#thorn adorned beauty

[yuuniee]

— 💓 Surprise!!

I feel like writing drabbles for my ships so... Send a voice line from a card of a character I ship with my ocs, and I’ll write a small thing, because until now, I had like one or two fics written for my other ships and I want to expand on them too... :(

Characters I ship with my ocs: Cater, Ruggie, Jack, Floyd, Jamil, Epel, Rook, Idia, Silver, Rollo

[parkerslatte]

At Last

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: mentions of scars. mentions of mild torture. injury.

Summary: Y/N reunites with Azriel after she comes back from Under the Mountain and finish a long overdue conversation.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

50 Years Ago

“Y/N, can we talk?” Azriel’s voice was strangely quiet and uneasy as he stood in the doorway, shadows restlessly moving around his frame.

Turning away from the mirror, Y/N greeted Azriel with a smile. “Of course. I’m just finishing up here. I can’t decide which earrings to wear tonight.”

“The diamond ones bring out your eyes,” Azriel said as he stepped into the room. “How long do you have?”

“I’m not sure,” Y/N said, fastening the diamond earrings to her ears. “Rhys said he’d collect me when we need to leave.”

“Right,” Azriel mumbled before looking at the dress that adorned her body. “You look beautiful.”

Y/N walked over to Azriel and placed a quick kiss on his cheek, causing a faint blush to dust his cheeks. “Thank you, Az. So what did you wish to talk about?”

Azriel slowly sat on the edge of the bed, his heart beating rapidly. “Well, I—“

Another knock at the bedroom door caught Azriel’s attention. Rhys stood there. “Y/N, we’re leaving.”

Y/N nodded as Rhys left to wait for her outside. She turned to Azriel.

“What did you want to say?” Y/N asked.

Azriel looked down at his hands. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You should leave with Rhys, you don’t want to be late.”

“No, it’s okay. Tell me now,” Y/N insisted.

“It will take too long,” Azriel said. “I will tell you when you return.”

Y/N sighed. “Fine. But it will be the very moment my feet step back in this room.”

Azriel smiled. It was small but it was there. “I promise I will tell you then.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ll see you later, Az.”

“See you later,” Azriel said.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Azriel’s shoulders and he melted into her touch. He hugged her back tightly, inhaling the scent he loved so much. If she would allow it, Azriel would pull her back into her bed and hold her to him for all of eternity. All he wanted was to be wrapped in her arms.

When Y/N pulled away, Azriel reluctantly let go and stood from the bed. She bid him goodbye and left him standing within her empty bedroom.

The bedroom would remain empty for fifty years.

Present day

Once again Azriel felt himself walking past the empty room of the female he loved more than anything else alive. It was nearly thirty years ago when Cassian finally convinced Azriel to leave her room after he slept in it night after night, praying for her to return to him. Her scent was slowly replaced with his own.

It had been years since Azriel had stepped into the room. He had gone as far as opening the door but he couldn’t bring himself to step inside anymore. He always stared at the bed where Azriel sat when he was about to confess his feelings. If only he had told her then. Perhaps he would have delayed both Y/N and Rhys enough for them to decide to stay home. Then they would both be with him, Cassian, Mor and Amren.

Azriel sighed and rubbed his eyes. As he did so, his hand caught onto the earring hanging from his ear. It was Y/N’s earring, the very ones she had taken off before she put the diamond ones in. Azriel’s ears weren’t even pierced when she was trapped, but when he could finally leave her room without tears falling down his face, he had asked Mor to pierce them for him.

Azriel touched the earring fondly and slowly inhaled.

He frowned.

That familiar scent. The scent he loved. It wafted from the room.

Azriel hadn’t smelt the scent ever since it faded from Y/N’s belongings.

With shaking hands, Azriel reached to touch the door handle and slowly pushed down. The cream emitting from it echoed down the empty hall. His heart pounded in his chest as his hope rose.

Light filtered into the hall and cast over Azriel’s face. He squinted, allowing his eyes to adjust to the intrusion. He let go of the door and allowed it to slowly open on its own until he was illuminated by light.

A figure stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around themselves as they stared out of the window.

Azriel’s heart stopped.

“Y/N?” His voice was small and quiet, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Y/N turned and faced Azriel. Her hair was longer and knotted as if she hadn’t styled it in weeks. There was bruises and cuts in her arms and scars wrapping around her wrists as if shackles had been there once upon a time.

Azriel took a step forward.

“Please say something if it is really you, Y/N,” Azriel whispered. “I can’t trust my own eyes at this point.”

“Az,” Y/N sobbed as tears immediately began to fall down her cheeks. “It’s really me.”

Azriel didn’t take a single moment to linger. He rushed forward and wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his head into the crook of her neck. She was solid in his arms.

“I missed you so much,” Azriel cried, allowing his tears to fall.

“I missed you too,” Y/N sobbed, clutching onto Azriel even tighter.

The feeling of her in his arms was one Azriel hadn’t felt in fifty years yet it was one he remembered in all of those lonely nights where all he could think about was Y/N.

“How are you here?” Azriel asked, gently caressing Y/N’s face as he looked at her. “Is Rhys here too?”

Y/N nodded, holding onto Azriel’s shirt tightly. “A human called Feyre helped us. She saved us all.”

Azriel wiped her tears away and rested his forehead against hers. “I can’t believe you're here. What happened?”

“Amarantha,” Y/N spat. “I’m glad that devil is dead. She kept me chained up for the first five years.”

Azriel glanced at the scars wrapping around Y/N’s wrists. He pressed a gentle kiss against them.

“She doused my food in faebane so I wouldn’t heal properly,” Y/N said.

Azriel hugged her once more. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

He felt Y/N shake her head. “I am glad you weren’t. You were safe here. You were protecting everything and everyone in the city by being here.”

“When Rhys sent that message, I was ready to follow. I was ready to march in and slaughter Amarantha myself,” Azriel confessed. “I would have done anything to get you back.”

“And Rhys,” Y/N added.

“And Rhys,” Azriel confirmed.

Y/N pulled back and studied Azriel’s face. “I was beginning to forget what you looked like. You became just a blur in my mind for the past few years.”

A single tear slipped down Azriel’s cheek and Y/N wiped it away.

“I never thought I would see you again,” Y/N continued. “The first couple of years I was expecting to leave, that someone would find a way. But then more years passed and nothing happened. More and more years passed and it was the same thing day in day out. But do you know what kept me going, Azriel? Do you know what kept me wanting to live when everything got too difficult? When Amarantha decided that I was taking up too much space and decided to beat me?”

Azriel shook his head.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “It was you. I thought of your smile, your laugh when you think no one is listening. Your touch, your scent, your feel. I always thought about you and that conversation we never got to have. It has been on my mind for half a century. I have wondered what you wanted to talk about that night.”

“Well,” Azriel said. “We are in the room where I promised to tell you.”

Y/N rested her forehead against Azriel’s. “Then tell me. Tell me the answer to the question I never got an answer to.”

There was a small pause as Azriel laced his fingers with Y/N’s.

“That night was the night I finally found the courage to do something I was scared to do for a long time,” Azriel said. “I was scared of messing things up and the way you would react. I didn’t want to ruin whatever relationship I had with you. But it got too painful not to tell you. Seeing you everyday, looking so beautiful, it was going to slip out eventually.”

“What are you saying, Azriel?” Y/N asked.

“I am saying that I am in love with you,” Azriel confessed. “I am utterly in love with you, Y/N. I have been for centuries. These past fifty years have been torture without you.”

Y/N didn’t answer as she stared down at their linked hands. Azriel’s heart sank. .

“Listen, if you don’t return my feelings, I am not going to force you, but I need you to know. I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer,” Azriel said. “If you don’t love me, I understand. We can both move on with our lives.”

If she didn’t return his feelings, Azriel knew that he would never be able to move on. He loved her too much and he knew that it would be unfair to anyone else he fell into a bed with.

“Azriel, it’s been fifty years,” Y/N said. “And you still love me?”

Azriel nodded. “I do. My feelings have never changed or wavered even a little. I slept in your room for twenty years after you were trapped. I was a mess. I didn’t keep up with any of my duties or training. Ask Cassian, Mor or Amren.”

“You love me?” Y/N asked.

“I do,” Azriel confirmed. “You are the love of my life even if I am not the love of yours.”

Y/N slowly slipped her hands out of Azriel’s and his heart plummeted to his feet, but the moment she caressed his face, he felt it spring back up.

“You love me,” Y/N said. This time it was phrased less like a question and more like a statement. “That was what you wanted to tell me when we were in this room fifty years ago?”

Azriel nodded. He couldn’t get words out as they were caught on his tongue.

A small smile graced Y/N’s face. “I see Rhys’s prediction was correct.”

“Prediction?” Azriel questioned.

“Thirty years in, Rhys asked me about what you and I were talking about. We never saw each other much, Amarantha kept Rhys all to herself most of the time and me chained up. There was a night where I was finding everything too different and Rhys found me. He asked me about the night we left and what we were talking about. When I told him you never got to tell me, we made a small game out of it. We would guess ridiculous things as to what you wished to speak with me about. It was the only form of entertainment we had. Although now I guess not all of Rhys’s guesses were a complete joke,” Y/N explained.

“When Rhys said that you were coming to confess your undying love to me, I laughed. Because I thought that there was no way that you would be in love with me. I was so in denial that you love me back that I didn’t even consider that Rhys was correct. I thought you coming to tell me that you were somehow pregnant as a more plausible theory,” Y/N said, avoiding eye contact.

While Y/N’s right hand remained on the side of his face, she trailed her left down to link their fingers together. Azriel caressed the hand that rested on his head, pressing a soft kiss to her palm.

“I love you too, Azriel,” Y/N admitted. “It was my love for you that kept me fighting every day. Fighting to someday return to you.”

Azriel closed his eyes, savouring her touch, afraid that somehow he would wake up alone in his cold bed.

Another tear fell down his face but nothing compared to Y/N who was freely crying now.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” Azriel cried.

A sob slipped past Y/N’s lips and Azriel pulled her into him, wrapping his wings around them both, cocooning them in their own small world. His shadows softly caressed her skin and where scars littered themself on her soft flesh.

“I can’t believe I’m free,” Y/N sobbed. “I can’t believe I’m here with you.”

Azriel’s fingers tangled in her hair as he let her cry into his chest. He held her so tightly, so securely that if anything tried to take her again, Azriel would make sure that it never happened— and it never will happen again.

“Can you do something for me?” Y/N asked.

“Anything,” Azriel muttered.

“Can you kiss me?” Y/N said. “I’ve only been able to dream about what it would feel like.”

Azriel offered her a soft smile. “Anything else you want me to do.”

“Stay with me,” Y/N said. “Stay with me and never let me go.”

“My love,” Azriel said, cupping her face between his hands. “I will stay with you for eternity. I will love you for eternity. You don’t need to ask.”

Y/N smiled widely, cutting through her grief and sadness like a knife. Azriel smiled in return, offering her one of his true, genuine smiles specifically reserved for her.

As he leaned forward to connect their lips, that golden thread that connected two souls snapped into place.

[feyascorner]

Astarion would never admit it, but the charming lines he uses as a constant attempt to seduce you are not all his own.

He’s talented, he knows, at coming up with the heart skipping lines, describing in detail the massive amount of so-called ‘adoration’ he says he can give. He knows how to flirt, and he knows even better that despite the way you roll your eyes, he’s starting to wedge his way into your heart.

But sooner or later, ideas come to an end. And he’s starting to think you’re incapable of falling in love if he’s used all his lines and you still haven’t approached him. Perhaps you just don’t do romance. But hope wavers. Why he’s so adamant on wrapping you of all companions around his finger, he doesn’t know. He knows you’re the most difficult to seduce, yet he can’t help himself.

You’re almost like a drug to him.

So, unable to quit, he turns to his books. They’re sappy romances, and many of the lines even manage to make him scrunch his nose, scoffing at the sheer disbelief of how unrealistic some of the scenarios are. But hours upon hours later, he picks out some of the most upfront lines, because he’s sure you’ll just ignore him otherwise.

He knows you have little interest in romance, but he wants to entice you. He wants to be good enough for you to look at him.

“I must confess that the moment I laid eyes on you, everything in my body and soul told me you were the one.”

You stare at him, eyes lidded and barely fazed. Puzzled, he has no choice but to continue.

“My heart beats terribly, my beloved, whenever I see you bathing in the glory of the sun. My breath quickens, but vanishes when you get a step closer. My very existence, it seems, is meant to yearn for you,” he rattles off the lines of the book, as enticingly as he can, with eyes so seductive that they almost appear to glow. “Your beauty is unmatched with any other. If you asked, I would die—“

“—a million times in the thorns adorning my own desire,” you cut in, and his eyes widen. “The skies could fall and I would use my bloodied body to hold you up again, against the starry nights as a star gleaming brightest in its competition.”

As you finish the line, he blinks, completely and utterly confused. “How did you-“

“It’s my favorite book,” you confess sheepishly.

Astarion, for the first time, sees you as you are. He sees you as the being who yearns for love, just as a young maiden would yearn for their prince—perhaps even more innocent. He’s read you completely wrong, and he feels his throat close up. “It’s…it’s a childish one.”

Your cheeks burn, and he thinks you almost look cute. He rips away from the thoughts though, appalled at what he just considered. “I think it’s romantic.”

“No kind of love is so ideal.”

And while your face falls, you lift your head to look at him with squinted eyes. “…next time, just make your own lines—-or, at least, don’t choose ones that don’t fit you.”

“Don’t fit me? How so?”

“I doubt we would’ve fallen in love at first sight. You had a knife to my throat.”

“A loving knife.”

You stifle a laugh, and he swears he can’t take his eyes off of you. “Well…if you want, I have other books in my tent if you want to see…I have a few you might like, or at least, help.”

He just stares at you, only realizing moments later that you were awaiting an answer. “Ah, of course, darling. I’d love to accompany you. Perhaps I’ll learn a new line or two, though I doubt any writing has as much charisma as myself.”

You smile softly, nodding. “Okay then. Come over tonight after dinner, and I’ll show you.”

And as you walk away, he thinks that rather than him doing the charming and you falling irrevocably in love with him as it should have gone, your interaction has left him charmed instead.

It seems the romance novels are more than just effective at their jobs.

[biteofcherry]

Touch The Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; possessiveness; manipulation; blackmail; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; sexual tension; masturbation; sex; hint of choking kink;

word count: 12.5k

Author's Note: So this kinda got out of control. At first it took me so long to even start this chapter and then I couldn't stop writing 🤭 For me there are six hot pressure points in this part. I'm curious which bits you were screeching at, if they're the same as mine. Including one specific thing that is so outrageous! But also so fucking hot... And for that one you have to blame thank @buckets-and-trees, because she encouraged me to write it.

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 7. Burning needles

~ * ~

The life after signing your soul to the devil shouldn’t be anything but thorns and turmoil, but your body felt so deeply, deliciously relaxed and warm. Cozy even, as morning light filled the spacious bedroom and brushed warm streaks on your naked back.

Hotter pressure was at your front, where your body rested sprawled halfway atop Steve. 

It seemed neither of you moved much through your sleep. You chose to believe you were both simply too fucked out, than consider you may like being cuddled to him like this. 

There was no sane way someone would enjoy the intimate, soft proximity of their captor; even if his body was big and warm, sinfully shaped and adorned with tattoos which called for admiration.

Steve had one arm thrown across his face, the other loosely draped over your thigh. Your leg was hiked across his hips. If you moved it, your calf would rub against the cock that was nestled against the curve of it. 

Your cheek was pressed to Steve’s chest, one of your hands splayed on his inked pectoral. Diamond on your finger shone brightly, catching sun in its perfect cut. 

With your sleepy eyes barely half-open, you stared at the sparkle that was so beautiful you had to remind yourself to hate it for what it symbolized. 

Another glint caught your attention. 

Your gaze shifted above the outline of Steve’s impressive body, landing on the blade laying at the edge of the bedside table. The sight of it evoked an immediate shot of heat as you remembered what Steve did with it. How the threat of it spiked your arousal so high you lost control of your body’s reactions. 

You didn’t want to unpack that mess; not at the moment, possibly never. 

A blade the bastard had custom made for you, to deliver torment that was a dark sort of pleasure, but which was, after all, a weapon. One you could use to defend yourself. Or to threaten in return. 

You peeked at Steve’s face. The sharp line of his jaw, soft curve of lips that were as lethal as the rest of him. The arm over his eyes cast a shadow onto his cheeks. He appeared to be soundly asleep. His chest rising and falling in regular intakes suggested the same. 

Slowly, you inched your hand further up his body, toward his shoulder. If anything, you could play it as your body’s unconscious movement in your sleep. Or curious exploration of dark, twisted ink. But Steve didn’t even stir. 

You had to move your whole body to reach across the space between you and the bedside table. That didn’t rouse him either. Only the hand on your thigh squeezed your flesh as a small huff left his lips. 

Though another part of him reacted to your squirming.

You gulped, feeling the twitch of his cock against your leg. For a long moment your attention focused on it and nothing else. 

You had to snap yourself out of it, reminding yourself there was another task at hand; more important than reminiscing on how that velvety hardness felt in your fist. How unbelievably hot it was to stroke him into readiness as he watched your splayed, defenseless body, which he was about to possess thoroughly. 

But there was something else that you needed to curl your fingers around. Holding your breath, you grazed the ornamental handle with your fingertips. The knife swayed, nearly slipping further away. Finally, you got a hold of it, without losing balance and waking Steve up.

The knife was surprisingly light in your grip. Used only to kitchen knives, you didn’t know exactly what to expect from a switchblade. The fact it was wielded by Steve made you imagine heaviness and cold, a dreadful repulsion. Instead, it was perfectly balanced and quite elegant.

You tilted it back and forth, watching the reflection of your own eyes in the polished blade. Then you moved it lower, sliding the silvery edge mere inches from Steve’s chest. 

Slowly, you aimed it toward his throat. 

You didn’t press it against his skin, but hovered so close to where his pulse point beat steadily. 

He was a monster. He broke into your life with force and put you up on strings, which he planned to pull for the rest of your life. 

“You have to put a lot of force into it, if you want to do a single, clean cut.”

Your eyes snapped to Steve’s face instantly. He still had his arm over his eyes, but his voice was clear. Not a hint of drowsiness, which meant he was probably awake for at least a few minutes. 

Surely, when you were attempting stealthy moves to grab the knife. 

Your hand trembled as fear shot through you. A ruthless mafia boss caught you holding a knife to his throat. There was no way anyone daring to do that would be left alive. 

But Steve didn’t grip your wrist to prevent the strike. He didn’t throw you off, nor attacked you to choke the life out of you. 

He was fucking sprawled lazy and content, with his hand still on your thigh and his dick growing harder against your leg. Not the least intimidated, or worried.

Perhaps, it was his confidence in being able to prevent a real threat, if you went to make that cut. Or maybe he knew that you didn’t really have it in you to go for blood.

Steve stirred, moving the arm that was thrown across his face. He stretched it out, then slid it down your back, boldly palming your bare ass. Your body’s reaction to his touch made your hand jerk, the blade almost nicking his unblemished skin. 

He titled his head to look at you. Icy blue eyes held a light, almost warm reflection. Due to the sunlight, undoubtedly.  

“Craving to do it? To kill me?” Amusement laced his tone, but there was also some twisted hunger for a bloodthirsty wrath on your part. Like he waited for you to snap.

You shifted your gaze from his eyes to stare at the switchblade in your hand. You reached for it in some desperate hope to feel safer with it, but you brought it to his throat more out of curiosity than actual desire to cut it. 

A part of you wanted to find out how it felt to wield it, to find out if the rush of power at having someone at the sharp point of it was so addictive that conscience laid quiet. 

Honestly? You felt nothing of the kind. Surprise at how light and smooth the handle was in your hand, yes. How it shone, nearly pretty like a jewelry accessory. But you didn’t feel any safer than you had simply laying in Steve’s arms. 

“One, I’m not you.” You replied, partially resigned that you didn’t show a streak of courage to really threaten him. You couldn’t imagine yourself threatening anyone, much less taking someone’s life. 

Steve seemed to have zero remorse in that matter. 

It should repulse you. It did. At first, at least. 

“Secondly, I’m not stupid.” You huffed, shifting your gaze from the silvery blade back to Steve’s eyes. 

“I’m your wife and the word of it surely got out to everyone, all your enemies included. If you die, I become an easy target. They will assume I know your secrets and find means to torture them out of me. You staying alive is my only security.”

It was scary to admit, but remaining at Steve’s side and under his care not only saved you from his wrath, but also from any other monster out there. 

“Besides-” you couldn’t help the eye roll as you moved your hand away from Steve’s throat-  “I’m sure if I maimed you, Bucky would introduce me to unimaginable suffering. And I don’t feel like being impaled on a hook in a meat freezer while he slowly cuts away my skin inch by inch.”

Steve snorted at that. A short huff of laughter that shook his chest and your fist holding the blade along with it. 

“I don’t think he’s ever done that, but I’ll let him know you have ideas to improve his craftsmanship.” His eyes sparked genuine amusement. 

Worse, it made the corners of your mouth itch to tilt up in a grin.

That mirth on Steve’s face morphed into something darker. Hungrier. The hand on your thigh started moving, sliding up your hip and further along your ribcage. There was no way to hide the full body shiver that rocked your form, or the goosebumps rising in wake of his touch. 

His fingers skimmed down your arm and wrapped around your wrist. 

Suddenly, he flipped you over. 

His body followed, pinning you down across the foot of the mattress. He clenched his fingers on the wrist of your hand that was still holding the knife. He pressed his thumb into a point below your own and your fingers spasmed open in a short zap of pain. The knife fell out of your grip. 

Steve picked it in a flash. 

Air stilled in your chest, becoming a hot pressure that urged your heart into a staccato. You stared up at Steve, defenseless against the strong body and the blade that was now in his hand. Again. 

“So soft,” Steve hummed, slowly gliding the back of his hand - the same one that was holding the knife - across your chest.

His knuckles pressed slightly into your breast. With his knee, he nudged your legs wider apart; settling his hips between your thighs. Pulsing warmth of his hardening cock pressed into your lower belly.

“You rather have me wielding the knife, Princess?” He asked, angling his hand so the wide side of the blade grazed your skin. “Do you want me to use it again?”

A shot of electric current flipped a switch in your brain, connecting straight down with your clit. 

When you held the knife yourself, there was no such visceral reaction to its lethal potential. But as soon as the blade was in Steve’s hand, your blood was rushing. To your horror, you realized it wasn’t just fear that pulsed in your veins.

Your breath stuttered as Steve moved the blade down your side, making you feel the slide of it, but not even scratching your skin. As he reached your thigh, Steve changed the hold on the knife. Instead of the cool, sharp blade whispering against your heated skin, you felt the blunt, harder touch of the ornamental handle. 

Its rounded tip touched your skin as Steve moved it along the juncture of your thigh. He dipped it lower. When he angled his own body to the side, you realized where his hand was headed. 

Straight to your core. Not with the threat of the blade hurting you, but the shimmery handle the width of two digits which would press and slide between…

Oh God! Your brain screamed at you, all the while your pussy spasmed, priming itself for the wicked intrusion.

No! Remnants of your resolve tried to fight the reaction of your body, raging against the temptation to let him do it. But there was already so much that Steve took from you, you didn’t want to give him an ounce of satisfaction of having you so willing and needy. 

You wouldn’t let him reduce you to basic instincts, with no memory of morale.

Though your thighs were spread wide and your clit tingled, you pushed past that need. You shoved your hands between your bodies to form a barrier.

“No, I don’t.” You scrunched up your nose, bracing your half-closed fists against Steve’s chest, but not really pushing him away.

There was a pause; a shortened breath between one raindrop and another, as you waited for the pushback. 

“Okay then,” Steve’s eyebrows arched in a semi-unbelieving grimace, but he pulled away. 

Simply pulled away. 

Your hands fell down onto your chest, having lost the warm, solid wall of muscles to press against. Steve sat back, resting against the headboard, with lazy bliss glowing on his stupidly beautiful face. 

One of his legs was stretched forward, foot almost touching your hip, while he bent his other leg and rested one of his arms on the knee. Unabashed, Steve made no move to cover his half-hard, heavy cock. Only played with the knife in his fingers.

“Okay then?” You frowned, completely unprepared for the turn of events. 

“Just like that?” You lifted your head enough to stare at Steve, without having his lower body in your direct line of vision. 

“You said no.” Steve shrugged, tilting his face toward the sun filtering through the pearly white curtains. 

“And you respect a no, riiight.” Where the snort came from, you had no idea. Instead of being relieved and thankful that the bastard let go, like you had asked, you were digging into the topic with near childish petulance. 

Because this was some bullshit! To have him comply with your refusal, while he breached every boundary you tried to set before. A flash of suspicion rose that maybe he wasn’t pushing, because he already got what he wanted and there were other, very easy ways, to get his dick wet. Other women to use the knife on, or whatever other depraved tools.

“In my life I make people do many things they don’t want to, but I have no need to take your body by force.” Steve didn’t sound particularly guilty of the way he was reaching his goals. 

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curved - “Especially not when you give it so willingly.” 

“Bullshit!��� You jolted upwards. 

Driven by the sudden annoyance, you forgot that you were naked and the way you braced your hands behind yourself only made your chest push forward. 

“What about last night?” You glared at Steve. “There was nothing willing-”

“Princess,” Steve looked at you, amused, “last night you didn’t utter a single No.” 

Your mouth opened to counter this outright lie, but Steve beat you to it. With a very pleased smirk to his equally irritating calm tone:

“You claimed that you won’t be wet. But you were. You argued that you won’t want me. You did. But not a single time have those sinful lips of yours formed the word No or Don’t regarding anything I did to your body.” 

Lips still parted, you hoped for your brain to come up with any argument to topple Steve’s theory. Though last night wasn’t a haze, but rather a whirlwind of sensations and brain-melting pleasure, your mind had some trouble remembering exact words. The more you thought about it, however, the more Steve’s version appeared true. 

Worse, even. 

Because you had said Stop at one point. A pleading mess on the verge of cumming, you asked Steve to stop and put the knife away, too afraid it would really hurt you.

And he complied. 

Like he stripped you of any defenses against his machinations, binding you to this dark life you never wanted to be a part of, he knocked away your argument about him brutally taking from you what you didn’t want to give. 

Your fingers curled, gripping the sheets as you stared at Steve’s handsome face. At that smug smile and flickers of delight in his ice cold irises. 

“Aaargh!” You let out an outraged shrill. 

“I fucking hate you!” You scrambled off the bed and stomped towards the bathroom. “I should’ve stabbed that knife into your carotid!” 

Steve’s low chuckle only added to your fury, making you slam the bathroom door so hard the mirrors on the wall wobbled. 

There was this urge to smash something, break it into pieces and stomp on it over and over again. Preferably Steve’s dead, limp body. But there was no way that you would be able to deliver anything beside a meager punch, which he’d probably block anyway. 

If he caught your arm as you tried to hit him, you’d feel even more anger. And he would probably be even more amused, keeping you caged in his arms while you trashed helplessly. 

That’s what you were against him - helpless. 

Not only regarding his power, with which he could wipe you and your family out of this world and not a single cop would investigate the disappearance. Steve also made you defenseless against your own body’s reactions. 

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment when his actions rewired your brain, but never before him have you ignited for sexual acts so kinky. 

Maybe it was some self-preservation instinct? Maybe your brain sent a signal to your cunt to get wet and horny for Steve’s dark brand of sex, because otherwise he’d get mad and kill you?

But he just fucking proved that he wasn’t pissed off with your refusal. 

You decided to not think too much about it. Preferably, not to think about Steve and sex at all, not in one line of thought. 

Since he, oh so magnanimously, stated that he won’t take you by force, you were adamant on saying no for the rest of your life. 

Straightening, you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely stopped another curse from spilling from your lips. There was no other way to describe your look than thoroughly fucked. 

And kinda itching for more, but thankfully your brain was back behind the wheel and there was no way it would let you dwell on the wetness between your legs and the cause of it. 

You turned around, aiming for the impressive, luxurious shower stall. As you reached your hand to turn on the water, your gaze landed on the sparkling diamond on your finger. It truly was beautiful, but you wanted to flush it down the drain. It would be a pity, but you’d have a solid argument to why you weren’t wearing it. 

Then again, perhaps Steve wouldn’t even care about it, since he had the paperwork and your last name changed to prove the marriage. 

You took the ring and the wedding band off of your finger and left them on the counter.

Stepping under the hot spray of water, you tried to focus on things other than your evil husband. First, you did your best to stay in the moment and focus on each body part you thoroughly scrubbed - sensations and the scent of shower gel, not the memories of how Steve touched you, fucked you, filled you. Then you made a list of important tasks awaiting you at work: new projects, some meetings, lots of boring, but absorbing paperwork. 

You were so successful in occupying your mind, you didn’t notice the bathroom door opening. 

When you turned off the water a moment later and opened the glass door of the stall, the sound of flushing the toilet froze you in place. Your head snapped up. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” You screeched, trying to hide behind the shower casing, but since it was clear glass it gave you no cover. 

Steve had already moved from the toilet to one of the two sinks at the long bathroom counter. With his back to you, he looked up into the mirror to meet your gaze in the reflection while he washed his hands. 

He had to wait a moment for your eyes to catch up with his, since your gaze was elsewhere.

Because he was still fucking naked!

“Using the bathroom, obviously.” He said, tone light and highly amused. 

You dragged your eyes up from his firm, perky ass and up the wide planes of his back. You noticed some scars among the splashes of tattoos. 

“But I’m in it!” You protested, once you finally shook yourself from the daze. 

Steve didn’t seem apologetic for his intrusion. But he was never apologetic about anything. He straightened, rolled back his shoulders - which resulted in your eyes greedily following the play of his muscles. Your thighs clenched. 

He turned around and started walking towards you. Your skin was already heated up from the hot water and steam, yet it seemed a much hotter wave was still able to raise your inner temperature as he came closer. Shamelessly naked. 

Your fingers clenched on the cutting edge of the glass as you tried your hardest to not drop your eyes lower and watch how his cock moved with every step Steve took. 

“You already saw me naked.” He shrugged as he stepped right beside you. 

You twisted, your back hitting the tiled wall as he leaned forward. Steve didn’t touch you, but you still felt his power pinning you in place.

“As I saw you, wife.” 

He breathed that last word into your ear; a hot, seductive puff that threatened to weaken your knees. 

His hand slipped into your wet palm, the pressure of something small and hard needling your skin. Your ring and the wedding band. A silent reminder, if the word wife wasn’t enough to put you back in your place. 

Then he stepped away and into the shower stall, turning his back to you as he switched the water on. 

You bolted forward, grabbing a fluffy towel and running with it out of the bathroom. You cared less about dripping water on the bedroom floor than about staying there and letting him watch you. Or maybe being tempted to look at him yourself. 

You wiped yourself quickly and wrapped the towel around your body. Skipping over the abundant layers of your wedding dress that lay forgotten on the floor, you walked through the door opposite of the bed - into the huge walk-in closet. 

You saw it before. When Steve made you pack and bring your belongings to his house before the wedding. Two of his men carried the suitcases and boxes, a housekeeper and another unknown person were waiting to help you unpack. It was weird and uncomfortable, having two strangers fold and hang your clothes. But it was efficient, at least. 

Maybe they were also there to check, if you hadn’t smuggled in some weapon with which you’d kill Steve. 

Now everything was perfectly arranged. Steve’s clothes on one side of the closet, yours on the other side. You noticed his side wasn’t very colorful, not that you dressed in all shades of the rainbow. 

Again, it hit you how contrasting your lives were.

His dark, earthy and navy tones versus your whites and pastels and occasional pop of color. It was stark, the contrast. At the same time, it was in some way aesthetically pleasing. Intriguing, how that grim roughness fit with the soft lightness. 

You put on a pair of leggins and a simple, cotton t-shirt with a faded Little My cartoon. Sparing one glance at the messy bed, you left the bedroom. You’d rather find yourself in a different space than one with sheets crusty with your mixed spend and the damn knife placed in an open velvet box on the bedside table. 

There was no one else in the house, but you knew it was only for the appearance of the wedding night and the first day of being a married couple. Steve’s people were guarding the perimeter of his property, but no in-house staff was going to come today. 

The next day, however? It was going to be a brutal return to normalcy, which you anticipated and loathed both.

You’d get back to work, which was a blessing as it gave you the opportunity to be as far from Steve as possible. It would also be awkward and hard, because you’d be learning a completely new routine.

Like waking up with Steve in the same room (unless, hopefully, his criminal work would keep him occupied for long nights). 

Learning to function with household staff around - he had a housekeeper, a gardener, a private chef. Who, from what you read on the nicely scribbled note left on the kitchen counter, prepared a few dishes for you and left them in the refrigerator. Along with instructions on how to heat it up, so it tasted the best. 

Being driven to work, because Steve already announced you wouldn’t be taking your own car anymore. You doubted he cared much for your actual safety, but it was important to maintain the illusion of a lovely husband protecting his wife. 

Maintaining illusion would be a new skill you had to hone. 

So many people expected to see a happy, newlywed wife. Your own family, most of all. They would already be suspicious that you got back to work so soon after the wedding, but you found it a true blessing that Steve didn’t come up with a honeymoon idea.

You couldn’t think about honeymooning with Steve. You couldn’t even think about the night and having to be back in that bed where he also would be. 

With a properly reheated panini sandwich, you walked around the house; giving yourself a tour, before Steve would. No room was locked, so you assumed he kept his dirty work in another place. 

A small blessing, truly. You weren’t sure how you’d react to dead bodies and blood in the house where you lived.

It was already hard, since it was here that you heard Felix’s last words and saw him being dragged out to his end. 

One of the rooms on the ground floor was a spacious office. Quite surprising that it looked like an actual office, not a torture chamber. Despite being certain of bloody ways Steve gained some goals, you suspected that running a successful crime organization nowadays meant keeping a lot of civilized appearances and just being a beast at negotiation. 

“There’s an unused room upstairs. You can turn it into your office, if you need a home one.” Steve’s voice startled you, but fortunately you didn’t let it show. 

“That would be great, thanks.” You nodded, swiping your gaze around his office once more.

To have a room separate from his, where you could hide and bury yourself under work would be wonderful. Perhaps there would be a pull out couch on which you could sleep, instead of in your marital bed. 

You turned to Steve, who stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He had a plate of his own. Not with panini, though. No, he reheated himself some of those seasoned ribs from the reception. 

And ate it with his fingers, winking at you as he sucked his fingertips clean.

You were damn proud of yourself for not reacting to his obvious provocation. You remained completely indifferent. 

Somehow, you managed to keep it up even as Steve continued to follow you all around the house. Wearing only sweatpants and a white beater. You did not look at how the cotton stretched on his torso, or how his tattoos were on display, or at the outline of his cock. 

“There are two guest bedrooms,” you pointed out as you walked downstairs after seeing the rest of the upper floor.

You didn’t think Steve was a man who often had guests over. He probably never had. Unless he was keeping those rooms ready for some kidnapping victims, to store them in human conditions until ransom was paid, or whatever. 

“Yeah. But you don’t have enough stuff to claim one as your additional closet,” Steve snorted, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “And no, you can’t use one as your bedroom.” 

You huffed, annoyed that he instantly figured out what you were planning on doing. Miffed that he didn’t agree with that perfectly reasonable idea, too. 

“Why not?” You demanded, stopping mid step. “It’s empty. I could sleep there and you keep the master bedroom, we stay out of each other’s hair and no one from the outside would even know.”

“Married couples sleep together.” Steve continued walking. 

You couldn’t see his face, since he was a step or two in front of you, but you were sure the bastard was fucking smiling.

“Married couples get divorced!” You countered, tilting your chin up and marching forward in a slightly petulant, stomping kind of way. 

You were about to pass him when Steve’s arm was suddenly around you. He yanked you to his front and kept you to him, despite you trying to push away. A look from those blue eyes froze you in place. A promise of violence flashed in the frosty depths; though you weren’t sure which part of you he’d destroy in retribution. 

“ ‘Til death do us part, Princess.” 

Steve’s low voice not only reminded you of the vows, but was a new promise itself, which drove a dark, searing bolt through your chest. And into your pussy.

It was scary. Downright terrifying, to have this monster lay his possessive claim on you. 

It was also exhilarating. 

Your heart paused for a moment, then sprinted into aching pounding as Steve finally released you and walked away.

You were becoming more and more aware of the hard work you’d have to do to preserve your soul, as Steve’s darkness appeared to be corrupting you inch by inch. Such charismatic power was a deadly temptation, tricking certain unfulfilled needs with promises of satiating. 

You haven’t yet figured out what exactly was missing in your life that your body so eagerly reacted to Steve’s magnetism. You thought yourself happy with the life you had. Content and proud, eager to deal with the new challenges that taking over the health center provided. 

Perhaps you weren’t actively dating anyone recently, but you weren’t desperate for intimacy. You took care of your needs.  

Besides, Steve’s kind of closeness was never your brand of preference. 

There had to be something, however, that yearned to be filled and what Steve happened to accidentally ignite. If you found it, you could look for alternative ways of fulfilling them, efficiently cutting yourself from Steve’s influence. 

Nothing came to your mind. Not in the long hours you spent poking around the mansion, rearranging your belongings, eating more leftovers. 

There were moments when you had to postpone deep thinking, because your brain alerted your body of Steve’s presence. He appeared in random moments, slipping right next to you in the most casual way; not breaking the boundaries, but pushing against them with a brazen attitude. Increasing your irritation.

Or was it frustration?

No, it surely was annoyance and it flared when you exited the bathroom later in the evening. 

You paused a few steps away from the bed (the sheets have been changed and since no one from the staff came that day, it had to be Steve who replaced them). Your gaze was drawn to the door, to the idea of finding yourself in a different room. 

Steve was already in bed, his face pinched in concentration as he typed quickly on his phone. He didn’t even glance your way, but a breath before you even shifted your weight to make a step in the direction of the door he spoke up.

“You may hide in layers of fabric,” he jabbed at your long, silk pajama pants, “but you’re going to sleep in this bed.” 

You turned your head his way, opening your mouth to reply, when Steve tossed his phone aside and looked up at you. Serious, on the very edge of impatience. 

“If you try to hide somewhere else, I will simply drag you back here. So it’s best you lie down and snuggle up, since it’s not a fight you’re going to win.”

Unfortunately, you believed him. You’d test his words, if you had the slightest hope of him just getting tired of your rebellion and leaving you be. But you learned Steve wasn’t a man who gave up on his goals. 

He simply switched from gentle methods to brute force. 

You had no doubt that he would drag you back to this bed over and over again, no matter how hard you fought, how loud you screamed, or cried. So it really was best to not waste your energy on battles you couldn’t win. 

Though it didn’t wipe away the need for huffing angrily as you curled on the far edge of the bed, wrapping the comforter around yourself like a shield. You almost lifted your hand and flipped Steve off, when you heard his snort. 

Smothering him with a pillow, or reaching back for that knife and actually jabbing it into his heart, was becoming a very tempting course of action when you woke up the next morning - with his body too close to yours. 

His arm was thrown over your middle, his hips touching your ass. And your nipples were painfully hard against the fabric of your top. You lost the protection of your comforter, but since it fell down on your side of the bed, it seemed that you were the one to have kicked it away. 

The shower you fled into didn’t help easing your nerves, because once again Steve barged into the bathroom while you were still inside (even though you were sure you locked yourself in). 

Then there were soft voices coming from downstairs as you descended after finishing your makeup and dressing for the day. A voice you didn’t recognize - possibly the chef, or the housekeeper. 

And one very familiar voice. Which shouldn't be here. 

Instant need to get Natalie right out of the house that was the beast’s lair, to protect her from getting tangled in this web of darkness and crime, died the moment you realized she was quite comfortable moving around the kitchen and talking to the chef. 

As if she was familiar with the layout and rules of the house.

Your assistant opened the fridge and helped herself to a bottle of chilled soda, while exchanging some humorous comments about the chef's sister. 

“What are you doing here?” You stared at her dumbfounded. 

Before Natalie swallowed the sip of soda and explained, pieces had already fallen into place. 

She was the one who told you how influential Steve was, how he had people in every place in the city and far outside of it. She rescheduled your meetings to disarm you of any arguments you might have had against meeting him that cursed day. She was the one who encouraged you to work with that cop and knew about the time and place of the meeting - which Steve interrupted right on time, saving you from harm. 

She was his spy all along. 

“You work for him.” Your tone was heavy with bitter disappointment. 

Natalie didn’t seem embarrassed about the reveal. Nor apologetic for not telling you the truth sooner. 

She was reporting to Steve all this time. Probably telling him all the fears and vulnerabilities you shared with her. 

And you were such a fool, worrying for her the previous day when you saw her flirting with Bucky. Because you wanted to warn her of him, protect her from him. While she was probably already fucking him for who knows how long. 

“Did he buy you when he came to me, or did he own you before?” So much venom poured into your voice, but the betrayal hurt too much to stop it. 

The anger you felt at her was so much different from what gnawed at you with Steve. Him pushing your buttons and stripping you of defenses made you flame up. Natalie’s indifference to her betrayal of you filled you with so much cold. 

“You forget-” her eyes were trained on you, her voice a stoic drawl- “if there’s someone he really owns, it’s you.” 

The cut was well aimed. Lethal in its delivery. 

As if on cue, Steve stepped beside you. His hand a searing brand on your lower back. You wanted to jump away from his touch, but it was the only grounding you had at the moment as the rest of your safe world crumbled around you. 

“You’re here, good.” Steve addressed Natalie’s presence. 

His voice held no hint of that teasing, velvety caress that grazed your skin the previous day. He was the cold, focused king of the underworld again. 

“Nat’s going to drive you to work. And from work.” He announced, pushing you slightly forward as he moved toward the kitchen island himself. “She’s your bodyguard.”

“She’s fired,” you snarled, crossing your arms over your chest. 

There was enough control taken out of your hands; enough humiliation. To think you’d be forced to work with watchful eyes studying your every move and reporting to Steve of every misstep you took, every weakness you showed, was beyond what you could handle. 

“She’s not.” Steve’s voice was so calm and confident, you wanted to grab the pan from the chef’s hand and smack him with it. 

But you didn’t. You knew it was one of the games you wouldn’t win, anyway. 

Weird, how Steve considered potential changes to his plans, including your determination to keep the center, but wouldn’t budge for things that regarded you directly. You wondered, if he relished in the torture he was putting you through. 

“She’s already proven herself to be worthy of the task of protecting my wife.” Steve threw that word - wife - so casually, as if it was the most natural thing to say. As if he was ready to keep repeating it for the rest of his life. 

His other hand glided along your arm, pulling it away from your chest where you held your arms crossed. His fingers circled your wrist and pulled your hand up. With a warning tsk, he slid the ring and the wedding band back onto your finger. 

Because once again you tried to leave it behind. 

You blinked, processing Steve’s words, as you allowed him to slide the golden brand of his ownership onto your finger without a fuss. 

You didn’t think he meant the fact Natalie told him about the meeting with Duvall and Batroc. The word protection was deliberate here and there was only one other instance when it wasn’t Steve the one who came first to your aid. 

“That night, at the parking lot-” you looked at Natalie, who presented the most chill, unbothered stance.

All this time you thought she’s so efficient at organizing and handling work under pressure, while she probably had the cold blood of an assassin. 

She shrugged at your realization, but didn’t deny that she was the one to save you from the  goons who tried to kidnap you. Since she didn’t see it as anything big, anything beyond doing her boss’ orders to keep an eye on you, you weren’t going to thank her for it. 

“Come, eat some breakfast before you go to save the minds and frustrate yourself further,” Steve pointed to a chair by the kitchen island, grabbing a cup of steaming coffee for himself. 

Your appetite was lost. You didn’t want to be here any second longer. While less than half an hour ago you dreamed of finding your solace in work, you didn’t want to be there either. Not after the newest revelation. 

Turning on your heel, you marched upstairs to grab your handbag; only marginally caring for the awful impression you had to have made on the chef, whose name you didn’t even get, because you didn’t introduce yourself. 

You didn’t spare a second glance toward Steve as you stormed downstairs and toward the door. You kind of hoped that Natalie would stay inside, treat herself to some breakfast and whatever morning briefings a mob boss and his people had. You’d gladly stay outside in the peace and quiet of no fucking mafia people. 

But a car was already waiting for you; the back side door open.  

You wanted to ignore Natalie all day, as well poor, confused Peter who didn’t do anything wrong, but who was, after all, hired because Steve demanded it. Unfortunately, beside being named your personal guard, Natalie was also a fucking brilliant assistant. 

No, not Natalie. Natasha. 

Which she mentioned so casually as she parked the car. Apparently she didn’t have a preference for what you called her and a vicious streak inside of you wanted to spit out the word bitch. 

With anger constantly bubbling under your skin, you hissed your sharp answers to her questions and reminders. 

The day was a nightmare. When you returned home, all you wanted to do was to unwind in some way. But you hated exercises. Well, maybe hate was a too strong word, but you weren’t a fan of those beyond going for long strolls and swimming. 

You also didn’t want to get drunk. Not in a place where Steve would be and the alcohol would strip you of your perfect control over yourself; potentially enhancing uninhibited desires Steve’s brutal aura stirred. 

As you walked into the bedroom, your gaze fell upon the big bed. Neatly made. Fresh sheets bearing no proof of the mess you made when Steve fucked your brains out. 

Your fingers immediately started working on undoing your buttons and zippers, peeling off each piece of clothing at a rushed pace. The way Steve fucked you on your wedding night would be perfect for reducing your tension into a whocares puddle. 

It wasn’t going to happen, though. Ever again. 

But you could give yourself a release without the devil’s assistance. 

The shower was truly blissful. Not only relaxing your muscles with heat, but your fingers brought you delicious pleasure. Twice. 

Sparkling diamond of your engagement ring and wedding band were left on a pile of cotton pads on top of the bathroom counter. You refused to touch yourself with any remnant of Steve lingering.

Pleased with yourself (and with the orgasms), you rolled into bed before the sunset; falling asleep right as the sound of the door being opened downstairs announced your husband’s return. 

You didn’t care. Your brain and body were too exhausted from everything that happened in the day. Too relaxed, as well. They shut down before Steve even made it upstairs, saving you from any interaction with him. 

Unfortunately for you, your brain was well rested in the morning. Your body, too. So rested, it seemed ready to follow an urge that was supposed to be satiated. 

You woke up with your body plastered against Steve’s. Your boobs were pressing into his chest, your nipples stiffening the more awake you become. His hand was splayed on your hip, his knee wedged between your legs. 

Just between your knees, but you still felt it as if the pressure was right against your pussy, causing your clit to throb in desperate plea for attention. 

If his hand moved between your bodies, those thick fingers dipping between your thighs to greet you… 

A quiet whine nearly tumbled out of your mouth, but you quickly covered it with a fake yawn as you rolled away. He muttered something and in your peripheral vision you saw him rubbing his face and opening his eyes. 

But you were already locking yourself in the bathroom. 

And cursing in aggravation as you noticed the rings back on your finger. 

Later that day, you used the handheld showerhead to allow yourself that nearly painful release, which seemed to shake your body to the very toes. Something your clit forgot astonishingly quickly when Steve’s very late return (it was well past midnight) stirred you from your slumber. 

Just in time to see the outline of his body in the semi-darkness of the bedroom as he dropped his pants to the floor. 

You kept yourself in a state of near-wakefulness that night, to hold your body in position on the far edge of the bed, so that you wouldn’t roll anywhere close to Steve's body. 

It was a blessing when Steve didn’t come home at all the next night. The fact the image of his face was clear in your head as you closed your eyes to get yourself off, was a minor inconvenience. 

As was the annoying realization that your fingers, which were the most skilled at touching you how you liked and pressing those good spots, suddenly felt disappointing. 

Your confusion with yourself grew daily, especially on days when you had zero interactions with Steve, yet your body felt the most tense and out of control then. Instead of enjoying the freedom and comfort of his absence. Then on afternoons and evenings when he came home unusually early and joined you in whatever you were doing, your pulse picked up. 

Sometimes you would sense the sweat and gunpowder still hanging in his scent, or notice a splash of dried blood on his clothes. Which should repulse you. 

It didn’t. Quite the contrary, it made something in you tighten, your skin itching to have Steve’s merciless hands on you. Same hands which undoubtedly have delivered pain, or even death to someone before he returned home. 

It took a lot of strong will to not press yourself against his side while you sat on the couch watching a movie, seeking a friction that would snap Steve into taking you ruthlessly. 

You became more distracted at work. More restless at night. Regular orgasms brought pleasant relaxation, but felt somewhat… bland. 

Restoring to your final resource, you took out a small velvety box hidden in the depths of the closet, under a bundle of winter clothes. The pretty, lilac bunny vibrator winked at you when you opened the box. You took it with you to the bath, not caring for the water that sloshed onto the tiled floor as you writhed in your first orgasm. 

Blissed out smile didn’t leave your face as you got out of the bathtub two hours later - water gone cold and your skin pruned. 

You almost giggled as you tiptoed out of the bathroom and into the walk-in closet. You heard voices downstairs. Steve was talking to someone. Feeling a rush of adrenaline (a kick of thrilling excitement mixed with a shy kind of fear), you quickly put the vibrator back into its box and buried it under layers of clothes. 

It should’ve been more than enough. It certainly felt like your brain was switched off completely, not a single care bothering you. 

Yet, flashes of absolutely sinful, depraved images haunted you in your sleep. 

You had no control over your body as it rolled onto your back while you slept. No awareness of your legs spreading and your own hand reaching down to touch your wet pussy. Which was as dripping and sticky as in your dream.

In which dead bodies of faceless men were scattered around the floor of some warehouse. While you were on the bed that stood in the middle of it. Steve was in front of you, standing at the foot of the bed. His rings-adorned fingers were curled around the front of your neck. His lips curved into a sinister smirk as he urged you on.

Urged you to move your hips and slide your wet pussy up and down the handle of the knife embedded into the mattress. 

You woke up abruptly. Right before dream Steve was going to allow you to cum.

Your eyes opened wide, your mouth gasping for breath. You felt your own fingertips touching your sticky folds. Your nipples were hard, pointing towards the ceiling. 

There was also another sensation; of someone else’s touch. 

Steve’s hand had a strong grip on your thigh. His cock was throbbing against your side. 

Holding your breath, you kept staring at the ceiling. As if suddenly you found yourself in a horror movie, you were too scared to turn your head and look in the devil’s blue eyes that watched you with hunger. 

You knew that if you spread your thighs an inch more, if you let out any needy sound, if you turned your face to his, Steve would aid that burning fire. 

His fingers would slip where your own couldn’t satisfy you. His mouth would close around your nipple, bite into your breast. He would roll on top of you and stretch your fluttering cunt on his thick cock. 

The need for him was growing more maddening with each shaky breath. Still, you kept staring up and willing every part of your body not to move. 

Steve squeezed your thigh and you bit your lip in time to stop the moan from spilling. A moment later his touch disappeared. He rolled onto his back, then sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He walked into the bathroom and you sighed in relief. 

Then you had to squeeze your thighs and roll onto your side, biting into your pillow to muffle the desperate, angry scream. 

Because you heard the sounds of Steve’s pleasure.

A mixture of shameless grunts and moans, with the faint slick echo of a hand moving along a cock. 

You should be disgusted by it, not wetter. 

Not only was he jerking off a few steps away from you, but he left the bathroom door open so you heard him. And your traitorous body responded, eager to beg him for torment and release, just as your dream self had. 

You avoided Steve’s gaze the whole early morning, despite both of you not catching any more sleep and pretending nothing happened. Well, you pretended. Steve strutted around like a peacock, with no care for your visible vexation. Your shower was on the cold side and your throat parched, even after gulping three glasses of orange juice. 

Working seemed impossible, too. Every few minutes your brain would suddenly switch the channel from focused to flashes of the depraved wet dream. And your wet reality. 

Because to your great dismay, Steve wasn’t only a demon from your dreams, but looked and acted the same tempting, dangerous way in broad daylight. 

You spent the first ten minutes of your lunch break chugging cold water and pacing around your office, trying to at least reduce some of the physiological tension. Maybe you really should start running, or do some crossfit. Just so that your body would die from exhaustion and save you further humiliation.

You paused, seeing through the window a familiar silhouette cutting the inner courtyard of the center. 

What the hell was Barnes doing here?

Your fingers clenched on your water bottle as you watched him stride through the sensory garden and toward the door in the far corner. It led to an old office. Or what used to be an office, but got flooded many years ago and now served more as a storage room, since there were more important rooms and projects to invest into than renovating one, single space. 

“I swear, if he’s here to bang Nat-” you muttered angrily under your breath.

But when you yanked your office door open and stepped outside, Nat was sitting behind her desk. Pristine and sharp, like a blade herself. She arched her perfectly sculpted brow at you, but didn’t say anything when you grumbled that you’re going to the garden. 

If Barnes wasn’t here to mess around with her, it meant he was here for business. His business meant Steve’s. Who was, after all, so very set on getting his hands on the health center and you still didn’t know why.

You marched through the courtyard, gaze laser focused on those doors behind which Bucky’s all black silhouette disappeared. 

Admittedly, you were a bit scared of Bucky. Less than you were of Steve, but still. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you if you confronted him about any shady stuff (not without Steve’s permission), but it didn’t ease the pounding of your intimidated heart. 

When you yanked the door open and stepped inside, you expected to see Bucky alone, or maybe with some henchmen that snuck in earlier, doing something nefarious. For a split of a second you feared you were going to see a dead body. But the room you walked into still resembled that old room with three different desks, some chairs, broken cabinets and various smaller items gathering dust. The only difference was that they were pushed against the walls, creating free space in the middle of the room. 

However, you did not expect to see another pair of blue eyes beside Bucky’s. 

Steve held your gaze once your eyes landed on him. And though a part of you screamed at you to turn around and run away, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t even shift your eyes, ensnared by that dark pull. 

The air seemed to thicken around you. A heavy wave of stifling heat rolled up, engulfing you in the clogging, sticky memory of your wet dream and the following mess. 

The way Steve tilted his chin, how he looked down at you with an expecting challenge that slipped into boredom, because you weren’t picking it and thus wasting his time; it made you snap from the haze.

“What the fuck?” You frowned, stepping further inside. 

You kept your shoulders pushed back, your hands at your sides, as you attempted to maintain the professional power of a health center’s director. 

Neither of them responded to you. Steve held your gaze a moment longer, then turned to Bucky, who wasn’t even looking your way. 

“Make sure it’s ready by Wednesday.” Steve gave him instructions, ignoring your presence and demand. “Barton will be back Tuesday evening, so he can start the next day.”

Barnes simply gave a nod and left. No more words between them, no gestures that would indicate Steve ordered him to leave, so the two of you were alone. Rather Bucky would be leaving at this moment whether you were there, or not. Your presence marked as insignificant.

It pissed you off further. 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” You stomped forward, not giving up.

“The center’s functioning won’t be disturbed.” Steve dragged his gaze down your form as you stood in front of him. His answer not an answer at all.

“With what?” You braced your hands on your hips, taking a deep breath to quiet the tone of your voice. It was unlike you to raise your voice and to hold it in rage for more than one outburst. 

You were proud of your professional approach, even in highly stressful situations. Granted, you weren’t facing a benefactor, nor an official of any kind, but you were determined to remain in control with Steve, as well. More so than with anyone other. 

But his mere presence had your neuronal system overheating, recording and sending signals from so many parts of your body at once.

“Nothing that concerns you.” 

The way he said it… He wasn’t just avoiding the topic, he was dismissing you. 

Then the bastard dared to step around you and walk away. 

You snapped. There was no logical thought behind your actions as you grabbed a heavy, crystal ashtray from one of the desks. 

You threw it at Steve. 

Your aim wasn’t the worst, but the bowl was heavy and Steve was moving. It flew past his head, quite a distance away from causing any potential harm. It thudded against the door and fell to the floor where it broke into three chunks. 

A blur of movement filled your vision, before you even registered what you’ve done. A hand was squeezing the front of your neck as you were forced to scramble back. 

Air wooshed out of you when Steve slammed you against the back wall; with less force than you’d expect him to use on an actual enemy, but enough of it to remind you he was no gentleman. 

His body pressed into you; massive, strong, terrifying. 

He kept you pinned in place, one hand on your throat was enough of a warning for you to struggle only for breath and not fight him. Steve’s other hand squeezed your side, thumb pressing so hard above your hip bone you were certain there would be a bruise. 

A flare of fear cut through your blood, but with it came another rush. A wild pulse of thrill. 

“You best beg me to fuck that frustration out of you now,” Steve’s voice was a slice of heated scythe cutting through your composed walls.

“I’m not-” you stopped immediately when he clenched his fingers tighter.

“Princess,” he hissed in a warning. “I know you’ve been touching yourself. Playing with your needy pussy, using your pathetic toys. And still it was my name you moaned in your sleep, when you were dreaming of what you really crave.”

Tears welled in your eyes, only partially from your air flow being constricted. Most of all, it was the aforementioned frustration that squeezed salty drops. 

You hated him; hated how he made your body weak and desperate for him. 

You’d love nothing more than to deny any of his claims and walk out with your head held high. But your knees were too weak, your pussy already throbbing and primed for him. If you even managed to step out of the room, your frustration would bring you to a boiling point and make you crawl back to him. 

“Need me to take out my gun?” His words brushed against your cheek like a caress.

Whether it was that contrasting softness of his voice, or the image of the deadly weapon being pushed under your skirt, it made you clench around nothing. 

You shook your head. 

“Need you-” you finally whimpered. “Need you to fuck me.” 

Steve swallowed your next sound. He squeezed his fingers once again, forcing your mouth to open to gulp precious air. But he gave you none. Only the taste of him, the demand of his tongue that played against yours as his fingers would against your clit. 

With his other hand, he yanked your pencil skirt up; sharp moves tugging the clingy fabric. Then air was swiftly filing your lungs and rushing to your head, as he released your throat and used both hands to turn you.

He pushed you forward and bent you over one of the dust covered desks. Splaying your hands on the hard surface, you pressed your face against one palm and arched your back, pushing your ass up. A streak of shame burned your skin, but the need for Steve’s cock was too great. 

There was a jangle of belt buckle being undone and a cool wisp of air licked up your wet slit when Steve pushed the strip of your soaked panties to the side. 

“Fucking drenched, Princess.” He groaned, most pleased with the sight of your glistening pussy. 

“You did this to yourself,” he scolded you, dipping two of his fingers between your folds and smearing your sticky mess around. “Denying yourself, though you know how much your body loves what I do to it.” 

“You won’t say no from now on, right?” A single digit pushed inside and your legs wobbled.

You moaned, trying to push back against his hand and get more. So much more. But he was unyielding, repeating his question in the same patient, merciless manner. Until you clenched your eyes shut, crying in frustration - “I won’t! Please!” 

His fingers withdrew. A low chuckle responded to your whine. But the pressure of his cock against your hole rewarded your reluctant submission. 

The moan that spilled past your lips as he sank deeper reverberated through the empty room. You shifted your head, biting onto your hand to muffle the sounds that Steve would undoubtedly cause you to make. 

He wouldn’t have it. 

Growling his displeasure, Steve gripped both of your wrists and pulled your arms behind your back. He crossed your wrists together and held them in one of his hands at the small of your back.

Then his other hand was gripping your hip, holding you bent and lodged on his dick while he took three steps back. There was no surface you could brace yourself upon, nowhere to press your face into to cover your cries and moans. Bent over, your legs shaking, Steve’s strong hold was the only security you had from falling. 

It also allowed him to move your body the way he pleased. 

One testing thrust had you jerking forward, your head bowed down and a cry spilled out along with a drop of your spit. 

Steve readjusted his hold on your wrists then started pounding into you. It wasn’t the sinful, gracefully primal way he fucked you on your wedding night, but a forceful taking reflecting your frustrations of the past weeks. 

And fuck you needed it exactly like that. 

Each slam had you mewling, your pussy fluttering around him. Much to Steve’s delight. 

“That’s it, Princess,” he goaded. “Let me hear you.” 

The angle, the force of it, the sense of being completely at Steve’s mercy, had you coming sooner than anticipated. 

Your walls clenched hard. Your whole body spasmed as waves of pleasure crashed into you with the power of a sea storm. That was it - the pleasure you seeked for weeks, so numbing and good that nothing but a hum of blood filled your head. 

No self-induced orgasm felt like this. 

Steve’s hand moved from your hip to your neck, curling at the front of it and pulling your head back. His other arm released your wrists, but wrapped around your middle as Steve made you stand up and lean your back against his chest.

He was still hard. Still lodged deep in your quivering cunt. Fucking you through your orgasm. 

He slowed, but in this new angle his cock seemed to sink even deeper inside. Crown of his dick brushed over that ultrasensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back. Your ass was squished into his hips, coarse hair on his thighs grazed your skin with each thrust. 

“Is this what you dreamed of?” He groaned into your ear, filling you in a firm stroke.

You shook your head, unable to form a sentence beyond a breathy moan. 

Cool metal of his rings was pressing into your neck, his other arm squeezing your breasts upwards, crumpling your pristine blouse. His heavy boots bracketed your pretty pink heels as his fat cock speared into your creamy cunt over and over again. 

“What was it then?” Steve snapped his hips in a sharp move, making you cry out loud. 

“The knife-” you managed to rasp out as you felt another climax coiling up low in your belly.

You didn’t tell him any of the sordid details, but revealing it was the blade you were dripping for in your dream was enough to make Steve laugh in triumph. 

The vibration of it not only shook your chest, but seemed to jolt down to your pussy.

“My fucking dirty Princess,” Steve sucked on your earlobe, quickening his pace. “You won’t hide those dark needs anymore. I’ll play them all out for you. Show you new ones.”

“Now-” he kept his hand on your throat, but moved the other one south- “Cum for me again. Wanna feel it squeezing me as I fill this married pussy.” 

Steve’s fingers slipped over your clit, drawing rough circles on your swollen nub. A shot of pressing pleasure made you arch against him, a gurgled mewl pitching in your throat. You gripped Steve’s thighs, feeling his muscles flex with each powerful snap of his hips. 

A few sharp strokes more and warm, thick seed was coating your walls. 

Steve’s moan was the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. Its deep, dark undertone tipped you over the edge. 

Your head was spinning, though Steve didn’t clench his fingers on your throat too tight. It was the amalgamate of everything: his cock throbbing inside of you, spilling more cum and filling you; your pussy was fluttering like crazy, a fairy on a rush attempting to grab each drop and stuff it into the right place; your half-conscious mind registering that you were in your workplace. 

Wrapping an arm around you once more, Steve moved your joined bodies a few paces backwards. Movement jolted his dick, causing your pussy to clench in response to renewed friction. 

Then he was pulling you down with him as he sat on one of the forgotten chairs; the wood creaking from the weight. He kept you on his cock, splaying his fingers sticky with your slick over your thigh. A few breaths later his hold on your throat eased. But you kept your head tipped back on his shoulder, unfocused gaze staring at the white ceiling.

Until Steve used his fingers to tilt your face for a kiss. 

Slow, but no less weakening. 

His tongue teased your lips open. His fingers were a pressure against your cheek, reminding you of who held the reins, even if he coaxed your response with surprising gentleness. Shushing your tiny moan by sucking on your bottom lip.

Echo of your ragged breath mingled, your heart pounding in your chest as you stayed in Steve’s lap. You didn’t think you had the strength to stand back on your feet just yet. You also weren’t sure he would let you. 

So you rolled your head back onto Steve’s shoulder and stared into the space, unfocused. His mouth pressed a kiss over your galloping pulse point, then he scraped his teeth along your shoulder. 

“Smuggling tunnels.” Steve’s words stirred your post-orgasmic brain mush. 

“Huh?” You lolled your head to the side to squint at his profile and try to make sense of his words.

“That’s why I wanted the center.” He explained, lazily roaming his fingers over your clothed body. “Entrance to the smuggling tunnels is exactly here. They were set up in the prohibition era, then supposedly locked. But not all of them. Not this loop. And according to the plans Tony provided, the web of tunnels stretches to the very harbor.” 

You blinked, processing his words. It was quite hard to take the seriousness of this information while your pussy was still pulsing and leaking cum. And while Steve’s hand was fondling your breast. 

“Tony? As in Tony Stark?” Your mind shook off remnants of haze. 

“Mhmm,” Steve nipped your shoulder. “Howard never uttered a word, though he knew of the tunnels. After his death, Tony went through all of his old man’s secret nooks and found those plans. Among other things. Tony knows how to make good deals and he’s going to gain a lot from giving me the information about the tunnels.” 

You wanted to rage, because it sounded so… insignificant. So small. Smuggling tunnels being the reason why Steve Rogers turned your life into a neverending torment. 

The logical brain knew that for a mob boss, an unknown to the police route of smuggling that would provide unlimited profits for decades, was worth one meager life. It was worth much more. He would really have killed you back then, if you didn’t comply with his marriage whim.

“Why do you tell me this?” Your nose scrunched up and a displeased whimper left your lips when Steve’s softened cock slipped out of you. 

His fingers touched your cheek as Steve’s cold blue eyes seared into yours.

“Because you’re my wife and you asked.” 

You didn’t read it in any falsely romantic way. Steve wasn’t going to be sharing his feelings and burdens with you. But he knew the power he held over you and had the privilege of being blunt, certain that you wouldn’t spill his secrets anywhere. Because he owned you. 

“Speaking of which,” he lifted you up easily and put you back on your feet. 

Which shook slightly, your pink heels barely holding you upright. 

A dollop of cum dripped down from your pussy and splashed on the floor, before you reached between your thighs with a grimace and adjusted your soaked panties back into place. 

You quickly pressed your thighs together and rolled down your skirt. Steve was tucking himself back into his pants and you tried not to glance at his cock shiny with your juices, nor at his fingers that smelled of your arousal when he pressed them against your cheek earlier. 

You were adjusting your blouse when Steve caught your wrist. His irises reminded of a cold, but clear mountain lake - as disquieting as tempting to dip in it. It was a depth from which you’d never breach the surface.

“We have an appointment at six. I’ll pick you up myself.” He announced.

“Appointment?” You frowned.

“Since you keep losing your ring-” Steve lifted your hand up to your face, your finger bare where the sparkling diamond and wedding band should be. 

You left them in your office, taking them off as soon as you walked in. Just to feel the victory of not wearing them for a few hours. 

“- I’ll get you a permanent brand.”

Your frown deepened. Your gaze shifted between your finger and Steve’s face as you tried to decipher what he meant. What was he going to do? Hot-glue it to your finger? You didn’t think it was possible to nail a ring to a bone, or was it? 

Steve’s thumb rubbed your bare knuckle. His low purr, as sinfully sounding as it was, scared you. 

“My name is going to look so fucking good on your skin, Princess.”

It took you a moment. Mostly because your mind couldn’t simply accept the idea that your husband would do something like it. But you quickly realized that he would. Considering everything he’s done so far, this was the smallest of crimes. Like nothing.

“I’m not getting tattooed!” You hissed, trying to yank your hand out of his grasp. 

He didn’t budge.

Stepping even closer, Steve held your hand trapped between your bodies as he gripped the back of your neck with his other hand.

“Yes, you are.” He stated calmly. 

“You will be a good girl and sit in the chair while my name is branded into your skin. Or-” you never knew threat and amusement could combine, but Steve’s eyes glinted that exact, lethal combo- “I’ll drug you and have it done while you’re out of it.” 

Your own eyes widened, fear muffling any outburst of rebellion that you might’ve dared to voice. 

Somehow the idea of being drugged and having something done to you, while you were unconscious, terrified you more than having a loaded gun pressed against your cheek.

“Either way, it’s happening. But I know your stance on the substances messing with the brain, so I’m sure you prefer to be conscious.” Steve’s mouth curved into a smile of a predator that knew his prey had nowhere to go. 

And he was right. You would fight him, but the threat of being pumped with some unknown drug stopped you from trying. Even if Steve made sure to apply the cleanest anesthesia medication, you wouldn’t want to risk it. You knew too well how the smallest doses of narcotics and psychoactive substances influenced the brain. Or rather massacrated it.

“I’ll wear the fucking ring,” you pleaded, though rather petulantly.

“Great!” Steve flashed you a smile and kissed the knuckle of your ring finger. “But you’re still getting that tattoo, Princess.”

No amount of glaring and arguments worked to even irritate Steve as he took you to the tattoo parlor later that day. He was so set on his decision, nothing would deter or delay it. Not even your fear as your hands visibly shook when he accompanied you inside the empty tattoo shop. 

Judging by the address and the interior, it wasn’t a random place either. 

It seemed like one of those tattoo shops that require booking half a year in advance. It wasn’t a bright, safe space, either. Nor the typical rock and heavy metal design. Dark; a mixture of wood and leather. But no harsh tones, no collages displaying various works, no neons. Almost like a spa. 

A very intimidating spa. 

This place definitely didn’t do butterflies or overused tribal tattoos. 

It would, you thought, be a place where people working for the most dangerous branch of the mafia had their skin inked. 

“Rogers.” A gruff voice greeted as you followed half a step behind Steve.

Your fingers were intertwined with Steve’s. At first because he made you hold his hand as he helped you out of the car, but as you stepped into the parlor you felt fear of pain spiking so high you needed to lean against something. 

Unfortunately for you, Steve was the only solid rock you could lean on at the moment.

A big, rather scary looking man walked out from a darkened backroom. He was a few inches shorter than Steve, but no less broad. Wearing black head to toe, his tattoos were like a refreshing splash of color that instantly drew attention.

Steve had quite a few tattoos. A lot of them. But this man was covered in ink. 

His whole hands, sleeves of his arms. Vines stretched even up his neck. Only his head was clean of any print. His hair was buzzed, his dark beard trimmed. Yeah, he definitely could be a mafia’s tattoo artist slash silent killer. 

“Will this do?” The man showed Steve a design on a small piece of paper, not glancing your way even once, even though it was you who was going under the needle. 

He either didn’t care, since you weren’t the one paying for this whole ordeal, or he didn’t want to piss Steve off by looking at the mob boss’ wife. 

“Yeah, it’s perfect.” Steve nodded his approval then tugged on your hand. “Come on, Princess. Get up on the chair.” 

There was no point in postponing the inevitable and you’d rather save yourself the humiliation of Steve putting you in the chair by force. Which he would. So you complied, though you still glared daggers at him. 

He remained indifferent, taking a seat on a small rolling stool and staying at your side. If it wasn’t to ensure you wouldn’t bolt, you might think he did it out of care. 

Turning your head away from Steve and the spark of delight in his eyes, you focused on the gloved hands of the tattoo artist. Fingers of your other hand squeezed into a fist as the man prepped the skin of your ring finger. 

“I suppose you don’t care that the bastard is making me do it?” You dared to ask right as the man was about to transfer the drawing onto your digit. 

He paused. With him paused your heart, waiting for reaction. Waiting for salvation, though you suspected it was a fool’s hope.

The man’s eyes lifted to your face. He watched you for a long, silent moment. Then huffed a short laugh and smirked.

“I get why you picked her,” he addressed Steve. Who was sitting beside you, completely unbothered and now grinning smugly. 

Gritting your teeth, you turned your head and looked down at the outline of the tattoo that was being transferred onto your skin. Not a drawing, but words that would wrap around your knuckle the way a ring does. Though most lettering would be visible on the outside, like a diamond would, ends curved into the inner side of your finger.

A bold, but neat cursive. Big letters. 

Steve

And above it, slightly smaller, but equally brazen reminder.

‘Til death

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

synopsis: your knight who is sworn to protect you is also who you sneak around wirh

tags: princess and knight trope, kingdom au, explicit, vulgar, cunnalingus, oral, penetration

wrd cnt: 1.8k

a/n: i need argenti

“A paragon knight of the Knights of Beauty. He embodies righteousness and honor, possessing an admirable nobility”

Oh please. Honor?

Like many others across the universe, you too were struck by the sophistication and beauty of Argenti.

But unlike the rest of them, you were close enough to see the thorns that adorn the rose.

Sure, Argenti is calm and courteous but spending enough time with him led you to see the truth behind the petals.

He’s so very kind, and praiseful.

Incredibly honest, especially about his lust.

Eager and forward, especially about how much he craves you.

Careful and humble, except when he fucks you.

His favorite place to do so is in the most ironic place of all, the Keep.

The strongest and safest place in the castle.

You weren’t blameless, he was once as hard as steel and now his hardness came from somewhere other than his heart.

It was something you were familiar with, especially when he snuck you out of your bed chamber and carried you to the Keep.

The minute the door closed, he’d pull you into him, pressing your body against his silver plates.

It wasn’t enough, as he dropped pieces of armor off him along with your clothes, quickly unwinding the bindings along the back of your corset and watching the rest of your fabric come down with it.

He trails a hand down your chest, first pulling your neck closer to his face so he could plant kisses down it, making sure to not leave marks; but he desperately wanted to. The entire kingdom adorned you, but he wanted so eagerly to show them he was yours. That he was the only person taking your breast into his mouth, and hearing your soft noises while he sat you down on his thigh and held your hips tight while pushing them back and forth.

He loved it when you said his name, even more when you moan.

He kept his hands planted on you, kissing and licking down your stomach.

“Argenti- please….”.

Without any hesitation, he obliged.

Only a “Yes, my princess” falling from his lips before they touch your inner thigh.

He picked you up and sat you down on a barrel, much higher up so he could stand tall and look up into your eyes while he ate you. Most eagerly at that.

“Fuck- yes! Just like that!” You sqeal, watching his blazen eyes never leave yours while his tongue circles your clit, his fingers prodding your hole and making the most insidious noises from your wet heat.

He wasn’t incredibly gentle in his ways, but chilvary never dies.

He always held your hand, soothed over your skin, and kissed every orifice before ruining it.

He was quick to tell you that he’d be there for you, always.

Even if you had no idea what was happening, he was there to help.

He’s been waiting a lifetime for you, and he’s here to fulfill your needs.

All of them.

And you loved him for it.

With a loud moan, he finally pulls his head away from between your legs and looks up at you, catching your eyes with his own.

“Ready, your highness?” He asked with a smile, knowing full well the answer.

He picks you up, holding you

He picks you up, holding you close to his chest and then pushes you down onto the barrel, looking down at you with his fiery eyes.

“I am”.

“Good, because I need this too…so desperately.” He says, before unsheathing his sword.

“Don’t move”.

He says, putting a finger over your lips, a stern expression on his face as he starts to enter you slowly, inch by inch.

“You’re so fucking tight, Y/n-.” He says as he enters you fully, gripping your thighs and thrusting deeper into you with each passing moment.

He grabs both sides of your hips, as he fucks you faster.

“Aeons, you’re beautiful.” He whispers into your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to cover your entire body.

You feel him start to go harder and deeper, until suddenly he stops and pulls out completely.

“Please don’t stop.” You beg, reaching for his cock and wrapping your hand around it, stroking it gently as he watches you intently.

“I have something else in mind….” He says firmly, turning you around so you’re facing away from him, straddling him as he holds onto your hips.

“Now, sit down slowly and take me deep inside of you.” He commands, leaning back against the wall and relaxing as you follow his orders, sitting down slowly until he’s buried deep within you.

“There we go, that’s perfect. Now just start- fuck…up and down slow and steady.” He says encouragingly, placing a hand on your lower back to support you as he pulls on your long braid.

You obey him without question, starting to grind against him slowly at first before picking up the pace.

“That’s right, just like that.” He moans, running his hands up and down your sides as he watches you pleasure him.

“Keep going, love. You’re doing great.” He encourages, his voice growing increasingly more desperate as he nears climax.

“Oh god, yes!” You cried out, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to climax as you keep going.

“Come on, Princess, give me everything. I need all of it- all of you.” He begs, tightening his grip on your ass as you pick up the pace even further.

“Yes! Yes- Fuck!” You scream, feeling him cum deep inside of you as you continue to grind against him until your release quickly follows.

“Thank you, Princess.”

[milswrites]

The light which persists

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel finds his source of happiness in the most unlikely of places.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors Dni (p in v)

It's strange how Azriel could identify the very moment in which his life had just changed forever.  All it took was one look, a second-long glance in your direction, and the shadowsinger was certain that his entire world had just shifted. Whether it be by the cauldrons design or his own, Azriel had no doubt that your fate was to be entwined with his.

It was unbeknownst to Azriel, how a flower as lovely as you could bloom in the toxic gardens of the Court of Nightmares. Yet here you were, sitting across from the male in this tedious meeting, a soft smile adorning your lips as Azriel admired you in all your beauty. A rose untouched by the thorns of her less than savoury counterparts.

The radiant aura you permeated acted like a beacon, a glowing light of warmth and comfort. Your bright signal subconsciously drawing Azriel into your safe harbour. He had yet to hear your voice and Azriel was already sure that whatever sweet nectar poured from your lips would coat his mind like honey, pulling him deeper still into the soothing waters of your tangible soul.

Azriel failed to register the dull words which Kier was speaking, his thoughts occupied by you and only you. In fact the shadowsinger found it impossible to tear his eyes from you. Afraid that if he were to do so for even a second, whatever hypnotic spell you had cast upon him would be severed and his world would be rudely shifted back to the mundaneness of its usual orbit.

Instead, his hazel eyes stayed locked on you, Azriel’s searching gaze committing your delicate features to memory. Noting the slight furrow of your brows knitting together and the growing pout of your plush lips as you listened to Kier’s absurd proposition, his chest tingling with satisfaction at the sight of the flames which flickered in your determined eyes. And when you finally spoke, each syllable which fell from your lips had Azriel clinging on for more, entranced by the power which laced every well-spoken word.

Azriel had only received but a taste of your presence and yet he was already addicted. The tantalizingly delicious way your light coursed through his veins was a feeling the male wished never to forget. He would bottle it if he could, squirrel away a piece of your light and take it back with him to Velaris so he could experience the high which had been gifted from you whenever the male wished.

And so, with your gravitational pull too mesmerizing to resist, the shadowsinger became a ghost in the ebony halls of Hewn City's palace. A shadowed phantom haunting the corridors, hoping to receive just a glimpse of your warming light with the goal of replenishing his well. Returning day after day to silently bask in the glory of your presence.

Even his shadows had fallen victim to your siren’s song, enraptured by the comfort your luminesce provided. The smoky tendrils slipping from Azriel’s control in order to seek you out and soak up the warmth of your prevailing light.

It was therefore no surprise when you noticed the new little followers who trailed after you like lost puppies as you walked through the winding halls of the palace of nightmares. Bringing you a warm satisfaction when you were able to return them to the blushing shadowsinger who always seemed to be hiding nearby.

It wasn’t long before the days where Azriel’s visits to the Court of Nightmares which were once filled with harrowing screams and cries for mercy were now few and far between. Instead, no longer needing to pine after you from a distance, his visits involved friendly walks through the gardens in Hewn. The twisted vines and dull flowers failing to hold a candle to the beauty which was you.

Azriel’s senses were right that day he had first met you, it was destined for both of your fates to be intertwined. Far behind were the days of being strangers, and soon, so were the days of being friends. The shadowsinger’s growing love for you was why it didn’t take long for the cruel city to become one of Azriel’s favourite places to be.

It was the highlight of Azriel’s day, wandering through the winding avenues of Hewn City as he made his way to your home under the cover of his obedient shadows. Following the faint glow which led him through the familiar streets, its presence holding the draining aura of the wretched city’s air at bay until he had safely passed through the threshold of your home.

And just like the day he first met you where you knocked his world off kilter with only one glance, a single look at your beaming face as he entered was all Azriel needed to feel the worries of his arduous day start to slowly ebb away.

A single look being enough to remind the male just how in love with you he had grown to be. Thankful that the prayers whispered from the dark cage of his childhood had finally been answered, because the gods have given him you.

Only you had the power to illuminate his life. Your presence a lighthouse which called him back from the festering darkness of where he once inhabited. Azriel could withstand anyone, any place, even the looming evil of the Court of Nightmares, if only it meant he was weathering them with you.

One look was all it took to muddle his senses and scramble his thoughts. Clearing Azriel’s mind of all the sweet things he had planned of saying to you as his lips came to meet yours instead.

Azriel kissed the same way he fought, rough and calculated. Each skilled brush of his tongue and sinful nip to your swollen lips done with the intention of drawing sounds of pleasure from you. But Azriel didn’t only kiss to please, every swirl of his warm tongue sought to absorb more and more of your comforting light. The two of you locked in a passionate kiss which was only growing wilder as he attempted to sate his never-ending hunger for you.

His scarred hands explored every inch of your body that they could possibly reach as his salacious lips moved to devour the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting at your sensitive flesh until the purple marks of his labour began to appear in the wake of his reddening lips. Pleased with the desperate manner of which Azriel was attacking your neck you teasingly pulled away from the male, lips pulling into a smile as you goaded him, “What no hello? You’re not going to ask me how my day has been?”

Groaning at the distance you had created between you, Azriel closed the space once more, leaning forwards until his lips tantalizingly brushed against your ear. Using his teeth to gently tug on your lobe until his lips upturned into a cocky smirk, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he spoke lowly, “Why should I when we both already know that your day is about to get a whole lot better?”

“Confident in your skills are we?” you teased, not missing the twinkle which flashed in Azriel’s lustful gaze.

“Why don’t I show you?” Azriel asked, hovering his warm lips over your own, your sultry eyes glancing up at him through the shadow of your eyelashes, “And then you can tell me just how good my skills are.”

Azriel fucked well, there was no doubt about it.

Having done the act with him hundreds of times you were familiar with his unforgiving pace and the brutal force behind his thrusts. Azriel fucked like a man starved, seeking to steal every ounce of pleasure from you possible with each wild snap of his hips.

Yet tonight something was different, Azriel still drew the same cries of strangled pleasure from your lips, though his hips worked at a slower pace. The male taking his time to tear you apart, the leisurely pounding of his cock into your heat working to slowly bring you to your completion.

Tonight Azriel wasn't just fucking you, he was making love. His eyes, once blown black with lust, were now filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher and each languid thrust of his insatiable hips pulled soft moans and whimpers from your mouth. Your sounds matched by the shadowsinger's strangled groans escaping from his own lips at the newfound softness of the moment.

His stable hands entwined with your own, fingers laced together as he gently moved your hands to rest on either side of your head. Trapping you beneath him as he patiently drew you closer and closer to your high. Azriel was an expert of torture, never failing to stop the arduously slow rhythm of his thrusts no matter how much you cried for him to go faster.

The heat from his loving gaze becoming too difficult to withstand at the steady pace he was keeping and so you snapped your begging hips to meet his, allowing his cock to hit that sweet spot inside your core, urging the male to seek his high quicker.

A low rumbling laugh tore from his mouth, that cocky smirk once more returning to his lips as he continued his torturous pace. "So good for me princess," he crooned, his words stirring the butterflies in your stomach, aiding to pull you closer and closer to the high you were nearing, "You take me so well." The regular pulse of his hips unwavering, the repeated rhythm inching you closer and closer to satisfaction.

"Keep your eyes on me" he warned as the blissful wave of release began to wash over you, a scream of pleasure escaping from your lips as he finally began to speed his thrusts, "Don't stop looking at me my love."

It was Azriel's turn to reach his high, but it wasn't just satisfaction he was chasing, it was the glowing ball of light which stemmed from you that Azriel longed to absorb. Each mighty thrust working towards reaching that light, growling with the effort of reaching his completion.

Once he had found it, and that familiar golden glow had settled in his chest, Azriel's hunger was sated as his high washed over him and he spilled into your aching core. Panting in time with you as he carefully drew his cock from your heat and pulled your aching body into his soothing embrace, whispering sweet words of affirmation into your ringing ears. Aiding in bringing you down from your crushing high.

It was in the wake of his overwhelming pleasure, still inebriated by the intoxicating feel of your warming light, that the words slipped unceremoniously from his lips. "Come with me" he blurted, that unknown emotion from earlier still dancing in his begging eyes.

"What?" you asked breathlessly, unsure what it was that the male was asking for. Sensing their master's wavering nerves, his shadows had made their appearance. Slowly travelling across your heated skin, their soothing caress, acting to cool your burning flesh.

"To Velaris" he explained, the words leaving his mouth with a anxious gulp, "Come with me to Velaris."

Your eyes blow wide at his question. Thoughts becoming clear as the wave of your pleasure retreated. It was love you had seen in Azriel's stare, which you had felt in his passionate thrusts and searing kisses. Love which fueled his shaking nerves at the prospect that your answer would be anything other than yes.

"You deserve so much more than this cursed city" he continued, gentle hand coming to meet your cheek, his grounding touch drawing you from your tempestuous thoughts, “The world deserves to see so much more of you, you’re wasted here. This city, it just kills off everything good, everything pure. You deserve to live, to share your light with likeminded people."

"My light?" you questioned, not quite understanding what it was that Azriel was trying to convey.

Azriel moved the now shaking hand which was settled on your cheek to rest against the center of your chest, taking a few minutes to absorb the steady beat of your heart before continuing to speak.

"I don't know what it is, or why it's there. But I see it, the same light I only ever see on one day of the year, on Starfall. It calls to me, you call to me. . . I don’t know if we are mates, but I just get this feeling, the same one I felt on the day I met you, that this light was made for me. That it’s guiding me towards something. . . towards you.”

You looked down to where his hand was resting but was disappointed to see there was no light shining, yet the intensity of your lovers gaze already told you everything you needed to know.

“Is it there now?” You ask, noting the way Azriel’s hand had stopped trembling at the realisation that you believed him.

“Yes” he smiled softly, and whilst you couldn’t see the light yourself you could have sworn you saw the reflection of a warm glow in his hazel eyes, “it’s always with you, like my shadows.”

As if answering their masters call his shadows had begun to swirl around where his hand was placed, you could only assume they were dancing with the mysterious light that Azriel had likened them to.

“So Velaris huh?” You ask, looking deeply into Azriel’s hopeful eyes, “When do we go?”

And with those four words all of Azriel’s wishes had come true. The male no longer needing to bottle your calming light, sipping at his reserves until he was blessed with your wonderful presence once more. No, this time when he left he would be bringing his star to Velaris with him. To his home.

[hawkinsbnbg]

standin' at that altar, or we will run away

prompt: sneaking around | @steddiesmuttyseptember

tags: exes to lovers, bathroom sex, daddy kink, barebacking, creampie, top Eddie, possessive Eddie, bottom Steve, babygirl Steve, steddie in love.

word count: 1k7 | rated: E | ao3

Steve sipped his wine and sighed inwardly. It was too early to ingest the alcohol, but knowing his parents would criticize him no matter what, he didn't have any reason to behave himself.

If they thought being late was a power move, then he should be allowed to drink all of their expensive wine.

At least, he snorted humorlessly, waiting for them was better than another blind date.

Steve was a little tipsy when he finally saw him.

Black suit jacket, white open-collared, ironed trousers, and shiny shoes. His long curls were pulled up in a ponytail, tattoos visible on the back of his hands and fingers—adorned with silver chunky rings.

Since the restaurant wasn't exactly packed, it was criminally easy to pick out a familiar face among the sea of dining patrons.

Steve knew he was staring, but Eddie Munson wouldn't be a thorn in his side if the man stopped looking good even for a second.

Especially when he dressed up, a once-in-a-blue-moon thing that would make Steve weak in the knees.

He watched Eddie empty a glass of water and set it down, then stand up from the table and walk away.

Steve loosened his tie and sat there for a moment longer, glancing at his watch to check the time before also getting up and leaving his table.

———

Steve couldn't believe he would follow his ex of all people into a restaurant's bathroom. Which, sadly, wasn't news at all.

Because if there was nothing to stop him, he would follow Eddie to the end of Earth and even beyond death.

Perhaps, Steve supposed, he was a bigger freak than he gave himself credit for.

"Ed– Oof!"

He was pulled into a sturdy chest as soon as he opened the door.

The sight of Eddie—tall and broad shouldered—with his shirt's sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing more of the intricate inks, would forever be ingrained in Steve's brain.

A ringed hand came up to hold his chin aloft, dark brown eyes regarded him with an unreadable look before plump lips descended on his own, seizing him in a fervent kiss.

As his pants were stripped and long slicked fingers pressed into him, Steve couldn't remember why he didn't want to trail after Eddie in the first place.

In the mirror, he looked debauched with his disheveled appearance; tousled hair, unbuttoned shirt, red swollen lips, and hickey-covered neck.

All the while, Eddie's gaze felt like a physical touch on him—scorching, heavy, and ravenous.

Steve had missed it; the feeling of being desired and adored in the same touch and in all one breath. It was intoxicating, got him light-headed more than any alcohol or drug.

"More," he pushed his hips back, one hand hooking behind Eddie's neck while the other splaying on the bathroom counter. He clenched around the fingers working inside him, hoping they would be replaced by something bigger soon.

"Such a greedy little thing, hm?" Eddie mouthed the column of his throat and stroked his prostate relentlessly, drawing punch-drunk moans from him. "My fingers not enough for you, princess?"

Steve shook his head frantically. He wanted Eddie; whole and scalding and everything. He wanted and wanted until his body was torn into pieces, reaching its limit and incapable of containing his greed, his hunger—

His love for this beautiful man.

And oh, he had said it again, didn't he?

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Unrestrained. Unashamed. Unrepentant.

Eddie made a wounded noise like it was punched right out of him.

And while Steve loved like the sun, burning and consuming; Eddie loved like the moon, tender and forgiving.

Embracing him in warmth and affection even when he was the one at fault. Even when he had been a coward and run away.

"Missed you, Daddy," he trembled in the safety of those strong arms, barely able to conceal the desperation in his voice. "Need it so bad– Please–"

"Anything, baby," Eddie clutched his waist in a bruising grip, sounding hoarse and shaky, as he pushed slowly into him, stretching him open, tearing him asunder. "Anything."

Steve dropped his mouth in a silent moan, squeezing his eyes shut when Eddie set up a brutal pace right off the bat.

Neither of them had much time to savor this sacred moment. A reunion after two months apart. A drop of morning dew sliding off a green leave.

And he let Eddie use his body, slamming into him with an urgent need—as if his inside was the hearth of life, as if Eddie needed to be balls deep in him like air—chasing the blazing flame that they were both after.

"Am I that girl you dream of, baby?" Eddie grabbed his jaw to make him meet those crazed eyes in the mirror, hot lips pressing against his artery—thumping like a hummingbird. "Does she pamper you the way I did? Does she make love to you and fuck you like this? Does she tie you up? Eat you out until you cry and beg for her cock?"

"There's no one–" Steve was interrupted by the insistent knocks on the door. And suddenly remembered that they were very underdressed in a public setting.

Not that it had ever stopped Eddie from bending him over the nearest surface and going to town.

"Fuck off!" Eddie shouted at the door with a scowl.

"Yeah, fuck off," Steve giggled.

His parents would definitely have a coronary if they found out their straight son was given the pounding of his life in a bathroom. And right in a restaurant under the Harrington's name, nonetheless.

"Wanna share with the class what's so funny, darlin'?" Eddie rolled his hips and Steve's laughter suddenly cut into a strangled moan.

The constant pressure on his prostate wasn't a joke, making Steve drool and lose his mind.

"Love you, Daddy," he babbled incoherently, not caring that it didn't make any sense. "Love you so much. Love your cock so much."

"Jesus Christ, baby."

His eyes rolled back as Eddie grounded into his prostate and bumped his weeping dick quickly, setting his nerves alight and sending him over the edge.

Steve convulsed as he got overwhelmed by the toes-curling pleasure, muscles flexing and milking the thick length inside him like his life depended on it.

"That's– Fuck–" Eddie groaned and pressed his forehead on Steve's shoulder, blunt nails digging into the trim waist and leaving their crescent indents behind.

Steve wished they would take forever to fade.

After a few stuttered thrusts, Eddie buried deep and spilled inside him, filling him up to the brim.

"Don't pull out," Steve whimpered, clamping down even as he knew full well it was impossible.

"Me and you both, sweetheart," Eddie pressed a wistful kiss on his temple, slipping out easily from his sloppy hole.

After using the toilet paper to wipe down his backside and dick, Eddie pulled his briefs and pants back on, deft hands snaking around his torso to do his belt and zipper for him.

When Eddie turned him around to button his shirt and tucked it in as well, Steve's softened dick gave a valiant twitch at the feeling of Eddie's cum dripping from his hole.

His underwear would be a mess by the time he was home, but if he played his cards right, Eddie would clean it for him.

"Hey, Ed–"

"Steve, I–"

They paused and shared a shy smile.

"You first," Steve said, cheeks tinged pink as Eddie's hands came to rest on his waist, boxing him in against the counter.

"I know none of this is your fault. So whatever you need to do to fulfill your duty, I forgive you," Eddie gave him a tender smile, stealing his breath away. "And I'll wait for you for however long it takes. Because I know it hurts you as much as I, if not worse, to listen to your parents. I don't agree with it, but I understand that you have your reason to do so."

Steve felt guilt run through him, his eyes burned and his lips quivered as he rested his forehead on Eddie's shoulder, wanting to hide his tears because what right did he have to cry now?

"Let me be your silent support, baby," Eddie's fingers combed through his hair gently. "Let me take care of you even from the shadows."

"No!" He lifted his head to meet those kind brown eyes. "You don't deserve that– I can't– I won't keep you a secret, Eddie."

"I love you, and there's no other way for us–"

"There is," Steve raised his hand to wipe the tears in his eyes, smiling wobbly at his boyfriend. "I'm here today to break the big news to my parents. If you're willing to take me in when they disown me and deny my inheritance right–"

Someone banged on the door loudly from the outside, but Steve didn't care about it. Wealth, fame, reputation; they all paled in comparison to the man he loved.

"–then I'll go with you."

Eddie gave him a searching look, as if what he just said was too good to be true. Which Steve couldn't fault him after everything he had put him through. But it hurt still, to be doubted by his love because he had proved himself untrustworthy with his foolishness.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" Eddie asked softly, caressing Steve's cheekbone with the back of his hand. "I'm not your parents. I'm just a small-time musician. A life with me won't be the same as anything you grew up with. I don't want you to regret your decision, baby."

"And you called me a worrier," Steve teased gently, before grabbing Eddie's wrist to kiss his ring finger—tattooed with a princess crown. "A life with you sounds good enough to me."

"Yeah?" Eddie smiled at him, fond and precious.

"Yeah," Steve smiled back, feeling his body tingle with light. So bright that he could rival the sun.

At the sound of the door being unlocked, Steve winked at Eddie.

"Let's bring me out of the closet. Show my parents that I'm as straight as a rubber band."

"Stephen Joseph Harrington," Eddie grinned widely and gazed at him in awe. "I'm gonna marry you one day."

Steve tipped forward and kissed Eddie soundly when those loving arms caught him.

Yeah, one day soon.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Mask

Horror masterlist - Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

RZ Michael Myers x female nurse reader

Part 1

Words: 1248

Warnings: very mild and short descriptions about violence

Summary: you seem to be the only person who's able to communicate with Michael and so you continued to take care of him on Dr Loomis' orders

Reader: short female reader in mind, but no specific descriptions are used

The following days and weeks passed with the same routine. You were overseeing Michael in the observation room until Doctor Loomis would arrive for the therapy session. Occasionally, the doctor would even request that you stay, hoping that Michael would open up in your presence. He did, although the doctor was too engrossed in his own theories to notice it each time, but you saw all of it. The little amused huffs behind the mask whenever you challenged him with a question, the silent chuckles and crinkling eyes whenever you told one of your jokes and the way his breath hitched as soon as your hand found his in an innocent touch. All the while a frustrated Loomis sat across the table, huffing as he scribbled down in his notebook, so much to write and yet no wisdom to share, only speculations.

The conflict within Michael kept raging on, torn between his urge to kill and the growing fondness for you. You were a thorn in his flesh of bloody sin and yet, you soothed his mind and your touch left a sense of longing burning beneath his skin. Your fingertips brushing the side of his hand as he tried to help you make your own mask felt electrifying, a spark straight to his rotten heart, nourishing its dying flesh. His heart raced, threatening to burst out of his chest while his breaths grew heavier. As his eyes finally locked on yours, the entire world around him froze, time trickling away while you observed him, your perfect lips slightly parted, realising what was happening to him, what you did to him.

"Well mine doesn't look as good as yours but I still have time to learn from the master", you giggled, holding your mask up for him to see, "shall we try them on?"

A faint smile spread across his lips, well hidden beneath the painted paper on his face. The way you giggled so carelessly in his presence, the graceful movements of your hands, making the piece of paper-mâché seemingly dance in the air, Michael could feel a knot forming in his stomach. He had never felt like this, not even prior to that one fateful Halloween. Although his heart suddenly jumped as he observed your cheerful expression falter, replaced by a hint of fear. Would this be the inevitable moment of truth where you'd finally realise how ugly he truly was on the outside and deep within?

"I...I should turn around", you murmured, "sorry I forgot for a moment that you don't like showing your face."

His fingers moved up to grasp your chin, preventing you from turning your head away. Observing your initial confusion, he handed you his new mask and slowly removed his old one. A hushed gasp slipped passed your lips, eyes wide in shock as you gazed upon Michael's real face for the very first time. He let out a rasped groan as your fingertips graced his forehead, brushing the long blonde strands of hair away to tuck them behind his ears. His handsome face bore a rough charm, tiny dark stubble adorned his broad jaw and chin, his lips trembling ever so slightly while his icy blue eyes locked onto yours. He noticed your flustered expression and the heat rising to your cheeks as you leaned closer and put the mask over his head, but you didn't pull it down immediately.

"That...uhm...is a very beautiful face", you whispered, "thanks for allowing me to see it...for the trust."

You pulled the mask down and right before it covered his face entirely, you saw his lips curl into a wide smile. As you were about to put your own mask on, the metal door swung open and Loomis entered with Cruz following closely behind.

"Thank you nurse", the doctor called out while Cruz simply waved at you with a smile, "you can take your leave now. Mister Cruz will take care of Michael in the coming days and I will commence the daily therapy session now. Happy Halloween!"

You sensed Michael tense beside you, the breaths under the mask becoming more erratic with each second of silence passing. Your hand found his, squeezing it gently while his gaze met yours at the subtle reassuring touch.

"I'll take a week off from this evening on, but", you spoke calmly, sensing his rising panic, "I know tomorrow is Halloween, soooo....after discussing it with Dr Loomis, I got the approval to drop by and visit you, in my Halloween costume. And of course I gonna bring you some candy."

You offered a gentle smile while your hand remained on his but it wasn't nearly enough to quell the anger burning within Michael in this moment. He had trusted you, opened himself up to you, and now, like everyone else in his life, you were about to leave him again. Leaving him all to himself and his darkness again? The thought of being abandoned consumed him, causing his teeth to grind and his once warm eyes turned cold and lifeless. His hand instinctively moved towards your neck while his mind exploded with images of how he could simply smash you head first into the table. The cracking sound of your skull, the crimson trickling from every wound, pooling around your face in perfect contrast against the dark grey metal underneath, all mingling with the sweet melody of your panicked last breaths, realising your life was drained away by his hand, the very one you're still holding onto right now.

"If you write me down your favourite candy, I gonna try and get that one for us. Promised!"

Your soft voice snapped him out of his murderous trail of thoughts back into reality and he felt his hold on your neck loosen, gently caressing your skin before retreating. Steel blue eyes blinked at you a few times, the love and gentleness slowly returning to them and with a loud sigh Michael leaned forward, hastily scribbling a few words on a piece of paper before sliding it towards you. The chuckle escaping your lips went straight through his chest, it being the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, forgetting all the pain and doubt it had caused within him just a few seconds ago.

"Oh those two are my favourites too", your finger tapped on the paper, "you have an excellent taste in sweets, Mr Myers."

He rolled his eyes in response but you could almost see the smirk peeking out from behind the paper-mâché.

"I'll see you tomorrow then. Make sure to wear your scariest mask", you winked at him before heading towards the doors.

Before the door fell shut, Loomis slipped through it, calling out for you. It amazed you how this man knew so much and so little at the same time about his most famous patient. He listened, analysed and yet, he never seemed to truly see or hear Michael. Maintaining a friendly and professional expression on your face, you continued to listen as he provided additional instructions for your visit the following day.

As you laid in bed that night, a stash of candy and sweets stowed away and ready, excitement bubbled in your stomach while your restless mind got lost in the anticipation of your first private meeting with Michael, outside your nurse outfit and the obligation to watch over him. It would simply be you and him having as much Halloween fun as a place like Smith's Grove would allow.

Part 3 - Home (18+)

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎 𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ꒰ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏-𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕  ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ jingyi verseless / fem sacrificial reader ꒱ your village has a tradition of picking the flower maiden, a woman to be sacrificed every so often to a demon of the abhorration. this year, it seems that you are the lucky flower

𖹭. content warnings◞  yandere behaviour .  kidnapping . 0.8k

𖹭. receipts◞  had this idea and just had to put it onto paper because hello

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

imagine being born to a village that sacrifices their most beautiful, most dutiful, most splendid maiden - as a bride to a demon, they always say.

the decade’s flower maiden. quite the title. both feared and revered.

but when you stood there with a crown of flowers feeling like a crown of thorns, the former shone true. your heart racing as though it wished to tear through your chest and flee from your body. run far - far away. what would it matter? your chest cavity would surely be ripped into two once the demon got his hands on you.

as you stood amongst the diagram drawn with nectar and rose petals. you inhale. bidding one final glance to the deranged villagers who only looked at you with sympathetic smiles and sorrowful eyes.

they could stop this. any time they wished.

who is to say the demon would come knocking on the door?

was there even a demon?

the question would crumble away once you stood before him. tall, dark. an accumulation of ebony mist framed over where you assumed his eyes should be. long claws you can only remind yourself are for tearing. razor teeth for the same.

“another?”

he sounds unimpressed. you are certain the flowers wilt when met with his dry tone. nevertheless you stand straight. fingers twitching as you shakily fiddle.

“are. . . are you -”

“the demon your people obsess over? take a guess sweetheart.”

a chill rises goosebumps in your skin when the demon circles around your far smaller form. while the fog obscures his face, you can almost feel the look of judgement. you could not help the thorn of irritation poking through your chest.

you were the prettiest lily of the valley, what critique might he hold?

the thought is drowned out by the screams of your logic. why were you upset over such a thing? it is not as though you will see the light of day with him to bask in his judgement for much longer. it matters not. you are prey.

and yet his fingers extending those dark claws, adorned in several silver rings — they caress your face as though you are not.

like a flower indeed. one to be put on display in a pretty, golden vase. treated with the utmost care and shown off to all entering one’s abode.

“well I typically release all the pitiful sacrifices your people send my way,” your heart sinks. he stills it by leaning down. a pale face only a breath away. “I must say that this decade’s sacrifice is . . . certainly stunning.”

those claws find your waist instead of your chest. an effortless tug flushing your body to his.

how might a demon feel so soft? like silk. . . wrapped around a bouquet of roses. it is what you felt like when the crux of his finger raises your chin.

“while I hold no interest in your incessant little village. . . I am quite the greedy being. when something catches my eye - well,”

a sharp thumb nail pokes at your lower lip. the first threat of a tear. so close - yet the distraction of mist dissipating to reveal pools of maroon. a face of a demon, that should surely belong to an angel. . . all fear leaks through your pores.

“I take it.”

the middle of your spine arches. the cotton of the white dress your village had clothed you in hangs, as the being leans over you. his height quickly making itself known once more. his hand finds place between your shoulder blades.

“I am sure you would not mind. after all. it is what your people sent you here for, is it not?”

“b-but -”

a chuckle. deep and dark. it strums a chord in your heart. a burst of butterflies flood your tummy. you practically see them venture out into the marble halls of what you can only assume to be his abode.

“your attempts to denial will certainly be cute. but I see it in your eyes,”

the hand glides down to the small of your back. claws tracing, yet never scratching. never tearing.

“you search for an escape. do you not, wild flower?” his thumb strokes. his body flushes to yours. perhaps it is the eyes of a demon. the essence of staring into them. drowning within his stare - that makes your mind echo his words in fervent whispers. desperate agreements.

“I -”

“now, don’t fight it,”

the demon croons. a curl finding his red lips. they set beside your ear and fan a breath lingered with a thousand promises, you can only imagine.

“I shall treat you like the most delicate of roses. the most revered of blossoms. my sweet, sweet wild flower.”

𖹭. taglist◞ wanna join the taglist? fill out this form

𖹭. remember◞ you make a writer's day every time you like, reblog and/or comment on their piece. if you enjoyed my work, please considering doing so<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[o-sachi]

Roses and Thorns ‧₊˚ ⋅ One Shot (Request)

ଳ you always wondered what what his tattoo meant... and now you know

ଳ character; michael kaiser (bllk)

ଳ tags; angst, more angst, but comfort at the end, depiction of Kaiser's trauma, no y/n, gn reader

Roses naturally came in colors of red, pink, yellow...

But never blue.

Yet, that was the same flower that adorned his arm. From his neck and down to the back of his hand, a beautiful blue rose littered his pallid skin. You always thought it was a captivating tattoo and in many ways—it was what made Kaiser... Kaiser.

Throughout your relationship, your perception of him changes and so does your idea about what his tattoo might mean. You could have asked him directly why he had it done, but where's the fun in that?

You liked the mystery and besides, he never talked about it in the first place.

That led you to think that it was one of those tattoos that people get on a whim. Not all tattoos had a deep meaning—sometimes it's just cool to look at.

Kaiser doesn't seem like the sentimental type after all. The only thing he probably cared about in this world was football and hopefully... you.

However, that view changed the longer you've been together. After seeing more sides to him, you realized how naive and insensitive it was to box him as the kind of person who had no capability to feel deeply for anything else.

The world may know him as an arrogant prodigy, but only you knew everything else behind that. You knew the tireless dedication he had to the sport—spending many restless nights watching replays of previous matches. You knew the vulnerable Kaiser whenever he'd spend weeks away from you—missing you all the way from his fancy hotel room.

But even then, you still had no idea what his tattoo meant. In fact, the more you got to know the true Kaiser, the more doubtful you became of the countless theories you've conjured up about his ink.

Nevertheless, you were firm in your belief that you knew him inside and out. The tattoo could remain a mystery for all you cared.

But roses always came with thorns and you had to learn the hard way.

It had been a couple of weeks since you've last seen each other. Being a football superstar was cruel. What people don't see behind the glamour are all the lonely nights he spends away from your arms.

As soon as he saw you standing in the doorway of your shared condo, he instinctively wrapped his arms around you. He swayed you side-to-side, inhaling your scent that had dulled in his memory after all this time being apart from each other.

After being absent for so long, all he wanted was to sit back and relax with you—no fancy dinners or grand dates. None of that. All he wanted was to be cooped up in your arms until he fell asleep, only to wake up again in the morning.

You indulge him, of course. You wanted it too anyway.

Both of you were now sat on the sofa. It was one of those L-shaped sofas you'd see in home magazines. They were large, but the space was wasted on the two of you since you'd much rather be cramped together in a suffocating embrace. It was better that way.

You absentmindedly traced the black stems of his tattoo as you held him—as you always did. Although, it was a bit odd. Normally, at this point he'd be going in and out of sleep—fighting back the drooping of his eyelids so that he could keep talking to you.

But he was wide awake.

"You don't seem tired tonight huh?"

He huffs out. "Chugging 2 energy drinks after lunch wasn't the best idea."

"Seriously? 2? What for?" you asked, a bit puzzled.

"I figured it would give me enough energy to at least hang out with you a bit before dozing off again, but I miscalculated. That shit was strong..."

Oh... How can you be mad now?

You could only chuckle at his thoughtfulness. "We could always catch up in the morning, y'know? It's not like I'm gonna disappear."

"Eh, still," he retorts, stubborn as ever. "We haven't had a movie night in a long time anyway."

He a had point. Back then movie nights were frequent. Both of you loved it—chilling, eating popcorn, and watching a good flick before bed.

It was good timing. Before his long-awaited arrival, you had been planning on how to surprise him in little ways. You wanted to keep him on his toes and it just so happens you figured out a way to spice up movie night.

You downloaded a bunch of old romantic German movies. It would be a lot different from the usual movies that you'd watch, but he might appreciate watching a movie from his own country. He had a preference for English movies, that much you knew. It was the only thing he'd watch for some unknown reason.

Excited—you hopped off the couch at lightning speed, ready as ever to retrieve the hard drive with all your downloads. As soon as you set everything up, you were back in your earlier position with him on the sofa.

"What's up with the hard drive? You forgot to pay for your streaming account?"

You shook your head with a smile. "No, I just have a surprise~"

"Surprise huh?" A small smile formed on his face at the thought. What could be so surprising about a movie?

The film starts off with a pitch black screen before a soft song filters in. He quickly recognized that it was German—it was a German love song.

He only needed to hear that to know what the "surprise" was.

Kaiser bit his lower lip in anticipation, not that you knew what exactly he was anticipating in the first place.

He wanted to be wrong—so wrong. He hoped that he wouldn't have to see her. The woman with beautiful long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes... the woman who most resembled him.

His mother.

But fate had a funny way of curbing expectations because she was right there on screen, smiling at him.

How cruel was it that the movie you chose—out of all the German movies out there—it had to be this one.

You were quick to notice the resemblance too. The eyes... the smile... they were practically the same. Perhaps he was aware of it too with how he stiffened in your grasp.

But before you could point it out, he had excused himself. "I'll just go to the bathroom for a sec... don't wait up for me."

The sudden change of the air around him was one thing, but for him to let the movie playing without him was another. He'd always ask you to pause it if he had to leave even for a millisecond.

...Did you do something wrong?

Worry filled you to your bones. It was unusual, sure. Maybe you were overthinking it. But the longer you stayed alone on the sofa—in the darkness of the room—the less you believed that you were being melodramatic.

Maybe there was something wrong with the way he turned rigid upon seeing that woman. Maybe there was something wrong about the way he abruptly stood up and left.

Your thoughts got the best of you and you decided to check up on him. In his haste, Kaiser forgot to lock the door. So, there you were—standing by the door and staring at him.

There was something definitely wrong with the way he clutched the bathroom sink as he breathed raggedly.

You could see how his fingers turned white as he gripped his arm, almost as if clawing at the rose etched on his arm.

"What's wrong?"

Your voice snapped him back to reality. Truthfully, he didn't know what was wrong. He thought he had gotten over it all—how his mother left him and how his father treated him. But he was wrong.

There was a reason he avoided those kinds of films. He was scared she'd pop up... looking happy.. acting happy—in a world where she didn't have to be concerned with her own son.

But that's precisely it. He chose to run away from it all instead of confronting it. So now that he was faced with her after all this time of avoiding anything that evoked the concept of her—he broke down.

And he hated that he had to do it in front of you.

But it was involuntary. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

His silence told you enough—all you had to know was that he needed your embrace. To which, you indulge him again.

You cautiously made your way over to him, hovering your arms around him at first before finally pulling him into you. The air stilled around you and time stopped for a moment. Neither of you moved a muscle or spoke a word—feeling content to stay like this for however long.

Eventually, he let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. He turned around to face you, unbothered if you had to see how glassy his eyes became or if his mouth was fixed in a frown.

All this suspense caused a pit to form in your stomach. Your chest felt hollow and your hands were clammy. If he stayed silent another second longer, the water works would've kicked into high gear.

"Sorry... did I scare you?" he asked while tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Sniffling a bit, you wiped your eyes as if tears have already rolled down—though, it definitely felt as if it had. "I... no, I was just worried about you. What's wrong? Please tell me."

The way you pleaded at him clenched his heart painfully. Kaiser pulled you in, planting your face into his chest. His hand caressed your hair with his chin poking the top of your head as he embraced you softly.

"Do you believe in the impossible?" he asked.

All train of thought stopped in an instant. You didn't like that this confrontation you were having was slowly turning into one of those philosophical discourse about the meaning of life and whatnot. All you wanted to know was what happened to him—plain and simple.

"That woman on the screen," he continued. "That was my mother."

The normal reaction would be shock, but it made sense. Perhaps this wasn't developing into that philosophical discourse you dreaded.

"Back then I thought I'd never have to see her in person. Maybe in one of her films, but in the flesh? I would only dream of it. But then..." he chuckles, reminiscing of the past. "Not long after that thought... I came across her on the street. Well, more like I was loitering and she was surrounded by fans while she made her way into a hotel."

His expression dropped at the recollection of such a bittersweet memory. "She never looked my way. She only smiled at the people vying for her attention. But it's funny isn't it?"

You had no idea what was so humorous about it. The revelations were coming too quick for you to let it all sink in. Silence was the only response available from you.

"Then, a week after that, the police took me away from my father." He lets out a stifled laugh out of disbelief. "And back then I thought I'd never get away from him."

"The impossible always seems to happen," he adds.

His past was just too sad, almost like it was taken from a sappy telenovela. But the fact that it was real rendered you speechless. All you could do was hug him tighter to show him that you were still with him.

With an ear to his chest, you could hear how his heartbeat went from erratic to steady. Letting that all out had calmed him down, thankfully. You felt yourself growing relaxed as well. Your eyes wandered to his arm—to the rose that entangled his limb.

To answer his question earlier—no, you didn't believe in the impossible. It's called impossible for a reason. But the sincerity in his voice had you thinking otherwise.

Blue roses... those are impossible too, you thought to yourself as your eyes trailed his tattoo. It could be another one of your silly theories, but the coincidence was hard to deny.

His hands stopped caressing your head, choosing to find purchase on your lower back instead. This prompted you to look up at him and the sheepish smile on his face.

"And..." he started again. "I thought it would be impossible for me to be loved..."

"Yet, here you are."

[🐟]: HELP THIS IS SO CHEESY I'M SORRY. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT BUT I GOT CARRIED AWAY.

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

o-sachi © 2024

[yuuniee]

I’ve been having like several ship brainrots since forever so... AMA :)

❥ [ship list]

[malleleothreesome]

Dancing with Malleus

✨ summary: Malleus invites you to the Briar Valley ball ༶༶༶ ✨ warnings: gender neutral reader, immortal Malleus, romance, SFW, I ain't gonna spoil this one for ya ༶༶༶ ✨ word count: 2.9k words ༶༶༶ ✨ song: Once Upon A Dream - Lana Del Rey "You'll love me at once... the way you did once upon a dream"

The castle's ballroom is exquisite and grand, with high arched windows that open out into a massive and impressive courtyard. Inundated with golden light, the whole room is sparking in ethereal shimmer and the aroma of crisp floral accents fill the room. From the high vaulted ceilings, chandeliers the size of trees glitter with a plethora of colorful gems, catching the light of magical, flickering flames like stardust. Couples twirl and weave around each other in fluid steps, like a choreographed waltz of swaying and swirling movements. An orchestra of beautiful instruments blend together in a soaring melody as the dancing continues in harmonious orchestration. A faint mist seems to cover the floor, glittering opalescent in the fading daylight, which gives the scene the surreal quality of a dream or fairytale. The ball is attended only by the most exotic mystical creatures and beings of magic, clad in jewels and other luxury wares. Fae of varying shapes, colors, and sizes, waltz together and converse in tight circles, but you couldn't possibly hope to learn their language or names, nor are you important enough to be greeted. You don't belong here amongst the unparalleled beauty of the resplendent folk who grace these halls—celestially carved beings whose mere existence was meant to mesmerize you and your fellow humans, yet Malleus had insisted that you become his plus-one. Despite your fears that you might embarrass yourself due to your utter inexperience at anything remotely resembling courtly dancing, you're inexplicably enamored by his stubborn determination to allow no argument or negotiation on the matter. So now, you find yourself clad in flowing silk that glows like it was created by stars themselves and bejeweled with all manners of beautiful and precious accouterments. With such extravagant adornments and attire, no one would be able to tell you are not of royal blood. Before you become completely subsumed in the buzzing magnificence of the ball, the finest details of your elegant surroundings become blurry.

Suddenly, there is only him.

Your eyes cannot help but alight upon his noble beauty, and for a moment, the entire crowd parts. The Prince of the Valley of Thorns floats through the room, the air around him parting. As his silky hair streams behind him like water, his beauty causes the room to gasp audibly, yet he hardly notices. Only focused on his true intentions, Malleus seems to drift effortlessly through his own subjects, his sharp features devoid of their normal grim severity, eyes sparkling with tender warmth as he fixates solely on you. Every step he takes exudes power and confidence, yet remains graceful and smooth, as he saunters his way to where you stand and outstretches his gloved hand. In an instant, a murmur arises among the guests—every single one of them captivated by the effortless charm and debonair allure the future King possesses. Seeing your bashfulness, he delicately pulls your smaller hand into his before brushing your knuckles with a sweet kiss, a broad, fangy smile illuminating his entire visage.

"Do not be nervous," he soothes you. His slender fingertips gingerly grip yours, raising your entangled palms to rest shoulder-height, and placing his other hand on your lower back, right at the junction of your waist—so carefully, it makes your heart beat a little faster. Despite his inhuman strength, Malleus holds onto you gently, not wanting to bruise you from his crushing grasp. And then, the room around you suddenly fades away—the hundreds of pairs of eyes on you fade to black, the delicate melodies fade to white, the sheer magnitude of magic and splendor falls away and you see only the verdant of his irises, glittering emeralds as bright and eternal as the crystals sparkling around you. The corners of his eyes crinkle just a bit, betraying an emotion he's rarely so candid with outside the sanctum of your relationship. His next words, a dreamy whisper of reassurance, cause butterflies to flutter through your stomach and the hot flush of your cheeks to flood over you.

"Just let me lead and I will bring you to paradise."

Those are his only words as the slow waltz of the orchestra starts, beginning the dance that will set you two into a careful and synchronous flow with each other. Your feet move effortlessly with him, never straying even as he picks up the pace, the momentum between the two of you increasing. You feel him cradle the curve of your body close to him, holding you in the nook of his arm as he deftly twirls you through the night's revels. Malleus expertly keeps pace with the orchestra, all while also maintaining the beat of his heart, which matches the rhythm of his footsteps. As he glides with a masterful ease around the room, every movement controlled and precise, the image you two paint in motion together is nothing short of flawless. There isn't a hitch or misstep in your movement, the two of you completely in sync with the beat, every turn and twist of the music matching each step of your waltz, as he leads you in complete command. His eyes never leave yours, only looking away to catch the flash of one of his deft maneuvers of your body. Time slows and you find yourself completely lost in the wonder as you gaze lovingly into the brilliant, viridescent pools of his irises—his gaze penetrates and drowns you in a wash of endearment, drinking in your visage with unrestrained emotion. It's intoxicating and dizzying, yet you're powerless to break away. As far as you're concerned, the other couples have completely disappeared, lost to the blur of the distance, and it is as though you're dancing to music that exists in a realm outside of the material world. Everything else pales in comparison to this ethereal fairytale—Malleus looks handsome beyond reason in his opulent uniform. The cut of the dark fabric seems to enhance the elegant definition of his strong shoulders and the perfect symmetry of his regal face, yet the lush tailoring highlights his muscular physique and the toned strength that hides under the gorgeous facade. His very essence, the ambiance he exudes, the captivating aura—it all acts as an enchantment of pure spellbound desire, beckoning for you to cast yourself into its endless depth, surrendering yourself entirely to him.

Every step, every sway, every twirl of your dance together is more surreal than the last. This fairy tale is unfolding right before your eyes and all you can do is feel your soul resonate with him. It's in the way your arms circle his body; it's in the way your breathing begins to match pace with his; it's in the way he sets your head spinning and fills your heart with an aching need to be closer. In a secluded corner of the dance floor, away from all the curious eyes, the waltz continues—a beautiful duet of your hearts connecting deeper with every step and spin, as if the magic is attempting to wrench your souls together, desperate to mingle them until they're indistinguishable. He cradles you in his embrace, holding your body against his. From the elegant swoop of his scale-covered forehead, to the sharp, sexy slope of his jawline, his handsome profile is aglow with radiant adoration as he stares down at you with half-lidded, smitten eyes, his cheekbones shadowed perfectly under the romantic light of the ballroom, giving him an ineffable mystique. You stare back at him, searching deep into the blackness of his slitted pupils until your heart aches as your mind rushes with so many unspeakable emotions that threaten to make tears well in the corner of your eyes. In that moment, your love for him burns brighter than the sun and is more potent than anything you have ever known. At last, he closes his eyes in contentment and sweeps you away, a dreamlike smile upon his lips as he spins you across the smooth ballroom floors, grasping onto you as though you are his only lifeline in the universe. Malleus moves as though in a dream, never faltering as he leads your soul into a euphoria you never thought possible, a state where words hold little meaning but the act of dancing could express everything. As he moves the two of you elegantly across the expansive floor, the ephemerality of your mortal existence burns starkly clear in your mind, while his ancient heart thrums within his chest—countless years of melancholy and loneliness he endured seem to give weight to every ponderous beat of his heart, resonating through his chest, enveloping you and shrouding you in the desperate urgency of his adoration for you. Even without uttering any confessions, his heart speaks them to you fluently—you and him are tied so intimately together, an unbreakable knot that holds the threads of your destinies and fate together in a weave too precious and fine to be cut or broken. His fingertips ghost along your neck, the gentle sensation setting your soul on fire, sending electric currents down to the very tips of your fingers and toes, as a powerful shudder rips through your body.

"Wherever I am, you belong by my side," Malleus tells you. His tone is soft, but filled with enough reverence to make your breath catch. He peers at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability, the mere existence of it is practically intoxicating, and he watches your reactions to him with wide and captivating eyes that give off the intensity of a solar eclipse.

"It was fated by the heavens. Our paths were always intertwined," his voice is just a tad unsteady, yet it resonates with his entire being.

For a moment, all the whispers that echo from the watching crowd silence—the buzz, the snippets of gossip about your relationship with the notorious prince—is as quiet and as inconsequential as a background tune to your dance. All those things were meaningless—their cruel whispers and jealous words, their apprehension and disapproval meant absolutely nothing. That momentary stillness grants you both a moment of solace; the very few seconds your lives needed for him to offer himself to you. A confession so pure it lifts the hair on the back of your neck: "I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on you. No one could possibly make my heart beat so wildly or ignite such fierce emotions as you do."

His words are just like the tempo of the violins that fill the chamber. Infinite. Mesmerizing. Their echoing sound lengthens into infinity, in their beautiful patterns, the bow caresses the strings and produces such an achingly sublime melody. They pierce through all the tension in the air and carry a stirring urgency along with them as they flow seamlessly with your bodies in sync. Every note perfectly transitions into the next, and the song swells to a climatic, fervid harmony that cannot be resisted. You want him with all the burning hunger and depth of a cosmic soul—for every molecule that composes you calls out to him and wants to interweave his being with your own, so that neither one can ever exist without the other. His form is graceful as you two blend into each other and the song in a divine synergy. Time stretches as the rapturous intensity of his longing is displayed on his face. As you look into his eyes, the entire expanse of his vast, magnificent soul is bared to you. No mortal has ever had the privilege to see him so honestly and fully exposed, yet Malleus gives you his everything—he's always been his whole self in your embrace. He holds you close, cradling your frame to him protectively, and the faint tremble of his grip reveals the depths of his emotional fragility as the passion of his love overwhelms him and renders him helplessly bare before you, like a servant devoted to the altar of an awe-inspiring, glorious God.

Suddenly, all those intense sensations coalesce into the single most beautiful sentiment of all, as the sum of these wonderful emotions create a glorious aria that rouses all the seraphic adoration and longing, and an emotional overdrive within him. With the sum of his desires and emotions pouring out of him in waves, Malleus opens his lips to pour forth his most secret and profound wish and what comes out next, the words barely a hushed murmur above the swelling musical climax, is an admission of raw love. "I wish to spend my eternal lifetime with you by my side. I long to spend it loving only you and I want us to grow together through the centuries as partners." His words, sincere, sentimental, and laced with the faintest traces of tears, are raw in their unapologetic declaration, and they contain within them a depth of devotion you didn't think possible for a soul to ever harbor.

His lip quivers, his eyes begin to shine, and he squeezes them shut just as the first tears begin to flow, spilling over the waterline of his closed eyelids and dripping down his high cheekbones. Tapered fingers firmly intertwine yours and he desperately gazes at Lilia, whose red eyes sparkle in a proud mist as he looks on, giving Malleus an encouraging nod. Finally, the dam is broken—the smile that cracks at the corners of Malleus' mouth blooms, causing his already dazzling complexion to gleam and become impossibly more breathtaking as a sweet, ecstatic sob bubbles out of his lungs. Tears of joy roll down his cheeks as a wide grin takes up half his face, the verdant color of his irises shimmering brilliantly through a crystalline veil of sparkling tears. Thanks to the confidence and encouragement Lilia—his Father—has instilled in him, he finally feels ready to face his destiny, and take you alongside him as an equal. He clears his throat.

"I understand you are a human of little power, a short-lived creature whose days will fleet and wane like that of a candle before a blizzard," his voice is somewhat hesitant, faltering a tad as his anxieties manifest, his vocal chords shivering as he stumbles over his own emotion. His free hand finds its way to clutch the front of his attire, as though the mere mention of you near death makes his heart seize in his chest. His lips form a pout, brow creasing deeply as his breath shakes while you clutch his cheek, a thumb smoothing over his cheekbone, collecting his tears. Then, Malleus steels his features as he delivers his ultimatum. When his beautiful, soulful gaze finds you, there's an immovable determination and steadfastness that betray the fact that he's already made the choice, and your presence at his side is inevitable. "Therefore, in order to make our union possible and feasible, I spent countless hours researching every ancient text and scroll to seek a loophole, to bend the fates and twist their strings around my fingers." His lips curl to the side and his eyebrows raise ever so subtly, an adorable hint of pride shining in the smile he wears. "At last, my labor produced a solution. It is possible through an ancient rite to bind my soul to a chosen mortal partner."

Your heart speeds as a burst of joy courses through your veins like fire. The crescendo of the orchestra and his musical words are building to a harmonious convergence, a swelling refrain of the melodies both your lives have played, culminating in a resplendent final verse, a foreordained tune of two halves at last being joined. It's almost too much for you to take; the very walls of this beautiful, mystical room threaten to melt away and fade from your awareness, and all you can comprehend is his stunning, baritone voice. "If you accept my blessing, your lifespan will be linked to mine for as long as I walk the realm of the living.” Malleus tells you, a tad smug at the work he has done on your behalf. “All I ask in return for giving you eternal beauty, granting you my protection, and offering you my whole life is that we come to be as one. Two souls permanently linked and intertwined for the eternity of our existence together. You will forever share my immortality and accompany me as we walk among the stars until they eventually go out. And even in the wake of that devastating eventuality, I promise to care for you, tend to you, and love you for however many eras remain. Please be my betrothed, my beloved child of man, for I cannot bear to let you go and there is no force that can tear me away from you."

He squeezes your hand before dropping to one knee. In the center of the expansive room, surrounded by hundreds of guests, his emerald orbs peer up at you through heavy lashes as his lips begin to part, finally ready to ask the one question that may finally put an end to the solitude he has endured since he first came into existence. He pulls a ring box from the interior of his tailcoat, his shaky hands slowly flipping open the box to reveal a platinum band in the shape of a dragon encasing a deep viridian gem, forged from the magical energies of his Draconia ancestors. The ring was last worn by his Mother before her untimely demise, and his Grandmother was insistent that Malleus should one day gift his betrothed this one piece of family history. As the ballroom goes completely silent and the eyes of his subjects rest on the two of you with rapt, nervous attention, Malleus draws in a wavering inhale to steady his quivering voice as he fights the fear of rejection, before allowing the soft and tender question to slip past the careful line of his lips, "Will you marry me?"

Do y'all want part 2? Am I cruel for leaving it off there? In "x Reader" fics, I like to limit putting words in the reader's mouth or feelings in reader's head so that I can let you decide for yourselves how you wish to experience my stories. I am happy to pick back up where I left off if there is demand for it. Otherwise, I hope you continue weaving this tale in your own daydreams and fantasies. Thank you for reading and for your support of my writing! 💚 Erica Malleleothreesome P.S. I'm SORRY my paragraphs are so long I truly DO NOT UNDERSTAND when to break paragraphs, I hope it doesn't ruin your experience!

[parkerslatte]

Happy Together

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: mentions of Berons's abuse. mentions of injury

Summary: Apart of the Inner Circle, Y/N has to hide her relationship with Eris. When she is injured on a mission, Eris demands to see her and the truth is revealed.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

“Eris, I need to go,” Y/N said as Eris peppered kisses down her neck. 

“I know,” Eris mumbled as he pulled her closer by her waist, burying his head in her neck. 

Y/N held onto him tightly. Moments like this with Eris were few and far between. In public their passing glances and stolen touches were never enough. Y/N always craved more but that was never a possibility. With Beron still a threat to their relationship, Eris hid everything about his relationship with Y/N. Of course Y/N understood. All Eris wanted to do was protect her. 

However, Eris was not the only one wanting to hide their relationship. Y/N hid her affections and love for Eris from the Inner Circle. With relations between Eris and her family being rocky, Y/N was never sure how they would react, especially Rhysand. 

“I don’t want you to go,” Eris mumbled into her neck. 

“I don’t want to go either,” Y/N replied, threading her fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. 

Eris pulled away and slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, he pulled Y/N to him until she straddled his hips. Y/N’s arms lazily rested over his shoulders. 

“Then perhaps we should stay here forever,” Eris suggested, wrapping his strong arms tightly around her waist. “We are deep in the Autumn woods after all. There is not anyone around for miles. We have everything we need here.”

Y/N giggled. “If that were a possibility, my love, I would accept in a heartbeat.” 

Eris pecked her lips and suddenly pulled her down onto the bed. Y/N laughed in delight and surprise. 

“Darling, I would leave Prythian with you if it would mean I could live happily with you,” Eris said. “I would be able to wake up with you in my arms every night. I would be able to love you in the open and the discreet brushes of our fingers will be no more. I will get to cherish you and be with you. And be happy.” 

Eris rolled over so his face hovered above Y/N’s. He smiled down at her, though it was saddened by the pain in his eyes. “But I know that is an impossibility.”

Y/N caressed Eris’s face. “One day it will be possible. One day we will get to live happily, Eris. And I will live to see that day and so will you. No matter how long it may take.”

As she looked into Eris’s eyes, Y/N wanted to cry. The pain within them was clear, the pain he only ever showed her. With each time Y/N saw Eris, which nowadays was very few and far between, the more tired he looked, the more scars adorned his body. But every single time he saw her, his eyes would light up and the smile that appeared on his beautiful face would always be seared into her brain. She never wanted to take that joy away from him. 

Y/N reluctantly pushed Eris’s chest and he fell onto the bed next to her. 

“I do need to go now,” Y/N said sadly. 

“I know,” Eris replied. “I do too. I have a meeting with my father.”

Y/N caressed his cheek. “Don’t let him put you down, Eris. You are a better male than him and you always will be.” Y/N began to tear up. “I wish I could be by your side.”

Eris wiped her tears away. “Sweetheart, I want you nowhere near that despicable male.”

“I know but I want to be there for you in case he does anything,” Y/N cried. “I cannot hate you being hurt, Eris.”

“Soon,” Eris said, hugging her close. “You will be able to soon.”

Y/N hugged him back. “I better be. Because not being by your side is the cruellest form of torture.”

“It is for me as well, my love,” Eris said, resting his forehead on hers.

Y/N pulled away reluctantly once again. “I really need to go. I have a mission with Azriel.”

Eris’s eyes darkened. “Be careful.”

Y/N pecked his lips. “I always am.”

***

It was over three weeks later when Eris paced inside of his cabin deep in the woods. Y/N was an hour late. Once a month they met without fail at the cabin and she had never missed a meeting until now. Inside of him, Eris could feel a sense of pure dread. 

The three weeks since he had been with Y/N had been agony. Each night he suffered alone without her. His soul called out to be with her. After the beating his father gave him after he spoke back, Eris remembered dragging himself back to his chambers and cried, it was the first time he had ever cried after an altercation with his father. All he wanted was Y/N and it was getting harder and harder to be without her. He craved her in body and soul. He needed to be with her. 

Now as Eris shrugged his jacket back on, he left the safety of his cabin and winnowed right to the Night Court. 

***

Eris had only taken a few steps into Velaris before he was immediately backed into a wall. Shadows forced the air out of him as Eris fought against the restraints. 

“You can show yourself, shadowsinger,” Eris spat. “I am not here to pick a fight.”

Azriel stepped out from the shadows. “You decided that the moment you decided to breach the wards.”

Eris cocked his head to the right. “Let me go, Azriel.”

“Why are you here, Eris?” Azriel questioned. 

“It doesn’t concern you,” Eris replied.

The shadows on Eris’s arms pinned him harder against the wall. Eris winced. The wounds on his back still hadn’t healed properly yet. 

“I am only going to ask you once more,” Azriel said, his voice low. “Why are you here?”

“And I am telling you again,” Eris said, feeling his power grow more restless. “It does not concern you.”

Before Azriel could even move, Eris burned through Azriel’s shadows. They retreated, hurt, back to their master. The shocked face of Azriel was the only thing Eris could focus on. 

“Do not follow me, shadowsinger,” Eris said. “If you know what’s good for you.” Eris turned and continued on his way. 

“Is that a threat?” Azriel questioned. 

“Yes,” Eris said without breaking stride. “Yes it is.”

***

Eris finally made it to Y/N’s house in the heart of Velaris. He had only ever been there once but he still recalled the address. There were many looking at him as they walked by but Eris couldn’t find it within himself to care. The only thing he cared about was hopefully the other side of the door. 

“Y/N!” Eris called through the door. “Y/N, please open the door.”

“She isn’t there,” a voice spoke up behind Eris. 

Eris stopped his knocking and turned to face the High Lord of the Night Court. Rhys stood intimidating in front of Eris but Eris was not intimidated in the slightest. He could find himself becoming more angry by the minute. 

“Where is she, Rhysand?” Eris demanded. 

“In the town house,” Rhys answered. “Healing.”

Eris felt his blood run cold. “What happened, Rhysand?”

Rhys brushed a piece of lint from his jacket. “I don’t believe you are entitled to that information. What do you even know of Y/N? I have never seen you so much as talk to her.”

Eris’s gaze darkened. “I know here better than anyone could ever know.”

Rhys stilled. “What do you mean, Eris?”

“Take me to her,” Eris demanded. 

“You shouldn’t be demanding things of me in my own court, Eris,” Rhys said. 

“I will do whatever the fuck I please,” Eris yelled, losing all sense of composure. “You will take me to see my mate, Rhysand of Mother help you.”

Rhys stood, shocked. “Your mate?”

“Yes my mate,” Eris spat. “Now you are going to take me to her right now, Rhysand, or I will not be afraid to burn this whole city to the ground.”

Wordlessly, Rhys led Eris to the town house. The moment Rhys opened the doors, Eris brushed past him. Despite not knowing the house layout, Eris knew just where his mate was. He simply followed that golden thread that led him to her. 

The moment Eris opened the door he nearly collapsed. Y/N was laying on top of a bed, bandages wrapped around her body. Eris rushed over to her side and took her within his arms. He could feel Rhys’s presence behind him. 

“When did this happen?” Eris asked. 

“A week ago,” Rhys answered. “We have kept her asleep to let her heal faster.”

“Was this anything to do with the mission you sent her and Azriel on?” Eris questioned. 

“How do you know about that?” Rhys asked. 

“Where do you think she goes every time she leaves the court for personal matters?” Eris asks. “She comes to me.”

“How long has this been going on?” Rhys demanded an answer. 

“Nearly ten years,” Eris answered, brushing Y/N’s hair away from her face. 

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?” Rhys asked. 

“Because she was afraid of how you would react,” Eris answered. “I may not like anyone involved in your Inner Circle but you are the closest thing she has to a family. She didn’t want to lose all of you because she is in love with me.”

Loud footsteps came down the hall and three faces peered in. One Eris had already had the pleasure to encounter not too long ago. Azriel, Cassian and Mor stood in the doorway to Y/N’s room. 

“We came as soon as Azriel informed us,” Cassian said. 

“What’s going on?” Mor asked, looking at Eris. “Why is he here?”

“Eris is Y/N’s mate,” Rhys answered.

The silence in the room was deafening but Eris didn’t care. He only continued to brush down Y/N’s hair and grip onto her hand. The slow rise and fall of her chest was reassuring but she shouldn’t have to be in this position in the first place. 

“Why didn’t she tell us?” Azriel said, his voice rising in anger. “We are her family. We should have known.”

“This is exactly why she never wanted to tell any of you,” Eris snapped. “She knew none of you would ever accept it, not truly.”

“Why did you allow him in here, Rhys?” Cassian questioned.

“Because he is her mate,” Rhys said. “And you know how serious mating bonds are in the Autumn Court.”

“I wonder if Beron knows you are here,” Cassian comments. “Turning up to another court uninvited would sour our relationship with the Autumn Court.”

Eris’s blood ran cold. “You cannot tell him.”

“We have every right to,” Mor replied. “You are an uninvited guest.”

Eris finally tore his gaze away from Y/N. “None of you are going to say a damn thing about this to him or anyone else.”

“Why shouldn’t we?” Azriel questioned.

“If you value Y/N’s life, you must not tell him,” Eris said, gripping onto Y/N’s hand tighter. “The main reason why no one ever knew of our bond and relationship was because I am afraid of what he will do to her if he finds out.” His voice was vulnerable and Eris hated himself for it. “I would much rather he lay his hands on me for disobeying him instead of her for loving me.”

The room fell silent and Eris let out a shaky breath. “I do not like any of you but I know that you will do anything to keep Y/N safe, and I appreciate that. But none of you will keep her safe as I have, as I always will. I will crawl to hell and back to keep her safe. I will give my life for hers in a heartbeat. I will put aside my own happiness if it means that she gets to live and be safe without the torment and abuse of my father. I will endure all of that abuse and torment if it means I get to keep her safe. If it means I still get to see her every few weeks, I will endure anything because I am in love with her. She is my mate and the centre of my universe, I live for her. Everytime anything gets too much for me or my father strikes me just the smallest bit harder, all I need to think about is her and I will have a reason to go on, to keep going, keep fighting. 

“I know you four see me as a villain and perhaps I am in your eyes,” Eris continued. “But Y/N sees me, the real me. The parts of myself I never show to anyone but her.” Eris turned back to Y/N. “You can kick me out if you want to, but I am begging you when I say, do not tell my father.”

When Eris rested his palm against Y/N’s cheek her eyes fluttered and her head turned into his hand. It was only a small movement but made Eris smile regardless. 

“Have you accepted the bond yet?” Rhys asked. 

“No,” Eris replied. “Because the moment we do it is the moment my father will find out and I cannot risk that.”

Rhys sighed. “You may stay here tonight. Don’t give her the sleeping potion in the bottle on the cabinet, she should wake up normally in the morning.”

“Rhys–”

“We should leave them be,” Rhys said. “We can discuss what this means when Y/N is healed.”

Rhys leaves the room, followed by Mor, Azriel and Cassian. As soon as the door closed with a firm ‘click’, Eris finally allowed the tears to fall. He brought Y/N’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles. “We should have stayed in the cabin.”

***

The moment Y/N awoke her body ached and there was a bandage wrapped around her. She groaned as she began to sit up. The moment her eyes opened she was greeted by the familiar sight of her bedroom but there was one thing unfamiliar about it. Eris slept in the chair to her right, his jacket rested across the back of it. 

Y/N furrowed her brows. “Eris?”

The moment she spoke his name, Eris’s eyes shot open. “Y/N?”

“Why are you here?” Y/N asked. “What happened?”

Eris shuffled the chair closer and grasped her hand in his. Y/N gave it a small squeeze. “You were injured on your mission. You have been healing since.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you are here?” Y/N said and tugged his hand closer to her. “Not that I am not enjoying your presence.”

Eris sighed. “At the cabin. You didn’t show up and I knew something was wrong.”

“But we weren’t meant to meet at the cabin for another week?” Y/N said.

“Honey, you have been asleep for a week while you have been healing,” Eris replied. 

“What?” Y/N said. “Eris I am so sorry, you must have been worried when I didn’t show up.”

“I was,” Eris replied. “And I had good reason to be.”

“I have had worse injuries than this, Eris,” Y/N said, shuffling to rest her back against the headboard. Y/N patted the bed next to her and Eris obliged, wrapping an arm around her and gently pulled her to his side. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Eris said, kissing the top of her head. “You were hurt and that is all I cared about.”

Y/N nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. “Rhys knows, doesn't he?”

“He does,” Eris answered. “As does Azriel, Cassian and Morrigan.”

“How did they react?” Y/N asked, dreading to know the answer. “Did they take it well?”

“That is up for debate,” Eris said, lacing his fingers with hers. “But right now I don’t care about any of that. The only thing I care about is you.”

“I am perfectly fine, Eris,” Y/N replied. “I ache a little but nothing I can’t handle. But what I want to know is, are you okay? You mentioned a meeting with your father.”

“It wasn’t anything I wasn’t already expecting, let me put it that way,” Eris replied. 

Y/N shuffled on the bed so she could fully see Eris. There was a white bandage peeking out of his shirt. She pulled him into a hug. “I am sorry, Eris. I wish I could have been there for you.”

Eris hugged her back, cradling her head. “You were there with me, not physically, but through your love. You were the one who got me through it.”

“I love you so much,” Y/N said. “I wish I could show everyone just how much I adore you. I wish to not hide it anymore. I want to see you more than once every few weeks. I want to be able to hold your hand and dance with you at balls. We have been hiding for ten years and it hurts me to keep my love hidden. It is too much for me now.”

“Maybe your wishes can come true sooner than you may think,” Eris said. “Y/N, I wish to have you by my side for eternity and I cannot do that with my father still in power.”

Y/N pulled away. “Eris, you cannot mean–”

“I do mean exactly that,” Eris said. “I will kill my father if that is what it takes for you to be safe, for my mother to be safe and for the rest of the Autumn Court. I love you, Y/N and I wish for everyone to know how much I love you. I wish to have a family with you. I wish to have a life with you. And I wish to finally accept our mating bond officially.”

“I want that too, Eris,” Y/N said. “I want all that and more, just as long as it’s with you.”

Eris smiled and Y/N felt it deep within her. His smile always made everything feel okay because the moment he smiled Y/N knew he was truly at ease. He surged forward and pressed his lips against hers. 

Y/N welcomed them and wrapped him within her arms.

[chthonia27]

A game of cat and mouse.

Dick Grayson x F!reader.

Content: A secret admirer’s love knows no bounds.

Word count: 1.2k

The city lights shone brilliantly in the dark of night, perched on a rooftop was the ex boy wonder, Nightwing. The harsh wind of winter blew in his hair, messing the strands of onyx out of their rightful place. He looked down to his escrima sticks, twirling it in one of his hands before gazing out to the city once more. It was nothing new, he thought. As much as he adored doing what he did, he couldn’t deny it was rather tiresome most nights, and as skilled as he was, he was always subjected to a few injuries at best. He wiped the dried blood from his lip, graciously given to him from the previous wannabe villain gang. He couldn’t help but grimace at the thought, so many criminals were emerging from seemingly no where, with no real motive other than wanting to be thorns at his side.

Once more, he swung into action. Slithering in and melting into the shadows, stealthily taking out any targets presented. He knew he should be focusing, knew he shouldn’t be distracted, but all he could think about was her. The newest member of the Young justice, the most stunning woman he’d ever met, plagued his mind frequently. Her beauty was that of a siren, her voice the sweetest melody he’d been blessed to hear, and her eyes. Oh her eyes. He would dream of gazing into them during some not to innocent moments. He adored her, loved her even. She was perfect in his eyes, a dream turned reality for him. Not even the endless teasing from his teammates could deter him from clinging onto her, hovering around her whenever he could despite her protests. She was a bit of a loner, charismatic and seductive, yes. But she often chose to isolate herself whenever possible. Whether that was after missions, during patrols or during team building missions. So! He had to improvise somehow, right? He couldn’t ever get more than a few words out of her, usually laced with snark and sarcasm. It was a game to him, multiple bouquets of flowers stuffing her room, to lavish jewels, beautiful hand written love letters to trinkets he believed she’d indulge in. He never signed a name to his gifts, having to stifle a laugh and play coy whenever he’d catch wind of her frustration with her mystery gift giver.

But alas, he couldn’t afford to be thinking about her. Not while he was currently dodging bullets and taking down men left and right. It was a constant, vicious cycle. One he’d been tangled with his entire life. Always having to perform, however that translated to. Circus or battlefield, it was draining regardless. Gods knew he deserved a break, a long vacation with the holder of his heart in a far away paradise. A man could dream. Soon enough, he finished his patrol gracefully, with many criminals that roamed the streets of Gotham now behind bars. Dick grappled back to Mount justice, entering the cave with haste, his eyes searching for her. He entered the common room, where his team was situated. Friends he’d fought with almost all of his teenage years, people for whom he’d led and supported. That’s besides the point, they aren’t the main focus currently. Prior to returning, he’d managed the energy to buy another gift. An ethereal set of diamond necklaces, adorned with pearls that sat snug between the stones. A pretty red ribbon to secure the jewellery box and he was set! Admittedly, he’d spent many thousands on her, and this little habit of his has only started two weeks ago. Had he gone overboard? Of course not! How else would he acquire the love of such a beauty? He called out to his team, “Evening, guys!”, leaving the room before anyone could respond. Tiptoeing around the cave, he reached her room. Leaning his head against the door, he listened for any sounds or presence of life on the room, smirking victoriously when he confirmed she wasn’t inside. He set her gift on her bed and took in her space. Her room reeked of goth, the tall black canopy bed with intricate engravings, the velvet black curtain drape of the bed adding a sense of both privacy and comfort. Her furniture vintage and Victorian looking, and candles accompanied by roses adorned every surface in view. So elegant, so her. Taking a rose, he placed it on top of the jewellery box, once more given with an unsigned identity. Sneaking out of her room, he went about his own nightly routine, showering and dressing himself before doing his hair. Always well kept, especially in her presence. It was rather cute, really. How he’d try to impress her every way possible, always so put together for her. Entering the kitchen, he took out many ingredients and began cooking, taking advantage that most teammates were now preparing to enter the night’s embrace, leaving the only two insomniacs alone. A romantic dinner, for a hopeless romantic.

While he worked on dinner for the two, a nightly routine for the night owls, he hummed softly. His favourite part of the day, coming home and being able to spend time with her, wether he was the one cooking or not, her presence was enough to satiate the longing in his heart. Most of the time. Like clock work, she emerged from her room and graced Dick with her presence. Her stunning hair wet from her shower, and an almost tired look in her gorgeous eyes. His breath hitched when he caught sight of her. She belonged in a painting, he was sure of it.

“What’s on the menu tonight, master Grayson?”, she teased with a smirk that sent shivers of lust down his spine. “Carbonara, doll.”, his smooth voice rung out easily. She hummed in acknowledgment and sat down on the kitchen stool, chin in hand as she watched the man work. She had to admit, he was a sight for sore eyes. Muscles rippling under his shirt, his hair messily attractive after his bath, and his cologne wafting through the kitchen subtly in a way that almost made her want to kiss and mark him. Almost. But there was another pressing matter at hand, one she’d been dying to figure out.

“Dick.”

“Yes?”

“Is it you?”

Now that caught him off guard. Did she know? Had she seen through his attempts at secrecy? “Is what me?”, he said nonchalantly, a skill he’d adapted over many years living alongside his brothers. “The gifts. Is it you?”, her voice firm yet quiet. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, doll. You’ve been receiving gifts? Should I be jealous?”, he casually shot back as a smirk tugged at his lips and sighed internally as she seemed to have bought it. He prepared her plate, giving her a generous amount of the food he’d made, and sat a wine glass down next to it, pouring only the finest wine he’d come across. A perk of being adopted by a billionaire, he supposed. Being able to decipher and build upon an extensive knowledge of the most refined beverages.

“Cheers, love.”

My very first writing piece! Please let me know what you think or anything that could be improved! I hope you’ve enjoyed! :3

[cartoonist-in-theory]

You’re walking down a long quiet road. It’s winter, snow covers the ground, the sky fades gray. All around you are trees that have long since dropped their leaves, cold and dead, waiting for spring. You stop beneath one, eye caught by a striking sight. Amid the bare branches you see a round bundle of stunning green leaves. Hanging down above you are dozens of beautiful little pearly white berries. The fruit tempts you, but you don’t dare touch. Instead you simply admire them. Life among the dead of winter. Mistletoe.

@slocotion Hi, here is my design for slocotion's patreon dyo doll contest. Her name is Haustoria of the Pale. I was very excited to put this together once it struck me. I thought of all my favorite fruits I could have used but then inspiration hit me as I was considering less common fruits and fungi. Mistletoe is used medicinally by some but the entire plant, including its cute white berries, is toxic. Since this is a longer post, I’ll include more notes on my design under a cut but to point out the most important thing, I’ve combined the nature of the toxic berries with some historical+mythological inspiration that I think echoes it nicely.

In Norse mythology, a well known story is that of the death of Baldr. Baldr was the most loved god of the Aesir, so when a vision of his death reached his parents Odin and Frigga, they did all they could to protect him. Frigga sent her servants all over the world to make every creature and thing vow to never harm a hair on Baldr’s head. All but mistletoe promised, too insignificant or too young to make the vow. After it was done, Bladr seemed invincible. Since nothing was willing to hurt him, the gods would sometimes gather around and throw things at him, watching everything bounce off without injuring him. Loki, jealous of the love and affection that was always paid to Baldr, came up with a plan to get rid of him. He had an arrow made of mistletoe and brought it to Baldr’s blind brother Hodr. He gave it to him to throw at Baldr as all the gods pelted him with objects and weapons. Hodr threw the arrow and, since mistletoe had never promised not to harm him, it pierced his chest, killing him instantly... And so Baldr was delivered to the depths of the land of the dead, looked over by Hel.

specific design notes under the cut thank you for looking!

Mistletoe is a very interesting plant to me. It’s not a tree or vine or bush, but instead its an evergreen parasite. The sticky seeds attach themselves to the branches and grow into it with a haustorium, which is a structure that lets them sap nutrients from the host plant. Haustoria’s name is a reference to this structure. “of the Pale” is a reference to not only the color of the berries but the pale gray and white landscape of winter.

Mistletoe berries are heavily toxic but also exist in winter, when other plants may be barren and “dead.” Because of that and their parasitic nature I see them as a sweet little balance of life and death. In addition to that, I use the split colors of the face/mask of Haustoria to reference the goddess of the land of the dead, Hel, who is described as having a body that is half black as death, split down the middle.

The structure of the outfit is inspired by Scandinavian and specifically Norwegian folk dresses, since I’m borrowing old Norse history for more inspiration, it seemed fitting. I also felt the style would be good to accompany the botanical and berry designs attractively.

The twin peaked hood is to further split the design down the middle, with little charms to show life and death.

I included white beads all over the outfit to represent the mistletoe berries themselves so they could stand out.

The dark side of her face is adorned with thorns and has three mournful black tears leaking down from her eye, as well as a hollow half of the center heart.

The light side is blushed and lively with shiny eyes, leaves shaped like the mistletoe leaves, red petals like the mistletoe blooms, three white dots to be the mistletoe fruit, and the center heart is full.

Her cape is white on the inside to represent the white of the berries and also the white of snow.

To cap it off, I do believe mistletoe is fitting for a plague doctor as they are still used medicinally to this day. :)

Thank you for reading everything and looking at my design! I’m very proud of her and I hope she doesn’t stretch the theme. And definitely more than anything else I hope you enjoy looking at her!

[blucrez]

Clad in robes as black as the deepest abyss, he gazes pensively over the intricate iron railing adorned with thorn-laden roses, their petals frozen in a perpetual dance between beauty and danger. Behind him, a garden unravels like a canvas of monochrome elegance, where every leaf and bloom is painted in shades of black and white, reminiscent of a world drained of color yet pulsating with a quiet, ominous allure.

His presence, poised and contemplative, mirrors the garden's dichotomy—ethereal yet chilling, serene yet foreboding—as though he embodies both the creator and the destroyer in this haunting tapestry of contrasts.