#that’s the fucking point. he’s white as snow

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-three —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: ily

In a split second, the ground seems to open up and you sink down, down, down into a memory brimming with death. Stark white snow surrounds you, soaked with blood beneath your feet. You hear the screams of your sister and Paul. A wall of grey descends over them. There are many, too many. All you can do is—

"Fucking run! Come on, before they smell us!"

Kyle tugs your arm and rips you back to the present. You trap the terror, throw the bow on your back, and sprint. Which way did you even come from? The meadow feels bigger than before. He seems to know so you follow him, fighting through head-high rue.

It doesn't seem like the Greys have taken notice to you yet given the absence of hungered screeches, but you can hear the uneven footsteps continuing behind you. You try to look back at them, but all you can make out through the plants are flashes of grey and green and amber sunlight. You don't slow down. You need to increase the gap so they can't get close enough to scent you.

"She's right over there," Kyle urges.

The tall grasses turn into pine needle covered ground. You make it back to Cherry, who must notice the shift in the air as she whinnies against the rope. Kyle slinks his rifle on his back, unties her with nimble fingers, and without warning, grabs you by the waist and tosses you onto the saddle. You grip her mane to steady yourself. He swings a leg over behind you, then thrashes the reins. She breaks into a gallop, weaving through the trees. 

You look back again once she's gained some distance. They have trampled through the meadow, consuming it, and you realize with a sinking pit that without a horse, you wouldn't have been quick enough to get away. From this height, you can now see just how far back the crowd extends, to the point that they swallow the horizon. 

If they continue this way, they'll reach the camp. 

A barbed fence and trench won't stop them.

You look back ahead of you, the forest passing as a blur in your peripherals. 

"We have to get back and tell them. There's too many," you speak into the whipping breeze. "There is no month."

He tightens an arm around your middle and mutters gravely in your ear. "No, there isn't."

It feels like hours before you make it back, though the sun has yet to fully set. Blood orange streaks the sky. They must be preparing dinner. No one is outside. Cherry slides to a halt in front of the trench and Kyle helps you down with a firm hold, as if he is worried you'll be unsteady, but you brush his hand off and race inside.

You enter with such urgency that all eyes snap to you. Ghost is crouched in front of the fireplace. Price and Nereida are curled on the couch, legs entangled, as he strokes her long, black hair. Blue and Ari are looking through a magazine splayed on the table.

"Greys," you announce, looking around. You land on dark eyes that widen as they take you in. "They're here. They're coming."

"We saw them by the hundreds about 20 kilometers south. Too many for us to handle. We have to move, Price," Kyle says.

Ghost rises. You close the distance and stare up at him with unwavering conviction, ignoring the nausea that has been churning in your gut since the moment you witnessed them. 

"Ghost, we're not fucking around. I saw them. A horde. Bigger than the one that destroyed my camp. We have to get out of here. We don't have the time to wait around until they—"

"I heard you." His eyes sweep over the length of you. "You're alright?"

"Yes," you dismiss quickly. "They didn't get to us. But if we didn't have Cherry..." 

You trail off.

Price stands. "20 kilometers, Simon. They can close that distance in a matter of hours. We move now."

You see a war dance in Ghost's eyes as he releases your shoulder and nods firmly at his old captain. The stiffness in his shoulders and the hard set of his jaw show his realization that the battle he’s been fighting to grapple for more time is unwinnable.

"Dad?" Blue's voice is small from the table. 

He looks at her. "Kid, go get your things. Everything I've told you to bring if we ever had to leave."

"Where—where are we going?"

Price answers. "We start with moving a safe distance away. South, past Loughborough, like I showed you, Simon. Get your map. Gather everything we talked about. Only the necessities that we can fit in the truck."

Then, everyone moves.

A pot abandoned over the crackling embers. 

The magazine left on the table.

You rummage for your things.

Ghost throws a military-grade backpack at you.

"Use this."

You fight trembling fingers to unzip it. You don't own much. Even after cramming all your vials and pill bottles, gauze, knives, and clothes in it, there's space. He fills the rest with food from the pantry. Canned beans, fish, soup, peanut butter. A few packages with bold letters: MRE. Military ready-to-eats. 

Minutes race, and you're back outside. Moonlight floods the sky. Time feels like an enemy. How far away are they now? You swing around back to the truck. Kyle and Price have already loaded guns, food, and the deflated raft around Ghost's kayak. Blue watches them finish packing. She has a backpack of her own and Grim in her hands. Her eyes are red.

Ghost comes out with two heavily stuffed bags of his own. 

"You can't take him."

Blue tightens her hold on Grim. "I'll hold him the whole way."

"You can't."

"I can. I'm not—I'm not leaving him. He'll die."

"Say goodbye to him and get in the truck."

The look he gives her is final.

She knows it.

She kneels down and releases the rabbit.

He lingers by her feet.

Tears flow. 

"You have to stay here, okay? I'm—I'm sorry."

Kyle and Ari give their farewell to Cherry. He removes the saddle. You are tempted to thank her for saving your life, but before you can, Kyle strikes her rear and sends her running toward the north. You hope she can get out of here. 

You, Blue, and Nereida sit in the backseats. Kyle and Ari sit out on the truck bed, while Ghost drives and Price holds the map. Faded headlights cut through the night as the engine coughs to life. The silhouette of the camp outside the window is the last glimpse you steal as Ghost drives through the trees.

There isn't much talking except for Price telling him where to go. When Price unfolds the map, a small paper falls out. Ghost quickly snatches it and stuffs it in his pocket. Blue trembles beside you, but she's silent. You switch between playing with the plastic bracelet on your wrist and reopening the scab on your finger to keep your mind busy. You can't think about the what-if's—not now.

The bumpy ride softens once Ghost makes it to the road. You squint your eyes to read the roadsigns as they pass, but they're faded and it's dark. All you can make out is the letter M: motorway. It must be the M1. You crossed it on the way to the village, but this time Ghost follows it south, opposite of Manchester. 

Not even half an hour into the drive, Ghost swears under his breath. He slows down to a near-stop, causing your forehead to almost slam into the headrest. Your heart stutters when you look out the windshield. A group of Greys, not as large as the one you witnessed, but still sizable, lingers in the middle of the road. The headlights draw their shadows against the concrete—dark, spidery fingers. 

"Go around them," Price directs. "Keep some distance."

Ghost veers the truck left onto the grassy side of the motorway. The ride turns rough again and you notice Blue pressing her knuckles into your thigh. You let her. You watch the group pass through the window—maybe twenty or thirty of them. They are moving in the direction of the woods. Drawn to the terribly strong scent of the mass already congregated in there. 

When the truck fully passes them, your mind drifts. You think of small things. The growing cabbages Blue planted. If they will survive, or be trampled. Ghost's books. The shed you used to sleep. The violets by the pond, in full bloom, soon to be crushed and matted to the ground.

Ghost won't be driving all through the night. 

Price claims it would be a waste of fuel, since they haven't decided upon the safest route to continue further south towards the channel yet. One step at a time. Instead, after passing signs for Loughborough and circling around the quaint, broken town-scape, Ghost drives down a gravel road that leads to a quiet, overgrown ranch. There is a broken barn and eroded fence posts, but mostly grass. At least, that is what you make out in the dark. It should be far enough from the horde to be a safe place for sleep. 

They have two tents with them. Kyle hops out of the truck bed and sets them up with Ari, Price shining a flashlight for their eyes. Sleeping bags are thrown in. 

Nereida touches her husband's cheek. 

"Are you going to sleep any?"

"Not tonight. We'll keep watch." He kisses her knuckles.

Nereida and Ari end up in one tent for the night, and you and Blue take the other. The three men will stay awake, watching over the supplies and keeping an eye out for signs of Greys. You have the stubborn itch to stay up with them—be a fourth set of eyes—but you will yourself to leave your bow at the foot of the tent and bend down to slip inside with Blue. You help her into the sleeping bag since she has never used one before. She curls up inside it.

You are barely inside your own when she whispers, "Twix?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't like this."

"I don't, either."

Moonlight breaches the nylon walls. You can make out the shape of her nose, the glisten in her eyes.

"Are we going to go back?"

"I don't—I don't think so."

Luckily, it's left at that. She doesn't know about her dad's plan for Switzerland yet. Or maybe she is starting to put the pieces together. She doesn't ask. 

You turn on your side to look at her better. You reach a hand out of the sleeping bag to stroke her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm...I'm so sorry about Grim. He'll be okay, alright? He's a smart guy. Learned from you all these years."

"I hope so," she says, quiet. "I don't even have any pictures to remember him by."

"You have your memories of him. All of the small things. Hold tight to those and you'll never forget him, okay?"

"Okay." She shivers. It's cold now without the sun. For a few silent minutes, she simply cries. You stroke her hair, from scalp to ends, and count in your head. It does some to ground you. To ignore the fresh images seared into your eyelids. By the time you reach 248, she wipes her eyes roughly and says your name again. Her teeth are gritted, to keep her warm, or to stop from crying too loud. 

"Yeah?"

"Are you having sex with my dad?"

The question makes your fingers pause in their ministrations.

Something clenches at the pit of your stomach.

"I, um—no. No, of course not."

A shaky breath. 

"You would tell me, right? If you were."

Your mouth feels dry. "Yes, of course," you whisper. That's all your brain can muster. "Get some sleep, alright?" You give a final stroke to her hair and turn away, flat on your back. 

Sleep is difficult, but the three shadows outside the tent offer a thread of comfort, so you will your eyes to shutter. You dream of an endless meadow. The tall plants turn to hungry mouths. By the time dawn arrives, you awaken, and feel disoriented. You sit upright, looking around and wondering how you got here. You aren't in Ghost's room, in his bed, with his warm body close by. Your toes are numb. You see Blue's face slackened with fatigue, half covered by the sleeping bag, her body snuggled close to yours, and everything comes back to you in flashes. The Greys in the meadow. The quick evacuation. Pulling over for the night. It sinks in. Your stomach howls, but you ignore it, 

There are murmured voices outside.

You carefully unzip the entrance and slip outside so as not to wake Blue. The sky is a muted purple. Price, Kyle, and Ghost are by the truck bed. Price has the map in his hands, and Ghost is showing him two bright red jerry cans. 

"That's it?"

"That's it, plus what's already in the tank."

"And it's full?"

"Bit less than full now."

With everyone else still asleep, you hesitate to make your presence known. You feel like you'd be intruding. But the thought recoils quickly. The more stubborn part of your brain bares its teeth. You have a right to be apart of the conversation. You want to know what is happening. What they plan. 

As you make your way over, chilled arms crossed tight beneath your breasts, it is Kyle who notices you first. His eyes soften. Then Price—his brown eyes lift from the map as he regards you.

"Twix." He greets and you think it is the first he has said your name. Ghost is the one you fail to look at but you feel his stare. "Sleep alright?"

"Just fine." Your eyes flick to the map, noticing new marks that weren't there the last time you looked it over. "Have you guys..." As the words leave your lips, the confidence in your chest falters. You clear your throat in attempt to recapture your resolve. "Have you decided where we are going next? I mean—Switzerland is still the plan, right?"

Price's eyes sweep over you once, twice, before moving to Ghost, brow ticking as if in question. This irritates you—as if he is asking Ghost whether or not he should tell you, and you have to bite your cheek to fight a scowl. 

There is a subtle nod from Ghost that you think you might imagine, but Price looks back at you. "Switzerland is still the plan. We need to get here first—" he taps a finger on the map at the edge of England,"—to the Strait of Dover. The narrowest part of the channel. The biggest question is how. Going through London is the quickest way."

"But London is bound to be teeming with Greys," you frown.

"Precisely."

Kyle threads a hand through his hair, visibly concerned. "But going around it means more fuel."

"Well, how much do we have?" you ask, finally glancing at Ghost. You are scared of the answer.

He lifts the two cans up. "About 43 liters, plus the 30 already in the truck."

You feel relieved. "That's actually decent."

Kyle shakes his head. "Decent, yeah. But we're bound to have to end up taking side streets and stopping here and there for shit that's on the road, which wastes fuel. It's not a perfect drive."

"Well," your eyes move over the truck, then back to Price, "Can't we just go the long way, see how far the truck gets us, then do the rest on foot?"

"Are you willing to carry the kayak, Twix?" Price asks.

You flush. "I mean, it's not impossible is it?"

Ghost sets the cans down and huffs. "It's too much to carry. We can't go on foot for very far, and we need the kayak."

Because the raft is for six people. Not just that, you realize, as you take in just how much is filling the truck bed. All of the supplies have to make it across the water, too. It doesn't matter if six people can get in the raft if the supplies add to the weight limit like an extra person. 

Somewhere in your thinking a hand brushes over your biceps and you flinch. "Cold?"

It's Kyle. Without your response, he chucks off his jacket and places it over your shoulders. You mutter a quiet thanks and slip your hands through the sleeves. 

You don't know why, but your gaze shifts to Ghost, though you are only met with an unreadable expression before his attention refocuses on the map. He moves a gloved finger over it, landing on Colchester.

"Then we take a longer route on the water. If we avoid London and travel on the east side, we save fuel making it to the coast. The trip across will be longer than the Strait of Dover, but I'd rather take that risk than go through London. It's a fucking death trap there."

"That's a possibility," Price nods slowly, mewling it over. He rubs his beard. "Leaving from Colchester coastline would mean maybe eight or ten hours to get across, which we can manage—with the right weather." 

"Colchester, then," Kyle says. He seems more keen to this idea, shoulders loosening. "We can take the A14 towards Kettering. Can't be more than an hour or two from here. And then the A11. It should avoid the worst of it."

Price nods and folds the map up. "We keeping moving, then. The longer we stay in one spot, the more risk." He lays a hand on Ghost's shoulder. "This was the right choice, Simon."

Ghost simply nods.

The plan seems solid enough. Drive to the channel and get across. It is the water that makes you the most uneasy, and traveling through France where no on here is as familiar with the landscape as they are England. You've tried to recall what you heard from the radios way back at the start. You know Paris, a major city, succumbed quickly. But what about the rest of it? 

You wonder if Ghost is as scared as you are to be ripped from the small semblance of safety he has had for over five years now. If he is, it doesn't show. He is back to clinical. A lieutenant. Not the man you've grown far too comfortable throwing attitude at.

When Kyle and Price leave to make a small fire with gathered kindling, he tosses the jerry cans back in the truck and grabs your arm before you can walk away.

"How is she?" he asks.

Blue, he means.

You look back at the tent. "She's doing alright, I think. Scared. But she understands." You wet your lips. "She doesn't know, does she? About us heading for Switzerland with them."

"I haven't had the chance to talk to her yet."

You nod, teeth grazing your bottom lip. "Thank you... for letting me be apart of that conversation. I know that I—I don't have as much value here as everyone else, but I am still worth keeping around. I am ready to help. Just tell me what to do, Ghost, and I'll do it. You know I will. I am stronger than I was before, thanks to you."

Ghost's head tilts downward as a breath of silence passes between you.

He doesn't comment on anything you've just said. He takes hold of one your hands. You are confused before he pries it open, grabbing your thumb and inspecting it like a slide under a microscope. The nick from when you cut your hair. The scab you've failed to let take.

"Stop picking at it, unless you want an infection."

"I can't help it sometimes."

He drops your hand. The warmth fizzles. "You still have antiseptic?"

You nod. 

"Good. Use it only for yourself. Understood?" 

"Yeah," you breathe, and wonder with a furrowed brow why he is bringing this up now. There is no chance to ask when he grabs the lapel of the jacket on your shoulders and begins to force it off. 

"Give this back to Kyle. You have your own."

Breakfast consists of jerky, beans, and water that Price and Kyle tapped from a tree. A spile. Of course, they have one. You try not to feel spiteful of how competent they are—prepared. Just like Ghost. If only Paul had such things at his disposal. Maybe he could've devised a stronger Plan B. Maybe they would've been able to get away with you that first time around.

Ghost explains to Blue the plan. That there is no going back, not now or ever. That there will be a new home for them, a safer one where they will never have to flee, far away in another country where other people have made a community, where she could have more friends. It is all wishful thinking, of course, but he has to sell it to her as something certain.

You overhear bits of the conversation as you force yourself to eat. She sounds sad and distant. Detached. Like she hears what he is saying but doesn't really hear it. Still, she isn't crying anymore. When they are done talking, she eats her breakfast in small bites beside Ari. 

By high morning, the air heats up, and you don't need a jacket at all. It is time to move onward. Kyle and Ghost take the tents down. Nereida whispers something to her husband and then disappears behind a tree somewhere. When she returns, she taps your shoulder.

"My period just came," she says, shaking her head. "Quite the timing, huh?"

Oh. "I'm sorry, that sucks. You have little towels and stuff for it?"

She nods. "Yes, luckily. Remember the rosemary I found? I use that to help fight the odor so Greys can't smell it as well. Let me know if you ever need any." You take a mental note. "You know, I was hoping getting my tubes tied would stop things like this. All it did was make it more irregular."

Your brows furrow. "Wait—you mean, you did that before the spread?"

She smiles lightly. "I never wanted to be pregnant. Really makes things less stressful now."

That makes sense, then. That her and Price don't have to worry. The question has popped into your brain a few times now, against your will, whenever you caught sight of them kissing and touching. They seem far too intimate, even in those small moments, to not be having sex in private. 

Just before taking off, you unpack your supplies and wrap up your thumb with some ointment. More than anything you want to crawl under a blanket and hide, preferably back on Ghost's warm bed. But as you crawl back into the truck, that vision fades further behind you, and you will yourself to focus on the road ahead, to keep moving. 

[smuttysabina]

Hoe Hoe Hoes

(Aria & Celine & Tina x Santa Claus, 1.9K words) Tags: Yeah its Santa smut, what are you going to do about it; That's right, these three get their backs blown out by Ol' Saint Nicks' dick; Mostly normal sex; Enormous amounts of cum, A Christmas Miracle occurs, The trio save Christmas!

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; except of course, for the gooners, cocks a-grip, pumping their meat for their favorite ship. But all was not well this Christmas Eve, for many their balls were as blue as the snow, furiously masturbating for their teasing, favorite hoes. A trio of streamers, fair Aria, Celine, and Tina, prancing around their kitchen, filling their fans with Yuletide cheer, yet never enough to bring their orgasms near. What a tragedy it would be then, for such a frosty mass to remain un-spilt, surely these slutty ladies should be wracked by guilt? But the Big Man was watching, his eyes a-smolder, for this was an issue he could not let molder; It was time to get down to business, on this very White Christmas...

The trio of girls are laughing tiredly when they turn off their stream, after an exhausting night cooking and playing with one another, they were ready to let off some steam! Aria was fanning her exposed cleavage, her face flushed from alcohol, her juicy thighs warm in the humid air of the room as she prances around in her mini-dress. Celine meanwhile was almost completely covered up in her onesie, though her own sizable bust was also on full display, even a shy girl likes to show off some times! And while her chest might have been tiny compared to the other two, Tina's outfit was as slutty as Aria's, highlighting her petite body's modest assets. Giggling and clutching at one another, they stagger happily into the living room to enjoy their festive decorations and relax by the fireplace. But something magical was in the air that night, for just as soon as they snuggled up, they heard something banging down their chimney. Which was somewhat problematic considering their fireplace was electric, and there was in fact, no chimney at all; and yet nonetheless out from the fireplace emerged the Big Man himself. The girls gasp in shock as the familiar red shape appears, Santa was here to deliver their presents! 'Santa!" the three squeak with delight, to which Santa gravely responds, "Hoe, hoe, hoe," he points at them, "You've been very naughty this year young ladies!"

The streamers gawp in horror, how could this be, they had been so kind and giving to their communities this year! Why, in their last stream they had done so much fanservice, surely their beloved viewers were satisfied by all of that memorable content? But Ol' Saint Nick (Lion of the Church, Defender of the Orthodoxy, Vanquisher of the Arian Heresy, Champion of Nicaea) was having none of their excuses, they had been spreading a noticeably un-holiday cheer this season, what good was a gorgeously wrapped present if there was nothing inside? Therefore, they were all on the naughty list! The trio wail in despair at this proclamation, surely there was something they could do to set things right? There was still time for them to save Christmas! The Jolly Man nods approvingly at their enthusiasm, that's just why he was here, to help them spread the true joy and love of Christmas! And so with a merry laugh, he pulls down his pants to reveal ten throbbing inches of holiday cheer. "Wow!" gasps Celine "Oh my god, Santa!" squeals Tina 'Why the fuck is Santa hung like reindeer?" groans Aria

The girls gather around Santa's Christmas Tree, nervous at the sheer size of it, but determined to get back on the good list no matter what; they owed it to their fans to end the year on a good note! Aria and Celine hesitantly unlimber their hefty breasts, kneeling around The Big Man, they glance at one another before squishing their tits around his shaft. Tina meanwhile puts the star on the tree, licking Santa's tip before straining her mouth to fit it inside, she sucks dutifully upon it with her arms around the other's waists. The busty pair rub their boobs up and down his shaft, falling into a synchronized rhythm, their faces flushing as their dual-tittyfuck starts to excite them as well. Aroused by their unusual situation, the girls are filled by the Holy Spirit, their pussies dripping as they throw away their inhibitions and get down to the serious business of naughtily decorating Santa's Christmas Tree with their sweaty pillows. Their tongues lolling excitedly, they croon and beg for it, while Tina moans encouragingly with her tongue hard at work slathering his cockhead with merriment. With a mighty groan Ol' Saint Nick gifts the girls some presents from his capacious sack, his load erupting into Tina's pretty mouth before it overflows and spews out over the other girl's chests and faces. Tina swallows frantically before gasping in disbelief, "It tastes like eggnog?"

But their penance is far from over, and the streamers lustfully bend over for Santa, stripping out of their festive outfits to show off their bodies more easily for him. Side-by-side with their butts pressed together, the girls eagerly look back as they await their infusions of holiday cheer; their cunts drooling down their thighs in anticipation. Father Christmas has a twinkle in his eye as he grasps Tina's tiny waist to hold her steady, his enormous sleigh pushing into her petite pussy; dashing deep into her snow. There must have been something magical in the air that night, because Tina's usually cramped cunt took every inch of Ol' Saint Nick's dick, her taut belly bulging with the evidence of a Christmas miracle! Her legs quiver as Santa plows her, stretching out her insides and filling her tummy with a warm love and goodwill. Tina is shuddering when Santa pulls out, and now it is Celine's turn to experience the joy of the Christmas Season. She groans as her stomach swells, her weighty breasts clapping together as they sway ponderously from his slow and steady thrusts; by the time Santa is finished with her, his north pole is slick with her frosting. Then it is on to Aria, who moans loudly as her stocking gets stuffed, her saggy tits flopping wildly around her chest as her guts get rearranged by the Big Man himself.

That Jolly Old Soul then spends some time switching between the streamers, sampling their holes and bringing them to the brink of ecstatic jubilation before moving on. After several rounds of this, it is Aria who breaks first. She begs for, her tongue sticking out and her eyes rolling, her hips bucking uncontrollably as she slams herself back against Santa, screeching for release. But Ol' Saint Nick is unfazed, his candy cane unyielding as her pussy spasms all around it, painting his sack with her own icing; only when she has finished does he. Aria wails with delight as her womb is flooded with sticky holiday cheer, collapsing onto the floor so that she is only being held up by the cock inside of her; she was now most definitely not on the naughty list anymore!

As Aria slides bonelessly off of the North Pole, Tina is right there to replace her, eagerly stepping forward with her arms behind her back, the very paragon of demureness. But Ol' Saint Nick is not fooled by her false innocence, and in a flash she is hoisted into the air, and then impaled upon his chimney. Tina carols loudly as her tiny pussy is once more stretched beyond normal capacity, every festive inch slipping inside of her until her lower lips are smearing Aria's leavings off of his fireplace. She clutches at his chest as she is lifted up and down his shaft, unable to do anything other than paint the floor with her love for Father Christmas. His mighty hands grip her petite butt tightly, and suddenly Tina's mind goes blank as the Spirit of Christmas fills her, his eggnog pouring within her until she feels as if she were about to burst. But when the slut was left sprawling on the floor, not a drop leaked out, a Yuletide surprise that left her tummy swollen with good tidings.

Celine was the last, and like a charitable girl she waited with her legs wide open, ready to give Father Christmas what she had denied to her fans for so long. She groans as her fertile body is squished beneath his awesome weight, but she merrily wraps her legs around him nonetheless as he enters her; she doesn't mind this sort of thing at all. Celine trembles as Santa Claus goes to town on her defenseless pussy, his balls jingling as the slap against her palpitating asshole, and soon a slick signal of her submission spreads down her crack. Her toes twitch in the air with every thrust, her sweet voice lilting high as she affirms her love of Christmas in the most jolly way possible. Only after Ol' Saint Nick has plowed some courage into Celine does he give her the most precious gift of all, and joy surges through her along with his seed.

Aria and Tina cease their furious masturbating and scurry over to join Celine, helping her up onto her knees as they eagerly wait for what they know must come next. They squish their faces together, all of them kneading their breasts like dough as they open their mouths wide as if singing. Santa waxes his pole right in front of them, knees bent as he readies to give the girls one last present before he must fly away. The trio pant for it, begging, assuring him that they are good girls now, sloppily making out as they grope one another; they wanted to try some more eggnog! Ol' Saint Nick lets out one last mighty groan, as he plasters the girls with icing, blowing snow all over their faces and down their chest, coating their hair with a thick layer of frost. The streamers sputter and gasp, swallowing the ropes that land in their mouths, licking it off one another in a frenzy of lust. By the time they were finished, the Big Man had vanished, but he had left one last surprise for them. A pile of presents, filled to the brim with phallic objects of all sorts, dongs the churned and whirred and vibrated, enough to put on a degenerate nativity play. The girls gasp as they look at the clock, there was still time for them to save Christmas! Gleefully, Aria, Celine, and Tina scoop up armfuls of toys and lubricant and dash back into the kitchen hammering the camera on and sending out blast-emails and posts to all and sundry to cum join them for fresh Christmas festivities!

The stream that would last for thirty-seven cum-soaked minutes before being shut down when a mod finally finished draining his balls and realized he should maybe put a stop to things. It would set a record for late-night viewer counts that would only be surpassed years later. But perhaps most importantly, Christmas had indeed been saved, and several gallons of pent-up semen had been emptied. And for forever after, the three hoes would be sure to remain on the naughty list...

[marsmaximoff]

🎄; 25th of december ❄︎⋆˚⊹☃︎

content warning: fem!reader. pure fluff. many curses. reader is 20 and calls him “dym” as a short name, he calls her “love, darling and my love”. they’re dating. let me know if i missed something.

word count: 732 ❣️

author’s note: i wasn’t planning on posting anything for Christmas, but i got this idea and i had to write it. so, i apologize if the quality is not that good, as i usually spend days on my writings while this was all done on a matter of hours. also, english is my third language, so i’m sorry for the mistakes. constructive criticism is welcomed as always. thank you so much for the support on my last post, and merry christmas everybody! 🤍 happy hanukkah, kwanzaa, diwali or any other celebrations too 🫶🏻 and if you don’t celebrate anything, have a happy end of the year ✨ p.s.: god im in love with dmitri and almost no one is posting anything, i’ll probably post more of him. anyways, enjoy!! <3

the silk grazes my fingertips as i stretch my arm. i tentatively palm the bed looking for some warmth, for him. but the sheets and pillows are the only things left around me.

the screen of my phone clears up as i blink. 11:28 a.m. with a bit more of focus, the notifications slowly reveal themselves and my eyes travel through them searching for his name. nothing. he’d have texted me if something had requested his presence back at the office. although, he couldn’t have business to deal with on Christmas, right? not this soon, at least.

the pearly white snow greets me through the window making me stand up with a smile. how gorgeous. i make my way to the kitchen to grab something to drink while knotting my robe, and the shiny decor welcomes me effusively. i don’t realize at first, but a big and unfamiliar shadow catches my attention from the corner of my eye while i open the carton of juice.

“holy fuck. dym?”

our christmas tree, stunning as always, lays now almost drowned in presents. in fact, the stack is such, that i can’t even make out the floor for a good four-five steps. some light chuckles behind my back fill the room with the warmth i’ve been craving since i woke up. “beautiful, isn’t it?”

i turn around to dmitri sitting on the couch, staring at me with a huge grin. as if that number of gifts was the most normal sight in the world. “what the hell?” “you’ve had me waiting, darling. did you sleep good?” he asks affectionately.

“what are you, on your Santa Claus era?” i say looking at the presents again. he grants me that laugh that i adore so much as i try to give them a quick count, but after the twentieth, it starts to feel simply bonkers. they’re not even small ‘little treats’, oh no. there’s large boxes and bags everywhere.

“seriously, are you giving gifts to your whole fucking building? or is every one of your men getting one?”

“wrong. and. wrong” he says proudly, and once he’s in front of me, he just smiles. there are obvious love and joy in his eyes, which sends a cute fluttery feeling to my heart. “dmitri-“ his lips seal my words with a gentle kiss. “merry christmas, love”. a sparkle makes space on his gaze that could so easily compete with the star of the tree itself. wait. oh. oh. there’s no way.

his hands take mine and softly walk me towards the swimming pool of gifts. then, he sits close by and points at them with his head. “come on, darling. you’ve had me feeling all impatient”. he looks so excited. so cheerful. but i can’t help the slight guilt that takes over me. “dym, you’re crazy. tell me these are not only for me. you can’t- god do you even have an idea of how many there are?!” “40”. he doesn’t even take a single second to think about it. seriously, what the actual fuck? “two for every christmas i couldn’t spoil you in” this has to be a damn dream. “we’ve been friends since school!” i say grinning. “but we weren’t dating. so it doesn’t count. i wanted to make it special.” “you really didn’t have to” i refute. “i wanted to. please don’t make me wait anymore i need to see your reactions”. with a final glance, i turn around and grab the first one. “ohhh you’ll love that one!”

how can he be so cute? he wasn’t wrong, tho. it was a special edition of one of my favorite books. during the next hours, i go one by one, filling the room with gasps, yells, curses and many “oh my good”s and “thank you so much”s.

by the end of it, i’ve got clothes, books, headphones, plushies, a phone, jewelry, plane tickets, merchandising, signed stuff from famous people i love, and the cherry on top; a new car.

“you are mad. i love you so much but you’re mad” i say hugging him still shocked. “madly in love with you, you mean” he answers pulling back. “you liked them, then?” “loved them” he gives me another kiss, longer this time. “good. merry christmas, my love. i love you” he adds.

he can only hope i’ll love the ring just as much.

[love-and-war-on-cybertron]

Christmas date with Blurr

Short little thing for the holidays. Tried to get his speed talking to show. Have you guys seen that one RATBAT piece of Blurr and the lady?

Blurr revs his engine while you snuggle closer to the warm metal. It was fucking COLD and you were vastly underprepared for it. You had turned back to get a thicker jacket, but a certain blue speedster was impatient and snatched you up before driving off. Yes, the stars twinkled in the sky as beautiful as the lights strung among the trees and light poles. The snow looking glowly, the distant music cheerful. You were fucking freezing. Teeth chattering, goosebumps, can't feel your hands: freezing.

"I'msorrysweetspark, Ijustwantedtomakesurewegotherebeforetheyshutthelightsoff." He spoke rapid-fire as he tried to apologize, revving his engine again. A benefit of having a racer frame boyfriend was how much heat he put off. Miserable in the summer, but perfect in the winter. Despite the huffiness and annoyance, you were gonna soak it all in. Tucked up as close as possible and held in his arms.

It was hard to fault the bot completely. Needing to stay hidden was already difficult when he looked flashy in his altmode, and his regular mode would draw the worst kind of attention. The city had decorated the park into a winter wonderland that would only be up for one more night. Blurr had mentioned it plenty of times, and revealed that he had been scoping the place to find the right time to go with you. Before lights shut off and when there was no one else. Even with the lack of other humans, he had to keep to the trees, close enough to see and no closer.

"The lights are beautiful, even from a distance," he chatters on, carefully tightening his hold on you, nuzzling the side of your head, "Of course they aren't as beautiful as you."

You push at his helm playfully with a giggle, "Cheesy!"

"But true!" He flashes a grin and revs his engine. Heavy footsteps thudding over the snow in the shadows. Your own little hallmark scene, minus the CEO fiancé and small town with an obsession of Christmas. His faceplates find your cheek and he places an obnoxious kiss. You laugh and wiggle out of his grip and onto the snowy ground. Cold be damned, you were gonna throw a snowball at him. Fingers reaching into the icy white blanket beneath you as he cocked his head, trying to figure out what exactly you were doing. His face was so cute… The perfect target.

Blurr steps back in shock as the snowball hits him right between the optics. His mouth agape, steam rising where it melts.

"Sweetsparkhowcouldyou!?" You cackle and make another snowball, intent on getting him again. But the bot is fast and dashes away and around you, scooping you back into his arms, "Ithoughtyoulovedme!" "I do." You reply, before smashing the snowball into his face. He looks shocked again.

"Ohsweetspark, Ithoughtwehadsomething, Ireallydid." He starts walking and you worry you took it too far. Maybe should have explained snowball fights first.

"I'll forgive you this time." He reaches up to the tree you are being held under, and shakes a branch. You let out a screech as ice goes down your thin jacket. Smacking against his plating, you call him a few choice words. He just nuzzles your cheek with a grin and point out how you started it.

"I though you loved me." you repeat his own pitiful declaration of doubt.

"Oh sweetspark. Of course I do!" He sees the way you shiver and chatter worse than before, "Enough to keep you from freezing to death." He finds his way back to the roadway and transforms around you. Once you are comfortably sat in the passenger seat, he activates his holoavatar and turns up the heat.

"Ooooh much better," You settle back in the seat and sigh happily.

"You'll warm up quicker if you take that wet clothing off." The holo-avatar wiggles his brows and you roll your eyes. Blurr drives on, mindful of the ice and resisting the urge to speed through the streets. Watching out the window as city lights fade into sparse streetlights of the highway.

"Why did you want to take me there so badly?" You ask, chin in your hand, "It was nice but…" You stop talking when you glance at the Holo-avatar. It's gone tense, a sign that Blurr is uncomfortable so you drop it.

Blurr isn't heading towards your place, and turns into a neighborhood not your own. You narrow your eyes, mouth open about to question it. Turning the corner, it looks like you're in Santa's village. Every house decked out in lights and decor. Music, lights, the heater going. The only way to make this better would be a big mug of cocoa. You turn with a squeal and look at his holo-avatar, pointing at the giant nutcrackers standing guard.

"Look at them! Look at how cool those are!" A few more streets down, and you unbuckle to scoot closer to the avatar. Leaning against him as he cruises through the neighborhood, up and down each street. Nice and slow. Practically a glacial pace compared to what he prefers. You smile wide and talk about Christmas memories, different gifts you remember and traditions you wish to do again. After going through the large neighborhood, Blurr finds a place to park, still in view of the sparkling lights. Humming along to the music, you rest your head on the shoulder of the avatar, his arm around you. "I saw some couples." His voice crackles over the music, preferring to speak to you this way, even with the facsimile of a person in the driver seat.

"Couples? Walking around?" You look out the window trying to see what he sees, and why he pointed it out.

"At the park." He starts, "I saw couples at the park and thought maybe… Wellyouoncesaidyouwishedwecoulddocouplethings. AndIsawpeopleholdinghandsandwalkingunderthelights. Kissing under a plant."

"Kissing under a plant…" You think for a moment, eyes lighting up as you realize. Leaning close and putting your arms around the avatars neck, you smile "Mistletoe. You wanted to do couple things with me?"

The avatar nods and he speaks quickly again, "Iwantedtospendtimewithyoudoingsomethingspecial. Youseemtoreallylikethistimeofyear. Ieventriedtryingtobuyyouthatchocolatedrinkyoulovesomuchbut-"

You silence him with a kiss to the holo-avatar. It's weird to kiss it. Him, this way. Like kissing an old tv after turning it off, the buzz of static against your lips. The feel of something there, but knowing it was just a very real projection. His engine growls.

"My last partner complained about this all being 'basic bitch' stuff." You said, snuggling closer, "but I love it. Romantic snowy walks under the lights…. A drive with you is just as good. Actually better. I don't have to be cold."

The speedster smiles back, engine growling, "You'renotupsetwecan'tkissunderaplant?"

You grin, reaching for one of your festive Mistletoe earrings and hold it above your head, "I think I can make it happen."

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{Heyyy so I know I haven’t really been active lately but I’ll try to get back to stuff but in the meantime have…whatever the fuck this is}~

•Snow•

When John Constantine woke up that morning he already had a bad feeling about…something

Ok he didn’t really have a thing to have a bad feeling about so far the day has been uneventful (which is odd considering it’s HIM) so John really didn’t know what was going on to make him so unsettled

But just in case (oh gods he’s starting to sound like the bats) he checked all of the protective runes on the house of mystery than checked every room for anything that all but when nothing turned up he just thought he was being paranoid

And while trying to calm himself down on the couch he heard something from behind him so he looked and when he did he saw

The Bloody Fucking Door

It was on the floor and a Being with white hair and that’s all he could really see from the hood covering their face and a mask with some of their hair coming out from under the hood kicked it the door down but before John could do anything the being grabbed him and throw him through the portal that was not there a second ago 

What has John’s life come to at this point he thought before he passed out with a cold feeling on his back and the blurry figure walking through the same portal

John wakes up to poking in his face and the sound of two pre-teens arguing

“Are you sure this is the right guy, he looks like a alcoholic” says a younger girl voice coming from his right side and probably the hand that’s poking him

“Yes, I’m sure this is the right guy he was in the magic house and he has the trench-coat” replied a boy around the same age as the girl and coming from his left side

That’s when John opens his eyes and are met with the faces of two pre-teens

~{ And that’s about it }~

•-—••••••••••••••••—-•

•Explanation•

Danny (With de-aged Dani and Dan who have been renamed Dawn and Dusk for plot purposes) had to dip from his home dimension but not the reasons you may think so

Vlad was being his usual asshole self and with Maddie shutting down any and all attempts at getting a date (I HC that he’s obsession is family because he was left alone in the hospital with a secondary obsession on control because he couldn’t do anything about he’s condition or help himself, but it’s still not a excuse to be a creep) so he was holding on by a thread at this point now to get off topic of this for a sec

Meanwhile Dani~Dawn and Dan~Dusk had to de-aged and Danny was taking care of them with a little bit of help from his parents when remembered they have children (Somewhat good Fenton parents! That’s rare in this Fandom) and a very busy Jazz has she is dealing with college stuff and everything is chill

Until Vlad’s obsession starts to change from dating Maddie and keeping Danny as his son to just keeping Danny but in the way Ra and Slade are and of course Danny is creeped TF out and starts to get ready to dip and somehow this gets back to Vlad and that’s what makes him go off the deep end and he starts to go after Danny

And in the fight to leave Jazz, The Fentons, Sam, Tucker all get got by Vlad and Danny gets injured but he is able to go through the portal and destroy it from his side with Dawn and Dusk with him

And they end up in Danny’s Lair and this leads us to now

•Explanation Done•

•—-••••••••••••••••—-•

•Outfits•

John Constantine-

Nothing really changes it’s basically the same as always

Danny-

Dusk-

Plus

( For his coat, Dawn and Dusk have to wear warmer clothes because they have a Wind and Water Core instead of just Danny’s ice core and they HATE IT )

Dawn-And her coat

•Ending•

~{And that’s it! I left this mostly unfinished so if anyone wants to take this I’m fine with it as long as you tag me so I can read! Anyway that’s about it see you gremlins soon byeeee}~

[p1nkc4lyps0]

[jackklinemybeloved]

went into this episode excited to see ylfa and the beast interact and crossing my fingers for a good elody and gerard union and came out with an existential crisis about these young nihilistic women running themselves into the ground and destroying everything because they don’t know what else to do

[beemovieerotica]

struggling with how to word this, but putting it out there anyway:

i can fully understand the posts on here from a lot of americans being tired of "vote blue no matter who" posts when the #1 thing that people are constantly (and sometimes only?) addressing is how the republican party is going treat trans/queer people if elected.

it's part of an unfortunate pattern of prioritizing the effects on a demographic that includes white + upper class people, when people of color and those in the global south are actively and currently being killed or relegated to circumstances in which their survival is very unlikely

it is genuinely exhausting to witness this, and i was also on the fence about even participating in voting because i a) felt like it didn't matter and b) every time i voiced being frustrated with the current state of the country, white queer people would immediately step in with "but what about trans people!" -> (i am mixed race trans man)

and i say this with unending patience toward people who do this, because i know that it's not something they actively think about. but everyone already knows how the republican party is going to treat queer people. you are probably talking to another queer person when you bring up project 2025. the issue is that, for those of us who aren't white, or for those of us who are but who are conscious of ongoing struggles for people of color worldwide, the safety of people around the world feels more urgent than our own. that is the calculation that's being made.

you're not going to win votes for the democratic party by dismissing or minimizing these realities and by continually centering (white) queer people.

very few people on here and twitter are actually talking about issues beyond queer rights that concern people of color, or how the two administrations differ on these issues instead of constantly circling back to single-issue politics. this isn't an exhaustive list. but these are the issues that have actually altered my perspective and motivated me to the point of committing to casting a vote

the biden administration has been engaged in a years-long fight to allow new applicants to DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, the program that allows undocumented individuals who arrived as children to remain in the country) after the Trump administration attempted to terminate it. the program is in limbo currently because of the actions of Trump-backed judges, with those who applied before the ruling being allowed to stay, but no new applications are being processed. Trump has repeatedly toyed with the idea of just deporting the 1.8 million people, but he continues to change his mind depending on whatever the fuck goes on in his head. he cannot be relied on to be sympathetic toward people of hispanic descent or to guarantee that DREAMers will be allowed stay in the country. biden + a democratic controlled congress will allow legal challenges to the DACA moratorium to gain ground.

the biden administration is open to returning and protecting portions of culturally important indigenous land in a way that the trump administration absolutely does not give a fuck. as of may 2024, they have established seven national monuments with plans to expand the San Gabriel Monument where the Gabrielino, Kizh / Tongva, the Chumash, Kitanemuk, Serrano, and Tataviam reside. the Berryessa Snow Mountain is also on the list, as a sacred region to the Patwin.

i'm recognizing that the US's plans for clean energy have often come into conflict with tribal sovereignty, and the biden administration could absolutely do better in navigating this. but the unfortunate dichotomy is that there would be zero commitment or investment in clean energy under a trump-led government, which poses an astounding existential threat and destabilizing force to the global south beyond any human-to-human conflict. climate change has caused and will continue to cause resource shortages, greater natural disasters, and near-lethal living conditions for those in the tropics - and the actions of the highest energy consumers (US) are to blame. biden has funneled billions of dollars into climate change mitigation and clean energy generation - trump does not believe that any of it matters.

i may circle back to this and add more as it comes up, but i'm hoping that those who are skeptical / discouraged / tired of the white queer-centric discourse on tumblr and twitter can at least process some of this. please feel free to add more articles + points but i'm asking for the sake of this post to please focus on issues that affect people of color.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Glass Coffin

Weirder shit has happened in DC universe, but hear me out, Young Justice finds a glass coffin with Danny sleeping inside it. Maybe it's in some ancient tomb and hidden away for centuries, maybe it's in some villain's private collection of artifacts, maybe it's in some museum in plain sight.

And then Kon hears a heartbeat from it.

(I'm going with the version of YJ that is Kon, Tim, Cassie, and Bart here, fyi)

Assuming they didn't come to wherever they found the coffin just for the sake of it, they, as the responsible teenagers they are, finish their business first and take it to Mount Justice later to figure out what the fuck. Meanwhile, Danny is sleeping peacefully like a princess, all up in his King garb, with the Crown of stars, cape of night sky, and whatever else pretty stuff you want him to have. Point is, he looks majestic.

Tim looks up the records for the coffin. The files say it's hundreds of years old, and no one has been able to open it yet. The boy inside is stated to be either a statue or some kind of really well-preserved corpse - no amount of scanning registered any signs of life, so it was treated like a piece of art for the most part.

Yet, Con is absolutely positive he heard a heartbeat inside. What's more, he can still hear it now. It's impossibly slow but still recognizable.

Cassie finds a whole lot of legends about it, most of them speaking of 'only those from the other side can open the casket', and there are no clarifications to what kind of other side they are all talking about.

Of course, they all try. Because this is some kind of Snow White or Sleeping Beauty shit, and besides, none of them even think they would be able to open it anyway. And, sure, as soon as they are done having fun with it, they will report to the JL about their finding. Maybe the magic users will know something about the weird Sleeping Prince. They even go as far as to reason with the casket, loudly proclaiming where they are from, because they all come from very different 'sides'.

Bart goes first, explaining how he is from the future. The casket doesn't budge. Cassie goes next, stating herself as Themyskirian, but to no avail. Kon is next, with his half-Kryptonian heritage, but the glass coffin doesn't accept him as worthy either.

And then it's Tim's turn. And somehow, he flips the glass lid open with no effort at all.

A moment of silence follows, all the YJ members frozen in place, waiting for anything to happen, but the boy inside keeps just laying there, unmoving and with his eyes closed. Then Cassie makes a joke about kissing the princess to wake her up, and all of them start arguing on ethics and stuff because why is Robin the one that has to do the kissing, do you have any idea where that boy has been? Fuck off, you kiss him if you want it, and also, do you really want him to wake up, what if he is some kind of villain or an evil spirit, or-

"Which one of you assholes is dead enough to wake me up from my nap?"

And that's as far as I got with this idea. Maybe Danny was put into some magic sleep, maybe it was Clockwork's time shenanigans, maybe someone locked him inside and he decided to sleep it off, maybe he is there on his own volition, taking a vacation from Kingly duties.

I'm just having this vision of eternally beautiful Danny in a glass (oh, maybe it's not glass, maybe it's ice) coffin, and the YJ arguing over it. There's also Dead Tired potential here, because I love them, yes.

[yzzart]

"𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫."

pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x f!reader.

summary: the only one who could calm a winter was you.

warnings: +18!, oral sex, f!receiving, biting, mention of manipulation, sexual content, explicit content and explicit words + take a look at the masterlist!

word count: 1.055!

Feelings of dissatisfaction, injustice and stress dominated Coriolanus Snow's chest daily; not to mention the sparks of anger that his heart fired every day. — Stunned thoughts circled the boy's head.

And it was, in fact, impressive how Coriolanus knew how to disguise, and even control, what he felt; no one from the Capital could describe or bring out anything bad in his beautiful, young face. — Besides Casca Highbottom, of course; one of the reasons for the boy's countless headaches. — He remained neutral, sometimes with a compassionate smile and moved on.

He acted as if nothing and no frustration were in his life.

However, Coriolanus had a peculiar and unique way of releasing everything he felt, all those mixed emotions and sensations; and involved you. — Specifically, being between your thighs.

Coriolanus loved —no, he loved— devouring you. Boy Snow, if he had the chance or the power, could stay all day, all the time, with his face in your beautiful, oh-so-good pussy; and that is not an exaggeration, ever. — He never believed in words of belief or rumors of the second plane of life that was perfect, but Snow had found paradise between your thighs.

Before eating your pussy, Coriolanus always leaves small, wet kisses near the area; at certain moments, some small provocative bites. — Such a affectionate, sweet and intimate gesture and you fell even more in love with that white-haired boy. — Soon, he attacked like a hunt after its prey.

Coriolanus's poisonous tongue ran through your folds, sucking them with pleasure and desire; quickly, paying attention to your swollen and needy clitoris with great pleasure. — He licked, sucked and sucked your little bud with exuberance and dedication; the Snow boy gave his best, especially to you.

The environment in his room, besides being hot and dimly lit, was full of moans and whimpers that escaped your lips. — God, your moans were so sweet, naive and formed a melody in Coriolanus' ears; the sounds that came out of your mouth were divine. — A piously work of art.

The name of your lover, which came out inappropriately and stuttered, echoed through the walls and if you doubted it, it could be heard in the other rooms of your house. — Mentally, you were grateful for your parents' prolonged absence. — Like the song of an extravagant bird.

Those crystal blue eyes, clouded with pure desire and lust, gazed at you; more than usual, in fact. — Your beautiful and so cute little face reveling in pleasure, your cheeks in a reddish tone and some strands of hair stuck to your forehead; discreet tears were present on one of her cheeks. — You were the most beautiful thing Coriolanus saw in his entire life.

And the fact that you belonged to him made his ego-swollen chest even better.

There were no more financial problems, family matters to be resolved or the academy or fucking Highbottom, there was no longer anything that made his life hell. — Only you were on his mind, his attention and focus.

"Coryo…!" — His name came out in a slurred and fragile way as more tears slowly fell from your graceful face; a shock when you felt the contact of Coriolanus' teeth on your clitoris awakened in your body. — He would be, at least, a little cruel to you, however, you denied that with all your strength.

A vibration in your wet region accompanied your warm body, an enigmatic laugh from the Snow boy upon witnessing your reaction. — Making a point of making one more contact, but leaving a gentle nibble; eliciting a thin scream from you.

Your legs were shaking, your chest was rising and falling without any kind of control, not to mention that your head and mind were completely melted; no thought with notion or consciousness presented itself. — Pleasure, distress, pain and a burning sensation of being used by Snow ripped through your heart. — On the bright side, you were helping your dear lover, right?

"C-Coryo, Coryo!" — The stimulation and speed of his tongue began to accelerate and become more abrupt, becoming too much for you. — "I'll go... I'll go." — You couldn't even complete a mediocre sentence.

You were so naive, such a precious little thing, trying to warn him that you were about to cum as if Coriolanus didn't recognize your body. — He knew when you were about to cum, Coriolanus knew your body better than you. — Like a book he read countless times to the point where he memorized every word written in it.

Oh, the Snow boy was proud of that.

"Come on, my little bird." — Coriolanus hated, perhaps that's too strong a word, birds, but you were an exception; a beautiful and unique exception. — "I want you to let it all out." — It wasn't a request, a loving request, it was an order along with a pinch made by his lips.

Regardless, your orgasm was intense, causing a strong delirium in your delightful and sensitive mind. — Coriolanus was definitely in paradise and his taste was magnificent; a flavor he could never get sick of. — He licked and sucked your release, delighting himself and getting it dirty on his sculpted chin.

Coriolanus's large, thin hands opened your thighs even further with the intention of not leaving even a drop of your juices. — Like a hungry animal, not even leaving the carcass for others.

The heavy feeling of exhaustion and a drowsy wave controlled your body slowly even though you forced yourself to stay awake and full. — Snow sucked your energy, leaving nothing left for you. — An exhausted smile formed on your lips as you looked at Coriolanus; now, he left affectionate and grateful kisses on your thighs. — You loved that damn young man.

"My good girl…" — Coriolanus felt your heavy gazes. — "…you did such a good job for me." — Your heart accelerated, you didn't know how to answer if it was about what had happened or the affectionate way he praised your; you didn’t care either way.

You didn't even have the strength to answer him, so just your sweet and tired smile was enough for Coriolanus. — He was so proud, more than he already was, and he longed for more; he always wanted more.

And in the end, he would have. — Like every animal, it would get its prey in the blink of an eye.

[blue-eli]

Edit: I found a more zoomed out

unasked for proof that Lauriam awoke in the dwarf woodlands! edited together from screenshots of "Reunion: For My Sweet Prince" and "Destinations"

^less edited, with borders and "SKIP>>>" still included! he is there!!! :)!!!! and alone :(

[monstersflashlight]

Advent calendar: Day 17. Carrots

A/N: Kinda related, kinda not, but you should watch “Hot Frosty” on Netflix if you haven’t, totally recommend it (it’s very ridiculous in the best way possible). Sorry for all the awful dialogue you are about

Snowman x fem!reader || questionable use of vegetables, temperature play (kinda), mentioned overstimulation

When your witch friend asked you to build a snowman with her, you thought nothing of it. It would be fun, the snow was fresh and everyone seemed cheerful around you as you built his round body. Your friend, though… She made hers to look a bit more realistic, less round and more angular, in a way that was giving uncanny valley vibes. But you thought nothing of it, why would you?

When she asked if you liked him, you started to suspect there was something special about him, but again, you thought nothing of it. And when she used the carrot to make a dick instead of a nose, you almost peed yourself laughing. It was just so stupid looking, all white and round but with a big carrot dick… You should have known better.

And then he showed up, alive and walking, knocking on your door and staring up and down at you like he was about to fuck you right there. His carrot dick was erected and pointing straight at you. You gaped at him as he smiled, stroking his dick slowly. You gaped some more, your eyes accidentally traveling down. That was an amazing carrot…

No. Behave, you cannot fuck a snowman, you tried to remind myself.

“Wait here,” you told the snowman, who only nodded. You grabbed your phone and dialed your friend. “Why there’s a living snowman at my door, dude?!” You screamed at her as soon as she picked up. The poor dude was looking at you as if you were his dream come true.

“Calm down, you seemed very lonely and I had a bit of extra magic lately… So I gave you my Christmas gift early. Do you like him? Have you tried him yet?”

“Have I tri- What the fuck?!” You must be dreaming, there was no way that was happening to you. You pinched yourself and blinked, but the snowman was still in front of you and your friend was still talking.

“He’s ready for you, darling. He wants to treat you like the queen you deserve to be,” she explained, almost bored. You wanted to pull her hair until she was bald.

“You did not send me a sex snowman,” you repeated, trying to make sense of what you were seeing and hearing.

“I did. Now I have to go, have fun!” She said before hanging up on you.

“We are not fucking,” you told him, your frown so deep you could see your eyebrows.

“I’m going to feed my carrot to your hungry bunny,” he deadpanned, in a tone that you supposed was intended to sound sexy. It didn’t. You struggled not to laugh, but his face was so serious you couldn’t do that to him, he looked so hopeful.

You stared at him, his hand lazily stroking his carrot once again. You felt your face blushing. You really needed to get laid, your pussy was getting wet about a snowman and a carrot… But you had more pressing matters than your wet pussy.

“One: you can’t say things like that. And two: we aren’t going to fuck.” His face fell and he stopped moving his hand, making you almost sad. Dang.

“Why not? I can smell your juices.” He could what? “You are hot for me and I’m cold for you, we should do something about it.” How desperate were you that he sounded right? You did want to fuck a snowman… Fuck, there was something so, so wrong inside of you because you were considering taking him on the offer.

“I- We- You are a snowman,” you let out, not really having a point.

“And you are a human, but my carrot is very hard for you.” You chuckled, the absurdity of it all getting to you. But most of all, your strength to hold back disappeared with that affirmation. He was made for you, and you were very horny, and his carrot looked especially delicious right now…

“Okay,” you agreed, your pussy almost clapping with enthusiasm. It had been a long time since you were properly fucked and you were feeling the need for sure.

“Okay? Are you… are you sure?” He suddenly seemed very confused about your decision, as if all his bravado died the second you agreed to fuck him. You wanted to coo at him, but you decided there was a better choice.

You walked to him and kissed his half open mouth. He was cold, but at the same time his lips felt like velvet against yours as you devoured his mouth. He gave as much as received, deepening the kiss and circling your body with his arms. You were pressed firmly against his front and your nipples instantly hardened, he was so cold in such a pleasurable way… You didn’t even know you had something for temperature play but good snowman if your pussy wasn’t quivering thinking about his hard carrot pocking your stomach.

You parted, looking at him intently, but when you didn’t find any doubt in his eyes, your choice was already made. “Fuck me, my snowman,” you almost pleaded, your voice trembling as your pussy pulsated at the same rhythm as your heart.

“Your wish is my command.” He laid you on the floor, right in the middle of your living room. “Are you ready for my carrot?” He asked, as you tried not to giggle. You nodded, fearing if you opened your mouth you would laugh and he wouldn’t give you his dick. And you needed it. You needed it so, so bad.

He entered you in one long thrust and you cried out in ecstasy. The contrast between your warm body and his cold skin was exhilarating and arousing, sending you to the stratosphere of pleasure. You didn’t know what was about to happen, but the size and shape of his carrot ended up being fantastic. The almost pointy tip played with your cervix as the wide base made your pussy clench around it, rubbing against your G-spot in the most amazing way. It was the perfect sex toy, even better, he was like a breathing sex-toy and that made your brain turn a bit fuzzy at the edges, arousal so big it was maddening.

He started a punishing pace, his dick going in and out of you so fast and hard your whole body was moving across the floor. You had to hold onto the carpet (carpet burn be damned) to be still as he pounded into your welcoming heat. He kept moaning how warm and wet you were, how good your heat felt against his cold… And you could only chant “yes, yes, yes” as he kept going.

And when you came like a tidal wave, your whole body convulsing as he kept fucking you. He didn’t stop, he fucked you through it as he used his cold fingers to rub your clit, making you ascend in your pleasure even higher. You screamed his name, pulling at his ice hair and trying to hold for dear life as you kept coming and coming…

And he kept going.

He fucked you many more times that night, his stamina endless as he kept using his clever carrot to pound into your G-spot as his cold fingers pinched your clit until you couldn’t hold back orgasm after orgasm. It was the most intense pleasure you’d ever felt, and by the time you asked for a rest, he was smirking down at you, the smugness in his face making your overused pussy twitch in anticipation.

And then you remembered… You had to thank your friend. Damn it.

[snowsinterlude]

playing dangerous.

c.w: gun play, peacekeeper coriolanus, fingering, rough sex, throatfucking, slapping, degrading, breeding, hate fucking, unproctected sex

based on this ask ! hope you like it anon, sorry if i got anything wrong. mwah

you could say a lot of things about coriolanus snow. you could say he was mentally unstable, that he was a whiny bitch who would throw a tantrum at any small thing that made him angry.

however, you couldn't say he was a bad fuck. not when he had your face pressed down and a gun pointed at your sopping cunt. you couldn't say he was ugly either, not with that white peacekeeper uniform hugging his body so well.

"don't worry," he whispered, biting your shoulder, "it only has one bullet." he smiled, chuckling at your clear despair, a total contrast to your soaked panties. "not as if you care, though"

"of course i do! fuck it, snow. you're the reason people call cops bastards!" you said, frowning at him as if your hips weren't bucking up on the gun. you didn't even knew if what he said was actually true.

"you should be grateful i'm not playing russian roulette on your pussy, darling." he said, thanking heaven's he handcuffed your hands before all that. "if you don't like it, i know just the right place to aim it. other than that perverted wet pussy of yours. are you a pervert? god, you're soaking wet" he said, grinding the gun in your cunt.

"aim it at your head, you sickfuck." you spat, not bothering looking at him.

"i don't know if you noticed but i have a gun pointed to your pussy, if you don't wanna get shot you should start being a good girl instead of a manic bitch." he said, slapping your ass and making your body jolt.

how the hell did it come to this?! you remembered that he had returned home after deployment and your parents made you go over to his house to give him some sweet dessert as a way to ❛thank him for his services.❜ fuck it. you hated him. if depended on you, he would have been killed by a rebel or something, but god, that's the best dick you've ever seen or felt, even if through grinding. you would never admit it to him though.

"on your knees, please." he said, a fake chivalry on his sadistic tone. and did you have any other options? of course not. so now you were on your knees, gulping down and watching him unbuckle his pants, his hand slapping your face lightly to make you wake up and stop looking so much at his eight inches shaft. "god, you're drooling so much just from looking. guess i won't have to aim a gun to your head for you to suck it." he said, and you stared at him with anger.

"you better kill me already cause i am not sucking that thing." you said.

well, all your defenses were throw away as he pointed the loaded gun to your head, smiling as you opened your mouth and engulfed him obediently, still looking at him with that angry stare in your eyes, that was soon replaced with tears as you took him. god, how could a dick taste so good?

"fuck, you're taking me so good, doll." he said, smiling as you drooled on his dick, getting it all wet from your saliva. "making such a mess, crying so much... you're so pretty when you're not running your mouth around so much." he said, grabbing your hair and making you curse mentally before he started to fuck your throat, his balls meeting your chin as you took him, giving in as you moaned against his cock.

too aggressive, you thought. but it was just as good as you imagined it to be. and he was getting just what he wanted to. he was fucking that attitude out of you, your throat taking him so well he only wondered how good it would feel to fuck your cunt. with that thought in mind, he pulled back of your mouth, and you thought you were really dumb from how you tried to get him to thrust into your mouth again. you wanted to taste him, and he couldn't help but chuckle at your despair.

"i didn't even had a proper taste of your cunt and you're already dumb? thought you were stronger." he said, getting you to stand up as you were still salivating. he cleaned your tear stained cheeks, the softest thing he would do to you today. so, ripping your panties and seeing your cunt, he thrusted two fingers in it, not mindinho if you were uncomfortable. your wetness made it very clear that you weren't anywhere close to discomfort or pain. and your moans did it too.

"fuck it, get away, coriolanus!" you pleaded, not wanting to be the one moaning his name that night. and he didn’t even bother listening to you, too occupied with thrusting his entire lenght inside of you. it felt horribly good, his hot cock sloppily fucking your pussy as he fucked you in missionary, holding your left thigh to hug his waist just so he could have a better access to you. so good. so hot. it felt perfect.

you felt dumb.

your eyes closed shut as you did your best to hold in your moans, letting out a few groans and grunts as he slapped your ass, getting a hold of your other thigh and fucking you with your back against the wall, your eyes looking into his. fuck. you prayed to god that he wouldn’t end up making you say something, but god didn't seem to want to help you.

"tell me, doll," he started, groaning against your lips. "who does this pussy belongs to?" he asked, and you did your best not to answer, but the way your hips were trying to buck against his seemed as an answer. "words, bunny. use your words."

"n-no. no- i won't- fuck!" you moaned, lips opened slightly as you couldn't help but let your moans out of your mouth. you just wanted to cum already. it was too brain-mushing for you to do something other than moan and squeeze his dick inside you.

"tell me, or i'm not gonna let you cum." he said, brushing the gun on your clit, the cold metal making you mewl and cry.

"i-it's yours, c-coryo. it's yours. i'm sorry! please let me cum!" you begged, crying. he smiled, kissing your cheek and tasting your salty tear drop.

"i don't recall letting you call me coryo, bunny." he said, his dick kissing your cervix as you felt it throbbing inside you.

"o-officer! fuck, i'm sorry!" you slurred, and finally he had what he wanted.

he finally fucked the attitude out of you. not only that but he also got his dick wet. it was perfect.

"good girl." and you came, shaking on his cock as he kept thrusting in you, running for his climax.

once he did came inside you, he didn’t allow you to clean yourself, made you walk and sleep with your pussy filled by his cum.

[teddybeartoji]

snow leopard!gojo, who pounces on you in the early morning, brushing his nose against yours. he nips at the soft skin of your cheek and then at your earlobe, giggling to himself as you begin to stir under him.

cracking open your eyes, you're met with a giddy big cat. his tail can't stop twirling around – he's just so excited. he bumps his nose into your again with a big grin before pulling back and situating himself onto your lap. he's so cute.

he thinks you're cute, too. all sleepy and comfy and warm. he watches you rub the remaining sleep from your eyes with a yawn and he wiggles his hips on top of you, diverting your attention back to him. he points to the window with way too much enthusiasm and he revels in the way your eyes widen at the sight.

big snowflakes dance in the air and it just looks so beautiful. no wonder why he's so revved up. the light from outside illuminates the whole room and you take the moment to admire him. his pretty crystal-blue eyes are glued to the window; snowflakes swim in the pupils and he's perfect. white hair and white eyelashes, he looks like a proper snow angel. his dark fuzzy ears twitch and a smile makes its way onto your face.

his tail swings by you and you grab onto it gently. it's so soft. you let it swirl around your hand and fingers and now he's staring at you. his lips are so pink and so are his cheeks. and the tip of his nose. he's extremely excited.

so, you usher him off with a laugh, ordering him to put some warm clothes on while you do the same.

he doesn't need as many layers as you do and he thinks you look absolutely adorable all bundled up like that. he fake-bites your nose just before stepping out, making your face scrunch up with a laugh. pulling on your gloves, you rush after him. his eagerness is rubbing off on you, there's no fighting it. he looks so happy and that's making you happy, too.

satoru doesn't waste a second before diving into the snow. he literally dives in head first and you stare at him in shock. his head pops back up and he has the most beautiful smile on his face. he shakes his head like a wet dog, making the snow fly everywhere. his eyes lock onto you and you know what's coming. backing up with a nervous laugh, you try to escape your boyfriend but you can't.

his giggles echo over the street as he tackles you into the ground. soft snow breaks your fall but it doesn't really matter because the only thing you feel right now are the butterflies in your stomach. he's so close. his whole body rests on top of you and it's nothing new; it's ridiculous, how he still has this effect on you. he brushes a few stray hairs from your face and his breath fans over you.

"you're so pretty."

his voice is gentle, the syllables falling from his lips just like the snowflakes outside. slow and full of love, ready to engulf you completely in them. there are stars in his eyes as he stares down at you – dainty flakes adorn his hair and his cheeks are redder than ever. he's perfect.

he presses a quick kiss to your lips and then he's already scrambling off of you, leaving you in the pile with a flustered expression. when you push yourself onto your ass, you see him rolling around in the snow and you can't surpress the loud laugh that creeps up your throat. his head whips towards you and he gives you another bashful grin. your heart feels so full.

satoru is laying down on his stomach and he's wriggling his ass like a real cat. he looks silly (and so fucking cute). his big crystal eyes stare at you over the snow pile and your cheeks hurt from smiling. he plays his part in being a big bad predator and he lunges at you again, proud of the sounds spilling from your lips. you spend another fifteen minutes by running away from him. by throwing snowballs at him. by getting tackled. by laughing so hard that you almost piss yourself. and by getting kissed stupid. he can't keep his hands away from you for more than a minute and you couldn't be any happier.

[peachesofteal]

MELOS

main masterlist / Azriel's masterlist

Azriel/female reader Part one of three - 8.5k words - AO3

Tags: 18+ mdni. Torture scene, asphyxiation (not the sexy kind), angst. Azriel hates himself. Feelings of despair, fear, panic, longing. Amren uses "boy/girl" so I can too. Mention of spanking. Trauma. Post ACOSF, HOFAS, canon-compliant. Cassian is a meddler. Azriel doesn't like surprises.

In the woods just inside the confines of the Middle, Azriel finds a puzzle.

More aptly, Azriel finds you, bathed in the glow of the sunset, iridescent snowflakes from the first snow delicately falling to your shoulders, your hair, the tip of your nose.

There’s magic on the wind carrying your scent, something different he cannot place, tang of petrichor sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Strange, beautiful creature, the shadows whisper. He’s inclined to agree.

Strange indeed.

For a moment, he thinks of Bryce. He remembers her entrance into this world, her stories of her home, things both he and Nesta have no concept of. The star on her chest.

She is of no threat to us. 

That’s not for you to decide.

He slips into the caliginous wisp curling around his shoulders, a shroud of darkness allowing him a closer look, just as a persistent huff at the edge of his mind pulls his attention.

Where are you? 

Working.

Working where? 

South. There’s a snort.

One-word answers, how sufficient. You’re not a pariah. Come home. 

Once I’m finished. 

The conversation eclipses his focus until you slip on the frozen riverbank and he tenses, gaze swinging to where you’ve caught yourself with a squeak, one hand behind your back, palm slicked with mud. 

His wall falls entirely, distracted, and Rhys' curiosity piques. 

Who is that? 

No one. I’ll report to you later. With that, the conversation ceases, Azriel’s walls of tenebrific smoke rising to block out the irritated hiss of his brother.

The edge of the Middle is considered somewhat safe, though not without risk, a perplexing fact that spurs him closer for a better look as you rise from the river, frozen blades of glass crunching under the sole of your boot. Your ears are pointed, limbs elongated, both markers of High Fae, but something unknown still lingers, a natural, earth rich sillage left in your wake. Your hips swing from the effort of pushing up the bank, backpack in hand, and the sway distracts him. It’s hard to ignore the shape of you, the weight of your breasts, the pert bow of your top lip. Gods, at full height, you barely reach his shoulders, and his body reacts in a way that’s out of his control.

Rhys’ warning is ice between his ears, a wound still fresh even though it's old. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.  

He’s long let her go, but the command from his brother still sits bitterly in his stomach, along with untended desire. That's all this is, misplaced salacity.

Still, even your calves draw his eye.

Lovely little female, the shadows croon. He grits his teeth and falls into step behind you, cautiously allowing inky tendrils to sprawl across bramble laced ground. One licks too close, just barely caressing the edge of your heel, and you freeze.

So does he. An unnatural stillness falls over the wood, culminating into a quiet so loud it shatters as you fix wary eyes on the space where he stands. He holds his breath, ice crystal laden cirrus clouds parting overhead, drawing back the curtain on a star filled night sky, silver light shimmering across fallen leaves. 

The night's splendor shines on you like a blessing from the Mother herself. 

You blink, lips parted, quizzical, anxious expression bringing your brows together. “Hello?”

You can’t… you can’t see him, can you?

Your reaction puzzles him. How is it you are out here, in the Middle, so brazenly, so recklessly, calling out to a place filled with such sinister, monstrous magic and monsters?

You tilt your face to the break in the clouds, downy white snowflakes sticking to your eyelashes and dotting your cheeks in such a way it’s seraphic. The shadows, his shadows, vibrate with frenetic, enchanted energy.

Beautiful, they coo as they reach for you, nearly finding the bend of your neck before he snaps them away.

You shift the backpack hung from your shoulders and take one last look around, confused, until you shake your head, spinning on your heel to head into the forest. The urge to follow you is too great, your presence here is now a riddle requiring answers, if not for his own curiosity, then for the safety of the Night Court, his family. Who knows who you are, what you are, what your business is in this place-

Shadowsinger. Nuala’s whisper halts his pursuit. The fox is here with news of Koschei.

With one more long look at your retreating back, he reluctantly steps into a pocket of a shadow, leaving the Middle and its new mystery for another time. Soon.  

Azriel does not like surprises.

In fact, he prides himself on rarely ever being surprised, at least in Velaris.

So to stumble upon you at the Palace of Bone and Salt, to see you in the midday sun, boots and muddied cloak replaced by a plum stained linen dress, hair pinned up in various places off your neck and holding a large canvas bag at your side, stops him in his tracks. He falls behind Cassian and Nesta without a single word, slowing his steps to mimic how you drift through the stalls and storefronts, nodding and smiling to others as if you belong here. As if this is your home. The wary look in your eyes from the other day has been replaced by a radiant, celestial glimmer, one drawing those around you closer, and something squeezes around his heart at the sight.

Our sweet girl. 

Stop it. 

“Az?” Nesta turns, noticing his absence, Cassian following suit almost immediately.

“Sorry,” he replies smoothly, running a hand down the buttons of his shirt. Even from paces away, the scent of your skin fills his nostrils, dampened wood from rain and freshly fallen fruit. Foolishly, his gaze lingers too long, long enough his brother notices, and breaks out a broad grin.

“See something you like?”

Cassian plants himself directly in your path, pretending to look on absentmindedly, perusing a stall piled with fresh cuts of meats. You try to move around him, but the flow of bodies stalls your momentum, and you nearly trip over your feet, giving Cassian an opportunity to reach out and steady you.

“I’m sorry!” You grip the straps of your bag, righting yourself after recovering from the stumble, and Azriel closes his eyes, resisting the urge to pinch his brow.

“That’s alright. I’m Cassian,” he grins, extending his hand. There isn't a male, female, or child in this place that does not know them, but the introduction is polite, at the bare minimum. At its depth, it's a way for his some time insufferable brother to stick his nose in a place it doesn't belong, and when you don’t reciprocate, he breezes right past, ignoring the awkwardness of your refusal. “This is Nesta, and Azriel.” Azriel inclines his head, and you look from Cassian to him, before settling on Nesta.

Most in Velaris look away from Nesta, like they’re staring at a star so bright it hurts their eyes, but not you. You meet her head on, studying curiously, and her lips quirk to the side in a barely-there smile.

“Ignore him. He’s an oaf sometimes.” She playfully nudges Cassian with an elbow, and you relax slightly. His brother doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone however, and clears his throat.

“This is the part where you tell us your name. It’s customary.” You’re taken aback for a second, a micro-expression of unease no one else tracks save for himself before recovering with a tepid smile.

Your name rings like a bell, a chime of music, strings and key perfectly played in harmony. The shadows sigh.

“Do you live around here?” Cassian pushes, and teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Yes, I- I work at Moonflower.”

“The apothecary?”  

“That’s the one.”

“Maybe we’ll see you there sometime. Nesta’s always in need of a new elixir.” She raises a brow at her mate, who flashes Azriel a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, I work in the back.”

“You’re the apothecary.”  They're the first words he's said to you, and they're wrong. They slip off his tongue too cold, too calculated, and he doesn't miss the way you frown in confusion.

“I’m an alchemist, but… yes.” Your voice is a shade above a whisper, quiet beneath the bustle of the market, and his eyes meet yours, circling in your inescapable gaze like a spider in a web. Cassian coughs, breaking his reverie. “I uh… I should get going, I’ve got a lot of work to do. It was nice to meet you all.” He wants to disappear into the crowd of the market after you, but he dreads the weight it would carry with his brother, the unrelenting questioning and pestering it would produce. 

“You too!” Cassian hollers, and then faces him with a wide grin. “Well, she’s-“ Nesta smacks the middle of his chest, and Azriel glowers.

“Don’t.”

He finds you again in the Middle, same backpack and boots, diligently picking through a patch of chartreuse moss. He swallows his scowl. Why are you out here alone, again? It frustrates him. Why put yourself in such danger?

He's struck by a fantasy, one of you with your pants pulled down your ankles and bent over his knees, sweet cries filling the room as you take your punishment for such recklessness, his open palm raining smack after smack down onto your ass.

Madness. He shakes the vision away, coming to stand at your side.

“Hello.” You whirl, startled like a rabbit.

Nice, the shadows groan, and his wings flex.

“H-hi.” Music again, a melody on the breeze, and shadows flutter around his shoulders, scrawling across the ground to where you kneel. He orders them back, wielding a sharp-edged command that cuts, but they stray farther, stretching for you, carefully floating across your forearms.  

He’s stunned, briefly, and then gathers his wits, yanking them away. They’ve never, never behaved this way. Born for him from desolation, tamed from darkness incarnate, he’s shaped them into obedient spies, tools spread across Prythian, ethereal wisps capable of things others cannot comprehend. Always in service, always compliant.

You look up with a little bit of wonder in your eyes, pretty little smile tugging at your mouth. He should say something reassuring, something kind or friendly to ease you, but such sentiment fails him, and he scowls, snapping at you instead. “Why are you out here by yourself?” Your face falls, effectively chastised like a child who’s been caught in a cookie jar.

“I’m… I need things. Ingredients.”

“And you need to come out here to get them?”

“The plant life is more vibrant here, more uh, c-concentrated? The magic is stronger. It’s hard to explain…” 

“The Middle is a dangerous place.” He replies flatly.

“Oh, I don’t have problems here. I never travel too far from the boundary.” You glance at your bag at the edge of the clearing, eager for an escape he imagines, though he’s not willing to let you go.

“You’re quite far from Velaris.” You nod, but offer no explanation, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I winnowed.” You rock back on your heels and stand, shuffling closer to your backpack. He doesn’t move to stop you, just stands in the center of the moss patch, studying your every move. “I've got to get back,” you explain, offering him a nervous smile, one he doesn’t deserve, or return. You wilt. 

It strikes a chord in the pit of his stomach, and in a last-minute moment of weakness, he sends a shadow to ride the coattails of your winnow, issuing a stark warning to reaffirm the mission.

Observe and report to me. Do not make yourself known. 

Always.

Our sweet looks beautiful tonight, the shadows report in a whirlwind of excitement, and he pauses mid cut as the male in front of him whimpers, twisting, trying break free from the chains.

That is not worthy of a report. He blatantly ignores the possessiveness, the pet name. For now.

She’s going to Rita’s with a friend. He bites down on the inside of his cheek. Her dress is blue. Cobalt.  

Why are you reporting this? 

We’re acting as instructed. 

This is a futile information, he chastises, and the answer is resounding silence as he shakes his shoulders and turns back to his prey, the crying, bloody Fae strung up by his wrists.

“Where were we?”

Outside of Rita’s, Azriel lurks in darkness.  

His family is inside, unaware he’s in the alley, tucked away from prying eyes. He’s freshly showered, blood scrubbed out from beneath his fingernails, blackened door in his mind firmly shut and locked away, just like its twin in the dungeon.

It’s been too long since he’s gone out, always choosing to slink away just before the conversations turn to plans, separating himself from Mor, and Elain, distancing himself from scrutiny or worse, pity.

Tonight, he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t shake the idea of you here, so close, so tangible.

He slides from the shadowed pocket, and Fae step around him, eyes going wide and inclining their heads as a sign of respect. 

Respect. A joke. The city cannot fathom what he has done in his lifetime, and if they did, respect would be the furthest thing from their mind. 

He dons his mask, cold indifference, severe gaze, and slips inside.

Cassian knows he’s here before he’s in view. A brother’s intuition, an instinct that has served them well in battle and elsewhere, since they were young.

Tonight, he greets Azriel with a wide, knowing grin, dragging his gaze to the other side of the room and Azriel has no choice but to follow, spotting the obvious immediately.

You. 

You’re perched at a table, legs crossed, smiling, laughing, holding a too full glass of wine. The dress is cobalt blue silk, delicate lace stitched on the hem, thin straps exposing your neck, your clavicle, your back. For a moment, he imagines his mouth on those places, he dreams about what you might taste like, how smooth you’d be against him, the contrast of his ruined hands and your satin skin.

His cock throbs, sense and composure momentarily slipping away before he regains control.

The shadows sigh. Our beautiful girl. 

Stop calling her that. 

Why? She is beautiful. And she is ours. 

“Az!” Feyre is delighted, trying to wave him over. He’s always had a soft spot for his High Lady, endlessly impressed by her resilience, her love and commitment to both his brother and the Night Court, her kindness. “It’s been so long,” she teases as he slides into the seat at her left, pointedly ignoring Cassian’s smug expression.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy with work.”

“We miss you. You haven’t been at dinner in weeks.”

“It’s true,” Mor says softly at the other side of the table, brows creased in concern. He gives her a small, reassuring smile, one he hopes conveys the truth. It’s not your fault. She visibly relaxes.

“So, Az,” Cassian stretches, too big for the booth, arm coming around Nesta and tugging her close. “What brings you out this evening?” Fucking. Hel.

“I’ve missed you all.” It’s not a lie, not exactly, even if he’s been keeping his distance, it doesn’t change how he feels about his family, how he loves them in his own way. How it’s easier sometimes, to love others from afar, how envy has infected his lungs and every time he takes a breath, he wonders why the Cauldron chose not to give him what his brothers have. A bond. Love. 

At night, when he’s alone in his bed, he accepts the truth, the reality of being unworthy, of being a bastard, of being malevolent and repulsive. It was so easy with Mor, to long for someone so beautiful, so close to his heart but still unattainable, to dream of himself as a male one could love, could be proud of, a love who would choose him, again and again, even if it wasn’t true. Even if he knew for a long time, it would never be true. A fantasy like Mor is an easy escape from the nightmare in his head.

And Elain. Elain. A vision with big doe eyes and caramel hair, a beautiful girl whose life was lost, and a new, confusing one was born in its place.

A perfect obsession.

She too, was a dream. Something to cling in the longest hours of the night when sleep wouldn’t come.

But he was a monster, and he was undeserving.

Not true. 

Feyre catches his eye and gives him a warm, knowing look. “I’m happy to see you.”

“As I am you.”

You’re drunk.

He doesn’t need the shadows to confirm it, it’s clear from across the room. You teeter on the edge of the stool, giggling, radiant in the wash of dim lighting.

He’s not the only one who notices. Around you, other males watch from the corner of their eye, letting their gazes sweep from head to toe, lingering too long on your breasts, the curve of your waist. A male brushes his hand across your shoulder, another offers to buy you a drink. Rage curls in his stomach, jealously flooding his veins with vigor.

They’re touching her. The shadows are frustrated, hissing and snapping angrily, rattling around him like a black cloud.

I know.

His teeth might shatter from the amount of pressure coming from his clenched jaw.

The male following you out the side door at the end of your evening is the straw that snaps him in half. He abandons the table, his family, slipping away into the crowd as Feyre calls his name.

“Let him go.” Cassian rumbles on the last wind of a chuckle, and he loses the parting words as he pushes the door wide, cool Velaris air stinging his cheeks.

“No need to run off.” The male’s arm is slung around your waist, your face twisted into a sour swirl of intoxication and discomfort. Incendiary anger licks up his spine, flames violent and desperate to lash out. "Let's go back inside, have another drink." 

“No,” you straighten, but both Azriel and offending male catch the liquored wobble in your voice as you hold your jacket to your chest. “No, thank you.” He tugs you closer.

“Come on, I can-“ It’s all Azriel can stand. He’s gone in one moment and by your side the next, fingers digging into the male’s arm.

“She said no.” You look up into his face, eyes wide and unfocused, but he doesn’t miss the way you relax with relief, like you’re happy he’s here. Happy, an emotion rarely felt by those who encounter the Spymaster, happy like you’re soothed by his presence. It’s unfamiliar to him, just another suprise dealt by your hand. The male’s eyes go comically wide, blood draining from his face, sputtering something Azriel is deaf to. He's too focused on the pulse rapidly fluttering beneath your jaw. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… yes.” You lurch, half stepping back, half stumbling, and he steadies you. When you don't pull away, the shadows chirp. 

“You’re drunk.”

“Yup.” You punctuate the single syllable with a hiccup, inky tendrils curling around your wrist, petting, soothing. He braces for your fear, the uptick in your heartbeat, shallow respirations, but they don’t come.

You giggle instead.

The shadows preen and purr with glee. Our girl.

His shreds of control are slowly slipping away, deteriorating in your presence, and he lets the mask fall away to reveal a small smile. You suck in a sharp breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You nod rapidly, but your balance is still askew. “You’re too drunk to winnow.”

“I wasn’t going to. I live a few blocks that way.” You nod to the east and then pivot to the west, unsure. “Or that way. I’ll know once I get to the street.” He frowns.

“You’ll walk?”

“Well, yes. That’s what those of us do if we don’t have those.” You point at his wings, gaze lingering before you look away sheepishly.

“I’ll walk you.” You blink, surprised, confused, just as he is. The words were not planned, they appeared, conjured from the cold air, pushed from his mouth by some unknown force.

There’s a twist beneath his ribs, a small piece of him rapidly stretching and spreading, pulling him apart to make more room.

“What? I- I can walk fine, I’m fine.”

“It’s cold.” His voice is soft, softer than he’s ever heard, and it must be enough to quiet your protests, because you purse your lips and relent with a sigh.

“Alright then.”

It’s odd, to want to know another, to want to understand another outside his family. This throbbing ache, freshly blooming in your presence, is different compared to the festering desiderium he’s held for Mor, for Elain, the pining turned fetid, foul in its taste across his tongue, infatuation, obsession, anything to avoid focusing on the darkness constantly closing in around him, the black tar filling his lungs, drowning him. He was born, molded, embraced by the bleakest parts of this realm, and there’s not enough water in it to douse the rage and disgust burning in his soul. His people are monsters, and so shall he be. 

The shame of it all, punctuated by his infatuation with Elain, the necklace debacle, is fire in his veins, but the iridescent halo shining onto your shoulders from your porch light quells it somehow, gentles the heat. “How often do you visit the Middle?”

You give him a sheepish look. “Often, lately. I’ve lost my main supplier.” 

“Why is that?” The Sidra saturates the breeze, briny and sweet, teasing your dress into a flutter at your knees, his shadows hovering over your skin, craving to cloak you in their darkness, shield you from wandering eyes.

“Most of my plants and powders come from the Spring Court, and I can’t really afford the… inflation.” Inflation is a polite way to put it. Tensions between Spring and Night have resulted in rising costs of goods, and total derailment of trade in some cases.

She’s worried her words offend you. 

“That’s understandable.” He tames his voice, and your shoulders relax by a fraction. “Still, it is a long way from home, if anything were to happen.” An understatement. The Middle holds horrors most cannot comprehend, wicked creatures that would love nothing more than to prey on and devour something as lovely as you. He still cannot wrap his head around the fact that you frequent it in the first place. Even the bravest, strongest of Prythian do not. 

“I can handle myself.”  He wants to protest, wants to ask if you truly know what lurks in there. “Mostly.” You add as an afterthought, little hiccup, little giggle, fingers fumbling for the door handle. The hair on the back of his neck stands stiff.

“Mostly?”

“It’s not like I haven’t run into trouble,” you’re vague, shrugging it off, and his gut clenches.

“What kind of trouble?” The breeze turns to wind that whips, cold with the sting of frost. 

And then you roll your eyes.

It’s so… bratty. His wings twitch, lightning rolling through membrane like a storm on the sea.

Wild one, the shadows chirp.

Too wild, maybe. “How old are you?” You lift your chin with a sniff.

“One hundred and two.” So young. 

The High Lady just turned twenty-three, the shadows remind him drily.

Fair.

“So… did you walk me all the way home to hold me hostage on my front step in the cold?” His laugh is a surprise. It comes deep from his chest, a genuine rumble in his ribs, more authentic than the half smiles and nods he’s been giving others for years.

“If I was holding you hostage, you’d know.” He murmurs, stepping into your space, tracking the dilation of your pupils, the quiver in your bottom lip. Normally, these reactions would insinuate fear, but you don’t smell of it. You smell like desire, like you’d succumb to him, bend for him, arch for him. “Are you cold?” Goosebumps erupt across your shoulders and down your arms, and he dips close, closer than he has any right to. He has no right to you. No right to such a strange, beautiful creature, a mystery by all standards. He who deals in death, who poisons all he touches, would stain you. He'd drag his scarred, marbled fingers under your silk dress and taint you. 

“Y-yes.” He catches the scent then, the damp foliage from fresh rain crushed under heel, soaked moss at the roots of an ancient tree. It jolts him back to reality, mask settling into its rightful place across his face.

“What are you?”

“What?”

“You’re High Fae… but there’s something else.” Hesitance flickers in your eyes, and you pull away, creating distance. Good. He needs it. You confuse him, cloud his judgement, sowing uncertainty he’s not used to.

And every time he looks at you, his chest aches.

“Nothing important.” He cocks his head.

“Is that so?” You shrug.

“I’m a half-breed.” He hides his disgust at the term, but it doesn’t change the rage it ignites, the disdain.

“Half what?”

She barely knows you; she has no reason to trust you, the shadows sulk, unhappy with the turn of events as you take the last stair and open your door, turning to for one last look at him. 

“I’m not a threat, Azriel.”

Truth. 

“Any news?”

“No.” The silence is long suffering, and after he offers nothing further, Rhys sighs.

“Azriel-“

“I have work in Dawn this coming week, leaving tomorrow. I expect to be gone for a full seven, even eight days. I’ll report back once I’m home.”

“Okay.” Azriel’s shield is wall of shadow impenetrable by most, and even though the relationship between them is strained, his brother would never force his way into his mind.

If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.  Or maybe be would. 

He was given an order; orders are meant to be followed, something Rhys’ own father instilled in him early on, and though it's been months, it's still too bitter in the back of his throat. Rhys’ father ordered him. Often. Treated him as one would treat an object to be used, a weapon to wield. Azriel was defined by the shadows, for his usefulness, not for who he truly was. 

He had never been on the receiving end of this manner of treatment from Rhys, and he could not deny that he had trouble stomaching it. 

“Where have you been staying? Your townhouse?” He schools his features, smothering the annoyance at what he knows must be common conversation between his brothers.

They’re worried about you. Cassian misses you at the House of Wind. 

We’ve cohabited for over five hundred years; some distance is not going kill him. 

“Yes, wanted to give Cass and Nesta some space.” The lie is as flimsy as they come, because he doesn’t care. He needs space. “They’re quite loud.” That isn’t a lie, at least. Rhys studies him.

“Where are you, Az?” It's not a literal question. He and his brother share many things, but the strongest strings are knotted tight around each other’s darkness, bonds forged in agony, in rage, in revenge. There are parts, pieces of each other that match, heinous, wrathful pieces hidden away but never healed. When Rhys asks where he is, it’s to know how deep he is in the gloom that never leaves.

“I’m here.” It’s short, be he cannot give anything more. Cannot give more to the High Lord, Rhys, his brother, the one he has given everything to. The one he has been most loyal to above all. The one who would treat him now, as his father did. 

He pities Rhys, in a way, something he’s never held for him in the past, but now… now is different. Rhys is different, his stakes have never been higher. A mate, a son, a realm on his shoulders, he's struggling, in his own way, and the collected High Lord is few and far between these days, in his place a reactive, high-strung male he doesn’t always recognize. He’s not sure Rhys recognizes himself either. 

“You won’t get too far?” At the root of it, no matter how turbulent this time between them may be, the bond of brotherhood is the strongest of them all, holds them fast to one another, keeps them close, even if one strays.

And so, Azriel assures him, the words gritted through his teeth. His rage is a tangible thing, a living breathing thing but no matter how angry he may be, Rhys is still his brother, even in these iterations. The realm changes, scales tipping back and forth, but the brothers remain steadfast through times of peace and battle.  “I won’t.”

He’s to leave for Dawn this afternoon, but for some reason, he finds himself at Moonflower’s front door.

It’s early, half of Velaris still waking up, and the shop is clearly closed, though it doesn’t matter to him. He knows you’re here, sodden gorse and peeled bark drifting on the morning breeze from a large back window. For some unknown reason, it soothes him to know it, to be able to account for your whereabouts.

He pulled his shadows back from surveillance, convinced he would leave you alone, let this rest-

but he still flew here this morning.

It bothers him, this magnetism, the draw towards your presence.

You’re a mystery needing to be solved, that’s all.

“Shadowsinger,” your head cocks. “What brings you here so early?”

“I wanted to ensure you won’t be visiting the Middle this week.” Your brows knit together.

“I uh… no. I won’t need to go for another two weeks, I think.”

“I’ll accompany you next time.” His patience with this situation is wearing thin, but his agitation with himself spills out onto you. 

“That’s not-“

“It’s not a request. You’re endangering the Night Court.” You smother a flinch.

“I’m not, I swear, I’d never do anything to hurt anyone.”

“That remains to be seen.” He’s the Spymaster now, cold and unfeeling, but you’re still not scared. “Your refusal to disclose what makes up the other part of the half-breed in you is reason enough.” He uses the term as a weapon, and it hits his target, as always. Azriel never misses. You wince, glancing down at the floor, shoulders slumping a tad before you right yourself. The barb stings because like Rhys, like Mor’s mother and countless others, you’ve faced the abuse, the vitriol, the torment from those who would crush you beneath their feet if they could.

It hurts, a whip lashing across his cheek, bleeding him for the pain he’s causing you. A consequence, another mark on his soul. You lift your face again, the emotion gone, and you nod.

“Okay then.” An overwhelming urge to reach for you comes over him, to tug you into his chest and shield you with his wings, hide you away from all the ugly, terrifying things in this world-

Including himself.

He shoves it to the side, buries it where it belongs, where the light doesn't touch, and nods. “I’ll be away this week but when I return, I’ll come by.”

He doesn’t say goodbye, and smothers the urge to get one last glimpse of you, even though he wants to. 

There’s dirt beneath your fingernails.

You’ve been digging around in the same riverbed for almost an hour now, rifling through rocks and silt, bottom half of your body soaked and muddy, again. “There we are,” you murmur plucking an iridescent onyx stone from the marl and placing it in your bag. 

He has… so many questions.

And he’s afraid to admit to himself he finds you… enchanting. Clever, beautiful, kind. He wants more, wants to soak you up, dance to the harmony of your voice.

Ask, the shadows encourage. Talk to her.

He’s been standing on the bank a few paces away for some time now, leaving you to your foraging, but never letting you get too far away. You haven’t said more than ten words to him, and he hasn’t pushed you. The disgrace of the last time the two of you spoke still weighs heavily on his shoulders, another tally in a long list of transgressions. 

Try. 

“How does it work?” Your head snaps up.

“What do you mean?”

“Your work. Moonflower sells elixirs and potions, but they’re an apothecary, and you’re an alchemist.”

“Well, I am an apothecary too. Contraceptive tea doesn’t make itself,” you give him a mischievous smile before turning serious. “Magic binds better to precious metals. I transmute and mix them together, then pair them with salts or chemical compounds found in herbs and plants. One complements or enhances the other.”

“You’re putting metal in them?” You shake your head.

“No, I extract the minerals from the metal after transmutation and infuse the elixirs. I can make everything from contraceptive tea to…” You trail off, lips pressing into a thin line.

“To?”

“Poison. Faebane.” He hears your heart flutter, pulse ratcheting upward as you give him a cautious look, and every muscle in his body tenses.

“Who do you make it for?”

“I’m not sure, I received an ongoing order request signed and sealed by the High Lord years ago, and I’ve been producing it ever since.” You stand, brushing your hands off on your thighs, mud caked in the lines of your palms, head tipped back to peer at him. “It’s picked up by one of the Wraith sisters each month.”

Does she know? The shadows don’t answer.

“I like them,” you continue, making your way up the bank, “Cerridwen even gifted me a hooded shawl last Solstice. It’s beautiful. I wear it often.”

“I see.”

“I think the Faebane is for the Spymaster,” you peek at him coyly, mouth quirked to the side in a small smile. “Who is also the Shadowsinger, right?” He fights to his expression neutral. 

“You know.”

Of course she does. Our sweet is very clever. 

“I thought… maybe. I wasn’t sure.” He’s beginning to worry about your instincts. First, he discovers you’re spending time out here in the Middle, alone, and now, he learns you’ve suspected he’s the Spymaster, Rhys’ torturer, this whole time.

“It doesn’t concern you?” He blurts, incredulous. You should fear him. You should be terrified and disgusted. You should be smart enough to recognize his rotten, tainted soul.

“No. I make poison, after all.” You shrug. “I don’t make judgements of others.” Guilt twists like a knife.

“What I said the other day, about being a half-breed…” You wave your hand, trying to brush him off.

“It’s fine.”

It’s not, the shadows hiss. You hurt her.

He pulls up short, turning to face you. “It was cruel, and I am sorry for it.” He’s locked in your gaze, the rest of the woods, this place, Prythian disappearing as he loses himself in you. He hears it again, the mellifluous harmony of a grand orchestra, notes and chords playing together in an intoxicating paragon, richer, more potent than any wine, each one building upon the other, creating a song that draws him in, urges him to reach for you, cup your face and hold you there so he can memorize every refraction of light in the kaleidoscope of your eyes. “I-“

“It’s okay,” your hand brushes his, and he tenses, preparing for the recoil, the disgust, but it never comes. Your touch is gentle, fingers slipping between his, silk on scars sliding together seamlessly. He wants to push you away, wants to tell you not to touch him because you’ll dirty yourself. He’s a monster and you’re something else, something winsome and full of wonder, something not for him. “I forgive you.” You forgive him. He almost laughs at the absurdity. Forgiveness, as if that’s something he could ever earn, as if there was a way to seek and find it. As if he even wants it.

From many it would mean nothing but from you… it’s different. It's a balm, cool water over a burn, sunlight shining down on him in a dungeon. 

You don’t look away, and you don’t let go. You hold him there, in front of you, gentle and patient, but unyielding. The throbbing ache that’s become ever present beneath his ribs grows, and it drags him close, a magnetic pull he can’t fly away from leading him straight to you. It’s a power strong enough it could bring him to his knees at your feet, his entire existence whittling down to the sound of your breathing as he carefully cradles your face.

“Azriel,” your whisper is music, heartbreakingly beautiful, a hauntingly familiar melody he may have been hearing all his life and had been none the wiser to. A siren's song on the sea. Captivating. Intoxicating. He strokes his thumb across your cheek and falls away into it, pressing his mouth to yours, drinking you in. The kiss is careful at first, a delicate question posed between two with one waiting for an answer, and when it comes, it comes with a symphony, ambrosian and endless, unleashing a warmth unlike he’s ever felt through his chest.  He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be marring you like this, staining you, but he cannot stop, and when you tug him close, lips parting to allow his tongue past your teeth and find yours, you cling to him, the purr of a whimper building in your throat. 

What is he doing? He's snapped out of the spell. Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you turn your attention to your bag, mindlessly fidgeting with the collection of flora and rock in the bottom, avoiding his eyes. Embarrassed. Shamed by him, rejected by him. 

No! the shadows lament. “We should keep going, if you have more things to find?” You nod, looking past him towards the woods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Your dagger is loud, by the way.” It's the first thing you've said in thirty minutes, and it's strange, like you. 

“What?”

“The dagger,” you motion to where Truth-Teller is strapped to his thigh, “it’s magic is loud. I can’t imagine what I’d find if I-“ Something cracks in the woods to the north, far enough away to echo, close enough to raise his hackles, spread his wings, and he grabs your wrist, pulling you into his side. The forest groans, turning malicious, wicked power crawling through the brush towards the river.

Leave. He curls a wing around you as a shield.

“What-“

“We’re leaving.” There have been lesson learned here, too many times, and he’s not about to risk you. He conjures a pocket, a corner of star flecked shadow, and tugs you into it, leaving the Middle behind.

He decides to sleep at the House of Wind.

It’s a shield, a technique to combat his desire to be close you. If he’s close to Cassian, to Nesta, if he’s here, he’s not there, with you, where he dropped you off at your doorstep, where the two of you lingered before you disappeared into the house. He’s not battling his instincts, his need to sit on the roof and keep watch.

He’s here instead. Where he should be.

Cassian grins from his spot on the couch at the sight of him, Nesta casually looking up from her book. “Out with your witch again?” He pulls up short, blood turning frigid, freezing through the veins in his wings all the way to his heart. “You didn’t know?” Cassian’s head swings towards her.

“I thought we discussed waiting for proof, Nes.” Azriel shoots him a murderous glare.

“Having discussions about my life, then?” It’s a small rock in an ocean at this moment, but it adds fuel to the roaring fire of rage curdling his stomach. Nesta raises an eyebrow. 

“No,” his brother protests, “I thought- Nesta suspected something, but I didn’t want to tell you until we knew without a doubt.” He emphasizes the last few words, and she shrugs.

“She’s a witch, or at least, partially. The power is unmistakable. She has that smell, too. Old trees.” She's lost for a second, in a memory, silver fire crackling and then gone, and he knows she knows, where you've been, where he's followed. You don't just smell of old trees, you smell like the Middle.

The shadows coil around his shoulders, peeking out at Nesta like she’s personally offended them.

It’s not what you think. 

You knew? And kept this from me? 

He’s rarely, if ever, is so irascible, but this information ignites an anger so fierce his siphons hiss and glow cobalt blue, power straining against his control, desperate to be unleashed.

“What are you going to do?” Cassian shouts at his retreating back, and he caresses Truth-Teller’s hilt.

“Find out for myself.”

Your words pound in his head like a drum.

“The magic is stronger. It’s hard to explain…”

“Oh, I don’t have problems here. I never travel too far from the boundary.”

His mind spins as he flies through the night, shooting across the sky fast enough for the wind to prickle at his cheeks. A witch. 

Witches are dangerous creatures. They’re power hungry, desperate to collect as much magic as this realm will allow, and then use it as they see fit, whether it be for good deeds, or evil ones. This unpredictability combined with their thirst for young blood, a compulsion fueled by the corrupted core of their stolen magic, makes them a threat.

Makes you a threat.

Your house is small, but comfortable. A narrow townhome nestled in a row of others with wide plank wooden floors and variations of dark colored paint on the walls, cozy and calm. Bookshelves overflowing, large worn velvet couch, bundles of herbs on your living room table, in your kitchen. You have an assortment of mugs, mismatched wine glasses and china, clothes haphazardly draped over chairs. To someone who doesn’t know you, it would seem messy, but to him, it’s fitting. It makes sense.

It's the only thing that makes sense in this moment. The rest of it, his ignorance, the disobedience of the shadows, his blindness, all bear down upon him. He failed to recognize a threat to this Court, his family, he allowed himself to be distracted, again, by a female, he succumbed to an enchantment, a bewitching. The strange pull he felt towards you, the music in his head, the throbbing behind his ribs, all a spell set upon him, by you.

You’re stunning in your sleep. Wrapped in sweet dreams, lashes feathered against your skin, rolled onto your side. You’re only wearing a nightshirt and underwear, the curve of your hip visible from where your sheets are half kicked off. Lovely.

He lets you linger in a last moment of peace. If you wake before he’s ready, he doesn’t know what magic he’ll face, what creature he’ll truly encounter, and he wants to hold onto to this, to you, before it all changes.

He brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers and that thing inside him weeps, something agonizing trying to claw its way forward, but he buries it deep.

By the time you’re awake, it’s too late.

“Azriel?” Your voice is weak, confused, and you blink blearily at your surroundings, stone wall, stone floor, small light at the roof of the chamber that’s too far away. He keeps the space lit by fae lights instead, flickering and low, illuminating the space just enough to see him, and a table in the corner.

You're trapped in Faebane cuffs and chained to the floor. Fragile, weakened by your own creation. 

When you become fully aware of your surroundings, you thrash, fear thundering in your heart. “What is this?”

“Thought you might like to see how the product of your hard work is used.” You tug at the cuffs to no avail, and then look up at him with eyes so sad, so frightened, it stops him in his tracks.

Why does this feel so wrong? 

Think, Shadowsinger. The shadows beg but he banishes them, still enraged by their betrayal.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” He shrugs. Casual indifference, cold regard. The Spymaster, the torturer.

“No?”

“I haven’t done anything, I haven’t, I swear.” He bends shadow over your eyes, marring your sight, plunging you into darkness and you gasp, twisting and turning, looking for the light you won’t find. “S-stop.”

“You’ve been keeping something from me, haven’t you, little half-breed?” He mocks you with it, drenches it in disdain, and you shake your head weakly.

“I haven’t… I swear, I ju-just wasn’t ready-“

“To tell me you’re a witch?”

“I’m not!” You cry, and he covers your mouth with insidious tendrils, cutting off your airway. You can’t see, you can’t breathe, and your panic is ripe, flooding the room, its acrid scent making him nauseous.

The gag holds for a minute or two, and when he releases, you slump over, gasping. Truth-Teller burns in his hold.

“Tell the truth, and it’s over.” Please.

“There’s n-nothing to tell.” Frustrations mounts and he cuts you off, this time for longer, long enough he registers the slowing of your heart, the lack of tone in your muscles. Shadows wrap around your throat, pressing on your windpipe so hard you’re whistling, slow leak of air turned tea kettle as you try to breathe.

He allows you a moment, and then resumes, pushing you to the edge, walking a slow, measured circle around you like a wolf stalking prey. There’s a pull deep inside him, something tugging at him, a desperate plea he does not understand.

Please. Stop this. 

He releases, you relent. Finally. “It’s my mother,” you rasp, tongue darting out to lick your lips, “she- it was her. She was a witch, and my father is Hi-gh Fae. He had an affair, and then banished her to the Middle. It’s wh-where I was born. Everyone would b-be so afraid of me if they knew, but I’m not- I’m not a witch. I’m ju-ust a half-breed." You’re sobbing now, each heave increasing the agony inside him, broken, raw sound echoing throughout the chamber. His mother’s face flashes in his mind and his stomach flips as he breaks out in a cold sweat. “I use that side of my to make things. Th-the alchemy, that’s all it’s good for. It’s not even that strong, I swear.”

Truth. 

It’s all truth. Every word. Every broken, desperate, frightened word.

He is a fool. 

He pulls the shadows from your face and you stare at the floor, small against the stone until you finally look up at him, cheeks soaked, eyes-

Something snaps.

Threads of brilliant cobalt blue spin from him, each string plucked in celestial succession to create perfect harmony, and the shadows sing. They sing for you, they sing to you, they sing the song he should have known all along. They sing of the path laid before him, the bridge that would carry him to you, the chords and notes coming together in a crescendo of souls, a blazing bond sealed by fate.

Mates. 

The threads stretch and strain, the music rising, but your side, your part, is missing. It’s dark, thickened by bramble and bracken, sharps and flats, lost to him in this moment.

This moment, where he has broken you. Tortured you.

He feels it all. Your terror, the agony. The sense of hopelessness overflowing and soaking the threads. 

“I-“ He falls to his knees, shadows twisting around the cuffs to unlock them, “I’m sorry.” You’re trembling, curling in on yourself and he wants so badly to pull you into his arms, to hold you close, wrap himself around you and beg for forgiveness. He wants to promise he’ll protect you; he’ll care for you; he’ll keep you safe. He’ll be worthy of you. He’ll fix this.

But how can he after what has been done. After what he has done. 

“I w-want to go ho-ome.” The words are covered by sobs, and his hands shake as he gently takes hold of your shoulders, pulling you out of the dungeon and back into your bedroom.

He stands there, helpless and lost as you crawl away from him into your bathroom, the handle locking with a resounding click. The bond is alive and open on his side, your distress and fear and despair radiating down into Azriel, the strength of your emotions ripping him apart.

You don’t want him here, that much is clear.

Cassian is still awake when he returns, and his brother ripples with shock at the sight of him.

He knows how he looks.

Crazed. Devastated. Possessed.

“What happened?” He lurches forward, still dressed from evening training, siphons gleaming, scanning for a threat, a fight, a reason for Azriel’s agony.

He’ll find none. Only Azriel is responsible for this horror.

As always. 

“She…” He can’t say it, can’t force the words. Can’t accept the truth, the terrible, painful truth. “She’s mine.” The blood drains from Cassian’s face. “She’s mine.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“I- I didn’t… I didn’t get very far but I still… I still-“ He chokes on it. “She was so scared, Cass. She never… she was never afraid of me; from the day we met. She always, she looked at me differently. She trusted me. She… held my hand.” Cassian’s eyes slipped close. When they reopen, they’re determined. Strong.

“You’ll fix it. I know you will.” Azriel doesn’t hear him.

“I don’t deserve her, or this bond. When she realizes, she will sever it, and she’ll be right to. I have never been worthy, and the Mother knows. That’s why this happened.”

“That is not true. You made a mistake, and you were trying to protect your family, your court. She will understand… in time.”

“How?! How could anyone understand this? Excuse it?” He yells, and a door down the hall opens, Nesta appearing in the room, sharp and assessing.

“What’s going on?”

“Go back to bed,” Cassian growls, and though she glares, she listens. “Az, listen to me. It will be alright. You can fix this, you can.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You will figure it out, and we will support you, we’ll help in any way we can. It will be okay.”

“She will never forgive me.”

“And you’ll never know that until you try.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair and then fisting it at his side. “This is Nesta’s fault.”

“Cassian,” Azriel snaps, patience shredded. “Not everything is your mate’s fault, for fucks sake. Stop projecting your guilt over your own transgressions onto Nesta. I’m sick of it.” Silence falls between the brothers, and after a long moment, Cassian nods.

“I deserved that,” he eyes him cautiously, “what do you want to do?” He needs silence. Solitude. Cassian knows, but he’ll still say it out loud, if only to make it clear. Don’t follow me. Don’t send others to check on me. 

“I need to be alone."

[paceprompting]

Need a Ride?

written for ‘snowfall’ wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: g | cw: non archive warnings apply | tags: alternate first meeting, pre-season four, feat. steve harrington's beemer

@steddieholidaydrabbles

He was sending his van right to the dump this time. He meant it.

Stupid engine he’d had to drop all his profits on for the third time crapping out right in the middle of the road. Leaving him to hoof it back to the gas station and hope that Wayne was home from his shift to get the call.

And of course, the snow season had to start today.

Head ducked against the wind, with only his battle vest and leather jacket against the bracing cold and snowflakes that stung his cheeks and nose where it wasn’t covered by his hair. He was just glad that there were streetlights so he wasn’t veering off into nowhere in the dark.

He could barely feel his fingers in his pockets by the time he made it to the station. He was still shivering, so he wasn’t quite at the point of hypothermia, but even dialing the numbers on the pay phone was a bit of a feat in itself.

Eddie put his back to the wind as the phone rang. And rang. Eventually, it rang out.

Wayne must have picked up a double shift. Not unusual, especially this time of year. Honestly, Eddie should have guessed that in the first place and called the plant instead of the trailer.

And he didn’t have enough change for another call. Guess he shouldn’t have stopped to buy that pack of cigarettes. That he’d already opened and smoked one from before his shitty van broke down.

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed, smacking the receiver into the hook.

He could trudge back to the van and settle in for the night. But without heat, he’d be just as well off trying to walk home in the wind and snow. And he wasn’t going to be getting sympathy with how he was dressed for spare change, much less did he have anything to deal to someone who would give him the time of day.

If he didn’t figure this out quick, he was going to get arrested for loitering.

Although…

“Munson?”

He perked up despite himself, recognizing the voice. Even if it wasn’t exactly someone he was elated to have run into at a pretty low point in his day.

Standing there under cover from the wind, the snow fell gently onto Steve Harrington. Of course it did. Settled on his hair and his jacket like powdered sugar on an overly-sweet dessert.

He wasn’t getting gas, pulled over and stood with the driver’s door open. One hand braced on the door and the other on the hood of his car, Steve stared curiously at Eddie. He was actually dressed for the weather, a puffy white and pale blue-striped monstrosity with fur around the hood.

Steve glanced at the rest of the gas station, noticing that his was the only car around.

“What are you doing here?”

Eddie stayed beside the payphone, in the wind and snow, but the farthest he could be from Steve. He’d dealt to him a few times, just weed, really, and only knew Steve by reputation. Last he’d heard, Steve had just dumped his two lackeys, Tommy and Carol and had slung ice cream at the Starcourt Mall until it burst into flames.

Why Harrington could care about him, Eddie had no idea.

“Van broke down,” he answered shortly, shoving his hands in his pockets even though the leather was nearly as cold as the wind. He gave a strained smile. “Stuck here.”

“Phone busted?”

“Out of money.” Eddie cocked his head, feeling bold. “Got fifty cents?”

It’d be enough for another call to the trailer and one to Wayne’s work for safety.

Steve raised both brows, and Eddie blanched. He and Steve were practically strangers, and he’d immediately hit Steve up for money. Even if he was known as the rich kid with parties every week because his parents were never home—Eddie was so far off his radar, he might as well have been gum under his shoe.

“I could give you a ride,” Steve said instead. “Forest Hills, right?”

A ride in the Steve Harrington’s Beemer. Sleek and maroon and drool-worthy.

The girls at school that would have literally slit his throat to be in Eddie’s place.

Eddie’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but he managed to find words and point back at the payphone with his thumb.

“I really just need to call my uncle. He’ll come get me.”

Steve leveled a gaze at him. “And you’ll spend an hour in the snow waiting. I’m not going to leave you out here to freeze.”

Eddie sucked his teeth, staring Steve down. He hated to give Steve the point of being right, but he was starting to lose feeling in his hands and his cheeks were stinging from the wind across his face.

He sighed, wetting his bottom lip. Or tried to, since the wet from his tongue only made his face freeze more.

“Fine,” he said, ducking his head as he trudged toward the Beemer. He didn’t dare stop to double-check with Steve, wincing as he pulled his hand from his pocket to open the door and slide inside.

The inside was immediately ten times warmer, blasting from the fans and Eddie nearly moaned. Until Steve’s door slammed closed and suddenly Eddie was inside Steve Harrington’s car. With Steve Harrington.

“You good, Munson?”

He was staring, he realized only after Steve spoke. If Steve wasn’t apprehensive about letting the school freak into his car, he was sure to be when Eddie acted as though he’d been raised far from civilization.

He forced a hard swallow. “Just surprised this isn’t all some trick. My type doesn’t exactly mesh with your type.”

Steve gave this chuckle, like an inside joke only he had any idea of.

“Right,” he said softly, and Eddie definitely felt as though he was way out of the loop on a new kind of Steve Harrington.

A kind he had a single car ride to figure out.

Part Two