about as of late. Feels something like nausea crawling up your throat to think of something happening to him.

Nervous. On edge. Sick with worry. He said one or two days. It’s been six and counting, who knows what could have happened to him out there, he was being secretive about it and he’s never secretive with you. Not you, why wouldn’t he tell you what was happening? Why wouldn’t he let on any details about the case? What if he’d anticipated getting hurt or —

You don’t dare entertain the thought. The only reason you’d imagined it up in the first place is because it happened to you. In the end, you’re still very much human no matter how much bureaucratic authority you have. That’s to say, you’re very much flesh and blood and bone, and from the safety of your apartment Aaron is even more so when he’s out on the field. Flesh can be cut, torn apart, blood can spill unstoppably like a faucet, bone can shatter into a million unfixable pieces. A bulletproof vest will do nothing against a knife jammed into his neck or a shotgun to the back of his head. You shudder and tug at your socks to un-bunch them from your heels.

In the middle of your bout of overthinking, the lock on your door clicks and turns and it swings open with a quiet creak. Aaron stands in the doorway, backlit by the dingy lights outside, akin to an angel with the cast of his hair and the contours of his face dipped in shadow.

“Hello? Honey, I have something for you,” is the first thing he says, the silhouette of his arm twisted to hide something behind his back. From his other hand dangles his go-bag, which falls to the floor of your living room with a dull thud. He peels out of his jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair.

The relief chokes you. Strangles you till you’re blue in the face. You’re struck speechless and can only watch as he pushes the door closed behind him and tosses the keys into the catchall on the hall table, toes off his shoes, then comes over to sit with you on the couch. Plastic crinkles behind his back as he moves closer.

“I’ve got something,” he says again. “A present for you.”

“Aaron-”

“Before you say I didn’t need to, I wanted to,” he interjects, waving a hand to stop you. “I saw them while I was out and thought of you.”

“The anticipation is killing me.”

All turbulent emotions vanish like morning dew on a sunny afternoon, your heart thrumming hard against the confinement of your ribs. You let yourself think it’s only because you’re just excited to see him in good spirits, certainly not because he places a hand on your knee and squeezes lightly, or looks at you with poorly-concealed adoration in his gaze, or the knowledge of the fact he thinks of you often enough to go out of his way to get you something nice.

From behind his back, he produces a bouquet of pink roses wrapped neatly in a matching shade of cellophane with a flourish and you nearly fall to the ground. He’s brought you flowers. Roses. He saw roses while he was out and they made him think of you, and that thought alone nearly has you knocked out cold.

You’re able to mutter his name before you reach for his shoulders for a hug, and he lets out a small huff as he’s pushed down to lay back on the couch with your arms around him.

“Consider this my apology for being too busy to call,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” you say, breathless. “Consider your apology accepted.”

His free hand rubs up and down your back, lingering flush to the space between your shoulder blades to press you close to his chest. “How have you been?”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah? Has Garcia been taking good care of you?”

You nod into his shoulder. “You know her.”

“That I do. Do you have a vase that I can put your flowers in?”

“There’s one in the kitchen cabinet.”

But he doesn’t yet stand to retrieve it, too engrossed in the warmth of your hug. This is not how a boss acts with his subordinate. Not even how a friend would act. If he were just a friend he wouldn’t come to you first, because your space is his space, and he wouldn’t have brought you a really nice bouquet, and he wouldn’t find such comfort in your embrace and the smell of your perfume that he goes slack under you. Him and you, always, together.

A moment passes and he shifts out from beneath you. You watch him get up with remorse, his hand holding onto yours till the distance draws his fingers away.

“You know,” he begins, rummaging around in your cabinets to find the aforementioned vase, “I’ve been honing in on my cooking skills.”

“That so?” you ask from the sofa, jelly-limbed with your neck craned to watch him.

“I can make stir fry if you want dinner.” His arm retracts from the cabinet, hand around the neck of your vase.

So he cooks for you. Insists upon it, even. Even though the hospital cleared you fine to go home and you feel more or less well, he insists on taking care of you. You let him. Maybe for his peace of mind. A chance to take care of you just like you’ve taken care of him countless times before. You won’t pretend to not like having him dote on you.

The roses sit between you, lit by warm candlelight because the overhead light buzzes too loud and the bulb flickers when you turn it on. It’s sweet and it’s romantic, shit, you really shouldn’t be getting so personally involved with your boss. The no-fraternization rules implemented by the Bureau higher-ups have been hammered into your skull since the day you joined, yet just look at you. Too late for go-backs now.

Over the table, you say, “You can stay the night, if you want to.”

It’s not that you’re implying anything because you’re not, voice void of sexual innuendo. He doesn’t seem to take it in such a way anyway. His gaze meets yours and he draws closer with a hand curled like a cage atop yours.

“I will,” he replies. “If you want me to.”

“I do.”

He’s slept over before a secret half-a-dozen or so times, mostly on the couch. Only in your bed once. That one time was after you’d came home from a particularly bad case, and it was the second time you’d seen him as upset as he was. Beaten black and blue, scraped up worse than he’s ever been on the job. You’d diligently cleaned his wounds up (always too proud to sit in the back of an ambulance and let a professional take care of it), sat with him until he fell asleep, then you never spoke of it again.

Tonight he sleeps beside you. Blissfully unaware to the way you stare at his profile — the line of his nose, the mess of his hair where it’s fallen over his forehead, the way the light catches on his fluttering lashes and turns them a pale blue. The back of your knuckles run against his cheekbone. Tender, soft, so unlike most anything else he knows now.

He’s beautiful. All of you belongs to him.

You stir to Aaron’s heavy arm draped across your abdomen and crack one eye open to see him staring at you. The room is warm, sunshine spilling over his back to paint him shining gold, and the tip his of nose presses against your neck when he sees you’re awake. He must’ve gotten up before you woke because you can smell fresh-cut grass from the open window and the scent of coffee brewing floats in from the kitchen, and from outside you can hear the humming drone of a lawnmower, the song of morning birds chirping.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks, more a murmur than anything.

You shake your head no. A part of you — the small part that yearned for his care and attention long before now — is awestruck. You’ve got Aaron in your bed, the same Aaron who bleeds and hurts and fights beside you, the man who hadn’t wanted you on the team in the first place, and he’s touching you like you’re made of glass.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“I’m okay for now,” you reply.

“Are you sure, honey? I can cut up some fruit for you. You could do with some vitamins… maybe some sun, too.” Mournfully, he gets up from bed, leaving you with only the warmth of the sheets where he lay just a moment ago. You watch, blinking slow, breathing slow.

“I’m really fine,” you insist meekly, pulling the blankets up to your chin.

With hands planted on either side of your head, he leans back over you in bed, brows pulled in concern like you’re still bedridden in the hospital. His thumb ghosts over the delicate skin of your undereye, then lower, feather-light down the slope of your jaw and to where your collarbone peeks out from the neck of your shirt.

“I’ll bring you a bowl,” he says, disregarding the rejection.

And then he kisses you before he leaves to the kitchen. Nothing full-fledged, only a brief press of his lips to your cheek, but it renders a swell in your gut, too hot beneath your quilt, breathless like your heart is going to rip straight out of your chest and chase him down to kiss him again. The print of his lips burns white-hot. A brand on your skin.

He pauses in the threshold of your bedroom and looks back. “I’m sorry if that was… weird.”

“No! No, it wasn’t weird. I liked it, actually.”

“Oh, okay.”

Aaron fusses over you incessantly the entire day, from cutting your fruit up to holding your hand to help you to the couch, despite your insistence that you’re fully recovered. He isn’t so used to putting his feelings so brashly on display, but you’ve been walking this tightrope between friends and more for a while and it’s no secret he wants it. Wants you. Wants whatever you may have to offer. No matter if you’re well or not, he’ll want you.

“Thank you,” you say over lunch, picking idly at the tangerine he’d peeled for you. “For staying with me, I mean.”

He lifts his head. He’s opened the window above your sink, citing the lovely weather and your need for sunshine as his reasons for letting the bugs in, and it makes his eyes shine from his seat facing the sun.

You’re like a vampire, he had said. Don’t get me wrong, definitely a beautiful and kind one, but fresh air will do you good, then he’d laughed as he stood in the spill of warmth exuding from the open window.

In his hand is the other half of the tangerine, which he assiduously peels the spongy pith from and discards in a small heap atop your dining table.

“I hope you know that I don’t mind.” Aaron breathes out and hands you two slices stripped of their white viscera. “I like taking care of you. Every so often someone get hurts on the field and it never gets more comfortable to deal with. It makes me feel… good to be here with you.”

“That’s really nice of you to say.”

“It’s only the truth.”

You’ve been better for the greater part of a week and no longer need babying like you did at the start, you think, but withhold on commenting for fear that he thinks you don’t like having him around. You more than like it, really, and you like it even more when he leans over the table enticingly.

He’s smiling widely when he speaks. “And the company is the best part.”

“Even if the company is a vampire?” You touch the side of his throat, flush over his jugular where a vampire might bite. His heart thrums hard beneath the pads of your fingers when you push down with the faintest pressure.

“Even so.”

⊹₊ 𐙚

“Can I see you in my office? There’s something that I want to talk to you about.”

You stand from your desk. Aaron — rather, Hotch, because you’re at work — has been staring at you through his window the entire morning like a reverse-scenario zoo animal in an enclosure. It’s been unsettling to feel someone’s eyes on you perpetually but you let it slide because you know he’s just worried. He made it very clear that he didn’t want you coming back to the office so soon, for worry you might bump a fading bruise on the exceedingly dangerous desks in the bullpen or injure your back further by sitting in the expensive, cushy roller chair.

It’s an overcast Monday in light of your sunny weekend. Aaron had messaged you at five-thirty in the morning, insisted heavily that if you intended on coming in today then it had better be with a warm coat on. You’d come to a tentative middle ground via a knit sweater that he likes because Emily runs cold and makes sure the whole office knows it (Seriously, you can’t remember the last time she’d allowed it to be less than the low eighties, and most of the team would rather bear the heat than listen to her gripe about how cold it is. Today, it’s freezing. The heat is broken and you figure you’ll have to deal with it once she comes in.)

He’s waiting for you when you step in and close the door behind you, drawing the blinds. “How are you?”

“I’m well. I’d be better if you’d stayed home to rest.”

“I promise I’m recovered enough for desk work, Aaron.”

He grumbles with no real upset and beckons for you to come around the other side of his desk. When you do and lean back with palms braced over the lip, a broad hand slips around your waist to touch your back. He drops it quickly. So unprofessional, you might tease, if you weren’t so pleased with the fact that he’s unabashedly touching you at work.

Something in the air has shifted. Following the night you spent together, it’s as if the spark between you has turned into a real firecracker, a sparkling dazzle of neon color and fizzling light. He’d left Saturday afternoon after a lot of coaxing that you’d be alright alone, made you promise you’d eat real food and not just cereal and frozen pizza and TV dinners. Most importantly, he wouldn’t leave without kissing you silly all over your cheeks and forehead and jaw. And when you’d anticipated the killing blow and closed your eyes and parted your lips, he’d bid you goodbye with an affectionate pat to your shoulder.

It was cruel, but you don’t mind waiting for a real kiss. The riper the fruit, the sweeter the juice, isn’t that what they say? This thing, for lack of a better word, with Aaron being as discernible as it is, is still relatively new. Not to mention he’s navigating romance for the first time again after Haley, so you’re more than willing to take it slow with him.

“What did you do over the rest of the weekend?” he asks conversationally.

“You know, the ushe.” You tuck your cold hands between your knees, press your lips together like you’re really devastated by the answer you’d come up with. “I laid around feeling sorry for myself, missing you…” you trail off, wistful.

“You poor thing,” Aaron responds sympathetically. “What can I do?”

You lean forward with a mock show of great sadness, though not without an underlying coquettish, hopeful demeanor. “The only thing that would make it all better is dinner later tonight with someone special.”

“What a coincidence. I was just thinking of asking my own someone special if she wanted to get takeout and spend the night at mine after work.”

It’s awful, the way he’s staring at you and beaming. Like you’re the one who hung all the stars in the sky, crafted the constellations just for him; like you control the tide of the ocean and the spin of the Earth; like you’re the light that makes the moon glow. Makes you want to grab him by his hand and bring him back to your place and never let him leave the comfort of your apartment. Keep him safe and warm and content.

You settle instead on smoothing his lapels down. He isn’t propositioning you when he asks you to stay over — never would he be so blatant, and you don’t think you’re quite involved enough yet for such a risqué offer to be on the table (though the notion has you imagining a torturous handful of things that you wouldn’t dream of telling him about.)

“Tell you what,” he begins. He moves his chair to be positioned in front of you. You have to look directly down to see him face-to-face. “We’ll pick up some dinner and we can watch whatever movie you like. Do you have your go-bag?”

“I do... and if I want to watch Mean Girls?”

“I’ll watch anything you want,” he supplies.

“Oh, how sweet are you?”

“Don’t tell anyone. My professional reputation would be ruined.”

Truth be told, there is a prominent lack of ‘professional reputation’ in Aaron’s department, at least within the team. He can pretend as much as he likes for as long as he likes but it’s their specialty to sniff out lies, pick up on secret cues, and of course they notice when he comes into the office with two cups of coffee instead of one, when he holds your hand to help you up the steps of the jet. You’ve received enough conspiratorial looks to know that they know.

You don’t suppose Aaron is your boyfriend. Your relationship with him is a nuanced thing. Becoming the brunt of office gossip is one thing, jeopardizing your careers is another — Strauss has her suspicions and there’s been, well… talk that stokes the (albeit small) kindling flame. It comes down to having a discussion that will remain on the back burner until the both of you can sit down and discuss the professional implications and the other difficult things that Aaron doesn’t want to talk about.

Dark has long since encompassed the Bureau by the time that he decides to be done working. You’ve been waiting on the couch in his office for the better part of the day, his suit jacket draped over your legs fashioned into an impromptu blanket. And then there’s the shuffling of loose-leaf paper shoved into folders, the scratch of his chair’s wheels as he pushes it in.

The toes of his shiny oxfords come into view and a kind hand pushes a loose lock of hair out of your face. “Are you ready?”

He wedges his hand beneath the small of your back to get you up. You’re tired from your day and limp when he encourages you to sit, but ultimately allow him to prop you up against the back of the couch. You take his hand to stand up when he offers it to you.

One and a half years ago, he wouldn’t dream of holding your hand. Wouldn’t even sit next to you in the conference room or on the jet, in fact. But Aaron didn’t really start liking liking you until eight months ago and didn’t tell you for even longer. It took him a long while to gather the courage to come out and just say it like any normal adult with feelings might do.

If you told your former self you’d wind up holding hands with Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner, going home to eat dinner with him and sleep in his bed, you’d have laughed in your own face. The most you’d ever let yourself indulge in such a fantasy prior to his grandiose confession of more than friendly feelings was maybe, just maybe, in an alternate timeline you’d met Aaron under different circumstances and it would have been history.

But you have him in this timeline. You have him picking up your dinner, driving you to his house, crouching down in front of you to undo the buckles keeping the straps of your kitten heels fastened around your ankles. He rubs your calf after tucking your shoes away before he stands and walks to the kitchen.

“What a long day,” he comments. He loosens the knot of his tie and looks over at you over his shoulder. “For you especially, I imagine. Does it get tiring, laying on the couch in my office?”

“Mhm,” you hum agreeably. “A very long day of very grueling paperwork. My boss can’t stop assigning me more and more when there are other agents who could share the workload.”

You know Aaron is smiling, even as he’s faced with his back to you. It’s clear in his voice. “Maybe your boss just thinks you’re very diligent and produce quality work.”

“That sounds to me a lot like favoritism, Hotchner.” You saunter up behind him, draping your arms around his waist. He tears apart the plastic bag holding your food then separates portions onto two ceramic plates.

“Uh-huh,” he says wryly. “You see, honey, favoritism would be more like if I let a member of my team quote unquote lay down to rest her eyes on my sofa instead of doing her work like I very kindly asked — oh wait, doesn’t that sound familiar?”

“So I am your favorite? Ooh, how scandalous. Imagine if word got out that you were picking favorites.”

“I must be doing something wrong if you have to ask.” Aaron turns and puts a hand on the back of your neck, scoffs, shakes his head good-naturedly. This mood he’s in, playful, teasing, is so rare, and you love it. “Do you ever see me letting Morgan take a nap during work hours?”

“Derek will nap regardless if you let him or not.”

(This is true. You’d caught him sleeping in the conference room once. He’d made you swear not to tell Aaron in exchange for vending machine money — and who were you to deny such a generous offer? Your silence was easily bought via chocolate bars.)

“In that case, I might have to give him a stern talking to.” His expression is grim.

“Oh, please don’t. He gave me money to buy candy from the machines if I swore not to tell you.”

Aaron is delighted by this answer. “But you’re telling me anyway?”

“Does that make me a bad friend?” you ask morosely.

“No, no. You’re the best friend. And an even better subordinate for ratting him out… it’s good to know where your loyalty lies.”

He’s laughing when he says it and then he isn’t laughing a mere moment later. Rather, he’s leaning in on a whim, eyes fluttering shut, a hand over the back of your neck, thumbs a whisper against the curve of your cheek. There’s a perceptible flash that travels like lighting up your spine — he’s going to kiss you for real this time, you know he is, and it’s something you’ve wanted for who-knows how long and it’s finally yours to have. To keep. And it’s not just about the kiss, is it? It’s about Aaron, like it most always is, and you thank your lucky stars one by one to have found a man like him and to be able to keep him.

But it’s over nearly as soon as it began. How torturous for it to end so quickly when you’ve dreamt of kissing him day and night. It’s only right for you to go for another and another and another, and yes, juice is always sweeter when the fruit has had time to ripen.

[dropsnectar]

Courting a Queen: Bee Hybrid × Reader Part Two

Hey! So a lot of you wanted the Bee smut, so, here it is! I'm still new to writing smut so please be kind. Also, in @bunnis-monsters universe of Bee Hybrids, its mentioned that they have different types of Honey that have different properties and effects, so I wanted to play with that a little. Also just a reminder that I headcannon that the queen scouting drones are a bit more intelligent than other bee hybrids,, as this works better to lure in a queen! Hope you enjoy!

Everything had happened so quickly, you didn't know quite what to do or think. 

You'd just been talking and having fun with a few Bee Hybrids, now suddenly suddenly you were in their hive, they were calling you Queen, and it was getting really hard to talk your way out of this when you had so many tongues on your skin--

“Y-You guys I can't become your… oh God um… there's no way I can become a queen!” You tried your best to gently pull yourself out of their grasp, but the little nibbles Haven was doing on your ear were way too distracting. Elias answered you.

“We know you'd be great. Please dont be mean to yourself.” He pouted at you with big eyes as he worked on pulling down your black leggings. He carefully lifted your thighs as he did so and you noticed that his skin, while smooth and soft, also had a sort of firmness to it that human skin didn't. It made your core burn. 

“Are we doing something wrong? Please tell us my Queen, we only want to make you feel good.” Another hand was slowly exploring up your shirt. You looked over at Ray, the black haired hybrid who was staring at you with the biggest, mooniest eyes, like he was a dog begging for a treat. He trailed his hands up and down your belly, his hands were more beelike than the others, and the foreigners of it gave you goosebumps. 

Stop it! You can't become Queen! You'd never leave this place!

“I can't do this.” You finally managed, pulling away from Haven and Ray's grasp.

“I have a home. And a job and…”

And not much else. Your parents weren't the kindest, and you only ever saw your friends once every two months. If they remembered you that was.

Elias gently took one of your hands in his. “This can be your home! We would feed you and do whatever you want! You'll never be lonely again. Please. We've been so long without a Queen and…” His antennas drooped. So Did Haven and Rays, their exuberant wings going quiet.

“ We will die soon. Without a Queen our hive will grow weak, and other hives will fight us for our home territory.” Ray leaned his head gently on my shoulder, a whine escaping his chest.

Haven started to tear up. At least, he seemed to cry. “ We need you. We will never stop loving you, and you would never want for anything, please let us keep you.”

Your heart grew heavy. You didn't know much about bees, but you were aware that Queens were super important for the health of the hive. You had only known them for a day, but you couldn't bear the thought of them dying. They were so incredibly sweet after all.

Maybe I could try it for a little bit. I mean, being a Queen couldn't be so bad. You reasoned. And if it becomes too much, I could maybe help them find a new one. Or run away in the night, maybe.

“I'll… give it a try.” 

The three of them were in the air at once, pulling on your limbs and jumping up and down. Haven got up and did what seemed like a little happy dance, Elias joining in. While Ray continues to hold onto you and nuzzle you in large excited motions. You watched the two dancing and clapped happily. They buzzed loudly, seeming pleased with your smile and sudden lifted mood. They could feel your affection for them in the air and it bode well.

At that time, the bee-man that Elias had pulled aside earlier knocked on the door, before buzzing in with a cup of something sweet. Well, the whole place smelled sweet, but you noticed steam coming up from the cup. You tilted your head in confusion.

“He added some warm water to help you get it down easier! Your human after all, so thick things may be hard to drink, right?” Elias smiled and handed you the warm little cup. It smelled… well. Like honey. But their was a little heat to it. Maybe cinnamon? Nutmeg?

“Its super special, just for you!” Haven volunteered, as he settled back down to his place on your back left. He busied himself with rubbing your shoulder, then kissing the back of your head sweetly. 

All of this attention was making your cheeks rosy. To busy yourself you took an experimental sip of the warm honey. It went easily from your tongue down your throat. Expecting the taste of normal honey, you were surprised by the variety of notes. Still sweet, it indeed had a hefty… spice to it? Like it had been salted and mixed with a little chilli pepper. The heat of it spread from your throat, through your head and your body, making you shiver.

It was a feeling similar to hot chocolate on a long day out in the snow. Delighted, you slurped it down greedily. Ray laughed and the other two hybrids seemed very pleased. They watched you drink the whole cup, pride and their ever present excitement alight on every feature. 

You gave the cup back to Elias and smiled dreamily. You finally felt relaxed enough and tried to lie back on the couch, instead ending up in Ray and Havens arms. 

“That was really good.” You almost whispered. You were still warm from drink, and a haziness had softly draped itself over your brain. Soft. Warm. 

 Probably tired from a long day, you thought with a giggle. What a silly day it had been. What a silly situation.

Elias set the cup down on a table towards the door and floated toward you, a hungry look in his eye. Ray had decided to lap at your jaw now, making you shiver, again marveling at the strange texture his tongue had. Almost like a cat but smoother? Somehow? It felt good. 

The room was filled with pleasant buzzing and purring, as several pairs of hands started working your skin. Haven was now exploring the inside of your shirt, pulling excitedly at your bra. He felt around for a little bit, trying to find the latch. You noticed, through a big mirror by the door that his tongue was sticking out the whole time. You giggled. So cute.

A sudden nip to your inner thigh made you jolt. Elias had made his place between your thighs again and had started licking and nipping to getting your attention. He pouted at you until you gave him full eye contact.

“I'll get to breed you first, since I found you.” Elias said in the most innocent tone you almost didn't comprehend it. Until he was licking at your clothed cunt with his long black tongue. You whined a bit, in surprise and pleasure. It felt good. 

Haven must have figured out your bra because suddenly you felt fingers on your chest now. They moved around haphazardly, watching your face for a reaction. When one found your nipple you bit your lip and pried your gaze away from Elias for an instant. Havens face lit up in a smile.

“ Can I take this off, my Queen?” He asked in his delicate textured voice. You nodded and lifted your arms for them. A sudden jolt pulled your gaze back down to Elias, who was pouting at you. He had pulled your underwear aside and had started licking fervently between your lips. Those big, adoring eyes did as much to you as his tongue and you moaned out.

You were suddenly ablaze now, your core dripping and needy. It was sudden, and your hazy mind tried to work out how they'd got you gushing so fast. They were obviously new at this, reaching around trying to find your best spots, but you needed more. 

“T-take them off, please.” You begged Elias quietly, as your breath was quite ragged. Elias complied happily. You opened your legs wider for him, and he was able to push your lips apart farther so he could get a look at you. Enchanted, he took a finger and drew circles around you, noting when and where you would flinch, and jerk your hips. After experimenting a bit more he decided to suck on your most sensitive place: Your clit.

You howled out as he sucked and licked you, the texture of his tongue so different from anything you'd felt before. 

Haven and Ray were buzzing so loudly as the licked you, groping your sweet tummy, and sucking where they could. Ray had decided on sucking and when you sang for him, he started trilling with glee. Seeing this, Haven did the same. Their hands continued to roam.

The sucking of your tits and the attention on your clit were getting you close. The pressure in your stomach was mounting, and when Elias had decided to move two of his delicate fingers into your entrance you came hard around him, full body quaking. Drool pooled down your face as you gasped, stars filling your vision. 

“ Such a good Queen, coming for us so well.” Praised Ray, before he went back to assaulting your nipple with his tongue. Haven giggled and buzzed in agreement.

When you came down from your high, you were surprised to find yourself still wanting, wriggling, your skin so sensitive and desperate for more touch that you bucked yourself back into Elias’ face. The confusion persisted and you were about to ask a question when Elias answered.

“Don't worry, Our Love, we made sure you'd feel good enough to take all of us. Our honey truly is special. You won't feel any pain, we promise!”

The honey'd been… an aphrodisiac?

Something about that should have bothered you but all you could think about was having something inside you. Of wanting more of their touch, more more more-

You chocked as Haven started rubbing your clit, the sweet pressure bringing you some relief. Elias was taking his human clothing off now, revealing his lower half. His cock was long. Long, but super pretty and pink. You licked your lips as he lined it up with your wet entrance. His big, clear eyes stared at you with such devotion it bordered on worship, before he plunged himself within your needy walls.

You cried out, and it was like a wave of pleasure crashed through the room, as everyone sighed. He started slow, working himself further and further inside you as he went. The stretch and rhythm felt so good, you tried to work in time with him. His length was slick and warm and being so close to him only made your affection grow. You couldn't help it.

Ray and Haven were moaning in your ear. They were still sucking your tits, but were humping whatever bit of you they could, desperate and needy.

You wanted to help them but each stroke Elias was working in you felt so good your mind couldn't think properly. You stayed like that for a while, Elias hitting your best spots, sending you closer and closer to your limit, before he seemed to come, hard, a guttural sound leaving his throat. 

But instead of feeling hot, wet cum, you felt something push against your walls. A ridge was forming inside of you, pushing up through his member. The stretch was delicious and you keened as another traced its way up your walls. A sudden soft wetness, and a heaviness was felt at the innermost part of you. You'd never felt anything like it before and your walls twitched around it. An egg.

Your mind raced back to an earlier comment. You'd completely forgotten about the eggs. But your mind was so gone all you could do was whine at the tightness, as another was laid in you, and you came again, another wave of pleasure racking your mind and body. 

It went on like this, him laying one after the other, bringing you closer and closer to the edge again. You could tell Elias was getting utterly spent, his rocking movements slowing, the erratic flaps of his wings getting more labored. Drool continued to pool out of his mouth. His heavy meaningful gaze was now glassy and tired. You wanted to hold him. 

When the last egg was laid within you, Ray took his place in a flash. As Elias took his spot on your right, lazily sucking on your collarbone, Ray pushed himself in fully in one go. His dick was thicker, and not as long as Elias’, but it felt amazing around the eggs. 

“My turn. You'll take my clutch so well, I know it.” He reassured, rubbing his thumb like limbs on your hips as he slowly rutted into you. He was whispering praises about your beauty and how well you were doing the whole time. The stretch of his dick felt so good as he fucked the eggs further into you, adding his own. He was quicker than Elias to lay though. His eggs were much bigger, making you sputter a bit as you took them. It seemed that Bee-men came continuously as they laid their spawn, because he was a glassy eyed, babbling mess the whole time he pushed more into you. 

Haven took the longest time to lay, despite fucking you the fastest and hardest of the three. He giggled, so happy and pussydrunk the whole time. 

“My Queen, it feels so good. Am I making you feel good?”

“So good,” you confirmed through shaggy breaths.  “So good. My good boy.” You could feel a shock throughout the room and Haven smiled so big through his sweaty curls, that you couldn't help but return it. His hips rocked into you faster now, though he was still careful of your eggs.

The other two pouted, making crying vibrating sounds. “My good boys.” You corrected. “Doing so well.” you were so close to cumming again it was hard to think, but you reached both hands up to caress them both. Consoled, they clung to you even tighter, as if that was possible, whispering praises back. You were such a good queen, taking so many eggs. So good and sweet. 

Their words brought you over the edge at the same time Haven let out a loud trilling sound. He collapsed forward onto your lap, licking at your now extended belly. You both shook, riding out your high.

The room smelled of sweat, and their saccharine aroma. You realized you'd become a bit addicted to the scent, nuzzling closer into the soft fur of your new family. 

You lay there for a time, letting your bee-men fuss over you. They wiped the sweat from your body and cooed at your stomach, at how adorable you were being so full, and taking so many eggs. 

“Our lovely Queen. Did so well for you first mating.” Elias had glowed with pride for you, then  nuzzled into your neck in that way of his. “The rest of the hive is just going to love you. But for now, rest.” He petted soft loving strokes down your forehead. The motion was soothing, and you closed your eyes, letting sleep consume you.

Before you completely lost consciousness, you heard a worried Haven whisper, “I hope she makes us her attendants. It'd be such a shame to only see her when its our turn to mate.” You felt some nodding onto your shoulder and buzzing of agreement. You'd have to remember to ask them about it when you awoke.

Hey guys! Was this too long? Would love some constructive feedback about what you'd like to see more of! Thank you for reading!

Masterlist

[scoupsakakitty]

Svt ot13 x reader, where like, reader made a single mistake during one of their concerts. Then when they practiced for the rest of tour reader keeps on spotting their flaws even when its fine. Maybe even overworking to the point she sleeps in the practice room? Then they(ot13) was confused to why reader hasn't come home yet, only to find reader passed out on the floor of the practice room, like literally passed out..

This is my first time doing a req, sorry if its too detailed.. please dont overwork yourself irl!!

Don‘t Dance Alone Tonight | idol!Scoups x 14thMember | angst fluff

The cameras stopped rolling. Lights dimmed. Staff members clapped as the director yelled “Cut!” for the final time. Cheers erupted. Another long MV shoot was done. But even through the chatter, the laughter, the scattered energy of a wrap party brewing — Seungcheol noticed it.

Y/N was gone.

She hadn’t said goodbye. No jokes. No nods. She didn’t even take her usual post-shoot selfie with Hoshi or tease Chan about his expressions in the last take.

Just… vanished.

And the worst part?

They hadn’t spoken all day. Not since that morning — the fight.

“You think just because you’re leader, you can talk down to me?” she had snapped in their dorm room.

“I’m not talking down to you. I’m trying to help you not burn out!” he had replied, voice rising with frustration.

“I know what I’m doing, Cheol. You don’t get it. You’re not the one messing up on stage.”

She had stormed out, leaving his words stuck in his throat and his heart heavier than he could explain.

Now she was gone. And his gut twisted.

“Y/N’s not here,” Chan said, peeking into her room in the Performance Unit’s dorm.

Seungcheol frowned. “I thought she stayed with you guys.”

“We thought she was with you,” Jun added from the kitchen, phone in hand. “She left right after the shoot.”

“She didn’t say anything,” Minghao said quietly. “Not even in the group chat.”

Seungcheol pulled out his phone again — five missed calls. All to her. None returned.

“She’s not answering?” Chan asked, voice rising slightly.

“No.” Seungcheol shook his head, trying to keep the worry from surfacing, but his tone betrayed him. “Goes straight to voicemail.”

“I’ll check the building rooftop,” Jun offered. “She goes there when she needs space.”

“I’ll try the stylist team,” Minghao said. “Maybe she went back for something.”

“I’ll text the managers,” Chan added.

“I’ll check the practice rooms,” Hoshi said without hesitation, already grabbing his hoodie. “If I were her… I’d be dancing it out.”

Studio 3 was nearly dark, save for the moonlight pouring in through the high window. Hoshi pushed the door open softly and froze.

There she was.

Y/N lay curled up on the wooden floor in the corner, her hoodie bunched up beneath her head, long legs tucked in, a bottle of water knocked over beside her.

The monitor in the room was paused mid-dance. It replayed the last segment they practiced together. Her figure in the center. Perfect form. But he knew she wouldn’t see it that way.

“Y/N…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

Her eyes were shut tight. Sweat clung to her hairline. Her brows were slightly furrowed — even in sleep, she didn’t look at peace.

He pulled out his phone and called the only person who should be there right now.

“She’s here,” Hoshi said softly. “She fell asleep in the practice room.”

Silence on the other end.

“I’ll be right there,” came Seungcheol’s voice. He sounded breathless.

“I’ll wait.”

Seungcheol arrived within twenty minutes. When he opened the door, he found Hoshi sitting quietly near her, legs crossed, watching over her like an older brother.

“She hasn’t moved,” Hoshi whispered. “I think she passed out from exhaustion. She must’ve been here for hours.”

Seungcheol swallowed hard, guilt crawling through every inch of him.

“Thanks, Soonyoung.”

Hoshi nodded, then gave Seungcheol a small pat on the shoulder. “Talk to her. I’ll be right outside.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, the room was silent save for the soft hum of the AC and Y/N’s breathing.

Seungcheol crouched beside her. “Y/N…” he said gently, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek.

She stirred, murmuring something unintelligible before her eyes blinked open.

“Cheol…?” she croaked, eyes adjusting to the low light.

“Hey.” He forced a soft smile. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Confusion flickered across her face, followed by recognition. Then guilt.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep…”

“I know,” he said softly. “You scared us.”

She sat up slowly, her joints cracking from the cold floor. “I just wanted to get the routine right. I messed up that one time and now I can’t stop seeing the flaws.”

“You didn’t mess up, Y/N.”

She laughed weakly, without humor. “You didn’t see the replay?”

“I saw it. And I saw you trying to perfect something that was already beautiful.”

She turned her face away, jaw clenched.

“I thought you were disappointed in me."

His chest ached.

“I was never disappointed in you,” he said firmly. “Frustrated? Yes. But only because I saw you pushing yourself too hard again. I wasn’t angry at you. I was angry that you wouldn’t let anyone in.”

Tears welled up in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to seem weak.”

“You’re not weak. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“But I keep making mistakes—”

“You’re human,” he interrupted, voice breaking. “You’re allowed to make mistakes, Y/N. I’ve made more than I can count. But disappearing without a word? That scared the hell out of me.”

She looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

“I’m sorry, too. For snapping. For not checking on you sooner. For not being the partner you needed today.”

She sniffled against his shoulder. “You’re always what I need, Cheol. I just forget how to say it when I’m overwhelmed.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth on the cold dance studio floor.

Back at the dorm, Y/N entered her room quietly, grateful for the silence. Her room was her sanctuary, a rare privilege in the chaos of idol life. She’d fought hard for it — not out of vanity, but for peace.

She sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the mirror across from her.

“How long were you practicing?” Seungcheol asked from her doorway.

“Since after the shoot.”

“Did you eat?”

She shook her head.

He disappeared for a moment and returned with a bowl of ramen.

“No excuses. Eat.”

They sat on her bed, sharing the meal in silence.

“I’m not good at resting,” she admitted.

“I know. That’s why I’m here. To remind you that you deserve it.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Promise me something,” he said, voice low.

“What?”

“No more running away.”

She nodded.

“And no more dancing alone until you collapse.”

She hesitated — then nodded again. “Deal. But only if you promise something too.”

“Name it.”

“Don’t ever stop fighting with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Because when we fight, it means we care. And I’d rather argue with you a hundred times than feel like we’re strangers again.”

He smiled softly. “Then I promise.”

A week later, during practice for their encore concert, Y/N danced the choreography perfectly. When the final beat hit, she turned toward the mirror and met her own gaze. No criticism. No anxiety.

Just pride.

From behind, Seungcheol’s voice rang out. “You did great.”

She turned. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes full of affection.

She smiled, breathless. “You saw?”

“I always see.”

[gatorbites-imagines]

Bl00d k1nk remmick or just remmick headcanoans

Remmick x male reader 

Ficlet 

I dont really know much about the history, but I can still horn it up. What is reader? No idea. 

I tried to leave it vague where and when this takes place, but readers mother at least had knowledge about some Irish folklore, like the Fear Gorta.  

Imagine Remmick kinda looks like that fetus voldemort thing in the beginning of this. 

not proofread, cuz i couldnt be bothered.

TW for blood, gore, etc.

Maybe living alone hadn't been your best idea, but you had never had much of a choice. No family, and nobody was gonna take someone like you in. Born out of wedlock, to a mother who prayed to gods the “right folk” shunned, and a father who had not even been baptized. In the eyes of everyone you were as bad as any demon. 

Maybe they were right about the devil, of being hunted and lost, losing it all to a being who would only play with you before it took your soul. Your father died because of his greed, and your mother because the townspeople feared her, even after using her to cure their sicknesses for years. 

Whatever it was, devil or not, you could somehow run your little farm all on your own. Not that anybody would work for you in the first place, but it was enough. Your mother had always warned you about spirits, about the undead. Like the fae, or the Fear Gorta. 

Perhaps that was why you helped him when you first saw him. You had always been told that the Fear Gorta appeared in the shape of a starved man, stumbling along, whimpering for any help it could get. And that not helping it would cause bad luck for a long time to come. 

You had never believed much in your mother's beliefs and magic, mainly learning her herbology to use it yourself. But this felt real, the same way it had felt real when you saw them kill her. 

He looked burnt, like the piece of meat you had left on the fire for too long, because one of your goats had gotten stuck in the fence that one time. Gaunt too, like somebody who hadn't eaten for a very long time. 

“Please, stranger” rasped the figure, one you were still half convinced was a spirit of some kind. But if he wasn't a spirit, and just an unfortunate soul, then it was still your duty to help him. 

“Come on, I live not long from here” you had said, going as far as to pull your coat off your shoulders to drape of his blistered skin as you helped him up into your buggy. It was night, he must have been freezing, which made you hurry up as you pulled the wagon up the old dirt road. 

The air felt heavy, like something was pressing on your very soul as your small home grew closer. Your beloved farm dogs barking up a storm. Normally they would quiet down when they noticed it was you, but tonight they kept up their howling, sounding more and more distressed. 

“Don't mind em, they just don't like strangers. Last time other folk came here it was to try and burn it down” you half joke, glancing back at the maybe man, maybe spirit. Finally, you could see his eyes, and they made something heavy run down your spine, like thick cold molasses. 

Your skin felt cold and clammy as you parked the wagon near your front door, but for some reason you kept going. Kept moving as you unlocked it, almost carried the man inside and placed him in your rocking chair near the few kindles left from earlier, kept moving as you lifted supplies inside. 

The entire time you spoke, talking about this and that, about the farm, nature, the creek you had discovered nearby when you were a child that somehow always had fish, even during winter.  

When everything was put into place, you had wanted to find something to eat or even drink for your silent visitor. It was then that you realized how quiet it was, had he already died? On the way here, he had at least wheezed every now and then, but now it was quiet. 

“Mister?” you softly ask as you step closer, feeling your heart clench. At least you got to give him a warm place to finally let go, that must have been enough, right? You should have wrapped him in the wool skin you kept, so he could have been warm before finally letting himself rest. 

Had your mother been alive, then she would have beat you bloody for even allowing something like this inside your home. But she was long gone, there had barely been anything left to bury back then. 

Your hand was just about to rest on this scrawny man? Beings? Shoulder, when he moved. The yell couldn't even leave your lungs before something clamped down on your neck, a terrible burn spreading through your entire being as your back slammed against the floor. 

It felt like being stabbed, because of course you knew what that felt like. Your hands felt useless even as you clawed, punch and yelled, your voice gurgling as you tasted blood. 

Maybe it was delusion or blood-loss as you felt your vision swim and darken, but you swore you saw the scrawny man's body start growing, thick muscles cording across his being and hair bursting from his almost bald scalp.  

Was... was he moaning? Were those claws he was licking? Coiling his too long tongue around his own fingers to suck up your life essence as he audibly panted like a hound. 

“aint you the most delicious thing I've ever tasted” he moaned, voice rough and otherworldly, eyes like those of an animal when caught in the light. What was this? Why weren't you dead? 

There was a chunk missing from your throat, one this thing had swallowed as he slurped and lapped at your pulsing jugular vein. One he had punched a hole through with his sharp teeth like cloth caught on barbed wire. 

But you weren't dead, even as you felt your back soaking through with your own blood. Even as whatever this was rutted his naked body against you like an animal in heat. 

“Like ambrosia itself. Where did you come from, my dear?” he moaned in your ear, voice rolling like a bubbling lake, or perhaps rather a rolling pot of oil, one you were about to be thrown into. 

“Seems you were made just for me” he almost giggled, his rutting speeding up as he ground his cock against your blood-soaked slacks. You could barely see, but your heart kept racing, gushing blood from your neck with uneven spurts, each audible splatter making your attacker whiner and moan as he slobbered it all up. 

At some point he growled, something so inhuman that you shivered, gurgling through your own blood as it poured from your mouth. You barely noticed the splatter of his own essence that he spilled all over your front, as the being sank his teeth into the other side of your neck, tearing into it like a starved man. 

“I claim you. You have given yourself to no other idol, so now you are mine” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear.  

It was hard to focus as his lips pushed against your own, his blood-soaked tongue slithering into your mouth to lap up the pool of blood gathering there. There was some sick part of your brain that found this arousing, enough to make your eyes flutter for just a moment. 

“Yes... just for me” he huffed, even though you had a feeling he had no need to breathe. 

The world spun as he finally pulled back, strings of blood and drool hanging from his mouth and your wounds, his grin like a fox that had just devoured the most delicious of chickens. As he stood above you, his naked body soaked in blood, your blood, some part of you twitched with a heated feeling you couldn't identify. 

“Rest now. I will return, don't you worry” was purred, the words melting together into one muffled tone, as your eyes finally rolled all the way back, a part of you certain you would die, punished for helping a stranger. 

Only for your eyes to snap back open, blinded by the sun shining in through the windows, the whining and barking of your farm dogs at the door.  

Your neck didn't hurt, had it all been a dream? A nightmare? Some erotic fantasy from the depths of your mind? 

Thats what you thought, until you sat up, your entire body sticking to the floor. When you looked beneath you, it was all coated in blood, there was so much it must have been enough for two or three people. 

Scrambling to your feet, you stumbled towards the one tiny mirror you owned, hands flying to your neck. No wounds, as if nothing had happened. If not for the blood, you might have thought it all a fantasy. 

You didnt burn as you opened the front door, letting the bright rays of the sun wash upon you. What were you? No human should bleed that much, or survive for so long? What had been the thing that tore into you like that? Had rutted against you and moaned like it had been paid for it. 

Remmick, something in the back of your mind whispered. Remmick, Remmick, it repeated.  

A cold shiver ran down your spine as your eyes turned towards your cellar doors, an underground cellar your father had once dug. The lock was broken on the ground, splatters of blood leading towards it.  

Your heart lurched, but there was something else inside you. Something hot, hungry, burning in your gut as blood rushed south. “Remmick...” you mumble, voice scratchy and dry.  

Maybe you should dig up your mothers' old books and notes, but you would have to go into the cellar for that. Maybe your new guest could help you look for them. 

[mahalachives]

Part 6: The Cost of Rejection

TW: This chapter contains scenes of intense emotional distress, self-inflicted harm, bond-related psychological torment, violence, graphic depictions of injury, and themes of mental instability and feral behavior tied to a magical mating bond. It also includes a choking/strangulation scene.

As always, please read with care. Your well-being always comes first. 💛

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

The mating bond had turned Night Court's most controlled warrior into something ancient and feral.

A predator unleashed in a world that had forgotten what true darkness could do.

The Autumn Court palace gleamed copper and crimson in the late afternoon light as Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian approached the main gates. High Lord and Lady of the Night Court demanding entry while their general flanked them, power barely contained.

Behind them, darkness moved where it shouldn't; Azriel slipping through cracks in Autumn's defenses, less male than living shadow.

His eyes burned with feverish intensity, pupils blown wide and ringed with gold.

Days without sleep. Days of the bond flaying him alive from within.

Blood seeped through his leathers, fresh cuts reopening with each movement.

He'd carved them himself, desperate attempts to distract from the internal agony with external pain.

It hadn't worked.

The bond pulled at him with vicious intensity, a barbed hook beneath his sternum dragging him forward through servant passages and hidden corridors.

Every few steps, his body convulsed with silent spasms that he forced himself to work through, shadows writhing against his skin like living tattoos.

His mind fractured and reformed with each pulse of the bond, memories and present bleeding together.

"You're not the same female I knew."

"But you have caused too much pain."

"I reject you. I dont want anything to do with you."

Azriel slammed his fist into a wall, the crack of bone against stone grounding him momentarily. Blood smeared the ornate wallpaper. The pain rippled up his arm, insignificant compared to the wildfire in his chest.

The family wing appeared before him, the bond pulling him with increasing urgency.

A guard stood at the entrance. Living, breathing, in his way. Azriel didn't slow. His shadows struck first, wrapping around the male's throat before the guard could shout. Azriel followed, Truth-Teller already drawn.

The guard's eyes widened in terror at whatever he saw in Azriel's face. The shadowsinger barely noticed the fear, barely registered driving his forearm into the guard's throat, pinning him against the wall with inhuman strength.

"Where is she?" he asked, voice deathly quiet. The softness of it more terrifying than any shout.

The guard choked, fingers scrabbling uselessly against Azriel's arm. Azriel eased the pressure (just enough to allow speech).

"The Lady's chambers... e-empty," the guard gasped. "She's gone, disappeared days..."

Azriel's vision tunneled to a single point. Gone.

His control, five centuries of discipline, nearly vanished like mist. Truth-Teller hovered a breath away from the guard's chest.

Only a thin thread of restraint—the knowledge that Rhysand needed stealth, needed time—kept him from plunging the blade forward.

Instead, his shadows thickened, wrapping around the guard's consciousness until his eyes rolled back. The male slumped to the floor, still breathing but deeply unconscious.

Azriel stepped over the body without looking back, already following the golden thread pulling him forward.

The door to your chamber materialized before him, carved with flame patterns. The bond thrummed with savage intensity, golden light visible beneath Azriel's skin where his leathers had torn.

Empty.

The silence hit him like a physical blow.

Your scent lingered, but nothing else. Nothing alive. Nothing yours. The bond screamed within him, an animal caught in a trap.

Azriel stumbled forward, legs no longer working properly. His shadows exploded outward in blind rage, shredding curtains, shattering furniture, blackening walls with their fury. The mirror cracked with a sound like splitting ice, fragments raining down.

He crashed to his knees, a feral sound tearing from his throat; not grief, but madness. His hands clawed at his chest, tearing through leather to the golden light pulsing beneath his skin. Blood welled between his fingers.

"Where?" The word barely audible, not a question but a command.

His shadows raced through the room, crawling into corners, seeking, hunting. They returned with fragments. Impressions of fear, of flight, of ash and poison. The crystalline residue of a shattered vial.

The distant scent of Eris.

Something snapped inside him, an essential tether to reason and restraint. The golden light beneath his skin flared brighter, pulsing in time with his erratic heartbeat.

The room darkened as shadows poured from him in torrents, smothering candles, coating the walls in writhing darkness.

Behind him, the door creaked. Azriel spun, Truth-Teller raised before conscious thought.

A servant. Young. Terrified. Linens clutched to her chest.

He was on her in an instant, blade at her throat, shadows wrapping around her limbs like serpents. Her fear registered dimly, meaningless compared to the inferno raging through his chest.

"Where?" The single word delivered with such cold precision that it seemed to drop the temperature of the room.

His face remained expressionless, which somehow made the madness in his eyes more terrifying.

She trembled, tears streaming down her face. "I d-don't... High Lord Beron said..."

The mention of Beron's name cracked something further inside him. His shadows constricted around the maid involuntarily, drawing a whimper of pain.

"Who took her?" His voice remained low, controlled, at odds with the chaos of his shadows.

"No one t-took her," the maid sobbed. "She fled. To the south... the b-border..."

The bond convulsed inside him, a spasm so violent it bent him double. The blade faltered, dropping from his hand as he released the maid. She scrambled away, forgotten as Azriel collapsed to all fours, golden light seeping from between his lips like blood.

South. Border. Fled.

His mind caught on the words, turning them over and over.

Fled. From him. From the court. From the bond.

A sound escaped him, a laugh or sob, impossible to tell. His shadows surged around him in chaotic patterns, reflecting the fracturing of his mind.

In that dark corner of his consciousness, Rhysand's voice cut through. Az. Status.

Azriel couldn't form words anymore, could only send back impressions. Empty. Gone.

Come to the Great Hall. Now. Rhysand's mental voice held the edge of command, the High Lord calling his shadowsinger to heel.

Azriel rose unsteadily, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. The bond tugged southward, a hook in his chest that made each step away from it agony.

The Great Hall of the Autumn Court blazed with light and tension. Beron sat upon his flame-wreathed throne, fire dancing along his fingertips.

Eris stood beside him, carefully neutral as he watched the Night Court delegation.

"Your presence is unwelcome, Rhysand," Beron was saying. "State your business and then remove yourselves from my court."

Rhysand lounged with practiced arrogance. "We come on a matter of mutual concern. One that affects the stability of both our courts."

Feyre sat beside him, power simmering beneath her calm exterior. Cassian remained standing, hand on his sword hilt, his eyes constantly scanning the room.

"Nothing concerns our courts mutually," Beron snapped, flames leaping higher. "Unless you've come to finally acknowledge your shadowsinger's inappropriate fixation on my daughter."

"A mating bond is the Cauldron's will," Feyre replied, voice like silk over steel. "Not a matter of propriety."

"The Made High Lady speaks of traditions she barely understands," Beron sneered. "The bond was rejected. The matter is closed."

"And yet," Rhysand said, "your daughter has vanished. Curious timing."

The hall plunged into sudden, smothering darkness as the shadows thickened unnaturally.

Torches extinguished, flames dying with soft hisses. Guards shouted in alarm.

Azriel materialized from the darkness, but not as they knew him.

His wings hung at wrong angles. Blood painted abstract patterns across his fighting leathers. His face was a death mask; skin stretched too tight across cheekbones, eyes sunken and feverish. Golden light pulsed beneath his skin in erratic patterns, visible through tears in his clothing, shining from within his mouth when he spoke.

"Where is she?" The question came as a whisper that somehow carried through the entire hall. Low, controlled, and all the more terrifying for its restraint.

His shadows weren't just around him anymore; they were him, extensions of limbs and wings, curling in patterns that hurt the eye to follow.

Beron rose from his throne, flames surging defensively. "What madness is this?" he demanded, though his voice wavered slightly. "How dare you bring this... abomination into my court?"

Eris stepped forward, eyes narrowed as he assessed Azriel. "The mating bond has taken him," he observed quietly. "He's gone feral."

Rhysand moved swiftly to Azriel's side, power unfurling. "Az," he said firmly. "Control it."

Azriel didn't look at him. His gaze remained fixed on Beron, on Eris. On the ones who might know. His hands trembled violently, Truth-Teller clutched so tightly the hilt was cutting into his palm.

"She is no longer in the Autumn Court," Eris said carefully. "Her whereabouts are not our concern."

"Lies." The word fell into the room like a dropped stone, simple and cold. Shadows exploded from Azriel in a shockwave that knocked guards from their feet and cracked pillars. Furniture splintered. A chandelier crashed to the floor in a spray of crystal and flame.

Cassian lunged forward, grabbing Azriel's arm. "Az, stand down!"

Azriel turned on him with terrifying speed, Truth-Teller raised. Cassian caught his wrist, red siphons flaring to contain the shadows.

"Look at me," Cassian commanded. "Look at me, brother."

For a heartbeat, recognition flickered in Azriel's fever-bright eyes. Then the bond spasmed again, and he doubled over, body shaking violently as if something was tearing him apart from within.

"ENOUGH!" Beron shouted, flames racing across the floor toward the Night Court delegation. "This is an act of war, Rhysand! Your dog has gone rabid!"

"He is not himself," Rhysand replied, power rising to counter the flames. "The mating bond-"

"Is his own doing," Beron snarled. "He rejected it. Let him suffer the consequences."

The words hit Azriel like physical blows.

His rejection. His choice. His fault.

With a sound like tearing metal, Azriel broke free from Cassian's hold. His shadows became solid, driving Cassian back as Azriel lunged toward the throne.

"Where. Is. She." The declaration was so softly spoken it was almost tender, which made it infinitely more disturbing. Truth-Teller aimed at Beron's throat, the blade steady despite the tremors wracking the rest of his body.

Guards surged forward. Feyre's power erupted in a shield of starlight. Rhysand moved with blinding speed, catching Azriel around the waist as chaos erupted.

"She fled," Eris said, voice cutting through the mayhem. "She chose to leave. She rejected you as surely as you rejected her."

The words landed like hammer blows on shattered glass. Azriel's knees buckled, shadows coiling around him in protective spirals. The golden light beneath his skin flared bright enough to cast harsh shadows across his face, revealing tears of blood tracking down his cheeks.

"She is gone," Beron said, cruel satisfaction in his voice. "And you drove her away, shadowsinger. Your madness. Your rejection. This is the Cauldron's punishment."

Azriel's body shook so violently that Rhysand had to tighten his grip to keep him upright. No sound escaped the shadowsinger's lips, but his shadows surged outward in silent agony, engulfing the hall in darkness. Guards stumbled back, some falling to their knees as the shadows touched them.

Rhysand's power surged in response, stars piercing the unnatural night. "Azriel!" His voice carried the full weight of High Lord command. "ENOUGH."

The command froze Azriel momentarily, just long enough for Rhysand's power to wrap around him like a cocoon. Feyre and Cassian moved to Rhysand's side, adding their strength to his.

"We're leaving," Rhysand announced to Beron, the words clipped and final. "This audience is concluded."

"Take your rabid dog and go," Beron spat, flames illuminating his fury. "And know that any return to my lands will be met with lethal force."

Eris remained unnervingly calm, his eyes never leaving Azriel. "The bond will kill him," he observed clinically. "Unless he finds her."

"This isn't over." Azriel's words were barely audible, yet they carried the weight of an unbreakable vow. Truth-Teller still gripped in shaking hands as Rhysand's power contained him.

"It was over the moment you rejected what was yours," Eris replied. "Some prices cannot be undone, shadowsinger."

Rhysand's winnowing magic swept around them, tearing them from the Autumn Court in a rush of wind and darkness. The last image was Beron's face, contorted with triumph and rage, and Eris, watching with those calculating amber eyes that knew more than he revealed.

They materialized at the border of Night and Autumn territories, twilight sky bleeding purple and indigo above them.

The moment Rhysand's power released him, Azriel crumpled to the ground as if his bones had turned to water.

His wings splayed at unnatural angles, one arching too high, its joint visibly swollen and throbbing, the other dragging in the dirt, twitching involuntarily with each pulse of the bond.

Blood trickled from beneath his leathers, following the path of scars both ancient and fresh.

His eyes were bloodshot, the whites laced with crimson threads. Veins beneath his skin glowed faintly gold, pulsing like fever-lines up his throat and across his temples.

His breathing came in short, stuttering gasps, like each inhale was being stolen from him.

Like the air itself was rejecting him.

No sound escaped his lips as he curled in on himself, fingers digging into the earth, leaving furrows in the soil. The carefully constructed walls—five centuries of discipline and control—dissolved into dust.

Feyre was beside him in an instant, gathering his shaking form against her.

Her arms encircled him, not as High Lady to shadowsinger, but as family to family. His shadows clung to her like frightened children, but she didn't flinch. Darkness met darkness, and still she held him.

"She left," he whispered, the words barely audible. "She left. She left me. She left me."

His voice broke on the last words, tears cutting clean tracks through the blood and grime on his face. His body convulsed with silent sobs, each one threatening to tear him apart from within.

"I should've... I should've stopped her," he gasped, the words emerging between desperate attempts to breathe. Each inhale seemed to cause him physical pain, the bond constricting his lungs from inside. "I felt it... I felt her slipping..."

His hand reached out, grasping at empty air, then flinched as if burned when his fingers found nothing but wind.

Cassian stood motionless, face drained of color.

He had seen Azriel gut a man without blinking. Had watched him interrogate enemies with mechanical precision. But this? This was something else. Something unholy. The most controlled male he knew, unraveling thread by bloody thread before his eyes.

"Mother above," he breathed, the words a prayer.

Rhysand's power curled protectively around them all, but even he couldn't hide the fear in his eyes. Five hundred years of brotherhood, and he had never seen Azriel like this; had never thought it possible.

"She didn't just leave me," Azriel whispered, his gaze fixed on something none of them could see. "She left the bond. She left everything. How could she... how could she breathe through that?"

Feyre's power curled around him, not to heal, but to hold the pieces together until he could. "I'm here," she murmured, a steady anchor in the storm. "I've got you, Az."

He tried to rise, body moving before his mind caught up. The bond pulled him like a marionette with strings made of agony, dragging him toward the southern horizon. He staggered, would have fallen if not for Feyre's steady arms.

Cassian watched as Azriel's shadows twisted in patterns that reflected his internal torment. "What do we do? We can't force her to accept him."

"No," Rhysand agreed. "But we can find her. At least give him the chance to see her again."

Azriel's body continued to shake, but the wild desperation in his eyes shifted to something else—something cold and focused and deadly.

"South," he managed, each word precise despite the cost. "Border estate."

"We'll find her," Feyre promised, her power wrapping more firmly around his trembling form. "But first, you need to breathe. Just breathe, Az."

Azriel shook his head, the movement jerky and pained. "Can't breathe," he rasped. "It won't let me. Pulls and pulls and..." His words dissolved as another spasm of pain contorted his features.

With sudden, desperate strength, he gripped Rhysand's forearm.

"Please," he begged, the word raw and broken. "Now. Take me to her now." Tears leaked from his eyes, "I'll die if..." He couldn't finish, another wave of pain stealing his breath.

Rhysand knelt beside them, his face set with the cold, implacable resolve of a High Lord. "You'll die if we don't get you to a healer first," he said, voice brooking no argument. "And I will not lose you, brother."

"She's-" Azriel tried again, shadows thinning to wisps as his strength failed him.

"The moment you're stable," Rhysand promised, "we fly south. I swear it on the Cauldron."

Cassian joined them, completing the circle around their fallen brother. "All of us," he agreed, voice rough with emotion he rarely showed. "No one gets left behind."

Azriel's face contorted with a war of emotions—desperation to find you, the physical agony of the bond, the fear that delay meant losing you forever. His entire body trembled with the effort to resist the pull southward.

"She won't want me," he whispered, a confession torn from his soul. "She ran. She ran from me."

"Then we'll face that together too," Feyre said gently, wiping a tear from his cheek. "But we can't lose you, Az."

Something in her words seemed to reach him. His shoulders slumped, not in defeat but in exhaustion, in the bone-deep understanding that he couldn't fight this battle alone.

"Velaris," Rhysand said, gathering his power around them all. "Hold onto him."

As the darkness of winnowing enveloped them, Azriel's shadows stretched southward in one last, desperate reach—toward you, toward what was lost, toward what might never be reclaimed.

His eyes, more gold than hazel now, closed as the bond pulsed beneath his skin in weakening waves. The last thing he whispered before consciousness fled him was your name, a prayer, a promise, a plea.

Then the night swallowed them whole, carrying them home to Velaris.

As the last light faded from the sky, Azriel's shadows stretched southward, seeking, hunting, following the golden thread that bound him to you, whether that path led to salvation or destruction remained to be seen.

A week at Lucien's border estate had taught you several important things.

First, the ash tea worked wonders for muting the bond's pain, but did absolutely nothing for boredom.

Second, Lucien's definition of "stocked kitchen" meant an alarming quantity of expensive wine and virtually nothing edible.

Third, fire bunnies should never, under any circumstances, be allowed near curtains, pillows, or anything remotely flammable (which, unfortunately, was everything).

"I'm making breakfast," you announced, padding barefoot into the sunlit kitchen where Lucien sat nursing a mug of something steaming.

You tripped slightly over a rug edge but caught yourself with as much dignity as you could muster. "Real breakfast. Not whatever sad excuse for food you've been surviving on."

Lucien glanced up from the letter he was reading, metal eye whirring softly as it focused on you. The mechanical click-whir always reminded you of a tiny camera shutter. "There's bread."

"Bread is not breakfast," you replied, already rummaging through his sparse cupboards, accidentally knocking over several empty containers in the process. "It's an ingredient in breakfast. Like... a supporting character. Important, but not the star."

Ember and Sizzle hopped excitedly at your feet, their tiny flame ears perked with anticipation. You'd quickly discovered they had excellent food radar.

For creatures made of fire, they had remarkable enthusiasm for eating. Also for causing chaos, but mostly eating.

"Do you actually know how to cook?" Lucien asked, one eyebrow arched skeptically.

You paused, a dusty jar of what might have been preserves (or possibly very old paint) in your hand.

The truth was complicated.

In your previous life as a human, you'd been decent enough in the kitchen. But your body's current owner, had probably never even seen an uncooked egg.

"How hard can it be?" you replied breezily, blowing a strand of hair from your face. "Heat plus food equals meal. I'm basically just doing math with fire."

Lucien's lips twitched. "Says the female who set three towels on fire yesterday."

"That was Sizzle's fault," you protested, as the bunny in question hopped onto the counter and began sniffing at a bowl of fruit with suspicious intensity. "And I put them out very quickly."

"With wine."

"It worked, didn't it?" You fumbled with a spoon, sending it clattering across the counter. "And the towels weren't that important. They clashed with your decor anyway."

Lucien set his letter aside, leaning back in his chair to watch the impending disaster with barely concealed amusement. "By all means, continue. I haven't had entertainment this good in decades."

You huffed dramatically, pulling out the few ingredients you could find—eggs, some questionable-looking herbs that might actually be weeds, cheese that was thankfully still edible, and the aforementioned bread.

"I'm making..." you paused, assessing your options while trying to look confident, "a frittata."

"A what?" Lucien's brow furrowed in confusion.

"It's a... fancy egg thing." You waved your hand vaguely, accidentally knocking over a salt cellar. "Trust me. It's going to be amazing. Or at least edible. Probably."

Ember, clearly sensing an opportunity for chaos, leapt onto the counter beside Sizzle. Between them, they managed to nudge an apple off the edge, sending it rolling across the floor. You lunged for it, missed completely, and nearly face-planted into a cabinet.

"Your therapy animals are stealing my breakfast," Lucien observed dryly.

"They're helping," you insisted, straightening with as much dignity as possible.

Lucien snorted. "Is that what we're calling it?"

You cracked eggs into a bowl with more confidence than skill, several bits of shell following the yolks. You poked at them ineffectually with a finger, trying to fish them out. "Extra calcium," you muttered.

As you reached for a fork to beat them, you felt the bond pulse uncomfortably.

Even with the ash tea's dampening effects, certain movements still triggered sharp reminders of what lay beneath your skin, waiting to consume you again.

You must have winced, because Lucien was suddenly beside you, his movements silent and graceful.

"Here," he said, taking the bowl. "Let me."

"I'm fine," you insisted, though you let him take over. "The tea works. Mostly. Sometimes. When it feels like it."

"Most of the time," he agreed, beating the eggs with practiced ease.

The sight of the feared son of the Autumn Court whisking eggs was incongruous enough to make you smile. "Where did you learn to cook?"

A shadow crossed his face. "After Tamlin's... difficulties, staff was limited. I adapted."

"You're full of surprises, brother dear. Next you'll tell me you can knit or something." You peered at him suspiciously. "Wait, can you knit? Because I'd pay good money to see that."

The endearment slipped out without thought.

Lucien's hands stilled for just a heartbeat before resuming their work. You'd noticed he had a complicated relationship with the word "brother," perhaps because his blood brothers had tried to kill him, or perhaps because the one he'd chosen had betrayed him.

"Someone in this house needs practical skills," he replied lightly. "Particularly when sharing space with three fire hazards."

"Three?" You looked around in confusion.

His mismatched eyes met yours, amusement dancing in them. "I'm counting you."

Before you could formulate a suitably indignant response (which was definitely going to be brilliant and cutting, given enough time), Sizzle chose that moment to sneeze. A tiny fireball shot across the kitchen, singeing the edge of Lucien's sleeve.

"Cauldron boil me," he muttered, patting out the spark.

You couldn't help it. You burst out laughing, the sound so unexpected it startled you.

When was the last time you'd laughed? Before the bond. Before Azriel's rejection. Before the pain.

Lucien stared at you for a moment before his own lips curved upward. "You find my immolation amusing?"

"Your..." You gestured to his perfect posture, immaculate clothing, and general air of deadly competence. "Your dignified outrage. Over a bunny sneeze." You demonstrated, mimicking his affronted expression with exaggerated horror. "It's like watching a war general get taken down by a kitten."

He tilted his head, considering. "They're not actually rabbits, you know. They're flame sprites who just happen to take bunny form."

You blinked. "Wait, really?"

You looked down at Ember, who chose that moment to scratch behind his ear with his back foot in a quintessential rabbit move. "Have I been patronizing powerful supernatural entities this whole time?"

Lucien's face remained serious for precisely three seconds before cracking. "No. They're just magical rabbits who happen to be on fire."

You grabbed a handful of herbs and threw them at him. "You're terrible! I was ready to start a flame sprite worship cult!"

He dodged easily, grinning now. "And you're gullible."

"I am not..." You searched for words. "Okay, I am, but in my defense, nothing makes sense here. Last week I saw a bird with twelve wings and the face of an old man. A flaming rabbit isn't even in the top ten weird things."

Your protest was cut short as Ember, apparently jealous of the attention Sizzle had received, decided to hop directly into the bowl of beaten eggs.

Lucien lunged to catch him, but too late. The bowl tipped, sending its contents cascading down the front of his fine shirt.

Silence fell, broken only by Ember's pleased chirping.

Lucien looked down at his ruined clothing, then back at you, his expression so perfectly affronted that you couldn't contain another burst of laughter.

"Oh gods," you gasped between giggles. "Your face! It's like someone told you the Spring Court has better fashion sense."

"If you value your continued existence," he said with deadly calm, "you will stop laughing immediately."

This, of course, only made you laugh harder, clutching the counter for support. The bond in your chest gave a peculiar flutter, not pain this time, but something lighter, as if amused by the absurdity alongside you.

With deliberate slowness, Lucien reached for the remaining eggs on the counter. "You realize," he said conversationally, "this means war."

Your eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare. You're a dignified... um, whatever you are. Diplomat? Spy? Professional brooder?"

His metal eye clicked and whirred as he raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't I?"

The kitchen erupted into chaos. Eggs flew. Flour from some forgotten cupboard clouded the air.

You shrieked and ducked, accidentally upending a canister of what turned out to be cinnamon. The fire bunnies, delighted by this new game, bounced between you, leaving tiny scorch marks on everything they touched.

When Eris found you an hour later, you were both sitting on the kitchen floor, covered in food, surrounded by ecstatic fire bunnies, and laughing so hard you could barely breathe. You had a streak of flour across your nose and what appeared to be egg yolk in your hair.

He paused in the doorway, amber eyes taking in the disaster before him.

"I leave for three days," he said with exquisite disdain, "and return to... this."

Lucien didn't bother standing, just lifted his egg-crusted chin with mock dignity. "We were cooking."

"Clearly," Eris replied, stepping carefully over a puddle of what might have been honey. "I see it's going exceptionally well."

You exchanged a glance with Lucien, a silent communication passing between you.

The bond in your chest hummed quietly, for once not a source of agony but simply there.

A part of you. Manageable.

"Actually," you said, smiling at your eldest brother as egg dripped from your elbow, "it is."

The kitchen was still a disaster zone, but you'd at least managed to clean yourselves up. Mostly.

There was still something sticky in your hair that refused to be identified. Lucien had changed into a simple linen shirt, more casual than you'd ever seen him, while you'd washed the worst of the egg from your person.

Eris paced the length of the sitting room, his movements controlled and precise. Too precise.

You'd learned that Eris at his most controlled was Eris at his most dangerous. Like a snake coiling before it strikes, or a wine bottle about to be uncorked after being violently shaken.

"The Night Court came to Autumn yesterday," he said without preamble, his amber eyes fixing on yours. "Not as guests. As intruders."

The bond in your chest gave a sharp pulse, golden light briefly visible beneath the skin of your wrist before the ash tea smothered it again.

You curled your fingers into your palm, trying to mask the reaction.

"Why?" Lucien asked, leaning against the doorframe, his posture deliberately casual though his hand strayed near his knife.

"For her," Eris replied, nodding in your direction. His lips curved in a cold smile. "Your shadowsinger appears to be experiencing complications."

The words dropped into the room like stones into still water.

You kept your face carefully blank, even as your pulse quickened.

"Explain," you said, proud of how steady your voice remained.

Eris studied your face, as if searching for something specific. "They arrived openly at the gates. The High Lord and Lady, plus the general. Very diplomatic. Very proper." His eyes glittered. "While the shadowsinger slipped into the palace like a thief, incapacitated guards, and tore through the family wing straight to your chambers."

You found yourself oddly still, like a prey animal sensing a predator. "And?" You fiddled with a loose thread on your sleeve to keep your hands from shaking.

"When he found your chambers empty, he nearly brought the ceiling down." Eris's expression was calculating, weighing each word for its impact on you. "It took all three of them to contain him. A display of power that..." he paused, something like reluctant respect in his voice, "was impressive, even by their standards."

"So what you're saying is," you said, trying to keep your voice light, "I should definitely send him a bill for the damages."

Lucien shot you a warning glance, but Eris merely continued, ignoring your attempt at humor.

"And you stood with Beron?" Lucien asked, his eyebrow raised.

"I stood where I needed to," Eris replied coldly. "As I always do."

You pushed away from the table, needing to move, to process.

The bond pulsed steadily beneath the ash tea's numbing effects, neither painful nor pleasant, just there. A reminder of what had been forced upon you, like an annoying song stuck in your head, but with more existential dread.

"You need to leave," Eris continued. "Tonight. The bond is a beacon, ash tea or no. It's only a matter of time before the shadowsinger traces it to this place, and I doubt he'll be in a reasoning mood when he does."

"Leave and go where?" Lucien asked, his metal eye whirring softly as he studied his brother. "She's barely mastered not setting the bath towels on fire."

You shot him a betrayed look. "That was one time!"

"Three times," he corrected.

Eris's expression suggested he was reconsidering his entire plan. "The Dawn Court," he finally replied. "Thesan owes me a favor, and it's the last place they'd look. The shadowsinger's abilities are weakened in constant light."

You looked between them, these brothers with centuries of mistrust and shared secrets between them.

"And why would you help me get there? Not that I'm doubting your generosity," you added hastily, "but you don't seem like the helping type. More the 'watching people struggle while sipping wine' type."

Eris's expression remained unreadable.

"Because Beron is calling their intrusion an act of war. Because he's looking for someone to blame for all this." Something almost like genuine emotion flashed across his face. "And because I've seen what bond-madness does. To both parties."

Ember materialized in a tiny burst of flame beside your hand, his warm form coalescing from your own power. Sizzle appeared moments later, hopping across the table as if she'd been there all along.

These extensions of your fire magic (not pets, but manifestations of your ability to create and sustain life from flame) had become such a natural part of you that you barely noticed the small flare of power it took to maintain them.

Eris watched the bunnies with narrowed eyes. "You'll need to keep those under control in Dawn. They won't blend well with Thesan's menagerie of light beasts."

You ran a finger along Ember's spine, feeling the connection to your own magic. "They're a part of me. Like really adorable, flammable emotional support animals."

"Then contain them," Eris said simply. "I've arranged passage through a series of winnowing points. Thesan's sentries will meet you at the eastern border." His eyes met yours, sharp and knowing. "Unless... you want the shadowsinger to find you?"

The question hung in the air between you.

You considered it, truly considered it.

This bond you never asked for, with a male who had made clear what he thought of it. Of you.

You almost made a joke about how terrible his communication skills were, but something in Eris's expression stopped you.

But this wasn't just about Azriel anymore. This was about you. About finding space to breathe, to think, to be something other than a pawn in games between High Lords.

"I'll go," you said, the decision crystallizing within you like frost on glass. "But not because I'm running from him."

Eris raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No." You let a small flame dance across your fingertips, trying not to look too pleased when it didn't immediately get out of control. Ember and Sizzle chirped in harmony with the display. "I'm choosing myself this time."

Something that might have been respect flickered across Eris's face before it vanished beneath his usual cold mask. "Be ready at midnight. Bring only what you can carry."

After Eris had gone, Lucien moved to sit beside you. "You don't have to go," he said.

You glanced at him, surprised. "You think I should stay?"

"I think choosing yourself is the right decision," he replied, his scarred face solemn in the fading light. "But you don't have to do it alone."

You stared at him. "What are you saying?"

Lucien's mismatched eyes met yours, something resolute in them. "I'm saying I'll go with you. To the Dawn Court."

"What about your estate? Your position?" What about Elain? hung unspoken between you.

"This estate is just a pretty prison Beron lets me keep." He shrugged, the gesture attempting casualness but not quite succeeding. "And as for positions... well. Neither of us seems to fit where we're supposed to be, do we?"

You leaned your head against his shoulder, this brother who had become something like a friend in the strangest of circumstances. "They'll come after us. Both courts."

"Not in Dawn," Lucien said confidently. "Not even Rhysand would risk offending Thesan by barging into his territory uninvited. And Beron has never had good relations with the Dawn Court, too many centuries of mutual distrust."

Ember and Sizzle hopped between you, tiny flames dancing along their ears in excitement or perhaps resonating with your own feelings. As manifestations of your power, they often reflected emotions you hadn't even acknowledged to yourself.

"I need to pack," you said finally.

With a thought, you called the bunnies back to you, their forms dissolving into twin flames that curled around your fingers before vanishing beneath your skin.

It would take concentration to hold them there, but it was good practice for the Dawn Court where your fire creatures would be immediately recognized as Autumn Court magic.

Lucien nodded, something like admiration in his eyes at the display of control. "We leave at midnight, then."

For the first time since arriving in Prythian, you were writing your own story. And hopefully it wouldn't involve setting too many things on fire. Intentionally, anyway.

Madja completed the final healing seal over the last of his wounds, the golden light fading from her fingertips as she stepped back from the bed.

"You need rest," she said firmly, her ancient eyes seeing more than Azriel wanted to reveal. "At least three days. The bond-sickness has ravaged your system."

Azriel said nothing, lying perfectly still until the healer gathered her supplies and left his chambers in the House of Wind. The moment the door clicked shut, he was moving.

His body screamed in protest as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Wounds—both those he'd inflicted on himself and those sustained in the Autumn Court—pulled tight beneath fresh scars.

The bond pulsed steadily in his chest, calling to him with a voice that drowned out all reason, all duty, all previous attachments.

Not a tether. Not a chain. A lifeline.

His shadows, which had been suspiciously docile during the healing, erupted around him the moment he stood, dancing with renewed vigor.

They whispered to him in languages older than Prythian itself, but for once, they weren't telling him secrets of others. They were telling him his own truth.

She is yours. You are hers. Two halves finally finding wholeness.

How strange that he had spent centuries believing his shadows knew everything, only to realize they had been waiting all this time to tell him the one thing that mattered.

You.

He moved to the wardrobe, each step more steady than the last as certainty replaced pain. He dressed methodically in fighting leathers, his movements reverent, like a priest preparing for sacred rites.

Truth-Teller slid into its sheath at his hip, the blade singing softly in greeting.

For centuries, he had believed the knife's name referred to its function—to extract truth from others.

Now he understood it had always been about confronting his own.

The bond guided his hands as he prepared. This wasn't madness anymore. This was clarity.

He moved to the window, which opened onto a sheer drop from the House of Wind. Velaris spread below him, a city he had helped protect, helped build.

A home he had always served faithfully.

Until now.

His shadows surged forward, testing the night air, then returned with confirmation—Autumn's southern border. A hidden estate where you waited, whether you knew it or not.

Azriel unfurled his wings, feeling a strength in them he hadn't felt in centuries. As if the bond had stripped away not just his delusions but the weight of five hundred years of isolation. Of believing he was meant to stand apart, to watch others find happiness while he remained in shadow.

The Cauldron, in its twisted wisdom, had given him the one thing he never believed he deserved.

A soft knock at the door broke through his revelry. Before he could respond, it opened to reveal Elain standing in the doorway, a small basket of healing herbs in her hands.

"Madja asked me to bring these for your-" Her words faltered as she took in his appearance: not a healing invalid, but a warrior prepared for flight. "You're leaving."

Azriel turned to face her fully, allowing his shadows to recede.

For so long, he had believed himself in love with her, this gentle, quiet female who represented everything he thought he should want.

Safety. Comfort. Normalcy.

Looking at her now, he felt only a distant fondness, like remembering a dream upon waking.

The bond had burned away the illusion, leaving only truth behind.

"I'm sorry, Elain," he said, his voice steady with newfound conviction.

She set the basket down slowly. "For what?"

"For not understanding until now." His gaze met hers directly, no more hiding, no more half-truths. "I thought I loved you because you were safe. Because wanting you was less terrifying than facing what I truly needed."

The golden light beneath his skin pulsed brighter, illuminating the darkness between them. Not hiding anything anymore.

"It's her," Elain said softly. Not a question.

"It's always been her," Azriel replied, the truth of it resonating through his entire being. "I just didn't know it until the bond showed me." His voice softened. "She was made for me. Every broken piece of me fits with every broken piece of her."

Saying the words aloud felt like setting down a burden he'd carried his entire life: the belief that he was too damaged, too dark, too scarred for real connection.

Elain's eyes shimmered with tears, but something like understanding flickered in their depths. "The seer in me sensed it, I think. That's why I always kept my distance, even when you..." She didn't finish the thought.

"Even when I tried to convince us both otherwise," he completed gently.

The bond surged beneath his skin, impatient now, reminding him that every moment spent here was a moment away from you. His wings twitched in response, readying for flight.

"She's with Lucien," Elain said softly.

At the mention of Lucien's name, Azriel felt a strange calm knowing you're with one of your brothers.

"I know. Ironic, isn't it?" A faint, sad smile touched his lips. "The Cauldron has a twisted sense of humor."

"What will you do?"

"Whatever I must," he answered simply. "She is mine as I am hers. Even if she doesn't know it yet."

Elain studied him, seeing perhaps more clearly than anyone else ever had. "You've changed."

"I've awakened," he corrected gently. "Everything before her was a half-life. A shadow existence."

Understanding passed between them, a final acknowledgment of what might have been and what never truly was. Elain nodded once, acceptance in the gesture.

"Cassian went to find Rhys," she said. "They'll try to stop you."

"I know."

"Go," she whispered. "Find your completion."

Azriel held her gaze for one final moment, gratitude in his eyes for this unexpected blessing. Then he stepped backward off the ledge, wings snapping open to catch the night air.

As he banked sharply southward, shadows streaming behind him like wedding ribbons, he felt the bond singing through his blood.

Not the desperate, painful tug of before, but a joyful, certain pull—like coming home after a war, like finding shelter after a storm.

Like a soul finally recognizing its other half.

He flew toward you with the absolute certainty that whatever happened next—whether you accepted him or not, whether you fled or fought—this was the truth his entire existence had been building toward. You were made for him, as he was made for you, two pieces of the same impossible puzzle.

And nothing in Prythian would keep him from you again.

"Are you certain we can't bring any of Eris's wine?" You folded another tunic into your travel pack, trying to keep your movements casual despite the excitement thrumming through you.

Dawn Court. Freedom. Or at least something resembling it.

Lucien leaned against the doorframe, his metal eye whirring as it tracked your movements. "We're fugitives, not thieves."

"Says the male who packed sixteen of Eris's daggers," you countered, nodding toward the impressive array of weapons laid out on the bed.

"Those are technically mine. He stole them first."

You grinned, about to respond when the bond gave a sudden, violent pulse beneath your skin. It flared for a moment before the ash tea suppressed it again, but the urgency in the sensation was new. Different.

"What is it?" Lucien asked, noticing your expression change.

"Nothing," you said automatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "Just the bond... acting strange."

Lucien frowned, his hand dropping to the knife at his hip, a gesture so automatic he probably didn't realize he'd done it. "Strange how?"

Before you could answer, Ember and Sizzle materialized beside you, their tiny bodies coalescing from flame without your conscious summons. They weren't playful or curious as usual; their ears were flattened, bodies crouched low in alarm.

"That's... not normal," Lucien observed, pushing away from the doorframe.

A crash from downstairs shattered the moment—glass breaking, wood splintering. Voices, unfamiliar and angry, shouted commands to each other.

"Find her! The Lady owes us blood!"

Your eyes widened. "What in the hell-"

Lucien was already moving, grabbing your pack with one hand and your arm with the other. "Back exit. Now."

You stumbled after him, mind racing. "Who would-"

"Later," he hissed, pulling you toward the servant's stairs at the back of the hall.

You'd barely taken three steps when a figure appeared at the top of the main staircase—a male Fae with skin that resembled bark and branches twisting from his scalp like antlers. His eyes glowed an eerie green as his lips pulled back to reveal thorn-sharp teeth. "There she is! The bitch who betrayed our grove to the Summer Court hunters!"

You blinked in confusion. "Excuse me?"

Another crash downstairs, and more voices joined the first. Lucien swore under his breath, yanking you toward the stairs.

Lucien propelled you down the narrow stairs, his movements efficient and practiced. "Apparently," he said between breaths, "You had quite the talent for making enemies."

"Oh." Wonderful.

Not only were you trapped in a Fae body, bonded to a shadowsinger, and hiding from multiple courts, but now you were being hunted for someone else's crimes. Perfect.

You reached the bottom of the stairs only to find your escape route blocked by two more intruders—females with skin like polished stone and vines twisting through their hair, wielding wickedly curved daggers of bone.

"There's nowhere to run, traitor," one hissed, her voice like leaves rustling in wind.

Lucien pushed you behind him, his hand wreathing in flame. "Look, there's been a misunderstanding-"

A bone dagger flew through the air, missing his head by inches.

"No misunderstandings," the second female snarled. "Just vengeance."

Ember and Sizzle, still hovering at your sides, suddenly charged forward in twin streaks of flame, startling the wood nymphs and giving Lucien the opening he needed.

Fire erupted from his hands, driving them back long enough for you to dart past, Lucien close behind.

"The kitchens," he directed, "through the pantry!"

You ran, heart hammering in your chest. The bond pulsed in time with each beat, as if responding to your fear.

You tried to summon your own fire magic, but the ash tea had dampened your power to a flicker. Ember and Sizzle, extensions of that same magic, seemed weaker too, their flames dimmer than usual.

More crashes behind you, the sound of furniture splintering. How many were there?

You burst into the kitchen, skidding on the floor still slick with egg from your earlier escapades. Lucien caught your arm before you fell, steadying you.

"Almost there," he encouraged, guiding you toward the pantry door that led to an external courtyard.

A massive figure stepped through the doorway ahead, blocking your path. Nearly seven feet tall, with skin like ancient oak and eyes that glowed forest green, he carried a spear of living wood that dripped with some viscous sap.

"The Lady of Autumn," he rumbled, his voice like branches breaking in a storm. "Your treachery cost me three saplings."

"I'm not-" you began, but he was already lunging forward, spear aimed at your heart.

Lucien shoved you sideways, the spear grazing his arm instead. He hissed in pain but returned with a slash of his knife, forcing the giant back.

"Run!" he ordered. "The window!"

You scrambled toward the kitchen window, throwing open the shutters. It was a tight fit, but possible. Behind you, the sounds of fighting intensified; more of the wood nymphs had entered the kitchen, surrounding Lucien who fought with brutal efficiency, fire and steel flashing in deadly arcs.

Ember and Sizzle darted at the intruders' faces, small distractions that bought precious seconds.

You were halfway through the window when a hand closed around your ankle, yanking you back inside. You crashed to the floor, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

The antlered male from upstairs stood over you, mouth stretched in a terrible grin. "The bounty on your head will feed my grove for a year," he snarled, reaching down to grip your throat.

His hand closed around your neck, bark-rough skin abrading yours as he lifted you off the ground. The ash tea had weakened you too much to fight back effectively. You clawed at his arm, trying to break his hold, but his grip only tightened.

"I'll deliver your heart to the Grove Elder myself," he hissed, face inches from yours.

Black spots danced at the edges of your vision as you struggled for air. The bond in your chest pulsed frantically, golden light seeping through your skin despite the ash tea's effects.

Just as consciousness began to fade, an arrow whistled through the air, striking you in the shoulder. The antlered male loosened his grip in surprise, and you dropped to the floor, gasping and clutching your bleeding wound.

"Idiot!" one of the stone-skinned females shouted at an archer across the room. "We need her alive for the bounty!"

"She moved!" the archer protested.

You crawled backward, blood seeping between your fingers where you clutched your shoulder. The arrow had gone clean through, but the pain was blinding.

Lucien was still fighting by the pantry door, now facing four opponents at once. He'd lost his knife and was fighting with pure fire, but even he couldn't hold them off much longer.

"Lucien!" you called, your voice ragged from the strangling.

He glanced your way, taking in your wounded state with a single look. His face hardened into something dangerous.

"Enough," he said, his voice deadly quiet.

Fire erupted from him in a wave, not the controlled flames from before but a roaring inferno that engulfed the kitchen. The wood nymphs shrieked, their forest-adapted bodies especially vulnerable to fire. They retreated, but Lucien wasn't giving them the chance to escape.

"You came to the wrong house," he snarled, the fire growing hotter, climbing the walls, catching the rafters.

The antlered male stumbled toward you, apparently determined to complete his mission despite the flames. You kicked out desperately, catching him in the knee. He fell forward, his antlers slicing your arm as he went down.

More of your blood spilled, splattering across his face. He recoiled, wiping at it furiously.

"Lucien!" you shouted again as the fire spread, the heat becoming unbearable.

In three long strides, he was beside you, scooping you into his arms. Your blood smeared across his shirt, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

"Hold on," he commanded, his voice tight with fury and fear.

The fire was everywhere now, consuming the kitchen, racing through the house with unnatural speed. The wood nymphs were in full retreat, those who could still move dragging their injured companions.

"What are you doing?" you gasped as Lucien carried you not toward an exit but deeper into the burning house.

"Making sure they can't follow," he replied grimly. "And covering our tracks."

He kicked open the door to Eris's study, strode to the desk, and shifted you in his arms just long enough to grab a small wooden box from a hidden compartment.

"Now we go," he said, tucking the box into his pocket.

The house was fully engulfed now, the structure groaning as support beams weakened. Ember and Sizzle had vanished, either returned to your body or consumed by the larger fire.

"Can you winnow us both?" you asked, the pain in your shoulder making it hard to focus.

"Let's find out," Lucien replied, tightening his hold on you. "Because we're out of options."

He closed his eyes, gathering what power he had.

The roof above you creaked ominously, beginning to collapse.

The last thing you saw before the world dissolved around you was fire, everywhere, consuming everything, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

Azriel descended through the night, the bond a molten thread in his chest that pulled tighter with each wing beat.

The smoke from Lucien's burning estate rose in angry plumes below, golden embers dancing against the darkness like a perversion of starlight.

His shadows writhed across his skin, agitated and hungry in a way he'd never experienced before. They weren't just extensions of him anymore; they were sentient with purpose, with rage.

I reject you. I don't want anything to do with you.

His own words haunted him as he landed silently on the ridge overlooking the burning manor.

The memory of your face when he'd spoken them, the devastation, the raw hurt, clawed at him from within. The arrogance of it. The blind, willful rejection of what the Cauldron had designed for him alone.

Below, figures moved through the fiery ruins—lesser fae from the border territories, picking through the remains like carrion birds. The sight of them touching what had been your temporary sanctuary sent a wave of territorial fury through him.

"Nothing worth salvaging," one called out, kicking at a collapsed beam. "The Lady of Autumn escaped before we could finish the job."

The bond twisted at those words, spearing white-hot pain through Azriel's chest.

His vision blurred momentarily as golden light seeped from beneath his skin, not just at his collar now, but at his wrists, fingertips, even the corners of his eyes.

His shadows surged outward, independent of his command, tasting the air and returning with information that made the light beneath his skin pulse like a war drum.

Blood.

His focus narrowed to a bark-skinned male with antlers twisting from his scalp. There, on his hands: dark stains. Not ash or soot, but something his shadows recognized instantly.

Your blood.

The golden thread inside his chest vibrated, attuning to the specific rhythm of your spilled blood.

For one terrible moment, Azriel felt exactly what you had felt when that blood was drawn, the sharp pain of an arrow, the crushing pressure of hands around your throat.

Something inside him broke.

He dropped from the ridge, shadows streaming behind him like war banners. He landed in their midst without a sound, the impact crater in the ash the only indication of his arrival.

They froze, conversation dying as they registered his presence.

Recognition rippled through them, not of him specifically, but of what he was. What he represented.

Death. Vengeance. Night itself given form.

"You touched what belongs to me," Azriel said, his voice so soft it seemed to absorb sound rather than create it.

They backed away instinctively, hands moving to weapons.

Too late. Far too late.

"We meant no offense to the Night Court," the antlered male stammered. "Our business was with the Lady of Autumn-"

"Your business," Azriel interrupted, each word carved from ice, "is now with me."

His shadows whipped forward, tasting the stains on the male's hands. They returned to their master with confirmation that sent golden light blazing from beneath his skin, so bright it cast harsh shadows across the burning wreckage.

Externally, Azriel remained perfectly still, not a muscle moving, not an expression changing.

But inside, where no one could see, the carefully constructed walls of five centuries crumbled to dust. The civilized being he had pretended to be, the controlled, disciplined shadowsinger, dissolved.

What remained was something ancient and merciless. Something that had existed long before Prythian, before High Lords and courts and politics.

A mated male whose mate had been harmed.

The antlered male saw the change happen in Azriel's eyes, watched hazel irises be consumed by molten gold that seemed to burn from within. He backpedaled, suddenly understanding the true danger.

"She's your-"

The words died in his throat as Azriel's shadows thickened around him, blocking out what little light remained. The rest of them scattered like leaves in a storm, primal instinct driving them to flee what they now recognized as death incarnate.

Azriel watched them run, head tilted slightly as his shadows mapped their escape routes, their breathing patterns, the tempo of their terrified heartbeats.

He memorized the specific cadence of the antlered male's footfalls, the one whose hands were stained with your blood.

His lips tilted into a sick smile.

He gave them a head start. Thirty seconds of desperate hope. Enough time for their lungs to burn with exertion, for their minds to imagine they might survive.

The antlered male reached the tree line first, glancing over his shoulder to see nothing but darkness behind him. Relief flickered across his features as he plunged into the forest, believing himself unseen.

Azriel's wings snapped open with a sound like distant thunder. He took to the air, a shadow among shadows, moving with the terrible patience of a predator who knows its prey cannot escape.

The male crashed through the underbrush, lungs heaving as he tried to put distance between himself and the burning estate. He paused at a small clearing, bending over to gasp for breath.

"I think we lost him," he wheezed to his companion. "Even the Night Court wouldn't risk war with Autumn by hunting us this far into their territory."

When no response came, he straightened and turned, only to find himself alone.

"Teren?" he called, voice barely above a whisper.

The forest fell silent.

Not the natural quiet of night, but the absolute stillness that comes when every living thing recognizes a superior predator in their midst. Even the insects ceased their songs.

Drawing his knife, the male turned in a slow circle. "Where are you?" he demanded, false bravado unable to mask the tremor in his voice.

A soft sound behind him, not quite a footfall, more like the settling of ash after a fire.

He whirled, knife extended.

Nothing.

Another sound, to his left. He pivoted again.

Empty air.

"Face me!" he shouted, panic rising as he realized he was being toyed with.

"As you wish."

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, cold as midwinter frost. Before the male could move, shadows solidified directly before him, coalescing into Azriel's form. Not a wingspan away, close enough that the faerie could feel the unnatural chill radiating from his skin.

The knife slipped from nerveless fingers.

"Please," the fae breathed, "it was just a job. The Grove Elder paid for her capture, not her death. We didn't know she was mated-"

"You put your hands on her throat," Azriel interrupted, the words barely audible yet carrying perfectly in the still air. Through the bond, he could feel exactly where your bruises were forming, could trace the pattern of the male's fingers on your skin. "I felt her struggle to breathe."

"It was an accident," the fae pleaded. "We were supposed to take her alive. The arrow wasn't meant-"

"The arrow," Azriel echoed, his voice flat but his eyes flaring brighter. The bond throbbed in time with your wound, a phantom pain in his own shoulder that fed his rage.

With fluid grace, he closed the remaining distance between them.

Truth-Teller slid between the fae's ribs with surgical precision, angled upward to find his heart. The male gasped, eyes widening as he stared into Azriel's face.

"You tried to take my heart," Azriel whispered, the intimacy of his tone more terrifying than any shout. "I'll take yours as payment."

"Where is she?" Azriel asked, his voice gentle now, almost soothing as he twisted the blade slightly.

Blood bubbled at the faerie's lips as he struggled to form words. "Dawn," he choked out, the truth spilling from him along with his lifeblood. "Vanserra... taking her to... Dawn Court."

As the light faded from the male's eyes, Azriel felt a peculiar sensation through the bond, a distant easing of pain, as if some cosmic scale had been partially balanced by this death. Your unconscious recognition of vengeance exacted in your name.

He withdrew Truth-Teller with the same care with which he'd inserted it, lowering the body to the forest floor.

Blood, not yours, but blood shed for you, dripped from the blade's edge, each drop sizzling slightly where it touched the golden light still emanating from his skin.

"One," he whispered to the night.

His shadows twisted expectantly around him, carrying the scent of the remaining fae, five more who had dared to harm what was his.

Five more debts to collect before he flew to Dawn. To you.

The bond pulled tighter, urging him toward completion of both tasks. He could feel your pain even now, across the miles that separated you, the throbbing wound in your shoulder, the raw ache in your throat, the exhaustion of terror and flight.

Then he dissolved once more into the darkness, leaving nothing behind but a cooling corpse and the promise of five more to come.

Author’s Note:

Azriel said “emotional regulation is for the weak” and proceeded to unravel like a bloodstained tapestry. This chapter is feral, a little unhinged, and full of golden light and bad decisions. Thank you for loving these chaotic disaster soulmates as much as I do. 💀💛

Taglist: @circe143 @lunarxcity @willowpains @messageforthesmallestman @lreadsstuff @evye47 @lovely-susie @moonfawnx @tele86 @moonlitlavenders @darkbloodsly @ees-chaotic-brain @smol-grandpa @auraofathena @lottiiee413 @minaaminaa8 @claudiab22 @moonbeamruins @shewolf1549 @crimsonandwhiteprincess @a-band-aid-for-your-heart @kathren1sky-blog @alimarie1105 @masbt1218 @topaz125 @falszywe @randomdumsblog @sophia-grace2025 @okaytrashpanda @thegoddessofnothingness @unarxcity @moonfawnx @svearehnn @suhke3 @galaxystern08 @willowpains @ivy-34 @hellsenthero @nayaniasworld @raccoonworld @bobbywobbby @evergreenlark @greenmandm @bobbywobbby @shinyghosteclipse @catloverandreader @the-onlyy-angie @bunnboosblog @i-like-boooks @ashduv @kayjaywrites @lovelyreaderlovesreading @badbishsblog @vera0124 @i-am-infinite @scatteredstardustt

[dancingaliensfics]

loser remmick idea: he appears on reader’s doorstep sizzling like a fajita asking to come inside kind of like what he did with joan and bert, fully intending to suck her blood and do vampire stuff once inside. but reader thinks he has sun poisoning or something and is hell bent on nursing him back to health and doesn’t even noticing him acting like a weirdo ready to pounce. and remmick being a lewser desperate for human connection just plays into the helpless sick/injured think like those dogs pretending to be hurt so their owners will pet them. and then once the sun goes down he’s probs like “yeah im turning you into a vampire lmao”

See I'm actually so fascinated by this that I've started writing an entire fic about it. Which is why the response is short, I have so many thoughts i had to just start writing a whole fic haha.

Anyway here's a little bit I've got so far:

The man kneeling before you is no threat. He's quite pathetic really. Burning and weeping. Its been a long time since youve seen wounds like this. The smell of burning flesh fills your nose and you stop yourself from gagging. God, what happened to him to get him in this state.

"Please, please help me," he cries, head bent forward, hands folded in front of him.

"They got me, dont let them hurt me, please."

"People did this to you? Who?" You're disgusted, you're no stranger to violence, not here, not as a black woman, but it still cuts you deep. Your heart aches and you feel sick.

The eye that isn't swollen gives you a quick glance. It's so fast you doubt if it happened.

"The klan, I was travelling with some other folk, a few black and some Irish. They stopped us, said we were carrying stolen goods, but I swear it's not true. I'm a good man i promise you please." You're don't notice his accent change really, it happens so fast.

"Jesus christ, no ones safe from them are they." You kneeling down and reach out to touch him, then stop for a moment. You look around you at the grass that stretches on to the trees. You see nothing.

"You're don't think they come after you do you?"

"No ma'am, they won't follow me. I ran a long time before I got here."

You finish reaching down and gently rest your hands on his upper arms. He flinches with a hiss.

"Cmon now, we best get you inside."

He leans into you as you rise together and pull him inside. The door shuts behind you and you quickly walk him to the sofa.

"We best get you cleaned up first so I can take a better look at your wounds. What's your name, then?"

[lycanlure]

No Love to Give

Karina x M! Reader (sub)

Tags : dom!Karina, non-con, dub-con, violence, verbal a!use, ab*se, angst, rough seggs, painful seggs (yeah he is getting railed hard here...), tox!c love

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"K-Karina!, n-" her hands wrapped my neck, her grip almost suffocating... "One last time, tell me... Where. Are. The. Fucking. Beer!" Her grip never loosened as you only gripped her wrist lightly, trying to push her away. But you've always promised to never harm her, in any form or way. "Fucking whore" She stopped choking you as it was replaced with a burning slap on your cheek. "I-I don't know..."

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Your sobs filled the room, every part of you shook in fear as she left. 'Is she leaving me?! Please... Dont...' You went to look outside, she's not there anymore. 'M-Maybe she just... W-Went to b-buy something, or go out to smoke a-and..." Your mind is filled with every thought of Jimin doing as she left you to yourself.

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You cleaned up and went to clean the living room, 'I made a mess...' you spoke under your breath as you stared at the broken vases and broken chairs she smashed onto you. Cleaning everything up, you heard the door and opening and some paper bags rattle. You opened the door, Jimin appeared as she was carrying some paper bags filled with groceries.

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"L-Let me help you, my love" You smiled as she handed you the groceries, you cant help but saw her eyes, eyes filled with anger and something else...

"Hey, about last night." She puts her car keys at the kitchen counter, "Hm? What about last night?" you spoke but your voice hinted at a very sad tone, "I kinda forgot about it." you added as you went and filled the pantry with the groceries, she went closer to you and reached out for your cheek, but her reaching out only made you flinched...

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Both of you were surprised and looked at each other, you looked away and she held her eyes on you. "I-I'm so-" She wanted to say something but I slowly walked towards the living room, Karina, slightly frustrated and worried. Her mind frantically looks for some way to talk to you, 'This... Ugh, why did I even marry you. Luckily you have a lot of money, and a handsome one too." She fixed her top and then followed you. While you diligently looked at the living room, you spotted the vacuum and turned it on immediately and got into cleaning.

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Karina though, she watched you clean, how her sweet, loving, cute and disgustingly weak husband does some house chores. You felt her stare, still doing your job and avoiding eye contact. "My love... Karina, um, I was thinking, I wanted to get a job..." Your voice sounded sheepish.

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"Why? So that I'd do the cleaning? Fuck no." Her voice sounded cold and monotone. "I-Its just t-that..." Your sentence was later cut off by her. "That what? I'm not doing enough? You're getting smart now, huh? Or you don't want me to do something good? Oh, maybe I'm incompetent?!" She replied, but her response was somewhat scary and filled with anger. She approached you, her foot stomping as she walked towards you.

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"N-No i-its not t-that" You unknowingly covered your mouth as if you said something terribly offensive. As soon as you covered your mouth, she punched your stomach, specifically at the solar plexus. Her punch was strong, it made you knelt at her heel. As you kneeled, your head is on the floor. Looking down as the pain multiplied when her foot was on your head.

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"You should remember, my dad gave me to you, for a fucking business deal. Don't act like you can do better than me. For fuck sake Y/N, stop acting like a spoiled brat." her words felt like million swords pierced into you. "S-Sorr- Guhh!" She kicked your head, making you tumble to the side. "Go make some dinner, bitch." You stood immediately and went to the kitchen, walking slowly.

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Your head spinning whilst walking towards the kitchen, you made dinner and served it to her at the dining table. You made some wine and steak, you cooked it to her liking. But it wasn't... "What. The. Fuck. Is this shit?! Do I look like a pig to you, huh?!" She threw her plate at you hitting your chest.

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You looked down as the pain hissed at you, touching it only left you with more pain. As soon as she left your sobs filled the room, the excruciating pain that enveloped your body only made your crying worse...You stood up and cleaned after her and yourself. As the dishes were done she came back... "Go upstairs..." She ordered, I hesitated... "Don't make me ask twice, now!" She shouted, I slowly moved as her eyes were locked onto me.

She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me towards her, "Get undressed, if you still have your clothes after you arrive at my room, I'll fucking sell you." her hands tighten on your shoulder as she goes to the cellar.

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You went up to your bedroom, and undressed. She arrived not long after you got undressed, "Good~" her voice was deep and sultry. Her hums filled the room, her voice sent you to a weak state, your body didn't even hesitate, it remained relaxed. Her touch was gentle, yet within those touches it was uncomfortable to feel. She then slowly lunged herself towards you, kissing and biting your neck softly it sent shivers down your spine.

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Without warning, she touched your part. You whimpered, as her hand struck it. Sensing each stroke was enough to wring you out of breath. "M-My love..." You whispered, "Shhh, be quite slut" she bit your neck, marking you as hers. This is the only time you can feel genuine feelings from her, without a doubt she loves doing this with you. But you always feel empty after it, it makes you long for it, wanting to extend it, a never ending moment where she's genuine with you.

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"I-I love you, M-My lo-" You got cut off as she pushed you down, your part still rose, "A good slut gets a good fuck, ok? You've been tolerating my past actions, well done." Her voice sounded sweet, yet her eyes tell a different story. She looked at you with desire,strings of hunger, mixed with annoyance. She attacked your lips, viciously making you weak, your knees begged yet she kept going, your whimpering fueled her.

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"Keep making that noise, you'll end up in a wheel chair" She smirks, how you smiled when she smirked. You felt like there was a spark between you too, but then. You remembered, it's the same spark that gleams every time you both do this...

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"M-My love... It feels so good... Mmhh" Finally she knelt in front of you, removing her stop, and then unlocking her bra. Which unburdened her beautiful chest, which then only contrasted how small her waist is. With her top out of the way, she stood up. Removing her pants and underwear, where you soon again see her voluptuous curves that drove your knees into a weak mess. "M-My..." She puts her fingers in front of your lips, signalling you to he quite. "Shhh, I'm just getting started."

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You shiver in anticipation, as she aligns her wetness onto your throbbing member. "Be a good slut, ok?" She said and immediately pressed onto your cock smoothly, "nggghh, m-my love..." You moaned as her wetness met you, she began working. Her hips vigorously moved up and down, "S-Shit... S-So fucking good!" she grabbed your neck and proceeded to push you deeper in the bed. Your back was ingrained in the foam, as your eyes met hers. Both of you began to look at each other, her eyes filled with content and lust, at that point you just submitted to her dominance...

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Her constant degradation, torture was ingrained inside your head. As each of her touches went to the place where bruises were. Your chest, bruised by the plate earlier, your stomach where she punches, your waist where she grips it to the point her hands dented it.

Each slam was filled with raw, and pure desire. Desire to make you squirm, weak, submissive, destroyed. That's the only genuine feeling she'll be showing towards you, no love, only lust.

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"L-Love, nngghh" Your voice was getting weak, as she rode you like a whore. "More!" She said at each slam, hard and precise, deep and sensual. "P-Plea- m-my... O-Oh g-go-" Your stomach was sticky, cum and sweat mixing each other. It smelled, but you liked it, her cum mixing with yours, it gushes out from her. For hours and hours, she used you over and over again. She never took a break not once.

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You never spoke after the 3rd round, you were too tired. When you go limp, she'll finger your prostate to turn it hard again. "P-Please... I-I c-can't..." Your breath was shaky, you were too tired. While Karina wasn't to her this was only the 1st round, she pulled herself out. Her gates still dripping, "I'll be back" she spoke and then left you.

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Ragged and tired, you tried moving. But you can't, your legs gave up. 'If she loves this, I will give it to her... I don't care, after this she may not love me, but love doing this with me... It's fine, I can live with this...' Your thoughts jumbled and you sobbed. You knew she'll never truly love you, but as long as she's doing this with you and only you. It'll be enough...

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The END

[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

Post war/coma comic about Gai struggling with his recovery

Since tumblr hates long form comics, I have to split this into 2 bc its 36 images. This is the first part, part 2 i'll either do as a reblog or a separate post right after this, stay tuned! Links to support me in pinned post <3

tw: s*icidal thoughts, injury, a little blood

Bisuke: Gai's Back!

Gai: GRAAH!

Kks: Im home Gai: Welcome back Kks: [wheels rolling] Hey,

Kks: Ga-!? Gai: Im fine. The tile is cool on my face. Kks: Wanna go lay down in bed? Gai: I am so /sick/ of lying down. Kks: Ok. What do you want for supper?

Gai: You're not going to comment? Kks: I already know what happened. You overdid it again. I should be able to keep up with chores, kakashi. Kks: You can. Just don' bull through it all in one go. Do you want to end up in the hospital again? Gai: Please don't. Kks: I know sitting still is hard for you, and "too much" is in your DNA, but you have to take this slow so you don't exacerbate your injuries, Gai. You went from hyper-aware to pretending your body limits dont exist. Gai: Like you haven't done the same.

Gai: You've proved your point. Kks: It's not about that. And you've dragged me to bed and out of bed repeatedly when I needed it. You were burning alive from the inside. Tsunade told you your immune system is out of whack. You need to take it easy. /I/ know you're capable, but are you trying to prove to /yourself/ you are? Gai: You want me to admit my embarrassment? Kks: If something serioud happens, You'll be even more embarrassed then

Gai: How could you possibly know how I FEEL?! How could you EVER KNOW HOW I FEEL?! Kks: I DON'T! But I've /been/ the one ouking and sobbing on your bathroom floor because I couldn't take living anymore! And I don't want that for YOU!

Kks: I'm sorry, Gai. Gai: I'm sorry

Kks: I can't stand knowing you're in pain, and I can't get you help. If there was a way, I'd do anything. Gai: You do so much to help me already.... And I yelled at you Kks: I've screamed at you so much, that was pretty tame. I wish I was like you with things like this. Not great with what to say...... But I can listen.

Gai: I hate feeling so weak. I'm tired all the time, in constant pain, I can't even walk-..... I can tell tenten and the boys worry despite my efforts to appear positive. Kks: They're just not sure how to react. They know you hate being babied, but don't want to push you into hurting yourself. You hate being told you can't do something. They love you. You get stronger everyday, everyone is cheering you on.

Gai: I know it's irrational, but... I feel like you gave up the Hokage position to take care of me. Kks: Haa!? I'm grateful if anything. I'd be retired too if I could. That'd be amazing. I'm dreading just helping Tsunade but as long as you're by my side, I'll be fine. We're still equals, rivals, friends, partners

Gai: Even if I can't- Kks: /Always/ wil be, dickhead. Gai: You worry about me hurting myself? Kks: I know you think about it

Kks: We're the same in that regard Gai: I would never act on this, please believe me, these thoughts are rare........... Kks: It's ok, Gai. Gai: Sometimes I think i should have just died. I feel so out of place on the streets I used to feel so at home at. I never asked to live. I didn't plan to. I just don't know how to-...

Kks: I understand that. Though, dying didn't feel any better. Gai: I know I didn't fully pass like you did. I didn't see papa. Just for a moment, I wish I could have seen him.

Kks: As much as I'm sure he wants to see you again, It's too soon. Dai'd slap the shit out of you for wanting to waste your youth just to see him. Gai: [chuckle] probably. Kks: I have those thoughts less and less now, but they're still there. "why am I the one who survives?" "Burden" "Gai will come to his senses eventually"

Gai: FALSE!! None of my grief is with you! I love living here with you! My love for you only burns hotter each day! You're so lovely inside and out! Kks: Maa What did I do to deserve such praise from teh mouth of the hottest man in Konoha?? Gai: YOU STILL THINK I'M HOT?! Kks: YOU-! [CACKLE]

Kks: Your bad taste is the only reason I had a chance before someone snatched you up. Gai: The worst. Kks: Thought we'd irritate eachother, but it's been pretty smooth. Even though you still get played by the dogs. Gai: You really wanna throw those stones?

Gai: They play you just as easily. don't lie. Kks: My point is, whatever you need from me, you have it. No questions asked. Even if you yell and scream, i can take it. You held me together when I was unraveling, and I'll never forget it. Didn't trust anyone else to see me like that. Broken

Gai: I never saw you as that. Kks: I'll never see you as that

[no1blacksapphirefan]

heh . First request here kind of nervous /j BUT for the self aware au, I would love to know how the beasts/ancients (specifically burning spice, shadow milk, Pure vanilla, and dark cacao) would react to being trapped in an area dedicated to them, but your mycookie is there too? (You can also throw black sapphire in there too if you want LOL) PLEASE DONT RUSH YOURSELF IF YOU DECIDE TO DO THISS 💔😔

Here's kind of an example of what I mean

I need to get started on my own area special for Black Sapphire but I haven't cleared out enough of my kingdom land yet sigh...don't worry black sapphire, it's coming soon I promise!!

Anyways here's you go, hopefully it was worth the wait!

Burning Spice loves it. A place...dedicated to him?? With your cookie? Oh he couldn't be more delighted to bascially have you to himself. If only it were the real you though.

He'll make sure to follow your cookie self around and hates it if he gets out of the area, perhaps due to you needing him to cut wood and that place being out of the area you've made. The anger disappears though as soon as you place him back.

Oh he wishes there wasn't a barrier though, between his area and the rest, blocked off by merely water?? If he could jump across he would, but he has to rely on you to see him and hopefully put him back. Once you do though, he's back to following your cookie around and perhaps sitting at an area if you've made an area to sit.

Shadow Milk You know what? Close enough, he can work with this. It'll do for now, having your mycookie by his side is the next best thing and- omg is this place FOR him??

You see his him run around his area, happily looking at everything you've put in...and you two are trapped?...Alone...Hah, he can finally brag to the others, sticking his tongue out to the other cookies as they cannot come to him themselves. Sucks to suck I guess. Depending on the decor, he loves having your mycookie watch him do his shows, if your mycookie likes it, surely you will as well right?

You better put him back on that area if he ever gets out due to having to mine sugar though.

Pure Vanilla I see him seeing it as a lil home for the two of you :3 I mean in the kingdom they cannot be under a roof, or really in a home. (He's happy rain doesn't seem to exist in your kingdom) so this was the best he could get.

it had decor, it had him and your mycookie there, cookies were "locked" out. Oh he can't help but imagine it being actually real, having a home with you and staying with you like this. He feels he shouldn't think this way but he can't help but love the area.

Not only did you make it for him and decorate oh so beautifully for him, but your there...well, almost. Still, watching you put him and your mycookie there is enough to make him oh so happy.

Dark Cacao your affections confuse him more and more, but...he isn't complaining about this one. How cute, making a special area for himself and you to stay? You truly did favour him, it makes him feel all "warm and fuzzy" on the inside as some other cookies would say.

Even though he knows nothing will happen, the game making sure no other cookie can cross the water moat. But he isn't sure if that applies even after you leave...he makes sure to stay by your side, ignoring certain cookies jealous gazes, and if they try to come over he'll try to stop them.

He knows they won't...harm you, none of them would willingly but, you know...if this place was made for only him and you, the others have to respect that (He'd rather die then admit it may be due to jealousy)

Black Sapphire now you're stuck listening to the rumours he's planning to plant on his next radio show, sure technically you won't actually...hear but your mycookie can! And they're bascially you so~

Don't worry, he'll make sure to get you up to speed when he escapes. Oh and don't worry, he loves what you've done to the place, it's beautifully made. He so wishes he could compliment you...well he could actually, nothing wrong with just a lil scare anyways.

Anywho, he loves walking with you. Doesn't matter where too, he will walk by your mycookies side, if the game allowed it he'll hold your hands too.