#saw a snake skin thought it was a snake started running

[anipgarden]

👀 honestly that is a really nice description of it however I realized something else.

I would probably like grasses and prairies a lot more but. As someone who lives in Florida whos mom is scared of snakes who is slowly trying to be Less Paranoid about Snakes but is also Still Kinda Scared Of Snakes

I see a bunch of tall grass and my brain goes ‘oh thats snake land’

But 👀 the grass lovers are so incredibly valid and valued I love yalls love for grasses.

Cringe gardening confession that becomes more evident the longer I read this book: I just can’t find it in me to give that much of a shit about trees.

[rafesangelita]

♡ bitchy!kook!reader finally lets rafe fuck..

warnings: making out, slight degradation, teasing, fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, praise, multiple orgasms

a/n: thank you to the anon who sent in this prompt request for my follower celly! i accidentally deleted your ask ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

you didn’t expect things to get this heated, this fast, both you and rafe messily kissing each other in the darkness of his room, his playlist playing softly in the background while his hands didn’t leave a single inch of you untouched. you could feel his hard-on poking you through the thin lace material of your panties, your resolve crumbling more and more as you let yourself get lost in the taste of him, your desire to surrender and give into his advances only growing with each filthy sentence he spoke to you. “remember all that tough shit you were talking? ‘saying i couldn’t handle all of this but here you are fucking dripping for it..”

you whimpered, your head rolling to the side as rafe planted his lips on your neck, his hand snaking down underneath the hem of your skirt until his fingers slipped below the waistband of your underwear. “you know i can make you feel so good, baby, just give me the word..” he whispered, his teeth lightly grazing your flesh just as his fingertips dipped between your folds, a curse falling from his mouth as your slick allowed him to stroke your clit with ease. you gasped softly, your nails digging into his skin as he rubbed hard, firm circles around your sensitive bud. “come on..” rafe encouraged you quietly, “let me fuck you.”

you sighed softly, your eyes fluttering closed as he moved his lips down from your neck to your chest, his digits continuing their ministrations on your needy cunt. you couldn’t believe you were finally giving into him, all the months of begging and pleading with you to let him have his way all coming to an end once you nodded, your boyfriend cursing under his breath as he tried to his best to keep his composure. rafe’s fingers prodded at your entrance, the sensation making you panic before you stopped him. “wait—!” you panted, slightly embarrassed, “i’ve never done this before, rafe..”

upon hearing your words, rafe used his free hand to grip the back of your neck, his gaze scanning down your pretty face as his chest rose and fell in disbelief. your usual bitchy expression was long gone and was now replaced with what looked like intimidation, your brow etched with worry as you watched the realization dawn on him. “holy shit—” rafe laughed, “you’re a virgin?” you looked away from him, avoiding his burning gaze. “don’t be weird about it, you’re not special.” rafe scoffed, his jaw clenching as he pushed his fingertips into you. crying out, your nails raked down his toned chest, the burning tension making you wince.

“these are just my fingers, babe.. if you can barely handle this, just imagine when i’m fucking you balls deep.” the thought alone made you shudder, a shiver running down your spine as rafe began filling you up with digits, your walls fluttering around the welcomed intrusion. “gentle, please..” you whimpered, a hiss leaving your lips when he pulled at the roots of your hair, forcing you to look at him as he started thumbing at your clit. “gentle?” he laughed, “why would i be gentle with you? you’re not special.” rafe used your words from earlier against you before curling his digits and hitting that soft spot inside of you, your head falling onto his shoulder at the added stimulation.

“m’gonna make you cum all over my fingers, ‘get you all nice and stretched out before i fuck you stupid, yeah?” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck as your breathing grew sporadic, the heavy tension in your core making your limbs feel like jelly. “fuckkk!” you squealed, burying your face in his chest as you felt the sudden snap in your tummy, your pussy squeezing around rafe’s digits like a vice. you saw stars behind the backs of your eyes, your thighs trembling as he held your hips down to keep you from moving away from him. “r-rafe, that’s enough,” you huffed, “s’too much now!” considering you were about to let him pop your cherry, he decided he’d give your poor cunt a break.

rafe didn’t give you nearly enough time to recover before he had your wrists pinned between tits, your ankles sitting prettily on his shoulders as he tapped the aching tip of his cock against your clit. “i’m never gonna let you live this down,” rafe teased, slipping only the tip in to watch the way you took your bottom lip between your teeth, “no one’s ever gonna fuck you like this.” was the last thing he said before thrusting into you without warning, a half scream emitting from your throat as rafe groaned, his eyes glued to where you two were connected.

“oh my god, you’re fucking gorgeous—” rafe said through gritted teeth, admiring every detail of you he hadn’t seen before tonight. you were rendered speechless, any kind of protests or smart remarks dying on the tip of your tongue as the ache between your legs dulled and melted into pure unadulterated pleasure. from pained whimpers to pleading cries, rafe’s lips found yours as he fucked into you with an unforgiving force. nipping his bottom lip, rafe hissed, cursing under his breath as you managed to get your hands out of his grip.

“not so scared anymore?” he teased, his words making you roll your eyes. “shut up, rafe— oh!” your back arched up into his chest when he changed his momentum, the long strokes of his hips making you hiccup. “tell me to shut up again.” you just about lost it when you felt his thumb return to your clit, your palms pushing against his stomach at the overwhelming pressure building up in your tummy. you hated how easy it was for him to take control of you in this moment, but god, you felt too good to care. not daring to say another word, your eyes screwed shut as rafe pushed you over the edge, his own orgasm causing his hips to stutter.

burying himself as deep as he could, you pulled rafe close as he emptied himself inside of you, your toes curling as he filled you up with his seed, the thick, hot ropes of cum painting your insides while you cried at the overwhelming feeling of your high. you felt like your head was in the clouds, your vision growing hazy as you blinked in slow motion up at the high ceiling. with rafe’s weight on top of you like this, and his moans in your ear, you reveled in the new intimacy that you two hadn’t yet shared with each other, both of you holding onto each other as your climaxes subsided.

still nestled inside of you, rafe collapsed on top of you, your hands wasting no time in moving his bangs out of his face, your heart fluttering in your chest at the sight of the smug grin on his lips. “don’t you dare say anything—”

“i can’t believe you actually let me hit.” rafe sighed, leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone. you shook your head, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you twirled the ends of his hair with your perfectly manicured fingers. “act up and you’re not getting sex for as long as you piss me off.” you threatened, your words making his eyebrows raise. “you don’t have to worry about me acting up after this.. i can’t go on without it now.” you rolled your eyes at his dramatics before he took your lips in a kiss. “i hope you’re not fucked out just yet, i got some more rounds in me.”

[aciddrattboyy]

Tɾαɱρ Sƚαɱρ

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "various bllk guys and how they would react to you getting a tramp stamp"

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Bachira, Kunigami, Nagi, Ryusei [separate] x F! Reader ★ Run Time: 1.2k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Adult Film] smut, mirror fucking(bachira), reverse cowgirl, oral(m! receiving) kunigami)), doggy style, i think thats it [all characters are aged up!]

▶▶

bachira

⋆ was v e r y excited when you said you wanted to get one ⋆ actually offered to pay for it AND go with you ⋆ but you declined, knowing he’d try to fuck you in the parking lot as soon as you were done ⋆ now that you had confirmed you were getting one bachira had a bit of a dilemma  ⋆ he loved looking at you while he fucked you senseless ⋆ but now he needed to see your new tattoo while he did just that so ofc a hasty amazon order was made  ⋆ come the day of your appointment, there was now a full length mirror stuck onto the back of your bedroom door waiting for you when you got home

you were a whining, blubbering mess as meguru pounded into you. on all fours, he grabbed you by your hair with one strong hand so you couldnt bury your hair in the sheets. usually he would, usually he was a bit nicer. but he needed you to see, needed you to look at your now fucked out self through the mirror he bought just for this reason. 

“so hot baby- so hot like this,” his pace was brutal as he fought a constant internal war on where to look. if he looked at your new lower back tattoo for too long he’d cum too fast. but being able to see you at a new angle was making it hard to not spill inside of you. his other hand that had a painful hold on your waist snaked down to rub tight circles against your clit. his hips faltered at the sight of your face contorting in pleasure. with a guttural moan leaving his throat, meguru buried himself balls deep in your cunt as he came.

gingerly releasing his hold on your hair, he moved back to your waist. meguru panted softly, eyes unable to leave your lower back. he could feel himself getting hard all over again at the thought of one day being able to spill his cum all over it.

kunigami

⋆ kunigami wouldnt deny that the idea was hot to him ⋆ he was very supportive- excited even ⋆ he both paid + went with you to your appointment  ⋆ was very proud of himself for exercising the utmost restraint when he saw the final product ⋆ not wanting to hurt the already hurt area, he kept the sexual activity to a minimum  ⋆ definitely didnt pass up a chance to playfully slap your ass any time it was visible  ⋆ despite his chivalrous behavior, it was as if his libido went up 1000% knowing the tattoo was there

“oh fuck-,” kunigami’s jaw seemed to be permanently clenched as took more of him in your throat. head resting against the back of the couch as he looked at you with eyes that sent heat straight to your throbbing pussy. his hips involuntarily bucked into your mouth when he caught a glimpse of your back. your tanktop was pushed up from your previous messy makeout session and your lower back tattoo was almost on full display. 

catching where his gaze was now focused on, you arched your back. your shorts rode down just a bit from the change in position but it was enough to send kunigamis head spinning. his grip on your hair tightened as he started fucking your face. the room filled with sounds of you gagging and his moans as he got closer to cuming. “ ‘m close,” he warned, voice strained as he kept staring at the black ink forever etched on your skin. 

this only spurred you on, hollowing your cheeks as best as you could; determined to take him all. and that you did, swallowing the hot cum that spilled down your throat with a pleased smile. your stuck out your tongue, proudly showing him that none went to waste until he pulled you onto his lap. fully intent on fucking you here and now. 

nagi

⋆ he was never big on showing emotions outward ⋆ but when you came home, stripping down in front of him to show off your new tattoo ⋆ you could see something change in his eye ⋆ he never considered any tattoos hot before you just kinda saw them as ink on skin and nothing more ⋆ but now that you had one he was obsessed

nagi was laying on his back, head propped up on multiple pillows as his hands held a vice grip on your waist. 

“sei- ‘s too much,” having already came three times on his mouth, you were a mess. holding onto his thighs tightly as he fucked you down onto him. nagi couldnt even respond, low moans tumbling out of his mouth as he watched your ass meet his pelvis. his eyes were fixated on the tattoo and nothing could pry them away. 

feeling you clench around him from the sensitivity is what sent him over the edge. pulling you off of him with ease and setting you down on his stomach as his came on your stomach and abused cunt. you were panting, eyes fluttering shut when you assumed he was satiated. but you soon learned that you assumed wrong, yelping as he got you on all fours. he leaned over you, pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

“not done”

ryusei

⋆ it was hard for him to keep his dick in his pants around you already ⋆ but your newly added tattoo was making it so much harder ⋆ he thought it was incredibly hot ⋆ a hint of possessiveness when he thought how he’d be the only one to see it in its entirety ⋆ he grew a habit of stretching the waistband of whatever you were wearing to peek at it ⋆ laughing when the fabric snapped back and made you jump  ⋆ he was more touchy than ever and you couldnt bring yourself to hate it one bit

“such a needy little thing,” he had you on your stomach, legs trapped under his as he pushed your head into the covers. the smile on his face was evil and his pace was no better. his free hand was groping your ass, loving how sore they know were from your previous endeavors. he loved how you were trapped under him, only able to whine and beg for more while completely under his will. his fingers lightly traced the now healed tattoo, enjoying how it made you shiver. 

he rutted into you brutally, the sound of his pelvis hitting your ass reverberating through the room as he placed messy open-mouth kisses along your shoulder blades. but he couldnt stay there for long. leaning back, he watched as his dick disappeared inside you. the tattoo was just the icing on the cake. 

you could feel his hips stuttering as he pounded inside you before he quickly pulled out. ryusei desperately humped your ass, head thrown back as he came. you whined, thighs clenching as you felt his cum drip onto your lower back. you only lifted your head when he hurriedly got off of you, watching as he reached for his phone. 

“what a pretty little thing,” he seemed to murmur more to himself than anything as he took pictures of your cum covered tattoo before getting back on top of you. you would be dumb to think ryusei would ever stop after only cumming once.

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[ruinix]

We got Jack and Quinn with pillow princesses. What about Luke? It's his time. Please.

Hey there, lovely. Of course, of course, Lukey time. You've distracted me from my other blurbs waiting to be finished (sorry but oh my gosh). I fear I need more Luke photos (i am begging for photos of this cutie)

18+. Whore thoughts. Fluff and smut, of course. Unprotected sex.

Luke would notice the way you would tense whenever you came across a video about tips and tricks on oral sex, specifically giving blowjobs. Why your FYP or explore page was showing you that, he didn't know, but he could see your troubled look, your eyebrows furrowing, your teeth biting on your lower lip. Then you would look at him, looking so lost.

Luke knew your dilemma. The pressure to reciprocate, because of the silly fucking videos you come across. He didn't like it. Why would you need to reciprocate when he loved giving you your pleasure, your need, your wants. So, every time, he would move, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your lips, taking your phone from your fingers.

He could feel you melt, shivering when his other hand run up your arm, over your shoulder, over your neck to crane it upwards as he snaked his tongue into your awaiting lips. Kissing you was always so perfect. Your softness. Your eagerness. Your reciprocation. Sometimes you would nip at his lip, a signal for him to fuck you already, because you got a bit of a brat in you. Sometimes you would lick his lip greedily like you wanted to taste him as he did with you. Now, you were simply kissing back. Softly. Oh, so softly.

"I won't ask for something you don't want to do," he whispered after he parted from you. He could see your protest, your lips pouting so he kissed it. Just a little peck. "Stop stressing, sweetheart."

He saw the way your eyes sparkled at his endearment. They always did, but even more when he was calling you that. It was cute. You were so cute.

"Say it again," you demanded, chin tipping up, challenging him to defy you.

Like Luke could ever. Sometimes he would think if he had not proven himself enough. You kept trying him again and again as if you were waiting for him to slip up. Except, your word has always been his creed. He would take in what you demand and he would do it without fail.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, feeling your shaky breath on his face as he leaned forward. "My sweets."

"Sweets," you echoed.

A light giggle escaped you, your cheeks flushing with a deep red. You grabbed his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. A succession of little pecks in between giggles that also had him laughing. This was exactly one of the reasons why he loved you. You expressed your joy so easily, so freely, and his heart was doing somersaults in his chest.

Luke took a moment to relish the kisses, then he grabbed your nape, deepening it because it wasn't enough. He needed more. He slid his tongue, groaning when you playfully bite down on his tongue, shuddering at the feel of your smile. So cute. You think you were in full control but it was Luke who could easily push you into a haze by just slipping his hand into your pants, his fingers pressing at the growing wet patch on your panties.

"Want me to make you feel good?" Luke asked, licking the soft and tender skin of your neck, greedily smelling your alluring scent. He listened to your pleading moans, waiting for actual words to spill out of your pretty lips, his finger teasing your clothed slit, pressing and circling over where your clit was. "This feels good?"

"Oh, Luke," you cried out when he slipped your panties to the side, when he slides two fingers into your quivering heat. "More please."

As you commanded, he fucked you with his fingers, making you moan and gasp, while he nipped and kissed your neck. He sucked on your skin, leaving hickeys, groaning at the taste of you. The taste of sweat that started to shine on your skin. The taste of your scent. Just you. He needed everything.

So, he greedily took it. He curled his fingers in a come-hither motion, making your thighs quiver, makign your back arch. He ate up how pleasure overtook your senses. The way your eyebrows furrowed, the way your eyes rolled up or closed. The way your lips parted to free your every sound. The way your pussy feel around his fucking fingers. The way your nipples pebbled,begging to be touched, so he did, pinching them. He commited your pleasure, your beauty to his memory. Everything.

His cock felt painfully hard in his pants. Without looking, he knew he was making a mess on his pants. The gray material turning dark from his pre-cum. He might even come from the sight of you, from the feel of your pussy pulsing, from the squeal you let out as you come, but he held himself back, grinding his palm over clit, pounding his fingers into the spot that had you begging for more, more, and more.

You didn't need to beg.

Luke parted from you, gritting his teeth at your whimper from the lost of him. He immediately reassured you, pressing a kiss to your calf as he lifted your legs up. He pulled your pants off, letting your leg fall onto his side while he gripped the other, spreading you open like that, his fingers smearing your cum on your skin. He intently watched you, tugging his pants down his ass, slapping his aching dick against your pussy.

"Luke, please, please."

You didn't need to beg. Right, but fuck, your pleas sounded like music. Your eyes were shining with tears. Not from sadness or panic. No. Just tears of desperation, because you needed him to give you more. More he would. He loved doing just that. It brought him pleasure to bring you pleasure. He wouldn't need blowjobs because he preferred going down on you so he could feast on your pussy. He preferred setting the pace of fucking you. He preferred giving because. Just because. All for his sweetheart. For his beautiful princess.

Luke sank into you, moaning at the perfect fit of your pussy around him like you were made for him. He fucked you. Slowly at first. He let you feel every inch of him, rolling his hip to get deeper inside of you. He got rewarded by your breathy moans, by the sight of you gripping the fleece blanket on the couch, by your pussy clamping around him.

All of a sudden, the distance of the position got too much. Luke grabbed both of your thighs, wrapping them around his hips, before he leaned to take your lips, tasting your sighs and groans. He only stopped kissing when you turned your head away so you could breathe.

He also needed to breathe. He rested his forehead against your temple, kissing your cheeks, as he rutted into you like he was in heat. He knew exactly when you were about to come so he continued his pace, not changing a thing, persistently reaching your depths, until you come which triggered his release.

Luke was in a haze as he drew out both of your orgasms. After he gave his last spurts of his cum, he slipped out of you, parting just a bit from you so he could watch his cum drip from your quivering pussy. He was so mesmerized with the sight like he always had. He absently run his thumb over your sensitized clit, making you squeeze and letting out so much more of him.

When he gazed up your half lidded eyes, he felt his cock twitch, making him shudder from sensitivity.

"Do you want more?" He asked, gripping the base of his wet cock.

You bit your lip. The action only made his cock throb harder. He cursed, wanting to make you stop when he knew he couldn't stop you from being so pretty, when he knew whatever you do, he would be so turned on again.

"Bedroom," was all you said, your eyes burning with the same need that he felt.

Luke sprung up, taking you with him. The trip to your bedroom was quick. His heart pounded when you crawled over the sheets. He could see the mess between your thighs. He could see how you kept your ass up while you grabbed a pillow to hug.

You peered at him. "What are you waiting for, Luke?"

Luke didn't know he could move so fast.

Good night, lovelies. 🏃🏻‍♀️We thank @ajuice-matts for giving endearments that Lukey might call you. 😎

-> more thoughts? List.

[ashes-of-rozes]

In Chicago, I Feel It

Relationship: Viltrumite!Mark x afab!reader

Summary: The world is over. Chicago burned first. Mark found you and now your life is actually over.

Tags: reader has (plant) powers, cursing (come on guys), war, violence, DARK ROMANCE, could also be classified as horror/gore, mentions/thoughts of harassment (very mild), slightly ooc, Viltrumite!Mark is evil but he’s soft just for you, song, part 2 (?)

The world was forever shrouded in a shade of grey.

When the Viltrumites invaded— yesterday? Two months ago? It’s hard to tell— everything went dark overnight. Literally.

The big cities were the first to go. Chicago. Then New York. Then Los Angeles. Then Orlando. Like dominos, the cities fell, crushing people under the weight of several tons of concrete.

And somehow, somehow, you’ve managed to survive this long. You never sided with a resistance but you ran away from the invaders too. The Viltrumite who ruled called himself Mark. The name haunted you, kept you up at night.

You had a friend named Mark before this all started. He’s probably dead. Everyone else you knew was.

Food was scarce and hard to find if you never picked a side. You heard rumors that the humans under the Viltrumite’s rule didn’t have to worry about food. Or clean water. Or their lives.

It sounded so tempting.

And yet you never surrendered. Was comfort worth the cost of your freedom? Was your life more sacred because you had powers? None of it felt fair. None of it felt right.

Your skin constantly crawled with guilt— the planet you once swore to protect under the safety of a mask crumbled to a fine powder and you did nothing. You had teamed up with the Guardians to try and stop them but the last time you saw them, Eve was the only one still breathing. You panicked.

You didn’t want to die. Especially a painful one. The thought was terrifying.

As you retreated into the Earth, your eyes met with the Viltrumite in charge for this whole thing. Even far away you could see the blaze brightening up his tired eyes. He stared at you, eyes watching as you sunk underground. He didn’t even try to stop you.

Thankfully, your powers let you hide from most of them. You could cover up your rotten smell with flowers or smell like the burning Earth under your feet. You could go two hours laying underground with no oxygen so small spontaneous naps were your only friend.

But your luck was running out. You could feel it. The line you were balancing on was wobbling and nearing its end.

Screams echoed from far away. You winced, sympathetic with their pain and fear. But you were selfish and went the exact opposite direction, desperate to cling to the tainted atmosphere another day. The screams stop and you feel a chill snake down your spine. You look over your shoulder, seeing the orange glow of a distant war.

You round the corner of a crumpled building when you bump into something. The action surprises you and you stumble back onto your ass, vines instinctively curled around your hands, the dirt under your palms wet. You didn’t want to know if it was water or blood.

You look up and your breath catches in your throat, “You-“ He cuts you off with a single raised hand. Fear seeps into your veins, black and poisonous. “You’re the one from three weeks ago,” he says, calm voice making you sick.

No.

It’s only been three weeks?

His eyes scan you, traveling up and down your body like your prey for him, “I looked into you. I was curious about the defender of Earth who coward behind the world, pretending to be a hero.” This man seemed to know everything about you from meeting you two seconds those weeks ago. He takes a step forward and panic overtakes your sense to think clearly; thorn painted vines shoot out from under your palms and towards him. Mark holds out one hand, catching the vines in his grasp. With his left hand, he pulls the vines from the ground. He takes another step forward and pauses, looking down at his palms.

Blood.

He tosses the vines to the side, glaring at his hands. Three small cuts, but sharp enough to bleed.

Fear wraps around you like a wet suit, clinging to your skin with your panic-induced sweat. You scramble back on your hands, the ground swallowing you more and more with each inch. You’re not even aware your sinking.

“You made me bleed,” he says, still staring at his hands. Would apologizing help your chances of staying alive? He looks back in your direction, “You injured a Viltrumite Soldier.” Tears fill your eyes but you don’t get the chance to let them fall. Mark is in front of you before you finish blinking, pulling you out of the ground like it’s nothing. “You’re coming with me.”

It’s not a request or a command. It’s a simple statement. “No,” you manage to squeak out, “Please. I’m sorry.” He stares at you, his face unreadable. “Your apologies mean nothing,” he says. The tears finally start to fall and you squirm in his hold, “No!” His glare hardens, his grip tightening but he starts flying. Dread wraps around your heart like an overgrown weed and you reach down, pleading for the Earth to save you.

Nothing happens.

Why would it?

You didn’t save the Earth, it shouldn’t save you.

You fall limp and his grip only tightens, “Your powers are meaningless if you’re not surrounded by natural materials, aren’t they?” You don’t answer, tears falling from your chin and dripping towards the ground several thousand feet below. You don’t have to answer. He knows what it is.

By the time he flies over Milwaukee, your tears have stained a clean path onto your dirty face. Your eyes grow heavy as you watch the world crumble beneath you. Before you can fight it, your eyes fall shut, surrendering to your future.

〤〤〤

“Wake up.”

The voice barely registers in your empty mind before the air leaves your lungs.

Your eyes snap open, instinctively calling for the Earth but the only thing under your palms are silk sheets and— wait. You take a deep breath, eyes focusing on your surroundings. The room is white and mainly bare. It consists of the bed you were thrown on, a small empty desk in the corner, what’s possibly a closet, and a bathroom with the door open that looks just as hospitalized as the rest of the place.

Your throat tightens and you manage to gather enough courage to look at him, “Where … are we?” Mark stares at you, like he’s considering answering. Eventually, he does, floating down until his feet hit the floor soundlessly, “My quarters within the new liaison building on Earth.”

Huh?

You nod, mind still jumbled and confused. “Your … quarters,” you mumble to yourself, staring at the silk bedding beneath your fingers, “Not prison?” He huffs, almost sounding amused but mainly empty, “No. This won’t be much different for you, though.” You pinch the white fabric between your fingers, freezing. “Worry not, if I wanted you dead or thrown in jail, I would’ve done so already,” he says. Like that’s somehow supposed to bring you comfort. You swallow, throat dry, “Then what am I here for?”

“Reproduction.”

Fear hits you again but it’s different this time. Darker.

Every muscle goes taught with tension.

The mattress dips with the added weight when Mark sits down, “You don’t need to worry. It will be painless. I’ll ensure it is.” You didn’t even realize you were crying until a tear fell onto the sheet.

“You’re shaking.”

And maybe you are. You’re not entirely sure. There’s a hand on your calf, gentle but possessive, “You do not wish to reproduce with me?” You immediately shake your head no. But there was no point in fighting it, if he wanted to, he’d easily overpower you.

The silence stretches for a long time. You can’t look up, tears soaking the sheet below you.

“Okay.” Mark stands and you turn to look at him, breathing labored, “…okay?” He nods, “Viltrumites do not mate without consent. I’ll wait until you are ready.” Your breath stuttered. Part of you was relieved that he wasn’t forcing you and the other part didn’t believe him. “And if I never am,” you ask, voice low. “You’ll except it one day,” he says, like he somehow knows the future, “Until then it’s my job to make sure my mate is healthy and well-kept.”

Mark reaches out a hand, “And not only have you soaked my bedding, you’ve gotten it muddy by simply existing on it.” A fresh waves of tears come back, scared for your safety. “You need a shower, I have work to do. I’ll send someone in for the bed.” You blink, staring at his hand. “You’re injured and malnourished, get clean and you’ll be taken care of,” he continues.

“Do I have a choice,” you ask. It’s a stupid question. “Not in your health,” he says, hand still outstretched, “Not today at least. Behave, and you’ll get freedom.” You inhale shakily and take his hand. He pulls you close and you climb off the bed with shaky legs. They’d gone numb a while ago. Mark gives you a curious look and let’s go.

Your knees buckle almost instantly but he catches you before you hit the ground. He doesn’t say anything else, picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. It’s a stand up shower.

Mark sets you on the edge of the sink, “I really must go, but I’ll start the water.” He turns on the very complicated looking faucet and straightens back up, turning back to look at you. “Get cleared from the doctor today and you can roam around all you want tomorrow,” he informs. You nod.

He turns to leave, pausing at the door. “Don’t try and escape,” he says, back muscles flexing from tension, “I will find you and you will not like me when I do.” With that, he closes the bathroom door and leaves.

masterlist

||part two||

[hxney-lemcn]

When You Nerd Out (Biology Edition) — Overblots x gn! reader

summery: the overblots find out you're more of a nerd than they realized...

tw: mentions of bugs (not really but I digress), mentions of arachnids (literally just the name of one lol), mentions of reptiles (idk maybe people are scared of them), mentions of snakes.

a/n: a reptile show is happening soon and I've been looking into so many reptiles/invertebrates/amphibians I had to get this out of my system somehow. What better way then to ramble to fictional characters? (Help me)

wc: 1.2k (~180 per character)

Master List

❥ Riddle Roseheart

When Riddle first met you, you were downtrodden, having just been thrown into a new world filled with magic and flair that yours didn’t. Your grades weren’t the best (but far from the worst), and you always seemed tired no matter what. So when your eyes lit up when he showed you the flamingo and hedgehog cages/pens he was surprised at the amount of facts that spilled from your lips. From how flamingos get their color to how hedgehogs are carnivores. Or how you could even ramble on about flowers and plants, like how tea garden roses are the most short lived species. From then on, Riddle would come to you for even the smallest of things. Did you want to feed the animals with him? This rose bush is wilting, are there any tips to bring it back? Do you know the meaning behind the colors of roses? No particular reason for that last question…just don’t question the bouquet of white and red roses mixed with baby’s breath that show up on your doorstep the next day.

❥ Leona Kingscholar

It was hard not to notice when you seemed to be on the brink of exploding. How you’d stare at awe in Leona’s presence, as you should. But your eyes would always wander to his ears, teeth, tail, nails. It got to a point that he felt like you were mentally dissecting him. It was his downfall to growl out a short “what”, as you started to pile on questions to the beastman prince. “Are your nails sharper than a humans?”, “How much better can you hear?”, “Does your tail help you balance?” All Leona could do was stare at you with boredom. Who knew his herbivore was a nerd? He supposes he could humor you for a little bit. Press his sharp nails lightly into your skin, a teasing smile as he asks if you’d like a test. Perhaps a nibble to show you how well his canines work? It all goes awry when you start taking interest in other beastmen, who cares about the cheetah or leopard bestmen when you have a lion prince right here?

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

Azul never thought twice about where he’s come from. He’s seen many kinds of merpeople, many kinds of fish or crustaceans or sharks. But he knew land dwellers didn’t have that, which is why he has the giant aquarium in his lounge. He got used to the awed expressions as well, more focused on swindling the poor souls. So when your jaw dropped and how you clearly restrained yourself from running up to the giant aquarium, Azul felt giddy. He could offer you something most couldn’t. He’d watch as you’d point out a fish or ray that you saw and explain how much you loved the color or how magnificent it looked. When you brought up how smart you thought octopi are, it was over. His heart couldn’t take it. You know he was an octopus merperson right? You were basically complimenting him without realizing it. He couldn’t get over how you stared in wonder at the blue ringed octopus that was waving back at you. And oh sevens you were giggling at it? He wasn’t getting jealous over another octopus, no way…

❥ Jamil Viper

Jamil noticed the excited look in your eyes when you learned his last name was Viper, but nothing had happened at the time. It wasn’t until Kalim had you rambling about animals did Jamil realize just how much you seemed to love snakes. How you named your favorite in a heartbeat to how you scrutinized the ones you looked into as pets. It wasn’t until Kalim started to offer to buy you all those snakes and more did he have to step in. Yet Jamil felt flustered when your gaze landed on him, your eyes that had been filled with fondness while rambling about snakes had only seemed to get brighter when looking at him. Reluctantly, Jamil let you drag him to a reptile show, something Kalim had pushed him to do. For his own sanity, Jamil ignored the giant pouch of money Kalim tried to stealthily hand you, instead, focusing on your awed expression at the variety of animals. He couldn’t help but watch the snakes in awe with you, and when you asked him if he wanted to help you set up an enclosure for one…who was he to say no?

❥ Vil Schoenheit

Vil is a busy man. With photo and movie shoots to interviews to taking care of himself, there isn’t much time to stop and smell the roses. But with you, he tries to make time, and it's like a breath of fresh air every time. It was nice to sit outside and bask in the sun (with sunscreen of course) and talk with you. Something had clearly caught your eye when you dropped from the bench to scoop something off the ground. Vil thought he knew you well enough…apparently not. He hadn’t expected to see you shove a rolly polly, pill bug, potato bug, whatever you want to call them into his face…okay maybe he’s exaggerating. You held the little thing far enough away that it wasn’t all too startling. He swore he never saw you so excited about something, or how you rambled that they weren’t bugs, but crustaceans that live on land. The way you gently held the critter to how fondly you looked at the curled up thing made Vil’s heart flutter. You always seemed to find beauty in things most would shudder at. How odd.

❥ Idia Shroud

Idia had no idea how you managed, but you had convinced him to get a plant. You had called it a zz plant, and thought it would be perfect to liven his room up as it didn’t need direct sunlight. He watched the plant as it sat next to a grow light, it needed something since he didn’t have any windows. The dark purple leaves were pretty, you were right. As much as he tried to keep up with watering, he would forget, but Ortho seemed to have it covered. When little leaves started sprouting, Idia felt proud, a weird feeling he wasn’t used to. When you came over and saw how well it was doing you beamed. That stupid fluttery feeling filled him as you praised him, not to mention it mixing with feeling proud. Not a good combo, as now he was thinking of asking you if there’s any other plant you may recommend, just to get you rambling once more about different plants that could thrive in his little cave of a room.

❥ Malleus Draconia

Although Malleus loves to hear your voice, you always seem content to hear him ramble. The way your eyes watched intently, trying to find what he was pointing out on a gargoyle, or how you’d ask questions about the differences of a gargoyle and grotesque. At first, he was concerned when you gasped, had you gotten hurt somehow? Yet he found you excitedly pointing out a house gecko that stood near the gargoyle he was talking about. He watched you in awe as your eyes glittered, and how you were basically jumping up and down. Then you started going on about geckos, reptiles, and all sorts of odd things people keep as pets. The way you basically swooned at the thought of owning a crested gecko or a crocodile skink, Malleus was ready to hand you all the money you needed. He is the best and worst, as he’ll never tell you no and fund your hobby till your heart’s content. Just make sure to pay attention to him too, yeah? Unlike skinks or tarantula’s, he likes your affection. Plus, he’s the best reptile of them all, no? He’d gladly show you his dragon form.

[peachesofteal]

MELOS (PART TWO)

main masterlist / Azriel's masterlist

Part One / Melos masterlist 5k words - AO3 Tags: 18+ mdni. Blood, feelings of fear and panic. Reader POV. Trauma. Protective Azriel. Canon-compliant, post ACOSF and HOFAS. "I would spend a lifetime earning your forgiveness"

The fly amanita has been eluding you.

It’s speckled red cap is usually so easy to spot, but you’ve been trudging through the woods all day, turning over logs and peering around tree trunks to no avail. You’re getting closer and closer to the break in the forest, the one bordering a large meadow rich with wildflowers, the one you hardly venture to unless you’re truly desperate for something specific.

You’re seriously considering it when something dusky red catches your attention from the corner of your eye, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot the healthy patch of fungi. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you sink to your knees, digging down to the roots. The soil is wet, freshly damp from a recent rainstorm, and it sticks to your fingertips. “Such a pain in-“

Magic scrapes at your skin. Long gruesome fingers of something unseen try to clutch at you, drag you away, and your power surges to meet it, beating it back to the gloom it calls home. You shudder. The magic from your mother's blood, the gifts the Middle grants you, are enough to keep you safe, protect you from most things in this place, the ones nefarious and full of malice, but that does not mean they do not try. 

You exhale, breathing freely in the crisp winter breeze whispering through the trees, rustling the deadfall into small vortexes that spin across the wood, twisting upward in a delicate dance of changing seasons. You lift your face to the sun just as the wind turns dark, smoky grey, and then explodes in a burst of ink, onyx spilling around the mushrooms, wisps snaking through the stems towards your knees.

You swat them away.

Azriel.

You grit your teeth. Don't think about him, don't think about him, don't think- 

A shadow brushes against you like a feather, and you hiss. 

Azriel.

The male who tortured you. Used you. Gained your trust to hurt you. Suffocated you until you thought you were going to die, until spots appeared in your vision and your heart slowed. The male that hurt you, in more ways than one. 

Fooled into falling for a ruse, you believed it meant something every time your heart thundered when he was near, how your magic crooned for him, tried to reach for him, touch him. The pain you saw in him, over and over again, a mirror to your own, led you to believe in a fairy tale that never existed, a stupid notion about two halves of a whole, only for it to crumble and reveal manipulation and lies.

And after it all, whatever he gleaned from you he must have determined to be inconsequential, since no one has shown up at your door to haul you away for execution. No one came to imprison you, or banish you, or torture you, again. No one came to take you away from your home, your life, like you were expecting.

He did it for nothing.

The shadows are an ever-present reminder.

Ever. Present.

They collect in the corners at work, they trail along the ground as you run your errands, go to dinner, visit your only friend in the city.

Thankfully, they seem to stay out of your house, though in the middle of the night, it’s not so easy to tell.

You shoot them a glare. “Run back to your master and leave me alone, for the hundredth time.” You have no concept of a Shadowsinger’s magic, or an Illyrian’s, no idea if the shadows see, or hear, or speak. Their presence frustrates you, and his hoarse attempt at an apology that night still haunts you. Why does he not just come to speak with you? Explain himself? Justify his actions?

It’s been weeks, and still nothing. Silence from the Spymaster. Your rage that was once all consuming is starting to cool, leaving a mess of confusion and pain in its place. 

You need to let it go, you must, but the music persists, faintly there in the back of your mind, a melody you can’t forget.

It’s a double-edged sword, one that slices and stings. You see him in your nightmares, and your dreams. In the dark, you hear his voice, cold and calculating, pacing around you in a suffocating circle, and in the sun, you see him in the Middle, ablaze in a mist of brilliant blue, brushing his lips against yours.

You’ve grown familiar with how a room changes when one of the Wraith sisters arrive. Shadow rolls in like a fog, dissipating as they materialize, grey gossamer turning to smoky quartz, taking shape as a beautiful female, her eyes iridescent like black pearls. 

Rarely, do the twins ever come together. 

Today is the exception. 

Cerridwen gives you a half smile, gaze lingering on your clothes. “If I made you a new frock, would you throw this one out? It’s nearly in tatters.” You huff.

“This is my work frock; it’s supposed to be a bit messy.”

“It’s not messy, it’s falling apart.” She raises an eyebrow, and Nuala places a slender hand on the stack of brown paper wrapped packages on the table.

“How are you?” The question is loaded, expectant, and they watch you, analyzing every second of whatever is showing on your face.

“I’m fine.” Are you? The lie is so painfully obvious, and they exchange a look. 

“Azriel,” Nuala begins cautiously, “has asked if you would be open to seeing him.” You freeze.

“I..”

“In a public place of your choosing, in the city.” The very idea tips you off balance, blindsides you. Could you do it? See him? 

“With a third party, if you would like.” Cerridwen adds. Maybe this is your chance at closure, an opportunity to put it to rest. “Take some time to decide, and we’ll-“

“No, no. I’ll do it.” You scramble to think of a place where you’ll feel safe, somewhere you’ll be among many, and not few. “Is… Rose and Thorn okay? It’s in the Palace of Thread and Jewels.” They nod.

“Of course. And a third party?” You shake your head. Something in your soul assures you no chaperone is needed, and you allow it to guide you. “Very well.” Nuala waves her hand, wisps of storm clouds floating around her fingers-

And then Wraith sisters are gone.

He’s there before you.

Seated at a table outside, elegant and sculpted, an exquisite, eldritch beauty accentuated by strong, chiseled lines. His skin glows golden brown in the warm bath of the sun, flecks of caramel and green, honey and oak painted together like a priceless landscape in his irises. His wings are tucked in a tight formation at his back, but even in restraint, they shudder, their membranes more unique than a snowflake, more delicate than a spider’s web.

He’s almost too stunning to look at. The beauty of a god. A prince of shadow, shining in winter’s glow.

Suddenly, you’re very self-conscious, fighting the urge to pick at the frayed threads of your dress, too aware of how faded its once emerald green is, how fast your heart is beating, anxiety and pin pricks of fear cascading up your spine, coupled with an undeniable longing that shakes you to your core.

An ocean tide too strong drags your eyes to his, holding you captive in its current, the two of you suspended, floating, woven together in a melody, same song you’ve been hearing, feeling, all this time, elusive, empyreal notes harmonizing across your soul, your magic. The heat of the patio, magic humming in the air producing the equivalent of a warm spring day, urges you out of the cold and towards the table, meeting him where he stands, so tall he towers over you. 

“Hello.” Your stomach flips. This is suddenly harder than you imagined, and you’re being torn in two, afraid and yearning, two sides of a coin. His eyes gentle, and he moves back a fraction, giving you space. You manage to clear your throat.

“Hi.” You can’t look away, and finally, after a second turned eternity, he motions to the chair.

“Would you like to sit?”

“Sure.” The words are stiff, like your back, and you hold yourself rigid, hands clasped together in your lap.

“Thank you for coming, I… I know this was a lot to ask.” You nod, unable to make your mouth move. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” You’ll need more than one syllable answers to get through this, and you fight against the vice squeezing in around you, trying shake loose the battle raging in your blood. There's a need to protect yourself, fortify yourself... and another, one humming a song of wonder, of desire, a song you don't know the words to. He takes a deep breath.

“There’s nothing I can say to excuse what I did, and I know you have no reason to trust me, but I-“

"What you did? You tortured me, you terrorized me. You made me feel like I was dying. and I... why did you… why did you waste your time tricking me into thinking you were… we were… it was all fake.” Your voice breaks, and his eyes flash with despair. “You tricked me into trusting you, letting you get… close,” you study the tabletop, fingertips tracing loops in the woodgrain, trying to maintain your control. You can’t let him see how badly it hurts; how awful it is to know whatever you thought was happening between the two of you wasn’t real, how he's shattered your own trust in yourself. How could you not see the deceit? How could have fallen for such a blatant deception? How could you allow yourself to be hurt like that? These are the questions keeping you from sleep as they toss about in your mind, scolding you, chastising you for allowing yourself to be so weak. Stupid. “Why waste all that time if you were just going to do it? The act itself was... it was terrible but the manipulation, the lie that came with it, feels worse somehow.” Your cheeks heat with shame, mortified at the tears now blurring your vision, and his hand twitches, almost jerks towards yours before sliding away.

“There are no words in any language, anywhere, to tell you how sorry I am. I would spend a lifetime earning your forgiveness, if you’d let me.” Everything you want to fight back with, the words you wish to bury him with, die on your tongue as you stare at him with wide eyes. “I don’t deserve to see you or ask for a moment of your time. I don’t even deserve this chance you’ve given me today but… nothing was a trick, it was not fake. I was a fool.” You know you should say something, but still nothing comes, and there’s a rising uneasiness emanating from his, shadows shivering around him in a halo. “I would ask you to strike a bargain with me.” What?

“A bargain?” He nods solemnly, face set with resolve, foreign limerence weighed down by sorrow reflecting in his gaze.

“Allow me to spend some time with you, to show you how sorry I am, to prove how real it was, and in return, I will owe you a debt.” You fight to keep your face blank, smothering an outward ripple of shock. Maybe he’s gone insane.

“You… the Spymaster of the Night Court… would owe me a debt.” You chew on it, toss it around between your cheeks, try to digest the enormity of it. A debt could be anything, it’s a favor, a wish, a request that must be granted, no matter what it is. You could ask that he drink a vial of poison, and he’d have to do it. Could ask him to leave Pyrthian, and he’d have no choice. Most importantly, you could ask him to leave you alone. Forever. “And if I asked you to never speak to me again?” He winces.

“That would be your right.” This is a bad idea. Your magic trills, vibrating with a strange yearning, again guiding you away from the rational choice and into an agreement.

“I will see you once a week for a month, and in return, you will owe me a debt,” you extend your hand, “and swear not to harm me.” You add hastily, expecting him to refuse, or attempt to change the terms, but he meets you with zero hesitation.

The magic hits you like a gale force wind, wild and too strong, planting itself in your skin to push ink to the surface.

A tree.

The roots sprawl around your wrist, twisting upward into a trunk and then outward into branches, spreading wide until they’re nearly touching on the inside of your forearm. He snags a finger under the cuff of his shirt to reveal the tattoo’s twin, the concrete vow between the two of you plain as day.

What did you just do? 

You’re taking advantage of the first meeting. Having a second with you, a powerful, formidable second, gives you an opportunity to trek into a more dangerous, more unstable part of the Middle in search of a rare mineral.

You’re also using it as punishment, irritated with the small twinge of guilt growing in your side. He strides along at your side silently, shadows skittering ahead across the forest floor, disappearing and reappearing at will, as if they’re scouting and reporting.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” He finally asks, cocking his head to the side as you stop for a moment to catch your breath. He’s not winded at all, of course, and you’re starting to regret this choice, while also trying to avoid staring at him. Every time he moves into your line of sight, your palms sweat and you remember how his laugh sounded on the steps of your house, how he earnest he was when asking you questions. You remember the kiss, and the way his mouth felt upon yours. You remember it all, and butterflies take flight in your belly. 

But being alone with him in a dangerous place such as this, is also a stark reminder. A reminder of the last time you were alone with the Spymaster, truly alone, and how it ended. 

“There’s a cave a bit from here where a very rare crystal grows. Its mineral compound is a key piece to a specific elixir.” His lips twitch into a small, barely there smile, reading between the lines.

“You’ve brought me along for back up.” You smirk.

“You didn’t say what spending time together had to entail.” You shift your backpack. “It's just past this bog up ahead.” He stops short, eyes sharp, tensing.

“A bog?”

“Yes. You know… like a swamp?”

“Of Oorid?” You blink.

“You know the Bog of Oorid?”

“I’ve been there.” Now it’s your turn to scrutinize him. Could you have underestimated this male, again? 

“Why?” You shiver. You’ve visited the Bog before, twice, and left each time with a new scar, a new nightmare.

“We were looking for something.” We? Questions brew in the back of your mind, so many of them they’re hard to contain, but you’d hate to appear too interested in him and his adventures.

“Did you find it?”  He nods and says nothing. Fine then. “It’s not the Bog of Oorid, just a boring swamp. C’mon.”

You withhold a key piece of information regarding the swamp.

It’s quite hateful, if you’re honest, and a small part of you weeps at your own vindictiveness, but the vengeful side feels too smug, too satisfied.

“It’s this way.” You take the lead, stepping into the ankle-deep muck. “Sorry, you’ll have to get a bit dirty.” The trees here are warped, bent to the undertow of the swamp, stripped of their life, yet still thriving, flourishing in the inert, foul water. Wicked, and greedy, they creak and coo, relishing each cursed step Azriel takes. Your magic crests, drawing up through the Middle, and you smile to yourself as the mud reaches mid-calf. Right about now-

He hisses.

“Are you alright?” You call innocently over your shoulder, now paces away, reveling in the sound of him fighting against the sludge's hold. When he doesn’t answer, your heart quickens, and you turn.

He’s shaking his head, wings flared at his back, muscles flexing beneath his leathers, trying to work himself free, and you bite your tongue to keep from telling him it won't work.

The swamp is a collector, a keeper of things, admirer of the rare and unusual. You’re sure it’s never ensnared an Illyrian before.

“Careful,” you sing, “struggling makes it worse.” He’s knee deep but surprises you when he breaks a leg free and takes another step, cobalt blue siphons beginning to gleam, shining into the dark green stagnant water and pockets of mire. Interesting.

“Clever little witch.” He's amused, reverent, and you're irritated by his reaction. “How does it not trap you?” Keening echoes through your soul, frantic and tortured. It’s reaching for something, crying for something, steeped in a distress you don’t understand. An incessant tugging, the faint sound of a melody. A chiming of bells, ringing, and ringing, and ringing. You steady yourself with a deep breath.

“I ask it not to. My magic comes from the Middle, like my mother’s. It makes things... more amenable to me.” You make it sound far worse than it is to spook him, but he only watches you with interest, keen eyes dissecting you from the inside out.

“And will you ask it to release me?” 

“Maybe.” You shrug. He sinks farther, now trapped to his mid-thigh, and your pulse races. You had planned to leave him here, trap him here until you came back, but your magic is clawing at you, heart trying to beat out of your chest, fear and panic colliding with an instinct buried so deep, it can’t be cut out or ignored, an instinct trying to push you into his arms, pleading with you to help him. It hurts, trying to fight it is like trying to swim against a current, your muscles screaming at the struggle, your power thrashing in your veins. The music is no longer a delicate, enchanting thing but a symphony flowing into a fortissimo, brass and strings and keys digging into your soul.

It's too much, your heart pounds in your ears, magic shredding your restraint.

It's too much, and you long to go to him. 

Release him, you command the swamp, and it tightens its embrace, a lover clinging to another, refusing to relent.

Is this not for me?  

No. He is mine. Release him. Now. You press onward, urging the swamp to relax, it’s reluctant acquiesce bringing you a relief so strong you have to hold yourself steady. It recedes, and the two of you stand face to face, chests heaving. You don’t understand what’s happening to you, what this war that rages in your magic, your heart, your entire being means.

He closes his eyes, the shadows receding, disappearing entirely as he takes a long, measured breath, his hand pressing against his ribs, still deep in the dredge of the fen. 

"Are you alr-" 

“Is there anything else I should be aware of, before we continue?” He cuts you off, the heat radiating from his body coming in waves, and you push against the pull.

“No.” You croak. He inclines his head.

“Very well. Lead the way.”

“Why don’t you winnow here?” You're seated on a rock outside the mouth of the cave. The trek itself is the most dangerous part of this task, and the crystal retrieval was uneventful. Boring, even, as you walked side by side with Azriel in silence, contemplating the unexpected amount of remorse over the swamp settling in your stomach like lead.

“I don’t winnow to most places in the Middle if I can help it.”

“No?”

“You never what will be waiting for you, or what you will discover, when you arrive.” You take a bite of your apple and sneak a glance at him. “You’re not angry. About the swamp.”

“No.” He’s preternaturally still, but rife with intensity, alight with an ache you can’t describe.

“Why?”

“I deserve far worse from you.” You say nothing, because what can you say? It’s true.

But if it’s true, why does it feel so awful? 

You stand abruptly, eager to separate yourself from this situation, this confusion and confliction. “I should get these back.” Winnowing from the Middle, at least, is a perfectly safe option, and you’re eager for the escape now.

“Next week?” Your head is pounding, limbs twitching like your body has a will of its own, and suddenly you’re drained, magic and will quickly depleting. He steps closer, brows knitted together in concern. “Are you okay?” No. 

“Y-yeah. I’m going to… I’m going to go.” He frowns.

“You look ill.”

“I’m just tired. The swamp takes it out of me.” You lie weakly with a halfhearted smile that lacks conviction, and before you can do something stupid like reach for him, you draw on your power, giving him one last look. “Next week.”

You’re at the Palace of Bone and Salt when it happens.

The market is packed to the brim, overflowing, most caught up in the approach of Winter Solstice. It’s still weeks out, but all are always eager to celebrate the city’s favorite holiday. Boughs of holly and evergreen, ribbons of red and green decorate the square, twinkling fae lights nestled high and low. You’re looking for bone marrow, but can’t help loitering by the chocolatier’s stall, his perfectly crafted confections artfully arranged in pyramids stretching far past your head. He catches your eye with a smile. “Would you like to try anything?”

“Oh, no, but thank you. They always look so lovely.” He pulls a pink chocolate swirl from the collection that’s caught your eye and holds it out to you.

“On the house then, for Solstice.”

“Thanks so-“ Your gratitude is stolen by a groan, one rattling upward from beneath your feet, the entire market rumbling so violently the stalls creak, their goods tipping to the side.

A quake. 

They’re rare, but not unheard of. The mountains breathe, stretching and straining, the plates they’re built upon occasionally shifting and realigning, all of it causing Velaris’ foundation to shake. These things you know, but you’ve never experienced it firsthand, and you didn’t expect such… force.

The shopkeeper dives beneath his counter, others running in every direction through the market, panic and fear permeating the air. They’re looking for cover, afraid the second and third story buildings may come crashing down on their heads, while others try to outrun it, sprinting away as fast as they can manage.

It’s pandemonium. Everyone is being tossed around, marble and wood falling and rolling, and you’re frozen, rapidly trying to weigh the options, decide what to do when something catches your eye.

A child.

She’s standing in the middle of an aisle, screaming for her mum, and without hesitation, you snag her around the waist to tuck her into your chest, covering the back of her head as you curl into a ball and huddle beneath the counter of the first stall you see.

That’s where you stay, for the next ten minutes. Curved over this little girl who can’t be more than two, holding onto her as tight as you can to quell her screaming, trying to calm her. Things fall on you, something scrapes the side of your face, and it stings, but you don’t let go. You can’t.

You’re somewhere else in your mind. In the Middle as a child, running as fast as you can to the boundary, trying to get to safety as your mother howls. Claws scratch down your back, blackened, putrid magic tries to drag in the bowels of the forest, all while horrid shrieking and crying fills your head. The boundary is too far, and you fold yourself into a hollow, a damp, muddy nest inside the base of a tree where you hold your breath and sit really still, just like you were taught.

The quake ricochets around you, but the screeching in your ears is not from this time, this moment. It’s from then, you and this small child in your arms now the same, scared, alone, and crying for your mothers.

Even once the rumbling stops, you don’t move. Too afraid it will start again and you’ll be caught in the open, you wait. The sticky, festering sap of the memory clings to your synapses, refusing to let you go, embedding itself beneath your skull like it needs to live there, as if you could ever forget. There are moans from the injured, confusion and worry from those who took shelter, but multiple voices rise over the din of everyone else, giving instructions, looking for the wounded and those who need help immediately.

“- was right here, but she let go of my hand… there were too many-“ a frantic female’s voice echoes over through the market, and her terror is met by a kind, reassuring voice.

“We’ll find her.” The girl in your arms makes no attempt to free herself, still shivering in your hold, clinging to you with all her might, and you stay rooted to your spot.

There’s a brush of magic against your mind, a gentle caress that probes the dense sedge wall, and you push it away, opening your eyes to see a beautiful female crouched in front of you. “Hello.” The High Lady. The little girl finally moves, wriggling against you.

“Mara!” Her mother calls, rushing over and scooping her into her arms, sobbing. She looks her daughter over and then holds her tight before trying to approach you. “Thank you, thank you,” she’s reaching for your hand, trying to squeeze it in a manner of gratitude, of love, but you can’t move, still grappling with the noise ringing in your head. There’s more conversation, more of the High Lady’s voice, patient and gentle, and another’s, deeper, heavier.

“-shock, maybe?”

“-go get him,”

“Cassian-“ The second voice is enough to startle you back to yourself somewhat, and you carefully stretch your limbs, crawling out from under the counter and away from them, standing up on your own two feet. The High Lady holds her hand out as if you steady you. “Easy. You’re hurt.” Hurt? You instinctively touch your face, fingers coming back stained crimson. You need to get out of here, need to get as far away from all of this as you can. You’re still trying to right yourself, convince yourself you’re here, not there.

“Maybe you should sit down.” The other one, the big Illyrian who you met in this very place months ago, watches you with concern. You’re shaking, lungs expanding, searching for as much air as they can find, warm trickle of blood falling over your lips and down your chin. Pain registers slowly, no longer isolated to your face, but in your side too, and when you press your hand to your ribs, wet fabric squishes beneath it. More blood.

“Let's get you to a healer,” the High Lady tries, motioning to your head, your side, and when you don’t respond, she frowns, glancing at her companion. The wailing is finally quieting to a point where you can properly think, but words still won’t come, and she’s about to say something else when shadows swirl around the three of you, and Azriel drops from the sky.

Azriel. Your heart sings his name, and the double-edged sword cuts to the quick, opening you up to a strange spark in your chest.

He looks… awful. Insane, even. Wide eyes find you, his wings stretched into a defensive position, shadows spread around him in a dark cloud, and his fear is so palpable you swear you can feel it. All you can do is stare at him as he frantically takes you in, focus never wavering, even as he speaks to those at your side. “What happened?”

“We found her under here,” Cassian points to your hiding spot, “protecting a little girl. We think she’s in shock.”

“She needs a healer.” He grits, hands flexing and relaxing from flat palm into fist, repeatedly.

“We know.” The High Lady angles her body between you and the Shadowsinger. “Az,” her voice is serious, with an undercurrent of authority, “maybe you should back-“

“You need a healer.” He ignores her, and you shake your head. You need to get out of here, to get somewhere safe where you can try to rip out the rot of these memories still nipping at your heels. 

“I need to go. Home, I need to go… home.” I need to go home? That’s the best you can come up with? Cassian snorts, and Azriel says your name, an edge of dominance cutting through the haze of your mind. The blood loss is making you woozy, and the ground is unsteady, continent turning over as you start to feel sluggish. Your vision grows blurry, and then there’s a hand on your cheek.

“Look at me, it's okay.” Azriel murmurs, and you try. You do. There’s something about his touch, the texture of his hands that soothes you, comforts you, but the world is falling away, and darkness is taking you, tugging you into the lull of sleep.

You curl your fingers into his shirt, a last-ditch effort at staying upright, at staying awake, looking up into a never-ending swirl of hazel, green moss and bright umber drenched in panic.

They’re the last thing you see before everything goes black and you slip under.

[lvmimis]

cw: fluff/comfort-ish although it's an overall mild conversation. mention of kidnapping.

Luffy is acting strange.

A little strange might be the baseline for him, of course, but what you’ve noticed in the past 12 hours or so is a bit different than his normal flavor of strange - he’s being odd when it comes to you. 

Your shadow as always, but oddly stiff, Luffy has been navigating around you far too carefully, as if you were to shatter the moment he touched you. His hands hover gently over any part of your body but he avoids touching you unnecessarily; you notice he’s hesitant to hold your hand, and from the moment you woke up this morning, disoriented slightly by the sudden rock of the ship by an unexpectedly large wave, you noticed his modest distance, his forehead gently pressed against the back of your head and his arm loosely draped over your hip, rather than coiled around you like a snake.

Careful, gentle.

It’s so unlike him it makes you nervous. 

“Luffy,” you start finally, once the two of you have a quiet moment, hanging back in the kitchen. Everyone has left by now for their own pursuits after dinner - a few comments about Luffy’s appetite being slightly less terrifying than usual notwithstanding, he was relatively normal. But he’s lingered, crossing his legs on his chair in that familiar pose of his. You didn’t rise, Robin being kind enough to help clear all the dishes, even the half-eaten meal before you (again unthinkable with Luffy around).

The longer you think about it, perhaps the two of you were left alone here on purpose.

Luffy doesn’t respond immediately to the sound of your voice and you repeat his name again, letting your head rest on his shoulder. You can tell he has something to say but is unsure what, and coax him gently to speak by running your hand down the length of his forearm, interlacing your fingers together once you reach the hand.

He turns slowly to you, and the look on his face is apologetic more than anything, surprising for a man who limits emotions more complex than anger and joy in his expression.

“I’m happy you’re safe,” he says, simply.

Yesterday you were kidnapped on your stroll through the city, while Luffy had deviated off your path for a moment to peer at all things shiny and good-smelling. You didn’t immediately follow, and used to Luffy’s lazy but alarming practical yoinks of your body in space, snapping towards his side, you weren’t too automatically surprised when your feet suddenly left the ground.

Until you were face to face with an individual that was decidedly not Luffy at all.

The aftermath of all of that was settled quickly, a flurry of fists and yells quickly resolving the issue, but that wasn’t the part that lingers in Luffy’s psyche.

“I wasn’t in any danger, really,” you insist, and you mean it, not even a singular bruise on your skin, or a hair out of place.

You squeeze Luffy’s hand then smile at him brightly, trying to raise his spirits, even if only in the way the moon reflects back the sun’s shine. He knows it’s true even if it doesn’t necessarily fix things.

He twists his mouth to the side.

“That’s not the problem, is it?” you ask, sensing his continued discomfort. “You can’t expect things like that to not happen, we all have bounties, and-”

“You thought it was me.”

You blink, taken aback, and Luffy lets go of your hand for a moment as he turns fully to face you.

“I came out right when you got grabbed, and you didn’t scream at first until you saw it wasn’t me.”

You pause, letting his implication sit in.

“Luffy, what are you trying to say?” you ask.

He pauses for a moment, mulling the words in his mouth again, and your eyebrow furrows.

“You’ve said I was too rough with you before, but I didn’t think I was that bad.”

You open your mouth and close it, considering the fact that you wouldn’t be surprised if he threw you off a cliff with the promise to catch you at the bottom, as it wouldn’t help. 

“I trust you, Luffy,” you say instead, unexpected Gum-Gum Rockets aside. “It’s okay if you get excited, I know that you love me and would never hurt me.”

He pauses for a moment, eyeing you as if to detect any softening of the truth, and perhaps you are smoothing over the truth, but you are telling the truth.

The rowdy man before you, a little too strong for his own good, perhaps passionate as ever, never means to hurt you, and loves you terribly.

“I’m sturdier than you think,” you remind him. With that, you offer him a kiss on the cheek, which warms him, and he’s quick to take your own face in his two hands, the grin back on his face.

“I’ll be more careful,” he still promises anyway.

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be a little playful at all,” you remind him, your hands gently covering his.

“I want you to feel safe with me,” he finally says, in a soft voice and you offer him back the biggest widest smile.

“There’s no safer place than when I'm with you.”

[yasministration]

Protective Aaron Hotchner with wife reader during their son, Jack soccer game. Fluff and maybe suggestive 👀 Thanks!! :))

0.7k words

The two chairs you laid out for you and Aaron stay empty as you make sure Jack is hydrated enough before running onto the field, pressing one last 'good luck' kiss to his temple. When he's on and the coach instructs the beginning of their warmup, you settle into the chair, stretching your legs in the sun, enjoying the warmth on your skin. The weather has just begun warming up with the seasonal change into spring, yet you still wear a stolen knit sweater from your husband's wardrobe. The whistle blows, signalling the start of the game. Leaning to the side, you reached for the iced drink on the floor beside you, but when you straightened back up, you found that someone had invaded your space. "Oh! Hello." You laughed in shock, eyes flickering between the broad-shouldered man in front of you and your son's game.

"Hey! Figured since Jack's playing, this chair will be empty for a bit." His hair was greying, and he sported a salt and pepper beard, a false look of security and trust in his eyes. Furrowing your eyebrows at him, you sipped your drink silently. His failed attempt at a joke had his shoulders slumping subtly with insecurity, though he tried re-engaging you by sitting down in your husband's chair without hesitation. You blinked a couple of times, taken aback by the man's audacity. Sure, he'd taken your husband's seat - red flag number one - but why did he know Jack's name when you had no idea who he was? Aaron had cursed you with his wariness. "Which one's your kid?" You questioned cautiously, observing carefully as he took a swing of his beer at the bright hour of ten in the morning. "Oh, Bryce over there. Let's go Bryce, good job buddy!!" He yelled out towards the game before disinterestedly turning back to face you. "I'm guessing you don't recognise me?" The nameless man started, leaning back in Aaron's chair, "I always see you here. It's either you or your boyfriend right? Mostly you though. I'm guessing he's not around often." He glanced away, his beer at his lips, a cocky smirk gracing his feature. He definitely thought he got you with that one.

Glimpsing down at the ring on your left hand with an incredulous expression, you held in a mocking laugh. Opening your mouth to retort, you were interrupted by someone else's words. "Husband. I'd thought anyone would be able to tell by the ring on her finger. And I hate to be that person man, but you're in my seat." Your head snapped towards your husband's deep, authoritative voice, a smile making it's way onto your features. "Aaron! You're early!" You jumped up, throwing your arms over Aaron's shoulder and pulling him towards you for a chaste kiss. Aaron returned your smile, letting his hands linger at your waist before turning his gaze to the ill-mannered man. You pretended not to notice his intimidating glare towards the man until he left, busying your gaze with the match happening in front of you.

When Aaron's hands slipped away from your waist, you turned your attention back to him, grinning when you saw him take his rightful place on the garden chair, rolling his shoulders back. You crouched down to retrieve his drink, staring at him happily when he thanked you and took a sip from it, snaking his hand in yours. "Thought you'd take longer." You mumbled, cocking your head to the side. "I just had to drop off some papers. Couldn't spend my day off away from you two." You hummed, eyes quickly finding Jack on the field, his short legs carrying him across the floor. Aaron let go of your hand, placing his on your thigh, and you turned towards him to press a kiss on his cheek before averting your gaze again.

Curiously scanning the parents around the field, one thing caught your eye. The inappropriate father was now joined by his child's mother, clad in a matching sports set and bearing a giant diamond on her ring finger. You wonder if she saw your interaction or if she, perhaps, was busying herself with another woman's husband.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Handled.

You and Chibs have been walking the line for a little too long.

Pairing - Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention.

Word Count - 1.5k ish??

Author's Note - I can only apologise for the wild gif, but I saw it and couldn't not use it. this fic is based on this request!! thank you for this message my love - it sparked so many thoughts. I made chibs a little sweeter than I meant to, oops.

Masterlist. Inbox.

The wind whips through your hair as you speed down the road, sunlight beaming down and warming you both.

You have your helmet tightly strapped on your head, a gift from the man currently in front of you on the bike. He'd grumbled as he'd given it to you, mumbling something about someone has to keep you fuckin' safe and last thing we need is an injury to your pretty face.

It's a complicated relationship you have, to say the least. You're not together. No, Chibs is still technically married to Fiona, and he's not exactly the boyfriend type. You're not sure what you want, reluctant to commit to dating a member of the club and all of the danger that comes along with it.

So, you dance the line. The two of you flirt, laughing and touching. You get close, and then you pull away. You wonder if one day, he'll just crack. He knows that if he starts something, he'll have to finish it. He's not a man who works in halves.

Chibs occasionally takes a hand off the handlebars to squeeze your thigh, a silent communication. He's asking are you okay? And you're reaching forward to squeeze his in reply, answering yeah, I am.

Your arms are wrapped around his middle, safe and secure. You can feel the taut muscles of his back and shoulders through the leather jacket that you're pressed against. You know how big he is - tall and broad and unwavering in the face of danger. He's ruthless, and it turns you on. It probably shouldn't, but it does.

The next time he reaches back to squeeze your thigh, you graze your fingernails along the muscle of his before squeezing back much further up. You feel the tension instantly, his back tightening in front of you. You smirk and hold on again, acting like nothing happened.

He's curious, now. Testing the waters. He squeezes your leg again, firmly, and you squeeze back so high that your fingertips graze his bulge. His breath hitches, and you feel it. You grin.

He pinches your thigh this time, sharply. A warning.

One that you ignore. You dance your fingertips higher, lightly stroking across the tent in his jeans, nails scraping the denim. He hums, low and dangerous, vibrations rumbling through the both of you.

You return your hands to his torso, clinging on tightly as you curve around the bends, scenery flying by. You're back at the clubhouse before you know it, the journey as quick as the blink of an eye.

You act like nothing has happened as you get off the bike. You know the two of you have just crossed a line, moving from friendship to something more. You don't want to address it. So, you hang your helmet onto the handlebars and go to walk away, in desperate need of a drink.

A strong hand grabs your wrist, spinning you back around. You collide with a hard chest, a soft oof leaving you. Chibs looks you up and down slowly, gaze raking across your body and stopping at your mouth. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip before pulling you in closer, hands snaking around your back.

"Where do you think you're goin'?"

You take a deep breath and exhale it in a shudder.

"... Inside?"

"Nuh uh," he tuts, tracing patterns across your skin absentmindedly. "You don't get to pull a stunt like that and just walk away."

You decide to play clueless, hoping it'll get you off easier.

"A stunt like what?"

He pulls you in closer again, so your bodies are pressed against each other. No space between you.

"Oh, sweetheart. This innocent act might work on other people, but it doesn't work on me. I see right through ya."

You find a shred of confidence from somewhere, determined to make him sweat a little. You enjoy getting under his skin.

"And what do you see, Filip? Hmm?"

He smirks, mischievous and knowing.

"I see a strong, independent woman, who wants - no, sorry - needs, someone to put her in her place."

You raise your eyebrows at him, so he keeps going.

"You want to be broken apart and put back together again. You enjoy pushing my buttons, trying to get a rise from me, don't you? You think it's fun. But you've got no fuckin' idea about the things I want to do to you, honey. I'm not sure you want to know."

You're panting, now, your chest heaving with anticipation.

"Tell me," you whisper. "Tell me what you want to do to me. Please."

"Please? You wanna be polite now?"

You practically pout at him, big doe eyes begging him to just give in. But Filip Telford is nothing if not stubborn. He is, in fact, the most adamant person you've ever met.

"Chibs."

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Don't be mean."

"Mean? This ain't mean, baby. You're just used to everyone being sweet to you because you're pretty."

You smile, now. That's a pleasant surprise.

"You think I'm pretty?"

He rolls his eyes at you, chuckling.

"I think you know that by now."

"It's just nice to hear you say it."

He leans forward, pressing his mouth to your ear.

"You know what? Yeah. Let's go inside."

Chibs grabs your hand and leads you with him, pulling you at a quick pace across the yard. When you reach the door, he pulls it open for you, gesturing for you to enter first. Ever the gentleman.

The clubhouse is empty, which makes a change. The minute you’re inside, you feel two hands on your hips, pushing your back into the bar.

“You really wanna know?”

His accent has got thicker, tone low and dangerous.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please. Tell me.”

“You’ll never look at me the same,” he begins, leaning down to speak right into your ear. “When you hear what I want to do to you.. the things I’ve thought about… you won’t be able to look me in the eye, sweetheart.”

You chuckle, tilting your head back to look at his face.

“I think you underestimate me a little, Chibs. Wait until you hear the things I’ve thought about in bed at night, when I can’t sleep.”

He presses a kiss into your neck, nipping at it gently. You groan at the contact, tilting your head to give him better access. One of his hands trails down your side, popping the button on your jeans with ease.

“Gonna take the edge off,” he murmurs, “and then fuck you the way you deserve when I get you home. Alright?”

You nod frantically, gripping onto his biceps to keep you upright. You rest your head against his chest, taking a deep breath to calm down.

“Chibs?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Will you kiss me?”

He smiles at you, all genuine and soft for a moment.

“Yeah, babe. I’ll kiss you. Been waiting for you to ask for a long time.”

He adds the last part quietly, as if he’s embarrassed to say it out loud. He leans down and presses his lips to yours, more tender than you were expecting. You hum in contentment, opening up to let him slip his tongue in. He tilts your head back, licking into your mouth all filthy and debauched.

One of his hands slips into the front of your jeans, tracing you over your underwear. You both groan at the action, lips still connected.

“Fuck, sweetheart. This all for me, hmm?”

You nod almost instantly, resting your head back on his chest. Chibs slips his hand under your waistband, gathering your slick before sliding a finger inside with ease.

“Knew you’d feel like this. Wet and warm and tight and fuckin’ perfect.”

You whine, winding your hips down to chase any friction he’ll give you.

“You’re filthy, darlin’. Letting me finger you in the clubhouse, huh? What if someone walks in, hmm? What if someone sees you like this?”

“Don’t care,” you choke out. “More, please.”

He chuckles darkly, slipping another finger in while rubbing at your clit in circles with his thumb. Your knees buckle, shaking as you grab onto him for dear life.

“I’ve got ya,” he’s murmuring into your ear, crooking his fingers. “I’ve always got ya.”

He speeds up his movements, leaning in to press open mouthed kisses down your neck. He nips you with his teeth occasionally, making you whine all high pitched and breathy. You know you’re gonna smell like cigarettes and gasoline for the foreseeable future.

“You’re close, aren’t ya? Can feel it, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

Chibs snakes his unoccupied hand around your back, holding you up as your legs shake. You fall over the edge, gasping into his chest as he mutters sweet nothings.

“There we go, atta girl. Good fuckin’ girl, hmm?”

You’re nodding, collapsing forwards against him. He pulls his hand from your jeans and instantly puts his fingers in his mouth, making your knees even weaker.

“Kiss me,” you whisper once again.

He obliges, softly connecting your lips. It’s gentle and careful and much more loving than you were expecting, but you’re not complaining. Not in the slightest.

“Now, darlin’. I’m gonna stick you back on that bike, take you home, and fuck you like you deserve. Okay?”

“Okay,” you grin at him, laughing when he chuckles.

You’d have to be insane to deny an offer like that.

@just-a-girl-who-wrytes

[yan-lorkai]

Hello would you please do a yandere leona x reader x yandere jamil pls?thank you

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ The air in NRC had grown heavier lately, thick with something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. You'd noticed the way Leona's golden eyes tracked your every move, how Jamil's lingering touches carried an edge of something far more possessive than friendly. At first, you told yourself you were imagining things - until the day you realized there was no escape from either of them.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Leona made his intentions clear in his typical blunt fashion. He'd corner you after classes, his muscular frame caging you against the wall as his tail flicked lazily behind him. "Stop pretending you don't want this," he'd purr, the rumble of his voice vibrating through your chest. His kisses were demanding, his hands claiming every inch of you as his own.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ When he bit down on your neck hard enough to leave marks that lasted for days, you knew he wanted everyone to see - to know exactly who you belonged to. The worst part is that you didn't mind.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ But Jamil played a different game. His approach was subtle, calculated. He'd appear at your side with perfectly timed concern, his voice honey-sweet as he offered to walk you to class or bring you tea. "You look exhausted," he'd murmur, fingers brushing against yours as he passed you the cup. The liquid always left you feeling strangely pliant, your thoughts fuzzy as he guided you somewhere private.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ His touches were gentle at first but grew more insistent when no one was watching. "Don't you feel safer with me?" he'd whisper against your skin, his arms wrapping around you in a grip that felt more like chains than an embrace.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ The tension between them was palpable. You'd catch Jamil's eyes darkening when he saw Leona's marks on your skin, his usual composed mask slipping to reveal something far more dangerous underneath. Leona, in turn, would growl low in his throat whenever Jamil got too close, his tail lashing like an irritated predator.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ "Back off, snake," he'd snarl, pulling you possessively against his side. "They're mine."

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Somehow, they came to an arrangement - though "arrangement" suggested you had any say in the matter. Leana claimed your days, parading you around Savanaclaw with his arm draped possessively over your shoulders. His fellow students knew better than to even look at you twice. Jamil took the nights, slipping into your dorm with silent footsteps to whisper poisonous sweet nothings in your ear as he held you just a little too tight.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Things came to a head when you made the mistake of trying to pull away. A simple "I need space" was all it took to shatter whatever fragile restraint they'd been clinging to. Leona's grip turned bruising as he dragged you into an empty classroom, his usual lazy demeanor replaced by something feral. "After everything I've given you?" he hissed, his canines glinting in the dim light. "You don't get to walk away from me."

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ That same night, Jamil appeared in your room, his smile never reaching his cold eyes as he pressed a too-sweet drink into your hands. "Oh darling," he murmured, watching you closely as the drugged liquid took effect. "Did you really think you had a choice?"

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Escape was a futile fantasy. Leona's sharp senses could track you anywhere on campus, and Jamil always seemed to know your movements before you did. The one time you tried running, you didn't make it past the gates before both of them were there - Leona's furious snarl blending with Jamil's cold, disappointed tone as they dragged you back.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ The worst part? Somewhere deep down, a traitorous part of you has started to believe them. When Leona's rough affection leaves you breathless, when Jamil's whispered promises seep into your dreams... you find yourself wondering if this is where you were always meant to be. Theirs. Now, and forever.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Now you exist in their twisted equilibrium, caught between Leona's scorching possessiveness and Jamil's icy obsession. They fight over you constantly - not to let you go, but to determine who gets to keep you longer, who you belong to more.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Some days Leona wins, his raw power overwhelming as he pins you beneath him, teeth grazing your throat as he growls. "Mine." Other nights, Jamil emerges victorious, his slender fingers carding through your hair as he murmurs. "You'll always come back to me, won't you?"

[rafesangelita]

♡ bitchy!pogue!reader brings a friend to tanneyhill..

warnings: sex work, threesome (m + f + f), face sitting, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, a little but of wlw

a/n: i’m really nervous about posting this fic in particular because it’s my first time writing smut with another woman so please give me some grace!

“how the fuck did you even discover this place?!” topper ran his hands through his hair, his jaw falling slack as his eyes danced around the room full of pretty girls prancing around in trashy lingerie and heels. ‘pink sugar’ was by far the most attended to strip joint on the cut— and it showed. as soon as any patron walked in, they were immediately hit with a whirlwind of cheap perfume, body glitter, and sparkly lipgloss. it was every man’s wet dream come true.. including rafe’s.

“life on figure eight gets stale after a while, bro. sometimes you just gotta expand a little bit, y’know?” topper nodded even though the words that rafe just said went in one ear and right out the other. the two of them took a seat in front of the main stage, a waitress wasting no time in getting their drink orders taken up to the front. while rafe had been here a handful of times, topper was like a kid in a candy store as he sat in awe.

meanwhile, you were getting ready in the locker room, both you and your best friend sticking rhinestones around each other’s eyes as you two waited to be called out by the dj for your turn to perform. “it better be a full house tonight.. i already have my eyes on these shoes, and there’s no way in hell i’m not getting them.” you cursed under your breath, running a pink comb through your hair to make sure everything looked perfect.

just as you adjusted the garter straps of your stockings, you heard your name being announced to the crowd outside. “good luck out there!” your bestie called out behind you, a giggle leaving your lips as you waved. even though you were more than familiar with the atmosphere already, you couldn’t help the thumping of your heart everytime you walked out from behind the curtains and felt the burning stares from the hungry men in the audience against your skin.

you smiled sweetly, the lights dimming just in time for you to lock eyes with two guys in the front. one looked laid back, his gaze raking down your figure as he drank from his glass, and the other looked like he couldn’t believe you were real. you knew right away he was a first timer by the way he leaned forward in his seat. pretending no one else was in the room, you started dancing, the floor already being littered with various dollar bills.

you tuned out the whistles and the hollering and focused on only the music, your set going by faster than you thought. with only one more song left on your list of requests, you stepped down from the stage, your hips swaying as you walked over to the two men you saw when you first came out. snaking your hands down the chest of the one with a buzz cut, you kneeled between his thighs before feeling him over his lap, his jaw clenching as he watched you intently.

rafe knew as soon as you looked up at him with something a little more than just lust in your eyes, he was going to have to take you away from here, your glossy lips shining underneath the neon lighting of the club. originally coming out to pre-game for the rager rafe was throwing tonight at tanneyhill, he figured he’d get the party going early with you looking so fucking pretty between his legs. he didn’t get to dwell on the sight for too long before you left him alone just as the song ended.

flashing him a wink, rafe watched you disappear backstage, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. blinking out of his trance, rafe told topper he would be right back with more drinks before making his way over to the bar. “excuse me,” rafe motioned the bartender over, “do you know how i can talk to the girl that was just on stage?” he asked. “y/n? she usually comes out and converses with the crowd when she’s done with a set, she’ll be out here soon.”

quickly ordering three rounds of shots, rafe made his way back over to his seat only to see you and a friend of yours already over there laughing at something topper was saying. “—oh, here he is now..” topper laughed nervously, taking the tray of shots out of rafe’s hands as you two shared a look. “you talking about me?” his voice alone gave you butterflies, his tall form making you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

“don’t worry he didn’t say anything bad..” kitty, your best friend, teased. rafe looked over at her, his eyes wandering down her own sexy get-up. fixing his gaze back on you, rafe leaned down to whisper in your ear. “do you do personal parties?” he all but groaned once he smelled your sugary sweet skin, the sound shooting straight down to your panties. “personal parties?” you repeated, “it’s gonna cost you.” rafe scoffed, not worried about the money.

“give me a number.” he placed a gentle hand on the small of your back, pulling you close. you and kitty side glanced one another, a smile gracing your lips as your nails snaked around the buckle of his belt. “what kind of party?” you asked, making sure you were aware of what you were getting yourself into before agreeing to anything. “i’m throwing a house party tonight on figure eight, all of my friends are big spenders.. just putting that out there.”

you thought it over for a moment, a small part of you feeling intimidated since you weren’t familar with figure eight, nor did you know anyone that lived on that side of the island. “ten thousand, and i get to bring my friend over here.” you nodded towards kitty who was already sitting in topper’s lap. “perfect. do you need a second to get your things? i can take both of you straight over there.” you hummed at his words, silently signaling kitty to meet you in the back.

she excused herself from topper, both of you walking closely with each other to the locker rooms. “so what are we doing?” she was quick to touch up her makeup, changing out of her dancing shoes and into some platform heels. “that guy out there is willing to give me ten thousand to go to a party he’s having on figure eight, but if you come with me we’ll split it, plus he said his friends were ‘big spenders’, so that’s five thousand each excluding tips.”

without having to say another word, kitty was immediately on board, both of you squealing excitedly before grabbing your purses from your lockers. following the guys out of the club, you allowed rafe to open the passenger door for you, topper and kitty filing in the back before rafe started up his truck. he put on his music loud enough for you to feel the bass in your chest, a mix of excitement and anticipation swirling in your tummy.

you didn’t know what you were expecting to pull up to, but a mansion as huge as rafe’s definitely wasn’t on your list of possibilities. there was cars already filling the streets, people lining the gates of the house as rafe parked in the driveway, his arms wrapping around your waist as he helped you get down from the truck. you and kitty waited for him to start letting people in before leading both of you through the front door, topper following closely behind.

“i just need you two to cater towards my people, alright? these guys don’t know what a good time really looks like and i want y’all to be the ones to show them, ‘sound good?” just as he was going to send you and kitty off to the living room, you stopped him. “we need to get paid before we do anything.” rafe glanced between you and your bestie and nodded. “of course, why don’t you two follow me upstairs and we can get that out of the way?”

doing as you were told, you and kitty both looked around the house as he lead both of you to the master bedroom. “it’s in here.” he welcomed you two in, doing a quick sweep of the hallway before locking the door behind him. taking a seat on the huge bed, you and kitty watched as rafe took a metal briefcase out of his closet and entered a pin for it to unlock. looking up, rafe admired both of you as kitty ran her fingers through your hair, a smile adorning your lips as she did so.

both of you were so unremarkably gorgeous, it was hard for him to count money as you two giggled with each other. while fixing one of the rhinestones on kitty’s face, she was staring at the body glitter on your cleavage, running a finger over the sparkly dust. “are you trying to cop a feel?” you teased, moving your hand to rest on her thigh. rafe’s jaw clenched at the sight. “maybe..” kitty laughed, both of you leaning into each other as your hands wandered further up underneath her skirt.

rafe cleared his throat, both of you snapping out of whatever this was. “this is the money right here,” he held up the stacks of cash for you two to see, “however, both of you seemed to have piqued my interest..” glancing at each other confusingly, you and kitty waited for rafe to explain. walking over to the chair that sat in the corner of the room, he took a seat. “take each other’s clothes off.” at this, you felt your heart starting to beat in your ears.

sharing a look, you and kitty had the same nervous expression written all over your faces. “for ten more grand, can you beautiful ladies let me watch?” you had to refrain from letting your jaw drop to the floor, your stomach flipping at the new offer. kitty scooted closer to you, her hand shielding her mouth as she whispered in your ear. “what do you think?” blinking, you stole a glance at the full brief case that sat on the hardwood desk against the wall.

“i think he can do better than ten thousand dollars..” you whispered back, your faces just mere inches away from each other’s. “make it fifteen.” you looked over at rafe, shrugging off your coat to reveal your outfit from earlier. “how about twenty?” kitty swore you could hear her heart beating out of her chest. “tell him it’s a deal.” she whispered, getting up from her spot on his bed. “we’ll do it.” with his cock already stirring in his pants, he leaned back in his seat as you and kitty pressed a soft kiss to each other’s lips.

stepping out of your heels, you snaked your fingers behind kitty’s top, her hands resting on the globes of your ass as you untied the strings to her sequined bra. you and kitty have been best friends for as long as you can remember, you two literally started dancing at pink sugar together, there was nothing that you two hadn’t seen of each other already. “are you okay?” she spoke low so rafe couldn’t hear. humming softly, you kissed her again, allowing her to slip off the lace material of your underwear.

rafe swallowed thickly, his eyes traveling over your naked figure. despite there being two of you, he found himself zeroed in on only yourself, your stare holding his as kitty kissed down your neck. “should we include him?” you whispered against her skin, running your palms down her side. “you like him, don’t you?” she giggled. you blinked slowly, refraining from smiling as you hummed quietly. “go get him.” rafe shifted his weight in his chair as you walked over, carefully straddling his lap.

“me and kitty want to share you..” you ran your hands over his chest before undoing the buttons of his shirt, the sight of his toned stomach encouraging you to do away with his belt next. rafe watched you as you palmed him through his pants, his tongue poking out to run over his bottom lip. taking his hand in yours, you helped him stand up on his feet before getting him out of his clothes and leading him to where you and kitty were.

laying him down, rafe looked at the two of you as each of you kneeled on either sides of him. “tell us what you want us to do.” kitty stroked his inner thigh while you took his cock in your hand, a strangled groan rumbling from his chest at your touch. his chest rose and fell while he took a moment to think. “i want kitty on my face and you on my cock.” he looked at you with hooded eyes, your head moving in kitty’s direction. “whatever you want, handsome.”

you and your best friend held hands as if to hold onto each other for leverage, her mouth falling open as rafe skillfully circled her entrance with his tongue, her hips moving smoothly so the tip of his nose was nudging her clit with every stroke. you on the other hand, could barely keep up with his thrusts as he stuffed you full, your moans bouncing off of his bedroom walls. “fuck, he feels so good.” you whimpered, nearly doubling over as he started thrusting from underneath you even harder.

kitty’s head hung low in defeat as she rode rafe’s face, her thighs trembling around his head as he licked and sucked at her soaked cunt. you clenched around him, squeezing him tightly as he groaned in response. kitty was speechless at the whole ordeal, her eyes rolling far back into her head as rafe held onto her thighs so she couldn’t get away from him. “oh, god—!” kitty gasped, her chest rising and falling as rafe pushed her over the edge, her hands dropping from yours in order to dig her nails into his skin.

rafe cursed when he felt the stinging sensation, your hips still moving as he loosened his grip on kitty’s thighs. he kept up his ministrations until your best friend got off of him with a squeal, overstimulation setting in as she laid next to him still going through the aftershocks of her orgasm. rafe licked his lips clean, wasting no time in sitting up against his headboard, his hands grabbing onto the globes of your ass so he could bounce you on top of him.

you buried your face in his chest, the scent of his cologne only adding to your cock drunk state. “you’re so fucking tight, holy shit—” he tugged on your earlobe with his teeth, your clit meeting his pubic bone as kitty took a seat behind you, her hands coming around to cup your tits as she moved your hair to one side of your shoulders to expose your neck. holding your head up, you shuddered when you felt her lips on your skin, her teeth nipping the sensitive flesh there.

you were a mess by the time rafe’s hips started bucking, kitty’s lips finding yours as you came with a cry, his moans echoing in your ears as he pulled you against his chest. you clenched around him as he came inside of you, his cum painting your insides as he panted. letting out a sigh, rafe thumbed your chin, both of you sharing a heated kiss before kitty got up and helped you slide off of him. “you okay?” she asked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “yes, are you?” kitty nodded, both of you slipping back on your clothes.

rafe watched as you two cleaned yourselves up, his hand motioning towards the money. “it’s all there..” he trailed off, “kitty you think i can get a word alone with y/n here?” grabbing her stack, she nodded before going into the bathroom, leaving you and rafe alone together. “i want you to come back tomorrow, ‘spend the weekend with me.” you bit your lip, glancing over at the bathroom door. “i don’t know if kitty will be busy—”

“no, just you,” he cut you off, “i want you by yourself.”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[cruel-seduction]

Hi lovey! I loved your werewolf Theo x reader so muchhh! I was wondering how Theo would be there for reader when the reader is really upset or sick etc. Like some sort of emotional bonding between them

Feverish & Feral

Werewolf!theo au (u can read it as standalone)

word count - 3.5k+

Summary: You thought Theodore only wanted you for one thing, but when illness hit and you refused help, he was still there. Reluctantly taking care of you in ways he never imagined for anyone—fighting, cooking, cleaning, and even washing your clothes—he started revealing more than just his usual sarcasm. In the mess of tantrums and stubbornness, confessions slipped out, changing everything.

Content Warning: Fluff, stubbornness, fights, Theodore being surprisingly domestic, injuries while cooking, cleaning period panties (yes, you read that right), clumsy room, messy life, emotional tension, and unexpected vulnerability.

The storm outside had been relentless for hours, thick raindrops battering against the windows, the howling wind rattling through the cracks. The cold seeped into the walls, an unwelcome guest lingering in the dimly lit space. The fireplace in the corner had long since burned out, leaving only the faintest traces of warmth, smothered by the icy air that hung around like a phantom.

And then, there was Theodore Nott.

Standing in the doorway like a shadow come to life, his long coat soaked through, dark curls damp from the rain. His face was unreadable, but his presence was suffocating, demanding, an unspoken weight pressing into the room.

You barely had the strength to sit up, but your glare was unwavering.

"Do what you wanna do and get the hell out."

Your voice, rough from fever, scraped against the silence. The venom was still there, even as exhaustion made your limbs heavy, your body sinking deeper into the couch.

But Theodore didn’t move.

His sharp, calculating gaze swept over you, taking in the disheveled state you were in. Messy hair, swollen eyes, a sheen of sweat clinging to your feverish skin. You looked ruined. Broken. And his jaw clenched.

Something inside him twisted, coiled tight like a snake ready to strike. Someone had hurt you. Who? Who had touched what was his?

You saw it then—the flicker of rage in his eyes, the unmistakable promise of violence. His hands curled into fists at his sides, chest rising and falling as his breathing grew measured, controlled. But his silence spoke volumes.

"Calm down, prince charming. I’m just sick, not murdered."

Your dry laugh barely made it past your lips, your head tilting back against the couch cushions. But Theodore didn’t look amused. Instead of rolling his eyes, instead of scoffing and turning on his heel to leave, he did something you hadn’t expected.

He stepped inside.

The heavy door clicked shut behind him, sealing out the storm. His coat dripped water onto the wooden floor, but he didn’t bother removing it. His focus remained locked onto you, assessing, calculating.

"You look disgusting."

His voice was low, even, laced with something unreadable.

"Charming. Should I swoon?" you rasped, shifting under his gaze.

"You should take better care of yourself."

"Wow, great advice. I’ll be sure to pass that on to my immune system."

His nostrils flared. You were insufferable.

"You let yourself get sick."

"Oh, I let myself get sick? My bad, next time I’ll simply choose not to catch a fever."

"Next time, I expect you to have the sense to not run yourself into the ground."

"Next time, I expect you to mind your damn business."

His eyes darkened. There she is. Even feverish, barely able to sit up straight, you were still all sharp edges and venom. He had expected nothing less.

Theodore sighed, rubbing his temple. "Where’s your medicine?"

"Gone."

"You didn’t restock it?"

"No, because I didn’t think I’d need it."

"You are single handedly proving that you should not be left unsupervised."

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I’ve survived just fine without you."

The moment the words left your mouth, your vision swam. A wave of dizziness washed over you, dragging you under. Your head lolled, breath hitching. And before you could even process what was happening, Theodore was already moving.

He caught you before you slipped off the couch, his strong arms wrapping around you with an ease that made your stomach twist.

"Fucking hell—" he muttered under his breath, shifting you effortlessly against his chest.

"Put me down—"

"Not a chance, little tyrant."

You weakly smacked his shoulder, but he didn’t so much as flinch. His grip was firm, steady, his scent—expensive cologne and rain—wrapping around you as he carried you down the hallway like you weighed nothing.

"You’re overreacting."

"Oh, forgive me for reacting at all. I should’ve just let you collapse onto the floor, hmm?"

"That would’ve been preferable."

He scoffed. "Of course it would."

The bedroom door creaked open, and the next thing you knew, you were being deposited onto the bed, the sheets cool against your overheated skin. Theodore didn’t leave—not that you expected him to. He merely straightened, rolling his sleeves up to his forearms, his watch glinting under the dim lighting.

Then, without a word, he turned and left the room.

You barely had time to revel in the brief moment of peace before he returned, a glass of water in one hand, a damp cloth in the other.

"Drink." You eyed the glass warily. "No."

"Drink."

"What if I don’t?"

"Then I’ll make you."

"You wouldn’t dare."

His brow lifted, a silent challenge. And before you could react, he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand gripping your jaw—not hard, but firm enough to leave no room for argument.

"Open."

"I hate you."

"That’s lovely, dove. Open your mouth."

You glared at him, your pride warring with your exhaustion. But Theodore was not a patient man, and before you could push him away, he tipped the glass against your lips, forcing the cool water into your mouth.

You sputtered, swallowing instinctively.

"See? Not so hard." His voice was annoyingly smug.

You would’ve thrown the glass at him if you had the energy. Instead, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, scowling. "You’re the worst person I’ve ever met."

"Oh, I’m honored."

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Theodore had seen horrors in his life. He had seen blood spill like ink, watched men beg for their last breath. He had seen war, death, and things that would haunt most people in their dreams.

And yet, nothing—nothing—had ever tested his patience like taking care of you.

His eye twitched as he surveyed the disaster you called home. Clothes were thrown carelessly over furniture, blankets tangled on the floor, dishes stacked in the sink like some kind of structural experiment. It was truly impressive how someone so meticulous in insults could be this much of a mess.

"It’s like I walked into a crime scene," Theodore muttered, stepping over a pile of unfolded laundry.

"Oh, piss off," you grumbled, still wrapped in blankets on the bed, looking utterly miserable. "I’ve been sick. Excuse me for not putting on a maid outfit and dusting for your majesty."

"Sick or not, this is borderline a health violation. How do you even find anything in this pigsty?"

"I have a system."

"A system? Where? Under this pile of what I can only assume were once clean clothes?" He nudged a discarded sweater with the tip of his shoe.

"I know where everything is."

"Really? Where’s your medicine?"

You opened your mouth—then promptly shut it. Theodore sighed through his nose, exasperated. "Exactly."

Ignoring the insult you were most certainly preparing to launch at him, he shrugged off his coat and rolled his sleeves up again. He had no idea how long he would be here, but judging by the pathetic state you were in, he figured he should make himself useful.

"Alright, since you clearly have no sense of self-preservation, I’ll do it for you."

"Do what?"

"Cook, clean—basic survival skills you seem to lack."

You snorted. "Seeing you I am pretty sure you don’t know how to cook." Theodore’s lips curled into something sharp. "I am aware."

"Then don’t bother."

"Would you prefer to starve?"

"Yes."

"Well, unfortunately for you, I have more sense than to let you perish over your own stubbornness."

You groaned dramatically, shoving your face into the pillow. "God, I hate you."

"Mm, of course you do, darling."

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The kitchen was… an experience.

Theodore had seen others cook. Watched as chefs prepared extravagant meals in his father’s estate. But he had never actually done it himself. He was quickly realizing that it was far more tedious than it looked.

He frowned at the pot of soup simmering on the stove, stirring it as though it had personally wronged him. How hard could it be? Water, vegetables, heat—done. He had barely thought of the words when a sudden sizzle cracked through the air.

Pain shot through his hand, sharp and biting. He jerked back, glaring at the pot as if it had insulted his entire bloodline.

What the fuck.

Theodore turned on the sink, shoving his hand under the cold water. How did people do this daily?

"Did you just burn yourself?"

Your hoarse voice echoed from the doorway. He turned to find you standing there, wrapped in a blanket like some fever-ridden specter.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"Observing your downfall."

His jaw ticked. "Sit down before you collapse and kill yourself."

"Did you really burn yourself? After mocking me for not taking care of myself?"

"It was a minor miscalculation."

"Right. The soup fought back."

Theodore exhaled sharply through his nose. "If you must know, I was ensuring the proper temperature."

"By sticking your hand in it?"

"I do not recall asking for your input."

You grinned—weak, but victorious. Theodore turned back to the stove, only to immediately hiss in pain when he went to grab the knife. Blood beaded at his fingertip.

A small cut. Minor inconvenience.

But then—laughter.

Theodore stilled. He turned his head, watching as you clutched the doorway, giggling despite how miserable you looked.

"You’re useless!" you wheezed. "Oh, this is so funny. Where’s that brooding alpha jerk??? Like Babygirl daddy’s here." You tried to fake deep your voice and then continued laughing. 

Theodore’s fingers tightened around the counter. "You are one second away from not eating at all." You wiped tears from your fever-bright eyes. "Worth it."

With an exhausted sigh, Theodore forced himself to focus. The soup—which he would not let defeat him—was almost done. He ladled some into a bowl, the scent of vegetables and herbs filling the air. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was edible. He turned, approaching you with the bowl.

"Eat."

"No."

"Eat."

"Absolutely not."

Theodore pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are insufferable."

"And you are a failure of a chef. How do I know this isn’t poisoned?"

"Oh, trust me, if I wanted you dead, I’d have found a far more efficient way than making you subpar soup."

You huffed. "Flattering."

"Eat the damn soup."

"Make me."

A mistake.

The moment the words left your mouth, Theodore took the spoon, scooped up the steaming liquid, and shoved it toward you. You barely had time to react before he had a hand cradling your jaw, forcing the spoon between your lips.

You sputtered, choking slightly as you swallowed. "What the fuck, Theodore!"

"Hmm. Looks like you can be fed like a child after all."

"You’re psychotic!"

"And yet, I’m the one keeping you alive."

Your glare could have melted glass. Theodore, however, simply smirked, lifting another spoonful.

"Open up. Unless you’d prefer me to hold your nose next time?"

This was going to be a long night.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Theodore stood at the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands wrist-deep in soapy water. If someone had told him three weeks ago that he’d be here—half-drenched in dishwater, hair mussed from steam, and wearing one of your oversized jumpers which barely fitted him. It was like it was crushing his biceps and chest because he’d spilled broth on his own—he’d have hexed them into the next century.

But here he was, doing the dishes with the grace of a man who had never been forced to do anything domestic in his life.

The plates clinked softly against each other as he washed them in slow, methodical circles, jaw clenched and expression unreadable—except for the slight twitch in his lip as his thoughts wandered back to last night.

You. Sitting on the floor. Wrapped in two blankets, hair a mess, hoodie hanging off one shoulder like you’d given up on sleeves. He’d walked in expecting to find you asleep—and instead saw the horror.

Ice cream.

Double chocolate. Straight from the tub. In the middle of a raging fever.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” he’d asked, eyes wide with actual offense.

You had blinked at him like he was the stupid one. “Poison kills poison.”

He’d stared at you for so long you thought he’d short-circuited.

“That’s not— That’s not how that works.”

You’d just shrugged, licking the spoon and mumbling something about healing through indulgence.

He’d snatched the tub out of your hands like it was radioactive and chucked it straight into the bin, ignoring your dramatic shriek like he was swatting away a mosquito.

Now, as he scrubbed the last bowl, he muttered to himself, “Poison kills poison... Absolutely brain-dead logic.”

Still, when he rinsed his hands and wiped them off on a towel, there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth. Just the smallest one. Barely there.

He padded into the bedroom with the grace of a man intending to collapse face-first onto the mattress. His back ached, his shoulders were tight, and he’d sliced his finger on a bloody carrot peeler an hour ago—an injury he’d rather die than tell you about.

And yet, he’d done it. Cooked. Cleaned. Took care of your chaos. And the most baffling part of it all? He knew—knew with the kind of certainty that scared him—that you were never doing this alone again. Not while he was around.

Of course, he’d rather swallow nails than admit that aloud.

He needed a break. A nap. A moment of silence where he wasn’t being called a controlling bastard for insisting soup had more nutritional value than sugar-infused dairy.

But the moment he stepped into the room, any trace of peace shattered.

You were moving—more like stumbling—toward the ensuite bathroom, one hand pressed against your abdomen, the other trying to hold your oversized hoodie in place.

Theodore's sharp eyes dropped to the ground. A small, red smear trailed faintly on the edge of your sweatpants.

Oh.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t make a sound. For god’s sake, he wasn’t a child. He understood what this was.

But what he did feel—unexpectedly, irrationally—was a jolt of guilt. Followed by something fiercer. Something territorial.

He didn’t like that you were in pain. He didn’t like that you were hiding it. And most of all, he didn’t like that you looked so damn ashamed for something as natural as bleeding.

“Wait,” he said, voice level.

You froze mid-step, halfway through shutting the bathroom door. “What?” You sounded defensive already. Bristling. As always.

“I’ll wash them.” His tone was softer than usual. More command than request, but not quite either. “Your clothes. Hand them over.”

There was a long pause.

Then a dry, scoffing laugh. “Yeah, no. I’m not handing you bloody underwear, Prince Charming. That’s where I draw the line.”

Theodore narrowed his eyes, but remained calm. “The washer’s broken. You’ll strain yourself trying to do it by hand.”

“And?”

“And I’ve already wiped your fever snot and forced soup into your mouth like you’re five. I’m on a roll.”

You groaned through the door. “Theodore. I swear. This is humiliating.”

He stepped closer, voice lowering like he was speaking to a spooked animal. “You’re unwell and on periods. This isn’t shameful. It’s just life. Now stop being stubborn and pass them here.”

“Fuck off.”

Theodore let out an exhausted sigh. “I’m trying to be polite here, which is more than you deserve, gremlin. Please—yes, I said please, and I’ll be revisiting that decision in therapy later—just hand them over.”

“Not happening,” you called again, tone final.

He looked toward the ceiling, then back at the door. “I’ll count to three. After that, I’m opening this bloody door and taking them myself. Your pride can recover in hell.”

Finally, a soft huff. The door cracked open half an inch. A small bundle of fabric shoved hastily through the gap.

“Don’t look,” you snapped.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he replied smoothly, taking them with practiced indifference—but something about the way you trembled as you passed them over stuck with him.

He didn’t comment. Just turned, walked back toward the sink, and began washing them—by hand. Silently. Methodically.

The water turned pink. He didn’t flinch.

This—this right here—was insanity. He’d never done this before. Never imagined he would. He grew up in a house where even lifting a teacup was someone else’s job. Where softness was considered weakness, and empathy was a curse.

And yet here he was, sleeves rolled, bloodied water on his fingers, doing something no one had asked him to do.

Something he hadn’t even known he was capable of.

All for a girl who would curse him the moment she found the soup too salty.

He shook his head slowly, drying his hands once he was done.

“She’s going to kill me,” he muttered under his breath, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t sound like he was joking.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Night pressed against the windows like a quiet promise, the air in the room still and warm, laced with the faint smell of eucalyptus and leftover soup. The fan above hummed lazily, stirring shadows across the ceiling, and somewhere in the sheets, your foot brushed against Theodore’s leg by accident—though you didn’t move it away.

You both lay on your backs, inches apart, the silence between you no longer hostile. It wasn’t easy, being in the same space as him, let alone the same bed. But it was... safe. He made it feel safe.

Theodore didn’t say a word. He hadn’t, not for the past hour. You’d taken your medicine without swearing at him this time, and he hadn’t mocked your blanket burrito technique, just smiled faintly and climbed in beside you—without making it a thing. That was the most irritating part about him. He never made things a thing.

You should’ve been asleep.

But your thoughts were clawing at you like ghosts with unfinished business.

He was here. Still here.

He could’ve left. He should’ve left. But he hadn’t. And that fact was unraveling something in you you weren’t ready to name.

You hated him. You swore you hated him.

And yet—

“…Why?” you whispered into the dark, voice scratchy from fever and emotion. “Why are you even doing this?”

The question hung in the air like smoke—impossible to ignore, too fragile to touch. You didn’t expect him to answer. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you wanted him to.

But he turned.

Not away.

Toward you.

His body shifted, slow and deliberate, until he was propped on his elbow, looking down at you. The light from the hallway barely touched his features, but his eyes burned in the dark—molten, unblinking, impossibly steady.

“You’re mine,” he said softly. “And I’m yours.”

His voice didn’t shake. It was steady. Low. As certain as a heartbeat.

“Every breath I take is for you.”

Your chest tightened.

He didn’t stop.

“I didn’t know I was lost until I met you,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle against your cheekbone like he was afraid you'd disappear. “I thought wandering was just who I was. That some people were made to drift. Never stay too long. Never care too deep. I thought I was one of them.”

His breath caught—just a little.

“And then you looked at me,” he whispered, voice lower now, barely there, like confessions were sacred. “And suddenly, everywhere I had ever been felt like it had only existed to lead me to you.”

You blinked, frozen, barely breathing.

“You’re not the destination,” he continued, gaze unwavering. “You’re the reason I stopped running.”

He laid back down, this time closer. His voice was just above your ear now, not a declaration but a quiet truth shared in the dark.

“You’re the soft light in a room I didn’t even realize I’d been locked inside. You’re the stillness that made me realize how loud my emptiness had become.”

You closed your eyes, throat tight.

“With you, I don’t want to be more,” he said. “Not a better man. Not a stronger one. Just… the truest version of myself. The one who smiles without knowing. The one who believes in the morning again.”

He paused. Not for drama. Just to breathe.

“You don’t complete me—you calm me. You don’t fix me—you see me. And somehow, that’s enough.”

His words fell into the silence like a match to dry leaves.

And you…

You were glassy-eyed.

Staring at the ceiling. Not blinking. You could feel your chest rise too quickly, your fingers curled against the blankets to keep them from shaking. He didn’t even know what he’d done. What he’d just said.

You hated him. Swore you hated him.

And yet. You rolled onto your side to face him. And you didn’t say a word.

Because you couldn’t. You wouldn’t survive it.

But you knew. Deep down, with every part of your fevered, bleeding, breaking body—you knew.

Whatever this was…

It wasn’t going to end well.

But god knows, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Taglist - @empath-bunny @gipsonnikki @emptyachingblue @syymplypotter @a-little-funny @chimchoom (comment/Dm to get added)

© This work belongs to me. I do not allow repost or translating my work. If I found you doing something like that you will be blocked and reported.

[yeetmyboi]

Surviving the Holidays

a/n : MDNI. festive lights banner by @/strangergraphics. MDNI and support banners by @/cafekitsune. simonxreader, relationship est. reader is said to be female and bit of a bigger gal. just some fluff for this holiday season. this is for my fellow retail workers who are just trying to get through this festive hellscape and make it out to the other side.

— — —

You stumble home. Feet and back aching after yet another long shift. All these doubles might kill you. Between the holidays and everyone calling in sick, you’ve been running yourself ragged. It makes you bet on which one might get you first, work or the nasty flu that’s going around. At least you’ve managed to miss any icy patches climbing up the apartment’s steps tonight. Take the wins where you can get ‘em.

Sliding the key into the lock, you hurry and slip inside before the cold can sneak in. A shiver rattles your bones as you shrug off your jacket. One by one your winter layers fall away—hat, scarf, gloves, boots—all returning to their designated homes till they’re needed again. You shed your winter gear like a snake sheds its skin, only you don’t have a heat lamp to sun under after.

Despite the deep chill that still resides in your bones, the warmth you feel from knowing you’re not alone is enough to thaw you out.

Simon’s home.

Muffled noises come from the tv, filling the otherwise silent flat. The smell of something cooking hits your nose, making your tummy grumble. All signs that you’re not alone. It’s enough to bring a tired smile to your face.

Your socked feet shuffle as you make your way to the living room. The sight before you fills you with a warmth that can only come from the word ‘home’.

Simon sits there on the couch, lounging on his back, reading a book that looks as worn down as you feel. He glances over his readers as he greets you, “Welcome home, lovie.” 

Like a weary soldier returning home, you make your way over to him without a word. Swinging your leg over his hips, you straddle him and lean forward, crawling up under his arms. Usually you’re conscious of how much you put your weight on him, but that seems to have floated out of your head the moment you saw him. All you can think about is burying your face into his soft pecs.

So you do. Nuzzling into the softness much like a cat, rubbing its cheek against its favorite person—purring and eager for more contact.

His chest bounces gently as he laughs at you, amusement and fondness clear in the teasing tone he takes. “Missed me that much, did ‘cha?”

You still don’t answer. Just a pleased hum from your throat as you continue to rub against his chest. Absorbing his presence and scent, letting it ebb away the stress that’s been heavy on your shoulders all day.

Simon slowly wraps his arms around you, already knowing what you need. He squeezes you, nice and firm, letting the pressure ground you. Not letting go until you start to squirm. Another chuckle and his arms slowly fall away, a hand coming to mindlessly run up and down your back.

“Made a stew tonight. Somethin’ to warm ye up,” he states.

You acknowledge his comment with a content sigh, nodding with your head still firmly on his chest. A small voice in the back of your head tells you that this is probably his way of politely asking you to get off.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to crush you. I just really needed…that.” You mumble, already pulling away.

“‘M not broken, love. In fact, ye make a lovely blanket.” He says as he wraps his arms around you once more, pulling you back and squeezing tightly. “Might ‘ave to keep ya here. Supposed’a be chilly t’noght.”

“Nooo, Si!” You squeal with surprised delight, pushing against his hold with both hands.

“Sorry, lovie. Looks like you’re not goin’ anywhere.” He gleams with delight at your pretend struggle. “Ye wouldn’t let me freeze, would ya?”

A thought pops into your head, and without much consideration for the consequences, you act on it. Your teeth teasingly nip at his soft pec, hitting his nipple with precision.

“Oi!” He jolts at the contact, sending the abandoned book tumbling to the floor. “Blankets don’ bite!” The bark in his voice is a playful one, like yips from an older dog trying to match a pup’s energy.

You dissolve into giggles, smothering them in his chest. Simon squeezes and gives you a shake. He huffs, but the warmth in his chuckle betrays him. “Cheeky lil’ thing,” he mutters, his hand resuming its slow rub up and down your back.

You sigh into him, letting his touch melt the day away entirely. The smell of a warm meal wafts through the flat, promising warmth and comfort, but for now, Simon’s arms are enough. This is enough.

This is home.

— — —

me while writing this :

[littleslaywrites]

baby, it’s cold outside | spencer reid x reader 

nsfw, mdni

summary: spencer convinces you to stay overnight at his apartment one snowy night

word count: 1k

cw: f!reader, fluff, smut, pwp, p in v, unprotected sex

Looking down at the street, all you saw was the bright white cover of snow. You probably should have predicted that it’d snow while at Spencer’s, but you honestly hadn’t thought that far.

“You probably shouldn’t drive home tonight,” Spencer says. He’s standing behind you and holding the curtain open as you look out the window.

You raise an eyebrow. “I shouldn’t?”

“I mean, your car is covered.” He snakes his free hand around your waist. 

The two of you had spent the night sipping hot chocolate, warming up after he got home from work. You had planned to go home, having to go to work in the morning, but the snow seemed to have other plans for you.

“I could take the metro,” you suggest, wanting to tease him. You’re fine with staying overnight, but want to annoy him a little before giving in to him.

“You’d probably freeze on your way there,” he says, “and how can you stay warm without my arms around you?”

“I see your game, Spencer Reid,” you playfully scold him. 

“No game, I swear,” he says, leaning in to speak directly in your ear. “I just wouldn’t want you out in the storm.”

You scoff, the “storm” being light snowflakes gliding down lightly. He lets the curtain fall, both arms now holding you. Pressing his lips to your temple, his fingers dance around your stomach.

His touch makes it impossible to protest, and you lean your head back to rest on his shoulder. He takes advantage of your now exposed neck, nipping at it, causing you to roll your hips into him. Groaning into your neck, his hands travel under your shirt, each one going to a breast. He squeezes, causing you to whine. 

His hands fall back down to the bottom of your shirt, slipping it over your head. You feel him pull away, and turn around to see him taking his own shirt. Leaning back on the curtained window, you watch the show, reaching for his belt when his shirt’s fallen to the floor. He watches as you undo it, growing hard every time a hand trails down and brushes his bulge. Once you’ve discarded his belt, you unbutton his pants and slide them off. Spencer grabs you into a deep kiss, balancing exploring your mouth with his tongue and getting your own pants off. When they’ve fallen to your feet, you kick them aside into the pile of your other clothes.

Now both only in your underwear, pushes you against the wall, deepening the kiss. You can feel his erection against you, your hands grabbing at anything you can. 

His hand goes behind your back and pulls off your bra. He then slides a hand under your underwear, grabbing at your ass before taking them off. He turns you back around, pressing your front against the wall. 

He reaches a hand around and runs his fingers through your wetness. “I don’t think you’ll mind staying the night,” he says as he circles your clit. You whimper, pleasure making you weak in the knees. 

“Need you, Spencer,” you whine as his fingers tease you. He understands what you’re trying to say, well versed in your language, and removes his own underwear, lining himself up with you. 

He runs his cock through your folds, causing you to whine again in protest. “I know, baby,” he says, pushing himself slowly into you. He groans, feeling the way your walls envelop him. 

Your hands are supporting yourself on the wall, but Spencer pulls them away to hold them behind you. Your back is arching, tits pressed against the covered window. 

Spencer puts his free hand on the window to support himself, slowly thrusting. He always starts slow, letting you adjust, knowing that eventually you’ll beg for more. 

His lips are all over your neck, nipping and sucking at all the exposed skin he can find. If you were in your right mind, you would be worried about the marks he’s leaving. However, he knows just where you’re sensitive, erasing any thoughts of the possible evidence. 

You lean forward, resting your head on the wall. Your skin flushes as his cock slowly drags against your walls, low moans leaving you and echoing through his apartment. 

Spencer is panting in your ear, whimpering whenever your walls flutter around him. 

“Spencer, more,” you beg, desperate for him to speed up. He obliges, pulling out so only his tip is still inside you, then shoving himself back in, filling you to the brim. Both of you cry out, hot with pleasure. 

He lets your hands go, arm reaching around to your waist and holding you close to him. He’s given up on kissing your neck, too distracted by his own pleasure to do anything but whine in your ear.  You reach a hand back, pulling at his hair, causing him to let out a loud groan. 

He’s clinging to you like a lifeline, hand squeezing at your waist so hard that you can only assume you’ll have a bruise tomorrow. 

You can feel his tip hitting you right in your sweet spot, panting along with Spencer. You’re gripping into his hair, and you pull again, causing Spencer to cry out before leaning over and putting all his weight on you and the window. You feel his releasing coating your insides, the warmth sending you over the edge. 

You stand there together, savoring the warmth of your sex, before he pulls out. His lips go to your neck again, this time gentler, lightly brushing the bruises that are forming. 

“I knew it was going to snow,” he whispers in your ear, and you can practically hear him smile.

“Spencer!” you say, faking indignation. He laughs, turning you around and kissing you gently.

“You wouldn’t have gone home, anyway,” he says, stroking your lower back.

“Maybe you’re right,” you sigh, “I wouldn’t want you sleeping by yourself in the cold.”

He smiles, picking you up and carrying you to his bed.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 16

You can read previous chapters here.

Summary: An unexpected visit from Elain triggers Y/n, leading her to push everyone away again, but Azriel sees through her defenses. She begins to gain partial control over her powers after an emotional outburst and testing a new theory.

Warnings: angst, mention of death, and despair.

WC: 4.2K

The next time Y/n trained with Cassian, her demeanor was colder than usual. She didn’t even greet him, didn’t acknowledge him, she simply resumed her position without a word.

“You’re mad at me?” Cassian asked, his brows drawing together.

“I don’t care about you enough to be mad,” she snapped, glaring at him before returning to her exercise.

Cassian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Let’s just train,” she replied curtly, shutting him down. And back to the beginning they went.

Y/n was already in a foul mood that morning, but when Elain came uninvited, it tipped her over the edge. First, she had spoken to Nesta, and that had gone as poorly as expected. Hoping for a better outcome, Elain turned to Y/n. But she was wrong. 

When Y/n entered her room and found Elain seated in her armchair, her mood soured further.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice sharp. There were no greetings, no pleasantries, no trace of affection for her younger sister. Y/n saw Elain’s actions when she packed her belongings as a betrayal.

“I came to see you,” Elain said softly.

“Bold of you to assume I want anything to do with you,” Y/n shot back, her tone cutting.

“Y/n, don’t be like that.”

“You’re a traitorous bitch,” Y/n spat. “Nesta and I sat by your side for weeks while you refused to eat or drink. We didn’t interfere. We let you grieve. Gave you all the time you needed. No one seemed to have a problem with that.”

“You and Nesta were indulging in dangerous activities,” Elain argued, her tone hesitant but firm.

“Not eating and drinking are dangerous too,” Y/n retorted. “I just can’t believe you of all people would turn out to be a treacherous snake. All for what? So you can join Feyre’s little circle of clowns who think themselves better than everyone else?”

“You know that’s not true,” Elain protested, tears welling in her eyes.

“Isn’t it? Because the way I see it, the minute you got the opportunity to switch sides, you took it.”

“There are no sides, Y/n. You’re my sister, and I love you.”

“My sister died a long time ago,” Y/n said coldly, her voice barely above a whisper. “She was killed by the King of Hybern when he threw her into that damned Cauldron.” Angry words, full of hurt. Whether she meant them or not, it didn't matter, they already struck their target. 

“I-” Elain’s sucked in a sharp breath, tears slipping down her cheeks. “If you thought so, why did you stay by my side after?”

“Because I thought there was a part of my sister left in you. But I was wrong,” Y/n said, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “You’re just like the rest of them now. A High Fae, the very kind I despise.” More poisoned arrows, her tone dripping with hatred. If Elain didn’t leave soon, she didn’t know if she could stop herself.

“You don’t mean that,” Elain whispered, her voice breaking.

“I.mean.every.word,” Y/n enunciated harshly.

“You and Nesta are the same.”

“I’m worse,” Y/n said darkly. “Now leave, I don’t want to see you again.”

Cassian had barely managed to calm Rhys down after Elain stormed out, tears streaming down her face, telling him her sisters weren’t improving, weren’t even trying. She’d spent less than five minutes with either of them and had concluded that. After Rhys and Elain left, Cassian didn’t know where to start and who to talk to first.

From her room, Y/n heard the heated argument between Cassian and Nesta. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms until they broke the skin. Tiny beads of blood welled up, leaving faint red streaks on her hands.

Unable to stand the confines of her room any longer, she headed to the roof for fresh air. Minutes later, Cassian followed her, his steps heavy with frustration. 

“What the fuck happened with Elain?” he demanded, his voice harsh as he crossed his arms.

Y/n didn’t even turn to look at him. “You couldn’t get an answer from Nesta, so now you’re coming after me?”

“They think neither of you are improving.”

“Ah,” Y/n said bitterly, her tone dripping with mockery. “So this was an evaluation of our progress?”

“That’s not what I meant-“

“It’s true, though, isn’t it? And the best part? I don't care. I don’t care what Elain thinks of me, what Feyre, your High Lord, or anyone else does.”

Cassian frowned, his hands dropping to his sides. “You used to go head-to-head with anyone who dared look at your sisters the wrong way. And now this?”

“Things change,” she said coolly. “People change. And it’s not always for the better.”

“Not you,” he insisted, his voice softening. “Not this. There was nothing that could make you turn your back on your sisters.”

“They made their choice. And I made mine.”

“So, what?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “Now you’re just going to push everyone away like Nesta? Pretend you don’t care?”

“I SAID STOP COMPARING ME TO HER!” Y/n’s voice thundered, and with it, the sky answered. Lightning rippled through the clouds, illuminating the roof as rain began to fall. 

Cassian’s eyes widened a bit, his shoulders stiffening. “So you still have your powers?”

“Get out of here, General,” she muttered, her voice eerily calm. “Before I hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” she warned, her eyes glowing faintly as the storm above intensified. “I’m barely containing myself. I need you to leave before I lose control.”

Cassian studied her for a moment longer, his expression torn between concern and reluctant understanding. He realized she wasn’t threatening him but trying to contain the rest of her powers so she wouldn’t hurt him. She was holding back, but the effort wouldn’t last. If she continued suppressing it, she would explode, and he’d be caught in the aftermath. With a heavy sigh, he stepped back and left, casting one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the house.

Once he was gone, Y/n exhaled shakily, her fists still clenched at her sides. The storm above rumbled, the rain coming down harder now. She tilted her head back, letting the cold drops hit her face. And then, she let go.

The sky erupted. Lightning flashed across the dark clouds in jagged streaks, illuminating the heavens as thunder cracked violently around her. Y/n stood still, unflinching, as the tempest mirrored the chaos within. For the first time, she didn’t fight it, didn’t try to rein it in. She let her powers surge outward, merging with the storm above.

The release was almost euphoric. The rage, the pain, the frustration, it all poured out of her, feeding the storm. For once, she didn’t fear her power. She embraced it- owned it. She felt untouchable, invincible, as the rain drenched her to the bone, her heart pounding in her chest and her breaths coming fast and shallow. 

This power- it was something she had never viewed this way before. No longer something to be restrained or feared, it was a force to wield, to command. It was freeing, exhilarating. Now she finally understood- it was something to die for, and it was all hers.

When the tempest began to wane, her breaths steadied, and the rain slowed, turning into delicate snowflakes. 

This time, she did not faint. She had braced herself. She exhaled deeply, the last of her energy ebbing away, leaving her drained but at peace.

That night, as she prepared to sleep, a knock sounded at her door. She groaned softly, tugging her robe tighter around her as she moved to answer. To her surprise, Azriel stood on the other side, his wings tucked neatly behind him.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone neutral. Her long braid was half undone, and her transparent robe revealed the nightgown beneath it.

Azriel’s eyes flicked downward for the briefest moment before meeting hers again. “May I come in?”

She hesitated, her hand tightening on the door. After a moment, she sighed and stepped aside, allowing him in. Once he was inside, she closed the door and turned to face him, only to find him standing closer than she expected. She took an instinctive step back as his breath brushed her skin, her pulse quickening despite herself.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice quieter now, unsure.

“I heard about what happened today,” he said, his tone soft.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m not in the mood to argue.”

“I haven’t come to argue with you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I came to check on you,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering. “See how you were feeling.”

Her lips twisted into a faint, mocking smile. “Magnificent.”

“I’m serious,” Azriel said, his voice dropping a notch.

“So am I,” she countered. “I no longer fear my powers. I fully embraced them today, and it felt amazing. Freeing.”

A faint line appeared on his forehead as his eyebrows pinched. “So the thunderstorm was all you?”

She raised a brow. “Do you have them here often?”

He shook his head.

“Then you have your answer.”

“Do you know what triggered it?” he asked, his tone careful, measured.

Y/n’s expression shifted, “Rage, I think. This time it was rage. The other time- times, it was a mix of different emotions. The first time, it was fear. The second, pain. And now, rage.” She paused, meeting his gaze. “But every time, it happened when my emotions were…amplified.” 

She hesitated before continuing. “Today, after I let go, I felt in control. At first, I couldn’t stop it, but as it poured out of me, I realized I didn’t want it to stop. The power, it was alluring.”

Azriel studied her carefully, his shadows swirling faintly at his shoulders. “You weren’t scared?”

“Not one bit.”

“Can you summon it now?” he asked after a pause.

She blinked, taken aback by the question. “I…I don’t know.”

“Could you try?” he pressed.

“Why?”

“Don’t you want to know if you can harness it any time you want?” he countered.

Y/n’s expression darkened, a flicker of suspicion crossing her features. “Is that all? Or do you want to see if I am a danger to the people around me?”

“If you were, I wouldn’t ask you to try,” he replied calmly.

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered almost bitterly. “You have your shields and shadows.”

His gaze softened. “I know you wouldn’t hurt the people you care about.”

“That’s not true,” she mumbled sourly.

“Physically, I mean,” he clarified. “Now, could you please show me?”

“But I’m not feeling anything right now,” she admitted, her voice softer.

“Does it matter which emotion it is?”

“I don’t know. So far, it’s been different each time.”

“May I try something?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Like what?” she asked warily, eyeing him.

“Close your eyes,” Azriel instructed and she raised a skeptical brow.

“Just trust me on this,” he said, his gaze fixed on her.

Y/n sighed but complied, closing her eyes reluctantly. 

He moved closer, his hand brushing hers before taking it gently in his grasp. She flinched at the contact, but he tightened his hold just enough to stop her from pulling away. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, opening her eyes. 

“Just trust me,” he repeated, his voice a murmur. “Close your eyes.”

She huffed, her skepticism plain. “I don’t think I can do that while you're holding my hand hostage.”

He snorted at her choice of words, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I won’t bite, I promise.”

She rolled her eyes but closed them again, letting out a resigned sigh. “Alright, you have one chance.” Why she agreed and listened to his instructions, she couldn’t quite explain.

His thumb traced slow, soothing circles over the back of her hand as he stepped behind her. His other hand gently lifted the braid that rested over her neck, letting it fall to one side. The soft brush of his fingers against her skin sent a shiver down her spine.

“What exactly are you trying to achieve here?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion. She tried to glance over her shoulder, but he stilled her with a quiet word.

“Now,” he said gently, “picture the most beautiful place you can think of.”

She frowned mildly but followed his instruction. “Alright. Now what?”

“Think of someone you love,” he said quietly.

Her brows knitted together, her expression tightening. “You’re aiming for the wrong emotion,” she said bluntly. “My feelings are… very complicated right now. I don’t even know if I’m capable of love anymore.” 

“You are,” he replied firmly, his grip on her hand steady. “I’ve seen it– in the way you love your sisters, even if it doesn’t seem that way right now.”

Y/n said nothing, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Azriel’s tone softened as he added, “But that’s not what I was aiming for. I meant something- someone… more intimate.”

“Like a lover?” she asked dryly.

“Exactly.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“You’re asking me to think about someone I love,” she began, frowning again, “but if I presumably loved someone in the past and we’re not together anymore, it means I don’t love them anymore. So this doesn’t make sense.” 

She opened her eyes and turned to face him, her brows furrowing as she questioned his logic. The motion brought their faces closer than she’d realized, the tip of her nose brushing against his. The unintended closeness startled her, her breath hitching as a rush of heat surged through her. Her heart skipped a beat, the scent of cedar and night-chilled mist filling the small space between them. Her pulse quickened, and she struggled to ignore the pull she felt, the way her body seemed to react on its own.

In that fleeting moment, a jolt of energy sparked between them, crackling at her fingertips and sending a faint shiver up her spine.

Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver, his expression unreadable as the faint crackle of electricity escaped from her fingertips. A flicker of lightning danced across the sky outside, its glow briefly illuminating the room.

“There,” he murmured as he gestured toward the window behind her.

Y/n blinked, the weight of what just happened slowly sinking in. Her heart raced as she turned her face away from him to check. He hadn’t let go of her hand, not that either of them seemed to notice in the moment. 

“What did you think of just now?” he asked, his tone careful, though his gaze remained fixed on her.

Y/n swallowed hard, her throat dry. A simple question, yet it felt impossible to answer. What could she say? That it had been him? That the proximity, his presence, had been enough to shatter her defenses and ignite her power? Her pulse roared in her ears, she couldn’t lie to him, but she also couldn’t tell him the truth. So she settled on deflection. 

She closed her eyes again, forcing her focus on that feeling, that ripple of power coursing through her. No storm this time, but lightning struck and struck, sharp and controlled. Azriel watched intently as she concentrated, her face set with determination. The temperature in the room dropped noticeably, an eerie calm settling over them.

“Congratulations,” he said quietly. “You seem to be able to summon it at will.” He let out a condensed breath, his shadows flickering subtly around him.

She finally opened her eyes, and the lightning ceased. “I might be able to control it once it’s started,” she admitted, her voice edged with a trace of frustration, “but I didn’t summon it. It just… happened and that’s the part I need to master.”

“Well I am no expert, but I know someone who could help you,” he offered carefully.

“No.” Her reply was immediate and sharp. She stepped back from him, her hand slipping out of his grasp as she put distance between them. “I don’t want anything to do with her.”

“How do you even know who I was going to suggest?” Azriel asked, his tone even but curious.

“You were going to say your High Lord’s second-in-command,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest. “I won’t see her or anyone from your little circle of friends. It’s enough that I’m training with your brother. Don’t push my limits.”

Azriel sighed, the corners of his mouth tightening. “I wasn’t going to. It was just a suggestion.”

“One you knew I’d never agree to,” she countered, her voice thick with irritation. “Yet you still brought it up… you should leave.”

His expression tightened, a faint furrow appearing between his brows. “Are you always so easily irritable?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “I am trying my best to be civil, but you lot don’t make it easy.”

“Is that why you surrounded yourself with all those drug addicts?” Azriel blurted. “Because they couldn’t form two sentences? Couldn’t get to know you?”

Her eyes flashed with anger as she met his gaze. “I surrounded myself with them because they’re as miserable as I am,” she snapped. “We understood each other. And we didn’t need to talk about our feelings. There’s a bliss in forgetting, and all you lot want to do is shove me into a world where everyone is happy and perfect, I despise it- despise them.”

Azriel didn’t interrupt, his face still unreadable as she continued.

“At least with them,” she went on, her voice taut with frustration, ”being around those people you so disapprove of did not make me feel like shit. They didn’t judge me or force me to do anything I didn’t want to. I cannot say the same about your friends.” Her gaze narrowed, anger and vulnerability flashing in equal measure. “And don’t tell me what you’re doing is because you care about me, and that I’m going down the wrong path, and that it’s for my best, blah, blah, blah. I’m not stupid, Shadowsinger. I know what I’m doing.” Her voice broke a bit as she finished, barely above a whisper. “I just don’t have the will to live anymore.” 

The room fell into an oppressive silence. Y/n’s chest heaved with the weight of her confession, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground. She refused to meet his gaze, hating how her voice had betrayed her, as her carefully constructed walls crumbled under his quiet presence. She hated it all, every part of it- the way he seemed to see through her, the way he refused to leave, the way he always managed to slip past the barriers she worked so hard to maintain. The way he made her heart soften at times, despite her best efforts. The way, even after she’d pushed him away, he always found a way back it

This day had been long and horrible. She’d just shown Azriel a side of herself that she’d never shown anyone, confessed something she hadn’t even dared to voice aloud before. 

“That’s a lie,” Azriel said softly. His tone wasn’t mocking, but firm, yet gentle. “If that were true, you would’ve ended your life.”

Y/n’s shoulders sagged, a long, broken sigh escaping her lips. “That’s where you’re wrong. If I did, everything would stop. I don’t deserve a quick and painless ending.” Her voice cracked once again, and she hated herself for it.

What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she stop? Why couldn’t she push him away this time? Why was she confessing all of this? Stop- she needed to stop.

Azriel’s hazel eyes darkened, his shadows tightening around him. “So you’re punishing yourself?”

She drew in a shuddering breath, then exhaled slowly. “I said enough,” she whispered, a faint tremor in her tone.

Azriel didn’t push further, sensing the thin thread of control she clung to. Instead, he shifted the subject suddenly. “Your theory was right.” 

“What?” She blinked in confusion.

“Your powers,” he explained, gesturing toward the window where another crack of lightning lit up the sky. “They’re connected to how you feel. When your emotions are heightened, they manifest.” Her eyes followed his gesture for a moment, her expression hardening slightly as the realization sank in. She hadn’t even noticed this time as the storm raged outside.

She turned her glare on him, her frustration mounting once more. “You did all of this just to test a theory?”

“Not intentionally,” he admitted. “But when I mentioned Amren and saw how irritable you became, I noticed how your powers responded almost immediately. How your body reacted. How your powers slipped past you so easily.”

Her glare sharpened. “So you let me ramble just to see what might happen?”

“No,” he replied immediately, his voice resolute. “You needed to let all of that out. I hope you feel better now.”

“Well, I don’t,” she snapped.

“I’m not your enemy, Y/n,” he spoke softly, his tone unshaken, almost gentle, as he let out a faint exhale.

“You’re not my friend either,” She shot back, the words biting.

“You’re upset,” Azriel acknowledged calmly. “I’ll take my leave, then.” With his hands buried in his pockets and his head dipping slightly, he took a couple of tentative steps backward before turning toward the door. 

“So you’re just going to run away?” she demanded, her voice rising.

Azriel stilled mid-step, then turned back to face her. “I’m not... Do- do you want me to stay? If you need someone to yell at, to vent to, I’ll stay.”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” she muttered, running her hands through her hair as she began pacing the room. Her frustration was growing with every passing second.

He watched her carefully, his sharp gaze noticing every subtle shift- the way her body tensed, the reluctance to let him in, the struggle within between pushing him away and letting him in, the confusion, and the exhaustion. 

“Take a deep breath, Y/n,” he instructed calmly.

He considered reaching out to her but held back, knowing that in her current state, she likely wouldn’t want him anywhere near her. Even though what she probably needed most at that moment was a hug.

She spun on her heel to glare at him again. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she barked.

“Alright,” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. “I’ll just sit here till you’ve calmed down.”

“You’re going to be sitting there a long time,” she hissed, each answer like a snake spitting venom on its prey, her eyes burning with barely contained fury as he nails dug into her palms. 

But Azriel did not flinch. He did not move, did not budge. His calm presence was infuriating, steady against the storm she tried to unleash on him, as if daring her to throw everything she had his way. 

“That’s fine,” he replied evenly, settling himself in a chair.

Y/n stared at him, her breathing uneven. She wanted to scream at him, shove him out, anything to make him leave. But the fight drained out of her with every breath. “No it’s not. I need you to leave.”

“Why?” he pressed.

“Because I don’t want you here.” She tried to keep herself composed, but the crack in her voice deepened.

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I don’t care,” she replied, though her voice betrayed her as it broke entirely.

“You do.”

“Stop- please just leave.” Her words were softer now, her pacing slowing, her body sagging under the weight of her emotions. She was tired. Too tired to fight, to talk, to pretend. Too tired to do anything.

“I will, once I make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though even she didn’t believe the words.

“You’re far from it, but that’s alright,” Azriel said gently.

Y/n let out a long, shuddering breath, her hands trembling slightly as she finally stilled. “I don’t have the energy to fight you anymore,” she admitted, her tone weary, defeated.

“Then don’t,” Azriel said simply. “Just get some rest.” 

How could he be so composed, so calm? She did not let herself think about anything- she could not.  Too drained to argue, too exhausted to pretend any longer, Y/n climbed into her bed. Her body felt heavy as she closed her eyes, hoping all of this was just a bad dream. 

Azriel stayed, his shadows curling protectively around her as he watched her, almost as if they’re trying to soothe or comfort her. He waited until her breathing evened out and the tension in her features melted away as she slipped into sleep.

The temperature in the room had dropped drastically, the cold biting at his skin. Moving quietly, he crossed to the windows and closed them. Luckily, the house responded, lighting a fire in her room.

“Sweet dreams, Stormbringer,” he murmured, pulling her blanket up to tuck her in with gentle care.

For a moment, he lingered, his gaze fixed on her now-peaceful form. A hint of a smile crossed his face. Then, with a quiet exhale, he turned and slipped out of the room, his shadows following in his wake.

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