#to examine this masterpiece

[scrollonso]

no comment, just this picture i found.

[kirkwallguy]

like don't get it twisted i think everything should be gay and transgender and video game mechanics tend to be built on violent white supremacy that needs to be dismantled. da2 is my favourite game of all time. but old bioware hits so different and they'll never reach its highs again.

[undergoing-mitosis]

i am so normal about episode 25 of death note

[mostlikelyshutup]

just reread an essay i wrote two years ago and oh my god me from two years ago was serving

[lovetogether]

We always try hard to warn friends of certain content because we’re admittedly very “numb” to most stuff though grasp how things can be very hurtful for others, thus we use our ability to sit through most stuff to then warn others of things. We reflect on this a lot, we sometimes feel ashamed for feeling so numb but we’re happy to help folks. Especially given we enjoy lots of content which contains very heavy topics and we rarely gladly recommend stuff to people. We worry we’re a bit annoying in this sense though to lol! We worrying we get too worried about friends, whenever we watch shows nd movies we like w folks we always give very big warnings haha.

[moonlitlex]

on the bright side the sheer obviousness of the all white finetimers and lindys racism and so on are revealing the fact that every single white person in fandom really is racist as fuck. of course none of you are going to do anything about this but now i know who to avoid

[dollishmehrayan]

# “YOUR LIKE A PIECE OF ART!” ── .✦ ( batboys with a s/o who has a lot of tattoos. )

a/n: this was a request by anon actually (here) anyways omg a lot of you guys are sending nationality requests like Irish!reader, Moroccan!reader, Canadian!reader and etc omgg anyways yesterday I took a small break and now I’m back!!! So yeahh tags: (batboys x a s/o who has a lot of tattoos)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Absolutely adores your tattoos. He finds them mesmerizing and often asks about the stories behind them.

"Wait, this one—what does it mean? And this one? You gotta explain it all to me!" He’s so genuinely interested it’s adorable.

Loves tracing his fingers over them absentmindedly. It’s his favorite way to relax, especially after a long patrol.

If you’re open to it, he’d love to get matching tattoos with you. Something small and meaningful, like a star or an acrobat silhouette.

He’s always hyping you up. “God, you look so cool! How did I even land you?”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Finds your tattoos ridiculously attractive. You’re like a walking piece of art, and he can’t stop staring.

“Another one? Damn, I’m gonna run out of compliments if you keep adding masterpieces to your body.”

Appreciates the rebellious vibe that tattoos give, but loves that yours are deeply personal too.

If you designed any of them yourself, he’s in awe. “Wait—you drew this? Babe, you’re a genius.”

He won’t admit it, but he’s been low-key considering getting a tattoo himself—something to match or complement yours.

Loves running his hand over them, especially while you're cuddling. He’d act cool about it, but he’s secretly obsessed.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

At first, he might be a little shy about it—he’s not used to tattoos or the culture surrounding them.

"So… do they hurt? Like, a lot? Or just a bit?" He’s curious but hesitant to admit he’s interested.

After you explain the meanings and the artistry behind them, he gains a deep respect for your tattoos.

He’d geek out over the symbolism if any of them are literary or historical references.

Secretly thinks you’re the coolest person ever. Your tattoos add a boldness and confidence that he’s drawn to.

If you ever wanted to get another one, Tim would offer to help you research the best tattoo artists.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

He’s intrigued but tries to act indifferent. “Tattoos are superficial… but I suppose these are aesthetically pleasing.”

Secretly, he’s fascinated. He’ll examine your tattoos closely and ask about their meanings when he thinks you’re not paying too much attention.

If any of your tattoos are animals or nature-related, he’s deeply impressed. “A bunny? You’ve chosen well.”

Will jokingly criticize any tattoo he doesn’t like, but you know he’s not serious. He secretly admires all of them.

If you tell him you’re getting another one, he might suggest an animal that resonates with your personality. "Perhaps a panther would suit you."

Low-key, he’d be jealous if anyone else commented on how cool your tattoos are. He doesn’t like sharing your attention.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

At first, he’d be a bit taken aback—it’s not something he’s used to, and he’s very traditional.

But once he understands that your tattoos have personal meaning, he respects your choices completely.

“You’re a work of art. Literally and figuratively.” He means it sincerely, even if it’s cheesy.

He might not be entirely comfortable showing off your tattoos in formal settings (Wayne galas and such), but he would never ask you to hide them. Instead, he would encourage you to flaunt them confidently.

Secretly, he’s fascinated by the process and would love to watch you get a tattoo one day, just to understand it better.

If anyone makes a rude comment about your tattoos, Bruce would shut them down instantly with his trademark icy glare.

RANDOM CONVOS WITH THEM THAT WOULD HAPPEN ── .✦

with dick

Dick: “So, if I get your name tattooed, does that mean I own your heart forever?”

You: “Only if it’s spelled right.”

With jason

Jason: “If you ever get a tattoo of my name, make it small. I don’t want to be embarrassed when you dump me.”

You: “you think I’ll dump you randomly?”

jason: “who wouldn’t, I’m a high maintenance guy.”

With tim

Tim: He accidentally zones out during a conversation because he’s staring at a detailed tattoo and trying to figure out the design.

With damian

Damian: “Tt, if I were to get a tattoo, it would be far more impressive than yours.” You: “Damian, I literally have a dragon sleeve.”

With bruce

Bruce: “Do all of these mean something? Or did you just think they looked… fashionable?”

You: “Some are meaningful, but yeah, Bruce. Some just look cool

[lilislegacy]

*the gods in council*

zeus: all in favor, say aye

the gods: aye

zeus: good. does anyone have anything to add before we disperse?

poseidon: yes. i invite you all to examine some pictures and evaluate whether athena or myself constructed the superior ginger bread house at the jackson-blofis-chase christmas party

athena, rolling her eyes: it is utterly inconceivable that you truly believe your haphazard creation could rival the elegance and precision of my architectural masterpiece

poseidon, pointing his trident at her: oh, but indeed i do. mine was much more homey looking. there was a pond outside, a nice yard, it even had candy horse stables. yours was a boring upper-class temple

athena: frederick and annabeth—the higher-IQ participants—most definitely agreed that mine was undeniably superior

poseidon: um, no. annabeth may have said yours was better, but i saw her admiring my work much more than yours. perseus can back me up.

athena: oh gods, perseus’ house was even worse! even sally was making fun of it!

poseidon: sally found it charming. you simply do not understand her humor, being as uptight as you are. my son’s house radiated warmth and entertainment, unlike yours that-

zeus, annoyed: can you two settle this somewhere else?

poseidon and athena, in unison: no

ares: i liked it better when you two almost never interacted. first the superbowl party bet, then the easter basket debacle, and now this?

athena: i still cannot believe you all voted his easter basket was better

apollo: the candy choices inside were simply more appealing than your delicate basket weaving. i know because i was there

athena: you weren’t even invited. you just showed up

apollo: the jacksons and i are old friends, of course they wanted me there! plus many of my other friends were there! leo and thalia and-

zeus: i’m about to erase all of you from existence

poseidon, amused: you’re the jealous you weren’t invited, brother

[theostrophywife]

little dove.

pairing: tom riddle x reader.

song inspiration: if u think i'm pretty by artemas.

author's note: can't believe this is my first tom fic, but please know that this man awakens the feral, unhinged side of me. let me slytherin to your chamber of secrets and ride that basilisk tommy 😏

This was a stupid, idiotic, and terrible idea. 

Unfortunately for you, those were the conditions in which Harry and Ron worked best under. In your defense, you tried to talk them out of the prank, but the boys were determined to leave their mark. You suppose you could’ve told Hermione, but you didn’t want to interrupt her date with Draco. When it came to talking sense into their thick skulls, you were completely and utterly alone. 

After much argument, you finally accepted that you weren’t going to get anywhere with Harry and Ron. The only thing you could do was supervise their reckless pursuits and minimize the damage as much as possible. So here you were, sneaking into the dungeons under the cover of darkness. 

“This will be the best seventh year prank yet,” Ron whispered as he trailed close behind. “Fred and George are going to be so jealous.” 

“If we don’t die from the cold first,” Harry quipped sarcastically, slightly shivering underneath the invisibility cloak draped over the three of you. “The Slytherins really take the whole cold-blooded thing quite literally, don’t they?” 

You huffed in response, trying your best to muffle your steps. “Can we please focus on not getting caught? We need to be in and out of the dungeons before the prefects start their patrols.” 

The boys nodded as you inched further into the serpent’s nest. Luckily, the corridor that housed Professor Snape’s office was empty. You held your breath as you began to unravel the wards protecting the entrance. You had to give it to him, Snape was incredibly thorough when it came to his security measures. Good thing you were an expert on unlocking charms. 

With a final flick of your wand, the door gave way and creaked open. Ron and Harry wore matching grins as the three of you spilled into the office. Closing the door behind you, Harry’s green eyes crinkled with mischief. 

“Let’s get started.” 

Surprisingly, Harry and Ron’s half-arsed plan was actually coming together. The three of you worked in silence, the boys handing you paints and supplies at the snap of your fingers. After a few more strokes, you flicked your paintbrush over the wall and cocked your head to examine your work. Nearly every single surface of Professor Snape’s office was covered in your illustrations—technically vandalism according to wizarding law. 

The drawings, imbued with the same magic that powered the moving portraits, depicted caricatures of Professor Snape, all of which scurried like rats along the walls, hurtling globs of paint at one another. The head of Slytherin house was going to have a fit when he saw what you’d done to his office. You almost wished you could be there in the morning to witness the look on Snape’s face when he uncovered your masterpiece.

“Bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as he packed up the paints and brushes. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Y/N.” 

Harry chuckled and nudged your shoulder. “See? You do have a taste for trouble, after all.” 

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah. Now help me clean up so we can go.” 

As you carefully wiped the office of any trace of the three of you, Harry suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. You looked up, ready to scold him for idling, but fell silent when you saw the panicked expression on his face. 

“What is it?” you asked quietly. 

Harry held up his hand and slowly opened the door, peeking out into the darkness. A muffled clicking that sounded an awful lot like footsteps echoed from the corridor. “Do you hear that?” 

Ron cursed lowly. “The prefects must’ve started their rounds early.” 

You peered over Harry’s shoulder and felt the color drain from your face. “It’s not the prefects,” you said, swallowing thickly. “It’s the Head Boy.” 

Both the boys swore under their breaths. You steeled yourself, knowing that panic was not going to get you anywhere. As quietly as possible, you retrieved Harry’s cloak and beckoned the boys underneath it. 

“We’re so fucked,” Ron mumbled. 

“No, we’re not,” you chided sternly. “Get under the cloak and don’t make a sound.” 

Harry scooted in beside you, clutching the invisible fabric over his shoulders. “Do you have a plan?” 

You nodded. “Run like hell and don’t get caught.” 

“That’s a bloody terrible plan!” said Ron. 

With a glare, you tugged the redhead underneath the cloak. “Then please, let us hear your brilliant idea, Ronald.” Ron stayed quiet, his freckled face etched with fear. “That’s what I thought. Now stay close and for Merlin’s sake, try not to stomp around like a damned erumpent.”

Stupid. 

Idiotic. 

Terrible. 

Every ounce of apprehension you felt earlier that night came rushing back as the three of you cowered in the darkness. It was pitch-black in the corridor, but you didn’t dare cast lumos for fear of getting caught. Thankfully, a small light up ahead provided you with a vague sense of direction. You remembered passing the lit emerald sconce on the way down. All you had to do was get back to the entrance without running into the head boy. 

The glimmer of hope became clearer and clearer as you neared the stairs that would lead you out of the dungeons. You were so close. Barely a few metres away from freedom. 

Just as you thought you were safe, Ron knocked into a table, sending one of the snake sculptures guarding the alcove to the common room tumbling. The marble cracked against the concrete, breaking into a million pieces just like your hope of escaping. 

“Run!” you huffed, urging the boys to go on. 

A solid plan if you hadn’t been nearly blind in the dark. You could hear the shuffling of footsteps beside you. Three sets belonging to you, Harry, and Ron, while an unknown fourth inched closer and closer. Whoever it was wasn’t running, but they were definitely in pursuit. 

You stumbled through the dark, nearly tripping over your own feet. From up ahead, you could hear Harry and Ron urging you on. As you broke into a sprint, paints and brushes came spilling out of your satchel. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve abandoned your art supplies, but leaving them behind would fully incriminate the three of you. In the time it took to pick up the damning evidence, you stopped hearing your friend’s voices. 

It would’ve worried you, but in all honesty, you were relieved. If you could no longer hear the boys, then that meant they made it safely out of the serpent’s nest. A feat in itself given their track record. Those two couldn’t be inconspicuous if they tried. Without the need to worry for them, you were confident that you’d be able to slip out undetected. 

In hindsight, you were perhaps a tad bit overconfident. You were great at sneaking around, but apparently not good enough to slip the head boy’s notice. As soon as you started to creep past the dormitories, you ran into a wall that hadn’t been there before. 

Except it wasn’t a wall. 

It was a strong, firm chest. A chest that belonged to none other than Tom Riddle. 

Leave it to your terrible luck to run straight into the arms of the scariest boy in the castle. 

Determined not to cower, you lifted your chin defiantly and faced Tom head on. “Head Boy,” you greeted in acknowledgment. 

Emerald eyes unflinchingly surveyed you, that intense green stare sweeping from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. Beneath the faint glow of the Black Lake pouring in through the stained glass windows, you could’ve easily mistaken Tom Riddle for an angel. He looked like an illustration straight out of the Sistine Chapel. Beautiful, intricate, perfect. 

Yet utterly terrifying. 

Danger prickled at your skin as Tom’s lips curved into a sinister smirk. “My, my, what do we have here? A little dove out of her cage.” 

You bristled as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his voice a seductive caress. It was low, husky, and a little rough around the edges. Just like its speaker. Tom plucked a paintbrush out of your satchel and examined it between his fingers. “I saw what you did to Snape’s office. Quite artistic, aren’t you?” 

A part of you considered denying it, but it would’ve been a futile attempt. There was paint splattered all over your skirt and flecks of it were already drying on your skin. Tom had quite literally caught you red handed. The only thing you could do was to own up to it and face whatever consequences came as a result of your foolish actions. 

“Are you going to turn me in to the headmaster?” 

Tom shook his head, his brown wavy hair falling over one eye. “Not until I catch your two helpers.” 

Panic seized your body. It may be too late for you, but Tom hadn’t seen either Harry or Ron. There was a chance they could come out of this unscathed. 

“I was alone,” you declared with your chin held high. “There was no one else with me.” 

Anger contorted Tom’s handsome features. Those emerald eyes lit up in flames as he backed you into a wall, bracketing each side of your head with his arms as he leaned down. You tried not to cower under the intensity of his stare, but gods was it hard. Tom towered a good foot over you and as if that weren’t intimidating enough, he also blocked every possibility of escape with his body. 

“Don’t lie to me, little dove,” Tom growled, tilting your chin up with one hand. “I heard three sets of footsteps running through the corridor.” 

You swallowed thickly, praying to Merlin to grant you the ability to flawlessly lie your arse off. “I swear, it was just me. No one else. I did it all by myself.�� 

Tom hummed as if unconvinced. “Well, you’re certainly on your own now. Your idiotic friends left you down in the dungeons all alone. Don’t you know that dangerous things lurk in the dark around here, Y/N?” 

“Like I said, I was alone.” 

“So it appears,” Tom said, flashing you a smile that told you he was the most dangerous thing lurking in the dungeons. “Poor little dove wandering the serpent’s nest all on her own. Hasn’t anyone told you that us Slytherins have teeth?” 

“Why?” In an idiotic surge of courage, the words slipped out of your mouth before you could pull them back in. “Do you plan on biting me, Tom?” 

Tom grabbed your jaw roughly, making you whimper in surprise. “Insolent girl. You’ll learn your lesson soon enough.” 

Without warning, he grabbed you by the elbow and started dragging you down the corridor. At first, you were certain that Tom was taking you to Dumbledore’s office, but as the minutes ticked by, you realized that you were going in the opposite direction. If anything, he was leading you right into the heart of the dungeons. 

Tom’s grip tightened to the point of pain as he guided you up a set of twin staircases, practically flying up the steps on the right side, which you assumed led to the dormitories. It had a similar layout to the Gryffindor common room, except instead of leading into the towers, the narrow hallway opened into an intricate maze in the lower levels of the castle. 

Nestled into the underbelly of Hogwarts was a large, dark room that was surrounded by more stained glass walls that looked out into the Black Lake. A school of fish swam by as Tom ushered you through the door, which he promptly locked behind him with a series of complicated spells you had no hope of deciphering. 

You were trapped. Alone in a room. With Tom Riddle.

Upon closer inspection, you surmised that this had to be his private suite. It was twice as large as your dorm back in the towers and extremely private. A luxury that only the Head Boy and Head Girl enjoyed. 

“You’ve been very bad, little dove,” Tom reprimanded. "You deserve to be punished, but I’ll tell you what. Give up the names of your accomplices and I might find it in my heart to go easy on you.” 

His drawling voice echoed in the bedroom as he leaned back against his desk, twirling his wand between his fingers. The look he leveled at you is enough to awaken your fear. Plus another emotion that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. 

Merlin, Tom was sizing you up like he was the lion and you were the helpless deer frolicking through the meadow. You steeled yourself and doubled down on your lies. 

“There was no one else, Tom.” 

He smirked as though you’d given him the answer he’d hoped to hear. Tom stopped twirling his wand, tucking it away in his back pocket as he stalked over to you. “Very well, then. I suppose you’ll just have to endure their punishments too.” 

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. It occurred to you that while you had your wand, you were completely and utterly defenseless against Tom. It should’ve scared you shitless, but instead you felt a strange sort of thrill as he came closer. “What…what sort of punishment?” 

A smirk curved at his lips as he fisted your hair between his fingers and tilted your head back to meet his gaze. “I think you know, babydoll.” 

Heat ignited in your veins as your tongue darted out to sweep across your bottom lip. “This is crazy,” you whispered. “Shouldn’t you be telling Dumbledore? Snape? Someone in charge?” 

“I’m the one in charge,” Tom growled as he shoved you against his bookshelf. Your back hit solid wood, disturbing the neatly organized tomes behind you. “You snuck into my dungeons, under my watch, and defaced my home. I will dole out your punishment as I see fit.” 

“And if I refuse?” You asked, hoping that you emulated the bravery that your house was infamous for.

Tom pressed his body against yours, leaving barely a hairsbreadth between you as he flashed you a feral smile. “It’s laughable that you still think you have a choice.” 

“I could scream bloody murder. Wake the entire castle up and alert everyone that you're holding a fellow student against her will."

“You could,” Tom mused as amusement flickered in his eyes. “But we both know you won’t.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“You’d never risk such a scandalous act to go on your record. First vandalizing Professor Snape’s office, then sneaking into the Head Boy’s dorm after curfew? You’re on a downward spiral, aren’t you, little dove?” 

“I didn’t sneak into your dorm. You dragged me in here.” 

“Please,” Tom said with a scoff. “Let’s not pretend that you don’t want to be here. I’ve been watching you, you know. The perfect little Gryffindor good girl. You think you have everyone fooled, but not me.” You groaned as he pinned your hips in place, sliding his thigh between your legs. 

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me in class? Bending over in that tiny little skirt of yours hoping I’ll glance your way? Leaving the buttons to your blouse undone so you can give me a view of that lacy red bra? Biting your lip when you’re thinking dirty thoughts about me in class?” 

You flushed at his spot on assessment. Tom might be right on the mark, but you weren’t about to admit that to him. Not when your pride was on the line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Dirty little liar.” Tom whispered against the shell of your ear. “You know, your mental shields are impressive, but it’s like you can’t help yourself when I’m around. You’re practically broadcasting your filthy fantasies every time we’re in the same room.” 

Fuck. 

This was bad. 

This was really fucking bad.

How many times had you sat in class staring at Tom while thinking the filthiest, dirtiest thoughts about him? Tom bending you over a desk. Tom slipping his fingers under your skirt. Tom making you scream with his head between your thighs.

All this time, he had complete access to those dirty daydreams.

“That’s right, doll. You may be a powerful occlumens, but you’re no match for my legilimency.” He chuckled darkly, caressing your jaw. 

A heavy pressure weighed down the constraints of your defenses as Tom poked around in your mind, teasing and taunting as a lover would. The act of him prodding around in your subconscious was oddly sensual, mixing pain and pleasure together as he waited for you to yield. 

There’s no use hiding now, Tom whispered into your subconscious. I’ve already seen inside your mind, doll. And your thoughts are just as fucking filthy as mine. 

Glimpses of your deepest, darkest fantasies flashed through your mind. The images were a never ending rolodex of filth and smut. Tom fucking you like his perfect little slut. Tom panting above you as he spread your legs. Tom working you with his fingers until you were a sobbing, whimpering mess. 

He was right. You were shameless. 

But so was he. A new image of you on your knees while Tom unbuckled his belt, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as you stared up expectantly took center stage. Since it was from his point of view, you could only assume that he was showing you one of his fantasies. It was oddly satisfying. Tom was basking in the depravity with you, sharing his equally fucked up thoughts. 

“Tom…” you breathed, leaning into his touch as he continued to pin you against the wooden bookshelf. 

“Not Tom,” he grunted gruffly. “You’ll address me properly from now on, little dove.” 

This was so fucked up and yet so hot at the same time. You were so turned on you could hardly speak. “Yes, sir.” 

“That’s better, doll.” Tom declared with a smirk. “Now that I’ve been inside of your head, I plan on being inside you in every other way as well. Starting with that pretty little mouth of yours. On your knees, little dove.” 

A strange sense of deja vu washed over you as you knelt onto the floor. The concrete nipped at your knees, but you welcomed the pain. It kept you centered as your body buzzed with anticipation. You watched as Tom unbuckled his belt, deft fingers slowly sliding his boxers down as he gripped himself with one hand. 

With a smirk, Tom brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, looking down at you with lust blown eyes. “Open wide, babydoll.” 

Tom pumped himself slowly. The sight of his cock made your mouth water, your head spinning and dizzy with desire as you tried to calculate how you were going to take all of him. The tip of his cock glistened with precum as he rubbed over it. Tom was thick, long, and absolutely delicious. You groaned as he rubbed his head over your lips, the salty taste of his arousal resting on your tongue. 

“I won’t ask again,” Tom warned. “Be a good girl and open your mouth. I’ll make you regret it if you don’t.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

A satisfied smile graced his handsome face before he shoved his way in. Your lips parted for him, opening your mouth wider as you accommodated his size. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

You nodded obediently, eyes filling with tears as you took Tom all the way back. He fisted your hair in one hand and rocked against your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. A garbled sound crawled out of your chest, but it was soon silenced with Tom’s impatient thrusts. 

“Fuck,” Tom cursed. “So wet and warm. Such a perfect little throat. What a pity that I’m about to ruin it.” 

Ruin was an understatement. Tom fucked your throat with precise thrusts, angling deeper and deeper and groaning as you gagged on his cock. He was so deep that you could feel him bruising your tonsils. The more he abused your throat, the wetter your pussy got. You were practically soaked as you moaned on his cock, sucking your cheeks in and bobbing your head up and down to take more of him. 

“Such pretty noises,” Tom said, his fingers curling through your hair to the point of pain. He tugged at your scalp, forcing you to meet his eyes as you sucked him off. “If your mouth feels this good around my cock, then I can’t even imagine what your cunt will feel like.” 

You groaned in pleasure, making Tom’s eye roll back from the vibrations. Controlled, compulsive, and perfectly composed Tom Riddle was fading before you, replaced by a man driven only by his base desires. He was an animal lost to lust and so were you. 

Tom squeezed your throat, groaning when he felt himself moving beneath his grip. “Your throat was made to be fucked, doll. You like that, don’t you? You love it when I’m rough.” 

You struggled to nod in acknowledgement, saliva sloppily collecting in the corner of your mouth as you continued to let him use you for his own pleasure. Tom chuckled at your pathetic attempt to respond. “Don’t bother answering, little dove. You won’t be able to speak when I’m done with you anyways.” 

The filth flowing effortlessly from his mouth made you clench your thighs together. Tom threw his head back, those pretty curls tousled and plastered against his sweat soaked skin. A moan tore through his chest as he got closer and closer, fucking into your mouth with reckless abandon. He chased after his orgasm, shuddering as he spurted hot ribbons down your throat. 

“Fuck. You see what you do to me? Swallow, doll. Every single fucking drop.” 

The fantasies that you’ve been harboring for the past few years finally came to fruition, but none of it came close to reality. Tom was a fucking god. A masterpiece coming undone above you. You’ve never seen such a beautiful sight. All the artwork in the world would’ve paled in comparison to witnessing Tom Riddle at his most vulnerable. 

In awe and wonder, you looked up at him with mascara streaked eyes, tears and saliva staining your face. Tom hauled you to your feet and claimed you with his mouth. The taste of him was still on your lips, but Tom didn’t seem to mind as he parted your lips with his tongue. The kiss was neither sweet nor innocent. It was dark and dangerous and there was an edge of possessiveness in the way he demanded your submission. Almost like he was marking his territory. 

Tongues, teeth, and lips met with a clash as Tom carried you over to his desk. His books and journals clattered to the ground as his teeth grazed the column of your throat. The taste of him was intoxicating and you licked, sucked, and nipped at every inch of skin he allowed access to. You gasped into his mouth as Tom parted your legs, not bothering to warn you as he palmed your soaked panties. 

Your core clenched as he slipped a finger inside of your pussy. A squelching sound filled the room as Tom added another digit, pumping you full and fucking you with his middle and pointer fingers as you begged for more. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tom studied you like one of his books, with meticulous precision and alarming intensity, pouring all of his efforts and attention into making your body sing. 

It wasn’t long before that familiar warmth singed your veins, your moans growing louder and more desperate as you clawed at Tom’s back. You were so, so close. You were practically riding his hand as he brought you closer to the precipice. Just when you were about to come, Tom pulled away and denied you the orgasm. 

“Don’t be mistaken, doll. This is still a punishment.” Tom said as you whined from the loss. He silenced your complaints by bending you over his desk. 

“Tom, please—“ You clawed at the wood as he lined up and filled you with one sharp thrust. “Oh my fucking gods.” 

Tom gripped your hips, the slap of his skin against yours echoing in the room as he fucked you from behind. He was relentless, thrusting in and out and arching your back while he railed the absolute life out of you. It wasn’t long before you were getting close again. The sharp angles of his thrusts had him hitting all the right spots, making your knees weak and your pussy sensitive from the roughness of his actions. Sensing that you were close, he rutted into you, letting that tension uncoil before ripping the orgasm away from you once more. You whined, fresh tears soaking your cheeks as you chased after that high. 

“Like I said, this is still a punishment,” Tom taunted, slowing his thrusts to a snail’s pace. “That’s two orgasms I’ve taken from you, which leaves you with two more. Four for every wall you defaced. It should be twelve, given that you had help, but I’m in a forgiving mood. I think I’ll just spank the other eight out of you instead.” 

With your head bowed, you wiped the tears off of your cheeks and braced yourself. You knew that he was telling the truth. To Tom, this was mercy. You should’ve found it sadistic, but you fucking loved it. Maybe you were a masochist. Whatever the case may be, it seemed like the two of you were a match made in heaven. 

“I’ll be good,” you whispered hoarsely. Your throat was still raw and sore from earlier. “I’ll happily take the punishment. I promise I’ll be good, sir.” 

Tom chuckled darkly, relishing in your submission. His hand came down with a hard smack against your right ass cheek, making you jolt from the contact. Before you could recover, he repeated the action on the left. 

“That’s two,” Tom said proudly. “Can you count out the rest, babydoll?” 

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip every time his large hand came down on your ass. His rings bit into the soft flesh of your skin, but it was a delicious sort of pain. One that you could easily become addicted to. 

Three. Tom tugged at your hair. 

Four. Teeth nipped at your shoulder. 

Five. Fingers curled around your throat. 

Six. Hips slammed against you. 

Seven. Lips trailed down your spine.

Eight. Moans echoed in your ears. 

When Tom slipped his fingers down to your clit, your eyes rolled back so hard that you saw fucking heaven. “It’s not a punishment if you’re enjoying yourself so much, little dove. I can feel you creaming my cock. You look so innocent, but you’re just a filthy fucking slut for me, aren’t you?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“So. Fucking. Perfect.” 

Tom emphasized each word with a thrust and worked your clit faster and faster, bringing you to the edge. This time, he didn’t pull back. Tom let the orgasm build until it threatened to wipe you out entirely. White hot heat coursed through your veins as stars exploded behind your eyes. You whimpered through the intensity of the orgasm. After being denied four times, the pleasure ripped through your body so fiercely that you nearly blacked out. 

“Fuck, let me fill you up,” Tom growled. “Take it, doll. I want you dripping with my cum.” 

“Yes, yes, oh gods. Please cum inside of me, sir.” 

Tom released a guttural grunt, gripping your hips in place as he filled you to the brim. Nothing in the world compared to the sensation of Tom filling you with his warm, wet cum. You glanced behind you and found him staring intently as he slipped out of you, stuffing his cum back into your pussy as it dripped down your folds. You bit your lip, utterly aroused by how fucking sexy this man was. 

His gaze met yours, a proud smile curving against his lips as he swept you off your feet and into his arms. “I think I’ll keep you, little dove.” 

[blaire-apricity]

LADS Plushies

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ┆ : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘓𝘈𝘋𝘚 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘊?

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ┆ : 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 & 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘖𝘊

─────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

The first thing Xavier does is gawk at it, blinking in surprise. He turns the plushie over with care, examining every detail of the creature that so closely resembles you.

He starts poking its cheek, imagining it's your own, a small playful smile tugging at his lips. His eyes light up, filled with tender amusement.

Passersby notice his expression—an uncharacteristically satisfied and innocent smile gracing his face—as he gazes at the plushie.

He looks like a child who has opened their Christmas present early, filled with pure contentment.

Xavier takes the plushie everywhere with him, unable to bear being apart from it.

Instinctively, he holds it close, his protective instincts kicking in as if the plushie were the real you.

He might even tuck it into his pocket as he scouts new places or hunts for Wanderers, a small but significant token of comfort.

The plushie reminds him so much of you, making him feel as if you were with him at all times.

The best part is how soft and fluffy the plushie is, like a miniature pillow. He often rests his head on it, finding comfort in the softness.

As he lies down, he imagines it is your lap beneath him, a peaceful and soothing thought.

He definitely brags about it to Jeremiah.

"Look, it's Y/n," he says, with the plushie perched proudly on his head.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Normally, Zayne doesn't care for plushies, nor does he like to keep one.

Unless, of course, it is from you. Or, more specifically, if it is you in a miniature fluff form.

With his usual aloof and cold demeanor, he examines the plushie, gripping it with one hand, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

Unlike Xavier, he doesn't carry it with him everywhere.

But the plushie always has a place in his office, a silent but constant presence.

Sitting alone at his desk, Zayne sighs, massaging his temples as he finishes surgery after surgery, glancing at the plushie of you seated on his table.

'Well, it’s like having her in pocket-size. Cute,' he thinks to himself, a rare softness in his words.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

Rafayel immediately takes several photos of the plushie, capturing its likeness from every angle.

Feeling inspired by this miniature work of art, he might sketch or paint it, blending his artistic talents with his affection.

He proudly shows it off, exclaiming, "It's Miss Bodyguard in plushie form!"

As he works on his latest masterpiece, he places the plushie somewhere prominent, ensuring it is always in his line of sight.

Talking to it as if it were the real you, he shares his thoughts and ideas, finding comfort in the imagined conversations.

He doesn't feel odd about this; heck, he’s quite proud of his little confidant.

Thomas might overhear him and think, "Maybe it's a normal artist thing," shrugging off Rafayel's eccentricities.

He definitely calls you, plushie in hand, the excitement evident in his voice. "Y'know, I'd rather have the real thing, but this is a close second."

·❆　　　❆　❅　　　　•　　　　.　　　　　❆❆• 　·　.　　　❅

ᴍᴀɴɢᴀ: ᴋɪᴍɪ ɴɪ ᴀɪsᴀʀᴇᴛᴇ ɪᴛᴀᴋᴀᴛᴛᴀ

𝐴𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝐶𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑦 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑏𝑖𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑. 𝐻𝐴𝐻𝐴, 𝐼 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑧𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑂𝑂𝐶 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑍𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑅𝑎𝑓𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑙, 𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒.

[illyrianbitch]

An Education in Malice — Part Six

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

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

Warnings: mentions and descriptions of wounds, scars, and allusions to torture, canon-typical violence, fighting, killing, death— all the fun stuff really. reader being a lil badass, az being emotionally vulnerable, a turning point in their relationship!!!!

Word Count: 9.8k this was originally going to be like 2-3 diff parts, but i loved reading it all as one, so consider this my lil offering since i disappeared for like 2 weeks <3

Part Five | Series Masterlist | Part Seven

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You always hated the ornate mirror that had stood in your room — its gaudy, gilded and tarnished frame was far too large for your liking.  You hated how much space it took up, how much of yourself you could see as you passed it. 

On most days, the female staring back at you felt like a stranger— someone wearing your face yet existing in a distant world. She moved when you did, blinked when you did, too. But she wasn’t you. And you hated it. So you didn’t often linger on your reflection. 

Except for today. 

Your hair was damp from the bath and a faint smell of sage and patchouli clung to your skin from the residue of your bath soap. 

Your eyes traced the lines of your face, following the tired shadows beneath your eyes and scars that marred the skin of your stomach. Normally, when you stood there with a focused gaze and a troubled spirit, it was because you were examining new wounds, cataloging the fresh marks left behind from nights where your father was particularly angry. All of those wounds were hidden beneath clothing, concealed where no one but you would ever see— carefully, strategically, placed. 

You’d gotten used to the marks, comfortable with them, even. There were many things in your life that weren’t yours. But these— these scarred areas of skin, these were yours. Proof that your body had worked to protect you, to fix and heal itself despite what had been inflicted unto it. And in some strange way, it made you feel less lonely. 

If it was any other day, you wouldn’t have looked any longer than a second, a minute at most. You’d walk past the mirror, change into a dress fit for an audience, and leave. 

Today was different. Today, your eyes were drawn to the intricate tattoo etched just beneath your left breast, wrapping around your rib cage. It was the first time you’d really looked at it, the first time you’d allowed yourself to acknowledge its presence since its creation. 

The tattoo was a delicate masterpiece, a swirling pattern of dark ink that almost resembled Azriel’s shadows perfectly— so perfectly it made you nauseous, made you flinch at the first sighting because it seemed too real.  It was beautiful, haunting, and undeniably meaningful.

It made you feel sick.

You traced the pattern with your fingertips, thinking back to how Azriel’s hand felt in yours, to the warm feeling you felt in your chest. You’d never made a bargain before— not even in Autumn. Perhaps all bargains caused this feeling you now felt, a sense of residue that your body held of him, as if you had crumbs of his being stuck to you. 

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. 

You turned to see Laney's ears twitch as she registered the sound. Whenever you showered, whenever you were naked and vulnerable at all, really, she always guarded the door heavily, never moving. The knock was so gentle that she didn’t growl; instead, she sniffed under the door, her movements growing excited— happy. You could tell by her posture that the visitor was no threat. Not only that, but the knock was delicate— patient, almost. You knew who it was by that fact alone. 

Scrambling, you hastily pulled on your clothes, trying to regain some semblance of composure as you blinked away the last remaining images of Azriel from your mind. 

The tension in your body eased as you opened your door. 

"There’s my beautiful girl."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you embraced your mother, feeling the warmth of her body fold over you like a comforting cloak. You held her for another moment, savoring the softness of her touch and her heartbeat beneath you, and then you stepped aside to let her in. 

Your eyes flickered to the back of the hallway she’d come from. 

Your mother caught your gaze swiftly. "He’s with some of his men. Drunk. He’ll be busy for the night."

You swallowed, trying to suppress the unease that settled in your stomach. She placed a gentle hand on your arm.

"It’s alright," she said gently, “Too drunk to even function.”

You hated that you knew what she meant, that you and your mother had grown to develop your own language regarding the males in your home—regarding the one that owned you both. Her words meant that Beron had an enjoyable day, one that filled him with enough joy to celebrate— that such celebrations were going to tire him so deeply that he’d fall asleep straight after. No issues for you, no issues for your mother. You nodded slowly.

Your mother stepped closer, her fingers brushing through your still slightly damp hair. "Let me braid this mane of yours," she said softly, her touch light as she affectionately stroked your cheek. You casted a wary glance behind you, towards the darkened hallways, but nodded nonetheless, closing the door behind you with a soft click. 

Laney curled up comfortably on your bed, her relaxed posture easing some of the remaining tension in your shoulders.  The act alone was a sign of her trust, a reminder that she felt safe and saw no threats nearby. If Beron ever caught her on any furniture, she’d be punished. But in this moment, she was calm and content, and you let that calm you too.

And then you were back in front of the mirror again. 

Your mother pulled a small velvet stool in front, gesturing for you to take a spot. The large frame of the mirror seemed to laugh at you and as your mother stood behind you, delicate arms reaching for a hairbrush, you felt like a child again. The mirror seemed to grow even larger, even grander, and you fought to recognize the female that stared at you through it. 

You watched as your mother moved with the same gentle grace she had always possessed, bringing a hairbrush to your damp hair. Your mother was beautiful. She always had been. Even now, with the sadness in her eyes— a trait specific to Vanserras, you were certain—she was one of the most beautiful people you knew. Your thoughts drifted to what she must have been like when she was a bit younger, how she was when Helion first met her. You wanted to know it all, wanted to know your mother as a teenager, wanted to know how she fell in love. 

Her eyes caught yours in the mirror and her movements slowed. The expression on her face softened. 

"Where has that mind drifted off to?" 

You blinked, shrugging slightly. There was a lump in your throat as you responded, "Nothing real."

She frowned, and her eyes danced across your face before she continued brushing your hair. A thoughtful hum left her lips. "You've been gone a lot recently. Done a great job of stressing your poor brother out. Where is it you've been running off to?"

Her voice was soft and kind and just below a whisper—  as if you two were sharing a secret. It was her classic motherly way of interrogating you. The gentleness in her tone made it clear that she didn't mind, no matter the answer. She never did.

A soft laugh escaped you. "I have to visit all of my many admirers."

Her answering laugh was sweet and quiet, a sound so pure it almost felt out of place in this house. You resisted the urge to look back at your closed door, to wait in fear for heavy footsteps. But your mother didn’t seem worried about an intrusion. Instead, she looked at you with a glint in her eyes, a mischievous sparkle that reminded you so much of Eris—right down to the playful eyebrow raise.

"Joke as much as you'd like. We both know you have plenty of those," she teased.

You smiled to yourself.  

"How could you not when you're so beautiful?" she added, her voice filled with a sincerity that made your throat tighten.

You looked at her in the mirror again. Her eyes were so kind. They held the same warmth you’d see in Lucien’s— a warmth that you’d see even in Eris’s when he was at ease, comfortable. Those times were rare now, if not impossible. 

You looked at your own reflection.

You didn’t have kind eyes. You had your father’s eyes. Beron's eyes—hard, angry, simmering with rage. You had his temper, his unforgiving nature. You were every part of him that you hated, and you were reminded of it every day. Reminded of it when you struggled to control your powers, when you failed to harness the very essence of who you were. Reminded of it when you looked in the mirror for too long— when you thought about how you would never be soft like the females males often loved. That your pain didn’t lead you to be kinder, didn’t teach you to be gentle.

Your hand drifted to your heart instinctively, fingers brushing on the fabric just above your breast. You trailed down to the side of your ribs, to where a spiral of ink now adorned your skin. 

Your mother finished the large braid, bringing it around your shoulder. She caught your gaze in the mirror and smiled. "Do you like it?"

She had a freckle above her eyebrow, the same freckle your brothers each had in different places on their faces. Eris had the most freckles out of all of you. They painted the bridge of his nose and his arms the most—

"Honey?" 

You blinked. Your body felt fuzzy as you reached up to touch the braid. "Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat. “Thank you."

Her kind eyes softened at you— softened in a way you didn’t feel worthy for. There was a faint simmering in her eyes, a fire that she still held despite how her life had treated her. It had dimmed over the centuries, lessened to a small flicker. But the flame was still there. You saw it. 

You took a deep breath, maneuvering yourself to turn in the chair and face her. You made room for her to sit next to you, gesturing with a small smile and a lift of your chin. 

"I have to tell you something.”

She sat and frowned slightly, eyes scanning your face. But she said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

"Do you remember when I was little? And you used to love reading me that one poem?"

Her expression softened, and a gentle smile played on her lips as a distant look grew in her eyes. She knew, without you even saying the title, exactly what you were referring to— after countless nights spent curled around you, running her hands through your hair as she repeated the words she’d memorized so long ago, how could she not?

So she watched you, her gaze unwavering, as you began to recite your favorite stanza. "In life's cruel grasp we could not abide, so we made a pact with the Reaper's side."

Her voice joined yours. "And in death's embrace our freedom lies, where we'll find each other beneath somber skies."

You smiled to yourself, looking at her, scanning her face. "I know why you love it so much."

She furrowed her brows, yet even then she looked so patient, like she'd sit there and wait for hours until you were ready to speak again. This was someone who had been made kind by what they had gone through. You almost felt ashamed that you had turned out differently.

Finally, you said, "I found the book. In Helion's library."

A flash of recognition crossed her face, and she softened, her eyes taking on a distant, wistful look. "You did?"

You nodded again, watching her closely as a tender, almost nostalgic smile played on her lips. She tried to compose herself, her eyes growing distant and glazing over. "I've heard he loves to collect stories." She paused, then asked, "What were you doing all the way over there?"

You thought about her question, about answering, about maybe telling her everything. But there was only one thing you could pull yourself to say. "I know," you said softly. "About Helion. I know."

She understood what you were truly saying. A sigh left her lips and an echo of her younger self appeared in her eyes, a female who had fallen hopelessly and madly in love. A version much younger—much more innocent. More hopeful.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking as she met your gaze. Her face seemed pained, shocked almost, and her eyes filled with confusion. She moved closer to you, grabbing your hands in her own.

"What could you possibly be sorry for?"

It was becoming increasingly difficult to draw a full breath. There was something constricting around your chest. Perhaps it was all of the recent stress, the worry of how much harder things had gotten, the image of a life your mother could have had— this suffocating tie to Azriel that you now had etched into your very flesh. 

"You were loved. And you deserve better,”  Your voice caught in your throat and a tear trickled down your cheek as you shook your head slightly. “And I can't do anything to help—"

“No, no,” She interrupted you, bringing her warm hands to cup your cheeks— pulling your eyes to her kind ones.  "I'm your mother. I'm supposed to help you."

Tears welled in your eyes as she continued. "I should be apologizing to you,” she murmured, “I could be better, stronger. I should apologize that I was selfish and brought you into this world."

"Selfish?" 

How could she ever consider herself selfish? You knew the pain she carried, the weight of responsibility that seemed to crush her at times. You saw it reflected in Eris— a specific pain that came from feeling like you could never do enough. But even with your older brothers, despite their cruelty and callousness, your mother loved them fiercely, passionately. Loved them with every fiber of her being, every part of her that she gave to them. 

"Yes," she replied softly, her touch gentle as she rubbed your cheek, her eyes full of emotion. "Oh, how excited I was to have a girl. You, my sweet, are one of my greatest blessings. My beautiful daughter. So strong, so loyal. I just couldn't imagine a life without you."

You wanted to reassure her, to alleviate her guilt, but words seemed inadequate in the face of such profound love. Instead, you leaned into her touch, covering her hand with yours, and held on tightly.

"One day, things will be different," she said, her voice soft but filled with conviction— enough of it that it eased the anger that bit at your gut. "You can be different. And you won't be like him."

She paused, her eyes locking onto yours with a depth of understanding that made your chest tighten. "You’ll know what love is. And you won’t have to resort to reciting poetry to know how powerful it can be."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The dense canopy of trees above barely let any light through as you hurried along the forest path. Spring along the border was always odd, with dense forests giving way to large rolling hills. The difference in scenery, usually something you welcomed, felt nauseating today. All the sights, the smells, even the sunshine, seemed overwhelming.

You walked faster than usual, eyes fixed ahead, hands clenched at your sides. Azriel’s keen senses had already picked up on the subtle signs—your shallow breaths, the way your shoulders were stiff with tension. 

"Why are you walking through the woods and not even looking at me?"

You stopped as Azriel’s voice rang in your ears. 

You’d come to rely on these meetings with Azriel to exchange information, to strategize, to plan how to give your brother an edge. They’d eased your anxiety slightly, giving you a sense of support that you’d never thought would be found in Azriel of all people. But he was smart, as much as you hated to admit it, and had dedicated time to offering you aid. 

The truth was, you didn't quite trust your self-control right now. For some inexplicable reason, Azriel's scent was intoxicating, flooding your senses and causing your thoughts to swirl in a disorienting mix of attraction and confusion. Despite how hard you tried to fight it, you found yourself looking forward to these encounters. And that was a dangerous reality. 

"I like to stretch my legs," you finally responded, attempting to sound casual. "And maybe I just don't want to face you."

“Is that so? Nervous to stare at me too long?"

You could already picture the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips— a bit of personality that you’d seen grow over your time together. You rolled your eyes, turning around and facing him with a blank look.

He stepped closer to you, eying you closely. “Worried that you’ll go crazy with desire?”

His smirk deepened, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his usual stoic mask. You bit the inside of your cheek in response.  "Don't flatter yourself,” you scowled. “Maybe I’m being kind and saving you from embarrassing yourself with how badly you’ll want me.”

This was dangerous— it was entirely too playful, too close to the brink of what you assumed friendship felt like. 

“Are you?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “Being kind?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes bore into yours and your chest tightened at the eye contact. You cleared your throat, turning away and resuming your brisk pace. “Shut up and let's just go.”

Behind you, Azriel chuckled softly, the sound rolling across your senses like an unwelcomed caress, making you shiver involuntarily. 

"Stop laughing," you gritted out, “I’ve never heard a worse sound.”

The chuckle faded and you heard him come to a stop. You turned around, meeting his gaze with a glare. He stood there, arms crossed, a faint smirk still playing on his lips. He seemed amused, at ease, even.

“What?” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.

He nodded towards you. “What’s your problem?”

“You standing there. That’s my problem.”

Azriel raised a brow, uncrossing his arms as he took a few steps forward to stand directly in front of you. He narrowed his eyes, studying you intently. “You’re bitchier than usual.”

“Careful,” you gritted out, staring at him with a heavy, burning gaze. 

“I’m here helping you,” he said evenly, his voice holding a hint of reproach. “You can drop the attitude.”

"You’re only helping me because you want to get rid of me and, sadly, you can’t kill me," you shot back, bitterness lacing your words.

Azriel's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something that almost seemed to resemble something like anger— like hurt. 

"I believe I've made it clear that your death is something I've purposely avoided."

Something about the way he was staring at you made you shiver. You fought the urge to run your hands over the area where your skin was now marked with the tattoo of a bargain. You met his gaze, steadying yourself. "Why didn't you tell me that Rhys presented my father with a proposition? That he requested an audience with him?"

Azriel blinked. "I wasn't aware that Rhysand had already done so."

"But you knew?" 

"Yes," he replied,  "I did."

"What good is this stupid bargain of ours if you don't even uphold it?" 

Azriel's expression hardened and he leaned down further. The scent of him filled your nostrils and you sucked in a tight breath, feeling your chest constrict with the motion. "I take my bargains very seriously. Our deal was that I would help you, that you would get what you wanted. Not that I would tell you everything."

Your nostrils flared.

"Do you realize how much danger Rhysand has put us in? Put me in?" Your voice trembled with barely restrained anger. "Beron is upset that Rhysand thinks of him as someone so conforming. He's convinced he has a traitor in his ranks. And if you haven’t noticed, Shadowsinger, he does!" 

You pointed to yourself and Azriel’s face seemed to darken with understanding. 

"Y/n—" he started, but he stopped abruptly, his gaze shooting to the trees beyond you.

Annoyance flared within you. "What?" you snapped, but he ignored you, his focus elsewhere.

"Can you just finish whatever the hell—"

Azriel moved with lightning speed, grabbing you and pushing you against a tree. His hand flew to your mouth, covering it as he brought his other hand to his face, a finger on own lips in a gesture of silence. Your eyes widened, watching as a muscle feathered in his cheek, his wings flaring slightly, shadows skittering around him.

Then you heard it too—a familiar laugh. 

"I know you're here, Shadowsinger. I can smell the bastard on you," Renard's voice echoed through the trees, taunting and cruel.

Desperation clawed at you. In a surge of panic, you bit down hard on Azriel's hand. He pulled back with a sharp intake of breath and you gave him one last look before you winnowed away. You could've sworn you saw a flicker of hurt, a sense of betrayal in the whites of his eyes. 

And then he was gone from your view. 

You didn’t get far, appearing in another thicket of trees within the same forest. Breathing heavily, you leaned against a sturdy oak.

Why hadn’t you winnowed farther? Straight to Autumn?

A tug in your chest nagged at you.

Faintly, the sounds of a struggle reached your ear—grunts and the clash of metal. You clenched your fists, chastising yourself. Do not go back, you thought. It's dangerous. You're putting yourself at risk—you and Eris, you and your mother. If they find you, if they manage to tell your father, you're dead. He'll kill you.

Azriel doesn’t matter, you tried to convince yourself. He can handle himself. And if not—

“Damnit.”

You made the decision before you could second-guess yourself, winnowing back immediately to where you had left him.

Disorientation clouded your vision the moment you landed. You blinked rapidly, taking in the chaotic scene before you. Azriel was engaged in a flurry of combat with three men— soldiers adorning the colors of your court. His gaze flicked to you for a split second, and his face softened with a brief, almost imperceptible relief.

You gave him what felt like a smile—an acknowledgment, a reassurance—before the reality of the situation snapped you back. Countless men surrounded you both, their eyes glinting with malice, with something that felt awfully like hunger. 

You had no weapon, but Eris had taught you ways to deflect attacks. 

One of the men lunged, and you dodged, feeling the blade cut through the air dangerously close to your side. With a swift kick, you sent him stumbling backward, then followed up with a sharp jab to his throat. He gasped, clutching at his neck, and you swiftly disarmed him.

Steel clashed against steel as you parried another strike, your movements agile and precise. A second attacker closed in, and you deflected his blade before stepping inside his guard, driving your elbow into his face. Blood sprayed as he staggered back, dazed. With a decisive motion, you brought his own weapon down through him, a sickening squelch filling your ears as he dropped to the ground.

Azriel was a blur beside you, his movements so swift and deadly it was almost poetic.

You managed to disarm another man, twisting his wrist until he dropped his weapon with a cry of pain. You kicked the sword away and followed up with a decisive strike to his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Your weapon found its way clean through his throat next.

Breathing heavily, you scanned the clearing, your eyes darting from one enemy to the next. There were countless bodies now, sprawled across the ground like fallen leaves— but none of their faces matched the one in your mind. You surveyed your surroundings once more. 

"Looking for me, princess?" The voice cut through the air, raspy and filled with disdain.

You spun around as Renard emerged from the trees, stalking closer with predatory grace, like an animal preparing for a kill. "Because I was looking for you."

He looked worse than the last time you’d seen him, barely alive, supporting swollen eyes and blackened marks around his neck. Beron had indeed tortured him, and the sight filled you with a grim satisfaction.

"Must be hard looking for anything with those eyes," you retorted, a grin on your lips.

"You did this to me, you traitorous whore," Renard spat, his face contorted with anger. He made a move towards you, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the flames flickering against your hands, unsteady.

"Real cute," he mocked. You bit back the frustration boiling in your gut, gritting your teeth as you focused on the simmering underneath your skin. 

“Come closer,” you sneered, “Let’s see how cute they feel on your burning flesh.”

“You always had such a foul mouth on you. It’s like you’re begging to be killed.”

Without hesitation, Renard lunged at you with a speed fueled by rage and desperation. You both collided in a flurry of strikes and parries, the sound of clashing metal ringing through the clearing. The flames in your hands flickered erratically as you tried to maintain focus amid the chaos.

You had always observed your father's men so you could be one step ahead— just in case. Now, facing Renard, you could sense his frustration with every move you countered, every strike you parried.

"You think you can match me, girl?" His voice dripped with contempt as he circled you, "I'll make your father's punishments seem gentle compared to what I have in mind."

"You talk too much," you managed to rasp out between clenched teeth. 

Renard's face twisted into a cruel smile as he pressed on, his strikes growing more aggressive. "I wonder what Beron will do with your body," he taunted, "If your mother will even be allowed to mourn you."

The thought hit you like a physical blow, momentarily freezing your movements. In that moment of hesitation, Renard seized the advantage. With a swift and brutal maneuver, he knocked your weapon from your grasp and delivered a fierce blow that sent you sprawling to the ground. Before you could react, he was upon you, gripping your hair and wrenching your arms behind your back, a hold tightening around your throat.

Panic surged through you as you tried desperately to summon your fire, but it wouldn't respond. You tightened your jaw, focusing every ounce of concentration to call forth that spark of heat, cursing the world—the training that was never enough, your father's prevention of you perfecting the skill.

Renard's breath was hot against your ear as you writhed beneath him. He gripped your chin roughly, forcing you to watch as Azriel fought against overwhelming odds. Men surrounded him, their blows raining down on him relentlessly.

"Is this how he had you?" Renard's voice dripped with venom. "From behind?"

You closed your eyes, summoning images of Eris, your mother, Lucien— each face a steadying breath in your mind. When you opened your eyes, your gaze landed on Azriel, surrounded by a sapphire aura that blurred with his swift movements. 

With a surge of willpower, you summoned every ounce of strength, every flicker of fire you could muster. Flames erupted from your hands with a hot burst of energy, startling Renard and giving you a split-second window of opportunity.

You turned around and seized him, your grip iron against his throat as you backed him into a nearby tree. With cold intensity, you stared into Renard's eyes, the flames casting flickering shadows across his face. 

"Don't worry,” you growled, “I won't be gentle."

Within seconds, flames engulfed Renard's throat and face, the heat and light blinding in their intensity. He screamed in agony, thrashing under your grasp, but you held on, firmer and harder each time he flailed.

As the flames dwindled, leaving behind only smoldering ruins, you staggered back, hands trembling and covered in ash and the stench of burnt flesh. But before you could dwell on the burnt remains of Renard that lay at your feet, you spun around to focus on Azriel, still fighting off multiple men, surrounded by the shimmering sapphire light of his power.

Two men stood directly in front of him, while another pair prepared to strike from behind. You glanced down at your hands and screwed your eyes shut for a fleeting moment. When you opened them again, the fire was there—steady and trained. With a fierce determination, you summoned the flames into existence, shaping them swiftly into whips of fire that crackled and danced in the air.

You brought your hands out towards the two men, feeling the fire respond to your command, crackling and whispering with power as it morphed itself at your will. The flames transformed into fiery whips, extending from your outstretched arms like extensions of your fury, connecting with the two bodies threatening Azriel.

The fiery tendrils snaked around their necks like vengeful serpents, searing flesh and scorching hands as the men futilely tried to break free. With agonized screams, they collapsed to the ground. The flames dwindled down to mere embers. When you looked up, Azriel met your gaze, his face bloodied and his leathers splattered with crimson. Shadows writhed around him, dancing on the forest floor towards your feet.

He walked towards you, his eyes shifting to the fallen bodies at your feet. He took in the sight for a moment, gaze focusing on the marred flesh across their throats. Then he blinked and brought his focus to you. "Where's Renard?"

You glanced over to the disfigured body and pile of ash near a tree. Azriel followed your gaze and he blinked once more, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. His lips parted as if to speak, but before he could utter a word, his attention abruptly shifted.

He pulled your body into him, his wing extending protectively in front of you right as a sudden ripping sound tore through the air. You were pushed away from him just in time to witness a thick weapon—a sharp, wide blade welded to a spear—pierce through the membrane of his wing. 

He cried out in agony, falling forward slightly, enough for you to catch the gaze of a lone soldier peering over the apex of his wing. You grabbed a nearby weapon and hurled it with all your might. The blade found its mark, burying itself in the soldier's neck. He collapsed instantly, motionless on the forest floor.

Azriel let out a cry of pain as he ripped the weapon out from his wing, causing it to twitch involuntarily. "C'mon, we need to go," you urged, moving closer to him. With great effort, he tried to adjust himself as you lifted his arm over your shoulder, feeling his weight and warmth press into you.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The journey back to the cabin was a blur of frantic winnowing and determined dragging through the dense forest. Your muscles ached as Azriel’s weight dragged heavily against you, stumbling with every move as the pain in his body grew. He groaned in pain as you lowered him onto the couch, the sound raw and unsettling in the quiet home.

Kneeling beside him, you moved closer to get a better look at the injury on his wing, but Azriel scrambled away from your touch and further into the couch. Your gaze settled on his face— eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched so tightly that you could see the strain in every muscle. His siphons glowed with an intense, flickering light and his shadows seemed to respond to his distress, curling protectively around him. For a moment, you felt a pang of envy. Even in his delirium, he had something to shield him from the world. 

The sight of him like this—so vulnerable, so raw—made your stomach churn. His breathing was ragged, each exhale accompanied by a soft whimper that he seemed to be fighting to suppress. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead, and every so often, he would twitch. 

You always thought that seeing Azriel suffer would make you feel good, make you feel some sort of vindication. Often, you used to imagine it would be you bringing him to his knees in pain, him and the rest of Prythian—making them suffer as you and your family had for centuries. But now, as you watched him writhing in pain on the couch, your heart hurt in a way you had only ever felt for your family—and even worse. You felt like you were in pain too.

But you had no wounds comparable to Azriel. 

A knot tightened in your chest and an unexpected urge surged through you—to comfort him, to wipe the sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead, to ease his torment. You blinked the thought away— nauseating and entirely too heavy for you to acknowledge further. You brought your attention back to his wing.

The membrane was pierced clean through by the weapon, a gaping wound from which blood and darkened poison gushed. The sight made you nauseous and you pushed away the haunting images of your father's face, the sound of leather striking flesh, and the memory of Eris's scarred back.

"I need to burn it out.”

Azriel's eyes shot open. "No, no," he pleaded weakly, his voice strained heavily. "Please."

Your hands hovered uncertainly above him. The first time you’d felt this poison in your wounds, it had felt like your body was eating itself from the inside out. You’d gotten used to the pain after a while, but Azriel was new to it— and Illyrian wings were incredibly sensitive from what you’d learned. He was in blinding pain.

"It's the only way to stop it from spreading," you insisted. "It'll only get worse if I don’t. You won’t be able to heal otherwise."

"That's—that's not how faebane works," he stammered, shaking his head vehemently. 

You gritted your teeth, letting out an exasperated breath as he rambled. "Because it's not faebane–”

Something seemed to snap. Azriel flinched, his eyes snapping to you with a wild intensity. His pupils were blown wide with fear, like a trapped animal. "You set me up."

Your stomach dropped.

"What?" 

You pulled your hand away, feeling an unfamiliar sting of offense wrapping itself around your chest. Azriel’s jaw clenched and his gaze darkened into a dangerous, skeptical narrow. 

"You're not hurt," he continued. "Was this some setup?"

Azriel's shadows flickered and writhed around him, siphons glaring with an iridescent light. He clutched at his injured wing, muttering through gritted teeth, "I knew it. You— you Vanserras."

He spat your family's name with such venom that for a fleeting second you questioned whether poison had lined his mouth rather than the wound on his wing. 

You were a fool. Azriel’s pain shouldn’t have bothered you so deeply. You should have never went back to help him. The hurt boiling under your skin made you feel weak, made you feel small.

"I will never be trusted by you, will I?" you asked, the words weak on your tongue. You looked at him and fought to push that stupid empathy away. Azriel said nothing as he grimaced further in pain. You let out a humorless laugh.

 "Right,” you said, “Deal with it yourself then. Stay here and die for all I care.”

You turned to leave, but his hand shot out and grabbed yours. The grip was firm, but not hard enough to hurt you. He adjusted his fingers around yours. When you looked down, Azriel’s pleading gaze met yours, sweat clinging to his hair as he looked up at you through darkened lashes. "No, no, I'm sorry," he murmured, "Please."

You hesitated. 

A surge of conflicting emotions—anger, hurt, and an unsettling tenderness you didn't want to acknowledge—washed over you.

Pull away. Leave him.  

And then you swallowed down the hatred, the cruelty that had risen, and knelt back down in front of him. He let out a relieved sigh. Your eyes fell to his hands, taking in the scarred tissue covering his skin— deep marks etched by fire and flame. 

"Close your eyes and pretend I’m Morrigan.”

His eyes flickered to you. "What?"

“Azriel,” You took a deep breath, training your eyes on him. "I need you to trust me. And since you don’t—close your eyes and pretend that I’m not me."

Your voice was gentler than you’d ever heard it, softer than you ever thought yourself capable of.  Azriel swallowed hard, then gave a small nod. His eyes shuttered closed.

You gently placed your palm on his injured wing, feeling the delicate membrane beneath your touch. Your other fingers trembled slightly as you summoned Eris' voice into your mind, calling upon that familiar heat and flicker as the flame began to rise through your hands. You struggled to keep it steady, each breath becoming more labored as you bit back your frustration.

Slowly, soft tendrils of shadows began weaving around your hand– a soft, cooling touch that made you blink. They drifted over you, calming the flickering flame to a steady warmth.  You took a deep breath and cautiously brought your fingers to the wound.

As the fire met his skin, Azriel tensed, a strangled sound escaping his throat. You could feel the poison reacting to the heat, the black substance dissipating under your fingertips.

"I can do this," you murmured, more for your own benefit than his. "It’ll be alright."

You weren’t sure if he could hear you, but you kept talking, hoping that your voice might anchor him to something other than his pain. It always helped you when Eris told you it would be alright, when he talked to you as he tended to your wounds, gently, tenderly, lovingly. 

You focused solely on the task at hand, blocking out the rest of your thoughts and the tightness in your chest. Finally, when you felt the last remnants of poison retreat, you withdrew your hand, the flames extinguishing with a final flicker.

Azriel’s breathing, though still ragged, had eased from the strained gasps earlier. Encouraged by this small sign, you withdrew your hand, a quiet smile of satisfaction tugging at your lips.

Looking down at Azriel, who had slipped into unconsciousness, you took a deep breath. "Thank you," you whispered to the shadows that continued to hover around you. For a moment, you felt silly for speaking to something so intangible— to things that probably didn’t even understand. Yet, as if in response, they slithered back toward Azriel, settling near the crook of his neck.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel’s eyelids felt heavy as he finally came to, his surroundings blurry and unfamiliar. 

It took him a few moments to orient himself, to remember where he was. He noticed three things first: it was nighttime, and a gentle moonlight bathed the space he was in; he was covered in a thin orange blanket, the fabric soft and worn, smelling faintly of pine and something sweet; and he was no longer in the agonizing pain he had succumbed to earlier.

Azriel shifted slightly, grimacing as a dull ache radiated from his wing. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to sit up, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. He glanced at his wing, noting the faint hole where the gaping wound had been. He extended it in a light stretch, feeling a slight sting, but it was bearable. Healable. His mind replayed the events leading up to this moment, your voice echoing in his thoughts—soft, concerned, saying his name. 

Pretend I’m Morrigan.

He had nodded, closed his eyes— but he hadn’t pretended. It was you kneeling beside him, not Mor.

Azriel's gaze wandered around the room. His shadows had left their original position, perched and curled around the apex of his wings, and now seemed to be leading him across the small living area. He frowned, his boots heavy against the aged floors as he followed them past the wooden table— he pushed away memories of you bent over the furniture, shaking his head as he approached a small bookshelf tucked in the corner. 

The shelves were adorned with an assortment of well-loved books, spines worn from what Azriel could only assume were countless readings. His shadows hovered near the middle shelf, where something caught his eye—a slight indentation in the wood, partially concealed by the darkness they casted.

As he drew closer, the shadows dissipated, revealing a carving etched into the wood—

L.V., Y/N. V. 

Azriel blinked, brows furrowing as he inspected the letters further. He traced the letters with his fingers, feeling the rough wood against his scarred, ridged skin. 

You had mentioned offhandedly that you kept in contact with Lucien, that you visited the Spring Court. But he hadn’t given the statement any further thought.

He glanced around the room. 

The space seemed to come alive around him, details he had previously overlooked now asserting their presence. He had never paid proper attention to the home, never questioned why it seemed to be so oddly clean, why you favored it so much. His fingers hovered over the initials once more.

Y/N. V. 

Glancing down at his shadows, they stilled momentarily before slithering across the floor, guiding his gaze towards the doorway. There, through the windowpane, he caught sight of you standing a short distance away from the house, beneath the starlit sky.

Azriel approached the door with cautious steps, ensuring every footfall was quiet– undetected. He reached out, his shadows wrapping around the door handle to muffle any noise it might make. With a gentle push, he swung the door open just wide enough to slip through, his shadows ensuring the hinges made no sound, either. Leaning against the sturdy frame, he allowed the darkness to envelop him further, becoming one with its comforting embrace as he observed you in the distance.

From this vantage point, he watched you, bathed in the soft light that painted the sky with a silvery hue. A gentle breeze stirred, ruffling a few strands of your hair and carrying your faint, familiar scent to him. Sweet with a hint of spice, a smell that he’d grown used to recently. There's an emotion woven into it that he can’t decipher, and for a brief moment, it frustrated him. You seemed at odds. Peaceful, in this night air, but stiff. 

There was a tightening in his chest. 

Seeing you now, basking in the moonlight as the cold air licked at him, Azriel wondered if you were the same Y/N he had so violently hated. Could someone so cruel enjoy the light of the moon? Did his other enemies also watch the stars?

“How long are you going to stand there and stare at me?”

Azriel stiffened and a heat rose to his cheeks. He looked down at his shadows in accusation. Maybe they had betrayed him, not covered his approach adequately. He glanced back up, meeting your gaze as you looked over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

Azriel waited for it— the expected glare, the indifference, or even a cruel smile. Something foreign, something that aligned with the adversarial image he held of you. But it didn't come. There was no hostility, no cruelty, no snark. Only a softness reminiscent of one that he had seen those in his family hold many times before. It caught him off guard.

You snickered softly. "I can feel your stare burning a hole into my dress."

Azriel swallowed and cleared his throat, willing himself to regain composure as he walked towards you. You turned to face him, arms crossed, eyes flicking to his wing.

"You don't look like death anymore," you remarked, a faint hint of amusement in your tone.

Azriel offered a wry smile. "I suppose I have you to thank for that." He paused, searching for the right words. He had too many questions in his mind— too many thoughts floating around, headless, bodiless. 

— You had called him by his name. You had been here with Lucien. You left and you came back. He shielded you with his wing. You healed him. You stayed. You watched the stars. 

Crickets chirped, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Azriel's mind wandered to the initials carved into the wood.

"This was your home," he finally said, his voice quiet. "With Lucien."

Your head snapped towards him, eyes widened and lips parting in surprise. "What?"

Azriel simply looked at you, taking in the contours of your face, the way the moonlight painted soft shadows on your features. You had always been attractive, dangerously, irritatingly so. But you looked softer in this light. Someone more approachable, more real—someone he could dare to care for.

Someone he cared for enough to protect.

"Am I right?" he asked again, his voice steady.

You glanced back at the modest house. With a small sigh, you met his gaze briefly before your eyes looked down, unfocused. 

“It was Lucien’s.”

Azriel remained quiet, steading his breath as your eyes met his again. The normal simmering rage within them was replaced now with a distant sadness. 

"After Lucien fled Autumn, Tamlin had this made for him," you continued, gesturing subtly towards the house. "A place close enough to the border that Eris could sneak me to. A place for me to see Lucien, to stay with him when it was possible."

Azriel’s chest tightened further. This wasn't a Spring Court citizens home— it was yours. He thought back to the first time he’d found you here, how bitter you had seemed when you talked of its emptiness. To you, Feyre had taken away the only place you had to escape— when Lucien was forced to flee from another court, when Hybern took advantage of a weakened Spring.

"Why risk sneaking away constantly? Why not seek refuge like Lucien did?" 

Your face seemed to harden briefly at his question, a flicker of defensiveness crossing your features. "I could have," you replied, your tone tinged with a hint of regret as you offered a shrug. "Lucien begged me to."

"Yet you stayed. In Autumn.”

You tilted your chin to look at him properly, meeting his eyes with an intense, burrowing gaze. 

“Would you leave your family? Your court?" 

"My court is not known for its cruelty." 

The words slipped out almost automatically, like a response that had been trained in your presence. He cursed himself inwardly. Something flashed in your eyes and your jaw twitched imperceptibly.  For a brief moment, he braced himself for the anticipated flash of anger, the potential for conflict that could leave him stranded in this spot he now believed himself tethered to. 

But you only raised a brow. 

"Isn't it, though?" you retorted with a slight snicker.  "The all-powerful and brutal Rhysand, feared High Lord of the Night Court."

Azriel bit back the discomfort at the sound of Rhysands name, at the way you disregarded his title so flippantly. He took a deep inhale, and you recognized the action as the response that it was. 

"Autumn is my home.”

The freckles on your face seemed more visible in the moonlight. All the times he'd been with you, the weeks spent meeting you, fucking you, he couldn't remember a proper conversation, face to face, that had lasted this long without a cruel, vile insult. He found it hard to picture you in Autumn anymore, to see you alongside your other brothers, alongside Beron. The image of you among the autumn leaves, your fire-red hair blending with the fiery landscape, felt almost surreal now.

“It was Lucien's too."

“No.” You shook your head gently, a rueful smile touching your lips. “Lucien spent most of his life in other courts. He was always too kind for us. Him and his large heart were destined to leave. A bleeding heart in Autumn gets you nothing but a loss of blood."

You looked like Lucien now, more so than Azriel had seen before. The snark of Eris was still there, the same guarded, calculated movements— even the still, low cadence of your voice, like a practiced talent. Seemingly emotionless despite the topic of conversation.

Seemingly.

Gods, he hated how much you looked like Lucien now.

Because Lucien was fair. Just. Lucien had every reason, as Azriel was beginning to see like you had, to hate him. He'd gone after his mate, had rushed to prove himself in a battle to the death, hadn’t thought about Lucien as a life, as a person, beyond an adversary standing in front of a prize he wanted—that was what Elain had been. A prize. Something he wanted to deserve. Something to prove he was good.

But Lucien was kind. Lucien was diplomatic, good with people. Lucien had won Elain over with his patience, with that good heart you spoke of.

Azriel studied you, wondering how much of Lucien’s qualities you had in you that he had refused to acknowledge. That heart—it was there, beneath the layers of bitterness and guardedness. He had seen glimpses of it tonight, in the way you tended to his wounds, in the way your voice softened despite the hatred you held so deeply, so fiercely. 

He found himself wondering, not for the first time, what you could have been had you left with Lucien.

Azriel cleared his throat. “So you stayed.”

You held his gaze for a moment. He wondered if you were deciding whether to answer, waited anxiously to see whether this openness of yours would vanish. 

"I couldn't leave my mother. I couldn't leave Eris."

Azriel opened his mouth— to say what, he wasn’t sure. But you beat him to it.

"And besides that," you added, your tone shifting slightly, "I fit. You're the one who's talked about my cruelty. I belong in Autumn."

A familiar hardness began returning to your expression. He could see it building, a wall of cold resolve. Your arms tightened around yourself, nails digging into your biceps. You were cruel—this was a fact he knew well. Cruel, calculated, and dangerous for him. Yet, despite all this, an inexplicable urge to apologize welled up within him. 

He had always known getting involved with you was a bad idea. He had rationalized it as a way to fulfill his urges, telling himself that fucking you was the path of least resistance compared to killing you. One option provided a release, the other would only escalate into more chaos. But now, as he stood here, the realization hit him: perhaps it was more dangerous than he had thought. Perhaps he had been dipping into something more addictive than he realized, and now he couldn’t think straight.

Why had he protected you with his wing?

You glanced back at the house, your gaze softening, body relaxing. "I don't think Lucien ever truly got over that," you whispered, almost to yourself. "The hurt that came from his belief that I had chosen my cruel brother over my kind one."

It felt like an admission not meant for Azriel, like you hadn’t realized you’d confessed it out loud. You blinked and the flicker of vulnerability he had seen was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the guarded expression he had come to know.

"But that's not the truth,” Azriel said.

You met his gaze again. Years of sacrifice and loyalty that bound you to a life you never chose. A curved smile touched your lips, a mask slipping back into place— so easily, so swiftly, it almost made him sick. 

"People believe the stories that make the most sense to them. I'd say you're more than familiar with that habit, Shadowsinger."

Azriel's brows furrowed as he straightened, instinctively pulling his wings closer. A small ache radiated from his injured wing, and his mind drifted back to the wound. His shadows coiled protectively around him. Through their whisperings he felt an inexplicable urge to ask, "How did you know it wasn't faebane?"

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. With a nonchalant shrug, you replied, "Lucky guess."

He shook his head. "Do not lie to me."

“I don’t take orders from you.” Your jaw tightened, a flicker of defiance danced in your eyes. "And does it matter? You're healed. You’re welcome. Move on.”

"It matters," he insisted, his voice firm. "How did you know it wasn't faebane? That you needed to burn it out?"

You sighed in irritation. "You're supposed to be smart. Why do you think I knew?"

Azriel's heart pounded. He did know. Deep down, he knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from you. "How did you know?" he pressed.

You looked away, a dry laugh escaping your lips. Shaking your head, you said, "Faebane became useless to my father when an antidote was created for it."

Azriel's brows furrowed further, a sick feeling churning in his stomach. His fists curled at his sides as he asked, "What does that mean?"

A bitter smile twisted your lips as you met his gaze again. "He needed something else to make his punishments effective. So he created a new type of poison, similar to faebane. You can burn it out, which he loves. It's like a fun game for him—inflict the wound, heal it with even more pain, just to do it all over again."

Azriel's shadows seemed to still, softening in their movements. He fought the urge to keep them close, feeling them drift away towards the night air, towards you.

He scanned you with a burning gaze. He’d never noticed any scarring before, but then again, he'd only ever seen you from the back, your dress hitched up to your waist as he rutted into you from behind.  A tightness in his chest made him feel sick.

"I'm sorry," Azriel whispered before he even realized what he was saying, the honesty in his voice surprising even himself. Azriel didn’t apologize. He never did. Even when he should’ve.

You let out a wicked, cold snicker. "Don't go soft on me, Shadowsinger. We both know you're not really sorry. Just like your brute brother wasn't sorry when he figured out the same thing about Eris."

He shivered at the tone of your voice— a bite stronger than the night air that surrounded you both. His fists tightened at his sides as an image of Cassian came into his mind. He felt a rush of two things: blinding rage and blistering guilt. You had no right to call Cass a brute— Cass was a good brother, a loyal brother. And he and Azriel had talked about Eris, had talked about your brother, how little they cared about his punishments. The guilt bubbled up faster than the anger did, swallowing the rage entirely. 

The nighttime air felt suffocating now, pressing against his skin. As if you sensed it too, a cough escaped your lips, breaking the silence that had settled between you as Azriel observed you further. 

"That's enough sweet talk for me. I'll be leaving now," you declared, making a move to step away. Azriel intercepted your path, stepping in front of you with a determined stance.

You shot him a pointed glare. "I can just winnow away. You are aware of this, yes?"

Azriel ignored you, his gaze fixed on you as he searched your face for the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask. 

"You left me earlier," he said.

You rolled your eyes, an incredulous scoff leaving your curved lips. “Gods, what is this, an exit interrogation? I just saved your ass and—”

He cut you off. “Earlier. When Renard ambushed us. You left.”

"Yes, Azriel, I did," you replied evenly.

The sound of his name seemed to cause a ripple, almost imperceptible, through the shadows around him. He flinched slightly and his stomach twisted into a small, tight knot. Azriel. 

Azriel's eyes darted between yours. “And then you came back.”

He could sense your growing annoyance, could see the simmering flame in your darkened eyes, the tightening of your hands.

"Are we summarizing the events of tonight?" 

He ignored you. “Why?”

"I'm not doing this with you," you shot back, frustration lacing your words as you attempted to push past him. But Azriel moved with a swiftness that caused a small sound of surprise to leave your lips. His strong grip closed around your arm, halting your movements and pulling you back into him.

Now, you were standing close, barely an inch separating your bodies. He could feel the heat of your body radiating against his and the faintest hint of a question lingered in his gaze. His shadows wrapped around your arm.

“Why?”

Your eyes locked with his and you sucked in a breath. "Because you're no use to me if you're dead.”

Azriel's thoughts raced. He hadn't meant those words when he said them, either. 

His shadows whispered things he couldn't quite focus on, their murmurs blending into the background as all he saw was you—so close to him. Someone who could have left him for dead. If Renard's men hadn't taken him so off guard, the poison would have. But you helped him, even after he insulted you, accused you of setting him up.

You looked like Lucien. You looked like Lady Autumn. You looked like Eris. But for the first time, you didn't look like someone he hated. 

"You are not Beron," Azriel said, his voice rough like gravel. He watched as your brows furrowed, your lips falling into a slight frown. "I should never have compared you to him. You are not your father.”

He could see the conflict in your eyes, darting across his face as you began to fall lax in his touch.

"And you're not your brother either," he added quietly.

The words felt like a confession from his lips, as if he was saying something besides the actual words he uttered. 

You blinked, staring at him as you pulled away slightly. Confusion flickered in his expression, his hand hovering where you had been in his hold. You took another step back.

"I am not my father," you affirmed, your voice steady. "I'm loyal. And I'm smart. And—" Your voice faltered. "And I get those things from Eris.”

Azriel stiffened, feeling his shadows tighten around him involuntarily as he watched you. He saw the softness fade from your face, replaced by a steely determination that caused a pang in his chest. You shook your head slightly, swallowed hard, and locked eyes with him.

"I am exactly like my brother. It's one of the things I'm most proud of.”

Before Azriel could respond, before he could even make a move toward you, you turned on your heel and were gone. The night swallowed you up, leaving him standing alone amidst the whispering shadows, grappling with the sickening vulnerability that washed over him like a wave. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

IM BACK BABIES AND IM WRITIN LIKE ITS A FULL TIME JOB

ill make parts shorter i swear (actually....will i???) but alas.... azzie baby has been hit in the face with the beginning of his FEELINGS!!!!

also, in case you wanna SEE our angsty hate-love birds, the super talented @micahssketchbook has sketched them not ONCE, but twice!!

The scene in part three where Azriel has reader in a chokehold and she pulls one on his ass by taking Truth-Teller

and what theyre about to be like in future parts with Az caressing readers face!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @vansaddy

[the-flaneur]

love you fairy much (lh44)

pairing: dark fairy hunter!lewis hamilton x fairy!reader

summary: what does lewis love more than the chase for treasured fairy wings...

warnings: strangers to lovers and 18+, MDNI, NSFW -> smut ft. rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), possessive!lewis, breeding kink, innocence kink, reader doesn't know anything about sex, corruption kink

wc: 5077

[masterlist] [requests]

you flitted through the sun-dappled forest on iridescent wings, your gossamer gown fluttering and shimmering with each graceful movement. as a curious fairy, you delighted in teasing the humans who dared to venture into your woodland realm. most were kind travellers, eager to learn more about the fairy realm, whilst others were strange merchants, looking to sell you bubbling potions and wicked spells - most of which you simply casted back their way, leaving them with spikes in their eyes or tendrils of vines wrapped tightly around their throats. just all fun things :)

today, you had donned an especially adorable outfit - a scrap of sheer fabric barely concealing your breasts and hugging your curves. the other fairies favoured similar styles, so you happily followed suit, wanting to blend in with your peers. with a tinkling laugh, you darted between the ancient trees, leaving shimmering trails of pixie dust in your wake.

your destination for the day was a secluded glade renowned for its vibrant wildflowers. legend whispered that these blossoms held mystical properties, granting the gatherer immense beauty and allure. with an air of mischief, you intended to collect an assortment of the rarest hues to adorn your fairy home and perhaps entice a handsome suitor or two. as you happened upon a gnarled root, you paused to admire the ethereal beauty surrounding you - lush ferns unfurled like emerald fans, while dainty wild orchids bloomed in pastel shades.

suddenly, the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs echoed through the glade. your heart raced with trepidation as you sensed a powerful presence drawing near. as the sounds grow louder, you hide behind a wide oak tree, peeking out curiously. into view strode a tall, muscular man; he moved with the grace of a predator, his movements fluid and purposeful. 

his muscular frame was clad in tight leather armour that accentuated every sculpted curve. in his hand, he gripped a wicked-looking silver dagger, its blade glinting menacingly in the dappled light. his upper face was shielded by a skull mask and when he turned to look in your direction, you gasped silently at the dark brown pits of his eyes. the stranger paused in the centre of the glade, surveying his surroundings with a keen gaze. his eyes fell upon the vibrant wildflowers and he smiled, a flash of white teeth against his dark skin. he knelt down to examine a particularly beautiful blossom, his large hand gently cupping the delicate petals.

you watched as he tugged some flowers from the ground, before bundling them up into a bouquet - a gorgeous artistic masterpiece, if you said so yourself. you poked your head out more, wanting to take a closer look at the flowers he had gathered, but as you leaned forward, your wings brushed against the oak leaves above you. 

the man’s head snapped up, those intense brown eyes scanning the area until they locked onto your hiding spot. the man's deep voice rang out, echoing through the glade. "i know you're there, little one. come out and show yourself."

your heart skipped a beat as you realised the situation you were now in; lewis hamilton, the infamous fairy hunter, stood before you. his reputation most definitely preceded him - tales spoke of his unparalleled hunting skills and the countless fairy lives he'd claimed. and now here he was, mere feet away, those piercing brown eyes boring into you.

"well, well," he drawled, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "aren't you a pretty little thing? i've been searching for quite some time to find a specimen as... delectable as yourself." he took a step closer, his boots crunching against the forest floor, his hand spinning the dagger mockingly, while the other reached out towards you invitingly. 

your wings began to flutter rapidly as you decided to put some distance between yourself and the approaching hunter. with a burst of speed, you darted through the air, weaving between the trees in a dizzying dance. behind you, the sound of pursuit began - heavy footfalls crushing undergrowth, laboured breathing, the occasional curse muttered under lewis’ breath as he gave chase.

your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins. part of you knew you should keep flying until you reached the safety of the deepest parts of the forest or your home, but another part, a traitorously dark voice in the back of your mind, whispered that getting caught might not be so bad. especially if it meant ending up in the arms of such a man.

just as you rounded a tree in the forest, a strong arm suddenly snaked out and wrapped around your waist, yanking you off course. you let out a startled yelp as you found yourself pressed against a solid wall of muscle, lewis’ body pinning you to a broad tree trunk. his free hand came up to wrap firmly around your throat, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his intense gaze.

"gotcha," he growled, a triumphant smirk playing across his lips. "i've been chasing you little minx for a while now. did you really think you could outfly me?" his thumb brushed along your neck as he leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. "now, what shall i do with my pretty little prize?"

“please don't eat me, i know you disgusting humans do that,” you whined, trying to wriggle out of his hold against the tree, but your wings were being scratched up, so you stopped. lewis threw his head back and laughed, a rich, deep sound that sent shivers down your spine. "eat you? oh no, sweet thing. i have much more...appetising plans for a delectable morsel like you." his grip on your throat tightened slightly as his other hand slid down to grab a handful of your plush rear, squeezing the supple flesh possessively.

“owww!” you yelped, trying to crane your neck to see what he was doing, “wait what? you won't eat me...can i go then?”

lewis’ eyes gleamed with mischief and barely restrained hunger as he drank in the sight of your trembling form pinned beneath him. "go? oh, i don't think so, my little fairy. now that i have you right where i want you..." his tongue flicked out to trace the delicate shell of your ear before he nipped at the lobe, sending jolts of sensation straight to your core. "i'm going to take my time exploring every inch of this exquisite body."

with his hand tracing down your collarbone, he ripped open the front of your gossamer gown, exposing your pert breasts to the cool forest air. the other released your rear to slide up your side, calloused fingers skimming over the swell of your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. he cupped the soft mound, thumbing the pebbled peak of your nipple until it strained against the gauzy material. "mmmm, so responsive. i bet you're aching for my touch, aren't you?"

blushing wildly, you watched with awe as lewis cupped your breasts, rubbing them together, “nobody had ever touched me...what does that mean? do humans like to touch other humans?”

lewis's grin turned predatory as he drank in the sight of your trembling form, so innocent yet ripe for corruption. his corruption. "oh, my sweet little lamb," he purred, voice dripping with dark promise. his large, work-roughened hands began their sinister exploration, calloused palms dragging along the silken expanse of your thighs. they crept higher and higher, pushing the fabric of your gown up inch by tantalizing inch until cool air kissed the heated skin of your most intimate areas.

"you have no idea what delights await you, do you?" lewis growled, hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. one hand slid between your legs, cupping your mound possessively while the other wrapped around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse jump.

he captured your lips in a searing kiss, plundering your mouth with his tongue as he backed you further against the tree. his knee nudged insistently between your legs, applying delicious pressure to your most sensitive areas. breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down the column of your throat, sucking and nibbling at the delicate flesh. "i'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he growled against your skin.

"what are you doing to me?" you whimpered breathlessly, slender fingers tangling in lewis' dark hair. despite your words of protest, you found yourself unconsciously grinding your hips against his, craving more of the friction he was giving you.

lewis' fingers delved deeper down your body, stroking along your slick folds with maddeningly light touches. he circled your clit with the pad of his thumb, the bundle of nerves throbbing under his ministrations. "that's it, sweetheart. don't fight it. let the pleasure consume you." 

leaning down, he drew one rosy peak into his hot mouth, suckling greedily as his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud. his fingers never ceased their relentless assault on your aching sex, pumping two digits knuckle-deep into your tight channel while his thumb continued its merciless circling of your clit.

his mouth left a trail of open-mouthed kisses and love bites across your collarbone and down to your other breast, giving it equal attention. all the while, his thumb maintained its torturous pace on your clit, alternating between firm circles and quick flicks. the obscene sounds of your arousal filled the air - the slick glide of his fingers in your soaked folds, your breathy moans and whimpers of overwhelmed bliss.

you trembled and writhed against the tree, your untouched body overwhelmed by the intense sensations. your hips buck erratically, trying to take lewis' invading fingers deeper. "ah! ah! l-lewisss...too much...i c-can't..."

but even as you protest, your inner walls flutter and clench around the digits stretching you open, drawing them in further. the coil of tension winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. tears of overwhelming pleasure prick as you look up at lewis, completely lost to the ecstasy he's inflicting upon your body.

lewis drinks in the debauched sight of you - flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, full lips parted in silent cries of rapture. your response inflamed his desire to new heights. "shh, that's it baby. let go. i've got you," he crooned, voice rough with barely restrained lust. he redoubled his efforts, fingers pumping faster, harder, curling just right to hit that magic spot inside you with every thrust. his thumb pressed down hard on your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub.

sensing you were teetering on the edge, lewis sealed his lips over yours in a filthy kiss, swallowing your keening cries as he pushed you over the edge. his tongue plundered your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his fingers fucking your spasming cunt.

lewis held you close as the waves of your first orgasm crashed over you, your untouched body convulsing in ecstasy. he gentled his touch, letting you ride out each aftershock, fingers still buried deep inside your fluttering sheath. as the last tremors faded, he slowly withdrew, bringing his glistening digits to his mouth to lick them clean with a low moan of appreciation.

"exquisite," he rumbled, dark eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction and renewed hunger. "the taste of your innocence is ambrosial." in one swift motion, he hoisted you up again, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he pinned you more firmly against the tree.

mumbling, you ask lewis about the pressure out your core, leaving you to dig your hands into his shoulders. lewis chuckled lowly, grinding his hips against yours in a slow, deliberate roll. the rigid heat of his cock nestled perfectly against your sensitive folds, stoking the embers of your spent arousal back to life. "this, my sweet fairy, is what happens when a man wants a woman as badly as i want you." he punctuated his words with another purposeful thrust against your folds, letting you feel every thick inch of him.

large hands slid down to cup your ass, kneading the supple flesh as he supported your weight effortlessly. leaning in, he nipped at your earlobe before whispering hotly, "it's called an erection, darling. when a man is so aroused, his cock fills with blood and stiffens, ready to claim his lover."

“claim?” you mumble surprised, your eyes wandering to the thick muscle jutting out from his hips. the thick, veiny member stood proudly erect, pulsating with an insatiable hunger. the bulbous head was a deep, rich purple, oozing with precum that glistened in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

the sight of lewis's imposing member took your breath away, its sheer size both intimidating and exhilarating. you could feel the heat radiating from his flesh, the musky scent of his arousal filling your nostrils and making your head spin with wanton desire.

lewis' eyes flashed with primal hunger at your innocent question. "yes, little one. to claim you, to make you mine in the most intimate way possible." he rolled his hips again, letting you feel the heavy throb of his desire. 

"i'm going to fill this tight little pussy with my cock," he growled against your racing pulse. "stretch you wide and deep until you're screaming my name. pump you full of my seed until it takes root in your womb." his free hand delved between your bodies to rub the broad head of his shaft through your slick folds, coating himself in your essence.

you shivered and gasped as lewis marked your tender skin, leaving a trail of reddening hickeys. thighs quivering around his waist - holding on very tightly you were - as jolts of electricity seem to shoot straight to your core from his teasing touches. "i-i don't understand..." you whimpered confusedly, even as you arched into his possessive hold. "what do you mean, 'until it takes root'?"

despite your innocence, lewis’ words ignites something deep within you, a yearning you don’t fully comprehend but desperately crave. your hips writhe instinctively, trying to draw him closer, to ease the ache building once more in your neglected sex. lewis groaned as your hips rolled against his, the friction delicious torture. he could feel your confusion warring with awakening need, your body responding to instincts older than time itself. "shh, don't think, just feel," he coaxed, voice a dark rumble. "when i say it will take root, i mean i'm going to fill this sweet cunt with so much cum, it might quicken in your belly."

he notched the broad crown of his cock against your entrance, letting you feel how he would split you open on his thick length. "breed you, make you swell with my child. claim you so thoroughly, everyone will know who you belong to." with a flex of his hips, he breached you shallowly, just the tip sinking into your scorching heat.

your high-pitched keen echoed through the forest as lewis' thick tip stretched your virgin entrance. muscles fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, trying to draw him deeper despite the initial burn of the stretch. tears of overwhelmed sensation pricked at the corners of your eyes but were quickly replaced by hazy bliss as you adjusted to the foreign feeling of fullness.

"fuck, so tight," lewis grunted, jaw clenched with the effort of holding back. he savored the exquisite squeeze of your silken walls for a long moment before slowly withdrawing until just the tip remained inside, then pushing forward again with a bit more force. each shallow thrust worked him deeper, your copious arousal easing the way as he claimed your innocence inch by excruciating inch.

he set a steady rhythm, working his thick shaft deeper into your clutching heat with each roll of his hips. the wet squelch of your sex filled the air, punctuated by your breathy moans and his guttural groans. he angled his thrusts to hit that spot inside you with every pass, determined to wring every drop of pleasure from your responsive body.

one large hand slid under your thigh to hitch your leg higher on his hip, opening you wider for his possession. the new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock tickling your sensitive folds. "that's it, take it all like a good fairy," he praised huskily, sweat beading on his brow from the strain of holding back his release.

lewis' gaze flicked to your wings, now fluttering wildly with the intensity of your shared passion. the delicate membranes seemed to pulse in time with your racing heartbeat, a visible manifestation of your growing pleasure. "your wings are so responsive, little fairy," he murmured appreciatively, reaching out to trace a finger along the leading edge. "they quiver like the rest of you, just desperate for more."

emboldened by your reaction, he captured one wing in his large hand, stroking and caressing the sensitive material. his touch sent sparks of electricity dancing across your nerves, adding a new dimension to the overwhelming sensations consuming you. at the same time, he increased the pace of his thrusts, driving into you with deep, powerful strokes that had your back arching off the tree trunk.

lewis groaned deeply, feeling you grip him like a vice as he drove his cock deeper into your willing body. your desperate pleas for more only spurred him on, his hips snapping forward with increased ferocity. "yes, take it all, little fairy," he rasped, one hand reaching up to roughly palm your bouncing breast. he pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers, the added stimulation causing you to keen loudly.

lewis leaned in, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss as he continued to pound into you, his thick shaft stroking your cervix with each powerful thrust. lewis growled into the kiss, the taste of your submission fueling his desire. his tongue plundered your mouth, dominating and claiming every inch. the wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoed in the forest as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

"yes, scream for me, you filthy girl," he grunted, angling his hips to hit that special spot inside you with every deep stroke. his hand on your breast pinched harder, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core. "this greedy cunt was made for my cock, wasn't it? made to be stretched and used for my pleasure." lewis broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, biting and sucking dark marks into your skin. he wanted everyone to see, to know that you belonged to him now - his personal fairy to ruin as he saw fit.

lost in a haze of lust, you could only moan brokenly as lewis took you with animalistic fervour. each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your trembling body, stoking the inferno building in your core.

"yes, yes, yes! don't stop!" you wailed, fingernails raking down his back hard enough to leave red welts. your hips bucked wildly to meet his, taking him impossibly deeper. the coil of tension wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

"i'm... i'm going to..." you panted desperately, inner muscles starting to convulse around his pistoning shaft. tears of overwhelming sensation leaked from the corners of your eyes as you teetered on the knife's edge of release, "please, lewis! use me, ruin me, i'm yours!"

"come for me, now!" lewis barked, his voice a dark, commanding growl. he punctuated his demand with a particularly brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming heat. his fingers dug into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise as he held you in place, using your body like his personal cock sleeve. lewis' own release approached rapidly, balls drawing up tight as your velvety walls rippled along his length.

"that's it, milk my cock like the desperate cumslut you are!" he snarled through gritted teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chased his high. "scream my name as i fill this needy cunt with my seed!"

"lewis!" you screamed, back arching sharply as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. your vision whited out, every nerve ending igniting with mind-numbing pleasure. your pussy clamped down hard on his pistoning cock, rhythmically squeezing and massaging his shaft as if trying to wring out every last drop of his cum.

lewis let out a feral roar as your pussy vise-gripped his cock, the rhythmic squeezing and gushing flood triggering his own explosive climax. with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside your spasming channel. his heavy balls drew up tight and then pulsed as he began to paint your insides white with his seed.

"fuck yes! take it all you perfect little fairy slut!" he bellowed, hips jerking erratically as spurt after spurt of hot, virile cum pumped directly into your unprotected womb. the sheer volume was staggering - it seemed like he would never stop coming, filling you to overflowing with his potent essence. 

even as the last weak spurts dribbled out, lewis kept you pinned, ensuring not a single drop escaped your stuffed hole.

as the final tremors of your shared climax faded, lewis slumped against you, pinning you to the tree with his larger frame. both of you were panting heavily, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. a fine sheen of sweat coated your skin, making it glisten in the dappled forest light.

slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled out of your abused hole with a wet squelch. a river of pearly white semen immediately began to leak out, dripping obscenely down your thighs. he watched in satisfaction as your gaping, twitching cunt tried valiantly to close around nothing, still fluttering like your wings, weakly from the aftershocks.

"there we go," he rumbled, voice rough with spent passion. "marked you inside and out now. everyone will smell my claim on you."

boneless and sated, your legs wobbled precariously as you slumped against the rough bark of the tree trunk, barely able to hold yourself upright. every movement sent pleasant aftershocks zinging through your nerve endings, a delicious ache settling deep in your core - a physical reminder of the thorough claiming you had just endured.

your chest heaved with ragged breaths, sweat-dampened skin glistening in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above. your wings hung limply at your sides, the delicate membranes twitching occasionally.

lewis's words finally penetrated the haze of post-coital bliss, causing a pretty flush to bloom across your cheeks. you ducked your head shyly, suddenly acutely aware of your nakedness and vulnerability. the way he said 'claim', so possessively and definitively, sent a shiver down your spine.

"i... i mean, we can't just..." you started to protest weakly, but your voice trailed off uncertainly. 

lewis chuckled lowly, a deep, rumbling sound of masculine satisfaction. his eyes glittered with amusement and undisguised desire as he drank in the sight of you - flushed, dishevelled, and marked with the evidence of your coupling. finding your sudden coyness utterly endearing after the shameless way you'd begged for his cock mere moments before, he reached out to gently but firmly tilt your chin up with the tip of his finger.

"oh but we can, little fairy," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rasp dripping with smug male pride. "and we did. your sweet, needy little cunt is absolutely drenched in my seed right now. there's no use denying the truth - your body knows who it belongs to." tracing his fingers through the mess leaking from your slit, he gathered a generous amount of your combined cum, bringing the slick digits to your face, pressing them against your closed lips. a breathy whimper escaped you, the intimate taste of your combined juices sending a shockwave of renewed desire straight to your core. your tongue darted out instinctively, lapping at the offered digits with kittenish licks. the heady, musky flavour burst across your taste buds - an erotic cocktail of your most intimate essences mingling together.

"mmmm, that's it baby girl," lewis groaned appreciatively, his half-lidded eyes dark with lust as he watched you, "taste how perfectly we are together. how your greedy little holes were made to milk my cock."

he pushed his fingers deeper past your lips, coating your tongue thoroughly before withdrawing with a wet pop. a string of saliva connected his fingertips to your bottom lip briefly before breaking.

you hums around his fingers, eyes fluttering shut, savouring the taste. when you open them again, they're hazy with rekindling desire, pupils blown wide and dark with need. slowly, almost hypnotically, you begin to suckle his fingers clean, hollowing cheeks and swirling your tongue around each digit. lewis groans, eyes darkening once again as he watches you clean his fingers. the sight of your pink little tongue lapping at his digits, coupled with the lewd sounds you make, has his spent cock already starting to stir with interest once more.

"that's it, good girl," he praises huskily, pressing his fingers deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth. "such an eager little thing, aren't you? already ready for more." his other hand slides down to palm your ass possessively, kneading the soft globe and pulling you flush against him. you can feel the growing bulge of his reawakening erection nudging insistently against your belly.

“i think this greedy body of yours needs another thorough claiming,” lewis rumbles, voice thick with renewed desire.

“wait...do i need to tell the fairy elders about this?” you gasp, placing a hand against his thick biceps.

lewis paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his handsome features at your question before it was quickly replaced by a wicked, devilish grin. he leaned in close, his lips brushing maddeningly against the delicate shell of your ear as he spoke in a low, conspiratorial murmur.

"tell the elders? oh darling, where would be the fun in that?" he purred, his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin and eliciting a full-body shudder from you. "no, i think what transpired between us here should remain our own special secret, don't you agree?"

as if to punctuate his words, lewis’ large hand slid from the plush curve of your ass, tangling his fingers in the strands of your hair.

lewis’ lips curved into a wicked smirk against your skin as he continued his sensual assault, punctuating each word with a nip or kiss. "besides," he purred, voice muffled and low, "i have a feeling you rather enjoyed our little rendezvous. the way you mewled so sweetly, begged so prettily to be stuffed full..."

his wandering hand drifted higher, fingertips ghosting feather-light over the swell of your breast, teasing the sensitive skin. lewis pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes blazing with mischief and barely contained hunger. they raked over your face hungrily, taking in every detail of your debauched expression.

"i bet a naughty part of you wants to keep this our deliciously dirty secret too," he rumbled, voice dropping to a seductive growl.

“to sneak away and let me ravish you whenever the urge strikes us both,”

“yes lewis...when can i see you again then?” you gasp, grinding against this thigh once more

lewis groaned deeply, a guttural sound of pure masculine need, as you breathed his name like a prayer. your obvious desperation only stoked the flames of his own raging desire. he bucked his hips forward, grinding the thick, rigid line of his erection against your quivering stomach. even through the thin barrier of his trousers, you could feel the scorching heat of him, the impressive girth straining against the confines of the fabric.

"soon, my insatiable little minx," he promised darkly, his voice a low, rough rasp edged with barely restrained hunger. "very, very soon." lewis’ grip on your hair tightened possessively as he held your gaze with smouldering intensity. "meet me at the western border of the woods tomorrow night."

lewis captured your lips in a searing, dominating kiss, his tongue plunging deep to claim every inch of your mouth. he poured all his ravenous hunger and dark promises into the passionate embrace, kissing you until your knees went weak and your head spun with dizzying desire. when he finally released you, you were left panting and aching, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of his kiss.

"until then," lewis murmured huskily against your kiss-bruised lips, giving your plump bottom lip a sharp, teasing nip. his eyes glinted with mischief and wicked intent. "try not to slip your hand between your thighs too many times while imagining it's me touching you. i know how badly this needy little body craves my attention."

you tilt your head, batting your lashes up at him with wide-eyed innocence even as a faint blush colours your cheeks, “touching myself? what's that, lewis?” your voice coming out breathy and uncertain, belying the molten heat pooling low in your belly at lewis’ heated words and bold touches.

he chuckles darkly at your innocence, shaking his head in amused disbelief. he leans in close, voice lowering to a sinful whisper, “oh you sweet, naive little thing. touching yourself means playing with this pretty pink pussy,” he purrs, cupping your mound possessively, “...and rubbing these soft petals until you're writhing and moaning, begging for release,”

lewis grinds the heel of his palm against your clothed sex, applying delicious pressure, “i know you'll be tempted to do just that, imagining it's my hands on you instead. my fingers filling you, stretching you…”

but he dips his head to nip at your earlobe, tugging it gently with his teeth, “but you'd better not, understand? this greedy cunt belongs to me now,”

you nod eagerly, watching as lewis’ pupils blow out once against with darkened lust. he smirks at your breathy agreement, pleased by your submission. he rewards you with a firm grind of his palm against your core, relishing the needy whimper it elicits.

“until tomorrow night then, my insatiable little fairy,” he growls, voice dripping with dark promise, “dream of me...and try to behave until i can get my hands on you again,”

lewis turns to leave, pausing to look back over his shoulder with a roguish wink, “don't keep me waiting too long, sweetheart. you know how impatient i get...and how thoroughly i punish naughty girls who make me wait,”

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© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[ssahotchnerr]

could we maybe get some momfriend!reader and jack dynamics, maybe from before her and Aaron were even together?

something special

<333 cw; fem!bau!reader, very tiny blood description (& yes i know you're supposed to wash a paper cut right away but for the sake of the setting and aaron being cute i didn't include that step 😭), mentions of haley, mutual pining

"whatcha drawing?" you asked mid-writing, your pen flying across your paper but still finding the opportunity to peek over.

"spiderman and superman." jack replied happily, switching from a red to a blue crayon. "see, they're teaming up to fight the bad guy because he keeps doin' crimes."

about an hour or so ago, jessica had dropped off jack at the bau. long story short; she was called into work urgently and with aaron in a meeting, you were quick to volunteer yourself to keep him company. rather than cramming into the small space of your desk, and jack potentially hearing conversations or details not fit for a six year old, you've made home in the roundtable room. you could work, jack could color.

you had also fired off a quick text to aaron; letting him know jack was with you, a brief synopsis of the situation and where he could find you both once his meeting concluded. it had, and he was about to join, but found himself pausing outside the door, listening to your easy, lighthearted conversation for just a moment.

when it came to you and jack, there was just something about it. something extraordinarily special.

"i see," you nodded along to jack's words, an encouraging smile on your face. "that's really good. since when did you become an artist?"

"since always." jack grinned proudly.

"then you have to promise you'll make me a drawing soon. my desk is pretty boring, i need something to brighten it up." you held out your pinky, eyebrows raised. "promise?"

"i promise." jack linked his pinky with yours, and turned back to his masterpiece with renewed vigor.

a sense of warmth filled aaron's chest, the ends of his lips turning upwards into a faint smile at the natural bond you and jack had developed so quickly, over the course of a few weeks. deciding it was as good a time as ever to join, aaron reached out to fully open the door when a wince-gasp came from jack, stopping him.

"oh no," your head turned. "paper cut?"

jack nodded meekly, grimacing as his gaze shifted to you. his big, sweet eyes were tearful, "it stings."

"can i see?" he offered his hand limply, hanging downwards at the wrist. you cradled his small hand in yours; it was just a tiny cut - no more than a few centimeters, a faint line of red gradually seeping to the surface.

"hm, well," you huffed a breath, turning his hand face-up face-down - vaguely exaggerating the examination. you got up to retrieve the first-aid kit stationed in the room, aaron sidestepping a bit to keep out of potential view. "i think luck was on your side today, i don't think we'll have to amputate this time." you spoke with an airy tone, quick to bring light to the situation. it worked, jack stifling a laugh as you retook your seat. "nothing a bandaid can't fix."

there was the click of kit opening, a slight shuffle of what sounded like paper.

"and don't tell anyone i told you this," you applied a bit of ointment onto the bandaid before wrapping it onto his finger - not too tight or too loose, all to avoid cutting off circulation and to let the wound breathe. "we gotta keep extra band aids around because your dad always seems to get one himself."

"dad gets paper cuts? really?" jack's eyes widened in surprise.

just as his son, a breathless chuckle exited aaron; that wasn't necessarily true, but your intentions were clear: cheering jack up.

in addition, the last time he had heard someone talking to or interacting with jack like this - empathetically, attentively, motherly, was, well... haley.

it touched the usually unattended part of his heart that had been vastly empty since the divorce. since that one, horrible day. while the emptiness still lingered, you had made a pull at it. for a moment, you had healed it, even.

again, there was just something special about you. and again, the only way aaron could describe it was extraordinary.

"really." you nodded convincingly, tossing the little plastic scraps into the nearby trash bin, giving top of jack's hand a consoling pat. "it happens all the time."

aaron mentally rolled his eyes at that, a smile itching at his lips.

jack picked up his brown crayon, pain forgotten, eager to get back to his drawing. "i'm gonna draw daddy and put a bandaid on him. he's a superhero too, y'know?"

"yeah," your smile was rather bashful, your tone of voice so admirable it caused a blush to rise in aaron's cheek. "i know."

[luminique]

the post abt tying a bow around lighters biceps has me thinking abt that thing where you test out different lipstick shades by covering ur partner in kiss marks n seeing what one looks best,,,,, and no I would not limit myself to his face

i think about this prompt like A LOT. as someone who lurvesss wearing lipstick, i genuinely think that he’d be the perfect candidate for it.

lucy prefers to ask you for makeup recommendations and purchasing it. not that she doesn’t trust lighter but after talking to you, you seemed to know more about it than he did. whenever it came to purchasing makeup, she’d ask you to go along with lighter to lumina square.

this was also a good way to buy some new products for yourself, a win win situation. there was a huge sale at the store for some products and many of them were lipsticks, you couldn’t possibly pass up on this opportunity. you both arrive back in blazewood, giving all of the girls what they requested for. with your own goodies in hand, it was time to do a little try-on to see which ones were worth the money.

back in your room, you began trying each one. swatching them on your hand then on your lips. the colors all looked good on you but there were a few things you couldn’t really test out this way. as if he magically knew, lighter knocked on your door, waiting for your permission before entering.

“burnice told me that there’s another nitro-fu- what are you doing?” he stopped in his tracks as he watched you try to kiss the back of your hand. he was confused at the sight, unsure of how to react. “did i… come at a bad time or is there a problem with my kissing?” he asked bluntly, thinking that there was some sort of explanation as to what you were doing. he didn’t think he was bad at kissing but maybe you were just to nice to tell him?

“oh, no. you’ve come at just the right time. i need to test these out and i think you’re the perfect test subject.” you held out your lipsticks to him and at first, he had flashbacks of when the girls put makeup on him because he lost in a drinking game against burnice. as your lover, he’d do anything you asked but he was ready to raise his hands up in protest to not be embarrassed again.

your smile never faltered though and you could see through his sunglasses. “just sit down and let me kiss you,” you reassured him and just like that, he was sat on the edge of your bed, obediently awaiting your kisses. in the privacy of your room, he could be as unapologetically needy and in love with you without having to act all cool.

your hand felt so gentle on his face, as if you’d hurt him in some way. you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, the lipstick leaving quite the mark on him. he was a little bummed that it wasn’t on his lips but hey, a kiss is a kiss. you continued peppering his face in kisses, taking a moment between each one to change your lipstick.

he was turning into putty, each kiss made his heart beat faster. he wasn’t sure how many different kinds of lipstick you had, they were all the same to him. by the end of it, his face and neck were practically covered with your kisses. you examined each one carefully, he was beginning to feel a little shy from how close you were to him.

“you’re turning red, lighter. i can’t decide which lipstick looks good if your cheeks are the same shade!” you told him jokingly. this made his blush even worse actually, trying to hide his embarrassment by clearing his throat. “i think you look good in all of them…” he mumbled to himself, knowing that you’d hear it too.

“i want to know which one would look good when i kiss you. i think the third one has the nicest contrast with your hair.” your fingers went up to his hair, twirling it as you took a good look at your ‘masterpiece’. when you kiss him…. his thoughts were everywhere now, just the idea that people know you left those marks on him had his head spinning.

he pulled down his glasses just a little to be able to look at you. “we can always test even more, i’m all yours,” the words fell out of his mouth with no hesitation. both of you had nothing else to do for the rest of the day, there was definitely a lot more of his body that you could try your lipstick on until you were satisfied.

[estellesdoll]

　𓈒. the comfort of you . 𝜚 . m. sturniolo

ᡣ𐭩﹒𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Y/N and Matt enjoy a lively Halloween celebration with his brothers, filled with laughter and treats.

ᡣ𐭩﹒𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : dad!matt x pregnant!reader

ᡣ𐭩﹒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.5 k

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The camera flickered on, filling the screen with the cozy, festive glow of the Sturniolo kitchen, all decorated for Halloween. It was one of those rare days when I joined Matt and his brothers, Nick and Chris, in front of the camera. Matt kept his arm around me, his warm smile making me feel at ease amid the Halloween chaos surrounding us.

Nick practically bounced with excitement as he took his spot on camera, his energy contagious as always. “Alright, everyone! Welcome to the Halloween special you didn’t know you needed!” He gestured toward me with a grin. “Today, we’re lucky enough to have my brother’s gorgeous girlfriend, Y/N, joining us!”

I laughed, feeling a little shy. “Hey, everyone! Ready for some fun Halloween treats?”

Chris grabbed a particularly odd-looking treat and examined it with a theatrical grimace. “Y/N’s got the right idea. This stuff looks terrifying. I’m not sure if this is a treat or a straight-up prank.”

Matt chuckled beside me, taking a piece of candy from my hand with a grin. “Guess I’ll be the one to test it first. I mean, someone’s gotta be the brave one around here, right?”

Nick feigned offense. “Oh, brave one, huh? Alright, let’s see you tackle this one.” He held up a neon-colored candy that looked suspiciously like it had been through the apocalypse.

Chris snickered, waving it around like it was some kind of rare artifact. “Matt, if you can survive this, I’ll believe anything.”

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, Matt took a tiny bite and immediately scrunched his face. “Oh, that is…not right. Okay, I take it back—no one should eat this.”

Before I knew it, I was laughing so hard I could barely stand straight. Their energy was electric, and I loved being part of it. Even if Matt kept a careful eye on every treat I tried, making sure I only picked the safest ones, I could feel the warmth of his care.

Chris, never one to be outdone, suddenly leaped onto the table and began striking poses, rolling his shoulders back and flipping his hair like he was on a runway. “Look at me! I am the Halloween masterpiece!”

Matt laughed and shook his head. “Chris, get down from there before you break something, or worse, kick someone.”

But Chris was on a roll, doing exaggerated model poses while Nick threw candies at him. He raised his leg dramatically, accidentally swinging it close to my baby bump, and I instinctively took a step back. Before I could blink, Matt was in front of me, placing a protective hand on my shoulder and throwing his other hand out to steady Chris.

“Chris, seriously! Watch it!” he scolded, half-laughing but with a clear protective edge in his voice.

Chris backed off with his hands up in mock surrender, his expression mischievous. “Relax, relax! Just showing off for the fans.”

Nick shook his head, pretending to be the voice of reason. “Dude, you are chaos incarnate.”

After Matt made sure I was okay, he let out a small sigh, his hand still resting lightly on my shoulder. His protectiveness sent a warm, comforting feeling through me, and I couldn’t help but reach over to squeeze his hand.

The taste test continued, the guys daring each other to try the most suspicious-looking treats while throwing in jokes and snarky comments. At one point, Nick shoved a particularly ghastly-looking candy my way with a grin. “Y/N, how brave are you feeling?”

I eyed it skeptically. “I’ll pass, thanks! I think that’s all yours, Nick.”

“Smart move,” Matt said with a chuckle, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing me gently. “Trust me, there’s no need to prove your bravery here.”

The candy tasting carried on, with Nick and Chris engaging in an ongoing competition of who could eat the worst treat without gagging. Every few minutes, Matt would check on me, his concern showing through the playful chaos. And every time he gave me that gentle smile, I felt this overwhelming sense of comfort and happiness.

Toward the end of the video, Chris decided to “close out” by dramatically flinging himself onto the counter in a final, extravagant pose. “Thank you, thank you!” he announced, waving at an imaginary audience. “I know, I’m fabulous.”

Nick scoffed, playfully shoving him off the counter. “That’s a wrap, people!”

As we wrapped up filming, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for being part of such a lively, warm group. Matt turned to me, a gentle smile on his face. “You ready to get some air?”

I nodded, chuckling as he took my hand and led me down the hall. “Be right back, guys!” he called, leaving his brothers still bantering over which candy had been the absolute worst.

The sounds from the kitchen faded as we stepped into Matt’s room. He shut the door behind us, creating a peaceful cocoon from the lively chaos we’d just left. I looked around, taking in the soft light and the cozy space that felt so uniquely Matt’s, every part of it familiar and comforting.

He turned to me, pulling me into his arms. “Finally, some peace and quiet,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I love my brothers, but sometimes…”

“Sometimes you need a break?” I finished for him, laughing. “I totally get it.”

He nodded, leaning his forehead against mine with a soft smile. “Exactly. I was actually thinking…maybe we could take a little holiday, just the two of us. Somewhere quiet, away from everything and everyone.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? You mean, like a getaway?”

He nodded, his blue eyes shining with warmth. “Yeah, a cozy little place where we could just relax and spend time together before everything changes with the baby. Maybe a cabin somewhere, or a beach if you’re up for it. Just us, no interruptions.”

“An escape from Nick and Chris’s constant pranks?” I teased, grinning.

“Something like that,” he laughed, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Mostly, I just want time with you.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through me, and I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You know, that sounds perfect. I’d love that. Where were you thinking?”

“Honestly, anywhere. As long as you’re there, it doesn’t really matter.” He gazed down at me, his expression soft. “We could just be by ourselves for a while, you know? Just us.”

I felt a blush creep up, his words melting my heart. “Then let’s do it. Wherever you want to go.”

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. “I just can’t believe how happy you make me. It’s like…everything’s right when we’re together.”

I rested my head on his chest, letting his words wash over me. “I feel the same. Being with you, it’s like everything just falls into place.”

He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You know, I thought I’d never be the kind of guy to want to settle down, but with you…” He trailed off, his gaze growing tender. “I feel like I could stay like this forever.”

His confession made my heart race. I looked up at him, unable to hide the smile on my face. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

We stood there in silence for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. He gently took my hand and led me over to his bed, pulling me down beside him. We lay together, fingers intertwined, just soaking in the warmth of being close.

He turned to me, his gaze filled with affection. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

I smiled, brushing my fingers along his cheek. “And you’re everything to me. I can’t wait for our future together.”

His blue eyes softened, and he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” I whispered, my heart feeling full. The moment felt so perfect, like everything had led up to this. Just him, me, and the endless possibilities ahead of us.

As we lay there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, I couldn’t help but imagine all the adventures we’d have together—the quiet moments, the laughter, and the joy of sharing our lives. And in that cozy, private space, with Matt’s arms around me and our future stretching out before us, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.

I felt a smile grow across my face, and I snuggled closer, laying my head against his shoulder. As he wrapped his arm around me, I placed my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my fingers. I sighed, letting my eyes drift closed.

He gently ran his fingertips along my jaw, drawing my attention back up to him. His eyes were dark with longing, and I found myself holding my breath as he leaned in. His lips barely brushed against mine, sending shivers down my spine. My heart pounded in my chest, and I pressed my palm against the warm skin of his back, pulling him closer. He deepened the kiss, and my breath caught in my throat.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, until my lips were swollen and my pulse was racing. As we finally broke apart, I saw the desire written plainly on his face, and I felt a flush creeping up my neck.

We both laughed at the same time, and I felt a blush spreading across my cheeks. I shook my head, pressing a kiss to his chest.

I pulled away, smiling at him. "It's funny how things change, isn't it?"

"It is," he murmured, his eyes sparkling. "But it's the best kind of change, isn't it?"

"The best."

I smiled and lay my head on his chest, feeling a strange fluttering in my stomach. We lay there in comfortable silence for a while, and I couldn't help but think about how lucky I was. I never could have imagined this back when we first met.

As I looked up at him, I saw the same look in his eyes that I'd seen before. The look that said he loved me.And I knew that no matter what the future held, we'd face it together.

﹒◟send me your requests and use an emoji if you want to stay anonymous. 𓂃

@.estellesdoll

[foone]

The rules are simple: Two wizards. Two pistols. No magic.

Now, don't misunderstand: "No magic" of course means "no magic now". The pistols are constructed using magic, of course. Wizards don't carry unenchanted firearms, that'd be silly. You don't spend years learning to bend all the rules of spacetime just to make a gun that shoots lead bullets using exploding powder. No magic just means you don't cast a shield spell while you're taking aim. But if you want to bring a gun you've designed to cast a shield itself when drawn? Go nuts.

So most wizards will have a dedicated dueling gun for these reasons. You want something that helps against the other wizard's enchantments, something that protects you from the effects of their bullets, and casts some protective magic on you. Shields, invisibility, illusions, healing... Your dueling pistol is usually a tricked out masterpiece of everything you know about magic and firearms.

Which is why this pistol in front of you is so worrying.

It's basically virgin. This is the product of a skilled gunsmith, not a wizard. There's no shields, no infinite ammunition, no enchantments on the bullets, which are mere lead and brass. There's some low level enchantments to strengthen the barrel from misfires, and the powder is enhanced to ensure it's always enough. That's the kind of magic you'd find on a pistol you buy from an average gun store, and it'd cost you only a few coins. This is the weapon of an unmagical security guard or a robber, not the dueling weapon of a world-class magician.

Veynor turned up his magic sense as far as he could without melting his eyes out of his head. Could it have an enchantment to hide other enchantments? No, unless they're being powered by half a city's worth of power. And even if they were, that much anti-magic would hide the low level enhancements on the barrel and the powder.

He asks if he can examine the bullets. "Bullet", says the nameless wizard, pulling out the empty magazine and showing it to Veynor. They pull back the slide and eject a single bullet, grabbing it in their other hand with practiced ease. They hand it over, and Veynor stares at it with the kind of intensity you only see when someone is looking not with their eyes. It's... Lead. Lead and powder and brass and a primer and the only magic here just makes sure the powder is sufficient to fire it. That's the kind of enchantment that you cast on a whole batch of bullets to ensure none will misfire, not the kind a wizard intricately carves into each bullet individually to give them a fighting chance in a magic battle.

Veynor hands back the bullet, and the nameless wizard loads it back in their pistol. It's a bluff, it has to be. They're trying to scare me, he thinks. Wizards know the inverse rule of subtlety and power. Your average wizard throwing fireballs and lightning is a student still in their first few years, while an old master will not need to do anything as flashy. They'll just wave a hand dismissively and your entire family line going back seven generations will retroactively be erased... So this has to be a trick. They know they're outclassed (Veynor has been at this for decades, after all), and are trying to psych him out. With a gun this cheap and unpowerful, they're betting that the more powerful wizard will call off the duel out of imagined danger.

Too bad. Veynor is not blinking at the bluff... "Let's do this".

They face away from each other, as if they could only see from their eyes. Veynor holds his pistol high, and the nameless wizard holsters it, their arrogance apparently extending to not needing to have it ready to fire. Another attempt at bluffing, as if Veynor could even call it off now. The rules are clear, and wizard rules aren't the kind you break without consequences.

They take their requisite ten paces, and Veynor flips around and takes aim, his pistol setting up shields and blurring his image as he takes aim at... Nothing? Where's the nameless wizard?! Did he flee? Veynor didn't feel any ripples from a teleport, he must have gone invisible. His gun continues casting spells on him, and he feels the enhanced vision kick in. The morning mist fades and the clouds in the distance come into view, but still no nameless wizard.

Veynor swears. The nameless wizard must have cheated. There's no way that gun could have done this. If it could, he would have seen the enchantment. Well, if they're cheating... He casts a review spell, rewinding time in his mind and watching the duel again. They face away, the take the steps. 1,2,3...

The cloud parts in the distance. There's a rumbling in the ground. Even with enhanced vision it's not obvious what happens. Veynor tries to dismiss the review magic but their magical control is going haywire. Something is very, very wrong. They start to feel like they're being pulled out to sea by an undertow, as the ambient mana field is suddenly becoming a raging river pulling past them.

In their vision, they see the nameless wizard stop at the end of their paces, and turn as they reach for their pistol. As the review ends, they see the holster glow with the colorless light of magic, as an enchantment activates. That's their trick, they placed magic on the holster! But what kind? And what's happening in the sky?

The clouds part to a black circle with a silver rim. The circle grows in size, seemingly, an Veynor casts a farsight spell now to see this from another angle. Casting his vision miles to the side, he sees the circle is a tube descending from the clouds at a shallow angle, pointed right at him... Oh sweet silent mother, that's the barrel of the pistol. It's now big enough to cross the inland sea, with a caliber better described in miles.

The sky goes dark as the barrel blots out the sun, the shadow stretching halfway to the way station at the edge of the wizarding wastes. With his senses stretched by the enchantments on his gun, he sees the events happening in slow motion. There's a click, and a hammer starts moving towards the back of the bullet.

Veynor tries to set up a teleport, an emergency one to anywhere, anyplace, any time but here. The flowing mana is making it difficult but he sees a destination: the abandoned fortress at the other end of the wastes. It'll be easier to get to than outside the wastes, and it'll give him time to set up another jump. The sky shatters as a sound starts coming his way.

With his slowed time sense, it'll be minutes before he can hear the gunshot, but already the shockwave is visible, even to the unaided eye. The bullet is supersonic, however, so no matter what happens he'll never hear that gunshot: either he teleports out of here or the bullet turns him and half the landscape into a fine paste.

He focuses his vision on the fortress, concentrating on finishing the teleport. The soundwave of the gunshot hits the fortress in his sight beyond sight, and it doesn't collapse, exactly, so much as cease being a structure and reverts back to a thousand small stones no longer sharing any association with each other.

With his destination destroyed, his teleport fizzles. The sky is still dark, but the mana flowing towards him has sped up to the point where he's having trouble staying upright, as his footing gets shakier and shakier. He looks up and sees the slug moving towards him at a bit more than the speed of sound, and he closes his eyes.

It doesn't help, his magical senses continue to show him the movement of objects around him, right up until the moment of impact.

The barrier around the wizard wastes goes white, and slowly fades back down through the colors until it returns to its normal semi-transparency.

The nameless wizard catches the hot brass in their right hand, before it hits the rapidly solidifying bedrock under their feet. The wizard wastes are self-healing (you'd be surprised how much even the average wizard duel destroys the landscape), but that's no reason to litter. They look at the deep crater they find themselves in, and start planning a route up the side. Most of it is still flowing, with the sand and rock intermixing in their white hot state, but there's spots here and there that are cooling quicker.

They could try a teleport, but it's a nice day for a bit of rock climbing. Besides, like they always say: half the trick of being a wizard is knowing when not to use magic. And right now the local mana field is a bit chaotic, having just gone through the equivalent of the Chicxulub impact.

They hike up their robes and begin to climb. Their feet may be heat proof, but they don't want to singe their robe again. It's a lot harder to enchant wool with heat protection spells, something to do with how the will of the former owner interferes. They make a note to do more research into the inherent magical abilities of sheep, once they climb out of this crater. Behind them, rocky ejecta finally crashes back into the crater. They wonder if the barrier has a roof, or if they just flung rocks onto the moons. They'll have to ask one of the lunar residents later, and make amends for any property damage.

They'll have to get lunch after this, all this climbing is working up an appetite. Maybe some mutton chops, since they were thinking about sheep? There's a good place on the bigger moon, they haven't been there in a while.

On the moon, there's a small impact, a puff of dust thrown up into the (lack of) air and slowly drifting back down. In the puddle-sized crater, a heavily enchanted pistol lies, still in perfect shape. The engraving on the side, readable in all languages, says "if found, return to Veynor". The dust lands on it, slowly burying it.