#she maintains a scar free face

[wintaerbaer]

seven storms (jjk) (m)

summary: As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genres: forbidden love, angst, a bit of fluff, also a bit of smut

word count: 9.0k

warnings: ambiguous time periods, oc’s mom passed away when she was a child, parental strain and turbulent relationships, it’s not explicitly stated but bang sihyuk is oc’s dad, find the ‘seven’ reference, BRIEF SMUT (in the form of missionary, cowgirl, and implied unprotected, which you should not do)

a/n: this one is for the obs discord server, who came up with this plot and then flattered me until i agreed to write it lol

MASTERLIST // Read on ao3

It begins with a clap of thunder.

The dark clouds had rolled in quickly during your morning ride, the rain holding off on its looming descent even as the wind picks up and throws strands of hair across your face. You try to cling to every minute you have left before the downpour, savoring your alone time and the peaceful quiet of the morning. It may even be worth getting a little wet, you think as you watch the new stable hand effortlessly sling a bay of hale over his shoulder, for the chance to savor every moment of your daily ritual before the weather inevitably forces you back inside.

You love the simple pleasures of fresh air and the soft rustle of the grass.

Jungkook glances at you from afar as he continues his work, and even at this range, you can see his muscles shifting under the fabric of his shirt. It’s been roughly a month since your father hired him to tend the stable on your family’s estate, and while he hasn’t been unpleasant, giving you a friendly but silent nod each day as you prepare for your ride, he’s mostly kept his distance.

Today, however, is a different story entirely as a boom sounds out above your head. Your horse, a young stallion named Bam who is still being broken, startles at the noise and begins to nervously pace, tamping down the dirt under his hooves. The reins wrap tighter around your fingers as you attempt to take firmer control, but when a second crack emanates through the sky, the horse begins to buck in an attempt to throw you off.

The laws of physics cease to exist, time simultaneously speeding up and slowing down as you work to maintain your balance, clenching your muscles around the horse's back. A particularly violent whip of his head rips the reins free, and all you can do is try to flatten yourself to his back and hold on for dear life.

A pair of unfamiliar hands shoots into your peripheral vision, stroking firmly at the stallion's head and neck until he's easing back down, his erratic motions steadying until you can safely sit back up and face your rescuer.

"Are you alright?" His eyes scan your body for injury, moving from your face all the way down to your toes and back up.

You use the time to perform your own appraisal. The first thing you notice is that while he had immediately struck you as handsome when you first saw him around the property, he’s even more attractive up close: all soft eyes, perfect lips, and a tiny scar on his cheek that only adds to his allure. Add to that strong arms, broad shoulders, and a section of clearly-chiseled chest peeking out of his shirt, and you have to admit to yourself that you’re already halfway gone.

“Y/N?” His eyebrows dip as he frowns, clearly suspecting some kind of head injury as a result of your silence.

“You know my name.”

His expression turns quizzical at your bizarre answer. “I work for you. Of course I know your name.”

“You work for my father.”

“And you by extension.”

Your spine stiffens with rebellion. “I have no interest in bossing men around.”

“Why not?” He taps his knuckles on the saddle. “I see you come out to ride every morning. I could certainly tack up a horse for you in advance.”

“Because I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

His perfect lips curl at the edges. “I don’t doubt that.”

Your heart stutters a rhythm behind your ribcage, voice muted by the appearance of a dimple that dips into his left cheek. It’s not often you find yourself speechless, and the sheer unfamiliarity of it has you on the brink of a flight response; you begin to gently guide your horse back towards the stable, Jungkook walking at your side. To your surprise, he doesn’t stay quiet.

“So how long have you been riding?”

You peek down at him, but he’s not looking at you as he scratches the stallion under his muzzle. “Since I was five,” you say. “My father arranged for private instruction after my mother died. Thought I could use the distraction.”

You figured he already knew about your mother’s passing due to her absence from the estate, and his unfazed expression seems to confirm as much. Still, in a gentle voice he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t make her sick.” Another low rumble echoes through the sky, but Jungkook is prepared, already smoothing his hand over the Bam’s neck again. “What about you? How long have you worked with horses?”

He chuckles, and your belly warms. “Since before I could walk. I grew up on a ranch. Have probably spent more time around horses than people—not that I’m complaining.” A shrug pulls his shirt tight across his bulging shoulders. “Animals are better company, in my opinion.”

“You say while striking up conversation with a stranger.”

Pink blooms on his cheeks, but, to his credit, he recovers quickly. “Beautiful women are the exception.”

Heat rises to your own face, and you choose to ignore his comment as much as it has butterflies taking off behind your bellybutton. “I understand what you mean though. That’s why I’m out here every day.”

“You like the outdoors?”

“Very much,” you say. “The smell of the wind, the feeling of the sunshine on my skin and the earth under my shoes. I like to ride down to the sunflower fields and watch how they turn themselves towards the light. There’s a strange sense of kinship there.” You’re not sure what drives you to share all this with a man you’ve just met, but the way he nods along as if he agrees sets your heart at ease. “And the horses are, in fact, good company.”

He laughs again, tipping his head back to look at you. His dark hair brushes his forehead, jaw cutting so sharp a line that the temptation immediately hits to trace it with either your fingers or lips—you’re not sure which. You don’t even care if you’ll bleed.

It strikes you at that moment that you’re in a world of trouble.

The skies open up, the rain instantly pouring down in fat drops as you briskly rush your horse the rest of the way into the stable, Jungkook hot on your heels. You dismount once you’re inside and begin to untack the stallion, moving the reins up and over so you can remove the bridle first. Jungkook quickly steps in to help unhitch the saddle, and while you’d normally be inclined to make a fuss about how you can handle your own gear, you find that you much enjoy his quiet companionship. You like watching the way his gentle hands artfully work to simultaneously manage the equipment and relax the horse, giving the sense that he’s offering assistance only because he loves his work and not to patronize you as a woman (you’ve seen one too many men try to step in because they believe you to be incompetent).

Once Bam has been settled into his stall, you turn back to your companion and are met with big brown eyes already gazing at you, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Thank you for your help today,” you say. “I may be an experienced rider, but that also means I know enough to understand that you likely saved me from an injury earlier. So thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He looks suddenly subdued, nervous now without the horse as a buffer. “And if I may be forward, I hope I made a good first impression. I wouldn’t want a beautiful woman like yourself to think I overstepped.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned beautiful women now. You speak with them a lot?”

“Not recently,” he says, dimple making another appearance. “Only one.” His voice drops a decibel, flirtation giving way to sincerity. “But truly, I do just like to help. I am sure you are perfectly capable, but just because we can do something doesn’t mean we always need to do it alone. If I can help ease a burden, then I would like to do so.”

Warmth floods through you like the rain currently running off the roof, and before you can even think about it any further, you find yourself nodding. “Very well.”

The smile he gives you brightens your day more than a hundred miles of sunflower fields ever could.

“I won’t keep you then.” He begins walking backwards towards the troughs where most of the horses have currently congregated. “But I do very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

You do, too. And when you show up to the stable the next morning (and the next, and the next), you already have a horse saddled up for you, a single sunflower resting on the seat.

Raindrops clatter in endless sheets off the metal roof of the stable, the ringing sound blending with the blasts of thunder and lightning overhead to mask your groans as Jungkook steadily thrusts into you.

It’s been three months since your flirtation culminated in you asking him to join you for a ride one morning.

Three months since he accompanied you down to the sunflower fields, pulled you into their depths, and kissed you like his life depended on it.

Three months since the rain became your closest friend, providing you the cover you need for your more intimate moments—such as this evening when you’d arrived at the stables to find him laying down a fresh layer of straw, the flex of his arm insisting that you needed him now.

The patter of the rain ensures his moans are for your ears and your ears alone.

“Do you think the horses mind?” he mumbles into the sensitive skin of your neck as he presses even deeper into you and steals your breath, his hands cupping your ass as he grinds his hips.

“I doubt it,” you gasp, digging your nails into his back. “They’ve kept secrets for me before.”

He laughs, and you relish in the feel of the vibration of his chest pressed to yours, as if the sound is being passed directly from his lungs to your heart. “Am I your secret then?”

“My favorite secret.”

He pulls back to look at you then with wide eyes. You don’t know when it happened, when he became the absolute center of your universe, but you also know that you’ve never been this happy in your life, never felt as whole as you do with him. So you stare at him right back, absorb every angle of his face as he brushes the hair away from your eyes and kisses you with an unusual delicacy in comparison to the rough pace of his hips.

“I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but your blood heats as if the words are brand new.

He rises up above you then, leans back so he can bend your knees to your chest and pound into you in earnest, and you’d swear the roof has disappeared and you can see every star in the sky. Galaxies swirl, planets align, and it’s not long before you’re falling over the edge and he’s following you with a deep groan—a harmony to the thunder that surrounds you.

The two of you collapse into a heap, and he pulls you into his side, your cheek pressed to his still-heaving chest. It’s serene, the consonance of his breathing alongside the tapping of the rain and the occasional snuffle from the horses.

“So, the horses are keeping secrets for you, huh?” It’s a quiet question, vulnerable as he gazes at you with tender devotion. The same stars you saw minutes ago twirl in his eyes. “Can I be told one?”

“Are you a horse?”

A breath of a laugh: “Well you’ve certainly ridden me before.”

He has a point there.

You hum to yourself as you think before asking, “What is your dream?”

“What does that have to do with—“

“Answer mine, and I’ll answer yours.”

Calloused fingers trace patterns on your hip, a faraway look taking over his expression as he envisions some distant future. “To own my own farm,” he says. “I want to be my own boss. No more having to serve others.” A smile dances at the corners of his mouth. “And I’d be able to provide for my family—have a few kids and teach them the ropes, just like my dad did with me.”

Your brow dips in confusion. “You won’t inherit your father’s farm?”

“No, it’ll go to my older brother.” He squeezes your hip on a sigh. “If I want my own farm, it’s up to me to earn it.”

“You’ll do it,” you say, and you believe it with every fiber of your heart. “I know you will. You’re the hardest working man I’ve ever met.”

It’s not a lie by any stretch. You’ve spent plenty an afternoon telling your father that you’re going to read out on the veranda as it gives you an inconspicuous way to watch Jungkook work. He’s diligent, tireless, and you’ve often used the need to bring him water as an excuse to go down and spend time with him, seeing the sweat drip off his forehead as he single-handedly trains and cares for the horses.

His eyes become glassy, a gruff clearing of his throat as he pushes the tears back and grazes his lips over yours in a gentle kiss instead. “Thank you.” But before you can deepen the kiss and distract him, he shifts ever so slightly away, a glint in his eye. “Now you.”

You puff a sigh into his chest—bold of you to think you’d be able to sneak one past such an observant stare. Still, your secrets don’t usually come forth easily, buried deep within the cavity of your ribcage so even you don’t have to dwell on them too long.

Something about those doe eyes, though, render you ever vulnerable.

“Mine is similar to yours. I want to be my own boss.”

His brows pull together. “No one would expect a lady like you to work.”

“Not for a job, for my life,” you say, irritation forcing the words from your lips now. “I don’t want my father to dictate the path my life takes. I want to choose it, whatever it is, for myself. To be in charge of my own fate.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment, teeth dipping into his lower lip as he considers your words. It’s something else you’ve grown to love about him, the way he stops and thinks before he reacts. So unlike your father who has always been nothing but big emotions and snap judgments.

“What would you choose?” is the question he eventually comes out with, and the pads of his fingers trace the jut of your hipbone like he’s memorizing it.

Well that’s another matter entirely. “I don’t know. Just not what my father wants for me.”

“And what would that be?”

“To marry one of the rich dandies in town,” you blurt, and his hands still. “That’s always been the expectation that’s been set since I was a girl—that my family would arrange a suitable match for me.” You’re practically spitting now, anger simmering through you. “Suitable, of course, meaning wealthy.”

“Is that so bad?” He asks it quietly, insecurity poorly masked in the way his voice trembles ever so slightly. “Some people would do almost anything to be in your position.”

You scoff. “There’s more to life than money.”

“Like what?”

“Fresh air, sunshine, the smell of the morning dew.” You tap his chest with everything you list off, as if they’re all housed within the framework of his torso. “The sound of the rain bouncing off windows, the bright yellow of sunflowers after their first bloom, watching a foal get its legs under it for the first time. Love.” You press your hand to his heart with that one, feeling the strong beat of it under your palm. “That’s the greatest thing.”

He snags your fingers, bringing them to his lips and kissing each one in succession before his hand slips into your hair so he can join his mouth with yours. The kiss is slow, thorough, his tongue trailing along your lower lip with determination as he drags you across his body until you’re straddling him.

“You’re right about that,” he murmurs before gripping your waist tightly so he can push back into you, the rain pouring on and on.

“No!”

Your father stands up so suddenly that his chair topples over with a crash, Jungkook sitting across from him wearing a look of even-keeled surprise; his eyes widen a fraction, but his overall posture remains resolved and confident.

“You dare have the audacity to even ask—“ He chokes on his words, spit flying from the edges of his lips, before pointing a finger towards where you stand stunned in the corner. “And you! You’ve been fraternizing with this riffraff? After everything I’ve taught you? Everything I did to raise you? You go and choose to associate with this—this—“ You’re worried his eyes might fall out of his head with the way they bulge as he grasps for a word, vein in his neck visibly thumping as he finds it. “Lowlife!”

“You’re wrong!” you scream as Jungkook continues to sit quietly at the dinner table. You’ll be damned if you’d just stand by and allow him to be spoken about in that way. “He’s an incredible man. He works hard, he’s respectful, and he loves me, Father. Not because of my money, but because I’m me.” Your steps echo off of the tall, looming arches of the ceiling as you move closer to Jungkook. “And I love him.”

“No, no, absolutely not. You’re only twenty years old. You don’t even know what love is,” your father barks before turning his beady eyes on Jungkook again. “You’ll never marry my daughter. You do not have my permission nor my blessing. That’s final.”

“Father—“

“You’re also fired,” he spits. “You can say goodbye and that’s the end of it. I want you off my property.” Then he’s storming out of the dining room, leaving you and Jungkook in heavy silence.

It’s only a handful of seconds before Jungkook is rising to his feet and striding from the room and out the front door, you hot on his heels. The steady drizzle soaks your clothes in a matter of moments, but you don’t even feel the way they cling to your skin, focused solely on the man in front of you.

“Jungkook!” you call, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn to face you until you manage to grab ahold of his hand and tug.

You thought he’d be distressed, angry, perhaps even crying. Instead, you’re met with intensity, a fierce determination simmering under the warm brown of his irises as his gaze bores into yours and almost has you faltering.

“Jungkook, I…” You wring your hands in front of you, watch the rain run in rivulets off the ends of his hair. “We can make it through this. I can convince him—“

“You can’t.”

You huff in frustration. “Then we’ll run away together! I’ll come with you and we’ll—“

“No, Y/N.” He stills the frantic movements of your hands with his own, drawing you towards the warmth of his body until you’re nearly chest-to-chest. “I have no savings right now, no way to support the two of us. We’d be out on the street in a matter of days.” He shakes his head, brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “No. You need to stay here for now. But this isn’t the end of us, I swear to you. I am going to work myself to the bone—until I have nothing left to give. Until I can buy my own farm, my own house, and give you everything you need.” Your foreheads press together, drops of water clinging to his lips and drawing your eye as he speaks. “I will provide for you someday, love you to the best of my ability. Just give me time.”

The heavens open above you, the relentless downpour backed by the cacophony of the skies as you finally move to kiss him. He tastes of rainwater and sweat, the fragrant aroma of sunflowers and nights spent tangled together in the stables. You savor the feel of his lips against yours, commit to memory the way his tongue begs for entrance, the way you grant it with a groan that feels like both a prayer and a curse.

With a final, resounding crack, he’s pulling away as you cling to the rough skin of his fingertips until the very last fraction of a second, arms stretched to their absolute limit. And when he turns his back on you, shirt plastered to his skin, you’d swear you can hear the horses raging in the stable, the rumble of hooves and agitated whinnies ringing in your ears long after he’s disappeared from view.

The first letter comes on a Wednesday roughly six week later, written on carefully folded parchment paper in small, neat handwriting. It surprises you, coming from a man who spends all day tending horses and tossing around hay bales. You receive the letter from the carrier quietly, rushing it up to your room and waiting to read until the concealment of night has fallen and you’re confident your father has gone to bed.

My Love,

I must admit that I am not quite sure how long it has been since I last saw you. Perhaps only a handful of weeks, surely, but every hour, minute, and second has felt like an eternity. I miss you, sweetheart. I miss the sound of your laugh. I miss the way you’d look each morning, strolling down from the house with a bounce in your step and the early sunshine bouncing off of your hair. Or perhaps you are just that radiant. I would believe it, you know, that light emits from your very smile, and I know I feel warmer whenever I am around you.

Look at me; look at the man you've turned me into. I've always considered myself a simple being, glad to indulge in the dirt and physical labors of the outdoors, and yet you have me waxing poetic like one of the men in those romance novels you would always pretend to read on the veranda. (Yes, my dear, I noticed. Your stares are not so subtle.) I am lovesick, homesick, and it’s all because of you. Because my life truly began the day I looked up and saw Bam struggling with you on his back and just knew I had to help you (tell that dear beast that I miss him by the way).

Now, I must live my life forlorn, but not without purpose. Please know that I am doing everything in my power to get back to you, and I will not rest until I am holding you in my arms again. I have secured a job at a ranch several towns over; it’s good work with decent pay, and every cent that does not go towards the barest necessities is being saved for us. One day, my love. One day we will have a house and a farm, and I will be able to love you openly, with no need for secrets or the cover of rain.

In the meantime, just know how terribly I miss you, and though we are separated by distance, I hold you in my heart each day. On my way each morning from my lodgings to the ranch, I pass by a field of sunflowers. I know it cannot possibly be true, but it feels like every golden face turns towards me as I go, and darling, I’d swear I see you in every one.

One day, my love.

Until then, always yours,

J.K.

It becomes something of a ritual: while you used to spend your days out on the veranda pretending to read so that you could watch Jungkook from afar, you now settle on the front porch with a book each afternoon in the hopes of catching the local mail carrier. Jungkook’s letters come slowly but consistently every couple of weeks, and each time a letter does arrive, you spend the night drafting your own by candlelight to send back to him.

He tells you about his new job, how he’s working on a larger farm now with several other laborers. The veterans are kind to him and teaching him a lot, he says, and it eases the ache in your heart a fraction to know that he seems happy where he is and well taken care of. You write back about your favorite books that you’ve been reading and how the horses have been (you insist that you can tell Bam misses Jungkook too). But both of your letters are saturated with sentiments of love and how dearly you miss each other, reminding yourselves that every day that passes is one day closer to you two being reunited, whenever that may be.

Your father, meanwhile, proceeds as if Jungkook never existed, hiring a new stable hand who begins his work mere days after Jungkook has left. This man is middle aged, gray already streaking through his hair, and you can’t help but feel it’s a deliberate choice on your father’s part lest you fall for another lowly laborer. And though you know it is not his fault, you barely speak with the man outside of a few curt pleasantries when you go for your ride each morning.

You persist in your morning rides out of habit, but you find that they don’t bring you the same kind of joy that they used to. The grass isn’t quite as green, the air is often stifling, and the sunflowers droop where they used to stand tall against the blue skies. On one day, roughly six months after Jungkook’s firing, you’re once again forced back inside early due to rain, the storm dampening your already dreary mood. It takes a turn for the worst when you hear your father call your name the moment you step in the door and plummets entirely off a cliff when you trudge into the dining room to see a man sitting at the table.

Seokjin is not entirely unfamiliar to you—your families run in the same circles after all—but he is ultimately little more than a stranger, the two of you having only exchanged a handful of polite words at dinner parties and the like. All that you truly know of him is that he is the heir to the wealthiest trading company on this side of the country and that his father is expected to transition the entire operation to him over the next few years.

Even so, Seokjin greets you with a sense of intimate familiarity, standing at your approach and brushing his lips against the back of your hand before you can stop him.

“A pleasure to see you, Y/N, as always.”

You know that social etiquette requires you to return the sentiment, but instead, you find yourself looking between Seokjin and your father, trying to figure out his purpose here.

“What is going on?”

Your father grimaces at your rudeness but opts to ignore it. “Seokjin has come here with a rather exciting opportunity, Y/N, if you would take a seat and listen to him.”

However, you remain standing, spine stiff and wary eyes shifting to the man in front of you with his finely tailored clothes and perfectly combed hair. He, for what it’s worth, doesn’t cower under your stony gaze, maintaining an air of utmost confidence as he states, “Y/N, I would like for you to marry me.”

“No.”

Your answer is immediate and blunt, coming so quickly that Seokjin barely reacts—only the tiniest dip of his mouth as if he doesn’t believe he heard you correctly. But your father leaps to his feet, face red with shock and frustration.

“Y/N, you sit down and listen to the man.”

“I don’t need to listen,” you snap. “My answer is no.”

Seokjin registers your words then, face morphing into a deep frown of disbelief as your father hurries to intervene, grabbing you around the arm to pull you out of the dining room and turning on you the moment you are out of earshot.

“Insolent girl! That man will soon be one of the most powerful in the country—nay, the world! Do you understand the opportunity he is offering you? The life he is offering? How dare you refuse him!”

“Whatever life he is offering is one I want no part of,” you argue, pulling your arm from his grasp to wrap them across your chest. “I have no interest in being married to a man like that. I want to be with someone who loves me.”

He goes deathly still for a moment, drawing connections in his head until you see the moment the realization hits him. “This is about that lousy stable boy, isn’t it?”

You say nothing, only hug yourself tighter and try to swallow down the sudden lump in your throat.

“That’s it, yes? You’re still holding onto some hope that he will come back for you and what? The two of you will go off and live in some hovel? What could he possibly offer you?” he snarls. “No, Y/N. That vermin is gone. You have a chance—a real chance—at a future here, and I’ll be damned if I let you throw it away for the idea of some lower class scum.”

As his words sink in, a chill passes through your body that’s quickly replaced with a white-hot anger, your hands dropping to your sides as you straighten your back in defiance.

“Whether Jungkook returns or not,” you assert, “please be assured that I will never, ever, marry one of your suitors. I will die before I become a mere pawn for your business deals.”

Your father stares at you incredulously, eyes practically bursting from his head. “Business deals? I am looking out for you. So that you can live the luxurious life a child of mine deserves.”

“The life I deserve is the one which I want,” you exclaim. “And these rich dullards are not it.”

Final word given, you spin on your heel in emphasis and march off to your room, leaving your father to clumsily patch things up in the dining hall with a humbled and deeply befuddled Seokjin.

The letters stop two years in.

A month passes, then two, then three before you begin to really worry. Another four gone in a blink before you start to consider that you may never actually hear from him again.

For a while, you continue to write to him, thinking that at the very least, if he’s moved to a new job, someone from his old ranch may forward them along if they know where he’s gone to. But after a year of silence transpires, the mail carrier shaking his head at you each day as you rush to meet him outside your house, true dread sets in.

Your address hasn’t changed, which means that he’s stopped writing to you for some reason. Is it possible that he’s moved on? Met another woman perhaps and chosen to settle down? Or…could it be something worse? Your mind hesitates to even go down this path, the terror seeping into your bones, but the thought creeps in late at night when you’re at your most vulnerable that something may have happened to him. Work accidents, illness—any number of dangerous things could have taken him from you without you even knowing. Then again, he sounded healthy in his final letter to you, no word at all of him being ill, and you’d like to think he would’ve arranged for someone to contact you if some tragedy had befallen him.

You conclude, then, that he must have given up. And really, after years of hoping for a shift, for some change in fortune for your futures, you cannot entirely blame him. If anything, you just wish you had seen the signs sooner, sensed some kind of shift in tone that would have prepared you for his sudden silence. His last letter, though, had been much of the same—more updates on his ranching job mixed in with poetic phrases about his love for you. You read it endlessly, poring over the words for some indication that his feelings for you had waned, sitting huddled in a hidden corner of the stables as rain pounds down against the tin roof. Instead, it just makes your heart ache to remind you of love found and lost, his final words haunting you as time continues to drag on to your dismay.

As the months tick by, you keep your promise to your father, steadfastly refusing each suitor that comes to call for you: Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, and even Min Yoongi, who shows up in your dining room every evening for a fortnight before finally accepting your refusal. Meanwhile, you move through your days as if by design, going through the motions without feeling like you’re actually alive. Food is tasteless, your books void of thought, and the skies have certainly lost their color. You find that you actually prefer rainy days now, often taking walks through the drizzle and allowing the droplets of water to slide over your skin and caress you as he once did. Sometimes, it almost makes you feel as if he’s there beside you—memories of thunder and slick kisses enveloping your thoughts and soaking you from the inside out.

No fewer than seven years pass this way, with you haunting the premises of your home while your father begins to complain about you becoming a leech and a burden. You begin to question it yourself, wondering if it may be too much to waste away like this, when, three days after your twenty-seventh birthday, a discovery has you running from your father’s house and never looking back.

It’s another dreary, rainy day, and you, wanting to soak in the full effect of the emblematic weather as it pertains to your mood, have once again parked yourself on the front porch with a book. Your father passed you on his way out earlier, casting a scathing look that you didn’t even bother to grant any attention—you’ve long grown accustomed to his contempt and futile glares.

A little past midday, you glance up at the sound of a person approaching, their footsteps ricocheting off the front steps. Park Jimin comes to a halt under the porch’s cover, gazing at you curiously as if wondering why you are outside in this weather at all. However, if he finds your behavior strange, he doesn’t say anything, a choice which comes of no surprise to you. One of your father’s youngest business partners, you’ve always liked Jimin during the times that you’ve interacted with him. He’s quiet, polite, and has never made an attempt at courting you, always respecting the boundaries that many other young men have tried to cross over the years.

That being said, you’re inclined to at least offer him a greeting, acknowledging his presence with a mannered, “Hello, Mr. Park.”

“Good day,” he responds with a small bow in your direction. “Is your father at home?”

“No, he had to attend a business meeting with Mr. Kim this morning.” You frown as his face falls, a touch of panic widening his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

A delicate finger rises to rub at his temple. “Ah, I’m supposed to be finalizing a contract with Hybe Trading Company later this afternoon,” he says. “Your father told me to come pick up the documents beforehand.”

“He may be back soon,” you guess. Your father didn’t give an indication of exactly when he would return, but you do know his meeting with Kim Taehyung wasn’t supposed to last all day.

“I may not be able to take that risk.” He chews at his lip, thinking. “Is it possible that he left the contracts for me somewhere? Might you be able to check?”

Your jaw drops a fraction at his request—you could count on one hand the number of times that you’ve been in your father’s office. “I don’t think—“

“Please, Y/N,” Jimin begs. “We can’t afford to lose this partnership.”

The desperation in his expression has you acquiescing, and so you lead him inside and tell him to wait in the entryway as you head to your father’s office on the second floor.

The room is arguably the grandest in the house, with magnificent windows that give a full view of the estate’s grounds and tall bookshelves packed with your father’s collection of texts. The finest rugs protect the hardwood under your feet, and at the center of the room sits a monstrous yet beautiful mahogany desk with a plush chair at its back.

You move to the desk first, skimming the documents scattered on top for something that has the trading company’s name on it. But all you see are invoices, shipping records, and maps of different trading routes marked with your father’s notes, and lightly shuffling through the papers comes up fruitless as well.

The first desk drawer you open contains a series of highly-organized ledgers, so you quickly move on to the second, which has the same. The third drawer reveals a reserve of desk and writing supplies, while the fourth, finally, contains a mess of paper.

You rummage through the clutter, still not finding anything that seems to be the contract Jimin is looking for, and are about to give up when a stack of letters buried at the back of the compartment has you freezing, the small, neat handwriting chilling you to the bone.

Pulling the stack out with shaking hands, you quickly realize that there are a few dozen, all postmarked no more than two months apart between each one. Collapsing backwards into the desk chair, you read frantically, quickly realizing just how wrong you were about Jungkook giving up on you:

My Dearest, it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you, but I pray your letters were simply lost in transit…

I’m incredibly pleased to let you know that I’ve received a promotion. The owner of the farm, Mr. Lee, has taken a liking to me and has shifted me to a more considerable role with additional pay. I’m saving every bit I can…

My Love, I miss you deeply. And while your silence pains me to no end, I hope it is a mere misunderstanding. If you do not wish to hear from me ever again, only say the word and I will stop writing to you and remove myself from your life entirely, albeit with a heavy heart…

I still have some ways to go, but my savings are increasing exponentially, and I am learning more than ever. Mr. Lee has been teaching me about the business side of things and helping me make connections. What a wonder to have a boss who fully supports your aspirations! He insists he will be able to help me in my endeavors, and call me naive, but I believe it to be true. Rest assured, love, that I am steadfastly working hard for you, for us, and for our future…

My Darling Y/N, my heart aches to not read your words and hear your thoughts. But since you have not yet rejected me outright, I can only assume that your silence is involuntary or that it comes with deep hesitation. Whatever the reason, please know that I love you, I miss you, and I am not giving up on us unless you tell me so…

And finally, the shortest letter dated almost year back:

Y/N,

I don’t have the words to describe my feelings so I will keep it brief: I did it. If this letter finds its way to you and you wish to find me, I eagerly await you at our home…

The location is scribbled in a tangle of text, his usually neat writing askew as if he was shaking when he wrote it, and the words land with the force of a thousand bricks in your chest—the weight of seven years apart, the agony of your separation, finally culminating in this revelation.

The door to the office bangs open, and you look up, heart already racing with the discovery of the letters, to see your father looming in the doorway, face painted with rage.

“What in the hell are you doing in my private office?!”

You’re on your feet in an instant, storming across the room and shaking the final letter in his face. “What is this?!”

He pales a fraction as he registers what you’re holding before stepping further into the room and slamming the door shut. “I should have burned them,” he sneers. “I did what I did to protect you.”

“From what?” You wave your arms wildly, anger and adrenaline winding their way through your limbs. “From happiness? From a man who has spent years working hard to be able to provide for me?”

“I have worked hard to provide for you! And I will not see my legacy be thrown aside for some silly crush!”

Steeling yourself, you pull in a steadying breath for courage. “Then you won’t.”

“And what does that mean?” your father scoffs, trying to look dismissive and intimidating, yet seeming smaller than you’ve ever seen him.

“You won’t see any of it. I’m leaving.”

“What?”

Time stops for a moment, your declaration holding the air in the room hostage as your father fully absorbs your words.

“You ungrateful idiot girl!” your father suddenly exclaims. “After everything I’ve done for you? Fine then! Go live with the dogs, with the filth and slime you apparently love so dearly. I have had it with your thanklessness and impertinence and will be relieved to have you from my sight.” He steps into your personal space, pointing a finger directly at your face so close that you can feel the heat of his ire radiating off of his hand. “But know this: the second you step out of these doors, you will never be welcomed back. Never.”

You waste only two seconds longer, locked in a stubborn stare-down with your father before you rip your gaze away and tear from the room with Jungkook’s letters still in hand. Rushing to your room, you gather his other letters from your desk and stuff them into a bag along with the modest sum of money you had accumulated in case you ever needed to run.

And then you’re a bird in flight, sweeping down the stairs and out the door with nothing but a simple, “Good day, Mr. Park,” as you pass an absolutely bewildered Jimin in the front hall.

The rain is cold and heavy as it soaks through your clothes and hair almost immediately, but you barely feel it—the freedom in your heart and the scribbled location in your bag more than enough to keep you warm as you charge towards home.

The house is beautiful.

Modest, compared to the mansion you grew up in, sure. But arguably more beautiful—with a compact two stories, white wood, and neatly painted green shutters. There’s a wrap-around porch overlooking the acres upon acres of farmland, and even through the rain falling in sheets and blurring your vision, you spy two rocking chairs sitting side-by-side under the awning.

It’s been a long two weeks of journeying to get to this spot, relying on the kindness of strangers to help you navigate to the location Jungkook had written down. Now, standing at the end of the dirt path leading up to what is presumably your new home, you think that you would do it all again in a heartbeat. The past two weeks, the past seven years, all worth it to experience the hope currently blooming in your chest like the sunflowers you spent so much time admiring in the past.

You’re trudging up the path, the dirt and mud smearing along your shoes, when a darkened figure steps out from the fields to your right, hand raised in greeting.

“Good afternoon, miss. Are you lost? I—” He grinds to a halt like he’s walked straight into a brick wall, eyes wide and lips parted as he absorbs the sight of you soaked and disheveled on his property.

“Y/N?” he says it like a prayer, like he believes you’re some kind of hallucination—a phantom come to haunt him through the haze of rainy memories.

You stare at each other through the downpour, and you find yourself studying him, observing the changes that have taken place in the time you’ve been apart. He’s taller and broader than you remember, shoulders stretching wide and drawing your gaze down towards biceps that protrude below his drenched shirt. The lines of his face have sharpened with age—losing some of the youthful roundness that had endeared him to you so quickly—but he’s still starry-eyed as ever, the charming young man from your memories undoubtedly gazing back at you.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, and the spell is suddenly broken. You surge towards each other, meeting in the middle with a flash of lightning. Your arms go around his shoulders, and Jungkook pulls you into him so desperately and with so much force that he lifts you right off your feet, your mouths coming together with a heated urgency.

He’s everything you’ve dreamed of, every desperate memory you’ve been clinging to come back to life. And with every touch, every pass of his hands over your body, you feel yourself rapidly coming back to life too—joy making its way into your lungs and through your bloodstream for the first time since you were twenty years old and kissing this man in your family’s stables.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips when you finally part. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“You have no idea–”

“I do. Jungkook, I do.”

“You stopped writing—”

“My father,” you rush to say. “He intercepted the letters. I thought you stopped writing. Thought you gave up—”

“Oh, my love, never.” His hands rise to cradle your face. “I never stopped thinking of you. Never stopped dreaming of this.” He kisses you again, slowly this time, savoring every movement of his lips against yours.

You shudder against his chest, the thrill of your reunion rattling your nerves just as a cool wind blows through, and Jungkook pulls back with worry.

“You must be freezing,” he murmurs sweetly. “Come. Let’s get you warmed up inside.”

With an arm wrapped around your waist, as though he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep a hand on you, he guides you the rest of the way to the house, up the front porch steps, and through the front door.

“Welcome home,” Jungkook says.

You’re met first with the smell of pine and cinnamon and an impossibly comforting warmth. The first floor is comprised of a wide-open space, with a small kitchen and dining room to your left and a sitting room to your right that has tall windows and a fireplace that is currently roaring. You move around the room slowly, taking it all in, and when you notice the vase of bright sunflowers sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, you just about melt to the floor.

“I know it’s smaller than you’re used to,” he sheepishly mumbles from the doorway. “But we can expand in the future—”

“It’s perfect, Jungkook.” And it really is, every panel and floorboard evidence of how hard he’s worked, how fiercely your love has endured. “It’s absolutely perfect. I love every bit of it.”

He brightens at that, smile stretching wide. “I’m glad.”

“How did you find it?”

“Well, I bought the property after finally saving enough money. Mr. Lee helped me with the buying process.” He shrugs. “And then I built this.”

You freeze, absolutely stunned. “You what?”

“I built it,” he says simply. “I had some help, of course. But the design is all mine.”

“I…you…” It makes your thoughts spin—the idea that he did all of this. He built a house for you.

“Here, look.” He takes your hand and pulls you into the living room, gesturing at a set of empty shelves against the back wall. “For your books.”

You laugh incredulously, fully overwhelmed at this point. “I didn’t bring any with me.”

“Then we’ll start you a new collection,” he says softly, drawing you towards him.

You reach up to trace his jaw, his brow, his cheekbones—memorizing every line of this beautiful man who dared to make your dreams a reality. “I can’t believe this. Can’t believe you. The things you’ve done.”

“All for you, my love.”

Your heart thumps a steady rhythm in your throat, love and the relief of finally—finally—having him in front of you overpowering your senses until all that exists is you and him; the strain of your former life feels worlds away.

Hands find his chest in a slow migration downwards as the chill of the rain gives way to the heat of the fireplace, and it’s not long before his large hands are wrapping around your hips, a darkness in his irises that wasn’t there a second ago.

“There’s an upstairs, too, I’m assuming?” you whisper, fingers teasing a button on his shirt.

“There is.” He swallows, and you watch the bob of his Adam’s apple like a lure. “Would you like to see it?”

You lean in, skimming your mouth below his without fully joining your lips. “Please.”

Tangling your fingers in his, he practically runs upstairs with you trailing in his wake.

Finally, you think, as he pulls your clothes from your body, climbs over you on the bed, and presses into you with such tender deliberation that you think you’ll combust.

Finally, as you spend the rest of the night wrapped up together, endlessly whispering I love yous back and forth.

Finally, as you wake up in his arms the next day, his face the first thing you see.

Finally, as he pulls out a small box at breakfast, the dainty diamond ring easily the most precious piece of jewelry you’ve ever possessed.

Finally, as he takes you out on the farm and shows you the small field of sunflowers he planted just for you.

Finally, you think, as you sit in one of the rocking chairs on the porch and watch him work from afar. I’m home.

Years Later…

“Mama! Mama look!”

You glance up from your book to where Jungkook and Haneul are currently journeying in the yard. It’s a bright sunny day—the wide expanse of blue sky above unmarred by even a single cloud. Sunshine beams down onto your son’s smiling face where he sits on the back of one of the horses, a too-big cowboy hat on his head and his father at his side for support.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart!” you call. “Just be sure to listen to Papa!”

Jungkook flashes you a grin, the excitement radiating off of him in waves. He’s been talking about teaching Haneul to ride since the day he was born, so you know this means a great deal to him, especially seeing your son’s own energy and enthusiasm. Haneul has always liked the “horsies,” toddling happily around the stables ever since he could walk.

Then again, given who his parents are, that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Jungkook and Haneul finish their loop around the yard, and you hear your husband shower the boy with praise as he lifts him off of the horse’s back.

“Again, again!” Haneul cheers, bouncing in place and causing Jungkook to laugh.

“We will! Just let me check on your mother first.”

He moves comfortably, leisurely as he climbs the porch steps and comes to a rest in front of where you sit. Looming over you, he leans in until he can press a gentle kiss to your lips, reverent in his motions.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His fingers brush lightly over your belly and its new curve.

“I’m alright,” you say, guiding his hand until his palm is resting flat. “This one is kicking up a storm though.”

As if on cue, you feel a tiny jolt—Jungkook giving a breathless chuckle as he feels the jab himself.

“Go easy on your mother,” he says in the direction of your stomach, rubbing a soft circle into your flesh. “No storms. Clear skies and sunshine.” Then his eyes are back on your face. “Speaking of, I have something for you.”

He reaches behind his back and produces a single sunflower, tucking it behind your ear before giving you one more kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.” More than the day you met him. More than the day he left. And more than the day you finally made your way here.

“Now I should get back to Haneul before he starts yelling for me.”

You laugh out the brightest sound that’s ever come from your lungs. “Go.”

A warm breeze ripples through the trees, the sound of your son’s giggles and Jungkook’s cheerful exclamations finding their way back to where you sit.

What a beautiful day, you think, setting down your book and getting up to join your family in the golden sunshine.

a/n: thanks for reading! pls don't forget to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

[notaboypossiblyagenius]

back of the rig — e.prentiss

content: emt! reader. emily’s a flirting idiot, reader is a flustered idiot. two idiots being idiots. mentions of an injury to the face. wrote this at 2am. so many run on sentences:D

wc: ~850

a/n: for my favorite loser girl @emilys-bangs thank you for the idea:3

as always, feedback is appreciated so lmk what u think:3

The flash of red and blue lights illuminated the street, enveloping the apartment buildings surrounding and surely causing an eyesore for anybody who was sleeping. The wind swept by you in a cold chill, making the hairs on your neck stand.

“Cold?” the very pretty agent who sat on the back of your rig asked. She was a brunette with big wide eyes and a loopy smile you’d accredited to adrenaline.

“Just a bit,” you responded, squeezing some antibiotic ointment onto the back of your hand before grabbing the gauze. When you turned, you were met with pupils blown by adrenaline and a stupid grin on her face. “I could warm you up,” she said, the grin growing as she patted the spot next to her, inviting you with a tilt of her head. Your brain stalled for a moment and you could feel your cheeks heat up.

Stay focused, you thought, moving your eyes away from her face, and judging by the way her eyes lit up you probably looked like a deer in headlights.

“That’s… very kind of you,” you muttered as you dabbed the gauze across the cut that lay on her cheekbone. Her very prominent, very sharp cheekbone. The feeling of her eyes on you provided a warmth that nearly quelled the cold running through your veins, and you tried your hardest not to blush.

Professionalism, Professionalism, you repeated to yourself, thankful for the fact that your own gaze was preoccupied. The stupid grin hadn’t left her face, and you bit your lip as you tried to work around it.

“Do all EMTs look like you? because I think I might have put myself in the line of fire more often.” She teased and your eyes flashed towards her in surprise at her boldness. You were unable to ward off the flustered look that crept onto your own face and her eyes twinkled triumphantly. You momentarily turned your face away from hers, looking down at the ointment on your glove as you recollected your quickly unraveling composure.

“You���re lucky it’s not too deep. You won’t need stitches, and there shouldn’t be any scarring.” You deflected, maintaining your supposed professionalism as you applied antibiotic ointment to the cut. Even through the material of your glove, the movement of your fingers across her cheek felt electric. Ignoring her piercing eyes, you straightened back up and turned to your kit, pretending to be looking for something—In reality, you needed a break from her intense gaze before you started babbling like an idiot.

“Here I was hoping you’d keep your hands on me a little longer,” She huffed, and you could hear the smugness in her tone. Your jaw nearly fell off of your face at her recurring boldness and you had to take a few deep breaths before turning back to face her.

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and her smirk had grown exponentially. The look on her face was unmistakably attractive, but you had a job to do. You pursed your lips to the side as you fought off the blush that threatened to expose you. “Can you relax your face for me, agent…” you trailed off, unable to recall her name.

“Prentiss,” she introduced herself in a flirty tone, “But, Emily works.” she purred up at you.

You nodded, the smile you were holding back threatening to break free. You tilted her face to the side with a gentle hand, “okay then, Emily…relax your face for me, please.”

“Anything for you, beautiful.” Emily teased, nodding compliantly.

You watched as she tried to knock the grin off of her face, failing miserably as her dimples dented her cheeks and her eyes crinkled at the corners.

You fought back a smile of your own as you leaned down and began placing small adhesive strips on the wound. She was so attentive, her eyes following your movements and expressions as much as they could.

She was making an easy task very difficult.

“Am I being too forward? You’re just the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.” She whispered after you’d pulled away slightly to get a final look. The blush that settled over your cheeks was undeniable, and the triumphant look on her face was even worse now that she’d finally seen your flustered smile.

You opened and closed your mouth, unable to form a response, and Emily bit down on her bottom lip as she held back a laugh. Not wanting to make a fool of yourself, you settled for discarding your gloves.

“Thank you,” you muttered, putting away your things as you tried to keep yourself busy. Her eyes were still on you, and she smiled when you bashfully met them.

“Any questions, Agent Prentiss?” You asked, shoving your hands in your pockets in an attempt to look more collected. She saw right through it, however, and with a nod she looked up through her eyelashes, tilting her head with a smile that almost landed you on the stretcher.

“Can I get your number?”

[shadowdaddies]

Being mated to Azriel/Cassian/Nesta. Az and Cass are away, visiting some Illyrian camps, and whenever they are away, you all have agreed that you’re free use for Nesta?

hii thank you for the request, I've been slow with them lately and hating everything I write but I hope you like this! I got carried away here

Mine All Mine

Nesta x f!Reader smut (ft. Cassian and Azriel)

warnings: pure smut, free use, oral f!receiving, masturbation, gagging/toys, d/s dynamics

“Be good for us while we’re gone, sweetheart,” Cassian purred, flashing a roguish grin that forced heat to your cheeks under his gaze.

Azriel leaned in, arms wrapping you in a gentle embrace as his lips brushed yours, the tender moment at odds with the words that followed.

“She’ll be good, Cassian. Our girl knows she is solely responsible for Nesta’s pleasure while we’re away.” His voice maintained its smooth calmness, but the shadowsinger’s grin turned vulpine as a scarred finger curled under your chin. “You’ll take care of Nesta while we’re gone, won’t you, angel?”

It was an agreement the four of your had as mates. While Cassian and Azriel were gone, you were responsible for Nesta’s pleasure, and she for yours. She could take you at any time she wanted to get what she needed from you, and you relinquished complete control over your own pleasure to her.

You nodded at Azriel, embarrassed at the rush of heat that built between your thighs at his words. Two sets of hazel eyes simmered with desire at the scent of your arousal drifting through the room. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, lower lip tugged between your teeth.

Cassian was the first to break the tension, clearing his throat before mumbling something about being late to their meeting in Windhaven. Azriel slowly drew his finger from your chin, his intense gaze as he did so sending a shiver down your spine.

“We will see you very soon, angel,” he promised, the side of his lip curving to show a dimple before the two Illyrians disappeared through the door, the sound of their wings beating as they took off echoing through the air.

The house instantly felt empty, a restlessness settling over you at the quiet. Your mind drifted to the things Nesta would do to you when she returned home - the ways she would use you for her pleasure, push you to the limits of your own - and slick dampened your thighs, core clenching around nothing.

Face flushed, you shook the shameful thoughts from your mind in favor of distraction. A book caught your eye, resting on the couch in front of the fireplace in invitation. 

Picking up the novel, you collapsed against the soft cushions before peering at the cover. It must have been one of Nesta’s books, a Sellyn Drake novel like those she’d been trying to get you to read for awhile now. 

Pulling a throw pillow under your head, you flipped open the book, quickly finding yourself lost in the story. You had no idea how long you’d been reading when the two main characters found themselves in an inn with only one bed to share. You read of hands slipping between thighs, light teasing touches, gasps at the exquisite pleasure being exchanged.

You found that heat building between your own thighs once again, desire making it difficult to focus on the book. Tugging your lip between your teeth, you set the novel to the side, freeing your hands to explore.

Brushing your nipples through your shirt, you mewled with need when your hand drifted lower, featherlight touches teasing yourself as you slipped beneath the waistband of your pants. 

“Enjoying the book, pet?” a familiar voice drawled from the doorway, sending a chill down your spine and halting your movements. Your wide eyes flicked to where Nesta leaned by the wall, arms crossed and silver eyes glowing with amusement.

Breathless, you watched her stride toward you on long legs, her leathers hugging her curves. “Which part were you reading?” she murmured, limbs stretching across the couch as her body settled over yours.

Nesta’s hands pulled your own from where it rested on your lower abdomen, her eyes focused keenly on you while you stumbled through the plot of the book. Just as you began to recount the scene at the inn, Nesta popped your fingers in her mouth, licking and sucking fervently while she nodded for you to continue.

Somehow managing to breathe out the steamy details to Nesta - despite her lips around your fingers, hips grinding against yours while she straddled you - you loosed a sigh of relief when she relented her efforts in favor of releasing you. 

Standing for only a moment, Nesta stripped off her pants and turned away from you, showing off her perfect ass as she did. You started to lean forward, eager to meet Nes where she stood, but the female clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“Lay back, love. Stay still for me,” Nesta purred, flashing a grin over her shoulder as she settled above your face. The scent of her arousal was dizzying, the need to please her consuming your thoughts.

As though she could sense your desperation, Nesta hummed a “good girl” before sinking down onto you. Slick core pressed against your nose, her clit perched perfectly atop your mouth for your tongue to flick out against the swollen bud.

Her hips rolled against you on instinct, a soft moan escaping Nesta’s lips at your mouth on her. “Just like that, pet,” she breathed, hands pulling your still-soaked digits towards your heat. “Touch yourself while I read this.”

Picking up your book, Nes began to read the scenes you described, her wetness growing and spreading sloppily across your face as you ate her out. One hand wrapped around her waist, encouraging the rhythm of her hips against your lips, while the other followed her directions to your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your legs jerk against the couch in ecstasy. 

You felt Nesta’s core clench, her hips shaking as she moaned your name, dropping the book when her orgasm rocked through her. The scent of her invaded your senses, weight settling fully over you as you released muffled cries against her warm center, your own high crashing into you. 

Panting for air, you sighed with relief and longing at the loss of her heat on your face. Eyes struggled to focus, finally finding Nesta’s gaze on yours as she lifted your fingers to her mouth once more and licked your release clean.

“I need more,” Nes nearly growled, a wolfish grin formed on her full lips. “I’m not done with you tonight,” she promised, heat dancing in her eyes like flame when her hand wrapped around your wrist. “Come with me.”

You followed dutifully back up to your bedroom, stripping as directed before laying back on the mattress and watching Nesta undress. 

“I got something new for us, love. To use when the boys are gone,” she explained, rifling through her nightstand before pulling out a strap with a dildo attached to the end. But this one was different from Nesta’s strap; it was simple and black with one buckle around the back.

Sensing your confusion, Nesta grinned wickedly. “This one is for you to wear, sweet girl,” she purred, bare hips straddling your own as she lifted the toy to your mouth to demonstrate. “If that’s okay,” she amended, laughing when you eagerly nodded and lifted your head for her to secure the gag.

“So good for me,” Nesta cooed, golden brown hair falling down in a curtain around her as she smiled down at you. “I just need you to lay there and take it for now.”

Hips settled over the toy perched on your mouth, Nesta’s puffy center spreading her slick over the tip before sinking down. You moaned through the gag at the sight, your mate filled up and bending over to hover your core. Gentle hands spread your thighs before Nesta dove in without warning, tongue making wicked movements against your clit as she began bouncing up and down on your face.

Helpless moans and squeals escaped you, sounds drowned out by the toy covering your face. “Just wait and see, love, what I have in store for us this week,” Nesta moaned, perked nipples brushing your stomach. “This is only the beginning.”

[redlikemercury]

𝕊𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝔸𝕚𝕕

𝕊𝕙ō𝕥𝕒 𝔸𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕨𝕒

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩

Summary: Aizawa is a single father with needs, and being his new neighbor makes him think all his prayers have been answered.

a/n: First ever post, if you have any suggestions or any advice feel free to tell me :)

cw: black!fem, fingering, oral receiving (f), dirty talk, unprotected, pet name (princess, baby), size kink, edging, dilf. creampie? 18+

word count: 5.5k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩

"Ungh! Come on dammit." Aizawa’s legs were nearing their end as he stood there on his last set of back squats. His breathing was shaky and he clenched his jaw, grunting to stand back up again. Bending the knees and hips simultaneously, Aizawa lowered his body down, making sure his knees were tracked over his toes and his heels firmly placed. The veins in his thighs were bulging out as they were parallel with the ground as he maintained stability. He squatted deeper before activating his leg muscles to stand back up again, trembling on his fifth set.

Exhaling deeply, he manages to stand back up again. He was pushing his luck doing two hundred and ten pounds today. Small strands of black hair stuck to his forehead like glue due to the huge amble of sweat that trickled down his phone which was placed on the ground. His phone had dinged, when he looked down and saw a notification, Eri had just made a purchase off her iPad on Roblox. He sighed, obviously annoyed with the matter. Eri tended to pay for things without his permission, formed from the amount of spoiling she gets from him. Aizawa finished up his last set, before heading over to the children’s play area to confront her about it. “This child is a handful sometimes.” He mumbled to himself, using a towel to dry off his drenched face.

While coming out of the gym down the hall, you’ve bumped into his sweaty chest by accident. You backed up and cleared your throat getting ready to apologize, until you saw him. Aizawa’s body glistened with perspiration, every inch of his physique was defined by his bulging muscles, a full display of his fierce training regimen. His broad shoulders and chiseled chest created an imposing presence as an overcasting shoulder was cast upon you. The veins in his biceps seeped through. Nothing compared to his abdomen it was a washboard of muscles. His abs were flexing slightly as they sparkled with sweat, you wanted to lick it off so badly. His bedraggled black hair was pulled back into a bun. His almond eyes had heavy bags underneath along with a small scar underneath his eye. The light stubble on his chin completed his face. You were enthralled by the sight of seeing him so worn out. Your heart was racing as you were severely in need of this man on top of you, fucking you like nobody's business. You soon shook your head and snapped back into reality glancing up towards Aizawa. Your full brown lips parted as you spoke to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” You said quite hastily, hoping he didn’t think you were some creep checking out his body. Aizawa's eyes carried that same deadpan expression, letting out a momentary sigh and shaking his head. “There’s no need to apologize. I was the one who was in a rush.” His voice didn’t hold any malice towards you as he met your gaze. He stared you down into your beautiful dark brown eyes, that made you more flustered by the sight of him. This intense stare-down did more than just make you uncomfortable, it turned you on even more.

For a second, it appeared like a small playful smirk on his lips before he carried the same exhausted expression. “You’re my new neighbor, correct? Let me make it up to you, me and my daughter were getting ready to head home. If you don’t mind, could I treat you to dinner at my place?” He politely said to you. You were shocked to hear Aizawa make such a suggestion. You’ve moved in beside the man about a month ago. There were occasional ‘hellos’ and ‘how are yous’ in the early morning, as you guys would start the day early in the morning. Aizawa would always be carrying a sleepy Eri to the car as the two of you shared light small talk, nothing more. It didn’t stop your everlasting fantasies of being bent over by this man, til you couldn’t walk. You looked down at your appearance for a second. You were just as sweaty as him from just finishing an intense leg day. The athletic shorts were tight on your body hugging every curve, stretching and flexing around your thighs, displaying that ass you’ve been working on. The print in between your legs caught Aizawa’s attention, but he quickly looked away before you could notice. His mind had racey thoughts as well, ones he was too ashamed to say out loud or ever. You were proud of the progress you were making in the gym on getting your summer body ready. Your tight coils were pulled into an afro puff, as the shrinkage had gotten to it. You weren't worried about how you looked, but more as you would stink from such an intense workout, especially in front of your sexy neighbor. You let out a momentary sigh. “I’m sorry, but I need to shower. It would be wrong of me for you to treat me and I smelled like ten cans of bounce that ass.” You expressed, that Aizawa was amused by your response, chuckling a bit. The drained man reached into his pocket for his phone. He opened up his contracts to create a new one before passing it off to you. “In that case, let me have your number. You can just text or call me, whenever you're done showering. Dinner should be done around eight tonight, so you’ll have plenty of time to come over.” He said rather smoothly. You couldn’t help, but smirk a little. ‘My man, my man, my man.’ You thought to yourself, becoming overwhelmingly giddy. You entered your number into his phone and headed it back to him. “Fine, I’ll come over.” You said teasingly before seeing a notification come through on your phone. It was Aizawa. The man smirked at you briefly, sizing your body up and down. Before he could say anything else, Eri had made another purchase of her iPad. A wave of aggravation appeared on his face, as he soughed. “If you can excuse me, I have to speak with my daughter for a second. I’ll see you tonight.” He voiced before steering down the hall.

You didn’t oppose him leaving, in fact, it only motivated you to see more of your ‘man’ tonight. You hightailed your ass to the car and drove back home. You navigated your vehicle into the driveway of the smooth paved material and pulled into the garage. One side of your driveway features a contemporary design that seamlessly corresponds with the architectural tone of your home. You closed the garage door and entered through the door leading inside your home. The time was six o'clock by the moment you arrived home. The home’s exterior exudes a modern charm with sleek lines and neutral colors and is decorated with many personal items. The windows illuminated a warm glow from outside highlighting the coziness of your home. The smell of vanilla was always a comforting scent to come home to, as you headed upstairs to your bedroom. You set your keys onto your bed and rummaged around through your closet. You didn’t know what to wear and your sore legs were killing you already. “Ugh, what the fuck.” You murmured to yourself, searching for clothes. You finally settled on a nice outfit to wear and took a shower. Once you got out, you pulled out all the natural hair products you could find. You scrolled on Pinterest for inspiration, before settling on a style. You were going to attempt a claw clip hairstyle and began to part your hair into sections. You were taking your time, but part of you was worried you would run late. There were times you thought about slapping on one of your wigs and calling it a day, but you were also determined to trust the process. By the end of it all, it came out cute, as you stuck the claw clip on the back of your head. “Well, I’ll be damned. This came out good.” You said as you admired yourself in the mirror.

As you were admiring yourself, Aizawa was home preparing a nice home-cooked meal. The fatigued man stood in the kitchen wearing a pink apron that was originally white. Eri had ‘accidentally’ tossed her pink shirt in the washer with all his white clothes. He couldn’t be mad at her though, in fact, he found it kind of humorous in his way. The day had been long and very commanding of Aizawa, but he found solace in being able to cook a great meal for the two of you guys tonight. His anticipation was growing rapidly and his heart was pounding, as he was chopping some vegetables on a cutting board. It had been a long time coming since he’d been with another woman, especially sexually. He loved being a father, but it was stressful not having any relief in his life. He’s tried getting off on porn sites late at night, but Eri had been having a series of nightmares recently making his sexual frustrations pent up even more. He had become more irritable, especially at work. Aizawa would often snap at his students and coworkers over simple things, he became so desperate one day he tried relieving himself in the car, but it was vastly interrupted by a fight between two students that occurred nearby. So when you moved next door, it was like the perfect opportunity for him. Aizawa had been pining to stretch you out since day one, he wanted more than to fuck you silly off his dick. The thought alone made it harder for him to sleep at night. He was already basically a walking zombie, as his daughter would call him. He could tell the same desire was in your eyes when he saw you at the gym. Seeing your figure in tight athletic wear earlier made it difficult to contain himself. He was a father after all. You were like a miracle was blessed upon him, as he had the perfect plan for tonight.

Eri was engrossed on her iPad on the sofa in the living room, her packs were packed for a sleepover tonight. She giggled overjoyed as she was playing Fruit Ninja, she was banned from playing Roblux for a while. The sound of his daughter giggle, washed away most of Aizawa’s naughty fruitions as he was in contempt with how things were in the presence. “Eri, would you like to eat dinner before you leave?” He asks from the kitchen. Eri placed her iPad down and wandered into the kitchen. The delicious aroma filled her nostrils as he was cooking his signature pot roast. “Yeah, but what’s the occasion?” She questioned, her big adorable eyes staring up at Aizawa. He cleared his throat, Eri was quite an inquisitive young girl. “Oh, nothing. I’m just inviting the neighbor over for dinner.” He muttered nonchalantly. A grin came across Eri’s face. “Okay.” She replied and ran off giggling. Aizawa sighed and pulled out his phone from his gray sweats, seeing the meal he had prepared was just about done. He sees it’s close to eight and decides to shoot you a text.

You're phone lit up with a notification, it was Aizawa.

>Are we still on for tonight?

The text read as it was fifteen minutes from eight. “Oh shit.” You whispered as you picked your phone back up.

>Yeah, I’ll be right over.

You texted it back and looked for some shoes to slide on. You sprayed your favorite perfume a couple of times around your body and grabbed your keys. You walked out the front door, locking it behind you before venturing off to your neighbor's house. As you walked down the sidewalk, inches away from knocking at the front door, you had butterflies in your stomach. Your nerves were getting the best of you as you walked up the driveway of Aizawa’s home. Your hands became shaky as you were approaching the front door. “Oh shit.” You murmured to yourself. Before you could knock on the door, Eri had opened it. She looked at you with a bright bubbly smile. “My daddy likes you.” She said before running off giggling, hearing Aizawa’s footsteps. He was visibly a bit irked by Eri opening the door so carefreely. “Eri, darling, please don’t open the door for people. It can be dangerous.” He reprimanded her, as she was running around the house. The high-spirited child was too busy packing up the rest of her things to care about Aizawa’s nagging. You couldn’t help, but giggle. You didn’t find kids annoying, but they could be just as overwhelming for you. Eri’s words were a bit more of a confidence booster, as kids tend to tell things they weren’t supposed to.

Aizawa smiled at you in a friendly manner. His hair was still pulled back into a bun as he stood there in his vacuum-sealed black shirt and gray sweat. This combination was dangerous for you, all you could do was stare. You already knew what was underneath his shirt, but the idea of seeing it again made your legs quiver a bit.

“You can come into the dining room through the living room on the right-hand side, and the bathroom is down this hall on the left for you to wash your hands.” He stepped aside for you to enter, looking over your body once again. “Oh okay.” You said. The way Aizawa positioned himself didn’t make it exactly ‘easy’ to come through the door. As you walked inside your body brushed up against his, as he didn’t make much of a fuss over it. He was enjoying it. This man was driving you insane.

You slid off your shoes at the door and made your way down to the bathroom. Locking the door behind you and turned on the faucet letting the water run for a bit. You stared at yourself momentarily in the mirror, trying to calm yourself down. Such a brief interaction between the two of you made you get wet like a damn waterfall. The racing thoughts and fantasies filled your brain with such intense lust for him. You cleared your throat and began to wash your hands.

While you were in the bathroom, Aizawa handed Eri off to Hizashi for him to drop her off at her sleepover. Aizawa pulled out a nice tablecloth and placed it over the dining table. He pulled out his fine china and cutlery, placing it on the dining room table. He pulled out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He had a set of flowers in a vase for the centerpiece, before dimming down the lights. It wasn’t much for a last-minute dinner, but he was also afraid overdoing it would scare you off. His heart was beating tremendously while he placed the food on the plate. “Dammit call down.” He reprimanded himself silently.

After washing up in the bathroom, you joined Aizawa at the table in the dining room. Your heart raced as the somewhat romantic ambiance created. There was no sight of Eri, it was like she disappeared without a trace, the house was nice and silent. “Where’s Eri?” You asked him politely, as you sat down at your seat. Aizawa looked at the food and back at you. “A friend of mine came to pick her up and take her to a sleepover. She’s in good hands.” He said in the same smooth voice. “Besides Y/N, this dinner is me apologizing to you earlier. Eri has nothing to do between me and you.” He said as a small smirk appeared on his face.

There was no denying it now. You wanted this man to fuck you as you’ve never been fucked before. You cleared your throat and sat up straighter in your chair. “I see. Well with that out the way, let’s eat.” You stated elated with the atmosphere being created.

You indulged in a great and flavorful dinner, Aizawa had prepared for the two of you. His pot roast certainly made you fall for the man more, as he cooked like none other. “This is good. Especially after a long day at the gym. I think this might put me to sleep after I’m done.” You spoke jokingly. Aizawa grinned, as you enjoyed the meal. He sighed at the mention of sleep. “Sleep, I haven't gotten much of it.” He spoke in a bit of a hushed fashion as his eyes downcasted onto the plate of food in front of him. You glimpsed up at the man and slanted your head slightly at him. The bags he had were highly conspicuous as he looked like he did have a formidable time resting. “I can understand why, I mean you work and you have a very lively little girl, I’m sure sleeping is a bit difficult on your end.” You expressed. He chortled a bit and nodded His jovial expression seemed to calm some of your worries a bit.

Aizawa's eyes peered over to your outfit. Even though it wasn’t much the way your body looked, make him think of all the ways he wanted to break you. He felt a tinge in the lower region of his body. He figured it was time the two of you were on the same page. “Sleeping isn’t the only thing hard to come by.” He expressed playfully making his stare on your body more apparent. Your thighs squeezed together after hearing his rather suggestive comment. “Is that so?” You questioned in the same impish tone. He peeked up and bobbed his head. “Yes, it is. I haven’t had the best of luck with women these days, because of my busy schedule.” He told before leaning up on the table, resting his head in the palm of his hand. A slight grin swept your face captivated by this conversation it felt like your lewd fictions may become a reality. “Oh, I see. Is there anything I can do to help? You’ve treated me to such a great meal, it would be rude of me not to.” You said with a small smirk. Aizawa a devishly grin replaced his usual nonchalant expression. “Perhaps... What do you think will help me Y/N?” He taunted you, making your panties soak. A disbelief waved over you wanting to know how far the two of you would go, but you weren’t going to back down from this playful banter. “How about a massage?” Your voice oozed sultry, it made Aizawa feel another tinge of excitement in his gray sweats. “I would appreciate that very much, a shoulder massage would be much needed for those back squats from earlier.” He muttered and watched as you stood from the table and walked behind him placing your hands on his shoulders. You slowly massaged them. Your hands moved with precision and skill, effortlessly gliding over his broad thick shoulders. Aizawa let out a soft moan feeling the tension from his intense workout from earlier being at ease. The sound of his moans was like music to your ears, as your fingers knead their way along his shoulder blade, getting rid of the knots and tightness. Aizawa closes his eyes tossing his head back, feeling your nibble fingers for their magic.

“Do you like that?” You asked in a sensual tone.

Aizawa was aroused by your question, his soft pink lips parted before he spoke. “Very much.” He whispered seductively.

His answer satisfied you, working the knots in his shoulders. Aizawa didn’t shy away from moaning, making sure you heard every single one. “Fff-fuck.” He gasped and sighed heavily. You squeezed your thighs together sliding them together, yearning for some friction for your greedy clit. Your hands slide down to his back and up his shirt, feeling his larger back muscles. Your cold fingers on Aizawa’s bare skin almost sent him over the edge. Things he only dreamt of were being played right in front of him.

“How about we take this upstairs..” He whispered.

Those words sent a shiver down your spine, as you grew wetter by the second. “Alright then.” You replied, taking his hand. He helped you out of your seat He got up out of his seat leading you, up the stairs to his bedroom. You went to sit on the edge of the bed as Aizawa closed the door behind him. His hand slipped underneath his shirt, rubbing his abs as he approached you. He stood in front of you with the same mischievous grin. Your heart was about to burst out of your chest as you were thirsting for him. You made it obvious too, looking at the print in his gray sweats and biting on the corner of your lower lip. Aizawa removed his hand from underneath his shirt and made himself on the bed. His eyes cut over to you swiftly, an assertive persona seeping from him as he motions for you to sit on his lap. You crawled over and sat in his lap facing towards him. Your legs wrapped around his waist tightly, pressing your chest up on him.

“Take off my shirt and massage my back.” He spoke, peering with a lecherous gaze.

“Aren’t we needy?” You teased, as you took off his shirt, he chuckled. You were just as bad as he was. The moment you took off his shirt, your eyes darted to his well-defined physique. His chiseled chest and sculpted shoulders had you wanting to lick all over it. His torso was a true testament to the hard work he put in at the gym, he purposely flexed his muscles showing off his impressive size and definition. You traced subtle veins in his arms and chest making him tingle a bit. Aizawa leaned up to kiss your neck, which made you moan instantly. “Fuck.” You whispered, enthralled by the sensation. His lips lifted off your rich brown skin and to your ear. “My massage, princess.” He spoke in a hushed tone. The potent mixture of desire filled every inch of your body, and hearing him calling you ‘princess’ made you hot and bothered. Your hands are placed on his back, rubbing it slowly, those soft hands make Aizawa grunt pleasurably, nestling his head into your shoulder. His dick was rock hard as you continued to massage the knots in his back. His silent curses made your pussy weak for him, and your hips started to buck against his crotch. Aizawa reached and grabbed your hips, stopping you. You were appalled by him stopping you when he smirked at you.

“You’re going to have to earn this dick.” He spoke in a rather serious tone flipping the two of you, so he was on top of you on the bed. He was more assertive and dominant over your body. He hovered his face closer over to yours, his lips brushed against yours.

“I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.” He whispered, staring you dead in the eye. You felt your pussy quaking, yearning for him more than ever. A smirk came across your lips, as your hands tugged at his torso. “So fuck me then.” You replied boldly, riling up the man in front of you even more. “I can’t wait to break you.” He declared hungrily. You wasted no time, touching all over his chest.

Your hands glided over his hardened nipples, which made him shiver a bit. Aizawa was amused by your fascination with his chest, but he wanted to touch you in the same way.. just as badly.

“Strip down for me princess.” He retorted hastily, taking one of your hands and kissing the back of it. A grin sweeper over your face and you did as asked of you. “Anything for you.” You spoke, before winking. You stripped off your clothes, revealing your sexy body to him. He was in awe and his mind raced with all the possibilities he could to you. Aizawa placed his hand on your chin and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss. His tongue entered your mouth exploring your cavern and swirled around with yours. He stuck his tongue deeper down your throat, making you gag a bit. He wasn’t letting for an inch, you could tell he hadn’t fucked in a while, it was beginning to show how hungry he truly was. He broke the kiss as the two of you were heavily panting. Your mind was only focused on him, as he rubbed his big hands all over your body. You were curious to know how long it’s been since he last touched anyone, so you ask. “How long has it been.. since you last did this?” Aizawa smirked and got up from the top of you. “Too long.” He replied quite bluntly, and spread your thighs apart wide. A squeal escaped your lips from working out earlier that day. Despite your whimpers, he stretched out your thighs wider.

“Now then princess, play with that pretty pussy of yours.” He commanded. His words made your whole body hot. You didn’t object to it, your fingers dove right to that soaking cunt of yours. You moaned obsessively, giving him a suitable show. Your thighs spread wider, the more your fingers moved vigorously in and out that greedy pussy of yours. “Ngh.. Ahhh.” You called out as walls clenched around your sticky fingers. Your juices spilled onto the bed as you did, and Aizawa enjoyed every moment. His dick grew so hard it was almost about to burst out of his gray sweats. “Fuck, just like that princess.” He encouraged, watching intensely as you played with that sloppy cunt of yours. “You like that baby?” You moaned, as your eyes were staring into his. Aizawa nodded, biting his lower lip. “Of course, I am a princess. Fuck yourself harder for me.” He spoke flirtatiously. His voice was so fucking hot to you. Something about his low and silvery tone made your finger pump in and out your sobbing cunt faster. You were about to cum off over the sheets the way you were whimpering. “Shh-shit!” You moaned, and Aizawa came closer.

He pulled you by the hips to the edge of the bed and smiled. He kneeled on the floor and positioned his head in between your legs. “Let me handle this princess.” He said calmly, and you removed your hands.

He stuck his tongue out and began to lap his tongue in your wet folds. You shivered and moaned out loudly. “D-dammit.” You whimpered, as your hand took a fistful of his hair. He was pleased about your reactions and slurped up every drop you had to offer him. He was enthralled with your wet cunt, and started to vigorously eat you out relentlessly, whirling his tongue around your poor clit.

“F-fuck.. baby..ohhh!” You moaned and gripped his hair tighter. Your legs were shaking so badly, you didn’t know how much you could take. “Almost there, princess.” He purred before he dribbled his tongue over your glistening folds, before shoving his index and ring finger up your greedy hole. He was pumping his fingers in and out of you at an alarming rate aiming right towards your g spot. Your stomach was in knots, as you started to buck your hips against him. “I’m going to cum, I’m... shit... I’m so close, baby.” You said as your words we’re starting to slur a little. Aizawa ignored your whiny moans and continued to eat his favorite meal of the night. The sounds of your squelching pussy made him lap over your clit furiously.

It didn’t take long for you to throw your head back, as you bucked your hips faster, your climax was approaching. Your hands gripped his hair tighter, and you came all over his face, gasping. Aizawa slurped up every drop of your sweet release and lifted his head. He saw the fucked out look on your face and licked his fingers, slurping off your sweet release. “Princess, don't tell me you're worn out already. We have got the whole night ahead of us.” He teased and stood up. You watched tiredly, as slipped off his sweats and boxers. His dick oozed with precum, as he tapped it against your throbbing cunt. You gulped as little as he expected to take every inch of his long, hard dick. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll manage.” You spoke, and he smirked. “Good, now then princess. Turn around and ass up.” He spoke sternly.

You were starting to get all giddy from his words again and did what was told. You tooted your ass up sky-high for him, and he positioned himself behind you.

The tip of his cock teased your glistening hole making the two of you moan. The euphoria of it all had Aizawa weak as he continued to rub his giant head against you while your lower body was in intense agony. “Put it Shota.” You begged to get fuck. Aizawa ignored your pleas and continued to rub the head of his sticky cock around your glorious hole, teasing the both of you. After a while, he gave in and grunted entering your walls, and slapped your ass. The tip of his dick kissed your cervix, staying dormant until your walls adjusted around the throbbing dick. You let out a loud moan, gripping the sheets. “Shit, princess, you feel amazing.” He groaned, his big hands gripped your ass. “F-fuck.” Aizawa moaned, your walls were clenched desperately on his dick. He smacked your left-ass cheek, he wanted to break you some more.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” He spoke in a low hushed tone in your ear.

“Y-you.” You whimpered while your legs were about to buckle.

“Say it again.” He commanded.

“I-it belongs to you!” You whimpered more.

“Mmm, that's right.” He sounded giving that beautiful ass another powerful slap.

“Oh fuck..!” You moaned.

He wasted no time and rutted into your squelching pussy, slapping your ass repeatedly. Your hands gripped the sheets tighter, taking on his girthy cock. “Ooohhh babyy..” You whimpered while getting drilled in by a madman. He was going to fuck you so hard until you saw stars. He went harder and deeper with every time your pussy connected to his balls, the dopamine of hearing the clapping noise sent him over the edge.

“Tell me how much you love it, princess.” He groaned, spanking your ass again.

“I love it!” You screeched, feeling your body grow weaker every second. The lewd slapping of your and Aizawa's skin together filled up the walls of his bedroom. He was plunging deep inside your wet wall, feeling like he was rearranging your guts. He grunted again, giving your ass another slap. “Tell me how much you love this fat dick. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll sleep like a baby.” He murmured and slapped your ass again. “I love it so m-much.” You moaned.

Aizawa drilled into your pussy relentlessly, as your juices coated his thick dick, slamming into your g spot. He was getting close to seeing what a sloppy mess the two of you were becoming. He couldn’t help but want to tease you. He pulled out, edging his tip near your entrance. You were completely weak and craving for him to finish. “P-please. I need it. Give it back.” You moaned. Aizawa smirked. “Louder princess.” He urged you, before giving your ass another loud slap. You yelped a bit and moaned profusely. “Fuck me!” You shouted, and it was at those words he shoved his hard dick back inside your sloppy cunt, your tits bouncing uncontrollably. He fucking you so good your eyes begin to roll back, your toes started to curl. “Ohhh, fuck yes.” You purred.

Aizawa was deep inside your tight pussy, grunting with each passing stroke. “Fuck.. I’m close..” He snarled, reaching his hands onto your shoulder. You could barely take it, your knees were beginning to go weak. “Don’t you dare.” Aizawa muttered as he saw your body shaking about to tip over. You were about to object until he thrust into you roughly. “Dammit!” You shouted as we were approaching your end. Your walls clamped down tightly on Aizawa’s dick, as you came all on. The warmth of your cum running down his shaft, makes Aizawa curse silently before stuffing you full of his cum. “S-shit.” He said silently and watched as you collapsed onto the bed. Your body was spiraling, and Aizawa lay beside you with a smirk on his face.

He yawned, feeling tired enough to get some rest. He cradled you into his arms and kissed the side of your neck. “I’m going to love this princess.” He whispered sweetly in your ear. Your body began to relax, as you laid in his arms. “Me too.” You said softly.

His soft hands rubbed against your sore clit, making you squirm. He smirked. “I said we had all night darling..come sit on my face, Princess.”

END!

[violetsaffron5]

Dirty Little Secret (1)

Taglist • Ao3 • Social Media • Discord 18+ • Masterlists • Chapter 2 →

↳ 1 | Unholy

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

Gojo Satoru is many things: family man, politician, someone the public believes they can trust. It’s how he’s gotten where he is in life. Hidden beneath the façade is a man with many guilty pleasures – you being one of them.

words: 7.3k

cw: explicit drugs use, mention of alcohol, infidelity (not on reader), vaginal fingering, rough sex, spit kink, spit as lube, breeding kink, degradation, dacryphilia, exhibitionism

an: This was just going to be a oneshot based on the song "Unholy" by Sam Smith, but then I had an idea for a small part 2

an2.0: if you would like to read part 2, that one got tagged with a community lable. Please make sure you have those on, this post will tell you how to enable that as well.

His wife probably thought she was the luckiest woman in the world when he got down on one knee, professed his love and said he wanted to spend the rest of his life by her side.

She probably felt even luckier, everything going according to their life plan when she found out she was pregnant with his children, starting a loving family with one of the most prominent politicians Tokyo has to offer.

She’d kick him out if she ever knew the way you stand between his legs, moving your shoulders, chest and hips to the beat of the bass blasting in the club. The way his eyes watch your hands trailing the length of your body before putting his own on your skin.

She’d divorce him on the spot if she knew the way you grind on his hips, the way his fingers caress every inch of your skin when he comes to see you.

She would never let him touch her again if she knew how he touched you, in all the ways she won’t let him do to her, in all the ways he really wants, the ways he enjoys.

Of course you’re aware of the wife - it would be impossible not to be. The picture-perfect family, an ideal trophy wife, two children. That’s his spiel, how he got into office and maintained his position over the years. He’s a father, a family man; understands the struggle and just how hard it is to maintain a happy healthy family - just like the average working person.

A politician you can trust because he’s just like you.

You’ve never seen or met her, steering clear of anything that has to do with Satoru during the day, but from your understanding he spends a lot of time with his kids when he has free time in the mornings and afternoons.

In the evenings he finds himself with you. Long legs spread wide as he sits back on the plush couch, you dropping your hips down onto his, grinding on him until you feel his cock harden from your touch.

It’s a miracle she hasn’t found out about the shit Satoru does behind her back; it’s a miracle nobody has. Sure he tries to be as discreet as possible, entering clubs through the back, paying for private rooms, private dances all the while spending thousands on sex, drugs and alcohol.

That’s how the two of you met. You were on stage, twirling, spinning and sliding your way down and around a pole in the most provocative positions. Satoru walked in with his three best friends; a man with long raven locks, one with a scar over the right side of his lip, and another with several tattoos over his face.

Satoru immediately caught your attention, with his messy hair, white as freshly fallen snow hanging over his eyes, eyes that were covered by dark square sunglasses, shielding them from your view. You watched him lick his lips, talk to your manager and head to a room in the back with his friends.

You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel his gaze burning into you with every flip of your hair, shimmy of your waist and hips in his direction.

You didn’t realize who he was at this point, not that it has ever really mattered.

It started with him coming to see you, paying to have you as the lone private dancer - sometimes for just him, sometimes with his friends. He’d tip you an exorbitant amount each time, enough of you to buy the Gucci handbag you’ve had your eye on for some time.

Eventually, when he realized you figured out who he is and weren’t talking about the shit you’ve seen him do, he easily charmed you with his honeyed words and wicked ways, inviting you to continue to the party elsewhere when your performances had ended.

Satoru likes to spend money, always seems to have too much of it, if the tips he leaves you with are anything to judge him by. Always enough to buy the latest Chanel, Louis Vuitton and Versace without batting an eye.

All because you’re so good to him, he says.

He likes to get his hands on the finest white powders money can buy; likes to snort lines off your tits before rolling the remaining into dainty joints for you to smoke; likes to watch you with his own lazy, crooked smile as the smooth burn fills your lungs.

You’re consistent, staying out of his life and daily affairs. It’s part of what he likes so much about you.

You never ask for more, knowing he’s not willing to give it. It’s why he keeps coming back to you, there’s no desire to be a part of the drama that would ensue if anyone outside of his circle of friends ever found out about you.

It’s why you had no problem signing the NDA he presented on your first night out together.

Satoru knows when he needs it, you’ll be there; when he wakes in the morning, you’ll be gone. Not wanting any part of the lives you lead outside of the clubs and hotel rooms you frequently find yourselves in.

The bright lights from the city faded from the rear view mirror some time ago. Things are different tonight, seemingly calmer than you’ve ever experienced before with the man sitting to your right over the year you’ve been seeing each other.

He shifts gears while humming along to the tune playing softly in the background as the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. 

The car is extravagant. It suits him and you wouldn’t expect anything less to be honest. It’s the kind of car where the doors open up, rather than out, the leather seats are a dark black while the exterior is a stark white matching his hair.

The small space smells like a mix of his cologne, bergamot and honey, along with the perfume you always put on before going out with him.

This is the longest you’ve ever spent in his vehicle, unless he’s pulled off to the side of the road or in an abandoned parking lot either with you on his lap or spread out in the back seat as he fucks into you. 

Satoru hasn’t spoken a lot tonight, just asked if you wanted to hang out after work and ushered you into his car on an empty street like usual. Obviously he’s taking you away tonight but you’re not sure where and trying not to care too much, so you don’t ask.

Doing that would change the aloof nature of your relationship and you’re not ready for any of those dynamics to be different, nor do you think he would be receptive to it.

“I can’t stay long,” he breaks the silence first, pulling into a hotel roughly forty five minutes away on the outskirts of Tokyo, “and I need to be sober. But, you can have fun and I’ll drive you home later.”

Satoru’s never taken you home before, though with his connections and power you wouldn’t be surprised if he knew where you live regardless. When you’ve stayed the night together before, you’re always up early and make sure to leave before he wakes up. Not only because you shouldn’t be with him, but also because you’ve never been one to stick around for awkward morning conversations or expectations.

You nod with a quiet “okay,” while he hands you a basic black face mask while putting on his own. He also takes off his tie, throwing it in his pocket and undoing a few of the top buttons on his shirt before putting on a matching black sock hat to cover his hair.

Stepping out of the car, you adjust your tiny black dress and hair before looping your arm in with Satoru’s making your way into the glamorous hotel, past the concierge and to the elevator.

Even when trying to be discreet, Satoru and his friends can’t help the luxuries they like to surround themselves with. He says he can’t stay and has to be sober, but that didn’t stop any of them from choosing a hotel with chandeliers, gold decor and marble floors covering every inch of the lobby.

When you get to the top floor of the hotel, there are only a few doors in the hall. Satoru knocks on one a few times before it’s quickly opened, allowing the two of you in. The space is more akin to an apartment than a hotel room - a small kitchen off to one side, a large bedroom with its own door separating the space from what serves as the living room.

There are floor to ceiling windows covering every inch of wall space, overlooking the small, lively city below. Chandeliers hang in this room too, the bathroom has similar marble flooring to the lobby with a shower that could easily fit ten, along with a jacuzzi.

Suguru is sitting on a chair reclined back with a woman who could easily be a model on his lap. He has a joint between his fingers, bringing it to his lips and taking a drag before holding it up to hers. She accepts with a grin, hand on his chest while the other fiddles with his hair.

Toji and Sukuna are sitting on a love seat next to Suguru, doing what they always seem to be doing - cutting too many lines of a soft white powder on a mirrored plate with a credit card before rolling one of their bills and inhaling, taking turns.

There are several other women in the room with a few other guys you don’t recognize - they’re all busy grinding to the beat of the music playing, glasses of champagne in their hands.

You never know who Toji and Sukuna are going to have with them - it’s seemingly a new girl each time you’re around. Aside from yourself and the girl on Suguru’s lap you’ve seen a few times, you’re the only constant.

Then again, you don’t know what goes on, on the other nights of the week that Satoru doesn’t come to whisk you away. You’ve never bothered to ask, never wanting to know how many other women he has, just like you, waiting to have his attention for the night.

Toji walks over, the mountain of a man that he is, emerald green eyes gleaming with mischief as he looks you up and down, biting his scarred lip before saying, “lookin’ great, as always.”

You’re smiling, unable to help the blush that creeps onto your cheeks from his intense gaze, but don’t respond because Satoru has moved his hand to your waist, pulling you in closer to him.

“Can you fuck off and leave my girl alone?” Satoru says without a trace of humor and you’re reeling more from his words than you should be.

His girl.

You don’t let yourself think too hard about it. You know what this is, what it always will be.

What it can never be.

You’re shrugging as Satoru pulls you away, moving his hand from your waist down to your ass, grabbing a handful before removing his hand completely, sitting on the couch next to Suguru, across from where Sukuna was before, who is now missing.

Satoru likes it when you wear the things you buy with his money - showing him you appreciate what he’s given you. Every once in a while you’ll buy a new handbag or jewelry to show off but mainly you spend it on little dresses to flaunt around in front of him, something easily accessible and removable, the way he likes it.

Sitting on the couch, resting your head on Satoru’s shoulder listening to the way his voice reverberates through his chest as he talks with Suguru, you absentmindedly draw little shapes on his chest wondering why he brought you with him tonight. The only thing you’ve been doing since you got here is listen to them discuss things you’re not interested in talking or hearing about, things that have to do with their work.

A soft quiet sigh leaves your lips as you watch Suguru pack and roll another joint for himself and his guest. Satoru hears and cocks his head in your direction before capturing your lips with his own quickly.

“You can join them. I’ll take care of you tonight.”

“It’s not fun without you,” you’re running your thumb across his lower lip, wiping away the lipstick that’s smeared on the corner. He grins before biting the tip of your thumb, swirling his tongue around it.

After a few moments, you pull your thumb away and he clicks his tongue before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and a little clear plastic baggie with a white powder that was embedded deep within, “this would be fun for you. Just need a little.”

Your brows are furrowed; it’s a different soft crystalline powder than you’ve seen him have before, “what is it?”

“A stimulant,” he replies generically, his grin is wide as he puts his wallet back in his pocket. Satoru tells you to take the water bottle that’s on the table beside you and drink it because you’ll want to stay hydrated and then to wet the tip of one of your fingers with your tongue.

You grin, looking up at him through thick lashes before putting your index finger in his mouth. He chuckles before rolling his tongue on it a few times. Listening to his instructions, you dip your finger into the baggie and suck the powder off - it doesn’t taste like anything. All you’re able to taste is the slight spearmint flavor from his spit.

After dipping your finger back into the baggie you hold it up for him. He watches you, eyes dark, stern and unamused. Satoru sees the way your shoulders slump slightly when he doesn’t accept it and the way your lower lips juts out slightly, pouting - it’s barely noticeable, but he sees it.

You’ve never asked for more from him over the last year, and you’ve been so good to him during that time too.

“Fuck, okay, but this is it.”

“Okay.” You reply quietly, the corner of your lip tugging upwards.

The boys continue their conversation and you’re not sure how much time has passed but as you watch Satoru’s sharp jaw as he speaks, the planes of his cheeks and slope of his nose you also realize his pupils have dilated tremendously. They’re more black than blue at this point.

You’ve also noticed you’ve been drawing little circles on the palm of your hand this entire time - the touch of your own skin feels so good that you can’t help but reach for Satoru and run your nails up and down the length of his arm. He tilts his head towards you, smirks and pulls you closer so your legs are resting atop his as he follows suit on your bare legs.

The contact feels incredible, like little tingles of electricity each time his nails run up and down the length of your legs slowly. Every once in a while he moves his hand up your thigh, towards the hem of your dress which makes you gasp, more and more slick pooling in the center of your panties with each pass of his hand.

“So, the wife is finally suspicious about where you go at night, huh?” Suguru asks smoothly as Toji and Sukuna come back over and sit on the small couch across from you.

Sukuna lights another joint, taking a long drag before adding, “everyone is suspicious about what we’re up to. That’s nothing new.”

Satoru sighs before leaning his head against the back of the couch, “just need to make sure nothing gets out. It’ll affect more than just us and our families if it does.”

“Awe,” you coo, “trouble in paradise?”

Satoru is snide with his remark as he glares at you from the corner of his cold blue eyes, “why? Wish I was married to you?”

You grin, leaning up to whisper in his ear, “you wish.”

“What about you?” He asks suddenly, “hiding me from anyone?”

Satoru grabs the little bag of powder and opens it again, so you do the same as you did last time; lick the tip of your index finger, dip it in and place a little on your tongue before doing the same for him.

“Nope, not worth it.”

This is the first time either of you have really acknowledged your lives outside of what you do when you’re together, typically avoiding any and all topics that have to do with personal lives.

Tonight is different and you don’t know why though you’re not exactly putting in any effort to change it.

Satoru has never worried or cared if his friends made a comment about how good you look or showed interest in hooking up with you but tonight he’s more possessive of your interactions. Holding you closer, letting details of his family and day to day life slip in conversation like he never has before.

“This feels so good,” you rasp out, taking in the feeling of his hands moving along your legs and mostly thighs at this point, so you move to straddle him. Satoru runs his large hands up your thighs slowly and under your dress to your ass, gripping hard as you press your body up against his chest, “need you.”

“I can’t tonight,” it’s a whisper filled with desperation because he wants to.

Satoru’s grip on your hips tightens as he lowers you down onto his lap so you can feel just how badly he wants you too. A whimper leaves your lips when he guides you to roll your hips on top of his before moving his hands to the insides of your thighs.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He hisses when he feels your arousal running down your leg and quickly loses his resolve, moving your panties to the side and running two fingers through your soaked folds.

It’s easy to forget, with the way he’s easily able to insert two fingers into your pussy and find your sweet spot, that the two of you aren’t the only ones in the room. Foreheads pressed together, mouths agape as you cup his cheek, rutting your hips in time with his hand as he brings you closer and closer to the brink of your release.

Satoru moves a hand from your hip to your throat, squeezing gently at the base while your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure. Each touch, each pass of his fingers on your g-spot is euphoric.

There’s slick coating his hand, up to his wrist - you’re wet, wetter than you ever have before and you’re doing everything in your power to move your hips with his hand so his palm stays tightly pressed against your clit. You’re mewling, whimpering, never wanting this feeling to end, almost ready to beg him to keep you like this forever.

You’re so taken back with each others touch, the way you hold him close, card your fingers through his hair and drag your nails through his undercut; the way your breaths are mingling with one another as you’re so overcome with desire and pleasure you can’t even warn him that the thread barely keeping you together is about to snap before you’re moaning out his name and he’s whispering “fuck, that’s it,” as you absolutely gush on his hand.

Capturing your lips again the kisses are messy and needy until you’re both snapped back to reality by the sounds of Toji laughing, “damn, that was quite the show. You gonna need some help with her?”

Satoru sighs, running his thumb across your lips before moving you off his lap and standing, entwining his fingers with yours, “fuck off, Fushiguro. Find someone your own age to hang out with.”

He leads you out of the room and back down to the lobby of the hotel. You’re sure you’re about to leave for the night, before he lets temptation ruin him but rather than leading you out, he stops at the receptionist's desk, where a young man is standing, asking for a room.

There’s a smile that spreads across your face and you can’t even help it, a feeling of superiority spreading through your body that he’s choosing to spend the night with you, rather than whatever obligation was holding him back earlier.

“Hi,” you smile and wave at the receptionist while biting your lip. His eyes are flicking between you and Satoru as he looks for an open room.

It’s thrilling, being out with Satoru - there’s always that underlying thought, the excitement around potentially getting caught, even though that isn’t something either of you actually want.

Your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest, either because of the reality of the two of you being caught due to a snap decision on his part to stay the night or because of the drugs you took earlier, you’re not sure but you don’t let yourself dwell on it.

Satoru tilts his head in your direction, eyeing you up and down with a frown, “don’t fucking flirt with another man in front of me.”

“Oh, jealousy is not a good look on you.”

Before Satoru is able to reply, the receptionist cuts in, handing Satoru the keycard to a room along with a pamphlet of information about amenities the hotel provides. When the receptionist finishes his spiel Satoru carefully looks him over.

“If anything leaks from here, I’ll know it was from you and I will make your life a living hell. I will take anything and everything you hold dear to your heart and ruin it. You will be nothing but a broken man by the time I’m done with you. Understood?”

The man stands with wide eyes as he replies in a hurried, shaky voice, “o-okay. Understood.”

And then Satoru grins like an angel before pulling you along with him, to take you up to the room and fuck you like the devil he truly is.

He pulls you into the elevator, hiding both of your faces from the camera by pushing you into the wall of the confined space, lips latched while your tongues glide against one another, hips rutting into the other looking for stimulation.

When the elevator dings, he stumbles backwards dragging you along with him, keeping your lips connected until right outside the space where he lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist while he pulls the keycard out of his pocket. You busy yourself with kissing along his jaw and neck while he finds the room you were assigned, swiping the card and kicking the door closed once he’s walked through the threshold.

The room is large, and grand but nowhere near as extravagant as the one you were in earlier, not that it really matters considering the only focus is the plush king size mattress he lets you softly fall onto.

Satoru doesn’t waste any time unbuttoning his shirt and slacks, throwing them haphazardly across the room while you slip the dress off, along with your panties, waiting in the center of the bed for him to join you.

And he does, with a salacious grin spread across his face crawling over to you, pushing you further into the mattress while you spread your legs, feeling his long, thick cock press against your soaked entrance.

“Wait, wait,” you gasp out, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek, “condom.”

He stares at you like you’ve just shot him square in the chest before furrowing his brows, “No. We’ll- I’ll- fuck- I’ll pull out, I have to feel you.”

Satoru doesn’t have many rules - first and foremost, above all else, stay out of the limelight and his family's business and do not talk to anyone about the details of your relationship with him without a lawyer present if anyone should find out.

After that it’s simple, really only two other rules to abide by; take your birth control pills on time and wear a condom. And he’s been adamant about that until tonight. He’s always stated he didn’t want to risk getting anything and passing it to his wife because that would be a fucking nightmare to try and explain his way out of, but it would be an even bigger problem if he were to get you pregnant.

All of that seems to be out of the window tonight because he effortlessly pushes in past your entrance. He moans sinfully at the feeling while your eyes roll to the back of your head and arch your back, “you’re so wet, this- oh fuck- fuck, you feel so good.”

“What about your wife?” You manage to gasp out, mouth open, eyes half lidded, nails digging into his shoulder as he moves so painfully slowly that it’s amazing.

The heightened sense of touch, the feeling of him with nothing in between is intoxicating, makes your head a little dizzy, feeling every inch of his length as he pulls out and pushes back in.

“You jealous, baby?” He mutters, eyes hazy with lust, “want me to fuck you the way I do my wife?”

He pulls almost all the way out before snapping his hips back into yours causing you to stutter out, “fuck, n-no, no.”

“Think I’ll leave my wife, leave my family for a stripper?” His cock twitches at his words but he doesn’t move his hips again, doesn’t give you what you need so you wrap your legs around his waist and rock your hips against him the best you’re able, “I’ve fucking thought about it, having you like this every day.”

His large hands span your hips, halting your movements as he sits back up and pulls out to your dismay.

“Beg me.” He demands, running the red tip of his cock across your hypersensitive folds, nudging your clit a few times in the process just to watch the way you squirm below him, “beg me to fuck you.”

He takes a handful of your tits massaging them roughly before leaning down, swirling his tongue on your hardened nipple. He tweaks the other at the same time he tugs the other between his teeth.

“S’toru,” you whine needy and shamelessly, “I- fuck- please, please fuck me. Just- want to feel you, need you, please.”

Satoru watches you through his lashes the way you wriggle and writhe with your nipple tugged gently between his teeth. Cock is straining, leaking precum from the slit on the sheets of the bed - he’s just as needy as you, dying to be touched, to get the stimulation he’s craving just as badly as you but he’s being incredibly patient tonight.

His length is longer, harder and thicker than usual, twitches with your words and every whimper that leaves your lips but he still doesn’t fuck you - he’s waiting. Waiting for you to say he can fuck you, unimpeded and raw.

“Please, Satoru, baby,” tears are forming in the corner of your eyes, threatening to break free if he doesn’t work to extinguish the fire that’s burning in the center of your belly, to give you the release your body is screaming at you to have, “fuck me, please- so hard- always wanted to feel you-”

He can’t hold back anymore, not when you’re laying so pretty on the bed, tears streaming down your cheeks and begging him to give you what he knows only he can. Before you’ve realized what happened, he has you flipped over lining his cock with your entrance before slamming his hips flush with yours.

You cry out his name as he moves his hips with reckless abandon, finally, finally feeding the flames of desire burning in your core. His crystalline eyes are hooded with lust and desire as he grabs your hair at the roots and tugs harshly, other hand on your hip helping keep you in place as he pumps his hips faster and harder.

“You take all of me so fucking well,” he moans, “nobodies ever taken all of me.”

Wet, lewd squelching noises fill the space of the hotel room. You’re so wet from the jolt of electricity that thrums through your body with every touch and every time the tip of his cock grazes your sweet spot, and you’re only getting wetter as he continues to fuck into your rougher and rougher.

You know he’s comparing you to his wife when he babbles aimlessly like this, but you’ve learned to not let it bother you, not to think too much on it. After all, he’s spending his free time with you.

Sex with Satoru has always been good, he always seemed to know what you needed before you did, but tonight is different. Better somehow.

It’s all so much, so euphoric that there’s no way you’re able to hold back your impending orgasm; unable to help the way your thighs shake when the tip of his length kisses your cervix so deliciously you know it’ll ache in the morning. 

The moment Satoru drapes his body over yours, fingers drawing small tight circles on your clit is the moment the flames erupt, warmth and pleasure coursing through your veins as your walls spasm and constrict around his cock so hard he has to slow his pace and take a deep shaky breath in order to not follow along right beside you.

He lets go of your hair, kissing your shoulders and center of your back several times before sitting back on the balls of his feet before taking both of your wrists in one of his large hands and holding them behind your back.

Satoru moves his hips slowly a few times before pulling you up so your back is flush with his chest. 

“Like it when I fuck you like the filthy slut you are?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply before hooking his fingers in your mouth turning your attention to him. Your tongue immediately finds his fingers, swirling over them as you look up to him, eyes so dark and filled with lust you can barely see any of the color anymore. He lets a tail of saliva fall from his mouth into yours and you moan the moment it hits your tongue, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He lets go of your wrist, splaying one hand over your stomach to feel the bulge from his cock each time he recklessly fucks into you, while the other finds its way to your breast, squeezing and gripping as he looses himself to pleasure inside of you.

There’s a mirror across from you, above the dresser in front of the bed - Satoru’s cheeks and the tips of his ears are pink, down his neck to the top of his chest. Lips parted with eyes on you as he watches and listens to the way you moan and whine from each stroke of his long cock.

“Satoru, cum in me,” his hips falter at your words, “fill me up, please.”

“Baby, I can’t.” But he absolutely wants to.

He pushes you back down on the bed, hand in the center of your back keeping your face pressed against the silky sheets. He takes the opportunity to grip your ass and spread your cheeks, watching the way you take all of him down the base without complaint. He lets his spit fall from his mouth, and watches the way you jolt when it makes contact with your other entrance unexpectedly and slides down to his cock, mixing with your arousal.

Satoru feels the way your pussy has a death grip on his cock again, knows you’re about to cum and he can’t bring himself to pull out. Not when you look and sound so pretty for him, not when you were literally begging for him to cum inside you earlier.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-” he’s moaning at the thought, getting lost inside you, “I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you so fucking full of me.”

His words are enough to set you off, having your pussy tightening around him like a noose as he paints your walls white, letting out a guttural groan as he rocks his hips back and forth, working you both through your releases.

There’s so much dripping out from between where you’re connected that his efforts to keep it all inside are fruitless. The view is absolutely obscene, cum mixed together and dripping onto the bed sheets below, the sounds are vulgar but it doesn’t stop him from fucking it deep and deeper inside, rolling his neck and head back through the hypersensitivity of his his tip.

Eventually he rolls you over onto your back, both panting, trying to catch your breaths. He’s still half hard, both hissing at the sensation when he runs his cock up through your puffy folds, dragging his wet, heavy cock on your stomach when he leans up and places several languid kisses to the center of your chest.

He licks a strip from your chest to jaw before sucking several small red starbursts on your neck, shoulder and down to your tits. Your nails are on his shoulder and back digging into his skin - he groans, loves the feeling, the sharp to dull pain that comes with it.

There’s been an unspoken rule between the two of you, no marks. Not on him at least. It’s more important his body be free from any unknown scratches and little red marks, should the press decide to have a field day seeing them and decide to investigate.

“Love leaving marks on you,” he whispers, voice low, gravely with desire again. “Everyone knows you belong to someone else, don’t they?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Tell me baby, who do you belong to?”

“You. Satoru, I’m yours.” You answer a little too honestly, holding his face a little too lovingly. He groans at the confirmation, knows he shouldn’t have made you say it but couldn’t resist hearing it.

You place several kisses on his lips and cheek. Everything is getting progressively sloppier, starting to come down from your respective highs. Satoru’s eyes are half lidded, not only from lust but from a tiredness that’s starting to seep through.

He returns the kisses languidly before you kiss along his jaw, sucking a small spot just under his jaw, nipping at the skin playfully a few times in the process. He doesn’t stop you because he knows that despite not being able to give you all of himself, he’s yours too.

Probably even more than he’s his wifes.

Slowly, he presses his tip against your entrance again, easily slipping past the ring of muscles while you wrap your legs around his waist. He hooks one of his arms under your knee, pushing it up so he’s able to get deeper.

Satoru fucks into you hard and fast like this. It’s messy, wet and sticky with your mixed arousal and cum connecting the two of you. Slick wet sounds fill the room again until you’re both on the brink of another imminent release.

“Think I might fucking love you.” He admits, voice low, filled with lust.

You want to say it back, but you know it’s not true, the shit he says when he’s buried ten inches deep in your cunt, cock bruising your cervix as he fucks into you.

“You’re so wet, already so full of me,” he moans at the thought of cumming inside you again. “G-gonna give you a baby, gonna give you part of me.”

“S’toru,” you gasp at his lust filled desires and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want that too so you move your hips up wantonly, eagerly, “yes, please.”

It’s a bad fucking idea, to let him say these things, to agree with him. But you let him move your knees back to your shoulders, holding the heels of your feet for leverage as he presses his hips into you until you’re both cumming again.

He collapses on top of you, heavy breaths fanning your ear. You lay like this, chests rising and falling against one another until you’re overcome by sleep.

There’s light peeking in through semi-closed curtains, a beam of light hitting your face at the perfect angle, right into your eye. Knitting your brows together, you stifle a yawn before stretching out, feeling a warm body pressed into yours.

Your eyes flutter open, focusing on the dim light of the hotel room. It’s the same as it was last night, pristine, perfect. All except the sheets and blankets that are askew on the bed from your passion filled night.

The silky white sheet is covering most of you, but only on Satoru up to his hips. He must have gotten hot last night, threw everything off him in his sleep.

Looking up to him, his eyes are still closed, eyes moving slightly behind his lids. Soft white lashes flutter slightly with each movement while his arm that’s wrapped around your waist twitches slightly.

Your naked body is pressed against him, skin to skin. One leg is tangled between his while one hand is on his chest.

You let yourself take in the sight, not something you allow yourself to do frequently, but last night was indulgent, so this morning might as well be too. Satoru looks peaceful when he’s asleep. He’s always so calm and collected when you’re with him but never quite like this.

Truly without a care in the world with his eyes closed. No stress about someone finding out about you, exposing his lies and his secret life.

You stay like this for too long, watching him sleep, letting your index finger run along the scar on his chest. He says your name quietly, and you smile, just slightly at the thought of him dreaming about you.

You’re still high, you can tell, feeling light and airy and great about everything, but you know better than to let it last. You’ll be coming down again soon and everything will feel mundane, pointless, bothersome.

So you go to move, push yourself away from him to do your normal routine of getting ready for the day, pretending you were never here with him. His grip around your waist tightens, halting your movements.

“Stay…” Satoru whispers so quietly it’s barely audible.

Pursing your lips you look up at him, eyes still closed, no identifying feature signifying he’s woken up and is really, truly asking you to stay by his side, despite all the shit that would come along with it.

Your heart is beating fast, irregular, but you’re sure it’s from the stimulant. It has to be. Any other reason would be less than ideal.

After all, he probably thinks you’re his wife right now. Laying next to him, snuggled in close like she probably is every other day of the week.

You let out a single low wry chuckle at the morbid thought, licking your lips and shaking your head and whispering, “that’s not a good idea.”

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and you mentally kick yourself for leaving the incredibly obvious fucking hickey just below his jaw. Satoru’s grip loosens just enough for you to wriggle out of his grasp.

Something you quickly learned after getting involved with Satoru is to have a bag packed at all times. That way in the mornings you can shower, removing the sweat and scents of not only the alcohol or drugs but also his cologne from your skin. It’s important to make it appear like you were never with him, to never leave in the same clothes you’ve arrived in.

After showering, you do your normal daily routine. Moisturizers, hair products, make up. You bring it all and you do it all - it would be no different if you were sitting at home, getting ready for your day.

That’s all this is, isn’t it? Just a routine. Meet a man, party, have mind blowing sex, act as if you’ve never met each other afterwards. Over and over again.

When you step back into the living space of the room, Satoru is no longer lying on his back, but rather his stomach, face buried into the pillow you used last night. His own overnight back is open, evident he had rifled through it for some reason when you were in the shower before climbing back into the bed, ignoring your presence.

Sitting on top is a black Versace sweatshirt. Looking back over to him, he’s unmoving aside from his back raising and falling slightly with each breath. Pursing your lips you quickly decide to grab it out of his bag and throw it into yours.

It’ll smell like him, even if only for a few days.

Picking up your garments from last night, you throw them into your bag before pulling out oversized sunglasses to hide your obviously still blown pupils and throw them on before turning the knob of the door to exit the room.

You don’t bother turning around, checking to see if Satoru watched you walk out. There’s no point. You know he didn’t. This is all routine.

After ensuring the door closes completely, you take a few steps down the hall while the elevator dings and a woman steps out of it.

She’s tall, in a pressed black pencil skirt and blazer. She looks classy with the way her ebony hair falls over her shoulders in soft curls.

She heads down the direction you’re coming from. Neither of you acknowledge the other as you pass by, on your own separate missions. Your breathing picks up, and the air feels tense after noticing the scowl spread across her features. And you all but jump at the sound of her banging on the room door you just walked out of moments prior.

You press the button to the elevator a few times, palms growing more clammy by the second, afraid the two of you might have been caught, that the boy from the front desk didn’t heed Satoru’s warning.

You watch from the corner of your eye as Satoru groggily opens the door, complaining about the loud sound. At least he had enough sense to put on a shirt beforehand, hiding the marks you left across his chest and back.

“You missed our counseling appointment. Is this some kind of joke to you?”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes adjusting to the bright light of the hall and you could swear his eyes flicker to you for a split second before finally speaking.

“No, of course not. I went out with the guys last night and lost track of time. You know how it is.”

“All too well.”

She pushes past him into the room and you know he didn’t have enough time to do any clean up of his own, that the room still reeks of alcohol, sweat and sex. And if she even bothers to look around, he’ll have to explain why the shower is wet from having been used when he clearly hasn’t washed up.

“Good lord. What have you been doing here? And what is on your neck?”

His hand goes to his jaw instinctively to try to hide the mark you left last night, “uh, cigarette burn. The guys were messing around last night and I got mixed up in the fray.”

He doesn’t seem to be too worried about his wife’s line of questioning because he looks over to you, just as the elevator dings, giving you a smirk.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, biting your lip as you return the sly smile, stepping into the elevator once the doors open knowing he can’t and won’t stay away from you for long.

Taglist: @petalsrdead @sofiaconlaz @lovelylashawnalee @s-witch-bitch @watyousayin

[writermai05]

Arsonist's Lullabye

Prologue: All you have is your fire

Summary: Zuko’s bad day gets a bit better after an encounter with an unfamiliar face. 

Pairing: zuko x fem! reader (Live Action or Animated) 

A/N: I am delusional, and when I had the idea for a zuko x reader modern AU where he works in Iroh’s boba tea shop, I had to follow through with said idea. Let’s see if this goes anywhere, and feel free to leave comments or suggestions on how the fic could play out maybe :) 

Word Count: 773

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Avatar: The Last Airbender, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot.  This is a modern AU that takes place in the avatar world. Bending still exists. Zuko and the gaang are in college in this series !!

TW!: Physical abuse, burns, Ozai in general, Zuko’s backstory is so sad. 

Zuko knew it was going to be a long day as soon as he opened the shop at 12pm. 

Within the first two hours, he had run out of tapioca pearls, dropped a container filled with matcha on the floor (which by the way, was a pain in the ass to clean up,) and slipped on the floors he had just mopped. Perhaps he was just born unlucky. Perhaps, most people in life didn’t have to struggle the way that he was, the way that he always had. It wasn’t all bad. He was lucky enough to be here, working in his uncle’s tea shop in the Earth Kingdom, rather than in his father’s company back in the Fire Nation. 

The Jasmine Dragon was beloved by many. People from all over the city came to have some of the shops' amazing teas and pastries. It wasn’t too busy, having only three people come in today.  perhaps because school at the University of Ba Sing Se hadn’t quite started up yet, outside of the students who had moved in early. The shop was particularly chilly today, but the atmosphere managed to maintain the same warm and cozy feeling, with the dim atmospheric lighting and the sage and emerald hued furniture. Zuko had a second to just relax in the stillness. 

 He appreciated these quiet moments the most.  The moments where he could stop worrying about the shop, and overthinking the worst things he had ever done in his life. Such as when he lashed out at his uncle, multiple times, or about the people he had bullied in high school. He was almost able to forget it all. Forget the fact that his younger sister, Azula, was still stuck in a house with his abusive father, or even forget the feeling of his father’s hand, burning the flesh of his face, leaving a scar in its wake, as well as a near complete blindness in his left eye. His demons may be restless, but boy did Zuko keep them on a tight leash. 

Zuko’s reverie was broken by the sound of the door’s bell chime. He immediately snapped out of his thoughts, waiting patiently for his assistance to be needed. 

“Um, excuse me,” 

A girl, who seemed to be around his age, was standing right in front of him. She wore a navy blue dress with a pale blue lining and detailing around the edges. A belt of the same color was around her waist, with a brown leather cord connecting a bag onto her hip. Her black jacket was cropped to about rib length, with brown leather cords fastening it closed, as well as matching black pants and brown boots. 

“This is my first time here…Is there anything that you’d recommend?” She asked politely. 

There was something about the way her kind eyes twinkled in the orange lighting that made Zuko fluster. He cleared his throat before opening his mouth to talk. 

“Well, Lychee juice is a customer favorite. But personally, my Uncle Iroh’s jasmine green tea is the best in Ba Sing Se.” 

“The best in Ba sing Se?” She raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

“The best.” he nodded. 

“I’ll take it.” She said, reaching to the tote bag slung over her shoulder. Zuko interrupted her actions with the wave of his hand. 

Zuko shook his head. “Don’t worry, It’s on me.” he said, as he began punching numbers, into the register. 

“Oh no! I can’t let you do that-” She protested. 

He shrugged, a blush beginning to warm his cheeks.  “For a first time customer.” 

“Thank you so much…” She trailed off, waiting for him to tell her his name.

“Zuko.”

“Zuko. I’ll be sure to come by again. And I fully intend on paying that time.” She said with a playful glare. 

The boy smiled slightly.

“Your tea will be ready shortly.” 

Zuko had Iroh bring the tea over to the girl. He wasn’t confident in his ability to steadily bring the tray of hot tea without causing more burns to cover his body. The older man made sure to give the girl a complimentary fruit tart to enjoy, but not before looking at his nephew with a teasing glint in his eyes. Zuko groaned. 

“Not a word, uncle.” He said as he walked through the staff doors into the shops’ kitchen. 

After about 20 minutes had passed, Iroh came into the kitchen, clutching what looked like a napkin and some paper Yuan bills. 

“Zuko! The girl left this on her table after she left!”

Zuko carefully took the napkin from his uncle’s hand, reading the message. 

“Thanks for the tea! - y/n.” 

[yndrgrl]

Could u do a aizawa fic pls

you found a new job under yandere! aizawa as a nanny for his cute kid

age gap. quirkless! au. soft! yandere. dom! aizawa

warning: nsfw, stalking, smacking/slapping, slight coercion??, punishment, daddy kink, sir kink, creampie

a/n: yayyy, first request 🥳 idk if you wanted a fluff or spicy fanfic... so i chose spicy haha. also sorry for taking so long, i just started a new job :0

---

it was a chance encounter, you truly believed. your first year of college just came to a close, & now you had too much free time while the money in your bank account was slowly declining. even if you saved as much as possible, you'd still end up spending all of your money then you'd have to dip into your savings account-- something that you didn't want to do.

so that began your search for a job. you used websites, applied in-person. you thought your resume was solid enough to land a job by now. but no. even though they claimed they were desperately hiring, they never hired you. some had the curtesy to at least let you know that they weren't going to go with you; the rest completely ghosted you. from receptionist to substitute teacher to bank teller, they all rejected you.

it was extremely frustrating to go through the interviewing process then you were ultimately rejected. it was as if someone had it out for you.

that chance encounter happened while you were on the phone with your best friend. you sat at a small round table in a cafe you frequent often.

"i just don't get it, jirou!" you exasperated, taking a sip from your drink. you let out a heavy sigh. with how much effort you've put into finding a new job, you should've been paid.

"i'm sure momo's dad has a job for you," the girl on the other line tried to assure. she was on her daily jog, so she was slightly out of breath as she spoke.

with your face propped in your hand, you responded, "we already tried. all the available positions are for people with like, actual degrees or something. besides, we're not close enough for her to make a whole new job for me."

"i'm sure a job will fall right into your lap," jirou said, rustles of clothes being picked up in the phone microphone. in some sort of messed-up irony, she was getting ready for work. the universe just loved toying with you.

you took a breath in to exclaim how much you needed the money, needed a job, when a man pulled out the chair across from your table. "i'm sorry, i don't mean to be rude & eavesdrop," he began, catching your attention.

"sorry jirou, i'll call you back in just a sec," you whispered, then you hung up. "um, sorry, can i help you?" you took mental note of his appearance-- you know, just in case something happens in this very public, very populated cafe.

just by looks, you'd assume he was in his early thirties. his jet black hair was tied into a bun, stray strands framing his face. there were bags under his eyes-- along with a noticeable scar under his left one. though his disheveled appearance, he took care of himself; his stubble was even & maintained. his shirt was tight around his arms & his chest, & you could faintly make out the shape of his muscles. & god, were they big. he was alluring, with that slight smirk of his.

he would've intimidated you, maybe even set off red flags if he didn't have a toddler bouncing on his leg, tugging his hair out of its bun. she bubbled words & strung together incoherent sentences in beg of attention of her dad.

"i apologize again, i really didn't mean to eavesdrop," he repeated. "it's just i couldn't help but overhear you were looking for a job?"

"yes!" you exclaimed, clearing your throat with an embarrassed blush on your face. "i am looking for a job."

"are you interested in being a live-in nanny for my little girl?"

it was a chance encounter, you truly believed.

the job & its perks were almost too perfect, but you're not complaining. you got to move into the basement of his suburban home for free, he would cook you breakfast & make sure the fridge & cabinets were well-stocked. for nearly $25 an hour, you were living the dream.

eri, his -adoptive- daughter, was an absolute gem as well. she was a cheery toddler who loves life. she's not a picky eater, she loves picking out her own outfits, & if you turned off her show, she would pout for a little bit then bounce back for the next activity. never once has she screamed & shouted. she would cling onto her father almost all the time when he was home.

speaking of her father, you learned his name was shota aizawa, so, naturally, you call him mr. aizawa or sir. he would constantly ask you would other things you wanted, not needed. he would take you shopping, calling it a bonus. your living area was decorated, & you didn't even have to pay a dime! there were times where you felt more like a sugar baby than a nanny, in all honesty.

not that you minded. one look at him & you could already feel your heart beat quicken. maybe it was your daddy issues that just scream when you choose a guy you're into, but he was exactly your type. he's protective, yet soft. strong, yet humble.

you thought you hid your crush on him quite well, treating him as though he were any other person. sometimes you felt like he knew you were so utterly attracted to him.

"y/n," he called out, drawing you out of thought.

"u-uh yes sir?" you replied. you were dressed down still as it was the morning. he just finished breakfast & eri was fast asleep, bound to wake up at any moment. it was just the two of you.

"are you okay?" he asked. aizawa awaited for your answer while he plated your breakfast. he always insisted so you learned to let him.

as he walked towards you with your plate, you answered, "yeah, i'm okay."

he set down the plate in front of you from behind. aizawa bent over so his head was leveled with yours. both of his arms encased you, & if it weren't for the back of your chair, you would've been pressed against his chest. "are you sure?" he whispered into your ear. "i'm hear to listen, if you'd let me."

you turned your head to look at him because, somewhere in your strange logic, you thought it would've reduced the tension & made you less embarrassed. it did the opposite.

the tips of your noses touched, his lips only a few centimeters from yours. with half-lidded eyes, the way he looked at you made you quiver. you tried to create space between the two of you, only for your head to meet his arm. centimeters turned to an inch of space. "i-i am okay," you repeated.

"aw, don't lie to me," he said in teasing voice, but you could've been imagining it. "i know it's been hard, tell me about it~" you never would've thought he would have this amount of confidence-- mainly because, if he did, he should've been bringing home loads of women.

"i-i, it's just, um," you stumbled over your words. he had a smirk, amused. his eyes glanced down to your glossy, shaky lips, then back into your doe eyes, just waiting.

"daddy," eri called from the top of the staircase.

"y/n," he whispered.

"y-yes, mr. a-aizawa?"

"eat your food before it gets cold." & with that, he pulled away from you, sauntering upstairs to grab eri. left stunned, you picked at your food.

oh, how you loved telling your friends about how hot your boss is.

after that incident, you had to tell all your friends about it, so, during your guys' weekly, weekend, late night group facetime.

"oh, my god!" uraraka squealed. "you HAVE to tell us more."

"yeah, that's literally so hot," jirou laughed. "see! you found a perfect job."

you had your phone propped against some random bottle as you snuck into the kitchen to fix yourself something to eat. another thing about eri is that, once she's asleep, nothing is waking that girl up. as for aizawa, he's usually up doing something else-- which explains the bags under his eyes & his scheduled naps.

while you dumped your noodles into a pot of boiling water, you said into your phone, "i'm not even exaggerating, it was the hottest thing to ever happen to me."

giggles erupted from your phone. "well, to be fair, you haven't had much luck with guys in the past," mina stated. it was true. while you were in high school -& this past year of college- you really didn't connect with any guys.

"maybe the problem was that they were all her age," joked jirou. hysterical laughter followed after. you were bent over, trying to catch your breath.

"that's not true! i could go for guys our age," you tried to defend yourself.

"okay, let's name every single one of your crushes ever," tsu said, her camera angle only showing her eyes.

all the other girls started to spit out whoever they could think of.

"remember keigo? he was like, 2 years older than us," momo said.

"that's not even that bad," you rolled your eyes, stirring your noodles & adding the seasoning packet.

"oh yeah?" jirou challenged, "what about shoto-"

"he's our age!" you cut her off to save yourself the embarrassment. "besides i didn't even like him."

"yeah cuz you liked his DAD," jirou finished, to which even more bowls of laughter erupted. okay, maybe you did have a thing for older guys.

"oh wow, y/n, i didn't know you had a thing for older guys," a voice spoke from behind you. you jumped, letting out a yelp.

your phone blasted all of your friends' laughter until you grabbed your phone & hung up. "o-oh hey, sir," you stuttered out. you hid your phone behind your back as if you were caught doing something wrong. you felt your phone vibrate, your friends begging to be on call again. "how much did you hear?"

"not much," shrugged aizawa as he grabbed a glass cup from the cabinet above you. that's when you realized how warm he was, how flushed his face was, how messy his hair fell. that's when you realized he was wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants & a small towel around his neck.

"wh-what are you doing up," you coughed, taking in his physic-- just for a second, of course. veins protruded up his muscular biceps down his forearms. his pecs were in front of your face. they were well-toned. his washboard abs rose with every breath he took. you let yourself quickly -& ever so sneakily- glance downward. smaller veins & a trail of black hair were like arrows, pointing down his sweatpants. you gulped. was it normal to have a bulge that big-

"you know, it's rude to stare, y/n," aizawa whispered in your ear before pulling away. he walked toward the fridge that had a water dispenser attached to the freezer door. "i just need a cup of water after my workout," he answered in his regular voice to her question.

"oh, nice, nice," you said. a tense, awkward silence followed afterwards. "i-i'm sorry, i didnt mean to," you swallowed, "stare."

"right, i'm sure." & with that said, he left upstairs to get ready for bed.

aizawa loved teasing cute, little you. how could he not? your reactions were simply priceless. your face would get pink while you tried desperately to hide your embarrassment. your skittish eyes darted around the room just to avoid eye contact.

you weren't going to speak up because he knew that you "secretly" loved it. you'd probably make some lame excuse to defend yourself. you'd say, "well i'll let it slide just this once because i really need this job." which was the truth, it just wasn't the entire truth. aizawa knew though. he knew how much you craved his closeness.

he loves teasing you, but he's not a monster.

that's why he whispers in your ear, caging you between him & some other surface. he fed into your fantasies while fueling his own.

he thinks about you. all the time. more than you'll ever know.

what you believed to be a chance encounter was -in fact- a calculated, perfectly-executed plan concocted by aizawa. you might've never noticed him until he introduced himself, but you're so eye catching; it was only natural for him to notice you.

at first, he cursed himself to the moon & back for being attracted to someone ten years younger than him. you're only twenty-three, why is he so charmed by you?

determined to find a fault in your character, he learned your daily routine, find your social handles, grasping at anything. he was expecting to find out that maybe you're so much of an alcoholic that you practically live at a bar or that you have eighteen children with twelve different guys. but no, he found nothing terrible about you.

all of your habits he found adorable-- especially the face you make when you're frustrated. he would watch from afar as you grunted & groaned at your laptop screen. the day at the cafe he figured out why you were so upset lately.

that's why he offered you the job, out of the kindness of his heart. no other reason.

he just wanted to make sure that you stay happy & safe, which is why he installed secret cameras in the basement before you moved in.

he loved to tease you. he loved to rile you up.

he'd tease you so badly that you -at the dead of night- spread you legs wide towards the camera & play with yourself with your fingers, moaning desperately for him. all while aizawa watched you.

tonight was different though because, with the money he gave you, you bought yourself something new. tonight, you had a bright pink vibrator stimulate your clit while your eyes rolled back in ecstasy. aizawa was offended, in all honesty. it was almost like you were mocking him.

he could do better than some toy. you should've known that. he was angry, aroused, & ready to make his move.

you were unsuspecting. usually you were hyper-aware of your surroundings when you masterbated, scared of getting caught. however, this was your first time using a vibrator, & god, it felt so good. you've never experienced anything like it before. blood rushed to your ears as you could only listen to the vibrations & your choked-back moans.

aizawa crept down the stairs, into your basement. the floorboards would creak as a warning, but they fell on deaf ears. he opened the door to the basement, sneaking in. the only light that was on was a dimly lit lamp from your room. "ngh, ah." he heard your muffled moans, & his cock twitched in anticipation.

he bursted through the door, making you jump back & pull the closest thing over the bottom half of yourself. "s-sir! i-is something wrong?" you asked in a high-pitched voice as you tried to calm yourself down.

he gave you a glare, & you felt like you were in trouble, preparing for some sort of punishment. even though you didn't do anything wrong, it was him who barged in. "what. the fuck. do you think you're doing?" he seethed, closing the bedroom door. you were exposed, your juices so clearly staining your sheets.

"wh-what are you talking about-"

"don't give me that, y/n. you've been such a bad girl," he growled. aizawa stalked closer towards you as you gulped.

"n-no i haven't, i don't know what you mean, sir," you managed to say, watching him walk to the side of your bed.

"what were you doing then, hm?" he questioned with a mocking smirk. "tell me. i'd hate to do something brash over a misunderstanding."

"i-i was just laying down," you lied. he was standing at the edge of your bed, & you turned towards him. your gaze was met with his aching bulge, & you gushed all over your bed once more. you tried covering up the squelching with a yawn. "i-i'm kinda tired, you know." you were still staring at his crotch, licking your lips subconsciously.

suddenly, his hand shot to your face, his palm covering your mouth while his thumb & middle finger dug into your cheeks. "don't lie to me~ you were touching yourself, weren't you? using a dirty toy while you thought about me, hm?" you tried shaking your head but he grasped harder, making you still. "i said, don't fuckin' lie to me." he made you nod your head yes while you look up into his lusted eyes.

"you're such a bad girl, & you should know that i don't tolerate any kind of bad behavior," he informed, his gaze never breaking away from yours. "i'm going to sit down, & you're going to lay belly-down on my lap, alright, baby?"

you shook your head no once again, embarrassed. you knew that, the moment you would do that, he would catch you. after all, from the waist down, you had no clothing. "no?" he repeated in an almost sing-songy voice. "no?"

it happened so fast. one minute you were disobeying him, the next you were on his lap, just as he wanted. the baggy crop top rode up the arch of your back, & now you were practically naked -ass up- on your boss' lap. you buried your face into your messy duvet. you felt your core leak onto your inner thighs, hoping aizawa didn't notice your arousal. he did though; he loved it.

his fingers stroked your pussy as he slurred, "what a naughty girl, gettin' wet for me. y'know how much older i am, don't ya?"

you nodded your head, dripping onto his fingers.

"& ya still want me?"

you nodded, this time with a small squeak. he pulled your head back with his other hand entangled in your hair. "what was that, baby?"

"y-yes," you whispered out, hyperfixated on his fingers that teased you.

"yes what?"

"yes, i-i want you, sir," you moaned out. his middle finger ghosted over your clit, & you jolted closer to him for more friction.

"aww, you're so cute," he purred as he let go of your hair, allowing you to fall back into your bed. "it's a shame that you were so impatient though," he said with faux pity, "i have to punish you."

"no, please," you whined. "that's not fair!"

"not fair? oh darling, you brought this on yourself," he laughed. aizawa drew his hand away from your aching pussy, much to your dismay. the hand came back down, thrashing your ass cheek. you let out a muffled scream into your blanket as you were pushed forward with his force.

"what's wrong, y/n? can't handle a bit of spanking?"

"n-no! i-i want you... i-inside of me," you stuttered out with a red-tinted cheeks.

"aww, do you?"

you nodded eagerly. he, in response, growled lowly, "you're going to learn your lesson. i don't want to hear anymore whining. you're going to be my good girl, & take it, right?"

you just nodded again.

smack!

"i said, you're going to be a good girl for me, aren't you?"

"y-yes, sir!"

smack!

you let out a moan, looking back at him with teary eyes. you wanted an explanation why he spanked you again. you did everything right, didn't you? you were a good girl.

"you didn't apologize."

"i-i'm s-so sorry, daddy," you gasped out, then tried to explain why you called him that. "i-i didn't-"

smack!

"you're going to keep calling me that, right?"

"y-yes, daddy." your ass stung bright red, & you felt the tingling sensation as the blood rushed to your asscheeks. aizawa let his hand graze over you, squeezing you ever so slightly.

"sit up, & look at me, y/n," he commanded in a softer tone than before. mindlessly & eagerly, you sat up onto his lap. one hand gripped on your hip while the other was placed behind your back. you wrapped your arms around his neck to stay sitting up. he leaned in for a kiss, lips pressed against your plush ones. with the hand behind your back, he glided his nails over your back.

his tongue slid over your bottom lip before invading your mouth. you let out a moan as he kissed you. he was the one to pull away, you unconsciously leaned into him for another kiss. you were snapped out of your lust when he dove into your neck, nipping & kissing all over. between hickeys, he whispered, "see? good girls get a reward."

you just let out breathless moans. your arms were still around his neck while he lowered you onto the bed. "baby, i don't ever wanna punish you again," aizawa lied, slipping your crop top over your head before throwing it on the floor. he took of his shirt, chuckling when he saw how pink your ears got. "you know why i had to punish you though, don't you?"

"y-yes, i do, d-daddy," you stuttered out. it was hard to focus while he dragged his tongue over your body. he bit your collarbone, sucked on your tits, kissed down your torso. it was all so distracting.

"why did i have to punish you, y/n?"

"because i-i was p-playing with myself without y-your permission," you told him, sighs in between every word. you don't know how or when your legs were over his shoulders, & you didn't notice until he spoke.

every annunciation blew warm air to your throbbing heat. "such a smart girl, y/n~" he praised, his onyx eyes locking with your doe eyes. you didn't have to say anything, he could tell by your facial expressions how badly you needed him. he kitten-licked your pussy; it was so little, yet you couldn't help but squeak in delight.

"oh, my god," you moaned out, throwing your head back as he began to lap your juices. he groaned as his tongue flicked your clit.

"you taste so fuckin' good, baby," he uttered, diving back for more.

"thank you, daddy," you said, you didn't even know if he still wanted to punish you, but there was a chance that he did, & you didn't want this to stop.

"good girl."

he stimulated your clit with his tongue while three fingers pumped in & out of your hole. he pulled away from your pussy for a second, demanding, "look at me when you cum, got it?"

"yes d-daddy!" you yelled out, self-restraint turning into the opposite. a pressure built inside your core, threatening to pop at any second. you looked down, tears of pleasure & neediness rolling down your pink cheeks. "i-i'm gonna cum. please keep going, i'm gonna cum!" you let out a string of pleads & moans as you came all over aizawa's face.

he stood up, slipping off his pants & boxers. he kicked them away as he towered over you. he was standing on the edge of the bed while you lied with your legs spread. "you want me, y/n? you really want me?" he asked because if you wanted him to stop, he would. if you wanted him to do anything, he'd do it.

"i really want you," you said as sincerely as someone who just climaxed could say anything. "i-i just don't want this to be a one-time thing," you admitted.

he laughed, lining his cock with your entrance as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. "trust me, baby. this is not a one-time thing, i'm so addicted to you, y/n. you don't even know." he finished his short-lived speech by shoving his girthy dick into your cunt, & you remembered just how dominate aizawa was. you let out a scream due to the pain, unexpectedness, & utter pleasure you got all in a single moment.

his thrusts were soft & slow at first. you could feel every inch leave then plunge back into your weeping hole. "d-d-daddy, you're so big," you moaned while you wrapped your arms around his neck.

his pace picked up, hips jerking against you. your tits jiggled with every thrust, claps every time he went back inside you. he abused your sensitive g-spot, ramming himself in & out of you. your hands unraveled themselves around his neck, your nails digging into his muscular back. you let out babbles how you couldn't take it, how you were going stupid, & how you were going to cum. he groaned in response, "if you're saying anything other than daddy or more, shut your fuckin' mouth & take it like a good girl."

"n-ngh, ahhh, yesss daddy," you slurred, eyes rolling to the back of your head. you wanted him to slow down so you could think again, but you liked being mindless, you liked how you didn't have the energy or will power to think about anything in this fucked-up world. all that mattered in that moment was you, aizawa, & how good the two of you felt.

"you're so fuckin' beautiful, baby," he groaned, he couldn't help but compliment you. how could he not? you looked even better pinned under him than he imagined. "so tight for me."

"please let c-cum with me, daddy," you begged. he didn't respond for a second, & you started to doubt yourself.

"wh-where," he groaned out, thrusts becoming rough & sloppy.

"what?"

he was losing composure. "where do you want me to cum?"

"inside," you answered quickly, wrapping your legs around his waist. you felt like you were in control now. "i-i want you inside of me when i cum all over your cock, d-daddy~"

"y/n. don't say stupid shit," he warned, knowing damn well he'd fold in an instant. you kept moaning with every thrust, begging for him to cum.

"p-please~ daddy, i deserve it. i-i've been a good girl," you whimpered. you jutted your bottom lip in a pout & tried to give your best puppy-dog eyes. every thrust he could see you twitch in pleasure, your expression couldn't hide how much you were enjoying this.

"fuckin' brat," he scowled. he watched you as you figured out how much power you truly have over him. he couldn't blame you for extorting it because that's what he did to you. at the end of the day though, you won.

he became sloppy & fast. his cock twitched inside of you when he saw your slutty expression-- tongue hanging out of your mouth, cheeks red, tears running down your face, eyes begging. & it was all because of him, how he fucked you. he was the cause of such a beautiful thing. finally, with a single thrust, he buried himself deep within you, cumming.

whiteness painted your insides while you came around him, clenching his twitching prick. "a-aizawa!" you screamed out in pure ecstasy.

deep breathes, panting, & sighs of content followed afterwards. he slipped out of your gaping hole, his sperm leaking out of your pussy. he climbed into your bed, coddling you. you were still shaky, senses heighten. you placed your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat slow.

he pulled the covers over the two of you. aizawa said while massaging your scalp, "you okay, baby?"

"mhm," you hummed, "i-i just never been fucked like that before."

he laughed, then kissed the top of your head. "i promise that this won't be the last time, y/n. i'm all yours." though he didn't say it, he was thinking, besides, guys your age won't know what to do with a bad girl like you.

[defectivevillain]

scar-crossed lovers

pairing: Severus Snape/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

summary: “This really isn’t necessary,” you feel the need to say, once you realize that Severus is going to apply the burn paste for you. “I’m perfectly capable-” You break off at the cynical expression on his face, which suggests exactly how incapable he thinks you are.

word count: 2.7k | ao3 version

this work is technically in a series, so feel free to read the other parts and then come back :3

warnings: first-degree burns

Potions was one of your least favorite subjects as a Hogwarts student. You weren’t necessarily bad at brewing, but you weren’t quite skilled at it either. The pressure to follow precise instructions coupled with the subsequent risk of injury that came with errors made it a hard class for you to enjoy. You didn’t have enough confidence in your abilities to proceed through Potions with conviction, and that showed through in your classwork. You often brewed the Potions correctly, but it took you twice as long as it took your classmates. 

Thankfully, your Potions days are long behind you. You’re the Ancient Runes professor at Hogwarts and acting Head of Hufflepuff House—and neither of those roles require an extensive knowledge of Potions. You’re more than content to leave the art of Potions to Severus Snape, the current Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House. You’re secretly relieved that you left Potions back in your school years. You’d much rather continue practicing and researching the subject you’re skilled at—Ancient Runes—than meddle with Potions.

The universe seems dead-set on spiting you, however, because you soon find yourself in a rather uncomfortable position. Minerva is regarding you with an expectant gaze, evidently waiting for you to respond to her statement. You have to put a conscious effort towards remembering what she’s requested of you. 

Severus will be away for the next few school days, in order to attend an international Potions conference. Since the Potions Master will be absent, the castle will need a substitute to stand in his place. You’re not exactly surprised that Minerva is asking you to fill in for Severus—you teach an elective course for upper-years, which means that you have less classes to teach than your colleagues. You have enough time in your schedule to fill in for Severus. The thought of returning to the dungeons for Potions isn’t quite savory, but you know you’ll manage. Besides, you’ll be the professor, not the student. You won’t actually have to brew anything; instead, you’ll be supervising the students’ creations.

“I can do it,” you tell Minerva. The Transfiguration professor thanks you and the tension seems to leave her shoulders. For the rest of your meeting, the two of you review the lesson plans Severus left and discuss any potential obstacles. You leave feeling both nervous and excited. 

To your surprise, however, your Potions classes proceed rather well. The first day flies by without incident and you find yourself feeling strangely validated. You had anticipated there to be a struggle with maintaining your authority, especially with the younger classes of students whom you haven’t gotten to know yet. However, everything went rather smoothly. There were a few hiccups here and there, but you managed to handle them well. Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.

Of course, the moment you begin to relax, something goes wrong. In hindsight, perhaps you should’ve expected mishaps from the second year Slytherins and Gryffindors—the two Houses usually don’t get along well, and the students are fairly young. But, you don’t have a choice in the matter—you have to supervise them, since Severus is absent. Safe to say, within a few moments of starting class, you’re developing a headache. 

The class is currently learning how to brew Strengthening Solution. You copy the recipe from the textbook onto the board with large handwriting and provide a few general tips, before allowing the students to pair up and begin brewing. By the end of the period, each pair should present a Strengthening Solution for grading.

Strengthening Solution is far from a difficult brew, but you still spot a few pairs having trouble. You eventually decide to pace around the classroom in circles, keeping your eyes peeled for raised hands or confused looks. Malfoy is doing well—unsurprising, considering that he’s apparently one of the top of the class. The same goes for Granger. Zabini and Nott seem to know what they’re doing. Weasley seems torn between attempting to slice his ingredients and cheating off of Granger. There aren’t any noticeable fights brewing amongst the students, which is a plus. Malfoy and Potter have a rather bitter rivalry, from what you’ve heard. 

Someone is trying to get your attention, though. You break away from your thoughts and walk over to the student, who is raising their hand diligently. “What’s the next ingredient?” A boy you recognize to be Neville Longbottom asks. You peek down into his cauldron, frowning when you notice it’s the wrong color. 

“What have you done so far?” You ask him. Longbottom recounts the steps he’s taken and you manage to find where he left off. “Salamander blood is next, Mr. Longbottom,” you answer him. Longbottom exchanges a worried look with Finnigan, his lab partner. Dread coils in your chest. The two of them look scared.

“Salamander?” Longbottom asks, his eyes wide. 

“Yes,” you respond. The shocked look on Longbottom’s face does not inspire confidence. You grimace and take another sidelong glance at the cauldron, surprised to find that the color has since changed. Just what did Longbottom put in the concoction?

You don’t have time to find out, as the cauldron bubbles ominously. Within the blink of an eye, the cauldron is spitting boiling hot liquid everywhere. You quickly shove Longbottom to the side and turn to conjure a shield. Your arm is prickling and aching, but you ignore the sensation and focus on containing the potion’s unexpected eruption. Thankfully, you manage to prevent any harm to the other students—which is most important. A nullifying spell calms the bubbling potion back down, and you quickly send Longbottom to the infirmary before instructing the class to finish brewing and turn in what they have. Despite the mishaps with Longbottom’s brewing, the majority of the class seems to have finished the Strengthening Solution unimpeded. Once the students are dismissed, you turn your attention to the now-melted cauldron and try your best to repair it. After a few minutes of concentration, you manage to somewhat restore it. At the very least, it’s functional. Longbottom will just have to deal with it. 

You finish cleaning the table up, before wiping the sweat from your brow and taking a deep breath. That was a close call—your heart is still racing. There’s no telling what would have happened if you hadn’t contained the potion in time. Thank Merlin for small mercies, you suppose. 

It takes several moments for your adrenaline to fade away, and the feeling is then replaced with a strange prickling along your forearm. You frown and pull up your shirt sleeve, hissing as it rubs against your chafed and burnt skin. It seems not everyone escaped unscathed. Truthfully, though, you’re glad you’re the one injured—and not any of the students (aside from Longbottom, who is likely being chewed out by Madam Pomfrey right now). 

You know a few minor healing spells, but they hardly do anything to get rid of the harsh burn that seems to tear its way up your arm. You don’t really want to go to the infirmary—you know Poppy would have no qualms about telling you exactly how reckless and foolish you were. You suppose you could raid Severus’s Potions stash… but you don’t have a death wish. Severus is very possessive of his Potions, and you know he’d flip once he returned and noticed that something was missing. You inhale slowly and take a moment to process everything that just happened. 

Your brief reprieve doesn’t last very long, as a student enters the classroom and breaks you out of your thoughts. You cast a minor pain relief spell and quickly roll your shirt sleeve back down. Before long, you’re too busy greeting the next class of students to pay much attention to your injury.

Thankfully, your remaining lessons are uneventful. It isn’t until your final class is over and you start to walk to the dining hall that you remember the burn itching at your skin. The pain nullification spell has worn off and you cast another, idly hoping that it’ll somehow get rid of the burn entirely. You don’t really have the luxury to devote time to your wound—you need to finalize your lesson plans for the coming week and grade some essays that the fifth-years turned in. You spend dinner lost in thought, planning out how you’re going to spend the rest of your day. 

It’s really a shame that your plan falls into obscurity the moment you leave the Great Hall. You can’t be more than a few steps down the hall before you feel a presence at your side. You chance a sidelong glance at your newfound companion, relaxing when you realize it’s Severus. 

“Hey, Severus,” you greet him, unable to stop the small smile that works its way onto your face. You’re happy to see him. Severus nods and begins to walk at your side. You’re heading back to your office, and you suppose he is going to be returning to his office too. “Glad you’re back. How was the conference?” 

The Potions professor huffs. “There was a veritable mix of bright minds and complete fools,” he remarks with a dark glare pointed ahead. You have to stifle your amusement at the gesture. Severus doesn’t seem keen to elaborate further on the sentiment.

“That sounds about right,” you hum, recalling what you’ve heard about the conference in passing. “Your classes did pretty well. Only one cauldron blew up.” Severus lets out a long-suffering sigh, evidently thinking about all the cauldrons that will blow up across the duration of the school year. You can’t help but smile at his exasperation. Admittedly, you share some of it too—especially since the incident yesterday. 

“Thank you for watching over my classes,” Severus says, apropos of nothing. There’s no hint of anything other than sincerity in his voice. You raise an eyebrow at the realization. His lips quirk up ever so slightly and, Merlin, is that a smile? He surprises you even more by placing a hand on your forearm. Ordinarily, you’d appreciate the friendly gesture, but his grip falls right on your untreated burn and you have to wince. Immediately, his eyes are squinted in suspicion. You try to tug your arm back, but his grip is tight on your wrist—thankfully, away from the burn. The professor’s infamous scowl returns. “What did you do?”

You resolutely keep your mouth shut. Unfortunately, Severus isn’t the least bit discouraged. Instead, he grabs your sleeve and delicately rolls it up. The marred skin on your forearm is revealed and Severus shakes his head in irritated disbelief. 

“To be fair, I didn’t do anything,” you feel the need to establish. Severus pinches the bridge of his nose. You decide to continue speaking, even though his expression is quickly turning from annoyed to fuming. “Remember the cauldron I mentioned? Yes, well… Mr. Longbottom had a bit of an accident.”

Severus’s grip on your wrist becomes bruising and you hiss. He removes his hand, but the indignant expression on his face doesn’t fade. His fists are clenched at his sides and his scowl is the angriest you’ve seen. It looks as if he’s moments away from stalking over to the Gryffindor Common Room and taking points from the Longbottom boy. 

“Severus,” you chide him. You’ve been meaning to talk to him about his treatment of Neville Longbottom. The Gryffindor is absolutely terrified of the Potions professor. Now that you’re on the topic, you might as well mention it. “Actually-” The rest of the words disintegrate on your tongue, as you catch the murderous expression on the professor’s face. He glares at you and you fall silent. Now might not be the best time, you realize. 

Severus starts to walk away. He doesn’t offer a single word of explanation, but you follow after him because it seems like the right thing to do. A few moments later, you find yourself standing in front of his Potions stores. Severus lets out a long suffering sigh and climbs the ladder to the top shelf with practiced ease, grabbing Burn-Healing Paste and another vial before shouldering past you in the doorway. You take a step back and watch him lock the space, before following him into his office. It takes you a few moments to realize why he hasn’t dismissed you yet. 

“This really isn’t necessary,” you feel the need to say, once you realize that Severus is going to apply the paste for you. “I’m perfectly capable-” You break off at the cynical expression on his face, which  suggests exactly how incapable he thinks you are. Severus silently takes a few steps forward, leaving you to hesitantly backpedal until you’re forced to lean back against his desk. He makes quick work of rolling up your sleeve; you’re not given even a word of warning before the paste is being deposited onto your arm. You manage to keep quiet, despite the sudden shock. The paste is weirdly cold, and it almost immediately soaks into your skin. You stare down at it in fascination. 

“Thank you, Severus-” You move to get up, only for your colleague to push you back with a firm hand. You let your free hand fall to the desk behind you, feeling a sudden urge to brace yourself. Severus doesn’t seem to pay you any mind, as his gaze is honed in on your forearm. He procures the vial from earlier and picks up the pipette to place the amber liquid on your skin. At your questioning gaze, Severus explains. 

“Anti-scarring solution.”

“Severus, I don’t care if it scars,” You try to say. 

“Merlin forbid you mar your flawless skin,” Severus interjects, complete with a scoff and an intense eye-roll. The wording sounds a little familiar, but it takes you a moment to place it. Once you realize that he’s repeating something Lockhart said to you a few days ago— “You have such flawless skin!” —you can’t help but choke on a quiet laugh. 

“He’s rather friendly, isn’t he?” You muse aloud. Severus visibly stiffens at that, for some reason. Tension suddenly settles in the air, heavy and palpable amidst the quiet of his office. You can’t help but feel as if you’ve just done something wrong—you’re just not sure what it is. 

“More than friendly,” Severus states mildly. You want to ask him about the unreadable expression on his face (and the inexplicable glimmer in his eyes), but he places a healthy amount of salve on your arm and you flinch at the stinging sensation it creates. Lockhart had touched your forearm there, too. Whilst his touch incited disgust and discomfort within you, Severus’s touch makes your heart race. 

“Okay, thank you-” You try to escape again, feeling a bit flustered by the intense gaze he has pointed at you. The Potions professor doesn’t respond verbally, instead leveling you with such a malicious glare that any more objections fall to dust in your mouth. Severus returns his attention to your forearm, a roll of bandages in one hand as the other hand gently extends your arm. A shiver rolls down your spine. Time drags on like a viscous sludge, and you’re a prisoner to its whims. All you can hear is Severus’s calm, measured breaths; all you see is the careful manner with which he handles you, as if you’re made of glass. 

“Thank you, Severus.” You breathe once the bandages are secured around your forearm. You swear you feel his hands linger for the briefest of moments, but you put it down to your imagination. At a loss for words, you end up bidding him a good night and retreating to your own office. Even as you try to immerse yourself in grading your class’s essays, the weight of Severus’s touch and the pressure of his gaze refuses to leave your mind’s eye. You fall asleep that night with your arm prickling, both from the salve and from Severus’s attentive, careful grasp earlier.

The next day, you’re set free from your supervisory duties. While the few days you spent as Potions professor were enjoyable, you’re very relieved they’re over. You’d much rather devote attention to Ancient Runes—a subject you feel you’re more qualified to teach. It’s also nice to have your free periods back. You take the chance to study up on some recent scholarship and walk about the castle, taking in the fresh air that the spring brings. 

Unbeknownst to you, during Potions class with the second-years, Gryffindor House loses a hundred points. When you hear the news at dinner, you can’t help but laugh. You then glance at Severus, unsurprised to find a vindictive smirk tugging at his lips. 

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian

[clangenrising]

Month 17 - Greenleaf

Sardine was having a tough week. 

On top of all of the minor things the Speaker had to keep track of - settling disputes among the Exalted, keeping the peace, ensuring that the Chaff were placated enough - he had been juggling Rudy and Bella’s nonsense back and forth with almost no free time for himself. It almost seemed like they were conspiring to run him ragged. Now, he and Oreo were trudging back to his yard after breaking up a Skyraider meeting where there had been talk about ‘even standing’ for the Chaff and the Exalted, a ridiculous idea he had swiftly and forcefully quashed.

It was exhausting, though - the third meeting this month of its kind. What on earth had gotten into cats’ heads lately? 

Bitterly, he grumbled to himself, “Absolutely ridiculous. Razor never had to deal with this shit.”

“Razor was a leader,” Oreo shot back. 

Sardine’s tail bristled and he slowly twisted his head towards the larger tom, a poisonous smile on his face. “What are you implying, friend?” They stopped in the shade of a young maple tree that was wilting away in the heat, the shadows playing over their faces in jagged contrast.

“You aren’t commanding enough,” Oreo didn’t flinch away from his challenge, blood still staining the white fur on his chest. “You scheme and you persuade but you don’t lead.” 

Sardine bared his teeth. “How dare you? I am twice the leader Razor was. That buffoon hadn’t the slightest ounce of self restraint and it got him killed. He was a brute! I’m a statesman!” He lashed his tail for good measure. Oreo’s dour expression never changed, his misshapen left eye boring into Sardine. 

“I didn’t run from the battle where he died,” Oreo said and Sardine flinched a bit. 

“I was making sure that there would be a Speaker when the fight was over,” he snapped. “I am thinking ahead, unlike every other cat in this fucking city!” 

“Then why isn’t Rudy dead yet?” Oreo loomed over him, “You’re scared. You know you can’t beat him.”

“I’m not scared of that notch-eared oaf!” Sardine hissed, insulted by the very idea. “He’s a nuisance, nothing more. Him and all of his filthy street friends, they’re gnats buzzing in my ear. If I wanted to kill him, he would be dead. I’d much rather break him and make him show me his belly. I kill him now, he’s a martyr, I make him bow, he’s a failure.” He scoffed and looked Oreo up and down. “I’m looking to the future. You should do the same.” 

There was a moment of silence, the shadows from the leaves swaying over their faces. 

Then Oreo spoke. “If I had said that to Razor, he would have given me a new scar, not a tirade. That’s your problem: all you know how to do is talk and cats can tell you’re weak.” 

In that moment, Sardine considered striking him across the face to see how he would like it. Why don’t I take your other eye? he thought, Will you still complain once you’re a pathetic invalid? But he resisted the temptation. He reasoned that he wasn’t going to let Oreo bait him into acting impulsively and tried to pretend he wasn’t afraid of what Oreo would do in retaliation, what that would do to his reputation.

“For the tom who abdicated, you seem to have a lot of opinions on how I do things,” Sardine growled, swallowing down his rage. 

“Do what you want,” Oreo said darkly. “I’m just calling it like I see it.” And with that, Oreo turned and walked away, leaving Sardine alone under the shadow of the maple tree. 

Sardine took a deep, slow breath to calm himself. That interaction had not gone particularly well. There was no denying that Oreo held the majority of the power in their relationship despite Sardine’s title as the Speaker. It didn’t seem likely that he would be able to earn Oreo’s respect at this point. He was going to need more loyal subordinates if he wanted to maintain his hold on power in the city. 

It was for that reason that he turned away from the path home and briskly made his way to Mystique’s house. He’d tried to contact her ever since he’d received word that she’d returned to the city but her Folk had been keeping her inside and his attempts to get her attention had only resulted in them coming out with a spray bottle to chasten him. Still, Sardine was nothing if not persistent and he knew that if he kept coming around he would eventually be able to speak with her. 

It seemed that luck was on his side today. A blue ball of fur sat curled in a sunbeam against the sliding glass doors. Smiling, Sardine slank across the lawn towards the glass, announcing himself with a small meow. Mystique lifted her head to look at him and frowned.  

“Afternoon, Mystique,” he said, keeping his composure. “I’m glad to see you back safely.” 

“What do you want, Sardine?” she asked, sounding fed up already. Not ideal. 

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, then, more somberly, “and to give you my condolences. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your brother in the way that you did.” 

Mystique’s lip curled in a snarl. “Don’t talk to me about my brother. He deserved what he got.” That was not the kind of response Sardine had been expecting. 

He tried to pivot as smoothly as possible. “I wasn’t going to say so myself but I admittedly agree. I’ve been trying to do better in his stead. If there’s anything I can do for you, just say the word. I am at your service.” He dipped his head politely. 

“Leave me alone, Sardine,” she hissed. “You’re worse than the Clan cats. At least they were all honest with me.” 

Sardine’s ears twitched forward with interest. “I see. Well then, to be completely honest, I am very curious about the nature of your time with them. Were you there of your own free will?” That would be an interesting development, he thought. Had she followed Gingersnap’s lead and gone native? 

“At first,” she huffed, dropping her head dourly onto her paws, “but when I wanted to leave they held me prisoner.” Her tail lashed side to side as she spoke.

“The barbarians,” he growled. “I can assure you, Mystique, I will make them suffer for anything they did to you.” 

“Did I ask you to do that?” she hissed, glaring at him. “They’re just cats. If you really want to make me feel better, then piss off and never come back, alright?” Sardine’s tail twitched in irritation. Razor had always been too lenient with his sister and it had clearly gone to her head. No cat should speak to him that way. Still, he kept his cool. 

“I just want to help you, Mystique,” he said gently. “I know what happened was probably frightening and I know I’ll never really understand, but I want you to feel safe again. I’m sorry if my attempt missed the mark.” 

Mystique looked askance, then glanced back at him, then away. “I’m tired, alright? Leave me alone.” 

“As you wish,” he said. “But please, if you need anything, tell me. I owe you that much for failing to help you while you needed me.” 

“I didn’t need you,” she huffed and he thought he saw something deeply sad underneath her facade. 

“You needed someone,” he said, stepping close to the glass so he could keep his voice low. “You needed someone and no one was there. As Speaker, I should have been there for you and I’m sorry.” And there it was, the sadness underneath. It flooded over every emotion on her face like a street with a clogged drain, looking like it threatened to swallow her whole. He bit his lip to keep himself from smiling at his success. 

“Thank you…” she sniffled after a moment - typical, emotional woman. “I… I’m just tired. I want this to be over already.” 

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “Perhaps you could tell me more about your time with the savages - when you’re feeling better, of course. It could help.” 

She side eyed him, seeming reserved, and said, “Alright. Maybe. But I won’t help you kill them. There’s been too much killing already…” She looked down at her paws and sniffed hard, tears starting to bead in her eyes. 

“I understand,” he said. “I’ll come by in a few days and see how you’re feeling then, alright?” She nodded. Taking that as a success, he stepped away and headed for the fence. That was something. Something Bella and Rudy didn’t have. Something to show Oreo exactly how powerful “talking” could be.

[nunalastor]

I have been struck by an idea for Angel Alastor AU

*Alastor's POV*

A couple months into his stay in Hell Alastor finds and figures out how deals work, as well as their roll they play in maintaining this realm. He is excited to try it out and finds out he is really good at it. BUT!! After awhile the people he takes under his care collapse into shows of light. He doesn't get it. What is he doing wrong! the only 2 thralls not leaving are Nifty and husker.

Let's see he takes in children and women who did what they had to do to survive. Check! Give them free housing in the forest he grew with his magic. Check!! Employ the women as either teachers/caretakers for the kids or writers for his radio shows. CHECK!!! Basically build and maintain a self sufficient community that doesn't have to worry about the stress of hell while he get to have his fun. Check fucking CHECK!!!!

No matter how many years pass in hell it keeps happening. It's confusing but that's ok, he only did it because all the most respected Overlords of hell run and maintain communities. His new bestie Rosie, Carmillia, Missi Zilla, Zestial and even that pathetic picture Box that got a lucky hit to his forehead with an angelic dagger ( thankfully Alastor bashed vox's face in before he could back up the memory) has one. Well the Princess is opening a hotel i hopes of rehabilitating sinners should be fun. He just hopes that the letters he wrote for Guy, Emily and his Mom and that they forgive him for his selfish acts.

*Heaven's/Micheal's POV*

It has been years since the one so loved by Heaven went missing because of Adam's carelessness when something miraculous starts happening. The souls of women and children damned to Hell start appearing before the high Seraphim Sera. Despite all the struggles the souls went through and endured, they had one thing in common.

Alastor

When Micheal is filled in on what's happening he doesn't rushes to the observation orb within Heavens Court house. With the help of the very souls Alastor redeemed he lays eyes upon his beloved for the first time in years. The sight is both comforting and devastating as Micheal watches Alastor rub at a nasty scar along his temple.

Of course. Everything makes sense now. His beloved wouldn't abandon everyone he loves on a whim. He didn't know it was possible for the love he has held for his deer to grow deeper because even when trapped in hell under the delusion that they're a demon Al still went out of his way to help others. After many apology's to Guy, Emily and Al's Mom for the deceit Sera decides the best course of action going forward is to call a meeting with Lucifer.....OH, Lucifer sent his daughter in his place. WAIT! She's starting up a redemption project that's perfect we can give her support through the search party now led by a talented exorcist by the name of Vagatha And his beloved's best friend Guy who's a detective turned therapist.

Charlie: "wait uncle, you know redemption is possible?"

Micheal: "Well yes, but not how because my boyfriend the saint who figured out how to do so, got trapped in Hell due to a tragic mistake some years ago suffering a horrible head wound. We were finally able to find him but we don't know how much he truly remembers."

*Lilith POV*

Lilith who has spent the last couple of years getting faded off champagne on a beach: "I feel like i'm forgetting something important" -the unopened letters Alastor asked her to deliver sitting at the bottom of her luggage- "If i can't remember, probably not a big deal."

-sleep deprived Anon-

P.S. the thought of Alastor finally finding joy in his after life only to have it be ripped out from under him because he is unintentionally being really helpful is funny and the growing unhinged perspective of Micheal as he searches for his beloved, is absolutely delightful for me

P.S.S. I had to write this down twice so it's a lot longer than it was originally so here's this wall of text-sorry not sorry

👀

[thisblogisaboutabook]

hi! i saw that you were writing acotar fics inspired by taylor’s songs (which i both love so this is amazing), do you think you can write a fic based on “ivy” ? it always makes me think about the acotar world for some reason. maybe with azriel if you’re okay with that ?

Am I okay with that?? I’m more than okay with that! Perhaps even elated! Azriel is my fav and I had the pleasure of seeing Taylor and Aaron perform Ivy together at the Eras Tour. Thank you so much for the incredible ask!

Ivy (covered in you)

An ACOTAR oneshot inspired by Taylor Swift

Azriel x Reader

Update: Find the bonus chapter here: Solstice Tree Farm (Christmas Tree Farm)

warnings: attempted SA, dub-con, suggestive, language

Warm lips pressed against my forehead as calloused fingertips deftly pushed aside the stray hairs that had slipped over my face.

We’d been wrapped up here for hours. An incandescent glow emanating from us that had nothing to do with the warm fire shrouding us in its flickering light. A plush blanket draped over our naked forms as my hands roamed freely underneath. His skin was warm, heavenly, every sacred inch of it bringing solace to my frigid heart. His own heart responsible for melting away the frost that covered it most of the time.

I leaned up to look at him, this male whom I loved with every ounce of my being. Looked into those golden-flecked hazel eyes that bore straight into my soul, seeing all of me, every cursed inch.

“You’re mine.” I whispered, pulling a large scarred hand over my breast, letting him feel the heart that beat so effortlessly in his presence. “Always mine, right in here.”

His hand lingered there, eyes filled with reverence as he absorbed each beat of my heart, every thought that filled my head, the entirety of my soul that was consumed with him - screamed that it loved him, desired him, belonged to him. Minutes passed like that. My fingers tracing soothing lines around those beautiful scars, scars derived from the ugliest of places. He was my reminder, my hope, that beauty could grow from the ugliest places. He survived the unspeakable horrors of his childhood and became this wonderful male before me. A beacon of hope rooted so deeply into my soul, filling it with rays of love that flooded out the darkness within me. The darkness that-

A hideous laugh cracked through the memory, like lightning jolting my thoughts back to this waste of a reality. My husband sharing some crass tale that he’d recycled with the audiences of various court functions over the years.

I threw back the glass of wine in my hand just in time to catch the attention of an attendant strolling by, placing the empty glass on his tray and snagging two more glasses off of it. I’d need them both to get through his pompous storytelling.

I resented the male with every fiber of my being. I wanted to hate him but told myself he wasn’t that bad. He didn’t hit or threaten violence against me. I had every physical item I could ask for. I even had blissful breaks from his presence, free to roam where I chose in his absence - so long as I didn’t leave Vallahan and maintained a modest, ladylike presence.

He didn’t have the brain to challenge any of the bigoted views instilled in him growing up: belief in the separation of “lesser-fae” and “high fae”, a wife’s place was to sit obediently by his side and look pretty, females didn’t have a place in court politics. I would have never married him, given the choice. But what is choice in a place like Vallahan? I wished Mor were here to suffer through the evening with me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

My life changed the night I met Morrigan - an emissary from Prythian. We instantly hit it off. My husband dismissing her presence as she was merely a female, waving me off to “entertain” her. I led her to my library where we spoke for hours. I could not remember the last time I laughed like I did that night, had I ever?

From the start, I informed her that spending time with me was a futile effort. I had no sway in the court or even with my husband. I once had hope that he’d come around, see me as an equal who was worthy of his consideration. But that was a long time ago and I’d since given up - biding my time with wine, books, and spending his money.

I made a difference in the ways I could without getting cut off from the liberties of leaving the estate. I spent his money in less affluent areas of our city where I knew that it would make a difference. I tipped any server well and even tipped the shopkeepers and clerks, donated gifts my husband had given me that he’d since forgotten about, “accidentally” dropped gold marks as I walked past buskers and beggars in the street. Vallahan was incredibly wealthy. There was no excuse for the poverty that its royalty allowed to befall its “lesser” denizens.

Mor had simply waived off my efforts in sending her back out to network with the nobility and spent the duration of that event with me. We swapped tales of our lands, risqué jokes, of our families. Her family had been much worse than mine but elements were quite relatable. My family saw me as nothing more than a bargaining chip, marrying me off to the highest bidder, having nothing to do with me unless they needed an invitation to an event that could advance their social standing. I couldn’t relate, however, to her chosen family. I had nobody. She smiled, mentioning of a friend in her chosen family that I would love. She claimed we both held silent, observant statures in public settings, and let our true light shine when we were alone with friends. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was the first time in a century I’d truly let the light break through.

We began seeking eachother out at the functions she attended as emissary. Using my silent presence, I would garner information that could aid Mor in her peace treaty efforts. She never once asked such a thing of me. It was my choice to offer the information, a chance to make a difference. My idiot husband never once considering that her and I could be talking about anything other than classic literature and the latest fashions.

It was months later that I sat in our manor’s great room, quietly reading a book whilst sipping on a blend of spiced tea Mor had gifted me from Prythian. The sun shone through the windows, keeping the room illuminated enough while leaving shadowed corners perfect for going unnoticed and unbothered in.

Hushed voices interrupted my reading as my husband and a stern looking red-headed male entered the opposite end of the room, seating themselves in front of the fireplace - their chairs facing away from me. Without noticing my presence, they began speaking of communications between his court and the mortal queens. My ears perked at the mention of Koschei and something about an alliance. The males were interrupted by a house attendant informing them that their private lunch was prepared and awaiting them in the dining room.

The next time I spoke with Mor, her brows furrowed at the mention of the conversation, asking me to describe the male as best I could. I gave her the best description I could including his red hair, cold expression and baritone voice. Her jaw slackened, mouth forming an “Oh” before she muttered, “Fucking Beron.”

My eyes widened at the name. Beron Vanserra, the High Lord of Prythian’s Autumn Court.

From there, Mor asked if I remembered the friend she’d mentioned before, the observant one with quiet wit. As I nodded, she placed a gentle hand on my leg, quietly stating, “I need your help.”

We made a plan to meet up with her friend the following week as my husband traveled to Rask for meetings. I met Mor at the quarters she stayed at while on the continent. The room smelled of her and an intoxicating aroma of chilled mist and cedar. Mor hugged me before saying, “Y/N, meet Azriel. Spymaster of the Night Court.”

Any expectations I had of the “friend” Mor mentioned flew out the window. I never thought to question whether her friend was male or female, if they were high-fae, what they looked like… maybe I should have. I had to look like a fool as I gaped at the gorgeous male stepping out of the shadows and into the room’s light. Gold-flecked hazel eyes met mine as I marveled at the towering male before me. Raven-black hair, tan skin with tattoos peaking over the top of his black tunic, and the wings, oh they were incredible. The sun highlighting the subtle hues of red undertones throughout their massive form. An Illyrian. I’d read of the Illyrian warriors of Prythian in texts but I’d never seen one in person.

His jaw dropped for a moment as he looked to my feet where shadows were swirling. He apologized profusely as they ignored his command to return to him, stating that they had never done this before. I gave him a puzzled look before he continued, telling me that he was a Shadowsinger.

A Shadowsinger. I thought they were myths but here he was. This gorgeous, living, breathing male before me. As real as the palpitations I felt in my heart under his gaze.

Quickly I regained my composure as the three of us sat to discuss the information I’d gleaned from Beron and my husband. And from there, we worked together. The more information regarding a potential alliance we had, the more efficiently plans could be made to prevent it. Both Mor and Azriel respectfully ensured that I was comfortable with an increased spy presence as I worked with them. The risks of infiltrating were numerous but the risk of a potential alliance with Koschei outweighed any risk on our ends.

Azriel would sneak into court functions with Mor as she attended her standard emissary business - his shadows shrouding him from view, and I would meet with either Azriel or Mor anytime my husband was traveling on business to discuss the latest information from around the manor.

While my husband was completely oblivious, his family was dangerous. An elite family of nobility who dealt in bloodshed and blackmail. I was truly fortunate to not have been married off to one of his brothers - my husband being the least terrible of them all.

That night as I lay in bed, I found my heart racing. Not from fear but from…. Excitement. Azriel’s presence made me feel hopeful, giddy. He continued bringing up his concern for my safety during our meeting to which I insisted that I could handle myself. His persistence enough that by the end, I allowed him to send a shadow to accompany me for the time being.

I came to find the little shadow comforting. I knew from my studies that they were to be feared, yet I couldn’t help but enjoy its company. I began talking to it when nobody was around going as far as reading to the thing. Gods, had I really become so lonely that a shadow brought me joy?

The first time I met with Azriel alone, he gave me a mischevious grin. When asked what it was for, he just shook his head with a little blush rising to his cheeks. I shared my newest information while his eyes held a playful glint the entire time he listened. I finally elbowed him and insisted he tell me what he found so amusing.

Finally he spoke, “I enjoyed the smut you read to my shadow”

“WHAT!?” I asked, embarrassment rising to my face in an unflattering shade of red.

“My shadows… they tell me everything.” He quipped.

I looked at the shadow now cowering behind my ankles, “You traitorous little shit. I thought we were friends!”

Azriel laughed as the shadow wound up my body and nuzzled my face, a plea for forgiveness. I laughed knowing I should have expected it to relay the information to him.

I smirked, “I forgive you.”

The shadow danced joyfully in response.

Azriel leaned closer, “You seem to have made quite the friend out of that one.”

I nodded in agreement. Blushing at the closeness between our faces.

He smiled. “I’d like to be your friend too.”

Before I could give it a second thought, I closed the distance between us. I had just met this male, barely knew him, but something inside me tugged. Pulled me toward him. I couldn’t hold myself back. It was instinct. My lips needed to be on his, belonged there.

For a moment, he pulled back and looked at me. His eyes searching deep within mine, second guessing, searching for any doubt, seeking permission though I was the one to initiate the kiss.

It was wrong. I knew it was so wrong. I didn’t care. I never had a choice in my marriage but this, it was something I was choosing for myself. So long as Azriel wanted it too.

“Please” I whispered.

It was all he needed to hear before his lips were crashing into mine again.

That was the night the bond snapped into place and my soul became his entirely. Every fiber of my being belonged to him regardless of wherever my physical presence may be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As days and weeks flew by, I snuck out to him anytime I could, and when I wasn’t with him - a shadow always kept me company.

Azriel purchased a small cottage in the forest with a stone foundation, just large enough for the two of us. Ivy wound up the sides of the dated building and it’s shutters hung loosely. Most would look upon the home and turn their nose up to the state of it. But to me - to me it was everything.

We made love day and night, any time the coast was clear I sought him out. We shared our deepest secrets, held each other as we shared the heartbreaking traumas of our past. Mor met with me less and less, certainly Azriel’s own doing. Though she always sent her regards. I missed her but couldn’t resist the relief I felt at the increased opportunities to meet with Azriel.

This home felt so inviting. I never wanted to leave the cozy embrace of it, or Azriel. The places I had lived in my life were grand by any standards but they were not home, only large shells of loneliness with the sole purpose of containing bodies and furniture for those bodies.

But this, this small cottage, it was home. Azriel was home. Love and warmth encompassed me as soon as I’d walk through the doors and into his strong arms. Our scents intermingled, bodies intertwined, his love rooting itself like Ivy deeper and deeper within the cracks of my stone encompassed soul, tethering us together until I didn’t know where I ended and he began.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks turned to months and my resentment towards my husband only grew. I began sneaking off to my home even when my husband wasn’t traveling. The fact that he didn’t notice my frequent absence was both a relief and infuriating. He thought so little of me that he’d never once considered what I could be doing behind his back.

I hated the nights he sought me out. Azriel and I both knew it was inevitable and in order to prevent any suspicion I complied. The entire time I’d close my eyes and picture the corded muscles of Azriel’s arms pressing on either side of my head, warm breath heating my neck as he peppered kisses and nipped down it and across my collarbone, wings cocooning us until we were the only two people in the world.

The times my husband would reach for my hand were rare as it was and now his touch just felt invasive, wrong. I longed for the feeling of Azriel’s freezing hands holding mine as we walked in from the snowy wood, the way he’d place a hand on my cheek allowing me to rest my weary head as I cried over our circumstances. I wanted nothing more than to flee with him but if we were caught….. a gods damned blaze would ensue.

Bond or no bond, my husband’s father would never forgive such an injustice toward his son, deeming it an insult to his entire family. He had enough pull with Vallahan’s Leaders that peace treaty talks had the potential to fall apart under his guidance. I was just one female and not one that a war would be started over, however, it could be the final straw leading to an alliance between the mortal queens, Koschei, Vallahan, and Beron’s people. The alliance being what started a war.

This fire we started together, the fire he started when he came into my life, the one that I fueled with a single kiss, it could burn so much more than just us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I once again was brought from reflecting by my husband’s nails-on-a-chalkboard voice. Gods, I was tired. Tired in every sense. Azriel and I had argued the previous night. He had insisted that he would not sneak into tonight’s event, sensing an increased possibility of us being caught. I knew he was right but it was one of those nights where I selfishly wanted nothing more than to run away with him.

My husband’s family traveled to our estate for the weekend, his mother had passed long ago, so it was just his father and miserable brothers visiting. Their attendance escalating risks but also offering the potential of pertinent information being exchanged.

I longed to feel his presence but no sign of his scent filled the air, no sign of his shadows grazing the nape of my neck in greeting aside from my one constant companion. As the evening’s festivities died down I bid the remainder of the party goodnight. I joined my husband’s side to let him know that I was retiring to my chambers, pressing a hand to my forehead, citing a headache. He scoffed in return.

“You are drinking too much. It is a poor reflection on my status as head of this household if you cannot control your alcohol consumption.” I rolled my eyes, turning to retreat as he grabbed my arm firmly, yanking me back to him, “You are lucky we have an audience right now. You would be wise to show me respect.” He was always like this when his family was present. Another mark on the long list of qualities I despised about him.

I said nothing more and wound through the corridors toward my chambers when hushed tones caught my ear. The gravelly voices of my father and brothers-in-law carrying to me. I halted my steps, silently padding closer to the room they occupied.

His father spoke first, “We will approach the King when we return home, regarding the pressing nature of the alliance. Between that whore emissary nosing around and the overgrown bat, we can certainly allude to the benefits of an alliance with Koschei and the queens. Prythian nosing around in the affairs of our kingdom will only work to our advantage.”

The eldest brother chimed in, “Do you think Koschei will hold to his end of the bargain - that we will each receive a territory to overrule in Prythian once it’s been conquered?”

“Considering we have the key to freeing him from the lake he’s confined to, he’ll do anything for us, and when we capture the bat - it will only enhance the deal. Think of what could be achieved with the Shadowsinger under his control.” His father replied.

Shit

I needed to get to Azriel now. How did they even think they could capture him? The fools were so sure of themselves, fueled by pure male arrogance. Quietly I turned around taking a few silent steps away before quickening my pace. I left Azriel’s single shadow that still kept an eye on me to spy on the rest of the conversation.

Rounding a corner toward the cloakroom I crashed into a body. I looked up to find my husband staring at me. “Where are you going?” He murmured. Clearly drunk.

“I needed fresh air, my stomach is hurting.” I lied.

“That can wait. You’re coming with me.” He stated flatly. Lust clouding his eyes.

Shit!

I couldn’t turn him down without raising suspicion. Finding Azriel would have to wait until he was asleep.

I turned to stride down the hall alongside him. Silence filling the air, his scent gagging me.

We entered his chamber and he locked the door behind him before pushing me back toward the bed. Once the backs of my knees met the mattress he shoved me back onto it, not even bothering to remove my dress. He simply raised my skirts, fumbling with the laces of his own pants.

I felt sick. I hated contact with him, the resentment I felt burning like a living flame inside of me - forging itself into pure, solid hate.

“Look your husband in the eyes, wife. Is it not enough that I clothe you, feed you, give you a home only outdone by a castle?”

My brows furrowed as he continued, still fumbling with those laces.

And I was the one who couldn’t control my alcohol consumption

“You seek the company of a lesser fae? Allowing yourself be sullied by that beast?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked innocently. It was then that he backhanded me and spat “Don’t play dumb now, whore.” I cried out at the surprise of the lashing. “Since you’re going to act like a whore I’ll treat you like one.”

“It’s a shame that you couldn’t control yourself. You almost got away with it until you were spotted with that thing yesterday - spotted by my own brother.” Sneering, he continued, “Oh but they have plans for that brute and you are the key.”

With that he pulled out a knife, holding it just above my throat, his hand slightly shaking. Panic started to fill me as the realization sunk in that he was going to use me as a lure to capture Azriel. I swallowed that rising panic praying he hadn’t felt it through the bond.

I had to act now. Turning my head, nearly nicking the flesh of my neck on the blade, I gasped as if I saw something - someone - enter the room. The drunken idiot fell for the rouse. I grabbed his wrist, shoving the knife back and kneed him with all the force I could muster right in the balls.

He rolled off of me and I swiped the knife from his hand. Before he could call for help, I took the opportunity to press it to his neck. Azriel’s shadow returning to me just in time to bind his arms together.

”You thought you could assault me? You couldn’t even handle the laces of your pants, let alone a dagger.”

He looked at me, eyes wide, that lust in his eyes taken over by fear.

“I thought you to be better than your father and brothers but I see your true colors now.”

He opened his mouth to cry for help but I sliced the dagger across his neck before he could make a sound.

“Fool.” I muttered and walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The manor burned in flames behind me. My body clothed in spare garb kept in the staff supply room as to not attract any suspicious eyes in the streets. The staff had all returned to their own homes for the night with our essential staff returning to their on-ground quarters, separate from the manor. I stashed as many jewels and gold marks as I could into my clothing. I would find a way to distribute the wealth to displaced staff once I found a safe way to do so.

But now all I could think of was the path ahead. My husband was gone. His awful father and brothers too. Gone before they could ever share their suspicions of Az and Mor with the king. Gone before they could further influence the forming of an alliance. Their remaining ashes would be nothing but dust in the king’s ear by the time the fire burned out. Prying eyes would assume I had died in the blaze as well.

The realization hit me as I made my way through the streets: I was free. For the first time in my life, I had the choice to follow my own path and I knew exactly who that chosen path led to.

All that remained was to run away to him. I sent a gentle tug on our bond but a certain shadow had already went out ahead of me. And out of the dark cover of night, he emerged. His shadows shrouding us like the Ivy on our cottage. Home. He was my home.

~~~~~~~

EPILOGUE

The dining room filled with laughter. Mor sipped her glass of the expensive wine that she insisted she were entitled to after all of the chaos her family -our family- subjected her to. Azriel’s arm rested on the chair behind me as he sat in contented silence, those ever observant eyes taking in his family seated all together. It had been ten years today since we fled Vallahan. Nine years eleven months and thirty days since we’d accepted the bond, and the rest had been bliss. Of course there was always some challenge to arise but nothing that Azriel and I couldn’t take on as a team, as equals.

In the time that had passed, Beron’s son Eris took over his throne after the High Lord died from a mysterious illness with symptoms very similar to the effects of bloodbane.

After I left the room that fateful night in Vallahan, my favorite little shadow picked up very important information regarding the key to freeing Koschei that had been alluded to. It was now safely hidden away under extensive wards in the Night Court, far away from Koschei or the Mortal Queens.

For now, we were safe. We were free. We could conquer anything with this Court of Dreams.

“Where’d you go?” Az whispered, his beautiful voice bringing chills of the best kind to me as his lips brushed across my forehead. I gave him a smile sending waves of contentment and joy through the bond.

“Hey!” Mor said. “Where’s your wine? Az! How could you forget to pour a glass for your lady.” She threw a playful wink in my direction. “I swear, I’m going to steal her from you if you keep this up.”

I said nothing as I looked to Mor, resting a hand gently across the light swelling of my abdomen.

Azriel’s eyes sparkled and he quipped, “I’m taking a break from wine duty, Mor.”

“Chocolate duty would be great though.” I said, looking back to Az. He gave a nod and I dropped the shield that masked my scent from our family.

Cheers of happiness and laughter erupted around the room. Mor let out a high-pitched squeal like I’d never heard as she embraced me. I smiled, absorbing all of the love that filled the room.

This love. This life. It was home. Not a magnificent curse but the ivy roots of my dreamland covering me in love, in him.

[impossiblesuitcase]

Levana has two core tenets that drive her entire personal philosophy, both actively damaging and sustaining her: her need to be beautiful and her need to be loved. They are irrevocably intertwined and are ultimately her undoing.

Two people in her life dictate these notions--Channary and Evret. Channary implanted the desire to be loved and the necessity to be beautiful once Levana is disfigured. Without any willing participation from Evret, Levana carries over these insecurities, needing to be loved by him when Channary fails her and needing to keep up her glamour to feel beautiful. If Solstice is the only woman he can see as beautiful, that's what Levana must become. She sabotages her relationship with him after she shows him her true appearance; she refuses to be loved for her true self, and once he sees it, he must be disposed of. Evret lives on in Winter, who reinforces that Levana cannot ever control them as she wears her three uniform scars with pride.

With the death of these two motivators, she feels free of the burden of needing them. But the demand to be beautiful and loved is indefatigable, so she replaces them with an unearthly, ethereal glamour in her quest for vanity, and the contrived love from her citizens to feel wanted. These are both fundamentally artificial and never satisfy her, so she must always strive for more. Her body, face, voice 'improve' countless times over decades, as she is never sure that they are perfect enough. Her armies become fiercer, her inventory larger, and she sets her sights on the largest territory to conquer--Earth--all in the name of supplying her people to buy their love. Levana could have at any point abandoned her course of tyranny and used her circumstances to reform herself and her country's systemic disparity. She chooses every day to reject these opportunities and each action deepens her need to maintain the façade of love and looks. She is to be pitied, but not to be pardoned.

In order for Levana to be defeated as a villain, she must not only die, but must have her philosophy completely overturned. Kai takes the place of Evret and she replays her manipulation in the same way on their wedding day. But when she marries Kai, glamouring as his lover as she did to Evret, he dismantles her beauty, stating that she will never be as beautiful as the glamourless Linh Cinder. This directly mirrors Evret's loyalty to Solstice and it hurts Levana--not because she loves Kai in any way like she loved Evret--but because the message lives on in him. She is always inadequate.

Her glamour and her loyalties fall in one fell swoop. Her people come to her door to kill her, and her true face is blown up in the sky, permanently tainting her image. With her vanity blighted, all that's left is the fundamental nucleus of her problems: her relationship with Channary. It is the chief relationship in her life, even posthumously, and is the very cause of her perverted worldview. Levana never killed Channary and that is her greatest regret.

When Cinder arrives--Channary's near reincarnation in appearance--Levana has her second chance. It is particularly imperative to her to eliminate Selene because Levana was never loved by Channary, while Selene was. Her existence is a mockery of Levana's pain because it clarifies that Channary was capable of love and actively withheld it from Levana. However when Levana burnt Cinder alive, she levelled the playing field. She assigned Cinder a life of enduring the same prejudice and inadequacy that she faced. Therefore in their final battle, Levana likens Cinder to herself and her need to be desired. By killing Selene, she will finally prove that she has killed her need to be loved by Channary.

To do this, she sets up the perfect replica for this prophetic revenge. Cinder's friend will betray her as Channary did Levana, and Cinder will retaliate as Levana herself wished to do. It is particularly powerful that it is not Kai in the room at this final battle. Romantic love is irrelevant now. Instead it is Thorne, whom Cinder loves as family. Their almost sibling-like dynamic is now reflective of Channary and Levana. Levana asserts that this kind of love is false. But Cinder and Thorne demonstrate their loyalty to one another--even when Thorne is manipulated to hurt her, Cinder attacks Levana, not him. He proves his love in his sobs and apologies as his body rebels. Levana's final desire, to prove that love is merely a conquest and a war, is dashed.

In the end, Levana stabs Cinder, but it doesn't matter. Her worldview is shattered, her tenuous beliefs severed. That is where Levana is defeated. The final shot that kills her is simply to finalise the matter. Her tenets die with her and can be replaced with the true forms of beauty and love. Cinder and Winter, disfigured and scarred and unashamed. Kai, who loves Cinder and loves her appearance because she gave him good reason to, and never through manipulation. Cinder, who attains loyalty from the citizens of Luna and Earth alike through her action and compassion.

Love is not conquered, love is not a war; it is earned.

[blueraineshadows]

Blood Bound Part 9

Sebastian Sallow 🔺️ F!MC 🔺️Leander Prewett

MC escapes the shadows she must walk through in the arms of her Auror, whilst Sebastian takes matters into his own desperate hands.

14.3k words. Tags: NSFW / angst / crime ring / murder / death / blood / fighting / mentions of torture / anxiety / violence / sexual tension

Chapter Master List and Ao3

Reading tag list at the end, let me know if you want to be added ❤️✨️

Nine: Revelio

MC

The shadows were her friends. They were her cloaks through the crooked nooks and paths of Knockturn Alley, and she made use of them, slinking through the night like some kind of nocturnal wraith as she maintained a watchful eye on the Ashwinders. With each night that passed, she became more comfortable with being outside of four walls, although the cloying smog of London was still something to suffer after the fresh, sea air of the Cornwall coast.

Standing across the street from the Black Rose pub, MC pulled her robe a little closer about her slender frame to ward off the chill. The nights were now colder as October moved them towards winter. She eyed the crooked door of the notorious drinking hole, debating the wisdom of entering. She had seen Rosier around a few times, watching him from a safe distance after their run in a week ago. She had seen Carrow, too, his face like a mask fit for nightmares. These were hard witches and wizards who frequented this place, and she needed to be sure of herself before entering their midst.

As much she hated to admit it, she needed Sebastian, and it surprised her how much that thought grated along her nerves. An unsettling strain of resentment had buried itself in her chest, the few times she had glimpsed him made her stiffen as she thought of the endlessly long hours she had spent locked in darkness whilst he roamed free. Free to be whatever he wanted, and he had chosen the path of darkness. He had put himself in the bed of the enemy.

The thought of approaching him after all this time filled her with confusing emotions. On the one side she longed for it, her fingers caressing the scar on her palm with the same reverence she always had, but there was another side that filled her with trepidation. She wasn’t sure how it would feel to have his eyes on her again, the fear that she would resent it made her tremble more than the night air. Putting it off was only prolonging the inevitable, and yet she hung back, lingering alone in shadows still while he roamed as he pleased.

She needed to make the first move, get it done, rip off the bandage and maybe start the healing process. If there could be one. Her emotional scars were deep and twisted, and she suspected she would never be the girl she once was. That girl died in Azkaban, and now she needed to figure out what was left.

Drawing upon her well practised shields, MC stepped from her shadowed corner and walked slowly towards the door of the Black Rose, her heart thumping with erratic flutters as she reached out and pushed against the old wood. This was madness, and yet her legs carried her smoothly over the threshold, her face an indifferent mask and her eyes glittering with hardness as she entered the smoky bar room.

The dark haired man behind the bar waited with a curious gaze as she approached, her hood still up and casting a shadow across part of her face.

“A pale ale, if you would be so kind,” she said quietly.

With a nod he turned to meet her request, and she swallowed, risking a glance around the room from beneath her hood. Nobody was really paying her much attention, the bar often saw strangers come and go she supposed. As a tankard was placed on the bar before her, she drew out a coin and placed it down beside it, proud of how she refrained from trembling as she did so. “Thank you.”

Taking a sip of the cool ale, she perched herself on a bar stool, her ears and eyes alert to her surroundings. The comforting press of her wand at her hip reminded her that she had the power to protect herself now. She was stronger than she looked. With her ancient magic, she could devastate this entire room in one move. The thought almost made her lips twitch with a smile, but she kept her face carefully indifferent.

Just when she thought she could manage this little adventure without interference, a figure approached her with a confident sway of hips, blonde curls framing her beautiful face. Up close, MC could see the delicate dusting of freckles across Luella Rookwood’s nose, and the look in her eyes that suggested self assurance. She eyed MC curiously, her head tilting slightly as she tried to get a better look under the hood of her robe.

“I’ve not seen you here before,” she said, her voice laced with a French undertone. She leant casually against the bar. “What brings you here tonight?”

Dislike, thick and searing, coursed through MC as she stared at Luella’s pouty mouth and glowing skin. Healthy and strong, beautiful, and close to Sebastian. Any misgivings MC may have felt about her connection to the boy from her youth seemed to vanish under the cold twist of envy that claimed her stomach. It made her shields thicken, and her gaze turned icy as she fixed it upon Rookwood’s daughter.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she said coolly, placing her tankard down unfinished.

Luella’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Careful, now. You’d be surprised what my business is around here.”

MC smirked and slowly slid back her hood, revealing her full face and hair to the room. People were starting to take notice now, and she stood so that she was on a level with the far too confident witch. Luella’s eyes widened slightly, her pretty mouth parting as she stared.

“Oh, I know what your business is, Miss Rookwood,” MC said, allowing her inner darkness to form behind her eyes, the slightest flicker of blue and white glowing as she glared at Luella. “Perhaps it’s not me who should be careful.”

“So, the ancient magic witch finally shows her face,” Luella said, recovering quickly, but she was rattled. MC could see it in her eyes.

MC smiled, cold and hard on the outside, whilst inside she was screaming and wanting to run. “We finally meet, Miss Rookwood. I hear your father wishes to speak with me. Do tell him I dropped by,” she said, turning for the door.

Pausing, a wicked gleam lighting her eyes, she glanced back at Luella. “Oh, and while you’re at it, say hello to Sebastian for me. Now, there’s a handsome face I look forward to seeing again. Our reunion is long overdue.”

Luella stiffened, her face rigid as her eyes almost bulged. MC felt a sweet satisfaction as she stepped out into the street, her heart hammering at her own audacity. Before anyone could dare approach her, she pictured a destination firmly in mind, the practice of Apparation becoming more and more familiar to her now. In the blink of an eye, she became a swirl of darkness and then vanished, her boots hitting the floorboards of a small living space lit by a single lamp.

Pressing a hand to her tight chest, MC took a steadying breath, still surprised at herself for goading Luella like that. She wondered if the smug bitch would actually say anything to Sebastian. Had Rosier? These small steps into the vicinity of the Ashwinder group were leading her deeper into trouble. She just needed to keep her head and not blow the cover. Not just because bringing Rookwood down would be satisfying, but she didn’t want to let Leander down either.

Her eyes moved slowly about the small living room of the London flat, everything neat and in its proper place. The fire had burned down low in the grate, but the room still clung to some warmth. She stepped quietly across towards the bedroom. The door was ajar, and she slipped quietly inside. Leander had fallen asleep whilst reading, his book open and face down upon his chest. His face was soft and peaceful, and she was reluctant to disturb him, so she lingered beside the bed watching him for a moment. It scared her how attached she was becoming to him, the lines of his face so familiar to her, his scent and warmth meant safety and comfort in a way she had not expected.

A few days ago, he had brought her to London and invited her into his private home, allowing her to come here whenever she wished. He didn’t have to do this for her. He was just a probation Auror that she had to report daily to, and by rights she should have found herself somewhere to stay by now, and yet she kept coming back to his flat. This was more than a job. Whatever it was between them had deepened into something that was heavier than just friendship, but they were not a courting couple. They couldn’t be. Looking at him now as he slept, remembering all the ways he had helped her with kindness and respect, she knew she was far too dark and damaged for the likes of him.

Leaning forward, she carefully lifted the book from his chest, his long fingers languidly moving as he shifted in his sleep. Making sure to bookmark his spot, she placed the book on his table, glancing back towards him to find him blinking sleepily.

“You’re here,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after ten,” she said quietly, slipping her robe from her shoulders and placing it on the chair. “It’s alright, you can go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He watched her through sleepy eyes as she continued to remove her clothing, piling them on his chair until she was in just her chemise as though she had every right, an unspoken agreement that she would be sleeping here seeming to exist between them.

“Did you see anything interesting tonight?” He asked, his cheeks turning pink as she climbed up on the bed beside him.

“I had the misfortune of meeting Luella Rookwood,” she said, her mouth twisting into a sour smirk. “Don’t worry, I resisted the urge to cast an Unforgivable on her. I was actually rather polite.”

Leander’s expression was rather sceptical as she slid herself under the blankets, making herself comfortable in the welcoming warmth beneath. “What did you say, exactly?”

“To tell her daddy I said hello. Oh, and I reminded her that Sebastian and I were due a little reunion. I thought she was going to hex me for that little comment, and so I took my leave. Let her stew over that for a while.”

A slight frown appeared on Leander’s brow as he settled back down into the bed beside her. MC lay on her side facing him, seeing the way he was fidgeting with a button on his pyjama shirt, his teeth catching at his lower lip. He was thinking, perhaps about the unspoken situation that was building between them. She had mentioned Sebastian, something she usually avoided because it had the potential to lead them towards some rather loaded questions.

“You are going to come face to face with Sallow at some point, probably sooner rather than later now that you are spending time near his haunts,” he said quietly.

“I think I am going to need him,” she sighed. “He will be able to help me infiltrate the gang, I’m just a bit uncertain about how that will play out depending on his allegiance.”

Leander turned to look at her, his eyes glittering in the almost dark of his room. “You sound unsure about it, MC. Are you worried about seeing Sebastian again?”

Her fingers absently sought out her scar, the niggling worry that her inability to turn against Sebastian might prove detrimental to their plan if he really had chosen the dark side. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat, reminding herself that she was in a safe place here.

“I don’t know,” she said, dropping her gaze to the mattress. “Seeing him the other night just seemed to remind me that he has spent the last four years living a life I know nothing about. There was a time when I thought it would be me and him against the world, and now I’m not sure I even know who he is anymore.”

“I don’t think he has changed all that much,” Leander said, turning fully towards her, their faces mere inches apart. “I have my own very selfish reasons for wishing that you never had to see him again, but I know that, despite everything, he is someone important to you. I’m sure you are still someone important to him, too.”

Meeting Leander’s gaze, her heart squeezed at his noble and generous spirit, her fingers reaching to touch gently at his temple. Stroking lightly towards his hair, her hand cupped against the strong lines of his cheek. Perhaps he underestimated just how important he had become to her, slowly weaving a web of complex feelings around her that left her confused and scared, as well as curious and alive. She didn’t want to hurt him, but couldn’t seem to stop running back to him despite knowing that things were not going to end with rainbows and roses. It never did with her.

“I can’t imagine you ever being selfish, Lee,” she whispered, her fingers sliding over freckled skin.

His hand settled over her hip, fingers grasping gently. “Yes, well, sometimes you come across something that you just don’t want to share with anyone else,” he said, his usual soft voice darkening into something unexpected, his grip on her hip subtly tightening as he closed the gap between them.

This spark of possessiveness sent her confusing feelings spinning madly, her pulse quickening as she realised they were crossing lines that were becoming more and more dangerous. Her gaze dipped to his soft, full mouth.

“I should stop coming here, you know…” Her lips captured his mouth, despite her weak protest. “It’s becoming a rather dangerous habit…” She kissed him again.

The hand on her hip grazed feather-light touches down towards her knee, his fingers splaying as he slid his palm up her thigh in a slow, deliberate caress that ignited the fire in her blood. “So, stop,” he murmured against her mouth, stealing a firmer kiss of his own in retaliation.

Opening her mouth to offer up a sassy comeback failed as he swirled his tongue past her lips, her words dying in her throat as her eyes closed and her hands urged him closer. Apparently, she couldn’t stop. She was sliding down a slope with no idea what awaited her at the bottom, but she was going down there with him anyway.

Leander

Friendly chattering, and the soft glow of the lamps inside the bar room of the Leaky Cauldron made for a cosy atmosphere, the tension of a day tracking a band of poachers through the New Forest beginning to ease from Leander’s shoulders as he wrapped his large hands around his tankard of ale. The poachers were a part of the Ashwinder network, and whilst his attention had been mostly focused on MC’s infiltration into their midst, there was plenty of field work to wade through on top of all that. A beer and a catch up with an old friend seemed the ideal way to spend his evening.

Across the table from Leander sat Garreth Weasley, his sandy red hair curling and flicking outwards from his freckled face, his brow creased in concentration as he wrote inside his small order notebook. Pausing, he twirled his quill, brushing the delicate feather against his lips as he raised emerald eyes to Leander with a mischievous twinkle.

“So, restoring potions, essence of Dittany, your regular healing tonics, and a restock of the old faithful contraceptive potion,” he listed, his eyebrows lifting in a teasing wiggle. “It’s been a while since you ordered the baby blocker brew, Lee. Something you want to tell me? Sounds like you’re getting lucky.”

Just like that, Leander’s shoulders hunched with anxious tension as his cheeks flooded with heat, his eyes glancing up around the bar as he twisted his tankard on the table top. “Shush, Garreth, for Merlin’s sake,” he grumbled, shifting in his seat. “I don’t want the whole pub to know.”

Garreth brightened with curiosity, leaning towards him over the table top. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, mate. So, who is the lucky witch? Anyone I know?”

“I…I…” Leander faltered, cringing slightly as he realised that telling anyone about sleeping with MC could prove dangerous, no matter how much he wanted to boast to Garreth about it. That information could end up being whispered into the wrong ears and jeopardise the mission. He frowned and shook his head. “I’m just being prepared, that’s all.”

Garreth gave him a long, considering look between narrowed lids, his lips widening into a grin. “Alright, then. Keep your secrets,” he winked. “Aside from your mysterious bedroom adventures, how’s the Auror life treating you? Working on anything exciting? Oh yes, I saw in the Prophet that our murderous school hero was released. I bet that caused a little stir in the office.”

“Don’t call her that, she has a name you know,” Leander muttered, his blush darkening. “And you know I can’t talk about work stuff outside the office.”

Garreth slowly put his quill and order book away, giving Leander a careful look. “After all this time, you still carry a soft spot for MC,” he said, tilting his head. “Doesn’t it bother you, what she did?”

“It’s all very well listening to idle gossip, or reading whatever the Prophet deems print worthy, but not everything is as it seems, Garreth,” Leander said, fiddling with his tie. “You shouldn’t judge without knowing the whole story.”

“And, you do know?” Garreth lifted his brows with interest.

“I couldn’t possibly reveal Ministry information,” Leander said tightly.

“You’re rather twitchy and full of secrets this evening, Lee,” Garreth said, a slight crease appearing on his brow. “Is everything alright?”

Leander sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, Garreth. I’ve been working on a large case, and it’s a really important one. I guess I’m a little stressed, hence the beer.”

He lifted his tankard with a tight smile, taking a sip and licking his lips. It was so easy and almost cliche to blame his tension on work, a convenient get out clause to avoid talking about the real anxiety that had a choke hold on his emotions. As he gazed across at his old friend, he wished he could admit how deeply he had got himself into trouble over a girl, not just any girl either. The murderous school hero who was sharing his bed, an ex-convict with a notorious ex lover she was bound to by a dark magic pact.

Garreth was a light hearted, lovable chap. Life was simple in his corner of the world, and Leander wondered if he would have any wholesome and useful advice to give him. No doubt his response would be to keep a distance between himself and MC, and Leander didn’t want to hear that. It was likely to be the best advice, a warning his family would no doubt impress upon him, too.

But, it was her. MC had slowly embedded herself under his skin, staring into the endless possibilities her eyes held, he was drifting on a tide he felt powerless to swim against. Behind that tough exterior there had been flickers of fire, a warmth as she lay in his arms and brushed her fingers through his hair. Deep down, he knew it was doomed to end one day, she would get up from his bed one morning and it would be the last time. She would slip out of his reach, and he would have to let her go. But, for those precious hours when she did slide in beside him, pressing her body against his in a silent plea, he savoured every moment.

Garreth took a drink from his own tankard and considered Leander. “I hope you’re not pushing yourself too hard, mate. I know how much your job means to you, but don’t lose yourself along the way,” he said, placing down his tankard with a smile that was rather serious for him. “I understand that you can’t talk about specific details, but if there is anything you do want to talk about, then I’m here if you need to, alright?”

Leander bit his lip, the words balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he felt the presence of his Auror badge in his pocket. The weight of it carried the responsibility of the oath he took, an oath that he had already betrayed more than once since taking this Ashwinder case on. MC must remain his secret.

“Thanks mate, I appreciate it,” he said, nodding. Leaning his elbows on the table top, he fixed a smile on his face. “So, what do you think of the latest Chaser signing for the Chudley Canons?”

Garreth’s face lit up at the mention of Quidditch, and their conversation switched into much lighter tones, a distraction that Leander most definitely needed.

….*….

The briefing room was already rather full with Aurors when Leander arrived for a meeting the next morning, his cheeks flushed from his mad dash here after being held up, the intoxicating warmth beneath his bed covers making him reluctant to rise and ready himself for work. He had left MC in the comfort of his bedroom, her tousled hair spread across the pillows, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before Disapparating out.

A mug of tea was thrust into his hand by an assistant, Leander smiling his thanks as he took a seat next to Odessa, her delicate perfume teasing at his nose.

“Good morning, Prewett,” she smiled, crossing her trouser-clad legs elegantly. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“Sorry, I slept in. Late night,” he blushed, dipping his gaze to sip at his tea.

“You weren’t having fun without me, were you, Prewett? I’m still waiting for that date.”

Saved from having to answer that question by Harrington calling for their attention, Leander gave Odessa a quick smile, before fixing his gaze on the elder Auror who was leading this case. Harrington was dressed in his suit, his greying hair neatly combed, and a serious expression darkening his blue eyes.

“Good morning, folks. Time for our weekly update on Rookwood and his Ashwinders,” Harrington said, getting straight to the point. He flicked his wand towards the hovering blackboards, arranging them behind him in a row, each board containing case notes and highlights. Using his wand as a pointer, he moved towards the first board. “Good progress on the poaching ring yesterday in the New Forest. It seems the Sweetings are tracking a potential Golden Snidget nest, although our Aurors on location have acquired the assistance of a Magizoologist in order to help protect these endangered creatures.”

Leander rolled his shoulders, still feeling the effects of tracking through the forest yesterday in search of the poachers camp. He sipped some more tea, avoiding Odessa’s gaze as Harrington continued.

“Unfortunately, there has been another theft of a valuable and rare item,” Harrington sighed, moving to the next board. He pointed towards Rookwood’s name written in chalk at the top. “We know this bastard enjoys collecting rare and beautiful things, and the scene of the crime suggests that Ashwinders were behind this particular theft. Annoyingly, the Muggle Royal Family is involved in this one.”

“What was stolen?” Odessa asked, leaning forward, her eyes lit with curiosity.

Harrington grimaced. “The bastards looted Hever Castle in Kent, entering the secret vault hidden beneath the castle from prying Muggle eyes. They took some gold and spell books, but the most valuable item they pilfered was the famous pearl necklace worn by Anne Boleyn.”

Soft murmurs of surprise were uttered around the room as Andrew Larson stepped forward with a parchment, holding it out towards Harrington. Leander recognised the image printed on the parchment as Harrington held it up. It was a portrait of the English queen who had lost her head in The Tower in the 1530s, heralded as a witch and a traitor to her King and country. She was innocent of being a traitor, but the Wizarding World knew her as one of their own.

“We all know this portrait of Anne Boleyn. The original hangs proudly in the halls of Hogwarts, and she is wearing the very necklace that was stolen this week. It’s a string of pearls with a gold charm in the shape of the letter B,” Harrington said, his gaze roaming around the room. He paused on Leander. “I want eyes peeled and everyone on alert for a sighting of this piece of jewellery so that we may return it. Needless to say, Buckingham Palace is keen to see it in their possession. It has been held in secret for hundreds of years, and they do not want to see it in the wrong hands.”

Leander nodded, making a mental note to mention this to MC. Harrington moved on to his next board, updating everyone on the recent sightings of various gang members. As Andrew Larson passed Leander’s chair, he paused, bending to speak near his ear.

“Come and see me afterwards, Prewett,” he whispered. “I have something for you.”

Leander met his gaze and nodded, a look of understanding passing between them. Anticipation flooded through Leander at the prospect of what Andrew had found in the archives regarding MC.

Pulling out his notebook, he tried to focus on Harrington’s voice, jotting some points down as he tried not to fidget in his chair.

“How are things with our little spy?” Odessa asked as they stood, the meeting over. “Is she behaving herself?”

Leander tucked his notebook away and fiddled with his tie. “MC is fine,” he said, holding back his smile. “How are things with you? Did you manage to track down that lead at the port of Dover?”

“Indeed, I did,” she nodded, smiling as he held the door open for her. “The shipments coming in from Norway seem to be of particular interest to the Ashwinders, I’m not sure why yet, but I intend to find out.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle at the challenge and he smiled as they walked along the corridor towards their cubicles. “I’m sure you will. You strike me as the determined type.”

Her smile was incredibly feline and she touched her hand to his arm, her eyes lit with a teasing twinkle. “Maybe one day you will find out just how determined I can be,” she murmured, leaning slightly closer. “Especially when you take me for that drink. Friday, Prewett. You and me, The Leaky Cauldron.”

Leander’s mouth worked, words failing him as a blush stained his face. He couldn’t possibly agree. It wouldn’t be appropriate considering he was sharing a bed with someone else. “Odessa…”

She was already strolling towards her desk, throwing him a cheeky wink over her shoulder. “See you Friday.”

….*….

Leander took the file from Andrew, flipping it open to see the neatly inked words within. “You found this rather quickly,” he said, impressed at the amount of information enclosed.

Andrew shrugged, his smile a little bashful. “It’s surprising what you can find when you really get into the search. Once I found one record of ancient magic, I found a trail that led to others. This is what I have uncovered so far, but what’s most puzzling about the trail is how fragmented it is. If I’m not mistaken, I would say some information has been deliberately left out.”

“That’s what MC was expecting, I think,” Leander said, frowning as he noticed a parchment with more recent information written down. He studied the page more closely, his eyes widening when he saw MC’s name and a date that could be her birthday. “Are these MC’s birth records?”

He lifted his shocked gaze to Andrew. MC’s file had no details of her birth or blood relatives, only her records from the orphanage in London where she had been raised. Andrew nodded, his eyes hesitant. “I don’t know her that well, Leander, but some of the information I found about her might change a few things if people were to discover the truth. I promise I won’t speak a word of what I found, and if I were you, I would keep that file under lock and key.”

Leander swallowed, his eyes dropping back down to the page, scanning the details further. “No way,” he gasped, eyes darting back to Andrew.

Andrew nodded, his look pensive. “Yes. I was shocked, too. You might want to break the news to her gently.”

Leander sank slowly into the nearest chair, reading over the information again, just to make sure his eyes had not deceived him. Shock numbed his limbs, the implications of this information sending his thoughts scattering in all directions. His hands actually trembled as he closed the file and gripped it tightly on his lap. Somehow, he was going to have to hand this information over to MC, and he wasn’t sure how she was going to react.

“Are you alright, mate?” Andrew asked, putting a cautious hand on Leander’s shoulder. “You’ve gone rather pale.”

Leander looked up at Andrew, nodding with uncertainty. He licked his lips and smoothed his hand over the top of the file. “I’m not entirely sure how she will take this news, but I’m glad I will be the one to tell her.”

Andrew bit his lip, his hands slipping into his pockets as he regarded Leander. “You er…you have grown rather close to MC since working on this case,” he said awkwardly, scuffing the floor slightly with the toe of his smart shoes. “I could sense the familiarity between you the last time you were here, and your request was not your regular Auror request. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fascinating. I just hope you know what you are getting yourself into.”

“I’m just trying to help her, Andrew. She doesn’t have anyone else, at least I didn’t think so,” he said, glancing down at the folder on his lap. “This file rather changes all of that, doesn’t it?”

“That really all depends on what she chooses to do about it,” Andrew said with a shrug. “Whatever she decides, just be careful, Leander. Don’t get yourself hurt.”

Oh, he was already in far too deep to climb back out now. Taking a deep breath he got to his feet, reaching out to shake Andrew’s hand. “I appreciate your help, Andrew. I owe you one.”

“You’re welcome,” Andrew said, shaking his hand firmly. “I will keep looking through the archives when I get a chance. There might be more to discover. These Keepers that MC mentioned have me curious. I’ll let you know what else I dig out.”

As he left the Auror Office, the file hidden with a vanishing charm in his possession, Leander pondered how he was going to hand it over to MC. He would have to do it tonight when she returned from her nightly spying on the Ashwinders. He didn’t want this lingering over his head, not something this big. Plus, MC had a right to know where she came from.

Sebastian

The cool air was thick with the scent of old paper and leather, rich tones of wood, and a lingering pinch of dust. The quietness settled over Sebastian like an old cloak, and he savoured the familiar and comforting feel of being inside a library. Walking slowly through the huge stacks, he gazed at the laden shelves, his eyes scanning the titles as he pondered how different his life could have been had things worked out differently. Perhaps he could have found contentment working within the safety of bound knowledge, pursuing his thirst to discover and learn. That life felt so far out of reach that he couldn’t even call it a dream. Those you could chase, and he didn’t think he would ever get the chance to make that idea a reality.

Pausing at the section he was searching for, he ran his fingers against the spines as he chased down the particular book he was after, a text recently published that he had heard about that might prove useful, no matter how far fetched. The author, Nora Treadwell, had undertaken research about the renowned wizard Merlin, and the curious puzzles he had scattered around the Highlands of Scotland. Sebastian had spent many hours helping MC solve some of those puzzles when they were kids, and they had speculated about their creation after MC noticed traces of her ancient magic around them. Not one to pass up the prospect of delving deeper into lore, Sebastian wanted to see what Nora Treadwell had to say on the matter.

Finding a copy of the book, he tucked it under his arm and found a quiet spot to sit and read The Trials of Merlin, his unruly hair falling across his forehead as he bent over the pages with a frown of intent.

….*….

Dusk was drifting over London, the sky deepening into the glow of the autumn sunset as Sebastian strolled through Knockturn Alley, one hand in his pocket, and the other settled close to where his wand sat ready in its holster. One could never be too careful at the best of times, let alone when the shadows were beginning to lengthen. As he walked, he let his gaze wander carefully over the cloaked figures he passed, appearing nonchalant in his manner, but ever mindful that MC could be hidden behind any corner. He didn’t want to miss her a second time.

As he approached the turn that would take him to the Black Rose, he met with Rosier who was leaning against a brick wall as though waiting for him, his handsome smile as charming as ever as he nodded towards Sebastian.

“Evening, Sallow. I wondered when you were going to show up. You’ve been gone most of the day.”

“Just gathering some information,” Sebastian smirked, pausing beside him. “Did I miss anything?”

Rosier gave him a knowing look as he took a drag on his cigarette. “I’ve not seen any sign of your pretty witch, if that’s what you mean,” he said, shaking his head. “Not much else has happened either. Unless you count Marvolo hexing that aggravating poacher that keeps playing the dodgy hand at cards.”

Amusement curved Sebastian’s mouth as they began to walk again, making their way towards the pub. “I’m surprised it took him this long, to be honest. She was blatantly cheating. Any news on Rookwood?”

“Funny you should ask,” Rosier said, his eyebrows lifting. “I hear he will be making an appearance this evening. It seems his little friend, Black Dahlia, has crawled out of the woodwork.”

Sebastian’s face darkened with a scowl at the mention of Rookwood’s informant, his dislike of the shifty witch blending with fury and mistrust ever since she had sent him into the horror of that prison and he had come out empty handed. There was something about her that made his skin itch. Devious and smug, her eyes still bothered him. Whatever enchantments she used to disguise her face didn’t work on her eyes, and he knew he had seen them before somewhere.

“I wonder what she could possibly be telling him,” he muttered, his stomach clenching with apprehension. If Black Dahlia was about to blow MC’s cover, then that could put the kneazle amongst the jobberknolls.

Rosier shrugged. “You know Rookwood. Everything is on a need to know basis, but I think he will be meeting with her tonight given his impending arrival.”

Deep in thought as they entered the pub, Sebastian considered the possibility that Rookwood might still allow MC to enter the gang despite knowing what she was really there for. She could be walking straight into a trap that would end with her ancient magic being extracted from her, and absorbed by Rookwood himself. The very idea made his spine feel like ice, his fear like claws around the back of his neck.

An idea was forming in his mind, and it turned his stomach if he had to be honest about it, but he just couldn’t risk MC walking into danger. No matter how powerful her magic could be.

“There’s something I need to do,” he said, patting Rosier on the back. “I won’t be long.”

“Anything you need some help with?” Rosier asked, a curious look in his eyes.

Sebastian shook his head, his face lighting up with one of his confident smiles despite the twisting feeling in his gut. “Nah, I’ve got this one.”

Stepping out of the pub, Sebastian didn’t think Rosier would even believe him if he told him where he was going. Moving into the deepening shadows, he pictured the fine house he had checked out a while ago down near the Thames, and Disapparated with a swirl of black.

The lights were lit inside the house giving a welcoming, warm glow from the windows, so somebody was at home. Sebastian climbed the neatly swept steps and eyed the fancy brass knocker, wondering if it would be the pretty wife who answered the fine front door as he knocked. Footsteps sounded from the other side, and when the door swung open, Sebastian grinned.

“Just the man I was wanting to see. Good evening, Andrew,” he greeted, with a nod of his head.

Andrew Larson frowned, a tinge of pink flushing across his cheeks as glanced nervously back over his shoulder. “How the bloody hells did you find me, Sallow?”

Sebastian tapped his finger against the side of his nose and winked, his cockiness shielding the true twist of his emotions as he faced the straight laced Ministry worker. “I can’t be revealing all of my secrets now, Larson. Don’t worry, though. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Then, why are you here?” Andrew demanded, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his very smart waistcoat.

Sighing, still not entirely believing that he was actually going to do this, Sebastian fixed Andrew with a serious look. “I need to get an urgent message to Prewett. You can either tell me where to find him, right now, or promise me that you will get word to him immediately.”

Andrew looked irritated, his blush deepening as he shook his head. “I’ve told you before…”

“This is urgent,” Sebastian insisted, cutting him off, “It’s about the case he is working on with MC. If I don’t tell him what I know, then MC could be walking into a trap.”

Andrew stilled, his mouth parted as he considered Sebastian’s words. Swallowing hard, he nodded, pushing his fingers through his blonde hair. “Alright,” he conceded. “I will send a message. What is it you need him to know?”

Sebastian looked up towards the sky above his head. For once, the stars were visible, the smog had cleared for a while. It wasn’t quite the glorious, open display he was used to seeing as a boy, but it was enough to give him some hope. Bringing his gaze back to Andrew, he took a breath and set his look to one of determination.

“Ask Prewett to meet me in one hour. I will be at the Floo point near Gringotts. He must come alone, and tell nobody. He can’t risk the snitch in his office finding out. I hope you understand how important that is.”

Andrew paled. “Merlin’s beard,” he muttered. “Of course. I’ll send the message right away.”

Leander

Arriving home, the file feeling heavy in his pocket, Leander unlocked the door and entered to be greeted with a strange burning smell. He closed the door and MC turned to him from the little stove, a sheepish look on her face.

“I tried to cook dinner,” she said, grimacing as she gestured towards the pot on the side. “It didn’t go well.”

Pressing his lips together, Leander moved further into the room, trying to hide his amusement at the forlorn look on her face. A glance into the pot revealed a charred looking mess, and he wrinkled his nose. “What was it?”

“Beef hot pot,” she said, folding her arms, her chin tilting upwards defensively. “You said it was one of your favourites.”

The simple gesture of trying to cook for him had his cheeks turning pink with pleasure, no matter that she had probably ruined his cooking pot in the process. Touched at the thought behind it, he slid his hand along her jaw, gently cupping her face as bent to press a slow kiss against her forehead. “You are adorable,” he murmured, a smile curving his lips.

She wrinkled her nose and playfully shoved him. “Hardly,” she scoffed, but a blush was staining her cheeks. She looked down at the ruined dinner and sighed. “I guess we shall have to find something else for dinner.”

She rarely smiled, but tonight her face seemed softer, her lips teasing at one as he looked down at her. The file sat in his pocket like an exploding snapper waiting to go off. He hesitated, his hand lingering near his robe, ready to take out the file and hand it over to her.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her face dropping. “Are you upset I ruined your pot?”

“No, no, of course not,” he assured her, his hands slipping about her waist. He held her close, their gazes meeting, his pulse flickering. “Let me fix us something to eat before you go out this evening,” he suggested.

“Or, I could stay in tonight?” She suggested, her teeth catching at her lower lip.

His gaze dipped to her mouth, his pulse picking up even more speed. As he was about to lower his mouth to hers, a loud tapping noise came from the window, both of them turning to see a gorgeous snowy owl on the ledge with a letter.

“That’s Andrew’s owl,” Leander said, frowning. He released MC and moved to open the window, the owl relinquishing the letter and nudging his hand for attention. Leander fed her a treat, scratching affectionately under her chin before she took off over the London rooftops. Tearing open the envelope, he noticed MC had moved closer towards him to have a look.

Gryffindor,

SS found me, he has an urgent message regarding the young lady you are assisting. She may be in danger. He wants you to meet him by the Floo outside Gringotts at 6.30pm. He also requested that you go alone, and tell nobody who might alert loose lips. Be careful.

Ravenclaw.

Leander read the note twice before lifting his eyes to the clock on his mantelpiece. He had 45 minutes until the meeting time.

“I’m going to assume this is about me,” MC said. He turned to her, his stomach sinking at the next words out of her mouth. “Who is ‘SS’? It’s him, isn’t it? It’s Sebastian.”

He nodded. “I think we can safely agree that it's him, yes.”

Her face hardened, the earlier softness disappearing. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” he said firmly, tearing the parchment in two and throwing it into the dying flames of the stove. “If he sees you with me, he will be suspicious. We can’t be certain where his loyalties lie. Besides, this could be a trap.”

MC huffed, moving to keep herself in his sight. “All the more reason that you need back up,” she insisted. “Let me help you. That’s what I was let out for, right?”

“I will have some back up,” he said, thinking quickly as he glanced at the clock again. “I’ve got time to speak with Harrington first. He can come along, hang back and keep watch while I see what Sebastian wants.”

MC folded her arms, planting herself firmly in front of him, her gaze determined. “If you think I’m going to sit here like a good little girl, you can think again. This is about me, and I’m coming. I’ll hide if I have to, I’ve been doing a lot of that this week whilst creeping around Knockturn Alley.”

The fiery determination that flared in her gaze was one of the traits about her that drew him in. Staring at her now, he found himself weakening under that look, ignoring all the sensible parts of his brain and his Auror training, because he found it so difficult to refuse her. Rubbing his hand against his forehead, he sighed.

“Fine, you can come along,” he relented, catching the flicker of a satisfied smirk on her lips. He wasn’t completely foolish, though. “You can wait with Harrington while I speak with Sallow. At least you won’t get into any trouble that way.”

Now, it was his turn to smirk as she grimaced, her arms falling to her sides as her little hands curled into tight fists. He took her robe from the coat stand and held it up for her, his expression clearly implying that it was this way, or not at all.

“Fine,” she huffed, thrusting her arms into the soft, black robe. He adjusted it on her shoulders, smoothing his hands over them and down her arms before spinning her to face him.

The time was drawing ever closer to her reunion with Sebastian. Watching him from a distance was one thing, but being in his company was quite another. The little glimpses of softness she was offering to him were lodged firmly behind his ribs, the endless depths of her gaze his inevitable downfall. He really wasn’t sure he was ready to lose all of it, but at this moment, it felt as though she was about to slip through his fingers.

He cupped her face, her eyes widening slightly as he dipped his head, claiming her mouth in a firm kiss. She stilled, but then responded, kissing him back, her fingers grasping his arms. When their mouths parted, she looked up at him. “What was that for?”

His smile was almost sad as he tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said softly. “Come on, let’s go.”

Sebastian

He barely felt the prick on his finger tip, the blood welling up swiftly into a ruby orb before he smoothed it over the surface of the old compass. Closing his eyes he muttered the charm, aiming his wand towards the location device and bonding himself to it. Relaxing his pose, Sebastian picked up the compass, the needle spinning erratically at his close proximity to it. Whoever held this in their possession would be able to track him for the next 12 hours or so.

He didn’t particularly relish the idea of giving someone that much power over him, but if it meant he could help MC, then it was worth it. Tucking the compass safely into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled on his black coat and envisioned the Floo point outside Gringotts bank before Disapparating away to meet with Prewett.

Diagon Alley was dark and quiet, the lamp lights reflecting off the slick cobbled street after a recent shower of rain. Sebastian avoided the patches of light, lingering in the shadows as he waited. There was a bite to the air this evening, his shoulders hunching as he rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. Nerves tingled down his spine and he frowned, adjusting his collar as he reminded himself that he could take Prewett if he had a need to. He still couldn’t believe he was here, willingly about to assist an Auror.

The sound of approaching footsteps had him on alert, his hand smoothing over the familiar feel of his wand as he withdrew it. The tall frame of Prewett appeared out of the darkness, his robe swaying softly in the light of the street lamp as he walked towards the Floo point. He had his wand in his hand, his profile cutting an impressive line against the backdrop of the street. Sebastian stepped from his dark spot, moving in a casual but ready stroll.

“You made it, then,” he drawled, spinning his wand. Leander turned to face him, nodding once in greeting. “I did wonder if you would come.”

“You said it was urgent,” Prewett said, not moving too close as they sussed each other out. “What did you need to tell me?”

Sebastian glanced up and down the street, no sign of anyone else nearby. “Where is she, then?” His eyes narrowed as he studied Prewett, checking for any tells as he huffed and shook his head.

“How would I know? You said to come alone, and I’ve not told anyone. So, come on, out with it. Some of us have got work to do.”

Twirling his wand slowly, Sebastian suspected that Prewett knew more than he would admit about MC. Ominis had found them together at the Ministry, even hinting that there was something almost friendly between them both. It made Sebastian’s skin crawl with envy to think of her smiling at Prewett, the very idea that this insufferable goody-two-shoes could make her happy made him want to smash something.

He had no choice but to rely on Prewett, though. If they had anything in common, it was their affection for MC. Prewett wouldn’t be here if he didn’t care about her.

There didn’t appear to be anyone else nearby, but that didn’t mean anything. Anyone could be hidden, watching this scene play out. Another Auror, perhaps, to back him up. What was to stop them getting their information and then arresting him on the spot? He had to be quick and careful, suggest his idea before anyone could get too excited with a wand. Sebastian stepped closer, holding up his hand as Prewett raised his wand.

“I know you have a snitch in your office,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s a woman, but she disguises her face with a charm. I don’t trust her. She told us details about MC at Rookwood’s request. He is up to something, and I don’t like it.”

He had to be so careful what he said, not revealing too much, but letting slip just enough to gain some trust. He could see Prewett thinking over his words, his teeth worrying at his lip.

“We know there has been a leak,” Prewett said, keeping his wand at the ready. “What is Rookwood up to? You said MC could be in danger.”

Sebastian couldn’t resist a sly smirk, baiting Prewett about MC was just too easy. He could see the worry in his eyes, in the tone of his voice. “Rookwood wants her power, Prewett, and he is using the snitch to find out what he can about MC,” he said. “He is meeting with her later this evening. She goes by the name Black Dahlia. If you’re willing, I can lead you to them.”

“Why would you do that?” Prewett narrowed his eyes.

“Because you are not the only one who cares what happens to MC,” Sebastian said simply, taking the compass from his pocket. “Here, take this.”

Tossing the compass forward, Prewett caught it easily, turning it over in his fingers as he studied it. “A compass?”

“It’s been charmed with my blood. It will follow me,” Sebastian explained. He slipped his wand back into its holster as Prewett held up the compass, his eyebrows lifting as it clearly pointed towards Sebastian. “Track me to the meeting point, and you will have your snitch.”

Prewett turned the compass over in his hand thoughtfully. “What’s in it for you?”

Sebastian shrugged, not really willing to unload the thoughts in his head to a man that could easily be classed as an enemy. He dared not say too much, slowly backing up away from the tall Auror. “You can owe me one,” he smirked. “Follow the compass, and catch your snitch. If you see MC, tell her I miss her, and that I am looking forward to seeing her again.”

He caught the subtle tightening of Prewett’s mouth, the downward turn of his brows. The tug of war between them over MC was nothing new, something that had begun in their school days, and now continued as adults. The stakes were higher now. Life outside of Hogwarts was darker and more dangerous, no professors to watch over them. Sebastian cared not for the authority of the Aurors, and he knew how to play dirty if he had to.

MC was obviously watching him, turning up outside the Black Rose that night, appearing in the bar itself a few days later. If she truly was planning to infiltrate the gang and spy for the law, then it was only a matter of time before she was within his reach again. He just needed to be patient.

Despite this, he couldn’t resist having a dig at Prewett, his smirk devilish as he disappeared into the shadows before Disapparating swiftly to The Black Rose.

MC

The breeze cut sharply across the back of her neck, making her huddle under the soft material of her robe as she peered down into the street below. Perched on the rooftop of a Diagon Alley shop, MC could see Leander as he stood near the Floo point, talking to a stocky figure that was partially hidden by shadow. Both men were holding their wands, and she could only imagine the kind of taunts that Sebastian was throwing Leander’s way. The slow creeping worry that this was a trap hadn’t left her, and she held her own wand out ready. It would burn her blood to cast against Sebastian, but she wasn’t about to see Leander get hurt on her account either.

“What are you thinking, little bird?” Harrington asked quietly. He was crouched down nearby, keeping watch on the men below alongside her. “I hear you’ve been stretching your wings and keeping an eye on these bastards. Do you think lover boy is setting a trap?”

MC shifted slightly, pulling her robe closer around her with her free hand, but she kept her gaze fixed below. The term ‘lover boy’ could now be applied to both men down there, but Harrington couldn’t know about her and Leander. It was their secret. “Why do you think I insisted on coming along? You may be skilled Aurors, but I can bring down an entire room in the blink of an eye, and Sebastian knows that.”

“He doesn’t know you’re on our side, though, does he?”

MC shrugged, her eyes glittering as she threw a glance his way. She didn’t like him, not one bit, and it was clear the feeling was mutual. “That all depends on how loose the lips are on your snitch, doesn’t it?”

Smirking at Harrington’s frown, she returned her attention back to the street, and realised Sebastian was backing up. “It looks like they are done. That was quick.”

Leander waited for a few moments before Apparating, appearing on the rooftop beside them with a pop. He shifted into a crouch, holding out a worn compass and filled them in on what Sebastian had told him.

“The snitch is a woman?” Harrington said, scratching his chin. “Smart to use a disguising charm, I must say, but bloody annoying when it comes to identifying her.”

“Do you think it’s a trap?” Leander asked, studying the compass. The arrow spun a few times and then settled, pointing in one direction. Leander followed it with his eyes. “If this really is tracking Sallow, then he is in Knockturn Alley.”

“Let’s follow him and find out,” MC said, a restless feeling settling over her.

“You’re not going anywhere, little bird,” Harrington said, firmly. “I indulged your request for this meeting, but you need to leave the Auror business to the Aurors.”

“Are you kidding me?” MC scoffed, an irritated frown darkening her face. “If you were doing such a good job on your own, you wouldn’t have needed to release me from Azkaban to do your dirty spying for you. Plus, I’m more powerful than the two of you put together.”

Harrington’s face darkened with a flush as he raised an authoritative finger up at her. “Now listen here…”

“Enough!” Leander hissed, holding his hands up at both of them. “There’s no point bickering amongst ourselves. MC, if you’re seen with us, then the game is up. They will know not to trust you.”

She wasn’t going to back down, folding her arms and tilting her chin upwards, her eyes flashed with determination. “I know how to stay hidden,” she said stubbornly. “If this is about me, then I want to be there. I particularly want to lay eyes on Rookwood if I can. I still find it hard to believe that the bastard is alive.”

She may have seen it in Leander’s pensieve memories, but she needed to see it with her own eyes. She turned her attention to Leander, knowing that he would be easier to persuade. Guilty of using his affections for her, she softened her gaze slightly, and she saw his resolve waver.

“You really think you can stay back and not get involved if things become difficult?” Leander asked, earning a huff from Harrington. “You cannot blow your cover, not even for Sebastian.”

Harrington’s gaze narrowed on her and she shifted slightly, but her resolve to accompany them remained. “I won’t blow my cover,” she agreed. “However, you had best make sure you aren’t on the receiving end of any curses so I don’t have to.”

“Is that so?” Harrington asked, his gaze narrowing even more as he glanced between the two of them. “How touching.”

MC felt her cheeks burn and she bit her lip, resorting to sarcasm. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not living up to my super villain persona?”

Leander rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I could go alone.”

“No!”

Both MC and Harrington had spoken at the same time, the pair of them glancing at the other in surprise. MC immediately stiffened her spine as she got to her feet, the two Aurors following suit. Leander held out the compass, the needle still pointing towards Knockturn Alley. “Sallow doesn’t seem to have moved yet,” he said.

MC moved closer towards him, linking her arm firmly around his. “And when he does, I’m coming with you.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Harrington said, sighing as he looked at them both.

“What other choice do we have?” Leander asked. “This could be our only chance to catch whoever is leaking out information. The danger of MC’s cover being blown is higher because of the snitch more than anything else.”

“Alright, fine. We will do it your way,” Harrington said, waving a hand in resignation as he settled back down against the rooftop ledge. “I guess all we have to do for now is wait.”

Leander met her gaze and she gave him a small smile, her eyes softening as she gave his arm a subtle squeeze. She wasn’t about to let him go, not even when he moved to sit down as Harrington had done. Huddled together on the rooftop, she leant against Leander’s solid frame, telling herself it was to keep warm as they waited.

It wasn’t too long before Leander gave her a nudge, her head lifting from where she had almost dozed off against him. He held up the compass. “Sallow has moved,” he said, looking over at Harrington. “It’s time.”

Sebastian

The distant rumble of a muggle train echoed down the tunnel, the atmosphere tight with tension as torch light flickered against old stone. Rookwood stood calmly checking his fingernails, wearing his usual long coat and top hat. He seemed unconcerned, and yet Sebastian was bristling with apprehension. Black Dahlia could reveal MC’s plans to spy on the Ashwinders, blow her cover and place her in even more danger than Sebastian already suspected she was in. The nagging worry about the magic extraction still played on his mind, and now he had handed over a tracking device to an Auror that placed himself in a rather dodgy situation, too. What was to stop Prewett barging in here with a horde of Aurors and hauling them off to Azkaban? If the Dementors didn’t get him, then Rookwood would in revenge.

“Why are we meeting her in the tunnels?” Sebastian grumbled, shifting his weight to his other leg as he glanced down towards the entrance again.

“Why indeed?” Rookwood smirked, dipping his hand inside his coat pocket and pulling out a very old looking wooden box. He smoothed his fingers over it with reverence. “Demanding a higher price means higher stakes, Sallow. I chose the meeting point this time.”

Something that felt suspiciously like anxiety began to creep over Sebastian as he eyed Rookwood and the old box. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

There was a gleam in Rookwood’s eyes as he held it up. “This old thing?” With a slow smirk, he creaked open the lid. “Just some old necklace a Queen used to wear. I doubt she will miss it seeing as she no longer has a head.”

Sebastian recognised the string of pearls and its pendant immediately, his eyes widening in shock. “You’re not going to give Anne Boleyn’s necklace to Black Dahlia are you?”

Rookwood gave him a sly look. “Why am I not surprised that you recognise it? The goons I sent to steal it had no idea what it was, the fools,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t think our little friend has earned a treat, then?”

“No,” Sebastian huffed. “I don’t trust her one bit.”

Rookwood only smiled, the box disappearing back into his pocket with a subtle turn of his hand. “That makes two of us, my dear boy. Why do you think I insisted you accompany me this evening?”

The tension in Sebastian’s shoulders tightened, but he kept his face as neutral as possible as he shrugged indifferently.

“If Black Dahlia doesn’t tell me what I want to hear, then you get to make use of those delectable Crucio skills of yours, Sallow. I don’t like to be disappointed, and should she let me down, I want to hear that bitch scream before I decide how to punish her. Down here, there is less chance of her being heard.”

“What is it you want her to say?” Sebastian fought back the bile trying to rise in his throat, the memory of almost losing himself the last time he cast the torture spell crowding into his thoughts.

Rookwood smiled that irritating, smug smile of his as he adjusted his coat, standing all expectant as though waiting for something pleasurable to arrive. “Let’s just say I’ve asked our little friend to do some deeper digging about our elusive prisoner. I’m hoping she is as good at finding buried treasure as she is at clever disguises.”

The effort to maintain the tight control over his emotions was almost strangling as Sebastian stood there beside Rookwood, his eyes tight and adrenaline kicking in something fierce, as they waited for Black Dahlia to arrive. If she had pleasing news for Rookwood, then he was going to need to think fast, because under no circumstances could he allow her to say it.

All of that with the potential for an Auror ambush weighing him down, and all Sebastian could do was wait. Whatever happened, Black Dahlia would not be walking out of here with that necklace, not if he had anything to do with it.

MC

It struck her as a little ironic that she was stalking Sebastian Sallow with two Aurors cloaked in the very spell he had taught her to hide herself. She clung to the shadows still, her presence barely a shimmer as she remained a few feet back from Leander and Harrington while they followed the path of the tracking compass. Sticking to more traditional methods and walking, MC felt the tiredness creeping into her legs, not used to so much exercise. It didn’t help that they appeared to be wandering in a circle, and she sighed as Leander paused, frowning as he glanced around the street and back down at the compass.

Harrington leaned forward to get a look. “It’s just spinning erratically. Where the bloody hell is he? I knew this was a bad idea. Sallow is a trickster, make no mistake.”

Disappointment flooded through MC as she bit her lip, fearing that Harrington was right. It worried her that Sebastian had gone too far and she wouldn’t be able to pull him back. It made her fear that she would fall into darkness, too.

She dared to creep closer, pausing beside Leander as she watched the arrow spin. “He should be right here,” she whispered. She glanced up at the buildings around them. “Do you think he could be above us?”

“Bloody hell, you’re a genius,” Leander said, his face brightening. “Maybe not above us, but what about below. In the tunnels.”

Harrington clapped him on the shoulder, nodding firmly. “You’re right, lad,” he said. “Time to go back underground again. Stay close, little bird, and stay out of sight.”

Both her arms and legs were aching now as she climbed down a ladder, shivering as her hands grabbed at the cold iron. Leander had gone first, checking the lower tunnel out as she descended, Harrington waiting above. Descending into a dark tunnel didn’t exactly inspire much excitement, if anything she was pressing down on tendrils of dread, flashbacks of dark stone and the distant crashing of waves making her chest tighten. She was near the bottom when she felt warm hands grazing against her thighs, gently sliding upwards to cup her hips and help her down. This time her shiver wasn’t because of the cold.

“Careful, there is water down here,” Leander murmured close to her head.

“I’m surprised you could see me,” she whispered, turning to face him, only the barest glimmer suggesting she was even there.

“Lucky guess,” he smiled, his hand caressing up over her waist. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. Staring up at his face, she allowed some of her guard to slip knowing he couldn’t see her expression, her face soft and her eyes burning at the feel of his hand at her waist.

Anxious about what might happen down here, to him, to Sebastian, worried about herself being discovered too soon by Rookwood, she took this stolen moment before Harrington arrived to savour being this close to Leander before she had to step away. She reached up, her fingers ghosting across his jaw, her thumb grazing his lower lip.

“Don’t get hurt, alright?”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me,” he whispered, his eyes searching the space where her head should be as he placed his hand over hers. “Leave the worrying to me, MC. I’ll be fine.”

The ladder shuddered behind them, and they moved away, parting from each other as Harrington huffed his way to the tunnel floor. MC moved back from them both, her fingers grazing against Leander’s once more. She did worry for him, it tightened her chest, the fear of losing him so very real as she stared down the length of the tunnel. She hated to admit it, but she agreed with Harrington. She had a bad feeling about this.

Sebastian

Black Dahlia and her brown eyes remained the same irritation as ever, her face a vague and plain visage that made him blink with uncertainty if he tried to focus on it for too long, but he could make out the smug smirk that twisted her lips as she stood before them. Rookwood had offered a glimpse of her prize, those brown eyes igniting with greedy excitement before he had snapped the lid shut again, the box vanishing into his coat before she could make any move.

“So, what do you have for me?” Rookwood asked, holding out his hand with a flourish.

Black Dahlia shifted, bowing her head slightly as she cleared her throat, almost rivalling Rookwood in the dramatics department. Sebastian watched her carefully, his stomach tied up in knots and his hand at the ready to aim his wand. There was a tension in the chilly air, he could feel it, tight and hot at the back of his neck.

“As far as any official records go regarding MC, there are very few,” she began. “She lived as a muggle until her arrival at Hogwarts when she was 15.”

Rookwood rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes, yes, we know all that. Get on with it.”

“Well, that’s just it, Mr Rookwood. There are no other files, unless they are buried deep within the archives, or they are inside the Department of Mysteries. I do, however, have some interesting information from the case that will benefit you. Perhaps that will be enough?”

Her eyes dipped greedily to his jacket where the box had disappeared, and Sebastian wrapped his fingers around the handle of his wand. This bitch was about to blow MC’s cover, and all for the hunger over a piece of jewellery she had no damn right to.

“What kind of information?” Rookwood asked impatiently.

She stiffened, her brown eyes darkening as she fixed them on Sebastian. “You dare to draw your wand on me, Sallow? Interesting…”

Sebastian could feel a bead of sweat trickle down behind his ear, his heart thudding double time as he stared at her. The flicker of a memory flashed behind his eyes, an office with paperwork scattering through the air…adrenaline pumping thick and fast, a pair of brown eyes, determined and feline.

“You’re an Auror,” he said calmly, recognition sweeping through him.

She chuckled, waving off his words with a delicate shrug. “Oh, Sebastian. Always trying to outsmart everyone, aren’t you?”

Risking a glance at Rookwood, Sebastian could see the hesitation, the first glimmer of suspicion as he watched them both carefully. Realising exactly who this bitch was, a plan began to form in his mind, especially if Prewett was on his way here. He withdrew his wand fully and aimed at Black Dahlia.

“You’re an Auror,” he said, firmly this time. “You chased me through the warehouse in Glasgow and attacked Miss Rookwood. How do we know there aren’t more Aurors lurking back there in the tunnel waiting for us?”

“Preposterous!” She scoffed, but a flare of panic lit her eyes. She even took a subtle step backwards.

Sebastian stepped forward, his confidence showing on his face. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he taunted. “It was you, wasn’t it. You found me in that office and chased me down the stairs.”

Black Dahlia shook her head but took another step backwards, her eyes turning to Rookwood. “I think your guard dog is losing his Gobstones,” she said, attempting another laugh. Her hand dipped slowly into her robe, clearly going for her wand. “Call him off, or I won’t tell you a thing.”

Before she had a chance to make a single attempt with her wand, Sebastian hit her with a basic cast, hitting her on the hand. She yelped, her wand clattering to the stone floor. As if they had timed it perfectly, Prewett and Harrington appeared in the tunnel behind her.

“Aurors,” Rookwood hissed, his icy eyes narrowing in hatred as he glared at Black Dahlia. “Do what you do best, Sallow.”

In a swirl of black, Rookwood was gone, and Black Dahlia paled as her gaze flicked from Sebastian to her wand on the ground. A slow, and dangerous smirk curved Sebastian’s mouth as he fell easily into a duelling stance. It was time to play.

Leander

Everything seemed to happen so fast, and yet any movement appeared sluggish as though slowed down. Harrington was running, his wand out, Sallow’s name on his lips as the first spells lit up the bricked curve of the tunnel. A woman in a heavy robe had rolled across the ground, snatching up a wand to fire defensive spells towards Sebastian. Leander hesitated for a few seconds, watching in fascination as Sallow attacked her with ferocity, his face livid with hatred. The speed of his movements, and the skill of his accuracy was something to behold.

Harrington cast against Sebastian, but he blocked it easily, firing off a lightning quick Stupify that sent Harrington crashing rigidly into the wall. That unstuck Leander’s feet from where they had been rooted to the spot, and he took off at a run, wand out.

The blast of Sebastian’s next spell lit the tunnel in bright red, the shooting blast cutting through the space with deadly accuracy as it hit the robed woman in her chest. Her cry echoed off the walls as she was thrown backwards, arms and legs flailing outwards, her robe flaring wide before she slammed into solid brick with a sickening crack.

Leander skidded to a stop, his pulse roaring in his ears as he stared, her body dropping to the ground like a ragdoll. She rolled, one arm slipping down into the gurgling rush of water that ran along the side of the tunnel, blood pooling thick and fast under her head and running down to swirl in the dirty stream. Gasping in a breath, he turned to Sebastian.

“What the fuck did you do?” He asked. The question was useless, but it was taking a moment for his brain to catch up with what he was seeing. “Is she…she’s dead.”

“It was going to be her, or me, and I don’t like losing,” Sebastian said, pushing a hand through his hair. He shook his head and shrugged. He gestured towards the dead woman, her glassy eyes staring up at nothing. “There’s your snitch, Prewett. I guess there won’t be any leaks from your office where she is concerned. You might want to check if your colleague is alright. I tried not to hurt him too much.”

Leander glanced at Harrington who was frozen rigid on the ground, but his eyes were pulled back towards the dead woman, a crease appearing on his brow as her face began to change. He moved closer, his palm sweaty around the handle of his wand where he was gripping it too hard. Her brown eyes, frozen in death, looked familiar, her nose moulding into a pretty little curve, her cheekbones becoming graceful and her jawline delicate. Everything being revealed was painfully familiar.

For years, she had worked alongside him, right through their training together, and then taking the desk next to his back at the office. He knew the scent of her perfume, could pick out her laugh in a busy room, and had looked into her eyes on so many occasions when she had indulged in her playful flirting with him. That girl had been vibrant and alive, crackling with energy and so skilled with a wand. This girl, laying on the cold, hard ground, was empty and lost as she stared upwards into the dark.

“No,” he said softly, beginning to shake his head. “No, it can’t be…it just can’t.”

Shock made his breathing turn ragged, his eyes blinking as he tried to deny the familiar face that was emerging from the disguise now fading after her death. He couldn’t deny the truth that was sprawled on the ground at his feet, her blood flowing into the dirty water, her face already pale and lifeless. It was Odessa. She was the snitch. This whole time, she had been playing her game, and he had been the fool to fall for it.

Sebastian

Guilt was a strange creature. He had felt it many times over the last few years, the bone gnawing horror of it, the sickening pull that made you nauseous, the tormenting dreams that came to taunt you in the small hours. Everyone always said that the first one was the worst, and his first killing had been a horrific, heart wrenching incident that had torn his family apart. It had almost destroyed him, taken his girls from him, and he still woke up sweating from nightmares. There had been others since then, his arm a decorated memorial to lives taken by his hand, and it really didn’t get any easier. Those who said that it did were liars.

The tunnel was eerily quiet, the trickling rush of water a constant sound that was occasionally accompanied by the distant rumble of a train. He could hear the thud of his own heart pulsing in his ears, that cold sweat on the back of his neck making him shiver as he watched Prewett see the unveiling of their office snitch. He wouldn’t say he had ever cared much for the tall Gryffindor, but the expression on his face brought a lump to Sebastian’s throat regardless. Clearly, he had known her. Maybe he was even close to her. The betrayal on Prewett’s face was heavy and painful to witness.

Looking down at Black Dahlia, her face now revealed exactly who he had suspected her to be. It was the Auror that had chased him in Glasgow. He wished he could regret killing her, but despite the guilt and the new mark he would need to brand into his arm, it was for the best. He had stopped her from spilling any information about MC, and Rookwood was none the wiser for a while longer.

Leander turned, his freckled face flushed red as he made a furious grab for the front of Sebastian’s coat. “What is it with you, Sallow? You always have to go too far, don’t you? You didn’t have to kill her! Look at her!”

Sebastian wouldn’t look, he didn’t need to. He would never forget her face, he never did with the ones he killed. He grabbed at Prewett’s wrists, surprised again at how strong he was as they struggled against each other.

“If you’re looking for an apology, you’re going to be very disappointed,” he said, grunting as he found himself being forced backwards, his boots scraping on stone. “I did you a favour, Prewett. She was a dirty snitch.”

“Bastard,” Prewett hissed, shoving him hard and making him stumble.

Immediately, Sebastian aimed his wand, but gasped in shock as two hands clamped around his arm, fingers digging in like claws. A shimmering shape began to solidify, his eyes widening and his lips parting in disbelief as a familiar face came into view.

Healthier than the pensieve memory he had seen, but still pale, MC glared up at him with eyes blazing. He knew those eyes, he dreamed about them all the time, and now she was finally here before him. He stared at her, the fight draining out of him immediately.

“MC,” he croaked, a dizzying and overwhelming rush of joy sweeping over him.

“Don’t hurt him,” she warned, her mouth set in a familiar, determined line.

Time seemed to dip out of existence as they stared at each other. It was hard to believe that she was actually standing there, that those fingers gripping his forearm were hers. Sebastian couldn’t tear his gaze from her. He was too scared to in case she disappeared.

He slowly lowered his wand, his eyes devouring the lines of MC’s face, sweeping down over her slight frame that was hidden by a long, dark robe. He opened his mouth to say something, but his mind had gone blank, he couldn’t find the words, and a simple ‘hello’ just didn’t seem right given the circumstances. His hand lifted, reaching out as if to touch her, but she let him go and stepped back.

Was that a flicker of fear in her eyes? She recovered herself quickly, her face becoming almost indifferent as she made to walk away, but he had seen something that almost crippled him.

This wasn’t how their reunion was supposed to play out. He had imagined this moment for years, ached for so long to be this close to her, and yet she felt further away than ever.

“Wait,” he begged, his hand grasping at her sleeve. She paused, that flash of vulnerability there, and then gone again as she stared at him.

“You should have stayed hidden, little bird,” Harrington said, shaking off the effects of being stupefied as he came to stand beside Prewett. “Step away from Sallow, now. He’s going down for murder. Quite the pair you two make, taking out Aurors like it means nothing.”

Both Aurors had their wands at the ready, and Sebastian was a wanted criminal. He had taken down one of their own right in front of them, no matter that she was a dirty snitch. He had still killed her. He tightened his grip on MC’s sleeve. Nobody was going to take her away from him. Not again.

“I know I should have stayed hidden,” she said, her chin lifting in that stubborn way of hers. It felt so good to see it, he almost smiled.

Prewett held out his hand towards her, and to Sebastian’s horror, she moved forwards. Refusing to let her go, Sebastian tugged her back, her gaze swinging back to him in alarm. Panic seized him. Why would she go to Prewett so willingly?

“Let her go, Sallow,” Prewett warned, a desperate edge to his voice.

MC turned to look at Prewett, her face softening in a way that Sebastian yearned for. “It’s alright, Lee. He won’t hurt me,” she said.

Sebastian felt that curling, hideous twist of envy solidify in his stomach as he watched them both. The look that passed between them was far too intimate for his liking, and he most certainly didn’t like the way she had shortened Prewett’s name. That screamed familiarity, and it sent a shard of ice through his chest.

“I would never hurt you,” Sebastian murmured, his voice hoarse. The haunted look she gave him tore him to shreds.

“Let her go, boy,” Harrington pressed, his eyes determined as he aimed his wand.

Four years ago he had been a broken teenage boy, and Harrington had come for MC, tearing her from his arms and dragging her away in nought but her nightgown. He hadn’t been able to stop it, and while he might still be that broken boy deep inside sometimes, his outer layers had become thicker and stronger over the years, and he had promised to himself that he would never let anyone take those that he loved away from him ever again.

This time, it was him Harrington wanted, but the stakes were the same.

Pulling MC towards him, he wrapped his arm firmly about her waist as her back hit his chest, her breath leaving her in a gasp. He saw the panic flare in Prewett’s eyes, the desperate way he reached out for her, but MC was his, she always had been. He held her tight and fixed a destination in mind. In a blink, they were gone from the tunnel, Prewett’s protest ringing in his ears.

They hit the dirt and rolled, cold night air stinging his face as he winced at the impact, but he didn’t let MC go. He felt as well as heard her gasping breaths, her body tiny and frail under the press of his arms, but she caught him by surprise. Her hands flailed and she bucked against him, slapping out at him wherever she could land a blow.

“What…did you…do?” She wheezed, thrashing like a wildcat. “Bastard!”

Her hands continued to hit out, but they were like tiny birds against the firm bulk of his chest. He scrambled to catch her arms, grunting in surprise as her fist landed with a smack against his jaw. As she hit him, she screamed through gritted teeth, her eyes wild and rolling as though she was in pain. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he feared that if he let her go, she would Apparate immediately, and he did not want that to happen. Grabbing her wrists, he rolled them both, pinning her arms above her head into the carpet of dirt and leaves.

“Will you stop? I’m not going to bloody hurt you,” he snapped.

Looking down at her, a jumble of emotions burst through him, pride at the fire she still possessed, joy at the sight of her beautiful face, and burning desire to feel those lips crushed against his. He had fucking missed her!

“Let me go,” she hissed, lifting her head and kicking her legs against the ground.

“No,” he said simply, his mouth curving into a smile. “I’ve waited a long time to see you, darling. If you think I’m going to let you go so easily, then you’re mistaken.”

He should have been ready when he saw the way her jaw tightened, the barest glimmer of her ancient magic searing the edges of those gorgeous eyes. Her knee slammed upwards and he groaned, relinquishing his hold on her and slumping sideways. She shoved him to his back and was instantly on him, her knees straddling his waist, her hands wrapped around his thick neck.

The little minx had winded him, his ribs expanding as he tried to catch his breath, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. Even though he felt the tight grip of her hands around his throat as he tried to swallow.

“That’s better,” she said, puffing from the exertion of their tumble. Her eyes roamed over his face and that flicker of vulnerability appeared in her eyes again, just before it was shielded with fierce determination. “You and I need to have a little chat, Sallow.”

He stared up at her, trying to remember the last time he had felt this happy. He didn’t even try to remove her hands from his throat. He lifted his arms above his head, hands open in a move that was uncharacteristically submissive. His mouth curved into another smile that reached his eyes.

“I’m all ears, sweetheart.”

To be continued…

Taglist: @eternalremorse and @slytherin-paramour for being angels. My lovely readers @evaslytherpuff @writing-intheundercroft @marketfreshfics @ravenbronze @loving-him-was-red13 @sevprince-91

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Length of Years: A Rapunzel Retelling

The woman in the tower brushed her hair. It had long ago turned white, and had grown to cover most of the floor in her little stone room. She braided it with lightning speed, her gnarled fingers confidently completing the familiar task.

Her gaze wandered through the chamber filled with the works of a lifetime. Tapestries she'd woven. Books she'd read and written. Dresses she'd designed. Plants she'd carefully tended until flowering vines framed her one window to the outside world. Evidence of arts she'd mastered, skills she'd developed--once sources of pride and joy, and now simply the remains of an empty life.

Now that her mother was dead, what did she have to live for? She'd sacrificed her life out of loyalty to the woman who'd given her everything; she'd never dreamed that someday she'd be the one left alone. This tower room had been her world; now that world seemed pathetically small. A dismal showing for so many decades.

She sang to banish the thoughts--song was her only weapon in her war against the hostile silence. The song was a light ditty from her younger years, about a bird in a cage, flying free. She'd sang that song often, once upon a time, to an awestruck audience. The only visitor this tower had ever held.

Unbidden, he appeared before her mind's eye. Young. Strong. Dark-haired. Square-jawed. With scarred hands and a dimpled chin and laughing eyes. He'd come to see her, day after day, and filled her world with a joy she'd never before known.

He'd asked her to leave with him; she'd refused, for Mother's sake, again and again, until he'd spoken so abusively against Mother that she grew offended for her sake, and told him to leave and never return. He'd obeyed her wishes, as he always had, and now she had nothing left of him but memory and regret.

She sang all the stronger as the memory turned to sorrow. She'd had her chance and thrown it away. Time had devoured any hope she'd ever had. What was the use of wishing otherwise? She was, and would be, now and forever, alone.

Even the song couldn't change that, so she stopped singing.

And in the silence, she heard a voice.

"Rapunzel! Rapunzel!"

An illusion. A hallucination. A phantom voice conjured by an abundance of memory and solitude and a lack of anything else.

The voice persisted. "Let down your hair!"

The voice was weaker than the one she remembered. Graveled. Worn. Aged.

But beneath it all, a familiar tone that brought her mind back to a time when she was fair-skinned, golden-haired, slender, willowy and oh-so-young.

She raced to the window with a speed she hadn't been capable of in years. Her joints creaked as she leaned far out the window, clinging tightly to the ledge to maintain her delicate balance as she looked down.

At a man in well-worn travel clothes marked with the royal coat of arms.

"I heard your singing," he said.

His hair was shorter than she remembered, gray and frazzled but still remarkably thick. His square jaw had grown jowls, his face had grown lines, his eyes had grown dimmer. But his smile as he gazed upon her was as bright as the one she saw in her memories each night.

With a bow that was slower but no less elegant for the passing of years, he asked, "My lady, might I ascend?"

With a joy she hadn't known she could ever possess, Rapunzel gathered up her endless white lengths of braid and let down her hair.

**

The climb took longer than Rapunzel remembered, but at last her visitor reached the window, and Philip Peregrine Bertram, prince of Whitbay, entered her chambers once more.

He bent double as he caught his breath. "Has your window always been that high?"

"It hasn't moved," Rapunzel said.

And neither have I.

Philip heard the unsaid and more valuable words. His gaze, when he stood straight and looked at her, held the compassion she'd always admired. "I heard of your mother's passing."

"It was very sudden." Mother had collapsed in the middle of a conversation, just after a climb up the tower in the rain. Rapunzel had buried her body beneath the stones of the tower's lowest level.

"My sympathies," Philip said.

He was the first to offer them, in all these weeks. Despite the hatred Rapunzel knew he had for her mother, she knew his words were genuine.

That, more than anything, brought the tears to her eyes. "Thank you."

Philip offered a handkerchief, which she took without shame. "Do you have food? Supplies?" he asked.

Rapunzel nodded, glad for the switch to more practical matters. "There are garden boxes here in the tower, and a boy comes every week with supplies."

"And you've stayed?"

She shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go."

No one else to go to.

He heard these unspoken words, too, and his face, as he sighed, seemed to age another ten years. "Rapunzel," he breathed. "I am so very sorry."

His voice held such depth of regret that she knew he apologized for far more than her mother's passing.

Despite herself, Rapunzel's words of response sounded far younger than the girl he had known. Like a child's--small, delicate, broken, plaintive. "Why did you never come back?"

"You asked me not to," Philip said. "And I had my pride. I might have returned, when my temper cooled, but then there were the wars, the diplomatic missions, the voyages, the marriage treaty, the children..." He sat wearily on her window ledge. "By the time life slowed down, I assumed you'd long ago moved on, and it would have been disloyal to seek you out. I only came to the village by chance and heard the locals speaking of the woman in the tower. Then I came to the woods and heard your song..."

He trailed off as he gestured to the room around them.

"I see," Rapunzel said, though she could barely even imagine it. An entire life full of war and travel and conflict and change happening quickly enough to obscure the passage of time, while she'd stayed here in the same set of rooms as the long, slow seconds marched lazily by.

"Did no one else ever come to the tower?" Philip asked, sounding almost desperate to hear some hint of joy from her life.

"No one," Rapunzel said simply. "Mother made certain of that."

Philip's jaw clenched, and there was a spark of the old fire in his eye, but he did not speak ill of the dead.

"I never mentioned you to her," Rapunzel said, "but she must have been suspicious--I wept so often in the weeks after our argument. She set barriers and traps in the woods after that. Spread rumors that I was mad and violent. The only outsiders who ever came were the boys who delivered supplies, and Mother always hired slow-witted lads who didn't ask questions."

"And..." Philip swallowed back some emotion. "And she was your only company?"

"She was never unkind to me," Rapunzel said, for she hadn't been, whatever her other crimes. "She made certain I never lacked anything I wanted."

"Except for freedom."

Rapunzel shook her head softly. "For a long time, I wasn't sure I wanted that. If I left, how could you find me? And by the time I believed you'd never come, I knew enough of the world to know I was safer here."

"Friendship, then."

"I did want that," Rapunzel admitted. "You don't know how much." Her fists clenched and her words quavered. "Sometimes, I thought it would break me."

Philip rose to his feet and caught her hand between his. "But it didn't," he said, with soft reassurance.

"Not yet."

"It won't," he said, with the firm compassion of age. "Not while I live." He raised her hand between their faces and looked deep into her eyes. "We've lost so many years, Rapunzel. I can't begin to atone for what you've been denied, but I can make certain that you're denied it no more. Come with me. Leave this place."

Rapunzel felt as though the tower had crumbled beneath her, leaving her no firm place to stand. It was more than she had dared to hope for, not for years and years and years. "How can I?" she whispered. "Your wife and family..."

"My wife passed nearly ten years ago. My children won't deny me the comfort of your friendship."

She gazed out the window toward a distant world glowing with a purple sunrise. "It's been too long," she said. "Too much life wasted. So little time ahead."

Philip's eyes, when she looked back at him, were as bright as those of the boy she'd once known. "Then we'd best not lose another minute."

**

Her head felt impossibly light. Her hair felt strange where it brushed against her shoulders. She secured the long, long braid to the pulley outside her window, then let down her hair one last time.

Philip secured her in the braid like a harness, and slowly lowered her to the ground. When her feet were firmly on the grass--it was so much softer than she'd imagined!--he climbed down and landed beside her.

Philip took her hand in his. "Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded, too full of joy to speak.

"We'd best be on our way, then."

With her face toward the sunrise and her hand wrapped in his, Rapunzel strode forward and left the tower behind.

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 12

Warnings: Banite marriage is very much a powerful imbalance between two people, Enver is very much for that. This bit gets really into his thoughts on his relationship with you and what it will be like. This is not a healthy relationship, but the reader is low-key kind of into that.

Minors do not read or interact. This space is not for you.

Your parents didn't even bother coming with you this time. The wedding was two weeks away, why bother? They sent you in a carriage, and you rode to Enver's estate alone. He was waiting in the parlor, casual reading over the paper as you walked in. He didn't stand for you, simply folded his paper and put it away.

You sat across from him, waiting as a servant poured you each a cup of Earl Grey, adjusting your cup to your preferences of milk, honey, sugar, or cream. Then the servant left. You turned to Enver, raising an eyebrow. "You keep Banites as servants?"

He chuckled, "Clever girl. It's easier to have my home staffed by my underlings from the temple. Otherwise I'd regularly have to dispose of servants who overheard something private."

You tensed a bit at the word disposed, and his eyes softened. "I won't expose you to that, you know."

"To what?"

"The rougher side of my work." Enver explained. "The Temple of Bane, the seedy side of the political game, none of that."

"I don't like being in the dark about things." You protested.

"It's better if you don't know." He said simply. "Trust me to handle things on my end, and focus on your duties. Running my estate, maintaining relationships with certain noble families, and-"

"Bearing your seed?" You added.

He hesitated, "Yes. And not interrupting me."

You looked at him, a bit confused. "Sorry?"

"A Banite marriage is not a partnership." Enver said, his voice once again taking on a gentle tone that bordered on condescending. "I will provide for you, and you will obey me. I don't want you grovelling at my feet, or flinching from my touch, nothing of that sort. But I expect respect-"

"And yet won't give it." You snapped.

Enver took a deeper breath than usual, before continuing. "I will respect you as my wife. Not as an equal. I am far beyond what you know of me, and treating you as an equal is simply... Well, laughable."

You looked away from him at that, staring down at your hands. He continued. "You won't even notice it, I can guarantee that. You'll live a stress free life in my estate, you'll have whatever your heart desires within reason, a monthly allowance, enough duties to make sure you aren't bored. I don't want a miserable wife, you know. I like you happy, smiling."

He reached over, his hand resting over one of yours on your lap. His hands were so unlike the hands you were used to. The hands of your family and friends were all soft, filed, and lotioned. The result of a life of leisure, or at least a lack of manual labor. Enver's hands had rough calluses, little scars around his finger tips from fire or hot metal. His hands told a story of hard work and pain.

You looked up, his dark brown eyes searching yours for something. Submission, probably.

"Just obey me." He says gently. "Do that for me, and I'll take care of everything else."

You wish this decision was difficult. You really did. You wish you were the kind of woman that would jump up from her chair, toss her tea in his face, shout at him that she would not be controlled, and storm out. Hold her head high as she walked away from... From everything you wanted.

You take your free hand, placing it over his hand, sandwiching it between both of yours now. "... I'll obey you."

He smiles, a genuine smile. "Thank you. Don't think that I don't appreciate the trust you're showing me. It means very much to me."

His hand squeezes yours, "Now... About the ceremony. We'll have a normal ceremony for the nobility and the citizens of The Gate. Something tasteful and normal. But the ceremony that matters will happen later that evening."

His hand pulls away from yours, putting a few little things from the tray of snacks on your plate. Small finger sandwiches, a few macarons, some sliced fruit. "Eat, you look pale."

You reach, your hand trembling just slightly as you took the sandwich and nibbled on it.

"Good girl." He says, his voice noticeably lower than usual. You try to ignore what that does to you, the fluttering in your gut, the rapid beating of your heart. "After we are married in the eyes of the people, we will say we are retreating to my estate for our wedding night. We will be going to the Temple of Bane."

He puts an empty glass in front of you, filling it with a few cucumber slices and water. "Drink."

You don't hesitate, picking up the glass and sipping.

"Once at the Temple, we shall perform a ritual for Bane to bless your womb."

It was a good thing you had drank water, otherwise your mouth would have gone dry. "I... My womb?"

"So that our children have his blessing from birth." Enver clarifies.

"... I'd rather my children have a choice in that." You say softly, your voice more of a whisper.

"Children don't choose their parents." Enver says firmly. "And my children will have the Chosen of Bane as a father. Their lives will have his influence one way or another. His Iron Fist will aid them all their lives, as will my guiding hand."

"I don't suppose there's... Any way I could change your mind?" You ask, a slight crack in your voice. You had no children yet but the idea of this ritual felt like sentencing them to a life of tyranny before they were even born.

Enver's hand was on yours again, squeezing reassuringly. "No. Trust me, I would not do anything harmful to my children."

"I don't know you." Was the strongest protest you could muster. "I don't know how you'd treat your children."

Enver pauses a moment, considering your words. "Do you consider your childhood a happy one? No complaints of abuse or neglect?"

"Not abuse." You say. "My father is a distant man, and that was often something that hurt me. My mother was always there though."

"And yet your mother is the Banite, something your father still is ignorant of." Enver says. "Your mother's womb was not blessed by Bane, but she worshipped him your entire life. His influence was everywhere in your life, was it not?"

Enver's hand raises to your face, holding your child between his thumb and pointer finger to guide your gaze to his. "Then you have no reason to fear the influence of Bane. Our children will be pushed to succeed, yes, but I will not abuse them, sweet one."

"She was strict." You admitted, thinking back on your childhood. "Well, strict when it came to school. Otherwise she was quite reasonable."

His mouth quirks upwards in a half smile. "Seeing you so protective of them before you've even had your maidenhead taken is adorable."

A furious blush creeps over your face, and you have to rip away from his hand, drinking more water. "I... Don't say things like that."

"I think you've forgotten who gives the orders here." Enver says, half joking. "I like your cheeks flushed."

You groaned, "Just... Not in public, please?"

Enver nods, his face calm. "No worries. That expression is just for my pleasure. No one else needs to see it."

Some silences passes, the time filled with Enver ordering you to eat and drink more, before he continues. "When the ritual to bless your womb is done... Obey everything I say. I cannot tell you what the ritual is, I can reveal nothing about it. You must not fight me, nor try to run. There will be consequences if you do."

You fidget a bit in your seat, your fingers fiddling with a bit of lace on your sleeve. "... Will it hurt?"

His eyes hold no pity. "Yes."

"Will it scar?"

"I cannot say more." He said firmly. "I shouldn't have even told you it would hurt."

"Why did you?" You ask. What made the Chosen of Bane break the rules of his god?

A quick and easy smile flashes on his face. "You trust me. I enjoy that."

The rest of the afternoon passes, you and Enver chatting about books, magic, and current events. You tell him stories of your childhood and he avoids talking about his.

When it's time for you to go, he walks you to the front door, his cane in his right hand and your hand in his left. "You could stay the evening. My chef makes a delightful roasted duck."

"Don't be improper." You say, a giggle escaping you. "You can wait two weeks."

"I have guest rooms." He offered, his hand seeming to not want to let yours go. "We needn't share mine."

"Certainly not." You say firmly. He sighs, walks you to your carriage, and kisses your hand.

"What a cruel wife I will have." He says teasingly. "Denying me her company."

[petertingle-yipyip]

WORLD CLASS SINNER - FRANK CASTLE

one - deja vu

tags: n/a two // masterlist // MAD AT GOD (DD CANON)

welcome back to the MAG universe! this time around we are rolling through the Punisher series. i’m so excited to develop her friendship with Frank and see what happens between her and Billy!

Pairing: Billy x Livia (casual), Frank x Livia (platonic)

Word Count: 5, 728

Summary: Being back in the Kitchen almost immediately pulls her back into a fight. But without Matt, what has she become?

You moved over quickly, using Luke as footing to jump from after he knocked her into a short spin so she faced away from you. You moved in a fluid motion to connect the wires between your wrists as you hooked one leg over her shoulders and jammed the other against her spine. You leaned forward enough to get the wire across her throat before you dropped to land on your feet.

She was quick to flip her sai in her grip and slam it through your thigh. Your leg buckled and she used the chance to free herself, spinning to slam her foot against the side of your head. You fell to your back with a wet thump and you pushed to your elbows, craning your neck to see her weapon skewering your thigh. The red stained tip poked through and any movement sent a sharp pain through your body, eminating deep within your bone. She dared to move closer and you kicked the opposing foot against her chest.

Once that foot landed back on the ground, the pain on the other side made you cry out. You managed to drag yourself to your feet and stood unsteadily, hopping on your good leg to try and maintain balance. You reached awkwardly behind yourself for your staffs, having to connect them quickly and use them as a cane for the moment.

“You’ll die down here with us.” Elektra’s voice taunted you, though she was no where to be seen. “As you should.”

You hobbled in a small circle while you tried to find where the voice was coming from. But there was no one, not even the ghost of footsteps or shuffles to give her away. The rest of your group was gone, as if they never came down with you. Not even the elevator.

Hadn’t they just been there?

The tunnels around you stretched as far as you could see, dripping and collecting small puddles. Your labored breathing filled the silence between drips and you felt something eerily out of place about the whole thing.

“Come on then.” You challenged weakly. A deep breathe before you screamed into the wet darkness. “Come out and kill me!”

“Livia.” He said calmly and you spun so fast you nearly slipped in the water. But when you glanced down to find your footing, you were in a puddle of blood. All of the water had turned to blood. You closed your eyes tightly and shook your head, assuming it was your own mania creeping in, but when you opened them the sight hadn’t changed.

“This is what you wanted.” He used the same eerily calm tone, even as the ground shook beneath your feet.

“You should’ve left.” You said angrily as the drips began to land on your forehead. “You shouldn’t be here, Matt.”

“Then why didn’t you keep him safe?” Elektra appeared at his side, walking around him like a predator taunting her prey. Her fingers trailed along the back of his shoulders.

But even in the dim light, neither of them looked like themselves. They were soaking wet and it looked it was water on their bodies, but it reflected red once it hit the ground. Their skins were tinted blue, cyanotic to match their puffy lips and swollen bodies. Their eyes were hollow, sunken in and hardly even there. Everytime their mouths open, blood spilled. They looked like corpses that had been left at the bottom of the river for months to decay in silence.

“I tried.” You answered but the sound barely registered.

Your eye suddenly stung and when you reached to wipe it, your hand came back with fresh red blood. The scar above your eye, the deep gash your mask left from your fight with Fisk, was now fresh and seeping into your eye. The scar on your cheekbone stained the lower half of your face. Your chest snapped and the cartilage fell loose and the old cracks in your ribs fell open. One by one, old injuries became fresh again and each one felt like a hit to your stamina, to your strength, until you fell back to your knees.

Elektra appeared in front of you now, reaching with a sadistic smile for her sai that still dripped with your blood. You tried to back away but landed against Matt, who moved quickly to pin you to the ground. You struggled against him, but he leaned more of his weight against you and left you flailing and kicking.

“Matt? Matt, what are you doing?” You said in a panic but your own blood filled your mouth.

Elektra twisted the weapon in your leg and you screamed out, a gurggled sound that nearly choked you. You kicked your other foot at her but it moved through her, as if she was never really there.

“You’ll die. Painfully.” She threatened before a second sai appeared in her hands.

She climbed over your body, knees on either side of your ribs as she lined her weapon with the center of your chest. By then you were crying, hair sticking to your face and thrashing your body under her weight. But she didn’t move. Matt didn’t move. Instead, they offered each other wicked smiles before both looking down at you.

“You could’ve saved me, Livvy… Why didn’t you?” Matt asked.

You opened your mouth to answer but before your voice could find you, Elektra’s weapon began to press into your chest.

Breaking the skin earned a whine.

Her jamming the heel of her hand against it to break through your sternum drew a groan.

Her slow, intentional pressure against your heart earned a plead.

“I can fix this.” You tried, barely a whisper above the shattering thuds of collapsing rock.

“If you could’ve…” She said lowly, leaning forward to meet your panicked eyes, dripping blood from her lips. “You would’ve already.”

Your eyes went wide at the wet sound of the sai piercing your heart.

———————————————————————————————————————

You shot up in your bed and a hand instantly moved to your cheek. The skin was clear of blood but covered in a layer of sweat. You felt above your brow and found the same. With a small noise of stress, you threw your comforter back and shuffled to the bathroom. A hand was rubbing the center of your chest, haunted by the tip of Elektra’s weapon.

You flipped the light, squinting through it for a minute until your eyes adjusted. You planted both hands against the countertop and leaned in to see the faint lines of scars around your eye. The subtle discolorations that followed the shape of your mask, permanent memories of your time as a vigilante, of that hole deep inside you that you couldn’t quite fill. Quantico had done very little towards that gaping feeling, that hole somewhere too deep for you reach that felt like it would swallow you everyday.

You thought that FBI training, getting away from the Kitchen, would maybe be good for you. It’d be time to breathe, maybe even grieve. But those words didn’t seem to mean anything to you anymore. It just felt like they were adding to that depth, sucking out any remnants of progress you had made.

Maybe coming home wasn’t going to be any better.

You blew out a sigh and splashed your face with cold water, a contrast to the heat that seemed to live in your blood now. You felt warm, everywhere you went. No matter the temperature outside, you were boiling inside. But if someone were to touch your skin, they’d never know.

That was who you were now. Not Livia. Not even Exodus. You were someone else. Someone with Livia’s memories and tendencies, with Exodus’ mania and skills, but other things were left unaccounted for. Who’s morals did you maintain? Who’s relationships were important?

Who’s heart beat in your chest? Who’s blood was in your veins?

But if you thought about it too long, Matt’s voice would creep into your thoughts. Random things he had told you throughout the time you knew him. Empty promises he made to Exodus. Honest sentiment he gave to Livia. The last words you heard him say.

You shoved those thoughts to a deep corner of your mind as you headed back to the living room. The chest in the closet seemed to call out to you. The chest full of boxing memorabilia pertaining to Matt’s father, some of his own collection and some you were able to add for him, one of his bibles, and the false bottom that allowed him to hide his suit.

The suit that would never be there again.

You sighed and shook your head before heading to your bedroom to find clothes for the day. You might as well get ready since you knew your mind wasn’t going to let you sleep again anytime soon.

Wasting as much time as you could, you got ready and headed out into the city. You had been back from Quantico for about a week and you were trying to settle back into the Kitchen, but the nightmare of Midland haunted you every night. It was a little different everytime, sometimes the words they spoke to you changed and once it was Matt that killed you with your own blade, but it always the same premise. The three of you, everything coated in blood, and you died.

It was either your conscious gnawing at you and refusing to let you escape, even in sleep, or it was the universe telling you that death would find you. Either way, it never left your mind.

As you were out, you saw Matt in every face. Everywhere you went, you saw him. You almost called his name a few times until you got a better look and remembered he was dead. It felt like you were losing yourself in the grief, in the hopes that it was all a bad dream. Maybe you were still dreaming?

But then someone bumped your shoulder walking by and you knew you weren’t. Weeks had passed and you still couldn’t fully stomach the fact that he was gone. In your mind, you just wanted him there and he was everywhere but nowhere all at once.

You were wandering your usual streets, fighting through the relentless deja vu, stopping at one of the few lunch spots you missed, and ended up at the only building you thought could help. It was one of the few places you didn’t avoid prior to your time away, and now, maybe it was the only chance to cool the blaze under your skin. To fill the hole.

You walked in with a shaky breath and found Father Lantom outside the confessional, talking to one of the nuns with hushed urgency. But as you approached, he sent the nun away and turned to you with a small but welcoming smile. He gestured to the small, private conversation box and you simply nodded. He stepped inside first and you followed suit into your side about a minute later.

“Good to have you back.” Father Lantom said after a short silence. “How was your training?”

“Good, yeah, it was good.” You answered simply. “Dex said everything went really well so now it’s just waiting for approval or something, I don’t really remember…”

“It was quick.”

“Yeah, it was a specialty.. Accelerated… Accelerated program.” Your eyes fell and you noticed you were wringing your fingers. Since when did you do that? “Look, Father, I don’t know if there’s something I’m supposed to say to start this but…”

“Whatever you need to say, Alivia.” He offered genuinely. “Whenever you’re ready to say it.”

“I keep having this nightmare, Elektra and Matt and me. Under Midland and we all die together… Usually El does it but Matt’s done it too, killed me. And I thought being away would make it easier. But it feels worse… I can’t sleep. I hardly eat. I just feel empty.”

“Have you ever felt anything like this before?”

“When I was younger, when I realized what I was going to have to do in the Red Room. I didn’t feel like a person…”

“Hmm..”

“But then I got out and out of nowhere I meet Matt and suddenly… It was like my heart was beating in my chest for the first time.” You couldn’t fight the sad smile that stretched your lips. “Now, it’s like anytime I think about him, my heart can’t beat. It’s just there, weighing down my chest like a rock.”

“When Matt would first tell me about his night activities, he was so twisted up about some of the things he found.” He spoke carefully, treading a fine line between breaking the seal of confession and finding the details that he hoped would offer you comfort. “Some of the things he had seen, what some people in this town were capable of…”

“People like me?”

“No. He never spoke unkindly about you, even before he knew.”

That seemed to fill the hole a little but the blaze remained.

“Yeah, he wasn’t the type…” You sniffled. “Were you able to help him?”

“What I offered wasn’t the help he needed. I could offer bible verses and quotes to him every day, but he knew them all. He knew the stories and the psalms as easy as he knew his way here.”

“So what’d you say?”

“I told him to listen to his heart, because his had always been good. Angry and hurt, yes, but also good.”

“I’ve never felt this alone.” You spoke, a distance in your voice as you stared at the wood door in front of you. “I’ve been left before, by others and by my own choice. I’ve sabotaged my life to a point where I had to be alone and I’ve sacrificed my lifestyle to protect people around… I don’t want to feel this again.”

“Feeling these kinds of things is what makes us human.”

“Yeah..” You nodded, finding the familiar mental ledge that could take it all away. That could turn it all off so it didn’t matter, that would let Livia rest. All you had to do… Was give her… A little push. “Maybe that humanity is the issue.”

“Guilt is a good thing.. It’s a soul’s call to action, the innate feeling that something is wrong. The only way to rid yourself of it is to correct your mistakes.”

“Correct my mistakes…” You repeated slowly. “I can’t correct this one… Not the way I’d need to. But I know how to get rid of these feelings.”

“Alivia?” He asked quickly and the concern was palpable in his voice.

“Thanks, Father… It’s been nice catching up.”

And with that, you left the church. You took a deep breathe when you stepped out, the crisp New York air hitting you as soon as you stepped out. There was something freeing in that breath. The heat still blazed with every beat of your stoned heart, leaving a trail of warmth through your veins. The hole still lived in your soul but now you fed it, all the sorrow and despair and loneliness was shoved into the hole. It didn’t fill it by any means, but it satisfied it enough that it wouldn’t swallow you whole. It allowed you to live, and for now that was enough.

The rest of your day was relatively uneventful. You went home for a while and did some reorganzing. You cleaned up some of Matt’s leftover belongings that you were unable to touch before. You even started a pile of things that you figured you should donate. Someone else in the Kitchen could probably use some of those suits.

You took down some photos and put them in the closet with his chest. You even took down that painting from the art gallery you bought. It was the red one Vanessa had showed you. You bought it because you had liked it. It made you think of the Man in the Mask and how turbulent your relationship was but now that he was gone, it was just another token of a dead life. So you shoved it away as well.

You cleaned some of the things you had been neglecting and began to feel like you were actually getting some sort of normalcy back. It wasn’t the normalcy that Matt would’ve wanted for you. You could recognize that, but you never expected to have that anyway. You never had the normalcy he wanted for you when he wasn’t around, so you felt no requirement to find it now that he was gone. And maybe you owed it to his memory to live a real life, live a life of peace, but that was never part of you.

It was later that night when you realized what day it was.

Curtis’ support group for veterans.

You were always welcomed there, ever since you started with Anvil. He never made you talk but the option was always there. And you did, occasionally, if only to shut down one of the other guys. There was a certain respect from Curtis that you didn’t find in other people. He knew you were from an ‘elite covert kill squad’ since childhood but he didn’t ask other questions. He didn’t need to know everything to know that you were lost. It was refreshing and you liked to stay after official sessions to talk about whatever you were thinking or feeling.

But glancing at the time, it was too late for that. So you shrugged it off and decided you’d go next time. At least to say hello to an old friend, the least judgemental one you had left. Instead, you decided you’d go to the bookstore and add to your to-be-read collection while continuing to ignore texts from everyone that knew you.

It wasn’t long until alleged vigilantism found it’s way to you. That next morning, stories of an assault at a construction zone hit your ears. Bodies found under fresh concrete with more blunt force injuries than they should’ve had. Then, estimated to be a few hours later, a hit against a prominent crime family.

It had a familiarity to it that you couldn’t quite place, but it gave you an odd sense of comfort. There was the haunt of concern in your bones, as if you worried that there was something left unanswered within you, but Matt took that part with him. When he died, so did that part of you that wanted to do something good. That wanted to help the neighborhood you loved. You liked the fact that someone else was handling it for you, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t vaguely set off an old itch that liked to be scratched. An old manic, sadistic, worrisome itch that could easily spiral to a full blown bloodbath.

So instead, you carried on with your day. You went to the grocery store to refill your fridge and your pantry. You bought some new clothes, more fitting for an FBI agent, and got some plastic totes to put away some of Matt’s things. The things you didn’t want to look at but couldn’t quite bring yourself to get rid of.

While you were out, you decided to stop by an old warehouse. You weren’t even sure if he would be there, but it was the only starting point you had. You knocked lightly on the door before heading inside, watching the corners and dark shadows carefully.

“Melvin.” You called out when you saw the vague shape of a man sweeping in the corner. “I just wanna talk.”

“Whoever you are, I don’t talk.” He said sharply, coming into full view with a wrench gripped tightly in his hands. “Just go on back the way you came and this never happened.”

“We had a mutual friend.” You said simply, lifting your head a little. “Our Man in the Mask.”

“Shit.” He breathed, slowly dropping the wrench. “I uh, heard he’s gone… That true?”

“Yeah. Your suit protected him from a lot but couldn’t withstand a falling building.”

“Shit.” He said again.

“Mmm.” You agreed. “I came to ask you for something. A vest. Clean lines, simple build. Something I can wear daily, under my normal clothes.”

“Guess that makes you Exodus, huh?” He broke into a small smile that didn’t last. “Sorry but I don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I figured… Neither do I, not really. Ever since Red went down, I…” You took a deep breath. “I got a good job lined up, just need a little something.”

He sighed heavily and turned to the ceiling before facing you again.

“I’ll do you a favor, just this once cause your friend always kept his word. But don’t expect anything else.” He said firmly, pointing a finger at you.

“One and done.” You nodded.

“Alright.. Ah jeez, okay. Your measurements the same? Red and black still?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” You looked at your arms and chest. “And uh, no. No red.”

“C’mon.” He guffawed. “You and Daredevil were partners. You don’t want anything to remember him?”

“Just do whatever.” You shrugged. “How much?”

“It’s on me. I never charged your buddy so… Just gimme a day or two. I’ll get you something nice.”

“I appreciate it.” You offered a smile, though you didn’t quite mean it. “Thanks, Melvin.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved you off. “Don’t ask me for nothing. Alright? I mean it.”

“I get it.” You insisted as you backed towards the door. “Looking forward to it.”

Later that day, not long after you had unloaded all of your groceries, a hard knock sounded at your door. You ignored it, assuming it was just your friends coming to see if you were home yet. Either that, some kids screwing around, or it was just someone from your past coming to kill you. Who exactly was out to get you at that point, you weren’t sure, but there were enough skeletons in your closet that hadn’t fallen out yet. So you went about your business until the door flew open and someone rushed in.

Calmly, you grabbed the gun you tucked between the fridge and wall and turned to face whoever was in your apartment. You gripped it comfortably and cleared your throat, seeing them turn with a sharp gasp. Your brows raised expectantly and Karen’s hands shot up instantly.

“God, Livia, you scared me.” She breathed before covering a hand to her chest. “How long have you been back?”

“How often do you come into my apartment?” You asked instead, lowering the gun but not putting it down.

“I just-” She tried to explain but her eyes kept falling to the gun. “Can you put that down, please?”

“Don’t trust me anymore?” You raised your brows before tucking the gun into the back of your waistband. “Answer my question.”

“Has he reached out to you?” She asked instead.

“I’m not playing games, Karen. If you have something to tell me, then spit it out and get out of my apartment. If you only came here to fuck around…”

“Frank.” She said quickly. “Frank’s back.”

“Explains the news.” You tilted your head in acknowledgement. “What’d he come to you for?”

“Something about some Micro, a guy that came after him recently. Knows who he is, that he’s alive.”

“Micro… This guy have a real name?”

“David Lieberman, NSA analyst that is officially shot dead by Homeland Security a year ago.”

“Only he’s not.” You nodded. “Okay. Where’s Frank now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he going after Lieberman?” You closed your eyes and rubbed your forehead, weighing the pros and cons of you getting involved.

“Probably… But Frank said he’s a- He’s a spook. How would he find him?”

“Well, he wouldn’t go for him directly, but someone that knows him or is relevant to him just might work to draw him out. What other names did you work out?”

“Carson Wolf got the whole story cut, could be something there.”

“Probably.. Name sounds familiar.” You felt the scales tilting back and forth in your brain. “Why did you come and tell me about this?”

“Because I-” She hesitated, as if she had just noticed your reaction. “He doesn’t really seem like he wants me involved.”

“So you want me to go run into a fight I know nothing about?” You dropped your hand against your leg with a smack and opened your eyes. “Don’t you think if Frank wanted my help, he would’ve came to me himself?”

“Maybe he didn’t know where to find you.” She offered, clearly searching for anything to convince you.

“Or maybe he didn’t care enough to find me.” You countered with a shrug. But seeing the desperation in her eyes, feeling the plead in her bones, you sighed heavily. “I’ll think about it… I’ll look into Lieberman, maybe there’s a wife or siblings or something. And this Wolf guy, I think I heard his name around Quantico so I guess I can pull some strings in that direction.”

“Thank you.” She let out a sharp exhale, as if she had been holding her breath for your response. “Have you told Foggy you’re back?”

“No.” You turned away to busy yourself in your kitchen. “Haven’t told anyone.”

“I’m sure he’d love to see you.” She tried gently. You noticed the hesitation in her words and realized she was walking on eggshells, completely unsure of how stable you were. “Or at least hear from you.”

“The last conversation we had was an argument.” You admitted, though your voice lacked the remorse it should’ve had and it was too late to add it in now. “And he flinched away from me… He told me that if I wanted to get myself killed, I was more than welcome to as long as I didn’t try to blame anyone other than myself for it.”

Her mouth opened and closed in silence, like she was chomping at the air while she tried to find a response. Finally, her voice found her and it was the same response you expected.

“He had to have still been in shock.”

“He had more than enough time to get over it.”

“I know he wouldn’t say that to you and mean it.” She reasoned.

“Yeah, just like Matt never would’ve said half of what he said to me during the Castle trial, right?” Your brows raised in accusation and you saw her expression drop. “Yeah, sometimes pain or shock bring out what people really mean.”

“Livia-”

“Doesn’t matter.” You cut in firmly. “Next time you see Frank, ask him if he wants my help. In the meantime, I’ll poke around and start building some intel.”

“Thanks.” She forced a tight smile. “And I’ll talk to Foggy, if you want me to.”

You simply shrugged.

“He’s one of your best friends, isn’t he?” She asked gently, scared for what your answer would be.

“Most of the people I’ve called friends have grown to hate me for one reason or another… I guess I always knew I’d add Foggy to that list one of these days.” You answered flatly.

“C’mon, Livia.” She tried again.

“Better that than dead… You can go now.”

With a small gesture of defeat, she left. And you wondered if you were going to regret getting involved.

Some quick research into Lieberman showed he did leave a family behind, a wife and two kids. You had no intentions of hurting them but should there be a need, you had blackmail material. He was allegedly shot dead by Homeland after resisting arrest. There was nothing about why he was wanted by Homeland, nor was there anything about his career. But he was NSA, so there should’ve been something other than a passing mention.

That all just meant someone wanted it to go away, and that someone was likely this Carson Wolf character.

You thought about going over to the address you could find for Sarah Lieberman but you assumed Frank would’ve been there already. And two unfamiliar visitors in one day would’ve triggered some sort of concern in the wife, who you had to assume was helping hide her undead husband until you knew otherwise. Instead, you wrote down the address and looked into Carson Wolf. You found that he was one of the higher ups at Homeland Security. It was an interesting connection that you’d have to poke at later.

With a little digging, you also found some information on the construction site incident. There was a feature on the company’s webpage about a new employee, which was asterisked as inactive the day after the bodies were found. There was no picture on the page but you could only assume that Pete Castiglione was the one and only, Frank Castle.

You decided to get out of the house and headed out to get something to drink. You passed by Josie’s and thought about going in. But when you reached the door, you were hit with one of many memories of you and Matt in that place so you had to pass. You passed other bars as you wandered and none really seemed inviting. Eventually, your feet grew tired of aimlessly moving so you settled on a bar you had been to with Billy a few times. Low and behold, Billy was already there.

You felt his eyes following you as you passed by, taking a seat at the bar a few seats down. You ordered your drink and when it came out, you spun the liquid around the glass, listening vaguely to Billy talking about his service and Frank.

The woman kept asking questions pertaining to Frank and their conversation held your interest. Without making it obvious, you noted what she was asking.

Did he get dirty? Could he have been involved in drugs over there?

But why ask questions about a dead man? Who was she?

The gears in your brain were turning when you heard Billy’s question.

“So you’re single?” He asked, clear flirting in his tone. Your head cocked slightly and your brow raised, noticing he was already looking at you for a reaction. He laughed and tilted his bottle towards you but you simply smiled and shook your head.

He went back to his flirting and you rolled your eyes slightly at his next remark. But you did hear a name.

Special Agent Madani.

You could tell she was either going to be one hell of an obstacle or one hell of an ally.

You watched her leave and then decided to slide into her seat.

“Billy Russo, always the player.” You teased with a sly smile and he grinned. “How’ve you been? Lonely?”

“Livia Yersova.” He said happily. “And here I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Well, Quantico was fun but I got bored.” You shrugged playfully. “Knew everything they wanted to teach me.”

“Yeah, I bet you did..” He nodded, never dropping that sly smile. “Bet you made one hell of an impression too.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Yes, you do… Y’know, I missed you.”

“You did not.” You scoffed lightly, gesturing to the bartender for a second drink. “Judging by your latest visitor.”

“Ah, I see what this is.” He chuckled. “You’re jealous.”

“In your dreams, Russo.” You rolled your eyes with an amused smile. “Who was that anyways? She was asking a lot of questions…”

“Dinah Madani.” He answered simply. “Homeland agent that brought a team through Anvil earlier.”

“Homeland, huh?” You turned towards the door even though she was long gone. “Interesting…”

“Why?”

When you didn’t answer, he reached for your chin and turned your face towards him.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” His eyes darted between yours as he tried to figure you out, but you knew he never would. Not in any way that would mean anything.

“Just curious why a Homeland agent is asking about a dead man is all…” You shrugged. “And it’s a pattern.”

“Oh, it’s a pattern.” He said with a nod, acting as if it explained everything. “What does the pattern tell you?”

“That you like women in power.” You answered plainly. “Me, now in the FBI and everything else I’ve done. Madani, in Homeland with what I would assume is solid standing. Next thing you know, you’re gonna bed a senator.”

“I’ll still come back to my best girl.” He smiled, tapping under your chin with a click of his tongue.

“Yeah, like there was any competition.” You chuckled.

“When’d you get back?” He nodded towards you, decidingly dropping your previous conversation topic.

“Week ago. I thought about coming by, decided not to.” A slight shrug of your shoulder.

“Why not?” He almost sounded hurt.

“Just tired. Needed sound time to settle in.”

“Yeah?” He leaned in slightly and raised his brows. “How about we spend some quality time tonight then, hmm? You got any other plans?”

“Hmm.” The corner of your mouth lifted to a small smile. “I’ll have to check my schedule, Mr. Russo.”

He clicked his tongue and leaned back, wagging his finger at you with an amused smirk of his own. “I missed hearing you say that, pretty lady.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You nodded and sipped your drink.

You spent a little while longer drinking with Billy, catching up and teasing each other playfully. It was almost enough for you to forget what you had been asked earlier that night, to involve yourself in Frank’s latest crusade that he likely expected to cover on his own. Finding Frank would’ve been easy enough if you had a general direction to go in, but where could be? Would he be going after Micro or would he be taunting Micro to go after him again?

If this guy was as much a spook as Karen’s been led to believe, it wouldn’t be easy to draw him out. But knowing Frank, he would find a way to pull him out of his hidey-hole. Which meant you could follow your own leads tonight and potentially meet him, or you could worry about it tomorrow and waste a night with an old fling.

Billy was tempting… And Frank would be fine for one more night, wherever he was.