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cosmic-whispers · 1 year ago

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Find Out - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel overhears a conversation you have with your friends where you admit your feelings for him. When he decides to confront you, he finds you in a rather compromising position.

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: kind of a creepy, pervy Az (lol, he watches reader touch herself), secondhand embarrassment, SMUT (oral-both, shadow play hehe)

A/N: ngl, writing has been tough lately. I feel like I’m just trying to push words out and it’s taking forever to get anything out. Anyways, this is cute, I guess, but still not sure how I feel about it. This was inspired by a request i got. I hope you enjoy 6.7k works of Azriel just buffering and being a mess and a little bit of a creep (but we can’t stop loving him). Also, this is nasty. Enjoy!

The light, crisp breeze of the summer evening caressed your cheeks and gently blew your hair back as you made your way down the streets of Velaris. The setting sun set the world alight in golden hues and you cherished the last rays of sun as you made your way home to the Townhouse.

Nesta, Emorie, and Gwyn had invited you to your first official girls night with them and the excitement had been building since earlier that morning. Having known the Inner Circle for less than two months, you were filled with appreciation at your new friends’ kindness to include you. You had finished their book recommendation and came prepared with an extensive list of notes about the characters, the romance, and the spice. You were promised a fun night full of delicious wine and riveting conversations.

You approached the house, the excitement adding a spring to your step. You were ready to relax and have fun, it had been entirely too long and you had been working entirely too hard. The rustle of flapping wings caught your attention and you turned, watching as Azriel descended from the sky, clad in his leathers and shadows swimming around him. Your heart fluttered in your chest as he landed in front of you, wings spread magnificently behind him and his siphons bathing him in a gentle blue light.

You smiled at him as he approached you and he offered you a tired grin in return.

“Hello, Azriel,” you said, looking up at him as he stood before you. “Welcome back.”

“It’s good to be back,” he said. His deep voice and the way his eyes remained on yours made heat rise to your face and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from admitting just how much you missed him. He had been away for the last two weeks on a mission from Rhysand, and it was too long of a time to go without his kindness and soft smiles.

He leaned down towards you and pulled you close, his arms wrapping around your waist and giddy excitement spread through you. Your own hands wrapped around his shoulders and he heaved a sigh, burrowing his face into the side of your neck. You knew he could hear the rapid pounding of your heart and were grateful that he didn’t mention it.

“I missed you,” he mumbled into your neck. His warm breath spread across your skin and you shuddered in his arms, engulfed entirely in him and the scent of cedar and mist. You wished you could stay in his arms forever.

“I missed you, too,” you admitted. He let go of you, straightening his spine, and took a step away from you. Tendrils of shadows brushed against your bare arms, making you giggle until their master reeled them back in. He began walking with you the rest of the way to the Townhouse.

“I hope these past two weeks without me have not been too hard on you,” he teased, gently bumping your shoulder.

“It’s been dreadful. Rhysand and Nesta won’t leave me alone without my favorite shadowsinger there to protect me.”

“I believe I’m the only shadowsinger you know.” He smiled playfully at you, his eyes shining with amusement. You smiled back at him, taking the opportunity to admire just how breathtaking Azriel was when he was relaxed and smiling.

“You're in a good mood,” you commented. “I take it your mission went well?”

“Yes, surprisingly,” he commented, although he did not elaborate further.

You decided to press your luck. Curiosity ruled you, and you wondered why Rhysand had you research cult organizations within the continent. You pondered whether that was something that Azriel was sent to handle. “Why did Rhys send you all the way to Montesere?”

“Careful, I might begin suspecting you're a spy sent to infiltrate Velaris,” he teased, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. If you hadn’t known him as well as you did, the slight flicker of amusement in the corner of his lips may have gone completely unnoticed.

“Oh, no, you’ve discovered my evil plot. Is the big, bad Spymaster going to take me to his dungeon?”

You teased him, but the sudden image of you chained in his torture chamber, fully nude, and being punished in rather enjoyable ways flashed through your mind and you nearly gasped out loud.

He leaned down close to your ear and murmured, “keep teasing me, and I just might need to.” His deep, gravelly voice echoed pleasantly in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and adding fuel to the images filtering through your mind. You struggled to formulate a coherent response and gratefulness filled you as you made it to the Townhouse.

He smirked as he opened the door for you, allowing you to enter the home before following after you. You took two steps before being intercepted by your friend. Nesta was smirking at you as she noticed the Illyrian behind you. Although you had never admitted your feelings to her, Nesta had quickly guessed your infatuation with the bat boy trailing behind you. She had tried encouraging you to pursue him but you had always turned her ideas down knowing that he did not feel the same for you.

“Welcome back, Azriel,” she said and he nodded at her in thanks.

“(Y/N),” she said, shifting her attention back to you, “I was going to ask what took you so long, but I think I’ve got a pretty good idea now.” Her gaze shifted back to Azriel and you glared at her.

“I lost track of time in the city library,” you said, defending yourself against her.

“Right.”

Azriel still lingered behind you and Nesta shifted her attention back to him. “She’s mine tonight, Spymaster. Find someone else to spend your time with. It’s her first girl’s night and I won’t let anyone interrupt. We’re going to get her to spill all her dirty secrets!”

“Nesta!” you exclaimed, laughing at your friend’s enthusiasm.

“Good luck, (Y/N),” Azriel said and you glanced back up at him. He winked at you and you felt heat rise to your cheeks and ears.

“Thanks, I have a strong suspicion that I’ll need it.”

“You’re both being very dramatic. All she needs is some good alcohol in her system,” Nesta said, taking your arm and pulling you away from the Shadowsinger and into the living room. You glanced back at him one last time, catching his honey gaze. Butterflies erupted in your stomach when he smiled at you and you gave him a quick wave, quickly turning your attention to Emorie and Gwyn, who waited for you with excited smiles on their faces.

—--------*-----------

Sleep would not claim Azriel. The time neared midnight and despite the gathering downstairs, the house was quiet. He had bathed, washing the grime off and felt infinitely better. Yet, when he laid down, he found himself wide awake, rushing thoughts infiltrating his mind. Thoughts of you infiltrated his mind full speed. He could not stop thinking about you, and the ache that he felt in his heart every time he saw you. He tried to drown the image of you smiling by concentrating on thoughts of his successful mission and all the useful information he had gathered, but his concentration would wane entirely too quickly back to you.

He decided on a midnight snack, hoping something sweet and perhaps a boring book would lull him to sleep. He descended the stairs silently, pajama pants hanging lowly on his hips and his bare chest exposed.

He made his way toward the kitchen, steps as silent as the night, until your sweet laugh stopped him short.

“Pour her more wine!” he heard Emorie exclaim and the sound of liquid pouring into glass followed.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Nesta teased. “I already know you have a crush on him. You just have to admit it to all of us.”

His heart stopped in his chest, shock washing over him like ice water. You had feelings for someone? A ripple of anger surged through him as he imagined this unknown, faceless male that had stolen his mate away from him.

He had felt nothing but utter bliss the moment that the bond had snapped for him. You had been working with Rhysand and Amren researching ancient scrolls for a week and he had just returned from a brief stint in the Spring Court. He remembered that summer afternoon, walking into the library in the House of Wind, an unfamiliar scent mixing with the air. He had found you pouring over a massive tome, hair a bit frazzled and an exasperated look on your face. You had looked at him then–the rays of sunshine coming in from the windows making your face gleam. His heart had belonged to you the moment your eyes had met; his admiration for you–his soulmate–quickly turning into love as he got to know you.

And you had no idea.

He had wanted to tell you, but doubts had quickly clouded his judgement. Initially, he convinced himself that you might not be ready for the level of commitment that the bond often implied. But it quickly turned into self-doubt–how could he confess and force the affliction of having him as your mate on to you? He was not worthy of you. And now he was too late. Now, he would be forced to watch you fall in love with someone else.

Your giggle broke him out of his thoughts. “If you already know, then why do I need to say it?”

“Because it’s good to confess your feelings instead of keeping them bottled up,” Gwyn said. “Please, (Y/N), you know I have no interest in a romantic relationship right now. I have to live vicariously through you!”

“Fine,” you said, an exasperated sigh escaping you. You paused for a moment, the clinking of the wine glass chiming softly in Azriel’s ear. His shadows were desperate for release, fighting against their master to go to you, but he reeled them in tightly, unwilling to give his position away.

“You cannot say anything to him. I really like him and I don’t need you three meddling and ruining our friendship.”

“Yes, yes. Now who is it?” Emorie said.

“Mother above, look at how embarrassed she looks; she is so in love!” Nesta exclaimed and you groaned, but did not deny it.

Gwyn squealed and Emorie joined her giggling as they drunkenly promised to keep your secrets.

“Who is it?” Nesta teased.

Azriel knew it was wrong to eavesdrop. He knew he should leave well enough alone and go back to his room and accept any decision you made as long as you were happy. His heart was already shattered within his chest; anything else he heard would just be salt on the wound. But his feet remained firm in their place, his shadows growing deathly silent around him as he waited for your answer. A fucking masochist is what he was.

“You already know it’s Azriel.”

He was stunned into a daze for a moment, before warmth began to spread from his chest to the tip of his fingers and he did not even register the corners of his lips rising into a smile.

“He’s just so kind and sweet and gentle. A little mysterious, but that’s the best part,” you continued, giggling. “He’s made me feel so welcome and he likes spending time with me. I feel like I can be myself around him. It doesn’t hurt that he’s so damn gorgeous. I can barely look at him!”

“I think you should tell him! I see the way he looks at you,” Emorie said. He wanted to hug her.

“I don’t know. I don’t think he feels the same way and I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” you said and he rolled his eyes at you. Silly, little thing. How could you not know that you were the single most important thing in his life? How could you not know how his heart beat for you and only you?

“Well, I think you should put your big girl pants on and tell him,” Nesta said. “Just think about all the fun you’ll get to have!”

An image of you, kneeling ass up in his bed, flashed through his mind and he had to fight the dirty thoughts in his head to be able to focus.

“Yes!” Emorie exclaimed. “You know that the size of Illyrian wings correlates with their dick size! If we’re just going off his wings, that male is packing.”

The entire group began laughing and unadulterated male pride surged within him. If only they knew how accurate they were.

“I suppose the wings could be fun,” you said and trailed off.

“But?” Gwyn asked, baiting you into answering and Azriel vowed to get her that book she had been talking about non stop.

You giggled before answering. “But I’ve always wondered what he can do with those little shadows.”

The squeals and laughter grew loud. He heard a chair being pushed back, and quickly drew back up the stairs and into his bedroom without a sound, a smile etched on his face.

This was not like him. The regularly stoic, unfeeling Spymaster of the Night Court felt giddy. He knew that the bond had not snapped for you yet. You were falling for him entirely on your own and he felt his heart swell with emotion.

He knew sleep would not come to him that night. While it would usually evade him due to nightmares or too many thoughts, he knew that night would only be filled with the thought of you. You had feelings for him. You fantasized about him. He sat on his balcony, nursing a cup of wine as he looked up at the stars and contemplated the future. He was so damn close to having you.

Your room was across from his, deliberately chosen by Rhys in an effort to get Azriel to get closer to you. He had heard you enter your chambers within the last hour and had to force his shadows to stay put, although he was finding it harder and harder to contain himself. He debated whether to go to you or not.

You had feelings for him–had admitted as much out loud. Yet, apprehension still clung to him. Having a crush on him did not mean that you would accept the bond. Accept him. Perhaps you needed more time to solidify your feelings. Or perhaps he was being a coward and should speak with you, before his opportunity fades away from him.

He stood decidedly and traversed the length of his room with large strides. He crossed the hallway and gently rapped his knuckles against your door before he could second-guess himself. There was no going back.

He took a deep breath as no sound greeted him.

He knocked on the door again, to the same answering silence.

“(Y/N)?” he called out. He slowly pushed the door open, ensuring it was quiet in case you had fallen asleep. Glancing into the room, he found it completely empty. He had not heard you leave and his shadows had not detected you either. A pang of worry worked its way down his spine, before he heard a sound from the adjoining bath room.

“Mmm.” It was your voice, low and husky and full of pleasure. He froze on the spot, blood rushing to his face and further south and he heard his heartbeat loud in his ears. He was hardly conscious of his legs, moving him closer and closer to the door until he was standing right in front of it. He stared at the dark wood, imagining what sight would greet him if he opened the door.

You moaned once more and he gasped as the husky scent of your arousal reached his nose. It was making him slightly delirious, and he rested his head against the wooden surface of the door, trying to compose himself. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but realized too late that it had been a mistake. Your heady scent invaded every crevice of his brain and it felt like he was a hormonal teenager again, nothing in his brain except you. He reeled his shadows tight to himself, despite their clear desire to go to you. They angrily buzzed around his body, begging him to release them. His hand made it to the front of his pants, rubbing the throbbing erection through the soft material of his pants.

It was wrong. It was so wrong. It was a complete invasion of your privacy, but he could not find it within himself to walk away.

“Yes, Azriel,” you sighed and it stopped the movement of his hand short, the sound of you moaning his name lighting every nerve ending of his body on fire. It’s almost like you were a siren, summoning and enticing him and he took the bait without thought or hesitation. His hand wrapped around the handle of the door and he slowly turned it, pulling it open and making his way silently past the threshold.

You were enveloped in the giant, ivory tub in the center of the room and faced away from him, not noticing him inside. He stayed where he was near the entrance and observed you. Your head rested back against the rim of the tub, eyes scrunched shut in pleasure, mouth opened as panting breaths escaped you. Your wet skin glistened in the faelight and he was entranced.

You looked ethereal–like a goddess personified into flesh right before his eyes. He glanced at the mirror that stood in front of you, nearly gasping out loud at the sight of your pert nipples peeking out from the surface of the bath water. Your hand was submerged, arm moving in a quick, controlled movement as you brought pleasure to yourself.

Gods, you were perfection. Everything about you enthralled him, excited him, and he wanted to own every part of you and for you to own every part of him. He yearned desperately for you.

Your panting grew rapid, the moans escaping you more frequently now and he knew you were on the verge of your orgasm. His eyes remained glued to the reflection of your face, taking in every detail, every movement, every expression you made as you hit your peak. Your back arched, exposing your full breasts to his desperate gaze and he nearly came in his pants from the sight alone.

Your body relaxed into the water and you sighed in satisfaction. Your eyes opened lazily as a delighted smile grew on your face. Looking forward, you froze as your gaze met his in the mirror. His breath caught in his chest as you gasped loud, submerging yourself further into the water and turning your body to face him. Shit.

Your eyes were wide and your heartbeat had increased. He could almost feel the heat burning beneath your skin in embarrassment as you looked at him in shock. He tried to think of something to say, but panic began building inside of him and clouding his mind.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you screeched.

He was frozen in shame. He should have never invaded your privacy like this. He regretted it. He did not know what possessed him to follow his primal instincts, but he cursed himself as he was unable to speak.

“Well?” you asked, and he could feel your embarrassment slowly shifting into anger.

“Do you normally spy on naked females?” Your tone was sharp and your lips were downturned into a frown. He could practically sense your body vibrating with unleashed wrath.

His cheeks burned bright red in embarrassment. He wished to explain himself–that he did not come to you with the intention of catching you in a vulnerable position. He simply wanted to speak with you. Encourage your feelings. But the sight of you…Your upper chest and shoulders were exposed, wet, and glistening in the dim lighting. Your hair was soaked, pushed all the way back and the curve of your neck was exposed to him, taunting his control. Your eyelashes were darkened, making your eyes all the more piercing. He was absolutely enchanted.

Azriel was a clever male. He was quick-witted and smart and knew his way out of most situations. But with you, he found himself absolutely struck dumb. His mind was blank, even as he begged himself to say something. To say anything.

You were growing impatient. You breathed a sharp sigh through your nose and your frown deepened. Azriel wanted to punch himself when the only thing he could think of was how pretty your mouth was and how desperate he was to have it wrapped around his length.

“You have about 3 seconds to explain yourself before I completely lose my shit and kill you.”

He knew you couldn’t kill him. It was laughable to even think of you trying. But the anger in your eyes scared him and he feared he would ruin any chance he had with you. He would never jeopardize your friendship, even if after today you decided you would never give him a chance, he needed you in his life. He could not lose you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, breathless and absolutely captivated. “I didn’t know you were bathing–I came to speak to you. I heard a noise, so I came in and…I’m sorry.” Not the most eloquent, but at least he was able to get the words out, despite his tight throat and heavy breathing.

“What did you want to speak to me about that was so pressing you had to walk in on me and stay?” you questioned, anger still lingering in your expression, but you weren’t banishing him away.

“I overheard you tell the girls that you have feelings for me.” Your anger shifted into shock for a moment, before turning back into embarrassment. You broke eye contact with him, looking away, eyes panicked and eyebrows scrunched together in worry. He wanted to comfort you, but within seconds, your expression stilled, morphing back into anger and you turned your eyes back to him.

You glared at him, anger and indignation seeping from you. “Well, if you wanted to turn me down, save it. I never expected anything from you. Now, please leave.”

He wanted to laugh, but knew that you would not take it well. Turn you down? He would be the most foolish male in the whole of Prythian to let you go.

“How could I ever turn you down when you’re all I ever think about?” You were silent at his confession, and your glare softened. “How could I ever turn you down when I have been in love with you since the second that I met you? How could I ever turn down my mate?”

You were stunned, eyes widening and you stared at him, unblinkingly.

“...Your mate?” you said. Your voice sounded small and the vulnerable expression on your face nearly broke his heart. “How long have you known?”

“It snapped for me the day I met you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? You didn’t want it?”

“Of course I want it,” he said and took a step toward you. You didn’t stop him. You stared at him, your beautiful eyes wide and lined with unshed tears. “You’re everything I ever dreamed of and more. I wanted you to feel it on your own time. I didn’t want to pressure you. I know that I come with a lot of baggage and that I don’t deserve your love. And I’m sorry about this. I’ve just dreamt about seeing you like this for so long. I’ve imagined what your skin would feel like, your lips…”.

He knew he was rambling and finally decided to have some self-preservation. “I’m so sorry for invading your privacy, (Y/N). I’ll leave now.”

He turned away in shame, taking a step toward the door before your soft voice stopped him.

“Find out,” you breathed. His gaze found you again, your eyes softened and a small smile played on your lips.

He grew nervous and he felt his throat tighten. His shadows coiled around him anxiously waiting.“What do you mean?”

“How my skin feels like, my lips…”

You stood, droplets of bath water sliding down smooth, soft skin. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his chest as he traced a drop down between your breasts, down your navel, and down to the curls between your thighs. You stood bare before him–the most exquisite sight he had ever beheld. Your breath quickened, drawing his attention back to your perfect breasts. He envisioned himself walking up to you, taking a peak into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the supple skin.

“(Y/N).” He sighed your name, quietly and reverently. His gaze returned to your face, piercing eyes meeting yours and every fiber of his being felt like it was being lit on fire.

He took a step towards you, his hand extending out as if to touch you, but he pulled it back. His shadows and wings were held taught against him, and his body nearly vibrated at having you this close and completely vulnerable before him. You stepped out of the tub and on to the plush rug on the floor and took a step toward him. He stared, afraid to move or even blink, as you approached him and closed the distance between you. This had to be a dream, a vivid fantasy his cruel mind was inventing. But you stood in front of him, real, completely naked and dripping wet and he was painfully hard beneath his pants.

“Find out,” you murmured, close enough that your warm breath brushed against the skin of his bare chest. Before he was aware of what you had done, your hand wrapped around the back of his neck, bringing him closer and you pressed your lips against his.

He froze for a moment, shock overtaking him before elation began growing and spreading throughout his being. His arms came up, wrapping around your bare waist and he pulled you closer to him as he began to eagerly kiss you back. He was addicted, your taste and the softness of your lips against his overwhelming his senses. He could not think. All he could smell was you. All he could hear was your breathing and the beating of your heart. All he could feel was the pleasant heat between your lips and the warmth of your skin on his.

He could not stop his hands from roaming your skin, large hands touching any part of you he could get to, savoring the feeling of you in his arms. His touch reached the plump skin of your ass and he could not help but to give the meaty flesh a squeeze. You moaned, the sound like heaven to his ears, and he took the opportunity to dive his tongue into your mouth. Your arms squeezed him tighter to you, pulling him down to your height. His hands slid to your thighs and he stood up straight, carrying you as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

He stepped forward, pressing your back against the floor length mirror on the wall and his lips began to trail the delicate skin of your neck. You sighed, going pliant and melting into his arms.

“You said my name,” he murmured against you, one of his hands roaming to your front. The feel of your breast in his hand left him nearly breathless.

“What?” you gasped as he bit down on the junction between your neck and shoulder. Fuck, you were delicious. He could not get enough of you.

“Were you thinking of me while you were touching yourself?” he teased. He pressed his hips against yours and pinched your nipple; your gasp and the slight friction made a shiver run down his spine. Excitement, hope, and love flooded his senses as he finally had you in his arms.

“You weren’t supposed to see,” you said sheepishly, turning your face away from him in embarrassment.

He took the opportunity and began kissing down your jaw and neck, the soft gasps escaping you exciting him more. His hands returned to your thighs, hoisting you higher in his embrace and he attached his mouth to your nipple. You were mesmerizing, absolutely beautiful and his heart beat hard in his chest. He could not wait to drown in the silkiness of your skin, the feel of your hands on his body, your kisses, your essence…He was starving for you.

He licked at your skin, sucking the delicate nub and pinching it between his teeth, your soft sounds encouraging him. Your hands gripped his shoulders, fingernails digging into the skin and he shuddered at the stinging pleasure.

You moaned as he sucked on your nipple hard, and your hands began to wander the exposed skin of his chest, your small fingers traveling the terrain with purpose, dipping along his muscles and caressing his tattoos affectionately. He savored the feeling of you touching him, your warmth, how it felt to have you in his arms. His heart beat erratically in his chest and he feared you would put an end to it. He feared you would never allow him this close to you again. So he took his time to memorize you, so that if nothing else, he could have this night for the rest of his life.

Your hands traveled up his neck, and you tilted his jaw up. He looked up at you in awe as you leaned down and pressed your lips against his once more. Your kiss was addicting–soft and passionate, desperate and accepting. He barely registered your hand sneaking down and pushing his sweatpants down his hips, leaving him just as bare as you were.

You wiggled in his arms and he lowered you, leaning down and keeping his lips pressed firmly to yours. His tongue pressed at the seam of your lips and you breathed a laugh as you broke apart from him. He almost whimpered at the loss of your lips.

“Fuck, Az, you’re so hot,” you mumbled as you began pressing kisses down his chest. His hands clung to your shoulders and he hissed as you bit his nipple. You giggled, smiling up at him cheekily.

“Fucking tease,” he growled.

“Should I make it up to you?” you asked, sinking down to your knees in front of him.

Shock flew throughout his body as you pressed your mouth against his cock, hands coming up to wrap around him. Soft, tiny licks to his shaft made him twitch in your hands and you smiled up at him. You gently sucked the tip into your mouth and his heart stuttered in his chest.

“Sweetheart,” he started, his voice tight and restrained. Despite wanting desperately to fuck into your mouth with reckless abandon, he didn’t want you to feel forced to do this for him. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” you murmured. The vibrations of your voice traveled along his cock, up his spine, and caused his brain to malfunction for a moment. “I want to.”

Before he could formulate a response in his mind, you sucked his cock into your mouth, deep into your throat and your hands gripped whatever you were not able to stuff inside of your mouth.

“Fuck!” He had died. He had ascended to the heavens, he was sure of it. This was the most exquisite, erotic experience of his life. You began dragging your mouth to the tip and back up the shaft; the suction of your mouth and the tightness of your throat was pure perfection. He could hardly believe that you were real. His hand came up and wrapped around your hair, desperate for anything to ground him to the earth.

He stared at your face and your eyes shifted up, looking at him through your lashes and he groaned at the sight of just how deep you were taking him.

“Stop,” he begged. He needed you to stop before he was not able to contain himself any longer. He wanted to be inside of you when he came.

You ignored his plea, suctioning your cheeks in and sucking him harder. He felt his balls tighten and he whimpered.

“Fuck, please,” he groaned and pulled your hair hard, tugging your head back and away from him. You moaned and your eyes sparked with interest at his roughness. Interesting. He made a mental note to explore that in the future with you if he ever got the chance.

“I need to fuck you,” he said, leaning down and gripping your hips, lifting you in his arms once more. He carried you with ease to the countertop, sitting you on it and slotting himself between your legs. You hissed at the coldness of the marble beneath you, but it didn’t stop you from kissing him again. He wrapped his arms fully around you, engulfing you in him as his wings dipped forward. You fell pliant in his arms and for a brief moment, the exhilarating thought crossed his mind that you would let him do anything he wanted to you.

With you distracted, he took the opportunity, sending his shadows to pin your legs to the marble beneath you and your arms to the mirror behind you. You gasped in shock as he broke away from you, taking a few steps back and observing you.

“Azriel?” you gasped, looking at him with love-drunk eyes. He did not answer, taking the time to drink you in. Your perfect face, desperation clinging to your expression. Your breasts were on full display for him. His eyes wandered further down your exquisite figure, stopping at your glistening cunt. You were completely exposed to him.

“You wanted to know how I use my shadows during sex,” he stated and you gasped, embarrassment flooding your features as you realized that he had overheard more of your conversation than you expected. “You’re about to find out.”

His shadows spread across the expanse of your body as Azriel stood firmly planted where he stood, observing the delectable sight before him. The shadows curled around your nipples, twisting them and pinching them and you let out a cry of pleasure, arching your back. He sent more of them lower on your body, softly caressing the seam at your center and you whined.

“How does it feel?” he asked, wanting to know just how good you felt.

“It’s so good Azriel,” you moaned. The shadows at your cunt squeezed against your clit and you screamed, your chest rising rapidly as you became breathless.

“I-I”ve never felt anything like this,” you nearly sobbed. Your wetness dripped out of you, and he watched in cruel anticipation as your body writhed–right on brink of climax from his shadows alone.

“Azriel, please, I need you.” He chuckled lowly at your plea for him. He had no intention of touching you just yet.

“Is that it?” he taunted. “I think you can do better than that.”

You yelled in pleasure as his shadows gave a particularly tight pinch on your clit.

“Azriel! Please! Please, I need your cock inside of me, I need to touch you. I need you to fuck me, please!” you cried out, just before hitting your peak. You groaned loudly as you arched your back. Your cum squirted out of you and he groaned, taking quick strides towards you and stuffing his face into your pussy, desperate for a taste of you. He drank your sweet juices and his tongue rubbed relentlessly against your clit, prolonging your orgasm as much as possible.

He slowly called his shadows back to him, releasing you from their hold and he crawled his way back up your body, pressing soft kisses against your skin. He pressed a soft, chaste kiss on your lips.

“Someone’s a desperate, little slut,” he said and you smiled, leaning into him and nipping his lip.

“Only for you,” you said, and spread your legs open, revealing your messy cunt to him once more.

He stared for a moment before you gripped his face and brought his attention back to your face. “Well? Are you going to give this desperate, little slut what she wants?”

He was blown away at your insolent, bratty attitude. The normally shy, quiet, sweet girl was gone, replaced by a wild, untamed goddess of sex and beauty. He wanted to tease you, but he was absolutely mesmerized and knew he needed to fuck you, desperate for the feel of you and for his release.

He lined himself up at your entrance and slowly slid inside of you. Your eyes rolled back and you tilted your head back in pleasure as every inch of his dick slowly slid into your tight hole. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The heat, the tightness, the wetness was driving him wild and he wanted to rut into you recklessly. But he went slow until he bottomed out. You were stuffed to the brim, his head nestling tight against your cervix.

He began fucking into you in earnest, the friction driving him delirious. He craved every single touch you surrendered to him. He wished to be so deep inside of you that he did not know where one ended and the other began. The golden string tying his soul to yours sang in his chest, bright and unyielding, and it brought tears to his eyes as the floodgates of the bond suddenly opened, your emotions of pleasure and admiration and love flooding into his heart.

Your eyes widened, tears lining them and you smiled brilliantly at him.

“My mate,” you whispered, feeling the bond open on your end. He returned your smile, unbridled and open, and the bond between you glowed–incandescent and fierce and all-consuming.

He surrendered to his emotions, fucking into you with abandonment and a newfound ferocity. You screamed in pleasure and you clenched around him, making him gasp. The sight of your face, contorted in pleasure, the glow of your skin, still damp and gleaming with sweat, your scent intermingled with the unmistakable musk of sex, the feeling of your tight cunt wrapping around him and accommodating his impressive length perfectly–it was all too much for him.

He was hanging on the precipice, determined to bring you to your high before falling off the edge. He was so close and so were you. He never thought he would ever feel such pleasure from sex. Sex had always been good, great even. But with you, it was something else entirely. With the golden thread now formed between the two of you, the feeling of your pleasure increased his tenfold and his heart swelled with uncontrollable love. No one would ever compare to you–he would never want anyone else.

You sobbed in pleasure as your pussy clenched tight around him and you came with a scream. Your arms clutched him to you, and he groaned loudly as your walls fluttered around him. His pleasure built to a peak and his vision went white as he came inside of you. He buried himself to the hilt, as deep as he could go and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, your entire body pressed against him.

The room was silent for a few moments. Azriel pressed his head against your panting chest, your breathing and the beat of your heart a comforting rhythm in his ear. Your hand gently ran through his hair, playing with the soft strands and gently combing through the tangles.

He looked up at you and found your eyes already fixed on him. He smiled softly and pressed a kiss against your jaw.

“I’m sorry I was creeping on you,” he said sheepishly.

You laughed and leaned down to press a kiss against his head. “I’m sure I can think of some ways you can make it up to me. Maybe I’ll have to tie you up and force you to watch me pleasure myself all night long.”

He glared up at you. “You’re a fucking tease.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” He couldn’t wait to find out.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel/reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #acotar x reader #acotar x you #Azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic

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v1si0n · 18 days ago

Text

ch.6: since we’re lying now…

The slight creak of the dance studios door pulls Jeno from his focus and he scowls, turning his head to see you standing like a deer in headlights at the entrance.

“Can I help you?” He grumbles, returning his attention back to his phone where he compiles a series of tweets on his private account.

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” You coo sarcastically, walking into the studio and shutting the door.

“What are you doing?” Jeno asks as he watches you put your bag down in the corner and take your sweater off.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You quirk a brow at him, stretching your arms over your head with a satisfied moan. “I’m in a dance studio with athletic clothes on. What else could I possibly be doing?”

Jeno ignores the way his eyes almost instinctively flit down to the exposed skin of your waist, and he averts his eyes to the wall. He feels a twinge of annoyance bubbling in his chest at your snarky remark, and he scoffs. “Can’t you see I’m already in here? Go somewhere else to practice.”

“Is there some sort of rule that says I can’t practice at the same time as you?” You ask rather nonchalantly, the steadiness in your voice driving Jeno up the wall as he continues to look everywhere else but you.

“No, jackass, it’s just common courtesy to respect each others space,” He huffs.

“I’m not even in your space, or remotely close to your space. I’ll stay on this side, so you can stop your bitching and whining so we can both lock in, deal?” You counter, putting your Airpods into your ears before turning your back towards him and facing the wall of mirrors on your side.

Jeno stands dumbfounded for a moment, slowly processing your words before turning around to his own wall of mirrors. He clears his throat and stretches, cramming his headphones back into his ears and letting the beat of the song flood his eardrums.

For the next hour, you’re both in your respective zones, and while you’re effortlessly moving through the choreography, Jeno was struggling to even remember the moves to his own routine. He loops the song once, twice, then by the eleventh time he’s cursing under his breath out of frustration that he completely believes is your fault.

With both of your mirrors facing each other on opposite ends of the room, Jeno could see your every movement despite having his back towards yours. His eyes trace your figure as you move to the music blasting in your headphones, his breath hitching every time the hem of your shirt rides up at the slightest movement of your arms.

Despite the booming bass that occupies his ears, he’s almost certain the erratic beating of his heart is louder, and he doesn’t know what comes over him as he surges forward and forcefully turns you by your shoulder.

“Dude! I was so locked in, what the hell are y—“

“Get out,” He barks, his jaw clenched as he keeps his fists balled up at his sides.

You let out a short laugh, partially in disbelief and partially because of the way his cheeks were tinted pink from dancing.

“No. Anything else?” You reject, looking up at him and beckoning for him to continue.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Get out. I don’t want you here,” Jeno snaps, and you let out a long sigh.

“Listen, buddy—”

“I’m not your buddy.”

“We have been peacefully coexisting in this studio for the past hour, and not only have you just physically harmed me—”

“I grabbed your shoulder?”

“But you are now telling me to leave for no reason. Tell me Jeno, is it fun?” You probe, your arms crossing over your chest.

“Is what fun?” Jeno buffers, his eyes finding it difficult to tear away from the way the light sheen of sweat makes your skin glow.

“This one sided beef you have going on. Is it fun to hate someone for no reason?” You question further, stepping closer to him.

“I have my reasons,” He mutters under his breath, refusing to tear his eyes away from yours in fear that they’d wander to places that he should definitely not be focused on.

“Please, share with the class,” You gesture for him to continue.

“Well, you’re extremely loud, thats one,” Jeno scoffs, his hands on his hips as you continue to stand in front of him tauntingly in your absurdly tight top and dangerously low waisted sweats.

“Amazing, next?” You count off one finger, sticking up the next as you wait for his response.

“You’re…you’re always off beat!” He calls out pathetically, his brain short circuiting as he struggles to keep his eyes on yours.

“Not true. Hyuck messes up more than I do, but go off. Three?” You stick up another finger.

Jeno racks his brain for any sort of insult he could hurdle at you but begins to find it impossible as you stand less than two feet in front of him, your head tilted to the side as you regard him with a hint of challenge in your eyes.

“You’re too energetic, you talk too much, and you…you’re always taking up too much space!” He blurts out all in one breath, his chest heaving.

In the midst of his fervor he hadn’t realized that you had started to step closer to him, and he balks at the way you practically have him backed up against the wall of mirrors. You, on the other hand, sport a wicked, almost knowing, smile, and you clear your throat to speak.

“You know, for someone who hates me so much, it sure was hard for you to come up with five simple reasons for not liking me,” You feign a pout, tilting your head in mock sympathy. “Was that hard for you, Jeno?”

His face hardens at your mocking tone and he mumbles out a quiet “No.”

“Alright, well, one, I do have a lot of energy, but don’t you think we need that to dance?” You question him gently, a satisfactory smile spreading on your face when you see the way his jaw clenches.

When he doesn’t answer and opts to narrow his eyes at you, you continue “Two, even if I do talk too much, it’s almost never to you so why do you care? Are you paying that much attention to me, babe?”

He doesn’t want to admit it but his heart nearly lurches out of his throat at the pet name, and he takes a deep breath to ground himself.

“Do you even realize how loud you are?”

“Oh, please. You can’t be friends with Chenle and Mark then call me loud,” You scoff, poking his chest with your finger. “Can I be real honest, Jeno?”

“I guess,” He digs his nails into his palms to distract himself from the feeling of your finger gently tracing shapes on his chest.

“I think you have a little crush on me,” You smirk up at him.

“You’re ridiculous,” He says through gritted teeth, “I don’t like you at all.”

Theres a moment of silence as you look at each other, fire burning behind both of your gazes as you let out a breath of laughter.

“‘Love and hate are visceral. Your stomach twists at the thought of that person. The heart in your chest beats heavy and bright, nearly visible through your flesh and clothes. Your appetite and sleep are shredded. Every interaction spikes your blood with adrenaline, and you’re in the brink of fight or flight. Your body is barely under your control. You’re consumed, and it scares you. Both love and hate are mirror versions of the same game.’ Sally Thorne,” You let out in one breath.

“I did not understand a word you just said,” He deadpans.

“It’s a quote from a book. And it’s basically saying theres no real difference between how you feel when you love or hate someone. So how sure are you that what you feel for me is hatred?” You prod at his chest again.

“You’re an idiot. Stop that,” He pushes your finger away from his chest.

“An idiot you might just be in love with,” You continue poking at his chest.

“I said stop, Y/N.”

“Or what? Is little Jeno gonna do something bad-”

Your words die in your throat as he grabs the hand that has been relentlessly poking his chest and swiftly spins you around. Your breath hitches when he presses you against the cold surface of the mirror, and your eyes widen as he peers down at you.

His breathing is heavy as he keeps a firm grip on the hand that you used to prod at him, and his eyes study your face before trailing up to your eyes.

“I told you to stop.”

The silence that fills the studio is enough to make your ears ring as you two stare at each other. An unwelcome thought pricks at your brain and your gaze falls to his lips, your eyes following his tongue as it darts out to wet the surface.

The jingling of keys breaks you out of your reverie and you gasp, your head snapping towards the door before you shove Jeno away from you. He stumbles back with a grunt, his gaze still lingering on you as you watch the door open.

“Uh, sorry kids. Time to go,” A janitor stands in the doorway as he taps at the watch on his wrist, “Nightly roll call is in like ten minutes. You better head back to your dorm.”

Your feet move quickly to your side of the studio and your frantic hands grab at your belongings. You hug your bag and sweater close to your chest before scurrying past the janitor, who watches you with mild concern as you leave.

Jeno doesn’t move from his spot in front of the mirror. His eyes are trained on the spot you were standing not long ago, the image of you shamelessly staring at his lips burned into his memory. He groans, rubbing his eyes with his palms as he mutters under his breath.

“Idiot.”

wc: a little over 1.7k im SORRY

ch.7: odd…peculiar even…

masterlistΣ(-᷅_-᷄๑)

TAGLIST: @sunghoonsgfreal @jenohyun @n0hyuck @tywritesstuff @dinonuguaegi @slayhaechan @botchedbrat @nayulvr @jenoleeaesthetic @ldh0000 @nctrawberries @meowtella @insaneanddrained @blamingontheboogie @jich3nle @flamingi @mmjhh1998 @byeonwooseokabs @qiankunslove @conwunder @sunflowerhae @lotties-readings @keeryverse

NOTES: this writer does not know how to stfu im sorry. but i hope you guys like this chapter bc i sure enjoyed writing it ;) i promise it wont take two weeks for the next one💗

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midnightbears · 1 month ago

Text

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian femme reader & other characters.

#TAGS: fighting. actually the mildest chapter up to date. god I'm so scared no one will like how i've written megatronus lol. please i hope you see my vision. first time doing rivals to lovers or whatever you can call this. pls cope

#NOTES: decided to update every friday from now on. if i manage to get chapters pre-written in advance (i aim to have the next chapter ready by the time i post one that same friday, so i can spend the week working on the one after—does that make sense?), i might occasionally treat you to two updates in a week! enjoy.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part six

By the time you reached the Gladiators’ lobby the following day, the air was thronged with a charged energy, the sort that seemed to cling to every wall, echoing with the sounds of metal on metal, vents straining, and deep, triumphant shouts.

Everybot was huddled along one of the balconies, crowding around an opening that overlooked something beyond the far wall.

Rows of mechs stood shoulder-to-shoulder, some bellowing cheers that bounced off the metal walls like thunder, others clapping with resounding clangs, while the most fervent smashed their fists against the rail, their excitement so volatile it seemed to need an outlet.

Curiosity began to scratch at you, prickling down your frame. Despite every instinct to stay back and keep yourself apart from the ruckus, you found yourself walking toward one of the stairways that wound upward, leading to the crowd clustered on the balcony.

Each step seemed to amplify the roar of the crowd, until it was as though you could feel the vibrations of their shouts traveling through the very metal under your pedes. Keeping a cautious distance from the more raucous mechs, you slipped your way toward the source of the commotion.

As you neared the top of the staircase, your optics caught sight of a rectangular hole in the wall, reinforced by vertical bars. It was just wide enough to see through, though you had to strain on tiptoe to get a proper look. Beams of infrared light filtered through the opening, casting fractured red rays across the walls and the faces of the onlookers, painting everything in sharp contrasts of light and shadow.

Finally, as you reached the top, you craned your neck, peering past the row of mechs to get a clear line of sight through the opening. When you did, a small gasp left your dermas, barely louder than a whisper against the deafening roar of the mechs surrounding you.

There, in front of you, lay the full view of the Pits—up close, brutal, and thrumming with the tension of every movement, every strike, every staggered breath. From this vantage, you could see what the crowd above you never could. Here, there were no barriers, no filters to buffer the violence; you were close enough to make out every tiny detail.

You could see a vast assembly of mechs locked in combat—hulking frames clashing with smaller, wirier fighters, protoforms smashing against armor, the floor slick with the bright, gleaming blue of spilled energon.

The air down there was thick with the wails of mechs in pain, shrill and jarring, mingling with the triumphant shouts of those who tasted victory, and the ragged cries of the defeated. The sound was jarring, almost painfully so, but what kept your optics trained wasn’t the thrill of the fight itself, nor any particular fascination with the combat.

No, what held your gaze was the proximity of it all—the rawness, the sheer vulnerability of every bot below you.

From here, you could see everything that those in the stands missed: the frantic stuttering of vents, trying desperately to cool their overworked systems; the almost invisible droplets of coolant collecting along neck joints and plating, beading and trembling like they were waiting for just one more blow to shatter them. You saw the armor of one mech pressed and twisted under the crushing weight of another, locked down to the ground, his frame rigid, his optics wide with desperation as he fought against his own survival instincts.

This, you realized, must have been what Bluey had meant when he’d said most of the gladiators had watched your match. They weren’t just fighting their own battles down there—they were spectators, too, studying every movement, every hesitation, every moment of weakness or strength.

For a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if they’d seen it—the exact instant when your fight had started, the moment you’d frozen, the flicker of panic that had tightened your frame and seized your joints, rendering you unable to move. Had they watched as you felt the first stirrings of that paralyzing fear, the memory of Starlight’s cold, lifeless form flashing across your processor?

With a hard, irritated shake of your helm, you wrenched your attention back to the fight in front of you.

And then, as if sensing your attention, a sudden blur of blue shot across your field of vision. The movement was so quick it seemed almost impossible, and then—clang! Bluey’s frame crashed against the bars just in front of you, close enough that you could make out the nicks and scratches etched across his plating.

His backplates were pressed firmly against the bars, his vents cycling rapidly as he caught his bearings. For a sparkbeat, you could only watch in shock before he shook himself off with a chuckle, his grin defiant as he pushed himself back to his pedes and leaped with renewed vigor.

The flash of motion snapped you back to the world around you, and out of the corner of your vision, you noticed a faint, colorful flickering. Shifting your gaze upward, you saw a large screen suspended from the wall above, displaying a multitude of names. Each one shifted up and down, the rankings constantly changing as new names appeared and others dropped.

You searched the list, half-curious, until your optics snagged on Bluey’s designation, not far from the top. Your own, however, was absent, and Bluey’s rank dipped every so slightly each time he took a blow. It wasn’t hard to guess the screen’s purpose and how it must have been related to the ongoing match.

Cringing, you comprehended that you wouldn't be fighting today either. Just as well. If your designation was never called, it would hardly make a difference. You weren't exactly itching to return to that arena. Let them throw their punches and spill energon. Today, you had other things to deal with. Like returning that rotatory buffer to Rumbleburner.

You turned on your heel and headed back down the stairs, casting one last glance at Bluey’s gleaming form as he ducked an opponent’s swing. The crowd's roar followed you down the hallway, fading as you returned to the berthroom.

The buffer lay on your recharge slab, and you picked it up without much thought, immediately turning on your heel afterward. You ran a thumb over it, feeling a vague sense of satisfaction at how it had wiped away the traces of yesterday’s match from your frame. Not that Rumbleburner would care about that—he just wanted his tools back in one piece.

The infirmary was halfway across the complex, and you knew better than to dawdle on your way there. Rumbleburner wasn’t exactly patient. If he had to wait even a second longer than necessary, he’d make sure you knew it.

Navigating through the complex, you used the dents on the walls and the scattered objects across the ground as a sort of map to reach the infirmary, and although you had to use the signs on the walls more than once, you were pretty pleased that you remembered most of the way there on your own.

You barely stepped through the medbay door when the sharp tang of heated metal hit your olfactory sensors. A faint hiss, the sound of old servos grinding against fresh repair plating, came from the far corner of the room.

There, on Rumbleburner’s main table, was a massive figure with silver, angular plating, the kind that looked forged from the deepest recesses of Kaon’s foundries. He was reclined halfway, his shoulder stripped down to the bare mechanisms, while Rumbleburner worked at him with a scowl and a welding tool, sparks flaring every so often.

Rumbleburner’s optics flicked over to you, and his scowl deepened. "Finally. Thought you’d keep that buffer ‘till it rusted in your berthroom."

It had only been a day since he had given it to you, but you weren’t about to point it out.

You offered silence and held out the tool, trying not to stare too much at the mech on the table out of your own well-being. But the urge was intense; something about him commanded attention. Every line and groove of his frame looked crafted to channel strength, but his optics were dimmed, waiting, as Rumbleburner worked to patch him up.

The old medic grunted, plucking the buffer from your servo and giving it a quick inspection. "I don’t care what you new little bots do with my tools," he muttered, only half to you, "just give them back on time. Speaking of…" He tapped the mech on the shoulder. "Megatronus, this is the rookie I was telling you about."

At the sound of his name, the bot’s optics flickered to life, their ochre-like glow sharper than you’d expected. His gaze found yours instantly, and for a fleeting moment, the whole medbay seemed to close around you. He took you in with a slow, appraising sweep, his optics narrowing, processing every scrape, every trace of dust or scuff on your frame, in the way a seasoned warrior might size up a fresh recruit.

That was precisely what it was, after all.

"You’re the new one," he said. "Only just arrived yesterday with the rest of that batch, if I recall. They threw you into the Pits already?"

You nodded and shrugged, uncomfortably aware of his optics on you as if he were sifting through every memory of that match. "I talked back to the bosses."

One side of his lip components lifted ever so slightly, a gesture you couldn’t reasonably interpret. Approval? Amusement? You couldn’t tell.

He chuckled, and the sound made you cringe. "Not a lot of newcomers do that."

You were about to answer when Rumbleburner beat you to it, letting out a small huff, setting the buffer aside with a thud, and turning his full attention back to Megatronus’ shoulder.

"She survived," he muttered, gruff but loud enough for you to hear. "Not like they’re sending their best these days."

Megatronus tilted his helm slightly, giving the medic a stern look, but Rumbleburner only shrugged, unbothered.

"What? It’s true." He gave a sharp twist of his tool, forcing a grunt from Megatronus as he worked a stubborn piece of plating back into place. "Can’t fix the whole world with a dent puller."

But you were hardly listening to the medic now. Megatronus’ optics hadn’t left you, and as you held his gaze, you felt a faint, strange pull—like he was seeing past the fresh scars on your plating, through the layers of doubt and frustration still crusted to your frame.

"So what brings you here today?" he asked, voice quieter but somehow even more intent, as though he cared about the answer despite himself.

"Just… returning the buffer." The words felt strangely trivial, even as you said them, yet you couldn’t seem to hold back a faint wryness in your tone. "I hear Rumbleburner’s tools don’t stay out of his sight for long without consequences."

Megatronus’ optics flickered with a gleam of humor at that.

"My comrades said you told off Bullway," he said, now completely ignoring the medic working on him, "shame I couldn’t be there to see it. I was matched against another rookie at the time."

Instinctively, the word ‘rookie’ made you raise your helm as a bothered expression crossed your features. Had one of your comrades lost his life to him? You slightly gestured to the wound on his shoulder with a flick of your optics.

"Did the rookie do that to you…?"

"Mh? Yeah, caught me off-guard. He couldn’t even get a proper hold of his sword before I turned his helm inside out, though."

Your optic ridges furrowed, and you willed yourself to look down.

Before you could say anything, though, Rumbleburner clamped down on Megatronus’ shoulder plating one last time, satisfied. "There. Fixed, well enough, though Primus knows how long it’ll last with you throwing yourself into the arena every other cycle. You took your sweet time comin’ to get it fixed, too."

Megatronus stood, standing only a smidge taller than you, his shoulder plating gleaming faintly from Rumbleburner’s patchwork repairs. When you looked at his powerful shoulders and blunt-featured face, so rough and yet so civilized, it was impossible to believe he could be defeated. He stepped toward you, optics tracing over your frame one final time.

"Do you have a name?"

Your optics wondered briefly, nowhere in particular, but then, you told him your name.

He offered you his stretched-out servo, and you took it without much thought. "You may call me Megatronus."

The weight of his servo was steady, his grip firm yet not overbearing as you clasped it. His touch was warm against the roughened edges of your own, a strange contrast to his intimidating form.

He glanced once more at Rumbleburner, who had already moved on to sorting a chaotic pile of tools, muttering to himself about the medbay’s perpetual mess. Megatronus gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod toward the door, signaling for you to walk with him.

You hesitated a moment as Megatronus turned toward the door, but he glanced back over his shoulder and raised a brow ridge.

"Well, rookie? Coming along, or are you just here to gawk?"

A spark of irritation shot through you, lighting up your circuits. Straightening with a flash of defiance, you closed the distance, falling in step beside him as he led the way out into the corridor.

The hall was quieter than the medbay, with only the faint, distant murmur of the crowds filtering through the heavy walls, swallowed up by shadows stretching between each overhead light. Matching his pace, you noticed his occasional side glances, that annoying, casual way he seemed to size you up, as if already forming conclusions he wouldn’t bother explaining.

"Not exactly my first option to trail after you," you said, the edge in your voice as deliberate as the steady rhythm of your steps beside him, "but I had questions."

He scoffed without even glancing your way, his pace unfaltering. "Questions? I'd expect a new recruit to ask for advice, maybe. But then, from what I’ve heard, you’re more the type to give orders to mechs with twice your frame."

You blinked lazily, your optics fixed straight ahead, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. "If Bullway’s ego can’t handle a little criticism, that’s his problem. Besides, I wasn’t exactly gentle with it."

A low chuckle rumbled through his frame, resonating as he shook his helm. "Criticism? That’s one word for it."

You rolled your optics, catching his smirk in the corner of your vision. He had that irritating way about him, like he held some exclusive knowledge of the world that put him a step ahead. He was just like every other mech here, you thought—acting as if his opinions were forged in the stars and the rest of you were just stragglers trying to catch up.

"So, what? You thought you’d come and set me straight?" you asked, with a dry tone and one brow ridge raised.

"Primus, no," he replied with a grin, one that tugged lazily at his lip components, equal parts amusement and dismissal. "Not worth the effort. Rumbleburner can barely tolerate you as it is." He cast you a sideways glance, his optics sharp but not unkind. "Besides, I’m not interested in meddling with anyone’s bright ideas. Not in the habit of saving anyone from themselves."

That comment sparked something more profound in you, an itch of frustration mingling with a new curiosity. His voice had a jaded edge, as if he’d seen enough high hopes and brighter sparks sputter out to know better. His dismissal wasn’t harsh—just resigned, the weariness of a mech who’d watched too many days turn and too many bots burn out. Something about it felt like a challenge, as if he were waiting to see how much heat you really had in you before you burned away like all the others, too.

"Must be nice," you said, letting a taunting note slip into your voice, "to have it all figured out. So what is it, then? Is it hard to have all the answers?"

He halted mid-step, tilting his helm to the side with the slightest arch to his brow ridge. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his optics glinted with something you couldn’t quite place—amusement, perhaps, or just a dash of challenge. "Would it bother you if I did?"

"Would it bother you if I said it wouldn’t?" you countered smoothly, holding his gaze with unyielding sharpness. "Bots like you come in here, acting like they own the place—like they know exactly how things should work. But you’re just another mech, stuck in the Pits like the rest of us."

"Am I now?" he said, arching a brow ridge, though his expression remained carefully composed. "Tell me, rookie, what would you know about the Pits? One match? Half a round before you’re tossed back to the medbay?" His gaze narrowed, studying you like he was trying to decide if your fire was all talk.

"Maybe," you shot back, narrowing your optics to match his. "But at least I’m not hiding behind tired speeches and empty advice."

His smirk wavered, replaced by a narrowed gaze, his optics narrowing with scrutiny as he took a long look at you, one that seemed to penetrate down to your spark. There was no malice in it, just a silent assessment, like he was measuring your resolve by the pulse of your optics alone.

"You’re still learning your place," he said finally, his tone steady and just as piercing as his gaze. "But I think you’ll find I know mine just fine. After all, I’m not the one who panicked in my last match, now, am I?"

The jab hit like a jolt to your cooling fans, a direct hit you hadn’t expected, but you willed yourself to keep your expression blank. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing any reaction, any chink in your armor.

"Fine," you replied, lowering your voice to a steely whisper. "But at least I didn’t have to hobble back to the medbay because a rookie managed to land a hit on me."

Silence stretched between you, the hallway suddenly seeming endless and deserted as the tension crackled in the air. For a split second, you wondered if he’d lash back, close the distance between you and start a fight right there, but instead, he just stared, his optics locked on yours with a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

And then, against all odds, he laughed—a rough, genuine sound that echoed off the walls.

"You’re a sparkplug, aren’t you?" he muttered, sounding almost impressed, a smirk ghosting across his face as he shook his helm. Without another word, he started walking again, as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than idle chatter. "Still, try that in the arena, and you’ll end up in a scrap pile. No one cares how fast your wit is if you can’t back it up."

"Is that a warning?" you shot back, quickening your pace to catch up with him, feeling a rush of energy from the exchange. "Or just an excuse?"

"Take it however you want," he replied easily, his voice even. "I’m just saying that next time you find yourself staring down an opponent, maybe think less about how clever you sound and more about whether you’re willing to finish the fight."

You paused, fixing him with a steady gaze, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the entire world around you—the distant din of the crowd, the hum of the lights, the shadows that stretched down the corridor—all vanished. It was just the two of you, optics locked, your resolve colliding with his challenge. His gaze held none of the mockery or disdain you’d expected; instead, it was something darker, sharper, a quiet but powerful test.

"Maybe I will," you said, your voice softer but laced with intent.

He gave a curt nod, though the familiar smirk was back, tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Good. I’d rather see you prove me wrong in the Pits than just stand here trying to talk me in circles."

You couldn’t help but let out a snort, crossing your arms in a defiant stance. "Believe me, when the time comes, you’ll know exactly where to find me, Megatronus."

He lifted one optic ridge, that unreadable, calculating look slipping back onto his features like armor. "I’m counting on it, Y/N."

"Seriously, I can’t leave you alone for one match?!"

"Please—"

“Not only did you meet the Megatronus, but you also threatened him?”

“I have done no such thing!”

After his daily matches, Bluey had practically dragged you into one of the countless armories, excited to test out a new weapon on which he had invested a significant amount of saved shanix. However, based on his tone and judgemental remarks, it seemed less about actually trying it and more about him swinging the hammer around while envisioning you hovering nearby to vent his frustrations.

Bluey hefted the hammer, the weapon far too large for his frame but swinging with ease in his practiced servos. His optics glinted as he shot you a mock glare, the hammer’s weight shifting in his grip.

“So you’re telling me,” he continued, his tone caught between exasperation and disbelief, “that you just happened to be in the medbay when he was there, and you didn’t say anything to him that could be interpreted as a threat?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I just… implied he might not be invincible. That’s hardly a threat, is it?”

Bluey’s optic ridges shot up as he adjusted his grip on the hammer, letting it balance on one shoulder. “Yeah, okay, then I’ll just walk up to Vexblade and ‘imply’ his joints are overdue for a little rust, see how he takes it.”

“Not the same thing!” you protested, but your spark pulsed a little faster as the memory of the exchange with Megatronus replayed in your processor. “He was testing me.”

Bluey scoffed, setting the hammer down with a heavy clang. “Right. And in the arena, when they test you, do you plan on talking your way out of a ground slam?” He shrugged, shaking his helm with a playful look that you could still tell masked some genuine concern. “Because you and I both know there’s no talking there. They don’t let up until you’re either out cold or crawling back for repairs.”

He was right, of course, and even if he was trying to be more melodramatic than usual, his words weighed heavily. It wasn’t just Megatronus you had to worry about, after all; everybot in this place was out for a victory, and no amount of quick words or barbed comebacks would matter in the heat of the arena. Your name or purpose would not save you.

“Fine,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it will take more than just… attitude to survive here. But I can handle it.”

Bluey’s optics softened, and he set the hammer down entirely, crossing his arms in a rare moment of quiet seriousness. “You’re not bad, you know that? But your technique—your form. It’s… well, let’s just say I’ve seen better. If you want to last, you’ve got to be more than just ‘not bad.’”

You glanced away, unsure if you wanted to hear it, but knowing you had to. He was right again, and he wasn’t saying this just to prove a point; he was saying it because he cared, because he saw something in you worth fighting for.

Bluey continued, his tone softening even more. “You have some instinct for this stuff, but the moment you hesitate? That’s the moment you’re done. You need to train yourself past that.”

A quiet moment passed, and you met his optics, “And you’d help me, then?” you asked, managing to sound more confident than you felt.

“Of course.” He lifted the hammer and tossed it between his servos, his expression mischievous but not unkind. “In fact, I think we should start now. I’ve been waiting to test this out, and I’ll be doing you a favor by giving you a head start on your training.”

You took a step back. “So that’s your big plan? To beat sense into me?”

He shrugged. “Hey, if the hammer fits…”

He spun the hammer once more before planting it on the ground and leaning on it, that spark of playfulness still lingering in his optics.

“We’ll start small,” he said. “Nothing serious, just getting you comfortable with some moves. Maybe work on your footwork and teach you how to get out of those lock-ups.”

You tilted your helm. “Lock-ups?”

“Oh, yeah.” He gave a mock grimace. “You’d better get used to them. Everybot worth their metal will try to pin you first thing. Figure if you can’t move, you can’t fight. But if you know how to twist out of those before they set, you’ll have an advantage.”

You considered this. It was daunting, but with Bluey’s confidence, something else stirred—a sense of resolve you hadn’t felt before. You might not have known if you belonged here, but you’d be damned if you went down without giving it everything.

“All right, then,” you said, setting your shoulders. “Show me.”

Bluey grinned, readying himself with the hammer as he gave you a once-over. “But you have to promise me something. Next time you run into Megatronus? Maybe don’t go testing his patience. Bots like that don’t exactly have it in surplus, you know.”

You crossed your arms, rolling your optics. “I won’t tiptoe around him just because he has a reputation. Besides, he’s the one who started it, not me.”

Bluey let out a laugh, raising an optic ridge. “You think it’s that simple, huh? Megatronus isn’t just some brute out for a thrill. He’s… well, complicated. He might look like he’s sizing you up for a fight, but there’s a lot going on under all that plating.”

“Oh, you mean like he’s an unsolvable mystery?” you said dryly, trying not to let on that the conversation had piqued your interest.

“More like he’s a spark that could explode any minute,” Bluey replied, his voice low. “A mech like him doesn’t care about rookies or rivals, really. He’s here for his own reasons, and believe me, they’re big ones. He’s not going to lose sleep if you get in his way.”

“Good thing I’m not planning to get in his way,” you replied, meeting Bluey’s serious expression. “I’ve got enough on my hands just trying to keep my own frame in one piece.”

“Just don’t get tangled up with him if you can help it.” Bluey rested the hammer on his shoulder, looking thoughtful. “Bots like him don’t usually come out of nowhere. Megatronus has something to prove, something huge, and the way I see it, anyone who gets close enough is bound to feel it.”

“Maybe,” you said, trying to sound dismissive, “But he’s not the only one here who’s got something to prove.”

Bluey smirked, that mischievous light back in his optics. “Look at you. Almost yesterday, you were crying your optics out in the middle of the hallway, and here you are, talking big about proving yourself.”

You blinked, clearing your voicebox, letting Bluey’s words roll off like energon on worn plating. The picture of you, unsure and battling, seemed far away—like a ghost from a life that no longer suited you. There was no time to contemplate what you had abandoned, or the grief that still lingered in your mind. You simply couldn’t focus on it. Not at this moment. Nor for the days to come.

So you shoved it all back into the far recesses of your processor, locking the memories away where they couldn’t follow you. That scared, grief-ridden version of yourself—the one that had faltered in her last match—would be gone. And she would leave. You would make sure of that.

Bluey tossed the hammer back and forth between his servos, grinning. “Now, enough talk. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

#midnightbears #transformers x reader #transformers one #transformers #transformers x you #megatronus x reader #megatron x you #megatronus #megatron x reader #megatron #cybertronian reader #d 16 x reader #d 16 #d-16 x reader #orion pax #elita one #tf #optimus prime

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midnight-mourning · 3 months ago

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DCA Promptober Day 10: Lights On

Well, since Day 9 was practically the length of 3 promptobers, y'all can have more smoochin with Sunhinged a bit sooner, as a little treat ^-^ day 11 is going to be so angst/horror-filled this is a buffer Can be intrepreted as a continuation of Day 8's storyline if you so choose~

Word count: 907

Content warning: suggestive themes, actual smooching this time, among, other things (it's just generally pretty suggestive, I don't have the desire nor the skill level to go beyond that), reader discresion is advised

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

You have to admit, whoever's idea it was between the two of you for you to sit in Sun's lap for your latest, rendezvous, it was a great one. More comfortable than the shelf in the supply closet, and it gave you easier access to him. More places for your hands to explore that he couldn't just shift away from you to avoid.

Although, the choice of the Daycare itself for the location of said event was one you were both confused and slightly concerned over. Another kiss to your shoulder distracts you from that thought for a second, before you focus in again.

"Mm. Sun," You mutter out, in the hopes to get him to stop. If only temporarily.

No luck, his face is to your neck now, rays fluttering. Honestly you wonder if he can even hear you over those damn fans of his.

You try again, "Sun."

He definitely does not hear you, as instead of stopping, his hand travels from your waist to lower, sliding down your thigh-

You make a noise, jumping back as heat rushes to your face, "Are you trying to get us caught?" You hiss. Embarrassed, you scramble off him, standing up and pulling your shirt back up in to place.

Sun follows suit with a scoff, "One of us has more on the line than the other if that were to happen, love."

"Yeah, I'll get fired!" You put your hands to your chest.

His hands gently take both your wrists, lifting them above you as he leans down. When he's lovesick like this he's just that little bit softer, his tone isn't so harsh, "And I'll be decommissioned. So I hope it reassures you when I say I have taken all the necessary precautions so that such a thing does not occur."

"Hmph. Sure, alright."

He switches your positions so that you're now the one with your back to the playset, "May I continue then?"

You're about to say yes when you recall why you stopped in the first place.

"Hold on, I had a question. Don't give me that look," You say as he glances from where he's lifted your shirt, about to press a kiss to your abdomen.

For good measure, you pull your shirt back down with the free hand he allows you, scolding him, "And we agreed upper body only tonight."

"Your stomach is part of your upper body, sweetheart."

You wave a hand in front of your face and neck, "Upper, upper body-we're getting off topic here. Why are we out here tonight? Isn't this a much bigger risk than the closet?"

"I didn't hear you complaining about it," Sun chides.

"Not an answer."

At this, he removes himself from you entirely, stepping back and looking over to the side.

Your eyes narrow, "What aren't you telling me?"

"Does it matter? I said it already, I've assured that we're not going to get caught," He crosses his arms, now fully playing the part of a pouting child. Man that love-haze falls off fast.

You mimic the action, leaning back into the shadow of the playset, "Well it's obviously something important. It's bothering you, anyway-"

"It's not bothering me."

You roll your eyes, "You're not going to make me drag it out of you, are you?" Your tactic switches, stepping forward, hand reaching around to trace up his back, "Because I can. You know I can."

His posture slacks drastically, allowing you the reach you need to reach up grab and the wires at the back of his head-

But you don't. You step back again, waiting for your answer.

Realizing that making out is officially on hold, Sun sighs. Then gives you a muttered replied.

"Come again?" You ask.

He straightens up again, "The light. Is out. In the supply closet."

You don’t say anything. Waiting for there to be more.

You quickly come to the conclusion that there's not, "That's it? ...Why didn't you just change the bulb?"

You sometimes forget how, important, the lights are for the Attendant. He quickly reminds you.

He starts to shake his head, "Lights on. Lights on. Lights on," His hands come up to grip his faceplate, rays shrinking, "Lights on. Lights on. Lights. On."

You put your hands up, "Okay, okay okay. Lights on. Got it." You sigh, "Lights on."

Sun relaxes, head coming to rest on top of yours. Your hands wrap around his back with a quick pat.

"I just, you're just, I can't," He stops, reciprocating the hug and squeezing tight, "Please."

You nod against him, "I'll change it sometime later, yeah?"

"Mm."

You stand there holding each other for a moment.

Another thought pops into your head.

You tip your head back to look up at him, "Why haven't the Daycare's lights gone out yet? We were going at it for at least thirty minutes." Besides the minor check-in over your radio, that is.

His rays shrink again, gaze shifting to the side.

"I, may have, tampered with the circuitry... So we could spend the evening... uninterrupted."

You stare up at him for a moment.

"You are just the worst roommate."

But, as the saying goes; not your monkey, not your problem.

And when Sun lifts you up, pressing your back against the play structure while your legs wrap around his waist, you'd argued that it's really not your problem.

You have plenty of other things to keep you occupied.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Something to note for this is that Moon & reader have little to no interaction and no real connection (sorry moon lovers, you'll get your juice soon I promise), so reader's question over the lights is solely bc they've been on so long, not anything to do with Moon. Additionally, Sun's concern is not virus-related, he just gets super jelly really easy ^-^ (again, Sunhinged) You're also free to intrepret things however you like though! It's angsty either way~

You can read my other promptobers here, sorry for being late with this one too, thanks for reading!

#man y'all are feasting tonight huh #good for you #and good for me #these have been a blast fr fr #dcatober24 #dca fandom #fnaf dca #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #dca fic #x reader

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bixbiboom · 2 years ago

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[ID: A total of four tweets from Marisha Ray @.Marisha_Ray which together read: “A few important notes about #CreatorClash for those who are unfamiliar: - yes, this is a real fight. It’s sanctioned by the athletic commission, and yes, I, and everyone else involved is taking it very seriously. - No, we’re not taking home a bag. This is for charity. Everyone involved in this event agreed to participate fully knowing the risks involved. With that being said, that’s why we’re training like crazy. The better we are, the better we’ll protect ourselves - the less injuries will be had. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and it’s all for a good cause. The CC community has been such a joy to be a part of. I now have new friends who can relate to each other on a different level based on the weird athletic pain we’re putting ourselves through. Honestly, this has already been one of the most rewarding experiences. I haven’t been in this kind of shape since high school, and the whole thing is so damn wholesome! And y’all know how much I love “wholesome”. At the end of the day, we all just wanna do our best on April 15th!” /end ID]

And just a bonus for all of us, evidence of how much Marisha’s been working out for this:

[ID: Two screencaps side by side of Marisha seated at the Critical Role table with her arms raised, hands behind her head. The first screencap was taken during c2 and the second during c3. She’s visibly buffer and bulkier in the second screencap. /end ID]

#marisha ray #critical role #cr twitter #creator clash

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angel-of-the-moons · 9 months ago

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Ligyrophobia

Moon Boys (Jake focused) x Mama!Reader (Feat. Khonshu and Victoria!)

TW/CW: fluff!

A/N: This just popped into my head because i suffer from this as well and God damn it I needed fluffy Khonshu

Note: This ties into my mini-miniseries, "Small Surprises". Just a drabble on Khonshu's tough bitchy exterior chipping away because Victoria is adorable and he's secretly a big ass softie

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It was a dreary day. Another storm sweeping over London, blotting out the sun's rays behind the angry dark clouds.

You and Jake had run out to gather things to make for dinner, and Victoria didn't want to venture out with you. She had a bit of a fever and a sniffle, and you were hesitant to leave her behind.

You and Jake were flabbergasted when Khonshu had offered to babysit her.

Jake was hesitant to leave your precious child alone with him, but... even he had to concede the point when you told him that as a protector of the innocent, he would never hurt Victoria.

He had sneaking suspicions that something else was going on with you in particular, as even Steven was far more protective of you than usual.

But... here he is now, with your sickly daughter who sniffled and rubbed at her eye as she huddled beneath her desk, her plush scarab clutched against her chest as though it could ward off the booming thunder from outside.

The power had blinked out, so the flat was dark, only the dim light from outside provided any illumination, which seemed to frighten the child more.

He kneeled down, peering at her.

"You can come out. It's only thunder." He said, trying to keep his tone gentle and quiet. She was a child after all, and it was natural for children to fear things outside of their control, and things they did not yet understand. Especially children like Victoria (and Steven).

Victoria shook her head and cried softly, burying her face in the stuffed toy, her feet curling and rubbing together again, and again as she rocked back and forth, noises bubbling up beneath her tiny sobs.

"Little one--" Khonshu's voice was cut off when a loud crack of thunder shook the flat.

He looked towards the window to see the heavy rain pelting the glass with loud patters, the wind shaking the glass.

This was a bad one, he couldn't help but wonder what triggered this.

His head snapped back to look at Victoria when she hiccuped and began wailing, rocking back and forth, her breathing so quick and ragged he was afraid she would faint.

Her face messed and streaked with... ugh.

But... he couldn't deny something inside of him tugged at the sight of her so tiny and helpless, afraid of what her little psyche could possibly label as some sort of monster outside her home.

Khonshu sighed and reached down, his voice low and soft.

"Come here, little one." He says gently, his large hands curling around her tiny body and pulling her out from her hiding place.

He wasn't surprised when she squirmed and cried, trying to get free to go back to her "safe place". He let her flail, to fight him, until he sat back, cross-legged and cradled her against his body.

She sniffled, her breathing broken up by little sobs as she finally relented, body tense as Khonshu held her, his robes flowing around the two of them, creating a buffer between Victoria and the storm outside.

She snuggled against him instinctively, drawn in by the warmth he exuded, but still made little noises and groans as the thunder roared outside.

Khonshu cradled her back with his hand and pressed her a little tighter against his chest, feeling her rub her cheek on his robes and bandages in a manner similar to how she would stroke her cheek on you or one of your lovers.

"Hush." He murmurs softly, petting her curly hair in an effort to calm her. "You are safe."

She didn't respond. She didn't usually talk when she was having a meltdown, often only rocked and made odd sounds in an attempt to work off her frightened or nervous energy; and it was difficult to break through to her mentally when she was like this.

Khonshu sighed.

And then... began humming.

It was a small melody, but one he remembered well. Hathor would often pluck her harp and sing it to him before he was sent into exile. He remembered being present during the feasts and festivals in her honor, her followers often sang the same song and performed it in the streets.

His deep, vibrating voice seemed to soothe her, little bit little, judging by how she relaxed against him, the tension in her body loosening as he gently rocked her, humming the heavenly song to her.

While this moment was happening, however, he didn't notice the monitor in the corner, the little red light blinking.

He did not know that it automatically switched to battery mode when the cord was disconnected or the power was switched off.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Jake squinted at the bottles of vitamins, trying to figure out why one bottle was more expensive than the other when their ingredients were the same.

"Ay, paying for brands is so fucking stupid." He growled, ignoring the weary looks from people as he cursed in Spanish.

He plucked a bottle of the shelves and held it up, clearing his throat so the pregnant young lady next to him would look.

"I don't mean to be rude or anything...." He said awkwardly. "But which bottle of these is better? Would you say?"

The young woman seemed a little nervous at first, until she spotted the bottle on question, and realized he was looking at the same shelf of vitamins she was.

Her left hand rubbed her belly as she shyly took the bottle from his fingers, turning it over, and looking at the facts on the back of the bottle.

"Oh! For these, you can just get generic. They have the same stuff and are cheaper." She chirps.

Jake sighs with relief as he replaced the bottle with the recommended one. "Sí, that is exactly what I was saying."

"You're.... shopping for someone?" She asked.

"Ah... Yeah." He laughed a little stiffly, dropping the bottle in the basket he clenched in his fist.

"My fiancé."

"Aw... how far along is she? Er--I mean, I don't mean to assume, I was taking prenatals before I got pregnant just for the health benefits, uh..." She floundered.

Jake flashed her a charming grin, his beard creasing around his plush lips. "She's due sometime in the summer. Only found out a week or two ago."

"Oh! Congratulations!" She smiled, relaxing a bit.

"Gracias," Jake chuckled. "Our little girl is going to be excited--we hope--when we tell her."

"Aww... I hope everything works out for you guys." She giggled, grabbing a bottle of vitamin gummies for herself as well. "Well, maybe see you around!" She chirped once more before cutely waddling away.

Jake grinned again, he couldn't wait to see you waddle like that. Like a cute little penguin.

"Jake! Jake!" You panted, apparently having run with the shopping trolley just to find him. The panicked edge in your tone had him immediately on alert.

"What's wrong? What is it?" He asked, dropping his basket in the trolley to hold your arms in his palms.

"The power's out at home." You heaved, holding up your phone.

He felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Did something happen? Was Victoria all right? Did Khonshu do something--

"You have to see this." You say, interrupting his thoughts as you swiped your password in, opening the app to the baby monitor. You weren't out of range just yet, as the shop was relatively nearby, and you'd purposefully purchased that expensive monitor because of the large signal range it had.

You turned your phone around, a face-splitting grin on your face as you showed him the most recent clip recorded. The monitor, when you weren't looking at the receiver at your bedside, uploaded clips in five-minute intervals to the app for storage for you to look at later.

Khonshu and Victoria were highlighted plainly in the night vision mode. Victoria was curled up in his lap and Khonshu was... was singing to her. He didn't understand the words he said out loud, assuming it was some ancient language that Steven could only decipher; as his large hands patted her hair and back, rocking and soothing her like one would do for a baby.

"....See? Who was right? Told you she'd be fine with him." You grin slyly, a hand over your ear, awaiting the inevitable.

"Okay, okay, mierda." Jake ran a hand through his curls, shaking his head at you. "You were right. Maybe the old bird is... coming around."

"Victoria has a way of charming everyone." You giggle, looking at the recording with a glimmer in your eyes.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around your waist, his hands resting on your belly, thumbs tracing your soft curves beneath your shirt.

"Yeah, well... I'm willing to bet her sibling will have the same charm."

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #khonshu #khonshu moon knight

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fantasyandromancelover · 5 months ago

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Alastor’s Wedding Vows.

Alastor is locked up and chained up inside of a seemingly inescapable room, being taunted by Vox and Velevette who put him there.

Alastor: So you’re not going to let me out?

Disguised voice box: Nope! Not until we figure out what we’re going to do with you.

Alastor: I see…In that case, mind granting me one last request?

Disguised voice box: That depends, what is it?

Alastor: (Pulls out a note from his pocket) Just see that my fiancé Charlie gets this. It’s my wedding vows. (Starts reading them) Charlie my dear, I hope this day is as perfect for you as the day we met was for me. You always find the one ray of light in my chaotic darkness that is eye. With each interaction, I get a little better. Maybe after a thousand years of trying, I’ll be worthy of you. I miss you, I miss our friends, God help me I even miss the V’s. Except for Val.

Muffled sounds come from the voice box, making it seem like his captors are laughing at him. In reality though, Alastor’s vows have reduced Vox and Velvette to tears.

Vox and Velvette: (Ugly cry)

Vox: (Blows his nose, making his screen buffer) Poor guy!

Velvette: (Dabs her eye with Vox’s tie) He loves her so much!

Vox: Oh I can’t do it! Not today! Let him go! I’ll kill him another time!

Velvette: Yes go! Go Al! Go and be in love! Do it for those of us who can’t have it!

#hazbin hotel #alastor #charlastor #charlotte magne #alastor the radio demon #alastor x charlie #charlie magne #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor and charlie #charlie magne hazbin hotel #Vox #velvet hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel velvette #vox hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #charlie x alastor

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amnevitahwritesstuff · 5 months ago

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The Pretty Woman AU no one asked for.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Prostitution, Older Man/Younger Woman

Chapters: 1, 3, 4 (WIP)

AO3 Link

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

Chapter Two

If I Had a Little Money

The morning brings with it confusion.

It took Feyre a few moments to realize where she was when she woke up. She knew almost immediately that this wasn’t her bed. For starters, her bed wasn’t nearly so comfortable. So where…?

She saw white sheets. Pretty cream wallpaper. And a floor to ceiling window that showed off a dazzling city skyline.

It all came rushing back then.

She had…! And then she…! And he had…!

She felt dizzy.

It almost didn’t feel real. Like the events of the night before had happened to someone else.

To Vivian.

Vivian had been confident. Vivian has been sexy. Vivian had been enthusiastically willing to jump into bed with a stranger and get paid for it.

Feyre finally spied her purse, carefully laid out on the bedside table, and snatched it up to look inside. There, nestled safely where she’d stowed it the night before, was all the money she had earned. She counted it to be sure and, yep, all eight-thousand dollars was accounted for. She would be able to pay her landlord. Buy groceries. Maybe even have a nice buffer for when her sister inevitably didn’t show up to pay her half of the rent next month.

She…she needed to go to the bank. She needed to get this deposited and safely out of her hands as quickly as possible. Knowing her luck, she would get mugged on her way home. No. Better to get it locked up in a vault somewhere.

It didn’t take long for her to gather her meager belongings. Her purse. Her ratty converse. Her hoop earrings that she didn’t even remember taking off (had she taken them off? She must have…). And then tip toeing to the bedroom door looking for the exit.

The man from the night before (Rhys, her brain reminded her helpfully) stood with his back to her, quietly speaking on the phone, as he leaned on the kitchen island.

“No that won’t work. I have something I need to take care of first.”

Shit.

How was she supposed to get out of here? Didn’t people usually just expect prostitutes to…walk out? She had the money. He’d gotten what he wanted…right? This transaction was over and now it was time for her to make like a banana and split.

So then why did she feel so awkward about the idea of walking out without saying goodbye?

Clearly she wasn’t as cut out for this sex worker thing as she thought.

Too late, Rhys had turned and noticed her. He smiled at her warmly, as if she were a beloved guest instead of his late-night booty call.

Fuck.

“Listen, I’ll check back with you soon,” he said quickly into his phone. “Just move the meeting up.” Then he ended the call and tossed the (very expensive looking) phone onto the counter while his eyes zeroed in on her.

“Umm…hi.” Feyre wanted to smack herself. She sounded like an awkward teenager.

You are an awkward teenager, a traitorous voice in her head replied.

“Going so soon?”

“Well…yeah…” she trailed off meaningfully. They were done…weren’t they? He had only paid for the night after all. And he couldn’t meaningfully argue it still was what with all the morning sunshine streaming in through the giant hotel windows.

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“I…umm…I mean, I should probably go to the bank…”

He stared at her then. In the morning light, she really could almost be convinced his eyes were purple…they were just so…blue. Like a night sky just after the last rays of sun had sunk beneath the horizon.

“What if…what if I bought you out for the rest of the week?”

Feyre blinked.

She opened her mouth. Then she closed it. Then she opened it again. This was the part where she told him ‘no thank you’ and got the fuck out of dodge. She had her money. Nearly ten grand of it. She wouldn’t have to worry about bills for at least a few months.

And yet all she managed to get out was, “I think I need to sit down.”

She sat on the floor.

Rhys suddenly looked a little panicked.

“Are you feeling alright?! Do you need anything?!”

Strangely, this actually made her feel a little better. If he was being awkward about this too, then it actually put them on somewhat more equal footing.

“I’m fine,” she began. “I just…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why me? Why an entire week? That’s…that’s a lot of money.”

Rhys shrugged. “I can afford it.”

She thought of the eight-thousand dollars burning a hole in her purse. Yeah. She just bet he could.

“But…you’re…you,” she argued, waving at his expensive suit and model-ready cheekbones like this explained everything. “You could have anyone. For free.”

He cocked his head at her curiously. Almost amused.

“Could I have you for free?”

“Well…no,” Feyre admitted. What she didn’t tell him was that he probably could…if she wasn’t so fucking desperate and poor.

He shrugged, as if he had expected that. “Then you can have the money and I can have your company. Besides,” he added with what could only be described as a sly smile. “I’m here on business for the week. You need money. I need someone pretty on my arm for all the work functions I’ll be forced to attend. Everyone wins.”

“So you don’t just want me for…you know…” her cheeks darkened, much to her horror. This man’s hand had been inside of her and yet she couldn’t even say the word ‘sex’ to him out loud? God, what did he even see in her?

He grinned and crouched down to her level. “I wouldn’t say no…but I’ll leave that up to you. No, you just be your charming little self and you’ll more than earn your keep.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Her? Charming? Had he hit his head last night?

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, she thought.

“Okay.”

Rhys looked beyond thrilled by this answer, though she couldn’t imagine why.

“Now,” he said genially, reaching forward to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Feyre tried not to shiver. “What do you say about us getting you some new clothes?”

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

There were things she needed to take care of first.

Like calling into work.

“Hey Gabe…” she began, already dreading this conversation. “A family emergency came up and I’m going to need to take the rest of the week off.”

She wasn’t about to tell him the truth, that she actually needed to spend the week at a millionaire’s beck and call to make ten times her monthly income. She was sure that wouldn’t have gone over well, so family emergency it was.

“Fey, honey, really?” She frowned. She hated that nickname. “We’re slammed over here. We need you!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency. There’s nothing I can do,” Feyre said firmly. And then, because she was a pushover, “I’ll make up the hours next week.”

“But we need you now.”

“Well,” she said, frustrated, “I have an emergency now. You’re just going to have to deal.”

“I can’t believe you would do this to us,” Gabe scoffed, laying on the guilt trip.

“I’ve never taken time off before,” she pointed out. And it was true. She hadn’t. Not once in the three years that she had worked for him. Not even when she’s gotten the plague and had run a fever so high her sisters had nearly sent her to the hospital. “And I’m not asking.”

Her boss grumbled some more about ‘staffing shortages’ and ‘peak hours’ but she knew she had him. He may bitch and moan about how much she was ‘letting the team down’ but he wouldn’t dare fire her over this. She was too good of a worker to risk losing.

Once she made her excuses and disconnected the call, she wandered back out into the living area to find Rhys lounging on one of the couches (the same one he’d fingered her on), typing away on his phone. She sat down next to him.

“So…” she said. “I…still need to go to the bank. To deposit all this.” She gestured to her purse.

“I’ll have someone drive you,” Rhys said, still typing something on his phone. “What bank do you use?”

“Umm…Bank of America?” Feyre said automatically, taken aback by the question.

“And your account and routing numbers?”

She stared.

“…Why do you need those?” She asked suspiciously.

“So I can wire you your money.” He said simply.

“…Oh.”

“How does twenty grand sound?”

Feyre nearly swallowed her tongue.

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

Later, after she got herself back under control, he gave her a card.

A black card.

Feyre may have been poor, but even she knew what a black AmEx card was. She held it gingerly, the way one would a live grenade.

“Do I have a budget?” She had asked.

Rhys had just laughed.

So here she was an hour later, card in hand, standing outside a boutique she’d been ushered to by Rhys’s chauffeur and a personal shopper named Claire.

“Is there any particular style we’re going for?” She had asked her in the car and Feyre had only been able to stare at her blankly. The only ‘style’ she had ever been known to exhibit was ‘cheap’ and ‘my father bought this for me in middle school and somehow I still fit into it’. Style was for people who had disposable income. And she was definitely not one of those people.

Or, she thought dazedly, maybe she was now?

As they entered the boutique, Claire took charge like a general rallying her troops. Immediately, half a dozen impeccably dressed saleswomen appeared to do her bidding. One of them spied the black card in Feyre’s hand and the look in her eyes could only be described as predatory.

Feyre gulped.

The next several hours were a whirlwind of Feyre trying on a bevy of beautiful designer clothes (with price tags that gave her heart palpitations) while Claire barked orders to everyone who would listen. Occasionally Feyre found herself trying something on she thought looked perfectly fine only for the other woman to shake her head in frustration.

“No, not that one. It’s too last season.”

She had no idea what that even meant but at this point Feyre had grown rather scared of this woman so she had dutifully taken the outfit off in favor of the next.

The only time she had found herself putting her foot down was when Claire had tried to veto a leather jacket she had liked.

“No,” Feyre said quickly, clutching the jacket to her chest. “I’d like to keep this one.”

Claire just seemed confused. “It doesn’t really fit with the aesthetic we’re going for.”

“That’s fine.”

Everything else that had been approved and then ferried off (to be packed up and sent to the hotel she later found out) had followed the pattern of being very…sophisticated. Gorgeous beaded ballgowns, crisp white blouses, cinched pencil skirts, red bottomed heels, all of it seemed tailored to an image of a woman Claire seemed to think Rhys needed at his side. And Feyre was fine with that. She certainly had no idea what kind of woman Rhys needed on his arm.

But this jacket was also the first thing that seemed…her. The real her. And if she got anything out of this strange business arrangement she’d like it to be something that she could actually wear again after this was all over.

Claire shrugged.

“Alright.”

She directed someone to take the jacket so it could be added to the pile of approved clothes and then Feyre was back to being shoved into another extravagant dress.

She sighed.

Finally, when all was said and done, Feyre found herself to be the owner of a dozen new outfits, various accessories, far too many shoes, and all the while wondering how on earth she was expected to wear all of this in a single week.

When the total was read out, she tried very hard not to have a heart attack then and there. Wincing, she handed over Rhys’s black card and watched the saleswoman swipe it with a bit too much relish.

At least someone was enjoying themselves.

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

Her last errand was the most important of all.

“Here, Miss?” The chauffeur confirmed a little skeptically as he pulled up in front of her run down apartment complex.

“Yep. This is it. I promise I’ll only be gone for a second.” Then she was climbing out of the car and sprinting into her apartment as quickly as possible.

Thankfully, her landlord’s door was conveniently near the front exit. She banged on it a few times and was soon rewarded with a rumpled look middle aged man poking his head out.

“Feyre,” he said her name the way one would to a misbehaving child. “You here with my money?”

“Actually,” she smiled, pulling out a stack of bills. “I am.”

#take care of business for me #my fanfiction #my fanfic #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #acotar #feysand #a court of thorns and roses #amnevitahwritesstuff

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