#that could be counted as torture but not abuse

[wyngigi]

ꕀ LUST FOR LIFE ꕀ 04

↳ sex money feelings die remastered .ᐟ cross posted on ao3

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“ they say only the good die young, that just ain't right 'cause we're having too much fun, too much fun tonight ”

↳ synopsis: a group of individuals find that their first taste of freedom in the world brings more obstacles than expected. some of them, find solace by drowning in liquor or in the backseat of somebody else’s car. a lot of them have got to get their shit together. a lot of them won't.

mdni » story contains nsfw content intended for 18+ audiences pairings » member specific, not listed for spoiler purposes ↳󠁪󠁪 ateez x female reader, ateez x ateez ↳ genre » coming of age ↳ word count » 2.3k ↳ general warnings » substance abuse & consumption, sexual content, morally grey characters, unreliable narrators, internalised homophobia, angst, basically every struggle young adolescence can go through ↳ a/n┆i hope u guys love this chapter as much as i do !! a little blast from the past always has me excited <3 p.s let me know which pairings ur rooting for after reading hehe (and yes next chapter we will be back at the party dont worry the drama has just begun)

04⌇memories of summer bring you

As San weaves his way through the crowd, past the drunken bodies of guys and girls alike, he finds himself reminiscing in just how much he had changed the past few years. Was it okay to live a life like he was right now? He’s not too sure. San first thinks of high school, then his thoughts float to you.

San watches the clock tick above his teacher’s desk, mind wandering as he scribbles on his worksheet with a ballpoint pen. He’s trapped in a god-awful environmental science class (which mind you would’ve been a free period instead), courtesy of not taking enough science courses earlier on to hit the credit minimum. It’s torturous, making him study about the world in a stuffy classroom when he could be out there learning by simply living in it.

San might just be a little salty, but the lesson isn’t actually that interesting either, so his mind has been elsewhere the last half hour. He’ll listen when it actually gets important, maybe. First he was daydreaming about buying a motorcycle and speeding off into the sunset, away from this boring sad old town to go live some larger-than-life bullshit.

Then he thought it’d be too lonely to do by himself, so he brainstormed an alternative. If he were ever able to do it, he’d probably try convincing someone to come with him. He hasn’t even finished his senior year, yet his ideas still don’t seem all that crazy to him. It might be farfetched to others, but San disagrees. If you aren’t dreaming big, could it even be considered a dream at all?

Then he starts wondering if his thoughts are too reckless most, if not all of the time, if attempting to move through life hastily would be too irresponsible and could scare the people around him. But he really doesn’t want to miss out on living, San wants to go see and do the things you have to go out of your way to experience. Something you make the journey for to begin with, not just a simple detour.

The type of stuff you have to just hold your breath for and jump into with no regret before it’s too late, the tide retreating, water becoming far too shallow. (He truly wasn’t lying earlier when he said he loves to be on the move, or that the thrill of exploring had always been dangerously enticing to him.) Those mantras, principles, whatever you wish to call them replay in his mind daily. They always have.

San knows the world won’t slow down and wait for him too. He sees it outside the classroom window right now, how the cars still pass down the street as the birds fly high into the sky even if he’s confined to his seat. San is well aware that it’s him who has to be the one to take the leap of faith and choose to start living. The problem is that sometimes he just can’t.

When San would think about the daredevils, adrenaline junkies, risk takers of the world, those who love to live on the edge of things, preparing for their big take off, he’d think of how he would love to be like that someday. Yeah, someday. The difference was he liked staying on the edge too much. Didn’t like the feeling of climbing to the highest point just for the glory if he could end up tipping over, see himself falling down and lose control of everything in the process.

When third period ends San makes his way out of class then down the hall, stopping at his locker so he can drop off the notebook and stationery he no longer needs till after his second lunch break. San knows he has PE next, so he quickly grabs his gym clothes. It’s not that he cares much about being late for it or missing out on any of the “action” though, he only really enjoys it depending on what sport they’re playing.

He likes the sports where his only role is to defend whenever a ball or something comes his way. It’s why he thinks volleyball is torture; trying his best to stay in his position once his team scores but then somebody is already telling him to hurry up and rotate. Those days are just endless cycles of torture. Actually, were. He started to sit in the nurse’s office on those days.

It’s a good thing they’re doing netball today (he doesn’t have any more passes to sit in the med bay now). San has a lot of fun playing it. He’s even claimed the goalkeeper bib before anyone else can so much that whoever he plays with just lets him have it. The people he usually plays with are good enough to the point where the opposing team never even gets to his third of the court.

Goalkeeper suits him for that exact reason, he enjoys getting to win without even having to take a shot with the ball. San liked how it was so much he didn’t think or want to try being a goal attacker or centre. Well, maybe sometimes he did a little. There were a couple instances where he wanted to try a different role for the first time. San had gotten as close as picking up a different position bib even. Thoughts like that were shoved away quickly however, and the bib would end thrown back into the crate. The mere possibility of letting anyone down in case he was terrible outweighed his curiosity (and potential) on multiple occasions.

Failure was a funny thing; it had given him a terrible feeling that would sit in the pit of his stomach or make him so nauseous it was awfully dizzying. The funnier thing was that San had never truly failed at anything in life, simply because he had never tried much to begin with. That was the case, for quite some time in his life as he knew it. He had been growing more than okay with that knowledge as time passed, then one day he wasn’t.

As he turned away from his locker, San spotted you walking the opposite way to your own fourth period class, clearly getting ready to ditch the rest of the day. His heartbeat had sped up and his palms were awfully sweaty but for the first time ever, he shut out every reasoning voice in his head and chose to do something he never had the courage to before.

The two of you were in the same grade, so he had seen you passing by in the hallways always with both earphones in (to drown out everyone else he assumes, you never talked to anyone when you had them in while carrying an almost sorrow expression). Despite how you looked, you would still be humming away to a tune he could never fully quite catch.

He also knew your lunch times were spent eating shitty snacks from the vending machines and that you really liked the strawberry lollipops from the cafeteria (which they only sold every Friday for some fucked up reason, he overheard you complaining about it to your friends in math).

San would also see you after school with all of your cooler, older friends too. You would all huddle around the corner near the bike racks in the parking lot, out of sight from teachers so you could bum cigarettes off of each other. You’d also listen to music while you were there, only with one earphone in though so you could still hear everyone talk. He liked seeing that, you always looked happy and smiley talking to your friends.

The two of you weren’t complete strangers, but nowhere close enough where he could feel safe calling you his friend either. You shared multiple classes with San, greeting him with a small smile when you’d walk by his seat to get to your own (he liked that you’d always say hi to him even when he never did first). The both of you even worked on group projects together, but that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to know more about you, to take even the smallest peek at the inner workings of your mind. To find out how you always seemed to not care when things went wrong.

He thinks of your reaction when you would fail a test, how you’d simply shrug before shoving the paper into the bottom of your backpack. Immediately after, smiling as you’d turn around to talk to your friends about whatever you all planned to do that weekend. Stuff like that didn’t make much sense to him. Why would you not opt out of hanging out just for one weekend and study harder to do better on the next test like he would?

San supposes that’s what separates the two of you into vastly different worlds, yet he wants nothing more than to just step over that line and join you.

When he had spotted you there, on that humid summer day in early June a feeling had begun to settle into his stomach again. The strange bit was that it didn’t feel humiliating nor demeaning, but there was still something unsettling about it. It felt extremely foreign at first but now, incredibly comforting. Because for once, it didn’t feel like failure.

So, he then decided to call out to you. It was the very first time he had ever greeted you, without you doing it first. Your name exceedingly foreign on his tongue when coming out of his mouth while you weren’t sitting at your desks in a shared class. You had turned around at the noise, both earphones still blasting music into your ears.

Once you had recognised who the voice belonged too, you immediately had taken out both of your earphones with a smile. The tune he had never been able to fully hear, was now playing into the world for him to hear freely. He felt the corners of his mouth beginning to prick upwards at that. Yet with no plan of what words he would say now, San was immediately regretting his choice to speak to you. His fists were balled up in front of him, grip tightening on his clothes ever so slightly as he lowers his eyes down away from you.

The edge he always treads so carefully on was now unstable and he felt it beginning to crack already. You don’t leave him any more time to freak out over it though. When he looks up, he sees you already opening your mouth to say hello in the soft tone you always use, ushering him over.

“Hey, San. You want to come skip with me?”

The cool breeze flowing through the corridor, cooling down his cheeks just had to heat up again when he locked eyes with you, of course they did. Because San had always found everything about you pretty, from the first time he ever saw you. Not a day would there be a doubt in his mind of that. But, in that very moment he found you strikingly beautiful. In a split second, where his brain and his heart finally worked in unison he had responded hurriedly, before he could overthink it and regret it for the rest of his days.

“Yeah, I do. I’ll come along,” As he chucked his gym clothes back into his locker, a switch had been flicked on in his mind. When he turned around and saw you then, one lollipop in your mouth and a second in your hand, held out to him, a realisation had been thrown into his face like a bucket of ice-cold water. San had ultimately discovered that dancing on the edge was fun, yet leaping off it was much better. Even if the water was too shallow down below, San thinks he would be okay with that.

While walking away from the gym and instead down the hall with you by his side, San had spotted your earphones tangled up and peeking out of your backpack. That day, he settled with the fact that maybe it was okay to be a little too reckless, to move a tad too fast. Even if it could scare people, even if it scared him.

If you asked San what made him love that summer far more than the previous ones, he might mention his drunken bike rides with you and your friends, or the nights he spent laying on the beach with you gazing at the stars. Hell, he even liked the part time job he had to take up thanks to the party you helped him throw (which ended in that broken window he had to pay for). Spending a portion of his summer working as a server wasn’t fun in theory but when you’d visit him on his breaks or pick him up after his shifts, San had found it pretty worth it in the end.

He was truly happy in every moment back then; he’s enlightened even now, because all the memories of summer bring you back to him. Despite existing only as a brief moment in his own mind, San is content because whenever he closes his eyes he finds a version of you is there with him. He’s able feel the sun on his bare skin, with your lips pressed against his own again. His favorite bit being when the lingering hint of strawberries followed as you both pulled away.

Yeah, that’s exactly when it was. Three summers ago. When San had first decided it was alright to embrace being him, to be the person he still was today. All thanks to you.

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[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

The densest substance in the universe is the minds of people who rant that Hordak being enslaved and abused by Prime does NOT excuse Hordak's villiany, and then in literally the next paragraph demand for people to forgive Catra's villiany... due to her being enslaved and abused by Hordak.

these people also say the same for glimmer.

"glimmer knew shadow weaver was a manipulator, it's her fault that she got manipulated!" first off, that's not how manipulation works. secondly, catra also knew shadow weaver was a manipulator and she still got manipulated.

the double standards in this fandom is crazy. if you're gonna hold hordak accountable for his actions, which you should, you should be doing the same for catra. you can't pick and choose.

[krysmcscience]

Did somebody say Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear? I think somebody said Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear. Thanks to that, have these retooled The Good Place jokes:

The "powers that be" can refer to either the Theraprism staff, the Axolotl, or just. Ya know. Disney in general. Or all three! Whichever you think is funniest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The "party" Bill's referring to is Weirdmageddon, of course. He was quite the ashhole to everyone back then.

Ford has probably gotten pretty good at the 'tune out your psychopathic ex with dank memes' challenge.

It must be very cathartic to be able to make Bill shut up whenever you want with just the press of a button. I'm sure Ford doesn't abuse this ability at all.

Oh, sure, 'Not now,' he says, before he immediately backs out of the newly-made hole in the Theraprism wall. 🙄

Don't worry, Bill doesn't get far.

also yeah i know this one doesn't have an attempted swear - i just wanted to use the joke because of the massive stink-eye involved in it because it makes me laugh

⬇️ More goofs beneath the brief ramble if you wanna skip it lmao⬇️

Why is Ford even there, you might ask? Well, he either decided he preferred to watch Bill suffer in person over being distantly and repeatedly harassed with the same evil desperation book for the rest of his life, or he got roped into some kind of contrived community service for 1.) all his many counts of interdimensional thievery, and 2.) his ignoring all the very clear warnings to NOT summon Bill in the first place (which I like to imagine is also illegal). Theraprism staff were just like, 'Wait, this guy matters to Bill? Ooh, we can USE that! It might be the only thing that can help him want to get better!' It is not considered that throwing Ford at Bill so soon after Weirdmageddon could instead make them both WORSE - in new and altogether special ways! :D

Anyway, I'm calling it the Community Service AU, and I am most likely not going to do anything else with it beyond appropriating these silly Good Place jokes. So, feel free to adopt the concept if y'all wanna??? Just make sure that Bill is still not allowed to swear, no matter what, full stop. It's gotta be a real linguistic corkblork of a situation for him, is all I'm sayin'.

Finally, have these bonus Good Place jokes, but with Handyman!Bill this time:

'Opposite tortures' doesn't sound so bad...at least until it's an all-powerful chaos entity known for torture saying it.

you may think i forgot mabel's cute pink cheeks but the truth is that i did in fact forget but then immediately stopped caring which makes it okay, SHHHHHHH

And, finally:

lmao this is shit

True facts, if you cram Season 1 Eleanor Shellstrop and Michael into a singular triangle shape, they turn into Bill Cipher. This is science, look it up. Or don't, and just trust the source that is me, bro.

Anyway, I should be in bed, y'all have fun with these, I guess. Tune in after like a week or so and maybe I'll have an addendum to my comic about how Bill was drawn naked for karaoke night. Because him actually being naked was not the only thing I considered as a plausible explanation. XD

Also if you see any inconsistencies or errors in any of these comics, No You Do Not :D

Also also, reblogs are rad as hell and I appreciate every single one, just don't repost, please and thanks. Every time a repost is made, an artist somewhere cries. :,)

[disastersareajoy]

Pussy Drunk Thomas Hewitt - Drabble

Thomas Hewitt x FEM!Reader

Tags: established relationship, cunnilingus, forced orgasms, talk of bruises, wet and messy, squirting, dacryphilia, overstimulation

Word count: 1.1k

fucking obsessed with the idea of Thomas getting absolutely, down bad, pussy-drunk as soon as he gets a taste

like his virgin-ass being too afraid of hurting you to fuck you at first and getting on his knees for you. he gets a taste, kind of pulls back and licks his lips and you can see his pupils dilate and his eyes fucking glaze over and he just falls face first into your pussy

sloppy, wet, spit slick, hungry oral from that man. his teeth bump into you in all the right ways sometimes. one moment he's whimpering into you and the next he's grumbling and trying to get his tongue deeper and deeper into you to taste more

and it does not matter to him when you beg for him to slow down and how you can't cum anymore. because you keep dripping on his face and tongue and making wonderful noises and you just taste so fucking good, how could he stop??

his arms wrap around your thighs and he holds onto them hard and firm and keeps you pulled close to his face. you can feel that it's gonna bruise and you're going to cherish those bruises for days

he doesn't even notice how hard he's gripping you because he's trying to get all of his senses filled with you. he tastes, smells and feels nothing but you. the only thing his ears can focus on are your moans and whimpers. his hands massage your thighs periodically and when he opens his eyes it's just to look at your face, thrown back in pleasure. the only thing better is when you're looking down at him with tears in your eyes, still moaning for him

Tommy is completely drunk off your taste. he loves the feeling of your pussy on his tongue and he loves the little whining groan you let out when he sucks on your clit

now, when he keeps going and going and your hand in his hair trying to push him away finally falls to your side, he doesn't even realize what he's doing next. it's all out of instinct when his hands readjust so his arms stay wrapped around your thighs but his thumbs are spreading open your folds. that's when he really loses it

because he can get his tongue even deeper like that. he can bury it inside you and find the spot that makes you drip a little more and that makes you moan all broken and needy. once he finds it he abuses the fuck out of it. keeps licking over it, poking at it with his tongue and savoring every drop of you that spills into his mouth

and then. his holy grail. you grab his hair again and moan louder. you're sobbing and begging him to slow down because it feels different this time. he doesn't listen of course. all he knows is you're about to do that thing again where he can feel your pussy flutter and twitch and your thighs squeeze around him and your moans get all whimpery

he keeps going until your hips lift up into him. he stays attached to your pussy and keeps doing what he's doing, knowing he can't stop. needs to keep going to get you to do that thing

suddenly you gasp and go completely quiet. then you moan so loud it's almost a scream. a sobbing sort of thing that's absolutely gorgeous to him. on top of that your hips start wildly shaking along with your legs and your pleasure starts gushing out of you

Tommy moans into your juices and gets closer if that's even possible at that point. he shakes his head so he rubs over your clit side to side while he keeps his tongue abusing that spot inside you. and fuck does he get drenched. he swallows down as much as he can of you and whimpers into it. anything he can't get, drips down his face and drenches his shirt and lap

once you come down you realize he's still going and you can't handle it anymore. you start crying more and weakly kicking your legs out which finally makes Tommy look up. he sees your devastated face and while he thinks the sweat mixed with tears and drool, as well as the tortured pleasure in your eyes is a heavenly sight, he listens to your weak pleas

he finally pulls away and you sigh in relief. Tommy stays away from your pussy (as much as he hates it) and spends his time licking your thighs clean. just a minute away from your pussy makes him whimper and look up at you pleadingly. your legs are still shaking and you shake your head at him

so Tommy whines and starts biting your thighs instead, getting closer and closer to your pussy until he's mouthing right next to it. you're shaking and sweating and still losing a coupe tears when he licks flat over your clit once. then your back arches and you gasp, trying not to make too loud a noise

you know if you moan he's gonna start again and you think he might actually kill you that time. he softly licks over your clit again, wraps his lips around it and you slap a hand over your mouth. but Tommy sees your lack of noise as a sign to keep going and starts sucking on your clit. when his teeth graze over it your hand whips away from your mouth to his hair and you yell out a moan that ends with a broken whine

immediately you know you're in for it. Tommy moans happily and grabs your thighs hard once more. he dives into you again and gets back to his sloppy, needy and enthusiastic pace without hesitation. all you can do is moan, whimper and whine as Tommy makes you see stars over and over again

he's obsessed with making you squirt on his face and listening to your whimpers as he tastes you. he loves the feeling of your heartbeat in your clit, pounding against his tongue

sometimes you can't get him off of your pussy until he's had at least a couple hours of his way with you. he's obsessed with your pussy and a single taste makes him entirely lose his mind. he'd do anything to fall to his knees in front of you

he would spend forever between your thighs if it was up to him

your pussy is his paradise and his salvation. every gush of your juices is a baptism of wonder. you are his goddess and he worships you at every turn

[uhohdad]

(18+) König x Reader - Jealous of Your Sex Toys

WARNING: Implied Toxic Relationship Dynamic

You’re a grown woman. You are allowed to have sex toys - it’s expected even. And yet, you feel guilty. Caught doing something you shouldn’t have been. Body locked up and eyes wide as you stare down at the brightly-colored silicone sex toys resting in the flat of König’s massive palm.

“You don’t need these. I’m enough for you, ja?”

It’s a simple question - a yes or no question - but you both know there was enough strings attached you could spool it into a ball of abrasive twine.

You weigh your options.

‘Yes’ - No more sex toys for you. A life of relying purely on your fingers and him, clit never knowing the buzz of a vibrator again. Giving into his will and letting him control you to a degree that you know isn’t healthy.

‘No’ -

Well, you can’t say no.

Aside from how soul crushing you understand the weight of that word would be coming from you - it’s far from the truth. He is enough for you. More than enough - too big, even. Too insatiable. Too much of an ego to not leave you whimpering and covered in the evidence of finish after finish until you were begging him to stop.

Your hesitance is somehow worse than either of your impossible options. You should have just blurted the first answer that came to mind.

His brow quirks as his gaze continues to bore into you with sly, half-lidded eyes.

“No?” He asks, with a quirk of his brow and a thrilling glint of mischief in his eye.

You still can’t bring yourself to confirm or deny.

He nods in understanding, his giant hands wrapping around your sex toys, so little in his palms.

“That’s okay, mein Nervenkitzel Sucher,” He purrs, “I can share.”

Your shoulders brace instinctively, insides coiling as tight as that ball of abrasive twine, those attached strings getting more and more tangled with every silken word that rolls from his tongue. He says it’s okay - but it sure doesn’t feel like he means it. Choking you with those tricky strings.

The fistful of your sex toys - your misdeeds, your dirty, shameful little secrets - falls to his side. He approaches with precise steps until he’s between your knees, looming over you.

“I’ll show you,” He says with a dangerous crinkle in his eyes, a sickeningly sweet smile surely hidden underneath that mask.

You unintentionally shrink in on yourself in the shadow of his hulking, commanding figure. A calculated move. Not-so-subtly reminding you of just how small and defenseless you are in his presence. His voice drops, and those brows furrow, that smile surely faded behind the black fabric obscuring his face as he stares down at you intensely.

Your mouth has gone dry, your attempt at words - an apology, a flirt, a joke, anything - leaves you as nothing but a dried out squeak lodged deep in the back of your throat.

“I’ll show you how I share.”

-

“Kmph-Kmph!”

“Sh, sh. Isn’t this what you wanted, Blümchen? To keep both?”

You let out a truly pathetic whine, throwing your head back on the mattress. How many times have you cum?

You lost count, lost your very rationality, lost to him - the gift of bittersweet pleasure twisted into something unbearable.

“Greedy, greedy girl.”

Plugged, stuffed, and spread open. Your vibrator buzzes ruthlessly on your abused, swollen, throbbing clit at a torturous speed. Restrained by your own handcuffs, secured tightly to the headboard and keeping you from putting up the fight that would be useless anyway. There’s surely a metaphor hidden somewhere within this detail - but your thoughts are so clouded with arousal there’s no way you’d be find it.

Too much, too much, König, too much!

And while you know he knows exactly what you’re pleading, your mouth will never form the words - stifled by the drool-covered gag nestled between your lips.

His pumps in and out of you at a punishing pace, thick cock soaked with your arousal and disciplined hips snapping against the back of your thighs, ignoring the tears of pure overstimulation streaking down your temples.

He studies you with narrowed, unreadable eyes, watching you writhe. His stare lingers on your chest, arching and twisting beneath him as you fight the cruel pleasure between your legs. His stare is eerily cold for a man whose cock is being pleasured by a warm, tight cunt. You’re not even sure if he’s enjoying it, or if this is purely a lesson he must teach you in his eyes.

You know he’s trying to prove a point - to show you that you only need one or the other. Can’t you see? Both is just too much for a little girl like yourself to handle.

So choose wisely, little one.

♡ KÖNIG DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[kimstills]

blame

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader, platonic!spencer x reader summary: in which your close relationship with spencer makes aaron wonder if there’s something going on between you and the young doctor. content warnings: mentions of kidnappings, torture, child abuse (typical cm case stuff), insecurities, age gap, and haley, jealous!aaron (hb is DOWN BAD), he kind of acts like a prick in the middle of this? but it’s v brief and he apologizes!! hints of autistic!spence, angst if u squint but mostly fluff, miscommunication, technically idiots to lovers but hotch is the only idiot <3 word count: 5.1k (this was NOT supposed to be this long omfg) a/n: this was inspired by a dream i had where i was besties w reid and everyone thought i liked him until i had to blurt out that i was into older men… enjoy!!

If looks could kill, Aaron was sure Spencer would be dead by now.

It was contradicting, in a way. How he thought of Spencer like the son that had come before his actual son, yet he was staring at him like a predator stalking their next victim.

You were standing next to the young genius, shoulders brushing against shoulders as you went back and forth with the geographical profile the two of you had been assigned to work on, something Aaron was really regretting having done.

The team had been called in to assist with a case in Portland, Maine, involving an abductor-type unsub. One who would stalk his victims and learn their routines before kidnapping them, torturing them for two to three days before disposing of them in forests and parks all throughout the city.

You and Reid were both tied when it came to your skills with geographical profiles, one of the many things that had blossomed your relationship with him. But with the way the unsub was beginning to rapidly devolve, the rush to develop said profile and figure out his next move had forced Aaron to assign you two together.

Deep down he knew that it had to be done for the sake of the case and all its victims, and that it was the best decision to make as leader of the team.

But, still, he couldn’t help the jealousy that was bubbling from within him, his gaze completely focused on the way you giggled and smiled, endeared, while watching Reid struggle to tape the map one of the sheriffs had supplied you with to a spare whiteboard in the office the team had been given to work in.

He hadn’t even noticed when JJ walked up to him, the blonde hair and white button up she was wearing apparently not enough to break him out of his trance until—

“Hotch.”

Aaron snaps his head towards her, blinking in bewilderment, “Sorry, what?”

JJ stares at him with a look of both concern and amusement, a smile tugging at her lips. Her hand is raised expectantly and her eyes flicker towards the case file in his hands.

He looks down at it, brows furrowing when he finally sees the death grip he was holding the paper with. It’s slightly crumpled from where his thumb had rested, the pages wrinkled.

He clears his throat, trying to soothe out the file as subtly and smoothly as he can before handing it to JJ, “Sorry,” he grumbled.

The blonde chuckles softly, taking it from him and doing her own best to bend it back into place. She begins to flip through the pages, though she can’t help but follow Aaron’s gaze back to you and Spencer.

You had finally gotten up to help him in taping up the map, taking it from his hands and effortlessly doing so before turning around and giving him a cheeky smile.

JJ turns her attention back to him, biting back a smug smile when she sees her boss practically glaring daggers at the two of you, “I assume you’re trying to figure them out, too?” She asks, looking down at the file.

Aaron blinks, this time slowly turning his head to gaze down at her, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes widen at the realization of what she just had insinuated about her co-workers to her boss. She shrugs coolly, trying to play it off, “Nothing. They’re just really close is all,” she gives him a tight-lipped smile before quickly walking away, leaving Aaron more confused than before.

He feels his fingers twitch by his side when he glances back at you. It’s cheesy, the way his heart skips a beat when you tuck the strands of hair that had made itself to the front of your face behind your ears. His hardened features soften at the sight of you laughing at something Reid’s said, something he’s sure only the two of you understand.

Aaron’s not sure what it was that had gotten him to stick out for you like a sore thumb or how his sudden infatuation with watching and admiring you and your every move had happened.

All he could recall was that it happened, and it had happened too fast for him to begin realizing how you had begun to overcome his every thought and consume him with feelings he hadn’t felt since Haley’s passing and his marriage with her.

A part of him had told himself that he wasn’t to blame; not only were you one of the best agents he had ever worked with, but you were the loveliest and wholesome of humans.

You had your rough days, everyone on the team understandably did, yet you never failed to meet people with kindness and patience, something else that Aaron wasn’t used to receiving when it came to his co-workers. And, as much as they loved him and he loved them, even his team members were prone to calling him ‘cold’ and ‘stoic.’

While you, on the other hand would always meet him with fond, bright smiles and greetings, never once avoiding his gaze or running the opposite direction as to ‘not get in his way’ like others did.

You were like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a dark and tremendous storm, shining on him with such warmth.

So, in the end, he couldn’t really help himself from falling for you. Or for even feeling childishly jealous when you were shining your warmth onto others.

Especially with someone who apparently the rest of the team suspected you of dating.

Perhaps he couldn’t blame Spencer for falling for you, too.

Everyone meant well, and Aaron knew he was also victim to cutting him off when the boy rambled, but you were the only one who truly listened to him. Who would interrupt him gently during urgent matters and let him continue after they were solved, and never made him feel inadequate.

He doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before now that JJ has mentioned it—too blindsided with his own feelings for you—but he begins to wonder, though, if there actually is something more between the two of you.

He likes to think that he begins playing close attention to your mannerism, body language, and shared interactions the two of you have throughout the entirety of the case because he has to. Now that it's been brought to his attention that two of his subordinates might be in a relationship, it's his job as Unit Chief to keep tabs.

So, he watches, when the whole team is sitting in the rectangular table, debriefing with one another and sharing ideas all whilst munching on take out food.

"So, we obviously know that the significance of the victim's being dumped in nature spots is important to this guy," Morgan explains, motioning his hand around the air as he goes on, "but could it be that he kidnaps and keeps his victims in similar spots, just somewhere more secluded?"

"Spencer and I were thinking that that could be a possibility," you say, stealing a fry off of said boy's take out plate, "Maybe he doesn't live in these same places, but he could be taking them to a hidden spot somewhere in the forests, something possibly hidden by debris, wood, or anything makeshift."

Spencer doesn't even blink as you continue to steal more neglected food off his plate, continuing to sort through pictures. Aaron could see Emily and Derek give each other a knowing, smug look through his peripheral.

He manages to swallow, the tip of his middle finger and thumb tapping against one another, "What else have you two come up with regarding the geographical profile?"

"Well, besides where he himself could be living or where he could keep his victims, the whole profile is scattered," Spencer answers this time, sliding the plate towards you as he sets down a picture of each victim with the name of the forests and parks they were found in written underneath. "The first two victims were dumped in a forest, the third in a park, and the fourth in another forest.."

As he goes on, you take advantage to continue eating, the way in which he had just let you eat off his plate despite his known phobia of germs not going unnoticed by everyone else.

If that one wasn't a sign, Aaron didn't know what else was.

*

With the geographical profile being all over the place, Aaron decides on pulling you away from the task the following day, instead pairing you up with him to check out the crime scene of the most recent victim.

He doesn't know if it's the leader in him doing so, pulling you away from your original project he had tasked you to do, or if it's just the mix of both curiosity and jealousy that continues to gnaw at him.

He was a grown man, for Christ's sake. Yet he couldn't help the way his heart churned when you hold his hand for a second longer than necessary after he helps you climb up the small, but frosty hill.

"Thanks," you mumble sweetly, your shoulders brushing against him as you walk past him and towards the await detectives.

Aaron trails behind you, trying to calm his beating heart as the lead detective on the case walks you both towards the victim's body.

"This is the second victim that's been dumped in a park," you start, squatting down to inspect the cuts and bruises on the woman's face. "These sites are obviously more public than the forests, yet he still leaves them in more secluded spots, away from general view."

"Well, we ruled out that he can't feel any remorse or sympathy," Aaron adds while he looks around the now closed off park. "He holds and tortures these women for hours."

You stand from your spot, placing your hands on your hips as you look around the park. Aaron recognizes the face you make as your 'thinking' face, your eyes squinted and your nose scrunched.

"What is it?" He asks, trying to meet your wandering gaze.

“Reid and I were talking about the possibility of the unsub dumping his victims in the same places where half—if not all—of his childhood abuse took place,” you miss the way his breath hitches in his throat and the way his shoulders sag slightly, continuing. “We know that he has to be a local here from Portland—probably raised around these same areas—and that he was abused severely as a child.”

Aaron tries his best to nod as nonchalantly as possible, “Something from his childhood obviously triggered him for him to start abducting and inflict the same pain on the victims before leaving them in similar places where he could have been left as a child after being abused.”

“Exactly,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were theorizing around that idea for a while but weren’t too sure if the abuse could play such a huge part on his M.O.”

At the mentions of you and Reid again, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

Not only was he a grown man, but he was also your boss. And you were his subordinate, someone he should never had feelings for in the first place and someone he shouldn’t be feeling possessive over as if anything was to truly ever happen between you.

At first he had thought that Spencer wasn’t to blame for having the same feelings Aaron so strongly harbored for you. But, maybe, you weren’t the one to blame.

For falling for someone more your age, for someone you worked and paired so well with, for someone nobody else made such a grand effort to understand the way you did.

Not only was he a grown man and your boss, but he was also double your age, a single father, and a widower.

Swallowing harshly, he pulls out his phone from his suit’s inner pocket, “I’ll have Garcia check out any reported speculations of childhood abuse in these areas and see if she can narrow down our list,” He turns, using his height to his advantage and speeding off, leaving you completely behind.

You frown, rushing to catch up to him. You halt when you come to the same frosty hill he had helped you climb up and open your mouth to call for his help, but close it back up when you see he’s already made it back to the SUV and is climbing inside.

When you finally climb inside the car after successfully managing to climb down the hill without busting your ass, he’s talking with Garcia.

You wait patiently as he drives, the phone on speaker as he gives out quick orders that your friend rushes to catch up with. You try to take the chance of speaking up once he hangs up with her, but he’s quickly dialing for Rossi afterwards.

You’re quiet throughout the ride back to the precinct, the sudden change in mood too heavy for you to gather the courage to make any sort of conversation. Once parked in front of the building, he gets out right away, slamming the door while you’re barely unblocking your seatbelt.

You make a beeline to the conference room where you find Reid, no longer paying any mind on trying to find Aaron any longer.

Spencer jumps when you hurriedly slam the door behind you, eyes filling with worry when you lean against the wood and stare at the floor pensively, “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the door and taking a seat across from him. “I just got back from the latest crime scene with Hotch and he started acting so weird after I told him about our theory of the unsub’s dumping pattern.”

“Weird how?”

You move to speak, but hesitate when you realize that going into detail about how cold your boss suddenly acted towards you after being used to receiving such kind—some might say preferable—treatment would make your friend speculate things he, of all people, did not need to speculate.

You shake your head, “Nothing. He’s probably just stressed or tired,” you drop your forehead onto the table’s cold wood, your arms stretched out in front of you. “I know I am.”

A beat of silence passes before you hear a creak and the feeling of a finger press against your index. You bite back a laugh, looking up to find Spencer leaning forward in his own seat to do a ‘finger touch,’ something you had come up with for him after realizing how persistent his germophobia was, even with the people he loved the most.

You smile at him, leaning your head on one of your forearms and pressing your finger into his.

From outside the glass-windowed office, Aaron watches you both, a solemn look on his face.

*

The case is finally closed once you and Spencer’s theory is proven right, the unsub securely put away and the green light to go home given at last. But with the late night icy weather too dangerous for the jet to take off, Aaron orders for everyone to instead turn in for the night at the hotel and head out first thing tomorrow morning instead.

He gives a silent thanks to no one in particular when he finds out it's his turn to have a room all for himself, the rotation always being cheated by Dave, Derek, or Emily that he always forgets who's next.

Shockingly enough, he's ready to turn in for the night, not even sparing an extra glance to any of the files he had brought with him as he prepares for bed. He's just about to sit down when a knock comes from behind his door, echoing throughout his room.

He lets out a quiet groan but stands nonetheless, rubbing tiredly at his face before swinging the door open. His first instinct is to snap at whoever's behind, but that's before his eyes cast over you.

You're fiddling with your fingers, dressed in your pajamas that consists of an off-the-shoulder shirt that dips low enough to show off your collarbone and the very top of your chest, your bra strap in the middle.

And, despite the chilly weather outside, you were wearing shorts. A pair of cotton shorts that peek out from underneath the shirt you were wearing and leave little to the imagination—more so, Aaron’s imagination.

Truth be told, he's seen you in a lot less. Your usual team outing outfits consisted of tank tops, baby tees, shorts, and slightly more revealing clothes.

But this, seeing you in what you would normally sleep in, sends him into a completely different spiral.

You cringe and immediately panic at the thought of having woken him up, "Sorry, were you already asleep?" you ask, taking a tentative step back.

Aaron blinks and clears his throat, the pads of his thumb and middle finger once again tapping against one another, "No," He lies. "I was barely getting ready."

Your shoulders drop and the panic dissipates as a small smile replaces it, “Oh, okay,” you bring your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels, “I just wanted to talk to you. If that’s alright?”

Aaron’s brows furrow though he immediately steps to the side to allow you in, a soft ‘of course’ following.

He takes in the way you hesitantly step in, back facing him and arms still intertwined behind your back.

You’re being respectful, probably hoping that you’re not overstepping with whatever it is that you want to talk about. And though you always are, he can’t tell if you’re nervous, worried, or filled with insomnia that you just couldn’t sleep.

“Is everything alright?” He finally asks when you don’t make a move to sit down anywhere, his hands slightly ajar to his side like he’s ready to reach out and touch you.

God, how he wishes he could touch you.

You clear your throat and turn around, “Actually, I was just coming to ask you the same thing,”

The harsh lines on Aaron’s face deepen when you take a seat on the edge of the bed, glancing beside you as a signal for him to join you.

He swallows as he does so, careful not to sit too close and award you space. His eyes flicker back up at you when he hears your breath hitch.

Seconds of silence pass before you shuffle closer to him, bringing your body forward so that you were staring at him directly.

“Are you… feeling okay?”

Aaron freezes, his movements completely stilling at your question. His mind begins to race with all the possibilities of what could have brought on your question when it clicks.

How he had concurred that you and him were completely different and could never be a possibility, and how he immediately decided that acting cold towards you would shun out the feelings he’s felt for so long now.

Another clear of his throat, he replies, “I’m fine.”

You raise a brow at him, giving him a look that shows that you know he’s not telling the truth.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, this time more firmly. “I don’t mean to overstep, but you’ve been acting rather…strange ever since you and I got back from the fifth victim’s crime scene.”

Aaron cringes at how your expression turns into a sad one, quickly masking it with one of concern afterwards.

He sighs. He supposes that if there’s a possibility that you and Spencer are dating, now’s the time to ask you about it.

He makes a show of staring directly at you in the same way he does when he’s in his ‘boss mode,’ trying to study your face before he asks the question, “Is there something I should know about you and Spencer?”

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

You’re taken aback, quite literally flinching as if you had been struck. It takes you a few seconds to take in what he’s just asked you, and you shake your head almost as if it wasn’t real.

“I’m sorry?”

The desperation gnaws at him once more, and he’s not sure which side of him wants to find out the answer.

“Are you and Spencer dating?” he asks again, voice somehow unwaveringly calm as he punctuates each word clearly.

Your mouth opens in shock, letting out a sound that’s half a scoff half a broken laugh. You look around the room in utter bewilderment.

“What correlation does my relationship with Spencer have with what I asked you?” You can’t tell if you’re angry or just confused, but you stand from the bed and stare down at him.

Aaron follows your lead, “I never noticed it before until the rest of the team pointed it out, but you two are close. Close in such a way that—” He swallows, “—as your boss, I have to ask.”

Before the rest of the team pointed it out. Of course.

You fully scoff this time, “As my boss, you should know that Spencer and I have always been close,” you concur.

“Then why can’t you look at me?”

Despite your heart hammering in your chest, you force yourself to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“You’re not looking at me, you’re getting defensive, and you’re practically avoiding the question,” he says, his own gaze practically boring into you.

“Hotch—”

“You’re deflecting by saying that I should know that you two have always been close, and while I do know that, you’re still not answering my question.”

It feels cruel of him to press you for answers like this, knowing that there was an easier way to do it.

“Reid and I are not dating!” you do your best to not shout it at him in fears of waking the rest of the team up, fists balled at your sides.

“Then why are you so nervous?” he asks, taking a step closer to you. “Why can’t you still look at me?”

“Because it’s you that I like!”

You slap your hands over your mouth immediately and the room falls silent.

Aaron blinks. Once, twice, three times.

You liked him?

You lower your hands, nervously brushing your hair behind your ears as you look around the room in a state of panic, “I-I’m just going to go,” you mumble and immediately rush towards the door.

Aaron stands the for a second, too frozen to do or say anything before his own panic settles in brazenly. His body moves before he has time to register what he's doing and what he'll do when he reaches you.

He wraps an arm around your forearm just as you open the door, halting you from stepping outside, "Y/N, wait,"

"Hotch, please," you're quick to try and release yourself from his grasp, yanking your arm towards yourself in what results as a poor attempt. "Just ignore what I said."

"I can't do that," he dips his head to try and get you to look at him but you simply avoid your gaze even more than your originally had, your cheeks flushed.

"Hotch, let me go!" you whisper-shout, once more fighting his grip. “I’m already embarrassed enough, I don’t need you chastising me anymore.”

“I’m not chastising you, Y/N,” Aaron’s sure he sounds as desperate as you probably feel, but he can’t find it in himself to let you go and ruin his one chance of bringing his feelings to the light. Even if it went against everything he had been telling himself earlier that week.

“Do you not think it’s possible for me to feel the same way?”

Your head snaps towards him, your movements suddenly rigid at his question, “W-What?”

You’re sure that, if your heart hadn’t raptured beforehand, it certainly will now.

Aaron takes you letting your guard down as the chance to bring a hand to your waist and pull you back into the room, shutting the door and thanking that nobody else from the team had emerged from the commotion.

“What do you mean by that?” you’re quick to ask, staring up at him with curious, yet hopeful eyes.

He lowers his head as to avoid your gaze this time, letting out a deep breath. Everything he wanted to do now went against everything he had told himself the day before, when he ridiculed himself for ever thinking that you would like someone such as him or that something could ever happen between you two.

“Hotch,” your voice is firm and you allow yourself to take a step closer to him. You need him to look at you, to give you some sort of clue that he didn’t just say what he said to play you, to get you to re-enter the room just so he could profile you even more. “What do you mean by that?”

Repeating your question doesn’t help him and it certainly doesn’t help the way his heart hammers in his chest, a sound so loud that he’s sure you can hear it from how close you’re standing.

“You like me?” you whisper, dipping your head to try and meet his eyes. How ironic that just a couple of seconds ago you were trying to avoid it.

Aaron shrugs, finally looking up, “How could I not?”

His boyish, yet vulnerable expression makes your breath hitch.

“I said that I had to know if there was something between you and Reid as your boss, but it was just because I was jealous,” he shakes his head, trying his best to suppress an all but amused smile. “It was immature of me, really.”

You shake your head, trying to collect both your own thoughts and everything he was telling you. He had been jealous?

“So, is that you acted that way after I told you about our theory in the park?”

The way in which he left you behind in both the park and in the parking lot of the precinct hits him like a brick, cringing at his actions, "I realized then, when you were talking about what you had both come up with, how compatible you two are. How it would make more sense for you to like someone more suited for you. I'm sorry for how I acted,"

Your heart breaks at hearing his confession, of how he, the same man you practically fell head over heels for after your first meeting, could think that he was unworthy of your attention. If you were being honest, you hadn't been hurt by the way he had acted earlier in the day, only confused as to why.

"Hotch--" you stop yourself. You take another step closer, closing the space between the both of you more and more. "Aaron,"

He snaps his head up at your usage of his first name, the way you said it so gently and naturally getting all his attention.

"I've liked you ever since I first met you," you confess. "I'll admit I was too intimidated by you to fully register what I was feeling, but the more I got to know you, the harder I began to fall. And I fell really hard," you let out a laugh, trying to ignore just how much you were putting on the line right now and how self-conscious you felt with his eyes boring into you.

"You've been with the BAU for three years," Aaron's voice is barely above a breathless murmur and he's sure you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't standing so close. "That's how long you've liked me for?"

You nod, lips pursed, "I never said anything because I thought you would never see me that way, let alone reciprocate my feelings. If I'm telling the truth, I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't for you pressing me into telling you that I was dating Reid."

Aaron smirks despite the warmth he feels on his cheeks, shrugging his shoulders and letting out a soft laugh, "Well, then I'm glad I ended up asking. Who knows how many more years we would've gone like this if I hadn't."

You both laugh, subconsciously curling towards each other when you both double over and bring yourselves even closer than before.

You stare up at him with a warm expression before casting your eyes downwards. You lift your hand to linger above his, the pads of your fingers brushing against the hairs on the back of his palm, "So, what happens now?"

Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand in his while the other reaches for your waist once more. You let out a small yelp when he pulls you even closer, your bodies now touching and radiating the warmth you both thought you’d never be able to feel from one another.

The next few seconds are filled with bliss when he lowers his head to press his lips against yours. You’re immediately weak, letting go off his hand to place both on his shoulders as to support yourself.

The other now free hand of his comes to rest on your other hip, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts ever so possessively. A whimper escapes from your mouth and Aaron takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, doing so with so much fervor and passion that it leaves you feeling dizzy even with your eyes closed.

Aaron is relentless even after you pull away to catch your breath, the act of kissing you now something he’s inevitably hooked on. He presses kisses all over your face, from your cheek to your chin to your jaw, then all the way down to your neck.

“You know,” you cough out, flushed from the attention, “I told you how long I’ve liked you, but you didn’t tell me how long you’ve liked me.”

Aaron smiles into your skin, immediately recalling when he first realized his own feelings for you. He lifts his head to press a sweet kiss to your lips, eliciting a hum from you.

“I can tell you all the details over either a nice dinner tomorrow evening after we land,��� he says, another kiss to your lips. He turns your bodies around so that his back was to bed, the mattress dipping under his weight when he sits. “Or you can spend the night here and we can stay up all night talking about it.”

His voice is sultry, and the way in which he grabs at your hips to get you to straddle him makes you flush.

“Are you already trying to seduce me?” you ask, mock offense in your tone though you happily take your guided seat on his lap, both knees on each side of his thighs.

Aaron hums this time, brushing your hair back to begin kissing at your neck again, “Can you blame me?”

He already knows your answer, he’s sure. He knows you can’t, because he can’t, either.

[mysicklove]

𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐗!

DAY 11: COCK WARMING + NIPPLE PLAY

With: Suguru Geto

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: sub! geto, afab!/fem! reader (reader gets called "ma'am" once) , geto's nipples are abused :/, bottom reader, creampie, reader is a bit of a pervert, nipple piercings mention, begging and crying (like usual)

A/N: and you guys thought i would NEVER post for kinktober (nobody said this I just think u r thinking it). here I am. this one was strange to write tho idk. kinda wasn't feeling it :/ but maybe u guys will

You feel a kiss pressed into the back of your neck, and then two, and suddenly, you can feel your lover trying to plant a hickey on your skin. You pull away quickly, and the man behind you groans in annoyance. “Nice try. Relax, Suguru, you are being so needy,” You complain, readjusting yourself on his lap. Geto makes a low noise, similar to a whimper, and you can’t help but grin at the meek sound.

He recomposes himself, taking in a deep breath and letting out a low laugh. “Just give me a chance, my love. I will make you feel good. J-Just let me.” His words come out more of a plea, and he internally curses himself – pleading only makes it worse.

You stretch your arms out with a mewl, listening to the satisfying pop in your shoulders. Then, you collapse against Geto’s chest with a yawn. His hands rest on your thighs, and his leg begins to bounce, trying to distract himself. “Dont want to. Can we just relax and watch the movie?” You hum in return.

He faintly hears the movie playing in the background, but he can't pay attention to it. All he can think of is how badly he needs to cum, how desperately he craves to fuck you. You have been sitting on his cock for twenty minutes now, and he feels like he is going insane. “Please let me move. I will be quick, I swear. Just let me cum first, and I will watch the movie!”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Is that all I am to you? Something to fuck? I was trying to have a nice evening, and here you are ruining it cause you can't control yourself.”

Geto grinds his teeth together. He knows what you are doing, especially the way you tightened up just coincidentally after you said that. But still, he plays his part, knowing that it was worse not to. “It’s not like that, you know that.” He begins to kiss your neck, hoping to coax something out of you. “Just want it, s-so badly. Love you so much, but you are torturing me, you know that?” He murmurs, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He licks at his lips, and his fingers twitch on your thigh.

You shake your head, leaning forward to grab a piece of popcorn. The movement of you slightly raising yourself up and then down sends Geto moaning out, and his hands instinctually grab onto your hips. His fingers are shaking, and he is trying his best not just to hold you down and fuck you then and there. He wasn’t one to disobey that easily, instincts aside.

But as if nothing happened, you slump against his chest, feeding yourself some more popcorn.  “No,” You decide, leaning up to press a small kiss to his jaw. “I just want to relax here. ‘s comfortable. You are alright with that, yes, Suguru?”

His mouth goes dry, and he glares at the back of your neck. Suguru knows that is wasn’t simply because you wanted to relax – no, you wanted to tease him, to drive him insane. He wants to yell at you, but nothing will come out of that. So he tries to relax on the couch, spreading his legs and looking at the ceiling. “Yeah. ‘s fine. Relax. Relax,” he murmurs mostly to himself, trying to get himself not to buck his hips into you.

“Good boy,” You coo, pressing another couple of kisses to his neck. He, in turn, jumps with a noise just smaller than a whimper, but tries his best not to complain.

 And then the two of you remain silent for the next ten minutes. You just sat and watched the movie, and Geto found himself playing with anything he could to force himself not to move his hips. He even got soft for a moment when he spent a couple of minutes thinking about how gross curses taste, but with one sigh from you as your arms stretch out and reposition yourself on his cock, he finds himself hard again. 

But then, out of the blue, you turn yourself on his lap and face him. He gulps when he feels your cheek press against his chest while you wear a small grin on your face. You were planning something, he could tell. 

“This movie sucks,” You complain, “Need some better entertainment.”

Geto’s eyes widen and his breathing picks up. “Let me fuck you,” He breathes, using his shaky hands to tilt your jaw up to face him. “Please, I-I promise it will keep you entertained.”

You pull away from his grip, and the man furrows his eyebrows. “Not happening. If you ask again, I will leave you here. Do you understand Suguru?”

He does let a whine slip out this time, but you dont flinch at him, instead seeming to narrow your eyes even more. He nods his head, gulping, before saying, “Yes, ma’am.”

You frown at him, rubbing your thumb on his closed lips. “Poor baby. I wish your body were just as obedient as your mouth. Must be so frustrated.”

Your hands pull away from his mouth and trace down the flowy white tee shirt he wears for bed. They stop and circle the two erect nipples on his chest, and Geto flinches. “I am. Can you please help me?”

You pinch one of his nipples through the cloth and his whole body jerks. “I take it back. Your mouth is as whorish as your body,” You seem to seeth, and Suguru is quick to mumble out multiple apologies to try to get you to let go of the sensitive buds.

After a moment, you spare him and let go of them, but your hands trail to the base of the shirt before sliding under it until your hands touch his abdomen. Suguru gulps but doesn’t say anything as you force his shirt up and over his head. The cloth lands just behind his neck, but neither of you spares it a glance.

Then, your hands dance their way up to his nipples, causing his entire body to freeze. For the months you spent dating him, you have grown fawn of toying with the cute nubs. They were always an erogenous spot for your lover, but during sex, you make sure to always somehow stimulate them. Eventually, they became more and more sensitive, and sometimes, if you are lucky, you can hear him hiss out when they graze the fabric of his shirt while stripping. He has taken to baggier clothes instead of trying to reason with you.

Geto doesn’t move from his position, but his eyes look up at you in a plea. His chest was puffy from yesterday night’s teasing, and you could make out a faint bite mark that trapped the bud. “How do you manage to get cuter?” You sigh, gently pinching both of them in between your pointer and middle finger, which makes a low whine slip from his mouth.

“I dont think I have met anyone other than you that has a strange fascination in a male’s chest,” Suguru mumbles out, a small pout on his face that doesn’t last long, considering that your mouth has found its way to his chest.

His eyes widen, and his hands shoot from your thigh to the back of your hair. “H-Hey. Wait. Oh fuck. Gentle!” He borderline yelps, back arching against the couch as his eyes screw shut. It sends a shiver down his body, and with every drag of your tongue, he can feel himself grow overstimulated.

You grin into his skin, and he can feel your teeth graze against him. “I am,” you mumble out, moving to give the other nipple some attention. His hand tightens on your hair, and he grinds his teeth together to try to distract himself from the overbearing stimulation. It was borderline painful, but at the same time, he knew that the couple probably cum from that alone. And that’s what worried him.

“Now, can I?”

You cock your head to the side, dragging your tongue up his chest. “Can you what?”

Suguru goes quiet for a moment, mouth slightly open as another full-body shiver runs down his spine. “I dont want to cum like this,” he begs, dark eyes flickering to you in a plea, “I want–please let me fuck you. Please. Please!”. 

Your other hand creeps toward his other nipple, running circles around it. It was wet from your mouth, so your finger slides easily over the reddened flesh. His breaths are coming out in his pants, switching from holding his breath to try and ignore the sensation to rapid exhales as he tries to move his chest away from you. It was endearing, seeing him squirm because he usually held his composure well, always growing embarrassed when you tease him about it.

“Why? It feels good, yeah? I think you are going about this the wrong way, Suguru,” You sigh, now using both fingers to flick at the nub. Your lips are millimeters from his, and he is borderline breathing into your mouth. “It is a privilege to cum, y’know.”

Your lover licks at his lips, twitching and letting out a small yelp. “I-I know. Thankful for it. But, it’s a lot,” he whines, accidentally pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your lips when his body uncontrollably jerks. 

He shakes his head back and forth when you chuckle at him, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “It’s–You are driving me insane,” the man warbles, biting the inside of his mouth and shutting his eyes when you pinch him. His hands drift back to your waste again, and he rolls his hips upward. The action makes you raise your eyebrows, intrigued by the sudden defiance. 

“Dont wanna cum, dont wanna cum like this. Please, please, please move.” You watch as his hands ghost up and down your waist, most likely imagining what it would be like to have you bounce on him. His eyes are screwed shut, and his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration – you even have to tear his lip from his teeth before it begins to bleed.

You dramatically sigh, finally tearing your fingers from his chest to pin them to your side. The action causes him to blink up at you in confusion, and you watch as a singular tear fall to his cheek. “You have 15 seconds to cum, do you understand?”

His body goes rigid, and he leans up from the couch to get closer to you. “Can I?”

“Yes,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. “you can fuck me. Your time starts now.” 

In an instant, you are being pinned to his chest with his face buried into your neck. His hands dig into your waist, and he begins his frantic thrusts upward. Loud moans are breathed into your shoulder, and his mouth begins to pepper your skin in love bites. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Geto chants, eyes falling contently shut.

Your eyes widen at the suddenness of it all, especially the fact that your face was now suffocating in his chest. But you take this as an opportunity, and immediately your mouth falls on the closest nipple, using your teeth to nibble at it gently.

The reaction is immediate; Geto curses out as his back slightly arches. His pace doesn’t let up even with the sensitive distraction, and more tears seem to tumble down his face. “Ten seconds,” You whisper into his chest, trying to hide the tremble in your voice from how rough he was being with you. He didn’t seem to have a care in the world, simply focusing on his pleasure alone. You didn’t know if you found that cute or annoying.

“W-Wait. Give me five more. Y-You’re counting too fast!” He frantically demands, pulling you tighter toward him. You dont respond, instead trying to find some breathing room to switch to the other nipple. This time when you do latch onto it, you bite it harder than any of the other times, and Geto lets out a screeching sound. Tears cascade down his face, and he whimpers out in pain, but nevertheless, he continues to thrust upward, not willing to miss out on his orgasm.

“Five seconds,” You purr, and at the words, he begins to cry into your neck. Strong arms encompass your entire frame, and he digs his fingers into any surface he can on your body. But his sounds were higher in pitch, and his thrusts were uneven, so you could tell that he was close.

“Three…” He shakes his head back and forth, thick hair tickling your shoulder as his breaths become shorter. His eyes begin to widen, and he gulps, continuing with his hip movements. The room fills with loud slapping noises and pants from both parties. 

“Two…”

But you didn’t get to one because after sending one last long lick to the sensitive bud, Getos comes crashing down. The sound he lets out is breathless, similar to a moan and hiccup, like he struggling to breathe. He throws his head back, and it is just centimeters away from knocking into your chin, but you dont have the energy to tease him. Besides, even if you did, he wouldn’t listen, not in this state at least.

Cum begins to leak out and slide back onto his dick, and the feeling makes you sigh. Getos orgasm lasts around twenty seconds, but even after, his body twitches with aftershock. You watch sweat drip down his neck, and his chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath,  But he wears a lazy grin on his face, eyes hazy, but completely content, finally sedated. 

Geto releases your arms and collapses back onto the couch with one last deep sigh. You take this time to inspect his body, grinning to yourself when you catch sight of his nipples. When he catches your gaze, his arms immediately reach out to cover himself. “No more nipple play for a long, long, long time. You are officially cut off from my chest.”

You let out a loud whine in complaint. “You can’t do that! I was just thinking about piercing them!”

The man stares at you incredulously, shivering at the idea of a needle driving through his already oversensitive nipples. “You must be crazy,” he sighs, “and a pervert. Now get off me, let’s go get cleaned up. I want to finish the movie.”

“Uh huh, so now you want to watch the movie with me!” He doesn’t respond, instead just grabbing you by the waist and dragging you toward the bathroom. 

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[satorusugurugurl]

would you able to do smth that’s pure full angst??? like angst that doesn’t lead up to smut, love your work btw!!

Choose

Summary: Gojo is forced the choose between his two best friends, Geto or you.

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru AFAB!Reader (slightly implied??)

Warnings: angst, kidnapping, violence, torture, blood, physical abuse, pain, character death

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: y’all wanted angst, I deliver 🙂‍↕️ enjoy your meal! Thanks @sugurubabe for your help!

The room was musky, thick was the humidity that had sweat heading against your forehead as you lay on the floor wheezing painfully before another blow hit your stomach hand. You curl into a fetal position, crying out in excruciating pain as boots crunched against broken glass that littered the floor. This wasn't how the mission was supposed to go; it was supposed to be easy!

A curse, a grade-two curse! Something both you and Suguru should have been able to handle! But it seemed as though there was no curse, none whatsoever.

What you and Suguru found waiting for you was a curse user and an assistant supervisor who had betrayed you all. Everything had happened so fast. The woman led you down a hall, revealing this supposed curse. You were in front of Suguru, listening to details and trying to sense the nonexistent cursed energy when a heavy thud sounded from behind you.

Nothing could have prepared you to see Geto on the ground out cold. The sight left you frozen in shock as your eyes darted back to the assistant supervisor holding a plank of wood stained with a bit of blood. You tried to act fast, reaching into your uniform to throw a talisman paper at the traitor, but the world went black for you. Someone hit you from behind.

When you came to, Suguru was still out, and the hats when the curse user began his shitty interrogation. He asked over and over again where Gojo was, and every time, you had a smart-ass remark. Which ended up with you getting the shit kicked out of you.

“I’ll ask you again.” The curse user barked out, crouching down next to your face. “Where is Gojo Satoru?”

Holding onto your stomach, you smirked, slowly lifting your head to look at your captor. “Your mom’s house.” Instead of a kick, the bastard backhanded you, making you wince before you cupped the side of your face, trying to hide the pain that you felt throbbing in your cheek.

“I don't like wasting time, and I don't like little liars.”

“Yeah, and I don't like assholes who beat up a couple of teenagers!” You yelled back, ignoring the iron taste that flooded your mouth.

“This is going nowhere; I thought you said the three were inseparable.”

That was true; Before the three of you were sort of a thing, going on dates, making out, sleeping together in the same bed. And that’s how it had been true until last year after the Star Plasma Vessel was killed. Ever since that fateful day, things have changed between you, mostly Gojo, but you could tell Geto was also starting to pull away too. He wasn't sleeping well, refusing to come to your room, go on dates, and you were both getting sent on more solo missions. You were honestly surprised you and Geto had been assigned this mission together, but even the two of them were slipping apart it seemed.

You’d been excited, looking forward to working together with one of your boyfriends? (Maybe you guys weren’t official yet), and had been planning to go on a soba noodles date afterward. Things were supposed to have gone differently today. What you imagined as a pleasant time with one of your best friends had turned into a literal nightmare.

You shot a glance in Geto’s direction. He was still out cold, but from the movement behind his eyes, you were hoping he was going to come soon enough. If you worked together, you might get out of this without further injuries. Until then, you just needed to continue to buy some time, and you could accomplish that by being extra annoying. You did learn from Gojo firsthand.

“T-They are—I thought they’d be assigned this together.”

“Well, he ain't here, is he?!”

“Yeah, sorry,” you spit your blood-laced saliva on the ground, “the band split up!”

“Oh did it?” The curse user asked, cocking a brow down at you.

“Yep! So I wouldn't count on him showing up anytime soon.”

That should have been enough to deter them from following through with whatever plan they had. But your words made your captor smirk. He said nothing as he reached into his pocket, tossing your phone to the traitor, before he moved fast, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking you to your feet.

“Why don't we get the band back together then?” You tried out in pain as he slammed you back down against the floor, lifting your head an inch as he crouched behind you. “Take a picture of her and Geto, and send it to Gojo along with the address.”

The flash was both blinding and suffocating as you struggled to free yourself. This wasn't good; you knew if Gojo were to see it, he'd come running. You were his best friends, and even thought he's been busy with training and all the missions he had been sent on, you knew he still cared for the two of you. And when he showed up, he would fall right into the hands of these monsters who were worse than the curses you constantly took out.

With the second flash that flooded the abandoned hospital room that was only illuminated by the light of twilight, you felt panic swell in your chest. You thrashed and screamed against the man still holding you down on the ground, watching in horror as they texted Satoru from your phone. This wasn't happening; it wasn't real; this was a terrible nightmare that was going to end soon, right?!

“There, done.”

“No!” You screamed, kicking your legs out underneath you. “No! You bastards!” Tears welled in your eyes as you focused on Suguru, grimacing near you. “Suguru! Suguru, wake up!”

“You’re too loud!” The curse-user shouted, kicking you in the stomach a second time, followed by a third, before he kicked you in the ribs.

The impact of that fourth hit had you dry-heaving and sobbing from the pain. You collapsed on the ground, vision blurring for a minute before a crashing sound from down below caught your attention. You wheezed painfully, trying to pull yourself up. You had to tell Satoru to run, that it was a trap, but you couldn't speak. Every breath you took was like stabbing to your stomach, to your lungs; everything hurt.

“Suguru?! Sweetheart?!” Satoru yelled, bounding up the stairs towards you. While you might not be able to speak, you used all of your strength to crawl, inching towards the doorway. Maybe your actions would prevent him from stepping closer. “Where are they, you bastard?”

“T-Tor—Toru—” you gasp out, crawling closer to the door to have the assistant supervisor kick you in the stomach this time. “Agghh!!” You screamed out, and you could hear the footsteps running closer to the door.

You didn’t want him to come inside, to be the reason he fell for a trap. But your prayers and wishes didn’t come true. The door flew open, and your best friend stood in the doorway, his blue eyes taking in the scene in front of him. He met Suguru first, watching as his best friend blinked a few times as he started to regain some form of consciousness. Then, pretty cerulean eyes found you. You could see the rage burning within the irises.

“Ah, the infamous Gojo Satoru, finally we meet.” The curse user unsheathed a katana from his side, licking his lips. “. you sure do know how to piss off a lot of people. And a lot of these people want to hurt you in so many ways. I was hired to deal with that pain for them.” The Curse user said in a condescending tone. “They want you to suffer, and they want to hurt bad. So prepare yourself; it’s not going to be pretty.”

“S-Satoru—run,” you whined, trying to lift yourself.

Your friend threw his head back and laughed out loud. “I don't no dumb ass hired you to ‘hurt’ me, but I’ve been living under a rock for the last year. I’m stronger than I was before, and nobody will kill me. So my friends go, and I’ll deal with you.” You couldn’t help but grin even though the pain was excruciating; leave it to Satoru to have a snarky comeback.

“Oooh, I’m sorry, there seems to be a misunderstanding.” You blinked, watching as the traitor bitch dragged Suguru towards you, throwing him down next to you, leaving him groaning as he blinked hard, trying to come to his senses. “I didn’t say I was going to kill you. I said I would hurt you, and unlike my clients, I have to know you are untouchable. So if I’m not able to hurt you physically, I decided hurting you emotionally would be much better.”

“Huh?”

The katana slammed against the floor right between you and Suguru’s heads. “Choose.” The curse user said in a deep voice, leaving your eyes wide as you stared at your reflection in the blade.

Satoru froze up, eyes focusing on you and Suguru on the ground. “What?”

“Pick one, him or her.” You swallowed as Suguru's eyes widened in shock.

“I ain't picking one over the other!” Satoru snarled out, looking back at your captor, who was smirking.

“You aren’t going to pick?”

“Fuck no!”

The curse user hummed, twirling the katana around in a circle. The dying light menacingly reflected off the blade. You swallowed harder, looking into Suguru’s eyes as the katana twirled faster. This whole situation, everything about it, left you feeling sick to your stomach.

“Then I guess we’ll choose for you!” The curse user announced, picking the katana up out of the ground.

“You—”

“Nuh-uh!” The katana slanted into the ground, an inch away from your face, making you cry out and fear. “Come near us, use one of your special moves, and I’ll slice both their heads off right here. You might be the strongest, but I can assure you that I’m the fastest.”

Your stomach twisted in pain and fear as your breath fogged against the blade. This really couldn’t be happening right now. You choked on a sob, as the katana lifted out of the ground, allowing you to stare into Suguru's eyes. He swallowed, exhaling through his nose as he inched closer towards you. That subtle action to let you know that everything was going to be okay, that he was there by your side, only caused more tears to stream down your cheeks.

“It’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay,” Suguru whispered, his eyes darting towards Saroru, who was clenching and unclenching his fist in apparent concentration, his eyes roaming between the curse user, the traitor, and his two best friends. “Satoru will figure this out; we’ll be okay.”

“Shut the fuck up!” the katana slammed down again, cutting strands of Suguru’s bangs. “I don’t like repeating myself, Gojo. And I believe I ask you a question. Choose. Someone has to die today.”

Dark eyes glittered with amusement as Suguru looked up at the curse user. “You obviously don’t know my friend, he would nev—”

“Suguru.” Satoru blurted out. You slowly turned your head to look at the tufts of white hair that dropped as he clenched his fists harder.

“Satoru.” Suguru purred out, smiling. “What I can—”

“I choose to save Geto Suguru.”

Your stomach twisted in pain as you felt tears welling in your eyes as the curse user barked out a laugh, moving the katana so fast you didn't see it slicing Suguru’s bindings. Was your mind playing tricks on you? Did he re—really just pick Geto? Was he choosing to let you die?

You meant nothing to him?

Your stomach churned with nausea as the room started spinning. You felt like you couldn't breathe as Satoru refused to look at you. He did, and he picked Suguru over you.

Tears blurred your vision as you listened to Suguru cursing as he was quickly unbound. “Wow,” the man towering above you breathed out. It looks like you see where you stand.” Anger and betrayal hit you as you whirled to glare.

“Fuck you—nngh!” he kicks you in the stomach for a fifth time. And the impact made you see dark spots.

“You heard the man; it’s time to die.” he kicked you again, rolling you onto your back, where it was hard to breathe. “I hope you're watching Gojo Satoru; watch the hope and trust she had for you fade along with her life!”

The katana rose up, and you shut your eyes, waiting for the pain to hit. Instead of your cries of pain, the man above you screamed. When you forced your eyes to open, you watched as one of Geto's curses shot out, swallowing the man’s upper half in one bite, before swallowing the rest of him in another. Weakly you turned your head as the traitorous bitch was wrapped up in one of Suguru’s other curses.

Your beaten and bloodied best friend was panting as Satoru stared at him in shock. As if he couldn't believe he had stepped in. But his shock quickly dissolved into realization as his head turned towards you, and he moved, running towards you.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, reaching to lift you up. But as his hands inched towards you, you pulled away from him, tears running down your cheeks. “Sweetheart?”

“Don't touch me.” you wheezed, vision blurring as your stomach twisted in pain. “Don't you ever fucking touch me again, you son of a bitch.”

“Sweetie, I—”

“Don’t touch me!”

Satoru pulled his hand away as if your words badly burned him. “I-I—” You laughed out bitterly, turning your head, and it was a look Gojo would never forget.

Your eyes were dull, blurred with tears, but he could see the betrayal and hatred swirling within them even with their dull hue. You wheezed deeply, blood seeping out of the corner of your mouth as Geto rushed towards you on the phone, calling Yaga. But nothing mattered nothing but you right then and there.

“Sweetheart, I-I wouldn't have let them hurt you. I promise!”

“You chose Geto.” you spat out, a droplet of blood jotting Gojo’s infinity as you curled in on yourself. “You chose to keep him alive and let me die.”

“I wouldn't have let them!”

“Bullshit!”

The pain in your face was like a million needles to Gojo’s heart as Geto told Yaga about what had happened. “That’s enough right now, you two! Satoru, Yaga wants you to take her back to campus so Shoko can help.” Gojo could see the shame in Geto’s eyes as he hung up the phone. “Princess, Gojo’s going to teleport you to the school.”

“No,” you whispered with a shake of your head.

“Come on! I won't hurt you; let me help you!”

“Don't you fucking touch me! I'd rather die than let you touch me. And you shouldn't have an issue with that, seeing that you picked me to die.”

Satoru gritted his teeth with anger but backed off, giving Suguru a shrug as the other man sighed. “Whatever.” With a sigh of annoyance, Sugiri picked you up princess-style and started running out of the room, heading down the stairs to get you in the car while Satoru followed behind, staring at the ground in shock and disbelief.

He knew you were mad; anyone would have been angry. But he panicked; he had to make a choice; otherwise, he would have lost you both, and that was something he was never going to let happen. Maybe he yelled out Suguru’s name because he was closer to him. Or perhaps it was just out of reflex, but he meant it when he said he would save both of you. There would be no way he would let anything happen to you. Both of you were his best friends.

You were just angry now; it would take some time, and he would explain that to you when you calmed down. All you needed was a little bit of time and space. What was the saying? Time heals all wounds?

Yeah, that was it. He just needed to give you some time to process what happened and allow your wounds to heal.

“Huh?” Gojo asked as he stood in the morgue, staring at Shoko.

“I said there wasn't much we could do.”

His eyes trailed down to the body that lay on the metal slab between him and Shoko. Your face was lax, your eyes shut, and bruises were discoloring your pretty face. This was a joke; it was all a fucked up joke for what he had said, right? You were going to sit up and say ‘jokes on you’ or ‘I got you bitch’ right? But your skin was too ashen, your pulse wasn't racing in your throat, and he couldn't sense your cursed energy with his Six-Eyes.

You were gone.

“B-But I don't understand. W-What happened, she was—she was fine.”

“On the outside, maybe.” Shoko lit a cigarette, holding it between her teeth as she moved some of your hair from your face. “But she took several kicks to the stomach, it looked like, and the sheer force formed an abdominal hematoma that ruptured with that last kick. If she got here a bit sooner, then maybe, just maybe, we could have saved her.” Shoko frowned, pulling the white sheet back up to cover your face. “But there wasn't anything we could do.”

Satoru's hands started shaking as he smelt earthy musk and mint approaching his side. He swallowed hard, turning to find Suguru staring down at your body, an almost unreadable expression on his face. What was he supposed to say in a situation like this? One where they both lost their best friend?

“She stayed true to her word,” Suguru whispered as he turned, his white button-down shirt tucked into his pants, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “I’m going on a mission to the countryside and won't return for a while.”

Satoru turned, glaring as Suguru opened the door to the hall. “What the hell do you mean she stayed true to her word?!” Suguru paused before looking back at Gojo with dull, lifeless eyes that almost mirrored yours the last time you had looked at him. It was so eerily similar that Gojo took a step back.

“She would have rather died than have you touch her.” His eyes focused on your body before he met Satoru's teary eyes. “And she did just that, all because of your choice.”

With that, the door slammed shut, leaving Gojo standing in the morgue with the body of one of his best friends while his other went off on a mission alone. A mission that would lead to him massacring an entire village. Little did Gojo know his choice would cost him the lives of both his best friends.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree

[bluebeary-jay]

A promise softly sung

Astarion x f!Reader/Tav

Summary: before the battle that will decide his fate, Astarion is terrified of losing you to Cazador. you comfort him after a nightmare. (set at the beginning of act 3)

Tags: hurt/comfort, BIG angst and some fluff, poor boy doesn't believe he's deserving of love :( let's hold him until he changes his mind

Warnings: mentions of trauma, self-deprecating thoughts, memories of past abuse and torture, c*zador, being unable to move (briefly), tadpoles mention (idk if that's a trigger)

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: hiiiiiiiii my darlings <33 soo this is something else from what i usually write but i finished bg3 recently and i LOVED IT but i'm on a trip rn so in the absence of my pc i found some inner inspiration to write something again. honestly i missed writing very much but i had the biggest block for almost a year now but maybe it'll get better now that my classes are starting again and i'll be needing a distraction lmao. anyway comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated and don't be shy to send in a request! and as always, happy reading!!! <3

He was there again.

Astarion loathed those hard, stone walls as much as he feared them. It was here that he once spent an entire night, having infernal script meticulously carved into his skin. It was here that he was punished every time he disappointed his master, every time he didn’t do well enough on his mission. It was here that he was reminded time and time again how worthless, pathetic and meaningless his existence was. It was here he returned in almost all of his nightmares.

But now you were here, too.

Astarion couldn’t believe this, but no matter how much he blinked or willed himself to wake up, the view before his eyes didn’t change. It was you, chained by the wrists to the ceiling where he was hanging so many times before, your toes just barely scraping the ground that was already splattered with your blood. Your clothes were ripped to shreds and cuts and bruises covered almost every inch of your skin. Astarion wanted to run up to you, to get you somewhere safe and far away from this place, but he found that he was unable to move. It wasn’t shock seizing up his limbs, but magical paralysis which he had experienced a couple of times during combat. Even though he knew it was a spell that was holding him in place, he still fought against it with all the strength he could muster – but to no avail.

Your eyes, full of tears and fear, met his briefly before you looked past him at someone else.

“Ah, my sweet, insolent boy,” whispered a voice straight from Astarion’s deepest, darkest nightmares, causing him to tense up in terror. A hand – pale, all too familiar in its deceptive tenderness – brushed his jaw from behind before grabbing his hair roughly. The vampire spawn could do nothing but watch as his head was tilted back and he came face to face with his master.

No, it can’t be… How was Cazador here? How were you here?!

“You’ve been a very bad boy, Astarion,” Cazador tutted, shaking his head. “Running away like that, not returning home for months… It’s no way to treat family, isn’t it?” Astarion felt a sharp sting of his master’s quarterstaff at his back, digging into the scars made by the same hand, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t even scream. “But I’ll forgive you… eventually. After all, you brought me this delectable treat…”

Both him and Cazador looked up at you when Astarion realized what – or rather, who – that bastard was talking about. He tried shaking his head, tried begging for him not to hurt you, but he still couldn’t move, his voice was still stuck past his throat and no word or sound came out. In the meantime, Cazador stood up, walking around his spawn to stand in front of you.

“His own survival was always the most important thing to him,” Cazador said almost pitifully, and only after a moment Astarion realized that this time, he was speaking to you. “He’s a selfish, contemptuous creature, after all. Say, did he tell you he loved you before he lured you here like so many others before you? Did he lie, swearing how much you mean to him?”

“Yes, he… he did.”

Astarion prayed to any higher being that it was just the power of another spell compelling you to say that, and not what you were really thinking. He tried to struggle against his own magical restraints, but whatever scroll or verbal command was used, it was far too powerful for the vampire to beat it with sheer willpower alone. He was helpless again – but worse than that, he was forced to watch you being at Cazador’s mercy, too, all while he couldn’t do anything to save you.

“I honestly didn’t think poor Astarion had it in him,” Cazador continued calmly, gliding gracefully around you and disappearing behind your back. Your own eyes, now full of hurt and betrayal, were trained on Astarion’s. He couldn’t turn away, but in the corner of his vision the elf saw a flash of a blade against your bare skin. “To give away one person who, for some strange reason, saw good in a filthy worm like him… But I’m so very proud of you, sweetling.” Cazador looked at him over your shoulder and licked his lips, so, so dangerously close to your neck. “You’ll live to serve me for centuries to come, and you can watch your lover take your place in my ritual… You did well, Astarion.”

No, Astarion cried in the prison of his own body, unable to reach you or to even stop Cazador from spilling lies into your ears. Not her, no, no, please–

“No!”

Cazador smiled widely and sank his teeth into your fragile neck, and you screamed, still looking at Astarion with this horrible hatred in your eyes…

“No, no, please! Take me, please, just don’t–”

“My love, it’s alright, you’re safe…”

“Stop! Please, just–!”

His body suddenly jerked painfully and his eyes shot open, darting around in confusion and trying to figure out where he was. Astarion wasn’t feeling the cold frigid air of the kennels anymore – instead his skin was almost hot, and damp from sweat, but there was something smooth and soft under his back… the sheets. He was in a bed, at an inn. Still panting heavily, he looked around, noting the details in his surroundings: the crooked chandelier, a little window with curtains drawn shut, his shirt hung neatly over the back of the chair… and your shoes right next to it.

At the memory of your battered and tortured body in Cazador’s dungeon, Astarion shot up with a belated sob, almost knocking you over in the process. Only when your warm hand left his cheek did he notice your presence. You were kneeling next to him on the mattress, expression worried and sorrowful, with the last traces of sleep just leaving the edge of your vision. His red eyes scanned your body, but there were no bruises, no cuts made by Cazador’s wretched blade, no burns on your wrists from the manacles he saw you in mere moments ago.

And there was no hatred in your gaze. Only love and care he didn’t deserve.

Astarion’s eyes filled with tears, but before he could run out of the room or hide under the bed, you opened your arms, gently offering him the solace within. And he, being the selfish, contemptuous creature that he was, didn’t deny himself what he wasn’t worthy of.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, petting his hair softly, while the other hand was – as always – mindful of the scars on his back. “It was a dream, my love. You’re safe here with us.”

His body shook with quiet sobs as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the soothing scent of your skin and your blood singing to him just beneath. He saw again before his eyes the way Cazador looked at him before he bit you, right in this place he was now so close to…

To give away one person who, for some strange reason, saw good in a filthy worm like him…

“I’m sorry,” Astarion choked out, finding his voice at last, which made you pause in your ministrations. “I’m so sorry f-for not doing anything… He…”

You were quiet for a couple of seconds, but then Astarion felt the most tender touch of your lips on the crown of his head, and he buried his face more into your chest.

“I’m here, darling,” you whispered. “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real.”

He didn’t answer, instead lifting his arm and tentatively brushing his fingers just underneath your shirt. He didn’t feel any scars mirroring his own, but could still see the blood flowing from your back and down your legs, could still hear your painful scream… It brought fresh tears to his eyes again.

“I… I swear, I would never do that,” he attempted to explain himself, but his words came out in a pathetic sob, and he shook his head again, curling in on himself. “He– he was lying. I’d never…”

A fresh wave of tears wetted your shirt, but you didn’t seem to mind as you gently rocked him back and forth, cradling him safe in your arms. Old Astarion would probably scoff at the condescending action of being treated like an infant, but he knew better now. He still found it difficult, but with you at his side he was learning what true care and affection looked like, and how to accept it. You were always so patient with him, so gentle, never rushing or angry when he couldn’t give you the closeness and intimacy you deserved. Astarion loved that about you – even if he wasn’t ready to say it out loud just yet.

“My star…” you hesitated, but ultimately asked, “what did you dream about?”

The vampire took a shaky breath, unable to open his eyes or speak about what he saw. Instead, he called on the tadpole in his brain and nudged your mind with it, wordlessly asking for permission, which you immediately granted. There was at least one thing the tadpole was good for, he thought as you lived through the nightmare his weak, broken mind had conjured. If by the gods’ grace all of them managed to get rid of the tadpoles and survive this whole ordeal… and if by some miracle you still wanted to stay with him after all was done… Astarion knew he would have to learn how to communicate his feelings on his own. But not tonight. Not tonight.

You didn’t say anything for a long while, only continuing to hold him close to your chest. In this position he could hear the soothing beat of your heart, proving that he didn’t lead you to Cazador, that he didn’t turn you into a monster like him…

“We’re gonna kill him,” you finally said with your throat tight from emotions. “I promise you, as soon as we get to the Baldur’s Gate, we’ll find him and end him for good.”

Astarion knew what he should say – he should agree, or maybe jest that this is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said, or even argue that it’s not going to be that easy.

But all he could do right now was to continue clinging to you like a child, too afraid to face you.

“I’d never give you away,” he breathed, so quietly that he wasn’t sure you heard it, but he didn’t care. “Even if I had to suffer another two hundred years. I’d never–”

“I know, my darling,” you whispered back, and Astarion felt your own tears disappearing in his white locks. He still couldn’t believe why someone like you would waste your tears on him of all people, and it caused a new kind of pain to bloom in his chest. “And you’re not those things he told you. You’re… you’re everything to me, Astarion. Everything.”

Astarion wondered if he’d ever believe that. You proved to him time and time again that you can make anything possible, even change the worldview of someone like him… but with Cazador’s threat still looming, he didn’t have it in him to try and convince himself of your words.

Maybe after the bastard's dead, he concluded. Maybe then it’ll get easier and he can finally start becoming someone deserving of you.

You stirred slightly, breaking him out of his musings. Astarion hugged you tighter, sharply stopping you from moving away.

“Please. Don’t go.”

You just leaned back on the pillow and kissed his head gently again. Astarion felt the tension in his body melting away just a little, but the tears welled up again in his eyes.

“I won’t. Promise.”

And you kept your promise. Astarion didn’t fall asleep again, but your constant heartbeat under his cheek brought him some semblance of peace as he waited for the sun to rise. It didn’t feel right to let you care for him so much, to gift and envelop him with your love that he didn’t deserve… But it’d be even more wrong to take that choice away from you. He knew all about that, after all, and he'll be damned if he ever treats you the way he was treated.

So Astarion decided that he will let you love him and he will love you in return, for as long as you allow it.

Because, truth be told, he was nothing if not a selfish, contemptuous creature.

[lucysstoryworld]

The Tormented & The Unforgiven | Azriel x Reader

Summary: What happens when one of Azriel's most trusted spies, someone he is beginning to care for, betrays him?

Warnings: This is dark and quite graphic. Abuse, torture, waterboarding, death. MDNI. Angst.

Word Count: 7,558

Masterlist

This wasn't happening... this was all just a sick nightmare. You'd wake up at any moment now, tangled in the sheets of your bed. The sun rising over a cool winter morning and trickling through your window would lull you from your slumber at any moment, you were certain. You tried to pinch yourself and were met with a tug. As if on cue, a dull yet deep ache permeated from your shoulders to your arms. A tingling feeling vibrated your fingertips, chained above your head. Oh... yes. Breaths rattled through your lungs, a crackling filling the dank space.

Definitely not happening... surely not.

Opening your eyes was a chore. They stung, the faelight from the hallway burned your retinas. A low hiss and another attempt later, your eyes remained open. The ache in your neck felt insignificant compared to that of those pulsing at random points in your body. The gorsian shackles choking your wrists and ankles ensured the pain would last. An low, agonised moan escaped your lips.

Definitely is happening. The agony that spread through every nerve of your body was all the proof you needed. Raising your head, you desperately tried to clear the fog. You were suspended from the ceiling with gorsian shackles, with matching chains gripping your ankles. The smell of damp and mould was almost as distracting as the cold that nipped at your body and heightened the ache of your injuries. There were small puddles on the floor beneath you, a leaking roof too - high risk of infection to the wounds that were littered across your body. Your mind was still lagging behind reality, your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. Breathe. Remember your training.

A deep breath in, you focused on filling your lungs to their capacity. Pursing your lips, you blew the breath out slowly. Your focus remained solely on controlling the exhalation, all the way until there was nothing left. You repeated this twice more, just as your boss had trained you. Our job can be terrifying at times, this technique can help you focus and bring your heart rate down. Make our decision making more rational, he had said. He was right, you had come to realise. The breathing exercise had allowed you to calm down on more than a handful of occasions. That being said, it did not make your current situation any easier to understand. You remembered how you got here now... and you still couldn't wrap your head around it.

***

It was a normal day, for you at least. Returning from a mission a day previous, you had today to report your findings to Azriel and to rest. Exhaustion laid heavy on your body, the mission had been a long one with little reward. Although every mission had been similar to that as of late. While Eris was to be somewhat trusted, as Azriel had put it, it would be unwise to not send his own spies to make sure the High Lord and Lady were not being blindsided. So that was your detail. Stake out the Autumn Court and High Lord Beron along with his family. Figure out what was occurring behind the curtains and try to discover Beron's motives... at least so Azriel didn't have to rely on the word of Eris Vanserra. Though your boss had warned you to keep as much distance as you could, with all the Autumn Court soldiers being bewitched he did not wish that fate on you or any of your colleagues... yet you couldn't help the flutter in your heart when he had expressed this concern while looking directly into your eyes. You allowed yourself the small comfort (or delusion) of believing he told you this because he cared about you.

You used to have a rendezvous point with the Spymaster. Yet, after a rough mission in which you were too incapacitated to move from your bed, it soon became the routine for you and Azriel to debrief at your home. Not that you were complaining. You lived a solitary life being in your line of work. There were no records of your existence anywhere, no family to remember you nor any friend to seek your company. A truly invisible female. Apart from Azriel of course, though you were sure he did not see you as a friend or even acquaintance, just his employee. Not even his second in command. Though it did not stop you from feeling excited by his visits. They reminded you that you were alive. That you, at least, had one person who knew of your existence. So, with the butterflies of a youth in your stomach, you prepared for your visitor. You had already written out your report and left it sitting on your living room table. You had dressed in your usual style, and waited for Azriel to come to your door. The rushing of the Sidra filled your living area through the open window. Your generous salary as a spy allowed you to build this house, along the youthful stage of the river where it raced downhill and eventually through Velaris. You had not yet laid your eyes on the city that was only a depiction in your mind from how Azriel had described it. You knew he trusted you at least that much, to allow you to know where he resided. He had once offered to bring you there. Then the war happened and it became the last thing on either of your minds.

A series of knocks pulled you from your wandering thoughts. The seemingly nondescript rhythm of taps on the door made sure you knew who was on the other side. You fought back the slight grin that threatened to widen. You chided yourself, you were acting no better than the human females in the tales of princesses and knights you had read as a teenager. Your teenaged years had been rough, you had travelled up and down Prythian five times over, stealing and tricking to get by. You knew you wouldn't live as long as other fae did back then, your way of life bound to end you sooner rather than later by means of starvation or by disgruntled merchants. The books you nicked from time to time allowed you to fall into a different reality for a short while where life was much simpler. Where life consisted of whether or not the stars would align and let the princess remain with her true love. A moment later, you opened the door with the signature smile stretching across your lips. As quick as your smile appeared, it disappeared. Azriel was not alone.

Standing beside your boss was another Illyrian male few inches shorter though no less intimidating. For every blue siphon Azriel possessed, this male had just as many red ones. This must be Cassian, the General. You glanced at your boss warily, feeling slightly betrayed by him as your privacy was breached. Though from the look of his amber gaze, you knew it was not a good time to tackle him on it.

"Come in," You mumbled confusedly and widened the door. They stepped in and you watched as Azriel guided the warlord to sit at the table you had just been daydreaming at moments ago. "Would you like anything to eat or drink?" Careful, you warned yourself. Something wasn't right about this situation. Instinct had you scrambling to gain control of the unfolding events.

"No. Sit down," Azriel ordered. This was not the male you were accustomed to. While one could never describe Azriel as flamboyant, he was also not usually this cold toward around you. Quiet yet caring, not cold and calculating.

"Yes, sir," was your reply and you settled in the seat opposite the two males. Your heart was beginning to thump in anticipation. Your tendencies had you wishing you at least had your dagger nearby. You trust him, you always have, the voice in your mind whispered. Reaching out to open the report between the three of you, you did not miss how the General tensed ever so slightly. It was a movement so slight that, to the untrained eye, it would have been unnoticeable. Meeting Azriel's eyes once again, you allowed the confusion to show on your face. "I assume you want the report of my previous mission in Autumn." You weren't sure if it was a question or a statement.

A few beats of silence passed and both males stared you down. You waited, staring back. If there was something amiss, you would not allow them to think it was something to do with you. "Go ahead." Azriel's tone was so... cruel. Like you were a mouse caught in the claws of a street cat. Like he was toying with you.

You would not bite. If there was an issue, they were more than capable of speaking plain to you. "As you know, this mission spanned a period of four months," You began. As you continued to debrief your mission, you felt as though you were speaking to brick walls. While both sets of eyes remained solely focused on you, they seemed to be looking through you. As though what you were saying was insignificant. You tried to make sense of it. There was no major outcomes of your mission, so perhaps that was the reason for their demeanour. "I observed a member of High Lord Beron's spy circle enter and leave fairly often. I could not get close enough to determine why or what was the reason for these visits. I dug as much as I could but could only ascertain that it had something to do with Eris. If he has been absent then it is likely because he is being watched closely." Closing the report, you slid it across the table to Azriel, "Anything I may have missed will be in my report like always." You never missed out on any detail, though you always said it to Azriel.

You sat back in your chair. There was usually some discussion after you finished your report. Azriel would question you on various parts of your account in order to try make a connection that you could have missed. When you were new to the world of being a spy, it annoyed you to no end. You did not enjoy being second guessed. Azriel had explained to you that all he wished to do was brainstorm with you, try to figure out the puzzles together. A problem shared is a problem halved. So the lack of conversation after only added to uncertainty and began to grate on your nerves.

"Anything else?" The General pressed. Your head shot to him. He looked ready to pounce on you at any moment.

Heckles raised, your brows furrowed, "No?"

"Are you sure?" Azriel bit. If Cassian looked ready to pounce, Azriel looked ready to kill.

"Yes, I'm sure," You snapped back, heart beginning to race. "Can you cut it out? Get to the point!"

You cursed yourself for slightly jumping when Azriel's fist slammed against your wooden table. Your mind ran in circles around itself trying to decipher what it was that you had done to have your boss so visibly angry. So visibly struggling to control his fury. "I am being more than patient with you. You have one final chance to reveal what you have done... I cannot and will not refrain from extrapolating it through any means necessary." His voice was a vicious growl that seemed to make your very bones tremble.

Your stomach felt weak, your cool and calm spy demeanour a thing of the past. Sweat accumulated along your brow as your eyes frantically darted between your boss and the General. "I-I..." You hesitated. You were drawing a blank and a curse quickly followed from your breath at just how guilty you looked, especially to one so keen as the Spymaster of Night himself. "I truly do not know what this is about... please I'm sure whatever has happened is some sort of miscommunication." You nearly fell over your chair as you stumbled out of it, trying to create some distance between yourself and the hulking Illyrians who were beginning to stalk towards you in a strange unison. They didn't appear to be doing it consciously though that did nothing to ease the terror snaking up your spine as they drew nearer. "Azriel please... you must believe me. I don't know what this is about. You know me!" It was true. Azriel was the only living soul on The Mother's land that knew you through and through.

A cruel snort from Azriel seemed to dash any hope from you. "I thought I did, though that was my mistake," Azriel replied. In an instant both males grabbed your arms and forced you to your knees. You hated to admit it, but the feeling of betrayal had tears beginning to line your eyes. You hated it even more when you began to plead with him, beg him to believe you. However neither Cassian nor Azriel replied. They only secured chains around your wrists and ankles and a charmed sack over your head. The sack blocked all sound and sight, not even a crack of light. Your panic created a lump in your through as the only noise to greet you was your own laboured breaths. The tears finally dribbled over when your felt the hands of Azriel and Cassian roughly push and shove you to and fro. You knew where you were headed. You had delivered a target or two to the dungeons of the Hewn City -- well you had delivered them to Azriel's second in command, or Azriel himself, to bring there.

You knew that those targets never left those dungeons either.

***

You remembered now. Some time had passed from then... a few days... a few weeks... you weren't sure. It was so desperately, desperately dark down here. You had been rendered unconscious a number of times. Whatever information Azriel believed you possessed translated to him using all manner of force to squeeze it out of you. He allowed other members of his spy circle... your spy circle to torture this mystery information out. He knew the betrayal would cut deeper than any blade or whip ever could. Despite the kindness within Azriel, he was a talented torturer. He seemed to know that mere flesh wounds wouldn't break someone like you. You had known cuts and bruises long before you ever came into Azriel's employ. And he knew that. Seeing the quiet rage in your former colleagues eyes, seeing your own betrayal reflected in their gazes, tore something in you. You had worked with each one of them on one mission or another. Now they were taking their pain out on you... traitor had been imbedded onto your torso by Alyia in her native tongue from the continent. Elijah had pulled out your molars, his knife tearing strips from your gums in the process. Oscar ripped three fingernails from you. You screamed and wailed that you knew nothing. That this was a mistake. Though your pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

So you hung there, despair your only company until the next barrage began. No one would believe you, that much was painfully obvious now. They would not allow you a quick nor painless death... so you stopped eating and drinking. You would at least keep your dignity in controlling your own death, even if your mouth had the consistency of sandpaper and hunger pains were a torture in their own right.

Footsteps began to echo toward your cell. They were light, but making themselves known. Azriel. He had not shown himself since you had been dragged here. A strategic move on his part. He was saving his presence until it was absolutely necessary, you were sure. He allowed your colleagues to begin chipping away at your presumed resolve. Allowed them to begin cracking you, so he could deliver the final blow and reveal all your secrets. You raised your head, waiting for him with half lidded eyes. Seeing him standing there, wings flared and a tray in hand, brought a rush of emotions. Anger, rage, despair, betrayal, injustice. You wanted to scream at him, to curse his name and his existence. The urge bubbled in your chest. However, when you laid your eyes upon him, it all died on your tongue. What use had screaming gotten you thus far. Thus, you dipped your chin once again.

You closed your eyes and listened as he passed through the door. Listened as he placed the tray on the table that had held pliers, daggers and whips in the prior hours. You felt his shadows snake and slither over your aching body. They seemed to bite and nip at each of your injuries. You twitched at their barrage, it felt like tiny needles poking at your mangled body. Even so, you would not raise your head. As silent as a mouse, Azriel moved to stand before you. His shiny boots were all you could see. A groan erupted from you when he grabbed your cheeks and forced your head upright. His amber eyes burned with hatred, though they wandered all over your faced. Lingered on the swelling on your left eye that would soon become too large for you to open and close.

"Hunger strike, really?" He questioned unimpressed, squeezing your cheeks so hard that the cuts inside your mouth reopened and dribbled out of your lips onto his gloved hand.

You stared through him, forcing your mind out of that dingy cell and back to your peaceful home. If you thought hard enough, you could hear the flowing Sidra over the noise of your own agony. If you thought hard enough, you could smell the breads you used to make more than the smell of your blood. If you thought hard enough, you could transport yourself to a reality where this wasn't happening.

A harsh slap reeled you back into the dungeon. Stars danced across your vision. The lack of food and water made that slap feel like a punch. When they cleared, you gazed upon the cruel beauty of Azriel Shadowsinger. It seemed like eons ago that this male set butterflies afloat in your stomach. Now all he did was set led weighing on your stomach. "Keep your eyes on me." You hated the way you obeyed. You were terrified of the horrors Azriel could release unto you. It was no secret to anyone in Prythian the creativity he possessed in the arts of torture. He raised a cup of water to your lips. No. You jerked back, clenching your teeth together. He struggled with you, holding the back of your head. Shaking your head, you dodged his attempt to hydrate you by any means necessary. His fingers curled around your blood-matted hair, and he yanked with all his might. You shrieked at the pain and Azriel used the excuse to pour the water in. You choked and sputtered until you expelled as much of it as you could.

"Fuck you!" You coughed out, your throat raw and breaths heaving.

An impatient snarl passed through Azriel's lips. He walked back to the small table to where the tray rested. You watched this time, and saw that the tray consisted of three jugs and some rags, along with the cup in his hand. One of the jugs slammed back onto the table, its contents spilling over the edged. "Let's try this again, agent," Azriel spoke steady. "You will drink and then you will eat. You will not get out of this the easy way. Is that clear?" His tone promised violence.

"No," You voice was low but defiant.

A humoured chuckle escaped the Spymaster as he returned to your front. "I was not requesting," Was all he said before he grabbed your head again and attempted to force the water down your neck. You thrashed and shook, though a couple drops managed their way past your protests. You detested that the cool water felt nice on your raw throat. The struggle continued until the remanets of the glass dribbled down the rags that covered your battered body.

Wordlessly, Azriel returned the table again. This time, he abandoned his cup and picked up the jug. And a rag. "I gave you two chances to drink properly," He began and immersed the rag into the jug. Your heart began to race like it had many times over the last while. Taking the rag out of the water, Azriel held it over your face. His hand slid to the back of your head and held your hair so tight that you couldn't move an inch. Before you had a chance to take a breath, Azriel began to pour the water slowly over the rag. You tried to gasp, though the water made you splutter and choke. Your mind went wild with panic, your chest heaving in attempt to draw in enough air. Trying to scream only resulted in weak groans and more choking. "This will go on for as long as you wish to protest," Azriel began. "I will have the water topped up regularly. You will not know more than a moments peace until you either confess what you have done or until you have decided to eat and drink." Dread swirled in your guts. You had enacted this very torture on a male before, it really could go on for hours. For as long as was necessary.

"I-I-" You tried to choke out. The water halted for a moment. "I don't know what I must confess! Azriel please-!"

"Don't. You. Dare!" Azriel roared. You body trembled and your head pounded from his grip on your hair. "Cut the shit!"

For the first time since you had been brought here, a loud sob ripped through your throat. You had screamed and wailed from the torture before, but you hadn't outright cried like this. Your pride had prevented it. Now, you couldn't control the sobs that shook your body. It had seemed to pause Azriel for the moment, for he did not move or speak. He just let you cry. Your eyes burned from the tears and your tears burned the gashes on your face. Your heart weighed heavy in your body, hopelessness withered your soul. Your jaw clenched as you heaved. "This is some sick joke," You whispered to yourself. "Please just tell me if it's a joke, I'll forgive everyone I promise."

"This is no joke," Azriel spoke softly. Softly like one would speak to a lover. You wished that were the case. But instead, the water began to trickle over your face again.

***

It had been a few days since Azriel had returned to Velaris. Your silence troubled him greatly. He must've waterboarded you for at least five hours, only stopping when you had passed out from hyperventilation. Troubled, yet impressed. He had never known another target to last that long. They either cracked, confessed or passed out much earlier. Azriel chalked it up to your hard upbringing. You had only revealed bits and pieces, more being divulged the longer he knew you... if those stories were even the truth anymore. Though you were beginning to crack, that much was certain. It had been about three weeks since Azriel and Cassian had dragged you into those dungeons. His spies reported the actions they took in order to extract the information from you. Some of it would make even the toughest males cringe. As much as Azriel loathed you for what you had done, the descriptions of your torture and the results of which he had seen decorated on your body was a tough pill for him to swallow. Especially when it stretched on so long with no result. Was all the pain and suffering worth it when it yielded nothing? Whatever information you possessed must be worth such a fate.

A knock on Azriel's door pulled him from his depressing stream of thoughts. He called for his visitor to enter and lifted his head from the paper on his desk, it was not like he was really reading it anyway. Rhys walked through the door and sat on a chair in front of his Spymaster. It seemed funny for his High Lord to be before him rather than the other way around. "What is it, brother?" Azriel questioned. Rhysand had been disappointed when it was revealed that one of Azriel's more trusted spies had turned traitor, or been a traitor all along. Especially when it had gone unnoticed by the Shadowsinger himself, only to be unveiled by said Shadowsinger's second in command. Rhysand had held his tongue then, seeing how blindsided and angered Azriel had been. He wasn't completely sure, but Rhysand suspected it could have had something to do with some feelings developing between his brother and the traitor.

"How has it been coming along? Do we have any idea how much intel has been passed onto Beron?" Rhysand asked carefully. It was a silly question really, Azriel would've come to him straight away with that kind of information. He just wanted to check on his brother.

With a grimace, Azriel answered. "She has been a tough one to crack. Not even a sliver of information that I can make anything of."

"Perhaps it is time for a change of strategy?" Rhysand suggested.

Azriel's eyes met his brother's. He knew what he was suggesting, the power swirling throughout his High Lord's gaze could extract the truth in a matter of moments. But the idea sickened Azriel. Not only because he knew it turned Rhys' stomach to do so, but also because he wanted to avoid that end for you if at all possible. It confused the Illyrian really. On one hand, he wanted to rip you to shreds for betraying his trust. On the other, he wished he could go back in time and relive those peaceful moments of your friendship and his blooming feelings for you. Azriel clenched and unclenched his jaw. "That is our last resort, brother. I wish to try one more thing, if that does not work, then..."

Rhysand dipped his chin. "Of course, Az." He would probe Azriel later for his true thoughts. The shadows twirled around Azriel in a frenzy. They were typically a good indicator of when was a good time to talk to him.

***

You had been lowered to the ground, your ankles remained chained. Lying on the cold damp floor, tears dripped steadily down your cheeks. You did not sob and you tried to stop the flow, but it did not halt. Maybe you were going mad because the tears did not reflect the emptiness you felt eating a hole into your soul. It was horrifying yet comforting. You did not feel like the host of your own body, you felt like an outsider. Your assailants stabbed and whipped, you screamed and groaned. Yet you felt nothing on the inside. You did not beg or plead. You no longer protested when they forced food and water down your neck. You did nothing. There was nothing left in you. The lack of reaction had gained you no mercy. Large, deep gashes scored your arms. So lethal that the healer had advised that you be lowered, or else the wounds would stretch and you would bleed to death. Of course you could not die yet. The news must have made it to the boss because he stood before your cell for the second time since you arrived. You expected your heart to race, for fear to rattle your bones once again. Yet you remained still. Unbothered. They truly had broken you beyond repair. In walked Azriel. Your eyes followed each of his movements. His slithering companions remained by his side, as though they were on a leash.

"What have they done to you?" Azriel's voice was so soft as he hunched down before you. He reached out with an un-gloved hand to take your own. Red-stained bandaging covered two gaps where fingers had been. The gorsian shackles had been doing their job, along with the drops of faebane in your water. The healing was slow... but still healing. Was this what it was like for the humans?

You remained mute, still staring at your former friend. He met your eyes once again, not holding back his troubled face. If Azriel was being honest with himself, your silence was jarring. That look on your face was scary. You were slipping away before him, before the job was done. He replaced his grip on your mangled hand to wipe the tears from your cheek. You did not so much as flinch. Instead, your eyes closed. This was the only soft touch you had received in what felt like forever, and with your end drawing near you would enjoy it. Even if the one that would order your execution was providing you with that warmth. For a moment, you slipped into a reality stars away. A reality in which you were lying beside this male, his hand not wiping tears but caressing gently. A world where you could open your eyes and see Azriel's loving expression. Not this world.

"Let's try this a different way, sweetness." The nickname startled you. It had been a joke between you and him before all this. He had teased you for the amount of sugar in your tea. "Can you sit up for me?" Azriel spoke to you like he had before this nightmare began. You shook your head. It was only now that Azriel realised that your hands were clutching your stomach... no guarding it. He lifted the rag-like shirt that covered your top-half. Another inscription had been cut there. No, burned there. The spymaster's own hands twitched at the sight. For how depraved he was, he had never been depraved enough to enact this specific torture on anyone.

"It means snake," Your voice cracked. Raw from both disuse and screaming, Azriel was sure. "Alyia promised for every day I do not reveal my treachery, she will brand me with names through different means. You would be proud of her," You chuckled. The chuckle soon turned into a mixture of groans and coughs that spattered blood into your hand.

"I am not proud of this." It was the truth. As much as it was necessary at times, Azriel did not delight in torture. Much less yours. "Why are you keeping the information then? Surely you do not wish for this to continue."

Another laugh filled the room, the tears still streaming from you. The laugh turned to a cackle this time, loud and crazed. It lasted a few moments and all Azriel could do was watch. He had seen this many times before. The emotions of a tortured soul were not to be understood. He waited until your giggles died down. When they died, your arm wiped the tears. "You must think me stronger than I really am! I would've confessed long ago if I was a traitor. I've even thought of fabricating a confession so it would mean I would be put out of my misery but you would see through that and you'd keep me alive even longer." Your words struck a cord in Azriel. It was a strange thing for an old friend to wish for death at his hands, particularly when he knew your guilt to be fact. A fantastic actress you were, your performance was weighing greatly on Azriel's moral compass.

"How can you possibly think I will believe that?" He demanded incredulously. "I have seen the facts with my own eyes, through the work of someone I trust more than you."

That meant that Elijah, his second in command had either framed you or been fed false information so strong that it could not be refuted. "I don't think you will believe me," You replied dryly. "You have shown me that. So how about you tell me what you know."

Azriel rolled his eyes. He had trained you very well, your performance had tugged on even his heartstrings. "I know you are feeding intel about this court and my actions to Autumn," He growled and stood. He began to pace back and forth in front of you. "I was wondering why you kept requesting missions to the Autumn Court. I stupidly thought it was because you wished to help me with the unfolding business and please me. Because I believed you cared! That was my mistake. So now all that remains is to find out exactly what you have fed to Beron. So please, sweetness, tell me what you know and I will gladly put you out of your misery!"

Another humourless cackle erupted from you. "Let's be real, Azriel. You won't believe the truth even if it slapped you in the face. You have been tricked, but not by me. The truth will reveal itself one day, old friend. Whether it is in a few days or a few years, it will come out. Just know that when it does and I am dead, I will never forgive you. You have done wrong by me more than anyone else in my life."

With that, Azriel left your dungeon. This was his last attempt at extracting the truth. He had hoped that showing you kindness would give you enough hope that the truth would come out. He was wrong. So as he winnowed home, he mentally called for a meeting with Rhysand. Azriel's heart thumped painfully in his chest at your words. They resonated with him for some reason, the hard look in your eyes would be something he would never forget.

***

Elijah kept your hands bolted to each arm of the chair with two knives. They pierced all the way though your palm and at least a few inches into the wooden armrests. The pain that came with it was among some of the less severe you had become accustomed to. It was downright trivial compared the burning agony of the large screw being slowly twisted into your foot. Out of anyone, his punishments were the most painful. Elijah held a crazed look in his eye, a corner of his lips quirking while he inflicted his torment. It made sense to you now. For him, it was a sick delight. He enjoyed making you scream, making you beg for death. He wasn't trying to extract any information from you, he was merely toying with his spoils.

"You," A series of deep, laboured breaths ensued. "You're sick. I know what you've done."

The Cheshire-grin that slinked across Elijah's face was terrifying. "Oh how clever of you. Unfortunately for you, it is your word against my own. You are a pawn in a game that was created long before you let the Shadowsinger into your home for the first time. However, a happy coincidence it has been, girl. I could've never imagined the enjoyment I could get out of this. A dull affair turned an excess of excitement." You bowed your head. He was right. No one would believe you now, not that Azriel had revealed who had damned you. How convenient it would be for you to reveal Elijah's treachery so soon after your former boss had told you he was involved in your capture. Not to mention that whatever evidence the second in command had procured was enough to convince your boss and colleagues of your unwavering guilt. A terrible hybrid of a groan and scream ripped through your already raw throat as Elijah twisted the screw another full turn into your foot. It wouldn't be long now. Your end was in sight, Azriel's patience would not stretch much further. The only things you had left to fear was the method that would kill you and The Mother's grace to allow you back into her arms.

As if on cue, a group of footsteps echoed down the halls. You had come to recognise Azriel's. The other two you weren't sure of, but you assumed The General was in tow. The final pair were a mystery. Elijah spun on his heel, ready to greet his boss. In an instant, he was down on one knee, bowing so low he looked as though he could kiss the bloodstained ground. "High Lord, it is an honour." Your blood ran ice cold. Your head shot up and beheld the three Illyrians, each one just as petrifying as the other. Though, the High Lord's power blanketed the cell, seeping into every crack and corner. High Lord Rhysand stared right into your fear-filled eyes. There was whispers and rumours as to exactly what this male had done. He could turn your brain to mush and leave you living. He could rip your mind to shreds, give you the most agonising death with little effort. The horrors of his victims had never been far from your ears. The male's stare promised the same fate for you. It had you scrambling to ensure your own mental shields were intact, as though you could resist the might of the most powerful High Lord in history.

Rhysand called you by your full name, full of authority and reflecting the power that lurked behind his eyes. Raising your head, you looked anxiously at Azriel. You did everything to portray your fear and terror into that look. "Eyes on me." Rhysand bit. With a heart beating loud enough that everyone in the room could hear it, you met the eyes of your High Lord.

"My lord, please. This is a mistake," You begged one last time. One last chance at freedom. He would see the truth in your mind, but there would be nothing left of you to save.

"You have one final chance to reveal what you fed to Beron. Otherwise I will rip your mind apart until I find it myself," He promised viciously. You felt a razor-sharp claw make a long, uncomfortable pass over your mental shield.

You flickered your eyes to Elijah, who looked pale. This was it, your chance at justice. Even if you wouldn't be alive to witness it. Then you slid your gaze back to your old friend... your old love interest. Azriel scanned your body, holding on the knives in your hands and the screw in your foot. Cassian watched the exchange, though he had a harder time at hiding his expressions at the various horrors littering your body. "Remember what I told you," You spoke as you held the stare of Azriel. "I know nothing, High Lord. I have not fed any information to Beron or anyone from the Autumn Court."

Rhysand breathed a deep sigh when your eyes met once again. "Very well. May the Mother punish you justly for your sins." The feeling the followed was unlike anything you suffered before. You could not move, you could not scream. He was right there, in your mind. You could feel his essence cleaving your consciousness apart. Through each memory he watched, he destroyed it as he went. It felt like time had been slowed to a fraction of what it had been. The last few weeks of your torture felt inconsequential to these moments passing at a snail's pace. The blood that began to ooze from your nose, eyes and ears trickled slowly and took your mind with it. Everything you had ever been, would be and could've been was dribbling into a puddle in your lap.

You tried to push him out, tried to reinstate the shields and get him out. Give it up, his voice was a ripple of night. It was the voice of the High Lord, but also something more. Something demonic and beastly. It demanded you, and your mind conceded. The end was drawing near, you found yourself trying to remember your life and were met with nothingness. There was nothing left of you, only this pain and suffering. Why was this happening? You could not recall. Just let it end, you willed it. You repeated it like a mantra, begging whatever demon was inhabiting you to just kill you. The blood tickled your face as it now poured from you, but you could do nothing about it. Not as you heard ringing in your ears and your world fade to black.

Azriel watched in horror, having never witnessed this side of his brother's power in person. Dread weighed on him as your mouth hung open in silent horror, blood and drool pooling into your lap. Your fingers had curled and eyes clenched shut. Despite what you had done, Azriel would never wish this fate on his worst enemy. The image before him was something that even the most graphic horror novel could not depict. Azriel watched as the life drained from your body. Your hands relaxed first, then your expression relaxed and lastly, your upper body drooped and slumped over itself.. It was strange, you looked like you were sleeping peacefully despite the carnage you experienced. Rhysand's eyes focused once again and he quickly whipped around. Azriel jumped forward putting his hands on his brother's shoulders. "What's going on?" Cassian shouted.

"Where is he?!" Rhys bellowed, ripping from Azriel's grip.

"Who? Where's who?! Talk to me!" Azriel snapped.

"Elijah!" Both remaining brothers whirled around to where the spy was previously. An empty corner was all the remained.

Azriel's heckles raised, nothing was making sense. Cassian seemed to catch on partially. "Why do you want him?"

Rhysand looked solemnly at Azriel and Cassian. "It wasn't her, Elijah set her up."

Azriel froze, his heart pumped loudly in his ears. This couldn't be happening. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, his hands shook by his side. Carefully, he looked at where you were slumped in the chair. "No..." He barely whispered. Azriel's words seemed jumpstart Rhys and Cassian into action. Cassian ripped from the room, his feet stomping down the hall in pursuit of the real traitor.

Azriel approached you slowly, hoping there was some of you left to save. To save so he could repent. Tentatively and more gently than anyone had been with you in weeks, the Shadowsinger raised his fingers to your neck and waited. Waited for something, anything. "She's gone brother, I made sure of it," Rhysand stated, shame and regret thick in his tone. The Spymaster collapsed to his knees beside you, his mind replaying all the times you had begged for him to believe you. Replaying all the times his gut had told him there was something amiss. Sobs began to rack through his body, his heart had cleaved in two. In that moment, Azriel felt no better than his step brothers. An innocent female, an innocent and amazing female dead by torment he had ordered.

***

Azriel took charge of arranging your funeral himself. Guilt and shame had plagued him in the days since your death... no your murder. You laid on the pyre outside the home you had made for yourself. The Sidra rushed aggressively, as though it had been angered by your demise. The healers had cleaned your body as best they could, covered you with the finest silk Azriel could buy. But, he could still see the characters engraved on your skin. The holes in your hands where Elijah's knives had been were visible as they laid criss-crossed over your heart. Your cheekbones jut out in a sickly manner from your face. You looked clean, but nothing like the female Azriel had fallen in love with. He knew that now, that he had fallen in love with you. And he had destroyed you. A shell of the female you used to be laid dead on the pyre, all because of him. Azriel wished he could awake from this hell. Awake and see your face full and happy. Instead, he saw the eternal rest before him. Despite the peace on your face, all he could see was the image of your freshly dead body; mouth hung open with blood spilling from it, tears still trickling down your cheeks. With a flaming torch, Azriel set the pyre ablaze. He had attended this on his own, despite the protests of his family. He would attend this alone. Though Azriel was sure that the thought of him being the only attendee at the ceremony of your untimely demise would disgust you.

As your body burned, along with your most prized possessions, Azriel vowed to never forget what he had done to you, his friend and lost love. He would walk every day with the thought of you whispering in the back of his mind. For everyday he would remember what he did to you with the most crushing guilt, it would never account nor excuse the turmoil he put you through. Would never amount of the betrayal and injustice he unleashed unto you. Azriel Shadowsinger would never allow himself a moments peace again. Because you had never gotten yours. You had never even gotten so much of a chance at peace. Azriel knew it was a fitting punishment, he even smiled dryly at your burning body as he recalled your final words to him.

I will never forgive you. You have done wrong by me more than anyone else in my life.

I would appreciate any feedback that you have! Let me know what you think! :)

[m-ilkiee]

Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

Chapter 2: Shots Fired

series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. and now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

chapter summary: Izana Kurokawa demands your attention and he doesn’t take no for an answer. Not even when his demands are outrageous.

cw: DARK CONTENT, MISOGYNY, NSFW, r*pe mention, religious guilt, depictions of PTSD and CPTSD, emotional incest, abandoment issues, violence, revenge porn, depression, filming without consent, drugging, implied domestic abuse, victim blaming, blackmailing, manipulation, gaslighting, mind break, psychological torture, use of firearms

r-18+ (not suitable for 17 and under)

wc: 11.6k

[masterlist] [chapter 1] [chapter 3] [taglist]

a/n: likes are nice, comments and reblogs with comments are superior, anons are also superior too and would make me update faster cause it means people like what i write. this chapter takes an entirely different turn from the old story, some scenes are similar but the context is different. i host polls after this so stay tuned. Edit 02/11/2024: this chapter's end has been edited and changed. I've indicated the edited point, so that you could skip other parts to read it. Thank you.

 YOU haven’t been able to stay asleep for the past few days.

It’s easy to fall asleep after a hard and stressful day at school and your part-time job. Your limbs ache from all the walking and lugging a bookbag far heavier than what you could handle -since all your e-textbooks were on your (now destroyed) laptop and phones were not allowed during lectures. And working from 5pm until 9pm at a restaurant, serving food to rude, overbearing customers only to be paid in pieces was another added stress in itself.

Not to mention, studying until the words are bleary and just looking at a book hurts your eyes.

But then, in all your dreams, everything you’ve pushed to the back of your memory is at the forefront. Your dream starts typically, your normal school day, waking up, dressing in your cute little blue crop sweater and jean skirt with socks. You go to classes, and then you see Mikey’s car waiting for Emma.

Things take a different turn. He’s the one getting out of the car to meet you. It’s like a siren call, him holding out his hand for you to take despite someone screaming for you to stop. You try to reject him, try to run away like the voice said but you end up getting trapped. This time, he’s not using his hands. He’s fully sheathed inside you, robbing you of the thing you hold so dear while you kick, bite and claw at him until you wake up screaming, sweat soaked all over your sheets.

You consistently dream of being violently raped by Manjiro Sano.

The next few hours until sunrise were equally horrible. You’re quietly sobbing into your pillows, praying to God to forgive you for letting Mikey touch you in the first place, assuming your reason for having such dreams was God’s divine judgement for your grievous sin. You’ve lost count on how many Bible verses you stay up reading until your eyes are bleary and the sun comes up.

No matter how much you pray and how many times you recite psalms 127 before you sleep, you can never escape Mikey in the world of dreams. He’s a virus that has invaded your thoughts, corrupting every dream you had and twisted them into nightmares.

You don’t know how long you can hold on being this sleep deprived. It’s been impairing your school life, trying to find a way to stay awake during classes only for you to fall asleep and miss the rest of it. Even when you got notes from the person next to you, reading them was always difficult because your eyes hurt so much.

Work was even more taxing and stressful, rush week adding more stress than you could ever imagine. You found yourself spacing out more than usual when you were supposed to be taking orders. You were unable to keep up with the fast paced environment, your body feeling like a ton of bricks with every moment you make. Your eyes were heavy lidded, tired from forcing them open throughout the day.

You were so, so tired-

“Hello! Are you sleeping on me young lady?” A voice snapped at you.

Your eyes shot open and immediately you stood back straight. You must have been dozing off while taking the older lady’s order -the very thing you’ve been trying to avoid all day long. “No, not at all Ms-” you started to explain. “-I was just … what was your order aga-”

You flinched when the woman angrily slammed her fist on the table, shutting you up instantly! “So you were sleeping on the job! What kind of establishment allows this?” She screamed, attracting the attention of customers around. “I need to speak to your manager. NOW!”

You instantly began to panic at the mention of your manager. If he heard any of this, he was definitely going to fire you. You cannot afford to lose this job right now, with all your school expenses and saving up money for next session’s tuition.

“No mam!” you begged, keeping your voice even as you tried to reason with her. “Th-there’s no need for that! Please! Let me take your order and I’ll-” you racked your brain for an excuse, knowing fully well your establishment does not offer free meals. “- I’ll pay for your meal! On me-”

“So you’re trying to imply I’m poor?” She interrupted you again, her tempo even higher than before. “You disrespectful little wretch! How dare you? GET ME YOUR MANAGER RIGHT NOW!”

You started begging the older woman, trying to calm her down and de-escalate the situation, but each plea only fuelled her rage. By now, every customer, every employee and just anyone in that place watched you grovel and beg this woman to calm down, some people even videoing your altercation. Your body was trembling as she screeched in your ears, calling you all sorts of names while you relentlessly apologised to her.

“What is going on here?”

You winced at the sound of your manager’s voice emerging from the backrooms. You stood stiffly as he walked to your side, using his shoulder to nudge you out of the way. “Is there something wrong Ms.?” He asked the lady. “What happened?”

“This little wretch!” She practically screeched at you, her finger wagging straight at your hung face. “She was sleeping while I was ordering! And when I pointed it out to her calmly, she called me a hag!”

Your eyes snapped open. You can tolerate people yelling at you, but lying is out of the question. “I did not call you anything! That’s a lie-”

“You be quiet!” Your manager yelled at you, silencing you. He turned to face the woman again, apologising profusely for your so called rude behaviour. “I promise you mam, she will be dealt with accordingly. Your order is in the house, please take that as a token of our humble apology and forgive us.”

You stood there in shock as the woman smirked satisfactorily at her now free meal. “Well, you better get rid of her!” She snarked, eyes scanning you up and down, plopping back down on her seat. “Or you’ll lose me as a patron.”

“Of course mam.” He said sweetly before switching his countenance towards you into a more irritated one. “You, come with me.”

You lowered your head once again in disappointment as you started following your manager towards the back rooms, your head lowered in shame as the eyes followed your every move to your damnation waiting for you in the manager’s office.

Your skin crawled as you felt his penetrating gaze on you, as if judging you. “You know how many complaints I have received this week just from you, (name)? How many orders you’ve messed up?”

You shook your head no in response, not trusting yourself to say anything reasonable at this point. He eyes you up and down again before scoffing at you rudely. “I only let you stay here because you said you were desperate for a job. But apparently, you’re not even bothered enough to keep it.” He spat out. “Unfortunately for you, this is the end of the road for you here. Change out of your uniform and leave.”

“But s-”

“I said you’re FIRED. GET OUT.”

You sighed weakly, obeying your now ex-manager’s order and leaving the office. You ignored the eyes of everyone watching you exchange the too tight black jeans and green top uniform back to your white bohemian skirt and light blue top with your white jacket. Calmly, you packed your school bag and everything you owned with you and slung it over your shoulder, replacing the uniform back to the locker, dropping the key on top.

No one said goodbye to you as you left through the back door.

  IZANA knows it's creepy to be waiting for Emma just outside her college, but it's not like he has a choice when she keeps ignoring any method he uses to contact her.

Mindlessly, he fiddled with his lighter with his back on the wall of the English department building and an unlit cigarette between his lips. Purple eyes scanned the people leaving the building one by one, hoping to find a mop of golden hair amongst the students. His hopes rose with each blond he saw, only for him to deflate when he realised they weren't her.

A few minutes passed and still no sign of Emma. Deciding that he didn’t want to stand around and gape, Izana lifted his lighter towards his cigarette, flicking the light twice and bringing the warm flame to his lips. Breathing in the familiar scent of nicotine, smoke filled his lungs as he tucked the lighter back in his pockets. His free hand took the cigarette from his lips and he exhaled, releasing plumes of smoke from his lips.

His smoking habit had gotten worse within the past week. Izana couldn’t help it, reaching for a light anytime he saw his gifts in the dustbin. Emma hasn’t been this angry at him before. Usually a new plushie was enough to wash his sins clean, no matter how grevious they were. Now, not even the most expensive shoes she’s been eyeing for months could satiate her anger.

All because of you.

Izana knows his little sister like the back of his hand. Like how she loved sleeping with plushies because it comforted her whenever their mother brought her gambling friends into the house and they were loud. Or how he picked up a guitar to learn multiple barbie songs because their mother had destroyed Emma’s CD that he bought with his money to punish her. He knew she liked warm tea during her periods and gentle back rubs to ease her pain. He’s not the best person to be around, with how fucked over he was by life until Shinichiro gave him purpose but he loved his sister a lot and everything he did was to protect her. Life hardened him, made him so jaded that the only thin thread connecting him to his humanity was Emma and he’d do anything to protect his humanity.

Only to watch it slip through his fingers.

First it was Mikey’s stupid friend, Ken Ryugi, who waltzed his way into Emma’s life. Izana didn’t like him one bit- didn’t like how Emma would bite her lip, waiting for him to reply and cry herself to sleep when he didn’t. Her heart was soft, fragile and that brute tore it apart by telling her he wasn’t interested in a relationship yet.

The only reason Ken wasn’t in an unmarked, shallow grave in the middle of nowhere was simply because Mikey was involved.

Now it is you, taking the space in her life that belonged to him and Mikey. You’re pushing both of them out of the equation, threatening their position in their sister’s life and everything they know.

Izana wonders how someone so insignificant was so important to Emma that she was willing to cut communications with her own brothers. It baffles him beyond understanding and at the same time enrages him that she could trust you so easily. That she was willing to turn against him in your name.

He took more puffs, skimming throughout the campus for any sight of her. It didn’t matter how he felt about it, as Kisaki had convinced him to ask Emma and you to go shopping, just to get back into Emma's good graces again. Apparently doing a nice gesture publicly for you would convince their sister to give them another chance again.

Especially because Izana had been the biggest opposition to their friendship.

“But Mikey was a little shit about them too.” he grumbles underneath his breath, cigarette in hand. “Why do I have to be the one to apologise? And why did Mikey get an out while I’m doing all the heavy lift-”

His thoughts were cut short the second he caught sight of a familiar blonde hair bouncing in the wind and stood up straight, tossing the cigarette to the floor and crushing it underneath his black shoes, before rushing to catch up to his little sister.

Izana pushed through the throng of people, violently shoving anyone that got in his way until he finally fell in step with her, slowing down to match her pace. Without wasting time, his hand curled around the girl’s wrist, stopping her in her tracks instantly and earning a shocked gasp escaped her lips.

“Get off me - Izana?”

Her free hand was fast to hit him, but her head was faster in turning around, only to recognize it was just Izana. Her hand stopped inches away from the smirking male’s face, the tension leaving her body and relief taking its place. It doesn’t last long, though as irritation suddenly crawls on her face, instantly displeased at his actions. “What the hell? I’ve told you to stop doing that.” she hissed at him.

A mischievous grin made its way to his face at Emma’s irritation. She always had a pout whenever she was angry at him and it made look even more adorable.

“Were you scared?” He teased, pulling Emma closer to him until she was practically smushed at his side, despite the glare she gave him in response. “You know no one would dare touch you.”

“Get off me. Your breath stinks like nicotine, I thought you said you quit smoking that shit.”

Ignoring Emma’s last question, he decided to change the topic. “Your lapdog isn't here with you?” he asked. Usually, you would be hovering behind her like a damn pest, so you not being around her was rather strange. 

Emma is quick to shove him off lightly, putting some distance between the two of them, clearly still mad at him. "(Name)'s not feeling well, so she didn't come to class today. I'm on my way to get her medicine."

Oh, that's a surprise.

But with you out of the way, Izana could finally have Emma all to himself for today and hang out with his beloved sister. Maybe even make up for the party thing without apologising to you. Without you here, it’s likely Emma isn’t as mad at the whole situation and is playing it up to make you feel like you have someone on your side.

He knows you’re not going to protest if Emma says she’s in talking terms with her brothers again. It’s a win-win situation and he doesn’t have to grovel or ask for forgiveness for some joke that went wrong.

"So that means we can hang out?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't have to keep pretending you're still mad at me now that she isn't here." He spews the 'she' with so much venom it could kill, before switching up with a sick grin, his hand stretched out. "We can go to Vivienne Westwood and get that Saturn necklace you like, what do you say?"

His words hung in the air as Emma trailed her pointed glare from his hand, back to his cheerful visage. She crossed her arms in response slowly, her yellow eyes burning holes into his face as her lips curled into a sick sneer.

“Are you insane?”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me Izana! I just told you (name)'s ill and you're asking me to go with you to shop at Vivienne westwood? Are you nuts?”

Emma’s voice was loud enough to garner wandering eyes of other by-standers, watching the event go down. Izana kept his composure, despite his bubbling irritation beneath the surface of his skin, with a smile -albeit stiffer than before. ‘She’s just being emotional’ Izana whispered to himself, still trying to be rational. ‘Just take it easy with her’

“Oh come on, should I care about her-"

"You should be begging her to forgive you for what you did to her that night!"

"You can't still be mad at me for that shit that happened two weeks ago. And besides, it's not my fault she couldn't take a joke” his words were smooth, buttery, flowing out of his lips like it was the truth, digging his own grave. “I didn’t know your friend was that sensitive-”

“Are you listening to the bullshit coming from your mouth?” Emma roared, her voice echoing throughout the entirety of the department, her face red with fury. Izana had never seen his own beloved sister ever look at him with such disgust in her eyes, her teeth gnashing against each other and hands at her side, clenching against each other. “Is that what you think a joke sounds like?”

“Calm the fuck dow-”

“No wonder you’re fucking single, you’re such a piece of shit to anyone that isn’t Shinichiro!” Emma screamed, interrupting Izana once again, her temper fiery enough to burn a hole on the ground she stood with how heated she was. “How does anyone even stand you for so long? You’re unbearable!”

“Excuse m-”

He doesn’t like where the conversation is going, with how furious Emma was right now. He tried to raise a comforting hand to Emma’s shoulder to ease her tension but she was quick to smack it away from her hard, stinging his fingers a little.

“You’re so unpleasant, how do you even have any friends? How do they tolerate you? To think (name) wanted me to forgive you! Thank god you aren’t my fucking brother, I can’t imagine being anything like you!”

The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

It was as if the world froze over for Izana. He stood there, wide eyed, his heart beating loudly in his chest as all the voices around him faded into the background. His hand extended weakly at his side, mouth drying up as a lump formed in his throat. 

“I-I-i" she starts to stutter. It’s obvious that she can recognize what she had just said as he blankly stared at her. "I didn't mean i-”

He doesn’t let her finish, turning on his heel and walking away as fast as possible. People were quick to clear out of his way, not wanting to be his target of aggression. Emma followed behind, instantly, shouting his name at the top of her lungs followed with strings of apologies.

“Izana, wait please-” she screamed from the crowd of people, tears streaming from her yellow eyes. He continued to ignore her as he hopped on his bike, sliding in the key and revving up the engine before she could reach him.

Izana zoomed away, turning Emma’s cries into background noise, her words repeating in his head.

“I didn’t mean it! I’M SORRY-”

YOU don't know which was worse, the feeling of helplessness that came with the reality of your life crashing before your very eyes or the splitting headache you've developed after crying in your room for a week straight. Laying on your bed all day, huddled up in a blanket and sobbing uncontrollably was unhealthy, but it was all you found the strength to do these days. 

In all your years of being alive, you've never felt this pathetic. Not when you would be pushed outside in the pouring rain if you made a mistake in making dinner, or had been beaten with a belt in front of Yuzhua and Hakkai because you failed your catechism test. You could protect yourself from your brothers when they got violent. You could run and hide when your dad was really angry and wanted to take it out on you.

Unfortunately, no one told you what to do when your life is falling apart.

Ever since that day, you couldn't find the strength to go to class or do anything for that matter. It was like your entire energy was sucked out of you, leaving your body an empty husk with nothing left to give. 

You only have yourself to blame.

You drag the blankets closer to your body, sniffling a bit. The worst part of all of this is that after this month, if you don’t find a job that pays you quickly, you are going to be broke. It’s times like this that makes you regret leaving your family. You know it’s wishful thinking, but you wonder if you would be forgiven assuming you return home in tears and repentant of your sin of disobedience like the prodigal son in the bible. Life is too hard to live in the outside world without the help and guidance of a parent. You miss your old life, with your own bed and guaranteed food, as long as you did as you were told. You miss how sometimes your parents took you and your siblings to eat out after church.

You miss your mother. You want to go back to her. Life is hard, and dealing with being jobless with nowhere to turn to is harder. You could ask Emma, but she’s already taking care of you and there was no way you would bother your friend about your money problems.

"Hey babes, I got the medicine for you."

Emma's soft voice rouses you out of your self-pity session. The wood creaks underneath her heels as she walks to your bed and takes a seat besides you, the mattress dipping underneath her weight. The scent of her Vivienne Westwood wafting through your nostrils fills you with a sense of warmth, familiarity and at the same time, dread.

You feel guilty. Perhaps it's because you don't know how to tell Emma what exactly is wrong with you. It's easier to give her the half-truth that you caught a stomach bug than say everything. If you even as much as hinted that Manjiro had something to do with the real reason you were a sobbing mess on your bed, you're sure she would overreact and fight with her brothers again.

But still, not telling her meant you were keeping secrets from her. Something you both promised not to ever do as you two became best-friends.

‘It’s for her own good.’ you try to justify it. ‘It’s better I keep my mouth shut.’

Pushing that thought at the back of your mind, you roll over to her direction, pulling down your blanket just a little bit to see her properly. Your heart drops at the sadness etched onto Emma’s face, a forlorn look in her eyes. You hated seeing her down, yet all you’ve been doing for the past few months since you came into her life was causing her pain. You know how it feels to lose family, no matter how bad they were to you and Emma is no different.

“Hey”

Your voice is hoarse from your constant crying, but Emma doesn’t mention it as she reaches a hand to caress your face. “You look better than yesterday. You up to eat?”

You nodded briefly, realising how hungry you were. You’ve barely had an appetite to eat anything, so your rations had been smaller and compact until you regained it back bit by bit, thanks to Emma’s constant care. Pushing yourself up, you sit up and yawn, quickly covering your mouth the moment a bad stench emanates from it. Emma’s face quickly grows sour as well, probably smelling it too.

“You haven’t showered.”

“Uhhh-”

You knew there was no excuse for that one as Emma put the food and medicine away before yanking you off the bed while talking about how gross you were for not showering throughout today. “You’re a girl (name), don’t do this to yourself, c’mon-”

“But-” you start to whine, trying to defend yourself. “I was tired-”

“Nope!” she retorted, pushing you towards the bathroom. “No excuses! I swear you’re acting like Mikey when he’s in one of his moods-”

The room falls silent at her words, the cheerful aura dropping the second Emma realises what she’s said, a wave of guilt washing over her face as she lets go of your hands.

“Fuck- I’m sorry (name)...”

Your heart aches at how heartbroken she sounds right now and shatters even further at the fact that everything, every problem they were experiencing right now was all your fault. You saw it deep in Mikey’s eyes how much pain and suffering your presence in their family had caused, and how his anger reflected that action towards you. You’ve been so entrenched in your own problems that you forgot the mess you made in their family.

“Emma, you miss them don’t you?”

‘It’s not too late.’ You mutter to yourself, your heart in your throat as you steel your resolve. You couldn’t let her make that mistake you made by leaving your family aside. You don’t want Emma to be like you.

“(Name), please don’t-”

“You can’t keep ignoring them forever.” You cut her short, speaking directly to her now. “You can’t keep ignoring Draken either too. You’re miserable.”

“I’m fin-”

“Emma no.” You snap at her, finally having enough of her stubbornness as anger swells up in you. “I see how sad you look everytime you look at your pictures with your big brothers and Draken. Do you think that it’s healthy to keep ignoring them like this?”

“You were the one they hurt, you shouldn’t feel bad for them-”

“It doesn’t matter! I don’t matter!” You yell desperately, now pulling away from her grasp in an attempt to put your foot down. “They are the ones who matter a lot. Those are you family members! People who love you and have protected you for years! Just talk it out with them! They miss you for god’s sake!”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t matter?” Emma roars back at you, suddenly enraged by your outburst. You nearly stumble back at how angry she sounded, fear creeping into your skin as your verbal claws retract. “You matter to me! You mean the world to me as any of them do! You’re my best friend and I love you and if they don’t understand that then there is nothing to make up for!”

By the time she was done yelling, her breathing was heavy and her eyes so intense you couldn’t even stare at her. Your eyes quickly flickered to your feet instead; scared of seeing the disappointment on her face and terrified of her anger. You didn’t like it when Emma yelled, it reminded you of your mother getting angry at you, something you hated doing to her.

Eventually, she took a deep breath and took a step closer to you, her hand intertwined with yours. “Come on, I’ll help you shower.”

You silently follow behind her, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

  PERHAPS Izana should be angry at Emma.

It would be justified after the words she said from her mouth, but he can’t because he knows the truth. Emma was just angry as well and she didn’t mean any of the words she had said to hurt him. She said them because of you, however and he realises that every fight they’ve had is over your presence in her life.

Which meant that the true culprit was you.

People may believe in love at first sight, but from the first day Izana set his eyes on you, he could only feel hatred towards you. You were just there, sitting awkwardly while Emma tried to involve you in their conversation and it irked him.

At first, Izana thought it was the fact that the both of you were clashing personalities that made him feel that way, but then you keep getting in his way and ruining things for him. He hates everything about you - the way you picked your finger when you were nervous. Your bright smile you gave to only Emma and how easy it was for her to like you. Just your mere presence in general was enough to set him off because of how simple it was for you to be close to Emma while you barely knew her. It felt like he was losing his only sister to a stranger, and now the Emma who stands in front of him is a mere mockery of his real sister.

And that’s the frustrating part. He can’t do anything to hurt you. He’s smart enough to know that if he does, Emma would never forgive him.

“... Kurokawa, are you here with us?”

Izana snaps back to reality as Kisaki taps the table three times to get his attention. ‘I might have spaced out.’ He thinks to himself before facing the entirety of the table; Tetta Kisaki, the rather shrewd and ruthless dealer sitting, his equally irritating lap dog Shuji Hanma and the little shit that he called his younger brother, Mikey.

Speaking of Mikey, ever since that day he made that phone call and revealed his brand new plan of accepting you into their friend group, he’s been very quiet. Even throughout today’s meeting, he hasn’t said a word, aside from mentioning that Draken was going to be absent and asking where Kakucho was before the meeting began.

And knowing his brother, a quiet Mikey is a suspicious Mikey.

Now that Izana thinks about it, he’s noticed that Mikey, who was on his side initially had suddenly switched to trying to apologise to you. Which was weird, considering how egocentric Mikey could be on the topic of apologising. Izana has his suspicions, but then again Mikey is unpredictable due to his rather dark impulses, so he couldn’t really say anything yet, until Kakucho came back from his task.

Izana cleared his throat and faced Kisaki again, deciding to be as honest as possible. After all, it’s their fault that he’s in this mess, might as well remind them. “Just thinking about how Emma practically called me a bastard and I’m supposed to be okay with it.” He said nonchalantly and the air in the room shifted into an uncomfortable silence for the upteenth time this week ever since that unfortunate day. It isn’t surprising to anyone as to why though, Izana’s complicated relationship with the Sano’s is a sore topic that no one ever dared to bring up.

From Kisaki’s tight lipped expression, Izana is sure that the younger male is picking his words carefully in his head. Even Hanma who would have laughed or said something to intentionally piss off Izana remains silent. Eventually, Kisaki lets out a resigned sigh. “The audit would be done another time.” He states in a cool tone, putting his laptop aside before facing the two brothers. “It’s obvious we’re not gonna do anything useful until you resolve this issue with Emma and her friend.”

“Really?” The white haired male mocks, causing Kisaki to shift in his place, an irritated frown creasing his face. “would you like to hear my pla-”

“We’re not going to kill a civilian and draw attention to ourselves, Izana. I’ve already told you what to do.” Kisaki snapped back, his yellow eyes darting from Izana to Mikey, before narrowing in irritation. “Both of you. Just apologise to (name), it’s not that hard. You don’t even have to mean it, the girl won’t even know the difference-”

“Ah yes, cause that went well the last time.”

“And whose fault is that? I clearly told you to say “I’m sorry” and all you did was make things worse!”

“I’m just brutally honest.” Izana spits back. “And you can’t blame me because I tried, compared to Mikey who sits on his damn ass and has done nothing-”

“I wasn’t the one who called her a cheap hooker!” Mikey interjects defensively, sitting upright after staying quiet from the start of this meeting, finally saying something.

“Oh, so you can speak.” Izana retorts back, his voice cold. Mikey is so good at shifting blame onto others for actions he has a hand in, especially when he knows it would reflect badly on him. Unfortunately, Izana has been in this game longer than his little brother. “I thought you had gone mute with the way you don’t want to talk about the issue beyond pushing me to apologise to her.”

“You don’t make it any easier with how you talk to people.” Mikey hisses back, his tempo rising with each word, but Izana can hear the slight shake in his voice, almost as if he’s hiding something. “How am I supposed to do anything if you keep saying shit like you’re glad (name)’s gone?”

(Name)?

The entire room falls silent at Mikey’s sudden outburst, or rather what Mikey had just said. No one says a word as they all stare at Mikey in shock, eye wide and mouth hanging open like he’d grown two heads. There’s a glimmer of confusion in the dark eyed male before the realisation of his mistake washes over him, his facial expression changing into a mixture of guilt and pure terror.

As if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

It’s unmistaken. Izana knows his brother is hiding something and it has to do with you. “You’ve never,” he starts slowly, never taking his eyes off Mikey, gauging his facial expression. “called her by her name. You only call girls who you had something to do with by their name.”

“I-”

“You fucked her, didn’t you.” it’s a statement, not a question. Mikey grows pale and it's more of a sure answer than anything else at all.

“I didn’t do anything bad… she’s still a virgin-”

“What.” Kisaki, interjecting as well, cuts him off, his voice cold. “Did. You. Do?”

Mikey is silent. It’s brief and doesn’t last long as he finally seals his fate with a quiet voice. “It’s not my fucking fault, she wore a short skirt and she was asking for it-”

At the side, Kisaki crumples back onto the dining table seat, his head in his hands muttering a quiet “Oh fuck, I should have stayed with Osanai.” as he shakes in disbelief. Hanma just sits there, clearly perturbed, not knowing how to react but at the same time, not really interested.

“Glad to know I’m not the only screw up.” Izana scoffs as well. Despite how cheery his voice sounded, the furious look on his face says a different story altogether. “Since apparently you’re just as stupid as I am.”

Mikey runs a hand through his golden locs, frustration evident on his features. No one has ever seen him look so frantic, like a little kid who broke something and is trying to hide it. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Sure she said no at first but I knew she wanted it when she relaxed in my touch-”

“That’s not what Emma’s gonna think, you idiot!” Izana barks at him angrily, his temper finally off the rails. “You practically threw away your entire plan before it even started! All for what? Mediocre pussy you could get from some other girl? And you know how Shin is about this shit. If Emma finds out and tells him, we’re screwed!”

There’s a mixture of emotions swirling in Izana right now. The urge to punch Mikey was strong, for daring to not only lie to his face, but also making him look like a fool to cover his ass.

Then again, he knows it’s really not Mikey’s fault but yours. You must have done something to make Mikey hurt you because he knows his little brother doesn’t hurt girls. You have this effect of turning people into worse versions of themselves, making them disgusting, evil and hateful.

You turned Emma against them and now you made Mikey’s dark impulses come out.

It’s you that’s the problem.

“So what anyone find out? They won’t believe her” Mikey snarls back, irritated. “She can’t blame me, I told her to fucking leave but she didn’t listen! She was practically begging me to fuck her-”

“ENOUGH!”

Kisaki’s voice is loud enough to silence the two brothers, ending their argument instantly as they breathe heavily from their prior screaming match. Izana slumps back on his seat as Kisaki sits up straight, eyes narrowed. Mikey does the same as Izana, his jaw tightly clenched as he crosses his arms on his chest, feet crossed. The younger male clears his throat, and starts to rationalise the situation.

“It’s obvious that we’re going to switch gears since this happened. We all have a curated reputation that we need to protect so that people don’t nose into our business.” He turns to Mikey who is still glaring hard at Izana. “Your brother has a point, you fucked up our plan by not telling anyone what you did-”

“You judging me too, Kisaki?”

“Can you stop being defensive for once Mikey and just listen!” Kisaki scolds, just about done with everyone making things more difficult for him. “I don’t care what you did to her, whatever affection or lust you have for her is a you problem. I just want this situation to be in our favour.”

The statement makes Izana scoff in dismal fashion, but he decides to ask out of curiosity regardless. “And how do you intend to turn this situation around? Cause right now she has leverage over us and any careless move can put us in a tougher spot than we can handle.”

Kisaki turns his attention fully towards Izana again, a knowing look on his face as he asks. “Is Kakucho done searching Mikey’s car?”

‘How did he know?’ Izana blinks, but then catches Hanma smirking and doesn’t bother to ask his impending questions. Kisaki always had a nasty and suspicious habit of continuously tailing him specifically, and usually it doesn’t go over Izana’s radar when it happens, apart from this instance. Which meant someone was being a rat in his group.

He’ll deal with that later.

Mikey raised a brow in confusion as well, opening his mouth to protest the invasion of his privacy when Izana’s phone suddenly rings. He picks it up, attempting to step out to answer it when Kisaki raises his hand to stop him.

“Answer it here.” Kisaki said, ignoring the way Izana looks at him like he has two heads. “and put it on speaker.”

He had no reason to comply, but he wanted to see where Kisaki was going with whatever plan he had. With a wry smile, Izana put the phone down on the table and slid the answer button, putting it on a loudspeaker.

“Did you find anything Kakucho?”

Ever loyal, Kakucho clears his throat and starts to speak, his voice sounding strained over the phone, as if he’s struggling with something. “Yes boss.” He answers, a twinge of nervousness coating his tone. “There’s a dash cam on the mirror and a spy cam underneath the compartment facing the passenger’s seat…”

Mikey grumbles under his breath something about fucking Kakucho up if anything ends up spoilt or missing in his car but Kisaki holds his hand up to his lips and shushes him. Izana continues once he’s sure his brother is done complaining. “And did you confirm the anonymous tip that we got?”

He can hear Kakucho shift uncomfortably, the silence on the other side of the phone drawn out until he finally says. “Boss, it’s too … I don’t think we should use this against her.” He tries to reason. “I think we’re going too far-”

“Perfect.” Kisaki chimes in, now looking at Izana with a satisfied smile. Kakucho is about to ask why Kisaki was there but Izana cuts him off instead. “Bring it back. I’ll explain once you come to the house.”

“Okay boss.”

The phone line dies and Kisaki, fairly confident in his plan, looks at Izana once again. “I’m sure you know where I’m going, right?”

Izana may think Kisaki is a pathetic brat who just happened to be smart, but right now, it’s like the both of them are connected and in tune with their thoughts. The tanned male stretches his lips into a smile, one full of malice and at the same time, glee, his eyes light with mirth when he realises what Kisaki was thinking.

Finally a plan he could follow along with.

“Alright, I’m all ears.”

THE walk back to your dorm was quiet.

By the time you managed to catch a bus after spending the entire day looking for a job and getting back to campus, it was already late in the night. Save for only the street lamps that were beginning to dim, everywhere else was darker than usual.

You had read that there was going to be a lunar eclipse tonight between the hours of 10pm - 00am. The time boldly written on the bus’ digital clock before you got down was 10:45pm, so you already assumed it was the cause of the unnatural darkness tonight.

A long time ago before the world weighed you down, things like this would have made you excited. You loved watching the stars when you were young, trying to check on the papers your father bought to see if there was any space news available. You remember borrowing your immediate elder brother’s binoculars as a makeshift telescope, trying to piece out the stars in the sky or see if you would catch a glimpse of the comet that was said to pass through that week.

Unfortunately, you were young and foolish. Wanting to impress your father, you told him all about your book of constellations that you drew up, detailing the first star that appeared every evening, down to your crazy childish theories about aliens and space.

“Can you show me the book?” your father asked calmly. You should have known it was dangerous for your father to be this calm, but you were too blinded by excitement to think and you gave him the book, a bright smile on your face.

Your smile fell as his large hands ripped your book into shreds, before telling you: “Women don’t dream.”

Maybe that was the day you realised the love you craved from your father will never be given to you. You were so young and impressionable, all you wanted was for him to be proud of you, like he was with his sons. Now, you can’t even look at the stars, the memory leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and you try to shake it off as you continue on the path.

You wondered what grievous sin you’ve committed to be so down on your luck like this. Today had been one disappointment to another

You passed by Emma’s dorm building, a sigh escaping your lips. She told you that Draken wanted to take her out for dinner tonight, which shocked you because friends with benefits - according to what Emma herself told you- don’t go on dates or do lovey dovey stuff with each other, to avoid complicated feelings from budding.

Then again, their relationship is based on the fact that they both have feelings for each other, but Draken was not interested in a relationship.

It was already complicated before it began but at least she's taking your advice and talking to them again.

Your eyes darted up to her window, hoping her lights were on. Whenever she was alone, Emma hated sleeping in the dark. She said it reminded her of the times her mother would lock her and Izana in a dark room whenever she brought her customers in. Anytime she was in a darkened room, she told you she could still hear the sound of her mother moaning and a man grunting. Izana would try his best to distract her, playing games or even stealing an earphone and plugging it to his own so that she would listen to music instead of what was going on.

A frown graced your lips when you saw two bodies from the curtain, one tall figure you recognize as Draken and Emma’s smaller dainty figure perched on him, kissing. You quickly averted your eyes and walked faster, ignoring the unfamiliar pang in your chest. Maybe you’re jealous because you needed your friend’s comfort right now and she wasn’t available. You felt greedy for this, after spending a week with her, you should let her be free.

‘She has her own life to live. And I have mine’ you muttered to yourself as you trudged along the path, slowly dragging your feet. ‘I have to stop being so dependent on her.’

Eventually, your thoughts drift back to your reoccurring dream. Losing your job made you realise that if you didn’t do anything about it, your tiredness would eventually catch up to you and ruin everything else you’ve worked for. With an important test scheduled for tomorrow, you knew you could not afford to take another loss this week. You had to power through your sleep tonight, even if it traumatised you.

‘Maybe I should pretend that I like it. Pretend it’s okay and enjoy it so that I won’t have to wake up.’ You shook your head, cursing as you drew closer to your own dorm building. ‘Oh God, how far I’ve fallen. Look at me trying to enjoy a disgraceful act-’

You paused in your tracks at the sound of a leaf crushing. You quickly turned around, trying to ascertain who could be lurking there behind the bushes. Your palms started sweating, your nerves firing at the thought of being watched.

Silence.

You decided to continue walking, assuming that maybe you were hearing things and there wasn’t anything at all. Nighttime always had a way of making you nervous, especially with all the horrible stories you heard about innocent women being attacked around these times. Besides, looking around for whatever may be lurking was a dumb idea.

You should just get out of here.

Eventually, you make it to your dorm house in record time, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. ‘Maybe I’m being paranoid. But at least I’m safe now.’ You think to yourself as you push the door open, closing it behind you.

Weary from the day’s stress, your body starts to give up on you but you push through, trying your best to just make it to your room. You’re sure you would just collapse on your bed the second you got there and forget about anything else.

But as you reach for the handle, a feeling of dread washes over you, the same one you felt when you were outside. ‘I really need to let this go. There’s no harm waiting for me. It’s just my room.’ You mutter to yourself. Your overthinking has cost you a lot, from your job to your academics and right now, you really need it to stop. Pushing whatever feeling was keeping you away, you walked into the darkened room.

You finally make it to your room, about to rummage your bag for the keys when you notice the door was unlocked. ‘Oh? Ami must have come back rather early, since I barely see her until 2am.’

(From here is edited)

The first thing that greeted you was the stench of some kind of smoke -weed, the kind that Ami liked to use whenever she was in the room. You always hated the smell and you recall telling her to leave the windows open whenever she wanted to smoke. Coughing, you quickly covered your nose and mouth with one hand and reached to turn on the light with another. “Ami, how many times have I told you to open the window whenever you smoke? You know I don’t like the smell-”

Your blood turns to ice the moment light floods the room, your mouth dry as you stare at the man perched on your reading chair, a leg crossed over the other, the weed blunt hanging between his tanned hands. His lips are stretched into a sick grin, showing all his teeth, purple eyes shining with an odd mirth as he glances at you up and down.

Izana Kurokawa.

‘Run’

You don’t need to be told twice, quickly discarding your bag and running towards the direction of the door, only to hit someone hard, standing tall in your way. You look up fearfully to see mismatched eyes, a scar running down his face and flinch backwards in reflex. It’s as if he gazes at you with pity, but quickly switches to a blank stare as he stands between you and the door.

You know him from hanging around Emma a lot in the Tenjiku frat house, Kakucho. He’s always around Izana and only loyal to him for some reason that you don’t know. He doesn’t listen to anyone else, not even Mikey. You realise that he might have been the one that was following you when you were walking home.

Begging him to let you pass would be futile.

“Don’t worry, I’m just here to have a little chat with you. I’m not going to hurt you.” His tone is calm, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. If Mikey could hurt you without any remorse, then there’s nothing stopping Izana from doing worse to you. “And as much as your backside is as interesting as your face, I prefer talking to someone who is looking at me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The words fly out from your mouth before you even think of a more appropriate response but it doesn’t seem to give him any form of reaction other than a dry laugh.

He scoffed. “I don’t care. Turn around.”

Reluctantly you slowly turn to face him again, your body trembling as your fear filled eyes lock with his. Your heart drops to your stomach when you hear heavy footsteps walk out of the door, shutting it behind you, locks turning and trapping you with Izana.

‘Oh God oh God oh God.’

Your fear doesn’t go unnoticed by the white haired man, and he only chuckles at how stiff you were. Between the two brothers, you know Izana thrives in fear, using it to his advantage and it’s not unfounded. Notwithstanding his backing from Black dragons, Izana had taken Tenjiku from a down and out frat house, to a den of crime that holds power, trickling right into the administration of the university. Even his men know better than to ever get themselves in his bad books, because no one can ever escape him, no matter how much you try to run.

It was only a matter of time until he would make you pay for causing him problems, but you didn’t think he’d come by himself. You felt stupid for thinking he wouldn’t care about you or he’d forget how angry he was at you and leave you alone, especially with Emma still not on speaking terms with them.

He motions with his bunt for you to come closer to him and you comply, taking careful steps until you’re standing right in front of him. He eyes you again with a tepid frown. “When you meet a king, you don’t stand before him, you kneel.”

Kneel. You want to assume he’s not serious but you know better than to question him and go down on your knees, focusing your gaze firmly on your lap. It’s humiliating the way he has you at his mercy, without even moving an inch but it’s better to be compliant than to aggravate him even further by being disobedient.

You’ve learned the hard way what could happen if you resist.

From the corner of your eyes, you watch as Izana puts out his weed blunt on your reading table leaving a sorching mark on the table, before reaching behind his waistband. Your mouth grows dry the second you see the gun, your heart pounding against your chest as he presses the barrel to your head.

‘Oh god.’ You gasp as he presses it further against your head, until you’re sure it would leave an indent. ‘He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me…’

“That’s odd,” He murmurs. “Usually, other people would be begging for their lives when met with a gun to their head, but you’re quiet. If not for the way your hands are trembling, I’d think you weren’t scared.”

This time, with a gun pointed at your head, you’re careful with your words. “Y-you said you won’t hurt me.” Your voice shakes with fear but you continue. You know men like Izana, he reminds you of your older brother who ruled the house apart from your father, with fear and control. Sometimes, when you were able to stroke his ego, he’d go easy on you. Maybe that would work on Izana too. “That you want to talk.”

“And what if I changed my mind? Pulled the trigger? That’ll make my life easier, yeah? I won’t have to fight for my sister’s love and affection with you.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you hear the safety go off and watch as his finger curls around the trigger. ‘Oh God, he’s going to kill me. He’ll shoot me dead. I-i have to say something- I don’t want to die-’

“I-i trust you not to do it.” You reply, your lips trembling as you struggle not to think of your head scattered into pieces on the floor if he chooses to kill you. “You’re a man of your words.”

There’s another complete silence that engulfs the entire room, until you hear a click that makes you flinch for a split second, waiting for the bullet that would end it all. Instead, it’s him putting the safety back on, and chuckling at your reaction.

“You trust me? How foolish.” He laughs, tracing the gun from your head down to underneath your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You’ve only read about people with empty eyes in stories, but seeing it in person was so terrifying. “Is that why you ended up with Mikey in his car?”

All the blood rushes from your head to the tip of your toes. “H-how do you kn-”

“I have eyes and ears in this school, (name).” You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve heard him call you by your name and despite being in a life or death situation, you couldn’t control the shiver that ran through your spine. “You wanted him to touch you, right?”

“T-that is not what happened!” You suddenly cried out, trying to explain your own side of the story. Of all the people who know your dirty and shameful secret, Izana is the worst pick, just your luck. “It was a mistake! I tried to tell him I didn’t want it but I couldn’t-”

“Ah ah -” Izana cuts you off, tilting your chin higher with the gun. “Don’t lie to me. You must have planned the entire thing to make Mikey look bad”

“No! I wasn’t trying to do anything, I just wanted to talk-”

“Really? Cause Mikey told me an entirely different story-”

“No, no I- didn’t… -”

“You were dangling yourself like a piece of meat for him to fuck and he’s a man, you know. He has urges and it's hard to resist temptation.”

“That’s not true-” your lips start to tremble at his words, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want to be assaulted, you just wanted to talk to him about the Emma issue and you wanted to apologise. “That’s not true-”

“Oh but it is.” He said firmly, now leaning in closer to your face until there’s barely any inches between the two of you. “And now Mikey feels like a piece of shit because he couldn’t stop himself.”

“No-” your voice is small, trying to defend yourself but even you are beginning to doubt your own credibility with how he keeps twisting the narrative around until you begin to actually believe him.

‘No! Don’t let him make you think you’re in the wrong! You know what happened!’

“He even told you to leave but you refused to. You were baiting him to just do something to you so that you can tell everyone how bad Mikey is and make yourself get more sympathy points. Am I wrong?”

“No! I would never do that to Mikey!” You don’t realise your tempo had suddenly gotten high or that tears had started to drip down your face, but Izana did. He doesn’t point it out, staying quiet as you start to shout at him. “I would never bait him into hurting me! I just wanted to make up with him because I felt that I overreacted at the party I swear! And then he touched me in the car -”

“And you never reported him to the school authorities? Why? Did you want to blackmail him for money-”

“Because I love him!”

The words flew out of your mouth before you could even stop yourself from saying them.

Your heart drops as a mischievious glint appears in Izana’s eyes. His smile drops slightly, still maintaining the gun on your chin. “You love him?” He says slowly, testing out the words on his lips. “Love? Mikey?” He looks so deep in thought, like the concept sounds so foreign to him that he almost can’t believe it. His gaze falls back to you again, a quiet scoff emanating from his lips. “You really have no shame, do you?”

Unable to maintain eye contact with him, you break away from his gaze, biting down on your lips to prevent yourself from falling apart. When you don’t respond, Izana takes your silence as an opportunity to keep talking. “If you love him so much, then what’s wrong with what you both did in the car that day? It was what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“Not like that…”

“But you claim to love him.” Izana is calm and cool, while you’re stuttering on your words, making you look like you’re the one who is wrong. Like what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense to begin with and he’s the one saying something of reason. “And yet, you didn’t even notice he wasn’t himself that day. Or did you take advantage of his fragile state of mind?”

“I would NEVER-”

“You would, because you get to be the so-called victim and he gets to be the villain in your own story. Do you really know the implication of your actions?”

“That’s not right.” You don’t even realize how quiet you’ve gotten, your voice full of uncertainity. “I didn’t … it’s not…”

“Shut up.” He cuts you off again with a firm tone, tapping the gun on your chin gently to enunciate his point. “The reason why I haven’t put a bullet through your head as much as I want to is because I love Emma. I love Emma so much I’d kill for her and I’d resist the urge to kill for her. That’s how Sano’s love. That’s true love. That's something you'll never ever experience.”

You stay silent, trying to understand what exactly Izana was calling love. He leaned closer, making you feel even smaller. “If Emma finds out, she’ll think Mikey intentionally hurt you and she will hate him. But I guess that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Never. I don’t want her to hate him” your inner voice telling you it’s not your fault, is nothing more than a whisper, the feeling of guilt and shame overtaking you until you’re almost suffocating. “I just want them to be happy…”

“Then you know exactly what you’re meant to do, right?”

Of course you know what to do. Ever since you were child, it’s been drilled into your head. Whenever your brothers hit you a bit too hard or your father went overboard with his belt and you ended up in the hospital, your mother would take you aside to issue a warning that still rings in your head. That had terrible consequences if you refused to follow through with it.

You nod weakly. It really doesn’t matter what is right and wrong when it comes to the Sano’s, but what they want. Izana taps the gun on your chin again, shaking his head. “I need a verbal answer.”

“I won’t tell anybody what happened. Especially not Emma.”

Satisfied, he withdrew his gun from your chin and your face falls onto his lap, unable to support your head any longer. You feel a hand reaching down to pet your head, like you were a dog who had just been tamed by her new owner. The strength to push him off or stand up had left you, feeling drained as the weight of guilt settle down on your shoulders, heavily. You know you shouldn’t believe anything Izana says, but then again he does have a point. Maybe you should have been more receptive of Mikey’s touch or at least be polite about declining him instead of shoving him off and hurting his pride.

You feel so utterly powerless. Despite being wronged, you know there’s nothing you can really do to save yourself. You don’t think you can bear the traumatic experience of being an outlier again.

Mikey. You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t want anyone thinking he’s a bad person over a singular action.

'Maybe it’s not as bad as I think, I did enjoy it mid-way, so it should count as something. Right?'

You feel sick just trying to think about it.

“You know, if you’re this obedient, we can get along just fine.” He hums, breaking the silence as he pets your head gently. You hate yourself right now. How easy it is to do whatever it is that you’re told because disobedience is not an option. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you break your promise.”

“No” your voice is quiet. You feel tired, sick maybe, you don’t know. Maybe it’s the weed he smoked earlier affecting your judgement and reasoning. Or it’s the lack of sleep that has made it difficult for you to think straight or stand up. Either way, you don’t care. “I don’t.”

“Good girl.”

Bonus:

You know he’s mocking you, but you accept it, like you do with every circumstance thrown at you.

  IZANA looks down at your sleeping figure with a curious gaze.

For a moment, he almost pities you. Despite the faint glow of the room lighting, he can see the dark circles underneath your eyes and how stressed you look. For someone who is actively working to pay her fees while sustaining herself with no one caring for her, it must be hard being abandoned by society.

He can see why Emma picked you to be her friend, she always had a trait of picking up stray animals who had no one because she wanted something to protect. It’s no different with you, the way she’s so fiercely loyal to you and why she wanted you to be accepted by their family. No wonder she was hurt when you were vehemently rejected by them.

If he had a conscience, he’d feel bad for you. You love Mikey, of all people, someone who only saw you as a nuisance and to push the blame of his actions onto. All those times Mikey was cruel to you must have hurt the most because you truly cared about what he thinks about you.

He’s careful when he lifts your head from his lap, not wanting to wake you up. He puts your head on the chair and turns to leave, already overstaying his welcome. He’s done the thing he was supposed to, ensuring you stayed quiet about Mikey’s actions and there’s no need for him to be here any longer.

As he walked to the door, his mind goes back to you. In a way, you and him were similar. All alone, unwanted, with nobody in the world to care about you, cold, uncaring parents who didn’t think twice in terms of abandoning you both. The only difference between you and him is that he grew a backbone and you haven’t. You’re like a kicked dog who continues to stay on the ground to get kicked, in hopes the person kicking you stops eventually.

As long as you stay on the ground, people like him will keep kicking you.

He knocks loudly on the door and the locks turn. Kakucho opens it for him, peering inside with a worried gaze, his eyes settling on your body slumped over a chair.

“Did you hit -”

“I didn’t touch her.” Izana snaps at the taller male, stepping out of the room properly. “She’s fine, physically at least. Emotionally she’s a mess. But that’s Mikey’s problem to fix.”

“Huh?”

It wouldn’t hurt to tell Kakucho your little secret.  “Apparently (name)’s in love with my dear brother Mikey so she’s keeping quiet what he did to her.” a cruel smile stretches across his face. “How pathetic.”

Kakucho frowns at Izana’s statement, but as usual he doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, his eye darts back to your form again, taking a good look at you, his eyes softening. Ever the gentleman.

“She shouldn’t really stay like that Izana, she’ll get a stiff neck-”

“Kakucho.”

That was enough to end the conversation.

special thanks to: (please turn on your mentions in 'settings' before filling the form.): @officiallyjaehyuns @haikyuusboringassmanager @ilybbg @merrymerrykiss @cockonoi @Rindou24689 @short-cxke @kokoch4n3l @GenAwi @ryuguji-sana @nuyoo @reiners-milkbiddies @kiwixpi @gh0stgirl333 @brisssaaa009 @fushiqruo @kawaiikoalagarden @damidamimongalam @raven-nevra @ilovetwodmen @kodzubaby @straightfromheaven @manchie55 @pikibee @tomeyano @matchamilktea-05 @tenjikusstuff4 @m0onz1 @hapikiou @rainnyzz @Lovelyartistz @lik0 @maraya-007 @thisismarisaaa @reeyy0-2 @littlemisspropaganda @cherie026

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Broken Mind, Broken Soul

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: heavy angst, abuse scars, post-prison!spencer, parent/domestic violence (explicit), pretending to be fine when you're not, smut (maybe considered CNC? i'm not sure but better but that on here)

Summary: Spencer is back from prison so he’s trying to pick up the pieces and get back into his old life. Something is off about you but he respects your boundaries until he sees what you’ve been hiding from him.

Square Filled: cold-blooded torture for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Spencer is home. He’s home and everything is going to go back to the way it was. He’s not going to find you. He’s not going to hurt you anymore. You want to be happy that your boyfriend is out of prison after nearly three months of being locked up for a crime he didn’t do. He suffered in there and you couldn’t do anything about it. He’s home now, and everyone is so happy to see him.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror and try not to break down in tears. This day is for Spencer. He’s home. You can take a break from your personal shit to give him a proper welcome home. If you can do that, you might make it out of this alive. You shake your head and plaster a smile on your face, one that looks like you’re not dying inside.

You leave the bathroom in search of your boyfriend who is spending time outside away from everyone. Spencer must have gone through hell inside the four walls of the prison so it’s a bit overwhelming to be back to his normal life. Everyone must understand that because they’re inside having a good time and giving Spencer his space.

You push past everyone and walk over to Henry’s small playground. Spencer is swinging lightly on the swings and you stand by him, waiting for him to look at you. When he does, you can see how empty they are. God, Spencer, what happened to you? You hope your eyes aren’t as empty as his. You’re really trying hard to put on a brave face but you’re not sure how much longer you can do this.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey, yourself.” You walk around the other swing and sway in sync with Spencer. “Tell me what you’ve been up to since I was gone?”

You were and are afraid of this question. You’ve been preparing yourself for this question since hearing he was coming back but you never knew how to answer it. One wrong word and he’ll know exactly what you’ve been up to.

“You know, working cases like normal. We helped a lot of people but it wasn’t the same without you. I just tried to get through the day every day.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he sighs.

He believes you. He has no reason not to. Spencer looks at you to see a faraway look in your eyes. Maybe it’s just him but something might not be right. The look is gone in a split second and you’re back to pretending. Maybe it’s just him.

“Look, I know Rosis wanted to throw you this party but want to go home?”

“Yeah, I do,” he nods.

You two say your goodbyes to everyone before heading home. The drive is silent like you two don’t know how to talk to each other anymore. Sure, it could be the fact that Spencer has been in prison this whole time but he suspects something else happened. You two didn’t talk much but he doesn’t know what could be bothering you.

It’s been nearly three months without you in his bed, and he can’t help himself when he sees you in his bed. It’s been three months since he’s touched you so he walks over to you and crawls up your body. You want to enjoy this. You want to be here for him but you’re stuck inside your own head. You don’t dare let him know what you’re thinking so maybe if you go along with it, you can slip further into the facade you’re putting up.

You two kiss but he’s so wound up that he doesn’t register that you’re not as into it as he is. You’re here for him, that’s all that matters. You’re okay with this even if your body is telling you no. He reaches for your shirt but you’re quick to grab his hands to stop him.

“Keep the shirt on.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just want my shirt to stay on.”

“Okay,” he nods respectfully.

He kisses you in all the right spots and touches you where he knows you like to be touched. He is doing absolutely everything right so why do you want to break down in tears right now? Get it together. Just give him what he wants. It might fix you. So, you listen to that part of your brain. He flips you so you’re on your stomach and fucks you from behind. You grip the sheets tightly and put your face in the bed so he doesn’t see the tears, so he doesn’t hear your cries.

You love Spencer and you’re trying hard not to let him see your true feelings. You don’t want to hurt him. It has nothing to do with him but you’re scared to let him see just how broken you are. Thankfully, he’s spent by the time he’s done so he doesn’t see the tears on your cheeks. You immediately roll over and put your head over his heart, and he runs his fingers through your hair. He moves his hands down to your back but you immediately spring away from him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just need to shower.” He goes to move. “Alone.”

He watches you disappear into the bathroom with a frown. Since the BAU is requesting that Spencer take some time off, he is forced to stay home while you go to work. Everything seems to be the same but this time, you’re gone before he can wake up, and you get home right before he goes to bed. You don’t change in front of him anymore which is the first red flag. He has seen every intimate part of your body, tasted every part of you, so why are you hiding from him now? He’s not going to be a dick and force you to do something you don’t want to do, but why now?

What happened to you while he was in prison?

“Hey, are we okay?” Spencer asks one night after you had just gotten home from work.

“Of course we are.”

“Okay, because if we aren’t, you’d tell me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Spencer.”

You walk into the bathroom to take a bath, leaving him to pick up the pieces you didn’t know you dropped. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. It’s the “be” part that is setting off alarm bells. If you had said, “I’m fine”, he would have passed it off and left you alone. The fact that you added the word “be” means you’re definitely not fine. The last time you said, “I’ll be fine” was when he had to pry you from your cold-hearted and evil father’s arms right before he went to prison for what he did to you.

Damn, he should have seen the signs before. You had shut everyone down. You didn’t want to be kissed or touched. You stayed in bed for seventy-two straight hours before Spencer had to force you out of it. Your father is and was an evil man who did untold cold-blooded torture to his own daughter. Your emotional scars don’t show but the physical ones do--whip marks, cigarette burns, and stab wounds. Anything to get his anger out.

Spencer walks to the bathroom carefully and knocks twice on the door. When you don’t answer, he pushes the door open to see you with your back turned toward him. There are newer and fresh scars on your back from the same kind of torture. Some are pinker than others. These ones are recent but how can this be? He hasn’t let you out of his sight since… Prison. He kneels next to the tub and looks at you but you’re not seeing him. You’re staring at the faucet as a single drop of water leaks from it.

“Who did this to you?” Spencer asks angrily. You don’t answer. “Was it your father?”

“He got out of prison when you went in. He found me at work and took me back to that farm,” you whisper. “I was just about to take two weeks off so no one questioned why I was gone. He kept me for three before he just let me go. I got back just days before you did.”

It takes Spencer five minutes to say something because of how angry he is, and he has all this pent-up anger that he’d love to get out.

“Is he breathing?” You can only nod in response. “Not for long, he won’t.”

Your head snaps up at his response but he’s already by the door.

“What are you going to do?”

“Something I should have done the first time around. That man will never touch a hair on your head ever again.”

Spencer leaves the bathroom door open so you can see what he’s doing. You get a flash of his FBI gun before he’s out of frame. You don’t stop him.

You’re in bed when he finally comes back. If you didn’t know where he was going, you’d think he went to the store. There is not a speck of blood on him or an ounce of regret on his face. You don’t ask where he’s been or if your father is alive even though you know he’d tell you if you did. Spencer climbs into bed and pulls you into him, and you rest your head on his chest.

I’m safe now. Spencer is home and everything is right with the world.

It’s going to take a long time until you’re okay again but with Spencer by your side, you know you can get there.

x

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[illyrianbitch]

An Education in Malice — Part Four

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ heavy making out and wandering hands, lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, torture and wound descriptions, abuse, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 7.7k

←Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The air between you and Azriel had taken on a peculiar tension lately, some overwhelming, suffocating force that made you feel entirely too nervous for your comfort.  

Neither of you could ever pinpoint who made the first move— or rather, neither of you were willing to admit who did— but somehow, like clockwork, your dress was hiked up, his leathers were undone, and he was rutting into you from behind. It was always the same: a possessive grip on your waist, in your hair, or on your breasts, breath hot against your ear as he whispered words that only fueled the fire between you, responses to whatever comments you had made to rile him up.

It had become a distraction, this strange dynamic you created, that even Renard's interrogations had taken a backseat in lieu of it. It was proving increasingly difficult to get work done between fighting or fucking. 

The chamber was a dismal pit, darkness swallowing any hint of light that dared to enter. Moisture clung to the walls like a thick veil– the dirty, fetid atmosphere was tainted with the unmistakable stench of blood and other bodily fluids. You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

Azriel approached Renard, head cocking slightly to the side as his shadows danced around him— seemingly curious, excited almost. A twisted sense of satisfaction grew within you at the sight of Renard's pitiful state—starving, bloody, bruised, and desperate. 

Perhaps you should have felt some semblance of remorse or pity; even with how cruel Renard was, a compassionate soul should still feel a sense of guilt, a sense of sickness. But as you searched your body for it, as you attempted to muster it up, you came up empty handed. Instead, a rush of power surged through you. It felt like karma– well deserved karma.

You glanced at Azriel. There seemed to be a mirrored expression of satisfaction on his face, an unphased coolness to the situation before him. Even his shadows seemed at home, falling into familiar, rehearsed positions as he moved.  Deep down, something within you rested at the realization that he felt no remorse, either. 

“Is your plan to just stare at him until he confesses his secrets?”

Azriel could already anticipate the scowl on your face from the tone of your voice alone. He slowly turned his head to toss an unamused glare your way, hazel eyes momentarily scanning your figure. 

For the first time since this arrangement had begun, you were clad in something different, a departure from the usual dresses that adorned your form. The ensemble was a blend of regality and practicality, more akin to the attire of a warrior than a courtly lady— fitted pants and a tailored tunic, fabric adorned with subtle embellishments of autumn. It seemed as if Azriel wasn’t used to the sight yet— or he was entirely repulsed. You weren’t sure which, but you didn’t quite care, either. 

When his eyes met yours again, you gave him an impatient eyebrow raise, nodding towards Renard’s limp body. “Are you done checking me out yet?”

Azriel’s stare remained on you for a few more moments before he followed your line of sight back to the male before him. 

“Maybe if I didn’t have an incessant pest over my shoulder, I would be more successful.”

You stepped closer to him, a faint smell of night-chilled mist and cedar reaching your nose. “Maybe if you were actually good at anything besides harboring a grudge, you would’ve already been successful.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Being a hypocrite isn’t a look fit for a lady.”

You let out an angry breath. 

Too much time had passed with Renard missing. Soon enough, your father was bound to get suspicious— and Eris was bound to get worried as well.  There wasn’t any doubt that Renard didn’t know much, not only because your father was a paranoid ruler, but because he failed to plan ahead more often than not. You didn’t need much information. All you needed was an idea of what Beron was planning, some inkling. Once you knew that, you could easily prevent it and ensure he didn’t gain any more power— ensure that Eris was set up to successfully overthrow him. 

But Azriel seemed to be taking his time, attempting to get other information about your court that could prove useful for the Night Court. 

“I think we’ve already established I’m past that title.”

Azriel looked at you. “Clearly.”

An all-too familiar simmering prickled at your skin and you clenched your jaw, matching the intensity of his glare with one of your own. 

Renard let out a weak chuckle, blood staining his teeth as he lifted his chin. 

“Listening to you two bicker is almost worse than the actual torture. You’re like a married couple. It’s pathetic.”

Azriel’s head snapped towards the male and a growl rumbled through the room. “Watch your mouth.”

But Renard only sneered, turning his bloodshot eyes to Azriel. “Big bad Shadowsinger, always lurking in the dark. Afraid to face your own inadequacies in the light, boy?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, tendrils of shadows now swirling around him, agitated, buzzing with a need to move. Renard offered a sickly, bloodied grin as he observed their movement. “No wonder you hide behind those shadows—they're the only things that can stand being around you.”

There was a pause as Azriel’s gaze grew predatory. And then a small, involuntary sound left your lips. 

It surprised you as much as it did Azriel, who turned to look at you with a furrowed brow and growing scowl. Your eyes widened a fraction at the sound, and within seconds, you let out a laugh.

The softness of it felt sinful, felt completely and utterly wrong— and something rippled throughout Azriel’s body at it, dug its way deep down into him until his wings felt slightly limp. From around his arms, his shadows slowed, coming to a curious, awe-filled stop. They began whispering, but he paid no attention. He pushed the foreign sensations away, his surroundings registering in his mind as he scowled.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

You shook your head, another laugh escaping your lips at his face, contorted in frustration—  in an irritated confusion of being so caught off guard. His wings flared out, twitching slightly in response to the repeated sound.  “Nothing,” you said, “Your life just may be more pathetic than I thought if you’re getting psychoanalyzed by the male you’re torturing.”

Azriel’s irritation deepened as a grin grew on your face. “Shut up.”

A weak scoff drew your attention back to the bound male next to you. 

“You shouldn’t be laughing, princess.”  Renard’s eyes gleamed with malice as he shifted his gaze to you.  “Pretending to be tough, but the only reason you’re here is because you’re too weak to do anything on your own. Everyone knows Beron’s little girl is just a pathetic, needy bitch.”

The laughter died in your throat almost instantly, jaw clenching as your amusement quickly faded into a red haze of annoyance. A flame flickered at your fingertips. 

“Careful,” you warned. You moved to take a step towards Renard, but Azriel’s hand shot out instantly, stopping you with a firm grasp around your arm. 

You glanced down at where his hand met your body before pulling yourself away with a scowl. “Can you just do your job so we can kill him already?”

Your voice had a bitter, agitated edge to it now, a drawl that sounded more whiny than it did threatening. Azriel folded his arms, a gleam in his eyes as he responded with a mocking, “Why? Did he hit a nerve?”

You growled, watching as the edges of his lips turned up slightly— just enough for you to notice, just enough for that hint of an arrogant smirk to bother you. 

 “I think I preferred when you stayed quiet and sulked in your shadows.”

Azriel continued to stare at you, the ghost of a smirk still plastered on his face. A sense of annoyance prickled at your skin, mixed with something that tasted nauseatingly like embarrassment. Faintly, you felt the rush of heat threatening to spread to your cheeks. 

You clenched your jaw harder, gaze flickering from Azriel’s amused face to Renard’s bruised, snickering one. You landed back on Azriel with a sneer. 

“Wipe that stupid look off your face before I do it for you.”

Azriel watched in amusement as you stormed off, disappearing with another huff of annoyance and a vulgar gesture over your shoulder. 

Renard turned to him with a vile grin. “I have to ask. What’s she like, Shadowsinger? We’ve all wanted to fuck her. I bet she’s just as desperate in bed as she is—”

Azriel's expression darkened instantly, shadows swirling violently around him as he flared his wings out, poised and deadly. He held Renard by the throat, grip unyielding, siphons glowing angrily. His voice was deadly calm as he muttered, "I warned you to watch your mouth."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Only a couple hours had passed when Azriel found you again in the Spring Court, standing in the small house he’d grown strangely accustomed to. 

“You're here.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a sarcastic smile tugged at your lips. "Great detective skills on your part. Think you could use those with Renard?"

Unphased, Azriel rolled his eyes, the motion barely perceptible but unmistakable to someone who had spent as much time with him as you had. He moved with silent grace until he was standing right behind you, shadows hovering over his shoulders. 

"What's all this?"

His tone was flat as he took in the various items you had strewn across the table.

You shrugged, not bothering to turn around. "I brought some things so I wouldn’t need to keep going back and forth."

You could feel his presence behind you, the warmth of his body caressing over your skin as he leaned closer. Azriel's gaze landed on a leather-bound notebook among your belongings. 

"What's the notebook for?"

You stared at it for a moment, gingerly picking it up in your hands. There was a smirk on your lips as you turned to face him, face seemingly innocent and sweet. 

"All my private thoughts and hopes and dreams. At night, I sit with it and write in cursive letters, 'I hope the shadowsinger shuts the fuck up and stops being nosy.'"

Your voice started light, teasing, but as you finished the sentence, your expression hardened into a glare. Azriel seemed anything but amused, and a muscle feathered in his cheek. He gave no verbal response, opting to keep his gaze trained on you until you let out a huff of annoyance. 

He’d collected certain observations of you over the past few weeks. 

You rolled your eyes in almost every conversation he held with you. You smelled like a crackling fire and forest pine branch, something so similar to fresh fall air. He’d seen you sneer more than he’d ever seen you smile— which was once, today, as Renard commented on his shadows and apparent self-loathing. But most of all, you hated prolonged eye-contact. It made you angry, frustrated— flustered even. Azriel wouldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt every time he watched your jaw clench, watched the tinge of pink appear on the apple of your cheeks.

“What?” You snapped, glaring at him through your lashes. 

“Any particular reason you're more insufferable than usual?” 

An eye roll. “Bite me.”

“Hmm.” A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Do you want me to?”

Your mouth parted for a fleeting second. And then you scowled, nose scrunching at the movement. “I brought this to keep track of everything I find out about my father and Koschei.” You shoved the journal into Azriel’s chest with a little more force than necessary.

Azriel frowned, catching it effortlessly. His shadows flowed to his fingers, gliding across the cover as he flipped it open. He glanced at you through his lashes, a single brow arching in question. “This is empty.”

“Point proven,” you shot back, “Go back to Renard and find something useful. We’re running out of time.”

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you. “I wasn’t aware we were on a deadline.” 

You chewed the inside of your cheek. Another sigh of annoyance left your lips. "Beron is bound to realize that Renard isn't on some drunken bender anymore. He's going to come looking. I don't want there to be anything for him to find."

Azriel's lips quirked in a small, humorless smile. "I think I'm capable of hiding a trail or two."

"Are you sure about that?" You narrowed your eyes. "Because you barely seem able to get Renard to do anything besides read you like a boring, sad, self-loathing book."

Azriel let out a scoff, glancing to the side as he threw the journal back onto the table behind you. You clenched your jaw at the movement, at the sound of the thud it created as it fell onto the wood. 

"Your insults are getting weaker, princess. Maybe you should take some lessons from him."

"Shut up," you snapped, the words coming out more petulant than you'd intended. 

He crossed his arms across his chest. Your eyes fell to his hands, to the siphons that beamed with color in front of you. His shadows followed the movement, gliding down his forearms and around his wrists.

“What would happen if Beron found out you were sneaking around? That you were holding Renard?”

His voice drew your attention back to his face, where his eyes were narrowed in on you in a deep, curious, almost unsure gaze. 

Your answer was swift, no hesitation. “He would kill me.”

Azriel wasn’t quite sure why his body reacted the way it did, why he felt himself flinch, why his wings seemed to twitch in discomfort. Whatever the reason, you noticed the reaction immediately, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly—- a motion nearly minuscule for the normal eye, but you were talented at picking up these things. Years of blending in gave you such abilities— and weeks around Azriel made it easier to read his tells.

There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy. You broke eye contact, dropping your eyes to the ground as you absentmindedly kicked your shoe at some tracked-in dirt. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” you said nonchalantly, “My father has no ties to me beyond the unfortunate blood in my veins. I’m a bitch to be bred by the highest bidder.”

Something tightened in your chest as you paused for a moment. You blinked away the images that were flowing in through the corners of your mind. “I’m not worth any extra hassle.”

A silence followed. Your gaze was still on the ground, still on your black boots and the floor beneath you. A faint motion caught your eye and you watched as a tendril of Azriel’s shadow drifted to the ground— cascading down his ankle before it fell to the ground, stopping at your feet.

“I’d say,” Azriel murmured.

His words ran through you like a cold chill.

Azriel watched as something dark and fleeting passed through your eyes. You stood up straight, dropping your hands to grip the edges of the table as you leaned the small of your back against it. The faint smell of something burnt lingered in the air.

You tilted your head at him, gaze flickering between his eyes. And then a mocking, sly grin pulled at the edges of your lips. It felt unnatural. “Says the man who fucks me in the forest like a starved beast.”

Azriel’s hands slowly dropped from his chest. He took a step forward. A sense of tension crackled in the shared air, and you felt it within your stomach— a small flicker of fire.

“You let me.”

You shrugged. Heated pooled in your veins.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a smirk, and his hand reached out to trace up your arm. You tightened your grip on the edge of the table as the touch traveled through your skin. “It doesn’t bother you that it’s me?”

There was something inherently dangerous about the way he spoke, about the taunting, accusatory tone his words now dripped with. He traced the movement of his hand with his eyes, continuing a path up your arm. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

His eyes flickered up to yours. You took a deep breath. 

“Truthfully?” He leaned in closer.  “I loathe it.”

His movements momentarily stilled, but you felt his shadows continue the path he’d started, felt as they slowly snaked up your arms. 

“Yet you keep coming back.”

His eyes darkened, and then he let out a soft, cool hum.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

By now, you were inches apart, the space between you a thin, taut with a suffocating tension that made it hard for you to breathe. His shadows slithered around you, caressing your skin so delicately you could’ve sworn it mimicked a lover's touch— their darkness wrapping around your neck, weaving themselves through strands of your hair.

You bit your lip, and Azriel's hand moved to your mouth, the pad of his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip down. "You said you don’t care about Koschei,” he murmured, “That you just want to help your family.”

He released your lip, thumb resting on your skin as he held your chin in his hand.  He titled your head to his line of sight. “But Eris doesn’t know about Renard.”

"No, he does not.”

Your voice was quieter now, a low, soft tone that made Azriel almost groan in response. The feeling went straight through his body, coiling in his stomach and making his cock twitch. 

"Would he disagree with the methods?" 

Azriel’s lips were inches from yours, the space between you practically nonexistent. 

You frowned at the question, feeling your chest tighten as his mouth hovered near yours. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the table turned iron, feeling the chipped wood beneath your fingertips. 

"He would disagree with me interfering so boldly with my father.”

"Because it would get you killed," Azriel stated.

"Yes.” 

His nose brushed against yours, and he met your gaze as his hand moved to wrap around the base of your neck. 

"You’re willing to continue this even if it risks your life?" 

You felt strangely exposed, naked in a way that you’d never felt before— not even when your clothes had been torn off and he was deep inside you, hands roaming your naked skin with a scorching touch and a ravenous mouth. This felt intimate. You didn’t like it. 

You traced the features of his face, his gaze still laser-focused on you, intense and wanting. He had a few freckles across his cheeks that you’d never noticed, and the flecks of green in his eyes were overshadowed by his dilated pupils. You took a deep breath, finding the courage to meet his heavy gaze once more. 

"Wouldn’t you do something similar?"

Azriel paused. A sense of conflict passed through his eyes as he pulled back slightly, just enough to scan your face entirely. 

"No," he finally said. He hesitated for a moment. "I’d do the exact same thing."

There was a beat of silence. You stared at one another, breaths turning heavy, ragged. Your heart thundered beneath your ribs. Before you could come to your senses, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him into you. Azriel responded eagerly, mouth slotting over yours with a natural, practiced ease. 

His hands fell from your neck, tracing down your waist until his palms gripped your hips, pulling your body further into his own. You let out a sound of pleasure at the feeling, at how his hands explored you, how the heat of his body seared against yours. You melted into his touch.

Azriel’s lips trailed along your jawline, and with a guttural groan, he  suddenly spun you around, pulling you back against him with a possessive force, his arousal pressing hard into your beck. 

The sudden change in position only fueled the haze in your mind and you placed your hands over his, following as he roamed over your curves. You threaded your fingers through his, roughly guiding his palm up your chest, moving to cup it over your breast. 

His lips nipped at your ear from behind.

"This change in wardrobe is interesting," he murmured, voice husky and rough with a delicious sense of desire.

You tilted your head slightly, reveling in the feeling of his breath against your skin. "Don't like it?" 

He chuckled lowly, his hands cupping your breast roughly. “Don't particularly favor how difficult it seems to take off."

The sensation of his touch sent a rush of heat coursing through you. Every inch of you burned with need— an all-consuming, humiliating need. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned into his touch, head falling back onto his shoulders as his lips found the skin beneath your ear. 

You raised a hand to tangle your fingers into Azriel’s hair, your eyes opening once more as his touch grew hungrier, rougher. 

The view of the table slowly came into focus. Your gaze fell to the notebook, its empty pages seemed to mock you with their blankness, and you blinked as a sense of sanity washed through you like a cold tide. 

With a jolt, you pushed yourself away from Azriel, prying his hands off your body as you broke the heated embrace.

Azriel blinked, shadows rushing back to him as if startled by the sudden pull away. His hair was tousled, lips still tingling from the kiss.

"What is it?" he asked, breathing heavy. 

You took a moment to compose yourself, patting down your disheveled hair with quick hands. "I’m bored. This isn’t doing it for me," you lied. You swallowed as Azriel’s stared at you with a furrowed brow. "Just go work on Renard."

You left no room for him to respond. Within the blink of an eye, you had disappeared from Azriel’s sight. 

His hands ran through his hair, attempting to shake off the lingering effects of the moment with you. The air still felt suffocating, still smelled of you and the sweet, addicting scent of your arousal. He scowled to himself.

His shadows slowly moved down his frame, falling to the ground and gliding across the floors. His eyes fell down to their movement, watching as they wrapped around a foot of the table, as they made their way up to the tabletop. 

He squinted at where they landed, reaching a finger out to the area that they traced. There, etched into the wood, was a faint outline of a burnt handprint— a perfect replica of your palm. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Even with the familiar scene of pine and earth, returning home to the Forest House– to your court— never brought you a sense of comfort. But today, with the heat of your blush still spreading through your cheeks, you welcomed the quiet, empty halls. 

The soft patter of paws drew your attention as Laney approached with her head lowered. A small smile grew on your lips as she nudged you with her wet nose, but quickly the smile dropped as a small whine escaped her. 

Kneeling down, you gently ran your fingers across her coat. "What's wrong, girl?"

She only nudged your hand once more and turned, leading you deeper into the house.

A sense of foreboding settled over you as you followed her through the corridors. Your steps quickened when you spotted Flint lying outside Eris’s room. The dread in your chest grew heavier. Eris had a special connection to Flint. There were only a few situations in which he’d refuse the company.

Your face fell as you pushed the door to Eris’s room,  heart clenched at the sight before you. 

Eris sat on a small, velvet bench at the end of his bed, his head snapping back to the sound of his door opening. His expression quickly softened when he met your eyes, and you watched as his shoulders slumped.  “It’s just you.”

You gave him a small nod as he turned back around, your gaze falling to the blood-soaked shirt he wore, the crimson color spreading throughout the thin fabric. Flint and Laney pushed past you, paws pattering on the ground as they entered the room. A heavy feeling settled in your chest, something entirely dark and queasy. 

Eris grumbled as Flint neared him. “Shit. Y/N, close the godsdamn door.”

“I-” You snapped out of your daze, quickly closing the door before rushing over to him, gently pushing the hounds aside. “I’m sorry.”

You sat down next to him. “They just want to help you,” you said quietly. 

Eris sighed, a deep, weary sound. “I know. I just—”

Your eyes wandered to the hounds who had settled down nearby. Such regal, cunning, smart creatures. You’d never think them caring enough to sense such pain, yet here they were, eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the situation. Flint let out a small whimper, laying his head on his paws.

You looked back at Eris, slumped with his head in his hands, spine curved in a manner that made his wounds pour deeper into his shirt. A similar thought made its way through your mind. Your brother, regal and intelligent, a male who carried so much, who bore his father’s wrath time and time again– a male with a warm heart somewhere deep within the anger he radiated. The heavy feeling in your chest grew, began to fester into something fighting between fury, loathing, and suffocating sadness. 

“What happened?”

Eris didn’t lift his head, voice muffled by his hands. “He found me talking to my men. It wasn’t anything. Wasn’t about Koschei, wasn’t even about him.” 

There was an exhaustion in his voice that dripped with every word. 

“He was feeling particularly upset today,” Eris finished as he lifted his shirt, revealing the full extent of the damage. The lashes were deep, and you could see the dark, almost blackened edges where your father’s special concoction had seeped into the wounds. Eris bit back a groan, jaw clenched tightly.

That heavy feeling in your chest turned hot, burning— all consuming. So many things ran through your mind, overwhelming, crushing floods of emotions drowning your senses. 

You registered the anger first, the empty, crushing pressure of it, a feeling you’d grown too familiar with. Anger at your father, at the situation you were all trapped in, at the sheer unfairness of it all. 

And then it was guilt. Dark, suffocating, guilt. Renard missing had probably put your father on edge. Not only had you lied about it, kept it a secret, but you hadn’t been there when Eris needed you most. Instead, you’d been entangled with Azriel, a male who had no respect for you, for your family, who would so willingly watch your brother suffer. Selfish, selfish, selfish. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There was nothing you could say, nothing that would make this situation okay, that would take away Eris’s pain– that would prevent it from happening all over again. You swallowed.

“Eris-” 

He lifted his head and turned to you a resigned expression, eyes slightly wide with desperation.  "I’m going to call it all off. We can’t meet with them now, not for a while.”

You didn’t need to ask for clarification, you already knew who he was talking about, what alliance he was referring to. You shook your head. “No, we need-”

"It’s too dangerous," he interrupted, voice urgent and pleading. "He’s watching everyone more closely now. If he finds out you're involved, I don't know what he'll do."

You shook your head faster, a hard sense of determination flaring in your chest. "We can’t, I can't. I need to figure something out. I need to help you."

Eris sat up straighter, grimacing at the motion as he reached out, his hand finding a firm but gentle on your wrist. "You need to stay safe, Y/N. Please. Nothing else matters."

You looked at him, brows furrowed and throat tight. Your strong, protective brother now reduced to pleading with you. You took a deep, ragged breath. “It all matters. I need to help you, okay? I need to make sure you have the upper hand."

Eris just shook his head, shook it so firmly and desperately that you could’ve sworn he was a teenager again, hand on yours as he scolded you for breaking something.

"Please," he repeated, his voice breaking. “Just listen to me."

A wave of helplessness washed over you, and now you felt small again, felt as if you’d shrunk in place. Your mind traveled back, throwing you into memories where you’d hide away from your father, fearing his disappointed hand, desperate for approval but receiving only pain. The same feeling bubbled in your chest.

You swallowed hard.  "I can't just stand by and do nothing."

Eris's eyes softened. "You want to help me? Stay safe.” 

You frowned, biting the inside of your cheek. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You couldn’t promise him that. You couldn’t lie. So instead, you turned your attention to his back, to the angry wounds that marred his skin. 

"Here, let me help you," you murmured. He gave you a long look, then nodded, slowly moving his body to expose more of his back to you. 

You moved your hand to his back. Heat surged through you, flickering at your fingertips. Your hands shook, trembled as you attempted to focus. You tried to channel it, to control that divine fire within you, but the energy was wild and unsteady. A self-loathing bite gnawed at you. 

"I can't—" you whispered, the words laced with frustration. 

Renard’s's taunting voice echoed in your mind. Too weak to do anything on your own.

Eris turned to look at you again, calm words breaking through the rising storm you felt inside your chest. "It's okay,” he said, “I can do it."

"I'm sorry.”

He shook his head at you, a small smile gracing his features. “There's nothing to be sorry for.”

There was something about the fact that he was able to smile, that he pulled such a gesture out for you, that made the bitter loathing inside of you spread even faster. 

"Just stay with me?” Eris asked. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Of course.”

With one hand, he held yours, and the other twisted over his back. You watched as his own hands began to heat up, glowing with a controlled, steady flame. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

All you felt was anger. All you saw was red.

Memories flashed in your mind, one after another. Eris’s bloodied wounds and the far-off look in his eyes, your mother hid away from the world and the echoes of her crying, being forced to clean the floors of your brother’s blood, your paralyzing inadequacies. It all twisted inside you, each image wrapping itself around your ribs, wounding itself tight enough to make you struggle to breathe.

You weren’t sure how you got here, but the smell of blood in the air tasted sweet on your tongue. Renard lay slumped in the metal chair. Despite his appearance, a mocking grin spread across his split lips as you entered.

“Come back for more, have you?” 

The sight of him, significantly more battered than the last time you’d seen him, brought a welcomed sense of satisfaction. At your sides, you clenched your fists until they were white. 

“I’m done playing,” you said, your voice a low, dangerous growl. “Tell me what you know.”

Renard’s grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I'm trembling in fear,” he mocked, “What's a dolled-up whore like you going to do?”

Something inside you snapped. 

With a snarl, you lunged forward, hands slamming down onto the metal chair. All the anger, all the pain, everything you’d been holding back, surged through you. The metal beneath your palms began to heat up, the sensation almost soothing in its intensity— cathartic, even. 

Renard’s eyes widened. “I already told you both, fuck, I already gave you all I know!” he shouted, painful groans leaving his mouth as the hot metal below him began to bite at his exposed skin. “We don’t know anything.”

“You’re a liar!” 

In the back of your mind, you grasped at your resolve, grasped at the strength you needed to keep your desperation hidden— all attempts proved futile. You grabbed Renard’s neck, fingers digging into his flesh as a simmering heat radiated down your arm. “Tell me what you know!” 

Renard’s screams filled the room, his body writhing in agony. “I don’t—” he choked out, voice hoarse with pain. You stared at your hand, stared at the flicker of flames that began had to grow, watched as they moved to Renard’s skin–

But before the flames could fully spread, black smoke enveloped your wrist, wrapping around it with a smothering, extinguishing touch. 

Not smoke—shadows. 

A hand grabbed you next, pulling you back with a rough hand. 

You pulled against the familiar grip. “Let me go, you foul-bred animal!” 

Azriel’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You struggled against him, but his hold was firm. 

Within a blink, you were winnowed to an open area in the forest, the sudden transition leaving your senses reeling. A cool breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You blinked. And then you pushed Azriel off, staggering back with the force of the motion. Your heart pounded with residual fury, a trickling sense of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. 

“What do you not understand about 'let me go'?” you spat, “Is there something in those bat genetics of yours that makes you lose brain functioning at random intervals?”

Azriel’s didn’t budge. “Do not go back there.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Shadowsinger. I think it’s time I handle this on my own.”

“Handle it?” he echoed, his shadows curled at his fists. “You were about to burn him alive, losing control like some child throwing a tantrum.”

The color drained from your face. “And you’re the expert voice on self-control?”  The taste of resentment lingered on your tongue, sour and sickly familiar. “Where was this energy when you slaughtered and tortured my brother’s men? When they were being controlled, when they knew nothing?”

Azriel’s wings twitched almost imperceptibly. Your voice fell slightly to a tone lower, more raw. 

“Was what I was doing truly that bad, or do you only care that it’s me doing it?”

There was a beat. Azriel looked away before finding your eyes again. He shook his head, a small scowl on his face. “What are you implying?”

Something inside you shifted as you stared at him, every detail seemingly magnified, as if your emotions had sharpened your perception at last. You’d noticed this intensity around him, wrote it off as the thrill of an adversary. But you realized now, as Azriel stood before you, that he was something else entirely: a stark embodiment of everything you loathed, everything you sought to avoid, and everything you secretly craved. 

He wielded cruelty with impunity, praised for his ruthlessness, while his family basked in the warmth of love and freedom, despite their own moral shortcomings. And now he stood before you, a bastard-born nobody who had stumbled into luck, blind to anything beyond his own skewed perceptions. 

There was a defiant, knowing glint in your eyes, as if something had been confirmed— as if that you'd found the answer to some question you’d asked for centuries. 

“You are so desperately searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as you’ve made me out to be.”

Azriel's eyes narrowed slightly. His demeanor remained outwardly composed, a practiced facade of stoicism and indifference, but the glow of his siphons gave him away. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You raised an eyebrow, fists slowly unfurling at your sides. Your breath was more even now.

“I understand more than you think. You’ve been waiting for me to slip, to prove that I’m just like—” 

“Beron.”

You paused, slighting flinching at how much contempt was fit into one word.

Eris. You were going to say Eris. Not Beron. Not your father. 

A flash of hurt crossed your face and something in Azriel’s chest tightened. His shadows fell into a frozen wreath around his arms. 

“Right,” you scoffed, moving to brush past him. “Then I better do a good job and prove you right.”

Azriel stopped you with a casual sidestep, wings flaring out to block your path further.  “Do not go back there.”

“I will do whatever the hell I please,” you hissed, meeting his gaze defiantly. There was a burning hatred in your eyes that he’d never felt before, something more foul and rotten than what had been there before. 

Azriel’s jaw clenched even further as he let out an angry breath. The strength of your gaze alone triggered his hand to instinctively wander to the dagger on his hip, to the cool steel of Truth-Teller. His shadows curled around his fingers, threading through them as if calling him back to reality. He blinked, and then pulled his hand away, flexing it as he looked at you once more.

“Why?” 

Azriel's voice was probing, his gaze searching—  scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you itch. 

“Why what?”  you snapped back, your tone sharper than you intended, the itch spreading, making you want to pace or scream, anything to shake off his intense stare, to rid yourself of the tightening in your chest.

“You’re desperate. This wasn’t as thought out as you tend to be.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, feeling the sound scrape against your throat. "Because you know me so well?" The words felt like ash on your tongue, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth.

“Yes,” he stated simply, his eyes piercing into yours still. “We’re allies. Explain yourself.”

"I was just trying to pick up your slack and get information." The lie rolled off your tongue naturally.

But Azriel wasn’t buying it. "No, that’s not it," he countered, "We’re working for the same side. There is no reason for you to go off like this."

You gritted your teeth, the pressure making your jaw ache.  “We are not working for the same side.”

“We have an alliance.”

His calm demeanor only fueled your frustration. Your hands fell into a familiar position at your side, curled into tight fists, your nails biting into your palms.

“Your alliance with Eris is to support him when he takes over the throne. But when it comes to Koschei, there is no doubt in my mind you’re willing to undermine your allies to get rid of his threat. And in doing so, you’ll endanger me and my family.”

Your voice was rising, the words spilling out in a rush of pent-up emotion. “ I want to— I need to know everything before any moves are made. My brother needs an edge to stay ahead, and he sure as hell isn’t going to get it if he’s playing by the rules and having to defend his every move because of this stupid agreement.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening to near black. “Eris wouldn’t need to defend himself if he wasn’t a vile snake.”

Rage boiled through you, its fiery grip yanking onto your stomach and your chest.The intensity of it casted a hazy glow, distorting your vision with its searing heat.

“I am fed up with your little group thinking that we need to beg for your forgiveness. Tell me, does it get cold on all of that moral high ground? Does the high horse ever get uncomfortable?”

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, the contact sending a jolt up your arm. Azriel's hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly.

 "Perhaps Eris feels the need to beg for forgiveness because of the acts he’s committed.”

“And what has he done? Besides refusing to give in to every whim?” 

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip held firm. Your pulse pounded in your temples, a steady, throbbing beat. You felt that familiar prickling feeling grow across your skin, a simmering fire creeping up your arm.

“He left Morrigan in those woods to die.”

He dropped your hand, the action almost dismissive, as if he couldn’t bear to touch you anymore. You pulled it back into you and took a step back, shaking your head. Of course. The thought echoed in your mind, bringing a bitter realization that settled like a stone in your stomach. 

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” 

Azriel’s expression hardened, centuries of a grudge etched into every line of his face. His shadows danced around him, dark tendrils coiling and writhing like live fire across his body. You felt it radiating off him in waves— a palpable hatred that made your skin prickle. It was a feeling so intense you wondered how he had managed to lessen it before, how he could bear to be inside you, even with you turned away.

“My brother didn’t put that nail in her. He didn’t touch her at all.”

Azriel’s eyes were hard as steel. “He left her there. Naked, scared, and dying.”

“He gave Morrigan mercy in the only way he knew how.” 

“You call that mercy?” 

“Yes! Eris was just as much of a child as Morrigan was.”

Every word felt rancid now, burned like bile in your throat, fueled by a protectiveness born from years of standing by your brother's side. You stepped closer to Azriel, not bothering to hold back the flames that now licked at your skin. His shadows coiled around his arms, formed an almost protective barrier around his clenched fists. 

“Do you know what my father would have done had Eris touched her, helped her at all? He didn’t take lightly to the disrespect and humiliation she passed. He would have made a public show and slaughtered her. Just as he later did with Jesminda.”

Azriel stayed quiet, stayed eerily still as he watched you. You didn’t expect a response. A new emotion curled itself into your gut, something much heavier than anger, than rage. You thought about Eris, thought about the lashes on his back, thought about how he used to stay awake at night to wander the halls, listening outside of your parent’s chambers in case your mother needed help. You thought about how he’d helped you bury Jesminda, how he’d kept a figurine of Lucien’s to give to you. 

No matter what he did, or what you did for him, he would never be free— not truly. Not from his past and the assumptions people have made of him. He would always be cruel. And you, in association, would always be evil. Vile. It was in your family's nature. You felt foolish for thinking otherwise, for not learning how to take your rage and make it something useful, forge it into a weapon, train it like a beast to eat the remaining shreds of your empathy.

Eris deserved better. He was better than Rhysand. He was better than the male that stood before you. 

"But none of this matters to you," you continued, your voice tinged with bitterness and resignation. "Even if it's the truth.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. You didn’t need further confirmation that your words held true. He would never accept a version of that night besides his own, because a version that included the truth would force him to see Eris as something other than a wicked, evil male. As long as your brother was worse than Azriel, as long as there was someone worse than him, he’d never have to face the fact that he wasn’t as good of a male as he claimed to be.

"You make excuses for your brother, but where are yours?" Azriel finally spoke. "You've done cruel things. You've hurt people. Killed people." His gaze flickered to your fists wreathed in flames. "Burned them alive," he added.

The fire at your arms grew in response to his words.  You cocked your head. And then you ignored him. "You threatened my life. At that High Lord’s meeting—  you lost control, put my brother in a chokehold, and threatened my life."

Azriel's nostrils flared and his siphons began to shine with a dangerous, angry glow. 

"I dare you to live up to your word, Shadowsinger," you challenged, taking a slow step towards him. "I'm here. I've been here.” His eyes traced your every movement. 

“And yet, you've just fucked me."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a mix of anger and shame that he quickly masked behind a veil of indifference. But you saw it, felt it, reveled in it.

"You're weak, Azriel," you said, voice low and calm. "A slave to your anger, to your impulses, to your High Lord. You have always been weak."

He blinked at the sound of his name falling from your lips, a wave of uncertainty washing through his face. But his eyes stayed on you, still burning, still angry. They simmered hotter now, heavier with a new strain of contempt. 

Your breath escaped in a half-hearted chuckle. "It's a pity," you said, shaking your head slightly. Your flame dwindled to a faint firefly glow. "To see such a pretty face marred by blind devotion."

With one final glance, you turned on your heel and winnowed away. You didn’t see Azriel again for two more weeks. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

←Part Three

guys.... the next part is one of my favorites tehehehe cause its mainly just azriels perspective and where his mind is at. PLUS this is where those content warnings start to get lighter :DDDD

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

[bucks-babe]

Virgin Bucky NSFW Alphabet

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Huge thanks as always to the incredible @buckys-wintersoldier for reading my brainrot; however, any and all mistakes are my own. I do not consent to my work being reposted - likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. And @espinosaurusrexex and @lanabuckybarnes, here it is

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jamie is still getting used to the huge rush of emotions he gets after sex. He feels so vulnerable and confused as to how he could go from such a strong high to feeling like he can’t breathe. No matter what, though, he knows that you will take care of him. If you’re on top he will cling to you like a koala bear, trying to keep you as close to him as possible. If he’s on top of you, he’ll collapse on your chest and listen to your heartbeat, your arms wrapped around him, protecting him from the outside world.. 

You keep your hands on his body at all times, whispering how good he was for you, how proud you are of him, how much you appreciate him trusting you with his heart and soul. You let him decide what he wants to do next. If he wants to take a shower, cuddle, eat, whatever he wants you’ll do. If he doesn’t feel like talking after, you talk for the both of you. He loves to hear the sound of your voice, it doesn’t matter what you’re talking about, it soothes him. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jamie never loved any part of his body, especially after being tortured and abused by Hydra for so long, but you made him see that he’s beautiful inside and out. His favorite body part of his own has to be his thighs. He loves to see you lay your head on his lap, arms wrapping around the thick muscle like it’s a stuffed animal. He loves that almost as much as he loves to see you ride his thigh, taking your pleasure from his body. You look so gorgeous lost in pleasure from just his thigh.

His favorite body part of yours? - Stomach. It’s soft and warm - safe. He is always touching your stomach in some way, whether it be his hands kneading the soft flesh or his head resting there, using you as his own personal pillow

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jamie cums, and he cums a lot. He cums for minutes on end and his heavy balls produce so much cum. It could take him 8 to 11 orgasms in a row before he starts to shoot blanks. Of course that means that his cum has to go somewhere. It’s hard for him to leave the warmth of your cunt when he's cumming, but when he's feeling needy, he’ll pull out, jerking himself off on your pussy, covering your lower lips with his white spend before pushing back in and filling you to the brim. Feeling his sticky cum slap against his pelvis with each thrust only spurs him on more.

If he wasn’t so feral for you then he would keep cumming inside of your pussy over and over again, but Jamie likes messy sex, he likes marking you. He’ll cum on your thighs, using it as lube to keep going. Tits and stomach of course, licking it off after or press his body against yours to share his cum. He loves to fuck your face whilst you lay down on the bed, listening to you choke and sputter on his cum, only pulling back when he feels the overflow leak out around his sack, finishing the rest on your face. And once your entire front is covered with him, he’ll work on your back and ass, and he won’t stop until your entire body is white with him.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves to have his balls played with, sucked, licked, the whole nine. And when you brought up the topic he couldn’t resist, going from a subby baby to using you as he pleased. 

“You gonna sit on my face, sugar? Wrap those pretty thighs around my head? Yeah, you are.” Bucky takes a deep breath, his cock leaking precum on your face in a near constant stream.

“Yes, mommy, so hard f’you.” Bucky grabs the fleshlight that you bought for him a while ago. It’s not his first time using it, but it still makes his cock throb at the sight. Straddling your head, he looks down at you, his precum glazing your face, lowering down when you nod your head.

“Shittt, open your mouth, baby, can’t fit inside.” He has to reach down and almost forces both of his balls in your mouth. “Sack too fucking big for your slutty mouth. Just want to feel that tight mouth sucking my nuts, ohhh yesss, use your tongue, more, fuck, m’gonna cum before my dick s’even this little pussy.”

You choke and sputter about his sack, your jaw stretching more than it ever has. The soft dusting of hairs tickle, yet the soft, smooth skin makes your cunt pulse and ache. “Fuck, yes, choke on them, too fucking big to let you breathe. But you like that don’t ya? You fucking love choking on your daddy’s fat ballsack.” He holds your head in place, grinding against your mouth, moaning at the feeling of your nose brushing against his rim. He thrusts into the toy, making sure not to stray too far from your tight heat. Your spit and the lube of the fleshlight creating an obscene wetness that makes his cock harder.

“M’gonna bust, oh shittt, pleasepleaseplease, oh fuck, s’good, can you feel it? Can you feel my sack about to explode?” You shake your head from side to side, practically gargling your spit. Just when you feel his sack tighten, he pulls out, a thick stream of saliva being smacked into your face as he shoves his cock down your throat, balls pressing against your nose and forehead, fleshlight long forgotten.

His body falls down, legs spreading to get deeper as he brutally shoves his cock into your throat over and over again, wet, slobbery balls bouncing off your face, forcing you to close your eyes, no matter how much you wanted to see his fat sack beat against you.

“Oooohhhh, fuckkk, can feel my nuts everywhere, so wet.” You struggle against his cock, fighting for oxygen, but he just goes faster, thicker ropes of cum shooting out. “You can take it, sweet girl, take my load, my perfect cumdump. Gonna do this with your pussy next, and then your ass.”

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

It’s no secret that Jamie doesn’t have any experience at all. Before you the only action he ever got was a sweet kiss at the end of his date in the 40’s. But he is extremely willing to learn, wanting to give you everything he has to offer. Luckily for you he’s an extremely quick learner and has found ways to make you cum that you didn’t know was possible.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

When he’s feeling subby he wants you to ride him into oblivion. It doesn’t matter if it’s from the front or the back. He’ll gladly watch your tits bounce in his face, desperate to take a nipple in his mouth, or from the back with your ass jiggling with every movement, landing hard smacks on your soft flesh. That or missionary so he can watch your pretty face while he makes you feel good.

“Please, doll, closer.” 

Bucky pulls you down, his arms wrapped around your back, pressing your entire body to his. Your skin slides against his, slick with sweat. He plants his feet on the bed, frantically fucking up into you, desperate to feel more of you.

“Oh God, doll, it’s so fucking good, you’re choking my cock, gonna cum, please let me cum, please.” 

He’ll beg every time even though you rarely edge him, and that’s only when he asks you to. You always let him cum and he’ll bury his head in your chest, moaning around your nipple as ropes and ropes of his load shoot into you, still pounding, his cum squirting out.

When he’s feeling dominant he’ll contort your body every which way. Legs on his shoulders while he leans over, raising your ass in the air in the process, from behind slapping your ass.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jamie is rarely goofy during sex. Your pussy makes him so drunk that he doesn’t have a single thought in his head. He is so caught up in the feeling of you around him, skin pressed together that nothing can break his concentration.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

When he was a prisoner in Hydra, they waxed his entire body, sans his head. Legs - waxed, arms - waxed, chest - waxed, pubes - waxed. It was a form of torture, taking away his choice, altering his body the way they wanted. Now he lets his hair grow. He keeps his tufts of chest hair and leaves his legs alone. The only part that he grooms is his pubic hair. He’ll trim his bush, not wanting to go full jungle but he doesn’t go bald, loving the way your cream looks on them.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He desperately craves intimacy. You’re the only person that he lets touch him. Maybe Steve or Sam giving him a short hug, but other than that, he cringes away from touch. But when it comes to you, he needs to be touching you at all times, feeling your soft, warm body pressed against his, your scent surrounding him.

During sex, he needs to be close to you, his cock inside not enough to satisfy him. In missionary he’ll wrap his arms around you, letting his weight fall, your legs wrapped around his waist, hands running down his body, gripping and scratching whatever you can reach, doing the same thing with cowgirl.

“Doll, s’perfect, love you so much, oh god, please.” Bucky’s practically sobbing into your neck, his slick body sliding against your skin, hips pounding into yours, hitting your sweet spot every time without fail.

“Need you, doll, please, I can’t, uuuhhhh.” In his pleasure riddled mind, he can’t verbalize what he needs, but you always know even when he can’t say it.

You hike your legs higher, pulling him closer while your hands interlock with his, raising them above your head. “Jamie, feel so good inside me, m’so close. Want to cum with you, baby. Please, need you to cum for me, can’t hold it.” You moan with every rope of cum shooting into you, your own orgasm milking more out of his dick.

In pretty much every other position, if he can’t be pressed against you or if he wants to watch your ass or tits jiggle, he’ll hold your hands, hips, thighs, neck, any part of your body he can reach.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jerks off a lot. He has 80 years to make up for, and he’ll get hard at the slightest thing. He swears that the wind can blow and his cock gets hard as a rock. Not only that, but you both are Avengers and have missions, not always together and it’s impossible to ignore his raging erection.

“What the fuck am I doing?” In any other scenario, he would feel ashamed, but he can’t bring himself to at the moment, so horny that he’d do anything to cum. He huffs and folds the pillow; the first thought he had when laying down in his feeble attempt to sleep was how good the silk pillowcase would feel around his dick.

It didn’t take him long to get his first load out, a full minute of aiming his cum at the pillow, creating his own lube. His cock pulses at the wet sound the pillow makes when he folds it. He has the pillow on the bed, each hand pressing down as hard as possible, making the makeshift hole as tight as possible. He whimpers at the first slide of his dick, the silk soft and smooth against him.

“Fuck, doll, need your pussy. Not as good, my cock s’hard for you. Such a waste of my load, know that you would take it, oh shit.” His hips pick up speed, the hotel bed creaking under his frantic thrusts. Bucky bites his lip, trying to hold in his moans, the springs squeaking causing flashes of you bouncing on his cock, the old frame barely able to withstand the hard pounding.

“Wish you were here, doll. You’d look so pretty covered in my load. Pretty tits painted white, letting me lick it off, spit it in your mouth. Oh god, here it comes, gonna take it all? Yeah you are, my perfect little cumdump.” The next morning, Bucky made sure to take the pillow and its case down to the dumpster before anyone could see, the entire thing soaked with his cum, but not before sending you pictures of his tongue full of cum and a video of his cock sliding in and out of the makeshift toy.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Daddy/Mommy kink, breeding, cumplay, marking, ball worship, praise/degradation, pain, edging/getting edged, overstimulation, watching porn together

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His favorite place is definitely the bedroom. Tony soundproofed all the rooms and Bucky couldn’t have been happier about that. He doesn’t want anyone to hear how he begs and moans, borderline screaming sometimes. The two of you are planning to get your own place someday and Jamie can’t wait to be able to fuck you wherever he wants.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, plain and simple. He’s never felt attraction so strong until he met you and his cock is always begging to be sucked or fucked. He doesn't know if it’s the serum or just how much he loves you, but he could go all day every day, maybe with a few breaks in between to make sure that his dick isn’t about to fall off with how much he uses it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Threesome - You’re the first person that Jamie has trusted fully since the 40’s and he has no desire to be with another person. You’re his everything and he doesn’t need anyone else but you

Exhibitionism - He’s still very insecure about his body, rarely leaving the house without triple checking that his metal arm isn’t visible to anyone. The thought of anyone watching him make love to you terrifies him. You make him feel perfect, but what if someone else knows how fast you make him cum, how he begs and pleads for you to hold him while he ruts into you, desperate to get that much closer to you? He wants to keep your sex life private and he’s not going to risk anyone seeing or hearing

CNC - Bucky has been through a lot when he was with Hydra and he wants to stay as far away from that as he can

Heavy degradation/humiliation - He loves light degradation, calling you a slut or whore for his cock, his little cumdump. He loves when you degrade him for not being able to last, always mixing in praises, letting him know how much you love it..

“Fuck, Jamie, look at you, can’t even hold out for me. ‘S my pussy too good, baby? Makes your fat cock burst? Love your cum, Jamie, wanna suckle your cock all day, keep it warm in my mouth, letting you use me, make me swallow load after load. That’s it, sweetheart, fill my pussy again.”

Even if it was in a safe setting, he wouldn’t be able to handle it if you said that he wasn’t good enough, that you should find another man to fuck you and make him watch. He saw it one time when he was watching porn with you and that was the end of the night, you held him in your arms until he fell asleep. He doesn’t know why, but that makes him want to cry, even if you weren’t the one saying that to him

Somnophilia - When you’re asleep, you can’t give consent and neither can he. He’s okay with waking up with you in between his legs, kissing and sucking on his thighs purposefully waiting until he wakes up to touch his cock and vice versa

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jamie loves both. He truly doesn’t think that he would be able to live without either. He wants to drown in your pussy.

“Lower, doll, I told you to sit on my face, so sit.”

He doesn’t wait for you before wrapping his arms around your thighs, dragging you all the way down, taking the liberty to grind your hips for you.

His moans are muffled and you can’t understand what in the hell he’s trying to say, but you know.

“Pussy’s so fucking good.”

“Tastes so sweet.”

“Just like that, doll.”

“Making my cock so fucking hard.”

“Gonna cum just like this. You’d like that too, huh? Me busting a fat load without you even touching me? Yeah you fucking would, cause you’re my little slut.”

“Love you so much, can’t live without you.”

He never knew how good blowjobs could feel. The first time you went down on him he got it, he understood why men go so crazy over it. He may have never gotten head before, but he’s sure that there’s no one better than you.

“Lean just a bit more. There you go, good girl.”

He has your head laying off the side of the bed, throat ready to be ruined. You’re almost drooling at the sight of his thick cock hard and pulsing.

The first thrust is shallow, trying his hardest to not push you, but you want him to ruin you, push you to your limits and then tell you that you can take more because you’re his good little slut.

You tap his thigh so he’ll pull off only to tell him to fuck you like you’re a fleshlight, and that sends him over the edge. He widens his stance and places a hand on your throat, dragging his cock and balls around your face, rutting into you, before doing exactly what you asked, so what if everyone asked you if you were getting a cold the next day when you couldn’t speak?

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rarely will it be slow and sensual. Jamie can’t control himself when he’s inside of you. He chases the feeling of your tight walls choking him over and over again. The only thoughts going through his mind is making you cum and cumming. It’s slow when he’s worn out from his missions or deep in subspace and you’ll warm his cock in your cunt while he sucks and fondles your tits. He can’t stop his cock from bursting even if he doesn’t move.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t like quickies. He wants to cum as many times as he can, make you cum as many times as possible before one of you passes out. Usually when he’s extremely horny, you’ll pull him away to suck him off.

“Come on, Jamie, we don’t have much time.” You glance at your phone - 5 minutes before you have to be at the meeting. You can do it in two. You lead him into a closet, locking the door behind you and quickly slipping your panties off from under your skirt.

“Can’t wait to be inside you. Please tell me you’re ready, need it now.” You only shake your head, balling up the garment and placing it in his mouth, his eyes rolling back at your essence hitting his tongue.

“Not right now, Jamie. Gonna suck your cock. If you want I’ll let you cum in my pussy and walk around with you in me for the rest of the day.” Bucky’s eyes bulge, wanton moans leaving his lips, hands flying down to pull his jeans down just enough for you to get to his cock.

“Needy aren’t we? But don’t worry, I won’t tease you. We only have three more minutes.” Without hesitation you swallow his entire cock, gagging on his thick length. Your throat immediately welcoming him, remembering the shape of his perfect length. 

“Mmmhh!” You can’t make out any of his words, but the panties help to muffle his sounds. You bob your head faster, moaning at the surplus of precum oozing out of his tip, spit already dripping down to his balls. This is how he likes it - sloppy and dirty. Spit and tears. Ruining you, maybe even taking your voice away.

Your nose pressed up against his pubes, shaking your head from side to side before pulling off, both hands jerking his cock, twisting from base to tip. Innocently you look up at him, tears streaming down your face, spit and precum covering your chin. “Can feel you pulsing, aching, baby, cock begging to bust. You need to cum, don’t you? Where do you want it, baby? Can cum wherever you want, just want your cum, wanna be your little cumslut.”

Bucky’s hips jerk, head thrown back, moans barely being contained by your underwear. He grips you, pulling you up and spinning you around, going balls deep into your cunt, your slick making the slide smooth. You moan with each jerk of his hips, warm pussy welcoming his heavy load. 

When he pulls out, you take your panties back, swiftly putting them on, making sure none of his cum goes to waste. “Did it in one, Buck. You proud of me?”

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s not one for risks, not wanting anyone to hear or see him in such a vulnerable state. But if it’s with you in the privacy of your shared room, then he’s willing to experiment with you. Fantasies, toys, kinks, as long as you both feel comfortable with it, he trusts you to take care of him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He doesn’t last very long. The first time he was in your pussy, he blew his load as soon as the tip was in. He has gotten a bit better with holding it in, but you love when he cums so fast and so much so he doesn’t try to hold it back for too long, but he can go for hours without his cock getting soft. After a while, no more cum shoots out of his cock but that doesn’t stop him from fucking you until he cums again, only slightly missing his cum filling you up, but by then you’re covered from head to toe with his load.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has a few toys that you’ve got him - fleshlight and cock ring, but his favorite are your toys. He is obsessed with using them on you, and you using them on him.

“Faster, doll, c’mon.” You huff but slam your hips down harder, moaning at the fullness of the dildo in your pussy and his cock in your ass. “Oh, fuck yeah. This how it feels, doll? Is this why you go so crazy over my cock, huh?” Bucky moves his own hips faster, with every thrust his own dildo slides in and out of his ass. 

“Shit, m’gonna cum again, shit, takeittakeit. FUCK.” Bucky practically screams when his cock bursts, his load immediately pushed out of you ass, leaking to the floor, the sound of your cum covered ass bouncing against the floor causes a new wave to wash over him.

“Ooohhh, shit, doll. Can barely fucking move. My ass is gripping this cock so much, needed this fat cock in me.” He throws his head back, fucking into you as fast as he possibly could, creating a seesaw with his dick in your ass and the dildo in his. “Sogoodsogoodsogood. Gonna blow, haven’t even finished and I’m gonna cum again.” It was a long night and by the end of it there were puddles of your squirt and his cum on the floor.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t tease unless he’s being dominant. On a regular day he just wants to see you cum, and get drunk on his cock.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

LOUD. He can’t help but to let out the most salacious sounds. A few times he questioned if the soundproofed walls really did stop the whole compound from hearing him scream as he busted load after load. He’ll whine and whimper, grunt and groan, moan and scream, cry and beg. Pretty much every sound he could make. There is no way in hell that he would ever be able to stay quiet, even for a minute.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When he is extremely overwhelmed he likes to lay on your chest, gently sucking on your nipple with his cock in between your thighs, slowly fucking the soft flesh until he cums, using his load as lube to keep going until he’s completely drained of everything. Quickly falling asleep on your chest, soft cock surrounded by your soft thighs and his multiple super soldier loads.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He has a big, fat cock. Around 8 inches in length and thick as all hell. He’s uncut and has the most beautiful veins dancing around his length. Before the serum his dick was around 7 but he always has girth. The thing that the serum really changed was his balls. They went from a normal size to very large. Each one is around the size of an orange. They’re so big that he has to get custom underwear to support them when he walks, if not then they would get in the way of his everyday life, swinging around, slapping against his thighs, more than once he's sat on them by accident. 

He can’t even be mad about it though because they let him cum so much and for so long. If he thought they were sensitive before, then he doesn’t know what they are now. You love to suck and lick his sack and he loves it just as much. The both of you found out that you shared a ball kink, neither of you knowing until he pulled his pants down and they were there in all their glory. Touching his sack feels almost as good as when you touch his dick - almost. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Do I even need to say anything? 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jamie used to struggle to fall asleep, terrified of the nightmares that constantly plagued him, but your pussy puts his ass to sleep. He sleeps like a baby after giving you everything he has to offer, more than willing to fall asleep covered in his own cum with how tired he gets.

[queers-gambit]

Tower Scrolls

prompt: during the Siege of Eregion, Elrond barters for his fiancé's life, and her life's work.

pairing: Elrond x intended!female!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 4.1k+

note: brain go wonky, don't take this too serious

warnings: we got angst! we got drama! we got spoilers! i think it's more hurt and comfort, but to each their own! there's cursing, character injury, canon-complicit character death, blood, depiction of abuse and torture, violence, is this a reader insert? i don't know anymore, but i think so. oneshot, filler, very abrupt ending.

Fire rained from the sky. Ash snowed on once white-sand buildings. Tension permeated the air. Blood irrigated soil.

Eregion was under attack.

Elves screamed in despair, Orcs snarled from outside the city walls, and no matter where you turned, you were trapped in this never ending barrage of violent misfortune. To the best of your ability, you manned the city walls and ordered the citizens of Eregion to find shelter, tunnel out of the city, or pick up arms and fight - fight for their homes, their families, their lives.

It was nearly a natural succession of power after dedicating majority of your life to Eregion and Lord Celebrimbor; a common presence, friendly face, such an outstanding ally that few hesitated to take your command. Yet you were met with resistance, some Elves rejecting your orders in favor of this "Annatar, Lord of Gifts," apparently sent from the Valar themselves to aid Celebrimbor in his creative work. They thought he was Lord of Eregion now, and since you were loyal to the previous Lord - who Annatar claimed had lost his ever sharp mind - you were looked upon with the same frown.

So, you did the only thing you thought you could do.

You protected your Lord, almost to the extent of your life. Too many had already fallen, you refused to follow; insisting on remaining with Lord Celebrimbor for the duration of his efforts so long as Annatar was in Eregion. The immortal being wasn't keen on the idea, but Celebrimbor was much soothed around you - so, he agreed, on the condition that your Lord finish his work on the Nine Rings.

After escaping before, Annatar thought the best suited idea would be to chain Lord Celebrimbor to his work bench; knowing you did not have the means to break him free and feeling it was a safe move. However, as you witnessed, the will of the Lord of Eregion was by far stronger than that of The Deceiver.

"I cannot!" You begged your Master. "No, you will not ask this of me! The audacity you possess - "

"You must!" Celebrimbor insisted, taking your cheeks in hand to smush your lips in a pucker. "Listen to me - listen! You have always known right from wrong, but now is not a time for rationality, it's a time for action. He mustn't get the Rings, I need you to run with them. Run away - far, far away from here, use the tunnels - "

"I will not abandon you," you snarled, "nor will I abandon this city, not while she still stands!"

"This is bigger than us, bigger than Eregion," Celebrimbor tried to convey his severity, forcing the Rings in your hand - but you were stubborn. For all the traits he loved, he despised your pigheadedness the most - despite admiring it once upon a time. So, he managed to convince you to cut just his thumb off after originally asking you to take the whole hand so the cuff could slide off, but he downgraded to just his digit for the same desired effect.

"Go," you begged him, tears in your eyes as you wrapped his hand with a clean(ish) cloth to staunch the bleeding. "Go, please, before He returns. Do not look back, my Lord."

"Come with me - "

"I'll hold Him off to give you more time. Now, go. Go!"

It wasn't easy, but Celebrimbor left you behind. No sooner had you confirmed his escape did Annatar return; surveying the workshop and you with sinister eyes.

"Where is he?"

"With luck? Far from here. With hope? Even past that," you answered, stood in the middle of the room - looking as if nothing could phase you. All a lie, of course, but Sauron didn't need to know you were close to pissing your pants out of sheer intimidation. "So... You're Him? I have to admit," you gestured at him, "it's a bit of a let down."

"I have many names - "

"Oh, spare me the personal lore all of Middle-earth knows," you snipped, offering a stale look. "You need a new story."

However, Sauron smirked and circled you, taunting, "I know you know where he went. I know you know where the Rings are, too."

"Then have a look in my mind, see for yourself," you smirked back, "go ahead and see that I purposefully did not ask and my Lord did not tell. Go on, if you do not believe me, have a look and know you are wrong - " You were cut off by your own gasp when Sauron's eyes rolled before he brandished a sword to pierce through your foot and into the floor.

"Where. Is. He?" Sauron seethed in your face; hot breath fanning the fly away hairs.

"Away from you," you managed to grit, the sword in too deep to yank free by yourself. "You'll never find them," you laughed without humor when Sauron's anger got the best of him; storming through the workshop, tearing it apart, searching in vain for Nine Rings that were not there. In his anger, you obtained a series of fresh blemishes as he threw anything he could to the sound of your amusement.

Yet any glimmer of hope in your chest was doused, all traces of faith and humor vanishing when guards lead Celebrimbor back into the workshop; discovering the destroyed forge and you, pinned by a bloody foot in the midst. You couldn't move from your place as the guards surrounded Sauron with the intention to apprehend him, yet you saw the threat before anyone else. You begged the guards, your kin, your brethren, to back away, to take your Lord and flee! You begged them to run. You begged them to listen, to hear you!

But it was too late.

Sauron turned your people on one another and had them slaughter each other before disposing of the final guard himself. You screamed at Celebrimbor to run, nearly tearing the blade through bone as you attempted to reach for the man who had taught you your entire life. The man who gave you a chance. The man who built you a home. The man who introduced you to your intended. The man you loved like a father.

But Sauron's grasp extended to all.

Celebrimbor was beaten senseless, the Dark Lord trying to pry information about the Nine from him by any means. Yet your Lord did not budge... And that's when Sauron turned to you. "Please, no! Don't! She doesn't know anything! I swear, please, spare her!" Celebrimbor pleaded when Sauron ripped the sword from your foot before knocking you to your knees; bowstring pulled back, arrow armed and aimed at your calf. "She doesn't know amything!" Celebrimbor screamed as your first tear fell.

"But you do," Sauron narrated, loosing the arrow into your flesh. You tried to subdue your screams, but the immortal took to alternating between shooting you and Celebrimbor with arrows; though his struck lethally, yours struck painfully. To Sauron, you were a plaything; a token to negotiate with, attempting to withdraw information by offering you harm, thinking it was enough to break Celebrimbor.

He was mistaken.

You panted as blood dribbled from the corner of your mouth, wincing as Sauron's boot came down on your knee; smearing his heel into an open wound with you flat on your back. "She... She doesn't know," Celebrimbor tried again. "She is... She's the Lady of Eregion now, and I would not curse her with such a burden as you have me!"

"Oh, a promotion?" Sauron mused, glancing at you - but you saw his underlying desperation.

"Eregion is no more," you whispered, head lulling on the floor to meet Celebrimbor's eyes and smile sadly. Blood lined your teeth. "It would've been the honor of my life should I have been able to defend your city, my Lord."

"Our city."

"How touching," Sauron's eyes rolled.

"She doesn't know," Celebrimbor repeated in anger.

"I know," Sauron nodded, "I looked in her mind. Still, the bond between you is greater - perhaps, you'd be more inclined to share with her?"

"He'd never," you chuckled in delirium, "he'd never sacrifice this world for the likes of you." Another arrow thumped into your shoulder, making you groan as Sauron angrily tossed the bow aside. Fearing your life was soon to be extinguished, you whispered, "I-I'm so sorry, my Lord. I failed you."

"No, do not say such a thing," Celebrimbor insisted, Sauron stalking over you before squatting in front of the Elven smith, "for it is I who failed you..."

Sauron sighed, sounding condescending yet soft as he reached over to stroke Celebrimbor's cheek, "Look what you have done to yourself."

You didn't care for his poisoned words, knowing your time was limited - just like Celebrimbor's. Yet the Dark Lord tried one last tactic: mercy. He promised to end your joint suffering should the location of the Nine be revealed. Your Lord was defiant still. So, Sauron tried gaslighting, and when that didn't work, he begged, "Please."

Still, it did not work and Celebrimbor affirmed his time was ending... So, naturally, after he plucked up a spear, Sauron threatened, "There are ways of keeping you both alive." In Sindarin, he added, "Friend." To the look of horror on Celebrimbor's bloody face, Sauron offered, "Must I show you my mastery of that craft as well?"

"'Craft'?" Your Lord chuckled ruefully. Then he spat, "Your only craft is treachery. So pure, it shall betray the very hand that forges it."

Sauron stepped over your limp, bleeding form too casually, quietly seething, "Your words are empty."

"No," Celebrimbor insisted, sitting himself up slightly. "No, hear me. Hear me!" Your dimming eyes widened as your Lord found his feet, back against the stone pillar he had once slumped against as support. "Shadow of Morgoth! Hear the dying words of Celebrimbor! With only Y/N, Lady of Eregion as witness!" You didn't move, you couldn't... You were defeated, you knew there was no way Sauron would let you leave this tower alive. So, you listened and bore witness for as long as you were capable of doing so. "The Rings of Power shall destroy you. And in the end, I foresee one alone shall prove your," he shouted, "utter ruin!"

"NO!" You screamed when Sauron turned, shouting in anger as he strode over you and stabbed Celebrimbor with his spear. You could only watch in fearful disgust as the Dark Lord, still in fair form, hoisted the Lord of Eregion up the stone pillar as if a flag on a pole.

Celebrimbor was in obvious pain, mouth agape, blood dribbling from his slathered lips. Sauron's words were still heard despite the low, quiet register, "You're wrong. I am their Creator." He growled, "I am their Master!"

"No," Celebrimbor's head shook as if pitying the immortal. "You are their... Prisoner. Sauron, Lord..." He trailed as his life's light was snuffed, "of the Rings."

You let your grief manifest in tears, watching as Celebrimbor's eyes found yours - conveying his goodbye as he mouthed one last apology... Then deflating as his soul, as promised, vacated this form to return to the shores. You didn't voice your note of Sauron's single tear, just staring at your Lord in disbelief - until the Dark Lord planted the end of his spear to the ground, staking Celebrimbor above all.

"N-No, no, wait!" You begged, trying to turn over onto your stomach to pull yourself across the ground. "No, please, please, take him down - get him down from there! Please, do not - do not leave him up there!" You cried out as arrow shafts were irritated back to life, reaching blindly - helplessly - upward as if you could reach the Lord of Eregion from his hoist.

Sauron watched you for a moment, the Orcs heard marching up the tower. With a swift swing of his leg, Sauron kicked your jaw - effectively knocking you out and overturning your body to your back; splayed out as if on display... Similar, but not akin, to Celebrimbor - whose pooling blood soaked into your gown.

Through your unconsciousness, Sauron eventually ordered Eregion be razed to the ground, every Elf slaughtered, and the Elven leaders be brought before him - unharmed. He gave specific instruction for every scroll in Celebrimbor's workshop to be torched; his way of punishing you for your insolence over supporting and protecting Celebrimbor.

When you awoke, the tower was quiet. You stiffly lifted your hand to your jaw; rubbing it tenderly, letting your sight refocus and being acutely aware of every feeling in your body.

"Fuuuuuuuck," you whimpered, trying to sit up but being unable due to protruding arrows. You went limp again, feeling a single twinge of anger you had to wake up because your eyes caught sight of and stared at Celebrimbor.

You failed...

You gasped shrilly when hands seized your upper arms and heaved; lugging you over the shoulders of two Orcs as a third swiped at the arrows to break them in the most painful way possible. Considering their brutish nature, you would've thought they'd have lopped your head off and moved along - but instead, they began carrying you towards the door.

"Wha-What's happening?" You asked through a slur, feet dragging under you, spying one of the Orcs gathering scrolls and tomes you spent your life writing alongside Celebrimbor in their dirty arms. "Wait - wait - what're you doing? What're you doing!?"

"Quiet!" An Orc snarled, dropping the hilt of his dagger to the soft part of the base of your head where it connected to your neck. You were silent out of sheer pain.

Down the tower you were drug, brought into the devastated courtyard where Orcs snarled at you from all sides; the two that carried you dropping you on your shattered knees. You were held at knifepoint as Orcs streamed from the tower and dropped your scrolls and tomes in several different piles a short distance away. Head injury caused your sight to blur in and out, but you knew what they were doing... What they intended.

"Please, please, don't do this," you whimpered, hearing several Orcs laugh. "No... No, no, no, no, please! Don't - " You had no more fight as collectively, your records were so extensive that several piles were made, few set ablaze.

All around you, Elves were slaughtered mercilessly, bodies left behind where they fell; the sounds of the city dying with them as the Orcs ran out of the innocent lives to claim. You could only watch. Before you, the Orcs tossed banded lassos around the decorated statue of Faenor, evident their desecration knew no bounds.

Yet hope sparked... The blade at your neck tightening when you perked up upon seeing several Orcs leading few saved Elves into the courtyard - your fiancé one of them.

"Elrond!" You cried, the Orc snarling a hiss as the hand in your hair yanked back. You struggled to the point of blood draw when Elrond's sight casted on you - trying to escape his captors, but being held back.

"Y/N!" He called back, the High King Gil-galad at his side and finding you amongst the rubble, too. The King muttered something you couldn't hear, but to Elrond, he understood the Sindarin word: wait.

"Hey!" You snapped, blade drawing a line of blood from your neck; pressure mounting as he pressed closer. You growled in annoyance.

Faenor toppled to the ground, shattering the heart of any Elf left to witness - Orcs mounting him, ravaging for hidden and seen treasures. With Gil-galad, Elrond, and other survivors, the Orcs moved inward as if to ensure the Elves had a front row viewing to the incineration of their culture.

"Y/N," Gil-galad called to attention, earning several snarls and hisses, "where is Lord Celebrimbor?"

"Dead," you whimpered, Orc growling at you in reprimand.

Elrond's eyes swept over the scene and swiftly understood the impending doom. The largest of the scroll piles was before the Elves now, an Orc pacing around it with his torch alight, tears down your cheeks as you couldn't look away as if in a trance you did not realize.

"No, Uruk! No!" Elrond begged when the Orc went to drop the flame; you struggling against your captor, both hands around his meaty wrist.

"No!" Gil-galad's beg echoed around you.

"That is the full record of Celebrimbor's works," Elrond tried to make the Orcs understand potential ramifications. "The wisdom of all who ever dwelt in this place, all accounted by the Lady Y/N, whose work cannot be found outside Eregion! Its value is beyond jewels or even blood! Take our lives," Elrond gestured to himself and the King, you struggling again on horridly abused knees, "but leave it be, I beg you."

Perhaps you were far too used to people listening when your fiancé spoke because you eagerly sat forward best you could while thinking perhaps the Orcs would listen to Elrond. Imagine your acute and heavy despair when the Orc laughed manically and turned to shove the torch into the bundle of fragile parchment. "NO!" You sobbed uselessly, watching the last of your life's work go up in flame.

You fought against the Orc's grip as Gil-galad snarled, "Cowardly traitors!"

"You fucking bastards!" Your head reared back to (painfully - nobody wins with a headbutt) break the Orc's nose. He released you as other Orcs were wrestling Gil-galad to the ground, able to pick up a blade and take out three too-close enemies.

It was the first time Elrond heard such language fall from your lips, but all he could register was the Orc punching you in the jaw in an attempt to subdue you - blood spitting to the side, seemingly darkening a bruise already blooming. He's never felt such rage.

Elrond fought with his bare hands; elbowing the Orcs behind him, punching the ones before him, fighting to get closer to you. He got ahold of a torch, screaming in white-hot anger as he set the Orc that hit you ablaze; dropping the torch and taking you into his embrace.

"My love," he breathed in your ear, able to peck your cheek just as the snarling Orcs forcefully ripped you out of his arms. "No, no!" He tried to reach out for you, but both were wrangled in.

"Please, don't! NO! No, no, no!" You gasped when Elrond was taken in custody, yet it wasn't you who saved him.

Another Orc reminded, "No! Lord Sauron wanted their leaders unharmed."

"Well, what about her? She looks injured," A different Orc growled, jostling your shoulder and pointing his dagger at your throat. Elrond was forced to his knees as you were, facing one another.

"Lord Sauron did that, said to discipline her should she resist," the Orc answered in a hiss, others shoving more Elves into the courtyard - including Arondir from the battlefield. A blade was held to Elrond's throat as your head bowed in the heat of the bonfire; being ripped up by your hair and forced to turn to watch the flames. The Orcs noticed the pair of you seemingly cared more about the literature than your lives, so, they thought you should relish in this moment.

So Elrond was held in a similar position, but his sight was on you; watching you crumple into despair while more Orcs tossed the last of the scrolls into the flames. Your life, since a youthful student, had been spent intermittently in Eregion under the care of Lord Celebrimbor, whom you thought of as an adoptive father, learning heraldry. He let you work at his side, keeping accurate, detailed record of his philosophies, ideas, processes, and creations for the histories. Yet, now, they wafted into the air as ash - lost to this Age, never to be recovered or duplicated or seen again.

Once more, you dropped your head, earning a backhand to the temple. Gritting your teeth, you let the Orc force your head up but shut your eyes tightly, defiantly; hearing their breathing turn ragged. "Cut her eyelids open!" An Orc barked.

"That's not what Lord Sauron said," another seethed with refusal.

"She's resisting!"

An Orc scoffed and stabbed your thigh with a dagger, eyes flying open as you gasped in pain. "There! See!" It laughed, holding you in a chokehold as tears leaked down your cheeks. Elrond struggled and shuddered against his captors, hating the sight of you dismantling yourself emotionally, but to witness your abuse, he hated more.

Then, from a short distance, a horn bellowed.

"Dwarves!" King Gil-galad identified, the Elves rejuvenated by the surprise (and delayed) arrival of aid. In tandem, they began to resist; yourself included by ripping the dagger from your thigh and driving it into your captor's ribs; praying flesh came too when the blade was ripped free.

He grunted and shoved you forward onto your chest and hands, able to flop over to watch your approaching demise - only to discover Elrond surging up to the Orc and snapping its neck with his bare hands.

"Elrond!" You gasped when the Orc fell to the side... Dead.

"C'mere," the half-Elf you intended to marry panted, reaching down to yank you onto your bloody feet; catching you on his chest when your weight buckled. "I got you, I've got you, love, you're safe," he whispered, hoisting you into his embrace before turning for the stream of Dwarves. "Durin!" He greeted jovially.

But when the Dwarf turned, it wasn't the ginger prince Elrond knew like a brother. The dark haired Dwarf heaved a sigh, informing, "The Prince... Is in mourning," before rushing off into the fray.

"'Mourning'?" You repeated in a daze. "Over Disa?"

"His father, perhaps?" Elrond guessed, tightening his arms to lift you and turn away from an Orc rushing forward. He blocked the enemy's advance, trying to keep secure hold of you - leaving an opportunity for you to use the last of your strength to drive your dagger (still in hand) into the Orc's throat. "Good girl," Elrond praised as the creature fell, panting from exhaustion. "Can you still fight?"

"I can barely stand on my own, Elrond," you whimpered, gripping his neck and shoulders in a vice grip to remain upright.

He nodded, "Right." With a sniffle, he lifted you again and rushed for an alcove, depositing you in rubble before caressing your face. "How bad?" He asked softly.

"Enough."

"Let me see - "

"Elrond, there's no time," you snatched his hands when he attempted to reach for your skirt, "the city is under attack, it's falling to Sauron - you need to help them. Go, go fight."

"I won't leave you."

Your ears rang with the same words you told Celebrimbor.

"You have to, this is bigger than any of us," you repeated what you'd been told.

"Elrond!" Gil-galad was heard calling, Arondir appearing in the mouth of the alcove.

"Over here!"

When the High King arrived, he paused to take in the sight of the pair of you. "Good," he panted, "you're both alive. The Dwarves are aiding our escape, we must leave now... The city is fallen," he directed at you.

"You should all go," you sniffled.

With confusion, Elrond snapped, "Without you?"

"I've business to see to in the tower."

"The tower will fall," Arondir explained, slowly lowering to a squat to put himself on your level. "Whatever you think is left is lost, my Lady."

"Celebrimbor's in there. I was taken before I could get him down."

"'Down'?" Gil-galad repeated, "What does that mean?"

Tears filled your eyes, telling the trio what Sauron did to you and your Lord; the King insisting hope was lost and it was time to go. "I cannot walk," you whispered, shaking your head, "and my injuries surpass - "

"I will carry you," Elrond rushed, holding your cheek gently, "I will not leave you behind."

"No... She will walk," Gil-galad stepped forward, revealing his Ring of Power, Vilya. You were unsure what his intention, but Elrond moved behind you to let you lean back into his chest as the King chanted his prayers.

Yet you passed out before fully healed.

"My King - "

"She's alive," Gil-galad soothed Elrond, the hand hosting Vilya laid to your forehead, "just exhausted. She's been through much, far more than I care to fathom. Sauron took it easy on her, he used mortal weapons against her."

"He didn't intend to kill her?" Arondir questioned.

"He needed her alive - whatever the reason," Gil-galad frowned.

"Will she wake?" Elrond worried.

"I have faith she will, trust in the Valar," the King nodded. "Now, if you intend to fight another day, we must go. Now."

And so, the Lady of Eregion was smuggled out of the smoking city in the arms of the Elf she loved, leaving behind all she knew and created. By the Third Age, at least one scroll written by her hand could be found in every library of Middle-earth; and in the Great Library Elrond built for her, detailed accounts of Lord Celebrimbor's work as recalled and honored by his adopted daughter, future Lady of Imladris.

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[redr0sewrites]

Ok so uh- I’ve been having brain rot about having Muzan sitting on readers lap cockwarming y/n and struggling to do his work as reader is enjoying seeing him struggle

(male reader if possible please <3)

-🪳 roach anon

yes. YES. YEEEEEEESSSSSSSS.

🥀Cw: smut, amab!reader, edging, brat!muzan, dirty talk, just filth

🥀minors dni

muzan twitched, shuttering as you shifted your hips. he had lost count of how long he'd been sitting in your lap, your cock filling him so nicely as he struggled to focus on his work.

"something wrong?" you coo, grabbing his face and forcing him to turn and look at you, smirking as muzan's cheeks flush. "it can't be that hard to focus, can it, doll?" muzan shoots you a glare, ripping his face from your grasp and turning back around.

his behavior makes your blood boil sometimes, and you harshly grab his hips. a needy squeak is pulled from his throat as you buck your hips up, pushing your cock deeper against his prostate. muzan mewls, eyes glazing over in pleasure as he fights to stay coherent. his nails are digging into the desk, his painfully hard cock dribbling precum all over his thighs.

"awww, are you really that needy already? i havent even done anything!" you snicker, slapping his inner thigh so, so close to his cock. muzan lets out a hiss in pain, and even as the flesh heals almost instantly, the stinging pain serves as a reminder of who is truly in control.

muzan tries to focus on his work as time drags ever so slowly onwards, sweat dripping down his face as his hands tremble. you find a sick sense of pleasure in the occasional whine that slips past his lips whenever you shift below him, and while you adore torturing him, you're beginning to grow impatient. slowly, you drag your hands from his hips to his nipples, pinching both roughly.

"ff-fuck- uhhngh-" a pitiful noise is ripped from deep inside him, catching him off guard. muzan's whole body shivers, hips bucking backwards instinctively as you continue to grope at his chest. one hand continues to abuse his tits, palming the flesh there and rolling the hardened nub between your fingers. the other hand slowly begins to trace down over his abs and stomach to the base of his cock. precum is dripping from his tip, and his poor dick is almost purple with neglect. you move to massage his balls, then moving up towards his tip, catching some of the pre on your fingers and smearing the creamy liquid on his head. muzan whimpers, throwing his head back and clawing at the desk as you begin to pump him ever so slowly. his hole is squeezing your cock so tight, and even the slight stimulation your giving him is enough to make his release build.

"awww, does that feel good?" you sneer, biting down roughly on his shoulder. you begin to pump him faster, still groping at his chest as you palm his cock. muzan begins to rut up against your hand, hips stuttering as you begin to grind against him as well. your cock is hitting all the right places inside him, and the stimulation is making his whole head fuzzy.

"ngh- ye-y-yes, plea- oh ffuck, please, mhngh-" hes practically sobbing now, the coil in his abdomen so close to snapping yet so, so far. muzans thighs are trembling so much that the entire desk is shaking, and you stand up abruptly, bending him over and shoving whatever he had been working on aside. your hand moved from his chest to the back of his neck, pushing him down while the other continued stroking him. you could tell he was close, his whole body seemed to be quivering in anticipation.

"please, fuck- fughnngh pleeass- im so close please mmnhh-" he gasped out, hole clenching around you so tightly as his cock twitched in your palm. you removed your hand from his dick, and muzan let out a pathetic whimper. his orgasm fades, and tears begin to form on his lashline as he grinds back against you, trying to get you to move inside of him.

"fuck, be patient," you grumble, grabbing his hips with the hand not wrapped around his neck and snapping your hips against his, setting a rough pace almost instantly. muzan lets out a choked moan as you manhandle him so that he is arching his back, still facedown against the desk as you continue railing into him. you know you aren't going to last much longer, and from the looks of it, neither is muzan. his eyes are glazed over, and you squeeze his neck tighter making him let out a choked moan. you only fuck him harder, his knees giving out as he collapses beneath you.

"ple-please, master, fuuck, mhm, please..." muzan was begging with tears in his eyes, chasing his high so desperately as he grinded his ass back, desperate for release.

"please- shit- please what?" you managed, cursing as his hole squeezed around you so tightly. yoh were almost at your wits end, and you knew both of your orgasms were close but you wanted to hear him say it. "be a good boy and use your words like ive taught you," you spit out, thrusting into him so deeply he swears hes seeing stars.

"i- i wanna come, please, i need to come! i need it- i need it so bad-" muzan was practically blubbering, looking back at you with teary eyes, and your cock twitched inside him at the sight of his flushed face.

"fuck- go on doll, you can come" you murmur in his ear, and muzan whimpers, shaking as his orgasm finally washes over him. it pulls him under like a tidal wave, snatching the breath from his lungs and making his whole body quake. your own euphoric high comes at the same time, the both of you gasping and whimpering as you come down from the rush of lust. muzan is quivering, his desk and abdomen is coated in his own release. you chuckle, pulling out and whispering praises to your lover as he winced in overstimulation. a ring of white coats the base of your cock, and the both of you look like fucked out messes. muzan reaches out, sitting on his desk and pulling you into a hug.

"are you okay?" you ask, gently running your hands through his hair as his shaky breathing evens out.

"shut the fuck up," he replied, burying his head in the crook of your neck. ah, some things never change.

THIS GOT SO LONG AND FOR WHAT LMAOOOO PLSSSS HES SOOOOO URGHRRHRH sorry this kinda sucks i havent wrote smut in a while and its also like 12:00 😭 ANYWAYS I HOPE U ENJOYED SEND IN MORE SUB MUZAN THIRRSSSSTSTSSSSS HES SOOO