#the power these two exude....... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zeroxxlhero · 23 days ago

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Beastly Instincts • Vi & Caitlyn Kiramman

Warnings: 18+ characters, begging, edging, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, dom! Vi, sub! Reader, dom! Caitlyn, hair-pulling, double penetration, blowjobs, rough sex, foreplay, biting, blood-sucking, gp! Vi and Caitlyn, multiple orgasms

Pairings: Violet x You, Caitlyn x You, Vi x Caitlyn

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)

Caitlyn and Vi’s growing desperation leads to them initiating a search for you, their hunger not just for your blood but for the power and control you exude. It’s a game of cat and mouse, but you’ve turned it into something far more dangerous—a trap they walked into willingly, even knowing they might never escape.

The night was still, save for the whisper of wind that rustled through the leaves and carried the scent of the hunt. Caitlyn and Vi moved through the dense forest, side by side but worlds apart in focus. Both were creatures of power, bound by their instincts yet driven by something far more dangerous: the memory of you. The two of them had felt the pull of your blood, the intoxicating lure of the power and pleasure you’d given them, and now they wanted more.

No, they needed more.

“I told you, she’s not just some ordinary hunter,” Caitlyn hissed under her breath, her sharp eyes scanning the undergrowth. Her voice was measured, calculated, but there was a fire burning behind her composed demeanor. “She’s clever. She won’t make this easy.”

Vi frowned, flexing her fists as she cracked her knuckles. “Doesn’t matter how clever she thinks she is. I can track anything. We’ll find her.” Her confidence radiated like heat, but even she couldn’t deny the gnawing frustration clawing at her gut. She could still feel the phantom touch of your hands, the intoxicating tease of your presence, and it was driving her mad.

They moved in silence for a time, their heightened senses alert to every sound, every shift of the shadows. Caitlyn’s nostrils flared as she caught a faint trace of your scent on the wind, and her heart raced despite herself. It was subtle, almost maddeningly so, but it was there.

“She’s close,” Caitlyn muttered, her voice low and sharp.

Vi paused, tilting her head to catch the scent as well. Her body tensed like a spring ready to snap. “I’ve got it too. Let’s move.”

The hunt continued, the two predators weaving through the trees with predatory grace. They followed the faintest traces of you—a broken branch here, a scuffed footprint there. You were taunting them, leaving just enough of a trail to keep them chasing but never enough to catch you.

“She’s playing with us,” Caitlyn growled, her fangs glinting in the moonlight. The edge of frustration in her voice was unmistakable, and Vi couldn’t help but smirk at her partner’s irritation.

“She’s good,” Vi admitted. “But she’s not perfect. Everyone slips up eventually.”

But deep down, both of them knew better. You weren’t slipping up. You were toying with them, leading them deeper into the forest, away from any semblance of control they thought they had. And that only made them want you more.

As they pushed forward, the air seemed to thicken, the tension between them growing. Caitlyn’s normally cold composure was fraying at the edges, her mind clouded with the memory of you—the way your blood had tasted, the way your voice had dripped with authority, the way you’d held complete control over her.

Vi, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with anticipation. She wasn’t the type to overthink things. She wanted action, and she wanted it now. The waiting, the searching, the endless chase—it was driving her insane.

Finally, the faint scent of smoke reached their noses, and both women froze. Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. This was it. You were close.

They approached the source carefully, their bodies low and their senses on high alert. The scent of smoke was stronger now, mingled with something that made their blood sing—the faint, heady trace of you. It was enough to make Caitlyn’s mouth water and Vi’s heart race.

The small campsite came into view, the dying embers of a fire casting flickering shadows against the trees. But the clearing was empty.

“Damn it,” Vi muttered under her breath, her frustration boiling over. “She was here.”

Caitlyn’s sharp eyes scanned the area, her mind racing. She didn’t believe for a second that you’d just left without a reason. “Be careful,” she warned. “This could be—”

Before she could finish, a low, melodic chuckle echoed through the trees, stopping both women in their tracks. It was your voice, smooth and mocking, and it sent a shiver down their spines.

“Well, well,” you drawled, stepping out of the shadows with a predator’s grace. “Look who came crawling back.”

Caitlyn and Vi spun to face you, their bodies tense and ready, but there was no mistaking the hunger in their eyes. You stood before them, calm and composed, as if you hadn’t been the one hunted all night.

“Miss me that much, did you?” you teased, your lips curling into a smirk.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Caitlyn snapped, though the sharp edge of her voice faltered as her eyes darted to the faint cut on your arm, the scent of your blood filling the air once more.

Vi growled low in her throat, her fists clenching at her sides. “You’re not getting away this time.”

You laughed softly, the sound like velvet, and took a slow step closer. “Oh, sweet Vi,” you said, your voice dripping with amusement. “You think this little hunt was for me? No, darling, it was for you. Both of you.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched as she realized just how completely you’d played them. You hadn’t been running from them—you’d been leading them, controlling the entire game from the start. And now, standing before you, she felt it again—that pull, that undeniable need that made her knees weak and her resolve waver.

“Now,” you said, your smile widening as you looked between them. “Why don’t we see just how desperate you’ve both become?”

The tension in the clearing was palpable, the air charged with the energy of two predators sizing up their prey—or so they thought. Vi cracked her knuckles, her grin more animalistic than confident now, while Caitlyn’s glowing eyes locked onto you, her sharp fangs bared as she gauged your every move.

“Enough,” Vi growled, her voice low and feral. “Let’s end this.”

The first strike came fast, almost too fast. Vi lunged forward, her fist aimed squarely at your jaw, the sheer force of her punch enough to snap a tree in half. But you sidestepped at the last second, your movements smooth and precise, as if you’d been expecting it all along. Her fist sailed past, hitting nothing but air.

Before Vi could recover, Caitlyn was already on you, her speed a blur as she closed the distance and swiped at you with claws sharp enough to cut steel. You ducked low, feeling the rush of air as her claws missed your head by inches. With a fluid motion, you spun and brought your leg up, kicking Caitlyn squarely in the chest and sending her stumbling back a few feet.

“You’re both getting sloppy,” you taunted, your voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I expected better from Piltover’s finest.”

Vi snarled, her frustration bubbling over. “Shut up!” She came at you again, this time with a flurry of punches that were faster and more erratic. But for every strike, you had a counter. You weaved between her attacks, your body moving like water, fluid and untouchable. The sound of her fists cutting through the air was deafening, but not a single blow landed.

Caitlyn, meanwhile, had regained her footing. She darted in from the side, attempting to catch you off guard. Her claws flashed in the moonlight as she aimed for your throat, but you dropped into a low slide, narrowly avoiding her strike. As you slid past her, you hooked your leg around her ankle, causing her to trip and tumble to the ground.

The two women regrouped, panting slightly but far from finished. Their eyes burned with determination, and something more—something wild. They weren’t just fighting anymore. They were hunting. And they were losing themselves to the thrill of it.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you asked, your smirk infuriatingly smug as you straightened up. “Letting the beast out. Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Shut your mouth,” Caitlyn snapped, her voice low and venomous. She wiped a trickle of blood from her lip, her eyes narrowing as she glared at you.

Vi growled, her muscles tensing as she prepared to charge again. “You’re not getting out of this one. Not alive.”

You feigned heartbreak, “Oh, Vi, I can’t believe you would do such a thing to me. I thought we were just getting closer.”

This time, they came at you together, their movements coordinated and feral. Caitlyn moved with the precision of a predator, her strikes calculated and deadly, while Vi was raw power, her punches shaking the very ground beneath your feet. But even as they pushed themselves harder, faster, more monstrous, you kept up.

You ducked under Vi’s punch, countered Caitlyn’s clawed swipe with a swift kick to her side, and leapt over a combined attack that would have torn any other opponent to shreds. Your movements were almost… effortless.

It was starting to sink in for them. You weren’t just skilled. You weren’t just lucky. You were something else.

“What the hell are you?” Vi snarled, her chest heaving as she circled you. There was a flicker of doubt in her eyes now, and she hated it. Hated that you were still standing, still smirking, still in control.

Caitlyn’s gaze was sharper, more analytical even in her feral state. She could feel it—the wrongness of you. The way you moved, the way you fought, the way you seemed to anticipate their every move. “You’re not human,” she said, her voice quieter but no less dangerous. “Are you?”

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “I wouldn’t make that assumption.”

Their silence was telling. For all their bravado, for all their power, they were realizing just how outmatched they were.

But the fight wasn’t over. Not yet.

Caitlyn lunged at you again, her movements a blur as she aimed straight for your throat. You sidestepped, grabbing her wrist and twisting it behind her back with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible. She hissed in pain but didn’t cry out, her pride refusing to let you see her weakness.

Vi charged in next, her fists glowing faintly with a hint of her suppressed power. You released Caitlyn just in time to dodge Vi’s attack, her punch grazing your ribs but not quite connecting. You spun, your foot sweeping out to catch Vi’s ankle, but she jumped back, snarling in frustration.

“Getting tired, are we?” you teased, your tone infuriatingly calm as you faced them both. “You can keep going if you want, but I think we all know how this ends.”

They didn’t respond. Words weren’t necessary anymore. They were too far gone, too lost in the hunt, too consumed by the memory of you and the maddening need to have you at their mercy.

The fight reached a boiling point, the air around you thick with tension and fury. Vi and Caitlyn moved with increasing speed and power, their attacks fueled by frustration and primal rage. They weren’t holding back anymore, their monstrous sides emerging as they fought with a ferocity that would have overwhelmed any normal opponent.

But you weren’t normal, were you?

Vi charged forward, her punches coming in a blur of motion, each one powerful enough to shatter stone. You weaved through them effortlessly, your movements precise and almost lazy, like a predator playing with its prey. Caitlyn flanked her, her claws aimed at your side, but you ducked and spun away, leaving them to collide with each other in their frenzy.

“You’re getting sloppy,” you taunted, sidestepping another wild swing from Vi. “I thought you two were supposed to be the best of the best. Guess I was wrong.”

Vi growled, her voice guttural as her frustration mounted. “Stand still, you coward!”

She lunged at you, her fist glowing faintly with suppressed power, but you sidestepped her again, grabbing her arm mid-swing. With a fluid motion, you flipped over her, twisting her arm behind her back and forcing her into an excruciatingly arched position. She let out a strained snarl, her muscles trembling with the effort to break free.

Leaning in close, you grinned, revealing a pair of sharp fangs. “Tell me, Vi,” you murmured, your voice low and mocking. “Do you have a preference? Vampires… or humans?” Your teeth hovered dangerously close to her throat, the promise of a bite lingering in the air.

Before you could make good on your threat, Caitlyn’s furious snarl ripped through the chaos. She charged at you, her glowing eyes blazing with fury. You shoved Vi away just in time, sending her tumbling to the ground, and dissolved into a swirling black mist as Caitlyn’s claws swiped through where you’d been a moment before.

The mist reformed behind her, and when she turned, her eyes widened in shock. You stood there, no longer the calm, human figure they’d been fighting. Your amber eyes glowed like molten gold, and your hands had morphed into claws sharp enough to tear through steel. The faint outline of fur traced your arms, and your grin was sharp and predatory.

“Werewolves, Caitlyn,” you said, your voice a low rumble. “Not all of them are mindless beasts. Some of them know how to have a little fun.”

Caitlyn froze, her feral instincts clashing with the disbelief on her face. “You’re—you’re a wolf?” Her voice faltered, her confusion and rage warring with each other.

Vi, picking herself up from the ground, stared at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “That’s not possible,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re—you’re human.”

You chuckled darkly, flexing your claws as you regarded them with an almost casual air. “You’re right, I am human. I bleed like a human. Smell like one too. It’s what makes the hunt so much more fun.” You took a step closer, your eyes flicking between the two of them. “But you’ve felt it, haven’t you? That little itch in the back of your mind telling you something’s off? You knew I wasn’t normal.”

Caitlyn growled low in her throat, her glowing eyes narrowing as she tried to reconcile what she was seeing. “What are you?” she demanded, her voice sharp with accusation.

You tilted your head, your grin widening. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Their rage reignited, and this time, there was no holding back. Vi lunged at you with a roar, her fists swinging with a force that made the ground tremble. Caitlyn flanked her, her claws slicing through the air with deadly precision. Their movements were faster now, more animalistic, their monstrous sides fully unleashed.

For the first time, you had to take them seriously. You met Vi’s punch with a block, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground, and twisted to avoid Caitlyn’s claws, her strike barely grazing your side. Their power was overwhelming, even for you, and you found yourself being pushed back.

But you didn’t lose your composure. Instead, you smirked, your movements becoming even more fluid as you dodged and countered their attacks. “You’re both getting desperate,” you teased, sliding under Vi’s swing and narrowly avoiding Caitlyn’s strike. “It’s cute.”

Caitlyn let out a snarl of frustration, her claws glowing faintly as she lashed out again. Vi followed up with a punch aimed directly at your head, but you ducked under it, grabbing her arm and twisting her to the side.

“You’re not human,” Vi growled, her voice strained as she tried to break free. “You can’t be.”

“Good observation,” you said with a smirk, tossing her aside and dodging Caitlyn’s attack in the same motion. “Took you long enough.”

Their feral instincts had fully taken over now, their attacks wild and relentless. But you knew when it was time to end a game. As Vi charged at you again, her fists glowing with raw power, you dissolved into black mist once more, letting her attack pass harmlessly through you.

The mist swirled around them, disorienting them as they tried to locate you. “Time to cool off,” your voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, tinged with amusement.

When the mist dissipated, you were gone, leaving Vi and Caitlyn standing there, panting and furious, their monstrous sides still clawing for control. But in the quiet that followed, one thing was clear: they hadn’t even begun to uncover the truth of what you were.

Caitlyn’s rage was unstoppable. Her mind clouded by the thirst, her vision tunneled to the scent of your blood. It consumed her completely, driving her to abandon everything else—reason, restraint, and her usual calm. She felt herself losing control with every step, and though Vi’s voice echoed behind her, calling her name and trying to pull her back, Caitlyn couldn’t stop. The hunger was a beast inside her, and it was all she could do to keep it at bay long enough to follow your trail.

She tore through the streets with frightening speed, her senses sharpened, homing in on your scent as it led her to a small, dimly lit town. She stalked through the streets, her fangs already extended, eyes burning with that bloodlust that had taken over her. The people she passed didn’t even notice the air around her change, but she could hear the beat of their hearts, smell the warmth of their blood. She had to hold back. She was going to find you. She was going to make you pay, but she couldn’t show her powers to anyone, not yet. The town had no idea what was coming, and she was going to keep it that way.

Finally, she reached the bar where the scent of you was thick, almost suffocating. The door creaked open as she slipped inside, scanning the room with a predator’s gaze. And there you were. Sitting at the bar, so casual, as if you weren’t the cause of everything that had broken inside her. The moment your eyes met, she could feel that familiar wave of fury crashing over her again.

Her fangs elongated, her hands trembling with the effort to control her power. Her eyes flashed red, and a low growl rumbled from her throat. She didn’t care about the eyes that were starting to look her way; you were the only thing that mattered. She stalked toward you, her every step radiating pure menace. There was no reasoning left in her, no fear. Just the unrelenting need to tear you apart, to drink from you until there was nothing left.

But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you smirked, your posture relaxed as you watched her approach, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “Careful, Caitlyn,” you warned, your voice smooth, deliberate. “You don’t want to make a scene in front of a bunch of hunters. They’d take you down faster than you could say your mother’s name.”

Her eyes narrowed, and the rage in them intensified, but there was a moment of hesitation. She could feel the presence of others in the room now. The hunters, the ones who had been lurking, waiting. Her bloodlust was on the verge of consuming her completely, but you had her on the edge of two choices—fight or retreat.

She didn’t listen. She lunged, her body a blur of motion, intent on bringing you to your knees.

But you were ready. Faster than she could process, you reached out and grabbed her by the collar, yanking her forward with force that made her stumble. The shock of it hit her like a jolt of cold water, and for a split second, she froze. Her fangs were still bared, her lips curled in a snarl, but there was no action. Not yet.

And then, in one swift movement, you pulled her into a kiss. It was forceful, demanding, and Caitlyn’s mind went blank. Her breath hitched, her body stiffened in surprise, but there was something strangely calming in your touch, a strange power in your control. The hunger in her lessened, her senses buzzing as she tried to regain control over herself.

“Relax,” you murmured against her lips, your voice low and teasing. “You’ll be able to show me those scary vampire powers later.”

Something inside her shifted. The red in her eyes dulled, just a fraction, enough for her to think clearly again. She pushed against you, still furious, but she couldn’t shake the unsettling calm you had instilled in her.

You released her from the kiss and pushed her gently but firmly into a chair. “Stay seated,” you said, your tone firm but not unkind. “Let the storm pass for now.”

Caitlyn was still seething, her heart pounding with frustration, but the primal rage that had gripped her was fading. She remained seated, her fangs retracting, her breath returning to a more normal pace. She clenched her fists, silently simmering in the chair, the tension still thick in the air.

Moments later, the door to the bar creaked open again, and Vi stepped inside. Her eyes scanned the room, locking onto Caitlyn before her gaze shifted to you. The tension between the three of you was palpable. Vi’s eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. She stalked toward the table, every step measured and cautious, a predator assessing her prey.

As Vi moved to stand beside Caitlyn, you leaned back in your chair, unfazed, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. “Don’t make any threatening moves, Vi,” you warned, your voice calm but edged with something darker. “One of the hunters in this room will be wearing your canines as a necklace before the night is over.”

Vi paused, her gaze flicking toward the people around the bar. She looked at Caitlyn, the two of them silently communicating with just a glance, both of them reluctantly understanding the situation. Slowly, without another word, Vi took a seat at the table across from you.

You watched the two of them closely, the tension between them and the room shifting into something more controlled, more calculated. The game had changed.

Now, you were in charge.

And they knew it.

“What now?” Caitlyn finally spoke, her voice quiet, but the edge of her anger still evident.

You met her gaze, your smile never wavering. “Now, we wait,” you said simply. “But don’t think for a second that I’m going to make this easy for either of you.”

Vi and Caitlyn exchanged another look, both of them more aware than ever that they were dealing with someone who wasn’t just playing by the rules—they were dealing with someone who made their rules.

And the night was just beginning.

The moment stretched unbearably for Vi and Caitlyn as they sat across from you, forced to watch while you leisurely sipped your drink. The tension between you all was palpable, a wire stretched to its breaking point. For them, it felt like an eternity of restraint, each tick of the clock dragging them further into frustration. You were composed, maddeningly so, your casual demeanor only fueling their growing impatience. Caitlyn’s knuckles were white against the table, her nails threatening to break the wood beneath them. Vi, though trying to appear calmer, had her leg bouncing under the table, a clear sign of her fraying patience.

Finally, Caitlyn snapped. She slammed her hand onto the table, leaning forward with a glare so sharp it could have cut glass. “Enough games,” she growled, her voice low but brimming with fury. “Why are you doing this? Why us? Everything you’ve done—every little game—it’s all been to get our attention, hasn’t it? You knew we’d fall for it. Every single time.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you smirked, the glint in your eyes both infuriating and captivating. Swirling the last of your drink, you finally set the glass down with a deliberate clink and leaned back in your chair, as if you were pondering her question. “You know,” you began, your tone playful yet cutting, “I think you’re starting to figure it out.”

Caitlyn’s glare darkened, her fangs peeking through as she fought to keep her composure. Vi’s gaze darted between you and Caitlyn, her own frustration evident, though she held back, letting her partner do the talking for now.

“You’re good little beasts,” you continued, your voice dripping with amusement. “Always coming running the second you catch my scent. Obedient, relentless… predictable.” You leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with Caitlyn. “You want to know why? Because you like it. The chase, the fight, the thrill—you crave it, even if you won’t admit it.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, and Vi’s fists clenched, her patience wearing thin. But before either could respond, you leaned closer to Caitlyn, your smirk growing into something sharper, more dangerous. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as you bit down hard on your lower lip. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, and the effect was immediate.

Caitlyn froze, her gaze snapping to your lips, where a thin line of crimson welled up. Her nostrils flared, and her pupils dilated, a flash of red overtaking her irises as her vampire instincts surged to the surface. She gripped the table tightly, her claws beginning to dig into the wood as she fought to maintain control. Her composure was slipping, her breathing becoming shallow and uneven.

You tilted your head slightly, your voice dropping to a low, almost taunting murmur. “Do you want it, Caitlyn?”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her attention was solely fixed on the blood, the scent drawing her in like a moth to a flame. She barely registered your words as her instincts battled with her self-control.

“Go on,” you encouraged, your tone soft but laced with a challenge. “Clean it up. I won’t stop you.”

For a moment, Caitlyn’s restraint faltered entirely. She leaned closer, her fangs fully extended now, her breath ragged. Her gaze flicked to yours, and for a fleeting second, there was hesitation—perhaps a trace of shame or conflict. But it was quickly swallowed by the primal hunger surging through her.

She closed the distance, her movements almost trembling with need, and before she could second-guess herself, her lips brushed against yours. Her fangs scraped lightly against your skin as her tongue darted out, catching the bead of blood that threatened to spill. The taste was electric, a jolt that sent her instincts spiraling out of control.

Vi’s voice cut through the haze like a whip. “Caitlyn,” she snapped, her tone sharp, though it lacked the full conviction of disapproval. There was a flicker of something else in her voice—curiosity, maybe even jealousy.

But Caitlyn didn’t pull back. If anything, Vi’s interruption only made her grip on the moment tighten. Her hands, still clenched against the table, trembled as she fought to maintain some semblance of control while indulging in the taste of you.

You chuckled softly, your voice steady despite the ferocity in Caitlyn’s actions. “There you go,” you murmured, almost teasingly. “Good girl.”

The words seemed to snap something in Caitlyn. She growled low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as she pulled back slightly, her crimson-stained eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, the room seemed to shrink around you both, the rest of the world fading into irrelevance.

Vi, still seated, was tense, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. There was a flicker of conflict in her gaze, torn between stepping in and staying back.

You leaned back slightly, licking the corner of your lip as if reclaiming what Caitlyn had taken. “See?” you said, your voice smooth and confident. “You couldn’t help yourself.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond, her breathing still uneven as she fought to regain her composure. The hunger in her eyes hadn’t faded entirely, but there was something else there now—frustration, humiliation, maybe even a reluctant acknowledgment of the truth in your words.

You turned your attention to Vi, who was glaring at you with equal parts anger and intrigue. “What about you, Vi?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Are you going to sit there and pretend you’re above it? Or are you just waiting your turn?”

The challenge in your tone was unmistakable, and for a moment, Vi’s hands flexed, as if she were considering lunging across the table. But she stayed rooted in place, her jaw tight and her gaze locked onto yours.

“Thought so,” you said with a smirk, leaning back in your chair once again. The game was far from over, and you were enjoying every second of it.

The tension in the room thickened as you shifted your attention from Caitlyn to Vi, a slow, deliberate move that felt like a predator locking onto its next prey. Vi’s sharp blue eyes met yours, her expression a mix of defiance and barely concealed curiosity. You leaned back lazily, crossing your arms as if this were all a casual conversation instead of the charged, dangerous game it truly was.

“Hmm,” you began, your voice dripping with mock contemplation, loud enough to draw Caitlyn’s wary glare back to you. “I’ve always wondered what werewolves really liked. I mean, vampires? Easy. Blood, obviously. Power. Control. But werewolves…” Your eyes flicked to Vi, watching her jaw clench as her fingers gripped the edge of the table. “What’s the deal with them?”

Vi didn’t respond, but her eyes narrowed as she leaned slightly forward, her muscles tense. The corners of your mouth curled into a smirk, and you continued as if pondering the answer aloud.

“Is it the thrill of the hunt?” you mused, tilting your head. “The feeling of the ground under your claws as you chase your prey? Or maybe it’s the fight? That surge of adrenaline when you’re up against someone who won’t go down easy. Or…” You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, and though your tone was quiet, it carried across the table like a taunt. “Maybe it’s something else entirely. Something more… primal?”

Vi’s breathing hitched ever so slightly, and you didn’t miss the way her eyes briefly flicked to your throat before she forced herself to look away. Her reaction only fueled your teasing.

“Do werewolves like to dominate?” you asked, your voice just loud enough for her to hear. “Or is it the opposite? Do they like to be pinned down, teeth at their throat, heart racing because they know they’re at someone else’s mercy?” You paused, letting the words hang in the air, watching as Vi’s hands flexed against the table, her knuckles turning white.

You leaned even closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur meant only for her. “What about you, Vi? Is that what you want? To take me down? Or…” Your smirk widened, your eyes gleaming with amusement as you delivered the next line with deliberate slowness. “Do you want me to do that to you?”

The reaction was immediate. Vi shot to her feet, the chair screeching against the floor as her fists slammed onto the table. Her expression was a volatile mix of anger and something darker, something she didn’t want to name but couldn’t entirely suppress. Caitlyn’s head snapped toward her partner, a flicker of concern breaking through her still-recovering composure.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Vi growled, her voice low and dangerous. Her heightened senses made it impossible to ignore the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, and the maddeningly calm scent of you—human, yet not—only further stoked the fire in her veins.

You leaned back casually, unbothered by her outburst, and shrugged. “I mean, I’m entertaining myself, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Vi’s teeth bared slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like she was about to lunge across the table. Caitlyn’s hand shot out, gripping Vi’s arm, and though her strength was still shaky from her earlier loss of control, it was enough to hold Vi in place.

“Don’t,” Caitlyn warned, her voice sharp but tinged with the same frustration. She wasn’t defending you, not entirely—but she knew that causing a scene in this bar, surrounded by hunters, would end badly for both of them.

You watched the exchange with mild amusement, raising your glass for another sip before setting it down with deliberate slowness. “Careful, Vi,” you said, your tone mocking but underlined with a hint of genuine warning. “You wouldn’t want to prove me right, would you? That you’re just as predictable as your partner over here?”

Vi’s gaze burned into yours, her chest rising and falling with barely restrained rage. “I’m not predictable,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, grinning. Then, as if to drive the point home, you added, “You came running just like she did. And you’re still here. And you keep coming back. Why is that, Vi? What’s keeping you glued to that spot? Is it the thrill? The challenge?” You tilted your head slightly, your grin sharpening into something more dangerous. “Or is it me?”

Caitlyn’s grip on Vi’s arm tightened, her crimson eyes narrowing as she spoke, her voice low but filled with warning. “Stop provoking her.”

You glanced at Caitlyn, your grin softening into a smirk. “Oh, I’m not provoking her. I’m just asking questions.” Then, turning your attention back to Vi, you added, “She’s the one getting worked up. Must’ve hit a nerve.”

Vi took a step back, her fists still clenched, her entire body trembling with the effort to keep her composure. For a moment, silence hung between you all, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then, Vi let out a slow, shuddering breath and sat back down, though her glare never left your face.

“Good girl,” you murmured, the words dripping with condescension, and Vi’s knuckles cracked as her fists tightened once again.

Caitlyn shot you a sharp look, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re walking a fine line.”

You met her gaze evenly, your smirk unshaken. “Oh, I know exactly where the line is.” You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms behind your head. “The question is, how long can you two stay on your side of it?”

The clink of coins on the counter marked the end of your drink as you finished it in one smooth motion, savoring the silence that followed. You rose from your seat with a fluidity that made even the smallest movement seem deliberate. Vi and Caitlyn, ever vigilant, mirrored your movement almost immediately, their eyes trained on you like hawks circling prey. Despite the seething animosity that practically radiated from them, neither could bring themselves to break away from your orbit.

As you adjusted your coat, you cast them a lazy glance over your shoulder, smirking faintly at how they followed so closely. “Well,” you announced, your voice calm but carrying just enough of an edge to draw their attention. “I think it’s about time I turned in for the night.”

“Like hell you are,” Vi growled, stepping closer, her sharp glare boring into you.

Caitlyn stood rigid beside her, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her crimson eyes glowing faintly under the dim bar lights. “After everything? You think you can just leave?” Her voice was clipped, the words escaping through clenched teeth.

Your smirk widened, clearly enjoying their defiance. “Oh? And why not?” you asked, your tone light but steeped in mockery. “What’s stopping me from walking out that door? Surely you’re not saying you need me to stay?”

Vi bristled at the implication, her fists tightening at her sides. “Don’t twist this around.”

“I don’t have to,” you replied easily, your gaze sliding between the two of them. “You’re both doing that just fine on your own.” You took a single step toward them, your presence almost suffocating as the smirk on your lips softened into something more mischievous. “So tell me—why can’t I leave? What is it you’re both so desperate to say but won’t?”

Silence fell between them, the tension palpable as they both stared at you, their emotions warring just beneath the surface. Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep control. Vi, on the other hand, looked ready to throw a punch, her body vibrating with barely contained frustration.

When neither of them spoke, you chuckled softly, shaking your head. “That’s what I thought,” you murmured, almost pityingly. Then you tilted your head, feigning curiosity as you asked, “Or maybe…” You paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Maybe you just don’t want me to go because deep down, you like this. The chase, the thrill. The fact that I’m the only one who can make you feel this alive.”

Their reactions were immediate. Vi’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her nostrils flaring as she clenched her fists tighter. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes glowed brighter, her composure cracking just enough to reveal the storm beneath.

Before they could argue, you took another step forward, this time closing the distance entirely. Standing between them, you reached out, one hand gently brushing against Vi’s cheek, the other cupping Caitlyn’s with a surprising tenderness. They both stiffened under your touch, their bodies rigid and their breathing shallow.

“There’s no shame in it,” you said softly, your voice low and almost soothing. “It’s natural to want to follow your instincts. To give in.” Your thumbs grazed their skin lightly before you pulled your hands away, your smirk returning as you straightened. “So… are you coming with me, or do I leave you here to brood?”

They exchanged a brief glance, their pride clearly warring with something deeper, something primal. And yet, neither of them moved to stop you as you turned toward the door. Instead, when you stepped outside into the cool night air, they followed, silent but determined, their presence a steady weight at your back.

You cast a glance over your shoulder as they fell into step behind you, their reluctance betrayed by the fire still burning in their eyes. With a faint chuckle, you reached out and patted them both on the cheek once more, a gesture that was equal parts condescending and oddly affectionate. “Good little beasts,” you murmured, your voice dripping with amusement as you began to lead the way. “This is going to be fun.”

The tavern was dimly lit and smelled faintly of ale and woodsmoke. You strode up to the front desk with the same air of confidence you always carried, Vi and Caitlyn trailing just behind you like reluctant shadows. The woman behind the counter, a middle-aged tavern keeper with a tired but pleasant face, perked up as you approached.

“I need a room,” you said smoothly, your voice low and calm. “Something soundproof.”

The request was simple, but it hung in the air like a thunderclap. The woman blinked, momentarily taken aback, her gaze flickering to Vi and Caitlyn, who stood rigid behind you. Caitlyn’s sharp, elegant features were still taut with barely contained tension, while Vi’s fists remained clenched at her sides, her glare aimed at the back of your head.

The tavern keeper’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as her imagination filled in the gaps. “Soundproof, you say?” she repeated, her voice faltering just slightly.

You gave her a polite, knowing smile, leaning an elbow on the counter as you added, “Yes, soundproof. Privacy is very important to me, you see.” Your tone was calm, but there was a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes that didn’t go unnoticed.

Her gaze darted to Caitlyn and Vi again, lingering on the two of them with a flustered expression. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, her vampiric features giving her a dangerous beauty that likely unnerved the woman. Vi, with her broad shoulders and tense stance, looked no less intimidating. The tavern keeper cleared her throat and fumbled for the ledger in front of her.

“Right, well,” she said quickly, avoiding direct eye contact as she flipped through the pages. “We do have a room that should meet your… requirements.” Her tone carried a distinct undertone of awkwardness, and you could see the way her hands trembled slightly as she scribbled something down.

You tilted your head slightly, watching her reaction with thinly veiled amusement. “Perfect,” you said, sliding a few coins across the counter. “I appreciate your discretion.”

The woman nodded quickly, still avoiding eye contact as she slid a key toward you. “Room at the end of the hall. Quiet as a graveyard. Should be just what you’re looking for.”

Her choice of words earned a faint chuckle from you. “Graveyard, hmm? Fitting.” You straightened, pocketing the key before casting a glance back at Vi and Caitlyn. “Come on, then,” you said casually, gesturing for them to follow.

As you turned, you caught the tavern keeper’s gaze darting between Caitlyn and Vi again, her expression a mix of confusion and embarrassment. She clearly didn’t know what to make of the situation, but she was far too polite—or too scared—to ask questions.

The three of you moved toward the stairs, the tension between you palpable. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes still glowed faintly, her composure hanging by a thread, while Vi’s scowl deepened with every step, her fists clenching and unclenching as if itching for a fight.

When you reached the room, you unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it open just long enough for them to follow. You didn’t bother waiting for them to settle in before leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and surveying them both with a faint smirk.

“Well,” you drawled, “now that we have some privacy, let’s talk.”

You leaned casually against the wall, your smirk widening as your eyes flicked between the two of them. Caitlyn’s crimson gaze was fixed on you, unblinking and unnervingly intense, while Vi stood a little behind her, arms crossed and jaw clenched tightly enough to crack. They both looked like predators cornered into an uneasy alliance, trying to decide whether to lunge or retreat.

You grin, an expression that was predatory and chilling.

“So,” you began, your voice low and teasing, “why is it, exactly, that you two are chasing me like this? Hmm? Can’t get enough of me? Or maybe…” You stepped forward, inching closer to Caitlyn with an almost predatory grace, “…you’re just bored and need a little excitement in your lives?”

Caitlyn stiffened as you approached, her jaw tightening. Her fangs gleamed faintly under the lantern light, and her red eyes never left yours, but she didn’t move. Vi, behind you, let out a low, irritated huff, but you could feel her tension like a coiled spring. She wasn’t going to make the first move—not yet.

Caitlyn’s composure finally cracked. She took a step forward, her fangs fully bared and her voice trembling with fury. “You’re toying with us,” she spat. “You think this is some game you’re in control of, but you have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Or,” you continued, tilting your head slightly as you closed the distance to Caitlyn, “maybe it’s something else. Something deeper. A craving you can’t quite ignore. A thrill you can’t resist.” Your voice dropped to a near whisper, soft and coaxing. “Is that it, Caitlyn? Am I the only one who can give you what you really want?”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched, her composure cracking for just a moment before she forced herself back into control. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She didn’t answer, but the way her crimson eyes flickered betrayed her struggle.

You smirked, taking another step closer until you were right in front of her. Her tall frame loomed over you, but you showed no fear. If anything, the proximity only seemed to embolden you. Behind you, you could sense Vi shifting slightly, her frustration simmering as she watched the scene unfold.

“And Vi,” you said suddenly, your tone light and almost playful as you glanced over your shoulder. “What about you? What’s your excuse? I know you’ve been itching for a fight, but this?” You gestured vaguely to the room, the tension, the chase. “This isn’t just about a fight, is it? No… you’re just as caught up in this as Caitlyn.”

Vi growled low in her throat, but her hesitation was telling. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t even move. You chuckled softly and turned back to Caitlyn, your gaze locking with hers as you reached up, your hand moving with deliberate slowness.

“Maybe it’s time to admit it,” you murmured, your voice low and intimate. Your fingers brushed lightly against Caitlyn’s cheek, your touch gentle yet firm. Her skin was cool beneath your fingertips, and her breath hitched again, her eyes widening slightly as you leaned in just enough to invade her space.

“You’re both here because you want to be,” you said, your words cutting through the silence like a blade. “Because no matter how much you hate me—or how much you hate yourselves for it—you can’t stay away.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes darted between yours, her fangs still bared, but her resolve was slipping. Behind you, Vi’s breathing grew heavier, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Your fingers trail over the exposed skin of Caitlyn’s neck, her collarbone. She trembles beneath your touch, her fangs biting into her lower lip as you descend.

Lower.

Your hand ghosts over the flat plane of her stomach, dipping into the waistband of her pants. The need to feel her, to explore the secrets hidden beneath the fabric, is a living thing inside you. But you have company. A warm, solid weight at your back. Vi flanks you, her front pressing to your back as she watches you with heavy-lidded eyes. A growl rumbles deep in her throat, a wordless approval as you cup Caitlyn through her pants.

Caitlyn hisses through clenched teeth as you stroke her through the fabric of her pants. The need to rip away that barrier, to feel her soft, pliant skin is an itch beneath your nails. But Vi's presence at your back is a steadying influence, a reminder that this is a game, a dance. So you hold back, contenting yourself with teasing swirls of your palm over her clothed length.

"You want this, love?" you coo, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Want to feel me wrapped around you, squeezing you so tight you forget your own name?" Your hand squeezes as if to punctuate your words, and Caitlyn's hips jerk into your touch. You smile, all teeth and wicked promises. She snarls, her hands clenching at her sides as she fights the urge to grab you, to take what you're so coyly offering.

You stroke her slow, maddeningly slow, keeping your touch feather-light to drive her wild. She’s squirming now, her hips rocking into your palm seeking more friction. You obligingly tighten your grip, humming low in your throat as she pulses against you.

"Such an eager vampire," you taunt, your thumb swiping over the tip of her cock. "So desperate for my touch. Will do anything for it, won't you?" To emphasize your point, you drop to your knees before her, pressing a line of open-mouthed kisses along her length. The need to taste her, to feel her slide over your tongue is an ache in your mouth.

But you have patience.

You suck her through the fabric, letting your teeth graze the sensitive flesh beneath.

She reacts sharply, hissing as your teeth scrape over her straining erection. You do it again, purposefully, your tongue a wet swirl against the hidden shape of her. The need to see her, to truly appreciate the sight of her cock is a burning demand. Without warning, you rip open her fly, your fingers delving into the newfound space.

Your hand wraps around her immediately, the hot, hard length of her against your palm making your mouth water. She's perfect, thick and veiny and hard enough to hurt. The need to swallow her down, to feel her stretching your throat, is a pulsing throb between your legs. But you hold off, settling for a gentle pump of your wrist as you lave the weeping tip with kittenish licks.

You swirl around the swollen head, collecting every drop of pearly pre-cum as it leaks from her tip. She squirms, her hands fisting at her sides as you torment her. The need to wrap your lips around her, to finally put her out of her misery, is a desperate clawing thing. So you do, hollowing your cheeks as you slide down her cock. The taste of her explodes across your tongue, musky and masculine and so deliciously hers.

You swallow around her, fighting your gag reflex as she nudges the back of your throat. The sound she makes is pure sex, a drawn out moan that has your cunt clenching. You do it again, over and over until she's reduced to a panting, pleading mess.

Caitlyn's hands bury in your hair as you release her from your mouth with an obscene pop. She's panting, her chest heaving as you continue to stroke her steadily.

The need to hear Vi's permission, her okay to touch and taste is a sudden, desperate thing. You gazed over your shoulder, your tongue peeking out to wet your swollen lips. "Want me to suck you too, baby?" you purr, your voice husky with desire. "Want to feel that pretty cock fucking my throat while I swallow Caitlyn's cum?"

Vi's answering growl is low and primal, her fangs flashing as she licks her lips. In an instant she's behind you, her hands making quick work of her pants as she frees her massive erection. The thick length slaps against your cheek, smearing pre-cum over your skin. "Yes," she hisses. "Fucking yes.”

You return your attention to Caitlyn, your hand stroking her with renewed purpose. You scoot forward, your free hand wrapping around Vi's muscular thigh for balance as you take Caitlyn's cock back into your mouth. Your lips stretch obscenely around her girth, your jaw aching as you force yourself to relax.

But she doesn't push for more, allowing you to set the pace as you bob up and down her length. Beside you, Vi hisses, her claws scoring your hips as she watches you. Your core clenches, arousal flooding your panties at the feral possessiveness in her growl. Your neck aches from the strain of your double task, the need to have both your beasts inside you, consuming you, a physical hunger. So you double your efforts, hollowing your cheeks as you swallow around Caitlyn's cock.

You alternate between the two cocks, your saliva mixing with their pre-cum to slick the way. One moment your mouth is wrapped around Caitlyn's impressive length, the next your hand is wrapped tight around Vi's massive girth. The need to taste them both, to feel them both, is a burning insistence in your gut. She reacts differently to your ministrations, Caitlyn's hips stuttering as you take her to the root, Vi's thrusting into your grip like it's the most natural thing in the world.

You work them together, your mouth coming down to gently suck Caitlyn's heavy sack. She doesn’t disappoint, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer, chasing her pleasure on your tongue. Beside you, Vi grunts, her rhythm faltering as you jerk her off with practiced strokes.

Caitlyn curses, a litany of praise falling from her lips as you worship her cock. Her grip on your hair tightens, bordering on painful as she fucks your face. The need to be used, to be nothing more than a convenient hole for their pleasure, is a dark thrill that races down your spine.

You pull back, releasing Caitlyn's cock with an obscene pop. Your spit shines on her cock, a testament to your oral attentions. But there are other ways to pleasure her, other ways to drive her wild with need. So you let your fingers do the talking, jacking her off with a loose, easy grip. The need to multitask, to pleasure both your lovers, is a challenge you're eager to meet. The need to have them coming undone because of you, to be the center of their universe, is a burning desire.

So you lean back, your hand continuing its steady work on Vi's dick even as you lave Caitlyn's with kittenish licks. The combined sensations are heady, intoxicating. A drop of pre-cum lands on your cheek, the warm wetness a brand against your skin.

You turn your head to the side, your mouth gaping wide in invitation. Vi stumbles forward eagerly, her cock sinking into your waiting throat with a low groan. You swallow around her, your nose pressing into the wild thatch of hair at the base of her dick. The need to breathe is a distant concern, eclipsed by the burning desire to taste Vi's pleasure on your tongue. Your tongue undulates along her length as she thrusts, your hollowed cheeks hollowing and swelling with the force of her strokes.

Beside you, Caitlyn groans, her hand joining yours as you feverishly pumps her cock. The added stimulation is too much, Vi's thrusts growing erratic as your throat squeezes around her. You bite back your own moan, the vibrations of your vocal cords urging her on.

You bob back and forth between the two, your hand working Caitlyn with feverish strokes even as you release Vi from your throat with an obscene slurp. You need to have them coming, to see them falling apart because of your touch, is a chant in your head. You kiss up Vi's dick, nuzzling into her heavy sack as your fist tightens around Caitlyn's dick.

She doesn’t hold back, her hips snapping into your grip with animalistic grunts. You need to taste them, to feel their hot release coating your hand and painting your skin, is a screaming desperation. So you lean forward, your hand twisting on Caitlyn's cock as your lips wrap around Vi's weeping tip.

Caitlyn hisses, her hips jerking erratically as her orgasm crashes over her. Hot, sticky ropes of cum paint your chest, splashing against your waiting skin in a show of mark-making that has your cunt clenching. But you have no time to bask in the warm, squelch of seed on your breasts. Vi's hands are fists in your hair, holding you in place as she fucks your throat with abandon. She snarls, a broken sound of ecstasy that mixes with Caitlyn's panting moans.

You swallow, your cheeks hollowing as you fight your own gag reflex. The taste of her, salty and thick and so unmistakably Vi, floods your senses. It's perfect. You moan around her, the vibrations of your throat catapulting her over the edge.

You stay kneeling on the floor, Vi's cock slipping from your lips with a lewd pop. Your chest is sticky with Caitlyn's release, the white ropes splattered across your heaving breasts like macabre war paint. They look down at you, panting and flushed and oh so very ready for round two. You need to be filled, to be stretched, to be utterly ruined by these magnificent creatures is a pulsing demand between your legs.

But first, you want to admire your handywork. Vi's cock is bobbing obscenely, pearly drops of cum beading at the tip. Caitlyn's is no different, the head engorged and leaking. You want to have them inside you, surrounding you, consuming you is a roar in your skull. You scoop up some of Caitlyn's seed, painting your lips like you're about to eat the most decadent treat.

Your thoughts are swallowed by Caitlyn's mouth as she yanks you up by your hair. Her kiss is hungry, desperate, her fangs scoring your lips in a way that has you opening automatically. Your blood mingles with her tongue, the coppery taste a metallic counterpoint to the musky flavors of sex and sweat that cling to your tongues. Behind you, Vi is a warm, solid presence, her canines worrying the nape of your neck in a mirror of her lover's actions.

Your head swims, the combination of pain and pleasure shorting out your circuits until the only thing that matters is the mouths on you, the hands groping, the cocks pressing urgently into your curves.

You surrender to it, to them, your body pliant and yielding as they manhandle you between them. You fall in Vi's arms, your fronts flushed together as Caitlyn crowds you from the back. The sword of Vi's tongue duels with the press of Caitlyn's fangs, the dual sensations stoking the fire in your veins to a roaring inferno.

You want to be touched everywhere, to be worshiped and cherished and fucked until you can't walk straight, is a chant in your head. Caitlyn plays her hands over your ribs, her thumbs flicking across your nipples. You moan, the breathless sound dying against Vi’s lips. She grinds into you, the hard length of her cock nestling between your thighs like it was made to be there. Vi cups your ass, her fingers digging into the pliant flesh as she grinds against you.

"Fuck," Vi groans, her hips grinding harder into you as she watches you debauch yourself. "Fuck,you're so hot like this. So desperate for us." Her words are a dark promise, the rumble of her voice making your clit throb. Behind you, Caitlyn seems to silently agree with her, her eyes glassy with lust as she takes in the sight of you.

"C’mon," you whisper, your voice raw and ragged. "I need you. Need you both. Need you to fucking breed me." The words are a revelation, a baptism in the basest, most fundamental of needs. And they're only too happy to oblige.

Caitlyn grabs your hips, spinning you around to face her. Her lips claim yours in a bruising kiss, her fangs nipping at your lower lip in a silent demand for entry. You yield, your mouth opening automatically to grant her access. Your tongues dance, the taste of you mixing together in a perverse mockery of foreplay. Behind you, Vi growls, her hands yanking your ass up and back in a move that has you gasping into Caitlyn's mouth. The change in angle puts your cunt right at the perfect height, Vi's dick nestling between your folds like it was made to be there. You shake, the heat of her almost too much to bear.

But that’s the point isn't it?

To burn in their fires, to be consumed by them until there's nothing left but cinders and ash. Caitlyn’s hands roam your body, calloused fingers teasing and taunting until you're a writhing mess in their arms. Every touch is an inferno, stoking the flames of your desire until you're ready to incinerate from the inside out. She scoops you up like you weigh nothing, your legs locking around her waist as she impales you on her thick dick with a single, smooth stroke. You wail, your head falling back on a scream of ecstasy as your cunt clenches around her. The stretch is obscene, your walls straining to accommodate her girth.

But oh, it feels so fucking good.

So right.

Vi's hands on your hips guide your movements, lifting you up and down on Caitlyn's cock like you weigh nothing. The drag of her dick against your walls is delicious agony, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. Behind you, Vi grunts, her own hips rocking forward to slot her dick between your ass cheeks. The slick slide of it, hot and heavy and oh so very her, makes you clench hard around Caitlyn.

Behind you, she snarls, her hands digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise. But you don’t care. You just want to be marked, claimed, owned in every way possible, is a pulsing throb beneath your skin. The greed to be theirs is the only coherent thought left in your head.

They work you between them, Caitlyn's thrusts setting a brutal pace that Vi matches beat for beat. Your head lolls back onto Vi's shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut as you lose yourself in the rhythm. It’s hypnotic, the push and pull of their bodies, the slap of sweat-slicked flesh on flesh. Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your throat, marking you in a way that goes soul-deep. The pain is fleeting, lost in the haze of pleasure as Vi's hips buck, her cock slipping between your folds to slide against Caitlyn's. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, your vision whiting out as the dual stimulation shatters you. You fall, tumbling headfirst into bliss, into ecstasy, into a place where there are no more worries, no more cares.

Caitlyn stands, holding your quivering body aloft as Vi sinks her cock in your pussy, stretching obscenely around her girth. You are stuffed so full, so deliciously stuffed, you feel like you might split in two. But you don’t. You don’t because this is what you were made for, to be their plaything, their receptacle for all things depraved and delicious.

You sink down, taking them both to the hilt in a move that has you screaming. The pleasure is incandescent, searing, so all-consuming that you don’t even feel it when Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your breast or Vi clamps down on your neck. All you know is the bliss, the perfection, of being taken so hard and so deep. Of finally, blessedly, being home.

You can only hold on, your nails scrabbling for purchase on sweat-slicked shoulders as they fuck into you. Caitlyn's angle has her rubbing that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, sending stars shooting across your vision. Vi grunts, her grip on your hips bruising as she pounds into you from behind. You are sandwiched between them, a willing prisoner to their combined machinations.

Caitlyn’s hands roam freely, tweaking your nipples hard enough to border on pain before soothing the sting with gentle caresses. Vi nips and sucks at your throat, no doubt marking you as theirs for all to see. But you don’t need to look to know they belong to you just as much as you belong to them.

The thought is a revelation, a sudden burst of clarity in the haze of fucked-out bliss. The cree is binding, unbreakable, and in this moment you know you would do anything for them.

Anything to keep them, to preserve this moment of perfect connection. It’s a thing that scares you. It's something that, in your right mind, youwould run screaming from. But this isnt that. This isn't right or wrong, good or bad. It’s just is, a simple, pure truth that settles over you like a warm blanket. You surrender to it, to them, your body going slack in their hold even as your walls ripple around their cocks.

You're nothing more than a willing vessel now, a receptacle for all their pleasure. And that, you think dazedly as you're fucked into mindless oblivion, is exactly how it should be.

Caitlyn’s hands move to your hips, holding you in place as they fuck you with increasing speed. The need to come, to let go completely, is a desperate litany on your lips. Vi's rhythm steadied, her thrusts growing harsher as she chases her own release. They work together seamlessly, as if they've done this a thousand times before. Maybe they have, with countless others who weren't you, who weren't their mate.

The sudden surge of jealousy, of possessiveness, is enough to make you see stars. You clench around them, your cunt bearing down on their cocks as you teeter on the edge. You're so fucking close, every nerve in your body drawn tight as a bowstring. Caitlyn must feel it too, because she bites down, hard enough to draw blood.

And that's it.

That's all it takes to catapult you over the edge. Your orgasm slams into you, a tidal wave of ecstasy that rips through you with the force of a hurricane. You come with a scream, your cunt clenching and spasming around Vi's and Caitlyn's cocks. A flood of liquid heat gushes from your core, soaking their dick and dripping down your thighs. It's obscene, you know, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when the pleasure is so sharp, so intense, it feels like it's splitting you apart from the inside out.

Behind you, Vi snarls, her hips slamming into yours with a force that would be bruising if you weren't so far gone. She doesn’t pull out, working you through your orgasm until you're writhing, oversensitized.

"Keep going, please keep going," you babbles, your words slurring together as they pound into you. Your overstimulated cunt spasms around them, aftershocks from your previous orgasm still rattling your frame.

But they don’t stop, if anything their thrusts grow harder, more insistent. It’s almost too much, pleasure bleeding into pain as your body is pushed to its limits. You scrap at their shoulders, your nails leaving red welts in their flesh. Caitlyn hisses, the sting only seeming to spur her on. Behind you, Vi grunts, her grip on your hips bruising as she fucks into you like a woman possessed. You're being used, claimed, fucked into oblivion, and it's perfect. It's everything you could ever want. You cum again, a high, keening wail tearing from your throat as your vision whites out.

But there's no respite to be had, not when Caitlyn and Vi are so close to their own finish. They work you mercilessly, pounding into your abused cunt with single-minded focus. You're nothing more than a toy to them, a warm hole to spill their seed in, and you've never felt so deliciously used in your life. Caitlyn groans, her thrusts growing erratic as she chases her release.

Behind you, Vi snarls, her canines finding your mating bite and biting down hard. Pain and pleasure short-circuit in your skull, the resulting burst of sensation sending you careening toward a third orgasm. You clench around them, your walls rippling along their lengths as you teeter on the brink of oblivion. Then Caitlyn’s coming, her cum flooding your channel in a scalding rush that pushes you over the edge.

You fall, your mind going blank as your body is wracked with pleasure. Your cunt spasms around Caitlyn's cock, milking her for every last drop as you squirt on their cocks for the third time. Behind you, Vi follows, her hips jerking erratically as she floods your already full channel with even more cum.

You want it, crave it, so much so that you can taste it on your tongue. The need used by them, bound to them in every way possible, is a frantic beat beneath your skin. They crush you between them, their mouths finding yours in a sloppy, three-way kiss that leaves you panting. Youcould die like this, youthink dazedly, sandwiched between these two magnificent beasts.

Vi's arms hold you aloft, your legs too weak to support your own weight after your mind-blowing orgasms. She slowly walks you towards the bed, Caitlyn's cock slipping from your pussy with a lewd squelch. Your legs hit the mattress, the sudden change in angle making you pitch forward. But Vi's hands are there to catch you, guiding you down onto all fours.

You collapse onto your elbows, your face pressed into the sheets as you tremble with exhaustion. But that exhaustion does nothing to dampen your desire, the need to feel them inside you once more an all-consuming inferno. Caitlyn scoops your hair away from your neck, her fingers tracing the ridges of your spine. Behind you, Vi hums, her palm flattening against the small of your back.

You squirmed between them, your hips wiggling back against Vi's in a clear invitation. You're so fucking sensitive, every brush of air against your swollen, well-used lips sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. But that pain-slash-pleasure only serves to heighten your arousal, your cunt clenching madly around nothing as you crave to be filled again, to be stretched and stuffed and utterly used until your pussy is molded to their cocks. You beg them to take you again, your babbling pleas falling on deaf ears. Caitlyn chuckles darkly above you, her hands sliding down your sides to grip your hips.

"So greedy for us, aren't you?" she purrs, her breath hot against your ear. Behind you, Vi growls in agreement, her fingers pricking at your skin as she squeezes the globes of your ass.

You mewl, arching into their touches like a cat in heat. Your pussy is throbbing, the emptiness a physical ache that demands to be filled. You know you shouldn't want it, shouldn't crave their cocks like you do. But you can't help it, not when they make you feel so good, so cherished. Caitlyn slides a finger between your swollen folds, the lightest of touches enough to make you gasp. You're fucking dripping, your arousal coating her digit and dripping onto the sheets below. Vi groans behind you, her hand slipping from your hip to your core, swiping through the slick mess.

"Fuck, you're so wet," she growls, her voice rough with lust. She punctuates her words with a sharp spank to your ass, the sting only serving to heighten your desire.

Vi's hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as she thrusts into you. Her thrusts are messy and desperate, the force of them jostling the bed beneath you. Over your back, Caitlyn makes her own slick sounds, her fist working her dick to the tempo Vi is setting. Your head spins at the sheer depravity of it, of being used so carelessly, so thoroughly, like a common whore. And yet it's the hottest thing you've ever seen, the knowledge that your body is enough to drive them to such heights. You sob into the sheets, your face pressed into the mattress as Vi takes you harder and faster. She's fucking you like she's trying to split you in two, her grip on your hips hard enough to leave lasting bruises. Behind you, Caitlyn grunts, her hand moving faster as she watches Vi rut into your aching cunt.

You can only take it, your body rocking with every savage thrust. Your cunt is on fire, the pleasure bordering on pain as Vi ruts into you. But you love it, love the feeling of being used so roughly, so thoroughly. Caitlyn groans above you, her fist flying over her cock as she chases her pleasure. You cry, a desperate, keening sound that's muffled by the sheets. Your orgasm is barreling towards you, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter. Just when you don't think you can take anymore, Caitlyn slaps your clit hard. The pain-pleasure rocket sends you screaming over the edge, your cunt clamping down on Vi's cock hard enough to make her snarl. Behind you, Vi follows, her hips jerking erratically as she floods your already cum-soaked channel with even more of her release.

Vi pulls out, her cum leaking from your well-used hole and dribbling down your thighs. You barely have a chance to miss the fullness before Caitlyn flips you over, hauling your limp body up into her arms. She sits back on her heels, settling your straddling legs on either side of her hips. Her cock slides against your folds, smearing their combined releases between you. Behind you, Vi moves to kneel on the bed, her chest pressed to your back. Her hands slide up your sides, cupping the swell of your breasts and teasing your nipples. You mewl, your hips rolling in Caitlyn's grip, chasing more of that delicious friction. But she holds you still, her grip bruising as she lines herself up with your entrance. You barely have time to brace yourself before she slides into you, impaling you on her thick cock in one brutal thrust.

Vi and Caitlyn work you between them, one thrusting into you as the other nudges her cock to your lips. Your pussy is stretched and filled to the brim, every ridge and vein of Caitlyn's cock kissing along your inner walls in a way that has you sobbing for more. It's a primal move that speaks to the most basic parts of you that crave to be owned and claimed most fundamentally. You claw at the bed, your nails biting into the sheets as you hang on for dear life. Behind you, she groans, the sound sending vibrations through his chest and straight to your core.

You gag on Vi's thick dick, spit bubbling from the corners of your mouth as she fucks into your throat. Your eyes roll back, your hands scrabbling at the sheets for purchase as they use you so thoroughly. You're just a set of fuck holes for their pleasure, a warm sleeve for them to dump their seed in. And it's perfect, so perfect, to be so utterly and completely theirs. Behind you, Caitlyn pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back in, the tip of her cock kissing your cervix with every thrust. The force of it rocks you forward, Vi's dick lodging itself even deeper down your throat. You gag, the muscles in your neck convulsing around her as your eyes water. They pound into you mercilessly, their rhythm ruthless as they chase their release.

The two of you exchange a long, heated look. Then, as if by silent agreement, they double their efforts. Vi's hands fist in your hair, holding you in place as she fucks into your mouth. Caitlyn's grips on your hips tighten, her nails digging into your flesh as she pounds into you from behind. The need to come, to let go completely, is a frantic rhythm in your skull. Just when you don't think you can take anymore, Vi roars above you, her dick pulsing as she reaches her peak. Thick ropes of cum paint your face, your hair, your open mouth as you struggle to swallow it all. But it's Caitlyn who steals the show, her thrusts growing erratic as she nears her own climax. You barely have time to gasp before she slams into you one final time, her dick erupting inside you.

You clench around her, your cunt milking her for every last drop of her seed as your own orgasm crashes over you. It's so intense, so all-consuming, that your vision blanks out at the edges. You fall forward, catching yourself on your elbows as you ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through you. Behind you, Caitlyn collapses against your back, her forehead pressed to your shoulder as she pants heavily. Above you, Vi grunts, slumping down to drape herself across the bed. You're sandwiched between them, a willing victim to their lusts and desires.

And in this moment, as you bask in the afterglow, you know there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

#arcane league of legends x reader #arcane #reader insert #x reader #vi arcane #arcane league of legends #vi arcane x reader #vi x reader #vi x you #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn x reader #arcane smut #caitlyn smut #vi smut #caitvi x reader #caitvi

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greengoblinswifey · 28 days ago

Text

Fatal Attraction

pairing— The Salesman x Recruiter!Reader

summary— You and the Salesman share an undeniable attraction that’s filled with playful banter and sexual chemistry, despite the risks of being involved as recruiters for the Squid Game. It eventually boils over in a way you didn’t expect. based on this request.

warnings— sexual tension, flirting, jealousy, switch!salesman, manipulation, groping, slight voyeurism, thigh riding, praise kink.

a/n— part 2?🤭

Part II

The evening air was cloudy as the city hummed around you. Dressed in a chic black dress that hugged your figure and a pair of sleek red bottom heels, you walked through the dimly lit streets with an air of effortless confidence. Your black curls cascaded over your shoulders, catching the light as you moved, each step commanding attention. The world around you seemed to part as men turned their heads, unable to resist the allure you exuded.

You smirked, feeling the eyes on you. Most of the time, you didn’t need to say a word. They came to you. A flirtatious smile was all it took, and you knew that by the time they left, they'd be clutching the game card in their hands, their minds already made up. It was easy, really. Your beauty and charm were weapons, subtle but deadly, and you wielded them with precision. It was no wonder they hired you.

Behind you, the Salesman was watching. His gaze followed you, a mix of admiration and something else, something darker? He’d always been fascinated by you, but you knew he wouldn’t admit it. His competitive streak ran deep, and that was what made the dynamic between the two of you so—interesting. You had a way of making him lose focus, just for a moment, and he hated how much he liked it.

“Are you always this distracting?” he asked. He stepped closer, his presence almost predatory as you felt his eyes linger on you for too long.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you teased.

He narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed but intrigued at the same time. “You're making it hard for me to concentrate,” he said.

You leaned in just enough to feel the heat between you, brushing past him sultry, making sure to brush your ass against hun. “Well,” you said, your voice a whisper, “maybe you just need to focus more.”

The way his jaw tightened gave you a little thrill. He wasn’t used to being the one distracted, but there you were, effortlessly captivating him. He hated that you had this power over him, but at the same time, it only fueled his need to be around you.

As you approached a group of lower class men, you effortlessly captured their attention, your words emphasized as you explained the game to them, each one of them hanging on your every word. They didn’t even care about the money anymore, they were entranced by you, by the way you spoke, the way you looked, the way your eyes sparkled with mystery.

You glanced over your shoulder, catching the Salesman’s narrowed eyes. There was a flicker of jealousy there, and you smiled to yourself. He was usually so composed, so in control, but when it came to you, it was clear he was a little off balance.

As you handed the last card to a willing participant, you turned back toward him, catching frustration in his eyes. “You’re still looking at my ass,” you noted. “Is there something you want to say?”

His eyes flickered to yours, something passing between you, but instead of responding immediately, he took a step closer, cornering you against a nearby wall. His lips were so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your skin, and for a moment, the world around you both seemed to fade away.

“We need to focus,” you said, your voice a mix of teasing and determination. You could feel his body heat radiating against yours, and for just a second, you almost let go. But the chemistry between you two was a game of its own, one you weren’t ready to lose yet.

His lips hovered inches from yours, but you moved away just in time, leaving him wanting more, the silent promise of what could be lingering in the air between you. You walked away, leaving him there, caught between frustration and fascination.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was a smile at his lips. He couldn’t stay mad at you for long.

“You love it,” you called over your shoulder with a wink, and he couldn’t argue with that.

The bustling subway platform crowded, filled with footsteps, idle chatter, and the occasional rumble of an approaching train. You stood poised, elegant as ever while the Salesman stood nearby, his briefcase in hand and his usual smirk in place, but even he couldn't deny that all eyes were on you.

“You’re making this too easy,” he said, his voice laced with amusement as he watched another man approach you, drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“Not my fault I have—certain advantages,” you replied, letting your hand drift over your tits for just a moment before returning to the man who had approached you.

The man stammered as you handed him a game card, your voice smooth as you explained the rules. He barely registered the words, too mesmerized by the way you leaned in just enough to catch his attention.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the Salesman watching, his expression a mixture of pride and annoyance.

“You’re going to spoil them,” he muttered under his breath as the man walked away, clutching the card like it was a love letter.

“Jealous?”

“Hardly,” he shot back, but the way his jaw tightened said otherwise.

As you moved through the station, you approached another potential recruit, a man sitting on a bench, his head in his hands. His clothes were old, his expression weary. You softened your approach, sitting beside him with a look of genuine concern.

“I couldn’t help but notice you look like you could use a fresh start,” you began, your voice gentle.

The man looked up, startled by your presence. His eyes widened as he took in your appearance, clearly caught off guard.

“It’s not easy, is it?” you continued, your tone having fake empathy. “But I can offer you something better. A chance to turn things around.”

By the time you handed him the card, the man was nodding eagerly, his despair replaced by a spark of hope.

The Salesman watched from a distance, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a witch,” he said when you returned to his side. “The way you manipulate people—it’s almost unfair.”

“Takes one to know one,” you said smiling.

Later that evening, the two of you stood in a crowded peak, each of you scanning the crowd for potential players. He approached a group of men, his signature ddakji tiles in hand. “Care for a game?” he offered, his tone inviting.

The men glanced at him, then at you, their interest shifting immediately.

“Actually, we’d rather play with her,” one of them said, his gaze fixed on you.

You smirked, stepping closer to the Salesman and leaning in just enough to make him flinch. “Looks like you’ve got competition,” you whispered.

“Careful, or I might start charging for your services,” he retorted.

As the men prepared to play, you caught the Salesman watching you again. You met his gaze, your lips curving into a sly smile. Then, almost unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, letting the subtle action hang heavy in the air.

His eyes darkened, his composure slipping for just a moment before you stepped away, leaving him standing there, frustrated and wanting more.

During one particularly tense recruitment, a man you’d just handed a card to glanced between you and the Salesman, frowning. “You two, you should really sort out whatever this is,” he said, gesturing between you.

Without missing a beat, you turned to him. “What you need to sort out is that broke issue you have,”you retorted, leaving him sputtering as you walked away.

“You’re ruthless,” the Salesman laughed, shaking his head.

“And you love it,” you shot back, not even bothering to deny it.

As the night wore on, the two of you found yourselves alone again, leaning against a railing overlooking the city. He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his hand brushing against your arm. For a moment, it seemed like he might close the distance, but you stepped back, breaking the spell.

“Back up,” you snapped.

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “One day, you’re not going to walk away,” he said.

You smiled, turning away as your curls bounced with each step. “Good luck with that,” you called over your shoulder, leaving him to brew in his frustration once again.

Another evening at the busy train station, you and the Salesman stood on opposite sides of the platform, each scanning for potential recruits. You caught his eye briefly before a man in a tattered suit approached you. He didn’t hesitate to ask your name, his interest plain.

The Salesman watched from a distance as you gave the man a coy smile, tilting your head to send the perfect signal. The man eagerly accepted the card you handed him, and even after walking away, he kept glancing back at you.

“Showing off again?” the Salesman said as he finally approached.

“Not my fault,” you said with a shrug. “They just come to me.”

“They should try not flirting with you for once,” he muttered, his jaw tightening as his gaze darted to the men still watching you.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you laughed softly, leaning in for him to smell your perfume.

Later that night, the two of you walked back to the car after another successful round of recruitment. He was unusually quiet as you strolled under the streetlights, the faint sound of your heels breaking the silence.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He hesitated, then said, “I was just thinking, how do you do it?”

“Do what?”

He stopped walking and turned to face you. “Get everyone to fall at your feet like that.”

You tilted your head, a small smile on your lips. “It’s a gift. But don’t worry, you’re not immune.”

He shook his head, his smirk returning.

During one recruitment night, you and the Salesman found yourselves at a lounge. You moved effortlessly through the room, drawing attention without even trying. At the bar, a man offered to buy you a drink, and you accepted with a polite smile, leaning in to keep him hooked.

From across the room, the Salesman watched, his jaw clenching when the man leaned closer to whisper something in your ear. You laughed lightly, slipping the card into the man’s jacket pocket before walking away.

When you rejoined the Salesman, he raised an eyebrow. “Enjoy yourself?”

“Totally,” you replied, sipping the drink you had brought back with you.

“Next time, I’ll be the one buying you a drink,” He leaned in, his voice low.

You looked up at him, your lips curving into a playful smile. “If you’re lucky.”

One late night, as you were reviewing the day’s ‘victims’, a playful argument broke out between you two.

“You only got that guy at the park because I wasn’t there,” he teased, leaning against the table.

“Oh, please,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “He wouldn’t have looked at your ass twice.”

“Care to bet on that?”

You met his gaze, unfazed. “Fine. Loser buys dinner.”

“Deal.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, “You should practice your flirting first. Wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself.”

Another evening you stood on the busy street corner, your black dress and signature heels drawing stares as usual. A potential recruit leaned lazily against a lamppost, his attitude immediately grating.

“You think I’m fucking stupid enough to fall for this?” he sneered, flicking the card you handed him back toward you. His tone was sharp, his words laced with anger.

Your smile tightened, but you didn’t break your composure. “I wouldn’t say stupid, but if the shoe fits—”

The man stepped closer, his expression darkening. “Listen, woman, don’t test me. You think your little tricks work on everyone?”

Before you could respond, the Salesman appeared at your side, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the man. Without warning, his fist connected with the man’s jaw, sending him falling backward. The man scrambled to his feet, muttering curses as he stumbled away.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s my job to make sure you’re safe,” he replied firmly, his voice softer now as his eyes stayed on yours.

For the first time, you faltered. His protectiveness caught you off guard, leaving you unsure of what to say.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “How about dinner?”

“Sure, what the hell.”

The restaurant was cozy and dimly lit, a bit romantic. You sat across from him, sipping your wine as laughter filled your small talk. For the first time, the banter felt easy, natural.

The waitress arrived to refill your drinks and smiled warmly at the two of you. “You two make a great couple,” she said.

You opened your mouth to correct her, but the Salesman beat you to it. “Yes, we do,” he said, his grin almost asking you to challenge him.

You shot him a look, your eyebrow arching. He just shrugged, clearly enjoying himself.

As the meal continued, you slipped off your Louis Vuittons under the table, your stocking clad foot gliding toward him. You made contact with his leg first, and when he didn’t react, you moved higher.

His fork clattered against his plate when your toes brushed against his cock. He coughed, his eyes darting to yours.

“Careful,” you said, tilting your head innocently.

“What—what are you doing?” he stammered.

“What do you mean?” you asked, as if you had no idea what he was talking about.

His jaw clenched as he tried to maintain his composure, but you could see the cracks forming. “Act normal,” you murmured softly, your foot still teasing his cock. “Wouldn’t want anyone to know what we’re doing.”

He nodded stiffly, attempting to make small talk, but his sentences came out broken and stuttered. You held back a laugh, savoring his discomfort.

By the time the meal ended, you had stopped, sitting back in your chair and putting your heels back on with a satisfied smirk as he paid the bill.

The drive back to your apartment was quiet, but the air between you was filled with more tension than usual. You placed your hand on his thigh, rubbing lightly as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“Why are you so tense?” you asked.

“Don’t act dumb,” he muttered, his voice strained.

You giggled, sliding your hand higher until you reached his bulge. His sharp inhale didn’t go unnoticed, and you leaned back in your seat, thoroughly enjoying yourself.

When you finally reached your apartment, he followed you inside, closing the door behind him. Before you could take another step, he spun you around and pressed you against the door, his hands braced on either side of your head.

His face was close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m sick of your games,” he growled. “It doesn’t matter what happens out there. In here, I’m in control.”

You bit your lip, your pulse quickening. “Yes, sir,” you murmured, your voice teasing.

That was all it took for his restraint to snap.

His lips crashed against yours. It was magnetic, a clash of sexual tension and pent up frustration. His hands framed your face as if you were going to slip away. Your arms went around his neck instinctively, drawing him closer. The world outside the apartment ceased to exist. His lips moved with a ferocity that made you forget every rule you were breaking.

Before you could even catch your breath, he lifted you effortlessly, his hands firm on your thighs as he carried you through the dimly lit apartment. His strength, his control, sent something through you. He didn’t hesitate, pushing open the door to the bedroom with his shoulder, and setting you down in his lap as he sank onto the edge of the bed.

You slowly began grinding on him, his hands moved to your waist, guiding you instinctively. “You always know how to push me, don’t you?” he murmured against your lips.

“Me? I think you’re the one who—”

He cut you off with a smirk, his grip tightening. “Ride my thigh,” he said suddenly.

Your heart beat faster. “W-what?” you stammered, caught off guard.

“You heard me,” he repeated, his dark gaze locking with yours. “Show me how much control you really have.”

Your breath hitched as his hands remained steady on your hips, guiding you forward. You hesitated, unsure if this was a line you should cross, but his touch, his words, it was consuming. Slowly, you moved on his thigh, the friction and the intimacy making your pulse quicken.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Just like that.”

His praise sent a thrill through you, but as the moment grew more intense, the reality of the situation began to creep in. Your hips moved back and forth and your head fell back as the pleasure began to build in a way you didn’t expect. You were leaking through your thong and stockings, staining his pants. His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. “Cum on my thigh,” he whispered.

The coil in your abdomen snapped, your release hitting you like a truck, and you sagged against him, breathless and unsure how things had escalated this far. His arms wrapped around you as he steadied you, holding you close as the weight of what just happened sank in.

“W-we shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, breaking the silence.

“No,” he agreed, his voice low. “But I’m not stopping.”

The rules echoed in your mind, the Front Man’s orders, the consequences if you were caught. You knew you were playing with fire, but there was no denying the pull between you.

“If he finds out,” you trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

His thumb brushed against your cheek as he met your gaze. “He won’t,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The words hung in the air, a reassurance and a promise all at once. You knew it wasn’t that simple, but in his arms, you felt obligated to believe.

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wanderingwinds333 · 1 month ago

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My Sweetheart, Your Nightmare.

Pairing: Azriel X Reader

Summary: Having noticed that Elain clings to Azriel, Feyre mentions she thinks Azriel and Elain would be good together. Questions why the mother didn’t make them mates. Rhysand quickly lets her in on an important piece of information.

“‘Why not make them mates?” Feyre states as she witnesses her sister and Azriel down in the garden.

Rhysands eyes widen at his mates brazen comment and goes to interject but before he can she continues on.

“They look perfectly matched do they not? Two beautiful and caring people. Three sisters for three brothers just make sense?” Feyre says sounding upset.

“Feyre darling. It appears I’ve left out some pretty important information about this family. It’s my fault really, she’s been out doing my messy work for the night court this whole time. Keeping all the other threats at bay and …immobilizing them so Azriel has less work on his plate.” Rhysand rambles.

“What? I’m not following Rhys?” Feyre questions.

Rhysand sighs but goes to explain further.

“Azriel is only doing as I have asked in looking after Elain. He already has a mate Feyre. One he is very committed to. A female that you most certainly never want to hear the words you just spoke about your sister and him. She- “ a throat clears from behind them.

“SHE, is right here Rhysand.” A sultry voice states.

Rhysands eyes widen in what Feyre can only see as fear.

“Y/N! You are home! Oh Azriel is going to be thrilled, let me just go get him for you.” Rhysand quickly goes to grab Feyre and tries to leave but y/n has other plans.

Magic surges across the room and Feyres feet feel stuck to the floor. She turns her head to look at Rhysand and notices he is in the same predicament.

“Dammit” Rhysand whispers more to himself.

“Ah ah ah, Rhysie. That’s no way to greet your favorite sister in law. You haven’t even introduced me to your mate yet.”

Feyre turns to actually get a good look at the female that has somehow over powered the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.

Ashen white hair, icy eyes, taller than most fae females, and she has a beautiful silhouette that filled out a pair of black leathers quite nicely, Feyre thought. Cauldron boil her, this female was gorgeous.

Before Feyre could find anymore of your perfections Rhysand interrupted her train of thoughts.

“Think less loudly Feyre Darling, I’m starting to become jealous.” Rhysand deadpans.

Feyre blushes and immediately looks down to her feet.

“You know I have that affect on most fae Rhysie. Don’t be a sour puss.” Y/n smugly states.

Y/n descends upon them and actually goes to bow before Feyre.

“It is an honor to officially meet you my High Lady. My name is y/n, assassin of the Night Court. Mate and wife of Azriel.” Y/N proudly states.

“I-it’s lovely to finally meet you y/n.” Feyre stutters out.

This female infront of Feyre is terrifying and ethereal. Feyre already knows she is lethal and all thoughts she had prior of how Elain and Azriel were perfectly matched go straight out the window. She can see it now…why the cauldron makes the pairings it does.

Y/N stands to her full height but all playfulness she exuded before is gone.

“I know you did not know of my existence until just now…so for that reason alone I’ll let your comments slide. But Azriel is MY mate and the saying ‘if I can’t have them, then no one can’ is very much the saying I live by when it comes to him.”

Feyre can only nod her head dumbfounded.

A second later shadows envelope the room. More lively than Feyre has ever seen them.

Azriel soon enters with a confused Elain in tow.

When Azriel lays his eyes on y/n, Feyre can quite literally see the tension leave his body.

“Sweetheart.” Azriel speaks so softly. He rushes to y/n and envelopes her in a hug that looks like it would hurt.

“Hi love.” Y/n whispers back just as soft and leans her forehead against his.

It’s an intimate moment that everyone else in the room feel like they are intruding on.

But one moment the feared shadowsinger and his mate were there…and the next gone.

Rhysand releases a breath that he had been holding.

“Well that was y/n. She’s half high fae and half witch. The people of Prythian call her Nightmare because fae parents tell their children if you don’t behave she’ll come in the night while you are sleeping and take you to her dungeon. Which isn’t totally untrue…it’s just criminals and murderers that she takes to her dungeon. You won’t see her or Azriel again until maybe two or three months from now .” Rhysand states.

“What? Where will they be?” Elain finally speaks.

After witnessing all she just had she can’t say she’s not a bit disappointed. It was obvious what you were to Azriel.

“Oh they are going to pick up their children from Azriels mom’s cottage and spend the rest of their time at their home.” Rhysand throws out casually.

“THEY HAVE CHILDREN? Rhysand what else have you conveniently left out?!” Feyre berates.

“….well I think that’s it honestly. OH they have a pet wolf who is very protective of the children. Also my niece and nephews, they enjoy tormenting people in different ways than their parents…mental manipulation. Just lock your mind up real tight around them. God I love them and proud they are all daemati like me but they once convinced me I had a thing for Beron for over a week until y/n realized what they were doing and made them release my mind.” Rhysand annoyedly admits.

Elain and Feyre can only stare at him in shock. He simply shrugs his shoulders like it was normal and walks off.

Elain breaks the silence and turns to Feyre. “I think y/n is going to end up being best friends with Nesta.” the two break out in giggles and they honestly can’t wait to see that unfold.

#azriel x reader #azriel #acotar x you #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x you

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vibelladonna · 2 months ago

Text

✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── ·

Didn't expect me to write more about Sol, did you? Honestly, I needed to do more research into his character, after all, since I kinda ignored him in the game as soon as Crowe showed up. Like, no wonder he did what he thought he had to do.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet. I'm still learning about the BDSM community, and honestly, it's been really eye-opening.

A close friend (college roommate: adding on the fact she adores Sol—Sorry not sorry, love) of mine has been super helpful, sharing and explaining things about the BDSM scene to add more depth to my writing.

A lot of my inspiration comes from her, along with the Tumblr fanfic community and the original creator's work. I try to blend what feels true to the characters while throwing in my own twist. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with my man—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. He exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence, though the details are still unclear. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy.

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…)

For Crowe preferences!!

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished.

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender.

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after.

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment.

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment.

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin.

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew.

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore.

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer.

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable.

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy.

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down.

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions.

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous.

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache.

You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you with his cock, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His fingers tease your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want, love. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing down lightly as if testing the waters.

A soft moan released from your lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His soft gin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory.

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears running down your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him.

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you.

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences.

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor.

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability.

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there.

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed.

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching.

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares.

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away.

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break.

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior.

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable.

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable.

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it.

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

✑ Somnophillia

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend.

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you.

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you.

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.

God, he was losing it.

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further.

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly. Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it?

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry!

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything.

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special. So sacred. There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Even the shadowed obsession that came with it.

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── ·

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back crowe #the kid at the back sol #solivan brugmansia #jericho ichabod #tkatb #tkatb crowe #tkatb sol #the kid at the back vn #crowe ichabod #crowe x reader #sol x reader #sol brugmansia #tkatb vn #tkatb smut

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moonlitstoriess · 2 months ago

Text

Frosted Hearts-Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: Forced into a marriage neither wanted, Y/n (a Hybern Nobel) and Azriel vowed to keep their distance. But as walls crack and truths emerge, they begin to wonder if a union born of duty could become something real.

Warnings: ANGST ANGST AND MORE ANGST, reallyyyyy longgg, smut towards the end, some elain x azriel, mentions of injuries and violence, just an overall mix of everything lmao.

See masterlist

Azriel stood at the edge of the table, his fists clenched at his sides, the room thick with the weight of silence. The Inner Circle was gathered, all eyes on Rhysand as the High Lord gave one last glance around the room before fixing his gaze on Azriel.

“Azriel,” Rhysand’s voice cut through the tension, calm but firm, “I thought you were smarter than this. You’re the only one without a mate. Everyone else has already found their bond. But we’ve been given an opportunity to secure peace, and I need you to understand this.”

The words barely registered at first. Azriel's mind was a storm, his thoughts consumed with a single image: Elain. The image of her had haunted him for weeks now. The way her smile would light up the room, the way her gentle spirit reached for his own, the warmth she exuded. He had thought...

But it had never been. The bond, the pull that others spoke of, had never shown itself, not with her. She was bonded to Lucien, and Azriel, for all his desire, had no claim.

Still, the bitter taste of that unspoken love clung to his tongue. He swallowed it down as his eyes snapped to Rhysand.

"Peace," Azriel echoed, his voice low, dangerous. "You're asking me to marry someone from Hybern? After everything they've done?" His voice trembled with restrained fury. He could already hear the echoes of war—the bloodshed, the pain, the hatred that simmered beneath the surface of every court, but none more than his own.

Rhysand’s eyes never wavered. "I know it's not easy. But we need this alliance, Azriel. If we want any chance at peace, this is the price. You are the only one who has yet to be bound, the only one who has the power to seal this deal."

Azriel pointed to Mor, who was sitting on one of the couches. "What about her?! She also has no gods damned mate!! Why does it have to be me?!!"

He didn't give a chance for anyone to say anything else before opening his mouth once more.

"You’re asking me to throw away everything I stand for. To sacrifice my pride. To marry into the very court that has been our enemy, that has caused us endless suffering." His voice was dangerously cold, and the room held its breath.

"I know it’s not fair,” Rhys said, his tone a little softer. “But it’s necessary. Azriel, this isn’t just about you. This is about ensuring our people survive. And the new King of Hybern is willing to agree to terms. But only if the marriage goes through. It’s temporary, a means to an end. Once both sides get what they want, then..." Rhys trailed off, a look of finality crossing his face. “Then, we’ll negotiate further. Divorce, if need be.”

Azriel was silent for a long moment, struggling against the deep, primal need to lash out. Every fiber of his being screamed in opposition to this. But then there was that sharp, guttural pain in his chest—the thought of Elain, her soft gaze, and the way he had foolishly imagined a future that could never be.

"You want me to marry someone from Hybern," Azriel said again, but it was more a statement than a question now. His eyes, usually hidden beneath the shadows, were intense, burning with the fury of someone whose heart was being torn in two. "And you want me to do it for peace? For a treaty?"

Rhys’s expression softened, but his voice remained firm. "You are loyal to your people, Azriel. I need you to be loyal to them now, more than ever."

The words were heavy in Azriel's chest, pushing him down, trapping him. He couldn’t look at any of them. Not at Cassian, who had been his brother in arms for so long, not at Feyre, whose gaze was filled with understanding, not at Mor, who seemed to sense the weight of his hesitation. They all knew this wasn’t about politics. It was about something far more personal.

"You’ll do it, Azriel," Rhysand said, his voice unwavering. “I know this is hard, but there’s no other choice. Your loyalty to this court is everything. And you’ll hold up your end, as you always do.”

Azriel wanted to scream, wanted to throw his shadow blades and tear this whole room apart. But instead, he locked eyes with his brother. "And if I don't? What then, Rhys?"

A moment of stillness passed, then Rhys gave a quiet, almost regretful sigh. "If you don’t, you risk everything we’ve built. And I won’t allow that. Not again."

The weight of those words crushed him, and Azriel's chest constricted painfully. The High Lord’s authority loomed over him like an insurmountable mountain, and there was no escaping it. He couldn’t refuse.

"Fine," Azriel spat, his voice raw. "I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to ever forgive you for this."

He heard a gasp come from somewhere in the room but paid no attention to who it was.

"You don’t have to," Rhysand replied, his tone sharp yet understanding. "But you’ll see. This will be for the best. Just trust me on this. Peace is fragile, Azriel. We cannot afford to lose it now."

Azriel nodded stiffly, the words of agreement tasting like ash in his mouth. His gaze shifted to the map sprawled on the table, but all he saw were flashes of the life he would never have. The life he thought he might have had with Elain, the love he had never confessed, now buried beneath the weight of duty.

"Who is it?" Azriel asked through gritted teeth, knowing the answer would crush him further.

Rhys leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking briefly to Cassian before he spoke. "Her name is y/n. A noble of Hybern’s court. Her family holds considerable power."

Azriel’s heart sank. Hybern. The very name twisted his insides. He had fought against them, bled for his people in the wars they waged. The thought of being tied to them—bound by marriage—was unbearable.

But in the end, there was no other choice. Rhys had laid out the terms, and Azriel had no leverage to pull back. The political game had been set. And so, with a sharp, resigned breath, Azriel forced himself to accept what he couldn’t change.

“I’ll do it. But I’m not doing it for Hybern. I’m doing it for you. For this court.” His voice was cold, void of any emotion.

Rhys’s gaze softened ever so slightly. "I know."

Azriel’s mind was a storm of bitterness and uncertainty, but deep down, he knew this was the only path forward. Even as his heart still ached for Elain, for the love that would never be, he forced himself to look at the bigger picture. This was the price for peace. And Azriel would bear it, no matter how much it tore at him inside.

-----

The carriage rumbled over the cobblestone streets of Velaris, but Y/N’s mind was a whirlwind, the sights and sounds of the city falling into a distant blur. She barely even noticed the glow of the lanterns lighting the streets or the way the city seemed to pulse with energy. All she could think about was the weight of the day ahead—the wedding, the marriage that had been forced upon her.

She had never once dreamed of this day. No, she had only ever dreamed of freedom. A life away from her father’s suffocating grip, away from the oppressive cruelty of Hybern’s court. But when the King of Hybern had made his announcement, that dream shattered. The words still echoed in her mind: "This marriage is your duty. It is for the good of the realm, for the future of Hybern. You will do your part." And her father, cold as ever, had simply agreed.

Her father. The man who had never once cared to listen to her, to understand her, who had always seen her as a means to an end. How many times had she pleaded with him to let her choose her own path? To let her make her own decisions? How many times had he silenced her with that patronizing smile and a cold word or two? He was no different from the King of Hybern, who had made this decision for her with no care for her opinion. She had been nothing more than a bargaining chip, an object to secure an alliance between two powerful courts.

The alliance with the Night Court.

Her stomach churned. She could feel the hatred rising in her chest as her mind wandered to him—the one she was about to marry. Azriel. The name alone made her skin crawl. She hated him. She hated his people. She hated everything they represented.

As someone from Hybern, she had been raised to view the other courts as the enemy. To despise them. To see their lands as the threat that had nearly destroyed her home, her family, her life. And Azriel… he was one of them. A member of the Night Court, the very court that had joined forces with the others to overthrow Hybern’s rule. He was a reminder of the battle that had torn her world apart, of the war that had left her with nothing but bitterness and a deep sense of betrayal.

Her heart pounded as the city stretched out before her. The streets of Velaris, with their beauty and elegance, felt like a mockery to her—another reminder of the life she would never have, a life she could never choose for herself. This wasn’t where she belonged. It wasn’t her world. She was being forced into a marriage with a man she loathed, a man who would never look at her with anything but disdain.

Why should she care? Why should she feel anything but anger? She had no reason to soften, no reason to accept this union as anything more than a political necessity. This marriage was about securing peace, about saving her people, and she would do her duty—if only because she had no other choice.

"Remember your place," her mother’s voice cut through her dark thoughts, as sharp and cold as always. "This marriage is for Hybern. For your family. Don’t forget that."

Y/n turned her gaze toward her mother, her face betraying nothing. She had long since stopped trying to earn her mother’s approval. Her mother had made it clear that affection was a weakness. Power was what mattered. And right now, that meant this marriage, this alliance.

The carriage came to a stop, and y/n’s stomach tightened even more. She was here. She was in Velaris, about to meet her future—her future with a man she couldn’t stand, in a city she didn’t belong to. The door swung open, and a servant stepped forward to assist her. She stepped out of the carriage, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar streets, taking in the sights, the smells, the people.

Everything felt so alien, so out of place. How could she stand here, knowing what was to come?

Her thoughts were interrupted as her mother’s sharp tone reached her again. "Come along, y/n. We must get you prepared. The sooner this is over, the better."

Her heart hardened, and she gave one last glance to the city before allowing herself to be ushered inside. There was no turning back now.

As she was led to the chambers where she would be dressed for her wedding, her mind remained fixed on one thing: Azriel. Her future husband, the male she would have to pretend to tolerate. A male who, like her, was a prisoner to the game of politics. And yet, that didn’t stop the rage that bubbled within her. She had to marry him, yes, but it didn’t mean she had to like him. She could be cold, distant, and bitter—and she would. After all, it was the only armor she had left.

The chambers they led her to were grand—opulent, even. The room smelled faintly of roses, a scent that would have once been comforting, but now only made her stomach twist in irritation. This was all too much. The fine silks, the elegant mirrors, the soft lighting—it felt like a cruel mockery of everything she had lost.

"Sit," a servant instructed her, guiding her to a large velvet chair. The disdain these people felt for her was palpable. Y/n obeyed without protest, though every fiber of her being screamed to run. To escape this whole situation. But she was not a child anymore. She had no more room to fight. Not in this.

Her mother stood off to the side, watching with a sharp gaze that never left her. "Do this right," she said coldly, "and remember why this is happening. This is your chance to bring honor to our family."

Y/n clenched her fists in her lap, biting back the words she so desperately wanted to scream. She would bring honor to no one, not for this. She wasn’t doing this for her family, or for Hybern. She was doing it because she had no choice. She hated the way her mother’s eyes gleamed with the certainty that this was all for the greater good. It was never about what y/n wanted. It was never about her.

The servants worked in silence, pulling the dress over her head and adjusting the delicate lace at the shoulders. It was beautiful—silk so fine it felt like water, ivory with subtle gold embroidery—and utterly suffocating. Every layer seemed to add more weight to her chest. She barely breathed as they fastened the gown and placed the veil over her hair. The look was regal, but it felt foreign on her. Like she was playing a role that didn’t fit.

“Don’t look so miserable,” her mother muttered, her voice bitter. “Smile at your future husband. This is your duty, and it will make you valuable. That’s all that matters in this world.”

Y/N fought the tears that threatened to spill. Her mother had never been kind, but this was the worst she had ever been. She had no room for sympathy, no space to feel anything but the weight of this arrangement. The day was about securing an alliance, a peace that would serve Hybern’s interests above all. It didn’t matter if she was happy. It didn’t matter if she was terrified. It didn’t matter if she was about to marry a man she couldn’t stand, a man who represented everything she hated.

"Isn’t that enough, Mother?" she muttered bitterly, her voice barely audible.

Her mother’s gaze flicked over her, sharp and calculating. “Do not think that you can win the affection of your husband. He does not care for you, y/n. And you should not care for him. If you do, it will be your downfall.”

Her words stung, but y/n didn’t allow herself to show it. What was the point? Her mother was right in one regard—this marriage wasn’t about love. It wasn’t even about friendship. It was about survival. Political survival. For Hybern, and for herself.

The weight of that reality pressed down on her once more as a servant carefully adjusted her veil. Everything felt far too delicate, too perfect—too much of a lie.

As they finished preparing her, y/n's’s thoughts wandered again to Azriel. She could feel the resentment building within her, a solid block of ice. The thought of him made her insides twist. A warrior. A spy. Cold and distant, just as his people were. Just as the Night Court had been. She had no affection for him. There was nothing between them, and there never would be.

His name echoed in her mind—Azriel. Her husband. The one who was not even there today, the one who had no interest in her. She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same coldness, the same anger that churned in her chest.

But, then again, she didn’t care. Not really. She had no illusions about this marriage. The idea that he might be anything more than an obstacle in her path was laughable. This would be a cold union, one built on necessity, not love.

The door to the chambers opened once more with a soft creak, and her mother stepped forward, her eyes narrowing at her daughter. “Time to go, let us get this over with.” she said, her tone cold as ice.

Y/N took a deep breath, standing slowly, the weight of the gown pulling at her every step. Her heart hammered in her chest as she walked toward the door, the finality of what was about to happen closing in on her.

As they exited the chambers and made their way toward the venue, the sounds of the city faded once more. Velaris. The city of stars. She could see the grand procession ahead, and as the large doors of the venue opened before her, a rush of voices filled the air. The audience, the people waiting for this to happen, the ones who were so excited for the union. They didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know what she felt.

Her chest tightened with every step.

She had no choice in this, and that made it worse.

But once she entered the venue, the grand hall before her, her gaze flicked to the front of the room, where Azriel stood, tall and unmoving. Her future. Her marriage.

And she loathed every single part of it.

------

Azriel’s jaw was tight as he stood at the altar, trying to contain the fury boiling within him. His brothers flanked him—Rhysand, his High Lord, standing on his left, and Cassian on his right. They both tried to speak in hushed tones, but Azriel barely heard them, his focus narrowed on the heavy silence that pressed down on him like an unseen weight. The quiet mutterings of the guests around them faded, but the tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to make his wings twitch with unease.

“Az, calm down,” Rhysand murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “This is just for politics. You know what’s at stake here. We need this alliance.”

“I don’t care about alliances,” Azriel muttered under his breath, his gaze hard as he stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his brother’s eyes. His teeth ground together, the words of his bride-to-be echoing in his mind—“We’re both stuck in this. It’s not my choice either.”

Cassian leaned in, trying to catch Azriel’s gaze. “Listen, I know you’re angry. But this is the best path forward for everyone. You have no idea how much this will help us.”

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line. They don’t understand, he thought, his eyes flicking briefly toward the grand doors of the hall. The moment this marriage had been announced, he had felt as if the ground had been ripped out from beneath him. An arranged marriage with a stranger. A stranger from Hybern, no less. The kingdom he’d fought against, the same land that had caused so much suffering.

His fists clenched at his sides, and he resisted the urge to spread his wings, to take flight and leave it all behind. His thoughts were still consumed with Elain. His heart was still with her, even as his mind screamed at him to focus on what was in front of him.

Suddenly, the doors creaked open, and Azriel’s heart skipped a beat.

Y/N entered, her movements slow but purposeful, her posture regal yet somehow burdened. The long aisle stretched before her, and Azriel took a moment to study her, trying to push aside the bitterness gnawing at his insides. She was beautiful, no question about it. Atleast the slightly see-through veil suggested that. But there was something about the way she walked—something heavy in her gaze—that suggested a kind of sorrow he couldn’t ignore.

He felt her presence as she approached, like an invisible pull, yet his mind couldn’t seem to focus entirely on her. His chest tightened as she got closer, her figure framed by the soft glow of the candles lining the aisle. She was delicate, yet strong, the fabric of her gown brushing the floor with every step. Her features were soft, but her expression was unreadable, her eyes set straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. Azriel couldn’t help but notice the faint lines beneath her eyes, the subtle exhaustion that seemed to cling to her.

She looks nothing like Elain, he thought bitterly, his heart twisting in his chest.

When she reached him, standing by his side, the tension between them was thick enough to cut through with a knife. Rhysand gave him a pointed look, and Cassian nudged his shoulder, but Azriel remained unmoving. The ceremony dragged on in a haze. The words were distant, like an echo in his mind, meaningless and empty. Every word, every vow spoken felt like an iron chain tightening around his chest.

And then it was time.

The veil.

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as the priestess gestured toward y/n, signaling that it was time for him to lift the veil. His fingers trembled slightly, his mind racing. The act felt too intimate, too personal for a woman he barely knew. But he did as required, his hands gentle but firm as he lifted the veil from her face.

Her features were more beautiful than he’d expected, her delicate bone structure and full lips something to admire. Her eyes, though—those haunted eyes—held a world of stories he could only guess at. She met his gaze for a fleeting moment, and it almost felt like she was searching for something in him, something that would reassure her. But he was too lost in his own thoughts, too consumed by the presence of Elain in his mind.

He forced himself to meet her gaze again, this time with more intent, and his heart twisted in his chest. What do I even see in her? The thought was fleeting, almost absurd, but there it was, gnawing at him like a bitter ache.

As the priestess finished, the moment arrived. The kiss. His gaze flickered to Elain, sitting in the front alongside her sisters, her face pale, her eyes filled with quiet sorrow. The soft curve of her mouth, the sadness in her expression—it was all too much for him. His heart pounded, the weight of the kiss pressing down on him as he slowly turned back to y/n.

She waited, her eyes still distant, her lips slightly parted in expectation. Azriel couldn’t breathe. His chest tightened, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and frustration.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her. He couldn’t—He couldn’t kiss her with his heart still tied to Elain.

So, instead of pressing his lips to hers, he leaned forward and placed a quick, cold kiss on her cheek. His mouth lingered for only a moment, and he felt her stiffen, but there was nothing else. The spark that he had hoped for didn’t come, and the hollow emptiness in his chest only deepened.

The ceremony was over. The weight of what he had just done—what he had just agreed to—hung heavy in the air.

This is not what I want.

----------

The ballroom was a sea of silk and jewels, a mixture of laughter and hushed conversation swirling through the air like a melody that grated against her nerves. It was meant to be a celebration, but all y/n could feel was the weight of the night pressing against her chest, suffocating her with each passing second.

She sat at the table, her hands folded delicately in her lap, eyes darting from one person to the next, trying to ignore the awkward silence that hovered between her and her new husband. Azriel sat across from her, his dark gaze scanning the room, occasionally landing on the various important figures in attendance, but y/n couldn’t help but notice how often his eyes strayed toward the back of the room, where a specific female stood with her family.

The sight of her made something sharp twist in y/n's chest, but she quickly pushed it away, focusing on the table in front of her, pretending she couldn’t care less.

It wasn’t that she hated Azriel—it was that she didn’t know him. And that lack of connection, that strange void between them, made the air thick and suffocating. She had never wanted this marriage. She had never wanted to be here in this alien city, surrounded by people who treated her like she was nothing more than a political pawn. But her family had made it clear—this union was for the good of Hybern, for the future of their lands.

And here I am, she thought bitterly, a trophy for a king’s game.

Across the room, Rhysand and her father stood deep in conversation, along with other key players from various courts. The laughter of her mother rang in the air, loud and unrestrained, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, completely oblivious to the fact that her daughter was not only married to a stranger but a stranger she loathed.

Y/n let out a slow breath. The only thing keeping her tethered to this wretched night was the fact that it would soon be over. She’d play her part, show her obedience, and then leave for Hybern with her family. She’d never have to see this place again.

Her gaze flicked back to Azriel, who hadn’t spoken a word to her all night, his attention still fixed on his surroundings. She was sure he hadn’t even noticed her—hell, he probably didn’t care. He didn’t need to care. She was nothing to him.

His gaze flickered again, this time lingering for an uncomfortable moment on that beautiful female, who was laughing softly with a group of friends. Y/n clenched her jaw.

His eyes lingered on her for too long.

She leaned forward, a flash of sarcasm lacing her voice. “Any mistresses I should know about?” she asked, her tone sharp.

Azriel didn’t flinch at her words. He simply raised an eyebrow and slowly turned his head toward her, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low and measured, as if the question didn’t even warrant his full attention.

Y/n’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to be spending an awful lot of time looking at her. You wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression, would you?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, though the sting of jealousy in her chest was something she refused to acknowledge.

Azriel’s gaze hardened for a moment, before his lips quirked into a barely-there smirk. “You’re paranoid.”

“Am I?” Y/n’s voice was sweetly venomous. “You’re making it hard not to be. I don’t know—maybe it’s just the way you look at her. A little too... familiar.”

His eyes flicked to her, momentarily narrowing, and for a moment, it almost looked like he was about to respond. But then his gaze slid away, scanning the room once more, seemingly uninterested in the conversation.

Y/n’s chest tightened. She wasn’t sure if the reaction stung more because of how indifferent he was to her or because of how right she had been.

A beat of silence passed between them, the music and laughter from the other guests growing louder in the background. But it was as though they were in a vacuum, isolated in their own bitter little world.

Azriel finally leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You wouldn’t know anything about what I do or who I look at. But I’m sure you’ll be fine with it. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than what I do.”

The words were soft, but they hit her like a slap.

Y/N’s heart stuttered, but she didn’t let it show. She maintained her icy composure, the mask of indifference firmly in place. Don’t show him it hurts, she reminded herself.

With a quick inhale, she forced a small smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. You’re right. Why would I care?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered over her face, the hint of satisfaction lingering in his gaze, before he straightened up in his seat, seemingly satisfied with the exchange.

But y/n wasn’t done. She wasn’t about to let him think he’d won. Her voice was light, though the edge of bitterness was unmistakable. “Besides,” she added, glancing toward the door where her mother was speaking to her father, “I’m sure we’ll both find a way to keep ourselves entertained, won’t we?”

Azriel didn’t respond right away. His jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, she saw something in his eyes—a flicker of regret or perhaps something else entirely—but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

His attention shifted once more, and she knew he was back to his familiar indifference. Nothing new there, she thought bitterly.

As the night dragged on, the cold silence between them continued to settle over their table, only punctuated by the occasional sound of laughter or polite conversation. Y/n’s thoughts were still spinning, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of distance that loomed between them, both of them trapped in their roles, pretending they didn’t mind the inevitable.

Eventually, the night ended with little fanfare, and the room began to empty, guests trickling out one by one. But for y/n, the bitter taste of the evening lingered.

Her marriage, so far, had been nothing more than a hollow agreement. And nothing Azriel did—or didn’t do—was going to change that.

The house, the one Rhysand had gifted them, loomed large and grand, every corner gleaming with wealth and status. The grand chandelier hanging above them reflected the dim candlelight, casting shadows that felt like a warning. As they stepped inside, Y/N’s eyes scanned the space, noting the pristine perfection of their new home. She was supposed to feel some sense of pride, some excitement. But all she felt was suffocated, like she was drowning in a sea of expectations and lies.

The door clicked shut behind them, the sound so final it made her chest tighten.

Azriel was already walking toward the center of the room, his eyes flicking over the ornate furniture with the same disinterest he’d shown the entire night. The coldness between them, built on a foundation of mutual disdain, settled heavier in the air than anything else.

Y/n lingered in the doorway, her hands clasped together in front of her, unsure of what to do, how to react. Her wedding gown, so carefully crafted, felt like a prison around her. It was beautiful, intricate, but it was also a reminder of how far she had fallen, how deeply trapped she was in this life.

Azriel turned, his back to her now, as if he couldn’t care less.

But then, a sound from him—a low, deliberate sigh—snapped her attention to him.

He finally spoke, his voice colder than the night air outside. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, not bothering to look at her, his tone clipped. “This is a political marriage. I don’t like you. You don’t like me. And we both know it. So, don’t try to play any games or pretend that we’re anything more than this.”

Y/n stood frozen, her heart sinking with every word. “You think I don’t know that?” she replied, her voice icy, matching his. “I’m not here because I want to be. But I also don’t need a lecture on the obvious.”

Azriel didn’t flinch at her words, his back still turned to her. “Good. Then we’re clear. This union is for show. We present ourselves as a united, happy couple in public. But behind closed doors, you do whatever you want. I do whatever I want. We keep this civil—nothing more, nothing less.”

Y/n’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to think about him being with someone else, didn’t want to think about the reality of their arrangement. But her anger flickered, and she let it out with a bitter laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I already knew that much. You don’t have to tell me how little I matter to you. It’s obvious.”

Azriel turned then, his gaze sharp and calculating. The shadows in his eyes deepened, giving him a dangerous look. His jaw tightened, his voice dropping an octave. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

Y/n’s eyes met his, and for a moment, she saw something in them—a flicker of something raw. But it was gone before she could understand it.

“Fine,” she said, her voice low. “I get it. Just… don’t think I’m going to pretend this is anything more than what it is.”

Azriel’s lips twisted into a half-smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Neither am I.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of his boots echoing in the silence that followed.

Y/n stayed where she was, watching him walk away, a cold chill creeping over her skin. For a long moment, she didn’t move. She couldn’t. The weight of what had just transpired—the realization of how empty and hollow this marriage was—settled in her chest like a stone.

Her gaze dropped to the floor, and she took in a deep breath. The gown she wore felt suffocating now, the layers of fabric a painful reminder of the reality she had been thrust into.

She had known this wouldn’t be easy. She had known it would be cold and ruthless, but this—this level of isolation—hadn’t really hit her until now.

Azriel had left her standing in the hallway of their new home, alone with her thoughts. The grand mansion around her suddenly felt more like a gilded cage, and the silence of the night pressed down on her with an almost suffocating force.

Her fingers brushed the delicate lace of her gown, and she swallowed the knot in her throat.

This was it. This was her life now.

It wasn’t just a marriage. It was a trap. A game she had no choice but to play, and no matter how much she hated it, she would have to live it.

She turned toward the stairs, her gaze lingering one last time on the darkened hallway ahead.

It was then that the full weight of the situation settled in. She wasn’t just married to a stranger—she was bound to him in a way that no amount of anger could break.

And as she made her way to her room, the realization slowly crushed her under its weight: This would be hell.

---------

It had been a week since the wedding.

One week, and nothing had changed.

There was no warmth between them, no attempts to make this political arrangement bearable. If anything, the silence between them was thicker now, colder. Azriel couldn’t even bring himself to look at her for too long. Every time their paths crossed, he averted his gaze, unwilling to engage.

They hadn’t eaten together once, not a single meal. They were simply two bodies coexisting in the same house, but their lives were on separate tracks. She stayed in her quarters, and he in his. There was no need to speak, no reason to acknowledge each other. They both understood that.

There had been no words about the marriage, about the bond they were supposedly meant to share. No apologies, no pleasantries. Just cold indifference. Azriel hadn’t made the effort to ask how she was doing, and he had no intention of doing so. He didn’t care. He couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure why it bothered him, though. Why, in the back of his mind, something seemed to twist whenever he thought of her. Maybe it was because she was a reminder of everything he loathed—everything that made him feel trapped. But that didn’t change the fact that this wasn’t what he wanted.

It was easier this way. Easier to pretend she didn’t exist.

The days had been long, every minute spent avoiding his new wife. He still couldn't fathom how he'd gotten to this point. How he'd ended up in this forced marriage, trapped in an arrangement he hadn’t chosen. But what could he do? He had no choice. Neither of them did.

As he brooded in the garden, lost in his thoughts, a soft, familiar voice broke through his reverie.

"Azriel," Elain said gently, the sound of her footsteps approaching him.

He didn’t look up at first. He could feel her presence—warm, steady, and completely opposite of everything he felt. But Elain didn’t mind. She never did. She never pushed him for more than he was willing to give.

“I thought you might be out here,” she continued, her voice soft, but there was something in it—concern, maybe, or the hint of something deeper, something Azriel couldn’t quite place.

He finally turned his head, looking up at her. Her brown hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her eyes were filled with that ever-present sadness, the one she never let go of. Azriel hated it, hated that she was so full of quiet pain, but it was something he couldn’t fix. Not that he ever had the right to. He wasn’t that person anymore.

“You’re still upset about the wedding?” he asked, his voice more strained than he intended.

Elain sat beside him on the bench, her delicate fingers brushing against his arm in a familiar gesture. There was no hesitation, no need for words between them—they understood each other in a way no one else could. But there was something else in her touch today. A softness that felt almost too intimate, too raw.

“No,” she replied after a pause. Her eyes were sad, but she was trying to smile, trying to hide it. “It’s just... everything. It’s hard to pretend everything’s fine when it’s not.” She glanced at him, her gaze lingering for a moment before she looked away, her hands clasping together in her lap.

Azriel swallowed, the knot in his stomach tightening. He knew exactly what she meant. She had her own burdens to carry, her own emotional chains to bear. But right now, there was something more pressing.

“Have you seen her?” Elain’s voice broke the silence between them, as though she could read his mind.

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he avoided looking at her. "Who?" he asked, his tone clipped. He already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it.

“Your wife,” Elain said quietly, the words dripping with the faintest edge of something Azriel couldn’t quite place. A stab of something too deep to decipher.

He felt his heart lurch. His mind drifted to the cold, empty halls of the estate. To her—y/n—always staying in her rooms, always keeping her distance.

"No," he replied flatly, his voice colder than he intended. "I haven't seen her. I don’t... need to."

Elain’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering. “You can’t pretend she doesn’t exist, Azriel. You’re married to her. You need to at least try.”

Azriel turned to face her now, his anger bubbling up, but he bit it back. “I don’t owe her anything, Elain. This marriage is nothing. It’s a political arrangement, nothing more. There’s no pretending it’s something else."

His voice was tight, and he could feel the tension in his chest, the gnawing emptiness that only seemed to grow whenever he thought about her. Y/n. His wife. The one he couldn’t even bring himself to look at for too long.

“You don’t owe her anything, but she’s still your wife,” Elain said softly, her words more resigned than accusing. “And that’s something, whether you like it or not.”

Azriel didn’t respond at first, his gaze turning once again to the flowers in the garden. The peace in the air was deceiving. He hated it. The fact that everything around him seemed so serene while everything inside him was falling apart.

“Why are you here, Elain?” he asked quietly, not unkindly.

She met his gaze, her eyes soft. “Because you need someone, Azriel. And I... I don’t want you to be alone. I never want that for you.”

Her words hung in the air like a heavy weight. Azriel didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure he even deserved her kindness, but it felt good to hear it.

Before he could speak again, a gust of wind blew through the garden, rustling the leaves and carrying the faintest scent of saltwater from the distant ocean. It was a fleeting moment of calm, and then he felt the gentle pressure of Elain’s hand on his arm once more, reminding him that she was still there, still offering something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

He could have spoken. He could have said that instead of y/n, it should have been Elain who walked down the aisle towards him. How she is the only one whom he will ever feel this way for. But for some reason, there was a tiny voice in his mind that just didn't allow him to.

So, instead of responding, he remained silent, lost in the quiet chaos of his thoughts. The flowers bloomed around him, and yet everything felt frozen, as if even the seasons were trapped in time. Just like him.

--------

Y/n sat by the window, staring out at the vast expanse of the estate's gardens below. The flowers swayed gently in the wind, their colors a sharp contrast to the grayness that had settled over her heart. She wasn’t sure how many days it had been since the wedding, but each one felt the same. Empty. Unchanging.

Her fingers traced the edge of the windowsill, the cool stone grounding her as she tried to steady herself. She had been given this life, this title, this... marriage. But it had never been what she expected.

The sounds of the estate—footsteps in the halls, distant voices, the occasional laughter—were muffled to her ears. Everything felt distant, as though she were watching her life from behind a thick pane of glass. She had tried to reach out, tried to break the silence with Azriel, but he never acknowledged her, never let her in. They had been strangers before the wedding, and now... now, she didn’t even know what to call their relationship.

Y/n didn’t know how much longer she could pretend. She wasn’t just some political pawn. She had her own life, her own dreams before this. But those felt like a distant memory now, swallowed up by the reality of her new world.

She leaned her forehead against the cold glass, watching the sun set slowly over the horizon. The light dimmed, the world outside growing darker with every passing second. It felt... fitting.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

Y/n didn't move at first. She didn’t need to answer. She already knew who it was. They’d all come to check on her once or twice, as if her silence was something to be fixed. But she wasn’t broken.

Another knock, more insistent this time, pulled her from her reverie. With a resigned sigh, she stood and crossed the room, opening the door just wide enough to see the person standing on the other side.

It was Nesta.

She stood there, arms crossed, her gaze sharp and unreadable. The tension in the air was thick, but it wasn’t just from Nesta’s presence. It was the weight of the expectations—expectations that Y/n didn’t care to meet. Not anymore.

"I thought I'd find you here," Nesta said, her tone a little colder than Y/n expected, though there was a sharpness to it that was unmistakable. She didn’t wait for an invitation before stepping inside.

Y/n barely moved as Nesta brushed past her and into the room. She closed the door quietly behind them, leaning against it as her eyes studied the woman before her.

"I’m not locked away," Y/n said flatly, her voice distant, though the words felt empty as soon as they left her mouth. She wasn’t lying, but at the same time, she wasn’t being entirely truthful. She was locked away—locked away by her own choices, by the distance that had grown between her and everything else in this house. Including Azriel.

Nesta didn’t bother with pleasantries. "Cassian sent me," she said bluntly. "He’s concerned because he hasn’t seen you leave this room in days. We barely see your face around here. You and that new husband of yours seem to be avoiding our gatherings."

Y/n’s eyes flickered to the floor, the words landing with a dull thud. She wasn’t sure what she expected—maybe a little more empathy, or at least a hint of warmth. But this was Nesta. Cold, direct, and unyielding. Just like everyone else in this court.

"Tell Cassian I’m fine," Y/n replied, her voice losing even more of its life with each passing second. "I’m just... adjusting."

"Adjusting?" Nesta scoffed, her tone turning more biting. "You’re barely even talking to anyone. It’s been a week since the wedding, and you’ve barely left this room." She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied Y/n’s face. "You’re not adjusting. You’re hiding."

Y/n didn’t flinch at Nesta’s words. She had heard it before, from Azriel and from the rest of the family. They couldn’t understand. They wouldn’t understand. How could they? They were all in different worlds, living different lives.

"I’m not hiding," Y/n repeated, her voice taking on a sharp edge. "I just don’t see the point in pretending things are fine when they aren’t."

Nesta seemed to take a moment before responding. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. "You’re right. Things aren’t fine. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay stuck in this... this misery. Azriel’s not going to change overnight. None of us expect that from him. But you can change. You can stop hiding."

Y/n’s eyes flicked to the ground, her jaw tight, and her heart twisted in a way she didn’t want to examine. "What do you want me to do? Go back to the life I had before? Pretend everything’s fine? Pretend I’m not married to a man who won’t even look at me?"

Nesta didn’t flinch at her words. Instead, she simply crossed her arms and regarded her with a steady gaze. "No. I’m not asking you to pretend. But hiding away like this won’t fix anything, y/n. Cassian wants you to stop isolating yourself. I think you need it, too."

Y/n’s gaze flickered over to Nesta, her expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. "You don’t understand," she muttered.

Nesta turned on her heel to leave, but before she did, she spoke again. "Don’t hide forever, y/n. You might not be able to change everything, but you can change this."

And with that, she was gone, leaving Y/n alone in the stillness of the room once more.

The silence closed in again, more suffocating than before. Y/n leaned her back against the door, her thoughts spiraling as the weight of Nesta’s words sank in. Maybe she was hiding. Maybe she was running from the life she had been given. But what choice did she have? What else was there for her in this house, in this life?

As she stood there, the darkness outside pressing in on the walls of the room, she knew Nesta was right about one thing—she couldn’t keep disappearing. But that didn’t mean she had any idea of how to stop.

-------

Two weeks into this miserable excuse of a marriage, and Azriel was still no closer to understanding how to make it work. The silence between him and y/n was deafening. Every word he tried to say felt like it would only widen the gap between them, and each glance he shot her way was met with nothing but cold indifference. She kept her distance, and he made sure to do the same.

Yet, in the quiet moments when he lay awake at night, his mind wandered to thoughts he couldn’t control. Thoughts of Elain. Of his real bond, the one that mattered. He had promised himself that he’d never let anything or anyone get in the way of that, especially not a woman he barely knew, one he had been forced into this union with.

But still... there were moments when something stirred in him, a fleeting feeling, a hesitation he could never quite place.

As he passed the dining hall, he heard the soft clink of silverware against china. His gaze flicked toward the open door, and he froze when he saw her. Y/n. Sitting at the table, alone.

It was always like this now. Y/n had taken to eating alone, isolating herself more and more. It wasn’t the kind of thing Azriel was used to—seeing anyone, especially someone he was bound to, so entirely separate from the rest of the world. But in that moment, as she sat there in solitude, his irritation boiled over.

She didn’t even look up when he entered the room, as if she had known he’d be here. Her gaze remained fixed on the food in front of her, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows on her features. She might as well have been a ghost in the room.

"Is this how it’s going to be?" he asked, his voice sharp, his patience wearing thin.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, Azriel wondered if she even cared enough to acknowledge him. Finally, her eyes slid up to meet his, the coldness in them matching his own.

"Is what how it’s going to be?" she asked, her tone just as frosty, but there was a sharpness to it that was impossible to ignore.

Azriel let out a frustrated sigh, his wings twitching behind him as he stepped further into the room. "You’re avoiding everyone. I mean, I did say we don't need to acknowledge each other but not my fucking family too! You don’t even bother to show up for dinner with the others. What is this, Y/n? Is this some form of... rebellion?" His words were laced with more anger than he had intended, but at this point, he wasn’t sure if it was the silence, the tension, or something deeper gnawing at him.

She picked up her glass of wine and took a slow sip, as though he hadn’t even spoken. "Maybe I just enjoy my own company more than yours," she said dryly, setting the glass down without taking her eyes off him.

The words stung, though Azriel would never admit it. His jaw tightened, but for some reason, he didn’t leave. He didn’t turn away like he normally would. Something about the solitude in the room, the quiet, was oddly compelling. He should walk away. Go back to his responsibilities. Back to Elain.

But he didn’t.

"Fine," he muttered, pulling out a chair across from her. "I’ll stay for dinner. Don’t get used to it."

Y/n didn’t seem to care either way. She simply resumed cutting her food, the silence between them once again stretching thick and heavy.

As they ate, the conversation remained stiff at first, barely anything beyond a few biting remarks and cold stares. Azriel kept his focus on his plate, only offering brief glances at y/n. Her presence, though distant, seemed to wrap itself around him in ways he couldn’t escape.

"You know," she said, breaking the silence at last, "you don’t have to stay, Azriel. It’s not like you care to be here."

The words were blunt, but there was a certain weariness behind them that made Azriel pause. He looked up sharply, ready to snap back, but found something different in her eyes. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t contempt. It was... exhaustion.

"What’s your point?" he asked, his voice low, though his anger was fading, replaced by something else—something he didn’t want to examine.

Her gaze softened for just a moment. "You’re here because you feel obligated. We both know it. So why don’t we just call it what it is and stop pretending?"

Azriel’s stomach twisted. He looked away, unwilling to confront the raw truth she was offering. "I’m not pretending," he bit out. "I don’t have time for games."

"No," she agreed, her tone quiet but cutting. "You don’t. Neither of us do."

The conversation slipped into an uneasy silence, one that felt far less hostile than the ones before. They both ate in a strange truce, their proximity and shared space creating a tension that neither of them knew how to deal with.

Azriel’s mind drifted—back to Elain. To the bond he shared with her, the one that was real. Yet, even as the thought settled in, a small, almost imperceptible crack appeared in his carefully constructed wall. Y/n’s presence, her voice, even her sharpness had gotten under his skin in a way he didn’t want to admit.

And just as quickly as it had softened, the moment was over.

"Enough," Azriel said, standing up abruptly and pushing his chair back. "This was a mistake."

Y/n didn’t even flinch, her eyes already closed as if she’d anticipated his reaction. "Yes. It was."

Azriel’s wings twitched as he moved to leave the room, but as he passed the door, he hesitated. He couldn’t quite explain why, but the brief, fragile moment they’d shared had lodged itself in his mind, and for the first time in weeks, his thoughts of Elain became... blurred.

It wasn’t enough to change anything. But it was something.

-------

Y/n stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection as she adjusted the neckline of the dress. Three weeks into this marriage, and it still felt like she was wearing someone else’s life. The faint scent of lavender in the room did nothing to calm her racing thoughts.

She hated this. Hated the constant pretending. Hated that she was walking into Rhysand and Feyre’s home tonight as though everything was fine, as though she was part of their world. She was no more than a pawn in a game she hadn’t signed up for. A foreigner trapped in a world she didn't understand.

The Hybern enemies were now her supposed allies. Her chest tightened at the thought. How hilarious. How utterly fucking ridiculous.

Y/n smoothed the fabric down, unable to shake the weight of the mask she had to wear for the evening. Her life—her past—felt like a distant memory now. She was a stranger in her own skin, wearing the title of wife with no meaning behind it. Azriel, the man she was wed to, never looked at her. Never spoke to her unless absolutely necessary.

Her eyes flickered to the door. She didn’t want to be here, but it was too late to back out now.

The carriage ride to Rhysand and Feyre’s estate had been silent, save for the distant sound of the horses’ hooves and the occasional soft rustling of the wind. Azriel had been beside her, of course, but his presence was as cold as the space between them. Neither of them had spoken, and she had been more than content with that.

Apparently he thought it would be better to go this way rather than to fly her in his arms because that was just too....intimate. And she agreed.

As they entered Rhysand’s home, she couldn’t help but notice how alive it was. Laughter echoed through the halls, the warmth of family and friendship surrounding her. Yet, y/n felt none of that warmth. She felt like an outsider, like a ghost drifting through a place she didn’t belong.

The table was set, and everyone was already seated, talking and laughing. The moment she entered the room, their conversation quieted, but y/n barely noticed. Rhysand gave her a welcoming nod, and Feyre offered a smile, but it felt like nothing more than a formality.

Azriel pulled out the chair beside her, but didn’t speak. He sat down with his usual air of detachment, his eyes already flickering to the female who was named Elain, who was seated across from him. She looked at him with such warmth, her eyes soft, her smile effortless. It made Y/n’s stomach churn.

They were so familiar with each other. So easy in their connection. Elain reached across the table to adjust Azriel’s plate, her fingers brushing his hand just for a second. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, but she quickly swallowed the surge of anger rising within her.

Focus, she told herself, trying to breathe through it.

They were happy. They had every right to be happy. She wasn’t a part of this, not really. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to be.

But it stung, nonetheless. She was his wife. Given, in name only but still.

The conversation flowed around her, but y/n found it hard to participate. Every word, every shared laugh, every glance exchanged between Azriel and Elain felt like a jab in her chest. Her stomach twisted as they continued to speak in their familiar way, each moment a reminder that she was the outsider.

She pushed her food around her plate, not really hungry, but unable to force herself to eat. She couldn’t stomach the thought of food while her thoughts spiraled. Every laugh, every smile from the others felt like a reminder of how alone she was in this room. She had nothing in common with any of them. And as for Azriel...

Azriel.

He barely acknowledged her. Not that she expected him to. But every time he spoke to Elain, it was as if y/n didn’t even exist. He didn’t look at her, didn’t speak to her, as if she was just another piece of furniture in the room.

It was almost too much to bear.

The moment came when Elain reached over to touch Azriel’s arm, laughing at something he said, her fingers grazing his skin in a way that made y/n’s heart ache.

Y/n stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sudden movement caught everyone’s attention, but Y/n didn’t care. She wasn’t going to sit there anymore, pretending to be part of this farce. She had enough.

"Excuse me," she muttered, her voice sharp, betraying none of the hurt she was feeling. She wasn’t going to let them see it. Not when they didn’t care, when Azriel didn’t care.

Azriel’s eyes flickered up to her, confusion crossing his features for a moment before he quickly masked it with indifference. He said nothing. None of them did. They just watched her leave the table.

Y/n walked out of the dining room, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know where she was going, but she had to get out. She needed air. She needed to breathe.

The cool night air hit her as she stepped into the hall, the silence of the house almost suffocating. She needed to leave. Now.

She turned the corner, her breath catching in her throat.

“Y/n,” came a voice from behind her.

It was Cassian.

He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern in his voice, though he kept a safe distance.

Y/n stiffened, her hands clenched at her sides.

“I just need to go home,” she said, her voice cold. “Send me home.”

Cassian hesitated for a moment, looking past her toward the others in the dining room. Then he nodded, walking toward her.

“Alright,” he said, his tone gentler than she expected. “I’ll take you back.”

Y/n didn’t speak as they left the house, the silence between them heavy. All she wanted was to be away from them, away from the family she would never belong to.

When they reached the gates, Cassian turned to her. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You don’t have to isolate yourself.”

Y/n stiffened, not trusting herself to respond.

“Just... think about it,” Cassian said quietly, before walking away.

Y/n watched him go, her heart still heavy with the unspoken words between them. She turned back toward the house, feeling the coldness of the night settle in her bones.

Inside, Azriel would remain with his family. With Elain.

And she would be alone. Again.

---------

Azriel paced the length of Rhysand’s study, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out the window. Four weeks. Four fucking weeks since the wedding, and nothing had changed. The silence between him and Y/n had only deepened. They were as distant as two strangers, trapped in a marriage neither of them had asked for.

But what else could he do? He had tried. He’d tried to give her space, tried to keep his distance, tried to ignore the way his mind kept drifting back to her. To the way she looked when she walked into a room, or how she had stood up and left the dinner table that night. But none of it mattered. She hated him. And he had every reason to hate her too. She was a foreigner in his world, someone who didn’t belong here.

“Rhys,” Azriel said, his voice low as he turned to face his brother, who was lounging behind his desk, eyes gleaming with that trademark amusement.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, knowing immediately where this was going. “What is it now? Another request for a solo mission?”

Azriel gritted his teeth, frustration clawing at his chest. He couldn’t do it anymore—being stuck in that house with her. Being stuck with the constant reminder that he was married to someone he didn’t even know. And it wasn’t like he was allowed to go out and do his usual work without being burdened by her presence.

“I need a mission, Rhys,” Azriel muttered, pacing again. “I can’t stay there with her. I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine. Like we’re not just two people forced into this. I’m asking you to send me away. Please.”

Rhysand chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair as he watched Azriel’s tense movements. “You sure? Because the last time I saw the two of you together, you looked anything but hateful.”

Azriel froze mid-step, his heart skipping a beat. The words hit him like a punch, knocking the wind out of him. He hadn’t expected Rhys to say that. He’d kept his distance, kept his eyes off her as much as possible, but he couldn’t shake the truth in his brother’s words. He hadn’t seen the way he had looked at her—hadn’t noticed the way she had glanced at him when she thought no one was watching. They were still strangers, but those brief moments... they had felt different.

Azriel scowled, shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts swirling in his mind. “You’re wrong. There’s nothing between us. I don’t even see her as my wife. I don’t want anything to do with her.”

Rhys’s gaze softened, but there was still a glimmer of humor behind his eyes. “You keep saying that, but the way I see it, you’re lying to yourself. I’ve seen the way you look at her. You can’t even hide it from me, Az. I know you.”

Azriel growled under his breath, but his brother’s words were like tiny shards of ice, piercing through the walls he’d spent years building around his heart. He couldn’t allow himself to feel. He couldn’t let himself think that maybe, just maybe, Rhys was right.

“You’re out of your mind,” Azriel muttered, taking a step back. “I don’t feel anything for her. I’m just stuck in this mess because you insisted on this ridiculous marriage.”

Rhys leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. His voice was quieter now, but there was a sharpness to it that made Azriel pause. “You can lie to me all you want, but you can’t lie to yourself, Azriel. I know what I saw. And I’m telling you this because you’re my brother. Whatever this is between you two, it’s not going away just because you pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Azriel clenched his fists, his body tight with anger. “I don’t need your advice, Rhys.”

Rhys’s lips quirked up, but there was something more sincere in his gaze now. “I’m not giving advice. I’m telling you what I see. You’ve got two choices: face whatever it is you’re feeling, or keep running from it. But running won’t make it go away.”

Azriel’s mind raced, and he wanted to scream at Rhys, tell him to stop reading him like an open book, but he couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t even look Rhys in the eye for fear that his brother would see through all of his lies.

Instead, he let out a long breath, pushing past the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. “So what do you want me to do?”

Rhys’s expression was unreadable as he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. “You’re going to stay with your wife, Azriel. I’m not sending you away on some mission. You need to work this out. You need to talk to her. But I know you won’t, so I’ll tell you this: You’re not as alone as you think you are. But you’ve got to stop pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Azriel’s throat tightened at the implication. He didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, Rhys was right.

“Fine,” Azriel spat, turning toward the door. “I’ll stay. But don’t expect me to like it.”

As his hand gripped the door handle, Rhys’s voice stopped him. “Az,” he said quietly. “Attraction isn’t always easy. But pretending it doesn’t exist? That’s even harder.”

Azriel stood there, frozen, the words echoing in his mind like a haunting whisper. Slowly, he turned to face his brother. “I’m not pretending. I don’t feel anything for her.”

Rhys’s gaze softened, but there was a glint of something that made Azriel’s heart pound. “We both know that’s not true. But it’s your choice, Azriel. I’m just telling you—don’t waste the time you’ve got.”

The weight of Rhys’s words lingered long after he had left the study. Azriel’s mind spun, and for the first time in a long while, his walls cracked just enough for doubt to seep through.

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

The soft clink of porcelain against porcelain was the only sound filling the quiet, drawing Y/n’s gaze to the cup in front of her. Feyre had insisted she join her for tea—something about “breaking the ice” between them, as if it were that simple. But Y/n knew it was just another attempt to draw her into the circle, to make her feel like she belonged in their world. She didn’t. And she never would.

Y/n’s fingers tightened around the teacup, her knuckles going white as she stared at the swirling liquid, her mind a million miles away. The air in the room was thick with forced civility, and y/n hated it. The delicate sitting room with its cushioned chairs and soft lighting made her skin crawl. It was all a facade. Pretend. She didn’t belong here, and they knew it. Feyre knew it.

“Y/n,” Feyre said, breaking the silence, her voice warm, but still laced with that underlying curiosity. “I know this might not be the easiest thing for you... but I want you to feel at home here, even if just for a little while.”

Y/n’s lips twitched into something that might’ve been mistaken for a smile if one didn’t pay close attention to the coldness in her eyes. “At home?” she repeated flatly, her voice laced with distaste. “That’s funny. I don’t think this house will ever feel like home to me.”

Feyre didn't react to the bite in her tone, her expression steady and patient, as if she were used to it by now. “You’re Azriel’s wife now,” Feyre said, more matter-of-fact than anything else. “You’re part of this family, whether you want to be or not.”

Y/n’s gaze sharpened as she finally looked up, meeting Feyre’s eyes across the table. She let the words hang in the air for a moment, the weight of them settling in her chest. Part of this family. The irony tasted bitter on her tongue. A family she had no stake in. A family she would never be a part of. Not really. She could play the part, sit here, sip tea, and pretend for as long as she needed to, but that didn’t mean she would ever truly be one of them.

“Right,” she muttered, trying to rein in the simmering frustration that was starting to bubble up. “Azriel’s wife.” She forced the words out as if they didn’t sting every time she said them.

Feyre didn’t seem to pick up on the bitterness in Y/n’s tone, or maybe she just didn’t care. She leaned back in her chair, eyes still on Y/n, her expression more thoughtful now.

“How have you been adjusting to everything?” Feyre asked, her voice gentle. It almost sounded like a question of genuine concern, though Y/n knew better. Feyre wasn’t asking to truly understand; she was asking because she had to.

“Fine,” Y/n replied, her voice cold and clipped. “It’s only been a month, after all.”

Feyre nodded, her eyes flickering to the side for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “I understand that it’s not easy. I know Azriel can be… difficult. But he’s a good person, Y/n. He’s been through a lot.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Good person?” she repeated, her voice taking on a mocking edge. “That’s one way to put it.”

Feyre didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, her tone shifting, becoming more serious. “I know this whole thing isn’t what you expected. And I can’t pretend to understand what you’re feeling. But I’ve seen the way you look at Azriel. I know it’s hard to… accept everything right now. But he’s not the enemy.”

Y/n’s eyes flicked up sharply, but before she could reply, Feyre continued, her words flowing like water, too fast to interrupt.

“And I know you don’t want to hear this,” Feyre said softly, almost regretfully, “but Elain—Azriel and Elain—there’s something between them. Even now. They can't stay away from one another, no matter what.”

Y/n froze. The words hit her like a physical blow, and for a moment, her vision blurred as a wave of something unrecognizable washed over her—resentment, jealousy, pain? She didn’t know, but it made her stomach twist. She quickly masked it, but Feyre had already seen the flicker in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre added, her voice sincere but firm. “I know you’re married to him, but that’s the truth. Elain has her mate, and Azriel is now married to you, but… there’s something between them, something deeper than either of them can deny.”

Y/n’s grip tightened on her teacup, and she forced her voice to remain steady, even though everything inside her was screaming. “And what does that have to do with me?” she asked, her words clipped, her tone biting.

Feyre didn’t back down. “It has everything to do with you, Y/n. Whether you like it or not, this situation—this marriage—was never just about the two of you. Elain is a part of Azriel’s life, and you’re caught in the middle of it. I’m sorry.” Her words were almost too soft, too apologetic, and it made Y/n want to lash out.

Y/n stood abruptly, pushing her chair back with a screech that echoed through the room. “I don’t need your pity, Feyre,” she spat, her heart racing. “I never did.”

She didn’t give Feyre a chance to respond. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, the sound of Feyre’s voice calling after her—soft, apologetic, and full of regret—fading as she made her way down the hall.

She didn’t care.

Not about them. Not about Elain and Azriel. Not about Feyre or any of it.

But deep down, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought that something had shifted in her since that conversation. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt it, burning like a brand beneath her skin.

———-

Y/n sat alone in their shared home, the silence of the space pressing down on her like a weight she could barely lift. The walls seemed to close in as she glanced at the clock. Another evening without Azriel. Another day where the distance between them only seemed to grow.

It had been weeks, two months now, since the wedding—an event she had reluctantly accepted but had done nothing to erase the bitterness in her heart. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t let her emotions get the best of her, that she would remain indifferent. After all, this wasn’t a marriage born of love, and that was clear from the start.

But the constant tension in the house, the subtle glances between Azriel and Elain whenever they were in the same room, was enough to make her stomach churn with something that wasn’t hatred—something else, something more destructive.

She could never escape it. They were everywhere. Azriel with Elain. Elain with Azriel. It was like the universe kept reminding her of the one thing she couldn’t control.

With a sharp exhale, Y/n threw herself onto the couch, eyes closing in frustration. She could hear them in the hallway just outside. Their soft laughter, their quiet conversations.

Her hands clenched at her sides.

No. No more.

She stood, her heartbeat quickening as she made her way down the hall. She couldn’t keep pretending. Not anymore.

Azriel stood at the door to the study, his posture relaxed, leaning slightly against the doorframe as Elain spoke softly to him. They were close—too close. The sight of them made Y/n’s skin burn.

She took a step forward, and they both fell silent. Azriel’s eyes shifted to her, but he didn’t look surprised. He never did.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Azriel,” Y/n’s voice cut through the silence, the coldness of her tone making the words sharper than she intended. “I know exactly what’s going on here.”

Azriel’s eyes hardened, a warning flashing in them, but Y/n didn’t care. She had spent the last month walking on eggshells, suppressing the growing anger that had been building inside her. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“You’re in love with her,” Y/n spat, her words filled with venom. “I don’t know why I even bother. All this time pretending like we’re somehow in this together. But you can’t even look at me without looking at her too.”

Elain shifted uncomfortably, but it was Azriel who spoke first. His voice was tight with restraint. “Y/n, not now.”

“Not now?” Y/n repeated, her voice rising. “I’m tired of pretending that you and I are some happy little couple when all you do is look at her like she’s the only person in this world. How stupid do you think I am? I’m not blind, Azriel. It’s pathetic.”

Azriel’s expression darkened, but he didn’t move. “That’s enough.”

“No, it’s not enough,” Y/n snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. “I’m not your fucking fool. You’re married to me, and you can’t even act like it. You can’t even look at me without thinking of her.”

There was a dangerous quiet in the air now. Azriel’s jaw clenched as he took a step toward her, his voice cold. “Watch your words, Y/n. I didn’t marry you because I wanted to. You think I don’t see the way you look at me? Don’t pretend like you’re innocent in all of this. We’re both stuck in this arrangement. Don’t make it more than it is.”

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. “I’m stuck in this arrangement?” she echoed, incredulity lacing her voice. “I never wanted this! You’re the one who’s in love with her, Azriel. I’m just a placeholder. You think I don’t see it? The way you and Elain look at each other when you think no one’s watching?”

“Stop it,” Azriel growled, his tone low and dangerous.

But Y/n didn’t stop. She had no intention of stopping now. All the feelings she had been burying, all the resentment and jealousy, came pouring out in a surge of anger she could no longer control. “It’s obvious, Azriel.You wish she was your mate. You’re just waiting for some godforsaken miracle to undo this marriage, and the whole time I’m stuck with you—with someone who doesn’t even want me.”

The words hung in the air like a spell, suffocating her, but she didn’t care. It was the truth, and for the first time, she didn’t bother pretending otherwise.

For a moment, there was only silence. Elain had stepped back, her eyes wide, but Azriel stood frozen in place, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and something unreadable.

Then he spoke, his voice low, edged with something close to fury. “I never asked for this either. Don’t act like you’re the only one suffering through it.”

Y/n’s chest heaved as she swallowed back the rising tide of emotions threatening to overtake her. “You think this is hard for you? You don’t even know what this feels like. I don’t care about the Hybern blood in me. I don’t care about your hatred for it. But I’m not stupid. And I’m done.”

Azriel opened his mouth to speak, but Y/n was already turning on her heel, storming out of the room before he could say anything. Her footsteps echoed in the hall, the weight of the argument heavy in the air.

As she slammed the door behind her, she leaned against it, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

Her heart was pounding, a mixture of fury and hurt boiling inside her. She had just exposed everything—the truth she had been holding in for so long. And she didn’t know if she felt better or worse for it.

The next day, Y/n didn’t care. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. The argument with Azriel had been explosive, and she hadn’t bothered to check on him since. He was probably off somewhere with Elain, as usual, ignoring her existence in favor of someone who truly mattered to him.

And that was fine. She wasn’t about to play the part of the desperate, insecure wife. She didn’t care what he did, who he was with, or what he had to say. The venom in her words from last night still echoed in her mind, but she refused to acknowledge the small, gnawing feeling in her chest that told her maybe—just maybe—she had gone too far.

But no, she wasn’t going to do this. She wasn’t going to let herself soften for him. She’d learned a long time ago that there was nothing worth caring about in this world. So why bother?

The morning had been cold, and she had spent most of it in her room, staring out the window, watching the city go about its business below. Her thoughts had drifted, as they often did these days, from one dark corner of her mind to another. She couldn’t afford to linger on Azriel or Elain. She couldn’t afford to care about anything.

But as she pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and left the house for a walk—just to clear her head—the air felt heavier than usual. There was something about the silence that seemed too still, too quiet.

She passed through the marketplace, her boots clicking on the cobblestones, ignoring the looks from the locals. The city was full of people, but in this moment, Y/n felt more alone than ever. She could feel the weight of the fight from last night still hovering over her, but it was easier to let it sit in the back of her mind while she focused on the mundane tasks of everyday life.

That was, until a shadow fell across her path.

Before she could even register what was happening, something hard pressed against her side, a sharp pain searing through her ribs. Her instincts screamed at her to fight, but it was too late. She barely had time to react before she was pulled into an alley, her body shoved roughly against the stone wall. The smell of sweat, damp earth, and something sour filled her nostrils, and she choked on the sudden rush of fear that flooded her veins.

Her heart pounded as she struggled, but the grip on her arms tightened. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she fought against the strong hands holding her still. She twisted, trying to break free, but the attackers were swift—too swift.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed through gritted teeth, her heart racing with adrenaline. But the men—two of them—said nothing. One of them simply pressed a cloth to her mouth, and before she could react, darkness closed in.

The world around her spun, and everything went black.

When Y/n came to, the first thing she noticed was the cold, damp stone beneath her. She was lying flat on her back, and the air smelled stale, like a forgotten cellar. Her head throbbed, and a dull ache spread across her temples. She blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings, but the flickering light from a torch just ahead didn’t do much to illuminate the small, cramped room.

Panic surged through her as she sat up, her hands immediately reaching for her body, checking for any weapons. There were none. Her throat felt dry, and her mind raced with questions.

Where was she?

Why had they taken her?

And who were these people?

A soft clink of metal on stone made her pause. She looked up, eyes narrowing as she saw a shadow moving in the doorway of the room. It was hard to make out much in the dim light, but she could feel the eyes on her. The presence of someone… watching.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice said, smooth and cold, like it was used to power. A woman stepped into view, her features shadowed but unmistakably cruel. “You didn’t think you could just walk through our lands, did you?”

Y/n didn’t respond, her chest tight with the remnants of fear. She had been captured—no, taken—by people who didn’t want a Hybern bloodline anywhere near their territory. How ironic. They probably thought they were doing the world a favor, ridding the land of her existence.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes glinting with anger. “I have nothing to do with Hybern,” she spat, her voice hoarse from the struggle earlier.

The woman smiled coldly, circling around Y/n like a predator eyeing its prey. “You’re still part of that bloodline. And that makes you dangerous.”

Y/n glared at her, unwilling to let her see the fear she felt inside. “You’ll regret this.”

The woman laughed. “Maybe. But first, we have to make sure you’re… disappeared.”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. She knew what that meant. But she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

----------

Azriel sat beside Elain, his hand resting on her back as she sobbed quietly into his chest. He tried to focus on her, on the comfort he had been offering her over the past few days, but it was difficult. His mind kept drifting back to Y/n—her words from yesterday, the way she had spat venom at him like it was second nature.

He could still hear the bite in her voice, the sting of every insult, every accusation. “I know we’re not going to acknowledge each other, but this is too much. You’re clearly in love with Elain.”

“I’m sorry, Elain,” he murmured again, but his voice lacked conviction. He was trying to soothe her, to ease the hurt between them, but the more he tried, the more he realized something was slipping through his fingers.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Y/n since their argument. Her words had cut him deeper than he wanted to admit, and no matter how many times he tried to push the thoughts away, they kept coming back.

Azriel shook his head, trying to focus on Elain, trying to push the thoughts of Y/n away. He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but the truth was undeniable. The space between him and Elain had begun to feel… too much.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said softly, his hand still resting on Elain’s back as she wept in his arms. But even as the words left his mouth, he realized they didn’t feel true—not in the way they used to. He wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for his actions toward Elain or for his lack of real feeling.

Elain’s crying began to quiet, her sobs fading as she pulled back, looking up at him through tear-soaked lashes. “Azriel, please... don’t be angry at me.”

“I’m not angry with you,” he said, though the words felt hollow in his chest.

He wasn’t angry with Elain, but he was angry with himself. Angry for not knowing where his feelings lay, angry for the distance he felt between them now, and for the strange emptiness he couldn’t fill.

But it wasn’t just Elain’s tears that had him unsettled. It was Y/n’s absence. It was the sharpness of their argument and the way her eyes had looked at him—like she saw through him, saw the cracks in his walls.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash at the door, and Cassian’s voice broke through the thick air.

“Azriel, we have a problem.”

Azriel’s head snapped up, his body instantly coiling in tension as Cassian’s words hit him like a jolt of ice water. He barely registered Elain’s shocked gasp or her hands gripping his arms.

“Y/n… she’s been taken.”

The words sliced through him, the shock of it freezing him in place for a moment. But the second the panic set in, his instincts took over. He surged to his feet, wings snapping out in a violent, protective motion. His heart pounded, and for a moment, he couldn’t even process what was happening.

He looked down at Elain, but the sight of her trembling face barely registered. His mind was on one thing and one thing only now—Y/n. The feeling of her absence, the way her anger had consumed him just the day before, now transforming into something far more urgent.

“Where is my wife?” he demanded, his voice dark and low, as though some primal part of him had snapped into place.

Cassian, too, was already moving toward the door, but his expression was grim. “We don’t know. We’re trying to track her, but—”

“I don’t care!” Azriel shouted, his wings flaring with rage. “I’m not letting anyone take her. I’ll burn the world to the ground if I have to.”

He didn’t wait for Cassian’s response. Without another glance at Elain, Azriel turned on his heel and shot out the door, his mind fixated entirely on Y/n.

The world around him faded, and all that remained was the overwhelming need to find her. He could feel it, deep inside—a pull stronger than any duty, any obligation to Elain.

Y/n had been taken, and he wasn’t going to stop until she was back in his arms.

-----------

Y/n’s head ached. The dull throb behind her eyes was only amplified by the cold stone walls surrounding her, the darkness pressing in on every side. She didn’t know how long it had been since they’d taken her—time felt like it was slipping away in the disorienting silence, the hours blurring into one another as the isolation began to eat away at her.

She had been caught. Captured by those who feared her connection to Hybern, to everything that had once been her bloodline. She had known the risks when she left her home, when she had left Azriel’s side. But that didn’t make it easier.

Her thoughts flickered to him—Azriel. The argument from the night before still stung like fresh wounds. She didn’t need to think about him, didn’t want to, but the ache in her chest had nothing to do with the physical restraints keeping her in place.

She felt nothing for him, right? He was married to Elain. He had his duty.

So why, then, did her stomach twist at the thought of him being with her?

She hated this feeling—the weakness, the vulnerability. All of it felt like a damn trap.

"Enough," she whispered harshly to herself, shaking her head. "Focus, Y/n."

The sounds of her captors outside the cell grated on her nerves, their laughter a mockery of her situation. She had to get out. She couldn’t be here, locked away like some caged animal. She was stronger than this. She had to remind herself of that, had to remember who she was. A fighter. Not some fragile creature waiting to be saved.

But even as she steeled herself for whatever was coming next, a part of her—a deep, raw part of her—felt that familiar, bitter feeling. The one that had started as anger and had transformed into something else entirely when she realized just how much it had all meant.

Azriel.

She had fought for control of her emotions, forcing herself to believe that nothing about their situation would ever change, that it was a marriage out of duty and hatred, but those words—the ones she’d thrown at him, the ones that cut her deep—had twisted something inside of her.

You’re clearly in love with Elain.

She hated that it was true.

She clenched her fists, the cold iron biting into her skin. I hate him. The words were as much of a command as a declaration, but the heaviness in her chest betrayed them.

She heard footsteps approaching, the sound of keys rattling as they unlocked her cell. A cold breeze swept in, and the faintest trace of her captors' low murmurs made her mind race. She wouldn’t be caught off guard again.

But it was hard to ignore the way her pulse spiked when she thought of what lay ahead, of the uncertainty, of whether she would ever see Azriel again.

She didn’t know what she expected from him—whether he would even care enough to search for her, or if he would return to Elain, who was probably sitting in his arms right now, not knowing that Y/n had been taken.

"Get up," a voice barked from the doorway, dragging her from her spiraling thoughts.

Y/n’s gaze snapped to the figure in the shadows, her heart racing, but she forced herself to remain still. She wasn’t going to break—she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

The figure stepped closer, and she recognized the glint of the knife at his waist. “You’re coming with me.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes, refusing to show any sign of fear. She had learned long ago not to let anyone see her weakness. “Where are you taking me?”

“Does it matter?” He sneered, reaching for her arm to yank her to her feet.

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she stood on her own, using every ounce of her will to push the emotions threatening to overwhelm her to the back of her mind. She had to stay focused.

One step at a time. She could get out of this. She could find a way to escape—she wouldn’t let herself be caught like this. Not again.

As the door slammed behind her, the cold weight of her situation settled over her. The farther they took her, the further she seemed to slip away from everything she once knew.

And, somehow, the emptiness in her chest—the one that had started with Azriel, with her own regrets—only seemed to grow.

-------

Azriel couldn’t breathe. The moment Cassian had burst into the room with the news that Y/n had been taken, something inside of him snapped. The tight, cold grip he’d placed on his emotions shattered, and for the first time in weeks, raw, unrelenting fury took control. He hadn’t thought about his wife much in the past few days—had buried himself in missions and training and Elain’s presence, but now, as the reality of her abduction set in, it was all he could think of.

Where the hell is my wife?

Rhysand’s voice had faded into the background as Azriel shoved past him, already moving, already planning. He wasn’t thinking clearly, didn’t care what anyone else had to say. They were in her land now. They had taken his wife, and that was something no one would get away with.

He was the shadowsinger, a mster spy, after all. So, it was only a matter of minutes before he found where the bastards had taken his woman.

The enemy camp was in a desolate part of the forest, surrounded by crumbling ruins. Azriel’s heart beat erratically as he winnowed in with Cassian and Rhysand by his side, their shadows flickering in the cold moonlight. Every inch of his body screamed for violence.

“Get her back, Az,” Cassian said, his voice low, but his eyes just as bloodshot with rage. They both understood that this wasn’t just about a fight—it was about protecting their own.

“Stay close,” Azriel muttered, but his mind was already focused on the task ahead. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

The chaos was immediate. His shadows lashed out, tearing through the enemy guards, their screams drowned by the sound of Azriel’s wings slicing through the air, the crack of bones breaking under his fists. He killed anyone who dared stand in his path, his every move laced with the rage he couldn’t keep contained. He didn’t need to think—just act.

And then, there she was.

Y/n.

She was slumped against the wall, pale and barely conscious, her body battered. Her arms were tied, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

“Y/n!” he roared, voice hoarse with relief and fury as he saw her in that state.

Her eyes fluttered open for a split second, and then closed again, as if she didn’t even have the strength to acknowledge him. That did something to him—something he couldn’t name, something sharp and painful.

Without another thought, he was at her side, gently cutting through the ropes binding her with his shadows. His hands were trembling, but he couldn’t afford to care. “Please, stay with me, Y/n. I’m not leaving you here,” he whispered, his voice raw.

He picked her up carefully, cradling her against his chest as he shot one last look at the carnage around them. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Cassian and Rhysand were already clearing the way, ensuring there were no more threats. Azriel’s shadows fought off anyone who dared get too close as he winnowed them away from the enemy camp.

The moment they were back in the safety of their home, Azriel collapsed to his knees, his heart pounding in his chest. Y/n was limp in his arms, her face pale, her breathing erratic. His gaze flicked over her, and the sheer terror of what had just happened—of nearly losing her—made his stomach churn.

“Y/n,” he breathed, brushing her hair back from her forehead, his fingers trembling with urgency. He needed her to stay awake, needed her to hear him.

"Please, stay awake for me, please, sweetheart.” he begged, voice desperate, not caring if anyone heard the raw plea in his tone.

But her eyes remained closed, her breathing shallow and strained. The darkness beneath her lids said everything he didn’t want to hear: she was slipping away.

And that realization—how close he had come to losing her—shattered him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.

His anger was still there, like a storm waiting to break, but all he could feel now was the overwhelming need to protect her, to hold her, to never let anything like this happen again.

Her body was growing heavier in his arms, and her fingers, which had once clutched at him with fury and confusion, were now limp.

"Y/n," he whispered again, more softly this time, pressing his forehead to hers, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, stay with me."

But she didn’t answer, her breathing fading as the darkness of unconsciousness took hold. He felt the weight of her body as she collapsed fully against him, and his heart clenched painfully.

He couldn’t breathe. She was slipping away, and he couldn’t stop it.

Azriel stood there for a long moment, clutching her to him like she was the very air he breathed. His wings were spread protectively around them both, and though his body was screaming for him to act, to fight, to do something, all he could do was hold her close.

"Please," he whispered once more, his voice cracking. "Please don’t leave me."

A hand on his shoulder.

Feyre.

"Az, let go, we need her to be treated immediately."

---------

The first thing Y/n became aware of was the warmth surrounding her. She wasn’t sure where she was, but the soft texture beneath her body—silk sheets—told her that it wasn’t the filthy cell she’d just been in. Her mind was hazy, heavy, and every inch of her body ached, like she had been dragged through hell and back.

But the pain didn’t matter. She didn’t care.

Her eyes flickered open, and the first thing she saw was the dark silhouette of Azriel, standing beside her bed, his face strained and full of tension. His posture was rigid, his shadows curling around him, as if they, too, were on edge.

She swallowed the bitter taste of her own thoughts. She had no reason to feel anything, and yet her heart felt frozen in place. The emotions she had once tried to push aside were back, gnawing at her from the inside. Anger. Hurt. Indifference.

What had he done for her, really? She was alive, yes, but that was all. The person who had put her here—the person who had torn her life apart—was the one who had saved her.

He was standing there, as if it all made sense, as if they could go back to normal, as if the last few weeks had been anything other than a farce. She could feel the pity in his eyes, though it wasn’t obvious. His brow was furrowed, and his jaw clenched, his emotions in turmoil.

But none of it mattered.

"Azriel," she whispered, the sound of his name bitter on her tongue. She didn’t want to care about his distress, didn’t want to acknowledge it. His guilt, his regrets, his useless efforts—it all felt like too much. She pushed herself up on the bed slowly, her head swimming with the effort, her hands shaking. The whole world felt like a haze, but the bitterness that had settled deep in her chest was crystal clear.

"How nice," she spoke again, her voice cold, cutting through the air like ice. "You saved me, only after your people did all this shit to me. After they kidnapped me, tortured me. It’s funny, don’t you think? How your people did this to me, yet here you are, looking like you give a damn."

Azriel didn’t answer immediately. She could see his hands tighten into fists at his sides. He was still looking at her with those dark, unreadable eyes, his chest rising and falling as if he were holding his breath. She didn’t care.

She had spent so many weeks in this hell of a situation, forced to live in a marriage that felt more like a cage than anything else. His coldness toward her, his complete refusal to acknowledge her existence—none of it was forgotten. If anything, it had only made her hate him more.

"I don’t expect an apology," she said with a brittle laugh, "because I know I won’t get one."

Azriel’s mouth tightened, but she wasn’t sure if it was in anger or frustration. He was silent for a long moment, and the only sound in the room was the soft rustling of his shadows, as if they were waiting for his command. His eyes softened just a little, but Y/n refused to acknowledge it.

“Y/n,” he said finally, his voice strained but laced with something she couldn’t place. “I know you hate me. I don’t blame you. But—”

She cut him off with a sharp glance. “But nothing. It doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m still here, stuck with you and your family. With your people.”

Her chest tightened again, but she forced herself to ignore it. There was no space for weakness. No room for softness.

Azriel swallowed, his face contorting with some emotion she couldn’t read. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if searching for words that could repair the irreparable. But there was nothing. Nothing that would fix the broken trust. Nothing that would heal the wounds he had helped create.

Azriel watched her closely, feeling the weight of her words, feeling the coldness emanating from her. His heart ached in a way he couldn’t explain. The bitter realization settled in his chest, a slow burn of understanding.

She was his mate.

He had refused to believe it when he first felt it but....it all made sense. And the more he thought of it, the more he was surprised to find himself not feeling enraged with the idea.

He had panicked. Gone feral. Of course it made sense now. Why he had been so frantic when they’d taken her. Why he felt this overwhelming sense of protectiveness, why his world had turned upside down when he thought he had lost her. Why he refused to leave her side for even a single second these past few days.

But he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. She hated him, and rightfully so. He had spent weeks ignoring her, fighting against a bond he hadn’t known how to accept. Now that he understood, now that it was clear... It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t believe him.

“Y/n,” he said again, voice softer this time. He reached a hand out toward her, but she pulled away. She didn’t want him near her. Not now. Not after everything.

"I’m not asking for your forgiveness," Azriel continued, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "I just... I’ll do better. I’ll make an effort."

His words felt hollow, even to him. What could he possibly do to make this right? How could he fix what had been broken? How could he earn her trust back, when he had destroyed it so thoroughly?

Y/n didn’t answer him. She just stared at him, her eyes cold and unreadable. It made something deep inside him twist painfully.

“I don’t need your promises,” she finally spoke, her voice flat. “And I don’t need you to ‘try’ for me, Azriel. I don’t need you for anything.”

Her words stung, cutting deeper than anything he could’ve expected. But they were the truth. She hated him, and he deserved it.

Still, the pull between them remained undeniable, even if she refused to see it.

Azriel didn’t move. He didn’t know what else to say. There was nothing left to say.

Y/n felt the emptiness spread inside her. The room felt too small, the air too heavy. She wanted to be anywhere but here—anywhere but in this cage of her own making.

But she was still here. And nothing was going to change that.

And no amount of promises could make her believe that Azriel was ever going to be the man she needed.

----------

The days had blurred together since the night she had collapsed in his arms. Y/n’s body still ached, but it was a dull, almost forgettable pain now. It had been replaced by the ache of something deeper—something she refused to acknowledge. And Azriel was still there. Every morning, every evening. Silent, but ever-present.

At first, she had ignored him. At first, she’d kept herself isolated from him, refusing to speak, refusing to even look in his direction. But over the past week, something had shifted. It wasn’t that she had softened—no, it wasn’t that easy. But there were moments, fleeting, almost invisible, when his presence didn’t annoy her as much. When she’d see him at the door, a cup of tea in his hand, his eyes soft as he looked at her, and for a brief second, her chest would tighten—not with anger, but with something else.

Something like... relief?

“No more lectures today,” Azriel had said the night before, after yet another one of his silent offerings of tea.

Y/n had shot him a look, her mouth curling into a mock smile. “I didn’t ask for your company,” she snapped, but the words felt hollow even to her.

He’d shrugged and set the cup on the table beside her. “I’m not here for your approval. Just... here."

She had expected him to say something about his promise to “try harder” or some nonsense, but he didn’t. He just left, the sound of his footsteps faint as they receded down the hall.

It was... different.

--------

Two weeks after the attack, Y/n found herself trying to get up from the bed and walk again. Her fingers running over the old wooden dresser. There was a strange sense of isolation she couldn’t shake, despite the fact that she was under the same roof as him and his family. Despite the fact that he was so close, his presence was always felt, even when he wasn’t physically in the room.

It was impossible to ignore him, and for some reason, it frustrated her to no end.

Her mind drifted back to that night, to their conversation in the healing room. The one where Azriel had apologized again, as if it would fix things. She didn’t understand why he cared so much, and maybe that was what irritated her. Maybe that was the part she didn’t want to understand.

Just as she turned to the door, there he was, standing in the doorway, his usual shadowed presence filling the space.

“I don’t need you here,” Y/n said before he could say anything, her voice harsh.

Azriel took a slow breath, his gaze unwavering. “I know.”

She froze, the harsh words hanging in the air between them. She expected him to back down, to offer an apology. But instead, he took a step forward, his wings flexing in a fluid motion.

“I’m not leaving. But I’ll stay out of your way.” His voice was low, almost too careful. He came and gently took ahold of her arm, helping her move around. And for the first time in weeks, Y/n felt something different—something close to a sigh of relief.

----------

Another few days passed, and somehow, against every instinct she had, Y/n found herself standing next to Azriel in the heart of Velaris. The City of Starlight, as Rhysand called it, was beautiful beyond measure—its elegance, its warmth, its life, pulsing through every street, every corner.

The night was warm, the air fragrant with flowers, the glow of lanterns casting a soft golden hue over the cobblestones. For a moment, Y/n forgot about the tensions, about the animosity between her and Azriel. The city had a way of washing away that bitterness, as though its magic had seeped into her very bones.

This was truly the first time she came to explore the city since her arrival in here.

“You’re not afraid of it?” she asked, her voice soft as she turned to Azriel, who had been walking beside her, seemingly lost in thought.

Azriel glanced at her, his face unreadable for a moment before a small smile tugged at his lips. “Afraid of Velaris? No. I’m afraid of what I might do to you here, though.”

Y/n met his gaze, and for once, she didn’t feel the sharp edge of anger that usually followed whenever they spoke. “I don’t need your protection.”

“No,” he agreed, his voice quiet but firm. “You don’t. But I’d like to be here for you anyway.”

Y/n didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away either. Instead, she let herself enjoy the night. It was small—so small—but it was something.

----------

Something like... relief?

“No more lectures today,” Azriel had said the night before, after yet another one of his silent offerings of tea.

Y/n had shot him a look, her mouth curling into a mock smile. “I didn’t ask for your company,” she snapped, but the words felt hollow even to her.

He’d shrugged and set the cup on the table beside her. “I’m not here for your approval. Just... here."

She had expected him to say something about his promise to “try harder” or some nonsense, but he didn’t. He just left, the sound of his footsteps faint as they receded down the hall.

It was... different.

It had been three weeks since the incident that nearly tore her apart, and today was different. Today, something inside her had shifted. The cold walls she’d built around herself, the ones she’d reinforced with every cruel word, every insult, every bit of anger toward him—they were slowly crumbling.

Y/n had been in the courtyard of Rhysand’s estate, sitting on a bench, watching the sun set over the city when Azriel appeared beside her.

“I have something I want to show you,” he said, his voice low, hesitant in a way that was both surprising and familiar.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He extended his hand toward her, and for a long moment, she simply stared at it. His shadows curled around him, his presence unmistakable, but it wasn’t commanding anymore. It was... something else. Gentle. Inviting.

He didn’t say anything else. Just stood there, waiting for her to make the choice.

Slowly, reluctantly, she stood and placed her hand in his.

The world shifted beneath them.

In an instant, the ground disappeared from beneath their feet, and Y/n gasped, her body jerking slightly. She instinctively grabbed onto Azriel’s shoulders, her pulse quickening as they soared higher into the sky. The wind whipped through her hair, the city shrinking below them, and the stars stretched endlessly above.

Azriel’s voice was a soft hum in the air as they flew through the night. “I wanted you to see the city from here. From above.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t help herself. It was too beautiful, too breathtaking.

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to share this with me,” she whispered, her grip tightening slightly on his arm.

Azriel glanced at her, his eyes full of something she couldn’t quite place. “I don’t know why I’m showing you this. But I want you to understand. Velaris is mine to protect... and now, it’s yours too.”

Her heart pounded, but this time, it wasn’t from fear. It was something else. Something warmer, like the firelight crackling in the hearth back at Rhysand’s house.

And when they landed, her feet once again on solid ground, she didn’t pull away immediately. Her hand remained in his, his other hand still keeping her tight and close to his body, and for the first time, she didn’t feel the need to retract.

For once, she felt... safe.

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

And so it went on, day after day, as her an Azriel got closer and closer, him constantly making efforts to be with her.

"I never had anyone who supported me. My aprents aren't exactly the most.....nicest beings on the planet."

Azriel looked down at her, in his arms, as they both stood in the balcony. His grip on her tightened as he said firmly, “Then I’ll be the one who supports you,” He hadn’t planned on saying those words. They just... slipped out. But once they were out in the open, he felt a weight lift off his chest, like a truth he’d been trying to avoid for far too long.

Y/n shifted slightly in his arms, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the sun was just beginning to dip below the skyline of Velaris. Her expression was unreadable, but the tension in her body softened, just a fraction. “You don’t have to. No one has to. I’ve always done fine on my own.”

Azriel’s hand moved slightly, tracing the line of her shoulder, his thumb brushing against her skin in the way he’d seen himself do to comfort others—except this time, he wasn’t comforting anyone else. He was comforting her. His mate. The thought still sent a jolt through him every time, but the longer he was with her, the more natural it felt.

“I know you’re used to doing things on your own,” Azriel murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “But you don’t have to anymore.”

She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. “Why? Why do you even care?” The question was blunt, almost sharp, but there was no anger in it—just the echo of confusion and wariness.

Azriel swallowed, feeling something shift in him. Something... softer, but stronger at the same time. “Because I’m not like your parents, Y/n,” he said quietly, the words coming from deep within. “I’m not going to turn my back on you. Not now. Not ever.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of their breaths in the quiet of the evening. Y/n looked up at him, her eyes searching his face as if trying to figure out if he meant it, if he was lying.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick with unspoken words, and then she sighed softly, her eyes dropping to the ground. “I don’t know if I can trust that,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I’ve been let down before.”

Azriel felt his heart tighten. He knew all too well the feeling of being betrayed, of being left alone. But now wasn’t the time for his own wounds to resurface. This was about her. He stepped closer, his hands gently cupping her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I won’t let you down. I can’t promise it will be easy, but I can promise I’ll always be here. For you.”

Y/n didn’t respond right away, her lips parted as if to speak, but the words never came. Instead, she just nodded, once, almost imperceptibly.

Azriel leaned forward then, slowly, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before pressing his forehead gently against hers. “I’m here, sweetpea,” he whispered again, his voice a soft, steady promise. “And I’ll keep being here.”

And in that moment, something cracked in her chest. It wasn’t trust—at least not yet—but it was a shift. A tiny step toward letting him in.

For the first time in a long while, Y/n didn’t feel so alone.

-------

As the days and weeks passed, the distance between Y/n and Azriel shrank. Slowly but surely, she let her guard down, just a little. His presence became more and more a part of her routine, his quiet support a constant in her life. They were no longer strangers trapped in a forced marriage. They were two people learning to understand one another, navigating through the walls they'd built up around themselves.

Azriel's efforts were unwavering. He would sit beside her when she needed company, but he also gave her space when she wanted to retreat into herself. They shared small, silent moments: him waiting for her to speak when she wasn't sure if she could, him showing her parts of Velaris she hadn't yet seen, him listening to her thoughts when she finally dared to open up. In turn, Y/n began to share more and more, until her ice-cold exterior started to melt, just a little at a time.

But still, she kept her distance emotionally. She was hesitant to allow herself to get too close, to let herself feel anything beyond the surface. Because underneath, she still wasn’t sure if she could trust it. Could trust him.

One evening, when the moon hung low in the sky, Azriel brought her to the edge of a quiet garden just outside the city. The stars glittered overhead, and the air was cool, the scent of night-blooming flowers filling the space around them. He stood beside her, quiet as always, but there was something different in his posture tonight. Something weighted, something serious.

Y/n was standing a few paces away, her back turned, arms crossed over her chest as she stared out at the vast, star-filled sky. She had gotten used to the silence between them, but tonight it felt heavy, almost as if he were waiting for something.

“You’ve been distant tonight,” she said, not turning around. She knew he was there, felt his presence in a way that had become familiar.

Azriel shifted, his shadowed wings shifting with him. “I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice a bit quieter than usual. “About... everything.”

Y/n didn’t look at him, not yet. But she felt the weight of his gaze on her, pulling her attention in ways she couldn’t ignore. "About what?" Her voice was guarded, but there was a softness to it now.

Azriel took a step closer, his hand reaching out, though he hesitated before touching her. He wasn’t sure how she would react—if she would push him away again. “About us. And what comes next.”

The words stirred something in her. Y/n slowly turned to face him, her expression unreadable, but she was feeling something now—something she hadn't let herself feel before. Her heart, cold and distant for so long, was starting to thaw.

“What do you mean by ‘what comes next’?” she asked, her voice faintly trembling.

Azriel exhaled softly, his eyes locking onto hers, and for the first time in a long while, Y/n saw the full weight of his feelings—of everything he hadn’t said, hadn’t shown. "Y/n, you’ve been through so much. I know that. And we’ve both been trying to navigate a marriage that wasn’t our choice. But what I’m about to say... it matters. And I’ve been afraid, afraid to tell you. But it's time."

Y/n frowned, the confusion on her face deepening. “What are you talking about?”

Azriel stepped closer, closing the distance between them. His eyes never left hers, and she could see the vulnerability in them now. The walls he'd built, even for her, were starting to crumble. He had kept so much from her, kept his distance when he shouldn't have. And now, it was time to tell her the truth.

“You’re my mate,” he said softly, the words coming out almost as a whisper. "I knew the moment I brought you back, Y/n. I didn’t want to tell you then... We were both still so caught up in our own worlds. I thought you wouldn’t want me. I thought it was too much. But now I can’t pretend anymore.”

Y/n blinked, her heart stopping for a beat. The words felt like a punch to the gut—everything she’d been trying to avoid hearing, but somehow, deep down, she had known. It was always there, lurking just beneath the surface. The way they had gravitated toward one another, the way she felt when she was with him. It wasn’t just a bond created by circumstance.

“Wait... you knew?” Y/n’s voice was quiet, but the disbelief in it was impossible to miss. “You knew all this time, and you didn’t tell me?” Her voice started to shake with the sudden rush of emotions she hadn’t let herself feel. The anger, the confusion, the hurt. It all came rushing back. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Azriel took a step back, his hands flexing at his sides as if he were torn between stepping closer or retreating. “I thought—” he paused, trying to find the right words. “I thought you’d be angry. I thought you wouldn’t want me. You were already dealing with everything. You didn’t need the pressure of that on top of it. I couldn’t give you more pain.”

Y/n’s heart ached at his words, but there was anger too, rising like a tide inside her. “You couldn’t have trusted me enough to tell me? To let me decide for myself? You can’t just assume how I feel about you, Azriel. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

Azriel winced at her words, but there was nothing he could say to make it better. He had made a mistake. A huge one. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do with it. But now... I can’t pretend anymore. You’re my mate. I never should’ve kept it from you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the world felt still. She wasn’t sure how to respond. She was angry, but deep down, there was something else—something softer, something that wanted to understand, wanted to reach out. But trust didn’t come easily for her. Not after everything.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

Azriel's heart clenched. “I’m not asking you to know right now. But I’ll be here. Whenever you’re ready.”

Y/n didn't respond immediately. Instead, she stepped back, her eyes still locked on his, but her heart was a tumult of emotions she couldn’t put into words. “I need time,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him.

Azriel nodded, his expression softening. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

---------

It was a week later that they fully gave into one another.

Y/n hadn't expected this, she truly didn't. She was still processing everything, how crazy it all was. How, for the past four months, her life has been nothing but a roller coaster.

At first, she was certain she hated him. Despised him even.

But now, after all that happened, and especially after his confession, she couldn't hide her growing feelings anymore. Her mother would have been disappointed. Feelings are a weakness. But-

"You seem to be lost in thought."

Y/n lifted her head from her bed to see Azriel, standing in her doorway, arms crossed, a small smile on his lips.

She just sighed and leaned back down on her bed, slowly gesturing for him to come sit beside her. "So much is happening...I don't know what to feel anymore."

She felt the bed dip beside her as Azriel sat, "Well, if you tell me-"

His words were cut off as his eyes lowered and he took in the sheer, dark blue, nightgown she was wearing. It wasn't intentional really, she just put on what her hand took ahold of first but now....as she sat there and watched as her mate's eyes went darker and darker as he stared more and more, y/n couldn't help but feel proud of herself.

And so, that was how it began.

How they slowly got closer and closer until only mere inches seperated them before they both succumbed to their needs and kissed.

Denying Azriel's attrctiveness was like denying the existence of life itself.

And before either registered it, they were both naked, with Azriel kissing, sucking and biting each part of her. Her moans echoing throughout the room, handds scratching his scalp, their bodies glued to one another.

"So beautiful." a kiss to her collarbone, "So fucking beautiful."

"Mother above, look at these breasts. Can't believe you've been hiding them from me for four months."

Praises kept falling from Azriels lips as eventually, they were both connected fully. The second his cock entered her, Azriel couldn't help the groan that left his throat. His thighs seperating her legs further as he started off slowly, to savour this moment. His hands were palming her breasts, eyes glued to her face, her body, her expression, every little part, really.

She was perfect.

Then she held her arms open, open for him to lay his head in the crook of her neck as his hips began taking on a faster pace, his breathy moans and groans mixing with hers.

"F-fuck, that's it, s-sweetpie. Keep making those moans for me."

They didn't stop the whole night, going at it like a newly mated couple which...they probably were at this point.

Eventually though, by sunrise, they were entangled together, his dick still semi-hard inside of her.

"You are all mine." Azriel's voice dripped with posession as he kissed her neck, nuzzling his head there.

Y/n smiled slightly.

"Oh really? and here I thought I was just another one of your many projects. How flattering.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed with a mix of amusement and something deeper. “You’re not just a project,” he replied, his voice low, serious even, as his fingers brushed against the small of her back. “You’re mine. And I don’t take what’s mine lightly.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, though her heart fluttered in her chest despite her best efforts to remain indifferent. “Uh-huh, and that’s supposed to make me feel special?”

Azriel chuckled softly, leaning in to press his lips to her temple, soft and lingering. “It’s supposed to make you feel safe,” he said quietly, the playful tone in his voice fading for a moment. “And you are special, Y/n. More than you know.”

She looked at him, unsure of what to make of his sincerity. For all his strength, his power, his ability to overwhelm her with his presence, there was a vulnerability in the way he said those words that caught her off guard.

“Guess I’ll have to get used to that, huh?” she muttered, her voice softer now.

He smiled gently, pulling her closer, his wings folding protectively around them both. “Only if you want to.”

And apparently, she did want to. Because as they lay there talking about their future, the new chapter of their marriage, she couldn't help but wonder how it had all shifted so unexpectedly.

But it also made her realise something. Maybe they weren’t perfect. Maybe they didn’t have all the answers. But they had each other. And for now, that was enough.

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

#fanfics #acotar #fantasy #azriel #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel smut #acotar smut #acotar fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel x y/n #azriel acotar #azriel angst

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atoltia · 5 months ago

Text

Promise of Wealth

Sylus gave you access to the entirety of his fortune, and yet you keep using it... on him?

In which the MC doesn't really care about his money so much.

Sylus and fem!MC fluff

Disclaimer: I've only been playing the game for less than two weeks so apologies for any mistakes.

---

To obtain power, one must have it.

It was a natural truth, one that he diligently followed. It took discipline to hone his instincts, experience to ensure success in his ventures, a raw, natural brutality that served to enhance his ideals and further his reputation not just as the leader of Onychinus, but as a conqueror known throughout the galaxy.

The simple utterance of his name invoked fear. The visage of him exuded wealth, so much so that he could buy himself a decent-sized country if he so wanted.

Sylus was perplexed.

He had all the wealth that he could possibly covet, is still planning to acquire. He owned several multi-million enterprises, resorts, hotels, villas and manors - all the material gains that one could only dream to have and made sure you had access to every single thing the moment the two of you made your relationship official.

He trusted you with his card, he's opened up your own bank account already filled with millions, acquired property and assets in your name. You could get anything that you'd want and he wouldn't bat an eye.

And yet the only purchase you made for yourself in the several months you've been together was a book that costed no more than twelve credits.

His brows furrowed when he saw the credit card reports. There were purchases made by you. Several, even. But the amounts of the transactions were unimpressive, with a few sizable purchases here and there. And he knew, of course he knew, exactly what those big purchases were.

The new leather coat the you had tailor made for him was hanging over his office sofa. The jeweled cuff links that you got for him twinkled prettily against the light of his desk lamp. You replaced his gun holster, saying that his other one was already worn.

He was sure that the twins were sporting new jackets with bulletproof lining seeing as the last ones got torn to shreds in a gun fight two months ago. Even Mephisto's perch in the living room was brand new.

The refrigerator was always stocked with a variety of ingredients that previously weren't in the usual lists, and after a conversation with the chef and the staff, he knew that they weren't the ones getting the groceries in the last six months.

It's not like it upset him that you didn't use his wealth. It was just rather confusing and amusing to a degree. Was this you being stubborn, perhaps? Or was this your way of keeping your independence? Hm, it wasn't like he was preventing you from doing your work. Not at all.

He thought about looking at the purchases from your own card, but then thought against it. From the time you've spent together, he doubted that the results would be any different.

But he could ask.

You weren't difficult to find. At this time of day he could often find you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book or fiddling with your phone, and today wasn't any different.

Soft music played from the record player next to the sofa as the curtains near the air conditioner rustled. You hand was outstretched, resting on nothing but air as you slept, the book that you were so diligently reading was strewn on the ground.

Sylus breathed out a chuckle as he leaned against the doorframe, just watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, shushing Mephisto when the mechanical companion fluttered his wings a little too hard.

But your training as a hunter wasn't for nothing. Heightened senses, even when asleep, was part of the package Sylus had to accept and fully expected when both of you moved past simply lovers to an official couple.

The flutter of your eyelashes was slight, but there was an alertness to your gaze the moment you awoke, quickly scanning the room without so much as budging any part of your body, and immediately calmed when you realized where you are and who was in the room.

"Mm."

"Hello, sweetie."

From beneath the covers you raised your other arm, reaching towards him when he strode towards you. It would be so easy for him to engulf you in his entirety. It wasn't lost on him that his physicality was so much bigger than you, but it was one of the things that you loved about him - loved at how easy it was for him to just pick you up and hold you, envelop you into his embrace.

"Sylus."

He loved the way you purred out his name, loved the way you just molded in his arms like warmed putty, soft and pliable as you positioned yourself in a more comfortable spot on his lap. He picked up the book from the floor.

"This is the book you bought."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you buy the others?"

You shrugged, pulled the book that hung loosely from his fingers before showing him the cover. "How would I know if the series is good if I don't buy the book first? It's a waste if it sucks."

He looked at you quizzically, smirked. Ruffled your hair.

"Oh, are you afraid to waste my money, sweetie? Fifty credits isn't a sum to be concerned about."

"Still," you pressed, drilling a finger into the spot that you know was ticklish, laughing when he grabbed your arm and bit your finger. "I'm not wasting shit on a mediocre book."

With your hand still in his grasp, he maneuvered you enough to have you be on top of his chest as he took your position on the couch, those long, long fingers of his kneading the dip between your hips. "Is it mediocre?"

"No. It's pretty good, actually."

"Then buy the rest of it."

"What if the third one sucks?"

"Sweetie," he took your chin, had you look into the deep scarlet of his eyes as amusement danced in it. "Just buy it or I'll buy it for you."

The look in your eye was indescribable to him. It was as if you were searching something that she couldn't quite grasp, couldn't quite find. He lightly bit the lip that you jutted out when you pouted.

"Do you not like spending my money?"

"I spend your money."

"Yes, but you spend it on us. Not on you."

Your brows furrowed. "So?"

"Darling," there was resignation on his voice as he flicked your forehead.

You frowned as you sat up, straddled him, your hands splayed on his wide chest. "I don't need anything. You already buy me things."

"And you need not more?"

"Sylus," you dipped down, cupped his cheeks. Kissed the tip of his nose. "I don't buy anything else because you already get me the things I could possibly need and more. So much more."

Those scarlet eyes regarded you as his fingertips ran up and down your back. You knew all too well how cold those eyes could get, how dangerous his hands could be. You knew all to well how easy it would be for him to snap you like a twig. You've seen it many times before, after all.

And yet he looked at you with such warmth right now that if you were a stranger, you would never be able to tell that this was Sylus, leader of Onychinus.

"I'll get you the entire universe if you so wish it."

And you knew, deep in your heart you know, that it was the truth. His truth.

So you told him your truth as well.

You straightened your position on his lap, careful to not... excite any other part of him as you reached from under your shirt, pulled out the necklace that he gave you all those months ago.

It was a simple little thing. A sizable ruby lovingly enveloped by two crow's wings made of polished silver. It was one of the first things he gave you when you accepted him, when you accepted his love and his force of will. When you wore it, you showed him that you accepted all of him, including his shadows, including his pain, including the violence that followed him wherever he went.

No matter how much glitter he decided to get you, all the shiny things he draped on you, you always came back to this necklace. It was a promise to him, as much as it was a promise to you.

"You gave me stability," you said to him as you rubbed circles on his muscled torso. "I won't have to worry about making rent anymore or if I'll have enough money to buy food for the next week. You gave me a home, you gave me companionship, you gave me warmth." And with every single gift of his, you tapped his lips. "Do you drive me insane? Yeah, you do." A kiss to his cheek, his lips. "But I'm sure I drive you insane much, much more."

Stillness descended upon you both, the music from the gramophone the only thing to indicate that time did not, in fact, stop.

"You gave me family, Sy."

Those large hands of his moved, prying your fingers from his chest as he slipped them between your fingertips before pulling you closer, gently, every so gently, peppering your neck with tiny little nips. He sighed.

"You will be my undoing."

You smiled, nuzzled into the crook of his neck. "As you will be mine."

So there you two laid, heartbeats and breaths syncing, his one hand stroking your back as he lulled you back to sleep.

And thought it probably wasn't the time to tell you that he bought a tropical island in your name.

---

still trying to grasp how I wanna write him so it might take a bit more practice haha I do have more sylus fluff planned. feel free to send ideas tho (preferably angst, hurt/comfort, fluff. i don't really like writing smut that much)

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love & deepspace #love & deepspace sylus #love and deepspace sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus fluff #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #not proofread lmao goodluck #my writing #atoltia writes in deepspace

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thesecondhandwoman · 3 months ago

Text

MORNING AFTER

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: You and Sevika had another fling-filled night, but this time both of you decided to stay, waking up to one another, realizing that it was much nicer than waking up alone.

The morning light filtered through the tattered curtains of Sevika’s small apartment, painting the room in golden hues. The air carried a slight chill, but the warmth radiating from the body next to you was enough to keep you from shivering. You stretched lazily, muscles sore but pleasantly so, a satisfied smile curling on your lips as memories of last night flooded back.

You turned your head to find Sevika still asleep beside you, her broad shoulders rising and falling with each steady breath. The blanket was pushed down to her waist, revealing the scars and tattoos that decorated her upper body. In the soft light of morning, her sharp features were relaxed, her usually furrowed brow smooth, and her lips slightly parted. Even in sleep, she exuded a kind of raw, magnetic power that made it hard to look away.

Your gaze lingered on her for a moment before a wave of shyness hit. It wasn’t every day you woke up beside someone like Sevika—formidable, intimidating, and yet somehow, so tender when it came to you. The memory of her rough hands on your body, her lips trailing fire along your skin, sent a pleasant shiver through you.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, trying not to wake her. Your legs wobbled slightly as you stood, a testament to just how thorough Sevika had been. You grabbed the nearest piece of clothing—one of her oversized shirts—and slipped it on. It hung loosely on your smaller frame, the scent of leather and something distinctly her surrounding you.

The kitchen was barely more than a corner of the room, but you managed to scavenge some coffee grounds and get the old percolator working. As it bubbled away, you leaned against the counter, staring out the small window. Zaun was already alive, the sounds of machinery and distant shouting filtering up from the streets below.

“Stealing my clothes already, huh?”

The low, gravelly voice startled you, and you turned to find Sevika leaning against the doorway, her hair mussed from sleep and her cybernetic arm gleaming faintly in the morning light. She had thrown on a pair of loose pants but hadn’t bothered with a shirt, the lines of her torso drawing your attention despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” you said, trying for nonchalance but failing miserably as a blush crept up your cheeks.

She smirked, the expression lazy but dangerous, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. “I don’t. It looks better on you anyway.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. Turning back to the coffee, you poured two mugs and handed one to her. She took it with her flesh hand, the metal of her prosthetic brushing against your fingers. The sensation was oddly comforting, familiar after last night.

Sevika took a sip, her sharp eyes never leaving you over the rim of the mug. “So,” she began, her voice still rough from sleep, “was last night… acceptable?”

You almost choked on your coffee. “Acceptable?” you repeated, laughing. “Is that your way of fishing for compliments?”

“Just trying to gauge my performance,” she said with a teasing smirk, though there was a flicker of something genuine in her gaze—uncertainty, maybe? It was rare to see Sevika vulnerable, even in the smallest ways.

You set your mug down and closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around her waist. “If I rated it anything less than perfect, I think my legs would file a formal complaint,” you murmured, resting your head against her chest.

She chuckled, the sound rumbling through her like a purr. Her metal arm came to rest on the small of your back while her flesh hand gently cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet her eyes. “Good,” she said softly, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’d hate to think I left you… unsatisfied.”

Her lips captured yours in a slow, languid kiss, the kind that made you forget about everything else. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “I don’t usually do this… the whole morning after thing.”

You smiled. “I figured. But I’m glad you’re making an exception.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Me too.”

The rest of the morning passed in a comfortable haze. You ate a simple breakfast together, Sevika grumbling about the lack of decent food in her apartment while you teased her about her poor culinary skills. For a moment, it was easy to forget the harshness of the world outside, the constant dangers and betrayals that came with living in Zaun.

But as you sat there, watching Sevika’s rare smile as she listened to you ramble about nothing in particular, you realized something. Last night had been incredible, but this—this quiet, intimate moment—felt just as important. Maybe even more so.

And judging by the way Sevika reached across the table to take your hand, her fingers lacing with yours, you had a feeling she felt the same.

Hey dolls, I know this a bit smaller than my normal fanfic, but I thought it would be nice to add another fluffy write up for you guys! Hope y’all enjoyed it, and I’m always up for recommendations/requests.

#sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika #sevika arcane #lesbian fanfic #lesbian #fanfic writing #fanfic #arcane season 2 #arcane

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seraphdreams · 1 year ago

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ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK? | GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. the campus power outage gives your sly classmates a proper chance to get to know you.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. fem!reader, college au, dark content, kidnapping, use of toys, one (1) mention of “you cryin?”, vibrators / dildos, fearplay, eiffel tower position, blindfolds / restrictions, dubcon, squirting, double pen if you squint. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 4.0k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! happy friday thee 13th !! i know y’all remember me saying i wouldn’t write jjk anymore but i caved! so here’s my comeback to writing them , i literally can’t get gojo out of my head. as always, comment / reblog if you like it ! i’d muchly appreciate it ♡.

“isn’t she lovely, satoru?”

“fucking beautiful.”

a pair of crystalline-like eyes followed your bare figure down from your heaving chest to your lower abdomen where they settled on your glistening folds. you were spread open, laid against the armrest of the couch you were splayed across, hands bound taut by what felt like cheap, abrasive rope.

of the softer voice you had heard, its owner pulled out a silk piece of cloth from the pocket of his sweatpants, carefully binding it over your eyes, eluding your already subdued line of sight.

their mannerisms were recognizable, the two men who’d gotten you into that pathetic situation.

they were none other than gojo satoru and geto suguru from your foreign affairs class. prior to, you hadn’t shared much of a striking moment with them for their names to be ingrained in your memory, other than the times suguru would ask for a pencil, and gojo, a copy of the notes. it wasn’t until the start of the fall semester that you had grown closer to them.

they’d invite you to the campus’s library on account of needing you, /and only you,/ to tutor them, along with accompanying them to parties held by the school’s fraternity, and back to their dorm when things got boring — they took quite a strong liking towards you, despite your persistence on rejecting each advancement they made on you.

it wasn’t like you found them unattractive, or even unbearable. they just had more rumors than they could keep up with hanging off their reputation; rumors consisting of them switching girls much like they switch clothes simultaneous with how they weren’t particularly shy about their hookups, were among the ones you’d grown familiar with.

but, as the end of the semester grew nearer, you felt a need for excitement and a change of direction; especially in the form of gojo and geto.

“y/n?”

walking back from your overtiring night classes, the call of your name from a familiar voice whipped you straight out of fatigue. it was none other than the duo that seemed to follow you step by step, like puppies with their owner, as you turned around to catch a finer glimpse of them.

“hi,” your voice came out dulcet, and slightly hoarse. “why’re you guys out so late?”

“could be asking you the same thing.” suguru retorts, strands of long, inky black hair framing his mirthful expression. he had always been handsome to you, over six foot tall with sharp facial features that involuntarily caused him to exude an intimidating presence yet, he had a tame personality to back it up. there was a reason he was popular on campus.

he was also remarkably attentive when it came to you. suguru would make it a habit to check up on you from day to day, under the guise of morning texts and showing up to your dorm with limited edition beverages from your favorite cafe.

it wasn’t considered flirting if he was constantly referring to you as a “friend,” right?

satoru quickly came up behind him, resting his arm over the shoulder of the black haired man. he was donned in his signature style of attire, tinted glasses low on the bridge of his nose despite the sun being hours away from rising, which you had presumed was just his fashion choice. he looked better like that, anyway.

“i was just coming back from my night class. it let out early,” your words flowed airily into their ears, the tone cordial as ever.

it was the thing they loved most about you — your doe eyes, plump lips, and sexy curves that they’d fantasized about tracing every inch of with their tongues. you were too perfect, and far beyond naive. The ideal victim.

“pretty girls like you shouldn’t be out so late. it’s dangerous.” gojo held an emphasis to his last vocables, the warning you should’ve taken, yet brushed off as concern. because, of course it was. your friends were only “concerned.”

you nodded your head, lips involuntarily jutting out in a soft pout. “i know, i know.”

gojo was the rather flirtatious half of the duo, often opting to remind you of his undying attraction towards you that never seemed to get through to your glitter-filled mind. you were wrapped around his finger whether you knew it or not — you were but the final reward for him when having the others back to back failed to feed his salacious desires.

“you should swing by, though. satoru and i aren’t doing much,” geto spoke, looking at the blue-eyed man hanging off his side. “right, satoru?”

gojo perked up, a sly smirk making its way to his lips while he beckoned you closer with the movement of his fingers. “yeah, it’s friday. you deserve some time off, pretty thing.”

he wasn’t wrong. most of your time was spent dealing with school in which you barely had a moment for yourself. not to mention the fact that it was convenient, the commute to their dorm held less distance than it would’ve had you walked all the way back to yours. it worked out perfectly, for both parties involved.

with the mindless nod of your head and an “okay”, you made your way towards the two, and began to stride along in the direction of their place.

things were off about the duo, though, but not quite strange enough for you to think anything of it. the route was the same, some vacant corridor that always kissed your skin with its glacial breeze, leading to their hall, and down just a few steps was the doorway to their dorm.

as you patiently wait for geto to scan his keycard, the sensation of featherlight touch ghosting along the mast of skin that your tiny cropped top allowed to be exposed, shook you from your veil of comfort. you had come to realize it was gojo who took it upon himself to rest his hand on your lower back.

the world around you felt recognizable, yet you couldn’t shake the suspicion that deep down, something’s wrong.

the latch of the door beeped, signaling that it had been unlocked successfully, and with a sturdy hand, geto opened the door to allow for you and gojo to slip past while he kept his distance, treading leisurely behind.

satoru flipped up a light, the whole place illuminating immediately after. it looked different from the last time you came over, posters that littered every wall in the living space seemingly replaced by minute frames of artwork, all cohesive with the neutral nature of their dorm.

lit at the coffee table across from the couch where you decided to settle yourself at, was a single-wick candle that filled their air with its hints of fresh sage and amber musk.

“lemme take care of your bag,” suguru extended his arm out to you with a soft smile on his face. gojo sat down beside you, ridding himself of his glasses while you gave geto your tote. “i need to get something from my room so i’ll just put it on the bed that way you won’t have to worry.” he continued.

“thanks, sugu.” you returned his warm smile with a beam of your own.

gojo’s tongue clicked as he rolled his head back against the headrest of the couch. “marry her while you’re at it too, huh?” his tone is painted in vexation that wasn’t clear enough to distinguish between mirth or solemnity.

you heard geto chuckle as he made his way to the bedroom, waving off satoru’s comment. “wouldn’t hurt you to be nice every now and again.”

“you jealous, ‘toru?” you taunted to the ivory-haired man, relaxing further into the couch as his arm took purchase around your shoulder, pulling you in closer. “and if i am, baby? what’ll you do t’me?”

it wasn’t hard to get lost in his eyes, especially when they seemed to draw you in with that playful expression of his and kept you craving more of his attention. he’s so annoying.

you brushed off his query with an eye roll, turning your focus back to geto as he sat on the other side of you, a small box taut in his grip.

oddly enough, the soft whirring of mechanics died down along with the luminescence that filled the dorm shutting off, leaving the three of you in pitch black darkness, with only the faintest sliver of light emitted coming from the candle.

it painted an eerie picture, one that caused the pace of your heart to quicken as your body involuntarily tensed.

“oh?” suguru was the first to voice his mystification. he set the box aside, taking a haste look at gojo; which was more of a silent cue to the latter, reminding him of their true intentions.

what you assumed was geto’s hand over your thigh, diligently ran along the expanse of your lower half until its fingers curled at the hem of your bottoms. “aren’t we lucky?”

his touch was unfamiliar, nonsynonymous to you as the chivalrous suguru you knew. the sensation was weighty with lust, hungry against your skin, enough so to cause you to wonder.

“suguru, your—“

just as you were about to question the man before you, his eccentric best friend cut in.

gojo created the slightest gap of distance between your bodies, mainly to take advantage of the sight before him — geto working diligently to rid you of your garments, stripping you bare, safe for the thigh high socks struggling to contain the spill of your plush thighs.

“what? you afraid of the dark?” satoru’s teasing aided in affirming your suspicions. and the fact that you were utterly helpless, only sprung on his arousal as well. “we’ll take good care of ya.”

geto’s left hand found its place back on your thigh, more-so to spread your legs for the two. “you trust me, don’t you?” he smiled, that same smile that was painted over by an ulterior motive. he stood up, finding his knee in between your thighs, centimeters from your heat. “satoru, the rope?” he held his hand out for gojo, feeling satisfied once his request was fulfilled by his best friend, handing him the cord from the opposite end of the couch.

the words you wanted to say struggled to bubble up in your throat, rendering you speechless and anticipating. in one hand, suguru took both your wrists, tying them taut by the cable and stepping back to get a better view of your helplessness, specifically the way it leaked from your cunt and soaked into the cushions.

all the same events that explained the predicament previously mentioned.

after the unfortunate affair of being blindfolded, you felt lithe fingers drum at your clit. it was a teasing, rhythmic sensation that made it clear to you in the strongest way it could, that gojo was the one with reigns over your body now.

“our feelings are so hurt, babe,” his voice feigns offense, and although you couldn’t see him, you sensed that his signature smirk was etched over his features. and that, it was.

he toyed with your heat, running his index and middle fingers along your slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he could before sinking them into your hole. “you kept rejecting us in the past, but,” as his words trailed off, the pace at which his fingers pumped inside of you quickened. “we’re treating you fucking good, right?”

even though it was just two of his digits, the stretch that they’d allot to your hole was delicious, the tips of his fingers deliberately curling against your gummy walls, right at your g-spot which only made the shaking of your thighs worse.

“god—” you rasped, nodding your head. your heat made no effort in slowing the way it greedily sucked in his fingers. it was almost as if you were waiting for this, fantasizing how it’d be like to be one of their girls.

with every foolish thought came foolish actions.

satoru awaited your answer, speeding up to an impossible pace when you didn’t respond within his time bracket. “wanna hear you say it, baby. tell me how good I'm making you feel,” he demanded.

it felt as though your mind was going to break, the pleasurable mixture of sensations causing your head to spin and orgasm to build within you. you only allotted the fortitude for soft babbles, trying your hardest to conjure up something coherent. “f-fucking good! ‘s so fucking good!”

the pad of his thumb finds your clit, rubbing vigorous circles over the bundle of nerves. “attagirl,”

wet squelches were sonorous in the air, so much so, that the students inhabiting the dorms just across the hall could probably hear the filth taking place at that very moment. not that it was something new to them — it was just another satosugu friday night.

you couldn’t take anymore, your thighs threatening to close around his arm, yet his free hand kept you spread.

“i think she’s gonna cum, satoru,” geto coos, leaning down beside you while watching as gojo edges you closer and closer to sweet release. “can you squirt for us, princess? make a mess?”

before you could retort, your release rippled within you, sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body. evidently, geto’s questions were answered instantaneously the moment you soaked satoru’s fingers with your essence. your chest heaved, your breath growing ragged just moments after.

if only you had the reins to see them — touch them.

gojo slipped his soiled fingers into his mouth, moaning at the saccharine flavor you left him with. if he could live off the taste of you alone, he’d know for sure that he’d die happily.

“are you really that sensitive?” suguru queried. in his hand was the concealed box, filled with toys; some that could vibrate, along with others that were clearly meant to stretch you out. he pulled out one of the thicker dildos, running it along your slit in paintstroke motions.

“do you think this could make her squirt just as fast?” his inquiry to gojo made it undoubtedly clear that they’d been plotting against you from the very start; it wasn’t just some spontaneous idea.

gojo’s focus was unwavering on the dampness seeping through his sweats, his palm rested atop his hard-on as he watched the pleasant sight of geto sinking the silicone into your hole. amidst satoru, he was concerningly gentle. he had kept one hand at your thigh, draw soft patterns while he kneeled between your legs to give himself a better view at how hungrily your cunt sucked him in. “‘toru’s always so rough, isn’t he?” suguru cooed,

you mindlessly nodded your head; it wasn’t like you agreed, but you were stuck between heaven and bliss, not knowing which felt better. whereas gojo was, albeit, impatient and loved to get the good parts, suguru was refreshing, like a cold glass of lemonade on a warm summer’s day. suguru started up a thrusting motion with the toy, building it up to a speed that had your back arching and thighs quivering under his hold.

“you’re so tight, darling. you a virgin?” his soft voice speaks out.

as you were about to respond, gojo’s large hands found themselves at your tits, kneading the flesh while his fingers tweaked at your stiffened nipples. “this virgin’s pretty hot,” satoru commented.

“n-not a virgin!” your reaction came in the form of a cry, seemingly at the increase of stimulation within your gummy walls, the tip of the silicone cock nudging so sweetly against your gspot that the nothingness of your sight morphed into white hot pleasure.

you had fallen perfectly into their trap — what would’ve taken a considerable amount of effort, and even thinking, was handed to them easily though the power of the gods; they’d be sure to thank them later for their service .. or maybe you will.

suguru removed one hand from your thigh, relocating it to dig aimlessly through the box. he was satisfied when he pulled out a tiny bullet vibrator, switching it on to the most mild level and gently circling it against your clit. “mm, i don’t think i believe you,” an amused smile etched on his features watching you squirm in his hold.

with pleasure stemming from the most sensitive parts of your body, it’s difficult to chase away the feeling of yet another, messy, mindnumbing orgasm. “geto..!” your whines fell to deaf ears, suguru hyper-focused on the way your puffy clit twitches underneath the toy. he knew you were close; anyone within a mile’s radius could tell that, and perhaps he was covertly evil, because the loss of stimulation that came soon after he pulled the toys from your heat was pure work of the devil.

he spoke up just as he switched his attention from your aching cunt to your heaving chest. “if you’re not a virgin you shouldn’t have any trouble taking us both, right?”

oh?

they were like that. you should’ve known — the two did everything together, it’d be foolish to deny the possibility of them fucking together.

your obstructed vision was finally restored when gojo took off your blindfold. he figured it’d be much better if you saw how you were about to be obliterated — and obliterated you were.

he took your hand in his, standing you both upwards.

you wobbled beside him, your legs feeling like jello from the insane amount of stimulation your cunt had to endure. “look at her, suguru. she can barely stand,” gojo teases. “and we haven’t even got to the good part yet.”

he wastes no time in freeing his hard cock from the prison that was his boxer briefs. his length was long, bulbous head flushing a soft pink as beads of pre-cum dribbled down his shaft. he gave himself a few experimental pumps before turning you around and bending you over.

without the stability to keep yourself bent completely, you crashed into geto, who was no more than an inch away from your face. you looked up, sheepishly as he rid himself of his hoodie, faced with his toned abdomen.

“we haven’t done this position in a while, huh?” there’s a cocky smirk on geto’s face. one that was his own, yet it wasn’t the suguru you’d known.

since when was he the conniving type? did all his time with gojo finally rot his brain? or were you staring at a man you truly never knew?

suguru’s hand slipped just under the waistband of his sweats to free his cock. the tip tapped harshly against your lips before he took a firmer grip at the base to smear pre-cum over your already saliva drenched lips. “open up, pretty baby.”

instinctively, you slid your tongue around the head of his cock before suckling the sensitive area, only gradually taking in more. on the other end, gojo pushed himself into your core, letting out a low hiss at how eagerly your needy cunt took him in.

“she’s fucking tight,” he groans, squeezing at the plush fat of your hips while rocking his own into you.

“don’t get greedy now, ‘toru,” geto’s voice is soft as his hand in your hair gently guides you to take him deeper, up and down his cock. it’s evident you’re pretty damn good at giving head from the adoration in his eyes when he looks down at you, silvery orbs with hearts for pupils locked onto your vacant ones.

“what a well trained whore you are.” he praised, beginning to buck his hips up into your mouth, not rigorously, but enough to prod at the back of your throat and scatter tears to your waterline.

gojo slipped his thumb into your puckered hole while his thrusts became harder, with fervor. he wasn’t one to be patient nor hold back, especially when it came to someone like you, with a pussy so tight and moans so sweet, he’d have to break you just a bit. where’s the fun in that if he doesn’t?

his balls slammed against your clit, creating a potent string of pleasure to course through your body. throbbing was pertinent within your walls, each drag of his cock along the ridges inside you posing you weak from the shocks of euphoria. a hard slap came crashing down at your ass, gojo’s sizeable hand repeated the motion occasionally to watch the way the flesh rippled.

your moans were muffled by the intrusion of cock getting fucked into your mouth. the room reverberated in an array of messy skin slapping in tandem with groans and whimpers. it was music to their ears, a song they’d want on repeat if it were possible.

“shit.. ‘m gonna cum,” geto’s dulcet tone alerted. you watched in pride at how the muscles of his lower abdomen flexed in the onset of his orgasm. his rhythmic thrusts faltered, morphing into a resonance of scattered heavy thrusts that led him closer to his orgasm until he eventually jettisoned his seed into your mouth. the taste wasn’t as bitter as you were used to, it was almost pleasant and you swallowed every drop before he pulled out ever so slowly, his chest rising and falling while his cheeks were dusted in a soft rose flush.

“you were so much better than i imagined,” his fingers wrapped around your jaw, gripping ever so gently as he bent down to messily kiss at your lips, groaning at the taste of his orgasm on your tongue.

“yeah, yeah. good for you,” gojo started up in his usual bratty tone, sounding more guttural than his typical self. “can finally cum in her without you messin’ me up.”

suguru was used to gojo’s sharp tongue, his complaint not seering as deep as it would’ve had it been their younger years.

whorish moans slipped past your lips, your balance wavering as gojo picked up speed. he was far deeper inside your plush cavern, hitting at the spongey spot with precision that had your whimpers turning into babbles. “s-sho good .. you fuck me sooo good,” gojo took amusement in your slurred speech, pulling you up by the waist until you were completely upright.

it felt as though he couldn’t reach any deeper, yet he did, the feeling spreading all over your body, you were almost 100% certain that you could feel it in your ears. tears had filled your waterline and came cascading down your cheeks before you could even establish what it was. satoru held you close, your bare back pressed against his chest. it was an overwhelming feeling, one that made you lax enough to rest your head on his shoulder.

he smirked, gripping your chin with his fingers to get a better look at you.

“you cryin’?”

that familiar sensation bubbled up within you, what had felt like your nth orgasm had come in blissful surges, his cock coated in the translucent milky essence of your release.

with haste, you were fucked through aftershocks and overstimulation as satoru chased his high.

he had stamina for days, having built it up through multiple one night stands, and yet, he wasn’t quick to pull out like his counterpart, no. there was something of love that came with cumming inside you.

the skin of your thighs clung together with a mixture of your cum and his as he pulled out of your twitching hole. you stumbled a bit, getting back grounded on your feet, the two men tucking their third legs back into their garments.

a flickering noise was sounded from the building, different from the soft flickering of the candle that was beside you. quickly, the surgance of electricity illuminated the dorm, bringing much needed light to the situation at hand. you looked down at your bound wrists before the rush of embarrassment washed over your being once you had taken your naked, used body into account.

gojo carefully whisked you both back onto the couch with you sitting on his lap. “guess our fun’s over, huh?” he pouted, unbinding the rope that rubbed uncomfortably against your wrists. you weren’t exactly sure of who his rhetorical query was aimed to, and you would’ve spoken up had your throat not have been aching from the constant whining or even the pounding of a thick cock fucking bruises in the cavern.

geto was now situated behind the couch, leaning over the both of your figures.

“over? she’s spending the night.”

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — @valentinevampyr @oneofthesevensins @ryukatters @dabibreeder