#where I’m desperately trying to keep myself together

[eddiazx]

benefit part 2 - evan buckley x reader

part 1 here!

Buck wakes up with his nose pressed against your hair. You’ve slept at Buck’s multiple times, even shared beds once or twice, but he never realized just how clingy you are in your sleep. Half your body is on top of his: your head is tucked underneath his chin, your arm is splayed out over his bare torso, and your right leg is hooked over his left thigh, knee brushing up against his morning wood.

Buck likes this. The domesticity, the smell of you, your warmth; Buck could get used to waking up this way all the time.

Except, he thinks soberly, that’s not what the two of you had agreed on. This was supposed to be just sex. But Buck has come to the belated realization that it could never be just anything with you.

“Buck? You awake yet?”, Eddie’s voice comes ringing through the loft from his front door. Buck’s eyes widen; he had completely forgotten that he made plans to get breakfast with him that morning. He looks at you, who had woken up to the sound. With an impressive quickness, you roll off and drop down soundlessly to hide under the bed in all your naked glory. Buck would have busted out laughing if he wasn’t so scared that Eddie was going to catch the two of you together. Neither of you would hear the end of it if the rest of the team found out about your little arrangement.

Eddie makes his way up the loft stairs and gives Buck an unimpressed look over at his sleepy, shirtless form. Buck had had the sense to throw the covers over his legs to avoid flashing Eddie.

“Hey Eds”, Buck smiles weakly.

“Morning, sleeping beauty. You able to get ready in 5, at least? I’m craving that breakfast burrito from Joe’s.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Just…go watch TV and I’ll be ready in a bit.” Buck says, desperately hoping Eddie doesn’t look too closely at the fact that your bra was on the floor in the corner of the room.

Eddie nods, before saying, “Maybe we can text Y/N if she wants to join us too.”

Buck lets out a startled cough at your name, but Eddie already has his back to him, walking down the stairs. A few moments pass until Buck hears the sounds of Brooklyn 99 playing downstairs.

Buck leans over and peers down at you. You have an amused smile on your face, but Buck can’t help but mouth, “you okay?”

You nod, and give him a thumbs up. You gesture at your phone, which Buck hands over to you. He watches as you open up your notes app and type out 'go grab breakfast, I’ll let myself out and lock the door' before showing him the text.

Buck nods and walks to the bathroom, all the while wondering what the heck he got himself into.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Eddie is talking about a project Chris has for his history class while chewing on his burrito. Buck is trying really hard to pay attention, but his brain keeps providing him with unhelpful flashes of last night. He thinks he might be hallucinating, because he can even picture you sitting down in front of him.

Wait, that’s not a hallucination, you were actually here.

“Hi guys”, you smile, swiping a potato off of Eddie’s plate and popping it into your mouth, eyes sparkly and beautiful as usual. Buck is again met with a memory of last night, when you put something of his in your mouth.

Buck shakes his head, as if he can physically clear his mind from the memory. “Uh, what’re you doing here?”

“I knew you would forget so I sent her a text to join us while you were getting ready.” Eddie responds for you.

"Right, yeah." Buck nods quickly.

Eddie and you exchange glances. Buck was acting weird, weirder than normal.

While you order and promptly delve into a conversation with Eddie, Buck considers moving to another firehouse, one where he didn't have to see and work with his best friend that he was hopelessly in love with.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

"Hen, can I talk to you?", Buck stammers, when they're the only two seated at the firehouse dinner table one evening.

"Sure, what's up?" Hen asks, closing the textbook she was reading.

"I... I think I have feelings for Y/N." Buck admits.

Hen continues to stare at Buck expectantly, not a single difference showing in her face after Buck's admission. "Wait, that's it? That's not news to anybody, Buck."

Buck blinks at Hen. "What?"

"Buck, you've been gone for her since she started at the 118. You've had permanent heart eyes for that girl."

"No... we're friends! Best friends!"

Hen shoots Buck a patient look. "Chim and I are best friends, Buck. You and Y/N are in a different category entirely."

"Okay, fine, whatever. It's bad, Hen. We started sleeping with each other last week and -"

"What?!"

"She's so smart and beautiful Hen, and she makes the hottest sounds when-"

"Okay, ew."

"But she doesn't want to be in a relationship and I don't know how to act around her now that I know I have feelings for her and-"

"Alright Buck, breathe." Hen motions for Buck to inhale and exhale with her hands. Hen seems thoughtful for a second, before she asks, "how do you know she doesn't want to be in a relationship?"

"I don't think a relationship was what she had in mind. She suggested we have sex casually; that it wouldn't be weird 'cause we're friends."

"That... was a horrible idea."

Buck groans and puts his head in his hands. "Well, I know that now!"

Hen smiles softly, prying Buck's hands away to hold onto them. "Buck, we all knew that you were in love with her, but she looks at you the same way. I think you guys should talk to each other. You guys might be on the same page."

Buck looks at Hen's earnest, honest face. He wasn't entirely convinced, but he knows that he couldn't keep avoiding you or clamming up the way he did at breakfast. He needed to come clean.

And then promptly move.

[elizabeth-karenina]

The only thing I’m able to feel right now is disgust and humiliation.

Disgust at the idea that this is the best we have to offer. Disgust at how racist and misogynistic and arrogant the country I live in is. Disgust at how all the things we do in this country severely affects what goes on in the larger world, and how we don’t care as long as we benefit in this country.

Maybe you have hope somehow right now. As for my own country, it’s hard for me to have hope for it. Usually, I’m an optimistic person who believes in the goodness of people. But after so much has happened, it’s hard for me to stay positive.

But I do know now that I value community more than ever, and I will not be silent about fascism, racism, sexism, and imperialism no matter where it may be. My heart is with marginalized people in this country and abroad. My heart is with Palestine, even though we were already bombing them in the previous administration. My heart is with the world, and all the good people who reside in it and who genuinely want to make it a better place.

[cetoddle]

okay. i am going to continue being stupid. and lowkey embarrassing. and a big stupid fucking idiot. i don’t know what’s wrong w me just ignore me forever okay? okay <3

[ashasdiary]

Vitamins

Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!reader

Synopsis: Husband!Nanami being super domestic, encouraging you to take vitamins, and taking care of you in all ways. 

CW: pet names, going to the doctors, established relationship, smut — dirty talking, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, brief edging, breeding kink if you squint, pregnancy (MDNI) WC: 4.6k A/N: I’m not religious but I need him biblically. 

“You’re not anaemic, but your iron levels were shown to be at 4, where we would like to see them at 6, so they’re low,” the doctor informs you. 

You nod in acceptance and Nanami, sat beside you, leans in as he listens intently, elbows on his knees and hands joined together. He’d been the one who recommended you get your blood tested, so of course he was here to support. 

“I’ll be prescribing you some iron tablets for that and hopefully we can see some results after a couple of months. Further, it was found that you were deficient in vitamin A, B12, and D. Your vitamin K levels looked to be normal, however,” the doctor goes on and you nod again. 

“That’s good, honey. You were concerned about bruises and wound recovery but your vitamin K is fine. Right, doctor?” Nanami gazes at you before looking back to the doctor. You blush a little at the mention of bruises, a flashback of a couple nights ago popping up in your head. 

His big hands, roaming your body, coming to rest on your hips and squeezing them tightly as he pulled you onto his cock desperately. 

The doctor’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts immediately. 

“Correct, vitamin K deficiency does increase risk of bleeding and bruising but the levels were healthy so nothing of concern there. I would recommend taking supplements for the time being for your vitamin A, B12 and D as well as your prescribed iron tablets. Overall, everything else was at healthy levels.”

You nod once again, “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be sure to stay on top of that.”

Nanami leans back and slides his arm around your shoulders before you both stand, taking the report and prescription note and leave the doctor’s office, bidding her goodbye. 

You slip your hand into your husband’s as you walk through the hallway towards the exit. “I have something else you can stay on top of,” he whispers and bumps his hips with yours. 

“Kento!” You whisper at him and lightly smack his firm bicep. 

He lets out a chuckle at your reaction, getting so flustered so easily, “On a serious note, I’m glad that we know now how everything’s going with your vitamin intake. It’s definitely peace of mind,” he says as he guides you outside and towards the pharmacy next door. 

“It is. I wouldn’t have really thought to pursue it myself but I’m grateful you suggested it,” you interlace your fingers through his as you feel gratitude for having him in your life. He’s so caring and also such an adult. Though you laugh about his seriousness sometimes, you’re also grateful that he’s so mindful of things like vitamin intake. 

He ushers you to step inside the pharmacy first — as he always does, ever the gentleman — and you lead the way to the vitamin aisle. Stopping at one section of the many shelves, you peruse the array of vitamins before you, and Nanami is quick to pick one of each that you needed, up. “These have the highest milligrams, so they’ll be the most effective.”

“You’re right,” you nod, and you spot a little pill box, segmented for each day of the week. “Would it make me a total grandma if I got one of these?” You ask your husband, looking to him attentively.  

“Not at all. They can certainly help with keeping a routine of…” a little smirk curls at the corner of his lips, lowering his voice to a hush, “staying on top of things.”

You try not to smile but you can’t help it so you pout instead to hide it, “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?” You ask rhetorically and he laughs softly. You both grab the appropriate vitamin bottles and carry them to the counter where you also pick up your prescription iron tablets. 

When you get home, you both wash up and change into your comfy home clothes and get started on making lunch together. You sauté some onions as the base of the soup you were making while he chops up some fresh herbs for a tasty couscous salad. “Can you pass me the chilli flakes, my love?” 

He grabs the little spice container and steps over, holding it out for you. You try to take it but he holds onto it and dips his head to kiss your knuckles. It’s a small act but one that makes your heart flutter and your lips curl into a smile. 

Once lunch is had and you’re cleaning up together, he finishes washing up while you put away the leftovers, dancing to the soft music you had playing. 

“I could do with a nap right now,” you yawn, feeling full from lunch. 

He lets out a small laugh, “You definitely need to take those vitamins, darling.“

“I know, I know, doctor’s orders. I will. But I also want to have a little siesta,” you tell him while he dries off his hands, “come nap with me for like 20 minutes. You know how effective it is for our bodies to have a nap midday?”

“I’m well aware, yes,” he smiles and lets you drag him into the bedroom where you crawl into the bed and hold up the comforter. You climb in together and you burrow yourself against him, pushing your leg between his, eyes fluttering shut. 

He rubs your back gently as he settles down himself, fingers starting to trace lazy patterns across your back. “I love you so much, Ken,” you murmur, eyes still closed, “you’re so good to me. I’m so lucky to have you.”

“I love you more, honey. You deserve the world, so I’m going to do my best to give it to you,” his soft voice and kind words makes your bottom lip tremble a bit. 

“You do. I want to give you the world too,” you whisper. 

“You are my world,” he affirms. 

“Ugh, stop trying to out-romance me,” you whine quietly and you both laugh softly. 

Sleep overcomes you and you have what was probably one of the top 5 best naps of your life. You wake up to find the sun setting slowly, creating a beautiful orange hue through the room. You stretch like a cat and roll over, finding Nanami sat up and reading a book about Malaysia. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.”

“Hi, Mr. Redbull,” you quip and he chuckles. You tap the book, “You want to go back again?”

“Yes, at some point, I would love that,” he nods and smiles to himself as he reminisces about your honeymoon together there, from which you’d returned 6 months ago. It was incredible there, a truly dreamy place which couldn’t be described as you’d have to see it in person to grasp the beauty. 

“We’ll definitely visit again someday,” you promise and he hums in agreement. 

“Maybe next time, we’ll have children to take there. I bet they’d love the beach,” he says casually, setting the book aside. 

You’d talked about children plenty of times — the suggestion to get blood tests being a preparation for taking that step — but it was the softness of his suggestion, of taking your hypothetical children to one of his favourite places on the planet…it warmed your heart. 

“Definitely. When we have children, we will absolutely take them to Malaysia.”

Later that evening, you find Nanami stood at  the kitchen counter, carefully putting the vitamins into your new pill box. 

You walk over and lean your elbows onto the counter as you watch him. 

Once he’s satisfied that you have one of each vitamin in each segment, he closes it up. A thought clouds your mind and you bite your lip. “Baby, I think I need some more vitamin D,” you tell him with a serious face. 

His brows furrow a little as he looks to you, “I put one vitamin D in each day, honey, that should be more than enough.”

You shake your head. “No, I definitely need more vitamin D,” you sigh exasperatedly and he watches you carefully. 

“Sweetheart, you really don’t need more than one a day,” he explains gently. You almost break character to laugh but you manage to keep a straight face. 

“But what if I want it multiple times a day?” You ask him, eyes glinting with mischief. 

He catches on at this and his face relaxes, eyes becoming hooded, pulling you closer to him. “I see. You do know the risks of taking so much vitamin D, don’t you?” 

“Of course. I’ll turn into the sun,” you muse and he lets out a laugh, lips ghosting over yours. 

“You will certainly be glowing like the sun once I put a baby in you,” he murmurs and you feel a shiver go through your body, straight to your core. 

“Ken…” you sigh softly, hands trailing up his big arms and grasping his triceps as he closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss. You hum against him as he crowds you against the counter, one hand planted on it and the other coming up to cup your jaw while his lips are locked with yours. 

His thumb gently caresses your cheek, letting out a soft moan against you as you press your tongue against the seam of his lips and push your hips into his. “Hm…turn around, honey.”

Oh. 

You feel your clit throb at the lowness of his voice, his direct order, and how your wetness pools at your core. You break the kiss and he immediately grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head, revealing your bare breasts. He connects your lips briefly again, not being able to help himself from cupping your breast in his hand and teasing your nipple. Reluctantly, he breaks away and guides your hips to turn you around. 

With you bent over the counter, he steps up behind you, his lips trailing over your cheek, down your jaw, and over your shoulder while his hands roam your body, thumbs hooking inside the waistband of your pants and underwear and slowly dragging them down, down, down.  

You feel the air hitting your bare ass and thighs as he pushes your clothing off, letting the bunched fabric fall down the rest of the way from your knees. 

He continues to kiss his way over your back, hands massaging your hips and up your sides to cup both your breasts. The feeling of his hot breath fanning over your skin, and his lips tenderly pressing kisses down your back makes your insides tingle with electricity. “My pretty wife,” he hums as he kisses your lower back and crouches down on the floor behind you, sliding his hands down your sides and hips, over your outer thighs and finally coming to rest on your ass.

He grasps the flesh with a grunt, the sound making you clench. You can’t help but let out soft mewls at the feeling of his large, strong hands groping your ass, his hot lips blazing a trail of fire all the way down. You push your hips back against his hands and he hums appreciatively, spreading your ass and groaning deeply at the sight of the wetness waiting for him. 

“S’this all for me, sweetheart?” He sighs, deciding not to waste another moment and plants his lips onto your lower ones. You let out a gasp at the suddenness of it, being thrown into the deep end, but this — his beautiful, skilled mouth on you — was absolutely not something you’d protest against. 

“O-Oh! Y…mmm…yes, all for you, Ken,” you mewl as you hold onto the counter, feeling his hot tongue lap at your puffy folds. He drags his tongue up and down, gathering your juices and teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

He fucking loves this. Loves having his face buried against you, eating you out from behind. 

You find your hips rocking slowly on their own accord, back to meet his sinful tongue, when he sucks on your clit and pulls a lewd moan from you. “A-ah, mmh…” the sound of which makes his cock throb with need. 

The man is a multitasker, you know this. While he’s busy pushing his tongue into your entrance, making you grip the counter tighter, you hear him fumbling with opening his pants. You turn your head to look back and are met with the delicious sight of him fisting his thick cock. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet, honey,” he sighs before he’s pushing his tongue into you again. Your head falls forward as the pleasure takes over your body. He’s tongue fucking you like his life depends on it, groaning against you while he’s fucking his fist at the same time. 

He buries his face against you with a low groan, squeezing his dick, darting his tongue in and out of you before he drags it up over your clit and licks a thick stripe along the cut of you. 

Your legs quake a little at how he’s tending to your body so attentively, but you manage to keep yourself steady. He slides his free hand around you, his fingers locating your clit with expert precision within milliseconds. This action turns you on even more, the arousal rushing through your body and your pussy gushing with wetness because of how well he could map your body. 

He notes the extra wetness on his tongue and he lets out a low hum of approval, slowly circling your throbbing clit with the pads of his fingers. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” He croons against you, taking his fingers away to wrap his lips on your clit and suck attentively. Your gasp and your back arches, one hand automatically going back to thread into his hair. 

“Hhhh…mmph…” you keen, your ability to form proper sentences compromised from your husband’s ministrations on your body. 

“Use your words for me, honey,” he smirks against you as he continues to devour you, lapping, sucking, fucking, and enjoying the delicious taste of you, inching you closer to the edge. 

“Ken…” you whine, “I’m— I’m gonna cum...” You tug on his hair, mussing it up, pushing your hips against him desperately. He becomes sloppier then, and you pant, feeling the mess trickling down your inner thighs. 

He fucks his tongue into you a few more times, and then suddenly the waves of pleasure wash over your body, overwhelming your senses. Your inner walls clench, wetness leaking from you, as you let out dirty moans of Kento’s name. 

He jerks himself off at the sound of you, the feeling of you cumming, but he stops before he can reach his peak. His moans reverberate through you, the vibrations of them only adding to your pleasure; you lean over the counter, catching your breath as he laps your juices up eagerly, not sparing a drop. 

When he’s cleaned you up with his tongue, he kisses his way back up your body, hands roaming over your shorter frame, coming to rest on the softness of your breasts. It’s like he can’t touch you enough, like he wants to touch you everywhere, all at once. You stand back up and lean into him, head falling onto his shoulder so you can kiss him. The feeling of his lips and tongue on your neglected ones sparks the fire in you once again, the butterflies in your tummy stirring to life. 

He slowly turns you to face him while you share deep, long kisses. You grip the hem of his t-shirt and pull it up over his head, his arms lifting to accommodate the swift movement. Your arms slide around his waist and you cling to him as he holds you. “You’d better give me that vitamin D now,” you tell him with a warning tone. 

He releases a soft chuckle, breaking away from you to stretch over the counter and grab your pill box, “They’re right here, hon.”

You flick his nipple in response and he feigns being hurt before both of you laugh. Your joined laughter quietens down however when you wrap your hand around his thick, leaking cock, and pump him slowly while you gaze into his eyes. 

He’d been with you for years, married for half of one, but he knew that he’d never, ever, get tired of that salacious look that you gave him when you wanted him. 

He wets his lips as he returns your longing gaze, and he lets out a quiet, “Fuck, sweetheart…” while you thumb his slit and tease the sensitive underside of his tip. 

Your hand falls away when he crouches down a few inches and lifts you easily, placing you on the kitchen counter. You watch as his cock bobs up and down from this swift movement. Instantly, your legs fall open and you use the heels of your feet to pull him towards you; the need to have him inside you was becoming unbearable. 

You felt the emptiness within you, the deep, carnal desire to have him fill you and stretch you out. 

He crushes his lips against yours again, sighing, “You keep looking at me like that, baby, and I’ll cum too soon.”

You whimper against his lips, feeling him nudging the fat head of his cock along your folds, teasing your swollen bud before trailing down to your quivering entrance that was desperate to be filled. 

His tongue tangles with yours, your hands gripping onto his broad shoulders as he presses his tip into you and slowly pushes his hips forward. 

You bite on his lip, breath catching when he pushes past the ring of resistance. He doesn’t go far before he’s drawing his hips back and then thrusting into you again shallowly. A whine escapes you while he’s working you open on his delicious cock, taking his time to make sure you’re adjusted to his girth. 

He rolls his hips steadily, dipping his head and wrapping his lips around the taut peak of your nipple, sucking eagerly. At this, your cunt greedily sucks him in more and he moans to your skin, fucking into you more, and then he slides all the way home, bottoming out inside your snug walls. Your face twists in pleasure, eyes rolling back in your head. He stays there for a moment, his pubic bone flush against yours. 

“So damn perfect,” he murmurs, and your walls flutter around him in response. This earns a deep groan from him and he draws his hips back and starts to fuck into you harder.

You brows knit together and you inhale sharply as you feel the heavy drag of him inside you, how he pulls out so that only the fat head of him stays inside, and how he thrusts back into you completely, feeding you every inch of his delicious cock.

Your legs are locked around his hips but with each deep thrust from him, your mind becomes hazy and your legs loosen up a little. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he noses your neck and keeps a steady pace, the wet thump, thump, thump of his hips hitting yours filling the kitchen. 

Your mouth falls open and your body becomes a little lax, your breaths coming out shakily as you focus on the pleasure coursing through your body while he impales you on his cock repeatedly. “Feels s-so…so good, baby…making me feel s-so good,” your voice comes out breathy and high pitched, to which his dick twitches while he’s fucking into you. 

He’s thorough in his approach while you hold onto his neck for balance, and he’s stimulating every part of your beautiful body: lips locked, tongues tangled, fingers rolling your hard nipple between them, his other fingers teasing circles on your throbbing clit, and his cock stretching you out so delightfully that you can only let out pornographic moans.

You’re both panting against each other’s lips as he picks up the pace and thrusts into you faster, with abandon. He rests his forehead against yours, cheeks flushed. “God— I fucking love you… n’ I love fucking you…” his low voice, his words, they go straight to your cunt. 

He takes his hands from your nipple and clit, sliding one arm under your waist as he bows over you more, the other hand gripping your hip in a bruising hold. “Ken…” you moan, “you’re gonna m…make me bruise…”

It’s not so much a protest but more a statement. “Damn right I am…you n’ I both know you love when I mark you up,” he husks, his lips connecting to your neck and sucking a dark mark onto your pulse point, bucking his hips into yours harder, eager to make you cum on his cock. 

Your tits bounce from the force of his thrusts, a sight which he goes crazy for. He’s getting closer to the edge, his mind hazy from how your pussy is greedily sucking him in, enveloping him in your tight warmth every time he slides home. 

You mewl, holding onto his shoulder as he ravages your cunt, letting out shaky breaths while you bring your gaze down to watch the  sensuous way his cock would sink into your wet cunt over and over again. You both love watching because it adds to the pleasure, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge from it. 

“Ken…” you moan, bringing your gaze to his at the same time he looks up to meet yours. He almost cums from that so far gone, cockdrunk look in your eyes, but he manages to keep it at bay for a little longer. 

“Look so damn beautiful taking me like this, sweetheart,” he croons, “give it to me, baby. Cum for me.” A few more pounds of his hips and you’re pushed over the edge, like your body was waiting for his instruction. 

You cry out when your orgasm hits you, walls pulsing so tightly around him that he slows down to feel every clench properly. Your legs quake, and you lock them higher up his hips as your body convulses from the strength of your orgasm. 

Wetness coats his lower abdomen— he lives for getting messy with you like so— and he fucks you through your orgasm, chasing his own release while he guides you through yours. 

He grabs one of your legs and pushes it up, using it as leverage to fuck into your heat faster. “Cum in me, Ken…wanna make a baby with you,” you sigh, eyes hooded as he pounds into you. 

He felt like an animal in that moment but your breathy voice, your words, the tight grip of your cunt on him suddenly all overwhelms his senses and he falls into the throes of bliss with a loud groan, crashing his lips to yours as he releases his hot ropes inside you, painting your walls white. 

You cling to each other, sharing open mouthed, dirty kisses. Your plush walls milk him dry, and he stays inside you, your juices and his cum seeping out around him as you both catch your breaths. 

“Wanna make a baby, huh…” he pecks your lips a few more times before gazing down at you properly. 

“Mmhmm,” you hum and nod, kissing him again. 

“Hm…we better get more practice in, then.”

You squeal when he picks you up all of a sudden, still inside you, and carries you into your bathroom, quickly turning on the water in the shower and stepping inside with you.  

“Wh— Kent—oh!” You moan the second syllable of his name as he presses you up against the wall and starts to fuck into you again. 

There was something so dirty, so sinful about how he was fucking his cum into you, how insatiable he was from the mere mention of getting you pregnant. 

It’s like a switch had been flipped; you gasp when he takes your legs and pushes them up, pinning you by dangling your legs over the hinge of his arms and holding you in that bent position against the wall with his strong arms. 

The water runs over both of your sweaty bodies, the small enclosure of the shower only accentuating his low grunts and the loud smacks of your hips colliding. He is truly animalistic, rutting his hips into yours, pounding into your cunt desperately, because nothing made him harder, nothing made him more feral for you than the idea of making a family with you. 

You hadn’t had much time to come down from the high of your first orgasm — neither had he — so it’s not long again before another orgasm is creeping up on the both of you. 

“I’m close, Ken, mm…” you clutch onto his broad frame, bringing your lips to his in a needy kiss. 

“Me too, honey,” he pants against your lips, “cum with me.”

The base of his cock grazes your clit and his balls slap against your ass with each punishing thrust into you, and you let out a cry from the sudden intensity of the orgasm that overcomes you. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” Kento’s voice is strained as he keeps fucking into you but his hips stutter because your pussy is gripping him so tightly he can’t even think straight. 

Tears sting at your eyes because you’ve cum so hard, and when he sees this, he feels himself start to cum again. This time, he slows down, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he buries his face into your neck and releases his hot load into your waiting cunt. 

“Honey…” he breathes out, and you run your nails gently over his muscled back, kissing his temple. “I love you so much,” he mumbles tiredly, spent, but knowing he couldn’t put you down yet because you wouldn’t be able to stand. 

You cup his face in your hands as you sigh contently, and bring his face to yours to kiss him once again, “I love you more, you animal.”

He lets out a quiet laugh to your lips, “Can you blame me?”

*

It’s about 6 weeks later that you find yourself sat on the toilet, peeing on a couple of tests. There had been a noticeable change in your body, you felt with certainty that something was different. That and, of course, your period being late. 

You finish peeing and clean up after putting the tests on the counter. You dry your hands and inhale a deep breath while you wait, peeking but not expecting anything because the time hadn’t finished yet. 

But there it was. Two lines in BOLD, on the cheap one, and an affirmative ‘Pregnant’ on the other. You blink at the confirmation and let out a laugh; you’d heard about this before, how tests can show up quicker than expected if the pregnancy hormone is extremely high. He had knocked you up, alright. 

You’re elated. His dream, your dream, of having a family, it was becoming reality. You slip out of the bathroom and into the living room, where he was reading. 

 “I think I need to get some other vitamins, my love,” you tell him as you sit next to him and slide your arms around his neck, kissing his shoulder over his shirt. 

He brings his gaze to you. “But the doctor said that your levels for everything else were healthy, sweetheart…?”

He sees the way that your eyes sparkle and he relaxes a little. “Well…I think we need to revisit the doctor. I’m going to need some folic acid.”

He blinks at you; it clicks immediately. The joy that spreads across his expression is undeniable, “Honey…you’re…you’re pregnant?” 

Read the sequel, Pumpkin, here <3

Do not copy or translate my work. © ashasdiary, all rights reserved.

Divider by cafekitsune

[chatonfils]

Starting off by saying I hate “mom Danny” bc it tends to be p transphobic and misgendering, so if anyone adds it to my post I’m blocking them.

Tim making his Kon clone baby, but the cloning chamber isn’t stable enough for the fetus. He’s desperately trying anything that he think might work, when he comes across Phantom. Phantom who has experience with stabilizing clones.

Danny had heard whispers through the grapevine (Ellie who’d joined the Teen Titans as Phantasm) that there was someone attempting to make clones. He’d only meant to snoop and see if it was a Vlad situation. If any clones had been made and needed liberating. What he found was a newly minted Red Robin crying over a red blinking message on a cloning chamber. He warbled a quiet “please, Kon, I don’t want to live without you.”

Danny quickly realizing this wasn’t an attempt to replace and destroy, but actually someone grieving, in probably an unhealthy way, but who was Danny to judge, he’d once replaced Sam and Tucker with robots for less. So he decided to help Red Robin out. Sure, he hadn’t dealt with kryptonian dna before, but he was at least 89% sure halfa dna was way more complicated. And Red Robin had already figured out ways around the dna shenanigans, it was just the stability that wasn’t going well. Honestly, he didn’t think it would be as easy as an ecto dejecto like it had been for Ellie. But his parents had a lot of inventions that they’d started making to help out ghosts, once they’d realized Danny was Phantom. Maybe telling Red Robin about ghost IVF wasn’t his most thought through plan.

“I think what might help is an incubator.” Phantom had suggested.

Tim could only gesture at the cloning chambers that had failed him thus far. They were essentially huge incubators.

Phantom awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I meant, like, a living incubator. Like a surrogate.”

“Where am I going to find someone that I not only trust to carry the baby, but also would volunteer?” Tim raised an eyebrow at him. Hell, had Tim had the equipment to do so, he would have carried the baby, everything else be damned. He just didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Phantom blushed green and looked away. “It might take a little tinkering with the embryos to work with the physiology, but…. I could carry the baby for you. I mean, I’m trans, and even if I wasn’t, ghosts are kind of malleable in a reproductive sense. And there are options for IVF in ghost science. And like, my own clone is like my little sister. I’m also a protection spirit, so I would protect the baby with my entire afterlife. And I’m kind of rambling so you should say something before I embarrass myself.”

“You would be willing to carry a baby for me?” Tim was shell shocked by the offer.

“I mean, yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not cloning him for a malicious reason. You’re just trying to bring back a piece of your friend because you love and miss him. Dedication that strong for someone who has left the living plain, is admirable. You realized early on that you wouldn’t be able to increase the speed in which the clone grew. You’ve been trying despite knowing that this clone will be a baby that’s going to be your child, and not just the friend you lost. And I wouldn’t mind giving up my body for a little bit so you can make your family.”

Tim certainly hadn’t meant to surge forward and kiss Phantom. “Thank you.” Tim pulled Phantom into a fierce hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

It took about a month for them to work out the kinks of making the baby safe for Danny’s body. In this time, Danny showing Red Robin his human form, and Tim revealing his own identity. It felt kind of wrong to keep his name from someone he intended to get pregnant with his child. Tim and Danny got close as they worked together on the baby. And there may have been a few more kisses shared between them. In the end, the baby ended up spliced with mostly Kon’s dna, some of Tim’s (to stabilize the kryptonian dna), and some of Danny’s (to keep the baby safe in the womb).

Once Danny was well and truly pregnant, he encouraged Tim to find Bruce. “I’ll keep the baby safe. You find your dad. If you need me for anything, I’m only a call away.” Tim hadn’t forgotten about Bruce, he’d just never thought it would take so long to set up cloning Kon. So much of his hurt and loneliness had fallen away in Danny’s presence, and Danny had let him hyper focus on making their baby.

“Probably terrible timing, but I’ve got to ask,” Tim swallowed nervously. “Be my boyfriend?”

Danny’s lopsided smile, thawed Tim’s nerves. “I think I could work with that. I hope you don’t mind kids though, I’m kind of pregnant.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “I’ll keep in touch while I’m away. Please keep me updated on the baby.”

Danny pulled him into a proper kiss, “I will.”

I’m mostly imagining Tim getting bump update photos and falling in love with his increasingly pregnant boyfriend, while he finds Bruce.

I’m also imagining after Bruce is back, Tim being like, “anyways gtg, my boyfriend is in his third trimester and I don’t want to miss the birth of our baby.” And peacing out before any bats could react, let alone stop him.

And also maybe when Kon comes back, there’s maybe a poly relationship started.

Also thinking about Tim getting Danny pregnant without the science.

Danny gets Dad, Tim gets Papa, and if Kon joins, he gets Poppy.

[dontsh0vethesun]

i’m hungry, i hope you feed me

masterlist

my username used to be just-a-torn-up-masterpiece

natasha romanoff x reader

summary: carol and valkyrie bring you a bottle of an asgardian aphrodisiac, you decide to put it to use

18+: sex potion?, smut; edging, fingering, face riding, oral, overstimulation, slight degradation, masturbation, underwear used as a gag, lots of biting nom nom

a/n: please let me know if you want a part two where valkarol join in too because i’m so tempted 🙏

word count: 2.4k | song for the vibes - ‘desire’ by meg myers

Carol and Valkyrie sat across from you, recounting their recent visit to Asgard whilst you leisurely sipped on drinks; the conversation was always easy and the four of you had made it a habit to spend your evenings together whenever you could. 

As the evening bled into the night, you were gulping the last mouthfuls of your drinks before you parted ways; Carol reached beneath her seat, pulling a bag into view. 

“So, we brought you a couple of gifts,” she spoke with a mischievous smile pulling at her lips. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you returned, eyeing the bag she pushed across the table. 

“We know,” Valkyrie returned. “But we always do. Plus, we know you get sulky if you don’t get a souvenir.” 

“I do not,” you gasped, finding three pairs of questioning eyes peering back at you. “Okay, fine, I like gifts - is that so wrong?” 

“I, for one, think you deserve gifts every single day,” Natasha grinned, poking your side teasingly. 

“Open it then,” Carol groaned, growing impatient with her excitement. 

You eagerly took her command and reached in, grabbing something from the bottom of the paper bag and immediately smiling at the sight of it. 

“Is this what I think it is?” 

“If you think it’s a piece of rock from Aladna, then yes,” Carol laughed, leaning back in her chair as you marvelled at it. 

“You got me space rock - finally.” 

“Well, considering you ask me to bring you some every time I go to space, I figured I’d actually make good on my promise.” 

“The other gift was my idea,” Valkyrie smirked. Natasha reached in this time, wrapping her hand around the neck of a bottle. She peered at the label for a moment before laughing slightly. 

“I’m not sure we need this,” she cockily murmured, handing the glass bottle over to you to read. 

“Don’t knock it before you try it, Nat,” Carol grinned in return. 

“An Asgardian aphrodisiac?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up bashfully. You missed the way the three of them exchanged looks at how adorably shy you can get. 

“It’s strong stuff, have fun ladies,” Carol laughed. 

“And let us know how it goes.” 

— 

Despite agreeing you wouldn’t use it - not any time soon, at least - only a few days later, you were sat with two shot glasses in front of you. Natasha poured the pale pink liquid until they were full to the brim before sitting in front of you on the bed. 

“I have a wager for you,” she murmured, a playful smirk pulling at her lips. You looked at her curiously for her to continue. “A competition to see who can abstain the longest.”

“You’re setting yourself up for a loss already,” you grinned. 

“Mm, I don’t know,” she cooed, stroking the back of her fingers along your cheek to feel how easily they heat up with her attention. “You get pretty desperate. And you’ll be so pathetically eager for my attention - begging me to get you off.”

“Well, what does the winner get?” you huffed, looking away from her before you gave in before the game even began. 

“Total control,” she returned. “If you win, you can do whatever you want with me - I’ll do anything to you that you beg for. And, if I win,” she began, pretending to ponder on her response. “I think I’ll keep that to myself for now.” 

“Then let the best woman win,” you answered, passing her a glass whilst you lifted yours to your lips, waiting to drink the liquor down at the same time. 

— 

Twenty minutes later your back burned against the headboard of the bed; you’d built a wall of pillows between your bodies whilst you distracted yourselves with a movie. 

Every inch of your skin was on fire, your veins pulsed with need. Within thirty minutes, your shirt had been discarded with a petulant huff, hoping to cool off under the light breeze coming through the window. Your core throbbed and begged for some attention - some sort of release - but the smugness on Natasha’s face each time you squirmed in your seat only fuelled your competitive streak. 

The movie wasn’t even halfway through and you’d both stripped down to your underwear to combat the prickling heat the dreaded drink had caused. Natasha’s neck shone with beads of sweat, and you thought of dragging your tongue along her skin to taste it. She was so close that you could pull her into you with ease, pushing her hand between your legs; the desperation made you dizzy. 

She looked over at you when she felt you staring, her eyes dark and lust-blown, pupils wide and cheeks pink. Her breathing faltered beneath her desire and her fists grasped at the sheets to keep herself from touching you. 

“You giving up yet?” she rasped, desperately wishing you would so that this awful competition could be over. 

“No.” Your voice was breathy, it made her need you more. She could see your thighs clenching tightly together, your hips beginning to subtly buck upwards. 

“I can see you need me to touch you,” she mused, licking her lips. “I could make you feel so good, baby. I could give you what you need.”

You let her words linger. The way your cunt throbbed and ached was almost painful, your hand began its descent without any thought. You were so close to bypassing the waistband of your underwear until a hand wrapped itself around your wrist. 

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” she mocked with a laugh. “Just admit defeat.”

You’d lasted 45 minutes. Surely, that was long enough to keep her from holding this victory over your head. You couldn’t wait a minute more. 

“Fine,” you grumbled, rushing over to plant your knees on either side of her, instantly pushing your clothed cunt against her thigh. You gasped at the mere contact and gave in to the kiss she dragged you into. Never have you felt a kiss so heated with passion, a newfound arousal made for sloppy kisses, teeth clashing and hands groping at anything they could reach. 

You felt as though you were on the brink of combustion, teetering on the edge with just a push against her; each nerve ending in your body was alight, frayed and ready to spark at a mere glimpse of heat. Natasha moaned into your mouth, grinding against your knee as best she could. You could feel the growing dampness of her underwear. 

She pulled you closer and closer to release; your body twitched and bucked with reckless abandon until she pulled away just at the precipice. You whined as she lifted you out of her lap, positioning you on the bed as she shuffled away to kneel before you. 

She kept her eyes on your panting form as she slipped her underwear away from her, putting her soaked cunt on display,

“Don’t think I forgot about our deal, honey,” she breathed, tossing her bra to one side, making a show of the soft pinching of her pert nipples. 

“But I-”

“Mm mm,” she tutted with a shake of her head. “No talking. And no touching.” To keep you silent, she forced her underwear past your lips, and you slackened your jaw to obey. “Patience is a virtue, little slut; good things come to those who wait, so sit back and look pretty, and I’ll fuck you when I’m done.” 

You fisted at the bedsheets to refrain yourself and, despite every muscle begging for the opposite, you kept as still as you could. She wasted no time before her fingers danced over her clit, swollen and sensitive, pulling a grunt of desperate arousal from her throat with the slightest pressure. Her hips rolled, her digits thrust into her core, and her head leaned backwards.  

It was the most desperate you’d ever seen her; a pure ravenous streak coursed through her and you could see it in the fervent movement of her digits. Each rub of her thumb against her made her gasp a moan, and her body flushed deep pink with need. 

You could hear how soaked she was - you could see it dripping to her knuckles - you wanted to wrap your lips around them. A choked moan fell from her lips as she came, you’d never heard her make such a cry of hunger before but it only made you need her more. 

“Fuck, I wanted to make you wait a little longer, but I can’t,” she sighed through heaving breaths. “I’ve never needed you so bad - I feel like I’m starving for you.” 

You couldn’t even utter a reply before her lips were claiming yours, hungry like she was parched and you were her only source of salvation. Your bra and underwear were soon discarded and your skin pressed against hers in a burning heat, the scent of sweat and sex filling the air. She knelt between your legs, trailing her fingers down to swipe through your folds; she smirked against you at how drenched you were and brought the shining digits to her mouth to lick them clean. 

Natasha’s eyes were primal when she looked at you, sparing no time before she shifted on the bed, licking a stripe through your cunt. It was messy and sloppy, each suck to your clit and flick of her tongue; the hand that wasn’t roughly digging into the flesh of your hip was buried between her legs; she practically whined against your sex whilst she humped her own hand with pathetic need.

She felt you near the edge of release and, for her amusement only, she pulled away. She left you hopelessly balancing on the precipice of relief whilst she came again, sinking her teeth into your inner thigh so roughly you’re sure they drew blood.

“Nat, I-“

“No. Just do as I say.”

You obeyed, of course, somehow enduring three more waves of relief being ripped away from your grasp. You ached and your eyes grew tearful with how much you just needed to be allowed to cum. Your jaw ached too from the way your teeth had been tightly clenched, biting into the underwear she decided to shove past your lips again when all you did was whimper and murmur unintelligible grumbles of disapproval. She’d allowed herself the freedom of rutting against her hand, soaking the duvet beneath her, whilst simultaneously leaving you in painful purgatory. She’d lapped at you for so long that your core burned with pain, clenching around nothing with tear-stained cheeks. 

After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away from you completely; her lips were plump and shining with your slick, stray hairs clung to her forehead and the rest was mussed up from the aimless tugging of your hands. 

“Such a pretty little slut,” she mused, panting almost animalistically as she cupped your jaw and pulled her underwear from your mouth. “Such an obedient girl.” The Asgardian elixir still had her pupils wide; both of you continued to thrum with desire, hearts thudding. 

Despite the want for attention between your legs, you couldn’t withhold your excitement when she crawled up your body, gripping onto the headboard as she lowered her cunt to your lips. The taste of her coated your lips immediately, soaked and hot and ready for you to devour. You moaned at the flavour, letting her grind onto your face with mindless pushes of her hips, burying your tongue deep within her. With the way you were so sex drunk, you ached to consume her entirely, dig into her as far as you could until the end of you and the beginning of her was too difficult to distinguish. 

She moaned at the feeling, pulsing around the muscle of your tongue, revelling in any feeling of friction applied to her sensitive bud that she could get. Your lips latched around her, messy and unbecoming and your nails clawed at her thighs whilst your own clenched as tightly as they could. 

“Fuck, you’re doing so good,” she grunted out above you. “Make me cum, baby - God ‘m so close.”

The eager, desirous pleas spurred you on until she came onto your lips. You swallowed down each drop she gave and pressed soft kisses against her as she came down from the high. 

“Nat, I need you, please,” you begged. “I feel like I’m gonna explode.” 

She laughed at your pouted mumbles, kissing along your jaw with bites into the flesh, stroking her fingers down your body until they slid through your folds. The pads of her fingers were instantly soaked, easily pushing into your wanting hole. 

“You’ve been so patient, honey,” she whispered, languidly moving her fingers with the heel of her palm nudging against you. You gasped at the sensitivity, twitching up into her touch. It was soft and gentle; she pampered your abused cunt with tender attention, letting you fall over the edge as soon as you needed to. 

Natasha knew you needed more - even she longed for more despite how many times she’d brought herself to climax - so she kept her attention on you. Your body was littered with marks, anywhere her teeth could reach had grooves and bruises from her bites. She thought of pleasing you forever; staying splayed on the sheets for as long as she lived until you were both worn out and spent. 

The air was filled with sounds of her fingers fucking into you, hoarse moans from the back of your throat and pants for breath like primal animals. The breeze didn’t cool your skin anymore but you were so wrapped up in one another that the sticky warmth didn’t matter.

You came again, and again until you had to push her hand away with a wince at just a ghost of a touch. You needed more but you couldn’t take it, she pulled away with a loving kiss to your lips. 

She crawled from the bed wordlessly, legs wobbling as she padded away, returning moments later with a glass of water for you to share. She took a sip before handing it to you, sitting next to you with kisses pressed against your shoulder as you drank. 

“Carol and Valkyrie are evil,” you grumbled between gulps. 

“I didn’t think I’d still be so horny after all that,” Natasha answered with a laugh. 

“I know,” you sighed with a mirrored chuckle. “How about I return the favour - we can take shifts until it wears off.” 

“Or until we pass out,” she smiled, already dropping the emptied glass to the floor to pull you on top of her.

[nadvs]

I love that a oneshot turned in to all of these blurbs.

Can you write something about their favorite position? 😄

RIGHT, ME TOO!! i’m so happy and surprised that readers love basketballplayer! rafe 🥹 omgomg yes 🤭

based on this fic! 18+!

if she had to pick one word to describe being friends with benefits with rafe cameron, it would be fun.

sex with him is always intense and adventurous. he’s rough and assertive and loves to talk her through it. they don’t limit their hook-ups to just their bedrooms and they try different positions. but there’s one they keep coming back to.

it’s a friday night and he just came over to her dorm after going out with his friends. he’s been texting her all evening about how bad he wants her and how hard he wants to fuck her and how good she’s going to come. she couldn’t take it anymore and eventually texted him i might just have to do it myself. he rushed over.

their kisses are short and hungry as they peel each other’s clothes off and once they’re naked, she knows by the way he props up on his knees on her bed and pushes the undersides of her thighs that he’s eager to fuck her in their favorite position.

she rests her heels on his bare shoulders, her body folding as he puts weight on her, her knees pressing against her chest. he shifts to run his thumb over her swollen clit, staring at her through lustful eyes.

“my texts get you wet?” he rasps.

“yeah,” she whispers. he kneels forward, gripping himself at his base, running the tip of his cock over her heat. she trembles.

“so wet you wanted touch yourself, yeah?” he smirks, loving the effect he has on her. “did you?”

“no.”

“no,” he echoes in a mocking tone. “no, because this is better.”

she tips her head back, shutting her eyes, aching in need at this point. him and his damn ego. he’s right. he’s learned his way around her body so well that he can bring her to the best orgasms she’s ever had.

rafe can’t wait any longer. he holds himself up with one arm, his hand on her pillow, while he looks down at the mind-blowing sight of his cock slowly sinking inside of her, stretching her out.

“goddamn,” he sharply inhales. she’s absolutely soaked and so warm, gripping him perfectly.

she moans softly, arching her back, but too constricted to be able to move much because her thighs are flush against her torso.

cheerleading has made her flexible and he knows it, pushing it to her limits. her lids flitter open to watch him staring down at where their bodies are meeting. he looks drunk on the feeling and he hasn’t even buried himself in her completely.

rafe curves more over her, his other hand resting against her bed frame as he bottoms out and puts his weight on her.

his eyes find hers, his lips parted, already half-panting as her ankles press against the sides of his neck.

“you like how deep i can get when you’re bent over like this?” he groans.

“yes,” she breathes.

“i’ve been thinking about beating this pussy up all day.”

“rafe,” she gasps with a laugh of pleasure. the more they hook up, the more she sees what a dirty mouth he has on him.

he pulls back and slams into her so hard that her breath hitches. she feels his palm on her chin, his wet thumb digging into one cheek and the rest of his fingers digging into the other, squeezing hard, making her pout.

“i know you love getting fucked hard,” he says. “say it.”

“i love it.” she nods desperately. “don’t stop.”

rafe breathes a self-satisfied chuckle, dragging his hand over her jaw to cradle her head, his thumb on her cheekbone as he starts to move at a faster pace, every slam into her harder than the last.

“that’s so good,” she sighs, her voice shaky.

“i know,” he rasps through a lazy smile. “i know, baby.”

he leans over even more, pressing his forehead against hers, their hot breaths tangling together.

“you’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” he says, stroking her cheek with his thumb. he can hear how shallow she’s breathing, her own legs and his torso weighing on her chest. he’s never pushed her into this tight of a position before.

“can you take it like this?” rafe whispers.

“yes, yes,” she breathes.

his thrusts into her are rough and fast, their noses are nudging, her calves are digging into his shoulders. he didn’t think this position could get better, but he’s fucking her harder and deeper than ever, his hips slamming against the backs of her thighs.

all she can hear is his sweat-sheened skin smacking against hers and her mattress squeaking and their disjointed breaths and her pounding heartbeat as he fills her with the best pressure over and over again.

rafe shifts just a bit to make contact with her clit, smirking to himself when she moans. he knows exactly what she likes, starting to buck his hips so the most sensitive part of her body feels the friction she needs to come.

“keep going,” she whimpers.

“yeah?” he groans breathily, rocking and pounding, feeling his body start to tighten all over. “taking it so fucking good.”

the coil in her core unravels and she takes in a sharp breath, all her senses blurring, tumbling into the euphoria he’s carrying her to. her body starts to shake beneath him, her walls quivering around him.

his peak hits him hard, making his entire body tense then draining him of all his energy.

he pulls out slowly, his chest heaving and thighs sore as he takes his weight off of her. even the hardest workout or the most intense game doesn’t manage to get him as spent as he gets from fucking her.

rafe settles beside her on her small bed as she slowly stretches her legs out, her muscles finding relief now that they’re not being pushed and pulled so hard.

“fuck,” he half-laughs, slowly coming down. he takes in her profile. her lids are heavy, her lips pursed as she breathes in and out.

“yeah,” she agrees with a smile. there are no words to describe how good they are together. even though it’s solely physical, she’s never felt this happy with somebody. neither has he.

[royalsweetteaa]

Hi can you do a Steve Rogers x shy reader smut

Where she’s shy to make moans while Steve paces harder to make a moan🥰

Title: Music to my ears

Pairing: dom!Steve Rogers x shy!reader

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

WARNING - The following fic contains: explicit smut, smut with no plot, fluff, rough sex, dom!Steve Rogers, sub!reader, dom/sub dynamic, p in v sex, cumshot, praise kink, pet names.

It’s quiet as the only noise echoing in the bedroom is the queen sized bed squeaking.

Steve is on top of you, entering the stage of home base as he pushes the tip of his cock past your pussy lips and into your pulsing core. He already goes into a steady pace with your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer.

Your breathing becomes heavier, but that’s about the only sound he gets to enjoy from you while he in contrast audibly grunts. Light squeaks leave your lips at best, and while he absolutely adores those short little noises, he knows there’s more in you.

He knows you’re ashamed and you keep feeling the need to suppress those moans and cries as he makes you feel good with the way his cock hits your cervix with each thrust.

He has heard you scream from horror before as you have watched scary movies together, so he knows the high level of sound your lungs can create.

And oh, how he wishes to hear you scream from pleasure.

Steve doesn’t stop praising you as he continues to roll his hips against yours, his huge cock thrusting in and out of your tight hole, making you see stars by how much he fills you.

“Feels so good being inside of you, baby…” Steve groans as he closes his eyes for a moment, taking in the way your pussy sucks in his cock as he drags himself out before he fucks home again. “I’m going to move a little faster from now on, is that okay?”

You nod shyly as Steve plunges in deeper, and you quickly slap a hand around your mouth to keep quiet as the pool of arousal in your abdomen tests your limits. Already by then, you pick up the look of disapproval Steve pulls, and you frown.

“A-ah, no covering your mouth. I won’t allow it anymore...” Steve sets the new rule as he pins your hand to the side, making your eyes go wide as blood rushes through your cheeks.

“B-But…- mmmhaaah!” A sudden mewl is ripped out of you as Steve starts to pound into you faster, his heavy balls beginning to slap against your ass at the quicker pace.

You become overwhelmed, your mouth left hanging to let out cries for each thrust Steve performs. Embarrassment showers over you like cold water, but the heat from Steve’s breath tickling your neck and the constant friction is enough to distract you from it.

In final attempts you try to keep your mouth shut, but Steve surprises you yet again as he holds you by the chin and kisses you, slipping in his tongue to meet yours. It’s beyond erotic, and it prevents you from keeping any noises slip. When he pulls back, he gives you the warmest smile, stroking your cheek ever so lovingly before he speaks.

“I know you’re shy, hun…but I’m about to show you how much I want to hear you…how desperate I am to have you moan for me…if you won’t allow yourself to make noises, I’ll have to force them out myself.”

He thrusts harder, making sure you feel every inch of his thick shaft slide inside of your wet cunt. Your eyes roll back with your head as you let out the loudest moans you have ever made before. Steve holds you by the hips, pulling you back as he slams into you, causing his cock to enter you ever so deep. You cry out so loud you think everyone in the city must be hearing it, but Steve’s hums of delight reassures you there’s nothing to worry about.

“Mmmh, my love…I could never say enough about how wonderful you sound. Keep making those sounds, be as loud as you want. Let me know how amazing it feels to be stretched…how much you crave to be fucked…”

“O-Oh Steve…Aaaaah!~ Feels too good! I-I can’t - nngh!~ M’gonna cum!” Cries and moans escape your mouth uncontrollably now as Steve pounds away, making him grin with pride. There it is, he thinks.

“That’s my girl…cum for me, doll…sing for me…”

Your back arches against him as you reach your climax through a cry, making your cunt hug Steve’s cock tighter as a new flow of wetness surrounds inside. Steve grunts and snaps his hips into you once more before pulling out, cumming all over your stomach and making a hot mess.

He pants with his chest rising, and hovers over you one last time to kiss your lips tenderly before he lays down to rest next to you.

Steve sighs with content, “That was…”

“Embarrassing…” you barely mutter with your palms hiding your face.

Steve frowns, and let’s out a sudden chuckle as he playfully pinches your cheek, “It was no such thing, my love. Quit speaking nonsense. You were amazing…made me cum so hard and fast hearing your cute cries as you clung onto me desperately during your orgasm…you’re my precious doll…” he picks a towel by the nightstand and cleans his mess off your stomach before he drags you closer to him, giving your shoulder a peck.

“…I love every part and aspect of you. Don’t think otherwise...” He whispers, and it makes your stomach swirl with butterflies at his reassurance.

N/A: Thank you for some inspiration, anon! This became just a simple drabble but it helped getting my writing skills in use!

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! Thank you! <3

[meyhew]

“WHAT WE MOURN FOR THE DEAD IS THE LOSS OF THEIR HOPES.”

I never thought I’d make this post. Any time I imagined a One Direction member dying, I pictured myself weathered and grey. This was an eventuality that wasn’t supposed to be actualized until the boys and I had lived full lives. To have to come to terms with Liam’s death—his perpetual absence moving forward—in my mid twenties feels absurd. I wrote a long thing the day after I found out, so I’ve already gotten some thoughts out. I’m going to try and keep this short. I likely won’t succeed.

Liam was kind. If he’s remembered for anything, I hope it’s that. I know he helped out with food banks in London during lockdown because there were photos of him packing boxes, but I didn’t know until now how much money he gave them. £80,000 without any publicity. And it wasn’t a one-time donation. He kept working with various orgs to help food insecure people. In the week leading up to that unfortunate Wednesday, he gave away thousands to fundraisers—primarily set up to help people with severe illnesses. He’d been part of Soccer Aid for years. He was involved with anti-bullying campaigns. He worked with Rays of Sunshine to make hundreds of sick children happy. Over the years, he also donated to nonprofits that help children in Gaza and other places. The T-shirt he designed for Choose Love has garnered nearly £200,000; Choose Love has been working with the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund and Medical Aid for Palestinians to provide desperately needed aid in Gaza. Liam understood the value of his wealth, and what his social responsibility was. He did his part to make this world better.

All that without taking into account everything Liam did for us. The youtube videos he started during quarantine because it was a way to distract people, give them something to look forward to. His comedic timing was something special. The discord server where he talked to fans and highlighted their creative endeavors. His livestreams, the endless culture-defining tweets he made. I still see people laughing about his tweets. We all remember Mrs. Horan, yes? I mean, go all the way back to TwitCams. Just google the phrase and one of the first videos you get will be Liam’s. From day one, he took it upon himself to make sure the fans were happy. That we felt seen, heard. And he kept One Direction alive for us, on occasion at a great personal cost. He performed deep cuts we’d never seen sung live, he was always so enthusiastic about everyone else’s projects, he never shied away from talking about the band—because it made us happy. He knew what the band meant to us, the blend of hope and nostalgia many of us clung to, and he held on with us. For us. The masses ridiculed him for his clinginess, and he didn’t let go—for us. I’m sure he knew there are those of us for whom the name One Direction still means everything. And how right he was. Look at the global charts for the past two weeks. We’ve made history again. Because of Liam. He had been the glue holding a lot of the fandom together, whether people realized it or not. He brought us all together again in the most heartbreaking of ways.

One Direction came into my life at a time when I was becoming lonelier by the day. I had moved to a new country two years prior, and I didn’t yet have many friends because I knew only enough English to get by at school. Outside of school, I had no friends. They were all back home in the place I’d left. All I had was my two siblings—and when you’re 13 years old, your 14 yr old sister is hardly the person you want to spend all your time with. I didn’t have space for me, to do and to be something that was just mine.

Then I found 1d through a girl at school and they became that something for me. I bettered my English by watching them talk. I found this community because of them, and I have learned so much from being a part of it. So many wonderful people have touched my life because of them over the years, some I’ve fallen out of touch with and some I hung out with just this month. They—and, by extension, Liam—have made me wealthy in friendship.

Claudia, Ingrid, Mery; Thank you for putting up with my insanely specific demands and making headers for me. Ingrid, you’ve been so patient about teaching me how to gif. Mery, I still have your rec list for learning Spanish saved in my notes app. The TPWK print you gifted me hangs on my wall. Cloudy, do you remember that lineart you made of me? I still have it. You’ve all been so kind to me.

Rafa; You have no idea how much you’ve helped build my confidence as a writer. Lyab is a thing of the past now, but those hours you spent fleshing out the details of that fic are priceless to me. I’d never written anything so ambitious before. And, frankly, I don’t think I would’ve attempted a novel if I hadn’t written a 100k fic—which I couldn’t have done without your encouragement. I think this is my first time telling you I finished the first draft of my novel in September. Thank you <3

Yas; Beloved you are so dear to me. You have shown me such kindness over the years, at times I wondered what I had done to deserve it. Not many people check in with me the way you do. I value your presence in my life beyond words. You have so much love and affection to give, and I’m glad I get to receive so much of it.

If I wrote a personal note to everyone who’s in my life because of Liam we’d be here for hours and hours. Jess, Bella, Alex, Jack, Hayley, Hope, Soni, Kayla, Sara, Arsh, Tina, Ola, Cristal, Kylee, Hana, Ali, Antonise, Clare, Abby, Nina, fnh, mert, people I don’t follow anymore, everyone who’s come into my life because of liam—I love you. Literally every single person I follow should be named here because I wouldn’t even be on this website if it weren’t for 1d. You’re all so special to me.

I still can’t believe Liam is gone. I was at the grocery store and it hit me that it’s real, and I thought, no, there’s no way. It feels so fucking weird having this invisible hole in my life that’s never going to go away. But I’ll always be grateful for everything Liam brought into my life. I know I’ll grow old with a whole bunch of you in my life—I’ve already spent a decade with some of you in my life—and I wish Liam got to grow old and weathered with us all.

This is such an inadequate goodbye. I think I’ll keep coming up with things I wish I could tell Liam, or things I want to say to you all. There’s so much history here, so much to reminisce about. He took a piece of my adolescence with him. I’ll miss him forever. Too many of my memories are intertwined with him and I’ll miss him forever.

Sleep easy, Liam. I hope, in time, you’re remembered for your limitless capacity for love and your desire to do better, be better. You deserved more. 🤍

—————

tagging 1d people here because i know many blogs aren’t active on a regular basis. apologies if i missed someone (i’m sure i did). hugs for everyone

@1dclowns @hrrytomlinson @sandiazucar @fookinfreezin @hoeranghae @wlwmermald @tomlinsun @epubgf @heyangel @fireproofs @90sgrungelouis @lirry @iconichalo @itsnotreal @aquickstart @roguecurls @harryscuddles @hoteyelinerguy @babyy-honey @goldencereza @kindathoughtprovoking @kindofsharethat @fuchsiasea @queerbloodyangel @tofiveohfive @aboutmetamorphosis @wastelandbabyblue @delicatepointofview @twentybiqueen @girlcrushau @chaoticsue @chimnation @akasakasads @icouldbeluckyagain @alloutshirt @half-lightl @halohamilton @willowfey @meltedwings @softandslow @loustyles @onedirectiom @pop-punklouis @pridesobright @finexbright @femstyles @baawree @iamnathanscott @avocadolouie @userautumn @niallerer @itsnothesameasitwas @usignedupforthis @svpportive @svncourt

[luveline]

wondering what zombie!au Steve might try to do for a sappy romantic surprise.. I feel like he’d get really excited about planning something intimate/small but really meaningful and tooth-rotting sweet.. maybe it’s for a birthday? or just for a spot of cheer?

Before the apocalypse, Steve was desperate to be loved. None of his girlfriends ever seemed that interested in more than sex or popularity, and if they were, they’d realise they wanted more than Steve soon after. He spent years wishing somebody would look at him and find exactly what they wanted. 

And you do. 

You look at him like he’s your everything (when you aren’t complaining, that is). “I’m gonna have to shave you myself,” you say, climbing into his lap, your hand tipping his head back less gently than you mean to, he’s sure. “That’s a wound.” 

“It’s a scratch. It’ll be fine tomorrow.” 

He grabs your waist, surprised but certainly not unhappy with your sudden presence. You’re straddling him. “Does it hurt?” You rub the area surrounding his raw skin. “Does that hurt?” 

“Not really.” He runs his hands up and down your sides. “What’s up?” 

You shrug. He leans back against the headboard as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “We finally have a bed again.” 

He pulls you in for a hug. “Yeah?” 

“It’s so nice. I missed this.” 

“I missed this too. Clean sheets, a door that locks…” 

You understand what he’s hinting at. He isn’t subtle, but he’s also in no rush, and you know that too. “Maybe you can give me a massage later,” you murmur. “We still have some of that nice lotion.” 

He loves that, the thought of you on your front as his hands push up your shoulders, your skin and his palms warmed by friction. “What about me?” he jokes, hands sliding up your back, tracing the path he’ll make later on. 

“You can have one too,” you say, your face dropping down to his neck, where you kiss him mildly, like you’re thinking of something else. 

Steve wants to give the gift to you before he forgets it. You can be a very distracting person, not just because he’d like to encourage your lips to his for a good kiss, or because you’re the perfect partner for hugging under the covers. Maybe it’s because he loves talking to you, about everything and anything at all.

“Hey, so.” He encourages your head back, his hand on the nape of your neck. “I have something for you.” 

“Do I have to get off of you?” you ask. 

“No, you can stay there.” He reaches into his pocket. 

“Wait, you’re smiling. Are you that excited to give it to me?” 

“Pretty excited.” 

You caress the inside of his elbow. 

It’s probably why you’re so easy to love. Not that you love him, but your propensity for sweetness, and the way you show your own affection. If he didn’t need both hands for this next part he’d twine your fingers together and hold yours all night long. 

He pulls a small plastic bag from his pocket to show you the contents, then changes his mind and opens the bag to take it out instead. “I know you were pretty happy that I found your necklace in my jacket, but I got it for you such a long time ago, I’m not saying you shouldn’t keep it. You should keep it.” 

“I don’t think I could get rid of it,” you say, honest and curious. “You gave it to me to make me feel better. Do you remember?” 

“Yeah, I remember. You had a frown like no one’s business for days.” He finds the charm and lays it over his hand. The chain is slightly tangled, but he can fix that. “There wasn’t a box, but. I don’t know, it reminded me of us, and you need an upgrade, I think I should ask you to get married–”

You smile in surprise, “What?” 

“But I can’t find a ring. So I have to promise to get you one, and you can have this for the interim.” It’s an incredible skinny chain joined by two hearts. Steve knows it’s cheesy, it’s insanely corny, whatever, he’s smiling like a loon. “I figure it’s me and you,” he says, putting it in your open palm. “Linked together.” 

Your gaze moves between him and the necklace slowly. “You want to marry me?” 

Steve curls your hand closed over the necklace. Gentle, he takes your face into both hands. “I get that I haven’t been the best boyfriend, but you can’t really think I don’t want that, right?” 

He’s really asking, but you don’t answer.

“I would’ve married you a long, long time ago, if things were different,” he says, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “I would’ve asked,” he corrects softly, before stealing another kiss. 

You press your screwed up fist to his chest as you kiss him back. 

“Who says we have to have rings?” you mumble. 

The idea of calling you his wife is insanity. It trips him up, flips his heart, but he thinks you deserve the real thing. As real as it can get, considering. 

“I’m gonna keep looking,” Steve says. 

The way your eyes soften as he rubs your cheek sets everything he’s saying to you in stone. Who else could he ever want to be looking at him like this beside you? How lucky he is that you’d bother. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Your face tilts down and he drops one hand, moving the other to just under your jaw, his pinky and marriage finger sewn behind your ear, middle and index on your cheek. He watches you and you turn your gift in your palm, waiting for you to lift your head.

“Thank you,” you say again. “Will you put it on me?” 

Steve strings it around your neck and clasps it at your chest before twisting it to sit properly. The new necklace is a bit shorter than your simple diamond. You could wear both without issue. 

You look down at them but can’t quite see them. “Does it look good?” 

“Yeah. Looks beautiful.” 

He wraps his arms around you again and looks up in to your face, chests coming together as he straightens his back and the gap between you closes just enough. You look down at him, your smile a mirror of his. Steve thinks being as in love with you as he is makes for its own kind of gift. Much better than a necklace, but he’ll keep trying to bridge the gap. 

He forgets everything else when you’re together. Everything. 

His face falls into your chest and collar against your necklaces. You press your face to his hair and cuddle him nicely. 

“Love you,” you both whisper at the same time. 

Your laugh tickles his scalp, warm breath in his hair. 

[spaceshipellie]

sub top ellie fic? 👀

slow touch

ellie x reader

warnings: sub!top!ellie, dom!bottom!reader, reader makes ellie watch them touch themselves, fingering, face sitting, ellie begging, strap use, finger sucking, 18+ MDNI

IDK IF I LIKE THE WRITING IN THIS YET SO don’t look at me if it’s bad okay? okay

“uh uh, i said no touching,” you smirked at her eager fingers reaching out for your hip before she quickly withdrew them.

she looked up at you from where she sat on the side of the bed in just her boxers. her eyes were pleading and puppy like. oh, she was beyond desperate to touch you. you could practically hear the whimpers already.

you slowly ran your hands up your body, clad in some of your favourite lingerie, and watched as ellie’s eyes followed your movements like it was her job. her hands fidgeted together in her lap. you were so mean for making her look but not touch.

you could tell her heart rate had quickened as you moved her hands out of her lap and pinned them to the bed. she supported her weight on them as she watched you straddle her lap and rest your arms on her shoulders. with you now closer, she could smell your perfume radiating off your warm skin. it was intoxicating and adding to the growing insanity she felt trying to keep her hands in place.

she caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she waited anxiously for you to do something. you brushed your thumb over it as it fell back into place, so soft and round under your touch. her lips parted slightly and you smiled as you leant down, ghosting your own over hers, but refusing to give her what she wanted. a whiny, frustrated groan left her which only made you happier.

“shh, baby,” you cooed, placing a soft kiss to her cheek, just millimetres away from her lips. you dragged your lips closer to her ear before whispering.

“i’m going to touch myself and you’re going to sit here and watch, okay?”

you felt her nod and almost gulp at your words. you moved your face back to look at her as you wanted to see the way her eyelids fluttered at the sight of you slipping two fingers into your mouth. you sucked them before watching as ellie’s eyes followed them down to where they pushed your underwear to the side and started rubbing slow circles on your clit. she couldn’t stop staring at the way you were pleasing yourself in her lap, while she had to just sit there idly and keep her hands to herself.

a small “fuck” tumbled from her mouth as she watched the way your fingers dipped further until they were curling up inside your cunt.

“feels so good,” you moaned and started grinding your hips onto your own hand, feeling the way you were getting more soaked by the second. ellie was fighting the urge to grind her hips up into you, but she knew if she did you would stop and drag out the sweet torture of this even more.

just as she felt like she was slipping into a trance from watching you writhe around in her lap, she felt your free hand take her chin. you forced her to look at you as you gave this almost sympathetic look. you brought your slick-coated fingers up and gently pushed them past her lips, making her suck on them. her eyes fluttered closed as she got a taste of you before you pulled your fingers out and took hold of one of her hands.

“if you don’t listen to what i say, we’ll stop, okay?”

she squeaked out an okay as you guided her hand to your pussy. you helped move her fingers over your clit, making sure that she understood what pace you were setting before you let go. it was obvious she was desperate to look down at her hand by the way her eyes would occasionally flick down away from yours, but your hold on her face prevented it.

“mm feels good, baby. you’re doing so well,” you said, leaving a kiss just on the corner of her mouth.

you slid your hand down in between your bodies and guided ellie’s further until she obediently pushed her fingers inside you.

“slow,” you warned as she started moving them, patiently listening to your every word until she found the pace you wanted.

you gripped her shoulders and watched her already pussy drunk expression, basking in how perfectly her fingers fitted inside you. you could tell it was hard for her to stay as she was but equally you knew how much joy she got from doing whatever she could to please you. you noticed her eyes getting fixated on your tits. you tangled one of your hands into her hair and forced her to look up at you.

“your mouth getting bored?”

she nodded. you used your grip on her hair to guide her until she was wrapping her lips around your nipple. you eyes rolled in your head as you melted into the way her hands and mouth were working on you. you tightened your grip on her hair and she moaned at the slight pain. her fingers also started to speed up and so you pulled her head back to look at you.

“what did i say?”

“to go slow.” her voice was lazy and quiet.

“you won’t get to fuck me if you’re not good.”

she let out a small whimper. “please let me taste you.”

“what was that?” you heard her just fine but wanted to hear her beg.

“i need to taste you, please, please. can’t stop thinking about it.” she tried to lean her head on your chest.

“poor baby,” you said in mock sympathy.

you didn’t say anything more for a while, her head went forward to rest on you whilst her fingers still pumped themselves inside, your wetness dripping on her thighs.

“lie back then.”

your sudden instruction made her head shoot up to look at you, desperation in her eyes. it made you laugh a little to yourself which made her cheeks tint pink. you pulled ellie’s hand away and licked her fingers clean before pushing on her shoulder. she lied down on her back and watched as you climbed off her lap to remove your underwear completely, before returning to position yourself near her face. she placed her hands on your thighs and looked up at you as if she was waiting for you to give her the go ahead. you reached down and lightly scratched her head, nodding, before feeling her tongue meet your clit.

she sucked and licked at your clit as if she hadn’t tasted you in weeks. her hands on your thighs pulled you closer to her and she matched your rhythm when you started to rock your hips slightly. muffled whimpers escaped her mouth and greedy moans left yours. seeing her eyes looking up at you made your heart want to burst. so happy and eager to please her girl and do whatever you wanted her to do.

strings of curses were leaving your mouth as your orgasm started to wash through your entire body, your hips bucking over ellie’s tongue as you came. as your body went limp you scooted back so that you were straddling over her stomach. you ran your thumb over her lips, collecting some of your cum before licking it off. leaning down, you teased a barely there kiss on her lips and whispered against them.

“seeing as you’ve been so good for me, i think you’ve earned it.”

her whole body visibly reacted as she got excited over the fact that you were finally going to let her fuck you. you left a couple of kisses down her body as you slid off and reached for the strap, helping her put it on.

you laid back as she situated herself between your hips, her eyes once again soaking in the sight of you as she waited for you to tell her what you wanted from her. you placed your hand on the back of her neck to pull her in for a kiss before mumbling against her lips.

“nice and slow, yeah?”

she nodded and reached a hand down to help push the strap in, agonisingly slow. her heart pounded upon hearing the little gasp that left your pretty lips when the tip pushed through. you ran your hands over her arms, shoulders and up into her hair at the nape of her neck as she pumped in and out of you, each movement becoming easier the wetter you were getting. she kept fucking you at the pace you wanted whilst her lips left sweet kisses on your neck, mumbling about how pretty you sound and beautiful you look. you’d return the compliments by telling her she was doing such a good job paying attention to your commands and she looked so sweet and beautiful submitting to you like this. you wrapped your arms around her to pull her closer and started biting at the skin on her neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of small marks. the sensation was clearly getting to her as she started to speed up, her groans getting louder. you wrapped your fingers under her chin, and forced her to look at you.

“did i say you could do that?”

her movements slowed again, a pout taking over her lips. the sounds your cunt was making around her strap were filthy and it was killing her that she couldn’t make the most of that just yet.

“please let me go faster,” she whined.

“i will if you only do it when i tell you, okay?”

“okay.”

“good girl.”

she moaned at your words, her head dropping to your shoulder. her hips kept rocking and you had started rubbing your clit, moaning close to her ear just to add to her torture. she had been so good, so well behaved despite a couple of hiccups that you felt like she’d earned it. and if you were being honest with yourself, you were growing desperate for more too but you weren’t going to admit that.

“you’ve been so good, baby,” you praised, running your hands up and over her body again. she looked at you, her lips parted.

“i think you’ve earned it,” you wrapped your leg around her, gently pushing down and holding her closer to you, “you can fuck me harder now.”

it was almost like a tiny smile came over her face as she kissed you. she didn’t waste her time pumping in and out of you faster and harder, but still only picking the pace up gradually as she didn’t want to risk you punishing her for attempting it too quickly. you both became more breathless, your warm bodies clinging to one another. you continued blessing her ears with little praises.

“making me feel so good.”

“you’ve been such a good girl for me.”

“just like that, baby.”

she was almost moaning just as much as you, that phantom dick feeling overwhelming her as she could of sworn she could feel exactly how hard you were clenching around her. her mind was like static as her eyes trailed down your body and she fixated on where she was repeatedly disappearing inside you, white cum spilling around the base of her dick.

“you’re gonna make me cum, baby.”

she whimpered at your words and you scratched at her back as she fucked into you, desperate to have you unravel beneath her. she started leaving hot, messy kisses on your neck as you cried out that you were coming, your legs trapping her against you. your legs trembled as you came and once she was certain you had, her pace slowed to a stop and you felt her weight sink into you, exhausted. you kissed her forehead and brushed a thumb over her cheek, making her look at you once more with that devoted expression. she was always so good to you and you were going to make sure she always knew that.

[admirxation]

彡 𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟐𝐧𝐝 - 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧

♡ 𝐬𝐮𝐦. Leon wants to film his girlfriend while they get intimate (wc: 1.8k)

𝐜𝐰 — afab!reader x Leon S. Kennedy. 18+ smut mdni, established relationship (f/m), porn filming, body image issues and insecurity mention on the readers part, nipple play, p in v, dirty talk, praise, cum (male and female ejaculation) -> you've been warned; continue at your own discretion.

“Come on, I promise it will be fun. It’ll be something I can keep whenever you’re away, and I’m missing you… Come on, please, baby.” 

Recently, your boyfriend Leon wanted to try something out. In your relationship, the motto was wanting to try anything for the first time, and not knocking it until you try it; however, what Leon was proposing made a glimmer of hesitance form within you.

“Look, I’m not against it, I’m just… Nervous,” you twiddled your thumbs as you looked away, feeling your heart flutter when you felt his large hands grab onto your fingers, holding and grounding you in the moment and the feeling of his tender touch. 

“It’ll be fun, and whenever you’re at work or with friends, I can watch it and remind myself how gorgeous and sexy my girlfriend is, yeah?” he teased for a moment as he left a soft trail of kisses and nibbled on the slope of your neck, that made you giggle. “What are you so nervous about anyway?” 

You smiled as you felt him practically all over you, desperate for you to give in and try it with him. Leon had wanted to film you two being intimate; whenever he was alone when you were with friends or at work, he would usually feel frustrated, and porn online wasn’t satisfying him. He saw you as his one and only, and seeing another woman moan and get dicked down didn’t do it for him like it did during his pubescent years of constantly scrolling on the feed while he fucked his fist like the horny teenager he was before meeting you at college. You weren’t against it, in the sense you didn’t want to do it; if anything, you felt flattered he wanted a little collection of you when he felt lonely and sexually frustrated; being the only object of his desire was a huge turn-on for you. Your problem lay in the vulnerability the camera would make you feel. 

When it comes to sex, it’s a heat of the moment, getting lost in each other’s bodies and feeling the heat of entrance and warm pants from orgasms, so there isn’t much time to pass judgment when you’re enjoying the fulfilment of lust. But when it came to the camera and being filmed, you just felt like it was a place where Leon could have the space to analyse every aspect of your body, and having him see your insecurities as a turn-off would break you like it would break any person who is in love. 

“Come on, tell me what’s the issue, we don’t have to do it… But I’d like to know what’s going on through that mind,” he coaxed out your reasonings with a soft-toned voice. 

“Leon, I do want to do it… I’m just… nervous,” you released a sigh before you continued, “I don’t… I don’t want you to look at me differently.”

“How would I look at you differently? I love you, and you know I’m extremely attracted to you.” 

That was true; you and Leon had been together for years after you met in college, and even to this day, he looks at you like the very first day he got you in his dorm room and made the bed creak and you moan when the sock was on the door handle. He was completely taken with you, so he was bewildered at the thought of you, thinking he might find you unattractive. 

“Baby, I promise that I will never look at you differently,” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as he looked at you with a tender stare that still held the lingerings of desire within the cusp of his blue gaze, “Please… I just wanna experience this with you, to be able to see you whenever I want,” he whispered the last words into the shell of your ear, making a shiver reverberate through your spinal cord and warmth that pooled within your body.

“Okay, we’ll try it,” you said with an enthusiastic smile.

“Yes! You get undressed, and I’ll set my phone up.” 

You gave him a quick nod as you watched Leon—standing in his shirt and boxers—setting up his phone to balance on the edge to capture your bodies in the frame. Excitement was pooling within you as you took your clothes off in a swift motion, lying your naked body on the silky sheets as you waited for him, feeling a coil start to spiral within your lower stomach and start to tighten when you saw your curves get captured in his phone frame, and seeing Leon walk over to you with a spring in his step and taking his shirt off. 

“You ready for me, darling?” he asked as he took his boxers off and practically jumped onto the bed with you, nestling his body between your doughy thighs, grinding the tip of his cock between your folds and feeling how the slick was collecting along his thick shaft. 

You quickly let out a seductive giggle as you felt his excitement: “I’m always ready for you.” Letting the room be filled with your soft, sensual moans and giggles—bouncing off the walls—as he grinded his cock against your pussy and left a hot trail of kisses down from your neck to your collarbone, then the swells of your breasts before licking and circulating the tip of his wet tongue on your pebbled nipples. 

“Ooh, baby,” you moaned as your arms snaked around his neck, moving your neck to the side as you looked into the camera and watched his large form engulf yours as he bucked his hips against your core.

“You like that?” he quickly uttered before he took your peaked nipple into his mouth, pulling his head back slowly and pulling it into a sucking motion that made your head push further into the mattress. 

“Aah, of course, I like it,” you whispered, “I love whatever you do to me.” 

You felt him smirk as he released your sensitive bud in a wet popping sound that bounced off the four walls of your shared bedroom, feeling that coil within your core tighten even further when you watched his dilated gaze swallow the blue of his peripheral gaze as you were the only focal point he wanted to focus on; watching you squirm and writhe underneath his body as he painted his cock between your slit.

“Mm, you’re so wet, baby,” he whispered as he maintained that sensual eye contact that made your pussy have that hot tingling sensation that made your hole ache for his entrance, feeling that hot liquid roar throughout your veins when anticipating the feeling of his cock stretch your cunt out.

“Fuck me, please; I want you so bad,” your hands roamed his broad, muscular chest as you watched that gaze darken further as he pushed the head of his cock into your dripping entrance, having you hiss in a cold breath of air as your stretched around him. 

“Is my girl getting desperate,” he teased as he jerked the head of his dick in and out of you. 

“Oh, please, please, I wanna feel you.” 

He smirked as he watched you grab onto his biceps and that look of desperation in your eyes; seeing you become his messy lusty puddle for him made his cock already twitch with mixing his precum against your slick, but he was starting to get desperate to feel your cunt suck him into your g spot, the teasing only being a disadvantage to both of you. 

“Okay, I’ll give my girl what she wants.” 

After his sweet whispers, he slowly introduced his large cock into your cunt, both of you releasing a shuddering breath and moan as you felt that familiar sensual pain of your walls stretching out to accommodate his size that twitched within you as it bashed against that spongy spot the more he bucked and rocked his hips into the channel of your walls.

“Aah, you… Fuck… you feel so good,” you babbled out as you momentarily looked into the camera as you watched his hips feverishly rock into you. 

“Ffffuuckkk, you’re so tight,” he whispered through bitten lips as he slammed himself further into you, feeling closer to his high the more he let your gummy insides surround his shaft and convulse around it, granting you further kisses down the line of your neck and leaving bruised marks you’d have to cover up in the morning; peppering softer kisses over your bruises as almost an apology how much he loved your body and what he made him do as his hips rocked further into you.

Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling down in broken tandem as you gasped for air in the intermingling of orgasms and pants that made your toes curl when feeling his cock bash against your cervix, hearing the atmosphere of the room be filled with the sound of his skin slapping against yours, and seeing how the camera picked up how his thrusts made the fat of your thighs and ass jiggle. You soon felt your climax soon approach—and he knew it—as your breaths got deeper and your thighs tightened around the sides of his muscular form as he fucked you in the perfect and consistent pattern that stimulated that coil within you about to loosen in a release.

“Keep looking at the camera, darling,” he could tell you were getting close with how your tight walls started to spasm and greedily clench around his cock, “I wanna capture that beautiful face as you let go.” 

Then, with a soft groan that was accompanied by your fluttering eyelids, you left yourself cum along his shaft and heard his laboured breaths as he watched your face into the camera, your mouth in an o shape and your eyes raised up like you had the best dose of ecstasy one could receive; that coil that was nestled within the depths of your core now snapping back into a state of relaxation as stimulation became a tidal wave that washed over you and dumbed down all your senses.

He rutted into you a few more times, pressing languid kisses on your neck before he filled your hole up with his hot ropes of cum, filling your walls up to the brim as he watched your face on the phone screen; your whimpering and scrunched up face as he drove his load further into your womb. 

You were exhausted as he slipped his shaft out of your spent hole and watched as Leon picked his phone up and focused the camera on your creamy pussy, both of your releases spilling out as you continued to pant. 

“You know baby… Those moans were too good to keep to myself; why don’t we let other people watch me fuck you like that,” he suggested as he smirked at you, rubbing your clit like he was ready for another round as he watched your spent hole leak his release onto the bedsheets. 

“Blur our faces, and we can let anyone watch.”

“Definitely, I can’t wait for people to see how gorgeous you are.”

🏷️ taglist: @elfven-blog @porcelainseashore @angelstargel @localkiss -> check out pinned post to be tagged; if you want to be deleted just message me.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛

warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)

word count: 16,175

-Part 14- -Part 16-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.

His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.

Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.

Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.

Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.

“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”

“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.

“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.

To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”

“And the trouble?”

“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.

But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”

Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.

She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”

“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.

“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”

The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”

“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”

“You know you should have told us.”

“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”

“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”

Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.

A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”

“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”

“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”

Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”

Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.

“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”

Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.

————

Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.

Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.

The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.

He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.

Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.

“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.

“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”

“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”

Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”

Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.

Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.

But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.

Listen in from outside.

————

The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.

The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.

Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.

“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.

“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. ���Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.

“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.

“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.

“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”

Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”

Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.

Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”

“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”

Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.

Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.

She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”

But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”

Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.

“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”

Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.

He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”

“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.

“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”

“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.

“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”

“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.

Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.

Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”

Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”

“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”

Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”

Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.

Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.

Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.

————

“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.

As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.

“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”

You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.

“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.

“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.

His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feeling sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”

“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.

“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”

Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”

“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.

You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.

“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”

You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”

“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”

His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.

You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.

“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.

Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.

You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.

You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?

Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.

“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.

You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.

“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.

You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.

Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.

Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”

His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.

His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.

“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”

He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.

You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”

Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.

“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.

That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.

Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.

“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.

“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.

Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.

“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”

The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.

“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.

————

Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.

You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.

You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.

Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.

Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.

“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”

————

You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.

Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.

Use it wisely.

You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.

————

Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.

The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.

“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”

His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.

“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”

“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”

Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.

“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”

“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.

“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”

Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”

“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”

“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”

“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.

“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”

Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.

Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”

“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.

“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.

Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.

————

You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.

Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.

“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.

“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.

“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.

“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”

Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.

“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.

It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.

You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.

You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.

He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.

Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.

“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.

“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.

His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”

Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.

Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.

You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.

Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.

He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.

“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.

“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.

Where else were you supposed to go?

“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.

“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.

He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.

But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”

Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”

“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”

“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”

His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.

Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.

“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”

“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”

He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.

“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”

“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”

You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.

“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”

“About what?”

“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.

You’re quiet. Silent.

Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.

He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.

“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”

Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.

“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.

The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.

“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?

“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.

“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”

Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.

“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”

“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.

“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.

“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”

Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”

You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?

“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”

“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”

“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”

A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”

You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.

“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”

You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.

The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.

“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”

“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

————

He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.

He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.

When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.

How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…

She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.

Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.

She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?

Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.

He will die, and it will be by her hand.

He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.

He should ask her what it is.

Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.

But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.

But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.

But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.

Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.

What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.

But if it came down to it…what would he choose?

His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.

All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.

Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?

She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.

Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?

Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?

Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.

The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.

You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.

The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.

Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.

They must be getting tired by now. All of them.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.

Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.

He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.

Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.

————

Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.

He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.

You’re back.

Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.

He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.

We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.

As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.

After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.

Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.

Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.

Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys��and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—

The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.

He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.

Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.

If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.

He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.

Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.

Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.

The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.

You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.

To wipe yourself from memory.

It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.

You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.

You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.

Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.

You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.

Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.

The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.

You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.

You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.

The ash stings your fingertips.

You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.

One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.

Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.

Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.

A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.

You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.

The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.

Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.

————

Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?

But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.

And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.

————

You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.

He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.

Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.

Mother murder you.

“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.

His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!

Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—

Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.

Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—

He’s going to die.

Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.

Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.

The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.

One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.

Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.

Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[moonstruckme]

hello lovely!

i recently just started to work out a bit more than i used to and i am humbled. i tried to go to the gym but it’s terrifying, so i just did a home workout from a youtube video and like i said before, humbled.

could we get james x reader doing the video with her and he’s very good at all the workouts but encouraging her.

or

could we get remus x reader doing the video together and they both suck but support eachother

Thanks for requesting <3

modern au

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 793 words

“Okay team,” the woman on your TV says peppily, “taking things at your own pace, just ease into plank position.” 

“Ease?” Remus pants incredulously. “There’s nothing easy about this.” 

You huff a laugh, but even that tiny movement is almost enough to make your abs give out and collapse you onto your mat. You try to re-solidify, feeling a dribble of sweat roll down your back. 

“Are you breathing deeply?” you tease. It’s a reiteration of what your virtual instructor has been telling you relentlessly since the video started. 

Remus takes a strained inhale. “I don’t see where she finds the time.” 

“Amazing!” your tormentor chirps. She tilts her head up to make eye contact through the screen, looking gloriously glowy with exhilaration whereas you feel slick as a dolphin. At least it’s some consolation that Remus seems as sweaty as you are, and you don’t hate that the exertion made him discard his shirt some time ago. His bare torso is a nice distraction from the ache that’s permeating your body. “Now we’re going to kick it up a notch.” 

You and Remus both make distressed grunting sounds. She still hasn’t let you out of your plank. 

“In twenty more seconds, we’re going to go into a push-up, touching our chests to the mat, then hop our feet up for a squat.” You feel your eyes widen as you watch her demonstrate. Your legs are already burning in anticipation. “Then, jump up and do a clap! Ready? You’ve got this!” 

“Oh, fuck that,” your boyfriend sighs. He lets his elbows drop out from under him, slumping onto his stomach. 

You look over at him. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m taking things at my own pace.” Remus groans as he rolls over and sits up, grabbing his water bottle from the coffee table. It’s shoved to the side to make room for your workout. “Have a break with me, dove. She seems like she can handle this part on her own.” 

You sit back on your knees, lungs and muscles aching with relief. “Pretty sure that’s not the point,” you pant, but take the water bottle he offers you anyway. You take long, gulping sips of the cold water, so desperate that you have to gasp embarrassingly for air afterwards. You wipe a drip off your chin. “You’re such an enabler.” 

“Yeah,” Remus agrees placidly. He rolls his neck to the side, and you wince when it clicks. “I’m not feeling too bad about that right now. This is inhumane.” 

You heave a sigh, leaning back on one hand and fanning yourself with the other. “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m doing this. It can’t continue.” 

He chuckles quietly. “I’m not a fan of the exercise either, but I wouldn’t say it’s all bad.” 

You turn to look at him questioningly—wasn’t he on your side with this?—and find your boyfriend’s gaze warm and appreciative, skimming lazily over the exposed stretch of skin where you’re fanning yourself. His bottom lip curls slightly. 

You give him a dubious look. “Rem, you’re endlessly sweet to me, but I know this isn’t cute. I’m, like—” you make a face “—damp.” 

“Maybe I like you a bit damp.” Remus shrugs insouciantly. “I think I’m discovering some things about myself.” 

You fold forward with a groan, stretching your back and hiding your smile near the mat. “You’re such a liar.” 

There’s an amused huff of air, and then a kiss lands softly on the back of your shoulder. “You can think that if you want,” he says. “I have some bad news for you, though. You do have to keep doing this at least a while longer.” 

You let out a whine. “Why?” 

“Because you asked me to have James take you to his gym next week, and I did. You know he won’t let you off the hook.” 

“Oh, my god,” you moan, pulling your knees up so you can rest your head on them miserably. “Why was I so hellbent on torturing myself earlier this week?” 

Remus hums sympathetically. “I think you had good intentions.” 

“Ugh, okay.” You straighten, looking back at the video and trying to re-orient yourself in what the instructor is doing. “I have to keep going if I’m going to be even remotely prepared for what James is going to subject me to. Come on, do this with me.” 

Remus makes a surprised sound of protest. “Why do I have to do it?” 

“Because you’re the one that’s friends with the sadist who’s going to torment me next week. Please, Remus.” “Fine, fine.” Remus rolls his eyes, lovesick even when he’s pretending not to be, and stands with you. “But just this once, and then I’m turning you over to Jamie.”

[mattslutt]

not fair | matt sturniolo

contents: established relationship, arguing, strong language, angst.

synopsis: reader gets broken up with the boyfriend. matt is reader’s best friend and is secretly crazily in love with the reader. matt visits the reader for comfort but it turns into an argument because matt is tired of the reader leading him on, teasing him, making him think that the reader likes him back.

-

Matt’s phone kept ringing and ringing.

‘Yeah?’ he finally picks up.

‘He broke up with me’ i sobbed.

‘I’ll be there soon’ Matt firmly said

‘My parents are home, wait for me in the car’.

‘Okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes’.

after 10 minutes

Matt has pulled into the driveway, i was already standing outside, next to the huge tree where the car was being parked. Matt turned off the engine and unlocked the car.

I opened the door and got inside the passenger seat, closing the door and immediately turning my face to you.

‘Thanks for being here’.

Matt lazily smiles as he softly speaks

‘Always, you know ive got your back.’

I smile at him as I pull him into a hug.

He melts into the embrace as his fingers softly tangle into my hair and caress the back of my head.

I tilt my head to look at him, my head softly resting on his shoulder. He looked at me through heavy lidded eyes as he continued caressing my hair.

‘You’ve always been so beautiful’ he whispers out.

I felt like my throat has blocked. I couldn’t get any words out. I felt his body shifting closer to me, his face inches apart from mine.

I lift my head up as I pull away

‘No’ i firmly protest

Matt was caught off guard, betrayed.

‘I thought you came here to comfort me. Not try to pull a move on me’.

Matt let out a bitter laugh, a frustrated sigh.

‘What’s so funny?’ i ask with a worried tone.

‘What’s funny is that after all these years, you still can’t understand’ Matt snaps.

‘Underrated what?’

‘Oh cmon. You’re not that naive’ he snaps again.

I shook my head in a no motion, not wanting to hear his words.

‘Friends don’t look at each other like we do. All the sneaking around we did even when you were still together with him. You would always vent to me multiple times about him. I lost count on how many times we almost had sex when you would come over’

‘Please. Please stop talking’ i tried to defend myself but i couldn’t.

‘No. I won’t. Because I’m tired and sick of not having what I want. And what I want is you. I always have. I just couldn’t say it. And now I’m having the guts to finally say it’ Matt spoke angrily, almost out of breath as he said his last sentence.

‘Matt..’ i softly whisper.

‘I just couldn’t bare of the thought about losing you. I didn’t want to lose you as a friend even if you didn’t feel the same’ Matt admitted.

His fingers slowly came up to my face, moving the strap of my hair that was in my face behind my ear. He kept his hand there, his gaze was on me.

His gaze dropped to my lips for a few seconds and then back to my eyes again.

‘Please..’ Matt whispers. He was desperate. Aching. His voice was filled with longing.

I looked into his eyes. My gaze dropped to his lips as well and then back to his eyes again.

‘If you keep looking at me like that. I might lose control now’.

With that, I closed the distance between us. Matt’s hand immediately tangled into the back of my hair, bringing my body closer to his. My fingers digged into his hair as well, gripping on them desperately as the kiss became more urgent. Soft moans were escaping his lips as he deepened the kiss every second.

By the time he pulled away, both of us were out of breath.

He softly caressed my cheek as his thumb brushed over my bottom lip.

I smiled at him, as I rest my forehead against his.

‘Could have told me sooner’.

Matt softly chuckled as he nuzzled his nose with mine.

‘That’s not fair. I couldn’t cuz you weren’t mine then’.

[pastlivesxpastlie]

so I can have you to myself...for once

summary: new boyfriend!virgin!vessel thinks the world of you and can't think of a better way to show it than giving himself to you completely

vessel x fem!reader 𐙚

head's up/tags: switchy desperate lovesick vessel, sweet gone feral, smut with feelings, loss of virginity (lots of checking in and sensitivity), new established relationship, vessel is touch starved and simping, pet names (craziest one is puppy-girl tbh), p in v, dirty talk

Something Vessel didn’t tell you when you first matched on Tinder was that he was…well…how would he have even put it? Touch starved? Desperate? Needy? But you seemed to understand that. You were always holding hands while walking, or in a tight embrace if you were waiting at a crosswalk, or your legs and feet were touching while you sat. You get the idea. As much as he enjoyed the affection, he needed more. While he didn’t out himself as being, well, completely desperate for any kind of physical affection, he was upfront about being a virgin. Sure, he’d fooled around. He’d been blown plenty of times backstage and at parties…and yes he knows where the clitiros AND g-spot are, thank you for asking. But it never led to intercourse. In fact, it didn’t always lead to a relationship or a text back. A lot of times the timing was just off or the person was wrong for him or neither party wanted to. Which was completely understandable, but he had started to wonder if something was wrong with him. That was until he met you.

You were witty, kind, fun. Easy to talk to. And deeply into him. Vessel understood the allure of him. His aura and what came with it physically but otherwise he couldn't understand why you would want to stick around for more. Yeah sure he put himself out there on Tinder during a break from tour and he wanted the attention, but you…you were an angel. You made him take a step back and really consider what he’d been doing all this time. The drive to feel someone and something from others was strong for him. The sex he’d had wasn’t “consummating” by the wider society’s standards, and he was at peace with that, but he finally saw some truth in “saving yourself for the right person.” And it all came from a very sweet genuine place. He thought the world of you! But the other drive... To taste. To ravish. To fuck. That was very much running in the background.

When you two started having serious conversations about your histories and preferences, he was nervous. When he admitted that he’d never actually fucked someone, you chuckled just the tiniest bit, making him blush. 

 “What’s so funny?”

You just shook your head and looked past him, trying to keep a level head.  “I’m not laughing at you. Just myself.”

“Oh. Why…at you?”

“Because I could have really fucked things up. Do you know how hard it is to be good around you? To not just…rip your clothes off every time you come over? To not immediately drop to my knees with my tongue out like a greedy little puppy-girl?” You paused and met his gaze. Poor guy was blushing and breathing like he’d been out in the heat. “I don’t want to scare you. It’s not like I would push you or anything, but I’m glad I know. If you’d ever like to…you know…do something with me. Just let me know. I think we could have a lot of fun together.”

And that’s when Vessel started loving you and simultaneously cursing you. Loving you because you were so sweet, and patient, and gorgeous, and fun, and thoughtful and and and(at this point whoever was listening would pat his shoulder and say, “we get it, mate, you’re whipped”). But he cursed the day he mentioned being a virgin to you because he couldn’t get that image out of his head: you on your knees, begging for his cock. You saw all his scars and flaws and still wanted him in the rawest, most basic way. That blew his mind.

…

On the night you two finally slept together, you stayed out later than usual. Probably past midnight. But you don’t care. He clung to you all night at that stupid party and tried to make out with you in the Uber like a horny teenager. It was adorable. He was adorable. Back at your place, you fiddle for your keys on the darkened porch, which was quite difficult with a giggly man clinging to you. 

“Use your phone light,” Vessel says as he holds your waist and kisses your neck.

You let out a playful, exasperated sigh. “You use your phone light! My hands are full!” Finally the front door opens, and you both clamber in. Vessel’s hands find your waist again and pull you in for a frantic kiss. His hands can’t stay still as he clutches your plush ass but then trails all the way back up to grasp your hair. With a moan he pulls away.

“I think… I want to try it tonight.”

The giddiness and giggliness doesn’t stop once you fall onto your bed, making out and attempting to undress each other. Vessel kicks off his shoes and hesitantly moves away from you so he can take off his jeans. You lean back on your elbows, shaking your head softly. “So eager for me,” you chuckle.

He stands before you in his boxer briefs after he’s taken his shirt off, just taking in the sight of you. His fingers twitch by his side…and so does his cock. You like what you see and feel yourself propelled forward. Onto your knees. “Gonna take care of me, babe?” he asks with a shaky breath. He whimpers softly and bites his lip as you smirk up at him with a little smirk as your fingers lightly trace the waistband of his underwear and his happy trail. On the inside, he’s a mess. He feels the need to claim you as his. He doesn’t even really care about losing his virginity. Vessel just wants to know he’s been with you. The thought of screwing up tonight and not fucking you makes him cringe. He can’t take another night of fucking his stupid little fleshlight and sucking his own fingers pretending both holes are yours. When you ask if you can take his boxers off, he nods dumbly and bites his lip. He thinks he must have blacked out because suddenly your tongue glides from base to tip. Such a pretty smile on your face, too.

“Take your dress off. Please. Please, baby,” he pleads.You shake your head “no” with a little wink as you take his cock deeper into your mouth, nose almost touching him. “Fuck. My girl is talented,” he says as his chest starts to heave a little, “mmm please I…I want to see you.” He can barely get the words out as you let your tongue drag up the underside of his cock. As your lips pass over the head, Vessel’s panting turns into little whimpery moans. “Please.” You gaze up at him through half lidded eyes and see that he’s chewing on his lip and shaking…he wants to manhandle you. He needs to act out. “Fuck it.” Vessel takes your jaw in his hand and holds you so that you’re looking up at him.

“I am done begging. This is me telling you. Take your fucking dress off for me.”

His voice is firm. Dark. Lustful. 

“Yes sir,” is all you can manage before pulling the straps down. You stand up and let the satin-y material pool around your tummy. Vessel curses and growls under his breath as his eyes trail down your bare chest, his hands then pulling your dress further down your plush waist and hips. The feeling of his thumbs hooking the waistband of your panties makes you gasp a little. Vessel just shakes his head and chuckles as he undresses you. 

“You’ve already sucked my cock like it was nothing and yet me undressing you embarrasses you? And here…I thought you would be bossing me around tonight. You’ve folded, hm?”

“I uhm…heh.” You can’t even finish your thought as he pulls your hair back so you look straight up at him. “Got…got too excited I guess.”

“Hm,” he hums with amusement, “like a greedy puppy-girl. All bark…but you have any bite for me? Hmm?”

You stammer as he pushes you back on the bed. There’s something in how he maneuvers you that feels calculated. Practiced. “Ves…babe…? Are you sure you’ve never done this?”

He laughs as he lays atop you, his cock rubbing against your tummy. You can feel him quivering as your nude bodies touch for the first time. Vessel steadies his breath and whispers into your neck, “baby, if you had kept sucking me any longer I was going to lose it…but just because I’ve never been fucked doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.” His cock twitches between you both. “I know what I’m doing. And…dammit I know I’m going to just absolutely…” he pauses as his fingers mash against your clit “…drain myself so fast once I’m inside you. My pretty girl.” He trails wet, sucking kisses down your shoulder, breathing heavily as he poses a question. “I know you think about this. Has it made you cum?” You grit your teeth and whimper as his middle finger enters you and starts to fuck you. 

“Veeeeessssss fuck, baby…s’not nice to ask me something…while you…fuck.” He’s relishing in you trying to answer as he adds a second finger. Your hips buck against his fingers as he kisses your forehead and coos about what a sexy little thing you are. You can’t help the whines coming from you as he pulls his fingers from your needy pussy. All sense in your head flies out the window when he sucks his fingers clean and tastes you for the very first time. “What happened to my sweet, timid boyfriend?” you ask breathlessly.

Vessel plants a soft, deep kiss on your lips as he nudges the head of his cock against your entrance. You find yourself giggling breathlessly as he peppers your face with kisses before he rubs his nose against yours and whispers. “Still him. Just taking what you’ve so very kindly offered me…fuck…you gonna let me in, love?”

You nod softly and whimper as he pushes in. A pathetic, throaty moan ripples through him as he bottoms out. You’d never been someone’s first. It was a bit surprising but very endearing to see him go from feral and touch starved to blushy and pussy-drunk. Vessel wants to move. To feel your hot body against his…to hear you…to kiss you…to have any simultaneous feedback. His lust reciprocated. 

The instinct to care for him kicks in. You hold his face and whisper. “You feel so good inside me…you do baby…I want you so bad… Do you feel good?” His eyebrows knit together and he whimpers softly, wincing like he’s in pain. But he nods. “Do you want me to take care of you?” He nods again and buries his face in your neck. God his cock is throbbing hard inside you. Your hips buck sensually against him, riding from beneath. 

“Oh…fuck…you’re actually…you’re fucking me…you’re fucking me…” he whimpers pathetically. He winces and bites his lip. “Stop, baby.” 

“Are you ok?”

Vessel looks down at you with hazy, dreamy eyes and nods. “This is heaven. You are heaven.” His mouth goes to your nipple while he maneuvers one of your legs over his arm. “What did I do to deserve this…hm? Smart, beautiful girl with a perfect pussy…you shouldn’t have been single,” he whispers as he moves to kiss your lips. You both moan into the kiss, which makes his hips twitch. You feel the first tentative little thrusts and make sure to nod and “mhm” throughout the kiss to encourage him. He breaks the kiss, panting and quivering. You’re about to ask if he wants a break but he looks you dead in the eyes and gulps. “I love you, but I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. You’re driving me crazy. I’ve…I’ve wanted this for so long…and doing it with you I just…darling….” He trails off, thrusting slowly, making your eyes roll back from the stretch and feeling of his pubic bone meeting yours. You can tell he’s holding back. Holding his breath.

“Ves…Ves, babe…breathe with me. You’re ok…you feel so fucking good.”

“I can’t stand it…I have to…I need to…”

The look in his eyes betrays the sweet pout of his lips. He wants to claim you. Shape your insides to him. “Do it. I can take it.” 

He growls in your ear with a little chuckle, “you’re not one of my toys. I don’t want to hurt you…” He takes a shaky breath and cups your breast with his free hand, his other resting above your head.

“I trust you. And love you. You look sexy up there, ya know?” You say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. He responds with another chuckle and kisses you deeply. You both get lost in each other and then he finds his rhythm again. You have no concept of how long he actually lasts. And you don’t care. When he cums he keeps fucking it into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he cries out your name…little curses…broken moans. 

The next morning, he spoons you. Pressing his morning wood against you and whining about how you didn’t cum last night. “I know I don’t know everything yet, babes, but maybe I could just poke around…play a little? Please?”