#we ignore the missing staircase

[violettssims]

why are the build gods on my side today... this is a little suspicious...

[fantasywritten]

ship tag drop!

… wow i have a lot of ships lol… and yet i still want more 👀

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Five

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Physical injury (i.e., Rhys and Cassian recovering post-Koschei), fluff, mating ceremonyyyyyyyyy (y'all I'm so excited I got so emotional writing this one)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It was strange how the absence of things could be so obvious. How silence could be more obnoxious than a crowded room. 

Three weeks had passed since Koschei’s death, and everyone was afraid to bring attention to the glaring absence of Cassian’s arm and Rhysand’s wings. 

At every meal, Nesta carefully cut up the Lord of Bloodshed’s food, and every night, Rhysand winnowed up to his bedroom. He no longer needed a wheelchair to move around, but walking up the stairs was a battle he won only half the time.

Azriel’s shadows were still missing. Gone to the wind. But their whispers grew in strength each day and Azriel would strain his ear to hear them. It gave you both hope that they’d return in time. 

“Daddy.” 

Rhysand froze halfway up the stairs, leaning against the wall with his legs crossed at the ankles. He subtly hid his hand behind his back, concealing the cane he relied on to walk around his own home. 

“Yes, Nyx.” 

The boy stood with his mother, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. Her wings were on full display, as were Nyx’s, in preparation for their daily flying lessons. For the first time, Rhysand would be unable to join them.

“We’re going flying. Do you… do you want to watch?” Nyx smiled shyly, one arm wrapped around his mother’s leg as he stared at the ground. “I can finally summon my wings during free fall. Just like we practiced.”

Rhysand strained to smile. “Go ahead with your mother. I’ll join you on the balcony soon.” 

“Ok,” the boy murmured and walked down the hall towards his parents’ bedroom. 

Feyre moved to be with her husband, her wings disappearing in a melting of light. She gently cupped his face in her hands. 

“It’s ok, my love,” Rhysand whispered, kissing her palms. Feyre smoothed back the swoop of hair that fell over his forehead. The strands were damp with sweat. “I don’t want you to keep Nyx waiting.” 

“Nyx is a patient boy. More patient than his father.” 

Rhys chuckled, blinking away tears. It was silly to hide these emotions from Feyre — she felt everything he did — but he wanted to at least try to be strong. To be her equal. Her High Lord. 

“Take your time, Rhys.” Her lips brushed against his and a piece of that ache in his chest fizzled out. It was incredible how his mate and wife could ease his burden with such a small touch. “I’ll be waiting with our son.” 

The moment Feyre disappeared into their bedroom and shut the door, Rhysand snapped his cane in half. Wood splinters flew out, embedding themselves in the wall and in the staircase, and he threw what remained down the stairs. 

Feyre, with all her love and patience, gave him the space to be angry. To grieve. But it helped her to know that Cassian, Azriel, and Emerie were already on their way. 

Rhysand made it to the third floor landing without his cane before the pain in his back became impossible to ignore. He sank to the floor. 

“Rhys—” The trio crowded around him. 

“Don’t say a fucking word, Cass.” They froze beside him, tucking their wings in tight. “I used to think the steps to the House of Wind were hard. Now I can’t even climb the stairs in my own fucking house.”

He hated this. He hated this with a burning passion. He was meant to be High Lord. He should have been at Feyre’s side, shaking out his wings and getting ready to taste the wind with his son. Instead here he was, sweat-soaked and shaking in front of his brothers and Emerie. 

After his mother and Selene’s death, he’d promised himself he would never lose his wings. They were a physical reminder of his Illyrian heritage. A heritage which so often went unseen beneath the veneer of a High Lord. Decades spent Under the Mountain had only cemented that promise in blood and salt. 

Amarantha may have stolen many things from him, but she’d never taken his wings. She’d never touched them. She’d never even seen them. 

Poison-laced calls of Amarantha’s whore and half-breed had always paled in comparison to the freedom of flying. A freedom he no longer had. 

“I’m not an Illyrian anymore,” Rhysand whispered grimly. The muscles in his back rolled, and even that small movement sent a thread of pain down his spine.  

Cassian and Azriel were stunned into silence. But not Emerie. Her gaze was too piercing, her tone too frank and unrelenting as she said, “My mother died without her wings.” 

Rhysand looked up at the female, slender and sharp as a blade. 

“At thirty-seven years old her father took a butcher’s knife and hacked them off before burying them in the snow just outside Windhaven.” She cocked her head to the side. “Tell me, was she not an Illyrian then?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Rhysand said pathetically. 

“It’s exactly what you meant. But you’re wrong. Your wings don’t make you an Illyrian, Rhys. If they did, myself and over half the females in those camps would have been banished from Illyria a long time ago.” 

There was a silence that followed, tense and filled with guilt until Emerie spoke again. 

“Do you know what they say about you in the camps? And I’m not talking about the males who whisper half-breed behind your back.” 

Rhysand took his head. 

“The young females whisper about the day you’ll find them worthy enough to steal away to Velaris — to your precious city you’d never let come to harm. They talk about the shops they’d get to see with the frosted cakes in the windows and the enchanted houses where they wouldn’t have to slave away over a stove or wring towels until their hands bled. That one day, you’ll recognize that they’re dreamers too who’ve only had their worst nightmares come true. The older ones are wiser than that. They don’t talk about escaping to a city they don’t know and don’t love, surrounded by strangers who might call them lesser-fae. They build their lives in the cold, and when the males come to burn it down, they either endure and build it up again, or they fight back however they can.” 

Emerie regarded him carefully, eyes halting on his violet eyes and the sharpness of his ears. 

“Wings don’t make you an Illyrian,” she repeated, “It’s in your blood. It’s what you're born into and the hands that raise you. Never say “I’m not an Illyrian” again, do you understand me?”

Rhysand swallowed the burning lump in his throat. Touched the short tips of his ears and wiped the tears gathering in his violet eyes. 

“Azriel, could you—could you bring me my cane? Please?” 

His brother walked down the steps without hesitation and retrieved the broken halves. 

It was a thing of beauty and strength, carved from ironwood and stained so dark it may as well have been sliced from a night sky. Rhysand put the two pieces together and closed his eyes. 

It was easy, miniscule magic to put the cane back together and far more difficult a feat to stand upright once again. He might have toppled backwards if not for Emerie. She gave him her shoulder to lean against.

“Still an Illyrian,” he murmured. 

It was a promise to himself and to his family. To the three Illyrian warriors who had found him. 

“Still an Illyrian.” Emerie patted his arm. “I understand you’ll still feel some self-pity for a while. It’s natural, but… try not to do it in a room I’m in.” 

“I can do that.” Rhysand leaned against his cane, limping towards his bedroom where his mate and son were waiting. “Oh and Emerie.” She turned her head towards him. “Thank you.” 

“Do you want me to just cut it for you?” 

“No, I like the way Nesta does it.” 

“Since when did you get so picky?” 

“Since I lost my fucking arm, Mor.” 

You snorted into your glass of wine and Azriel smiled as the pair continued bickering. He kept one hand under the table, rubbing small circles into your thigh. It wasn’t until Nesta decided to grace the early morning with her presence that Cassian turned his attention away from Mor, drawing Nesta down for a kiss. 

A fresh bruise painted his cheekbone purple, pink, and blue. 

Nesta gripped Cassian’s chin, turning his face to the side for a better look. “Who did this?”

“Emerie,” he said cheerfully. His grin was brighter than the sun. 

Today was the first time he’d sparred with anyone since he lost his arm and Emerie hadn’t gone easy on him. On the contrary, she’d taken every advantage her two arms afforded her until Cassian felt more tender than a steak on a butcher’s board. He hadn’t been thrown on his back so many times since the mating frenzy. 

It was a dirty, cunning way of fighting and he’d never appreciated the Illyrian female more. 

Nesta smirked at her friend with a glint in her eye that looked suspiciously like gratitude. 

Emerie only shrugged. She hadn’t experienced the same kind of loss that Cassian and Rhysand had, but she’d learned a great deal after her wing clipping. Carrying limbs that no longer worked was not so different from losing them entirely. It was all about a shifting of control and weight — about finding a new center of gravity and using weakness to your advantage. 

“Did you go easy on him?” Nesta asked. 

Emerie snorted. “Obviously not.”

“She fractured three ribs, but they’re healed now.” 

“Very nice.” 

Nesta settled down at her rightful seat beside Cassian and wordlessly cut up his breakfast. 

“Thanks, Nes.” 

“It’s the least I could do.” 

Cassian chuckled and pulled her close until she was nearly in his lap. “Don’t give me so much power, darling.” 

She huffed. “What power?”

“The power to win any argument in the future.” He stuck what remained of his right arm into the air and gave it a shake. It was a gentle, teasing reminder of who had cut it off in the first place. 

Nesta narrowed her eyes until they were two clips of ice. “Don’t make me regret letting you live.” 

“That’s much better.” 

Some people needed a gentle touch after horrible events, but there was nothing gentle about Cassian. He’d been born with the wild in his blood. He knew how to adapt and survive, and if surviving meant he would lose his arm and get more time with his mate, it was a trade he was more than happy to make.

Azriel seemed to be in agreement. He never took his eyes off you. More interested in seeing your reaction than hearing which comment had brought it to life.

Feyre nudged Rhys, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as she looked back and forth from her mate to you and Azriel. 

Now? Rhys asked. 

Yes, now! They’ve been staring at each other for the last thirty minutes. It’s honestly unnerving... Do you think they’ve already accepted the bond?

There’s no way in hell. We would have known. 

Azriel’s terribly good at keeping secrets. 

The fact that they haven’t been missing the last few months is proof enough. 

All the more reason to bring this up now so we can finally put them out of their misery. 

Feyre shot to her feet at the head of the table and Rhysand scrambled to attention after  her. 

“It has come to our attention that we never did say congratulations to a special couple in this room.”

“Oh gods,” Azriel muttered. 

Your face turned warm as everyone’s eyes and grins fell upon you and your mate.

“You didn’t think we forgot about your mating bond, did you?” Gwyn teased. 

“We were kind of hoping you had,” you said. “Not that we aren’t happy or—” You glanced over at Azriel. 

The first night you’d woken up in the Dawn Court you’d tried to crawl into his bones — an odd mixture of desperation and longing urging you to have your way with one other. Now, you were embarrassed to think that the first thing you’d tried to do after nearly dying, was sleep with your mate. 

Azriel smiled, bending towards you like a flower seeking sunlight in silent encouragement. It was such a small, natural gesture, and one that everyone noticed. Which also meant they clocked the blush on your cheeks as you gripped Azriel’s hand under the table. 

You cleared your throat. “We weren’t sure it was a good time with everything going on. We thought it might be wise to wait before—” 

“No more waiting!” Cassian declared, slamming his fist against the table so hard the silverware bounced. “I swear to the fucking gods, if you’re not in the frenzy by the end of the week, Y/n, I’ll have you force feed Azriel myself.” 

“We agreed we’d be gentle in our approach,” Elain reminded him. 

“There was a plan in place for this?” Lucien sputtered. “And you were a part of it?” 

She scoffed and lightly slapped his arm. Elain was a gentle, lovely creature when she wanted to be, and nothing melted her heart more than a good love story. 

“I think we are in need of a celebration,” Vassa whispered. It was the first collection of words the firebird had spoken in months. 

She’d sat for every meal at Lucien’s side completely silent. But this time, she reached a hand across the table and slid it into yours, squeezing tightly. Flashes of memory passed behind her eyes — memories of Jurian.

They weren’t fae. A mating bond was never in the cards for them. Which was why she felt strongly that you should be greedy with the time you had together. For there was no telling when it would end.

You sucked in a breath. You’d spoken at length about this with Azriel, tossing ideas back and forth during the night when the bond made your blood sing for more contact with the Shadowsinger. More touches.  

But you’d agreed that it was inappropriate to have even a private mating ceremony when everyone was hurting. To abandon them and disappear into the frenzy. 

Perhaps you’d both been wrong. 

Given how quick everyone was to swarm you and Azriel, you were definitely wrong. 

Rhysand hobbled over with his cane, kissing your cheek with a loud, obnoxious smack before aggressively disheveling Azriel’s hair. 

“The cottage—” Azriel began.

“I’ll have it finished by tonight.” Rhysand promised. 

Cassian threw his one good arm around Azriel’s shoulder, tugging him out of his chair and towards the door on a mission. Poor Lucien was also coerced into joining whatever debauchery Cassian had planned for their afternoon. He sulked after the pair with Rhysand. 

Nesta, Feyre, and Mor crowded around you, already deliberating which of the many-frequented boutiques in Velaris they would need to visit for your mating ceremony attire. 

You were positively overwhelmed by the attention and the realization that this was all happening. 

By midnight, you would be mated to the love of your life. 

Azriel slipped out from under Cassian’s arm, racing back across the room and falling to his knees. “I need a moment with you.” He breathed, thinly-veiled hunger in his eyes. 

One nod was all it took before he was guiding you to the kitchen and slamming the door on everyone’s whistling. 

Azriel pressed you against the kitchen door, chest heaving so hard you could feel every beat of his heart against your chest. 

You’d both been holding back with each other ever since returning to the Night Court. Propriety and respect for his brothers had demanded you wait to express your love and wanting. You didn’t want to slap them in the face with joy. 

But now that you had everyone’s overwhelming approval, well… Azriel was finding it nearly impossible to wait even a moment longer. 

He pressed his lips to yours and didn’t let go of his soft grip on your waist until you were both gasping for breath. But then you kissed him back, swallowing his sighs and gentle groans like there was honey on his tongue. Sweet and addictive and—

Rhysand rudely knocked on the door, his sultry voice a purr. “In the kitchen, Azriel? Really? I would have expected more from a gentleman like you.” 

“Fuck off, Rhys.” 

The High Lord chuckled, but slipped away all the same. 

Azriel grinned against your lips, your hands clasped together between your bodies. “I just wanted one last kiss before tonight.” 

“Tonight.” You nodded frantically. 

Tonight. 

You were doing this. You were really doing this. 

Then you realized what he’d said. “I won’t see you before then?”

“I don’t think the others will let us.” 

Your laughs rang in the air, bouncing off the kitchen cabinets like wedding bells. 

On the other side of your door you could feel everyone’s anticipation. And you couldn't keep them waiting much longer. They might just break down the door. 

“I’ll see you tonight.” You whispered before stealing one last kiss. 

“Tonight.” Azriel agreed. His breath curled around your ear, lips brushing against the tip as he promised, “Until then.”

Feyre, Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, Elain, and Mor descended upon the Palace of Thread and Jewels, all too eager to heap your arms full of the most expensive lace money could buy. 

You were about to marry into the Night Court and had a High Lord father who needed to make up for centuries of fatherly absence. There was more than enough gold to throw around.

“What do you think of this?” Feyre asked, draping the pale blue silk over your shoulder.

The clothier’s shop was bustling in the late morning, but no one dared step foot into the private room your family was set up in. The enchanted curtain blocked out all noise — tthe pinnacle of privacy.

You stood alone on a low platform, swishing the skirts of your dress and imagining what the finished product might look like. 

Farron, the clothier, had been quick to stitch a muslin mock up of the design you’d chosen, knotted fingers shocking in their dexterity as needle and thread disappeared and reappeared in her hand like some trick of the eye. She hadn’t even taken your measurements. One spin with your arms outstretched and she’d set about cutting the exact length of material needed for your mating ceremony gown. 

It was no wonder that she was Rhysand’s preferred clothier.

It still felt like a dream. Some wonderful, impossible dream as you took in the sight of the fabric over your chest. 

It glistened like moonlight and flowed like river water.

“Feyre, it’s perfect,” You breathed, touching the silken threads beneath your fingertips. 

“An excellent choice,” Farron said with a smile. She stood dutifully off to the side, tortoise-rimmed glasses growing her eyes to bug-like proportions.

You were a lovely thing in her eyes. A fine match for the Shadowsinger, indeed. 

Now, no one had told her that that was the cause for celebration. But she’d been clothing the Night Court males for a long while and knew them like the back of her hand. And you? You were made for the Shadowsinger. That much was clear. 

It was from centuries of experience that she classified the soft parting of your mouth and wide eyes. It was the look mates and brides alike adopted when they’d found the perfect dress. The one that would make them feel as perfect and precious as a pearl.

Your brows furrowed in concern. “My mating ceremony is tonight. Will it be ready by then?”

“Pfffft.” The clothier slapped her chest indignantly. “It will be ready in three hours time. You can return once after you’ve finished your shopping and we’ll have a final ceremony look ready for you, my dear.” 

With a dress being sewn together at Farron’s, Mor hurried you along to what she believed was the most critical part of any mating ceremony dress — the lingerie. The ordeal left a permanent blush on your cheeks as you quickly moved on to the shoemaker and then the jeweler. 

“Which one did you decide on?” Mor asked once again. She trailed at your heels, resting her chin on your shoulder as you kept your wares clutched to your chest. 

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Why not?” She whined. Red fingernails grazed the tissue paper that peaked out from the edges of the lingerie box. 

“Because that is for Azriel to know, and only Azriel,” you said, snatching the box out of her grasp. 

Nesta laughed. “What does it matter which pair she’s picked? It’s not like it will survive the first night of the frenzy.” 

Your cheeks burned with color. 

Mor giggled at your shyness. “Don’t act coy now, Y//n. We all know what you four read in your free time.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t benefit, love.” Emerie teased, squeezing Mor’s hip. 

“I never suggested such a thing.” 

Gwyn gagged when they kissed and everyone broke apart into fits of laughter in the streets, leaning against shoulders and stumbling on the cobblestones as they caught their breath. 

You were pressed in on all sides by familiar bodies, a comforting mixture of perfumes, and the sounds of laughter.

It’s happening. It’s really happening. 

Your grin could have put the sun to shame as you bounced on your heels in front of the mirror. 

Pale blue silk dipped down to the center of your chest and fell off your shoulders like mist. Wide, airy sleeves hovered at your elbows, ending in curls of hand-woven lace. A pair of ribbon-tie shoes and ear-tip cuffs completed the ensemble. 

They were both blue for Azriel — for your mate — who currently stood awestruck by the door. 

You didn’t startle when you caught a sliver of his reflection in the mirror. In fact, you were rather pleased to see his slack jaw and glistening eyes. 

“What do you think?” You asked as Azriel slipped out from the darkness and into your old bedroom. 

You hardly stepped foot in here anymore. Azriel’s bedroom had solidly become yours. Your clothes were mixed in with his. Your perfume bottles and soaps lined his bathroom. Your scent was tied to his bed, or rather your bed. 

“I think… I think you’re a dream, Y/n.” He spoke with a sigh. 

He melted into the curve of your neck, hands ghosting over your shoulders with a feather-light touch. 

He shook his head, as if disappointed. 

“No,” he corrected himself, “You’re far better than a dream because you’re real, and I can’t believe you’re mine.” 

“I could say the same about you,” you whispered. 

You leaned back against his chest and breathed deeply, feeling your heart soothe itself to the rhythm of his breathing and the scent of mountain air and cedar trees. 

He was beautiful. Black velvet encased his broad shoulders, cutting out a silhouette of pitch black night and highlighting the glow of his hazel eyes — like two chips of amber aglow in a dark wood. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from staring and threading your fingers into his soft, black curls, eliciting a soft groan from his lips that had your blood stirring to life. 

“I thought we were supposed to meet downstairs.” 

Azriel smiled. “I selfishly wanted to be the first to see you.” 

“That’s not selfish at all,” You hummed. You began tracing the gold cuffs that spanned the length of his ears and the subtle embroidery at the wrists and front of his shirt. They were distinctly Day Court fashions, and he wore them well. “These are new.” 

“I may or may not have reached out to your father for advice when picking out my clothes.” 

“I like them. Day Court colors suit you. They bring out the gold flecks in your eyes.” 

Azriel smiled, kissing the curve of your ears and playing with the sapphire necklace clasped around your neck. The drag of metal and fingertips over your chest had you shivering.  

You gently tugged at his hair and he obeyed the unspoken command to lean down and capture your lips in a kiss. Soft sounds spilled from both of you as he walked you back towards the wall and gently pressed you against it, flatting his hands by the sides of your head. 

Azriel got lost in the taste of you. Your hands in his hair. The feeling of your hips flush against his. Every movement was subtle, but eager, in its wanting and Azriel knew that when he finally had you beneath him, he’d be ruined… If he wasn’t ruined already. 

There was another reason he’d wanted to see you first before relinquishing you to the formalities of a mating ceremony. 

He’d been on edge all day, unused to being the unbridled center of attention among his brothers. Cassian was brash and loud, Rhysand flirtatious and passionate. Even Lucien radiated an undeniable charisma that made him popular within crowds. 

But Azriel had always prized quiet and peace above all else. He wanted to feel that peace again. 

The bond rose within him like high tide, spilling color and light into his chest as you pressed your forehead against his and cradled the curve of his neck. 

He breathed deep and he breathed freely, feeling something in his soul mend itself with a roll of anticipation. A tendril of cold wrapped around his ear and whispered in a language only Azriel could understand.

Too long, master. It’s been too long.

Azriel’s eyes flew open. He’d nearly forgotten the shape of their words — the language that he’d been taught to speak after years spent in the dark. Months of soft spoken words he could barely make out became a chorus of congratulations as they sensed the connection that now bound you and Azriel together. 

They’d known about it since the beginning, but now that you were also aware, they were ecstatic.

Black shadows spilled out from his skin, eagerly wrapping you up in a shell of twisting darkness. They embraced you, kissing your cheeks with cool, feathery touches. 

Azriel swallowed your laughter, hands diving down and lifting up your dress so he could squeeze your thighs and wrap your legs around him. 

It was a kiss made of teeth and longing and relief. With his shadows having returned and a mating bond ready to be accepted, Azriel felt invincible. Like he was cradling the world in his arms. 

But it was ended all too soon by a shadow in his ear that warned, They’re almost at the door. 

Gods he missed having them around. 

You gasped, picking up on the sound of Lucien and Helion’s strong footsteps coming towards the door. They were supposed to walk you downstairs before handing you off to your mate, and although Azriel had made leaps and bounds in earning their blessing you didn’t think they’d take kindly to seeing the Shadowsinger flush between your legs just before your mating ceremony. 

“Shit.” You hissed, untangling yourself from Azriel as he fixed your dress and struggled to hide his laughter. 

You pushed him backwards, masking both your scents and shoving him inside the wardrobe. 

“My Y/n, what are you doing?” Azriel asked. He needed to bend just to fit inside the empty wardrobe. His eyes glittered with amusement, shadows pooling around his wings. 

“I-I was going to try and hide you before my father and brother come inside but” — a handful of shadows curled around your wrists and ankles, intent on becoming permanent fixtures for as long as you were separated from your mate —  “I see that’s not necessary anymore.” 

Azriel grinned and pulled you in for one last kiss. “I’ll see you downstairs,” he whispered just as Lucien’s polite knock came at the door.  

“I’ll see you downstairs.” 

His shadows swirled around him and he melted into the darkness. 

Mating ceremonies were fluid, adaptable affairs. They could be as extravagant and public or as humble and private as one desired. It made no difference. You were his, and he was yours. Now and forever. 

You would have accepted the bond with Azriel in your father’s palace or in a desert wasteland. Still, you had to agree that home was best. 

The largest room in the River House — the dining room — had been cleared out for the purpose of your mating ceremony. Candlelight flickered atop the fireplace mantle where you, Azriel, and the priestess stood, and within sconces dripping with wisteria and baby’s breath along the wall. The light of a thousand lanterns, gauzy and warm, lit up the gardens outside the House.

“All kneel,” the priestess said, holding out two crowns of lavender and lilies of the valley. 

Everyone kneeled in a loose half-circle. 

Her dusty blue robes brushed against the floor as she placed the crown atop Azriel’s head and then yours. At her instruction, you shifted on the floor, facing each other with smiles that couldn’t be contained.

Azriel’s eyes burned bright, as if all the gold in the world had been distilled and dropped into them. 

You took the candles the priestess held out, holding them in your left hand and clasping together your right. 

Azriel snuck a quick kiss to your palm before the priestess could wrap your wrists and hands together with ribbons of blue and gold. She drifted her fingers over the candles and lit them with a flourish. 

Before the Mother, the priestess, and your family, you exchanged your vows. 

Secret glances passed between you and the Shadowsinger. Brief smiles tugged at the corners of your lips. Squeezing hands soothed your soul and grounded you in the present as you spoke the words together:

I give to you the hands of a warrior, lover, friend, and mate, till the darkness comes and our endings wake. 

I give to you my name, to hold on your lips and to pass on your years in hope and longing, in joy and tears.

Blood of blood. Bone of bone. I shall be yours, and you shall be mine. 

Until we return to the earth and hear the Mother’s song. Until the end of our days—

“Until death and beyond,” Azriel whispered the final vows. 

“Until death and beyond,” you replied. 

“Who the hell spilled the champagne!” 

The floor was already sticky with it, grabbing onto Rhysand’s shoes as he stepped out of the puddle. A guilty Feyre chugged the last dregs in the bottle, magicking away the spill with a snap of her fingers and a sultry wink towards her mate. She shrieked with laughter when Rhys limped over to her, collapsing around her shoulders and blowing kisses against her neck. 

Nyx sat at Amren’s feet on the floor, struggling to hold his violet eyes open as she scratched his head with her silver-tipped nails. Amren was not one for parties and regarded the room with bored eyes. 

Mor sat in the seat of honor — Emerie’s lap — whispering gossip in the Illyrian’s ear as you and Azriel tried to make yourselves sparse in the corner. 

You were half-hidden behind Azriel’s wings as he leaned his head against your shoulder. Leave it to you two to hide at your own mating ceremony. 

Lucien and Elain drank wine by the kitchen. She left her hand comfortably on his upper arm and smiled when he tucked a strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear. They were a handsome couple — all pale colors and golden gazes, like sunshine spilling over a new day. 

Helion, entertaining as always, dazzled the group that had assembled around him composed of Gwyn, Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian, and Nesta. Every so often his bright eyes would land on you and he’d wink before pointing threateningly in Azriel’s direction. 

Azriel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter and he dipped his lips to your ears and asked, “Do you think he’ll ever approve of me?”

“He already approves of you, he just doesn’t want you to know.” 

“He’s a smart male for keeping such a secret. My ego may grow too big for you to handle if he compliments me outright.” 

“Didn’t he once invite you to his bed?”

“That’s not very special coming from Helion.” 

You burst out laughing, attracting everyone’s attention as you buried your face in Azriel’s chest to stifle the noise. He laughed aloud as well. Head thrown back, chest and shoulders shaking. It was a full-bodied laugh that harmonized with yours as he wrapped his arms around you and rubbed your back. 

Azriel’s laughter had once been a rare sound, but you drew it out of him so easily, like a musician with their instrument. 

Feyre grinned and clapped her hands together. All at once the dining room rearranged itself. The candle flames grew brighter. A table laden with food and chairs popped into existence. 

For such a special occasion, you and Azriel sat at the head of the table, subtly leaning against one another with your legs tangled beneath the tablecloth as you ate.

There was a cake still waiting to be cut in the kitchen — a cake that you’d baked with Azriel’s name written all over it in invisible ink. 

Nyx twisted around in his chair, eyes utterly fixated on the seemingly endless rows of lanterns glowing in the garden. 

“Mom.” Nyx tugged on Feyre’s wrist as she cleaned his cheek. “When will I get to float the lanterns?” 

Feyre looked to you and Azriel. 

The lanterns were an old Day Court tradition. On the longest night of the year, Day Court citizens dared to step outside into the dark and light up the sky with their own sun-painted lanterns. It was a way to keep the darkness at bay for a little while longer. A time to add your own light to the night sky. 

“Now,” you smiled. “Let’s do it now.” 

You all spilled out into the gardens, cheering Nyx on as he raced ahead of everyone else with short, energetic strides. His wings flared out behind him, catching the name of the wind as it whispered against the velvety membrane. 

“Not yet!” Rhys reminded him. “You need to let your aunt and uncle go first.” 

You and Azriel picked up the largest lantern of them all, delicate rice paper crinkling as you held it up. The starburst-shaped lantern glowed faintly. A burning sun. A fallen star.

Everyone bent over in the flowers and grasses, hunting to find the second-best lantern for themselves. 

“This one’s for Velaria,” Nyx said, holding up a small, round orb. “This one’s for you, Daddy.” A pale lavender lantern was placed carefully in his father’s hand. “And this one’s for Mommy.” 

“Why thank you, honey.” Feyre bent low, kissing her son’s velvety black hair as she held Velaria in her arms. 

“Is everyone ready?” You called out. 

Cheers sounded from all around. Particularly energetic whoops came from Cassian and Mor, who tipped back their heads and howled like wolves, ready to throw their lanterns to the sky. 

Azriel tucked you beneath the curve of his wings and pressed a gentle kiss against your temple before you both let your magic seep into the lantern and sent it skywards. 

There was chatter from all sides. Soft gasps leaving open-mouth stares as a dozen lanterns started drifting upwards like miniature suns. 

“It’s all you, Nyx!” Azriel shouted. 

The boy leapt into action, finding the tallest patch of ground in the garden to make his directorial debut. He fixed the tilt of his bowtie and bent his knees. Slowly and dramatically he curled his fingers, raising his hands upwards like he meant to pull water out of the ground. 

He looked like an orchestra conductor leading his players in a great crescendo as the remaining one-thousand lanterns took off into the night sky. 

You gasped and flung your hands up to your lips. Three hundred and forty-three years you’d been alive, and this was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. 

You turned to Azriel only to find that he was already staring at you — at the light of a thousand suns reflected in your eyes. 

You found yourself proven wrong, and not for the first time. The lanterns were only the second most beautiful sight… and you wanted to see more.

Azriel read the idea forming in your mind and nodded. 

Without hesitation, you took his hand, slinking through the now darkening garden as everyone else’s attention was directed towards the sky. 

Lanterns arced through the darkness, staining the sky warm orange as if a painter had swept her brush over the black canvas. 

Shadows nipped at your heels and covered your tracks, urging you onward as you slipped back into the House and then the kitchen. 

You didn’t even bother cutting the cake. After rummaging around in the kitchen drawers for a spoon, you carved out a spoonful of chocolate cake with strawberries and a healthy dollop of whipped cream frosting — Azriel’s favorite. 

The Shadowsinger froze, eyes darting back and forth between the cake and your flushed face. Your eyes glowed in the dim light, marked by a quiet, otherworldly beauty Azriel had never been able to resist. 

“Don’t tell me you’re second guessing this now?” You breathed, moving the spoon closer to his lips. 

“I just… I just want to make sure I remember everything about tonight,” he whispered. 

He adjusted the crown of lavender and lilies on your head, picking up a loose flower petal that had drifted onto your bare shoulders. His touch was soft. Gentle. Reverent as he trailed his fingers up your neck and brushed his thumb along your jaw. 

His lips closed around the spoon, dragging off every crumb and lick of frosting while never taking his eyes off of you. 

It was probably a delicious cake, but all Azriel would remember was the taste of your lips that followed as he drew you to his body. 

When the bond had first snapped for him, he thought the world had cracked in two. Like the sharp clap of lightning across the sky. 

What followed after the sugar and chocolate melted on his tongue was the thunder — a resounding tremor as the bond glowed hot as iron before cooling into something permanent and unbreakable. 

Azriel let out a breathless noise. Something between a sigh and a shudder. He clutched your back, nails dragging lightly along your exposed skin in a way that had you melting. 

“I want to go. Now.” You rasped. 

You wanted him desperately. More than words could describe. 

Azriel scooped you up into his arms, and together you vanished into the shadows before anyone even realized you were missing.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Y'all, I just love Y/n and Azriel so much...

THEY FUCKING DESERVE A PROPER MATING CEREMONY LIKE DAMNIT THEY BOTH NEARLY DIED LIKE 3X AND YES I'M GOING TO WRITE A SEX SCENE NEXT CHAPTER, I DON'T CARE, THEY DESERVE THIS, Y'ALL DESERVE THIS FOR PUTTING UP WITH ME FOR THE LAST 6 MONTHS AND OVER 100K WORDS LIKE YOU ARE THE TRUE MVPs AND I APPRECIATE YOU IMMENSELY!!! (*but also, if you're not into reading smut scenes, I'll write the next chapter in such a way that you can just skip over it and not miss anything continuity-wise)

THANK YOU FOR READING!

We're almost at the end I've got like two chapters left, one of which is already mostly written, and maybe the epilogue will be it's own thing or part of the last chapter i don't know and just UGH it's almost over... ok i'm going to end this author's note here because I'm getting sad just thinking about this fic ending

^^ my reaction when I realize I've almost finished the longest/most intensive writing project in my life born out of love for the romantasy genre

^^ my reaction when I realize I've almost finished the longest/most intensive writing project in my life born out of love for the romantasy genre

[beomiracles]

hi not too sure if u write hybrid so feel free to ignore this if u don’t! but could i request taking care of whiny and desperate cat hybrid taehyun during his heat?

⌞ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 ⌝

DREAM RECALL “I am”, he admits, his voice low and shaky as he inhales against your skin. His almost entirely blacked-out eyes meet yours and in a split second his pupils narrowed down into their usual sharp vertical slits. You gulp, gripping the sheets either side of you as your lips part in bewilderment. His tongue darts out to drag across the bottom row of canines, his attention remaining solely on you as he says; “I need you.” 

wc. 3.2k

pairings cat!hybrid taehyun x fem!reader warnings well um, unprotected sex + creampie, heavy breeding kink, heat-cycles?, marking, brief kissing, vaginal fingering, taehyun wears a collar, switch!taehyun, whiny/desperate taehyun, mentions of ownership.. lmk if I missed something (most definitely did)

#serene adds ✎.. eek this is my very first hybrid fic, apologies of it's ass. hmm might've gotten slightly carried away but I'd say he's pretty desperate n whiny still :3 it might be a little rushed at the end but.. let's rock with it

@thetxtdevil the way I promised to do this over a week (two weeks?) ago. oopsies.

this is not proofread, I gotta get up early tomorrow so we have no time for such trivial matters as proofreading.

With a deflated sigh, you heave the last step of the staircase leading to your small apartment. Throwing a glance toward the heavy bags clutched in your hands, your wallet painfully empty after today’s purchases. — If this doesn’t win him over… 

When your colleagues had described their experience of owning a doberman hybrid, your heart practically melted. Soobin was both kind and handsome, politely thanking you for the meal you’d cooked for him as he offered to help with the dishes. And he was social too, providing you with the companionship you so lacked in your life. In all, Soobin was perfect and suddenly your colleagues' promising words all made sense.  — So naturally, you thought that acquiring one of your own wouldn’t be much different. 

Wrong. 

Since the day he’d first stepped foot inside your home, Taehyun had been nothing but a nuisance, and that was putting it lightly. From tearing your couch cushions apart to leaving heaps of dirty plates in the sink as he struts back to his room, the door slamming shut behind him. Not to mention how near heartless and cold he was. Refusing to even coexist in the same room as you apart from when absolutely necessary. 

But you had tried your hardest to prepare yourself, taking measure of every need he might have. From allergies to sleeping and eating habits, scents he might like or dislike, you’d even stocked up on both movies and books for him to indulge in, none of which he ever did for the record. — In all, you had done everything you could to accommodate your new housemate, and how were you repaid? With nothing but the short glare of his sharp feline eyes as Taehyun’s lips curled into a small scowl. 

At your wits end, you resorted to buying him gifts, spending the little money left from your monthly salary as you brought home new clothes, expensive jewelry, more books and even a brand new phone. — But Taehyun didn’t even raise a brow in the direction of your offerings, and now they all lay discarded in a corner of his room. The heavy ipad in your hands was your last piece of hope, and with a small sigh, you turned the key in the lock, pushing the door to your flat open. 

It’s quiet, eerily so, which isn’t unusual and so you venture forward. Not bothering to announce your arrival back home, because you never got a response back. Instead you head for your room, planning on spending a few more minutes by yourself before attempting what you thought to be your last shot at winning the sour cat over. 

It is therefore with much surprise that you halt in the middle of the hallway, eyes landing on the door leading to your bedroom, ajar. That in itself wasn’t too alarming, you would ever so often forget to close it, and you weren’t exactly worried about Taehyun sneaking inside, for he seemed to have no interest in doing so… Except today he did. 

Rocking back and forth on your heels, you listen to the soft pants carrying out into the air with a confused frown. What on earth was he up to? With a hand on the wood, you push the door open as your lips part, “Taehyun what are..” 

The words get stuck in your throat, suddenly feeling thick and constricted as your gaze trains on the sight of the feline before you. You think he might’ve seen your room once, the day you brought him home and gave a half-assed tour, in which he’d paid your personal space very little mind. — But right now, he was everywhere, the mess he’d left in his wake evident as you eye the open drawers, your clothes scattered across the floor and your desk practically turned upside down. 

A strangled noise coming from the bed averts your attention in its direction. Taehyun is drenched in a sheen layer of sweat, making one of the very few sweaters he’d obliged to wear, cling to his toned chest. His dark hair falls in front of his flushed face and your jaw might as well dislocate as you behold the leather collar you’d bought for him, which he had bluntly refused to even acknowledge, wrapped around his neck. 

Clutched tightly between his fingers is a familiar piece of garment, and as you squint you recognize it as one of your sleep-shirts. Confused, you watch as he brings the fabric to his nose, fervently inhaling your scent with a small groan as his hips twitch. — “Taehyun..?” You speak up, feebly trying to make your presence known. And you do. 

You think he might crack a bone with the speed he snaps his head your way. His eyes seize on you, narrowing at the sight of your figure by the doorframe, and for a moment, you think, almost hope, that he will revert back to his usual self, giving a small grunt as he slips back into his own room. — But he doesn’t, if anything he becomes worse as he tears the shirt in his hands, the cotton ripping under his fingers and you wince at the loss of one of your favorite pieces. 

“Come here”, he practically snarls and you respond by dumbfoundedly blinking back at him, turning your head to see if there was possibly anyone else he might be addressing. With the small roll of his eyes, Taehyun lets out huff as he beckons you over. — “Are you sick?” You hesitantly wonder as you carefully creep forward, baffled by his sudden initiating behavior. The hybrid merely gives a twitch of his jaw as his gaze narrows down on you. 

As soon as you’re within arms reach you feel the steel-like grip of his hand around yours as he yanks you onto your bed. The sudden force takes you by surprise and you let out a startled yelp as you go crashing against the cushion. Within milliseconds does he have you caged against the mattress, knees sinking in place either side of your hips as his arms close you in. “Taehyun what-” But the question is swallowed by the raspy whine coming from his throat as his eyes hurriedly search yours. 

It’s when your gazes meet that you finally notice his pupils, blown wide to the point where they might as well swallow his entire iris, completely lacking their usual vertical slits. Frantically you scavenge your mind for answers as you note his near panting frame, from the flushness of his face and neck, to the copious amount of sweat pooling on his forehead. You’d read about this…somewhere…But your mind remains blank as you squirm beneath him. 

This couldn’t possibly be the same hybrid you’d brought home a few weeks prior, the one who did his utterly best to avoid you, who scrunched his nose in disgust whenever he caught a whiff of your scent. — This wasn’t the Taehyun you knew, and the uncertainty of your current situation terrified you. “I think you’re unwell..” You try and coax him off of you, but it was useless as Taehyun pressed himself near impossibly close, nose nudging the juncture of your neck. 

“I am”, he admits, his voice low and shaky as he inhales against your skin. His almost entirely blacked-out eyes meet yours and in a split second his pupils narrowed down into their usual sharp vertical slits. You gulp, gripping the sheets either side of you as your lips part in bewilderment. His tongue darts out to drag across the bottom row of canines, his attention remaining solely on you as he says; “I need you.” 

Needs…you? You? Had he not had you locked beneath his large frame and on your bed, panting like he’d ran a mile, his statement would’ve been a laughing matter. But there was nothing humorous about the way his expression practically ate you whole as his eyes roamed your mundanely dressed body; from the plain leggings you wore to the far too big t-shirt draped over your chest. 

“You’re sick, Taehyun. We need to-” — “No.” He cuts you off, it’s abrupt and he suddenly sounds stern as he shakes his head. “I know what I need”, he murmurs as he dives for your neck once more, hot tongue darting out to drag across your exposed skin. — With a small shriek your hands fly to his shoulders as you attempt to push him off. But the feline merely groans against you, hips grinding into your own and when the prominent bulge, straining in his sweats, reaches your thigh, you freeze. 

Suddenly, it was as if a lightbulb had been turned on within you and your eyes widened in horror as you realized what was going on. His heat, of course. How careless of you, you should’ve gotten him suppressants, asked him about it in advance. This was all your fault and now…now he was.. — “No!” You exclaim, trashing against him as you try to separate the two of you, earning a displeased whine from the hybrid. 

As a last resort, your fingers clasp around the leather on his neck as you give it a harsh tug. The action sends a shiver through him as Taehyun moans into your neck, though finally tearing himself from you, if only a mere two inches. — “This isn’t..” You begin, biting the inside of your cheek as you release your grip on the collar, “I mean this…This isn’t how it was supposed to go!” 

The crease of his forehead as Taehyun frowns is prominent and he sends a warm puff of air your way as he exhales. Blinking rapidly, you try to come up with a solution for the situation at hand, eyes darting across the room. “There’s a procedure for this and I’m sure it’s written somewhere I just-” 

Oh!

Sharp teeth scraping against your shoulder jolts you from whatever meek thought process you had managed to accumulate. The feline scoffs against you, one of his hands traveling up your loose shirt, causing goosebumps to ripples across your stomach as he groans; “You and your fucking books.” All too familiar with your frantic researching habits, always feeling the need to learn as much as possible, just in case. 

Your face is contorted into a mixture of surprise and pleasure as Taehyun refocuses his attention to your clothed cunt, moving intently as he emits soft moans and whines. “B-But this isn’t how it’s supposed to- H-ah.. to be..” — Not paying your meek protests much mind, your hybrid continues to litter you in reddish marks, undoubtedly ones that would blossom into something far darker when given the time. 

“Been waiting for you to come home for so long”, he sighs as his lips travel up your neck, finally reaching your jaw as he plants soft kisses and licks to the skin there. — “Don’t want to wait any longer”, he whines, hips jerking forward and you gasp, “need you now.” 

He wasn’t thinking straight because of his heat, that had to be it, because in no universe would your Taehyun be acting like this on a normal Thursday afternoon. With that in mind, you try to be a bit more understanding before speaking again. — “I-I’m sorry, I would’ve been home earlier if… If I knew”, you murmur, tentatively reaching your hands up to rest on his shoulders. 

The small action seemed to spur him on even further as he immediately went to tug your leggings down. Alarmed, you seal your legs shut but his desperate fingers are already hooked around the fabric as he pulls it down. — “Taehyun, wait! Isn’t this..Isn’t this all a little too fast?” You shriek, feeling hesitant as his hand wedges itself between your thighs, dangerously close to your already damp panties. 

Subtly shaking his head, the feline bites his bottom lip as he lets his gaze drop to your spread legs, kept apart by him as you squirm. “Smell so good”, he squeaks, nostrils flaring as he inhales, eyes fluttering at the overwhelming sensation. — You bite back a small whimper when he ventures beneath the sticky fabric covering you, fingers immediately swiping across your clit before circling your hole. 

You tried your best not to think about the fact that this was your hybrid, your cat hybrid, the one who seemed to loathe you like you were the deadliest curse to walk the earth. — “S-Soft”, he breathes, almost drawing blood with the way his sharp teeth sank into his lip. It was impossible not to flush at the subtle praise, and you were unable to hide the wanton moan slipping past your guards as he curled a finger inside of you. 

Taehyun’s arm was near trembling as he watched his fingers disappear in your slick and pretty cunt, his jaw slacked as he inhaled your prominent arousal. Your nails dig into his biceps, he felt scorching hot to the touch and you wondered just how long he’d been in here, on your bed, doing god knows what. The thought in itself made you dizzy as you clung into him. 

He looks conflicted as he licks his lips, torn between tasting you and needing to be inside of you. In the end he shoves his soiled fingers in his mouth, a high pitched moan ripping from deep within his throat as he lets his eyes roll back. “More, more, more”, he drawls, hands feverishly tugging at his sweats as he pries them down. 

Given a small moment to catch your breath, the reality of your situation sets in and as his hard cock springs free, slapping uncomfortably against his shirt-covered stomach, your heart drops. Were you really about to do this right now? — Your gaze gets stuck on the obscene amount of precum that leaked from his flushed tip, sliding down the large veins and you swallow. 

He was still your hybrid…and you were still technically his owner…was this really right? — “Fuck, you’re so pretty”, he whines, a large hand fisting himself as he watches your fluttering cunt. Whatever doubt and guilt that lingered in your mind simmered once you felt him align himself, the head of his cock sliding between your folds before nudging your swollen clit and you cry out. 

Suddenly, your eyes meet once more, but this time there’s a quiet question lingering within his. “Please”, he pleads and it catches you off guard, “please, please, wan’ breed you please.” The bluntness of his request makes your jaw drop, but you couldn’t deny the way it made you clench as your hips raise in an attempt to seek him. Timidly, you nod and as if a switch had been flipped within him does Taehyun ease himself inside with one deliberate thrust. 

The stretch of his thick cock makes you wail as your nails scrape across his arms. And despite his soft pleas, the hybrid gives you little time to adjust before relentlessly rutting himself against you, blabbering nonsense into your ear as he does. — Part of you doesn’t register half the things he’s saying, and you’re pretty certain he isn’t either as his lips chase yours. 

He kisses you hungirly, sloppily but with desire; like he’d been longing to do so all his life, like this kiss was the air he breathed. In a way, the kiss made you feel empowered and within seconds you found your hands by the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head as you do. — It was no secret that the cat hybrid was fit, because when he wasn’t avoiding you, he would spend his time working out, whether that was in his room or the living room. The equipment you’d gifted him were the only ones of your presents that he’d actually used. 

Shamelessly, you let your fingers trail his stomach, the outline of taut muscles, flexing beneath the pads of your fingers as he thrust forward. His pace was jagged, uncalculated and desperate, like that of an overly horny teenage boy who had little clue of what he was doing. — Yet he managed to make you feel absolutely insane. You didn’t know if it was because of the near burning stretch of his cock or his teeth dragging across your sensitive neck. 

Your eyes glue to the leather around his neck, the collar making a small jiggling sound with each move of his and you find yourself completely entranced. It might be why your hand moves on its own, reaching up and clasping around the collar lightly. Taehyun emits a strangled moan as his hips jerks forward uncontrollably. “Hmnpf, more” He gasps and it takes you aback as your gaze flits between his pleading and flushed face to the fingers around his collar. 

Another pull makes him whimper as a pleasant purr builds in his chest, something you’d never heard him do before. And much less had you ever caught a glimpse of his long and soft tail, the very same tail that currently curled around your body as Taehyun hoists you from the mattress. — “Wanna give you kittens, my kittens”, he grunts, hands clawing at every part of your body that he managed to access. 

You knew better than to listen to his words, that it was just his heat controlling the nonsense slipping past his unguarded lips. But the idea still made your heart flutter and you felt yourself clench around his cock, drawing a sharp hiss from him. — His fingers are on your clit, rough and all over the place but the raw and sheer need he emits is more than enough to have you spiraling as you cling to him, legs wrapping around his waists as you feel your climax pulsate through you with a loud cry. 

Taehyun continues to rut against you despite your wails of overstimulation, his hips jerking into you with such vigor that you thought you might break in half. His whines are near ear piercing as they ring out in the hot air of your bedroom, teeth threatening to break skin as he anchors himself on your neck. 

When he releases inside of you, it’s with a drawn out mewl, rocking himself close to you as he sloppily continues to fuck his cum back inside, ensuring that you have his kittens. “So pretty with my kittens”, he hums, his voice is near drowsy as his trembling arms give out. — With a low grunt he pulls you against him, flopping down on the mattress, his cock still nestled deep inside your sensitive cunt and you shift uncomfortably, the small movement immediately met by an irritated whine as Taehyun’s tail curls around you.  

“Stay”, is all he says, strong arms wrapping across your body as he locks you in place. The feeling is surprisingly comforting and you find yourself relaxing in his embrace. A small part of you wishes to stay like this forever worried that he might revert back to his old self as soon as this heat passes. 

But as you wake the next morning you find that Taehyun is more than ready to show his need for you once again, and the day after that. 

And the collar stayed on.

taglist ✎.. @lunesdesire @jjklvr9 @beomies-world @hyukaaa @ninoshome1 @gardnhee @babymochibeargyu @lunathewritingcat @duckywuckypookiepie @naoristerling @oddracha @soohashits @junimoa03 @sendhelpiloveyeonjun @beomtasticc @gudboibeomgyu @flowzel @hwanghyunjinismybae @inkigayocamman @sthwaaberry @izzyy-stuff @silentisle @itaehynz @blossommi @sunghxxnie @mitchko11 @shuporanporang @beestvng

(if your tag is not working please check your settings to make sure that your blog is not hidden!)

→ want to get notified whenever a new dream is published? join my TAGLIST ᰔ © all rights reserved ─ @beomiracles 2024

[fraugwinska]

Could you do a backstory to Hard Day? Like, how Al decided to give up control, and the first time it happened 🥺🙏

Ummm... well, I may have gotten myself a bit lost in this one :D Idk, It's gotten quite out of hand, 2,5 k words... but...um yeah :D Praying you like it :> Attention - we cook with Chili, not salt today! (MDNI)

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The hardest Day

„That's so unrealistic! I mean, in what world would a lion eat bugs instead of the fucking fat juicy PIG?!“

„It's a kids movie, asshole, shut up!“

The gang was sprawled out in front of the TV, blankets and popcorn everywhere. Charlie got her hands on a rare copy of 'The Lion King', and invited everyone to a 'nice, unproblematic, quiet' movie night. She didn't account for Angel's constant commentary, Husk's annoyed retorts to him or Niffty's gleeful giggling at the most unfitting scenes. Vaggie, frustrated by them, started adding to the chaos, sending scolding remarks in intervals at either of them, while Charlie tried to mediate in between songs – which she always sang along with.

You, however, were highly entertained – even though you didn't catch anything from the movie, just watching them was amusing enough. The only one missing was Alastor, who had 'business to attend' and was gone since breakfast ended.

He would've hated it anyway, you knew he had no interest in movies, let alone modern ones, and group activities like these were often straining on his patience. Although getting in the hotel last, you were the one who grew the closest to him. Why? You couldn't say definitively. Maybe it was because you never took his veiled jabs by heart. Maybe because you didn't treat him the way the others wanted you to – with care, with ignorance, with suspicion; but instead with respect, an open mind and without judgment. Maybe it was because you could challenge him – discussions about books you both read could last hours, with points given to either side equally – no winner, no loser, both richer.

You liked Alastor. Really liked him. You also had a silly, little crush on him, for a while now, but you kept that to yourself, nothing going further than a few flirtatious moments 'in good fun', calling each other 'doe' and 'buck' with a laugh. A joke between friends. Friendship, you decided, was enough for you, if it was for him.

The entrance doors slammed suddenly, making you all jump in your seats. Alastor stood at the door, looking... different. Stressed? You cocked a brow when you saw his eye twitch, while he sauntered over to the group.

„Al, do you want to join us? We're watching a movie!“, Charlie said absent-mindedly, her eyes glued to the scene of 'Can you feel the love tonight'.

Alastor gave the TV set a judgmental smile and waved his hand. „Tempting, but it has been a rather hard day, I'll just take a drink and retreat to my room, dear.“ He left the group and went to the bar, your pair of eyes the only one following him. Something was NOT right. His smile was tight, his eyes wider than usual, his movements almost jagged instead of fluid. Niffty had jumped to the bar too, insisting on helping Alastor by retrieving a glass for his whiskey from one the higher shelves. In her eagerness to climb and get it, she didn't watch her steps careful enough, resulting in a few delicate wine glasses sliding from the shelfves and breaking into a hundred tiny pieces. Alastor's reaction was as unexpected as it was worrying – he always had a soft spot for Niffty, laughing over her antics and chaotic energy, often encouraging her even to produce more mayhem. This time, however, he started to scold the maid, who blinked at him with a big, guilty eye and trembling lips.

„Such indignation, really Niffty. Clean the shards at once, and try not to remain to be such a clumsy clot.“, he almost hissed, grabbing the bottle and a simple crystal glass before striding away hastily. Your eyes followed his figure until he turned the corner to the staircase, then you got up and comforted the little demon, helping her sweeping up the glass pieces while she sniffeled tears away.

You let your gaze swipe over the group, completely ignorant about what happened with Niffty, and Alastor. Ignorant of the blatantly obvious bad mood of the deer demon.

Turning to Charlie, you whispered to her that you had a headache and would be going to bed, to which she just nodded. No one acknowledged your leave, all eyes on the screen and still bickering noisily. A bunch of friends, you are, you thought annoyed with a shaking head.

Three flights of stairs later, you reached Alastor's room. You pressed your ear to the door, and heard dull bangs, like something was thrown, and a muffled voice. You knocked, and the room instantly stilled.

„Alastor, it's me.“, you said loudly, brows furrowed. „Are you okay?“

A few seconds of silence. „I'm just fine and dandy my dear.“

You put one hand on the door. He normally would open it, to speak with you directly, face uncomfortably close to face, just the way he liked it. But it stayed close.

„You didn't look fine.“, you stated. You were ever so stubborn.

„Well, I am fine. Now shoo, darling, good night.“

You stood in front of the wooden divider, contemplating. You could just go. Leave him be, wait until tomorrow. See if he would talk to you then. But then, there was your gut. And it told you Alastor wasn't well. And that just didn't sit right with you.

„Alastor. Please, let me in.“

No response, just hint of the prickling feeling of static electricity on your skin.

„I know something is bothering you, and I'm worried.“

No response. You breathe in and out.

„I'm not going anywhere until you open the...“

The door flew open, a hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you into the room, violently. You stumbled and fell against a bookshelf, catching the fall with your hands to keep you upright. You heard a slam and a click – door closed, door locked. The static was everywhere now, flushing in waves over your body. You turned around -

Alastor was pacing like a wounded animal, he seemed fluffed up, as if every hair on his body had decided to stand up. His scleras were dark pits, blackest black, and in it his irises burned angrily in crimson flames, now focusing solely on you. The prey.

„So you came to test my patience too, dear?“, he snarled, his voice so distorted it ached in your ears. „It's not enough that that waste of cables destroyed two of my radio towers. Not enough that dozens of my most profitable souls have been rendered useless by an angelic bomb. Not enough that I not only had to put the disgraceful flat screened wretch back in his place, but also his vulgar boy toy and their brazen, attention-seeking brat.“

He grew in size as he ranted, you watched him reaching the ceiling, antlers scraping along the walls. „I manage my weakening territories, manage these imbeciles who think they can play overlords, I manage this sad excuse of a hotel, I manage the princess's unattainable ideas, and now, I also need to manage you, too, of all people? What a disappointm...“

„Stop.“

You held up a hand. Alastor growled, fluffing up even more, limbs cracking and static popping. „How dare y...“

„Stop.“, you said again. Your tone was calm, void of anger, or fear, neutral and steady. He stared at you, and you held his gaze. „Breathe, Alastor.“

You saw him fighting with himself. He fought against his instinct to oppose, to command, to put you into your place, to rip you apart. His elongated claws scraped over the floor, ripping deep ridges in the wood.

„Breathe.“, you repeated, firmer this time.

Slowly, gradually, Alastor shrunk. Breathed. Crumbled. Until he was back to his usual size and form, only with an exhausted expression.

You studied him – you've never seen him like that. He never allowed anyone to see him as something other than 'the radio demon': Powerful, unshakeable, quick on his feet and always one step ahead. How exhausting it must be. To always have the control also meant to always carry responsibility, to always fear impending failure.

Your heart whispered to you, and you followed it's advice. It could be the most stupid thing you could do, but you decided to do it anyway.

„Come here, Alastor.“

He looked at you, unsure, suspicious. You sounded commanding, but not harsh. Inviting. Like a hand, reached out to someone trapped. For a moment, you almost thought you ruined everything – his eyes left yours, they fell to the ground as he shifted on his feet.

But then – steps. Coming closer. Stopping right in front of you. And suddenly..

His head on your shoulder. His breath on your neck. His voice in your ear.

„Sometimes I'm so sick of it all. Sick of maneuvering, sick of ruling, governing, planning...“

You touched his neck, he let you, caressing the soft skin, heated from his outburst, trembling slightly at the contact. It was intimate, baring this vulnerable part to you. You heart broke for him.

He pulled himself away from you, searching for your eyes. Finding them again, he took your hand, bringing it up to his face, guiding your fingers over his lips. He just said one word.

„Please.“

So much was said with this please. You heard every message. Giving up control, just for a bit, just with something he didn't care enough about to insist on ruling, could be a small bit of freedom. Letting himself be guided instead of leading.

“Kneel down, Alastor.”

His ears pressed flat against his head, but he did as he was told. He couldn't look you in the eyes. For once, you were the one towering over him. You took his face in your hands, pulling it so he looked up to you, seeing your warm smile before your lips met his.

His breath hitched, stuck somewhere in his throat.

You slid one hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, the other caressing his cheek as you tilted your head and deepened the kiss. Slowly, the rigidity melted away, he started to shift, lips no longer stiff but soft and molding against your own.

He tried to stand up, but you pushed him down, gently, definitively.

“Trust me to guide you, buck.”

He breathed, one, two, three times, eyes closed, grin tight.

“Yes, doe.”

Your own excitement took a back seat. You were filled with pure energy at the thought of crossing the line with him, having Alastor in a way you only dreamed about, convinced your relationship would never come this far. But. But this was not about you, for now. Maybe, another time. If another time ever came.

You lowered yourself on him, straddling him, so you were still 'taller', and rejoined your lips. You took his hands and set them on your hips, let them rest there while you buried yours in his hair, tugging lightly to bend his head back. His initial resistance lessened, and he gave in, exposing his throat, gray skin peeking out of his high collar. You let your mouth travel to his jawline, down to the small patch of delicate, thin skin, right next to his jugular. You felt him tense, felt his rising urge to protect himself from your potential strike. You let out a soft hum as you started to lick it, sucking gently, just a bit, just to make him shiver at the sensation. And how he did.

A moan, low and sweet like the strumming of a cello, escaped him, his hands crushing your hips by the force of his grip. It hurt, but you decided to ignore it. Little steps.

“Can you take more, good boy?”

His eyes snapped open, burning furiously. You met them with calmness, with a soft matter-of-fact-ness. Not smug, not mocking. A question. Proceed or Stop?

Alastor swallowed hot saliva. You could see he was getting overwhelmed, overstimulated, and yet, he had such a longing in his eyes, such desperation.

“Yes.”

One simple word. One spark, setting your body on fire. You tried to force your trembling fingers to steady, lifting yourself slightly off him to open his trousers. With every button, his breaths grew heavier, his grip on your legs grew tighter, claws already digging in your skin and drawing blood.

“Careful, buck. I'll need these in a moment.”, you said, placing both hands on his chest, pushing him flat on his back on the ground. He let you go, arms falling useless next to him.

You leaned forward, thanking any deity that would listen you decided to wear a skirt today, and placed a hand on his growing bulge. He hissed at the touch, cracking the floor as his fingers clawed into the wood of the floor instead your fleshy legs.

Freed from it's cage, Alastor's dick was already dripping with beads of precum, a sight to behold. You wrapped your fingers around it, feeling the warmth and bloodflow, it twitched in your hand. You stroke him, eliciting the most sinful noises from the demon under you.

You took a deep breath. One more, one question more, to make sure that he wanted it.

“Look at me, Alastor.”

He sat up on his elbows, looking more helpless than you've ever imagined he could. Even his smile wavered, threatening to break. You were looking for any signs of hesitation, disgust, resistance, regret. You only found desire. A want, a need, almost pleading eyes.

Your free hand pushed your panty away, enough to expose your lips, and you lowered yourself onto him, his length slowly entering you. He was big, you were tight. A bittersweet combination. Sparks flew before your eyes as he stretched you, but you were hypnotized by his eyes.

They were blown wide, returned to black, but the irises now flickering into dials, turning, left to right as he groaned. You moved, guiding your hips up and down, feeling yourself molding to his shape in the most delectable way, and getting drunk off the look on his face.

You increased the pace on which you pushed yourself on him, adding a little tilt of your hips to take him even deeper. His voice was reduced to a static-y mess, hums and groans and moans bleeding into each other. You placed both of your hands on his chest for more support, inevitably pinning him down. His hands flew to yours, threatening to push them off him, but instead, he entwined his fingers with yours, panting heavily.

It didn't take long for him to feel the pressure, unbearable and urgent, his release approaching at godspeed.

“Doe, I can't...”

Panic in his tone. He tried to put his hands on your waist to pull you off. You understood immediately – an upbringing in conservative times, decades of living by the rules of a gentleman, he was resisting against the thought of cumming inside you. You pushed his hands away.

“Yes, you can.”, you stated, smiling at him, a hint of wickedness in your eyes. “And you will.”

Your skilled movements and dedicated demeanor sent him over the edge immediately. Protests were futile as he came in you forcefully, you felt his cock pumping his seed deep into you, hot and thick as you rocked him through his orgasm. Your own high wasn't worth chasing, too far away to matter. You didn't even think about it – nothing could feel better than this.

Alastor ran his hands over his forehead, sweeping away beads of sweat as his breath calmed down.

His hand shot out to grab you, and, still impaled by him, he pulled you into his chest, invading your mouth with his tongue to kiss you possessively. As if to transfer the command, the control he had given up, back to him. Taking it from you.

For a moment you were scared. The positions had reset to their default. Would that mean he'd push you off? Say goodnight and never talk about this night again? Returning to the Status Quo. Friends, the end.

Alastor pulled your chin up to look at you. His thumb ran over your cheek, tenderly and full of care. His eyes answered every question in your mind. You weren't scared anymore.

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Eyes on you. (18+)

Pairings: Soulless!SamWinchester X Reader

Rating: 18+

Summary: Sam has been… off lately. But that’s to be expected from a man who just came back from hell, right?

Word count: 5.9k

Tags: Soulless Sam Winchester x reader, hunting with Sam and Dean, Soulless Sam, Sam Winchester smut, dubcon(?) , PiV, no protection (wrap it up kids), creampie, breath play, choking, pinning, fingering, degradation, rough, dom sam, Dean mentioned but not involved, dacryphilia, reader has female anatomy, no use of y/n

Notes: wooo! sorry for the long hiatus, school has been fucking me missionary. anyway, starting off Kinktober strong with dubcon

Requests are open.

There was something terribly wrong with Sam.

You knew it from the moment he got back. Hell, everyone knew it.

Though of course when these concerns were raised to Dean, he, in his self-imposed naïveté, ignored it.

But you knew he felt it too.

During the few times you’ve tagged along on the brothers hunts these last few months, you’ve picked up on a few things. The way Dean would hold eye contact with Sam for only thirty seconds at a time, never a moment longer. Or how he would shift away from his own brother if he got too close. It was subtle. But you knew.

You couldn’t blame Dean for wanting to pretend everything was all right. Sam was his brother after all. And after everything they'd been through, if you were in his position, you'd do the same. You've only known the boys for some odd years now, and still you find yourself from time to time, pretending that the sweet, bookish, too-tall-for-his-own-good Sam you met is the same thing that came out of hell.

That is how you would survive this hunt.

You’ve always wondered how humans could feel someone's eyes on them. Since becoming a hunter that sense has sharpened.

You tear your gaze away from the view out of the backseat of the Impala and lock eyes with Sam in the rearview mirror. His once soft gaze was now stoic and calculating.

He looks away.

You linger.

You couldn't help but have the feeling that, in fact, there was nothing wrong with Sam at all.

This simply wasn't Sam. This was just some creature doing a poor emulation of him.

Without realizing, your hand had slid down your leg to the lifted fabric in the side of your boot. Your fingertips grazed the hilt of your dagger.

Correction, this is how you’d survive this hunt.

—-

When you finally arrived at the dilapidated manor, Dean was first to survey the scene.

“Alright.” He said in his usual gruff voice, clasping his hands together. “We got alotta ground to cover so, ladies first, take your pick.” Dean said, gesturing to you.

You were hoping Sam would pick first so that at the very least, you could choose the place furthest from the shiver down your spine.

“I’ll take upstairs,” you said. That feeling again, eyes on you.

Dean nods. You spin on your heels and race up the winding staircase without waiting to hear what each chose.

—-

Mildew and rotting wood lace the air. It’s a shame really, you thought. You face the expansive landing before you, pausing as your calf muscles burn from climbing the stairs two at a time.

High ceilings, eleven feet at least. Tall windows with dusty wine curtains spilling onto the floor shielding the amber of the setting sun. Most of the furniture was missing –evidence of squatters and raids– what remained was broken and covered in suspicious stains, much like what was left of the deep brown hardwood flooring. The most noticeable part of the room was the wallpaper, a rich red with delicate Chrysanthemums scattered across it, almost looking hand-painted on.

The wooden boards groan beneath your feet, causing you to question if they threatened to give out. You had a job to do, so you trudge down the dark hall.

Around 10 minutes pass and you knew no more information than when you first walked in. Not too long after you first got upstairs, you heard the ghostly moan of the front door shutting – one of the boys had opted to search the grounds. Meanwhile you tore through almost a dozen rooms only to find phallic graffiti and more rotting wood.

It was dark through the house now, the setting sun long gone, leaving you in the cold, dim space. The only light provided was the one functional bulb of the broken chandelier above- set to perpetually swing until its last chain broke.

The actual goal of this job was rather vague. All you knew was a bunch of kids had narrowly escaped death after a night of pure dumbassery in this house. So now here you were, swiping your EMF reader abstractly through the air and as Dean so eloquently put it, “keepin’ your eyes peeled for anything ghost-y or weird.”

Yeah, real helpful.

So you continue on down the hall with only a few rooms left to search. Then, something sounds from ahead.

Creeeeeak

You stalk toward the sound.

Nothing.

Creeeeeak.

The sound seems to come from behind this time. That feeling again, eyes on you.

You whip your head around. “Who's there!” You shout, your confident voice a stark contrast to the pit hanging in your stomach.

This time you manage to catch a glimpse of something slipping around the corner. You steel yourself, pocket the EMF reader, pull your dagger from your boot and start toward the creature.

You walk out into the landing, your steps cautious and dagger ready. Your eyes roll through the room. It was as if the creature had disappeared.

Creeeeak.

Or maybe not.

“That's cute.” It chuckles.

The voice was low and terrible, sending shivers down your spine

Yet still, it was almost familiar.

It elicited this hair raising feeling you can only imagine is similar to what homosapien felt looking at neanderthal.

“Come on out!” you shout, voice beginning to waver.

“That little kitchen knife you have, it's cute.”

Your stomach drops. Gears begin to turn in your head.

“But y’know, It doesn't matter how good you are with it.”

Sam, the real Sam, had been trying for years to get you to use a gun. But you had your knives and were good with them no doubt, so what was the point? He would always return your refusals with that crooked smile and pleas of how it “would make him feel so much better.”

Creeeeak.

The hall, it had to be coming from there. You force yourself to move.

“If your opponent is faster.”

Creeeeak.

No it was from behind, you were sure of it.

You spin on your heels and race toward the landing once more.

“Sam, come out. This isn't fucking funny!”

Just as you turn the corner, one strong hand seizes both of your wrists in a single swift motion. In an instant you're slammed up against something hard. The knife drops from your hands. Sam kicks it away. You open your eyes.

Chrysanthemums.

Fuck.

Sam leans down, his hot breath brushing against your neck. “Should’ve let me teach you how to shoot.”

There's a pause, the moment breathing and the air pulsing.

“Sam...” You exhale finally. Your voice comes out smaller than you would’ve liked.

“You’re too easily overpowered.” he raises his head for his lips to meet your ear. “Didn’t take much for me to get you like this; to hunt you down.” Sam’s grip tightens on your wrists.

His voice was low and gravely. You fought back against your aching lungs' desire to quicken their pace.

“That's what you’re calling this?” You remark. “Hunting me down?”

You had to play this smart.

There was a small knife, pocket sized, really, concealed just past the waistband of your jeans. With your hands to your back, if you could maneuver your fingers just right-

“Well I did, didn't I?” He squeezes your wrists once more, sending pain shooting down your arm and causing your fingers to splay out.

“Okay!” You gasp. “You've proved your point!” You say through gritted teeth.

Your index and middle finger slip past the waistband.

His grip loosens and he pulls away. You exhale. The tip of the handle brushes against your fingertip. So close.

Then, Sam jerks your wrists downward, your chance of escape literally slips between your fingers.

“I don't think I have.”

He looks down on you, this you can see from the corner of your eye. The rest, you feel.

His gaze is mechanical, inspecting, taking in and processing data. Some synapse fire causes his lips to tug upward in a smirk.

“Fuck.”

His long fingers tuck into the waist of your jeans.

“What are you-” You jut your hips in a desperate attempt to move free. Sam silently presses his knee against the back of your own, stopping all movement. There was no anger in his motions, annoyance at best. You let out a ragged breath.

He pulls the blade out, slowly and deliberately.

“Sam.”

He ignores your plea. Sam drags the knife from you, taking great care to ensure that the blade runs along your spine and that the tip drags up the hem of your shirt.

A shiver of a different kind rolls through your every vertebrae.

He brings the dagger to your chin, forcing you to look up. Sam all but closes the gap between the two of you, the point of his nose ghosting against your cheek. The warmth of his body swarms around you; the rotting wood smell drowned out by his deep woodsy scent. For a small singular blip of a moment you allow yourself to believe that this thing that looked and smelled like Sam, was truly Sam.

“Scream.”

But this isn't Sam, you knew that.

His voice quickly serves to pull you from your sanctity.

“What?” You breathe, looking at him from the corner of your eye.

“You could’ve, by now. Dean would hear too, and you know that- you’re not stupid.”

“I-” You stammer. He was right. The thought had played in the back of your mind but some louder part of you, the part that hadn't been next to a warm body in months objected.

“So why don’t you?” Sam continues, his voice like velvet sending vibrations rippling across your skin.

“Go on, scream.”

Nothing.

He smirks.

Sam drops the knife. There goes your lifeline.

His lips meet your jaw in a hungry kiss. You let out an involuntary groan. His teeth clash against the bone, threatening to leave a mark.

Maybe this wasn't Sam, but it still looked like him, still felt like him, and still touched like him. Maybe pretending couldn't hurt.

He continues down your neck, every hot, open-mouthed kiss causing another groan to escape you. Deep down you felt some gross shame; the fraction of yourself that hasn't succumbed to the wants of your flesh racking against your ribcage. All at once his teeth clamp down on your shoulder. “Agh.”

Yeah pretending couldn’t hurt. But good god did you hope it would.

You hiss, sucking in a breath and trying to pull away.

“Tell me to stop.” Sam breaths in between rough kisses.

He flattens himself against you, the strain in his jeans pressing into your ass. Against better judgment, you let out a sweet moan and you feel the bulge in his pants grow. This was wrong, so so wrong. There was something off about Sam, you shouldn’t be sleeping with him.

“Sto-hmfg” You’re cut off by the sounds of your own pleasure as Sam sucks on the part of your neck he had just bit. The juxtaposition of pleasure and pain confuses your mind and body. Heat spreads between your thighs and your mind swirls.

Knowing and feeling something are two entirely different things. Sure, in your head you could protest the current situation. You could attempt to be as logical as you wanted, but that didn’t change the aching desire within you. 

“One word and I will.” Sam groans as he presses his hips into you. 

The feeling of his hardness so close to your needy core ceases any rational thought you could’ve given.

He releases your bruised wrists. Finally, a moment to think properly. Without warning, his arm wraps around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides and pulling you away from the wall and into him. You were sure at this point that your cheek had a chrysanthemum imprint on it. 

Sam looks down at you before him. So helpless and ready to be fucked dumb. He watches as you wince, your body in pain from the new position. His cock twitches. 

You feel his muscles, strong and heaving against your back, his arm flexing as he holds you close. His free hand slides over to the collar of your shirt. His long fingers delicately trace your collar bones, staring down at them as if he wants to sink his teeth in. The air leaves your lungs. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his hands sliding down your torso, then sliding up your shirt. Oh how badly you wanted to cry out. To beg him to touch your needy pussy. But something told you he wouldn't oblige. 

Sam watches your face intently. As hard as you tried not to give anything away, he could tell every single thing you were feeling. The light twitch of your eyebrow as he slid his hands up your shirt instead of down your pants sent satisfaction surging through him. He didn't have to feel you to know you were soaking wet. He slides his index and middle fingers under your bra and begins to massage the soft skin of your breasts. His thumbs hold your sides and his ring and pinky fingers dig into the gaps between your ribs. You were so much more fragile than he ever imagined. God, he can't wait to break you. 

Small, soft moans pour out of you like music to his ears. His fingers pinch your nipples harshly, causing you to make a squeak-like whimper. You try to pull away from him in sudden shock at the pain but there was nowhere to run. 

“Sam, please.” You whine.

“Please what?” He replies while rolling your now firm nipples between his fingers.

Your voice comes out small, pathetic, he thought. “Agh- it hurts.”

He pinches harder. “You can take it.”

Before you can protest, he returns to that sweet spot on your neck that he had bit earlier. He flicks his tongue across the bruise before kissing it again and again. Your head lolls and your mind goes blank. 

Sam continues to pinch and twist your nipples, watching your face and relishing in the effect he has on you. Almost makes him wonder if you’ve ever been fucked right in your life. 

All those nights he knew you were in the next motel room getting fucked by some idiot you met at a bar. Every morning he had to see you with your hair messy and makeup smudged. All those times he wished it was him who was making you moan, just for you to be squirming like a virgin right now? 

Sam angles himself so that his bulge is pressed directly against your cunt. The friction makes you moan and he can't stop the spread of a smirk across his lips. 

“Look what you did to me.” He breathes against your ear. “You’re such a slut.” 

“N-no I'm not.” You gasp between moans. That wasn’t true. Sure you had a few one night stands but no more than either of the boys.

“Really?” Sam grins and for some reason that was so much worse than if he had outright called you a whore. 

Shame overwhelms you.

He suddenly rips his hands from your tits. The sudden motion and lack of warmth makes you gasp.

Exactly what he wanted. Sam finds the button on your jeans and pops it free in an instant. 

The room felt like a maelstrom of hot desire. You never imagined that you’d tolerate being called a slut, let alone dignify the accusation by trying to defend yourself against it, and you certainly, most definitely, never thought it'd be Sam making the accusation.

Sam roughly shoves his hand into your jeans and you feel your heart speed up, partiality in fear, partially in excitement. Sadly, he doesn't go another layer further. His fingers dance across the cotton of your panties, teasing. 

“Not a slut?” He whispers in your ear. His fingers find your entrance and press against it. The soft fabric was warm and sticky, practically soaked with your arousal. You whine as his fingers threaten to enter, you were so embarrassed yet your body begged for more.

“Then why are you so wet, hm?” Sam didn’t have to say it, you both knew it as his fingers sent the message before his mouth did but still, but he received such a deep satisfaction seeing your cheeks flush at his words. 

 You weren't going to dignify him with a response. 

Sam’s middle and ring finger press against your entrance once more. You attempt to keep your face straight as you internally curse the fabric separating him and your pleasure.

“Such a fucking slut.”

At this, Your pussy clenches around the tips of his fingers.

You feel Sam's chest vibrate against your back as a wry laugh echoes through him.   “You like that?” 

You set your gaze on your shoes, biting back words. 

 He grabs your jaw and forces you to look up at him. “Answer me, slut.” 

Your pussy pathetically clenches around him again. You release your bottom lip, red with blood circulation. “Y–Yes.” You didn’t have to respond, but for some reason you wanted to see his face as you said it. To know if he was as turned on as you were. 

Sam rewards you with a mocking smile. “Wow… who knew you were such a dirty whore.”

Before you could even think of a response, Sam finds your clit. The second he touches you, you feel your mind begin to go blank, your mouth falls open with only a whimper to show for the last of your coherent thoughts. Even through your panties, his touch was electric

His lips find that beautifully bruised sweet spot on your shoulder and pepper it with kisses. His hand drops from your neck, leaving your head to loll as you shudder with breathy moans. 

The fabric of your panties was now throughly saturated as it slid across your folds. You grind against Sam’s hand, desperate for more friction. You tried so hard not to give in but it was clear at this point you had lost. Sam takes in the sight: your lips fallen apart in gasping moans, your eyes fluttering shut and brows knitted. The curvature of your neck, your head thrown back like a dead girl and your hips pathetically rocking back and forth, too proud to beg.

“You want more, baby?” Sam asks, amusement evident in his tone.

You bite down on your bottom lip, clinging to the last bits of your dignity.

All those nights he had to hear your headboard banging against the wall you weren't so reserved. 

“Fine then.” Stoically, Sam simply begins to pull away. 

Without thinking, your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. You look up at him, eyes glazed over with lust and boring into his skull. “Please.” 

Now that is what he liked to see. He wets his lips as he looks over your face. 

“Good girl.” 

You weren't quite sure what took over you and you don't know if you hated yourself for it or were thankful. Regardless, you begin to lead his hand back toward your jeans. Suddenly, he stops.

Celertitly, Sam turns you around and pins you back to the wall. If he was going to have you, it would be wholly and completely. He was going to ravage you and tear you apart at the seams.

He undresses you like an autopsy, delicately peeling away layer after layer. His thumbs hook into your pants and he squats as he slides them down. His fingers trace the rim of your panties before he slowly pulls them down your legs. Sam looks up at you: thighs pressed together and hands balled at your sides. While your body language conveyed a certain conservative nature, your teeth sunken into your red bottom lip and eyes staring straight down at him anticipating his next move told a different story. It was almost funny the way you tried to remain taciturn, as if you hadn’t just proved a thousand times over what a slut you are. 

Sam’s large hands practically engulf your hips as he takes hold. For a moment he considers licking your cunt, but then again, it would be so much more fun to see you squirm beneath him. He rises to his feet, fingers digging into your flesh as he uses you as leverage, lips ghosting against your torso. His narrowed eyes never leave you for a moment. 

You search Sam’s eyes for anything familiar, anything that would make you feel less awful about this. While his eyes still contained that stunning hazel hue, there was no emotion behind them. Lust, sure. Before you could thoroughly discern your emotions, you feel Sam pulling up your shirt. 

“Wait.” You say, pushing the fabric down. “Dean… He’s just outside. What if he comes up?” 

“So?” Sam asks flatly. He tries to pull off your shirt again, but you stop him.

“So? I won’t have time to get dressed. I’d rather your brother not se-“ 

His lips press against yours as though he were starved. Fastest way to get you to shut the fuck up. 

Your mind and every thought in it slips out like a gust of wind. He pulls away only for a quick moment.  “Guess we’ll have to be quick then, hm?” He breathes. You nod dumbly, lips puffy and saliva coating them.  With that he forcibly rips off your top and tosses it to the ground. Finally, he thought. 

Your bra ends up on the ground as well. 

Sam roughly grabs you by the hair and pulls you back into the kiss. Of all the times you’ve imagined being with Sam, not once did you think it would be like this, unfeeling, and rough. But if you could pretend, that would make it all okay. 

And so you did. You let your mind go blank and only focus on the pleasure ‘real’ Sam was giving you. 

 Your hands slide up his shoulders and rest on the nape of his neck. You moan as you sink into the kiss and as Sam's long fingers come to circle your clit and you don’t bother to maintain a shred of composure.

He breaks the kiss, panting, forehead pressed against yours and looks down at your body, and all the bruises on you. All of the ways he’s marked and claimed you caused a low growl to ripple through his chest. Sam pulls his fingers from your pussy and you have half a mind to grab his wrist again. He watches as your slick stretches and runs down his fingers. You pretend that his thoughts and words were something more of love than lust. 

“Fuck.” “Beautiful.” He says in a breathy murmur. 

As Sam's fingers prod at the entrance of your puffy cunt, you cringe at the lewd squelching noise that ensues. He looks up from his work to watch your face. It was so satisfying to see you like this, so needy and pathetic. At once, his fingers sink deep inside you. You moan, his fingers leaving you so full. You hardly have a moment to gather your thoughts before he's thrusting in and out of you, a satisfied look on his face at watching you unravel.  

Every single moan you make is loud, drawn, out and practically pornographic and in all honesty, you couldn't care less. He pulls you in via a rough grip on your hair and smashes his lips against yours. You let yourself believe the kiss was more fervent than greedy. His tongue, much like his fingers, treats the inside of your body more like an exploration or experiment — trying to figure out what makes you tick. Sam runs his tongue along the inside of your teeth and at the same time you feel him grinning against your lips. Suddenly you can’t get enough air in your lungs, his fingers curl and press right against your g-spot. You tear yourself away from him in a gasping moan, your palms flat against his muscular chest as your world spins. 

“mfgh- fuck, S-Sammy,” You cry.  

And just as soon as he started, he stopped. 

“What did you call me?” Sam pulls away, his eyes narrowed and dark. It doesn’t matter if his touch was ever loving, the lack of it now leaves you feeling cold and embarrassed.

“Samm-“

Sam’s lips curl into a frown. You stop speaking. 

 It seems everyone— including you, wanted little ‘Sammy’ back. It didn’t matter that he was right there, they missed that weak part of him still burning in hell. 

Slowly but promptly, his hand creeps up your collarbone and wraps around your throat. He sets his jaw and it hits you— what you felt around Sam before this, it wasn’t fear, something more than discomfort but far less than being afraid; this however, this was fear. 

As it seems, you’ve gotten yourself too lost in pretending. 

“Sammy,” he says sharply in a voice you were unaware Sam was even capable of producing. “Is Dean’s dumbass little brother…  Sammy jerked off to you every night but never had the balls to ask you out. Sammy is a little bitch. So, if you want me to fuck you dumb, it’s Sam.”

Speechless, you breathe a reply before your brain has a chance to catch up. “I- yes sir.” 

“Yeah, that too.” Sam replies in a dark voice. 

He squeezes your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know that he could if he wanted to. 

And for some goddamned reason, it turns you on. 

Pretending never does quite work, does it?

It was wrong, you thought as Sam’s hand dropped from your throat. Even after what just happened, you felt yourself growing hotter at the image that wormed its way into your head. Sam’s nimble fingers wrapped around his cock, chest heaving as he stoked himself. Instead of returning to you, he began to undo his belt. Sam’s pumps growing jagged and needy as he brought himself closer. He starts to pull down his pants and boxers, a bit of hasty anger in his movements. Sam’s eyes wrenching shut, or perhaps rolling back. Breathless repetitions of your name floating in the air. Thick globs of revering white emulsion spilling over his fist out of the very same cock before you. You gasp as he enters.

Sam’s cock feels as though it’s ripping you apart. His length and girth are far more than you’ve ever taken and by the looks of it, he's never had something quite like you either. 

“Fffuck you’re tight.” He groans, fingers digging into your ass as he thrusts in and out. He wishes he didn’t have to worry about these damn clothes, he could've made you cum on his tongue by now if it weren't for the damn pants around your ankles. He also wishes he didn't have to worry about time constraints, he could've given you several short orgasms by now instead of aiming for a single earth-shattering one.. Honestly, he couldn’t give less of a shit if Dean saw the two of you, but you probably wouldn't sleep with him again if that happened and  he was planning to use your tight little pussy this entire weekend. Hell, he might ‘accidentaly’ fuck up the hunt so you would have to stay in town longer.

“So good for me baby.” Sam says in a groan. His eyes remain locked on your expression and your tits bouncing with every thrust. Your warm cunt fits around him so nicely. He didn't have to, and he knew you surely couldn't take it but he loved to see you gasp and squirm– so pretty beneath him, every time he bottomed out.

“Mnghh, wa-agh!” You whine, high pitched and pleading. You press your palms against his chest, hoping to send the message of telling him to slow down as your mouth has been rendered absolutely useless save for whimpers and moans. Maybe he didn’t understand, or maybe it was that he didn’t want to, in the end, Sam continued fucking you with reckless abandon.

Tears began to prickle in the corners of your eyes. “Sam- agh s’too.. mmuch.” You sobbed. 

“Shh, you’re taking me so well,” Sam coos. He cups your jaw in a surprisingly tenderder fashion and wipes your streaming tears with his thumb. You wince.

He has always wondered how you liked it. How you really liked it, every dirty fantasy you had in the dead of night and every deleted search.

“H-mgh, h-hurts.” You  squeak out as he rams into you once more.

 Now, it was glaringly obvious. With a hint of genuine curiosity in his eyes, he wraps a hand around your throat once more and then, he squeezes. 

Of course Sam has choked a girl in bed before, but choking you was especially euphoric. The slight hint of fear in your eyes was enough to make him cum right now. 

You felt suddenly very aware of your body. The pain on your shoulder and down your finger-dug in arms and hips. Your drooping eyelids, tears down your chin, the thoughtless moans spilling out of you as you unthinkingly tipped your head back, exposing your throat to give Sam a better grip. 

Every breath gave a slight resistance you couldn’t help but want. Fog filled your head until you were left with a one point perspective of Sam. It hurt so good. Your arms lazily drape over his shoulders and you find yourself begging for more of him; your hips rock in tandem with this thrusts and through moans, a single word falls from your lips. 

“Harder.” 

Sam quickly obliges, his pelvis meets yours with every thrust and his tip touches your cervix. You throw your head back in a shuddering moan and feel yourself losing oxygen. 

He couldn’t believe he didn’t realize sooner what a pain slut you were. Your pussy begins to tighten around his cock in uneven flutters. First your fingers, curling into Sam’s hair. Then your chest, shallow breaths growing shallower. Your legs follow soon after, the muscles tensing and feeling as though they could give away at any moment. Finally your abdomen, growing taut by the second. Your brows press together as your mouth falls open. 

“S-ssoo close.” You slur. 

“Hold it baby, just a little more.” Sam groans. His breath filled in the hot inch of space between your bodies. His thrusts became shorter but more rapid, his heart following suit. He clenches his teeth. Fuck, you looked pretty with his hand around your throat but damn if he didn’t need to cum inside your cunt. 

Tears begin streaming down your cheeks as you try to hold back the waves of pleasure ripping through you. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Sam stops choking you and turns all his attention on your pussy. Your moans come out in pathetic cries, your body feeling wet and mushy but tense and begging for release all at the same time. Your head was a mess too jumbled to decipher and all you wanted was to cum. 

“Ssam.. please.” You cry as he pounds into you like a rag doll.

“So needy.” He teases back in a ragged breath. “You can do it. Be a good slut and hold it.”

 Just as you go to beg he meets your yes in a stern glare. “Do not fucking cum until I say so.” 

You give a reluctant nod. 

And just then, you hear a door shut. 

Shit. 

With wide eyes, you snap out of your trance. 

Sam on the other hand, didn’t plan on stopping. 

His hand quickly flies up to your mouth and his body completely presses yours to the wall. 

“Not a sound.” He whispers against your ear.  

As hard as you try to fight it, you find yourself slipping back. This time, with each thrust you slide up the chrysanthemum wall and he could feel your heart beating against his chest 

Sam’s cock twitches inside of you. He moves his hand and replaces it with his lips, trapping you in a sloppy kiss while he lifts your legs, bringing your knees to almost wrap around his hips. He palms your ass while his forearms support your thighs and his elbows your knees. Damn these clothes. Though still, at this angle he could get so much deeper and bring himself so much closer. 

White hot pleasure surges through his every synapse. 

“Guys! Where are you?” Dean calls from downstairs and damn if the adrenaline rush from that didn’t turn you on. 

Sam feels you clench around his cock and he groans into your mouth. 

“Almost there.” Sam whispers. You were too out of it to reply. 

“Need- mgh.. to.” You whisper. A tingling sensation has taken over your whole body, starting at your core and spreading outward. You felt like a ticking time bomb and just when you felt you were about to explode.

“Cum.”

With that you let go. You feel Sam’s hand slide between your and his lips as your orgasm rolls through you. His head falls forward and rests against the wall as he shudders through an orgasm of his own. The tingling feeling turns your muscles to jello but Sam does his best to keep you in his grasp. 

“No hits outside.” Dean calls. 

The only sound that mattered to either of you though were each other's dark trembling exhales, yours leaving through your nostrils and onto his knuckles and Sam’s through his parted lips and onto your bare shoulder. 

Small twitches and spurts from Sam’s length persist inside of you as he reaches the last of his orgasm. Meanwhile your entrance flutters as you recover from your ecstasy. Your heart pounded in your ears and you were left in a high. 

“…The hell? If you two got taken by a ghost or some shit I swear.” Dean grumbles. And then his footsteps start toward the stairs. Fuck.

Sam though, he takes his sweet time letting you down. 

Creeaak, Groans one step. 

Sam begins to pull out, forcing you to watch his cock glistens with your wetness and his cum seeps out of you. 

Creeeak. 

You were unsteady on your feet but managed to pull your pants and panties up.

Creeeak.

Shit, where’s your bra?

“Guys!” Dean yells, his voice closer than ever. His footsteps pick up the pace.

He reaches the top of the stairs to find Sam inspecting his EMF reader and you, placing a dagger back in your boot, fully dressed. 

“Oh hey, Dean.” Sam says with a casualness that left you feeling that if his cum were not leaking out of you right now, you would question if anything had actually happened. 

“What the hell? Damn near gave me a heart attack.” 

“Sorry,” Sam shrugs. “Thought we found something.” 

“Uh huh.” Dean replies, unconvinced. He glances at you, then back to Sam, and then to you again. “So, you find anything?”

“No.” You say without meeting his eyes. You frown and pretend to check out some of the grafiti. 

“Right.” Dean says.

You give him a small nod and quickly slip behind him and down the stairs. 

Once he hears the front door shut, Dean turns to Sam with a quirked brow. 

Sam looks up from the EMF reader and at Dean cooley. “Maybe there’s an attic or a back room we haven’t found?”

“Seriously? Don’t you think it’s a little messed up?”

“No, tons of old houses have cellars and hidden rooms.”

“Oh cut the bullshit, Sam.” Dean raises your pocket knife Sam hadn’t realized he picked up. He’s known you long enough to know where you stash your amo. “She doesn’t know, does she?” He frowns. 

His poker face falters and returns to a room-temperature smugness. “Is that what this is about? Me not having a soul?” Sam steps forward. “Or are you just mad that I fucked her first?” 

Tag list: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillies444lola @n0va25 @figurantedefilme @wowzabowza69

Dm to be added/removed

[more-lavender-syrup]

Power Play

Description: You knew something was wrong when you awakened to Daemon missing. However, when he comes home wounded, you do your best to comfort him in every way possible. But it would be much easier if Daemon didn’t turn everything into a power struggle Word Count: 3,083 Warnings/Notes: this is pretty much entirely smit, oral (m!receiving), PIV, riding, reader stitches Daemon's wound, reader has prophetic dreams that people ignore, Daemon can’t handle being taken care of so he turns it into a power play Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!WifeReader

It was the same melody, played over and over again. It was a song of screams and fire.

He was hurt; you knew it. You had felt it, as if you yourself had been maimed. But, despite the terror that coursed through you, your eyes still searched the darkness. 

Your hand searched for a warm form in the bed. But, when nothing was found, you opened your eyes only to see the empty space that remained. 

You had been wrong before. It didn’t happen often, but you had been wrong. 

Cold night air bit at your skin as you pushed yourself upward. The blankets that covered you slid downward, pooling at your torso to expose your naked form below.

“Daemon?” You called. 

He had been there when you had fallen asleep. But, now the only proof that remained of him was the indention in the mattress beside you. 

“Daemon, please?” You called again. Yet, there was no answer. You quickly pushed yourself out of bed and reached for the thin nightgown that he had expertly stripped off of you hours before. 

Pulling it on, you searched for any sign of him. Somewhere in the hall, you heard someone speak.

“Daemon?”

You quickly stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind you.

A group of handmaids were lurking in the hallway. They each turned their tired eyes to you, searching for some kind of explanation.

“Are you alright? We heard you yelling.” One of the women asked as her eyes dragged over your thin gown.

“Where’s my husband?” You asked.

“The king said that he left. His majesty said that Prince Daemon was needed for something. I think he said something about a crab, but I didn’t hear what.” It was clear that the handmaid was exhausted.

“When did he leave?” You asked. But the woman could only shake her head. She had no idea.

“Fuck.” You whispered under your breath as you rushed down the hallway. Surely someone who could help would still be up. Perhaps the maester was still awake; he was usually willing to humor you.

You bounded down a staircase and then made a sharp left down a tiny corridor. But, as you rounded a corner, a set of arms shot outward and quickly clamped a hand over your mouth. The form pulled you backward before your back hit the wall beside you.

Panic shot through your body as you remembered the stories of maidens being taken in the night. You struggled in the darkness, only to hear a familiar story slice through your fantasies.

“It’s just me.” Daemon whispered as he pulled his hand away from your face. 

“Where’s your guard? Do you know how easy it would have been to snatch you and vanish into the night?” He scolded. You rolled your eyes. 

“The only person attacking people at this time of night is you.” He frowned at the comment. You squirmed in his arms, however he did not release you. Instead, he began to inspect you, searching for some idea as to what you were doing out in the middle of the night. You could feel his heartbeat through his thin clothes. Warmth seemed to radiate off of his skin, warming you to your core.

As his body pressed against yours, you felt a hot rush of liquid soak into the material of your dress. He was bleeding.

***

You had insisted on helping him back to your shared room. However, with each step, he scoffed and told you that he was perfectly fine. The blood that was dripped from his leg with every step told a different story. 

When you reached the room, you helped shuffle him to the bed. Then, you rushed to get the small kit that the maester had left behind for you. The maester was well aware of Daemon’s aversion to help; the hope had been that Daemon was more willing to accept help from his wife, rather than the maester. And, on occasion, that had been exactly the case.

You glanced over at the bed, only to see Daemon watching you like a lion watches his prey.

“Pants. Off. Now.” You instructed as you began to make your way back to the bed. He rolled his eyes, however he did as he had been told. 

He began to undo his pants. As he worked, he emphasized each movement. You watched as he stripped down, checking for any new wounds that would require your attention.

As he pulled his pants downward, his already hard cock sprung free.

“Now, if this is what you wanted then you could have simply asked. It’s a prince’s duty to never leave a lady in need.”

“I’m well aware of what you think your duty is.” I mumbled. 

There was a gash that covered the side of his calf. Blood wept from the wound, staining the blankets below.

“What happened?”

“A man took a cheap shot. Luckily it wasn’t valyrian steel or else I would have lost the leg.” Daemon said it so casually. 

You quickly knelt downward and began to poke and prod at the wound. You removed the small pieces of shrapnel and dirt that had sunk into the wound. After a moment, you began to speak.

“You could have died.”

“And yet,” he waved a bloodied arm to demonstrate his point, “I’m still here to piss you off.” You rolled your eyes as you carefully finished cleaning the wound. 

The gash was deep; but not so deep that you needed to send for a maester.

Once you were satisfied, you reached for the small sewing set that lay at the bottom of the box. Daemon watched you thread the needle with a deep fascination, though when you actually began to work, he turned his attention to the ceiling above him.

“You shouldn’t be up at this hour. You also shouldn’t be wandering around without a guard.” He scolded.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You said as you carefully sewed the wound shut. Each stitch was carefully placed. You just needed the wound to close and heal properly. It didn’t need to look pretty.

“Then you could have called for one of your handmaids to keep your company.” Daemon said. He didn’t want you to be alone at night; not when there was a chance you could be hurt. “You can’t do this again. Do you have any idea how easy it would have been for you to have been killed?”

“I’m not going to force someone else to endure my paranoia.” You said as you tied a knot on the end of the thread. 

“I don’t want you wandering around at night. Not when anyone could be roaming around.” You reached for the scissors that you had placed beside his thigh. You carefully snipped the thread, content with your makeshift patch that you had sewn on his leg. It should hold for now; at least, long enough for him to heal. 

“I had a dream about you. That’s why I went looking for you.” You said. That was enough to make Daemon’s face twitch. “I dreamed that you were injured. That you had gotten shot off your dragon and that you were lying somewhere.”

His face twitched again. He would never admit it to you, but that was far closer to the truth than the story he had told you. He had lied to you to keep you from worrying; maybe if you thought that he was never in any real danger, then you would be fine.

You pushed the needle back into the pin cushion and then dropped it back into the box beside you. He turned his gaze from the ceiling to you.

You lay a hand on his leg. His skin was speckled with flecks of blood. New bruises painted his skin and they would only get darker by morning. As your fingers traced his skin, his mind drifted to less tender things. You didn’t even notice until something glinted faintly in the candlelight. 

Clear fluid was leaking from his cock.

“Daemon.” You said. His eyes burned into your skin. He didn’t bother to answer. He already knew what you would do; you had always been so sweet to him. You had always been such a good and dutiful wife.

You watched his cock bob against him. He was aching with need. 

Maybe if you were very careful then it would be fine.

You sighed as you crawled closer to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You said. 

“Shouldn’t I be worried about hurting you?” He asked. It was true; Daemon had always been overly gingerly with you, even when you had asked him to be rough. He didn’t have it in him to hurt you. He adored you too much. 

“Just let me know if something hurts. Okay?” He was coated in so many new bruises that you could easily cause more harm than good. But he just looked so desperate. 

You leaned forward and gently wrapped your hand around the base of his cock. You stroked him twice before you leaned your face downward.

You carefully took him in your mouth, sliding him as far back as you could take. You closed your lips around his length. A hand landed on the back of your head. He closed his fingers in your messy locks, easing you down on his cock.

Salty fluid dripped from his tip as you began to bob your head up and down. He needed a release. Badly. His face twitched with every movement. 

Your tongue slid against the thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock. He groaned, lifting his hips up to sink himself deeper in your mouth. 

But it wasn’t enough. He missed the feeling of you curling around him, desperate for more as your hips ground together.

“Need to fuck you.” He groaned.

Fuck, that sounded perfect. 

You pulled your head back, allowing him to slip from your lips with a soft ‘pop.’

“You have to be careful.” You warned him. He frantically nodded; it didn’t matter what you said; he could have agreed if it meant that he got to be inside of you. 

He began to push himself off of the bed, however you quickly stopped him. 

“I want to ride you.” You told him. He grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You quickly pushed your dress off of your shoulders and let it fall downward. It slipped down your body, exposing your bare skin below. Once  you were free of the thing, you pushed it into the floor with Daemon’s pants. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He said. His eyes drank you in as you crawled closer to him.

“Lean back.” You ordered. Without hesitation, he laid back, pushing himself against the mattress. He was desperate. A thin sheen of sweat had taken over his skin.

One of your legs slipped over his hips. You were careful as you straddled him, making sure not to brush the stitches that you had just given him. You slipped one of your hands down into the space between you and carefully wrapped your hand around his velveting length. He was still slick from your spit. You guided him between your folds. Then, in one fluid motion, you slid downward, taking in every inch of him all at once.

“Fucking hell.” Daemon groaned. He stretched you out, making your body spasm to accommodate him.

After a moment, you lifted your ass upward, sliding his cock almost completely out of you. Then, you dropped downward again, fucking yourself on him.

You felt the back of his thigh brush your ass as he moved his legs. He wanted to fuck you harder; deeper. However, it also had the unfortunate side effect of pulling on the stitches that adorned his leg. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” You warned him. However, he seemed keen on refusing any kind of self-preservation. He moved his legs again, pulling on your patchwork.

“Daemon, you need to stay still before I tie you to the headboard.”

“Oh?” He took it as more of a welcomed suggestion, rather than a threat.

He lifted his hips off of the bed.

“Stop. You’re going to pull on your stitches.” You ordered. “I won’t move until you stay still.” 

He furrowed his pale brow; he took your commands to be challenges, rather than orders.

“I’m fine with the stitches popping. Quite frankly, they’re annoying so it'll be a relief to see them go.”

“Your lack of concern for your own health is horrifying.” You told him. 

“I’m not going to die from a little blood loss. And if I do, then frankly I was already too weak; no point in living when a little nick can take me out.”

“When you get a chance, please write that down so I can remember to share that with my future suitors when I become a widow.” Daemon grinned to himself before he ground his hips against yours. He curled his arms around your waist. He wanted to get more control. 

You were not going to let that happen.

You rolled your eyes. You quickly grasped each of Daemon’s arms. His skin was hot to the touch. You leaned forward, pinning his arms over his head. All the while, you kept him buried inside of you. 

Daemon was allowing you to hold him there; you knew for a fact that if your prince had wanted to, he could have easily flipped you over and had his way with you.

“Just let me take care of you without you hurting yourself.” You said. 

“I’m not helpless.” The prince scoffed at the notion.

“No, but you are hurt.”

He rolled his eyes before he shot upright, breaking free of your weak hold. He bolted upright and frantically reached out for you. He curled his arm around your waist, pulling your small frame as close to his chest as possible. He lifted you upright slightly; not enough to pull out of you, but enough so that you were no longer perched on top of him.

Then, without warning, he slammed his hips inside of you, hitting so deep that you saw stars.

“Daemon!”

His arm slipped from your waist, dropping you down on his cock once again. Both of his hands moved to your shoulders, where they slowly began to trace downward. 

“What’re you doing?” You asked. But, instead of answering, Daemon leaned in and captured your lips in an all consuming kiss. Unfortunately, the kiss was a mere distraction. 

After all, he was a master of strategy.

While your lips danced over his, tongues tracing one another’s mouths, Daemon curled a single hand around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. Once he knew he had trapped you, he returned his other arm to its previous position on your waist. You pulled your lips away from the wet kiss just in time to feel him lifting you upward once more. 

“Daemon,” You gasped. With that, he fucked himself into you again. He couldn’t help but grin at how your toes curled and the air hitched in your throat. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” You said. Your arms struggled against his iron grip, but he did not let go.

“Now weren’t you the one who started this whole mess?” He taunted. Instead of pulling out this time, he left his cock buried inside of you and gave you the chance to grind against his hips. The friction was beautiful; it was enough to make your head spin as you rocked yourself against him. 

“I thought I was going to hurt myself.” He taunted again. He felt you flutter around him as he slowly pulled his hips backwards, readying himself for another thrust. “What do you want?” He asked.

You looked at him with pleading eyes. 

Your concerns about hurting him had melted away as you drifted closer to the edge. Now, all you wanted was him. You wanted his touch and the pleasure that only he was able to give you.

Daemon leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Come on. I know you can do it.” His voice was low and needy.

Your bodies moved in time with one another; your hips met every thrust, grinding yourself against him before you moved your hips upward again. Every movement was lined with desperation.

Then, the spring that had been twisting inside of you snapped. Pleasure shot through you, making your toes curl and your head fall backward. 

Daemon quickly released your arms. His free hand shot up to the back of your head, pulling you close before you had the chance to move away. He pressed his mouth against yours as your body was flooded with heat. You fluttered around him, overcome with pleasure. Daemon fucked himself into you again. That was all it took for him to tip over the edge. He groaned into your mouth as his cock twitched, filling you with everything that he had to give.

You curled your now-freed arms around his neck, holding him close as his lips danced over yours. 

Your lips remained locked as pleasure overtook your movements, allowing you both to ride out the highs of your orgasms. 

After a moment, your bodies stilled their motions. You pulled your lips free from his. You opened your eyes, searching for something in his face. He offered you a soft grin as he traced a hand up your spine.

The room had gone quiet. The only sounds left in the space were your mixed heartbeats and frantic breathing.

The world seemed so much more peaceful now.

You glanced over your shoulder. His legs were folded slightly, though the stitches that you had given him were still completely intact. He wasn’t bleeding and you hadn’t caused any more damage than he had come home with.

That was good enough for you. Daemon was still curled around you, pawing at your skin as he came down from his high. 

You turned back, meeting his gaze for a moment before he buried his face in your neck. 

You carded your fingers through his snowy locks, trying to catch your breath. His lips ghosted over your throat, pressing soft kisses every so often.

He was so beautiful like this. He seemed so gentle. The only thing that contradicted that idea were the dark bruises that were blossoming across his skin. 

“My sweet prince.” You whispered.

Daemon grinned against your skin at the notion of anyone thinking he was sweet.

[tayraedoll]

My Compliments to the Chef

Part 2 of the series- You go on your date; Alastor gives you some unusual cooking lessons and the ovens aren't the only things getting hot.

Part 1

TW: Self-consciousness, mild sexual situations, sensory deprivation, flashbacks, hurt/comfort, swearing

You stared down at the dress on your bed. It had been neatly laid out when you returned to your room the night before with a message scrawled in the most elegant handwriting you had ever seen:

Don't be late Darling - A

The dress was gorgeous- all black with a halter top, knee-length pleated skirt, and a thin belt around the middle. The fabric felt sturdy, no doubt it was expensive. He even gifted you a pair of black stilettos to pair with it.

You bit your lip nervously, of course you were nervous about going on a date with Alastor, but what caused your heart rate to spike at the moment was the thought of wearing this dress. It was definitely considered modest-to Alastor's taste- but the halter top would show the entirety of your arms...there was no way to hide the scars that littered your skin. Could you wear a jacket? Would that be considered rude?

You sighed, if you didn't get changed soon then you would be late...and you did not want to find out what Alastor would do if you kept him waiting after he explicitly told you to be on time. You paired the dress with simple silver hoop earrings and a bracelet and dabbed on dark merlot-red lipstick. Overall you looked good...if you could ignore your arms. You swiftly left the bathroom, not wanting to look in the mirror more than necessary. Snatching a small clutch you made your way to the lobby.

You caught sight of Alastor as you descended the stairs- he had traded his normal red pinstriped suit for a black one with coattails. He wore a bright red bow tie and he had pulled his hair back into a ponytail that exposed his undercut. You were so preoccupied with ogling at him that you missed a step and had to catch yourself on the railing to save yourself from an embarrassing fall the rest of the way down the staircase.

When you safely reach the ground level Alastor turns with a cheerful grin and confidently strides up to you, "You look absolutely ravishing Darling!" His hand reached for yours and gently brought it to his lips. "Give us a twirl!", he raised your hand above your head and you slowly rotated on the toe of one heel for him, a happy smile curling across your own face at his antics. "Tu es magnifique."

You blush at the barrage of compliments and nervously cough,"Shall we go then?", you start towards the door only for for the demon deer to wrap an arm around your waist.

"Nuh-uh-uh! Not that way My Dear! I would not subject you to walking in those shoes all the way across the Pride Ring. No, we shall be traveling in style!", he adjusted his bow tie and puffed out his chest. He pulled you flush against him and leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Hold on tight Darling."

You gasp as your vision suddenly went black and your feet were no longer on solid ground. Your grip on Alastor's coat was iron-clad as you reacted to the sudden weightlessness of your body. Then, just as soon as it began it was over, but instead of being in the hotel lobby you found yourself on the sidewalk outside a beautiful white-brick building. You were so busy taking in your new surroundings you didn't notice that you never let go of Alastor until he chuckled at you, "Oh! Sorry!", you jumped away from him and hid your blush by smoothing your dress down.

Alastor approached the little mouse demon hostess, she looked up at the much taller demon with a friendly smile, "Good evening Mr. Alastor sir! We have your table ready!" She hopped off her stool, barely coming up to The Radio Demon's knees, to lead the way to your dinner table.

The inside of the restaurant was just as stunning as the outside. It was all polished birch wood with black and gold accents and was dimly lit except for a small stage with a live pianist playing a relaxing tune. The chairs were dark with gold cushions, the tables adorned with white tablecloths, gold napkins, and black roses served as the centerpieces.

The hostess deftly placed the menus on the table and filled the water glasses, "Your server will be right with you!" Alastor held your chair out and motioned for you to take a seat before pushing it in.

"Oh Al, this place is breathtaking!", you take one last awed look around before unfolding your menu.

"Hmm yes, this place is certainly a bit of a hidden gem. There are certain types that won't give it a fair chance due to the staff actually."

"What do you mean?", you give him a perplexed look.

Just then, another cheerful mouse demoness approached your table, but she was significantly taller than the hostess. No, not a mouse...a rat. "Ah Alastor! I thought I heard your voice!", she chirped. "And who is it you've brought with you? She sounds lovely!", the rat turned to you then, her eyes were completely white and foggy as if she had milk on her lenses. It took you a second to understand- she was completely blind.

"Tilly, my dear friend! This is Y/N, she is a chef as well and I thought I'd bring her here tonight to experience all La Rodere has to offer", Alastor smiled kindly between you and Tilly despite her not being able to see it. "I'll just have my usual Tilly, if you don't mind. Although, perhaps a bottle of champagne instead of whiskey tonight."

"Of course! And what can I get you Sweetheart?", she faced you expectantly.

You quickly glance at the menu again,"Could I get the Poulet a la Moutard Francaise please?"

"Yes ma'am! It's a pleasure to meet you Y/N, I do hope you enjoy yourself this evening!", with that Tilly scampered off to fetch the champagne and turn in your order.

"You have impeccable taste My Dear", Alastor eyed you slyly.

"I take it that is your usual order?", you smiled over your glass of water at him.

"Correct! Now come along, or we will miss the show!", he grabbed your hand and pulled you along to the swinging doors that hid the kitchen from the dining area.

"Alastor! I don't think they would want us back there!", you admonished the chaotic demon.

"Nonsense! I join the kitchen all the time Darling! HAHAHA", he laughed at your bewildered face. "I assure you, you are in for quite a treat."

Upon entering the kitchen you were met with a small kitchen that was neatly kept. The smells of all the French cuisine hit your nose warmly causing you to take a deep breath in. Cozy- that was how you would describe this kitchen. There were three other rat demons similar to Tilly working at the space's center. Two more with the milky eyes and one with jet black eyes.

"Y/N, meet Tilly's siblings- Lilly, Billie, and Stew. They will be preparing our meals tonight!", Alastor introduced you, though none of the three chefs reacted to your presence at all. There was something that just seemed...off, but you couldn't decide what it was.

Just then, Tilly came in and joined her siblings at the center of the kitchen. A copy of the restaurants menu was laid out on the counter, she skimmed over the menu with with her fingers until she found the dish that you and Alastor chose. The rat with the beady, black eyes glanced at the item Tilly pointed to and began preparing the chicken and the mustard sauce. Once you began to get your first whiffs of the food, the third rat started blending various spices together, not using any measuring tools at all and continuously taking large sniffs at the mixture.

"What's happening Al?"

"You may be familiar with the three blind mice, but what about the four rats with only one sense each?", Alastor chuckled at you.

"One sense? What do you mean?", you ask as the rodent with the spices let out a hum of approval and mixed the blend into the dish. The beady-eyed rat then placed it in the oven to finish cooking.

"Tilly is the only one that can hear, hence the reason she takes the orders. Her sister Lilly is the only one that can see, so she begins the dish preparations and does the plating. Billie, being both blind and deaf, has a peculiar sense of smell. She does all the spice blends and knows when the dish is ready to plate and serve", Alastor explained as you watched on completely mesmerized. Just like he said, Billie clasped Lilly on the arm, which Lilly responded to by immediately pulling the food out not even bothering to temp it.

"So what does Stew do?", you nod to the last rat in the group.

"Oh, Stew has the most important job of all! Not a dish goes out that he does not taste test first!"

Lilly placed a spoon in the mustard sauce and lifted it to Stew's lips; he paused momentarily as the sauce caressed his taste buds. He reached out and felt around various spices with different tops in front of him until he found the salt which he sprinkled over the top of the dish before nodding his approval. Lilly divided the food between two plates and handed them to Tilly.

"Your dinner is ready!", she cheerfully called to the two of you. Alastor placed your arm through his and led you back to your table where your champagne was already waiting. He once again pulled your chair out for you and tucked you under the table before taking his seat.

The food was positively divine, possibly the best you had ever eaten. You chewed slowly, savoring each bite; thinking of how each individual leaned into their strengths to pull the meal together flawlessly.

"Penny for your thoughts my Dear?", Alastor broke you from your reverie.

You smirked back at him, "Are my thoughts worth so little?" Your smile softens as he laughs, but then you frown. "I feel sorry for them...I can't imagine only having one sense. Not only in everyday life but in the kitchen especially; part of what makes being a chef so fun is getting to use all the senses to create a masterpiece."

Alastor hummed thoughtfully, "I suppose, but they all get to enjoy it in their own way. The unique artistry of their preparations is a large part of why I am so fond of this place."

You reached a hand out to his slowly, allowing him time to pull away if he wanted, but he didn't as your fingers tentatively caressed the back of his hand, "Thank you for bringing me here, I feel honored that you have entrusted me with one of your secret indulgences."

His other hand came up to run his claws over your hand, you flinch back slightly when they run over the exposed, red skin of your arm. It did not hurt, but you were afraid it would repulse him. You bring your hand back to yourself and shift uncomfortably for a second, skin tingling slightly. You don't notice the crimson eyes studying your reaction.

"There's a reason I brought you here specifically, your training begins tomorrow."

Your head snaps back up to him,"What training?"

You stand there in the kitchen nervously, wondering what Alastor was going to have you make. The prospect of cooking for The Radio Demon thrilled you, there was so much that you could learn from someone with his experience. But the anxiety gnawed at you, he made it clear he was not a fan of your cooking, what were you supposed to make to impress him?

"Ah good evening My Dear!", speak of the demon himself..."What are we making today?"

Oh? He was planning on cooking WITH you?! This was an unexpected but exciting turn of events; there were so many advanced dishes he could help you with!

"OOO maybe a turducken?! I have always wanted to try making one! We could start with- OW!!", Alastor had flicked you right between the eyes rather hard, your hand flying up to rub the sore spot on your forehead.

"No, we are not teaming up to make some ridiculous frankendish monstrosity. We are here so that you can learn how to speak through your dishes. Put yourself on a plate! Now, what is something you enjoy cooking? What's a dish that you enjoy eating? Not for how pretty it is or how well you have mastered it, but something that you feel genuine emotion for? Preferably something simple."

You frowned at him, a dish you were emotional about? You had to think, most dishes that evoked any emotion in you conjured negative feelings due to failing at them. You highly doubted that's what he had in mind. After a moment, an idea finally popped into your head, "What about tuna melts? I used to make them all the time when I was in culinary school, they were fast and easy to make between classes."

"Excellent! Tell me, what are the ingredients?"

As you listed your ingredients off they suddenly appeared on the table one-by-one. After all ingredients were gathered you set out to start your prep when Alastor grabbed your arm, "Not so fast Dear, there is one more thing I did not tell you." With a snap of his fingers, your vision was suddenly non-existent. You gabbed onto the counter to ground yourself as your world suddenly plunged into darkness.

"Alastor! What the fuck are you doing?! I can't cook if I can't see!"

"Oh, but you can Darling! You just witnessed two blind rats cook yesterday!"

"Lilly did the cooking and she had sight!"

"Well, then it is a good thing I am here! I shall be your eyes today", he leaned in close, his chest just centimeters from your back. An expected shiver traveled up your spine as if his static was prickling directly at your skin. "You worry too much about aesthetic perfection, hone in on your other senses for a bit. Learn to let go."

You bit your lip in contemplation, "You won't let me hurt myself right?"

You felt more than heard his low chuckle vibrate across your shoulders, giving you another involuntary shiver. His fingers trailed down your sleeve-covered arms to where your hands still gripped the counter, "I promise no blood will be spilled this day."

Your breath hitched slightly as he dislodged your fingers from the counter, as your posture straightened you back became flush with his chest. Was he always this much taller than you? It felt like he was towering over you, his breath caressing your scalp and blowing your hair slightly. He leaned impossibly closer to you, "Now, walk me through how to make this dish."

His hands guided yours through cutting your french loaves. You focused intently on your sense of smell, trying to gauge when just the right amount of garlic was added to your butter when it became fragrant. It was hard to concentrate on the food though, with Alastor's cologne filling your nostrils with every inhale. You felt the demon flinch back slightly when you opened the cans of tuna.

"You sustained yourself by consuming cat food?", he asked incredulously.

"Hey! It's actually really good! Besides, you don't get to complain when you are a broke college student. These cans were less than a dollar each!", you laugh, reminiscing about your college days scraping together pennies just to fill your fridge.

"Hmm, perhaps you should have contemplated eating your teachers instead. The ones you didn't care for anyways."

He helped you mix and spread the tuna across the bread loaves, topping them with cheddar slices before popping them in the oven. Even when you weren't using your hands his touch lingered, as if he didn't want to let you go.

You pulled the melts out of the oven when you heard the cheese bubbling, the bread gave a satisfying crunch when you cut the sandwiches in half. Your first bite transported you back to culinary school, you could picture yourself scarfing your sandwich down before your next class began. A mixture of anxiety, determination, and exhaustion consumed you, an emotional cocktail that you were intimately familiar with during that time in your life.

"Hm! I suppose the cat food is edible", Alastor snarked from behind you as he ate his own sandwich. "It reminds me of a seafood dish we ate mixed with peas during The Great Depression, however, this is more elevated. I can imagine you struggling to get by financially and turning to this dish to satiate your hunger. I can finally taste you in this meal...good job Y/N."

You smiled at the long-awaited compliment, with another snap of his fingers your sight was restored. Sadly, that meant that Alastor stepped away from you and you lamented the loss of contact.

"Now, just two more senses to vanquish! Make sure to think of two more meals that hold a special place in your heart. Good work today my dear!", a surprised yelp ripped out your throat as his cane gently smacked your ass on his way to the door. Did he seriously just-?! But before you could confront him about it he was gone, leaving nothing but a manic chuckle behind.

The next evening you waited for the deer demon impatiently, your thumb tapping against the the opposite bicep. What was that yesterday? The memory of how close Alastor was to you played over and over in your mind. How the heat of his chest seeped into the flesh of your back, how his claws tingled as they traced down your arms. But mostly you thought of how his hands felt holding yours; how the muscles and tendons flexed as he moved you around...how the strength of them left little doubt about what others things he could make you do with so little resistance...

"My, my- someone's a bit jittery today!"

Alastor's voice made you jump, your mind scrambling to abandon the train of thought you were on.

"A-Alastor! Hi! Er-yes, just excited for our next lesson is all!", you laugh nervously. "Today I was thinking of making salmon and risotto bowls. It was what I cooked to win that scholarship to culinary school."

"Excellent choice My Dear! I must say I quite like your affinity for seafood. Now, lets begin", he snapped and your world, once again, fell dark.

"Uh Alastor? Weren't you supposed to take a different sense away? I worked blindly yesterday already!"

"Hmm yes you did, but you will find that I did take another sense away. As for your sight well...", he leaned in close, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear "...perhaps I just like you this way."

You exhale shakily, the air around you feeling thick, the tension weighing on your shoulders. You took a few deep breaths to calm your heart rate; as if sensing your distress, Alastor straightened up to put some distance between you but maintained the looming presence behind you as he took your hands and helped you through making your dish. You leaned in to smell the fish to check the seasoning when you realized you couldn't smell a thing. You were completely dependent on your hearing alone to cook. Your mind raced as you struggled to figure out a plan of action to continue.

Alastor leaned into you once again, whispering into your ear "Surrender completely, my dear listener, let the food sing you a melody. And trust me as your host of this experience, I promise I won't steer you wrong." He gently carded a claw through your hair, pulling a stand back behind your ear and leaving goosebumps along the flesh of your scalp and causing the little hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end.

You lean back against him, letting the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest ground you as you match your breathing to his. As you concentrate on inhaling, the sounds of the kitchen begin to register. You could hear the risotto gently bubbling in the pan, the popping getting closer together as the liquid reduced- telling you it was time to add a bit more stock.

"Help me add more stock to the rice and test the heat of the pan", your voice was barely above a whisper. The demon behind you responded immediately, hands gently holding your wrists leading you through the motions. The water evaporated from the pan immediately, the sharp sizzle telling you it was time to add the oil and fish.

True to his word, Alastor kept hold of you through the whole process, as soon as you told him what you needed to do based on what you heard he immediately complied. You moved through the kitchen together locked in a strange dance; the food cooking, your small whispers, and his radio static the only sounds in the small space.

You choked on your first bite, your mind immediately going back to 18-year-old you. You remembered exactly how you felt when you were announced the winner of that scholarship, the day your entire life turned around...right before it all went up in flames. You weren't even aware of the tears rolling down your cheeks until you suddenly regained vision and Alastor was right in front of you. His hands tenderly held your face as he gently used his thumbs to wipe away your tears. He stared down at you intently but with a tenderness in his eyes you had never seen before. The next thing you knew you had your arms wrapped around him, clinging to him as you sobbed into his coat. Years of trauma and repressed emotions finally letting loose, you sobbed until you had nothing else left in you. All the while Alastor just held you, never saying a word and never casting any judgement.

When your tears dried and your sobs completely quieted, The Radio Demon pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. His hand cupped your cheek as he tilted your head back to look at him, "Our final lesson is tomorrow. Think of one more meal Mon Cher."

Your hands kept running through your hair, you almost felt sick with anxiety about today's lesson. When was the last time you cried? Probably when Grandma died, and even then you hid away in the bathroom, cleaning your face at the vanity before exiting so you could be the strong, older sister that your siblings needed. And then you just fell to pieces in front of Alastor, full-on ugly cried into The Radio Demon's coat! Your face flushed in embarrassment, you'd have to apologize to him.

Time kept ticking...he always arrived right on time, but today he was officially late. Great, your emotional outburst scared him off. Your hands fisted in your hair as you clenched your teeth to swallow the frustrated growl that threatened to rip out of your throat.

Just as you were about to run out of the kitchen (again) the Overlord finally walked through the door, he was practically running at the pace he moved at. He looked a bit disheveled himself, like he was in a hurry. He's probably in a hurry to get this over with and get away from you. You shook your head, you didn't want to entertain that thought. You opened your mouth to apologize for your breakdown but he beat you to it "What is the meal today?"

"Ummm...lamb chops with garlic smashed potatoes. It was Grandma's favorite, she normally paired it with Merlot. Look Al, I'm really sorry-", you were suddenly cut off when Alastor gripped your biceps, his hold was firm but not painful. His eyes held the same intensity they did the other day.

"Do you trust me?", his eyes bored into yours, reading every micro-expression your face made as you thought of the answer.

"With my life", you murmured softly, feeling the tears spring into your eyes again. His hand came up to cup your face once more.

"Good, please remember that I will never put you in harms way. Just...trust me", you heard his fingers snap and your world entered the now-familiar darkness. It was different this time though, you stood frozen for a few seconds before you realized what was off. Your hearing also left with your vision, this is how it felt to be Billie and Stew- deaf and blind.

Alastor? Your own voice did not register in your ears; there was no way to know if you had said his name out loud at all. The only thing your ears picked up was the sound of your own blood rushing through your veins. You heard your heart rate spike as panic started to creep into your mind. Alastor!

You felt the comforting pressure of hands on your shoulders, you were so used to these hands being on you now that you were sure you'd recognize his touch in a line-up at this point. He gently pushed you down to take a seat which confused you- weren't you supposed to be cooking?

Then you felt something touch your lips, you flinched back, causing liquid to spill down your chin from the whatever it was. Long, clawed fingers gripped your jaw to force you to stay still as the liquid met your lips once more. Red wine...Merlot, just like Grandma taught you to pair with red meat. Realization finally dawned on you, your sensory assignment today was taste...and you weren't cooking but being FED.

A claw gently dipped your bottom lip, a thumb brushing over your tongue to coat it in the spice mix for the lamb. You stopped breathing completely, your mind short-circuiting at the thought of Alastor sticking his thumb into your mouth. In an act of bravery you slowly slid your tongue over the digit letting out a hum of approval at the spices that coated your palate.

A glass was slowly transferred into your hand, the Merlot serving to keep your mind occupied as he cooked. You took the time to pick each component of the wine apart- cherry, chocolate, and plum notes. A hint of blackberry and tobacco in the aroma.

Even though you were temporarily blind and deaf, you sensed when he returned to you; it was as if his static aura seeped into your skin, alerting your body to his presence even when there was no way of noticing his approach. A hand cupped your jaw and pushed on your cheeks, gently prying your mouth open. The lamb was warm, definitely medium rare based on the texture, the musky taste of the lamb paired perfectly with the garlic, salt, and pepper seasonings it was coated in. The potatoes were crispy with a warm butter flavor, sour cream and cheese used to top them. The meal felt like home- familiar and warm; memories of cooking with Grandma flashed in your head. You felt the smile that split your face, your chest vibrated with laughter that you couldn't hear.

A hand gripped yours and pulled gently, you carefully stood up and let him lead you a short distance before pulling you down again...this time onto his lap. Your heart skipped a beat, you were sitting on The Radio Demon's lap...how? why?...what was happening?

You felt your eyes dance around frantically, trying to find him in the dark, asking for him to restore your sight so you could gauge his reactions and body language to try to make some sense of what he was thinking. Then you felt them, a barely-there brush of lips against yours but definitely lips pressing to yours in a tender kiss. As quickly as they appeared they were gone; your hands traveled up along his jacket and shirt buttons before coming to a rest on his collarbones.

Suddenly, his fingers tangled into your hair and pulled your head back so that he could meet your lips more head-on. Alastor sealed this kiss with more force, holding your head so that you couldn't put any space between you two. You melted into him, parting your lips to give him access when you were caught by surprise; instead of his tongue entering your mouth a warm, full-bodied liquid tasting of cherry and chocolate poured from his mouth into yours- the Merlot. He had taken a sip of the wine and was pouring it directly into you. Your throat vibrated in a moan, his tongue quickly sweeping into your mouth once you swallowed the wine he fed you. Never had a wine tasted so good as when it came from Alastor's lips.

This dance continued a few more times, each kiss becoming more frantic and desperate with teeth gnashing together and tongues exploring every crevice of the other's mouth. You moved so you were straddling his hips, hands holding onto his lapels so he couldn't disappear on you.

The sensation of weightlessness whirled around you- his shadow magic you quickly realized. When you were grounded again your sight and hearing were restored but you didn't recognize your surroundings. You found yourself in a room of different red tones, with a large fireplace and armchairs in front of it and a desk off to the side. Beyond the typical room furnishings was a forest, the whole scene looked peculiar and distorted. How fitting for his room to resemble himself so much. You turned back to the demon whose room your inexplicably found yourself in...and he was looking back at you like you were the first meal he's seen in weeks.

Part 3 coming soon...there will be smut.

@voxslays

@ladyadrasteia666

@angeldustharmony

@milkissesx

[jiminrings]

good day miss jimjiminieerings 🫡 i hope i’m not being a bother for asking this but may we 😍 with deepest humility and pleasantries 🥹 have a tiny tiny sneak peek of your brothers bff single dad au 😍👉👈 😍? again if it’s not a bother miss jimjiminieerings!!! feel free to ignore this ask if u are unable to post– im just excited 😍🙏😅🥹

fail-safe (sneak peek)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

sneak peek 01

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

.

.

sneak peek 02

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing it against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

.

.

.

ruh-roh new series alert :O wanna read the entire first chapter of fail-safe now + intermission 01 + chapter two + gain early access to succeeding chapters + read other exclusive content?? subscribe to my patreon :D

also to get ahead of the questions: yes, this is a general fic aka it WILL be posted on tumblr too!!!

[a-aexotic]

𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, chapter 2

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ! 1.3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ! arguments all over the place, blair being a BITCH (not to you), um.. nothing else?

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! @serrendiipty

previous next

➜ missing out on updates? ❪ navigation. series masterlist. taglist. ❫

You stepped out of the Penthouse and were immediately met with a familiar brunette, staring back at you with a warm smile. You couldn't help but shake your head as you continued walking but of course that didn't stop Nate, he caught up with you.

"Good morning, uh... why are you in a rush?" Nate spoke, amusement lacing his voice before you stopped, sighing as you studied him. He was holding a coffee and a bagel from your favorite shop, they were obviously meant for you. Every morning before you left for Paris, you and Nate walked to the cafe by your homes before going to school. And now, he's here, standing at your doorstep, pretending like the last 9 months hadn't happened.

You finally met his gaze and felt your heart do a little flip. It was too early for this, you thought to yourself as you exhaled again. "Morning," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual despite the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you.

His presence was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder of the life you had left behind in New York.

His eyes were settled on you for a few moments before you spoke up again. "Nate, I'm trying to get to school, so..."

Nate's smile faltered slightly at your response, his eyes betraying a hint of hurt before he quickly masked it. "Right, of course," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "I just thought... I mean, I wanted to catch up with you."

"Nate," you exhaled, putting a hand on your hip as you stared back at him. "We can't do this again."

"Do what?" He let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. "You're my best friend, I can't want to catch up with my best friend?"

"That's not all and you know it." You whispered, trying to keep calm.

He shook his head before meeting your gaze, his shoulders slumping. "I know," Nate admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know there's more, Y/N. And I know I messed up before. But I just... I miss you. I miss us."

"You have a girlfriend and she's my best friend." You spoke as Nate's eyes refused to meet yours. "You said yourself that you didn't want this."

"I never said that." Nate responded firmly, finally meeting your gaze. "Jesus, Y/N. I told you I loved you and you just... ignored me."

You scoffed. "Ignored you? What did you want me to say? Blair's my best friend and she's your girlfriend, Nate. And don't get me started, I kissed you and-and you pulled away."

"That was before-"

"Before what? And it doesn't matter anymore." You shouted, scoffing. "It doesn't matter anymore because I choose Blair, okay? And you should too."

"You sound like every other person, Y/N." Nate interjected, his voice tinged with frustration. "I thought out of all people, you'd understand."

"Nate, I can't do this right now. I have to go to school, okay?" You finally cut in, your tone firm as you stepped back, putting some distance between the two of you.

"Fine. We can talk later."

"There's nothing else to talk about, Nate." You responded firmly, not bothering to turn back. "Just leave it alone, okay?"

──౨ৎ──

Seated alongside Blair, Kati, and Isabel, you watched as Jenny, a freshman, proudly displayed the invitations she crafted for the upcoming "Kiss on the Lips" party on the Met's grand staircase. However, you were lost in your thoughts, still reeling from the recent argument with Nate just hours ago.

The image of Nate's hurt expression lingered in your mind, haunting you. Did you maybe be too hard on him? Did you ruin his morning? You knew you should be participating in the conversation, but your thoughts were consumed by the weight of the argument.

"Right, Y/N?" Blair turned to look at you with a slightly annoyed expression. You nodded slowly, not sure of what she said. Isabel and Kati let out giggles as Blair rolled her eyes. "I knew you weren't paying attention. I said that you were going to show up naked at the party."

"Sorry, Blair." You mumbled. "I'm just jetlagged." You lied through your teeth as you looked up at Jenny. "But the invites are pretty, great job Jenny."

"Yeah, they're not bad." Blair focused on the invites, going through them. "And here's yours, as promised." She hands her the invitation with a grin on her face.

"Thanks." Jenny replied with a sweet smile on her face, taking the invitation from Blair's hands.

You looked up and saw Serena approaching you two, a yogurt in her hands. "Hey. Here you guys are. I looked all over the dining hall for you."

She noticed Jenny and immediately reached out to shake her hand, "Oh, hi. I'm Serena."

"I know. I mean... hi, I'm Jenny." She flushed as you let out a laugh. She was adorable.

"So, when's the party?" Serena's question drew your attention back to her, her gaze now fixed on Blair as she picked up one of the invitations from the floor. The atmosphere shifted subtly, a silent exchange passing between Blair, Isabel, and Kati.

You watched as Blair looked back at her, shocked before her expression turned into amusement. "Saturday. And you're kinda not invited."

Your jaw slightly fell open as Blair and Serena glared at each other. "Blair-"

"Y/N." Blair redirected her focus to you, effectively halting any protests with a scoff.

"Until 12 hours ago, everyone thought you were at boarding school. Now, we're full and uh, Jenny used up all the invites." She explained as Isabel and Kati let out giggles. You exchanged a glance with Serena, unable to believe Blair and whatever she was trying to pull.

"Um, actually-"

"You can go now." Blair interrupted Jenny, causing her to immediate go quiet and begin walking away. Serena gave her a sympathetic smile before returning to Blair's gaze.

"Oh, come on, Blair." You spoke up finally, annoyance clear in your voice. "Don't be like that."

"Be like what?" Blair shot you a pointed glare, cutting off any further objections before you could voice them. The tension between you was palpable, but before anyone could speak, Serena intervened.

"No, it's okay. I got lots of stuff to do anyway." Serena said, maintaining eye contact with Blair as you attempted to mediate between them.

As Blair and the others swiftly packed up their belongings, you couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration at the lack of empathy in Blair's demeanor. "Well, we should get going then. Unless you want us to wait for you... looks like you've got a lot of yogurt left,"

"No, go ahead." Serena remarked, her tone mirroring Blair's as they began to make their exit. You stood there a few moments but before you could begin speaking, Serena turned and spoke up.

"Blair, think we can meet tonight?" Serena's request hung in the air, the tension between them palpable as you watched them.

Blair's response was swift, though not without a hint of hesitation. "I'd love to... but I've got plans with Nate," she replied, her eyes meeting Serena's with feigned regret.

Serena's insistence did not waver, her resolve evident in her tone. "The Palace, 8 o'clock? Nate will wait."

Blair hesitated before she locked eyes with you before sighing. "I could probably do a half-hour."

"Thanks for making the time." Serena responded sarcastically.

"You're my best friend." Blair retorted in a similar tone, her words laced with a hint of bitterness. You watched as they all began to walk away, leaving you with Blair.

You met her gaze and gave a her a sympathetic look. "I'll talk to her."

But before Serena could respond, Blair's voice rang from the bottom of the stairs. "Y/N, come on. We're gonna be late!"

With a sigh, you turned to follow Blair, the weight of the tension lingering in the air like a heavy fog. As you walked alongside her, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of your stomach. The rift between Blair and Serena had only deepened, and you knew that mediating between them would be no easy task.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

🎃 That's my darlin'..

Reward CW: Abduction, blackmail, dub-con, humiliation, oral (giving)

The basement was suddenly filled with light, illuminating first on the staircase from the opened door then blinding (Reader) when their kidnapper flipped on the light switch. They shuffled back into the furthest corner of their cage. The cage was wide enough to lay down in and tall enough to sit up on their knees.

"Good morning, darlin'!" Billy joyfully called out as he hit the bottom step. "Did you sleep well?" Nothing good ever came from trying to reason with the bastard, so (Reader) was nervous to play along. Black boots clomped against cement as he approached the cage.

"I'm.. I'm really hungry, Billy." (Reader) tried not to cry, knowing that by responding they were entering whatever sick game Billy had prepared for them. It was always something new, some disturbing way to humiliate them and break them down. They didn't want to, but the hunger pains were too extreme to ignore.

"Well, you know what you have to do to get what you want.."

"You want me to beg?!"

"Heavens no! I'm your future husband, not your God. I don't want you to beg.. but.." Billy smiled wide, revealing all his sharp, uneven teeth. "if you play real nice, I'll reward ya. What do you say?"

"Okay." Hoping Billy meant complimenting him or sweet talking him (Reader) agreed far too quickly, scooting over to the bars he stood at. "What do you want me to do?"

"Pretend like we're newlyweds." The bastard said matter-of-factly.

Blushing not with cute embarrassment, but shame, (Reader) smiled as sweetly as they could. They knew it was a trap, but they needed to eat. "We-Welcome home, baby! How w-was work?"

His shoulders relaxed, releasing tension as his sinister smile turned loving. "It was a rough one, but I'm glad to be home now! I missed you."

"I... missed you too."

The warm and tender look on his face darkened again, revealing the twist that (Reader) had been waiting for. Billy unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants to his knees, standing in only his boxers in front of (Reader), his hips level with their face. (Reader) flinched away, crying out "What are you doing?!"

"Ah ah ah, newlyweds, remember? Madly in love, still in our honeymoon phase, newlyweds. What does my little darlin' want to do, seeing the man they love like this?"

Tears stuck to (Reader's) lashes like dew drops on spider webs. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well.. you're already on your knees."

Sobbing silently, (Reader) reached through the bars, rubbing Billy's flaccid penis through his underwear. His body was pressed against the cage, giving (Reader) complete access to his body. They kissed him through the musty cloth, feeling his cock harden against their lips. Trembling fingers continued playing with Billy's member until he sighed

"You know, I'm starting to think you don't want it.."

"No!"

(Reader) hastily pulled down his boxers, eagerly kissing and licking the growing member. They sucked on his dick, feeling as it swelled to fill their mouth. Their hands continued frantically petting him, caressing his heavy testicles tenderly as they swirled their tongue across his slit.

Billy groaned in approval, encouraging (Reader) to continue. Hearing his heavy breathing and feeling his subtle bucking into their mouth warmed (Reader) down to their core. They kept telling themselves that they were only acting desperate for his dick because they wanted to be let out of their cage, but the uncomfortable feeling in their own under garments continued increasing as the hungrily devoured Billy's dripping precum.

"That's my darlin'.." Billy praised, making (Reader) whimper sweetly with their bruised lips still wrapped around his shaft. "Fuck, you're doing such a good job playing house.."

Grabbing their head through the bars, Billy pulled (Reader) off his dick with a wet pop, releasing his load onto their face, painting their flushed cheeks and tired eyes with his thick semen.

"What do you say?"

(Reader) smiled dopily, knowing that they did a good job. "Thank you, sweetheart!"

"Very good." Billy cooed, reaching down to his back pocket and pulling out (Reader's) reward: the key.

[starlingflight]

Priorities

A/N: I swear I'm going back to SEL now, but I sat down at my keyboard and this just came out of nowhere. Please accept this fluff filled HBP missing moment in penance for my procrastination:

Read on AO3

“Dean!” 

Harry's stomach dropped at the sound of Dean's name from a voice that was unmistakably Ginny's. He turned to find her hurrying towards them across the common room, her school bag hanging haphazardly from her shoulder, and her eyes bright despite the early hour. 

He wanted to keep walking. He'd thought he'd finally seen the last of her and Dean together since their break up a week ago, and he had no desire to witness more of it now, but Seamus stopped, and Harry had agreed to go to breakfast with both of them in place of Ron and Hermione, who were both busy with prefect duties. 

Reluctantly, Harry halted beside Seamus, trying to look at anything but the way the morning sunlight slanted through the common room's high windows and made Ginny's hair look like it was glowing where it framed her face. 

“I hoped I'd catch you before you left the common room,” she said. Harry tried not to listen, but it was impossible, it was like his ears were attuned to the exact, musical frequency of Ginny's voice. 

“Did you?” Dean asked sceptically. “We've not really spoken since we–” 

“Well, I've been busy with Quidditch, and OWL work,” Ginny said, and even without looking Harry knew she'd be waving a hand unconcernedly in front of her. “But I wanted to give you this back.” 

Beside Harry, Seamus sucked in a sharp breath. Harry’s neck moved without any permission from his brain, forcing him to look.

She was holding an article of claret coloured clothing out to Dean, one that Harry recognised immediately. Something integral inside him had taken great offence the first time he’d seen her wearing Dean's West Ham jumper; he'd not grown to appreciate it any more on any of the following, mercifully infrequent, occasions either. 

“You can keep it,” Dean said now, looking extremely caught off guard. “I didn’t expect you to give it back.” 

Ginny shook her head. “No, it's yours. I meant to give it you last week, but I've been–” 

“Busy,” Dean finished for her. “You said.” 

He took the jumper, clutching it awkwardly against his body. Harry looked away again. Seamus cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“I'll just put this in the dorm,” Dean said. “No point carrying it around all day.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Seamus offered. Harry remained silent, his eyes fixed on a tapestry of a witch petting a unicorn hanging on the far wall. 

“Bye, Ginny.” 

“Bye, Dean.” 

Harry felt rather than saw Seamus move away from him. He heard the simultaneous footsteps of him and Dean making their way back to the dormitory. He didn't look away from the tapestry until he heard the door to the staircase open, when he did, it was to find Ginny looking at him apologetically.

“Did I just doom you to a solitary breakfast?” 

Harry shrugged, ignoring the flutter of butterflies rising in his stomach. “Not if you come with me?” 

Thankfully, Ginny grinned in response to this suggestion, meaning Harry was spared from dying of embarrassment that morning. 

“Come on then. I need to report back to Mum that you're eating properly.” 

“Why would I not be eating properly?” He followed her to the portrait hole. 

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know, it's Mum, she thinks everyone's not eating properly.” 

The corridor outside Gryffindor Tower was deserted. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they made their way towards the staircase. 

“Sorry if that was really awkward,” Ginny said, throwing a glance over her shoulder, obviously checking for Dean, who did not appear to have come back down from the dormitory yet. “I've been carrying that bloody jumper around in my bag for days trying to find a time to give it back. I had to take the opportunity when it was presented to me.” 

“Honestly, I'm just glad it's gone,” Harry said, before his brain could engage his mouth. Ginny's eyebrows rose about as much as Harry's heart plummeted. “It's killed me to see you in West Ham colours,” he said quickly. 

Ginny frowned. “I didn't realise you were such a big football fan.” 

Well, he was going to have to pretend to be now. “I live with Muggles, don't I?”

“You've never mentioned a football team,” she pressed.

Harry could feel her eyes studying his face like a physical touch. His heart was hammering in his chest; his brain had conveniently chosen that moment to stop working; he couldn't name a single football team even with a wand to his head.

“I–” 

“Actually, I have a more important question!” Ginny announced, saving Harry from whatever stuttered nonsense had been about to come out of his mouth. “Do you even have a Quidditch team?” 

They were at the staircase now, Ginny was a few steps ahead of him, making their height difference even starker than usual as she looked up at him curiously. 

“Er, Gryffindor?” Harry tapped the Captain's badge pinned to his jumper. 

“No!” Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation. She paused, waiting for Harry to catch up to her. “An actual team – a professional team?” 

“Oh, I guess–” 

“Don't say it!” Ginny said, ending Harry's sentence once more. Her eyes narrowed. “If you tell me Ron's converted you to the Cannons, I'm going to disown you.” 

“Disown me?” he repeated, his smile growing in response to the one gracing Ginny's face. “I wasn't aware you owned me to begin with.” 

“Weren't you?” She looked away from him, taking the next flight of stairs two at a time. “Well, now you are.” 

“Unless I tell you I'm a Cannons supporter?” Harry increased his pace to keep up with her. “And then you're going to disown me?” 

“Exactly.” 

Was she blushing or was that just in Harry's head? 

“I'd better not risk it then.” 

She was definitely blushing. Or, more likely, he had started with waking delusions to match the near constant ones he had about her in his dreams. 

Ginny stopped on the step directly below him. She turned, placing her hand lightly on Harry's chest, halting both his descent, and the beat of his heart. 

“Let me tell you why you should be a Holyhead Harpies fan.” 

“Is this your sales pitch?” It was a wonder he could speak at all when his lungs had stopped working. 

She nodded. She was so close, her head tilted up to look at him, and her hand on his chest spreading warmth throughout his entire body. It would be so easy to lean down and–

Ginny took a step backwards, letting her arm fall away from Harry as she continued down the stairs. Her eyes, however, never left his. 

“One.” She lifted a finger in the air beside her. “Choosing the only all-female team in the league will make you appear sensitive, and extremely attractive, to most girls.” 

“You want me to make a decision as important as this based on what girls might think?” 

Somehow, he managed to keep to himself that he was on the verge of doing just that, based on what one particular girl might think. 

Ginny shrugged. “It's a sales pitch, I'm trying to appeal to your top priorities.” 

“Well, the opinions of unknown girls isn't one of them.” 

“Good to know.” 

“Is it?” He hadn't meant for his voice to drop so low, but he definitely liked the way Ginny's smile grew in response. 

“Yes, it helps me figure out my angle.” She raised a second finger in the air. “Two: their colours are green and gold, which my mother would assure you are your colours too.” 

Harry laughed; the sound bounced off the ancient walls surrounding them. “So, upon hearing I'm not making this choice based on the opinion of girls I might, hypothetically, want to impress, your next thought was your mum?” 

“No!” Ginny protested through a laugh of her own. “My next thought was that you look good in green!”

Harry's laughter died as his breath was stolen from him once again. 

“Three,” Ginny said quickly, raising a third finger into the air. “This one is the most important.” 

“Go on,” he managed to say. 

They were almost at the marble staircase now. Ginny halted their progress by leaning against the balustrade that overlooked the entrance hall. Harry lingered beside her, finding nothing to complain about in spending longer in her company. 

“In a few years, when they sign me – which is definitely going to happen – you don't want the inner turmoil of choosing between your loyalty to another team and me.” 

“There would be no inner turmoil,” Harry said, acutely aware that he should shut up, but finding himself completely incapable of doing so when Ginny was looking at him like she currently was. “I would obviously choose you.” 

Her smile was almost too brilliant to look at, yet Harry couldn't look away. “Oh, so you'd say I'm quite high on your priority list?” 

He didn't know if she took a step closer, or he did, all he knew was that the gap between them had decreased significantly, and that his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest. 

“Fairly high, yeah.” 

Ginny's eyes bored into his; Harry was transfixed. He waited, barely breathing, to see what her response would be. The corner of her mouth twitched– 

“There you are!” Ron's voice crashed into him with the force of a lightning bolt. 

Harry jumped back from Ginny, whipping his head around to see Ron and Hermione approaching, Ron grinning broadly, and Hermione looking almost as pained as Harry currently felt. 

“Have you eaten?” Ron asked. 

Harry glanced at Ginny to find her glaring at Ron. “We were just on our way to breakfast.” 

“Excellent,” Ron said obliviously. “We're done with rounds.” 

He continued walking, without stopping, in the direction of the marble staircase, apparently secure in the knowledge that Harry and Ginny would join him and Hermione. A fair assumption, Harry reminded himself, pushing off the balustrade. 

“I'm going to tell him,” Ginny said, quietly enough for only Harry to hear as she fell into step beside him. Harry's stomach sank, his brain leaping into overdrive, imagining Ginny informing Ron that he'd just spent the whole walk from the common room treacherously flirting with his sister. “...that you've betrayed the Cannons in favour of the Harpies.” 

“I don't think I actually agreed to that yet.” He hoped his shaking voice was only detectable to him. 

If Ginny noticed, she didn't show it. She was smiling again, her eye catching his. “You as good as did,” she said as they crossed the entrance hall. “But don't worry, it can be our secret for now.” 

[mattsturnioloismylordandsaviour]

BETTER THAN ME? - Chris Sturniolo

(lmk if u want in the tags list :3)

summary: you and the triplets go on a car ride to the store, and chris acts on this thoughts to you in the back seat

warnings: slight smut, cheating, unloyalty

its been a week since you cheated on matt with chris, and you feel terrible for constantly thinking of chris passionately eating you out on the living room floor. it’s all you can think about, even when your with matt and your wondering if chris will ever make another move…

“cmon y/n, you coming?” nick asks you, looking at you from the top of the staircase, waiting for an answer. you’re sitting at the table, your eyes practically glued to your screen. “huh?” nick turns around looking at you with a fed up look on his face. “we’re gonna film a cooking video, but we need to go to the store for food. you wanna come?” he asks, again. “oh sorry- yeah of course i wanna come!” quickly leaving your seat, and slipping your feet into your crocs at the top of the stairs. matt was already in the car, and nick just left. you started to walk down the staircase, when a familiar hand grabbed your ass. it was chris, he quickly let go as he walked in front of you, glancing back with a smirk.

was he going to start this again? with matt AND nick in the car? surely not, right? you were slightly aroused, a mix of fluttering butterflies and dark guilt laying on the bottom of your stomach.

you shut the car door, sitting in the back waiting for nick to sit beside you. “chris, i’m going in the passenger today i wanna choose the songs.” you immediately assumed chris wouldn’t budge, he loves being in the passenger seat. “alright.” he replied, switching places with nick and sitting next to you. “hey.” he said, turning away to grab his seatbelt. oh, fuck.

matt started the car, and you guys were on your way. nick started playing songs with a mix of doja cat, melanie martinez and sabrina carpenter. its been a few minutes now, you and chris have made slight glances at eachother but not made any eye contact. maybe he was just joking on the staircase, was he?

the next song came on the car speakers, but it didn’t sound like anything nick would listen to. you peered over matt’s car seat, the music entitled:

(advised listen to song while reading)

“ew, SKIP.” nick said from the passenger seat, reaching for the skip button on his phone. “nahh, keep this on i like it.” chris says, his first words since taking a seat next to you in the back. he looks at you, a small smirk growing on his face as he looks you up and down. you try to ignore him, but suddenly your phone glows with a text. from: ‘Chris’

why haven’t you been talking to me this past week?

he looked up at you, then down at your phone waiting for your fingers to start typing, but instead you close your phone and sit it down. chris, persistent you answer him sends you another text.

you can’t stop thinking about me licking you clean, can you?

your eyes widen, and your face fades into a shade of pink. your eyes immediately look at him, his cunning smirk haunting you. his body edges closer to yours, and without noticing you’re both right next to eachother. his hand overlaying yours, slightly squeezing your cold fingers. with the sexy song playing, nobody else could hear you two in the back. “you miss me, huh?” he whispers, hot breath hovering over your ear. you look around, trying to make it not that obvious than your hands are intertwined. your eyes find matt’s wing mirror, and you two make eye contact. he smiles at you with the cutest eyes, and the pit in your stomach becomes deeper, as chris’s hand moves across from yours onto your exposed thigh.

you can’t take it. looking at matt’s innocent face through the wing mirror, him oblivious to the fact that chris’s veiny hand was spread across your lap. he moves his hand, softly caressing your thigh. you could feel your heat become damp, wondering why sneaking around with chris was a feeling better than matt could ever get out of you. you felt like a horrible girlfriend — and you were — but chris’s demeanour was unbearable, and you didn’t want to keep playing it safe.

your hand meets his again, this time pulling him farther down onto your clothed core. with no hesitation, chris begins rubbing his middle and index fingers against your damp cunt. “wow… already wet, huh? cmon, you know what i made you feel is something matt couldn’t even if he ripped it out of you.” he took the words right out of your mouth, how did he read your mind with such ease? his fingers still massaging you, even this was all you needed. you were so lost in the heat of the moment, you didn’t realise the car had stopped. “alright, let’s go guys.” matt called from the front seat. chris removed his hand from inbetween your thighs, his lips pursed as to say “sorry.”

matt opened your car door, but you had second thoughts. “in fact, i think i’m just gonna stay in the car. i’m really tired, sorry guys.” you say, peering over at chris — wondering if he’d stay with you. “well i don’t want you to be alone, i could stay with-“ matt started to speak, but chris interrupted. “same actually, that car ride really tired me out.” he said, looking at matt with ‘tired’ eyes. “okay well, don’t have too much fun without us.” nick said, as all of the car doors shut on you and chris.

“so,” he started. “chris-“ you tried to talk, but you were interrupted by the feeling of chris’s soft lips smashing onto yours. your body filled with shock and adrenaline, you bend your legs as you climb on top of him, never breaking the contact of your wet lips. his tongue flicking around your mouth, exploring as if it had never been there before. chris began kissing your neck, as your head fell over his shoulders. “chris…” “that’s my name. don’t wear it out.”

he pulls away from you, staring at your lips drenched in his saliva. “so.”

“so.”

GUYS IM SO SORRY I LEFT U ON A CLIFFHANGER BUT TOMORROW THERE’LL BE A NEW PART filled w spice🎀🎀

@unicornsrfluffy

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Pirate Life | Kim Seungmin 

Pairing: Pirate!Kim Seungmin x Reader

Request: No. This was a part of my Halloween celebration on my deactivated account.

Synopsis: Pirate Kim Seungmin encounters his childhood friend when his crew mistakenly capture her instead of their intended target.

Warnings: Pirate things.

Word Count: 832

Stray Kids Masterlist | Tag List Sign-Up | Requesting Guidelines

©️ 2024 CRAZYFORMFICS. No one has permission to copy, translate and/or repost my fics on here or any other site.

"Return me to my home at once!" Y/N groans as she tries to loosen the ropes around her wrists, the fibers of the ropes burning against her skin.  

"We're pirates, sweetheart. We have a reputation for not following the rules," a somewhat familiar voice comes from the staircase.   

The pirate guarding her, stands up from his post and moves away from the bars of the cage she’s being kept in. The figure of a man stands in front of the cage. Y/N’s eyes travel up the pirate's form, taking in everything about him. From his buckled shoes to his slightly-nicer-than-the-other-pirate's clothes, to his dirty but handsome face. It’s a face all too familiar.  

Her face contorts into surprise and confusion. She begins to question if it’s really him, her childhood best friend that had disappeared without a trace one day. He left her wondering if he had been kidnapped or worst, killed. Her life went on without but in a way, he was still with her. Not a single day had passed without her thinking of him or reliving the memories they shared in her daydreams.  

“Kim Seungmin?” She finally speaks his name aloud after years of not being able to bring herself to say it.   

“That’s captain to you, Miss!” the pirate that had been guarding her growls, his tone threatening and daring her to speak his captain’s name without his proper title. He’s been itching for a fight since they captured her.   

“Y/N?” he asks, his stern look now matching her shocked and confused one. He quickly turns on the other pirate, a frown on his face. “You went to the third house to the left of the Salty Sea?”  

“Aye, Captain,” the pirate nods. “Mr. Tang’s home.”  

“What were you doing at Tang’s home?” He turns back to his former best friend.  

Unbeknownst to her, Seungmin’s been keeping tabs on her since he found out she now lives in SKZ Port, Mr. Tang being one of his informants. It was known to all the pirates (and other shady people) that frequented the area that Y/N is well protected and isn’t to be touched or hurt in any way, shape or form.   

“He’s my boss,” she answers, her confusion and curiosity grow as she looks between the two men. "Why are you after him? What did he do?”  

“Nothing you should be worried about,” Seungmin tells her before ordering the other pirate to let her go. He does it right away with an annoyed expression. His captain ignores it and holds his hand out towards Y/N.  

Y/N takes his outstretched hand and allows him to help her to her feet. She’s unsteadied at first, having never been on the water before. Seungmin steadies her and leads her out onto the deck. The pirate guard follows behind them as Seungmin gives him orders. He quickly disappears back downstairs.  

“You’re living your dream, huh?” Y/N speaks as they stand beside the railing. She notices the port is slowly fading away in the distance and is stuck on a pirate ship with no way to get back home. Not that she’s complaining. She shared Seungmin’s dream of living on the ocean.  

“You’re not living yours?” he asks, looking at her. She’s as beautiful as he remembers. He too didn’t go a day without her in his mind. The many times he wanted to turn around and go back home so he could bring her with him are countless.   

“Yes, because working in a bar filled with grimy, seedy men and women is what I always dreamed of doing,” she replies, her tone sarcastic but the small playful smile on her lips let him know she’s teasing him.  

“I’m sorry I left without you,” he apologizes. The only thing in his life he regrets and feels guilty about is not taking her with him.   

“I’ve spent all this time wondering what happened to you, hoping this is where you ended up and not somewhere terrible,” she tells him truthfully as she turns to face the great big blue. She smiles as a faint gust of wind blows through her hair and the salty smell of the ocean fills her nose. “Now my mind can be at ease.”  

It takes him a few seconds to remember what he was about to say as he’s entranced by the sight in front of him. No amount of gold and jewels could compare. He swallows the lump in his throat and tries to keep the sudden bout of sorrow he feels out of his voice when he starts to speak. “I can take you home, if you would like to go back.”  

“Don’t you even dare,” her smile growing, she glances at him for a moment before looking back out at the sea. “I think it’s time we started living our dream together, just like we did back then.”  

A large grin makes its way on to Seungmin’s face, “I also think it's time we did just that.” 

Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcomed and appreciated. 

TAGGED: @staytiny2000 - @dancelikebutterflywings - @kpopmenace143 - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea - @rainydayteacups - @tinyelfperson - @laylasbunbunny - @skz1-4-3 - @pinkies-things

[clawbehavior]

‘change of plans,’ yohan says as soon as the elevator doors ping open to reveal his associate judge. he pivots neatly, trusting gaon to follow. ‘instead of meeting with the financial crimes team, we’re getting dinner with a former executive assistant from saram media.’

‘chief,’ replies gaon, hurrying after yohan as they exit the building. ‘there’s something i need to tell you. urgently.’

‘after dinner,’ yohan offers without breaking his stride, mind moving faster than his feet. ‘if the assistant has credible information on irregular expenditures we can -- ‘

‘i’m leaving the live court.’

years of fighting practice are all that prevent yohan from tripping over the last step in the staircase. he whirls in place to stare down his associate judge, who moves fluidly down the stairs to meet yohan, face resolute.  ‘and law, for the time being.’

yohan searches gaon’s stubborn expression for clues and finds none. his associate judge was straightforward to a painful degree, so he can’t parse out this sudden need for gaon to stand his ground.

‘where to?’ he asks and immediately blanches when gaon replies unflinchingly, ‘the social responsibility foundation. jung sunah invited me to be her executive assistant, seeing as the position was vacated by her promotion following chairman seo’s untimely passing.’

‘you mean his murder,’ yohan replies, appalled at gaon’s cavalier attitude. ‘or did you forget that along with the rest of your senses. kim gaon, what are you doing?’

the doors slide open at the top of the stairs, unseen footsteps halting then frantically shuffling away, eager to escape the scene unfolding near the back entrance of the ministry. 

‘making a difference,’ gaon replies. he has the gall to find this a complete answer and doesn't elaborate.

‘isn’t that what you’re doing at the live court, in the country’s first truly democratic --’ he ignores gaon’s skeptical eyebrow -- ‘trial in half a millennia. stay here. this is where you can make a difference.’

‘once upon a time, yes, when cha kyung hee was our primary opponent but the game has changed,’ gaon replies. ‘it’s gotten far bigger than us, than the live court. the SRF chooses our cases. our evidence gets tampered with. our witnesses go mum or missing.’ gaon follows yohan’s gaze when yohan looks away irritatedly at this recollection of their failures. ‘i’ve played the game your way but it’s not working. we need a man on the inside.’

‘she’ll hurt you,’ yohan replies lowly. ‘she’ll destroy whatever idealism you have left, manipulate you into compromising on your principles, threaten you with her own hands if being in association with her doesn’t put you in danger first.’

‘that's not so different from the danger i currently face,’ gaon counters quietly.

yohan refuses to feel shame. refuses to look away or cow down. ‘being my associate judge is what makes you vulnerable. gaon, jung sunah won’t trust a thing you say or do. she’ll misguide you, use you, and discard you.’

looking into gaon’s far too knowing eyes, yohan suddenly recalls with abrupt clarity how it felt to squeeze the younger man’s neck while gaon scrabbled uselessly at yohan’s hands, face turning red as he choked before yohan slammed him against the bookshelf in the study.

gaon shrugs but he looks invigorated instead of defeated. ‘maybe so but she can’t be everywhere at once. when she looks at me, you’ll be in the shadows. and when she’s distracted by you, i’ll have your back. yohan,’ he shakes his head. ‘we don’t know what the SRF is planning, only that lives are at stake. we can’t wait for her to act first.’

‘save your heartfelt speeches for the public, gaon,’ yohan grouses, unable to maintain his composure given how fast this conversation is going off track. ‘i won’t let you go. in fact, i forbid it.’

‘you can’t stop it,’ gaon says, expression turning tender as he looks at yohan.  ‘PD-nim aired it in an announcement just now. preventing me from leaving will mean contradicting an official communication from the ministry --’ 

he gasps when yohan springs up the two steps separating them and grabs gaon by the collar, tightly, yanking him in. where words failed violence would suffice. ‘i’ll retract it,’ yohan breathes, eyes blazing. ‘frame it as hearsay and fire the entire production team for their careless mistake. 

‘you could,’ gaon says, unresisting, ‘chain me to you, and the live court. but i would escape eventually. seeing me unhappy would affect you. you’ll slip up.’ and his hands come to rest on yohan’s trembling frame, sliding down yohan’s back in a physically soothing gesture.

‘you have some nerve,’ yohan says with a dangerous manic grin, before he hauls gaon in for a fierce and fiery kiss. it’s their first one and the furthest thing from gentle but gaon comes willingly, hot little mouth opening under yohan’s aggressive tongue as gaon practically climbs on top of him, crushing yohan's suit jacket and messing up yohan’s coiffed hair in his greedy hands. 

‘one year,’ gaon tears his mouth away to pant, wetly and hotly against yohan’s lips. he presses their foreheads together. ‘one year to find out what she and the SRF are planning. after that, you can get me out of there. i promise.’

‘i want daily check ins and a GPS tracker on you at all times, do you understand?’ yohan snarls and sinks his teeth into gaon’s plump lip, splitting it down the middle and licking the blood that wells up. 

‘this is crazy and dangerous,’ yohan pants. 

‘yes, yes,’ gaon gasps. they’re in public and in imminent danger of being caught. it’s taking all of yohan’s discipline to leash the animal part of him that wants to claim gaon on the public steps for all to see like a lion in rut.

‘which is why it’s going to work,’ gaon says. ‘now kiss me darling, before have i go.’

‘presumptuous,’ yohan replies but his entire body short circuits at gaon’s intentions, his skin going hot and his core trembling in anticipation.

at the top of the stairs, gaon pauses and says nonchalantly, ‘tell elijah i’ll be home on mondays, wednesdays and thursdays to make dinner. and, don’t worry about maintaining my bedroom. i moved all my things into yours before i left.’

‘or prescient. trust me. i know what i’m doing,’ gaon throws over his shoulder and leaves.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hold Me Steady

Pairing: Billy Taylor (The Halcyon) x f!reader Warnings: Dry humping. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Billy has a close encounter with one of the hotel's maids after agreeing to help her decorate the employee sitting space for Christmas.

Author's note: Day one of the Smuffmas prompts - "hand holding and dry humping". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She struggles down the stairs into the employee sitting room, the beaten up, old cardboard box she carries hindering her view, meaning she has to pick her way carefully downwards, one step at a time.

Halfway down, a large set of hands grip the box from underneath, relieving her of her burden, and she’s met with the wide eyed curious stare of bellboy, Billy Taylor.

“I’ll take that for you,” he says, giving her one of his trademark tight lipped smiles, before walking it the rest of the way down for her.

“Thanks, Billy,” she tells him gratefully, sighing with relief. “You on break?”

“Yeah, got fifteen minutes left,” he responds, setting the box down next to a pile of stacked band equipment. “What’s in here then?”

“The foyer’s being decorated for Christmas,” she tells him, coming to stand beside him. “This stuff’s not good enough to go out, apparently. Can you believe Mr. Garland wants me to throw it away?!”

Billy crouches, tugging open the box, raising his eyebrows as he pulls out a length of threadbare silver tinsel. “I can, actually.”

She playfully swats him on the shoulder, taking the tinsel from him and weaving it through the iron bannister of the stairs. “Thought we could decorate the sitting room with it. Looks more festive already, don’t you think?”

Billy chuckles. “If it makes you ‘appy, then why not? Want some help?”

She smiles, feeling her skin heat up as he looks up at her from where he’s kneeling. “You’re on break, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s not work if I actually want to do it,” he says with a shrug.

They grin at each other, and he continues to rummage through the box, pulling out cracked baubles and torn paper stars, as she surveys the small under the stairs space that the staff have to relax in.

“It’s weird to think I won’t be here next Christmas,” Billy muses, as he hands her decorations out of the box.

She looks away, focusing on running the colourful streamers through her fingers, doing her best to ignore the twinge of sadness that plucks painfully at her heartstrings. “Oh, yeah, you’ll be drafted, won’t you? I expect you’ll miss your mum’s figgy pudding.”

“I’d sooner have trench foot than eat mum’s figgy pudding, ‘orrible stuff.”

They laugh, and she allows herself a brief moment to admire the way Billy’s cheeks dimple and his eyes sparkle when he’s happy, before returning her focus to the decorations.

Within five minutes, the old piano in the corner is decked out in ragged paper streamers, the staircase’s iron bannister is woven with tinsel that’s seen better days, and a fruit bowl in the centre of the table contains the battered remains of tree ornaments of varying shapes and colours - a fitting centerpiece for the dowdy little space.

She steps back, admiring their work, eyeing the empty alcove above the brown leather sofa that’s tucked away against the back wall.

“Would be nice if we could hang this last piece of tinsel up there,” she muses, “not sure how we’d reach though.”

Billy steps behind her, looking with keen interest at the space she’s referring to. “I think there’s a step ladder in the storage room, wait here.”

He disappears out the back and a few moments later returns with a rickety wooden folding step ladder. It wobbles precariously as he unfolds it, setting it down near the sofa.

She draws in a nervous breath, brow furrowing as she looks at it. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

He presses his lips into a tight line, tugging at the hem of his uniform jacket. “Er…probably best if you go up, less chance of you breaking it. I can hold it steady.”

She hesitates for a few seconds, looking at it with uncertainty.

The final piece of tinsel above the alcove really would look nice.

“Okay, but promise you won’t let me fall?”

“Cross my heart,” he says, signing a cross over the left side of his chest.

She giggles, stepping forward and begins to climb up the ladder. It wobbles as she moves, making her breath hitch, until she feels Billy grab either side of it, holding it still. She climbs the rest of the way, pinning the last of the tinsel to the wall, allowing it to bow slightly in the middle.

It’s not until her hands are free that she realises the view that Billy must have, and brushes a palm over her skirt, making sure her backside is covered. She sees Billy turn scarlet in her peripheral vision, averting his gaze, and her heart flutters at the sight.

“Here, look, we missed something,” she hears Billy say, as she slowly starts to climb back down. She turns slightly, seeing him holding up mistletoe - a dried, long dead bunch of it, tied together with twine.

Butterflies flutter in her stomach at the sight. “That’s mistletoe, Billy…” She breathes quietly.

“Yeah…” he replies, chest heaving as he stares up at her.

A moment of silence passes between them as they gaze into each other’s eyes, until she leans down and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Billy gasps, turning pink all the way to his ears, quickly stepping back, and she squeals, toppling forward as the ladder wobbles beneath her.

He is quick to drop the mistletoe, grasping her hands, allowing her weight to push him back into a seated position on the sofa, to prevent her from falling.

They both breathe heavily as she straddles his lap, their hands still clasped together, staring at each other with wide eyes.

“You saved me,” she whispers, “but you dropped the mistletoe.”

“You…you can still kiss me…if you’d like to?” He says hopefully.

She lets go of his hand, leaning in and pressing her lips to his. It’s soft at first, until his arm moves to wrap itself around her waist, pressing her close to him.

The kiss deepens, Billy groaning in approval as her tongue slips against his, their combined breaths hot and heavy against each other. She can feel his rapidly growing hardness through his trousers and grinds herself against it, as his hand slips beneath her skirt, the press of his fingertips feather light against the hem of her knickers through her tights.

There is nothing but the sound of the shared sticky click of their saliva as their mouths move together, and the creak of the leather sofa cushions as their hips push wantonly against each other. Desire sizzles in her blood, causing her core to throb with every press of his clothed length against her.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs leading down to the sitting room causes her to scramble from his lap, quickly smoothing down her maid’s uniform.

“Billy?” Calls out the voice of Feldman as he descends.

“Just on break, sir,” Billy calls back, standing and stealthily attempting to adjust himself.

“That ended ten minutes ago,” the older man says exasperatedly. “Come on, there are guests checking in upstairs with luggage that needs bringing to their rooms.”

Billy’s eyes dart around in panic, his cheeks flushing. “Sorry, sir, lost track of the time. Can I quickly go to the toilet first?”

Feldman sighs. “Make it quick.”

Billy nods, shooting her an apologetic look before walking quickly away.

She puts a hand over her mouth, stifling an embarrassed giggle, knowing exactly what he intends to do.

“What have you two been doing down here then?” Feldman asks her, eyeing her suspiciously.

She clears her throat, smoothing her hands over her uniform once more, hoping her flustered appearance doesn’t give too much away. “Putting up decorations, Mr. Feldman. Looks great, doesn’t it?” She asks with a smile.

His eyes narrow, distaste apparent on his face as his eyes sweep the room, before looking back at her. “Yes, if you say so.”

She stoops, picking the mistletoe up off the floor and tucking it away in her apron pocket. She has a spring in her step as goes back upstairs.

That will definitely come in handy later.