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

[sparklystarrrr]

Hi! I saw that your requests are open and that your anime masterlist has "Black butler" so can I request Sebastian and the reader is a fallen angel? I don't really have a plot worked out exactly (sorry), but I was thinking of a reader who fell in love with Sebastian and fell from heaven because of her love for a demon. In the course of whatever events, they broke up and met again in the Green Witch arc.

YAY first Black Butler req!!!! I’ve been watching the new season and it’s TOOOO GOOD

Bassy in the new art style makes me WEAK

Want You Back

Synopsis: Love, as sinful as it may be, is a feeling that can't be helped.

Contains: Sebastian M. x Fem! Fallen Angel! Reader, a touch of romantic angst, LOTS of romantic tension, enemies to lovers perhaps?

It had been years since (y/n) fell. Not only from heaven, but in love. Her wings and heart laid bare and broken to the world. The fallen angel's only direction was to get as far away from England as she could. The young (h/c) haired woman decided to run to the Wolfsschlucht Forest, the village where the Emerald Witch resided. It was a civilization made entirely of young women, built on the belief in the Werewolf. Quite homey to be honest.

All was well in the occult village, until a bunch of English people supposedly arrived in the village. (y/n) wondered how they got into the village knowing the consequences of entering the forest. It was terrifying, but it was home. (Y/n) herself did not need a talisman as she was already a blessed being, making her stand out among the crowd. Especially when there was a human woman of the village who was attacked by the werewolf in turn for not wearing the talisman. She gained a fatal gash on her back and was treated by the Emerald Witch, yet was still unfixed. A woman drenched in a mossy colored cloak proclaimed to the crowd that this was the fault of the Englishmen who barged in.

They all looked normally human besides one snake boy, but there was a tall man amongst them all. An incredibly familiar man. He dawned his dark suit and slightly tousled black hair. His red eyed were piercing. Piercing right into (y/n)’s own (e/c) eyes. She shuddered. A gaping hole grew in her stomach. Sudden unwanted memories began washing up. With that, feelings the fallen angel thought she could never feel again resurfaced in her torn heart. It was none other than Sebastian Michaelis, the cursed demon who stole her heart. She literally ran away to this forest to start a new life without him, what the hell was he doing here?!

As if it couldn't get any worse, poor (y/n) saw him everywhere after that. When her and Hilde, Anna and Grete went to the Emerald Castle to assist Fraur Sullivan, he was there carrying and assisting her?? Didn't he have a young master to be taking care of?? WHERE IS WOLFRAM IN THIS MESS??? (y/n) was utterly confused and distraught. But as an angel, even as a fallen one, she tried her hardest to keep her composed and sweet demeanor up. It was the worst challenge of her life.

As an attendant of Fraur Sullivan, she now unfortunately had to see Sebastian every single place she went. Her feelings only kept resurfacing. The thing is, he was just getting more attractive as the days went on, and it pissed her off to no end... She would even occasionally catch Sebastian's eyes on her. To avoid conflict she just brushed it off and ignored it.

While assisting Sieglinde into her clothes for the day, Sebastian was there. He poured the tea into the small cup with such grace that it was hard to look away. The way the sun sparkled through the dark green curtains of Sieglinde's large bedroom and onto his pale smooth skin was inhumane. It was too enticing. It seems he noticed her wandering eyes, as he smiled at her. "Miss (y/n), you should be assisting Fraur Sullivan, no?" He said in a calm and slightly playful tone. She grimaced at his voice, still as deep and rich as ever. "Of course, Butler." She spoke, her tone dripping in sarcasm that Sebastian chose to ignore-- for the time being of course.

While working in the kitchen to prepare food, he was always right there behind her. He would correct her steps of preparing the food and out do her in performance AND preparation. He looked too angelic and graceful for a demon while simply making food. It pissed her off. This was supposed to be her peaceful home, not somewhere her and her ex would reunite…”(y/n), it appears you’re preparing the food all wrong. Do you require assistance? I’d be more than happy to help.” He spoke in that damn attractive british accent. “No, I’ll do fine. Get off my back Sebastian.” He would simply nod and turn his back to her,”Whatever you say. Stubborn as ever…”

"What was that?" the (h/c) haired angel said, her tone icy cold. The angelic girl had clearly broken from irritation, her softness now brittle. "Oh nothing. Resume your work at once Miss (y/n)."He responded. Even though she couldn't see, he was clearly smirking. It was like he was teasing her. "No, if you're going to say something about me you will say it to my face." All he did was let out a small chuckle and turn to her. “My my, you’ve really not changed have you..” He took a couple steps to her while holding the strongest eye contact she’s ever participated in. Her breath hitched as he lightly twirled a piece of her (h/c) hair between his ungloved fingers. “…Still the same (y/n), not that it’s an issue of course.” She got a glimpse of his sharp fangs poking out from his lips every time a teasing sentence left his mouth, making her remember every place he put his fangs on her… wait… SHE SHOULD NOT BE THINKING ABOUT THAT RIGHT NOW!!!

She looked up at him firmly, “Get your hand off me.” Her chest rose and fell from the deep inhaled she took. She didn’t know if it was from her being scared or from thinking such impure thoughts. ”You do not seem to be fighting back,” His smirk grew, ”One could say you��re enjoying this attention, no?” her hands grasped his and pulled him away from her hair. Evidently, not letting go of his hand just yet.”I’m not enjoying it Sebastian.” He cooed at (y/n)’s sharp (e/c) eyes. “You say such things while grasping onto my hand for dear life, ironic now isn’t it?”

(y/n) was practically growling. “Won’t you just go away already? We’re supposed to be making food, not friends…” She said through her teeth and throwing his hand out of hers.

It went on like this for days. He would catch her off guard and sneak up behind her when she least expected it. Every time she'd cook? He's automatically coming up behind her and trying to assist. She's dressing Sieglinde? He's popping in to do her hair and put on her shoes. (y/n) didn't know his motivation behind this, but it sure did tick her off. He was somehow right over her shoulder all the time. Today, the fallen angel had had enough.

She laid out Sieglinde's dress and it's thousands of petticoats, straightening the fabric and retying bows. There was a sudden knock at the door. (y/n) whipped her head around thinking it was the black haired demon, only for it to be Hilde. She sighed in relief... that was instantly short-lived when Sebastian sauntered in with Tanaka behind him. As she woke the young Emerald Witch from her slumber, Hilde was next to (y/n) preparing the corset for the young girl to wear. There was a warm and elegant scent of classic black tea as requested by the small witch. It was comforting and brought up pleasant memories of her time in England. The sounds of Big Ben, the chattering of wealthy women giggling about the latest royal drama, all feeling like a warm embrace. Until memories of him resurfaced.

She choked on air and all eyes were suddenly on her. "(y/n), geht es Ihnen gut?" Hilde said worriedly. (y/n) cleared her throat with a hand on her chest, steadying her breathing."Y-yes Hilde, mir geht es gut." Her (e/c) eyes remained wide at the sudden memories. The angel could barely deny it anymore. She truly did miss him. "Sebastian, give miss (y/n) some tea." Little Sieglinde spoke as Hilde assisted her into her petticoats. "At once, Fraur Sullivan." Her head snapped. How did he suddenly gain a German accent?? She nearly didn’t recognize him…

He stepped towards her with Tanaka trailing behind, a cart with freshly brewed tea and clean tea cups rolled towards her. He gently poured her a cup. The rich smelling steam filled her nostrils. “Tea for you, madame.” Sebastian placed the cup in front of her with a small clank as it hit the table next to her. Her rage got the best of her. She had enough. (y/n) grabbed the hem of the demon’s pristine black suit and dragged him out of the room, leaving the tea to become cold.

She nearly slammed the door behind her as she went out into the dark hallway to talk to Sebastian. “What are you doing here Sebastian.” Her tone was fraying at it’s edges as she attempted to hold on to whatever sanity she had left. “I am in an investigation, accompanying my young master. Why do you ask?” His face was as devoid of his usual smirk. It was straight for once, probably because he felt her slowly about to lose it on him. “Sebastian you know why I’m asking. There’s no reason you should be in Germany out of the blue. Go back to England. I never want to see you again.” Her voice rasped. Her head faced the floor as she spoke.

“I would rather not leave yet. There is more I’d like to stay here for, aside from the investigation.” He said smoothly. She quirked her head up at him as a smirk slid on his face. “Then tell me, what else would you even be here for?” It was almost a demand rather than a question. “I assume you’d like me to be honest, yes? I came here to see how you’d been faring. I caught wind of a fallen angel in this forest on my way to Germany and I became intrigued.” She couldn’t be mad at him for telling the truth, but then again, “Was this your way of coming back for me or something?” The angel muttered.

“You could say that…” His tone was mischievous.”Sebastian just tell me the truth. This may be blunt but I don’t care, do you still care about me?” He froze at her words. It was like she’d ran him into a corner and pinned him there with nowhere to run — not that he would’ve minded that actually happening though…

Their tension was unbearable. They held firm eye contact like it was a staring contest and they were trying to see who’d break first. “I do care (y/n).” He said under his breath. This was one thing he couldn’t bear to say out loud. It was heavy and contained emotions he didn’t think he was capable of. All for an angel. “Then why did you leave? I fell from Heaven for you…” Tears pricked her eyes. Pure emotions filling her up to the brim. It was like her final string to whatever kept her holding back emotions had broken. His breath hitched. “I had to. What I do is not safe and I would rather you stay away from the danger it brings. I am a demon, you’re an angel. We were and still are too different.” He somehow said it like it was so easy. It only made (y/n)’s heart shatter even more.

“But I’m not an angel… I’m fallen, I’m not pure…” She clutched onto his suit jacket with desperation. She was scared to let go, thinking he may disappear if even a finger left his clothes. “Come back…” She exhaled. His hands nearly shook at his sides. His gloved hand rested on her shoulder,”… Please Sebastian…” His hand gripped harder to her shoulder as she spoke against his chest, now dampened with her tears. “We must get rid of this attitude you’ve had with me first, then I may think of accepting that lovely offer.” Sebastian’s voice had a playful and teasing tone in it, making her smile and furrow her brows.”Oh, shut up-“ “(y/n)! Komm wieder rein! Fraur Sullivan needs assisting!” Hilde’s deep voice shouted as she opened the door, just to see you and Sebastian in a… very close embrace. “A-ah! (y/n) you must get back to work!” “Yes yes Hilde, I’m coming!” (y/n) retorted. She grabbed Sebastian’s hand without thinking and dragged them both back into Sieglinde’s room. Sebastian smiled at their hands knit together, knowing damn well he wouldn’t be telling her about it until someone points it out.

(y/n) would be yelling at him for that later…

[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.

[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 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[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.”

[rainydayathogwarts]

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?"

[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.

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter eight

“i want everything i asked for.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: ‘fuck it, do him scared!’ or whatever the saying is, no plot cuz y’all have had enough of that, pheromones are putting in work cuz you have heart eyes, y’all are touch-starved and pent up, half-transformation demon alastor (i hope that makes sense lol), implied demon alastor, little bit of angst or even hurt/comfort at the end? 🥲 smut: clothes ripping, scratching, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, slight degradation & praise kink dynamics, blood play & biting, handjob, orgasm denial, cream pie

word count: 6.6k *maniacal laughter*

author’s note: it wouldn’t be right to start this off without a formal apology for the cliffhanger and then, subsequently, the publishing delay 🥲✨ this ended up being more of a labor of love than i had expected; i just seemed to have such bad luck, this week of all weeks. thank you for your patience, and i hope this makes up for it! @hazelfoureyes one of these days i’ll have some more for you, but until then darling, you ever so kindly ‘asked’ me for smut so… 💅🏻💖

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor meant for it to be chaste, really he did. And while he had desperately hoped for acceptance, the ardor with which you returned the kiss was unexpected. The grip of your hands around his wrists was fierce, pulling him in; fingers like sticky fibers against the patch of bare skin nestled between his gloves and the cuff of his shirt. 

So you were hungry, too… He couldn’t help but smile against your mouth at the thought. 

Finally, his luck was turning around.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

When you offered your help to Alastor, a kiss was the last thing you ever expected. 

Actually, you had been fully prepared for him to hurt you somehow, whether it was his intention or not. He had gotten upset so quickly, you assumed it must have been residual animosity from the meeting with Valentino that he could no longer contain. The more you thought about it, you truly understood how degraded he must have been by the whole affair, filling you with a guilt you worried might never go away. He needed a victory.

So offering your help was the least you could do.

But you never could have imagined the way he took your face in his strong hands, holding you with such care despite the intensity roiling off him in his half-formed demonic state. The strain on his face as he struggled to compose himself, his eyes switching back from black with red dials to that familiar searing red. The storming hunger you saw in them, half-lidded, as he closed the gap between you…

Your mind was practically rendered blank, running on instinct; the warm ache throbbing between your hips quickly taking up any remaining space that was left.

His mouth was softer than you expected but his press against you was firm and wickedly practiced. You felt him smile against you and for a moment you forgot to breathe, the resulting gasp being the perfect opportunity for Alastor’s tongue to snake into your mouth. If your eyes hadn’t already been closed, they would have rolled to the back of your head. His tongue was soft and big and hot, his movements steady and filled with purpose; not a drop of wasted effort. You could only hope to keep up…

It was such arduous work keeping your hands at his wrists, floored by the intense desire you had to reach out and touch him. But you didn’t know your limits here. He was still riled up — if anything, you had heard his antlers grow — and you didn’t want to make any wrong moves.

So you put all your longing into the grip of your fingers and mouth, your mind wandering on the feeling of him. Large, elegant hands cupping your face like glass. His body looming over you, offering shelter you were more than willing to accept. His mouth so hot against yours it would leave you feeling cold once it was gone. And he smelled so good this close, smoky and verdant like a bonfire on a crisp autumn night. 

Your thighs rubbed together from the pulse radiating there, and he let out a small groan against your mouth as your nails absently dug into the skin of his wrists. The sound of him simultaneously made your legs weak and fanned the flame between them. His voice had always been nice — he didn’t build a career for himself on the radio for nothing — but you felt a growing fear at the aspect of never hearing something like that again after he was sated; knowing that no matter what it would haunt you for eternity. 

I really am so fucked…

He was pecking now, his breath and teeth and tongue ghosting over your swollen mouth and face as he feverishly placed multiple at a time. You wanted to reciprocate so badly, whether with your lips or hands, but it was clear he needed to ravish you first so you stayed put in a shocking exhibit of will-power. But when you felt the tug of his teeth against the corner of your jaw you couldn’t stop the shaky moan that escaped you, not even noticing how your hips rolled on nothing but air.

That’s all it took. 

Alastor pulled away and gave a quick kiss to your hands before dropping them to take up the torn fabric of your collar. He gave it a sharp pull, tearing your dress straight through to the waist; the sound ringing out in the quiet of your room with the promise of what’s to come. You were too stunned by the suddenness of the action, but the look on your face must have really been something if the expression you were seeing on his was any indication — ravenous and wild. 

Your chest heaved with quickening breath, heartbeat kicking and head empty as you felt all the blood in your body rushing down. Too overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, you dared to bury your face in his chest, grateful to be just tall enough to reach. Mortifying as it was, it was all you could think to do. 

Though safety wasn’t the only thing you found, pressing in so close to him like this, your throat going dry at the feeling of his arousal against you. No amount of time or experience could have prepared you for this, for him. You were beginning to think that there would be nothing left once he was through with you.

Just need a minute…

Mercifully, he let you. Even going so far as to cradle you against him, cupping the back of your head with his left hand. You relaxed into him, a hot puff of air leaving your mouth to soak into the fabric of his clothes. Alastor’s pleased hum in response vibrated against your face, and you brought your hands up to grip the lapels of his coat for fear of crumbling at his feet.

As you steeled yourself, he didn’t desist from his poking and prodding at your exposed back with his free hand. It disappeared briefly, followed by the faint sound of something falling to the carpet before the air was ripped from your lungs at the touch of his hot, bare skin against yours. You whined into his chest as your back arched against his palm, your fingers nearly ripping through his coat with the force of your grip, earning a gruff and sinister chuckle from him. Being able to bask in the feeling of the rumble in his chest against you was a lovely consolation, though. And just under that… his heartbeat. 

His hand against your back regained your attention then, scratching and massaging at its leisure; nails tracing indistinguishable shapes along your skin. Traveling up and down your spine at first, then your shoulders and, finally, the back of your neck where he paused. 

His message read loud and clear: time was up. 

Alastor pulled you away from him with a gentle firmness, managing to handle you delicately despite his clear desire for haste. You could see it burning in his eyes with no intent to extinguish any time soon. He was so mystifying like this, you couldn’t help but drink him in. Stately, powerful… beautiful. It felt impossible now to have ever been afraid of him in this state of half-transformation. He didn’t seem to mind the admiration, soft smile and lust-heavy eyes radiating with ego.

His antlers look so handsome when they’re branched out like this…

“Shouldn’t you have offered to take my coat by now? I’m your guest, aren’t I?” he teased as he swiped your dumbstruck mouth with the pad of his thumb. The filter dipped in and out over his quiet, low tone of voice, sending a fresh wave of heat to your core and cheeks as you fought the urge to nuzzle your face against his bare hand. How had he already reduced you to this? “But I suppose I haven’t been well-mannered myself. Just look at what’s become of your dress.”

His face was smug as he played with the decimated fabric, fingers dancing across your exposed neck and shoulders before pulling down the long sleeves. They had been the glue, apparently, your dress falling past your hips with ease and into a heap on the floor in near silence. Goosebumps pricked your skin as you stood before him in your underwear, already feeling naked as he took you in. You noticed him focus in on your shoulder and neck, the draw of his eyebrows confirming your earlier suspicion that he had left a bruise.

“It’s fine, it didn’t hurt,” you lied self-consciously, unable to keep the nerves out of your voice. It sounded like an apology. He hadn’t meant it and in the grand scheme of things was a bruise really so bad? It would be gone before you knew it.

He didn’t seem convinced, a sound of disapproval coming from behind his closed lips before a smile took its place. “Hmm… if you say so. Perhaps a kiss to make it better?”

Alastor wasted no time leaning down to place his mouth there, and you sighed as the heat of his wide, wet tongue swiped over it before he closed his lips with a small smack. As he nuzzled in — kissing, licking, sucking, nipping — your shaky fingers took to the task of unbuttoning his coat as he had suggested. The action earning you a growl and a bite, not yet enough to break the skin but taking your breath away all the same; the fire in your belly now flickering up into your chest.

Once the coat was loose you ran your hands under it, starting near his waist to travel up his chest until you reached his broad shoulders. Was he the one who was so hot, or was it you? It was impossible to tell. You used the top of your hands to start working the coat off of him, and he paused from his effort at your neck to assist with removing his arms from it before tossing it off to the side — his remaining glove along with it. You caught sight of the saliva glistening around his mouth and chin before he resumed his station and didn’t even try to hold back the soft moan that escaped you.

What was the point?

With a snarl — that was the closest thing you could think to call it — his hands hooked behind your knees and hiked you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him for purchase as you gasped. Alastor’s mouth found yours again and you held his face to keep steady as you hunched over him, tears forming at the corner of your closed eyes from the relief of being able to touch him this time.

This kiss wasn’t as poised as the first had been. It was hurried and open-mouthed, messy and deep. Not enough, not enough, not enough. You broke away this time, seizing your opportunity to explore his face with your lips as he had yours. His claws bit into the flesh of your ass as your mouth latched onto his neck, sucking at the pulse you found there. The resulting buck of your hips from the action and the moan he let out only pulling another from both of you.

You didn’t even notice that he had been walking until you were suddenly tossed onto the bed, his body immediately caging you in beneath him. You hooked your legs around him as he ground into you, your cry of pleasure from the friction echoing off the walls. He did it again and you whined, squirming, his hands on either side of your head as he leered down; red eyes glowing with satisfaction.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor took a moment to take in the sight before him, feeling his eyes glitch as he roamed over your flushed face, but made quick work of grabbing it with one hand to pucker your mouth before returning to explore it with his tongue.

It surprised him how much he was enjoying this; kissing you with abandon, somehow never scratching the incessant itch despite his efforts. He captured your bottom lip with his teeth, resiliently managing not to bite straight through it as you moaned into his mouth.

“Alastor…!” 

His name was a song on your breath, scorching down from his ears to his cock, all of which reacted with a twitch.

One string loose. 

How many more would he need to cut before you went slack?

Who had bound you up like this in the first place? It certainly hadn’t been him. On the contrary, he was so eager to see you torn open and bare, stripped of all the little secrets tangled like knots on your tether to him. Always keeping your guard up around him wasn’t only irritating… it was selfish. And there was only one of you here allowed that luxury. 

Still, this was quite the consolation prize, seeing you surrender to him so easily. He had barely gotten started and you were already making such a pretty face for him; a new favorite, even. Your little pout that normally inspired vexation looked sweet like this, swollen with his kisses. It was an image he would soon not forget, being so much better than what he had imagined.

Your scent had truly blossomed now, dizzying him with the potency of its floral, nutty musk; just a hint of sweetness underneath. It complimented his own smoky, green, and bitter scent so well. But Alastor was ready to make his next new discovery, his hips finally lifting away from you as he gave you a final peck on the mouth.

“Hmmm, delicious as your mouth is, there’s another place I’m quite eager to kiss.” He could feel the wickedness on his face as he said it, unable to contain the static that flared around him as you breathed out a curse, body trembling.

Alastor made a slow descent, teasing you with licks and bites and kisses to draw out as many moans and whimpers as he could from you. Such music you made for him. Only for him. It was a good thing he had already resolved to avoid sleep as much as he could in the future; he wouldn’t get much anyway with the sounds you made ringing in his head like church bells.

He could see the damp soaked into your underwear before he even touched them, already intoxicated by the smell and heat wafting off your core. He’d have to be careful here… not an easy task, but he’d manage. The self-advised warning did little to stop him from tearing the garment in half with ease, enjoying the wide-eyed look you gave him as you quickly propped up on your elbows from the sound.

“I’d apologize for frightening you, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t mean it,” he said, holding your gaze as he palmed your bare sex, thrilled by how wet you already were. You were having such a hard time keeping your composure, serving only to egg him on. He hummed and continued, almost surprised by the words that came out of his mouth, “You don’t seem to mind, though… how lewd.”

Your head fell back with a loud whine, arms giving out so that you were flat on your back again; face scarlet as his fingers moved against you, collecting your arousal. His dick throbbed against him at the sight, leaking onto his skin and clothes. He couldn’t help the hiss that spilled from between his teeth when he tested you with his middle finger, tight as you were wet.

“Oh my… it’s been a while for you too, hm? I’m honored,” he cooed, relishing the way you whimpered and clenched at his words. “I do worry how you’ll fare… Contrary to the restraint I’ve shown so far, I must warn you… I don’t have the capacity for gentleness today.”

Your eyes shot open with shock, and with that he removed his finger and brought it up, putting the entirety of it in his mouth to suck you off as you watched. His eyes closed in pleasure, groaning as his tongue lapped up every bit of you, savoring every second. Clean and tart… like a ripe summer cherry. He couldn’t stop the bit of drool that escaped the corner of his mouth, the rush of saliva incensed by your taste coming on too quickly to swallow it all.

Alastor was breathing hard through his nose, a fresh wave of hunger — he wasn’t sure what else to call it — trembling through him with a fierce burning need. His smile and voice were sharp, static fraying as he spoke, “Hmmm… My imagination wasn’t even close. Aiming to please, dear?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

His fascination with licking you off him would be your second-death. Not only that, but you hadn’t expected him to say any of the obscene things that were spilling from his mouth, let alone the way you were responding to them. You had been subject to dirty talk before and enjoyed it (if done well), but… there was just something about it all coming from Alastor that set your veins on fire.

“Alastor, please, it’s embarrassing,” you pleaded through gasps, watching through half-open eyes as he licked away at his hand. You felt as if you had a fever, your face was so hot, hair already beginning to stick to your forehead with sweat.

As if falling on deaf ears, he merely proceeded to give a sharp tug to his bowtie, removing it in one go before unbuttoning his shirt. Something about the harsh way he pulled his shirt from the belted waist of his pants made you dizzy, but you felt a scream die in your throat watching the way his shoulders and chest moved as he freed his arms, with just the slightest flex of his abdomen; your eyes unable to resist following the trail of hair below his navel that disappeared under his belt.

You had made peace with your budding attraction to him — it was easier that way, considering your near-constant state of proximity — but this felt like being tossed directly into the fire.

Burning at the stake.

As he towered over you, you took in the large, pink scar lacerated across his chest from left shoulder to the right side of his ribcage. There had been mentions of the battle against Adam and his Exorcists within the group; how terrifying it had been, how brave everyone was. The loss of their friend Sir Pentious, who had died trying to help protect them against Adam. That was when the conversation normally tapered off, the grief still too close at his loss, but also because of what led up to it.

From what you understood, Adam had been Alastor’s appointed target to handle. One he was unmatched against, if the scar was any indication. A killing blow he had managed to survive. You hoped the pity you felt wasn’t making its way into your gaze as you looked at him, knowing he’d dislike it. Still… You sat up with hands stretched out, the instinct to touch and comfort him too strong to fight. But he pushed you back down, a shadow coming over his face as he bent over you. 

“Patience, sweetheart. I still owe you a kiss.”

You didn’t have time to process the dismissal before he raked his nails on your skin as he dipped down, your back arching up to meet them as you breathed through the small sting of pain. A splash of sobriety hit you as you felt the heat of his breath hovering over your cunt, your stomach tight as he moved closer, a wanton cry as he finally lapped at you with his tongue; a slow, wide, firm sweep from hole to clit. Sealed with a kiss, as promised.

You shuddered and gripped the duvet as if your life depended on it. The image of him nestled between your legs making your brain short-circuit. His eyes were shrouded with a predation that should have terrified you. So why did it thrill you instead?

 “Oh my god…”

That wicked grin of his…

“Last I checked, Hell is the absence of God. Let’s try again, shall we?” 

He hiked your legs over his shoulders, looped his arms around to grab the top of your thighs, and pulled you to his mouth. You saw white as he didn’t hesitate in setting a voracious pace, his tongue dipped into you — long and thick — as his nose pushed against your clit with every open-and-close of his mouth. His chin providing a pleasant hardness that nearly knocked the wind out of you.

He was incessant. 

Sucking, prodding, licking, and swallowing; a starving man who may never eat or drink again. Your hands found purchase on his antlers, a bit smaller now but still looming, earning a moan of approval into your heat that blossomed in your chest. The room was filled with the sound of wet smacks and a harmony of throaty groans from him; keening, breathy moans from you. Both unabashed.

In between breathing his name, words were tumbling from your mouth that you couldn’t register, too lost in the feeling of him on you. Not just your pussy, but your legs, too. His hands gripping your thighs so fiercely as your hips rolled against his face that you hoped for bruises. A keepsake. It was impossible to know if this would ever happen again.

You hadn’t even realized you were slipping away from yourself until he pulled back with a sharp gasp, finally coming up for air, jerking his antlers from your hands. The lower half of his face shimmered with a blend of your arousal and his spit, the sclera of his eyes gone black, dials taking the shape of his red irises. Again, your arms reached out, shaking from the effort as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Kiss…,” you barely managed to say, dizzied as you were.

Alastor obliged, climbing up to your open hands as you pulled him down to you, unable to find the strength to meet him halfway. He flinched as you ran your tongue over his left cheek, licking up some of the mess there as he wiped at the other side with the back of his hand. The taste of your combined fluids sent a jolt of pleasure through you and you moaned through the sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that followed. The laugh that escaped him was sinister but sent another wave of warmth through you all the same.

He rewarded you with a finger, followed quickly by another. And before you knew it, another. Pumping in and out of you with a delicious stretch and a maddeningly consistent pace before they curled, teasing your spongy core as his thumb circled your clit at the switch; the sudden onset of your orgasm had your body trembling under his touch.

“Ohh… mm, fuck…! Hmmmnn… Ah—! Alasto—ahh!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” His voice was rough but soothing. A crackle of static melded into your moans and the wet sounds of your cunt, and he gave his head a violent shake as if to clear it. There was nothing but a growling need when he spoke next. “I’ve got you, don’t fight it. Let me see how pretty that sullen face of yours looks when you cum…!”

It was all too much. Just the intensity of his eyes on yours boxed in between your hands holding his face could have sent you over the edge. But his words again, that pet name… 

The tether snapped so viciously you were fairly certain you passed out for a moment, your vision gone black as you screamed. Only to be brought back to consciousness by Alastor’s fingers slowly riding the wave of your orgasm, no longer stroking with purpose — you were clenched around him so tightly his previous pace would have probably injured you both — but with a languid solace. Graciously accepting every roll of your hips into his hand as you moaned his name and gasped for breath.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

God, it was so fucking satisfying to see your face twisted up, eyebrows knit and your pouty lips salaciously framing your open mouth as you cried out for him. Another perfectly shattered expectation, much like the rest of this experience had been. He didn’t even mind that your eyes were shut. The consolation being the glimpse he caught of them rolling to the back of your head before they were out of sight. That, and, this would only be your first. He was determined to get at least one more out of you before this was over, truly unsure how much you could handle.

He was surprising even himself, speaking to you in the manner he was. He enjoyed a good tease, but he couldn’t recall going to this extent before. Perhaps it was a result of the pheromones, but he simply couldn’t seem to help it. The reactions it was pulling from you were too exhilarating to deny himself… and by extension, you.

His static was filling the air, buzzing with the energy of a lightning storm as he sucked you off his fingers once more with a snarl; his free hand sloppily undoing his belt before giving it a freeing tug, desperately hard erection weeping slightly at the bit of alleviation. As the realization that he was preparing to enter you sunk in another ripple of goosebumps pinpricked his skin, causing him to bite down on the inside of his lip from the sensation.

The taste of his own blood came with inspiration.

Alastor tucked back some of your damp hair before bringing his face down to meet yours, swiping at your lips with his blood-coated tongue. Testing the waters. Your eyebrows drew together and you stretched underneath him, as if waking from a night’s sleep, before blinking your eyes open. He watched as your tongue responded with a quick prod of what he had left there, and felt his smile grow when you let out a hum of content.

He would never tire of being right.

“I thought you might like that, my little killer… Have some more,” he whispered against you. Giving your lips another rough lick before taking your mouth again, groaning into each other as your tongue soothed his still-bleeding lip.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Something about this kiss was different.

There was a fierceness this time that hadn’t been there before, no doubt spurred on by the blood pooling in Alastor’s mouth. It had been shocking to taste at first but then… you found that it wasn’t too bad. Diluted with saliva, it was almost sweet, and you relished the way he enjoyed your tasting of it.

Your hands traveled up to the back of his head, gently scratching the prickly velvet of his undercut with one while the other pulled at the hair on his crown. His hiss into your mouth made you moan with another jump of your hips, and you felt him shift over you then; vaguely aware of the sound of him unceremoniously tugging down his pants before he took your hand from his crown and brought it between you.

The gasp that escaped you was sharp, your hand instinctively wrapping around his length as he guided you through stroking him. He was so hard, wet, and heavy, burning to the touch, but distant alarms were ringing about your ability to take him all. It scared you how much you wished to try.

His moan of relief was another keepsake, the sound of it so soft and pleading in your ear that you nearly sobbed from your desire. You couldn’t help but wonder what his face looked like, making a sound like that, and found yourself jealous of the skin of your neck he was hiding in. You stayed like this for a moment, his hand leaving you to work on its own as he cradled the opposite side of your head to lick and kiss your neck between gasps and moans. With a final nip to your skin Alastor pulled back, the mattress dipping as he put all of his weight onto his forearm to the right of your head as he adjusted himself.

“Don’t close your eyes,” was all he said before pressing into you, the tip of his cock already threatening to overwhelm you as it teased your entrance. 

It was not an easy task, your eyebrows drawing together in such a way that it nearly blurred your vision. You whined between closed lips, doing your best to breathe through the sweet stretch of him finally entering you. Despite his direction, he didn’t seem to be doing much better; sweat beading on his forehead over furrowed brows, kiss-swollen mouth open with panting breaths. Flushed cheeks. Even in the state he had reduced you to, you were trying to sear the image of his lust-strained face into your psyche.

He was rocking his hips slowly, allowing you to adjust to him with each little thrust as your arousal coated him, easing his advance; breathy moans collecting between you in puffs of steam, joining the two of you together in all the places you weren’t touching. 

All the while, your eyes were locked on each other. Had anyone else ever seen his the way they were now and found them beautiful instead of horrifying? You moaned as you stared at him; taking in his large, elegant antlers and sweat-damp hair, reminding you of the bedhead you had seen the other morning. His handsome and sinister face. He could easily tear you to shreds — and in a certain way, he was — but you were overwhelmed at the amount of care he had shown you so far, even with his earlier warning. 

His thrusts were building in sharpness, parting you with a tantalizing push-and-pull until he finally bottomed out with a growl. You cried out from the fullness he gave you, already twitching around him despite his stillness as he gave you both a moment to try and catch your breath. 

Alastor peppered your face with kisses and licks as you relaxed into him, testing you with a shallow thrust that had you biting down on your lip. Another. Another. Another. Until your mouth was hanging open, your hands traveling up to hold onto his triceps in your need for stability and to keep him close. Suddenly you felt him leave you completely, not even able to process the emptiness before he slammed back into you with a harsh grunt that made you squeal; writhing as he pressed up into your cervix.

He must have really enjoyed that, because he did it again. And again. And again. Settling into an excruciatingly blissful pace, his hard length massaging knots out of your body you didn’t know where there. Your legs instinctively hooked around him, nails digging into the flesh of his arms as you gasped and whined.

“So — ah..! Good… Alastorrr…!”

“Fuck!” he hissed between gritted teeth as your hips bucked, brows knit tight as he shook his head as if to clear a fog. 

You didn’t know he was actually trying to keep something at bay, the additional inch of growth in his antlers lost on you in your current state.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor’s hips stuttered for a moment before muscle memory guided him back to rhythm, desperate to regain the ecstasy that was torn from him. It had been a close call, but he managed to keep the switch from happening. Though the monster inside was still there, clawing at him just below the surface. 

He felt as your hands moved from their place on his triceps (which he had quite enjoyed) to settle on his chest, your fingers delicately tracing his scar. The line wasn’t steady though, perforated by the impact of his thrusts, which you were handling with a surprising welcomeness. 

It was almost…

There it was again, lying in wait; that ravenous, goading shadow roiling inside of him.

Take the risk…

Could he, though? Composing himself was practically second-nature, after all…

Say it!

Alastor exhaled, somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” He allowed himself to relish the sound of your cry and the blissed out look on your face, which in turn provided a moment to steel himself before continuing, “I didn’t think you’d be this greedy.”

“Fuuuck…! Alast — oh my god…!”

A fresh wave of your arousal flooded over him as you desperately rolled your hips to meet him, but the intention had been to make you climax — and judging by the way you were spasming around him, you were close. Not drive him to his own at the sight of your glowing eyes, just as they had that day in the alley.

He had miscalculated.

With an agonizing force of will he pulled out of you, harsh breaths straining his lungs as he got off the bed to hastily remove his pants and shoes. He groaned through the ripple of adrenaline that was tearing through him, heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum, the feeling of it causing his hair to stand on edge. Fuck. He wouldn’t be able to hold it off… not this time.

“What’s wrong?” Despite the question, your voice was still so thick with lust that it made his back hunch over.

It was taking all he had not to wrap his arms around himself in what he knew would be a useless attempt at containment. Even breathing was painful. The air saturated with the smell of sweat and sex and Valentino’s goddamn pheromones!

I really am going to kill that son of a bitch!

“Alastor…?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Burning at the stake.

It had been a good way to put it.

He had been burning you alive before dousing you with ice.

What had gotten into him? What had gotten into you? No one had ever said something like that to you before and received anything but a slap in the face. Greedy… The word made your heart stutter, some of the blood from the lower half of your body traveling back up to your face. Was it true? 

Embarrassment was beginning to sober you up. Had you gone too far? It seemed strange that you had, considering the words came from his mouth and not yours. Fuck, all of this had started because of him. How else had he wanted you to react? Or was he ashamed of himself? 

Was he regretting this already? 

“What’s wrong?”

You watched as his back arched up like a spooked cat, the force of his breathing revealing the ribs and notches of spine under the skin. He looked like he was in pain… Maybe the scar on his chest wasn’t as healed as it seemed? You climbed off the bed and made a timid approach.

“Alastor…?” 

He flinched at the touch of your hand with a hiss, the shock of his reaction making you trip over yourself and fall back onto the bed. He kept his back to you when he spoke next, the absence of his filter making you shiver in pleasure and worry.

“You remember what I told you earlier, yes?”

I don’t have the capacity for gentleness today.

How could you not remember that? 

“I do,” you answered, just above a whisper.

He straightened himself then, still turned away from you and managing to look regal despite his trembling. “I need you on all fours… and you must promise not to turn around. Do you understand?”

It was a question that didn’t leave room for any response other than yes. So you just positioned yourself on the bed, facing your headboard and gathered the pillows there underneath you for support. You had just finished settling when you felt his weight dip the mattress behind you, heart in your throat as he ran his nails down your spine before slipping his fingers into you.

You both sighed as he pumped you, filling the room with that familiar lewd sound between breaths. Stoking the embers of your stolen orgasm with every drag, until he removed them completely. You whined at his absence, the tightness in your belly teetering somewhere between pleasure and pain as you heard him shudder through stroking himself. His free hand resting now on your hip.

“Don’t get comfortable. If you cum facing away from me I’ll never touch you again.” His voice was tight with effort, the filter over it harsh and pocketed as he adjusted himself behind you, the grip of his hand on your left hip promising to bruise. 

To your shame, the threat alone almost made you, a graceless moan tumbling out from your chest as you barely managed to nod your head in confirmation; your cunt flexing around the words echoing in your mind. The obscene sight of it drew out a sound from Alastor that could only be described as animalistic, earning the plump skin of your hip a few punctures as he thrust into you, bottoming out.

It was a brutal pace, his cock nearly leaving you with every thrust before plunging back in. He still had one hand on your hip while the other grabbed your shoulder, the slapping sound of your skin meeting quickly overpowering the gasps and moans falling from your mouths.

“Haahhh… nnghh…! …fuck!”

“Alastor…”

You felt him twitch inside of you at the sound of this name before he practically shouted, “Again…!”

The blush burned down from your face into your chest, but you complied and whined his name again. And again. Until it seemed to be the only word you knew.

“Ohhh, fuuuck…,” he hissed, followed quickly by a snarl.

You could’ve sworn you heard fabric tearing before a green glow reflected off the lacquered wood of your headboard. Alastor’s huge silhouette taking shape as it intensified; invoking the image of a nightmarish spider more than the deer demon you knew. You closed your eyes and buried your face in the pillows you had gathered, refusing to turn around despite your instinct to do so. And even through the fear, you still felt your orgasm building, the battle to keep it at bay quickly turning against your favor. 

“Alastor… I… I can’t… I—”

The words were stolen as he suddenly bit into your shoulder, his mouth so wide you felt his teeth sink in from shoulder blade to collarbone. You screamed into the pillows as his hips stuttered, until there was a final thrust so deep it would have pained you if it weren’t for your throbbing shoulder. His seed spilled out hot and thick, fueling the aching fullness inside you as he grunted into your flesh; teeth still latched to you as if making a primal claim.

Hot tears fell down your face as he rode out his orgasm behind you, unsure if they were caused by the savage bite to your bruised shoulder or lament over the deprivation of seeing his face. But you had done as you were told, managing not to turn around or climax. The bite he was now nursing with licks and sucks and kisses providing plenty of distraction.

Almost too much…

As he tried to catch his breath, you could feel him shrinking behind you as he pulled out, his slick torso laying flat against your back as he lapped up the blood dribbling from the bite. And in between his kisses that traveled from your shoulder to your tear-stained face, his hands were petting you with such a tenderness it only wrought more tears. 

His soothing whispers of shhh, I know, I’m sorry, I’ve got you, I’m sorry ringing in your ears as he brought you to lie down, cradling you to him as he caressed your face with his hands that inflicted such pain and comfort… protection.

For what seemed like hours, the two of you laid in silence, looking into each other’s eyes as his thumb stroked your cheek. Until finally you buried your face into his chest, hands over his heart.

And slipped into shadow.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

ps: phew! we fucking made it y’all… i truly hope it was worth the wait. but i do want to announce here that i will be taking a little break. i know this one was already late, but it kinda took a piece of my soul lmao since we only have two more chapters i need to make sure i have all my ducks lined up to wrap this with a pretty little bow. thank you for your patience and love, i really do appreciate you. and i’ll see you on may 5th 💖

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmic-lavender

[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.

Tags: @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllita @nebarious  @t0uch-starved-h0e @bravo-delta-eccho  @sylvermoon @going-through-shit @latinxbipride @i-am-infinite @azrielrot @fuckingsimp4azriel @theravenphoenix26 @hanatsuki-hime @fantanbietsson @rcarbo1 @weasleymagic @secretsicanthideanymore @spymaster03 @elaselat @minnieoo @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @daughterofthemoons-stuff @jojodojo02 @questionmymentality @romantasyreader28 @cassie-at-college-blog @dabiloverphoenix @hippop345 @fan-of-many-bands @freefalls06-blog @yesiamthatwierd

[kingkat12]

unbearable (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, handjob, alcohol, graphic imagery, angst, mention of drugs, physical violence (almost), asshole teenage boys

summary: Roman had heard your no, respected your wishes, but now you were wondering how big of a blow it truly was for him to get his sexual advances rejected-- why was he blowing this so out of proportion? was something else maybe going on in that brain of his?

word count: 11,054 (am i on the brink of insanity maybe)

← previous chapter | next chapter →

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

a/n: sorry for the wait!! school is driving me nuts... BUT SO IS ROMAN!!! GRRR, enjoy!!!<333

Vladimir Nabokov, the author of Lolita, once wrote to his wife; "I love you, I'm waiting for you unbearably,"

... Waiting for Roman was unbearable, too.

Shatteringly unbearable. Images of wanting to ball up into a contortion of nothingness haunted me, and the need to become a single entity of anger and despair clawed wounds into my skin. I kept imagining I would grow extra arms to help my body become a circle, an ouroboros, but not stopping at the tail-- a snake eating itself to death.

If I could eat myself, I would. Not like an apple, not with gentle nips-- no, I would sink my teeth into my flesh and tear, rip, pull with all my might. Pull, pull, until I was nothing but a gushing wound. 

This is what Roman was driving me to. 

Is this a bearable state to be in? Constantly?

If I were to ask myself that question once more, I would answer that I no longer thought anything at all. I refused to. My brain stopped working properly the first time I saw him, anyway. Therefore none of my actions actually mattered. They had no consequence. No consequence at all, just like Roman probably saw his actions.

I should've listened to him the night we got together; "I shut down," he'd said. "I retaliate when I'm angry." Maybe I needed to be diagnozed with selective hearing? It was starting to seem as though I shut my ears whenever he spoke, only listening to the muffled sound of his voice as my pupils formed into pulsing hearts. 

Still, it seemed I wasn't the only one with selective hearing. If I closed my eyes, I could live through the moment I tried to tell Roman I wasn't up for having sex with him last night. It was like he didn't hear me, didn't register it; but in hindsight, it didn't feel like it was with ill intent. 

... Maybe this hearing thing actually needed to be addressed. Maybe we both needed a trip to the doctor's office to tell them we couldn't hear or think properly.

While we're there, I think I'd also like to have him referred to a therapist of sorts. Maybe he could learn how to communicate properly and not run off into the night when he doesn't get laid?

Oh, well-- a girl is allowed to dream. Get a little lost in her head. Sometimes, that's necessary. Especially in moments like these;

I spotted Roman beneath the bleachers with some of his friends, leaning against the metal structure. His hair was styled in the usual heartbreaker style, and the two upper unclasped buttons of his shirt allowed me to glance at the small area of exposed skin-- I spotted the vial of my blood around his neck, and the longer I stood here, I remembered how soft he was to the touch; especially when he was shirtless and on top of me. I hated how I was thinking about him like a dumb cat in heat. Still, I couldn't take my eyes off him; Roman seemed so carefree, laughing with his friends, unaware of how ridiculously handsome he looked. 

He should be jailed for walking around looking like that. For life, preferably. 

My eyes focused on the way he lazily balanced his cigarette between his fingers, taking slow, careful drags as he listened to his friend talk in the heat of the weather. Now, Roman was as different from yesterday as humanly possible-- I could still see the quiet, retreated version of him he had become last night after the rejection. The one that had practically thrown a fit about not getting laid, which quickly spiraled into what I could only categorize as a mental crisis. Had he been so shocked by getting a no that he had shot himself into existential dread? 

And why was his first conclusion that I didn't want him at all?

For a girl who just said she refused to think, I sure did a lot of it. I decided that enough was enough-- I needed to talk to him. Roman was my boyfriend after all, I should be able to do so.

Still, I couldn't remember the last time I felt this small as I made my way towards him, anxiously clearing my throat before I tapped Roman's shoulder. I hadn't managed to put much strength into the tap, and I was almost worried he wouldn't notice me--

One of his friends chimed in with a nasty grin, motioning for Roman to turn around; "Pretty girl, six o'clock," 

Roman turned his head to me, and it was clear that he hadn't expected to see me. His smile fell a little as he pulled his cigarette away from his lips, making sure to exhale upwards and away from my face. I spotted my hair ties around his wrist-- knowing he still wore them gave me a sense of ease. "Hey, sweets," Roman teased, casual as ever. "The catwalk ain't here, you gotta go down to the city center for that."

I rolled my eyes, watching the smug smirk form on his face as the rest of his friends snickered. Why was he acting so... normal? "Rome, we need to talk,"

"Well, fuck," he mumbled, turning to his friends with a playful shimmer in his green eyes. "It seems I'm in trouble, guys." It was as though he was egging them on as they all collectively ooh-ed, his loyal spectators, his royal servants. 

I didn't like this side of Roman. Jock-Roman. There were many sides of him I didn't like, actually. Or was it maybe that I didn't like myself for liking him at all? This was becoming more of a mind-fuck than expected. And if we were to play mind games, I knew where to strike; "Roman, either you fucking talk to me like a grown man, or I sit down in Daniel's lap during lunch today. Your choice," 

His head turned towards me with nearly inhuman speed, no trace of any humour on his face anymore. The sudden change was chilling-- I would've shivered, had I not expected it. The oohs only got louder from the group of boys, and I watched Roman's eye twitch as he threw his cigarette down to the floor, stomping it. Still, I didn't break eye contact; I had read somewhere that dogs battled for dominance this way. Since when were Roman and I no better than dogs? 

Roman turned to his pack; "Scram," he said, nodding for them to leave. 

They were gone within seconds. 

He turned to me, a tired look about him. "Talk, then,"

"No," I placed myself before him, watching his green eyes follow me. "That's not how a conversation works. One person says something, and the other one responds. Would you like to try that out, maybe practice a little? It seems you didn't do enough of that in elementary school."

Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stuffed his hands into his front pockets. "How sweet of you,"

"What can I say? I'm patient like that,"

"You'd be good with kids,"

"How great that you're acting like a child, then," I sighed, realizing that I needed a different strategy if I wanted to get anything out of this conversation. For now, Roman remained silent, probably holding back a long string of curses. I took another step forward, and I was immediately embraced by the scent of his cologne. Fuck, how I loved the expensive smell of Roman. Still, I knew I had to get myself together; I let my eyes soften as I looked up at him. "You haven't answered any of my calls or messages... I don't get what's going on in your head. I'm simply trying to understand, but you're just running away. Again."

Roman's eyelids hung heavy over his eyes, lashes fluttering lazily as he met my gaze. He let out a loud sigh; "Maybe I just need space? Did you ever weigh that option?" 

"... Do you want space?" This was so damn confusing. "You wanted to be as close as humanly possible last night, though?"

Roman scoffed again-- was it a laugh? He didn't say anything as he looked away, possibly to think. Like this, I spotted the vial again; I let out a relieved breath. To be honest, a part of me was worried he'd take it off. 

Finally, he spoke; "I need some time. Time to think,"

"Think about what?" This was making my heart speed up. "Roman, you're worrying me."

He shrugged, still not meeting my gaze. "Just... time. Is that so damn hard to give?" 

God, how I hated his tone. Hated the way he spoke to me right now, hated it all. It pushed me to say my deepest fear out loud; "If you're seriously breaking up with me because I didn't want to sleep with you with my parents on the other side of the wall, I sure hope you think very, very carefully,"

"What?" Roman seemed to snap out of it, finally looking at me. His brows were drawn together, confused; "I'm not breaking up with you. Aren't you breaking up with me?"

"What?" 

"... What?" 

We both looked at each other with bewilderment. It seemed we had both come to very, very different conclusions. 

"Roman, I'm not breaking up with you?" 

"... Why not?" 

"What?!" It felt like my brain was actively melting-- I groaned, rubbing my temples. "What on earth do you mean, why not?"

"I don't know!" Roman's brain seemed to be malfunctioning as well. He kicked off the metal of the bleachers, his mouth opening and closing as he frantically tried to find the right words. His hands were pulled out of his pockets, flailing; "Fuck, I'm confused! I'm gonna-- gonna hyperventilate, so I need to go. Need to-- Yeah, I'm leaving."

I couldn't believe how fast he took off. I hadn't seen anything like that before. Roman wasn't even running, he was simply walking with very, very long steps, and that was enough to be out of reach for me within seconds. 

I wanted to scream up at the sky-- what even was that conversation just now? The urge to drive my head into the bleachers became overwhelming, unbearable, but I opted to simply kick the structure instead. 

That was a miscalculation on my part. I hissed as the blow to my foot sent jolts of pain up my spine, and I winced as I suppressed the need to jump around on my other foot and look like a clown in the process. I cursed, leaning against the cold metal as I tried to steady my breathing.

This day was not going very well so far.

And it certainly didn't get any better when I heard the shuffling of small footsteps along the grass nearby. 

I should've known-- Letha stopped a few steps away from me, her blonde hair moving away from her face with the passing breeze. I blinked through the pain multiple times to make sure it really was her, that she actually had the nerve to walk up to me again. Sadly, I didn't have Roman to hide behind this time. But she looked so sweet with her hands clasped behind her, along with the unsure little tilt back and forth on her feet; "That didn't look very pleasant," Letha mumbled.

I didn't want to entertain this, yet I did. "What, the kick?"

"Well, that too," Letha's trying smile nearly broke my heart. I hated that we didn't know how to talk to each other anymore. "I meant the fight. Is he acting out?"

"... He's not a child, he's not acting out,"

"Didn't you just call him a child?"

"... He's my boyfriend, we're allowed to fight!" I gnarled. "And who the fuck are you to talk to me about this? How much of that conversation did you hear?"

Letha looked like I had just kicked her. "I always do my homework on the bleachers. You guys chose to fight right beneath me,"

Fuck. "You should've moved, then!--"

"It usually helps to dig into what set him off. And then, when you think you have the answer, rip it apart and look through the pieces," Letha's green eyes bore into mine, shimmering with traces of dimmed hope. "I have no idea what you're fighting about, but I've known Roman my whole life. That's how he operates, and... that's all I wanted to say. Hope I can be of some help."

An awkward silence fell over us like a damp blanket-- this was uncomfortable. Nonetheless, I stilled. A part of me recognized that Letha would've been the first to know of my problems with Roman, had we not had a falling out. Had she not iced me out, made me an outcast, turned all my friends against me, and practically shoved me down into the dirt. I would've confided in her, asked her for guidance, support-- I grieved our bond all over again. I gave in, shrugging; "Okay. Thanks,"

That seemed to take a weight off Letha's shoulders. As we stood in silence, simply gazing at one another, until her eyes slowly landed on my necklace. Roman's blood. It dawned on me that it was too late to tuck it beneath my shirt, and I awaited some sort of grief from her about it if she recognized what it was--

"Oh," she breathed. "It makes a little more sense, now."

"What does?"

"If he wears your blood around his neck as well, then it all makes perfect sense,"

"What does, Letha?"

The look she gave me sent a cold set of shivers down my spine. It was ominous, like I had been marked by death. Letha shrugged; "Of course he's... on edge, then,"

The chase was getting frustrating. "Care to go on, or are you just going to keep saying cryptic shit?"

"I can't!-- It's hard to explain!" Letha's shoulders slumped in defeat as her inner turmoil streaked her face. "Just imagine you're really, really broke, but you have a hundred dollar bill hanging around your neck... and under no circumstances can you use it." Her eyes nearly drilled holes into mine. "Would it not drive you crazy?"

Why did it sound like she was insinuating that Roman was a?--

No. 

No.

I didn't want to hear this. I didn't bother to give Letha a proper answer before I kicked off the metal of the bleachers, glaring at her as I passed her. "Stay away," I hissed, harshly nudging her shoulder. "Fuck off back to Barbieworld or wherever it is you came from."

As I marched back to the main building, I found it nearly impossible to steady my breathing. My heart was beating rapidly in my chest as I grasped the vial of blood around my neck, rubbing it between my fingers as my mind raced. 

It was only when I finally got to class and slumped down on the last free seat that I could think back to last night with a clearer vision than before.

The Avoidable Vampirism - The Upir had kept me up long enough to see the sunrise. I wanted to blame it on the author for writing such a captivating book. 

Still, the one thing I hated about literature such as this, was that it never actually said anything straight-forward. It always had to be a nonsense passage with lots of filler words and even more dancing around the actual message;

"Blood's effect on a upir is as much psychological as it is physical. Upirs tend to escalate small arguments in hopes of an eventual physical struggle, a battle that may wound, without properly understanding why. This may lead to a strong sense of insecurity which often settles in the upir's mind and festers, only drawing them forth to the dark road the curse wants them to venture."

That's what was written in the passage about upirs and blood. Nearly impossible to understand, and even further confusing, right? The worst must've been the passage that was written like a self-help book. Did the author seriously think upirs were real?

... Did I?

"And what happens when a upir is exposed to blood, you may ask? There are levels of control which range from person to person. Some may have gotten accustomed to the smell from having cut themselves in earlier years, and some may go into a spiral which is often misdiagnozed as mania in urban psychological trials. But some upirs are so assimilated, they can do experiments with blood or carry vials of it with them wherever they go— which is an inclination that should not be encouraged. The more the upir is around blood in a constant flow, the more the irritation festers, the anger boils, and the innate aggression settles."

And this is where I had to stop. I remember putting the book down to stare at the moon in the distance, wondering why on earth I had fallen into a loophole like this. I couldn't believe how many similarities I could draw between these supposed upirs and my boyfriend-- what did that say about Roman? He was possibly edgier than I had initially thought.

The more I thought about the similarities, the more insane I felt. 

... I needed to return this book to the library. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

"The both of you are like two rabid raccoons fighting over scraps in the New York City sewers," Peter grumbled, lazily sweeping the floor with his broom. 

I blinked, no longer rolling up cables as I turned to him. "... Do you have to use the craziest metaphors? And why is it always an animal?"

We had been assigned to clean up after an assembly later that same day, a task I had been able to evade up until now. So, when I spotted Peter also being forced to do this, we both huddled up in the corner of the auditorium backstage and started doing the most mundane tasks with the least effort to pass the time. However, it seemed he had been informed of my petty fight (or whatever the hell this was) with Roman, which was why he was back to making animal metaphors again. "Rabid raccoons..." I mumbled, reaching for a new cable to roll up. "Why the New York City sewers? Why raccoons?"

Peter shrugged; "Uh... Because raccoons are cool?"

Well, that's the thing with boys, isn't it-- there's pure static noise in their brains. I sighed, suppressing a chuckle as I continued my task. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the teacher wasn't catching us slacking off before I turned back to Peter. "Did Roman maybe mention that he thought I was going to break up with him over this?"

"Yeah," Peter also looked over at the teacher just to double check. "I told him it was nonsense, but he's spiraling. He's also gotten obsessed with the idea of joining a raw meat eating contest."

It was impossible not to roll my eyes. Boys. "Seriously, what is up with him these days? Please, bro-code aside, what the fuck is happening?"

I was sure the stupid upir book was the reason my heart jumped when Peter's gaze went straight to my necklace. It almost felt like he was wordlessly trying to hint something-- no, I needed to get this out of my head. 

Still, it chimed in my mind like an old clock;

There are even some upirs that are so assimilated, they can do experiments with blood or carry vials of it with them wherever they go— which is an inclination that should not be encouraged.

Should not be encouraged.

Should not be encouraged.

Peter's voice snapped me out of it-- "I think he's just going through withdrawal,"

"Withdrawal?" I echoed, turning my full attention towards him. That didn't sound good. "What do you mean, withdrawal? From what? He hasn't stopped smoking, if that's what you're talking about."

It seemed to dawn on Peter that he had said something he shouldn't have. His brown eyes widened and he cleared his throat, no longer sweeping the floor as he stopped in his tracks. "You don't know?"

"... You're killing me here,"

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, nodding to himself in defeat. "I would make you promise not to tell him I told you, but I bet you'll want to talk to him about this, so I won't even bother," His grip around the broom tightened; "So... Roman and I used to do coke together. A lot." When he didn't get a reaction, Peter grew visibly nervous. "It used to be the usual thing at parties. Roman always had a stash, and I'd join in from time to time... And he hasn't had a hit for a while, probably since you two got together, so all of this is probably just a part of the withdrawal."

Oh. I had forgotten about this. I blinked, tilting my head to the side as I gazed up at Peter with furrowed brows. Was that supposed to be a big reveal of sorts? Did he seriously think I didn't know that they used to do drugs? That I hadn't seen the both of them leaning over tables, snorting lines as I passed the room to check whether Roman was in there with a girl or not? This confirmed that they didn't notice me that one time I walked in on them in a bathroom while Roman was making the lines neat with his credit card. "Ah, so that's what that was?"

Peter's eyes widened; "... What?"

"The stuff you two were always snorting," Shrugging, I watched the look on his face distort into one of shock. It hit me that he hadn't known the true depths of how obsessed I used to be with Roman, and that I needed to get myself together before I revealed anything further damning; "Peter, I have a little something called vision. And a brain, for that matter. You guys aren't slick."

"We... aren't?"

It was impossible not to laugh, and I reached forward to nudge his shoulder. "Not in the least," To be honest, I was relieved to hear that Roman was coming off drugs and that my ridiculous upir-suspicions had been untrue. Maybe I could finally put all of that behind me and return the stupid book?

... Please. I was afraid I was going crazy.

He scoffed, moving away to continue sweeping the floors with a grumpy look on his face; "Anyway. That's the only explanation I have for you concerning what's up with him, but it's only an assumption. Maybe you should take a step back and let him come to you when he's done freaking out?" Peter glanced at me, almost as though he was plotting something. "Actually... I think I have the perfect thing to take your mind off this."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I regretted it the second I said yes, and I regretted it even more right now.

I had never been the biggest fan of parties, mostly because I was used to constantly getting smacked in the face with the truth that Roman was a bit of a whore (an understatement). So as I stood on the front porch with Peter later that night, surrounded by his friends as I listened to them talk about football (I wasn't paying attention, so I wasn't actually sure of the subject), I couldn't help but feel that same dread as before. I knew that Roman was my boyfriend now, that he wasn't upstairs with some random girl at this party, but the smell of alcohol yanked me right back to the memories. Actually, he wasn't even here at all.

Clutching the empty can of my finished drink, I gently yanked at the hem of Peter's sweater to catch his attention. "This isn't helping," I mumbled, meeting his big, brown eyes. "I feel bad being at this party without Roman... If he finds out, he's going to think I'm here to cheat on him or something. He's insane like that."

Peter sighed, rolling his eyes as he pulled me aside from the group. "Look, you need to relax, okay? I have it all under control,"

"You... what?"

His mouth pulled into a straight line, realizing he had said too much. Again. "Remember what I said about Roman not being here?"

Oh no. Peter had watched too many rom-coms. "For fuck's sake," I breathed, feeling my heart speed up. "Please don't say you told the both of us to come here?"

As annoying as the situation already was, Peter only made it worse by grinning in my face. He shrugged, brushing the severity off; "Last time I saw him, he was playing beer-pong,"

I was two seconds away from wrapping my fingers around Peter's neck and strangling him to death. "So Roman is running around this party drunk, and maybe also high on coke again while he's ignoring me?" Now, I was even closer to ripping my hair out of my follicles; "Oh, what an amazing idea this was, Peter! What a genius you are, this is just fantastic!"

Peter huffed, placing a condescending hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. "He's not high, okay? Just go find him, preferably before he falls over in the pool. I've let him marinade for long enough."

I grimaced-- "Marinade?" I needed to learn to stop trying to decrypt whatever Peter was saying. It never made sense, anyway. "First of all, fuck you. And second..." I took a deep breath, realizing what I was about to do; "... Wish me luck."

My head started pounding to the same rhythm as the song blasting through the speakers when I made my way inside and waded through the crowd. I hated that I was in this situation in the first place, hated that I hadn't spoken to my boyfriend in about twenty-four hours, but most of all...

I hated Roman Godfrey.

I hated the way he made me feel, hated how crazy I had become in my pursuit of him, hated, hated, hated him. However, amid my rage storm, I got a whiff of the scent of cinnamon cigarettes-- that brought me out of the inferno. I could recognize that, mixed with Roman's cologne, anywhere. I instinctively turned, realizing I had passed by the door to the kitchen, and I could be sure my eyes nor sense of smell were deceiving me as I now stood frozen, staring up at my boyfriend's broad shoulders. 

Roman's back was turned to me, but I could see that he was playing another round of beer-pong with a couple of friends scattered around the table. He hadn't noticed me, and I made sure he wouldn't. Still, the one person that caught my eye, was the girl by the counter next to where Roman was standing. I hid my body around the corner, peeking in past the door to catch another glimpse of the girl--

Fuck. It was Jessica. The girl Roman had flirted with to make me jealous the same day I told Letha I had feelings for him. Everything about her made me sick; the way she was dangling her long legs off the counter, staring up at him with literal hearts in her eyes, and how she twirled her blonde hair around her pinky as she tried to catch his attention with multiple calls of his name.

Roman seemed calm, unbothered, until he finally acknowledged her with an annoyed hum. It was only when he turned to face her, having just finished his turn in the game, that I saw that he was now pulling a cigarette out of his signature red box. I let out a shaky sigh of relief as I spotted my hair ties still hanging around his wrist, but I didn't get much time with my comfort before Jessica spoke up. 

Her voice was so painfully nasal; "So are you really seeing her?"

Roman's brows drew together as he balanced a cigarette between his slender fingers. God, how I missed his hands on me. "Who?"

Jessica said my name, followed by a pout. "If it's true, then that's really fucking unexpected. I have English lit with her, and she doesn't seem like your type,"

Had I not been desperate to hear Roman's answer, I would've grabbed the nearby lamp and bashed her head in-- alcohol didn't seem to have the best effect on my thoughts tonight. Still, Roman didn't react much, now patting down his pockets for his lighter. "Yeah, I'm seeing her. She's my girl,"

She's my girl. It echoed in my head over and over. My girl.

However, Jessica didn't seem too pleased with this revelation. She rolled her eyes, letting go of her hair; "She's not even a cheerleader," 

"And? I'm tired of you lot," 

"Romie, come on!" The nickname nearly made me puke in my mouth, effectively wiping my smile off my face. I watched as Jessica proceeded to reach out and put a hand on his arm, pursing her lips like a dumb fucking bimbo-- "I don't think a girl like that could handle you... sexually."

Ew! I wanted to slam my head against the door. Would that relieve the pain of hearing this conversation?

But Jessica continued; "Everyone knows she's been crazy about you for some time now. Everyone except Letha knew, actually, but that girl is more gullible than a lamb! But you must be aware that your girlfriend thinks you walk on water? You're dating the epitome of your fucking stalker. But does that turn you on, maybe?"

Roman blinked twice before brushing Jessica's hand off with a silent scoff (finally). He found his lighter in his back pocket, lighting his cigarette as he rolled his eyes. "Shut your filthy whore mouth," he grumbled, cig sitting between his lips. When he was done lighting it, he held the lighter out dangerously close to Jessica's face-- "I'll burn your disgusting extensions right off."

She didn't seem too phased by it on the outside, but I could see the slight tremble in her hands as she now gripped the counter. Was this how Roman talked to other girls? How had I not noticed this before? "No need," Jessica said, gulping. "I can see you're taking her... seriously." She cleared her throat, letting out a shaky breath as Roman moved away. Jessica didn't have much time with her usual clean air before he blew the smoke from his cigarette in her face, and she quickly fell into a coughing fit.

I realized what I was watching when Roman smiled with evil glee at the sight of her pain. The version of Roman he used to be. It felt like I had opened a portal back to two months ago, before anything between us had happened and he was running around stabbing people with needles to get a rush.

"Of course I'm taking her seriously," Roman said, letting the cigarette rest between his lips. "I actually like her this time, unlike anything I've ever felt for you. She's sweet, and you're like... maggots crawling out from the depths of hell compared to her."

... Ouf. 

Jessica didn't seem to be taking this very well. Her blue eyes hardened, traces of tears welling up in her eyes as her grip on the counter tightened to the point where her knuckles started to whiten-- "You're lovely tonight, as always," she mumbled, hurt. Her voice grew bitter; "But where is your girl, then? Did you leave her at home to come here alone? 

Roman exhaled the smoke through his nose with one quick breath, turning to his friends when they called his name. He was thrown the beer-pong ball, and he effectively ignored Jessica's questions to play his turn in the game.

His lack of answers seemed to give her hope that he might stray. Jessica sat forward on the counter, drying any traces of welled-up tears as she lit up. "Oh, Romie," she purred-- I nearly threw up in my mouth again. "It's nice to see you don't change."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Roman turned to her, brows drawn together. 

Jessica sighed, once again reaching out to rest her hand on his bicep. The worst part was when she gave it a little squeeze and her eyes locked on him-- fuck. "One girl will never be enough for you. You're aware of that, right?" She moved further to the edge of the counter (could she not fall off already?), batting her lashes; "If you're here tonight because you're not satisfied, I know a few ways to... satisfy you."

That was it. This was sickening. Had I not been so nervous to hear Roman's response, I would've lunged forward and slammed her empty head down to the floor. However, I could only press my body against the wall I was hiding behind, listening to the dampening of my breath as my heart thumped harshly against my ribs-- this was torture. This was complete and utter torture. 

I'm waiting for you unbearably.

Unbearably. 

This was unbearable.

It felt as though my chest was caving in on itself, threatening to make me a ball of nothing again, until Roman finally moved; gripping Jessica's hand with two fingers, he removed her off of him as though he was disgusted to even be touching her. "Are you maybe a little hard of hearing? Perhaps you hit your head really hard when you were younger, I have no idea, but I'll make it nice and comprehensible for you, okay?" He exhaled another cloud of smoke, fogging up Jessica's face as he leaned in dangerously close, lowering his voice as he spoke; "I don't want you or your cheerleaders, and I never will again. Never."

I was two seconds away from fainting out of sheer happiness-- my cheeks reddened. This was everything I had ever hoped to hear from him, and my anxieties floated out of my body with my next sigh of relief. I was ready to step into the kitchen and save Roman from this situation, hoping he'd be happy to see me now that he'd had this conversation about his feelings for me, but my plans were abruptly stopped when I heard a familiar voice call out my name.

My anxiety zapped itself right back into me as I froze to my spot, waiting for the wall to swallow me whole, never to be seen again. No, no, no!

I could only watch as Daniel approached me, giddy as ever with a beer in his hand. Were the Gods above playing tricks on me, perhaps? It was clear that he was drunk, and he tried to get his blonde hair out of his eyes repeatedly as he now stood before me, a broad grin on his face. "Well, don't you look nice," 

Why was he speaking so loudly? I was afraid Roman would hear and come out to check if his suspicions were correct. "Thanks," I mumbled, anxiously wavering back and forth on my feet as I pondered whether to flee or not. "Look, Daniel, you shouldn't--"

"What, talk to you?" He leaned down a little, his mood immediately shifting as he said my name once more like venom. It was clear in his eyes that he had come up to me with an argument in mind. "Don't tell me the rumours are true and you're actually with that guy?" 

Oh, how little I wanted to have this conversation. I so desperately didn't want to. Not with Roman at hearing distance. "Yeah, I am,"

Daniel snorted, rolling his eyes as he pulled back with a pretentious chuckle. With the way he was swaying, I could see that he'd had at least five beers or so. It explained the disgusting ramble of words that ensued; "Shit... Didn't think you were brainless like that. You're just a dumb fucking slut just like the rest of them, aren't you? Can't believe I ever thought you were different... Nice guys truly finish last, don't they?" 

Nice? I grimaced. Did this guy genuinely think he was nice? I was shocked to realize I even thought so of him at one point. My lips parted in shock; I hadn't heard him talk like this before. This was nauseating. Still, I knew I had to snap back-- I was about to speak up, protect myself unlike how I had handled myself during the whole Letha-mess, but I didn't get a chance to. 

I didn't even have to look to know who was now standing in the door to the kitchen, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Roman's eyes narrowed, locking in on Daniel's with a chilling look; "What did you just say to her?" he said, voice low, dangerous.

Daniel's smirk was immediately wiped off his face. "Fuck-- Fuck off, Godfrey. This is none of your business," 

"None of my business?" Roman echoed, tilting his head to the side as he feigned confusion. "Nah, that's not how this is gonna go down." He stepped away from the door, nearing Daniel with threatening steps. "You get a little drunk, and suddenly forget you fucking crumble at the sight of me? You're shaking, Goldman, but you have balls enough to insult my girl?" 

Now that Roman had pointed it out, I immediately saw it. Daniel's hand had a slight tremble as he clutched the can of beer harder with his next words; "You know she could do so much better than you, right?"

I held my breath, watching Roman's every movement. At this point, I was scared Daniel had hit too big of a homerun on that insult. 

I wondered when Roman would-- oh, there it was. With one last step forward, he managed to yank Daniel forward with a choking grip around the collar of his shirt. I felt my breath escape me with a gasp, unsure whether to intervene or not. "Roman, don't!--"

It was too late. Roman wasn't hearing me. Selective hearing. "If you wanna go, Goldman, then we're gonna go!" he raged, tightening his grip as he yanked Daniel forward like a ragdoll. "Don't be a fucking pussy, fight me if you're so keen on walking around with a black eye!"

I was both mortified and scared as I watched Daniel's face turn a peculiar shade of purple. I had never seen such a prominent look of fear in my life. His hands were clawing at Roman's as he sputtered incoherent squeaks, and after five seconds too long, Daniel was let out of the death grip. It took even less time for him to sprint out of our sight. 

Roman turned to me, brows still drawn together in fury. He was catching his breath, and he was not yet out of fight mode when he practically barked at me; "And since when have you been at this stupid party?!" 

"Ask Peter!" I squeaked. "It was his plan, all of it! He wanted us to talk!" Watching the confusion spread in Roman's green eyes, I cleared my throat before I continued; "Actually, I want us to talk as well... Could we please just?--"

Within a split second, he was gone. Gone. I stood by the wall, lips parting in complete and utter confusion-- how had he managed to disappear like that? Run off like that? Suddenly, my mind shot in a passage from The Avoidable Vampirism;

The classic traits of a upir:

Enhanced strength

Heightened senses

Mesmerization

Unnatural speed

-- No, stop it! I had to physically smack my head to snap out of it this time. Roman wasn't a fucking upir, he was just in withdrawal as Peter said! 

... Right?

The alcohol was certainly not helping my state right now.

As I stood glued to the wall like the biggest wallflower known to man, I pondered the question that had haunted me all day; why was Roman so scared to talk to me? After I had heard how he spoke of me to Jessica, and how he had just called me his girl to Daniel along with the whole fight for my honour, it surely couldn't be a question of his feelings towards me?

This seemed to be an evening of many flashbacks; Letha's words were suddenly ringing in my ears-- "It usually helps to dig into what set him off. And then, when you think you have the answer, rip it apart and look through the pieces,"

... Fine. Let's start.

What had set him off? It was clearly that I didn't want to sleep with him last night, right?

Okay-- Now I had to rip it apart and look through the pieces.

"Aren't you breaking up with me?" he'd asked earlier today. Roman seemed genuinely confused that I wasn't there to dump him. Had he really expected me to discard of him so quickly over a simple miscommunication? 

Then it hit me that Roman might be crazy enough to have avoided me all along because he thought the next conversation would be the one where I'd finish the job. 

With a loud groan, I started my search around the party. Idiot! I was going to find this man no matter what. If I had to pin him down and scream some sense into him, so be it.

He wasn't downstairs— I could exclude that after a quick swipe of the floor. I somehow managed to make my way through the dense crowd on the stairs, now checking every room. To be honest, I was terrified of walking in on something I didn't want to see, but a tiny part of me thought it might even be good for me to see just a snippet-- I didn't know much about real sex, anyway. Still, I let out a relieved sigh when I scoured all the rooms without having violated my vision. 

But my relief didn't last long. I allowed my shoulders to slump as I came to a halt, realizing I had circled the upper floor with no trace of him. The deafening music was starting to hurt my ears, and I was about to cover them when I suddenly heard a loud bang coming from the closet to my right followed by a breathy, angry shit. 

Oh my. Gotcha. I approached the door with careful steps, holding back a beaming smile as I knocked twice; "Roman...?"

I heard him shuffling around, a short groan following; "... Nope," 

It took a lot of concentration to not burst out into a fit of laughter. It felt as though all my anger left my body, unable to concentrate on anything other than how ridiculously cute he was when he was drunk like this. "Can I come in?"

"... That's what he said,"

"Come in? I think you might've gotten it a little twisted,"

I could almost hear him rolling his eyes; "Who are you to argue, virgin?"

Enough was enough. With a small creak, I opened the door to the closet--

Oh.

This was certainly not the sight I expected to see. Roman's green eyes immediately found mine, big with embarrassment. There he was, splayed out on the floor of the tiny closet with a hot pink crop top on his head. I assumed it had landed on him after he fell over, and I tried to take a mental image for later amusement. 

I was about to laugh-- However, as I closed the door behind me and stared down at Roman's flushed face, almost the same colour as the ridiculous pink crop top, I just melted. Easy as that. All the pent-up anger, all the frustration I wanted to take out on him, it all liquified into molten lava and became one with the earth.

What a mess he was. What an absolute, utter mess. Roman's green eyes were big, huge even, as he stared up at me, his breath coming out in small, ragged heaves. He looked terrified of my next words, like he was bracing for a good verbal beating--

I crouched down, making space between his long legs that practically took up the whole closet. With careful movements, I pulled the crop top off his head and cupped his pretty face; "Rome," I cooed. "You thought I was going to break up with you?"

It felt like I was talking to a child. I was aware I risked Roman exploding on me for taking that tone with him, but I figured he was too drunk to really sense it. "Yeah," he breathed, keening against my touch. "Makes sense that you'd want to."

Fuck, he was unbearably cute, like a lost little puppy. "No, it doesn't," I murmured. Why was it so hard for him to understand? "I'm not breaking up with you. Is that why you've been avoiding me today? Were you worried I was going to do that?"

Almost like a child, Roman nodded. "I just... don't want to lose you. But I fucked up again," he whispered, practically pouting. "I was so mean. Last night and today."

I stroked my thumb over his cheek, watching his response to my attempts at comfort. Something told me he hadn't been held like this before. "Roman... You're not losing me any time soon, and you were obviously a little hurt too. I guess it's a... vulnerable thing to initiate. You're allowed to feel what you feel,"

"But it was wrong,"

"What was?"

"My feelings," he mumbled. "It's just-- I'm not used to caring about a girl like this. Previously, if I didn't get my way, I could leave with no repercussions. But this time, it hit me about ten minutes later on the highway that this was you and not some random girl. You. And I was just so consumed with the urge to... ugh, I don't want to say it out loud, but you know. It gets unbearable at times. I haven't wanted anyone like this before, I just don't know how the fuck to behave!"

I was sure my cheeks were burning. Holy fuck. "Ah... I see," My knees got tired from crouching, so I sat down on the little free space left on the floor. "Look, your feelings aren't wrong. They never are. Your feelings are your feelings. But what I don't get is that I told you I wasn't up for... sex simply because my parents were on the other side of the wall. I would totally be up for it if they weren't. Did you not register that, maybe?"

"I don't know, but... it's not really about the sex. I guess it got me wondering whether you're just a little shy, or if you secretly don't want to be with me anymore," Roman took my hands into his before his gaze shied away. His voice lowered into a barely audible whisper as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the nearby wall; "You didn't once say you wanted me too. I guess I just concluded you didn't want me at all."

I fought the instinct to freeze. I saw his point, recognized his anxiety (and severe attachment issues), yet I needed to point out one very simple truth;  "But... I'm crazy about you. You know I want you,"

"No, I don't," he breathed. "You make me feel like a fucking rapist."

"A... What?!" I gave his hands a harsh squeeze-- "Roman, what are even you saying?"

He scoffed, eyeing me with his head still leaning against the wall. Hiccuping from all the alcohol, he spoke; "I'm always on you like a fucking dog in heat. You never initiate, and I'm constantly worrying whether I'm taking advantage or not. And to make that clear, that's not what I want to do,"

All of this was beyond shocking to hear. Was this maybe also the supposed withdrawal speaking? "Rome, you're not taking advantage. Not at all! I'm just... shy, I guess?" I brought one of his hands up to my mouth, pressing my lips against his knuckles. "I never thought you needed to hear me say it too. I'm sorry."

Surprisingly, Roman pouted-- "Say it, then," he whined. Had he been standing, I was sure he'd stomp his foot like a toddler.

I couldn't help but smile. I liked whiny-drunk Roman. "Say what, Rome?"

"Spit it out,"

"Would you stop running away from me then?"

"... Yes,"

I took a deep breath, suppressing a nervous giggle. Roman's green eyes drilled into me, holding me still as I tried to find the courage to say it to his face. It was nearly impossible, and I felt my cheeks flush a rather peculiar shade of pink, similar to Roman's alcohol-flush. And also the hot pink crop top. I was definitely stealing that one.

I let go of Roman's hands, crawling over to straddle his lap. My arms draped around his neck, and he shifted as he looked up at me with those gorgeous, green eyes of his. My Roman. "You already know I'm crazy about you,"

"Yeah, you tree-carving freak," 

"Hey!" Now, it was impossible not to laugh. Thankfully, he laughed with me. "But sure, I'll take it. I carved our initials into a tree, and I'd do it all over again. And you know why?"

Roman's eyes practically sparkled; "Why?"

I lowered my face to hover right above his, feeling his hot breath against my parted lips. "Because I crave you. Carnally," I whispered, watching his pupils rapidly widen. "What am I if not yours? Yours to take, yours to claim, yours to... fuck."

Roman's signature smirk was back, shinier than ever. "Now, now, don't be shy with it," he purred, his arms snaking around my waist to pull me flush against him. "Say more."

Fucking hell. There was certainly no space to hold back any longer. "Yeah, you want more?" I had to bite back a smirk of my own. "Don't be a fucking brat, then. Kiss me if you do."

Roman's eyes widened, not expecting me to say anything remotely close to that. Still, his lips parted as his smirk morphed into a blinding grin. With one smooth move, he ran one hand up into my hair, pulling me in for the shortest, sweetest kiss known to man. "I'm impatient," he said. "Go on."

"Brat," It felt nice to finally say that out loud. From the first time I had a proper conversation with him, that word had been stuck in my mind. 

Roman rolled his eyes, letting me laugh into the needy kiss that followed. It didn't take long before I melted, relishing in the soft pillows of his lips against mine, the feeling I had longed for ever since he stormed off my roof last night. "I want you," I said, mouthing my words into the kiss. "So bad. So, so bad."

Roman moaned-- "More,"

My hands went up into his hair, fingers reaching for the tips of his dark locks to press him further against me as the kiss deepened. I had never felt this desperate before in my life. Still, I somehow found the strength to pull away; I got an idea. "No. We're playing a little game first,"

Roman groaned, glaring at me as he rested his head against the wall. "For fuck's sake," he mumbled. "Now?"

"Now," I placed my hands on his chest, unable to hold my laugh. My little idea was genius. "Have you noticed where we are?"

"... At a party?"

"Where?"

"In a closet?--" Roman's words came to a halt as his eyes widened, and a knowing grin spread across his plush lips. "Oh my."

I hummed, pressing my fingers into his chest. Right now, I was sure I had adopted the classic Roman-smirk; "Up for a round of seven minutes in heaven?"

"... Isn't it a little blasphemous to play without the bottle?" Roman proceeded to laugh, rubbing circles into my thighs. "Actually, fuck yeah. I’m up for it.”

"Seven minutes," I purred, grabbing my phone and putting on a timer. "You once said that seven minutes with you were enough to show everything I needed to know about being with you in that way..." 

To be honest, I had no idea what had come over me. Was it perhaps the alcohol? But the intrigue shimmering in Roman's keen eyes told me all I needed to know-- I watched his pupils expand as the hands I had rested against his chest started traveling down his body. And Jessica thought I couldn't handle him sexually? Hah! "It seems it's my turn to show how it would be with me, no?" 

Roman's lips parted, staring up at me in disbelief; "If you're just teasing me now, I'm going to die on the spot. I swear. My death will be on your hands,"

I could only laugh, biting down on my lip to lower my voice. "Don't you dare," I said, slowly reaching for the clasp of his belt. 

Watching the widening of Roman's big, green eyes never failed to amuse me, especially not now. "Baby," he breathed, his lips curving into a smile. "Don't fuck with me, I swear--"

"Am not," After unbuckling Roman's belt, I decided to tease him by trailing my hands away from the zip of his pants, my fingers ghosting over his hard-on. It seemed the excitement was getting to him already, and to my surprise, I could feel him hardening beneath my palms. 

The loud music was so far away now, just as everything else was-- My mind was even further away, possibly residing on the planet Neptune, because how the hell had I managed to convince myself I knew how to do this? 

Fuck it-- it can't be that hard, right?

Certainly not harder than Roman was now, anyway. 

This was an enigma to me, all of it. I could only go off instinct; and just as I was about to slide my hand beneath the band of his boxers, Roman grabbed my hand. "Hold on," he breathed, bringing my palm to his lips. "Step one is to never go anywhere dry." His green eyes locked on mine, not breaking eye contact as he placed several wet kisses against my palm, slicking it. Shivers ran down my spine as I felt his tongue swipe along my skin, because fuck, this was intense-- my breath hitched. Roman's soft laugh rang in my ears as he let go of my hand, giving back the control. 

Fuck. My heart was pounding. Were my hands shaking? I had no idea-- it felt as though I had blacked out for a few seconds, and when Roman pulled me into a heated kiss and brought me back to my senses, my fingers were gently brushing against the hard tip of his cock. 

I could feel Roman's breath hitch just slightly against my lips, and it immediately made my cheeks burn. What the fuck was I doing? I so desperately hoped no one would walk in on us like this, me straddling him with his dick in my hand. That would certainly only taint my reputation further-- no, actually, fuck that. I wanted to stay connected like this forever, Roman's soft lips moving against mine with a need I didn't remember in him. 

It took a lot of willpower to break the kiss even just for a second, but it was too damn fucking dark in this stupid closet. I watched as Roman's lashes fluttered, how his chest raised in heaving motions, how the vial of my blood rested against the peak of his sternum-- I decided to go for the wish to kiss him right there. 

Roman's skin was so unbelievably soft. There was no flavour to it as I swiped my tongue against his collarbone, not even a trace of alcohol from his perfume, and this was the moment it dawned on me that this might be my favourite place to kiss him. I didn't often have access, but when I did, I could feel the soft raise of his shoulders with his every breath-- and fuck, how I loved his shoulders. I finally wrapped my fingers around his length, deciding not to toy with him any longer. 

He let out a shaky breath just as I sucked down on his collarbone to leave a mark; Roman was long gone now. His head lolled to the side, his breath escaping him with a short huff. "Fuck," he whispered, bringing his hand up to twist into the nape of my neck, pulling me away from him to press the soft pillows of his mouth against mine in another hot, needy kiss.

This was certainly a big difference to the last time we had played this game. We had barely kissed properly, and our lips had only grazed each other compared to whatever this was. I couldn't believe how unbelievably scared I had been the first time.

I smiled into the kiss, remembering our first. 

Roman cursed against my lips, his hips bucking just slightly into my grip around his cock. With his free hand, he placed his on top of mine, guiding me to pick up my pace.

I realized my heart was almost thumping to the exact same pace as the music downstairs-- "Is this okay?" I whispered, relishing in the short breaths of pleasure spilling from his mouth.

Roman shot me a look, although it didn't look as intimidating as he probably intended; with his lids halfway closed, the hunger for me shone through. "You know damn well,"

It was impossible not to smile. God, I was so crazy about this man. "Rome?"

A hum.

I leaned in closer, pressing a sweet kiss against his ear; "I want you so bad," I whispered, feeling his breath hitch as I kissed down his jaw. "I need you to know that. Rome, I always want you." Never in a million years did I think I'd ever see him like this, panting beneath me, pre-cum spilling from the slit of his cock. Never in my wildest dreams. But he had driven me near mad with his stupidity these past twenty-four hours, so I had no problem bringing him down to the depths of vulnerability with me-- finally, we had switched places.

Roman's hands traveled up my thighs, giving my ass a proper squeeze as he groaned just slightly; "Want you too," he breathed, letting his head rest against the wall as I worked my digits around his length. His lips parted, his eyes shut as his lashes fluttered just slightly; "Always. Always want— hah, want you. You know me."

Had I not been so taken with the sheer beauty of him right now, I would've swooned. I was shocked I hadn't fainted from how hard my heart was beating, anyway. "I adore you, Rome. Do you know that?"

A small yeah was Roman's only reply, his head rolling back and forth, thighs clenching, cock twitching. He was close. His next words were rushed, quick; "Fuck, where do I...? Fuck--" 

"Don't think about it," I murmured, my free hand running gently through his hair. Slowly, I reached for the pink crop top nearby; this was my only solution at the moment. "Just enjoy."

Roman practically whimpered; "Shit, shit, gonna--"

I watched as he threw his head back, panting hard as he spilled into the top. I felt his warm cum running down the inside of it as I stroked him through his high. "Fuck, fuck--" Roman was rambling at this point, failing to steady his breath through it.

My lips parted, feeling as though I had bitten into the forbidden fruit. The image before me gave me a high, unlike anything I had ever had before. It was probably similar to the feeling Roman used to achieve through cocaine use. I took another quick mental snapshot, knowing this was a sight I wanted to keep for later-- only in case of emergencies, of course. I couldn't help but feel a little proud that I had figured out how to do this stuff to him.

Roman blinked twice, his mind slowly returning to his body. He laughed a little at the sight of the hot pink crop top, shaking his head. "Damn," he breathed. "I'm a little horrified I didn't last seven minutes."

Oh, silly boy-- "Nah, I'm glad you didn't. My hand would be cramping up," I leaned forward with a soft giggle, kissing the tip of Roman's nose as he let out a sigh of relief. "And I also proved my damn point."

He blinked up at me as I pulled away. "Which was...?"

The timer rung-- "Seven minutes are more than enough," 

"Right. That's my line," Roman tucked himself back into his jeans with a huff, laughing softly in a state of denial. "Definitely didn't expect this tonight... Good job." The corners of his mouth slowly curved upwards as he placed a sweet kiss against my cheek. "I'm just so damn glad we're not breaking up."

I had forgotten about that situation for a few minutes, and being reminded of it again was like being slapped out of a nap. "Of course we're not, Roman," I kissed the tip of his nose as I rolled up the crop top-- that felt wrong on all accounts. "If you get all manic about something like that again, please don't shut me out. I nearly went mad."

Roman's pupils dilated further as he reached for the vial of my blood around his neck, twirling it around his finger. "Yeah, we can't break up... Or else that poor tree would've been vandalized for nothing,"

I rolled my eyes. He was never going to let that go, was he? "Alright, that's enough," I mumbled, watching as Roman brought the vial to his lips to press a short kiss against my blood-- it felt odd but intimate. Was he maybe still a little drunk? "Let's get you home, okay? I'll drive your car." With shaky steps, I got up from his lap, bunching up the crop top in one hand. 

Roman hiccuped-- drunk. It was confirmed. "I don't want to," he whined. 

"Come on, Rome, we can't stay in this cramped up fucking closet all night!--"

"Well, what are you gonna do? Throw me over your shoulder and carry me downstairs?"

For fuck's sake. It was impossible not to laugh at that mental image. "We can't stay here any longer! Peter's gonna think we're fucking somewhere, and I certainly don't want to be known as the girl that has sex at parties!--"

"My mom is out of town," Roman said, effectively cutting me off. "Sleep over."

My eyes widened. I knew what that meant. Clutching the damp crop top in my hand, I felt the green of his gaze swallow me whole; "Come on. It'll be fun," Roman got up from the floor, tilting his head a little as he slowly inched forward, making my back hit the wall with the two only steps there were possible to take in this closet. He continued; "Nothing has to happen, but I just... I want to roll around in bed with you in the morning. No interruptions, no parents, nothing. Just us."

I was shocked I didn't become a puddle of mush on the floor. "Just us?"

"Just us," Roman breathed, leaning down to press a short kiss against my lips. But what came next was unexpected; "... And my pet tarantula."

"What?!"

Roman only laughed, his pupils widening with pleasure at the sight of my terror. Some things never change. "Just kidding, baby," he purred, placing a hand on the small of my back as he opened the closet door. And before I had the chance to properly step out of it, he leaned down to whisper against my ear; "It's actually a giant centipede. Lovely pet."

I nearly squirmed out of his grip, shivering. "Please tell me you're joking!" 

Seriously, when will I ever learn? Roman continued to laugh, waving to a few people who passed us by in the corridor as we walked down the hall. "Of course I am,"

"I'm not leaving with you if you have some creepy animal there, I swear!"

"Fine, fine!" He kissed the top of my head, and I felt him smile against my hair. "There are no scary animals there... Just me."

Before I had the opportunity to answer, Roman groaned loudly as he glanced at the crowded stairs when we approached, rolling his eyes. "Ugh, why do people always crowd the goddamn stairs?" He turned back to me; "I just need to find Peter and swipe my keys--"

"Why does he have your keys?"

"... I was threatening to jam them into the side of this guy's head earlier, but that's not important," Roman shot me a charming smile as though he hadn't just said that. "But just hold onto me, okay? I'll wade us through." 

So that's what I did; I clutched onto Roman's hand, feeling his long fingers wrapping around mine as he made way through the crowd, occasionally turning to greet a few people he knew. I was so damn ready to get to his place, to lie down on a bed, and get away from this loud music. Still, a part of me knew we wouldn't be able to stay away from each other tonight, and I felt my chest swell with warmth at the thought of what might happen. What would happen.

But just as I was finally relaxed again and the two of us almost made it down the stairs, I felt another hand on my shoulder the same second Roman turned away to say hi to a friend of his. I turned, gasping just slightly at the shock of a cold touch, and the rest of my breath followed as it dawned on me who I was facing. 

Letha's green eyes were wide, almost as though she had seen a ghost. For a second there, I thought she could read my mind and understand why I was clutching onto a damp crop top. It was still warm-- why was I finding that hot right now? God, I was going insane. But I knew that the sight of Roman and I together would never be a pleasant one for Letha, so I stared back at her with the same bewilderment-- why had she stopped me? 

Letha's following words were almost icy to the touch, hollow to the ear; "Was I right?" 

It felt as though my world stilled. Time stilled. Just for a second, I felt as though I could wade my free hand through the coldness of her phrase, and I could wave away the mirage. She was concerned, curious. Had she genuinely wanted to help me get through this fight with Roman? 

I realized that tonight might be a night of many firsts. My first handjob, my first... time (possibly), and my first step of forgiveness. "Yeah," I breathed. "You were. Thank you." 

Letha's face softened as a relieved sigh escaped her, nodding her head slowly. It had been a long time since the last time she had heard those words from me. "Any time," 

Had Roman not squeezed my hand, I was sure I'd continue standing there, just staring into the eyes of my previous best friend. They looked so, so similar-- Had Letha not been blonde, I would've mistaken them for siblings. Snapping out of it, I turned to my boyfriend who was too busy scowling at his cousin to notice how calm I was about meeting her. "Let's go," he mumbled, repressed jealousy dripping from his voice as another squeeze of my fingers ensued. 

"Yeah... Let's,"

(a/n: thank you so so much for reading!!! mwah!!)

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