#thanks for keeping this depraved side of me alive

[sweetm-37]

Merry Christmas to this lesser known part of my world. Thanks for keeping this side of me alive. 🎄🎅✨

[tightjeansjavi]

❆ I’ll have a blue heartache for certain ❆

A/N: thank you to everyone who is sending me requests for things that Joel Miller deserves most in the world <3 this one is VERY angsty, so buckle up 🥲

joel deserves nice things™ ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

~word count : 2.9k~

pairing | Joel Miller x Kansas City informant f!reader

Summary: to Joel Miller, you’re nothing but an informant rat in his eyes.

Warnings: angst, mean old man Joel, morally gray reader, Joel is a bit of a hypocrite, a sprinkle of touch depravity, Ellie is her sweet self, implied age gap but reader is of legal age, grief, humiliation, hurt and comfort, a sprinkle of fluff, small mention of Christmas, allusion to child loss, talk of violence, kinda unrequited feelings, mutual understanding, sorta a happy ending? +18 minors dni!

“I don’t take kindly to strays, let alone fuckin’ rats, sweetheart.”

This was your first interaction with Joel Miller. All muscles, no heart, or so you had perceived him to be. He had a soft spot for the girl that trailed alongside him. You knew this was a fact, and not a matter of opinion.

Regardless, Joel didn’t respect you, but he tolerated you just enough to keep you alive. He didn’t want any business in knowing why you became an informant, but he had no problem calling you a rat straight to your face.

It wasn’t a lifestyle you wanted. It was a choice, but one based around survival. And for a man so brutish, you thought he would understand, empathize with you even. But instead you were met with cold, hardened stares from piercing brown eyes.

Your very existence vexed him and made him question whether he was a hypocrite himself. What difference was there between a man that murdered innocents for survival, and a woman that turned men like him in to save her own skin. He didn’t want the lines to be blurred. He didn’t want to empathize with the likes of you. He refused it.

“You and I aren’t so different after all, Joel.” You tried to reason with him one day during the tireless journey to Wyoming in search of Joel’s younger brother, Tommy.

Ellie was lengths ahead of you and him when he literally slammed on the breaks. His abrupt halt had you nearly colliding right into his back from how quickly he had stopped.

He whipped around, jaw ticked and eyes blazed with fury that you would even dare to compare yourself to him, and he to you.

“You and I are nothin’ alike. I had my reasons, and you chose to take the cheap way out. Don’t think that jus’ cus’ some time has passed out here that I’m suddenly gonna start bein’ nice to ya. You’re a fuckin’ fool if you think that to be true, girl. I will never view you as my equal.”

His words sliced through you like sharpened blades dipped in putrid poison, souring your gut and springing tears to the corner of your eyes. Joel Miller was one mean, mean man. You stood your ground, and he stood his. His eyes flickered when a silent tear rolled down your trembling cheek. He said nothing more on the matter.

“What’s the hold up back there?” Ellie had turned back around when she could no longer hear either yours or Joel’s footsteps close behind her.

Joel responded with a grunt and, “nothin’s the matter.”

You stood there dumbly with your fists clenched tightly at your sides when you tasted the salty residue of your single stray tear. You were angry at yourself for allowing this asshole to make you feel weak. One day Joel Miller would succumb to you. It would just take some time. And as far as you were concerned, there was plenty of it to go around.

The seasons began to change gradually, as they always do, until winter arrived and it was already proving to be a brutal one. Frigid temperatures, ongoing blizzards, treacherous deep snow. These changes that inevitably brought new challenges were visibly beginning to affect Joel more than he was willing to let on. You saw right through his facade. He couldn’t hide from your trained eyes that easily.

As night began to fall the three of you found yourselves situated in a cave near the river. Being this far out in the wilderness was peaceful in a sense. The threat of people was non-existent, and the infected stayed closer to the cities. Out here you could see billions upon billions of twinkling stars in the jet black sky. The northern lights, a natural feat that you had dreamed of seeing as a child. It was even more beautiful than you could ever imagine. Bright, brilliant hues of greens, blues, even some pinks.

You were so lost in a trance of nature’s beauty that you couldn’t feel Joel’s eyes staring you down. Or the way he took notice of your almost childlike wonder at the night sky. In his mind they were just stars. He’d seen plenty of them in his lifetime, sure, but were they really all that impressive?

He shook his head at the thought of humanizing the likes of you. A rat would always be a rat, and not even the damn northern lights could change his opinion on you.

“Ellie,” he gruffly said, “get down from there before you break your neck.” He sternly requested the teen who was also gazing up at the night sky in the same manner as you were.

Ellie let out a huff of air before she climbed down from the rock she was standing on and joined you and Joel by the fire.

“So, I’ve been thinking, let’s say we find the Fireflies, and it all works. They draw my blood and put it through their fancy machines and pop out a cure. Then what? Like, what do we do?”

Joel brought his flask of whiskey to his lips, taking a small swig to help warm him up, and also ease the constant ache in his back. “Didn’t realize there was gonna be a ‘we’ in this scenario.”

Ellie gave him a funny look, one that he raised a brow at. “Okay, fine. What are you doing then?”

In Joel’s mind it was never an option to think about these topics before. Not when his only goal in mind was to find Tommy, deliver Ellie to the Fireflies. From there? He really hadn’t thought about it.

“It’s never been an option for me..” he cleared his throat. “Maybe an old farmhouse, some land..a ranch. That sorta thing I guess.”

Ellie brought her knees up to her chest, scooting herself closer to the fire, closer to him. “Okay, so, old man Joel, some kinda ranch. What kind though?”

He grimaced at Ellie calling him old. He wasn’t that old was he? “Sheep.” His response was flat. “I would raise sheep.”

“Sheep?” Ellie questioned.

“Yep. Sheep. They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

You could feel yourself being drawn into their conversation bit by bit. You knew that Joel’s soft spot for Ellie was rising to the surface bit by bit, day by day.

“Sheep are nice. I mean, they are quiet, sure. But their wool is the best material to make sweaters, blankets—” you were cut off by his stern voice. Slicing you down yet again when you only had wished to be a part of the conversation.

“Ain’t nobody asked for your opinion.” Joel snapped.

“Joel..” Ellie let out a sigh. Her eyes met yours in an empathetic gaze. “Well, what about you? After all of this is said and done, where will you go?”

You ignored him entirely and instead focused all your attention on Ellie and her question. “I haven’t really thought about it either. Suppose that taking the ranch route wouldn’t be so bad. The country life is a peaceful one. Except, I think I’d have some cows..maybe some horses to keep my company.”

“Romantic” Ellie stifled a giggle. “Well, no offense to either of you, but I don’t think ranch life is for me. Sure, it sounds cozy, but all I’ve ever known is the QZ. In front of you there is a wall, and the ocean behind. There’s nowhere else to look but up.”

“Space?” You asked with genuine curiosity.

“Yes! I mean, look at it up there. So much still to be discovered. I read every book I could get my hands on in the school library. Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell.” Ellie responded with pure enthusiasm.

“But you know who my favorite is?” Ellie leaned in close, awaiting both yours and Joel’s replies.

“Sally Ride.” You and Joel said in unison. Your heads snapped towards one another, eyes locking before he cleared his throat and tore his gaze from you.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride! Best astronaut name ever!” Ellie’s voice echoed through the opening of the cave.

“I’ll take the first watch.” You announced while grabbing your rifle from where it laid against one of the rock formations.

Joel was already standing up with his own rifle slung across his shoulder. “I got it.”

“Joel, I’ll take the first and you can take the second.” There was more you wanted to say, but with both his and Ellie’s eyes on you now, you refrained from saying more.

He responded with a curt nod before he made himself comfortable against the cave wall once more.

While you were up on the same rock that Ellie was on earlier, you could hear her and Joel still conversing. The conversation had taken a somber turn when she questioned whether the vaccine would work. Joel reassured her that it would, and Marlene knew what she was doing.

The last thing you heard was Joel telling Ellie to get some sleep and, “Dream of sheep ranches on the moon.”

He let out a frustrated grunt when he couldn’t quite tear through the strip of duct tape that he planned to use as a makeshift patch for his torn soles in his boot. Even the warmth from the fire couldn’t keep his toes at a comfortable temperature for long. The bitter chill was beginning to seep through the cracks of the worn material.

Can’t even fix my fuckin’ boot?

His internal thoughts plagued him. Made him feel weak, unreliable, a failure.

He tossed the roll of duct tape to the side with an irritated grumble. How the hell was he supposed to keep you and Ellie alive when he couldn’t even believe himself?

He refused to look in your direction when he heard the familiar crunching of snow beneath your boots. In his peripheral he saw your hand reach down and pick up the roll of duct tape.

“Need some help?” You asked, crouching down alongside him.

“Not from you.” His jaw ticked, nostrils flaring from the close proximity. It was as if you really were the plague, or some dreadful unnamed poison.

“So you’d rather let your toes freeze?” Your question hung heavy in the air. He reluctantly turned his head to the side. Eyes flitted upwards in brief contact before he scoffed,

“No. I’d rather not let my toes freeze.”

You tore off a strip of tape with your teeth, and only when he gave you the silent nod of approval, did you then assist in taping up his boot.

“If you clench your jaw any tighter, I’m afraid you're gonna end up breaking some teeth.” You murmured quietly. You tore off a few more pieces of tape and secured them around the hole in his boot. He was watching you intently as he tried to piece together your reasons for helping out someone who was so cruel to you. Why not just let his toes freeze and fall off? Why grace him with your kindness?

“Should hold for a few days I reckon.” You placed the roll of duct tape back into his bag while he watched you in silence.

“Look, you don’t have to answer this, but I just want to know the reason.”

“What reason?” He gruffly asked.

You sighed, leaning back against the cold cave wall. Your shoulders could have nearly brushed if it weren’t for how stiff he was sitting.

“The reason why you hate me so much, Joel.”

“Don’t be naive. I already told you that I have no respect for rats. You want me to fuckin’ say it again, huh?” He sneered.

“No. That’s not the reason. You think it is, but it’s not. Not when I know what you are too, Joel.”

“What the hell are y’goin’ on about? You’re an informer. A once FEDRA rat that probably sent god knows how many people to their deaths. People who were just trying to survive. People with families, friends, partners. You’re a selfish coward that only gave a damn about saving her own skin.”

You smiled sadly, resting your head back against the cave wall with your gloved hands between your knees. “And what about my own family that I was trying to keep alive? What about them, Joel?”

He didn’t know what to say. His words were lodged in his throat, trapped there and unable to escape. He never thought about you having a family. People you cared for as much as he cared for Ellie.

“I had a family once, Joel. People who I loved. And I would do anything I could to protect them and keep them alive. My parents were old. My siblings were too young. I was the eldest. Their only daughter that had enough fuckin’ guts to do some terrible, godawful things in the name of love. All for what? I failed them, Joel. I couldn’t keep them alive. Kathleen and her people overthrew FEDRA. Myself and my family were at the top of her list. She butchered them. Made it a public spectacle all because I helped turn her brother in with Henry. Her brother was a good man, he didn’t deserve to die, but neither did my family.”

“So, you can sit there and judge me. Call me a rat, a selfish coward, but then what of you? What do you see when you look into the river and see your reflection? I know what I see, Joel Miller. I see a man who is afraid of his own dark truths. His own skeletons in his closet.”

It felt better than you had expected to get this all off your chest. To tell this man your truth. To tell him the reasons for your actions. To show him that you weren’t so different after all.

He wanted to be angry at you. He wanted to scream, spit out hurtful words to beat you down further. He was a hypocrite all along and he felt humiliated down to his bare bones.

“I’m sorry.” He finally spoke just above a whisper.

“You’re only sorry because I’ve put you into a position where you’ve been forced to humanize me, Joel. You’re not actually sorry. You just feel like you should be.” You shook your head.

“No, that’s..not true. Darlin’, you’re right. You’re right about all of it. You see a man afraid of his own dark truths. I am that man. I’m the man that couldn’t keep his daughter safe. I couldn’t save her and I blamed myself for it everyday since. I couldn’t stop my own brother from losin’ himself entirely. I’m the reason he joined the Fireflies. He wanted to make a difference in the world, and I wanted to destroy it. All of it. I’ve got more blood on my hands than you could possibly ever imagine. I hate you because I hate myself.” He admitted.

“And yet I don’t hate you, Joel. I should, but I don’t. I can’t. I can’t hate someone who I see myself in. The ugly bits of survival, the bloodshed, the sacrifice. It’s all the same. We’ll do anything for the ones we love. It doesn’t make you and I monsters. No matter what our minds tell us what we are, we know the truth. We are all just people.”

Joel swallowed the visible lump growing in his throat. He could feel tears begin to prick the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away. His fists clenched at his sides. His breath shuddered when he felt your warm palm encasing his wrist. His head snapped in your direction from the contact. Brows furrowed, lips parting, eyes wide like a deers.

“It’s okay, Joel.” You whispered.

He finally wept. Ugly, snot filled silent sobs that wrecked through his entire being. And you were still there alongside him. His tears were finally allowed to freely fall, and you didn’t judge him for it, and he didn’t judge you when your own began to drip down your cheeks.

His sudden need for comfort increased when he shakily brought his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. Your cheek was squished against his chest. Your own arm draped around his middle, hand splayed across his covered stomach where you could feel each rise and fall of his lungs inhaling precious oxygen.

Sometimes human beings could find comfort in even those they viewed as strangers.

“Joel.” You whispered. Your tears had long since dried along your skin from the bitter cold. “What month do you think it is right now?”

He sniffled, gazing up at the night sky, and the millions of twinkling stars scattered about.

“December, I think.” He murmured softly.

“Oh,” you sighed, “I wonder if civilization still celebrates Christmas. I wonder if there’s any joy left in the world.”

You can feel his heartbeat through the layers he’s wearing. The subtle shift of his arm around you when it begins to grow numb from the position it’s locked in. He doesn’t let you go, however. He keeps holding you.

“I wonder that too, darlin.’” He rasped.

Your head lifts from laying against his chest. His eyes flicker down to yours. The embers from the fire still glow brightly, just enough that you can make out the warmth in his deep brown eyes as they land upon your face. “Well, if tonight happens to be Christmas Eve, then I wish you a Merry Christmas, Joel Miller.”

A smile tugs across the corner of his lips. His head dips down, lips brushing across your forehead in a tender sweep. “If tonight is Christmas Eve, then I wish you a Merry Christmas as well, darlin.’”

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[sofasoap]

Ok oK OK OK OK reading time * let's gooo *

he's continued to learn, and now proudly declares himself a master of self-control. few things can break the restraint that he's put on himself. few people can.

Oh, yes, someone code-name Petra for example 😏

he'll die before admitting it aloud, but he's become somewhat enamored with you.

Shout it out loud! to the world Mak! :P

in his benevolence, makarov decides to spare the two. they'll dig themselves out of this or succumb to their injuries - either way, it's not his concern.

He prob think " Ah, she would be pleased i spare their lifes ( aka leave them to rot ) I am so generous she wil thank me later "

you, however, take in shallow, ragged breaths in his arms, and he knows that you require care if he intends to keep you alive.

yes Mak, if you don't do something its " the end " on the woman that you have a crush on.

he ushers his men away from you once the supplies are delivered, forcing them to huddle up at the opposite end of the plane as he works.

I can just imagine bunch of them bunched up in the corner lol

making a mental note to put you in something with shorter sleeves once you arrive at the prison. h

aren't you nice Mak , so considerate....

he personally handled delivering you to your cell, not trusting any of the depraved prison guards with such a task

and aren't you so caring ;) man this man really has it bad.

he was pleased with your performance, and he did not spare the rod with the guards assigned to your surveillance.

he's prob turned on even more by that * eye roll *

you have no reason to feel anything but hatred for him, though - nor does he have a reason to feel anything but the same for you.

to quote Lt Ghost's words " quite the opposite "

even as he sits alone in his quarters, bringing himself to his peak, imagining you before him, under him, pleading for more.

having bit of smutty dream or smutty day dream Mak?

this is your fault. he flexes his fingers, brow twitching from the pain that shoots through the area, and revels in the misery that you've indirectly caused. he wants more of it.

yea yea, blame Petra. * sigh * you are the one that is being the sick love, totally enamoured by your enemy, now you are blaming her for your .. unsettling manner.

everyone has their weakness, even you. all he has to do is find it.

her weakness??? you di--- * dragged away *

u. he's unsure of the role you'll play in his grand plans, but there is one thing that he knows for certain: you'll be his greatest accomplishment yet.

Slowly stringing her along.... pulling her into the web. she will be your greatest accomplishment, and yet, the flip side of the coin, prob going to be your greatest downfall.

falling into her. falling for her.

but it's clear where your allegiances lie - with the captain, not him.

jealous much? keep pulling, but yet she wouldn't fall. harder he pulls, the hardest she resists?

a pit that settles deep in his stomach and twists like a poison-tipped knife whenever he's reminded of it.

its called Pinning for someone so hard you feel that way. geze this man * shaking my head *

vladimir makarov does not chase. he does not ask for what he wants.

*cough* uh, you did , * cough* who was the one that broke into the house? EH? and getting very frustrated and pinned her to the wall? tsk ... memory and in denial mode Mak.

"i'm surprised you've called so quickly." makarov concedes with an amused huff.

and in actual mak's brain : YAYAYAYA SHE RANG ME!!!

after a long moment of silence, finally, you speak. "i have."

Ohhhhhhhhhhh.

ah... i love this interlude. * burp * thank you for the food.

can't wait for the next bit!! :D

bloodsport – interlude

prologue | one | two | three | four

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: while waiting for your answer, makarov ponders on your unusual relationship and his yet-unknown motivations.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood/injuries, makarov’s pov, he’s a bit fucked up mentally, light obsession?, couple mentions of sex, it's like a character study idk

word count: 2.4k

note: shit's officially hitting the fan in the next chapter, so... enjoy this sorta-kinda character study? dive into makarov's very odd "romantic" side? idk what to call it. hope you like it! (￣▽￣)

"i suppose i could protect you."

"i'm not joining your side, even for this."

vladimir makarov has never been a patient man. when he wants something, he takes it. strength, respect, power— he's razed cities and ended lives for less than that.

but, he's learned patience. his time in the military proved fruitful in this endeavor; being a captain forces a person to wait for things, to work smartly and plan for the future. ever since he left those days behind, he's continued to learn, and now proudly declares himself a master of self-control.

few things can break the restraint that he's put on himself. few people can.

makarov examines the board tacked up on the wall across from him. he leans back in his arm chair and reaches for the tumbler at his side, the whiskey in the glass sloshing against the sides as he lifts it to his lips. he furrows his brow, his attention flitting between the images on the board.

the one-four-one. the task force he technically has to thank for his ascension to the top of the ultranationalists - well, he mainly has his own efforts over the years to thank for that, but he won't deny that the group made things easier by eliminating zakhaev's incompetent heir back in verdansk.

pictures of the members of the squad - and, a handful of allies - stare back at him. his longtime enemy, captain price, ghost, soap, gaz, "nikolai," commander karim...

and, yourself. lieutenant petra. your real name briefly flashes through his mind as he shifts in his seat, his focus now solely on you.

his eyes linger on the photo of you pinned alongside your teammates' portraits. he's well aware that his personal vendetta against price causes him to act irrationally, but you... for whatever reason, makarov is easily influenced by you. he'll die before admitting it aloud, but he's become somewhat enamored with you.

why?

makarov sets the glass aside once more and stands, crossing the small space and stopping in front of the board. he all but ignores any information not pertaining to you. his eyes find you in group photos, he relentlessly scans dossiers and files of information on your professional and personal lives, he reads through your messages with each other and replays the conversations you've shared...

his mind drifts back to your first meeting, just two weeks ago.

⋆⋆⋆

the al-mazrah sun is violent overhead, beating down on him and his men. makarov's grown accustomed to the heat, but the few mumbled complaints that he overhears from his soldiers threaten to make him snap.

he would, if not for the good news overriding the frustration being imposed on him right now. everything has been going to plan— the few bumps in the road have ultimately done little to deter him from reaching his goals. the only worry is the task force in the city; shadow company is an annoyance, but the one-four-one is a true threat to makarov's plans.

when he comes across the scene of destruction, it's almost as if his prayers for the team's elimination are answered. three members of it are in the area; the two men - sergeants gaz and soap, he recognizes fairly quickly - lay pinned under rubble or incapacitated, while the third member stares at him in a daze from a spot closer by.

makarov fights back a twisted grin when he notices the fear gloss over your disoriented expression. you can hardly stay conscious, much less put up a fight, and as one of your teammates frantically shouts for you, he realizes he may have an opportunity here.

you're already fading in and out of consciousness when he orders his men to remove any of the wreckage covering you and, by the time makarov crouches down to gather your mangled body in his arms, you're out cold. the only resistance he faces are weak protests from the sergeants.

in his benevolence, makarov decides to spare the two. they'll dig themselves out of this or succumb to their injuries - either way, it's not his concern.

you, however, take in shallow, ragged breaths in his arms, and he knows that you require care if he intends to keep you alive. the squad accompanying him are soldiers, not doctors— they can do nothing to help, but he can stabilize you in the meantime. that's what he tells himself as he orders his men to evacuate, clutching you close to his chest until the transport plane arrives. he lays you across a section of the seats, barking at one of the soldiers to grab the medical supplies, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows with a heavy sigh.

he's no medic himself - quite the opposite, in fact - but makarov knows enough from his years in the field.

he ushers his men away from you once the supplies are delivered, forcing them to huddle up at the opposite end of the plane as he works. your injuries are severe, but still remarkably mild compared to what they could have been. it's a small miracle that every limb of yours is still intact.

you don't stir at all, even as he peels your gear off and carelessly discards it on the floor, before dragging your shirt up to your chest and examining the sizeable gash running down your side. steady hands clean and disinfect the dirt-stained wound and stitch it closed before his focus shifts to the burns starting to bloom on your skin.

it's a nasty sight, but it hardly fazes him. makarov rolls your sleeves above the afflicted areas on your arms and loosely wraps them in gauze, making a mental note to put you in something with shorter sleeves once you arrive at the prison. he's hurried in wrapping the burns covering your back; not because he is impatient, but because he can sense the prying eyes desperately trying to peer at your partially uncovered form after he removes your shirt.

if they weren't still flying above contested territory, he'd punish his men for their lack of diligence.

makarov carries you into the prison and to the small office that the doctor was permitted after finally arriving. tarkovsky sends him a curious look when he sets you down, already pulling on a pair of sterile gloves and preparing his equipment.

"i trust that you will give her the best care, doctor," makarov utters, stepping back from the operating table. "i will accept nothing less."

tarkovsky hums in acknowledgement as he carefully cuts your uniform open and looks over the freshly completed work. "you've never brought me a prisoner in a condition like this," he replies, referencing the dressings that he starts to unravel. "is she a special target, commander?"

"one-four-one." he says, curt. the doctor seems to understand and nods in response, already beginning to tend to your wounds.

"she will receive nothing but the best, commander makarov."

it barely takes a day for you to awaken, a fact that surprises even makarov himself. he personally handled delivering you to your cell, not trusting any of the depraved prison guards with such a task, and occupied himself with other matters until he received the news that you were awake.

you were as spirited as he expected from someone of your caliber. stubborn, confident, and competent in what you do. it took you over a week to finally kill one of his men, and the one you did kill...

he was pleased with your performance, and he did not spare the rod with the guards assigned to your surveillance.

makarov had been in the middle of dealing with one of the general's men that managed to slip under his radar. he was attacked after a private meeting with his council, earning several cuts from the man's blade before he successfully disarmed and pinned the agent to the floor, beating him into submission. his fists were bruised and smeared red from the force behind each swing, perhaps a bit excessive, but he didn't pay it any mind.

until another man came sprinting down the hall, briefly pausing at the sight of his commander standing over an "ally" beaten to a bloody pulp, only snapping out of his shock after makarov turns to face him. the soldier opened his mouth and practically vomited out his words, something about "the prisoner attacking the doctor."

the sight that he was greeted with upon arriving at your cell could only be described as stimulating.

you, the ever-disciplined lieutenant, disheveled and staring back at him with a wild look in your eyes, refusing to falter even as you're outnumbered and backed into a corner with guns drawn and pointed at you. makarov tore his gaze from you and allowed it to fall to the man lying dead in a heap - the younger, less experienced doctor that tarkovsky insisted on keeping around despite knowing that his commander wanted to wring the brat's neck.

needless to say, he wasn't disappointed with your choice of victim.

⋆⋆⋆

"i'm assuming you're not here to share the fun story behind those obvious self-defense wounds?"

if he didn't know better, makarov could almost mistake the question as coming from a place of concern rather than contempt. you have no reason to feel anything but hatred for him, though - nor does he have a reason to feel anything but the same for you.

still, he steps back from the board and reaches for his drink again, beginning to pace around the room as the interaction plays in his head. your sarcasm and attitude only serve to wear out his carefully-crafted patience— but, the way you responded when faced with almost certain death, the blood smeared across your skin, the proficiency that you maintained despite your condition...

he stops in the center of the room, fingers clenching and unclenching around the glass.

fuck, you were beautiful.

his jaw tenses, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down the unfamiliar sense of desire that sits thick in his throat.

it's not like makarov is unacquainted with this side of himself. he's bedded a fair number of women in the past, he is far from a virginal saint. he seldom spends nights with company, however. it's just more convenient to deal with his needs alone and get on with his work; he's never wanted anything more.

but then, there's you.

you make his blood boil and frustrate him like no other. not even the captain, his sworn enemy, can rile him up as easily as you do. he's fascinated with you and the rage that you seem to awaken from somewhere deep inside of him. he feels nothing but anger towards you— even as he sits alone in his quarters, bringing himself to his peak, imagining you before him, under him, pleading for more.

a sudden pain in his hand distracts him from his thoughts, roughly yanking him back to reality. makarov looks down and blinks at the sight of blood pouring from his palm, unceremoniously dripping onto the floor below. the tumbler that was nestled comfortably in his grasp now clatters to the ground in pieces, leaving behind a small collection of shards embedded in his skin.

the amber whiskey mixes with the crimson that slowly pools at his feet, a sickening color combination that brings a smile to his lips.

this is your fault. he flexes his fingers, brow twitching from the pain that shoots through the area, and revels in the misery that you've indirectly caused. he wants more of it.

you are loyal to your team, loyal to your cause— on one hand, he admires it. on the other, it only tempts him to see how far you're willing to go, how far he can push you before you break. everyone has their weakness, even you. all he has to do is find it.

he could see the hesitation in your eyes the last time you spoke - in a collapsed building in the middle of a war zone, with enemies and allies both scattered in the streets, surrounding your location. you were covered in a layer of dust and ash, having narrowly escaped the collapse with your life, and all he wanted to do after coming face-to-face with you on the battlefield was push you to your limit.

as always, though, he restrained himself. you won't give in like this. makarov has to play his cards right and take his time with you. he's unsure of the role you'll play in his grand plans, but there is one thing that he knows for certain: you'll be his greatest accomplishment yet.

you're already wavering, standing over the edge and staring into the abyss. all he has to do is convince you to take the leap.

he clenches his hand into a tight fist, savoring the pain that binds him to you. every matter is easier said than done, he reminds himself. you may teeter over the edge, but it's clear where your allegiances lie - with the captain, not him.

for a reason that he can't quite place, that angers him. it's to be expected— no amount of information given in good faith can make up for the fact that he's your enemy. even so, he feels like he deserves your fealty, your skills, your attention; the lack of it makes his skin crawl. it's a thought that refuses to leave his head, a pit that settles deep in his stomach and twists like a poison-tipped knife whenever he's reminded of it.

vladimir makarov does not chase. he does not ask for what he wants. nothing will change that, not even you. he'll find a way to make you seek him out. he doesn't care what it costs, both in funds and lives, it's all the same to him. it's only a matter of time.

a buzzing from his phone on his desk catches his attention. makarov approaches it in a lazy saunter and picks it up - with his uninjured hand - and reads off the name on the caller id. your real name flashes across the screen, staring back at him. a low chuckle escapes him before he answers the call and lifts the phone up to his ear.

"i'm surprised you've called so quickly." makarov concedes with an amused huff. "have you come to a decision?" he asks, cruel satisfaction swiftly displacing any of his prior emotions.

you inhale and exhale deeply, audible over the phone. he can imagine how you look— eyes held tightly shut, hand clenched into a fist at your side, your thoughts entirely consumed with him.

after a long moment of silence, finally, you speak.

"i have."

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[skvatnavle]

Werewolf Matt Murdock x reader

Warnings: SMUT! 18+. Oral (m and female receiving), pining, Peter being a cocky, flirty shit, sexual innuendoes, unprotected sex, voyeurism, masturbating (m). If I missed something, please let me know.

Notes: This is part of the Moon in May challenge (two days late) and the inspo for this week was mark and pack. The title was decided before I finished this, but I'm keeping it, even if it may not make sense until next chapter 😆

Uh, and in this chapter we introduce Matt's Alpha. Peter Hale from Teen Wolf (I took some liberties with his timeline/story, so sue me 😆)

The absolutely beautiful header was made by @loverhymeswith and thank you to @a-bang-for-your-bucky for thirsting over Peter with me and @mindidjarin for listening to my ramblings, all your encouragement and beta read ❤️

Words: 3.8K

Beast within masterlist

As you wipe the steam of the bathroom mirror, you tilt your head to the side, inspecting your neck thoroughly. The bruises are getting lighter in colour and as they fade away slowly, so does the memories of that night. No, that wasn’t really true. You’d always remember what Matt did that night, but not for the same reason he would never forget. 

He still couldn’t let go of the guilt of hurting you, although you had tried to explain that you had actually liked it. Hell, you had loved it and even told Matt you’d gladly do it again. You weren’t a believer and would certainly not go to heaven even if you were, so why not keep being a little depraved and have some fun?

Still, you were a little worried about some of the bruises he left on you. Not knowing anything about werewolves besides what you’ve read in novels and Matt being as green as he was, neither of you knew if the scratches would affect you.

The water stops and soon a pair of strong arms wrap around you and Matt places a soft kiss on your neck, before facing the mirror.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Just… Inspecting my neck again. You’re sure you didn’t bite me?”

You had no problem with Matt being a werewolf, you just weren’t sure you were ready to join the pack. Matt laughs softly, tightening his grip on you as he plants another kiss on your neck.

“Can you hear my heartbeat?”

“That’s an unfair question, Murdock. You told me you could do that before the bite, so how can we know that’s a wolf thing?”

Matt laughs, a sound that never fails to make your heart flutter as he turns you around so you face each other. Wrapping your arms around him, one hand finds the nape of his neck, playing softly with his hair.

“Trust me, it’s a wolf thing.” Giving you a sweet kiss, his face turns a little more serious. “Listen Honey, I never broke the skin. I was just… making sure you stayed still.”

His voice drops an octave and it instantly makes you ache. It was no secret that Matt could make you a shivering mess in seconds using only that smooth voice of his. 

Leaning in closer, he captures your lips, kissing you deeply as he pushes you against the sink. 

Already a shivering mess, you are baffled at the power Matt holds over you. He has barely touched you yet, but his kisses always make your body come alive. With ragged breath, you barely manage to speak.

“Do… Do you have time before you need to be in court?”

“I always have time for you, sweetheart.”

His soft smile turns into a cocky smirk. You know he loves the effect he has on you, but two can play this game. Time to wash that smirk off his face. Slowly dropping to your knees, his cocky expression disappears, replaced by anticipation as he licks his lips. He may be in control most of the time, making you whimper by the faintest touch, but you knew of a way to leave him a whimpering mess too.

You place a quick kiss on his stomach, just above the towel. Peppering kisses over the warm smooth skin, a breathy moan escapes Matt as his hand comes to rest on your head, running his fingers through your hair.

Your fingers softly dig into the soft skin of his sides. A soft rumble from Matt slowly turns into a moan, as you lick across his V-line. Untying the towel, you let it drop to his feet. Already semi hard, you take a soft hold of Matt’s cock and stroke him gently as you plant a kiss to the head of his cock. You flick your tongue over the tip of his cock before you take him into your mouth. Matt’s breath hitches, one hand flying to the sink, gripping it hard as he braces himself.

You keep stroking him as your mouth works up and down his length, sucking slowly with your big eyes looking up at him.

“Christ, you’re so good to me, sweetheart,” he says, and you flush at his praise, going straight to your core. Matt grips your hair tighter, holding you in place and it sends a rush of heat down your spine. It makes you swallow convulsively around his cock, making Matt groan in pleasure.

“Good girl. You’re such a good girl” he says, breathless with pleasure. He bucks into you as you suck harder, taking him as deep as you can. Letting go, he pushes into your mouth, going deeper with each thrust until your nose is nuzzled into his pubic hair.

With a loud groan, Matt’s pace falters as he comes down your throat. His grip loosens and you let go of him with a smile, as you reluctantly stand up. For Matt, you would gladly spend all day on your knees.

Matt gently let his fingers dance along your jaw, his thumb gracing over your bottom lip. He pulls you into a kiss and as you pull apart, Matt once again lets his thumb play over your lips as his eyes darken. Knowing the look, you step closer, your fingers dancing over the smooth skin of his chest.

“Tell me what you’re thinking”

“How perfect your lips are.” he says, his voice already thick with lust as he moves closer with a low rumble in his chest. “The wolf wants his turn, too.”

Later, as he is back to his usual nightly routine, Matt sits on the corner of a building, looking out over the city. The night is quiet and for the first time in a long time, Matt relaxes. The last few months had been a struggle to say the least. The guilt was still nagging him daily, but having you made it easier for him to come to terms with what he was. What he would be from now on. 

Slowly accepting this life, he began to appreciate his new powers. Sure, some of them are very similar to before, just even more enhanced. But one thing he loved was his new sight. The impeccable werewolf vision almost made him able to see, so he often caught himself staring. Over the city, out the window, at you. Still blurry and not at all what anyone would call 20/20 vision, but it was a welcomed change.

“Quite the spot you’ve chosen to hang out.” Surprised, Matt turns to find a man standing behind him, leaning against the door to the roof. How did he get here without Matt hearing him? No one had ever snuck up on him, not even before the bite. 

“A tad bit dramatic for my taste, but the view is stunning.” He smirks as he pushes off the wall and slowly makes his way closer to Matt. In a second Matt is on his feet, assessing the stranger. His scent is confusing, his heartbeat too steady. Human, but not human at all.

“Who are you?”

Letting out a small laugh, the stranger steps all the way out to the edge of the roof, looking out over the city. 

“Can’t you tell?”

The voice is calm and playful with a certain authority to it. Matt can feel the strangers’ eyes on him, studying him while he waits for the answer. Matt tries his hardest to study the man in front of him. Every little smell, trying to see if anything rings a bell. The sound of his voice so foreign, yet so familiar somehow. 

The man trips a little impatiently, looking a little bored before he sits down on the ledge. He reeks of anger and annoyance, as he sucks his teeth, a heavy sigh falling from him.

“Honestly, I’m a little disappointed. By now you should have picked up on certain things. But you really don’t know anything, do you?”

The stranger is playing with him, obviously holding back information that Matt needs. Every fibre in his body wants to just shift and tear the man apart. Gritting his teeth, he turns to face him, fighting hard to remain calm.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Ah yes. Devoted lawyer by day, ripping bodies apart by night. I especially love the whole'' he gestures towards Matt’s suit and mask “vigilante act, too. You really are a busy man, Matt Murdock.”

Snarling with gritted teeth, Matt steps closer, a low growl slowly forming in his chest. 

“Who are you?”

“The name’s Peter Hale… and I’m the guy that bit you.”

Without turning away from your book, you greet Matt as he comes back home. But a second set of footsteps make you look towards the door.

“My my my, what do we have here?”

The man walks towards you, a smirk painted on his face as his eyes study you. Something about the way he moves makes you a little uneasy. He moves elegantly, his movements fluent like an animal. His gaze is intense, eyes staring straight into yours. 

“Matt, who is this?”

Lacking any sense of personal space, he stops a mere inch from your face as if he’s testing you. If you’ll shy away from him. A charming smile adorns his face as his sky blue eyes take you in. 

“Peter Hale. I’m his alpha.”

Breaking into a smile, you can feel the excitement bubble up. Always been a huge fan of werewolves in books and movies, you had been quite excited when you found out they were real. So every bit of new information always makes you thrilled. 

“What? Really? So that part of the stories are true?”

He turns to Matt, shooting him a proud smile. 

“At least someone here has been doing their summer reading.”

Turning back to you, his hand gently runs down the side of your face, caressing your cheek. A soft smirk forming as his fingers trace your jawline. And as much as you try to ignore it, his touch sends shivers down your spine.

“Aren’t you a pretty one. I see why Matty here is so fond of you.”

In mere seconds, Matt is at your side, pushing Peter away from you. Barring his teeth, Matt growls at him.

“That’s enough! If you touch her-“

“If I may interrupt this feeble attempt of a threat, let me just remind you that I’m your alpha. I’m stronger than you. If I want to, I can make you beg like a little puppy in seconds.”

His voice is barely raised, but the way he stares at Matt, makes him shy away and look to the floor. Peter turns back to you before he removes his hand before leaning in closer, inhaling your scent deeply. For a second his eyes flash red as he smirks.

“And she isn’t yours, you know… Not yet.”

Confusion washes over both you and Matt. While you may not know everything there was to know about this new life, you thought that Matt had already claimed you in every way he possibly could. He certainly already owned your heart and you his. you already knew you wanted to be his forever.

“What? But… we’ve-”

“Mated while you were a wolf? Yeah, I could smell that” he shoots Matt a quick glance, before turning his attention back to you, smiling as he tucks a strain of hair behind your ear, “And look at you being all kinds of freaky.”

His look a mix of fascination and interest, he lets his hand fall to his sides, as he turns to Matt.

“You can’t claim her fully until you bite her mating gland… Which only werewolves have.”

He is silent for a while as both you and Matt take in the new information. You thought he’d already marked you as his. But knowing you had to turn, was… quite frightening. You’ve seen what it had done to Matt, so you feared what it would do to you.

Looking at Matt, you can see the inner turmoil. Without asking, you already know what he’s thinking. He can’t condemn you to that life, when there’s still so much you don’t know. He’s still so green, so how can he guide you? 

Peter puts a comforting hand on Matt, seeming softer than before. He might put up this façade of indifference and arrogance, but you sense that’s not the whole truth.

”There is so much you still need to know… So much I could teach you” he turns to you, his eyes burning into yours. “Both of you”.

Okay, you take that back. He might be sweet, but he was still pushing your buttons. The tone of his voice is clear, so you look away, hoping he doesn’t see you blush. You know it’s foolish to try to hide it when you know your pulse is giving you away. You hate what is happening, but there is something about Peter. Maybe it’s the alpha in him that makes you weak. Luckily, Matt’s phone rings and breaks the tension.

“Foggy this isn’t the best-”

As he listens to what Foggy has to say, you do your best to step away from Peter, getting some distance between you. He only smiles softly, his eyes not leaving you for a second. While you don’t want to, you had to admit he was handsome.

“I have to go. There’s been a development in the case. A key witness just stepped forward, I-“

He looks to Peter, taking a step forward, his eyes burning into his alpha. You’ve never seen this side of Matt before.

“Don’t touch her.”

“Hey, she’s your mate and I’m a man of… Well, I can’t say I’m a man of honour, but I can promise not to touch her, and I almost never break a promise.”

Matt takes a step forward with his fists clenched, ready to punch the smirk of Peter's face, but is stopped by a gentle hand on his chest. You give him a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Go, Matt. I’ll be fine.”

Matt turns to you, nuzzling into your neck, his nose nudging gently at your jaw. His arms wrap around you, at the same time protective and territorial, as he looks in Peter’s direction. 

“But what if he-”

“Hey, I’m used to wrestling with a werewolf. You’ve taught me some moves. I’ll be okay.” 

Giving him another reassuring kiss, Matt pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. In any other situation, you’d welcome his kisses, but you knew this was only for Peter’s benefit. To show who you belong to. As he pulls away from you, he rubs his scent off on you, as if to mark you before leaving. You break away from him and gently push him out the door. This was silly and you were quite sure you could hold your own against Peter… Well, you certainly hoped so.

An hour later, scribbling away in your notebook, you’ve already attained invaluable information as Peter tells you everything he knows about being a werewolf. And that is a lot. Hundreds of years of lore turned into notes, you’re almost screaming internally of joy.

Peter had agreed to stay a few days, so he could help both you and Matt learn as much as possible. He had admitted his end game was for you both to join his pack, so he promised to teach you as much as he could, making it easier for you to make a decision in the end. 

While he was still a bit too cocky and inappropriate, you had to admit he was charming and smart. The vast expanse of his knowledge was incredible, and he really was sweet, when he dialled down the flirting. Looking up, you catch Peter looking at you, his gaze almost soft. Putting the pen down, you close the notebook and turn to him.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why? Worried you won’t be able to control yourself much longer?” 

Lost for words, you just huff as you push off the couch, needing some distance between yourself and Peter. But he follows, helping himself to a drink while you pour yourself some wine. You needed something to calm your nerves until Matt would come home, which hopefully would be soon. Peter made you nervous. Only problem was, you couldn’t decide if it was in a good or a bad way. 

A light chuckle pulls your attention back to Peter. As he takes a sip of his drink, he makes sure to licks his lips after, drawing your attention right to them. You knew what game he was playing and you had to admit it was working.

Besides Matt, you’ve never felt this wanted by anyone. Sure, it was probably just to tease Matt, a way for Peter to assert his dominance as alpha, but even if it was a game, it made you flustered. The heat of his gaze was enough to send shivers through your body and straight to your core.

divider

As he reaches out for the door handle, Matt stops. Your heart is beating rapidly, your breath slightly hitched. Your scent fills the air, overpowering everything else. He can smell how wet you are, how the pheromones are pouring out of you. The scent of your arousal envelopes him, making his cock twitch. 

For a second, he doesn’t even care what Peter has done to make you feel this way. The only thing on his mind is to fuck you senseless in front of him, showing him who you really belong to. Matt has never been one to share, but the thrill of Peter watching makes his cock even harder. 

Walking in, he finds you pinned against the counter in the kitchen, Peter staring into your eyes. Without taking his eyes off of you, Peter smirks.

“Welcome home, Matt.”

Throwing his jacket on the rack, Matt walks over to the kitchen, studying the two of you. He already knew you’d both be riled up, but to his surprise he finds Peter’s heart racing. His palms are sweaty, his breath slightly strained and his jaw clenched. He’s nervous.

Smirking, Matt takes your hand and pulls you in for a heated kiss. He can smell the jealousy wash over Peter, as he kisses you deeper, his tongue playing against yours. His cock is painfully hard now, rubbing against your core, pulling soft moans from you. He knows it’s childish, but Matt feels the need to show off. Need Peter to know you’re his.

Shooting Peter a glance, Matt barely breaks away from your lips long enough to speak.

“See you in the morning”

As he walked in, he could smell the fresh linen by the couch, already knowing you’d asked Peter to stay. And right now, given the situation, it actually made him harder, knowing Peter would be on the couch, while he fucked you in the next room.

As he pulls you towards the bedroom, Peter groans in the background, but Matt couldn’t care less. Kicking the door closed, he quickly undresses you before throwing you down on the bed. The animal in him wants to just turn you around and take you, but he’s not like that. Besides, he can’t deny how much he wants Peter to hear how good he can make you feel.

Great. Just great. After making the couch, his less than desirable bed for the evening, Peter slumps down on to the sounds of your moans in the room next door. He wasn’t jealous, he really wasn’t. Okay, maybe a little. When did women choose to mate with a beta when there was an alpha around? And a pretty good looking alpha, if he had to say so himself.

Your scent still lingers in the living room, filling his senses. Another moan fills the air, taunting him. He knows Matt is putting on a show, so instead of trying to ignore it, he might as well enjoy it. Leaning back against the couch, he closes his eyes as he focuses all his senses on you.

You whimper as Matt licks up your slit, the scent of your juices almost too much to bear. As Matt sucks on your clit, Peter can’t help but unbutton his jeans, pulling out his already hard cock. When Matt’s fingers push into you, the wet sounds echo in Peter’s head. Spitting in his hand, he can almost imagine being sheathed in your wet heat. 

As you come undone on Matt’s tongue, Peter grips his cock harder, mimicking the way you clench down on Matt’s fingers. When he pulls out of you, Matt sucks his fingers clean. The thought of doing the same, makes Peter’s mouth water. 

Matt pushes into you and as you moan his name, Peter imagines you moaning his instead. Setting a brutal pace, keen on claiming you, to mark you with his cum, Matt growls into your neck. Unexpectedly, Peter’s cock twitches at Matt’s growl. Well, that was definitely a surprise. 

Suddenly, it’s not just you Peter focused on. It’s both of you. Your soft moans mixed with Matt’s whimpers, his soft praises. The sweet scent of your cunt mixed with the small beads of sweat on Matt. Spitting into his hand once more, Peter matches the pace of his hand with Matt’s thrusts.

Not even afraid they’ll hear him, Peter groans as he feels the knot in his stomach tighten. He is so close, the sounds and scents almost pushing him over the edge.

Matt is trying so hard to focus on you, but it’s hard when he can hear Peter groaning next door. The scent of him and the sounds he makes, should not affect Matt so hard. But it does. As another groan sound from the living room, Matt looks to you. Your head is turned towards the door, listening for Peter, your pussy clenching down on him by the sound of Peter’s smooth voice.

“You know Peter is listening, don’t you? Is that why you’re moaning so loudly, sweetheart?”

You whimper at his words, the most exquisite sound in the world. 

“You want him, huh? You wanna be fucked by an alpha?”

You clench down hard around him, as you scream out your orgasm. A soft yes leaves your lips, as Matt continues to thrust into you. You want Peter. It should bother him, but images of you and Peter suddenly flood his mind. How you would writhe beneath Peter, pinned down as he takes you hard. Burying himself to the hilt, he comes with a huge growl, filling you to the brim with him cum.

As you both come down from your highs, Matt can hear Peter panting in the living room, the smell of his cum hanging in the air. The scent mixed with yours, is already enough to make him hard again. Frustrated, he groans as he pulls out of you and walks to the bathroom. The next few days were gonna be hard.

Thank you so much for reading <3

Tagging: @clydesducktape @absurdthirst @fictionalnerdery @lucy-sky @a-reader-and-a-writer @e-dubbc11 @freshabogados @lcvenderblues @moonlarking

[saturatedboy]

Hey can you do a fic of Lady Alcina x GN!reader where the reader has ADHD so little things just gets forgotten and jumping topics so fast it’s kinda hard for Alcina at first and she’ll get frustrated but still loves the reader just how they are? If so that would be fantastic! Have a great day!!

Alcina Dimitrescu x GN!Reader

My apologise for taking a while, a thunder and lightning storm happened near me and it blew up the fuse to my internet box. But I'm here with more writing so I hope you enjoy!

Requests: Open

Words: 2.5k

The vast castle that had loomed over the Village of Shadows had always been ancient and portentous. The unknown creatures however that hovered over the sky close to the pole towers were always a great sight to see from the village. However, those who live far away from the castle merely thought to them to be birds with a wide wing span that would fly around and bless the castle with their saint fortune- however if you knew the castle and it's true owners, you would find everything to be more depraved of it's fake nature.

Humming softly, you dragged the wooden comb through your strands, being careful to not pull on any knotted ends too hard. You stared at the mirror with soft eyes, it had been quite the evening for you after the day being filled with lessons on acting like a true noble. You could hear the young ladies down the extended corridors, arguing over who would get the first drop of the sweetness a simple maid had once carried. Although not a vampire yourself, you strived yourself to be lucky amongst those who were caught in any of the young and head mistresses claws. Ah, the mistress. The simple thought of her had brought a rose tint to your cheeks, you smiling unconsciously as you let your mind wander off into far lands that were filled with no violence, only peace amongst the dammed. Only a sudden knock had transported you back into the real world. Coughing, you placed the comb down on the vanity and turned on your buffet, facing the door with hands folded on your lap. "You may enter," You spoke out loud, awaiting the turning of the knob.

The sound of slight clicking of the knob being turned brought your full attention to whoever was to enter. The door became ajar, then pushed to an opening with the guilty entering. A wide smile had stretched it's way onto your face as you stood to greet the one who knocked. Bowing your head slightly, you raised it to be met with the eyes of the lady of the castle, Alcina Dimitrescu. "My lady."

"My darling," She spoke back, closing the door behind her as she looked down upon your small form, however still slightly taller than her three daughters. Seeing your smile brought one onto her face, her eyes gleaming softly at your relaxed state. Looking around your neatly tided room, she let her eyes graze back over to yours and tilted her head to the side ever so slightly. "Why are you still awake? You should be asleep by now."

Awkwardly, you had bit your bottom lip and looked away in shame. Any of the pink fairy dust that was once coating your cheeks had turned deeper than the pinks in a sunset. "Well, my lady, you see I-" You had quickly cut yourself off. You weren't going to tell her that you was awake because you could hear the cries of the maid. And no you weren't going to tell her that she had been running on your mind either-

"Well?" She softly asked as she crossed her arms under her chest, placing herself to sit on the end of your bed as she watched you fiddle with your fingers with a long-lost look within your eyes.

"I'm just feeling energised." You saved yourself as you silently thanked your mind for quick thinking. Well, you weren't exactly lying but at the same time you had been because the cries of the maid had woken you from your slumber. Not wanting to get into any sort of trouble with the Lady. Lady Dimitrescu nodded in reply, not fully understand to why you would be energised after a long day of training to be a noble but none the less, she was glad you weren't hurt at all or hiding any sort of pain.

"Hm, I suppose that may makes sense. Though I don't remember you having any sort of sugary treats to be feeling so much energy to stay awake..." Dimitrescu had trailed of at the end, instantly becoming entranced when you had grabbed the comb once again and brushed through your hair. Tutting slightly, she stood and walked over to your sitting form, plucking the brush from your hand and using it to comb your hair for you. "Your combing wrongly, follow the flow of your hair- don't try to change it's path."

Feeling her gentleness as she combed through your hair had made you start to fidget in your seat. Although you loved the feeling of her hands caressing your hair, there was something about it that made you want to adventure further. You didn't want to stay here, no you couldn't. This wasn't right sitting here anymore. The feeling was so sudden- and you knew why. Arguing in your head, you dragged your mind away from the reality of the world into a blank space where you could try sort out these mixed emotions. However as you were away from the reality, your body had reacted on its own recordings. Your leg began to bounce with your hands intertwining with one another then letting go only for them to become fists. Without any thought of it, Alcina hadn't notice your sudden change in mood, she was too focused on trying to get a certain knot out of your hair.

Yourself on the other hand, was stuck fighting for movement or staying in place. It wasn't till the noise of wood being placed back onto your vanity and the hand that had blocked your view from the mirror that brought you away from your argument. Without a second thought, you stood abruptly and turned to face Alcina with a wide smile. "We should go for a stroll! The night will be young and I'm sure the young mistresses will be busy with their feeding tonight. How about it my Lady?" You held your hand out, your white tunic and grey pants had provided enough heat for you to want a walk in the breeze of the lost screams within the castle.

Alcina had looked at your hand, so small and doll-like. Holding your hand normally brought great warmth to her soul. The feeling of a human being alive and wanting to be close to her had always brought a soft, comforting feeling. And she had only felt that with you. So, wanting to feel the same feeling again she cupped your small hand within her own and used her other hand to straighten out her hat. "Lead the way my love."

Within no second to spare, you speed-walked out of your room and practically dragged the Lady behind you. Why were you so excited for a walk? She had no clue to what was exactly going on in your mind, she never understood what was on your mind but that was because she couldn't read you like an open book. She had always had people praise her like some Goddess which brought much pride to her, but seeing you hold her hand and walk with her like she was a regular person- maybe like what the children would do in the village when they found something interesting and wanted a parent to see it quickly- that what you had reminded her off. "My darling, aren't you going a little fast?" She asked, although having no problem keeping you with your speed, she found it unusual for you to be walking at this speed.

"Nope! Now come on, we have the castle to explore more of!" You giggled and and bopped your head side to side like you were listening to silent music. "Oh! When we explore the castle we should play hide and seek! Do you think the other girls would love to join, I'm sure they would! Ooo maybe you could teaching me how to sort out flowers to make a beautiful boutique like you had done once when Lady Beneviento was over!" Your rambled on about activities you both could do as you let go of Alcina's hand and walked off by yourself. Your stranded look had brought Alncia to be slightly worried about your change of state. Being quick, Alcina followed behind you keeping close tabs on trying to make out what you was saying since you were getting further ahead of her.

"Darling....Darling!" She called out as you kept walking onwards, twisting through the hallways and moving yourself out of the way for any maids that were walking around or cleaning the hallways. Alcina shook her head and sped walked to catch up to you so she could take swiftly your arm within her grasp to make you stop walking away from her. The sudden yank that she gave you made you lock your lips together and looked up at her over your shoulder. "Darling your speaking too quickly and mumbling half of it. Speak with a clear tone and articulation. I taught you this today before you went up to bed."

You looked at her with glossy eyes that held your innocence. Her figure over you had somewhat calmed your mind to rest, or maybe it was her touch- you couldn't decide on which. You focused on her hand around your arm, her fingers going back to her palm as her larger hands captured your arm within her grip- no movement could make you escape. You opened your mouth to speak up but your words were caught in your throat. Again you tried but only slight noises of struggle came out. Taking a deep breath, Alcina sighed out in annoyance and rolled her eyes. "Would you mind telling me what's going on. One minute your relaxed, the next your up and walking away like you have to catch a carriage. You're also changing your mind on what to do-Sweetie you said you wanted to go for a walk."

Trailing your eyes from her hand up her arm and peering at her face, you saw a clear look of her being stumped with your actions. Pulling your arm out of her grip, you cradled it close to your chest. "I'm sorry." Was all you could mutter before taking a deep breath in and out, steading your breathing after the fast walk you had travelled with. Leaning against the closest wall in the hallway, you swept strands out from your eyes and gazed down at the wooden floor with deep crimson carpets. "I've always been like this- It's something that is hard to control." You gathered the small courage to face her again, looking at her with a guilty stare.

Alcina patted her dress down as she heard your voice speak. She had no way in understanding why you act like this because this was the first time it happened so suddenly and well- she hadn't been a human for a very long time now. You remembered times before you came to the castle that down in the village you would take off through the woods to lose the energy you gained for no reason and speak to any animal life you could find. It was much more relaxing to talk to someone who couldn't say anything back- you couldn't interrupt anyone or get the harsh reply of 'Stay on a subject' because your mind jumped from one thing to another. That was actually how you met the Lady of the castle in the first place, and it was the first place you confessed your dying love to her. But now- everything happened without yourself even realising it was happening, you felt like the one to blame for putting the Lady in this position of following you about and practically making her own mind run in circles.

A delicate hand lifted your chin that had dropped to rest on your chest, a finger running along your bottom lip. The hand belonged to Alcina whom had knelt to the floor in front of you. "(Y/n)." She spoke your name with tenderness and a tone that would forever make your heart melt with affection. "You have nothing to be sorry for. If this is how you are, then I love you for who you are." She felt your lip quiver under her thumb, her other hand pulling you into her chest where soft sobs had came from your mouth. She held you close, humming a tune to calm you down. Your salty tears had wet her long white dress, but she didn't care. She cared for the fact that you had been dealing with something that had made you think you were in the wrong for feeling it. "If you wish to ramble about anything on your mind, go ahead. Tell me stories, tell me knowledge, tell me how you feel. I will listen to everything to have to say- even if it does get mixed up that's okay." With a vision blurred, you tilted your head up to look at her as yo used your hands to clear the spots of wetness of your face. "I may not be able to fully understand, but I chose to love you and that means anything that you come with is something I adore my dearest."

A chuckle escaped your lips as you felt her hand glide itself down under your arm and slightly tickle you. "W-wait that tickles-"

"Oh I know~" She whispered into your ear and she playfully picked you up in bridal style within her arms and began her own journey somewhere. Still watching her face and feeling her arms wrapped tightly around your form, you couldn't help but wonder what she was doing.

"Where are we going? Are we going outside or are we going back to my room?" You asked as you continued to clear your eyesight from the specks of fuzzy marks. Adjusting you in her arms slightly so she could instead carry you with your head resting on her shoulder as she held you under your behind and legs wrapped around her upper torso, she replied.

"We are going to find my three daughters and tonight as a family we shall play games. A game night. I figure we both could need one of those especially your hard work of being a noble." She kissed your cheek as she carried on walking, you on the other hand had tried to say something again but it came out with stutters.

"But what if I talk about something stupid or make a fool of myself. Maybe I might not be able to sleep and you need your rest m'lady,"

"Oh darling, I wouldn't sleep without knowing my precious dearest is safe and sound under my gaze. If you can't fall asleep still we shall sit by the fire in the main room and I'll read whatever you wish for." Her words were sincere. She was being truthful. She didn't need to know about your condition, she just understood that she will be there for you in your tightest moments and fit what is right for you. And anyway, she also loved your voice- it was secretly one of her favourite features about you. Why wouldn't she want to listen to you, anything to hear her dearest talk would make her heart swoon with love.

Only a love that she was willing to give to you.

[yeoldontknow]

the light keeper’s daughter | jhs (m) ↠ teaser

↝ Pairing: lighthouse keeper!hoseok x goddess of light!reader (oc; female) ↝ Genre: soulmate au; secret relationship au; gods/goddess au; mentions of arranged marriage; heavy angst; smut; romance; pining ↝ Rating: NC-17 | 18+ ↝ Summary: For years, you’ve kept your relationship with Hoseok a secret. As the daughter of the God of Light, you are destined to marry anyone who slays the beast in the Gloaming Isles in your honor. When that day finally comes, you go to Hoseok to tell him your relationship must end and you are set to be married. One last time, Hoseok reminds you no one will love you as eternally, as enduringly, as he. ↝ Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; pregnancy; unprotected sex; creampie; clit biting; masturbation; pain kink; size kink; overstimulation; some light degradation; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing; crying; biting; marking; scratching; brief mentions of blood ↝ Word Count: projected - 14k | teaser - 1.2K    ↝ special thank you to @jamaisjoons​ for this amazing banner!    ↝ full fic coming july 31

‘Hoseok.’ The quiver of your bottom lip disrupts the cadence of his name, besmirching it to little more than a sob.

Sucking air through his teeth, Hoseok leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes fall shut. At such close proximity, you study the almost feminine length of his eyelashes, the pores of his skin, and wonder who or what god or demon you could barter with to stay inside him forever.

‘You’re supposed to be mine,’ he whimpers, the sadness welling up in him like a mountain. ‘You are mine, but…I will always be yours. Even when they untie us, I’ll be yours. They can’t thread me with anyone else. I don’t think my soul will allow it.’ 

Unable to sustain it any longer, your desire for him rises to a swell, erupting beside your sorrow - just as fervent, and even more unyielding. His words are a comfort, an echo you will revisit over and over when you have long departed, but your skin has learned how to ache for his touch, learned how to anticipate the way he moves over you like water, and you need it. You need him.

The rest of your pitiful existence looms out before you, days and months and centuries passing without Hoseok to hold you and keep you, and you despise the very notion of it. You rebuke it, refusing to let yourself continue on without knowing how it feels to have him. Tonight, you do not want him as your lover.

Tonight, you want him as your husband.

‘Kiss me,’ you announce, guiding his forehead away from yours, skin prickling with the lack of his warmth. ‘Kiss me like it’s our wedding. I -’ The tightness of your voice steals your breath, words hot and heavy in your mouth as you say them. ‘I want to know what a marriage bed truly feels like. I want to know what our marriage bed would be like.’

Mad with an unbearable passion, no longer contained, Hoseok heeds your words and lets his tongue wander over the seam of your lips. You cling to him, clutching what you can of his shape, his body, and you sigh in woeful euphoria, granting him unspoken entry to the recesses of your mouth - but he does not enter. Your lover has always been disobedient, reckless in the evening when your skin and your lips and your heart are presented to him, and tonight he is no different.

Tonight, he scorns the hour, taking his time as he traces over your cupid’s bow with his tongue, rendering the turn of the earth meaningless. The heat of his breath tickles your skin, a cascade in which you luxuriate, and your eyes, blurred by the urgency of your desire, lose all sense of your surroundings until there is only Hoseok.

Hoseok - on you, around you, all over you, the rain and the wind all at once.

Only when he has had his fill of your lips does he press the whole of his mouth against yours, sucking languidly at your bottom lip. Skin growing tight, you keen into his kiss, consumed by greed. Slowly, he moves his hands down and down, letting his fingers trace indeterminate lines over your cheeks, your jaw, your bones until they rest at your neck. With his palm over your pulse, he holds you still, his touch a fever, his touch the sun, radiating deep into the caverns of your heart. 

Filled with him, you think. Absolutely alive with him, Hoseok lets his palm cradle the tether of your life until you are certain he is the oxygen made to sustain your mortal form. You, living and breathing, are little more than remnants of departed touches, composed entirely of his affections, his affirmations, his adoration.

So, too, do you kiss at him, battling against him for any semblance of permanence, demanding that you be remembered. Feeling you writhe against him, insistent in your need for closeness, he hums in pleasure, a musical sound that traverses your synapses with unhurried ease. Gooseflesh raises on your arms, either by a passing breeze or the way Hoseok leans in, harder, rougher, all manner of dominance in the way he so desperately seeks to have you, and you shiver, delighted by the peak in your senses; delighted, fundamentally, that you will commit every moment of this last evening to bodily memory.

Willing to be devoured, you surrender to him, feeling arousal leak from between your folds as though his savagery has given it permission to spill over. It soaks into your underwear where you briefly mourn the fact that it will not coat your thighs, not yet, and that Hoseok must wait to see how easily you could paint yourself in your wanting. Like always, he anticipates you and ardent your longing; perceptive and always acutely aware of the way you have grown wanton. depraved by the strength of his kisses alone. 

Hoseok eases his hand to the back of your neck, determination apparent in his grip, and guides you forward to rest in his lap. Letting your legs settle on either side of his thighs, you straddle him, unwilling to break any contact he has with you, your skin, you, your hands on him. You come together like a cataclysm, the burgeoning tip of his erection firm and stubborn where it presses against your core, assertive and tantalizing even beneath the fabric of his trousers. 

It’s lewd the way you crave him so deep inside you, jaw dropping as your mouth opens wide to gasp in delight. Hoseok wastes no time in letting his tongue glide against yours, explorative and eager, utterly deliberate in his stroking. Slowly, the tips of his fingers move from your neck to your hairline, ever deeper and ever more intrusive. A low chuckle rumbles in his throat as he runs his tongue over yours, grazing the roof of your mouth before he forms a fist in your hair and tilts your head back, swift and aggressive. 

All at once he pulls away, face hovering just centimeters above yours and gaze hooded as he explores your lustful expression. A flush creeps into your cheeks, the control he has over the flow of your blood is always surprising even if it is to be expected. Hoseok seems pleased, evident in the familiar way his eyes have become blackened by the force of his yearning and the smile that has worked its way into the corner of his lips, a secret for only you to discover. He takes a pause, disregarding his haste, to regard you: your parted lips, your heated cheeks - a fire that has spread itself over your chests and breasts.

‘You are a vision of sin,’ he murmurs, cocking his head to the side and tightening his grip in your hair. ‘What would all the gods say?’

Your own nails scratch tenderly into his scalp, gripping his hair to mirror his hold on you. Futile, you know. The strength in Hoseok is silent, a gift that makes him appear merely pretty until the seat of his power is fully revealed, a fortitude you could never mimic.

You swallow, preparing to speak, and watch the way Hoseok studies the movement of your throat. ‘They would call me a harlot.’ 

His gaze returns to yours, an otherwise thoughtful look turned menacing by the terror of his passion. ‘And are you?’

Tongue heavy in your mouth, you struggle with the few words you can manage. ‘They will make me out to be,’ you affirm slowly, poignantly, ‘and it will be your fault. You’ve made me a slut.’

[laequiem]

Careful whispers

/ Elain notices shadows moving in her room, so she decides to see if they report back to Azriel. They do. It's porn, y'all. 2.5k words.

this was... supposed to be short... and not angsty. oops.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Azriel / Elain Archeron

Rating: Explicit (see ao3 for more specific tags)

Word count: 2,739

These days, Elain's thoughts keep spiraling to the brush of a wing against her neck as she kneels gardening and the soft touch of scarred fingers against hers when he hands her a glass of wine over dinner.

read on ao3 • masterlist

These days, Elain's thoughts keep spiraling to the brush of a wing against her neck as she kneels gardening and the soft touch of scarred fingers against hers when he hands her a glass of wine over dinner.

What has gotten into her? She who was so against the idea of a male is now longing for a fae's blood-stained hands.

As her hand travels south towards her aching core, she does not think of Graysen's noble fingers. Even with her gardening calluses, she finds she needs more to scratch the itch. She runs her hand over a heavy breast, angling her finger to run a jagged nail over its peak.

A soft moan escapes her. The effect definitely works, she can imagine his fingers instead of hers as her hand dips lower, under her nightgown.

As Elain circles the bud at the apex of her thighs with two fingers, she curses herself for her inexperience. A centuries-old fae male would surely know what to do better than she can. As she spent most of her teenage years at the cottage, sharing a bed with her sisters, she did not have the opportunity to explore self-pleasure. Only when she met Graysen did she entertain the idea, once her family had moved to the house Tamlin paid for.

Graysen, who had taken her maidenhead.

Graysen, whom she was supposed to now be married to.

She does think about him, sometimes, but it has become rarer. Nowadays, her thoughts are mostly consumed by cold hazel eyes and muscled brown skin.

Her fingers—too small, too delicate—travel southwards still as her thumb lingers on the bundle of nerves.

As she dips two fingers in her heat, she whimpers his name.

Azriel.

She knows it is wrong, but in all her virtue, even Elain is not immune to the call of forbiddenness.

Eyes closed, her other hand clamped over her mouth, Elain rides her hand with vehemence.

In the darkest corner of the room, shadows shift excitedly before disappearing, running to their master.

-

With Nesta and Cassian rutting in the House day in, day out, Azriel has a lot of trouble sleeping. He tried earlier, when his shadows had gone to sleep, but all he could think about was the stench of their lust. So he resolved himself to work until exhaustion drags him to sleep.

Maaaaas~ter.

His shadows should not be here at this hour. He would be worried something had happened, if not for the way they singsong their title to him. They had been his only friends for years. Just like he learned to hear them, he learned to read their mood. And this tone only means one thing: mischief.

Maaaaaaster!

Two of the shadows are curling around his neck, writhing with delight as they try to get his attention. Farther away, spread in all the dark corners of his room, others are snickering.

What.

You should go to the seer.

He straightens and gets up. Alone with his shadows is the only time he would let his fears show so blatantly. Did something happen to Elain?

The shadows curling around him giggle together.

No.

More shadows approach him, crowding at his shoulders. Some start pulling at his hair, snickering as they dance around the strands.

The fawn sings your name in the dark.

Go to her.

You will thank us later.

That's enough. I told you to never spy on her.

Come with us.

Before he can protest any more, shadows crowd him, casting him in total darkness.

In the blink of an eye, he finds himself transported to the River House, standing in Elain's room in only his underwear.

Busybodies.

His shadows did not even bother to hide him—they winnowed him right to the only light source in the room, in a ray of moonlight coming through the window.

Azriel is immediately hit by the musky scent of arousal, mixed with Elain's usual scent of jasmine and fresh bread.

Cauldron boil him alive.

-

Now that he is here, Elain has lost all bravado she previously felt when she noticed the shadows moving in the corner of the room.

Her hand stills. The idea of putting on a show had turned her on earlier, but now that it's real, now that she can hear his breath catch as he notices her, she flushes.

She pulls her nightgown back into place.

How long has passed since he appeared? Seconds? Minutes? Neither of them speaks.

Finally, Elain looks at him. Her blood rushes downwards as she takes in his toned body, the mighty wings, and, through his silken underwear, the… attentiveness of him.

Her whole face warms up, cheeks tingling with the telltale sign of a blush. Get it together, Elain, this isn't the first naked man you've seen.

No, but it is the first naked male.

She gathers her courage enough to finally drawl, "do you always send your friends to spy on me?"

"No." She swears she can see his throat bob. "They disobeyed. There will be consequences."

Her toes curl at his tone and, even if they're hidden under the blankets, he chuckles. He knows—of course he knows. He might be the quietest member of Rhysand's court, but he notices everything. It's no wonder that, when she sits up, his eyes track the strap of her nightgown hanging off her shoulder.

"Everyone is asleep," she says simply, letting him gather the meaning from her obvious statement.

"Your mate is—"

"I don't care."

"He might… hear."

Elain grabbed the hem of her nightgown and slowly lifted if, baring herself to him.

"Then, I suppose you'll have to silence me."

Azriel holds himself with preternatural stillness, gifted by his fae heritage and honed by centuries of training. His eyes follow one leg, savouring every inch of the skin she usually hides away. When his gaze reaches her mons, his chest rises in a deep breath.

He takes a careful step towards her. Maybe he is giving her time to reconsider, but Elain feels more like a cornered animal—he walks to her like a predator approaching prey, moving as though she would flee at the first sound.

Elain shifts on the bed and opens her legs for him. At the sight of her, bare and swollen with want, Azriel pounces.

Elain's only other experience with sex had been quick and to the point. It had been magical, in a way that having your first time with your first love can be. It had been soft, with a lot of kissing and grabbing until he positioned himself on top of her and entered. After a couple of minutes of inexperienced thrusts, Graysen had finished and Elain fell asleep in his arms.

And so, when Azriel dives straight between her legs, she gasps. Azriel lets out a primal groan as he parts her with a broad stroke of his tongue. Elain cannot get herself to look at him and the depravity of seeing his dark locks between her legs.

He devours her like a starving man, his skilled tongue swirling around her bundle of nerves in tight circles. It quickly becomes too much and she bucks her hips, unconsciously denying herself release. A strong hand pins her back down to the mattress, holding her there as his tongue quickens its ministrations.

Elain looks down at him only to find those gorgeous hazel eyes staring right at her. He is all tousled hair and dilated pupils, no expression on his perfect face. His other hand slowly trails up her thigh, raising her leg towards her torso as it goes. Soon enough, his hand reaches her center and a broad finger teases at her entrance. As he swirls the tip of his finger slowly, stretching the tight skin, Elain wimpers.

Slowly, Az works his finger inside her. The sound is positively obscene, her wetness mixed with the lapping and sucking of his mouth. Azriel's finger finally bottoms out, and he angles it up. The feeling is strange, but not unwelcome—and before she can even understand what is happening, mind-numbing pleasure ripples through her. Her body jerks, held in place only by Azriel's hand on her abdomen. His trained tongue escorts her through her orgasm, slowing as the wave dies down. To her surprise, however, he does not stop.

Elain is panting, her vision filled with stars, but Azriel continues his work. With every flick of his tongue on her nub, Elain's hips jerk and her legs twitch. The sensation is overwhelming, almost painful.

"Azriel," she whimpers, "I can't—"

Azriel pulls away from her and shifts on the bed to lay on his side next to her.

Bringing his mouth to her ear, he whispers, barely more than a breath, "you can."

"It's too much," she cries in response.

"You can," he raises the hand that was resting against her abdomen, bringing a finger to her lips, "but you have to stay quiet."

The rasp of his voice combined with the lust in his eyes set her body ablaze. She nods shallowly, trailing her gaze down his body. He looks like a work of art, a carved statue of marble—his muscles glistening in sweat, his perfectly carved face and the length of him straining against his silken underwear.

Azriel's hand starts rubbing her again, gently, and Elain parts her lips at the renewed contact. She hears him sigh, clearly restraining a groan, when his fingers find their way to her entrance again. This time, he teases her with two fingers. With his other hand, he mirrors the movement to her mouth. As if by instinct, Elain parts her lips around his fingers and takes them in her mouth, twirling her tongue around the callused pads.

"Good girl," he purrs.

Azriel rewards her by plunging two fingers in her, curling once again towards that spot she cannot comfortably reach on her own. His thumb circles her bud in tandem.

Soon enough, Elain feels the coil inside her tighten, and she tumbles off the edge again. Her back arches as she comes violently—she might have accidentally bitten down on Azriel's fingers—, her hands desperately clawing at the sheets to anchor herself to reality.

When Elain's head stops spinning and she lays on her bed panting, she sees Azriel get up.

Elain narrows her eyes in confusion as his shadows start to appear around him, preparing to winnow him into the night. Suddenly, she is filled with insecurity. Is she not what he was expecting? She has been wanting him for weeks, months, and she thought… well, she would never assume to know what he wanted, but it had seemed that they wanted the same thing. From the stolen glances and the rare jokes they shared only with each other, she had presumed he felt for her like she did for him. Yet now he was readying to leave without a word.

"Wait—"

The shadows dissipate again, the sound of her voice enough to send them away.

If this was all he wanted, Elain could live with that, but something about his demeanor made her stop him. The way his eyes dart away from her, the way they stare blankly at nothing instead, the droop of his wings.

"What about you?" she asks softly.

"Don't worry about me."

"It's not fair. For you."

"I can take care of myself." His voice is cold and detached. "You've gifted me plenty to do so."

Gifted.

It hits her then. Ever since he winnowed in, his eyes have been filled with lust. He stared at her mouth, but he never kissed her and barely even touched her. It felt as if it was a piece of himself he was not yet ready to give—or a piece of her he felt unworthy to take.

He plans to go back to the House of Wind and take care of himself in private.

"Can I… watch?"

-

Azriel was not one to care about religion, but thinking of Elain always made him feel like the filthiest heretic. And so, tasting her felt like spitting on the Mother herself. Touching her, with the same hands he used to torture a Hybern rebel just hours ago, surely tainted her with his sins. Even in his most indulgent fantasies, he never let himself go further than tasting and touching her.

He would not dare think himself worthy of being in her.

But neither was that pathetic waste of breath Graysen.

And Lucien.

Lucien.

Just the thought of him watching impassively as Feyre wasted away in that manor—

"Can I… watch?" Elain murmurs.

Azriel's eyes widen. He feels his cheeks heating, and by the smile appearing on Elain's beautiful face, he knows he must be blushing brightly.

She is not yours. The Cauldron does not want you together.

The Cauldron never gave him anything, only pain.

Her mate is here. He will know.

Her mate did nothing to deserve her.

She does not want her mate.

It does not matter what Lucien wants, Elain has made it clear she wants nothing to do with him.

She wants this. Indulge her.

She shouldn’t want this. She deserves so much more. Yet...

Azriel nods once, barely visible, then sits on the edge of her bed.

Tentatively, he runs a hand over his clothed length. His calluses catch against the silk, but he keeps going. With Elain looking at him, the familiar shame that rises in him whenever he touches himself multiplies ten folds. He shuts his eyes tight against her gaze and immediately his other senses seem to pick up her presence even more. The smell of her arousal and floral perfume, the sound of her heart thundering in her chest, the taste of her that lingers in his mouth.

Az squeezes his cock, the fabric acting as a buffer between the scars of his hands and himself, and strokes it from base to tip. Images swirl in his mind, more vivid than ever before. One light stroke, she is on her bed with her legs spread, so utterly unaware of how many times he had imagined this exact scene. He strokes himself firmly as he remembers her soaking sex, the taste of it as he drank his fill.

As his mind plays out the view he had from between her legs, his hips buck. The mattress shifts next to him, but he pays it no mind. He sees the way her breasts heaved as she restrained herself from making a sound, feels her legs twitch around his head. He rubs his thumb over his glans, feeling the moisture seep through his underwear. The way Elain had sucked on his fingers, her warm mouth surrounding him, is sure to be his main fantasy from now on. The way her lips parted for him, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

With his eyes closed, lost in his fantasies, he had completely forgotten Elain’s presence until he felt something brushing the inside of his right wing. His eyes snap open, immediately turning his head to see Elain, kneeling inches away from him. How far gone had he been, to not notice her? She is so close, he can feel her breath on his wing.

Elain looks at him guiltily, as if his reaction made her regret touching him.

“Lower,” he tells her. He hisses quietly as she lets her hand brush against the thin membrane of his wing. “Trace the scar.”

Azriel shudders as Elain runs her fingers over the scar, once, twice. The pace of his hand is punishing now, and when Elain scratches her nails against the sensitive scar, Az erupts. He keeps stroking himself as he spends in his underwear, the oversensitive pain punishing him for his depravity. He keeps going until tears prick at the corners of his eyes and overstimulation threatens to make him whimper.

For a long moment, they sit there in silence; Azriel with his eyes staring right ahead, and Elain looking at him. There is still no sound in the house, thank the Mother.

“We should… do this again,” Elain says tentatively.

“We can’t.”

Az gets up. He calls his shadows and they quickly come, gathering around him.

“But—”

“Good night, Elain.”

The room disappears and Azriel is back at his room in the House of Wind. He lets himself fall face-first on his bed and groans.

How can he possibly stay away now?

[baronesscmd]

@anubis-005 has graciously allowed me to continue writing her sinfully delightful Nene’s Inferno Au, so I bring you the next installment. I hope you enjoy, and thank you. And go check out all her artwork; its absolutely amazing and deserves all the love!

AH! DISCLAIMER! CONTAINS SCENES OF SEXUAL INNUENDO/REFERENCES/SITUATIONS!

 He dropped himself to the ground, pulling her flush against him. One hand curled around her arm as the other caught her chin, bringing her gaze directly to the smoldering golden stare that was attempting to burn her alive. 

Nene's face flushed as he leaned in, tongue flicking over the sharp fangs in his mouth as he tipped his head so the heat of his words brushed against her lips. 

"You won't be needing those clothes."

**

“EXCUSE ME?!!”

Nene felt her pulse stutter and pick up double-time as the demon leaned closer, claws pricking at the soft curve of her cheeks as her whole body burned from his implications. She tried to push away, tried to get as much space between her and the demon before her; he wasn’t having it. The hand on her arm slid around her waist, pinning her tight against his chest as he smirked. 

“Oh yes, my sweet little Angel; that uniform just has to go.”

She felt those claws curl into her sash and tug, and before she could even make a sound, before she could try and push herself away; he moved. His hand slid from her waist to cup her bottom and squeeze, and she shrieked as he hauled her up and over his shoulder. 

He spun on his heel, whistling as he headed deeper into the maze as she tried to get loose. Nene beat her fists against his back and kicked her legs, trying to ignore the sharp curve of his shoulder as it pressed into her belly.

Harder to ignore was the hand hooked around her knees, and the thumb that was making tiny circles against her thigh. Worse than that though, was the hand still on her butt. She struggled harder, flushing as he patted the soft curve of her cheeks. 

 "PUT ME DOWN! AND DONT TOUCH ME!"

Nene let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a scream as the demon chucked, pinching her as he nipped at her hip through the fabric of her dress.

"My my, aren't you a feisty one! You'll be great fun. I can already tell. But you have to behave, my Angel, or your new Master will punish you.

"And while I can guarantee you will not enjoy it, I shall have a delightful time."

She continued to struggle against him until the band around her finger began to burn. She yelped and folded, her chin bouncing into his back as she curled her hands together. 

It hurt, more than anything she had ever experienced. Like something was trying to claw at her soul, to tear her open and lay her bare. She watched through her tears as the demon's tail looped around her wrists, and as suddenly as the pain had come on, it vanished.

"Ah, fun little bit about that Bond, my Angel." 

She stiffened in his grasp as he drew a claw down her thigh before his fingers crept back up to pinch her.

"You cannot disobey me."

Cold stole through Nene's limbs and she went still and silent. The demon laughed, the echo of it reverberating through her own chest in a hollow imitation of joy. The tail squeezed her wrists, and she swallowed back her tears. 

Beneath them, the grassy maze gave way to cobblestones, and she planted her hands against the small of his back as he spun around. 

"Welcome to your new home, Angel."

Nene lifted her head, biting back a gasp at the palace before her; she had not expected something so elegant of a design in Hell. It rose from a tangle of wild roses like a crouching beast, sweeping up into the skyline like nothing she had seen. 

In Heaven, the buildings had been white, and gold and silver-toned. It had felt like walking through a dream, with open shutters and friendly hellos as she passed. This was quite the opposite. 

This was a nightmare of brick, wood, bone, and glass. Shadows hung from the twisted black iron of the balconies like discarded clothes, the stained glass depicting demons in different throes of lust. 

Ivy twisted it's way up the cracks of the black stones, twisting around marble statues carved in obscene positions. She averted her eyes as they passed a set of skeletons, entwined together, forever frozen in the moment of completion. 

And the arch of the grand doorway, before the demon carrying her turned on his heel to march her under it, was carved in stark white bone with the twisted limbs and slack faces of those who had given in to the Sin of Lust.

The inside was as hauntingly beautiful as the exterior, with dark walls and black marble floors. Golden lamps spilled light in fleeting puddles, and Nene saw more than one alcove with the entwined forms of sated bodies. 

He hauled her through the dining hall, whispers rising as the few demons who happened to be awake caught sight of them. Painted mouths disappeared behind razor-tipped nails as she knew they began to gossip, and more than one pair of hungry, hooded eyes raked over her form, leaving her feeling filthy. 

Nene tried to remember the twists and turns he took so she could attempt an escape, but when they passed the same low table with a couple half-concealed beneath it again, she knew he had purposely misled her.

Each path was more confusing than the last, some with high, vaulted ceilings that the light could not illuminate, and others with low curving beams that pulled the shadows close enough to touch. 

And the paintings! Nene could look nowhere and find a patch of wall that was not hung with obscenities. Even what she assumed were flowers, painted in soft brush strokes, resembled a part of her own anatomy that the demon's hand was much too close to.

He took them down a long hallway, the doors at the beginning doing little to conceal the moans and cries of the pleasure-seekers within. She flushed and tried to raise her hands to cover her ears to block out the sounds, but the tail held her fast. 

They turned again, and this hallway was silent but for the echo of his footsteps. His hand stroked from the curve of her waist to the back of her knee before he kicked a door open. 

Nene watched with increasing panic as the heavy wooden doors fell shut behind them, lock sliding into place as her heart sank. She was trapped, completely and utterly. 

She had no time to admire the room, richly decorated in swathes of black and red satin as the demon fisted his hand in the back of her dress and dumped her onto a bed.

It took her a second, as she was consumed by tangled scarlet silk and plush pillows as dark as a raven's wing, that she was not in just any bedroom, tumbled onto a sinfully soft bed. 

Nene was sprawled across the sheets in the bed that belonged to the Lord of Lust, locked in this den of depravity and debauchery. 

She watched with horror as he set a knee to the bed and dragged her closer, pinning her beneath his lithe form as she tried to get away, even though she knew it was useless. His mouth nipped at her throat, tongue sliding up her skin before he sucked a bruise into the tender flesh as he groaned. 

"You taste like innocence and divinity. And I am going to enjoy corrupting you."

He shoved her knees apart and settled against her, and before he could side his hand from her waist to her breast or between her legs, Nene threw her arms against his chest with a cry. 

She wasn't sure who was more surprised as he was tossed back, his black eyes lightening to amber as they both watched the pale gold band form around his tail. She scrambled from beneath him, not getting far before he hooked his hand around her chubby ankle. 

He didn’t draw her back to him, which she found odd, but he seemed more preoccupied with the sharp flicks he made to try and fling the ring off. The swing of it was rather hypnotic, and Nene gasped as his claws bit into her skin as he yanked her down the bed. 

She drew her knees up as he loomed over her, and she watched as his eyes flickered rapidly over her face, as if there was something hidden in her own gaze that would explain what had happened. His mouth split into a wicked smile and he hauled her up, locking one arm around her as she thrashed in his hold as he snapped his fingers. 

Seconds later, three scantily clad demonesses hurried through the door, all wearing the same outfit of a black and white maids uniform, and dipped into deep curtsies. Nene paled as he shoved her forward; the tallest demoness, who had ripped the front of her blouse so that her very generous bust could be seen through the heart shape, caught her by the arm before she could hit the floor. 

“Dress our little Angel in her new uniform; she’ll be joining you in your duties starting today.”

Nene whipped her head around as another of the demoness’ hurried away, the ruffles of her dress barely touching the top of her thighs. He couldn’t really mean to put her in something so revealing, but the sly smile as their eyes met showed that he absolutely did. 

She shrieked as the demons pulled at her uniform, trying to bat their hands away to no avail. The taller one unsnapped the buttons on her collar as the other pulled her sash free, and she could do nothing as the third came back with her arms full of fabric. 

They stripped her quickly and efficiently, though their touch lingered on her skin like a burn. She clung to her thin shift as they tried to pull it off, even as they knocked her off balance to remove her sandals. They couldn’t take her shift, she’d be naked; no one had ever seen her naked. The demoness caught her hands in a bruising grip and bunched the fabric in her free hand.

“Let her keep it.”

They all froze, turning to the Demon Lord reclining on his bed. His grin was as filthy as it was seductive, and Nene tried to draw her hands down to cover herself as his eyes raked over her, his tail flicking lazily against his thigh. She may as well have been completely bare before him with the way his gaze smoldered. 

“Yes, M’Lord.”

She didn’t struggle as they pulled the fabric over her head and harshly tugged her braids free of the collar, didn’t comment as they shoved her into the neat black shoes, muffled a gasp as they tied the bow of her apron with enough force to nearly drive the air from her lungs.

The demons hurried out as he snapped his fingers, one poking back in briefly to drop a mop, broom, and bucket inside the door with a cruel grin before it closed behind her. Nene kept her eyes shut as he crossed the room and curled his hands around her hips. 

There was nothing she could do as he twisted her from side to side and then turned her, trailing his claws across her belly as he pressed his face into her hair. She could feel the curve of his smile against the shell of her ear before he pulled away.

“You might as well look, my little Angel. You’ll be seeing yourself in it for the foreseeable future. Unless you’d like to clean in the nude.”

Nene snapped her eyes open as heat flooded her cheeks, and was surprised to find herself in a uniform that, while still inappropriate, covered much more than she was expecting. The puffed black sleeves left her arms bare, and the dark ruffles of her skirt at least came to her knees. It was actually cute, with the frilled overskirt and pink and white heart over her chest. 

“By the grace of providence we had one in your size.”

She glared at him as he chuckled as he floated behind her, magicing the bucket, mop, and broom into her hands. Providence, as if; more like limitless lechery, she thought as he adjusted her headband. She truly was stuck here, this wasn’t just an elaborate nightmare. 

Nene jumped with a scream as his hand smacked her bottom, cleaning supplies flying as he caught her up in his arms. That damned tail wound around her leg as if it had a mind of its own as he pinned her hands to his chest so he could twirl the ring around her finger. 

“And, my little Angel; a few more things.”

He bent her nearly backward as he slid his knee between her own, the tension in her spine the only thing keeping her from sprawling back over the bed. The ring on her finger seemed to burn with the same intensity as the one tapping against her thigh.

“You will be my personal attendant; you will wake me, bring me meals if I do not dine in the hall. When I do dine in the hall, you shall serve me. Ah ah, I’m not finished,” his finger pressed against her lips to silence her protests, “You will help me bathe, and dress, and cater to any of my whims.”

His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom and bring her hips flush to his. The hard lines of his body settled against the soft curves of her own with a familiarity that made her flush. 

“And I shall allow you to keep your innocence; for now.”

The press of him to the intimate place between her thighs made her whimper and tremble, and he only smirked. 

“Also, you shall address me as “My Lord” or “Master” when you speak to me; is that clear, my Angel?”

Nene dipped her head and mumbled as he shifted against her, his tail tightening around her thigh like a demonic garter. 

“I didn’t hear you, Angel.”

She lifted her head, meeting those blazing eyes with her own as she curled her nails into his chest and watched him wince. 

“Yes, Master.”

He dipped his head, mouth a breath from hers as he pressed their bodies closer together. Heat flooded her at every point they met, and she let her eyes flicker down to his lips worriedly.

“Good girl.”

And then he was gone. 

Nene sank onto the edge of the bed as he swept his hand out and the cleaning supplies disappeared with the spilled water. He pulled open the door of his room and gestured into the hall.

“Come along, unless you wish for me to take you now.”

She shot up from the bed and hurried to the entrance, shuttering as he laid his hand on the small of her back to guide her. 

“You have much to see before you help me tonight, and I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

Nene felt despair sink into her soul as he led her back down those twisting halls. There were more demons now, peeking from doorways and corners as they headed to the servants quarters. Eyes followed her every step, and the whispers hung in the air like a death sentence. 

The Lord of Lust had an Angel for a plaything, and wouldn’t he have fun with her? 

Her master’s hand slid lower as his tail lashed against her with every step, and she bit back her tears. This was her own fault, she had gotten herself into this mess. And she would have to be the one to get herself out. There would be no Divine Intervention to save her; the Angels did not listen to the cries that rose from Hell. 

If Nene wanted to escape, she’d have to do it herself.

And @anubis-005 Thank you SOOO much for this again! It is, as always, an honor and pleasure to work with you!!! <3 :3

[forcefully-awoken]

This is for the BNHArem’s villain AU collab!

Gang Orca x Reader

Rated: Teen? Mature? This is new territory for me.

CW: Sex work, kidnapping, idk stockholm syndrome?

The corruption of Kugo Sakamata is not the prolonged, drawn out affair the news has portrayed it to be. It wasn’t quietly brewing under his skin, needled at by the whispers and stares that plagued him. He was a good man, up until the point where he wasn’t. He was a kind man, until something inside of him snapped. It was as fast as the moment the first domino falls. The goodness is there.

Until it isn’t.

There’s a car alarm blaring outside your apartment.

It’s been like this for weeks now. There’s nothing else to do but get up, to go about your life as though nothing has changed when everything is different. It’s almost time for your stream, you note as you walk by your kitchen, ignoring your grumbling stomach to turn on the tv first. It’s still on the news station, just like when you turned it off last night.

If you can’t save the world, you might as well listen to it crumble.

You move back to the kitchen, trying to figure out what you have that will make an even half way satisfying dinner. Fuck, it’s been weeks since you were able to get to the shops. You settle for some ramen with an egg and some questionable vegetables on top. Waiting for the water to boil you can hear the news trickling in.

**Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.**

**One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.**

The heroes? You can’t decide if the anchor is optimistically naive or just plain stupid. You snort, stirring the noodles into the boiling water. The heroes haven’t been seen in ages, the top ten falling one by one to more and more villains. You’ve even heard talk of heroes becoming the villains.

**Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.**

**One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.**

“Yeah, no shit,” You talk back to the tv, preparing your dinner before walking carefully over to the couch with it. You want to turn it to a different channel, see if anything happier is on but you don’t. Can’t. You tell yourself it’s plain need, that you have to check to make sure it’s not your apartment in the path of destruction.

Lies.

You can’t turn it off because you don’t want to. You don’t want to because it’s become an addiction, like watching videos of disasters on the internet. Your food burns the roof of your mouth when you shovel it in but you can hardly tell. Ugh. You’ll need to go shopping this week.

Setting the dishes in the sink for later you turn the tv off, resigning yourself to an excursion this week. It’s not apocalyptic outside yet, but you don’t want to turn the risk of getting mugged, or worse. Whatever you need can wait until tomorrow though, you think, stepping into your bathroom to shower, put on some makeup for your stream.

Streaming isn’t exactly how you thought you would make money but it pays and it keeps you inside, keeps you safe. Once you deem yourself pretty enough you get the show on the road. Easy, light stream today.

You don’t even think you’ll need to take off your underwear.

“Would I ever fuck a villain?” You laugh as you read the question, absentmindedly tweaking a nipple as you do. You can hear the ping of donations stream in when you give a little shudder of pleasure. “Sure, some of them are pretty hot. You ever seen that Gang Orca? I bet he’s packing.”

It ends with little fanfare after that, and soon enough you're back in bed, staring at the ceiling as sleep eludes you. There’s noises outside, loud shouting, what sounds like glass breaking. Just one more stream, just enough to save up to move into a different neighborhood, a safer one. Then maybe you can rest.

Morning comes before you want it to.

You pick plain clothes, a little form fitting so people can’t grab you, but loose enough to move in if you have to run. You keep your head down as you lock your door behind you, moving with quick, sure steps. The store is out of a few things but you manage to stock up on essentials for another few weeks. You did it, thank fuck, nobody even hassled you that much.

Right when you slip your key into the door is where it all goes wrong.

“Don’t scream,” the voice behind you is low, and despite your better instincts you listen. “Open the door and I won’t hurt you.”

Yet, you think but obey anyways. There’s a presence behind you, large and overly looming. A large hand drops onto your shoulder right when you hear the door shut. There’s something digging into your shoulder and a quick, darting glance reveals- claws?

Oh, no.

It can’t be.

You stumble forward in an attempt to get away, twisting your body around. It’s a nightmare come true- not just a villain in your home but one of the worst ones. He’s so much larger in real life than you thought he would be. So much more intimidating when you finally meet his red eyes.

Kugo Sakamata.

Gang Orca.

Standing in your living room.

The last thing you see before you faint is his hands coming towards you.

It’s too quiet when you wake up now.

Your room is too dark, save for the open laptop on your desk. Your arms are tied to your desk chair, legs as well. You can see him in the room, but you know he has to be there. Nothing appears to have been taken. You have no idea what’s going on, until he steps back into view.

“Hello there,” His voice is smoother than you would have imagined from before. God, he looks even taller from this angle. Your neck strains to look up at him all the way. His hand comes up to cup your cheek lightly, some sort of parody of a lover’s touch.

You only barely manage to hold back your shudder of revulsion.

He can see it in your eyes though, and his hand jerks back as if he’s been burned. Good, you hope something has hurt him. He’s already shattered your limited sense of security- hostage, in your own home. If you make it out of this alive you won’t even be able to move. He turns away from you, stepping to your computer. You can’t see around him, he blocks out all the light as he stands between the screen and you.

“Do you know why I’m here, little one?” You had the way the diminutive name sounds as it falls from his mouth, almost soft and bordering on sweet. You remain silent, fear locking your jaw shut tight. He continues on without you anyways, “You should. It was only last night when you said what you want from me.” He steps to the side, allowing you to see what’s on your computer now.

He’s started a stream.

Shit, you knew your dumb mouth would come back to haunt you one day. You just didn’t think it would be like this. Your mouth drops open but no words come out. Vaguely, you can read the chat- lots of concern but those messages are being drowned out by people asking, no telling, Gang Orca to do all sorts of depraved things to you. The fucking perverts.

“You could tell them where you are,” He sits behind you on the bed now, arms coming up to wrap around you, caging you in. “Or you can watch how quickly the average man turns when there’s something he thinks he wants.”

You’re still clothed, but you can feel the heat of him through it. How is he so warm? He shifts forwards even more, a hand coming up to hold your jaw, showing you off to the screen. You feel even more naked than during your actual streams. You feel exposed, every nerve like a livewire beneath your skin.

“I could kill you, you know,” His voice sounds almost detached, like he’s bored with the situation, “I think they would like that.” The grip on your jaw tightens. “You can already see what they want me to do to you, how they want me to defile you. There’s almost nobody concerned with your safety now.”

Your eyes strain as you take in the chat, blinking back tears as you realize he’s right. There’s nobody asking you if you’re alright now- only demands, promises to pay whatever the cost is if Gang Orca will only get the show on the road. You wonder why the site hasn’t automatically shut down your stream, after all one of the most notorious villains is right there, begging to be caught.

Until you catch sight of how many people are watching.

“You’re too popular to turn off,” There’s a hint of something sad in his voice, regret mixed with a fondness you can’t place. It’s like he expected this, like this is all going according to plan. “They don’t want to shut down what’s making them money hand over fist.”

You hate to acknowledge that he’s right. The stupid fish fuck is exactly on the mark. The site takes a portion of your donations, and the amount it’s at right now isn’t just your own personal record, it’s a sitewide one. There’s no way they’ll shut you down, try to get you help. Not when there’s still money to be made.

“Don’t you see?” His voice tickles your ear as he whispers into it. You don’t want to see. It’s like you can predict what he will say next. You don’t want him to confirm it, to confirm the worst fears inside of you.

“It’s not just the villains that are bad,” Between his arms and his voice you can almost forget that it feels like the whole world is watching you now, watching this corruption. “I’m evil, but at least I’m honest. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to. How many of them can say that?”

He’s right, of course he is. How else could the world get this bad? Someone along the way stopped caring, and then another, until there were more eyes looking away than could be helped. Easier to ignore the wrong and look out for number one, after all isn’t that what you had been doing?

“Join me,” he breathes, “Be free.”

You don’t hesitate, not now. You let the next two words slip from your mouth not without thought, but free from it. The last tether of your sanity snaps.

“Kiss me.” It’s a plea, one he obeys with a vicious grin. His mouth presses to yours.

The next domino falls.

[silkybullets]

“Death Call”

Midland Hotel, 1925, sitting alone at a table the evening before Christmas, Tommy's icy eyes met with a face he never had ever thought of seeing again, not whilst being alive at least. Which lead us back to Birmingham, 1914, after he volunteered in Small Heath rifles, he spent his last couple of months home holding your hand in the hospital, watching your colours fade as dying of an unknown disease.

Warnings: English is my second language.

Words: around 2k

Tommy just ordered a drink, adding to that a whore, a brand new one in honor of Christmas when he initially went to light his cigarette. His eyes drifted to a table further away where a woman was already sitting down. He did recognize her, remembering the sweet touch of an old lover. His stiffened body didn’t receive the orders to continue moving sent by his brain, his mind too occupied playing memories of before the war. Before it all begins, or all ends, depending which side you’re looking.

One the other side of the room, you were searching the pockets of your woolen coat. When you finally found your cigarette case, you got one out, sliding it in between your soft lips. After pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you hassled lightening up your cig and welcomed the poison in your lungs as if it was the purest thing. 

The waiter came closer to you, putting down your rhum, which you drank in one go and ordered another one. It’s been a couple months you didn’t drink and, after this first shot you don’t remember why. When doctors failed to diagnose you and closed your file with a lung disease you were young and never tasted the flavor of the liquid poison. But at the cliff of death, God granted you the wish to live.

Too bad that’s when your memories of endless & lonely drinking nights happened. 

Coming from a christian family, it was no question for them you had been chosen by God to do something great in this world. Pushing their luck they sent you to an orphanage run by nuns to pay your debts to God. When their initial idea was to keep you pure for as long as you were to be alive, you chose a different path for yourself, bounged down into alcohol, drugs and whatever came with it.

Saying you were a non-believer would be too much, but the idea of being some kind of “chosen one” was nonsense to you, that just meant death was right under your nose or waiting for you at the corner of the street. What happened next was logical consequence, your depraved self was sent back home after the nuns numerous warnings were ignored. You did not change, and decided not to. 

When being saved or witnessing a miracle helps people get their life in order, it had the reverse effect on you and you had yet to get your shit together.

When they recommended you to drastically change your ways for the sake of your family if not for you, you gave in. You had siblings, and knowing how hard your family could be on them at times, you didn’t want to leave them alone. But your good will ended tonight.

You looked at the filled glass in front of you for what seemed like an eternity,  weighting the pros and cons of getting drunk tonight and all the other after that one. You being dead or alive it’ll be okay for your family, you assured yourself to avoid feeling guilty for choosing not to fight. 

Ten minutes and three empty cups later, you were ordering another one. The waiter was intently looking at you, concerned, while you were ignoring his pout.

“You sure you want rhum, ma’m, Can I bring you something else, gin perhaps?” He was as smooth as one could, but the implicit meaning behind his words irritated you the most.

“Do I look like I’m sad, eh? Tell me ‘cause I don’t look at meself in mirrors these days.” You begin, agitating your fingers that were holding another cigarette. 

“Gin’s for sad women, whiskey for big boys crying, rhum for people like me: We are not sad enough for trying to drown our pain in gin, not hopeless alcoholics enough to to get drunk with something as tasteless as whisky. We simply enjoy a slow death with a sweet and spicy flavor. Please bring me the whole bottle this time.”

Without realizing it, you offered the man the warmest smile he had seen tonight and he gave one back even if still quite taken aback by your confusing revelation.

Tommy had seen enough, he got up throwing a bill near his drink and cleared his throat for lack of clearing his head. He walked to the table, the woman he once knew was seated, his voice already reaching her ears before their eyes would meet.

“Is this seat taken?” He motioned to the second chair around the table. Finishing another glass she invited him to sit down with a move of hand. Her cigarette in between her lips, she poured some rhum into her glass and ultimately lifted her eyes to his face.

“Are you sick of the hotel whore, Thomas? Am not one if this is your question.” She blinked as puffing on her cig. 

“Merry Christmas to you too, Y/N” He coughed. “See you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Nor did you.”

Lies, it was all lies, if it wasn’t her eyes he hadn’t recognized her. The woman he was in love with was long gone and so was the boy who loved her.

“So OBE it is, now?” She looked up to him.

He stayed in her eyes before daring to speak, and break the eye contact.

“You were always used to call me Tommy, we can stick to that.”

She didn’t respond nor look at him, keeping for herself any emotions his words had unleashed into her, if they did.

“What happened to you?” He spoke in a more vibrant ton. An attempt to ease the heavy atmosphere.

“War happened to us, Tom.” 

His eyes snapped open on her.

“What France did to you, remaining alive did to me.” She offered him a fair smile, looking straight at him with the same piercing gleam hiding behind her iris than when they were younger. 

“We all came back alive. John, Arthur, Freddie... Although they are now some missing pieces.”

“Yeah, fucking pieces spilled everywhere. It’s looking like the puzzles we used to play when we were younger, huh? Does that ring any bell?” She giggles.

It was hard for him to read her, he didn’t know what he felt either. 

He stayed at the hospital three months straight holding her hand as her colors were fading. He remembers vividly how difficult it was for her to breath, speak, even keeping her eyes open was a huge sacrifice. But she’d never compromised to keep them shut as he told her to, his face gave him the strength of an army, as she used to say. And that had him laugh, even though now he doesn’t remember the last time something as close as a laugh came out his throat.

“Don’t get fucking lost in memories, Thomas. Just ask for it.” 

She poured some liquor into her glass and slowly slid it to Tommy as if anticipating him telling her he didn’t want it.

He watched her moves with amusement, it was odd to him to find her here, but even more peculiar was the fact it seems like she knew him still. Like those ten years that separated them weren’t there, like there wasn’t a day they didn’t think about the other fondly. Her gaze didn’t leave his, and he knew exactly where her mind was because his own was at the same place. She was getting all the information she could to try to match his now tired face with the one she had been picturing in her head all those years.

“Okay then.” he nodded. “ Where have you been?” 

A smile appeared at the corner of his lips, they were playing a game he couldn’t only play with her, she was the one girl before France, everyone got their advantages.

“Fucking dying of being alive after I got strunk by some miracle.” She raised a brow as if to voice the displeasure of missing the boat.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I wish I was, Tommy.”

He let out a long sigh. Once again he failed at keeping a light atmosphere. It was to be said she wasn’t any help.

That’s when he realized no matter how it felt like they were still the same teenagers, back in 1914 before everybody got fucked up, no matter how hard the memories were hitting him this exact same instant with their first kiss, their first touch and the first time they exchanged their desire to live a life together, they were not the same. Nothing was.

She was only a mere shadow of herself, and he? He couldn’t even look at her in the eyes for more than five minutes, too afraid it would dig out things that must be kept where they were nowhere to be found for his own sake.

Every little thing about before France hurt him. Even the happy throwbacks, especially the happy throwbacks. Knowing he would never feel those feelings again, never get silly about the breeze meeting with his skin or the rising of the sun at the top of a hill killed him most. That’s why he didn’t want to ask more about what happened to her. But at the same time, the questions came naturally to him, as if he waited all along to throw them out, taking off his chest a weight he never realized to initially be there.

“Have you done better after I left?”

“I did. For a time. Some years, in fact, even though my parents sent me to a nunnery to thank God for his mercy.”

He snorted at her words.

“Why doesn’t it surprise me? They were always about keeping you saint, even asked me to fucking give up on taking you running in the fields to watch the night sky until sun rised, they never thought it could be the other way around, you leading me.”

She laughed at this thought.

“Don’t you dare say this as if you disliked me being the lead, Tommy Shelby.” She sneered.

“No, I indeed liked it.” He shook his head without hesitation.

“If only they knew what we did, in those nights.” They both spoke, their voice overlapping along with their minds.

“Tommy you got to follow me, or else we’ll be too late.”

“Let me catch a breath, we got all the time to come up the hill some other nights.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s tonight the fireballs are going to be running in the sky!”

“You aware it’s not called “fireball” and that they are not ‘running’ in the sky?”

The girl stuck her tongue out, turning to him, her eyes mechanically squinted at the move. She did not realize he was right behind her and faked all along still behind at the feet of the hill to annoy her. His body strongly collided with her, making her stagger but Tommy’s arms locked her waist firmly, avoiding her body from meeting the ground, and his lips dropped on her mouth in a second, she couldn’t even close her eyes during the kiss.

“Stop it!” Her suave voice worded as one of her hands went hitting his chest, even if her deepest desire was for him not to let go of her lips.

“I’m thinking about that one night we first fucked. Bodies wet both by sweat and dew“ She muttered.

He was sitting but naked on the grass, his fingers intertwined in her hair that was falling at her back as holding her tightly. She was the type of flowers you thought were beautiful but couldn’t help but rip off the ground, dooming them to die in your hands. 

Her legs were strongly wrapped around his hips, she was carefully grounding down on him, making sure every of her moves were slow to make the pleasure last. She turned loose the grip of her arms around his neck and leaned backward so he’d hit her from another angle, this one allowing him to reach the bottom.

Her screams filled his ears and soon enough his mouth as she straightened back up, seeking his eyes, wanting to connect even more. The darkness he ignited in her eyes that night never left, always leading him to always want her, even in the most inappropriate places.

“I was thinking about that time at the local church.” He admitted.

“Every-fucking-body heard the screams--” She proudly stated.

“The priest was more than disturb” He added. “But they never found out who that was.” 

“Well, we know.” She handed him her cigarette. He gladly took it and smoked as much as he could, clouding his lungs as well as his mind.

She giggled some more, shaking her head both sides, she couldn’t believe they did such a thing, but knowing as mad they were when together, it was all figured out.

“It came back, Tommy.”

“What did?” He gained his serious tone back, eyes locking with hers.

“The disease, they say it’s even more violent this time, but I know it just never left. It has been lurking in the dark to come back when I’ll be happy again. But seeing I figured out its plan, it decided it was time to finish me off.” She sang. Her voice was devoid of any sadness, and he noticed it. “I think it’s a curse, Tommy. Run in our blood. Me grandma’ had that too, it passed a generation, leaving my mother and little sister alone. But I fear for the others.”

Old reflexes leading the way, Tommy’s hand fondled hers in the most natural way. He leaned forward to her as she took off his lips her cigarette, filling her lungs with that poison in hope it would kill the one that resided in her since way too long.

[yoongi-sugaglider]

Daegu Quarantine

Jungkook x reader

Gang/ zombie apocalypse au

Warnings:

Gore, violence, zombies, mention of drugs and drug dealing, weapons discharge in self defense, main character death, zombies, course language, zombies, drinking, did I mention zombies?

Summary:

They were the top of their game, known throughout the city as the smartest and most dangerous crew to ever hit the Daegu streets. But what’s going to happen when this group of young men encounter something right out of a horror film?

Word count: 2833

A/n: Just a heads up, mild torture beat em ups this chapter, and the opinions of the military are (Mostly) purely for the story.

Part 17===Part 18===Part 19

By the time my brain even attempted to register what was going on, Jenkins had already dragged me from the kitchen into the main bowling area.

The pitch-black lanes loomed before me, gaping chasms yawning in the darkness like the monstrous face of some multi headed monster preparing to swallow me whole.

Jenkins shoved me ahead of him, causing me to stumble into one of the ball returns. I choked back a cry as the cool and unforgiving metal dug into the wound on my thigh. The last thing I needed was to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt me, especially with the implications of what he planned to do to me.

As I pushed myself to stand he grabbed my arm, growling his impatience in my ear and shoving me around the machine.

“Keep it moving, I don’t have all day.”

I frowned, shuffling forward a pace or two before finding my stride once again.

“Shame, last I checked I had the whole apocalypse.” I laced as much sass as I could manage into my tone, earning myself a jab to the ribs from his weapon. The bruising force had me cackling into the darkness like a mad woman.

We passed several of his soldier buddies. Some camped out on the seats around the score monitors while others milled around in small groups or by themselves. All of them seemed desperate to stick as close to the lanterns as they could though.

Of the ones that I could see, including the three I’d seen stationed at the front doors, I counted 14 bodies, 26 total if I included the civilians I’d been grouped with in the kitchens. There was no telling really though how many of the soldiers had weapons and special combat training, and that alone set me on edge enough to keep me paying attention.

“Home sweet home huh?” I muttered as we made our way through to the lobby and towards a set of very dark looking stairs.

Jenkins paused for a moment and I watched by the light filtering in from the front doors as he dug angrily through the pockets of his army issue cargo pants.

“Gosh, and here I thought the torture was gonna be getting my fingernails ripped out or some shit. No, it’s waiting on King Flaccid to figure his shit out.”

The comment may have earned me a rifle butt to the stomach but damn if it wasn’t worth seeing Jenkin’s fellow soldier snickering behind his back.

“Shut it Riley…” Jenkins grumbled.

By the time the semi functioning man had his flashlight out and shining at the stairs I’d recovered from my forced Lamaze class enough to walk upright again. Which meant once more I was leading the way in a building I’d never been in before.

Using my still cuffed hands I felt along the walls as I climbed, finally emerging on the pitch black landing with a sigh.

“Lovely place you have here.” I grumbled, impatiently tapping my foot as I watched the bobbing beam of the flashlight slowly ascending behind me. I suppressed a shiver when the light highlighted several dark smears and handprint splatters on the wall.

“Yooo!! Welcome to my crib MTV!” I grinned, leaning against the wall as nonchalantly as possible when Jenkins and his buddy finally huffed and puffed their way to standing in front of me.

“Fuck sake Jenkins. Can we shut this bitch up already?”

Apparently the men had finally had enough of me as the next thing I knew I woke up with a blinding headache and a distinct inability to draw a full breath from the fact that my arms were now wrapped around the back of a chair and cuffed in place.

“Jeeze, you would think being in the military somebody would have taught these boys how to treat a lady.” I grumbled to myself, earning me a quiet snicker from somewhere ahead of me.

I opened my eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the relative brightness of the room after so long spent in the dark. A grin leapt to my face at the sight of Rose, slightly bruised to the face but no less alive and well.

“Well shit, fancy meeting you here hot stuff!”

She grinned back at me, the expression coming across as mildly manic since the swelling to her lips and cheek made her face slightly lopsided.

The room itself was about as boring as an office could get. My brain only half way registered the handful of candles that lit the place, making the bowling posters and filing cabinets feel almost sinister. 

Almost.

“Homey.” I smiled, eyes seeking out Jenkins and his buddy who stood back by the door, whisper arguing with each other.

“Boys? Fancy getting a girl a drink?” I asked, head tilted awkwardly so I could catch their eye when they turned to glare at me.

Neither answered though and I went back to taking in my surroundings. Taehyung sat in a chair just opposite Rose, facing her as if they’d been making him watch them torture her. Amatures.

I nodded to him, knowing he’d always been able to handle the harshest of treatments thanks to having watched Hoseok initiate him ages and ages ago. He didn’t seem too happy to see me there but I shrugged his way, sending him a grin that had his frown deepening.

“You do realize if we duct tape her mouth we won’t have to deal with her bullshit right?”

I turned to look at the two soldiers, quirking an eyebrow at the younger one and smiling flirtily his way.

“Aww, tie me up and gag me. I like the way that one thinks.” The bright blush that exploded across his cheeks was well worth what came next.

There was no warning. I don’t know why I expected there to be one.

One minute Jenkins was by the door, the next he was right in front of me.

The pain that lashed across the left side of my face had me seeing stars. Almost immediately Rose was screaming, struggling against her restraints and threatening the men around us.

“You low life piece of garbage! I swear to fuck I will expose every internet search you ever tried to hide! Every tiny dick pic you ever took. Every depraved piece of porn you ever Googled or downloaded!”

She continued on, practically foaming at the mouth as Jenkins laughed out loud.

“Ah, see now. I had a feeling this one would be useful.” He snickered, eyes filled with glee as he watched me spit out the blood that’d filled my mouth when my teeth scraped the inside of my cheek. He pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket, flicking it back and forth a few times before flashing it open before me.

“Come on now Army boy, my grandmother hits harder than that.” I grinned up at him, knowing I looked half way to deranged with my swelling cheek and the blood that I could still taste covering my front teeth.

My insult must not have sat too well with his ego as he bent over me and jammed the handle of his knife into my thigh wound.

“Cheeky little cunt.” He growled, breath a hot mask of cigarettes and whatever canned goop he’d eaten for lunch.

I cried out from the shock of the pain, eyes watering as I sought out the comforting sight of my friends.

Rose was openly sobbing, head hung low as she continued to mutter threats in Jenkins’ general direction. Tae on the other hand was stone silent, eyes awash with rage as he opened his mouth as if to speak.

I returned my attention to Jenkins, though I made sure Taehyung had his eyes on me before I spoke.

“Silence is golden. It’s better this way.” I knew it was cryptic, that much was obvious in the way Jenkins hesitated in raising his hand as if to hit me again.

More importantly than his reaction though was Tae. I knew he would understand my words without me having to say anything.

I glanced over at Tae, watching his eyes go from blind fury to a quiet resignation. Despite everything on the line he knew better than to go against my silent orders.

“Well?” The man called Riley demanded.

Jenkins continued to twirl his butterfly knife, face a mask of cold indifference as he watched the edge glint in the low candle light. He pulled an empty chair over, sitting down and leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he scratched at his chin with the knife blade while watching my every move.

I squinted at him, watching the rusted gears turning in his head before realization struck.

“You’ve never done this have you?” I asked, grinning brightly before throwing my head back to cackle aloud into the darkness.

“Good lord Tae no wonder you haven’t said shit!” I leaned to the side a bit, sending the stoic hacker a wink. “Hobi would have had any one of us howling out secrets by now. And here I thought I was actually in trouble. That boy could get a baby to snitch on their mother’s breast milk and here you two are barely struggling to even get me to shut up. Can you imagine!”

***

They tried. They certainly did.

By the time Jenkins had worn himself into exhaustion I’d grown bored with all of it.

He’d hit me sure, bruised my face and arms several shades of ugly. But in the end I’d been untied and sent on my way back to the kitchen with the others along with Rose and Taehyung.

I could tell the entire experience had demoralized poor Jenkins. His shoulders slumped as he followed behind Riley before disappearing into the darkness of the lobby after we’d been delivered back to the kitchen.

Once the soldiers were gone Jimin immediately rushed over to fawn over the three of us. He did the best he could with what the kitchen had available, substituting a tiny bottle of vodka that one of the civilians had found for rubbing alcohol and patching up everyone’s wounds as best as he was able to.

After my injuries had been attended to I made my way over to what remained of our crew, hugging a sobbing Jeanette tightly while sending Yoongi a reassuring smile before allowing myself to be wrapped from behind in the warmth of Jungkook’s grounding embrace.

“How bad was it?” he muttered into my shoulder blade.

“Not too bad. Pretty sure Jimin would have had a better time of it compared to what those amateurs attempted to accomplish.”

“Fucking Air Farce.” Came Rose’s grumbled remark as she collapsed gracelessly beside where Jeanette and Yoongi were sat.

“Air Farce?” Namjoon’s voice came from behind me and I turned to give him a smile, shrinking away slightly with a playful squeak when he reached out to ruffle my hair.

“Yeah. American military has several branches, just like most countries. There’s a bit of a hierarchy on respect levels though. Marines are hardcore, either single minded dogs or gung-ho and always ready and looking for action. Army are the boys on the front lines, some call them cannon fodder.” Rose shrugged as she leaned into Taehyung, finally relaxing for the first time since we’d been taken from the house.

“Nobody really pays attention to the Navy honestly. I mean, there’s the occasional sailor comes to port joke but really the just… It’s like everyone knows they exist but nobody wants to talk about them or admit that they do.”

“And the Air Farce?” Namjoon, ever eager to learn new things, seemed almost to be bouncing in place where he sat on the kitchen floor across from Rose.

“Air Force.” Rose corrected with a smirk. “Every branch has their own air support division. Planes, jets, choppers. All of that. The Air Force is strictly flight stuff. Air cargo, air support, blah blah blah. And while that would sound pretty epic, it’s the way they’re treated that pisses off the other branches.”

“What do you mean the way they’re treated?” One of the civilians chirped up, a young girl with eyes sparkling almost as brightly as Namjoon’s who’d wandered over and had been hovering awkwardly at the edge of the conversation. Her mother hushed her, though Rose smiled and motioned to the mother that it was okay.

“Well, actually Jeanette knows more about that than I do.” Rose smiled.

The woman blushed, having been caught listening in on the conversation as well. I glanced around the room, eyes widening when I realized that most of the people who’d been locked in the kitchen with us had their full focus on those who’d been talking.

Jeanette swallowed, nerves clamming her up at the attention. The young girl sat at her feet though, and so she chose to give her attention to the younger audience. The shift in her focus seemed to calm her enough that she was able to tell her story.

“My...recently deceased husband was in the Army. He’d been part of a war not too long ago and spent a lot of his time deployed in the desert. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable of living arrangements as you can imagine.”

The girl giggled, “Wouldn’t it be like living on the beach though?”

“Oh sure.” Jeanette replied. “If that beach was nothing but sand with no water and all the crabbies were just a bunch of grumpy people.”

Namjoon jerked up, eyes wide and sparkling as he practically shouted. “There are crabs in the desert??”

Rose snorted, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle. “No Joon, but there are definitely some awful big spiders there.”

“Ewwwwww, I don’t like spiders.” The girl cringed, shuffling closer to Jeanette who instinctually gathered her into her arms.

“Me too neither.” Jeanette giggled before returning to her story.

“Well, I have a younger brother. He’d been slated to be a pretty amazing athlete. But his final year of high school he messed up his knee pretty bad and his basketball career was pretty much over. So he asked Dean for some advice. Dean pointed him towards the air force.”

The girl snuggled into Jeanette, being careful not to crush her belly and causing her mother to send Jeanette an apologetic grimace of a smile. Jeanette shook her head though, sending a reassuring smile back to let the mother know it was alright.

“After basic training my brother was sent on his first deployment to an island outpost. He’d set things up so that he could communicate with his family while he was gone, his wife and myself included. One day he messages me, and so we get to talking about his living arrangements, which of course Dean decided he needed to chirp in his two cents about.” Jeanette smiled down at the girl, brushing her hair out of her now sleeping face before turning to Namjoon’s rapt attention.

“You see, when my brother was deployed, instead of staying in a tent as if he was in the desert, or being forced to sleep on a hammock like those in the Navy had to do when they were deployed on their ships, the Air Force had put him and his squad up in a hotel. He had messaged me to complain that room service hadn’t brought him fresh towels in a week so he’d been forced to do his own laundry.”

Yoongi snorted, arms crossed over his stomach and chin buried in his chest as he struggled to contain his mirth.

“Wait so...what was wrong with that?” Namjoon asked and Yoongi barked out a bitter laugh.

“He’s deployed Joon. Life isn’t supposed to be easy on mission. You’re there to do a job. What Rose is getting at is that these Air Force men are spoiled, allowed to live the easy life while the real military men toil in the dirt.”

“Well...I mean..” 

Yoongi cut Namjoon off, giving him a deliciously evil grin. “This is a good thing. With the way these three looked after their so called torture interrogation, those dense fucks outside don’t have a clue what they’re doing. Just a handful of shmucks with guns.”

“So then…” I paused when Yoongi turned to me with a confident grin.

“Enough planning and the right upper hand, and maybe, just maybe we can get out of this completely unscathed.”

I could feel the change in Jungkook’s body language, as he’d never let go of his grip on me from behind.

“Well shit...if that’s the case…”

Jungkook was interrupted though, as suddenly, as if the universe had decided to finally give us a break from the madness, a tiny voice chirped out from the chest pocket of my shirt.

“Hey...Boss Lady...can you hear me?”

I stiffened, eyes wide as I turned to stare at Jungkook in shock.

“.....Jin? Seokjin is that you?”

[anonniemousefics]

Happy New Year!! Cheers to a better 2021. Could you write some celebratory kanej smut if you feel up to it? Thank you!

Oh, yeeesssss. I see you, my thirsty kanej lovers. Happy New Year and cheers to you both! Here’s some new year’s eve kanej smut -- under the cut, because, you know. 

(Y’all, this is explicit. You will not find a plot here - just smut. If this isn’t your cup of tea, do not read!)

Fireworks were exploding over the harbor. Kaz turned down the oil lamp in his room in The Slat until the colorful explosions were the only thing lighting up the night.

Inej was at the window, a slim silhouette in the dark, watching the display as the crowds in the streets below cheered. The grin she gave him over her shoulder as he crossed to her – for Kaz, that was the real celebration.

He leaned his cane against his desk so he could wrap his arms around her from behind. She cradled a palm to the side of his cheek as his chin brushed her hair – a gesture that, years ago, might have sent him crumbling. Not anymore.

This was his now. His safe haven. There was no dread from her skin against his. Only warmth and love. The treasure of his heart.

“Should we have gone down to celebrate with them?” Inej asked, lacing her fingers over his around her waist. Kaz bent his head to press his lips to the soft space where her neck met her shoulders. Her scent is one he wants to drink in deeply any chance he gets.

“Do I strike you as the sort to join street parties?” he murmured against her skin.

“Maybe for the right price,” Inej smiled, turning her head slightly towards his. The tip of his nose brushed her ear, and he felt her sigh in his arms.

There was no price that could take him away from this.

“And you?” he asked. “Did you want to join them?”

Inej turned in his arms then, sliding her wrists over his shoulders. And she looked up at him with those wide, brown eyes, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. It floored him, every time.

“I’m right where I want to be,” she whispered, as his hands slid up and down her back.

He bent his head – she lifted onto her toes. And they met in the middle, a well-rehearsed dance of a soft and gentle kiss. Holding but never smothering; pressing in but never demanding. Kaz had learned to read her unspoken tells, and she his, and, in this moment, there was nothing but joy. His hands roamed her back, pulling her in by the curve of her waist, as she arched up against him.

Never, in all of his days, had he dared to hope this could be his. That he could feel electric and alive at the feel of her lips. That she could love him back.

His hands found her hair as his heart sped up. He wanted to cup her face to his, to bury his fingers in the silky heft of all that black hair. When he does, she sighs into his mouth.

That sound. That sound made everything in him come alive. Before he knew what he was doing, his hands swept low, cupping and gripping the curves of her ass.

“Ah-ha.” Inej grinned with her lips brushing his. She’d hooked her wrists behind his head, locking them together. “You do have celebration in your mind after all.”

Kaz gave her an impish smirk, relishing the feel of her ass in his hands as he started to pivot them back towards the bed.

“I never said I didn’t want to celebrate,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at her. “I just prefer celebrating behind closed doors these days.”

“Dirty hands, filthy mouth,” Inej teased, but the sparkle in her eye said she loved it. She let him tip her back onto the mattress, her loose hair spilling all around her as he bent over her. Ghezen, what a sight. Inej Ghafa, reaching up for him from his bed. He could die happy.

“Maybe you’d like me to show you just how filthy my mouth can be,” he rasped against her ear. He hoped he wasn’t overdoing it on the confidence – he’d actually only done the mouth thing a couple times.

In response, Inej raked her fingers down his chest. Bit her lips as she started to fumble with his shirt buttons. Still – Kaz hesitated.

“That’s a ‘yes,’ right?” Look, he couldn’t be too careful when it came to pleasing Inej.

“Yes, Saints, yes, please, Brekker.” Inej begging was the best thing he’d ever seen in his life. She ran her hands up his biceps, wrapping her fingers in his collar. Her bent knees hitched up to clutch at the sides of his waist.

Kaz grinned, chuckling into the crook of her neck.

“I love it when you tell me what to do,” he rasped there, which would have once been the single most mortifying thing Kaz Brekker could have imagined uttering. But with Inej’s fingers in his hair, with his hand pulling at the underside of her thigh, there is really nothing in the world that could possibly upset him.

“Then hurry up and strip me bare,” Inej gasped. These were not orders Kaz would ever be questioning.

“And I’m the one with the filthy mouth?” was the last thing he teased before catching her lips with his. Before working down the buttons of her vest with quick, lockpick precision.

Inej had ripped his own shirt open by the time Kaz ran his fingers down her sternum, over her navel, every inch of her velvet-soft and hot and alive. She hadn’t even touched him below the belt yet, but all of his blood was rushing south. With his good knee bent and bearing his weight into the mattress, he ran his fingers down her sides, sliding off her trousers as his hands cupped the length of her legs all the way down.

Inej Ghafa, bare atop his sheets. He stood back a moment to appreciate it when her trousers hit the floor behind him. He’d never get sick of it.

Inej lifted her hips, her fingers dipping into the sheets, to push herself back onto the bed.

“Lose the pants,” was her next demand, with a daring, almost defiant look up from his bed, a look that punched the air right out of Kaz’s lungs. Whatever she wanted, really – he’d give her anything she asked for.

Though it did take him a moment to remember exactly how belts worked. He was far too easily addled by nakedness. Luckily, Inej found it endearing. She hid a smirk behind her fingers as Kaz let his pants fall to the floor.

And then he crawled the bed to her, kissing first her ankles. Raking his hands up her muscled calves, up to the swell of her thighs. Kissing lightly the ticklish spot on the insides of her knees – it always made her legs flex and curl around him.

Inej played with his hair as he worked kisses up her thighs, pushing back the long strands from his face. When he checked her face, she was pressing back a smile – adoring, soft, and sweet. He wanted to give her everything. He wanted to give her the world.

He wrapped his arms up under her hips then – dragged her body to meet his lips. She always drew in a gasp when his mouth met her center. Kaz had always loved the sounds he could draw out of her when they kissed, but this was somehow even better. The way her muscles relaxed beneath his hands. The way her fingers gripped his hair. The way her hips tipped toward him, like she wanted him, like she needed him.

Kaz lapped and sucked at her, watching every little breath, watching how her pulse sped up in her neck when her head tilted back. Her mouth was barely open as her breath quickened, her ribs flaring. She laced her fingers through his, pressing their hands to her stomach as she started to writhe beneath him, asking and then begging for more.

Gods, with the begging. Kaz was hardening at the sound. He pressed his own hips into the sheets, gripping her hands as a groan slipped from his throat.

Inej moaned then, arching her back up off the mattress, so he made the sound against her again. Her toes were curling; one leg was hooking over his shoulder. Oh, he was going to make all sorts of depraved noises against her if she was going to act like this. The fireworks and the street parties outside would drown them all out anyway.

“Please,” she was whispering, over and over. “Please.”

He had no intention of stopping.

And then slowly, almost artfully, Inej’s body curled and rose up off the mattress under him, the most delicious sound swelling from her lips. Her muscles contracted and fluttered as she cried out his name like the sweetest curse. And then dropped to the pillow once more, breathing hard.

Slowly, Kaz crept up her body, leaving scattered kisses along the way. Inej hummed happily beneath his tender lips, one hand flopped over her head among a curtain of her hair. He hovered over her on all fours – a little precarious while he tried to keep the weight off his bad leg.

“A decent celebration?” he muttered, bending to her smiling lips. But when he pulled back from the kiss, Inej had a devilish half smile on her flushed face.

“A decent half of a celebration,” she specified, and trailed her hand down over the flat planes of his stomach. He groaned as she wrapped her fingers around his length, eager and waiting.

Inej wrapped her legs around his waist then and flipped them. This he lived for. If forced to choose the manner of his own death, Kaz would have chosen whatever would leave him pinned beneath Inej Ghafa until his final breath – his wrists held down over his head, her hips straddling his.

She released one of his wrists only for a moment, just to align their bodies. Kaz was aching, seeping for want of contact, craving to be buried deep inside her…

He let out a moan as Inej brought their bodies together, moving them together as one. She dropped her grip from his wrists to reach up for the headboard, and he brought his hands up to trace her hips, her waist, her breasts, anything, everything. She was everything – his whole world wrapped in his bed sheets.

He keeps nothing hidden from her now. Arching beneath her, he feels his soul is laid bare. He will let her see and know everything about him, always. Whatever she asks. Whatever she wants.

He vaguely remembered making some really embarrassing noises at the end, his release coming out like an exorcised demon. It made Inej giggle into his neck, collapsed against him while they remained connected just a little longer.

“You were so loud,” Inej was saying through her laugh. Kaz was still trying to catch his breath and couldn’t bring himself to care. There’s fireworks and street parties and whatever.

He traced her spine one last time, bringing his hands back to her hair while he kissed her softly. Again and again. The fireworks are raucously exploding one after the other now – an enormous finale.

“Should we have gone down to celebrate with them?” Inej asked again, a teasing smile on her lips. Kaz laughed.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

--------------------------------------

Tagging: @loveyatopluto, @raging-bisexual-alert, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @annejulianneh111, @whosanxiety, @addies-invisible-life

[shirtlessfelix]

Ace, David, Jake x Original Killers

Hello hello! These requests seemed to go with each other, so I've combined them into one post. They are three separate stories. Anons who sent these in, I hope you don't mind, and I hope you enjoy! <3

Ace x Sphinx Killer | 423 words

The Sphinx was the first killer that Ace wasn't afraid of. Really, he was quite underwhelmed by her, unfazed by the way she prowled around trials like a tiger stalking its prey. He thought a real tiger would be scarier, something to fear, but the Sphinx had an extra trick up her sleeve that none of the survivors suspected.

She caught survivors in her own kind of traps: sarcophagi that they may have been buried alive in if they didn't answer her questions correctly. Most of them couldn't and were lost to the fog in a matter of minutes, but Ace rolled his eyes as if he'd heard them all before. "What, a rock?" he asked in response to one of her riddles, and she stiffened like the limestone she was crafted from.

She asked him another, and another, and then another, and every answer was correct, which forced the killer to let him go and try for someone else. That was the first time she found interest in any of the survivors other than to take them for herself. Ace was a special one; maybe she did want him to herself.

In their next trial, she made a point to capture him and keep him behind, breaking the rules without a care in the world; she would have him, and he would talk. Ace was confused at first, but he didn't want to fight her; being on her good side may have been a good thing, so who would he be to turn it down? She asked him, "How did you know?" and he told her that he knew every riddle known to man.

It was a long time that they spent with Ace answering her riddles, a growing smile on his face the more surprised she became. He thought her eyes were beautiful in the moonlight, more than the jewels he was so entranced by in his life, and he told her so. She thanked him; he put his arm around her and told her to relax.

Maybe Ace was a flirtatious bastard who knew no limits, but something about the Sphinx really did hypnotize him. The Temple was cold, but they warmed each other up and found comfort in their embrace. They only separated when she was summoned for another trial, and she left him with one final puzzle to solve. The trouble was that Ace didn't know the answer to this one.

"It's you," she whispered as she was carried off, and Ace's heart nearly melted on the spot.

David x Siren Killer | 455 words

There's rarely a time when David isn't bruised and bloody after insisting that he protect his fellow survivors. It's easy for him to get ahead of himself, especially when he used to feel invincible in his life before it all came crashing down. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the thrill of an injury, continuing on even when he's bleeding through the bandages, but he also needs to realize when he needs a break.

At first, she reminded David of Anna, the way she hummed in the distance and taunted the survivors with her enchanting voice. While he was afraid of Anna's humming, the other lullaby drew him in closer, and that was how she got hold of him the first time. She lulled him into a false sense of safety before dragging him down to her underwater cage, and all he saw was a mermaid tail swimming off to find someone else to collect.

They're real? Wait, no—

He didn't know what to think. Mustering all of the strength he had, and knowing his lungs wouldn't spare him for much longer, he managed to free himself from the cage and make it back to the surface. The killer sat atop a rock in the distance, her eyes on David the second his head bobbed out of the water, and he fell right into them again, swimming towards her as his heart beat faster.

By then, he hadn't realized that she already ravished the others; she had him in her arms before his eyes adjusted to the midnight around him. "I knew you'd come back," she said. "Come lay with me, David." At first, he didn't want to, but then she started humming again.

David was like putty under her touch, so soft and sweet as she caressed the side of his face, and he tried to fight it at first. He insisted that he was fine, and he just wanted to go help his friends, but there was nobody to help. She made it so that way she could be alone with him, the tough guy who suddenly wasn't so tough.

In her arms, David was comfortable somehow, listening to her angelic voice as every muscle relaxed, and she washed his wounds. They're not real, he kept thinking to himself. None of this is real, it'll go away...

He woke up back at the campfire, skin perfectly in tact as it had been before, and a part of him thought that he may have been right. She wasn't real; even in the Entity's realm, mermaids couldn't be real. But he heard that song again in the middle of the storehouse, and his heart perked up with hope that she was there.

Jake x Poison Ivy Killer | 514 words

Having lived there for so long before being grabbed up by the Entity, Jake was a man of the woods and found solace in the Red Forest. The canopy reminded him of home, and the rain always felt good to run around in even when it was to escape one of the depraved killers. He enjoyed being somewhere that felt familiar, and overtime he got to know the forest more deeply. Imagine his surprise when he found himself with a rash.

He'd been around every square inch of the forest hundreds of times over, never once running into a poison ivy plant, but he must have rubbed his hand against a poisonous vine... where did those come from?

It was later when he found an antidote and realized that there was a new killer around somewhere, but he didn't know where. Nobody was around besides the other survivors, and as they all were too busy scratching their arms and their legs, they wondered what the Entity could have been thinking.

It was unbearable for the others as they started being swallowed by the plants one by one; first a leg getting stuck under the root of a tree, and then the other as they were dragged down into the mud. Jake was the only one left, having used all of the antidotes and waiting for when he would ultimately be killed by this thing too.

As he waited, he found that the poison ivy was disappearing, some of it sinking back into the ground, and other plants dissolving back into the air. He found it hard to believe that this was happening, especially when the ivy consumed the others just a moment ago. "It's okay. I'll spare you," he heard, and when he turned around, he just barely saw the fuzzy pink of a woman's eyes.

And then he fell unconscious, a victim of her toxins that she had little control over. She cursed herself and picked Jake up quickly, trying to pull him through the Huntress' forest and into her own, where she brought him to her ivy-entwined treehouse. She laid him down and waited for him to regain consciousness. When he did, he was understandably upset.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want that to happen," she told him, and he supposed he understood that it was an accident to some degree. He knows how pheromones work, and he understands that what she was trying to convey didn't work out the way she'd hoped. "I suppose I like you a little too much." The sentiment made Jake laugh, but the killer was embarrassed.

He looked out of the window and saw where the floor was covered in poison oak, a dark red hue that matched her hair, and he thought it was beautiful. She wanted him to lay with her and relax for a bit, but even she knew that may not have been the best of ideas. And then she told him, "I don't want to hurt you again, but I'd like for you to stay." Jake wanted to stay with her too.

[kateis-cakeis]

Redemption anon

Okay so just for background, Caligula was a Roman Emperor, who went down in history with a... Reputation, to say the list.

Look, I will sum up a story, you tell me who it about, Alivebur or Caligula.

We have this dude who rises up to be the head of state. For the beginning, he is ok, then an incident happens that threatens his life and health, and after that incident reports of "insanity" and sadism start to pop up, as he does dubious stuff and turns his peers in the political sphere against him. His rule is cut short, and after his death, his reputation boils down to "he was insane".

I will use the word insane here a lot for Caligula because that's what the ancient sources used. What can I say, first century AD Rome, what can you expect?

So, Caligula (not his real name, it's a nickname meaning something along the lines of "little marching boot", because when he was a toddler he used to go on military campaigns with his dad, dressed up as a soldier. He also despised this nickname soooo) reigned for almost 4 years as emperor.

His reign started ok, he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary... Then apparently he partied so hard after 8 months of being emperor that he fell seriously ill and people started thinking he will die.

He recovered, but this is apparently when his more sadistic side started popping up because he became harsher with punishments and so on.

The ancient sources also claim that he was doing some weird shit, like transforming the palace into a brothel, incest, declaring war against Neptune (aka the sea), putting his horse up as Consul in the Senate. You get the point.

He was also notoriously at odds with the Senate (keep this in mind).

He eventually got assassinated and yeah, all if not most writings about him describe him as insane.

Now, lemme drop the bomb: all I said above may be exaggerated or fabricated. Remember how I said he was at odds with the Senate? Guess who was writing the sources we have from his lifetime. Members of the upper class, who were part of the Senate. You could say that they could have exaggerated certain aspects of his reign, or fabricated them, to make him seem awful. In ancient Rome, insanity and sexual depravity were used to more say "yeah this dude isn't fit for being emperor".

The horse thing actually may have not happened, because the source we have on that just says that he was talking about making him a consul. Which could mean that either Caligula loved his horse and wanted to pamper it, orrrr he wanted to fuck with the Senate, suggesting that even a horse fits among them.

The kicker is that we know what the Patricians thought of Caligula, but we have no idea of what the lower classes thought. And keep in mind, it's almost 4 years of ruling. That is a tiny, tiny window of time.

Also, one of the sources we have that speak about Caligula is Suetonius... who wrote these accounts 80 years after Caligula died. He also had some bias because it seems like he was writing weird shit about the emperors he didn't like. I saw someone describe him as an ancient tabloid (which is very funny to read lmao).

Then you have Cassius Dio as a source... And my guy was born even later than Suetonius. Sooo... Take these takes with a grain of salt.

And of course then we have the public knowledge of Caligula, we talking here about the regular folk that don't care about history that much. If people know Caesar as the dude who got stabbed 23 times, people know Caligula as insane.

Basically, Caligula's reputation reminds me of Wilbur's, because look at his peers right now. Posthumously and while he was alive, they branded him insane, the button thing is a tale still paraded around, and the fandom is... The fandom.

Conclusion: Alivebur kinda got Caligula'd.

Oooo, this is very interesting, Redemption Anon, and deffo feels like what happened to Alivebur too!!

Thank you very much for sharing these thoughts :DD!!!

[thesurielships]

"I love you." "No you don't." + "You deserve so much better." for Cruel Intentions, maybe? i'm scared of what i'm asking for lmao

ivy (feysand)

note: hey! thank you for the prompt. i don’t see it fitting into cruel intentions, and it somehow worked itself into this one. i hope you don’t mind :))

also this is a whopping 3.5k, which is massive for me, and it’s a bitch to edit. but i will not say anything negative. i hope you enjoy!

evermore | masterlist | ao3

in from the snow, your touch brought forth an incandescent glow

Winter was a dreadful season in Springtime, which Feyre always found quite ironic. However, it was a fact she had grown to treasure as she watched her mother and Tamlin go to the stone every day, keeping her father better company than he’d ever had when he was alive.

Feyre smirked as flurries of snow hit the glass windows of the library. The howling wind was like music to her ears, a heady promise of the suffering of her two least favorite people in the world.

Ah, it really is the little things.

Suddenly, a rock slammed against the window, jolting her out of her content musings. Her hand flew to her heart, reigning in the sudden panic. Another rock hit the glass, then another, and Feyre jerked the window open before a fourth could effectively break it and ruin her only refuge in Springtime.

She scowled down at the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t a door, sir.”

His answering grin was cocky, self-assured and way too attractive for a stranger drenched in snow and shooting rocks at unsuspecting windows.

“But you answered all the same.”

Her fists clenched, longing to make contact with his perfect face, but she remembered he was out in the snow and she was inside, near a blazing fire. Instead, she shot him a saccharine smile. “May I ask who you are?”

“I am freezing.”

A dry laugh escaped her, surprising her. It had been a while since she had laughed at all. “That does not answer my question.”

He shrugged impossibly wide shoulders, and Feyre was momentarily side tracked by the way his riding clothes hugged his powerful figure.

“Where is your horse?” she belatedly asked, after she had meticulously perused him.

He tilted his head, a knowing smile curving his lips. “In the stables.”

“Are you ever going to give me a straight answer?”

“Only if you let me in.”

She rolled her eyes, and was about to shoo him away when the wind picked up and snow blasted inside the room. She trembled in her thin gown, and dared a glance at the handsome stranger. His teeth were chattering.

Her hesitation must have shown on her face, because he was soon jumping up, offering her his hands. She didn’t let herself think about it before she grabbed them and pulled.

He was heavy and his hands were indeed freezing, but between her wheezing efforts and the way he gracefully scaled the wall, they managed to get him up and through the window before they both fell into a heaving heap on the floor.

“So?” Feyre inquired, still panting.

He sat up and crossed his legs. “I am Rhysand.”

He offered no title, no last name, yet she knew exactly who he was.

Tamlin’s long sworn enemy and diplomatic friend.

Surprise and delight glimmered in his eyes. Eyes she could now see were a lovely shade of violet. “You know who I am.”

“Who doesn’t?” she shot back defiantly as she stood up, straightening her dress.

“Ah,” his eyes followed her as she closed the window and checked on the fire. “My reputation precedes me.”

“Indeed.”

“So does yours, Miss Feyre Archeron.”

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Indeed.”

He chuckled. “A woman of few words, I see.”

“And a man who insists on sitting on the ground when a lady is standing next to him.”

“Forgive me,” he said unapologetically as he rose to his full height, towering over her and suddenly closer than she had expected. Her breath caught. “I tend to forget my manners.”

 my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand, taking mine, but it's been promised to another

The next time Feyre saw Rhysand, he strode in through the doors of the library. He was staying at Springtime manor as Tamlin’s guest, awaiting the upcoming house party. She was surprised to find him here as he had all but pretended she didn’t exist the past few days.

“Is this what you call character growth?” she asked from her perch near the fire, closing her book around her finger to mark the page she was reading.

His steps were languid but assured as he prowled towards her, and Feyre’s heart rate picked up. Anticipation pooled like hot liquid in her gut, and she reflexively licked her lips. His eyes tracked the motion, irises darkening. His steps stuttered for a brief second before his insufferably irreverent smirk was back on lips that had felt sinfully soft on the back of her hand. Customary greeting kisses were dreadfully brief.

“Character growth,” he repeated, “is what is going to hit you, Feyre darling.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the unexpected endearment. Heat rushed to her face and she scowled at the cause of the troubles of her bodily functions.

“I am not leaving this spot.”

“Not even for an adventure?” he asked, gesturing to the book in her lap. The adventures of Tom Sawyer.

There was no stopping her curiosity, so she didn’t even try. “What adventure?”

His only answer was a mysterious grin, and soon Feyre was riding astride a magnificent horse, her hair whipping around her and her shouts of glee resonating in the forest surrounding the manor.

She had always wanted to explore it, but Tamlin was always too busy or it was too cold, or her mother needed to visit her father’s grave, again. The Cauldron only knew there was no love lost between her parents, and Feyre wondered what the real reason behind these daily visits was. She didn’t care enough to find out, and refused to join them even when they asked.

Why would she, when it was the perfect opportunity for sneaking off?

“Where are we going?”

“To the top of the world.”

She snorted at his cheesy reply, but soon enough, they stopped at the edge of a cliff overlooking sprawling woods of snow covered pines. Feyre’s eyes went wide, drinking in the details she hoped she could one day get right on canvas.

“Doesn’t this beat books?” came Rhysand’s cocky question.

She gave him a smirk. “Barely.”

He kept quiet as she marveled at the beauty unfurling in front of her. From her vantage point, she could see kilometers upon kilometers of dense woods. Snow gilded the majestic pine trees in glittering silver, and the occasional bird squawked in delight as it flew overhead.

Her shoulders loosened and a wide smile broke free. She really felt like she was on top of the world.

That must be why she was intrigued and all too willing to follow Rhysand as he guided her to their next destination, though she doubted anything could surpass this.

“It has just occurred to me that I am a very easy target right now,” Feyre remarked as he signaled for her to slow her horse.

“Target for what, darling?”

“Murder,” she supplied helpfully. “Or maybe something more romantic. Like the ravishing of a maiden,” she mused aloud, her gaze carefully trained on his face.

He rolled his eyes, the smallest smile pulling one side of his lips upward. “You seem to be the one with ulterior motives.”

She shrugged.

“Hardly. You –” The words died on her tongue as her eyes fell on a pocket of swirling starlight, tucked right there into the icy muddy ground.

“What’s that?” she breathed quietly, afraid to shatter the illusion.

“A pond.”

She whipped her head towards a smirking Rhysand. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you by any chance… Fae?”

He blinked, then threw his head back and roared. Feyre couldn’t stop her smile as he laughed himself to tears.

“What kind of books have you been reading, darling?”

She raised her chin. “Good ones.”

He shook his head, his smile tainted with surprise and disbelief. He jumped off his horse and tied it to a nearby tree. Feyre peered at the ground uneasily. She could mount a horse just fine, but she always had trouble getting down.

Rhysand offered her a hand silently, without teasing.

She accepted it, with no comment on his freezing hands.

Incandescent warmth spread out from their twined hands and seeped through her ribs to pour into her chest. Rhysand was staring at her in wonder, and she pulled away before she did something reckless.

Like ravishing him.

As if he was privy to her depraved thoughts, he barely turned around before he started to undress. His shirt, then his breeches fell to the ground, and the warmth veered south as she beheld his muscled back.

“It’s so warm,” he purred as he stepped into the water. “Legend has it Hell is just under here.”

Feyre gave his back an unimpressed look.

“Or maybe it’s my magic.” He peeked over his shoulder just as her eyes caught on the drops of water racing down his neck. “Are you just going to stand and stare?”

Her spine straightened at the challenge in his voice. She undressed slowly, putting on a show, but he averted his eyes, suddenly a gentleman.

Feyre’s dress joined his clothes on the muddy ground, and she joined him in the hot waters.

In a rare moment of clarity, she realized this was no feat of magic, and no work of Hell.

The water was boiling from the fire blazing under her skin.

he's in the room, your opal eyes are all I wish to see

If she had to accept another stranger’s congratulations on her proposal, Feyre was going to lose her sanity.

It hadn’t been three months since her father’s death, yet her mother thought a ball would be a good idea. What better way to announce her engagement to Lord Tamlin, duke of Springtime, and bore extraordinaire?

The ton didn’t comment on the rushed festivities. Just like they didn’t comment on their living together or his lingering touches when they still weren’t married. They were willing to overlook anything for their favorite, after all.

They had even managed to forget that Feyre had rejected him for only a thousand times before her father’s death. Before her mother accepted for her, hoping her last unmarried daughter would ensnare a rich, titled husband to fund her extravagant widow lifestyle.

Feyre breathed through her nose, clenching her teeth so hard she was surprised people bought her sorry excuse of a smile. Tamlin’s hand was a heavy weight on her shoulder as he paraded her from guest to guest, showing off his win.

Little did he know, he had won nothing at all.

Even in the crowded room, even with him by her side, her eyes were drawn to Rhysand like a moth to a flame. He was leaning against a corner, looking all dark and broody as he drank her future husband’s brandy.

“She is also an excellent pianist,” Tamlin’s remark registered in her dazed mind and Feyre smiled at the old lady he was talking to.

“I only believe what I witness,” the old lady’s smile was cunning.

Dread fell like heavy bricks in Feyre’s gut.

“It would be my pleasure,” she curtsied before making her way confidently to the piano. She sat with her back straight and her fingers primly poised on the white keys.

Rhysand tilted his head imperceptibly, and she shot him a secret smile before she started the melody.

The ton oohed and aahed, her betrothed preened, and she felt a savage kind of delight as she played the song Rhys had taught her on one of their late night escapades.

Fingers brushing and violet eyes twinkling were all she could see as the music seemed to take a life of its own, racing towards its roaring crescendo.

Then sudden silence. And loud applause.

In the glory of the moment, she didn’t notice Rhysand approach her until he was bowing over her hand and asking for a dance she pretended to reluctantly accept.

That night, the ton had to overlook the scandal of a betrothed woman waltzing with another man five times in a row.

oh, I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland

“You didn’t mention you’re a painter.”

Feyre jumped, deflecting her paintbrush just in time before paint sprayed on her morning’s work.

“You know, Rhysand, when someone tells you to make yourself at home, they seldom mean it literally.”

He smiled that mischievous smile that set her heart racing and her core aflame.

“I knew you liked the scenery,” he said, gesturing to her rendition of the pool of starlight.

She shrugged. “It’s a wonder I remember what it looked like. I wasn’t looking.”

He opened his mouth, outraged, but then he caught the coy look she sent him from under her eyelashes. He swallowed audibly.

She put her brush down and stood slowly. She took one step towards him. He mirrored her movement, and soon they met in the middle.

“Were you thinking of your book?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “I was... distracted.”

Her gaze snagged on his mouth. Blood rushed in her ears, her breathing growing labored as all her focus honed in on his tongue licking his lips.

“I… You… I should…” his voice was flustered. The smooth and suave Rhysand of Nightsky turned into a blushing mess before her eyes. “My cousin is calling me. I will see you at dinner, Miss.”

As Rhysand all but ran away from her, Feyre let her imagination run free. For the first time since her father’s death, she let herself dream of a happy future. Of a future that was wholly and thoroughly hers.

 spring breaks loose, but so does fear

When Feyre found a note hidden in the pages of the book she was currently reading, she wasn’t the least bit surprised.

‘Meet me where the spirit meets the bones.’

Stars were her only guide as she sneaked out of the mansion, her heavy cloak unnecessary in the warm night.

She hadn’t made it past the gilded gates when strong hands plucked her away from the dirt trail and pulled her against a deliciously warm chest. Feyre melted instantly.

“The graveyard, Rhys?”

His chuckle tickled the skin of her neck. “I was curious what all the fuss was about.”

“Knowing my mother – and Tamlin, too – they probably found some treasure hidden in a tomb somewhere, and they’re trying to sneakily bring it back.”

Rhys’ smile was fond as he twirled her around in his arms and settled his hands on the small of her back, beneath her cloak.

She yelped. “Your hands are freezing!”

He raised an eyebrow as if to say, exactly.

She scowled at him but nuzzled closer, inhaling his scent deeply.

The trees around the graveyard were rumored to be hollow. Indeed, the wind blowing through them played a melody that others may have found eerie, but that they gently swayed to.

“Spring is near,” Feyre addressed his chest, her voice soft.

“It is.”

A beat of silence.

“Why won’t you ask me to run?”

No answer came.

Feyre lifted her head so she could meet his eyes. “My wedding approaches, Rhysand.”

His throat bobbed. “I know.”

“Are you just going to watch me marry him? Bear him children?”

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

She jerked away from him as if he had burned her. “Oh my Gods, you are.”

Realization was swift and cruel and it cut her heart into a million little pieces. Everything clicked in her head, and she was such a fool.

“Was this just a game to you?” she asked, horrified. “Did it give you some sort of sick satisfaction to make your enemy’s bride fall in love with you?”

His eyes went wide at her hysterical confession.

“I should have known,” she muttered to herself as she turned away from him. She was such an idiot, and she couldn’t bear to look at his smug face.

His hand wrapped around her forearm and she paused.

“You deserve better, Feyre.”

She whirled on him. “Seriously? That’s your excuse?” He flinched. “You think I am not aware of my own value? I chose you over Tamlin for a reason, you prick!” she poked his chest hard and his eyes flared.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What?” she screeched. She could not believe her own ears. That Rhysand would turn out to be so condescending… she must be a worse judge of character than she thought. “Then enlighten me. What’s this fatal flaw that makes you so utterly unloveable?”

His jaw clenched. Unclenched. Clenched again, and just when she thought he would not speak, he said in a voice so soft she thought she misheard him, “I am a bastard.”

“What?”

“My mother’s.”

Feyre could only stare.

“My father kept me to avoid scandal,” he continued, his tone flat and oddly detached. “And he wrote me out of his will the day I was born.”

She gaped at him.

“That is why I could never dare to proposition you, Feyre. Even before you were engaged.”

Feyre was pretty sure her brain was about one shock away from shutting down. “You knew me before?”

A small smile curved his lips. “Naturally.”

She sputtered. “What – How – ”

“I am penniless, and soon to be title less. There is nothing I can offer you but my heart.”

“You love me?” she breathed. It was the only important thing among all the nonsense he was spewing.

“I do,” he confirmed even as he let her go and stepped back, resignation clear in his face.

Feyre’s anger blazed anew. “You don’t love me, Rhysand,” she spat his name as if it was an insult. “If you did, you would fight for me.”

This time, he didn’t stop her as she left, every step heavier than the last.

 it's the goddamn fight of my life, and you started it

Rhysand really had a bad habit of taking things too literally. Feyre would have found this quirk endearing, if she wasn’t running barefoot through a clover field to reach him before he threw himself to his death.

Her mother had woken her up an hour before dawn, overjoyed at the prospect of a duke and a future earl dueling for her daughter’s hand.

Sure enough, three figures appeared on the horizon, just on the edge of the woods encircling the Springtime domain. Each was walking towards a different direction.

No, no, no, the duel had already started.

She picked up speed even though her feet bled and her lungs burned. She was almost there, only a few yards away when the shots rang out, bullets blazing in the dark.

Feyre reached Rhysand as he fell to the ground and she clutched him in her arms, blood seeping into her dress. Horror held her heart in an iron fist, and she struggled to breathe -

“Feyre, darling.”

Her eyes snapped to his face. The prick had the audacity to smile at her.

“You’re bleeding,” she hissed.

A wet laugh rasped out of his chest. “I know.”

She was wild with panic as she pushed at his clothes, trying to find the wound so she could do something, anything to stop the blood flow.

“Leave the loving exploration for our wedding night, darling.”

She shot him an incredulous look before resuming her exploration. His chest and stomach were clear. Her eyes dropped to his thighs. His pants were torn and blood dribbled from the shallowest bullet wound she had ever seen.

Relief slammed into her and she fell to the ground.

“What were you thinking?” she breathed, her voice thick with tears.

His eyes were swirling with so much love and adoration they took the breath right out of her lungs.

“That I was an idiot. That you are more than capable of making your own decisions, and if you decide to be with me, then it is an honor that I will fight for. If you will have me, Feyre, I’ll try every day to be worthy of you.”

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she turned on her side, reaching for his hand and entwining their fingers.

“You are an idiot,” she said, staring at his thumb as it brushed soothing strokes into the back of her hand. “You’re already worthy. And if you ever put yourself in harm’s way for me again, I will shoot you in the groin.”

“Duly noted.”

Distance sobs reached her. Far out on the field, her mother was hunched over a limp and bloody Tamlin.

“Well, that’ll give her another reason to go to the stone.”

Rhysand barked out a laugh. “Maybe that’s a habit we should start too, darling. Maybe we can find our own treasure, too.”

Feyre leaned over and brushed her lips against his. “I already found mine.”

note: the original plan was for Rhys to die in the duel. but thank God for my fluffy, hopelessly romantic heart.

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[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Four: War (Gladiolus x Reader) Chapter Ten

From the ledge with the campsite, the path ahead is a ramp running up the face of the cliffside. It appears to be made of wood that has long-since rotted, but is able to still support their weight. Using the wooden ramps, they ascended the cliffside. While proceeding up the ramps, Gladio questioned the marshal. "How long has it been since you undertook the Trial? Thirty years or so?"

"Give or take. I was a lot younger than you are-and far less experienced. It's a wonder I even made it out alive," Cor said.

"This place look familiar to you?"

"Vaguely. The younger me had little mind for taking in the sights."

Before long, Gladio, (Y/n), and Cor reach additional wooden pathways, which they follow to a stone path along the cliffside. From there, they reach the entrance to another cavern within the cliff wall. However, the path was blocked by a flock of wyverns and a few bulettes. The marshal and War readied their weapons, leaping into battle.

The Horseman noticed the shield had yet to summon his greatsword and went to question him, but she watched in stunned silence as he walked over to a destroyed cement pillar and picked it up. She lowered her blade the moment Gladio swung the cement column at the bulette she was fighting against. She shook her head with a sigh. "Show off..."

"Heard that," Gladio chortled slightly, going after another cement column.

After disposing of the creatures, the trio proceed into the cavern. Not far into the cave, they came across another talisman and a wall similar to the one from earlier. Gladio recognized the layout. "Another trial chamber."

"And another chance for the warriors to impart their wisdom," Cor added. "It won't come easy, though-you'll have to earn it."

(Y/n) shrugged her shoulders. "Eh, I'm sure you can handle whatever's inside. Just make sure you come back in one piece."

"You worried about me, firecracker?" Gladio asked with a smug expression.

She folded her arms across her chest with a glower. "Just get your ass moving..."

Gladio knew it was still difficult for the Horseman to speak her true feelings and opted to drop the subject. He proceeds to the new trial chamber in the same manner as the previous one, leaving Cor and (Y/n) behind. The two watched the shield cross a stone bridge spanning the divide of the Taelpar Crag. Once taking a few steps onto the bridge, they noticed a fiery winged creature target him.

Cor watched closely as the enkidu targeted Gladio. (Y/n) did the same, but her attention was drawn away from the fight when they heard the voices of souls echo around them.

"How many moons has it been?" One soul asked.

"Since our last visitor? Far more than I can count," another soul replied.

"Let us see how our latest challenger will fare."

War's attention was drawn away from the fight when she sensed an all-too-familiar presence nearby. She looked around, trying to locate the only being that reeked of rotting flesh. She remained where she stood, knowing she couldn't enter the trial chamber until Gladio dealt with the enkidu. She didn't want to risk him losing his chance to obtain the power he desperately seeks.

Cor noticed her tense form and grave expression. Unlike her, he couldn't sense the dullahan's presence or smell the foul odor it emitted. "What seems to be the problem?"

"The dullahan..." She looked around the area. "It's nearby." Remaining where she was, she continued to search for the monster while Gladio fought his own battle.

Eventually, Gladio defeats the enkidu and proceeds across the bridge. He climbs through a fissure in the cliff wall to enter a stone chamber housing the next power shrine. Akin in design to the first, Gladio proceeds to acquire the power within the second shrine.

"Venture forth, Young Warrior, bearing our hopes and dreams," a soul said, addressing the brute. The shrine vanishes in the same fashion as the first, and the wall beyond it likewise splits and slides open as before. "Look ahead, for the Shield of the King must safeguard our future."

"Leave it to me," Gladio replied.

Cor and (Y/n) rejoin him and they proceed on ahead, battling more spirits dwelling in Taelpar Crag. During their fight, another soul spoke to the shield. "The skills shared by these souls have been passed down for generations. The Shield of the King would do well to put them to good use."

Moving forward, they reached a dead end. More souls appeared, standing against the trio. They struggled against the barrage of enemies, combining their attacks to take them down.

After defeating all the enemies in the room, an exit back to the cliffside is revealed as part of the wall splits and slides open. Before they continued down the path, Gladio glanced at the Horseman. "You're tenser than usual. What's the problem?"

(Y/n) was silent for a few seconds before answering. "The dullahan's somewhere in the area. I never expected it to be down here since no humans live here."

"Can you think of any other reason why it would be down here?" Cor questioned.

"I can think of a couple. One possibility is this is where it's hidden its head. The other is it wishes to harvest the power dwelling here."

"And how would it do that?" Gladio inquired.

"By consuming Gilgamesh."

"Impossible," the marshal denied.

"It may be, but that won't stop it from trying."

"And what if it succeeds?" The shield wondered.

"It'll be even more of a pain in the ass to defeat," she sighed. "Worst case, it will be my downfall."

"Then we better stop it before it reaches Gilgamesh."

The group makes their way down the path and step out onto a ledge within the gorge. Locating a wooden ramp leading around the cliffside, another soul speaks to Gladio. "Thousands set foot on these grounds, all of them fools unprepared for the dangers lurking within. They all meet with the same fate-as will you."

"I don't think so," Gladio retorts.

"Think what you may, but I know otherwise. The Lucis you call home is nothing like the Lucis I once served. Your age has forgotten the horrors of war, coddled by the king and drunk off the complacency of peace. No Shield worthy of defending the True King could be born from such depravity."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he remarked sarcastically.

"Look at the bright side: everyone loves an underdog," Cor said.

The trio proceed across the wooden path, then down another series of wooden ramps, eventually coming to a second stone bridge spanning the chasm. Several large creatures are on the bridge, one being a bandersnatch.

Gladio summoned his greatsword. "Aww. A warm welcome, just for me."

(Y/n) conjured her sword and set her sights on the bandersnatch. Gladio and Cor dealt with the other enemies before helping the Horseman. With their combined strengths, they were able to handle the immense beast.

With the bridge now clear, they could proceed forth. However, the redhead froze when the rancid odor of the dullahan was much stronger than before. The moment she turned around, she spotted the monster as it rode across the bridge. She quickly summoned her crimson-bladed sword, but she was shocked when it rode past her. It was targeting Gladio.

Acting quickly, she tossed her blade and warped, appearing right next to the shield. Using her entire body, she pushed him out of harm's way just as the dullahan used its whip. She swung her sword, deflecting it before it could wrap around her neck. While the dullahan retracted its whip, (Y/n) addresses her companions. "I'll keep it occupied. Go on ahead without me."

"No way in hell you're facing that thing by yourself," Gladio hissed. "Remember what happened last time?"

"I won't let this thing be the reason you fail the trials," she snapped back. "Get moving, Gladio."

Before the shield could retort, Cor spoke up. "Your fight is elsewhere, Gladio. Remember why you're here."

"I know why I'm here," he snarled.

"Then don't get sidetracked."

Just then, the dullahan charged toward Gladio a second time. It used its whip to try and decapitate him, but (Y/n) jumped in front of him. The whip impaled her in the abdomen, causing her to shriek out in pain. She grabbed the spine whip with gritted teeth and used all her strength to yank the monster off its horse. Unfortunately, her actions not only caused it to fall off its steed but also the bridge.

Because of the whip's sharp tip lodged through her gut, she was dragged off the bridge alongside the dullahan. She heard Gladio shout her name as she plummeted deeper into Taelpar Crag. She removed the whip from her abdomen, kicking the dullahan in the chest at the same time. Using her armiger, she attacked the monster and managed to pin it to the cliffside with numerous of swords and javelins. Using a few more weapons, she made sure it couldn't move a muscle. Knowing she couldn't kill it without its head, she could only keep it trapped for a short time.

Detecting the summoning orb in Gladio's possession, (Y/n) dispelled the armiger and teleported. The dullahan screeched out as her body vanished, its cry echoing throughout Taelpar Crag.

Teleporting to the campsite located at the Steps of Solace, the Horseman pressed a hand against her bleeding abdomen. Gladio rushes to her aid when noticing the blood seeping through her fingers. He offered her one of the potions he found earlier, but she pushed it away. "No, keep it. You might need it later."

"I can spare one," he said. Crushing the bottle, he watched as her body radiated with a pale green light. He looked down at her wound and saw it was healed. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine. Thanks," she stated.

Cor stood up and approached the two. "It seems you were right, War. The dullahan is after power."

"Not surprised. Since Gilgamesh is a more difficult target to deal with, its decided to go after Gladio," (Y/n) explained. "But I've managed to get it off our trail for a short while."

"If that's the case, we should get moving."

Gladio placed a hand on the girl's back. "You ready?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

From the campsite, Gladio, (Y/n), and Cor enter another cavern passageway within the cliff face. Deeper into the cavern, they heard the soul's voice again. "He who protects the king...must boast muscle and mettle, both finely tempered. Should he lack either, the Shield will shatter."

Shortly thereafter, the trio came to a wall upon which a demon-like entity manifests. Known as an inannaduru, it was accompanied by soul of fortitude enemies. Cor and (Y/n) focused their efforts on the smaller enemies while Gladio targeted the inannaduru.

Within minutes, all the adversaries were dead. Once the inannaduru is defeated, its body discorporated and the wall it had been bonded to shatters. "The penultimate trial awaits. Prove to them you're prepared to serve as the Shield of the Chosen King," Cor said.

Soon thereafter, the trio locate the next trial chamber. Gladio unseals the third trial chamber and enters. Like with the previous chambers, (Y/n) and Cor remained behind. The redhead crouched down, feeling slightly weak from the blood loss earlier. The marshal noticed her slightly pale complexion. "So that was the dullahan you mentioned. Never have I've seen such a creature."

"I would be more surprised if you had. Dullahans are only found in the Inner Sanctum. They're a pain in the ass to deal with. Luckily, only one escaped," she said. "Let's just hope Gladio finishes with these trials before it breaks free."

"You think Gladio couldn't handle the dullahan himself?"

"If he survives the encounter with Gilgamesh, I'm sure he could. But for now, I refuse to let any mortal face that monster even with me at their side."

Cor stared into her (e/c) eyes. "Now I understand."

Her brows knitted together. "You understand what?"

"It's not that you don't trust mortals. You don't trust yourself to protect them when in fact you have the power to do so. Why's that?"

She sorrowfully looked away. "I, myself, couldn't protect my own people. Truth be told, my hands are tainted with the blood of the innocent and I no longer trust myself to protect anyone. What right do I have to protect someone with my bloodied past?"

"You learn from the mistakes you made in the past. It's how one grows and changes. From what I can tell, you have changed which means you've learned from some of your mistakes. Keep that up and you'll be able to trust yourself once again."

She lifted her head. "Have you been talking to my sisters?"

"Not recently," Cor answered.

"I see..."

"Why do you ask?"

"Nothing in particular."

Once Gladio completed the third trial, Cor and (Y/n) rejoined him just in time to see the wall located behind the shrine split and slide open. "Nice work," Cor complimented. "Maybe you've got what it takes after all."

"Maybe, but it ain't for you or me to decide," Gladio responded.

"True-and the Blademaster is a more formidable foe than any you've faced thus far."

Venturing through the new opening, the group finds another campsite. (Y/n) held out her hand, igniting the wood that was located in the campfire. While Gladio and Cor rested, she ventured a little ways away from the campsite. Sniffing the air, she could no longer smell the dullahan's presence. She wondered if it had escaped, knowing it wouldn't be able to gain the power it seeks, or if it was waiting to ambush them later on.

After spending some time prowling the area, she returned to the campsite to see Gladio and Cor were ready to move on. They made their way down another series of wooden ramps and heard more souls talking to Gladio. "Come here to die, have you?"

"You looking to die again?" The shield sneered confidently.

"You amuse but do not impress. You lack his conviction," the soul said.

"Whose?"

"He who traversed these caves some thirty years ago. Turning a deaf ear to our wails and wishes, he proceeded unfazed, eyes ever forward. Yet he proved powerless before the general, cast out in defeat. If even he could not succeed, I see no hope for you."

"That guy must've left quite an impression...when he landed flat on his face," Cor said.

"Even the most graceful have small hiccups here and there," (Y/n) stated.

"Indeed, they do."

Making their way down to yet one more ledge, Gladio, War, and Cor soon find themselves at a sealed wall in the cliff face. Unlike previous trial chambers, this one is sealed with rock growth. The marshal stands before the wall and raises his katana. He unsheathes the blade slightly and the rock growth barring the entrance dissipates. Cor sheathes his katana once more and lowers the weapon. He speaks to Gladio without turning to look at him. "Clarus would've tried to stop you, you know-just like he tried to stop me all those years ago."

"How come?" He inquired.

"Because one aspiring to the role of King's Shield can stake his life for none but his liege-not even for himself." The marshal turns to face the brute. ""Do you dare risk all for naught in return?" His words stayed with me. And he was right: I barely made it back with nothing to show for it."

"So, you gonna stop me?"

Cor shook his head. "No, I won't. But I will warn you one last time of the danger you're about to face-just like your father warned me. Once you set foot through that door, there's no turning back-and no one to help you if you fall. One false step, and it may prove your last."

Gladio takes a couple of steps forward. "I'll be fine. Maybe I'll come back with a souvenir." He then turns towards (Y/n). "You're unusually quiet, firecracker. You worried about me?"

"I'm a pretty good actor, you know. Pay me a thousand gil and I'll pretend to be worried about you," she retorts with a grin. It then morphed into a gentle smile, which was a rare sight to behold. She strolled up to him and playfully punched his arm. "In all seriousness, I know you'll be fine. You made it this far. I know you can do this."

Gladio smiled back at her. He placed his hand on top of her head. "Y'know, you should smile more often. It really does make you a hundred more times beautiful."

War was taken aback at the compliment. Although caught off guard, she couldn't help but laugh. "You're seriously flirting at a time like this?"

"I call it "telling the truth," not flirting."

"Uh-huh, sure." The Horseman places her hand on his bare chest, providing him with one last healing incantation. "You've quite the adversary ahead. It'd be rude to keep him waiting."

"Thanks for the healing." Gladio removes his hand from her head. "Wait for me, (Y/n)."

"I'll be right here when you come back."

With one final smile, Gladio enters the chamber to face Gilgamesh. "Just come back alive. Be safe, Gladio," Cor said before the shield was gone.

Even when Gladio was out of sight, War kept her gaze focused in the direction he vanished. "He will, Marshal."