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sluttyten · 2 months ago

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The Devil in Me

Kinktober Day 9 | Haechan Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: loss of virginity, first time, oral sex, marking, biting, possessive/protective Haechan, mentions of human sacrifice, demons, a lot softer/romantic than it sounds

length: 8293

Maybe you should have heeded the warnings of your friends and family, but you’d thought it was all just a bit of small-mindedness and prejudice.

When you started seeing a guy who was a loud and proud satanist, your friends and family had all told you that he would be bad news. But you’d done some research into the belief system of satanists, and it wasn’t inherently evil, as they all seemed to believe. And you liked this guy, he was charming and handsome and he spoke to you like you were his everything, that you were someone special to him.

And now, in your present position, you can see that you were in fact someone special to him.

You were his virgin sacrifice.

It had been a mistake to tell him that you were a virgin. You could’ve fed him some other excuse for why you didn’t want to have sex, but you’d gone with the truth. And now look where it got you.

He’d brought you out into the woods on the premise of a night hike, stargazing, camping and keeping each other warm beside a campfire. But now you were strapped to a wooden table in the middle of a circle of fire in the woods, and he was pacing in circles around you, chanting words and drawing symbols on his bare chest in either red paint or some kind of blood.

He’d already given you the evil villain speech. This was a ritual to summon a demon he’d read about — a chaos demon who could grant him wealth and talent by stealing it from others. He was going to sacrifice you and blah blah blah. You’d stopped listening after a while. The straps on your wrists were so tight that you were losing feeling in your fingertips. Your ankles were tied down too, and you could see no way out of this, resigned to your fate.

All you know is that if he kills you, you’re going to haunt the shit out of him.

When he stops his pacing, when the chanting slows, you close your eyes and send a prayer out to anyone listening to save you.

The asshole teases you with your own death. He trails his hunting knife from your neck down between your breasts, slicing apart your shirt as he goes.

Your shirt falls open, and he returns the blade to your throat. You refuse to make a sound, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing you cry out.

“Look at me!” He yells, his hand gripping your chin. “I want you to watch.”

Your eyes fly open, and you stare this asshole in the eye, putting as much hatred and vitriol in your gaze as you can.

He grins, trailing the knife lower, and with a flick of his wrist, he gives you a shallow cut just above your left breast. You can see the first drops of your blood well up to the surface. His eyes light up, the chant falling from his lips again as he lifts his hand and the blade, drawing them up into the air over the center of your chest.

He’s going to plunge it into your heart, that’s something he said during his monologue.

You suck in a breath, watching his hand, watching the moonlight glint off the blade.

He swings.

And a tan hand curls around his wrist, halting the movement.

“I don’t think so,” a smooth voice says.

You watch the hand on your would-be murderer’s wrist. The hand guides his, redirecting the path of his blade, and you squeeze your eyes shut as the blade draws across his throat. You try to tune out the wet choking sound as your would-be murderer collapses, as he pulls himself away through the grass and the brush, as he dies the ugly death he would have given to you.

You open your eyes when you can no longer hear him struggling to survive, and you see before you a beautiful, beautiful demon.

His eyes glow a deep red. Two black horns stick out from his black hair. Ragged black wings jut out from his shoulders. And he’s beautiful. Devastatingly handsome.

The summoning ritual worked.

The fight for survival comes racing back through you, and you jerk against your bonds, crying out, screaming for help. You’ll not have your soul taken by a demon. That’s not happening tonight!

“Don’t be afraid,” he says calmly, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

With a wave of his hand, the bonds on your wrists snap, your ankles suddenly are freed as well. You sit up, clutching at the sides of your shirt to pull them together over your chest. The demon looks at you, and then turns his head to the side towards where you last heard that bastard's dying breaths fade away.

“Some humans are real assholes, yknow?” The demon says, still not looking at you. “They think we all want sacrifices, which, don’t get me wrong, they can be nice from time to time, but we don’t demand the murder of virgins. We certainly don’t demand unwilling pretty women be murdered in the woods.”

He spits towards what you can only assume is the dead body of your would-be murderer. And then the demon looks back at you, eyes aglow.

“I’m Haechan,” he introduces himself, holding his hand out to you. “But you can call me Donghyeok.”

You hesitate for a moment, uncertain if you should give him your name or shake his hand. You feel like you’ve heard stories about how bad doing either of those things could be. But in the end, it’s the way that the corner of his mouth tilts up as he watches you that convinces you.

You put your hand in his, and you give him your name.

Donghyeok lifts your hand, brushing his lips across your knuckles. “Pleased to have saved you.”

Your pulse throbs in your veins, pounding in your ears.

An actual demon is holding your hand, standing before you smelling like sea air and citrus rather than the burning brimstone stories would have you believe. Donghyeok lowers your hand, and you pull it back into your lap.

“That guy seemed like a dick.” Donghyeok turns away, shaking his wings as he walks over to the nearest flickering ground torch. He continues talking while he extinguishes that torch, saying, “Very bossy in his summoning chant. I probably would’ve ended up killing him even if he wasn’t trying to murder you. How did you end up here, anyway?”

“I was stupid.” You droop forward, hanging your head as you look down at your knees. “I let him trick me into thinking he was a good guy despite all the warnings from everyone around me. I thought they were just prejudiced since he was a Satanist, but they were right.” You risk a glance in Donghyeok’s direction. “I shouldn’t have ever told him I’m a virgin, I was basically just asking to get sacrificed in a demonic ritual.”

Donghyeok’s wings flare as he turns to look at you. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever blame yourself for the actions of a stupid man. He is the one that did this, not you.”

He extinguishes two more torches before either of you speak again.

“Virgin sacrifices don’t actually mean, like sexual virginity, yknow?” Donghyeok says, his back facing you while he puts out another torch. Now only four of them remain lit in the circle. “It’s virgin blood. Blood that’s never been used for a ritual before. As soon as he cut you, I felt the call, and I saw what he was going to do to you. I’m tired of men killing women with the excuse of summoning me. I just require a few drops of blood to be spilled, not a life taken.”

Donghyeok waves his wings, and three more torches flicker out, leaving just one glowing right in front of you, providing just enough light to see by as Donghyeok strides back to you. His bloody red eyes sweep over you from head to toe.

“What are you going to do to me?” You can tell your voice is small, nearly lost in the whisper of wind through the trees. But Donghyeok hears, and he cocks his head slightly to the side to watch you.

“Haven’t you been listening?” He reaches up, snapping his fingers together and drawing a handkerchief out of thin air. “I’m not here to do anything to you. I came to rescue you from that asshole, and now you’re free.” He holds the handkerchief out to you.

“So you’re just going to leave me here?” You accept the silky white cloth, and you find one corner of it embroidered with flowy script — LDH, it says, and you run your thumb over the fine threads making up the letters.

“I didn’t say I was leaving you.” He smiles, and again, your pulse thunders. “We can go, or we can stay here and have sex.”

A squawk of surprise and indignation leaves you, which makes Donghyeok laugh. And fuck, you thought he was beautiful before, the sight and sound of his genuine laughter makes him even more beautiful.

“I’m joking!” He keeps laughing, his shoulders shaking as he tries to hold it in while he speaks, “But I can get you out of here in a snap so you don’t have to hike back through these woods in the dark.”

“Please!” You reach out, grabbing both of his hands, holding them between yours. “Please, get me out of here.”

Donghyeok’s expression goes serious. “I will, I promise. And what about him?”

You begin to turn your head to look, but you change your mind, keeping your gaze fixed on this beautiful demon. You shake your head. “Leave him. The police can deal with him, I’ll report the crime when I get back to town.”

Donghyeok watches you for a moment, contemplating something. Then he shrugs, holds tighter to your hands, and you feel a tug behind your navel.

The scenery around you has changed.

You’re still in the woods, but just at the edge of it. You can see the lights of town just ahead through the trunks.

“Here, let’s at least make it look like you’ve run back here.” Donghyeok crouches down, filling his hand with soft dirt. “May I?”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re agreeing to, but you nod. Immediately, Donghyeok is touching you, spreading dirt over your clothes, a smear of mud along the torn open edge of your shirt. He runs his fingers through your hair (which shouldn’t feel as good as it does). He plucks some twigs and leaves, sticking them haphazardly in your hair, dangling from a new rip at the bottom of your shirt.

He takes a step back to appreciate his handiwork, then nods, satisfied.

You both stand there looking at each other for a moment, and finally you say, “Thank you.”

Donghyeok nods. “You didn’t deserve what that asshole was going to do to you. None of them ever do deserve it. He, however, deserved everything he got, and everything he’s going to get when I get back to Hell.”

“Thank you,” you repeat because you mean it, and there are no words more genuine that you can think to say. “Really, Donghyeok, thank you.”

You turn towards the lights of town. You’re going to the police, filing a report, making sure they know that that bastard tried to kill you, and he's the reason he’s dead.

“One thing before you go!” Donghyeok steps in front of you. You look up at him just as he reaches out and puts his hand on your right shoulder. His hand burns hot and then hotter through your shirt, and you hiss in pain, trying to draw away, but Donghyeok holds on, only releasing you once the pain begins to fade into a tingle.

“That’s all. See you around.”

And then the demon disappears into a shadowy mist.

You stand there for a moment before you pull yourself back together, and you walk into town, straight for the police station.

They believe the story, which is good since most of it is true. Only part of it is fictionalized: when you say that you managed to slip the bonds he’d had on your wrists, the part where you wrestled the knife from him, where you’d cut him across the throat and then run miles back to town through the woods. But the story is believable because the facts and evidence are all there — the police trek through the woods and find the site of the ritual, find his body, find a blade that somehow has your fingerprints; they find plans in his apartment, records of messages between him and others, of his search history on how to summon a demon and how to perform a virgin sacrifice.

When you finally leave the police station, returning home under the care of your family and friends, you finally get a moment to yourself in the shower.

You peel off your pants and socks, drag your shirt over your head, slip off your panties and bra, and then you look at yourself in the mirror.

Black inky lines that weren’t there before these events are there now. You twist, angling better towards the mirror to be able to see what appears to be a whole tattoo that you never got.

A sunflower curves from front to back over your shoulder and down onto your arm.

You brush your fingers over the petals, feeling your skin tingle in a not unpleasant way. It sends a curl of warmth into your belly, makes your heart pound.

It’s Donghyeok, you know it is.

This is his mark, left on you.

The next time you see him, it’s too brief for your liking.

There’s a street festival, sort of like a carnival in town, and you spend hours down there one day as afternoon turns to evening turns to night. It brings all the weirdos out, from your town and those surrounding. You stick close to your friends, you have fun, you spend too much money on greasy food and rigged carnival games, you flirt with a cute carnie to get the big stuffed teddy bear prize.

Your friends decide to ride the Ferris wheel, but your mild fear of heights and the lure of a big pink cloud of cotton candy call to you instead. You’ll stay here feet firmly on the ground, enjoying your cotton candy, and watching them take a turn on the giant wheel.

But first you have to find the cotton candy booth.

You’re carrying your teddy prize like it’s a toddler, hoisted up to sit on your hip. You’re still rather pleased with yourself for having flirted it out of the carnie, even though you’re not quite sure what you’re going to do with it, and carrying it around for the rest of the night is possibly going to become a bit of a hindrance.

You cut between two game booths, slipping into the shadowed path that runs along the backs of the games, like an alley between the ring toss games facing one way and the basketball and shooting games facing the other. The cotton candy booth is visible at the end.

You have to step over wires, bags of vacuum-sealed prizes, a crate that’s surrounded by cigarette butts. The dings and chimes, alarm sounds and cries of joy all sound muffled, leaving you feeling a bit apart from the carnival despite being right in the heart of it.

A figure melts out of the shadows, suddenly keeping perfect stride with you.

You gasp, twisting around with the bear between you and this shadow-born devil.

“Me again,” Donghyeok laughs.

He’s got his hands tucked into his pockets. The devil horns are concealed by a hood. He’s wearing a leather jacket that has black wings stitched into the back panel. He could pass for normal, you think as your heart settles back into a more normal rhythm, if only his eyes weren’t still a deep red with his pupils reflecting light like an animal’s eyes at night.

“Donghyeok.” You almost collapse against the back of one of the game tents.

His lips curl around the sound of your name. You like the sound of that — his voice, your name.

You just stand there staring at him for a moment, amazed that he’s actually here. In the days after your near-sacrifice, you’d almost convinced yourself that Donghyeok had been nothing more than a figment of your imagination used to soften the trauma of that night a little. But here he is again. Real. In the flesh.

“Are you keeping out of trouble?” He asks, and when you nod, he scoffs. “But you’re back here walking by yourself? Do you know what kinds of people are drawn to work these carnivals? The transient lifestyle calls to some pretty awful people.” He turns to look back along the path you’ve been walking in this makeshift alleyway.

Several feet back, there’s a slumped over figure where there hadn’t been before. And the longer you look, the more you realize it’s that cute carnie that had given you the bear.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got your back.” Donghyeok pats your right shoulder, his skin hot against yours. “You should get back to your friends before they start worrying. Here, this is for you.”

Out of thin air, he draws a large fluffy pink cotton candy, holding it out to you.

Donghyeok escorts you back towards your friends, and he blends in with the crowd, looking perfectly human except for his eyes. His shoulder bumps against yours. He chatters and laughs with you. You find it so curious the way that your heart skips each time you look at him.

Hours later, once you’re safely ensconced at home, you notice that the center of your sunflower marking on your shoulder is darker than it used to be, almost like you’d gotten it shaded in.

Donghyeok again, you’re sure.

You recall his hand on your shoulder, the gentle but pleasant burn of his skin on yours.

You turn your head, resting your cheek against your shoulder. The center of the sunflower is warm against your cheek.

A few weeks later, you’re certain your family thinks you’re crazy. You’ve not seen Donghyeok again since that night at the carnival, and honestly, you’re beginning to feel very Bella Swan in New Moon about the situation. You’re about to start throwing yourself into harm’s way just to see if Donghyeok will make an appearance to save you; although, you have a strong suspicion that if he knew you were doing dangerous things intentionally, he would make a point of not showing up.

So, instead of trying to cross paths with dangerous men (again), you decide to go to the library and local bookstores and pull any books you can find on how to summon a demon. You do research online, printing out pages and pages of summoning rituals. You’ve got a whole wall of your bedroom dedicated to the stuff.

“There is something very wrong with you,” your dad says one afternoon when he sees it all. “You survived that satanist dick. Why would you put yourself through this?”

You’re pretty sure your family and friends think you’re doing this to torture yourself. You can tell they’re all worried for you, all of them concerned about what path you’re taking.

But you’re not diving headfirst into satanism or anything like that really. You just want to summon one demon in particular – a chaos demon named Haechan who has asked you personally to call him Donghyeok.

You seek out a different ritual than the one performed when you first met him. You don’t want to have to sacrifice a virgin even if it only means a few drops of voluntary blood; that veers too close to the sacrifice you’d almost found yourself to be in the woods.

Eventually, you find a source online that suggests a few specific crystals, certain herbs, fire and chalk and a spell in a language that you’ll have to teach yourself. But it seems doable. You just have to find a shop for all of those things, and then you’ll summon Donghyeok. You just want to see him again. You’re drawn to him, and maybe it’s because he saved you so you’ve got some weird type of twist on Stockholm Syndrome, or maybe it’s this sunflower he marked on your shoulder, the roots it’s put down inside you making you want to see him more and more, thirsting for him like a desert plant in a drought.

You find a shop perfectly suited to your needs. The woman running the place seems quirky enough that you don’t have any qualms about telling her everything — what you’re looking for, how you’re going to use it, why you’re using it — and you’re obsessed with the gleeful twinkle in her eye as she dances around the shop, gathering the items you’ve listed, plucking them from dark corners, from a bay of windows, from bunches of herbs hanging from the ceiling.

“I do have to warn you,” she says as she carefully packs it all into a bag for you, her voice dipping towards a serious tone to say, “Some demons are always listening for a call, even if it’s not for them, especially when it’s a pretty girl like you calling with almost no taint in your blood. Just know, dear, that when you call for your demon, someone else might try reaching through. So be careful when you speak the spell. Clear pronunciation, clear focus and determination.”

She pats your hand tenderly before you leave, and she wishes you well.

You set up the ritual in your bedroom. You push all the furniture out of the center of the room, roll back the rug that usually covers the floor beneath your bed. You sketch out the symbols in chalk on the hardwood floor, you set up the crystals exactly according to the diagram on the website, placing candles exactly right too. You scatter herbs across the pentagram, sprinkle a few in a bowl set in the center of the ritual space, and finally you kneel beside it.

You clear your mind except for thoughts of Donghyeok, your wish to have him in front of you, and you begin speaking the words you’ve been practicing since you found them.

Before, they’ve felt like hollow words, but now as they fall from your lips there’s a new weight to them.

You continue, keeping your mind set, and you strike a match, watch the flame flicker and wave as you continue speaking the spell, the foreign words feeling strange on your lips and tongue, creating a tingle that makes you feel that this must be working, that you’ll be able to see Donghyeok again.

You drop the match into the bowl of crushed herbs in the center of the pentagram. The bowl is instantly engulfed in flame, the heat kissing your cheeks, and the final words of the spell incinerate in the air, the flames crackling and flashing a solid purple for a moment.

You feel the air from the room disappear as the fire swirls and sparks, as the candle flames around the circle shoot up elongated and casting shadows. The crystals crack and shimmer.

And when it all falls away, when the flame in the bowl extinguishes and the candles resume their normal flame size, you look up at the demon standing above you.

It’s not him.

You gasp, falling back on your hands.

The demon is fearsome, brutish. He reaches for you, gnarled red fingers clawed with filthy talons. You scramble backwards as he grabs for your sleeve, tearing the fabric when you jerk backwards.

Suddenly the demon releases you and stands straight within the pentagram.

“Haechan’s mark?” He utters in a garbled, deep voice straight from the pits of Hell. “You are under Haechan’s protection?”

A sharp whistle from across your bedroom draws your attention and that of the hideous demon in front of you.

Donghyeok sits on your bed, looking relaxed as ever. He cocks his head to the side, staring down this other demon. “That’s right. She’s under my protection, so get the fuck out.”

Donghyeok flicks his fingers, and the other demon vanishes in a wave of smoke and embers.

You can’t look away from Donghyeok lounging on your bed like it’s his throne. He’s wearing that leather jacket again, though right now his devil horns are visible poking through his dark hair. You’ve missed looking at him.

He looks at you now too. “You called?”

“I wanted to see you,” you tell truthfully.

“Why?” Donghyeok asks, not moving from the bed, just sitting there and watching you.

“Well why did you mark me?” You lift your fingers to the flower on your shoulder, brushing your fingers over the petals.

Across the room, Donghyeok’s eyelids flutter, and he rolls his head on his neck a little as if to relieve tension. “I marked you because I want you to be safe. I knew if any other demons saw my mark on you, they would leave you alone, as just evidenced.” He gestures at the pentagram. “And because I wanted you to have something to remember me by. And I like the thought of you wearing a memory of me.”

You stroke the petals of the flower again, and Donghyeok sits up on the edge of your bed, sitting forward.

“The flower changed the last time I saw you.” You draw your finger up to the center, darker now than it had been when Donghyeok first marked you the night you met. “The center has color now.”

“I know.” He leans forward, but doesn’t leave your bed, though he seems to just be hanging onto the very edge of it. He doesn’t explain more, just looks at you as if waiting for more.

You climb to your feet, picking your way through the candles and crystals and herbs, and you come to stand just in front of Donghyeok. He raises his gaze to your face, his hands are planted on either side of his thighs, and he doesn’t say a word as you reach out a hand, as you first touch his cheek with just your fingertips, and then you move them along his jaw, up into his hair.

Donghyeok’s eyes flutter shut, a sigh falls from his lips.

Your fingers find his horns, and gently you run your fingers along them both.

His hands fly to your hips, a breath catching audibly in his throat. “What are you doing?” He asks, voice tight but not in a way like he wants you to stop.

“You’re beautiful, Donghyeok,” you can’t resist saying, “And you’ve marked me, so maybe I want to return the favor.”

Donghyeok’s lips draw into a smirk. “Mark me how? Who are you trying to show that I’m yours?”

Your heart thunders, heat racing through your body at the sound of that. I’m yours, he said. “Say it again,” you demand.

“Say what?” Donghyeok’s eyes open at last, flicking open and lifting to meet your gaze. “That marking me would show others that I’m yours? That I belong to you in some way?” His hands tighten in your hips pleasantly, and you shuffle a little more forward into the V of his open thighs. Donghyeok smiles up at you, saying, “Baby, you’re mine. And you have been since the night we met, since I put my mark on your shoulder. It’s only fair that you put a claim on me too. Do your worst.”

Challenge burns in his red eyes, and heat flows through you, rivers of fire that all lead to one point, settling low in your belly — a pool of burning need that you’ve never felt with anyone else before.

With your fingers still in Donghyeok’s hair, you tip his head back. His lips pull into a wider grin, a soft sound of amusement, and then, “I forgot, baby, you’re a virgin. Are you intimidated by the thought of marking me?”

“No,” you groan. “Shut up.”

You push Donghyeok’s shoulders, and he flops onto his back in your bed.

God, he just looks like a guy, any normal guy that you might have found and invited back to your bed. And you’ve had a man in your bed before. You’ve had make out sessions, had heated heavy petting that never led anywhere. You’ve had hickeys, and given out your fair share of them too.

But Donghyeok is Donghyeok. There’s definitely something intimidating about the confident way he’s looking at you, the sexy look in his eye as he watches you — not just a look that says that he knows he’s sexy, but even more arousing is that the look in his eyes tells you that he finds you incredibly sexy.

You sink onto your bed on your knees, straddling the demon’s lap. Donghyeok lifts his hands up, interlacing his fingers behind his head as he watches you, and the expression on his face is just stoking that fire inside of you.

“Can you sit up?” You ask. “Take your jacket off?”

“Mm,” Donghyeok hums. “I like when you tell me what to do.”

Your belly swoops, and his grin widens.

He sits up, and you find his smile just inches in front of you. He shrugs out of his jacket, pushing it off the bed, and then he’s sitting here beneath you in a plain white tee, the denim of his jeans rubs against your thighs. And he’s right here. Right here. Lips just in front of you, and your hands drift back to touch him, to feel the warmth and breadth of his shoulders, and then your thumbs are sweeping in to trace over his Adam’s apple, which bobs when he swallows and breathes in sharply. Your fingers slide around to the nape of his neck, just pushing into his hair, and Donghyeok makes a noise so quiet yet so filled with desire.

You’ve been sitting here watching the path of your hands, but now you look at his lips so full and moist in front of you. And then you look just a bit higher to his eyes.

Perhaps the demonic bloody red of them should scare you, but they don’t. They stare into yours and you can’t bring yourself to give a damn about the fact that Donghyeok is a demon and not just a man.

That doesn’t matter to you one bit when you finally press your lips to his.

Donghyeok immediately kisses you back, opening up to your kiss, but he lets you take the lead, lets you do what you want with him. He moans when you push your hands higher into his hair at the back of his head, moans when you suck on his tongue, moans when you press your chest against his.

You moan when his hands finally find your hips again. Donghyeok drags your hips across the front of his pants, and you break the kiss to let out a shuddery moan.

“Okay?” He murmurs, lips falling down to your jaw, leaving butterfly kisses along the underside.

“Yes,” you sigh, “Do it again.”

Donghyeok drags you over his crotch again, rolling his hips up too, and you can feel him then, his erection beginning to press against the front of his jeans. He does it again and again, and after a few moments, you pick up the rhythm, taking over as you simulate riding him, and you bring his mouth back onto yours.

Again, Donghyeok is happy to let you lead, to control what’s happening.

He just touches you without pushing you, kisses you at the pace you set, although that doesn’t mean he’s a passive participant in all of this. He’s reacting and vocal, occasionally nipping at your bottom lip, occasionally bucking his hips out of rhythm with your moves. It’s like he’s giving you little peeks into his desire for you, moments when his cool demon facade slips.

Donghyeok moans when you leave his mouth behind to instead kiss his neck. His hands come to rest on your ass while you keep rolling and grinding down on his straining erection, and you’re feeling the tightening in your belly, you know if you don’t stop soon you’re going to cum like this. But it wouldn’t be the first time. You’ve had boyfriends and casual relationships before that respected your virginity, that had been content with things like this, found it hot to cum when fully clothed.

Donghyeok seems to be in the same mindset.

His golden skin beneath your lips is hot, and he moans your name again and again, rolling his hips up to meet each downward push of yours. You rock your hips more frantically, losing control as your orgasm rises. You bite at his throat as you cum, and Donghyeok’s hands on your ass keep you moving, keeping up with the push and pull of your pussy grinding over his erection.

Your body is still tingling as you roll off of him, as you lie down in your bed and pull him over you. “More,” you demand, “I want more.”

“Are you sure?” The demon above you asks.

You crave more from him. Donghyeok has you hotter than any man ever has before.

He kisses you without warning, jolting forward and sweeping you into a dramatic, hungry kiss. You want him, and you pour that desire into the kiss, impatient and horny for him to give you more.

You don’t wait for Donghyeok to start undressing you, you reach down and unfasten your shorts, maneuvering them off your hips and down your legs. The shirt’s a bit more difficult to rid yourself of, but Donghyeok obligingly breaks the kiss to let you pull it over your head, and while you’re in this position with space between you, you reach for the hem of his shirt.

“Can I?” You ask, tucking your fingers beneath the hem. “I want to have all of you.”

Donghyeok’s eyes flash flaming red. His voice is rough with emotion when he says simply, “Yes.”

You drag his shirt over his head without another moment wasted. And then your hands are back in his hair, stroking the curve of his horns as Donghyeok crushes his mouth to yours again.

Donghyeok grinds against your thigh while the two of you make out, and you have to pull one of your hands from his hair, seeking out one of his hands to pull down between your legs.

You’ve been touched like this before too. Over the panties, an ex rubbing your clit and stroking along your slit with the thin fabric between you and him. You’d managed a weak, unsatisfactory orgasm from it after a drawn out attempt, and decided to end things with him a few days later citing that you just didn’t feel the chemistry.

But presently, the moment Donghyeok’s fingers make contact with your clit over your panties, your brain is buzzing. Every nerve ending in your body is alert.

Donghyeok kisses you through every gasp and sigh. He smiles when you whine and buck your hips, when you circle your hips and grab at his wrist to guide his fingers towards your wet entrance, to the spot where your panties are absolutely soaked through. He kisses the corner of your mouth, and teases, “Do you want me to continue?”

You push away your panties, almost tearing them in your rush to be rid of them.

This much you’ve never done before. Never done penetration even with a man’s fingers.

Whether Donghyeok can read that in you, or if he sees the slight anxious anticipation in your gaze, he tenderly kisses your lips, sufficiently distracting you as he slicks his fingers against your bare pussy. This is a first for you too. Bare fingers and bare pussy, slick wetness making the glide so much easier and more pleasant.

Donghyeok kisses you and touches you until you’re whimpering, reaching for his wrist. “Inside me, put them inside me,” you beg, urging his hand lower.

It doesn’t make sense for a demon to be so gentle, but he is. Donghyeok eases first a single finger inside you, then another. He leaves your lips to kiss down your throat and chest, kissing lower and lower, drawing down your body until his mouth is right there and he licks your clit.

You’re not sure if it’s just the experience of oral sex or if it’s because it’s Donghyeok, but your entire body lights up as he licks your clit, as he thrusts his fingers into you again. He takes his time with you, filling you with his fingers, curling them inside you and brushing a spot that makes you gasp, body jerking at the incredible sensation.

Donghyeok laughs, delighted by how you’re reacting. He kisses your hips and your belly, slowly works his way back up, and you swear it feels like he kisses every part of you. His fingers press inside your pussy, slow thrusts until you’re begging for more, raking your fingers through his hair while he’s kissing your belly. Your fingers find his horns, and you use them like handles to guide his head back down.

He’s laughing still, thoroughly enjoying you taking control, guiding him to where you want him.

You arch your back, rolling your hips down against his face as Donghyeok sucks your clit between his lips, his fingers suddenly fucking into you at a faster speed, skilled at touching you exactly right.

A second orgasm sweeps through you, and you ride it out on his face and fingers.

When you push at Donghyeok’s devil horns, he backs off, kneeling up between your legs, and he gazes down at you while he licks his lips, and brings his fingers up to his mouth. You can’t look away, completely enraptured as he licks between his fingers, as he sucks them into his mouth. His eyes are hot, raking over your body.

You want him bad.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Donghyeok asks, pulling his fingers out of his mouth. His hand drifts down to the front of his pants, and you watch him give himself a squeeze. “Looking like you want to eat me, baby.”

You want to take a bite out of him. Well, you at least can’t fight the urge to bite him, to leave the imprint of your teeth in the curve of his shoulder, to bite his neck again since he’d seemed to like that earlier. You don’t want to eat him, but you sure want to take all of him, to have this devil inside you.

Donghyeok slides the heel of his palm along his clothed erection, and you decide right then in that moment that you’ve had enough of waiting.

“I’m ready,” you tell him.

Donghyeok blinks, and again he looks more human than demon. “Ready? Like for… for sex?”

You nod.

“You want to lose your virginity with me?” Donghyeok clarifies. You nod, but that’s still not enough for him. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Donghyeok, please will you have sex with me. I’m ready to let go of the idea of my virginity. I’m ready to have sex, and I want it to be with you.” Can you be more clear?

Yes, you’ve waited a long time for this. You’ve picked and chosen, selecting this actual demon over some normal men. But despite Donghyeok’s demonhood, he’s treated you better and been more considerate than any of the men you’ve come close to considering doing this with before. You’ve just been waiting for the right man to come along, and the right man in this case just happens to be a horny, red-eyed demon.

Donghyeok kisses you once again, and then he waits, holding just above you until you reach up and pull him back in. He’s smiling when you kiss him, and again, he lets you take over, lets you touch him and do what you want. So when you run your hands along his ribs, when your fingertips reach the waistband of his jeans, Donghyeok just moans happily.

His hands join yours in the effort to push his pants down, and the demon above you laughs delightfully, kissing you thoroughly making you forget the slight nerves you feel at the prospect of finally doing this, finally having sex, instead you’re just excited, just laughing and moaning along with him.

As soon as Donghyeok’s pants are slid down and kicked off, you reach for his dick, touching him the way an ex-boyfriend of yours had liked. He’d always told you to make it all about him, taught you to do things the way that he liked.

“Wait,” Donghyeok says, “You don’t have to do all that. I’m already worked up for you, baby. You may think being a demon comes with supernatural endurance or something, but in this I’m no better than a human man. You’re gorgeous, and that makes me want to just…” He cuts himself off by kissing you, but you think you get what he means.

He finds you beautiful, and not only that, but beautiful enough that he feels at risk of cumming too fast if you keep touching him before he’s inside you.

“Then fuck me.” You whisper the words to his lips. “Take me as a virgin sacrifice, Donghyeok. Like I was meant to be.”

Donghyeok scoffs, kissing you again and then he’s moving. His hand brushes yours away from his dick, and he rolls his hips forward, pressing the tip against your entrance without actually entering you.

“Are you sure?”

“I find it beyond charming that you’re a polite, gentlemanly chaos demon, Donghyeok. Yes, I’m sure.” You shift your hips, circling them down, and Donghyeok’s dick sinks in.

He keeps going, pressing in deeper. He’s watching your face, and you hold his gaze while you adjust to the full feeling, the different feeling of having something this thick and deep inside you. Not a bad feeling, just a different kind.

“Don’t stop!” You gasp when Donghyeok just goes still inside you.

He holds himself above you, just looking down at you with this expression and all of these emotions in his red eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, lifting a hand up to cover his eyes, but it does nothing to block his radiant smile. “Are you gonna move or just dock yourself in me?”

Donghyeok laughs again, and you’re quickly realizing that’s your favorite sound. “Maybe I’m taking in your virgin sacrifice,” he teases, “Doing my demon thing.”

“Right, sure. But can you hurry up with your demon thing?” You move your hand from his eyes, pushing your fingers into his hair to find his horns again. Donghyeok shudders with pleasure as you stroke your fingers over the ridges on one horn and then the other. “You’re not acting very demonic, you know. Treating me all gently and tenderly.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’d rather I bend you into strange shapes and fuck you hard and rough for your first time?” Donghyeok pulls his hips back and pushes back in roughly. It stings a bit, but you don’t mind all that much. And then he does it again. “Like this?”

“Sure,” you whimper, “Fuck me like you’ve done to all the other girls you’ve ever fucked.”

Donghyeok simply kisses you, getting you to melt beneath his lips, and then he moves again, thrusting into you. You gasp into the kiss, and Donghyeok takes advantage of that to deepen the kiss, making out with you as he fucks you, his dick reaching places that you didn’t even realize existed. He’s got your legs spread wide, his hips crashing against you repeatedly, drawing pretty moans from you with each thrust against your sweet spot.

And once you get used to this new sensation of having a dick inside you, you really enjoy it. Donghyeok’s tongue being down your throat helps a bit too, his skill with kissing is definitely distracting you from the less pleasant sensations.

Your whole body tingles each time that Donghyeok buries himself to the hilt in you. He grinds forward, stimulating your clit, externally and internally. He touches your boobs, but that doesn’t do a whole lot for you. You keep your hands in his hair, on his horns, and that seems to drive him mad with lust; each time you’ve got your fingers on his black devil horns, Donghyeok jerks, fucking into you a little harder, a little out of control.

It’s one of those times that you’ve got a hand curled around one of his horns, your other hand cradling the back of his neck as Donghyeok kisses your collarbones, that he moans so beautifully for you. “Fuck,” he moans, “I want to give you everything, baby. Everything I’ve got, all for you.”

You want it, whatever that means. Whatever Donghyeok has, you’ll take it.

A moment later, he cums, heat flooding your belly, sticky and slick as he pulls out, streaking it across your inner thighs and your pussy.

“Everything, baby,” he murmurs, kissing along your collarbone to your right shoulder. He rolls his hips forward, filling you with his dick once more right as he kisses the sunflower mark he gave you that first night.

Fire ignited throughout your body, pleasure and desire tangling together, ramping up higher and higher. Your climax tears through you like a wildfire, and Donghyeok fucks you through it, hips driving against yours; his teeth dig against your shoulder, his tongue following to soothe the bitemark. You can only hold onto him, hold tighter, keep moving your body with his to keep the waves of pleasure coming.

Even once you’re coming down from your orgasm, your whole body is still tingling and warm. Donghyeok is all but stuck to you, both of you are all sweaty so your skin sticks together. His lips press to the sunflower mark he left on you, his hands slide against your ribs, leaving a hot tingle deep under your skin, and you have a feeling he’s leaving another mark, another claim or protection.

You can’t get a good look at the marks he’s left on you, but you can feel them all – the warmth of the sunflower on your shoulder, which you’re pretty sure looks a bit more yellow in the petals now than it did earlier; there are the hickeys and bitemarks Donghyeok left on you; now these new marks on your ribs, which look like a swirl of small inky spots that are resolving into anything familiar, and on the other side you swear it’s a fine-line rendition of the sun.

You wish you could do the same and leave a mark on him, more than the sparse hickeys you left on his throat earlier.

For right now, you settle for just holding him. You wrap your arms around him, and Donghyeok tucks his face into your shoulder, moaning softly as he rolls onto his side, bringing you with him. Your legs are still tangled, bodies pressed together, his dick still inside you though he’s gone soft.

“Call me crazy,” Donghyeok whispers to you, “I know we’ve only met twice before tonight, but I feel like we have a really good connection. I like you.”

Your heart races at the confession. “I like you too.”

You feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin. “Good. I’d hate for you to have just given up your virginity on a guy you don’t even like. A demon, at that.”

“It doesn’t bother me that you’re a demon yknow. You’re more decent than most of the guys I’ve known.” You trace your fingers down Donghyeok’s back, feeling two long angled scars by his shoulder blades, like that’s where his wings come and go from. “If anything, I don’t understand why a demon is interested in me.”

Donghyeok lifts his head, and he looks you in the eye as he says, “I told you earlier. You’re gorgeous, and the moment that asshole tried to sacrifice you to me, I caught a glimpse of your soul. You’re a pure soul, so utterly good that it pains me to look at you with all the layers peeled back, but not in a bad way. It hurts me the way it hurts to look at something you aspire toward; looking at you is like looking at the stars and knowing that you’ll never be able to hold one in your hand.”

But his hands are on you now.

His fingers trace over your ribs, and you can tell by the tingle now that he’s definitely left a new mark on you.

You take up his hand, pulling it up to your lips, and you place a kiss in the center of his palm. And when you look at his face, you see right there on his cheek that maybe. He’s closer to holding the stars than he thinks. You trace the constellation of moles on his cheek and down his throat, so similar to one that you see in the night sky.

Donghyeok leans his cheek into your hand, and he holds you a little closer. He presses his forehead to yours.

The candles behind you on the floor have burned down to nothing but puddles of cooling wax. The herbs and crystals and chalk symbols can be picked up and wiped away in the morning. But for tonight, you hold a demon in your arms, completely at ease in his warm embrace.

a/n: I'm sorry for the long wait on this one! Day 9 is finally being posted on Day 11, which has definitely put me behind, and is making me reconsider my decision to do this for this month. But I really liked writing this one! I've been very Haechan-biased since The Dream Show 3, so I needed to write this tbh.

If you notice any errors or if you feel I should include some more tags/content warnings, please let me know!

I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

#haechan #haechan smut #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct #nct 127 #nct 127 smut

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cosmogyros · 18 days ago

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(Reblog this version please!) Okay fuck it. I was too nervous to post this at first, but I see tons of non-Germans wanting to know what's going on right now. So here's my summary. Thanks to my buddy @keldermans and another German friend not on Tumblr for taking a glance at it to make sure I didn't get anything too horribly wrong <3 Any remaining errors are my bad!

I spent much of today writing up an outline of the current soap-opera drama going on in the German government, for my non-German-speaking friends who'd like to enjoy the tea as well.

Disclaimer: I am not technically German, but I did my best to explain this all as accurately as possible (and I did get a couple of Actual Germans to check it over for me).

For THE GERMAN DRAMA, see below...

Cast of characters:

The German government coalition (known as the “Ampel” – traffic light – due to its colors):

Olaf Scholz, Chancellor (leader) of Germany. Party: SPD (color: red). - and the other Red party members in the coalition - this includes the Minister of Health, Karl Lauterbach

Christian Lindner, Minister of Finance of Germany. Party: FDP (color: yellow). - and the other Yellow party members in the coalition (four FDP members) - this includes the Minister of Transport, Volker Wissing - and the Minister of Justice, Marco Buschmann

Robert Habeck, Vice-Chancellor of Germany. Party: Greens (color: green) - and the other Green party members in the coalition.

Other characters: Friedrich Merz, likely to become the next Chancellor. Party: CDU (color: black).

The events I can recall so far, in roughly chronological order over the past five days:

1. The government coalition argues all day Wednesday, trying to pass laws while Lindner refuses to agree to anything. In the evening, Scholz loses his patience and fires Lindner with the legendary words, “Dann, lieber Christian, möchte ich nicht mehr, dass Du meinem Kabinett angehörst. ...So. Doof.” (In that case, my dear Christian, I don’t want you in my cabinet anymore. ...Well. Sucks.)

2. Scholz then calls a press conference and gives a surprisingly impressive speech in which his rage is barely concealed. He includes some sharp jabs at Lindner and sounds very personally betrayed by the breakup.

Scholz's speech includes the immediately-legendary line “Zu oft hat er mein Vertrauen gebrochen” (Too often has he broken my trust), which everyone here in Germany is now obsessively quoting.

He declares that he will ask for a vote of confidence in January, and if he fails it (as is expected), he will call for new elections in March, six months earlier than they would otherwise have taken place.

3. Lindner gives a very emotional and self-pitying speech in which he declares “Ich habe gelitten” (I have suffered) – another phrase that becomes an instant classic with those of us watching from the sidelines – and he includes some sharp jabs at Scholz.

4. Showing solidarity with their fellow party member Lindner, all the rest of the FDP members in the coalition resign from the government too… except for Wissing, who instead decides to quit his own political party, the FDP, in order to stay in government and keep his job. He is now a party-less politician!

5. Habeck gives an emotional statement to the press, practically in tears, coming across like a kid whose parents are divorcing and he doesn’t know how to handle it. In a maudlin moment of his speech, he compares the collapse of the coalition to the end of a relationship.

6. At the end of Habeck’s statement, a reporter calls after him: “Is Lindner going to apply for Bürgergeld benefits?”

(Background: There are two tiers of unemployment benefits in Germany. To explain it in a somewhat tasteless way, there’s kind of a class distinction. If you come from a “higher-class” profession, you can typically start by getting ALG I, which is more money. If you are unemployed for the long term or come from a “lower-class” working background, you get Bürgergeld. The stereotype about people on Bürgergeld benefits is that they spend it all on drugs and alcohol and sit on park benches getting drunk all day. Also, Lindner is known for trying to pass legislation to reduce social benefits of all kinds, including unemployment benefits.)

7. Background: After the failed assassination attempt on Trump earlier this year, a popular German comedian called El Hotzo posted a joke online saying basically “too bad he missed” and promptly got fired for saying that. He kept his spirits up and joked about the job loss, saying “Ich bin Deutschlands frechster Arbeitsloser” (I’m Germany’s cheekiest unemployed boy).

Back to the present: At a press conference, a reporter asks Lindner: “How are you handling the statements being made about you online right now, such as ‘This is Germany’s cheekiest unemployed boy’?”

Lindner seems to need a long moment to figure out how to reply to this question.

8. The next day, Habeck coyly soft-launches his candidacy for Chancellor by posting a mysterious video of himself on social media in which he’s wearing a cute beaded friendship bracelet that spells out “Kanzler Era” (Chancellor Era). This is apparently a Taylor Swift reference (?).

In this video, he’s sitting in an atmospherically-lit room, writing at a table. It appears that Lindner had posted a very similar picture of himself in the past, because he now tweets in response to Habeck: “All Democrats welcome here, Robert! You got the setup almost right – the lamp was on the other side. ;)” (and he adds his own pic, which indeed very much resembles Habeck’s video)

9. Angela Merkel muses publicly, “Maybe God only created the FDP in order to test us all.” (ETA: She said this a while ago, not in response to the present situation. But it's still so true :'D)

10. A mainstream German news podcast sassily comments on Friday:

“While Olaf 'Too often has he broken my trust' Scholz is enjoying his party’s admiration for his cowboy moment and Christian 'I have suffered' Lindner is going through his own personal St. Matthew’s Passion […]”

11. Buschmann (one of the FDP party members who resigned), who apparently moonlights as a composer of electronic music under the handle "MBSounds", drops a new self-composed track on SoundCloud about the collapse of the Ampel government. It’s called “To Go Is to Stand”.

The news comments dryly: “Well, at least he doesn’t sing on the track.” (Buschmann's previous biggest hit was simply an angry speech of Lindner’s, set to music.)

Lauterbach (one of the SPD party members still in office) tweets: “No offense, but I don’t think I’ll be listening to that song more than once. But still, it was good working with you, Marco.”

12. The media ask Scholz if he’s throwing his hat in the ring to run for Chancellor again. He says yes. They ask, in what ways is he different from Friedrich Merz (the dude who’s currently expected to win)? And he replies “Ich finde mich etwas cooler, wenn es um Staatsangelegenheiten geht” (I think I’m somewhat cooler [than him] when it comes to matters of state).

And now the German media is making up new words like "scholzen" (which I can only presume means "as the leader of a country, to fire other government members you don't get along with"):

[Headline translation: "Who Donald Trump will 'scholz' first"]

#german politics #current events #germany #german stuff #politics #my apologies for my somewhat unprofessional image descriptions #i hope they still do their job properly (unlike a certain chrissi)#cosmo gyres #edit: i just fixed two small errors that people had pointed out in comments! thanks y'all i appreciate the help <3

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almond-tofuuu · 9 months ago

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Wanna sit on Zayne’s lap (innocently) facing him with my face buried in his chest while he works 😊 and then maybe after a while grind on him a lil, just enough to rile him up, and then keep doing it until he snaps and pounds me into the nearest surface 😊

anon you are not the only one who wants to do this!!! If I've said it once, I'll say it again: ZAYNE WANTS US TO GRIND DOWN IN HIM!! why else would he keep letting us sit in his lap 🤷🏻‍♀️

Also sorry it took so long for me to write this, work has been brutal 😭😭😭 hope you enjoy!!

Dangerous Game

Zayne x reader

Warnings: nsfw minors dni, grinding, orgasm denial, Zayne's big dick (it needs it's own warning), pet names (Angel)

Zayne was busy, always busy. Even when he came home after a long shift at the hospital, he still had more work that needed to be completed. And you understood, you really did, his job was very important and his meticulous nature was just one of the many things you loved about him. But right now you were cursing the seemingly neverending amount of paperwork stacked on the desk next to him. Hearing that he had actually gotten off work on time for once, you were looking forward to spending an evening curled up on the sofa with your loving boyfriend. But your plans were cut short the moment he picked up a pen and started filling out documents. Watching him from the doorway you let out a small sigh, resigning yourself to spending another evening entertaining yourself, when an idea formed in your mind. Hiding the mischievous smirk growing on your face, you tiptoed your way over to Zayne, stopping beside his chair, gently poking his shoulder. Zayne's eyes flickered over to you, pen halting mid stroke as he gave you his full attention.

"Is there something I can help you with, Angel?" His smooth voice never failed to make your heart flutter, honeyed tone soft and tender, a sound reserved solely for you. Your fingers play with the cuff of his sleeve, a small pout on your lips, one you know he loves. "Can I sit with you? I missed you so much and I just want to be close to you for a while." The corners of Zayne's lips curl up into a soft smile, and you knew he'd give you whatever you wanted, after all Zayne could never say no to you. You were his weakness.

An amused chuckle left Zayne's lips as he swivelled his chair to face you, one hand holding yours whilst the other tapped his thigh, inviting you into his lap. "How can I refuse when you asked so nicely. Come on then, take a seat, Angel." He gently pulled you closer, helping you to straddle his lap, another deep chuckle rumbling from his chest as he watches you bury your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "Now be good for me, I'm almost finished with these reports. Then we can go watch a movie together." He gives a light squeeze to the plush of your hips before his hands leave you, picking up his pen and resuming his work.

You want to be good for him, you really do try, but your mind begins to wander. There's something about being surrounded by him, his scent overwhelming your senses, the steady rhythm of his heart, his muscular thighs below you, it ignites a fire deep within you, and with every passing second you can feel the growing ache in your core.

You start small at first, squirming slightly in his lap, little wiggles that you play off as "just trying to get comfy". And for a while it's enough, but soon the throbbing in your cunt gets stronger, your clit begging for more friction, something to relieve the pressure building up in your lower stomach. You give an experimental rock of your hips, freezing to wait for Zayne's reaction. When he doesn't respond you do it again, setting a steady rhythm as you grind down on his lap. The zipper on the front of his slacks rubs perfectly against your sensitive clit, the pleasure increasing with every roll of your hips, head burying further into the crook of Zayne's neck, his masculine scent filling your nose, pushing you even closer to your orgasm that is building steadily. Your pussy is dripping now, soaking your panties, your empty hole flutters and pulses as you continue grinding in Zayne's lap, too lost in pleasure to register the tiny whimpers leaving your mouth, forgetting all about subtly as your minds only focus is on your orgasm that is fast approaching. Speeding up your movement, hips pressing down harder into his, a breathy moan of his name falls from your lips as you're about to reach your peak. Just as you feel yourself tumbling over the edge, two strong, cold hands firmly grab your hips, halting your movement completely. You whine desperately at the loss of your orgasm, hips frantically chasing more of that delicious friction that would have your cunt gushing into your panties, but it's useless. Zayne's vice-like grip prevents any of your movements, cold fingers bruising as they dig into the soft flesh of your hips.

"Did you really think I would let you finish like that, Angel?" Zayne whispered lowly in your ear, dark tone sending a shiver down your spine. "I thought I told you to be good, but it seems my girl was just too desperate to wait." You let out a pathetic mewl as Zayne presses you further into his lap, only now noticing the large bulge that has formed in his pants, his cock hard and begging for relief as it grinds against your clothed pussy. "You wanted my attention, Angel? Well you've got it. And I'm going to spend the rest of tonight teaching you what happens to bad girls who don't do as their told." He chuckles darkly, hips rutting up into yours, mercilessly guiding your sensitive cunt along the length of his confined cock. "And I'm not going to stop until you're a begging, whimpering mess."

#love and deepspace #zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader smut #zayne x reader #zayne x you #love and deepspace smut #lnds zayne #lnds #i want to ride him #love and deepspace x reader #lnd #zayne smut

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dadbodbuck · 4 months ago

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i had a bad day and then @tommystummy started talking about bucktommy arguments and this scenario came up and i latched onto it like a moray eel. please enjoy some raw, unedited tommy kinard angst

Tommy doesn't like talking about it. It being the roughly five years he worked under Captain Gerrard, alongside Howie and Hen, when he was deeply closeted and a major asshole. He can make his excuses, he can try to convey the feeling of looking into someone's eyes and only seeing your father's. He can admit to the humiliating nightmares he used to have of his father storming into the fire station and screaming at him. Neither of those are reason enough to be callous towards people who were being tortured in their own workplace.

Howie and Hen were much quicker to forgive him than Tommy was. In fact, it seemed like it only took one mumbled apology for them to shrug it all off. Water under the bridge, they had said. Just don't do it again.

And God, Tommy never did. After that, after finally taking his sexuality out of the box deep in the animal part of his brain, he told himself he would be different. He expected it to be hard, and on some level it was, but—

Tommy kissed a man for the first time (since high school) forty-eight hours after he was reassigned to the 217, quick and dirty in a bar in West Hollywood. Something in Tommy’s chest clicked into place when he heard the soft, deep moan of a nameless man wearing body glitter. He couldn’t go back even if he wanted to.

Before, he’d been afraid of this exact thing. He’d kept his hands to himself because he knew that his closet wasn’t resealable. It was one-and-done. Gerrard’s boys would have eaten him alive. But Howie and Hen wouldn’t. They didn’t.

It still took him a long time for him to tell them. They didn’t talk often, but they did keep in touch. Tommy owed them so many favors he’d probably be repaying them for the rest of his life, but they seemed more interested in just being his friend. A distant one, but a friend nonetheless.

Distance was fine. Distance was easy. Distance allowed for Tommy to keep his comfortable walls in place, even if he redecorated them a little.

It took him three months to realize how debilitating loneliness was. He was out, now, but without the close, albeit sterile and toxic, friendship of the boy’s club at the 118. Tommy longed for connection. He thrived on it. Something deep, and routine, and constant.

But nobody was volunteering. So Tommy resigned himself to his old hobbies, cars and Muay Thai and basketball, and introduced karaoke trivia to the routine, because he’d always loved singing but never had the guts to do it while he was closeted. It was nice. If anyone noticed Tommy’s near-compulsive schedule of activities, they never mentioned it. The years passed. Howie and Hen grew even more distant. Tommy liked their Facebook posts. He did their favors. He was still lonely, but he successfully put the version of himself he had been on a shelf in the deepest recesses of his brain, never to see the light of day again.

He was a good person now. He was good. He was good despite the skeletons rattling in the closet where his love used to be.

Then, Evan.

No other preamble necessary. Then, Evan. With his broad chest and blue eyes and insane, insane ideas.

Really, was Tommy not supposed to fall in love with him?

Things are great for a while. Idyllic. Peaceful, and exciting, and sweet, and so goddamn sexy, and safe. Tommy feels safe in Evan’s arms.

The problem, of course, is that Evan has this idea that he has to know every part of Tommy. All of him.

“I want to love all of you,” Evan murmurs, as a creeping sense of dread settles in Tommy’s chest, “Even the parts you don’t like.”

Tommy chews on his words, but Evan must sense something is wrong, because he props himself up on an elbow and leans over Tommy, brow scrunched in concern.

“There are parts of me that aren’t worth loving.” Tommy settles on, eventually.

He watches Evan’s heart break in real time, and it does nothing to soothe the growing irritation in his chest.

“I don’t believe that,” Evan frowns, “I think even when you were making mistakes, you were worth loving.”

Tommy huffs a dry, sarcastic laugh. “I beg to differ.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Can’t. Evan doesn’t like this. “Tom, that’s—that’s not how this works. You don’t get to pick and choose which parts of you I’m allowed to love. I don’t care what it is. I love you.”

Tommy isn’t going to win this argument, so he doesn’t even try. Instead, he forces himself to relax, and sighs. “Okay. Sorry, honey.”

He can tell Evan isn’t buying it, by the disbelieving set to his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lays back down and presses a gentle kiss to Tommy’s shoulder. It feels a lot like another declaration.

“I love you too,” Tommy says, bringing one of Evan’s hands up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. Evan revels in physical touch—it’s one of his favorite love languages, although he enjoys pretty much all of them. Mostly, Tommy thinks Evan was just love-starved for a long time.

Tommy is positive beyond doubt that Evan was never like him. It takes little talking to Howie and Maddie to confirm that he’s always presented his heart on a platter, warm and bleeding for whoever wants to carry it. There’s no universe where a callous man like Gerrard would have turned Evan into what Tommy was. Evan has never been a coward.

Tommy hopes that’ll be the end of the argument, but the next day, Evan sits down on the couch and says, “I know talking about your past is painful for you, and I don’t want to force you to tell me anything.”

Tommy senses a conjunction and chooses to remain silent.

“But,” there it is, “I don’t take back what I said.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you again,” Tommy grunts, knowing he’s closing himself off.

“Then let me say it,” Evan presses, “There is nothing in your past that would change how I feel about you.”

“You don’t know that,” Tommy says, through gritted teeth, “You don’t know what I was like to Howie and Hen when they first joined the 118. I said things I shouldn’t have. I let Gerrard and his cronies get away with even worse. I let them get hurt, and I did nothing, because I was a coward.”

Evan looks at him with big, sad eyes. “You were scared.”

“I should have done the right thing anyway,” Tommy argues, “You think Howie and Hen weren’t scared? You think they weren’t terrified? Hen got up in front of everyone and gave us this big speech about how proud she was to be gay, to be black, to be herself. And all I did was stand there with this pit in my stomach. Like if anyone looked over at me they would just know, and then I’d be a pariah. Like her.”

“Tommy,” Evan says, dismayed, “She’s forgiven you so many times over for that. Beating yourself up about it does nothing.”

“It holds me accountable,” Tommy says, “It keeps me from being that person again. I hate the person I was back then. You would have hated him, too.”

“Maybe,” Evan shrugs, like it’s just that easy, “But I try not to hate people. I certainly don’t hate my loved ones for making mistakes. And that’s what you did. Make a mistake. Now, looking back on it, I can see that version of you. That Tommy, who was afraid and in pain. I still love him.”

“Stop!” Tommy snaps, but makes no move to get away from Evan. Evan’s hand stutters, but makes its way to Tommy’s shoulder, thumb rubbing over the joint.

“I love every version of all of my loved ones,” Evan says softly, “I love the version of Bobby who almost drank himself to death. I love the version of Eddie that fought people in the street. I love the version of Chim that punched me. I love the version of Maddie that ran away from me—several times, I might add. I love the version of Hen that almost ended her own marriage when she betrayed Karen’s trust.”

There’s about thirty different stories Tommy wants to explore in there, but Evan doesn’t let him get a word in edgewise. “And I love the version of you that stood by and watched because he was too scared to intervene.”

Evan leans in to plant a tender kiss to Tommy’s cheek. “I love him, and I love the Tommy who was in Iraq, and I love the Tommy who was almost a high school dropout, and I love the Tommy who loved to go hiking after middle school, and I love the Tommy who was late learning how to walk but early learning how to read. It’s not hard. He’s you.”

“I don’t want him to be me,” Tommy confesses, throat tight.

“But he is,” Evan murmurs, soft and soothing in Tommy’s ear, “He’s right here. And he’s doing right by people now. He learned how to be brave. He made amends. Hen and Chim didn’t forgive you because you killed that old version of yourself, they forgave you because you made an effort.”

It’s the first time Tommy’s ever heard it phrased like this, and something about the way Evan says it makes his eyes sting. Evan pulls him into a hug, tucks his face into the crook of his neck, and lets Tommy cry. Rubs his back through it. If Tommy pretends, he could be rubbing the uniform-clad thirty-five year-old firefighter, or the fatigued back of an eighteen-year-old soldier, or the thrifted cotton tee of a middle schooler, or the just-too-tight romper of a toddler. All the Tommies that never got this, all the Tommies that desperately wanted it.

For the first time since his mother died, Tommy is held while he cries, and after nearly thirty years, something in his chest stops aching.

#my fics #bucktommy

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drunk-person · 6 months ago

Text

Burned by you (One Shot)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After a few months of marriage, the reader tries to see in her always well-composed and taciturn husband the frightening dragon that she was told to fear before the wedding, but without success. Until one afternoon a small incident pushes Aemond over the edge and she realizes her wish to wake the dragon.

WARNING: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, fingering, possessive and jealousy sex, dom/sub tones if you squint, mentions of murder, no description for reader.

Word cont: 1.900 k

Author's note: Hi, this is my first one short published, I've written others, but I never posted them and this one was written this afternoon and I thought "why not?". I usually write better than this, but this was a jumbled part of my mind that I finally decided to share, hope someone likes it. English is not my first language so be kind if you can.

Aemond's stoic manner almost always disturbed his young wife. No matter how much she saw the fire cross her eye, it never burned what was around her. Except in the training yard, she never saw him out of composure, and sometimes not even in the training yard he lost his composure. His hair was always well-groomed, his clothes were well-adjusted and his gaze was always calculated. She got tired. She wanted to see the beast she knew was underneath. She wanted the fire that shone every now and then in his eyes to consume her. She wanted to be burned by the dragon. So she did what she could do best, teased him to death.

She smiled everywhere in the way she knew Aemond didn't like her to do. She walked through the courtyards in her dresses considered most revealing. She would even grant a dance or two to some braggart Lord, but he remained just as stoic. The day she gave Prince Jacaerys a dance she thought she saw his eyes sparkle, but soon he was talking to his sister and she lost sight of his eyes.

Y/n she got tired of that game in which she was visibly losing. She was resigned to knowing that she would never see the dragon she had been warned about when she got married. She was walking calmly through the gardens while thinking when she felt the heel of the boot she was wearing give way on her. And with a gasp she almost fell face first onto the grass in front, but before that, a rough hand caught her.

— Is my princess okay? — The young gardener asked helpfully.

— My shoe broke. — She said while leaning on the boy who must have been a few years older than her.

— Here, let me help. — The gardener placed her hand on his shoulder and crouched close to the ground while removing the shoe from Y/n's foot, who didn't even notice the compromising position in which she found herself with the boy practically between her legs.

Suddenly came the cold and menacing voice from her back, causing every hair on her body to stand on end.

— Wife. — She immediately turned back, stepping with her bare foot on the grass, while the gardener released her and practically fell into a sitting position on the garden lawn. Aemond's eyes were on fire, her jaw was clenched and her body was tense like a rope stretched to its limit.

— Husband, nothing happened. — She tried to explain quickly. — My shoe broke and got stuck on the lawn, he was just…

— Quiet. — Aemond hissed harshly.

— But husband...

— I said to keep quiet. — He spoke with a firm voice as he approached them both.

He guided his hand to her neck and caressed it gently as he closed one of his hands and squeezed it, but not enough to hurt. Y/n looked him in the eyes, scared and without moving a single muscle.

— Go to our chambers and wait for me there. — He practically spat out the words as he released her neck without any delicacy.

Y/n didn't question him anymore, she just turned her back and ran barefoot towards their shared chambers without even looking at the gardener, who was still lying on the grass.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

She walked around the room without even being able to breathe. What would happen? What was her husband thinking now? Where he was? It seemed like hours had passed since the garden. And then without warning the door opened and she immediately turned towards it, but the sight that came was of something completely unheard of.

Aemond walked through the door with her hands, her face and her own clothes covered in blood, a frightening look on her face. Her steps were stiff as he slowly walked towards her.

— Husband, what happened? — She asked worried, but unable to move towards him.

— Do you want to know what happened? What did I have to do? — He asked angrily when he finally approached her and held her jaw firmly in his right hand, squeezing it tightly. — I made that filthy gardener fight me.

Y/n’s heart sank for the poor guy. She knew that no one in the royal guard was a match for Aemond, a young gardener would never be. But why was it covered in blood?

— And when I beat him without any major complications. — He paused before concluding in an even more cruel voice. — I beheaded him myself.

Y/n brought her hands to her lips as she imagined the brutal scene in front of her.

— Sad for your loving wife? — He practically shouted as he pulled her hair back forcing her to look into his eyes. Y/n quickly shook her head in visible despair.

— He was not my lover. I swear husband! He was just taking my shoe off the grass. — She whimpered as Aemond pulled even more of her hair.

— I may have only one eye but I'm not blind, wife. — He growled, looking into her eyes. — That man didn't look at you as someone who just wanted to help you with a shoe.— Husband... — She tried speak, but Aemond slapped her.

— I tried to treat you the best I could, but if you want to act like a common whore, then I'll treat you like a common whore. — Aemond pulled out his dagger and Y/n's eyes widened, he then used it to tear the entire dress she was wearing, ripping it off her in moments, leaving only her undershirt, which he tore with his own hands, making Y/n gasp.

Aemond bent her over the table and before Y/n could understand anything, she felt a new slap on her ass and let out a scream of surprise. Without warning, Aemond violently separated her ass cheeks, making her feel exposed, her whole body seemed to burn with shame. She felt herself heat up even more as she heard her husband laugh evilly and felt his breath against her wet folds.

— A real little whore. — He inserted two fingers at once into her intimacy, making her squirm. — Wet and anxious while waiting to be fucked.

She moaned outrageously as she felt his fingers fucking her without mercy. Her body was lying on the table and while he was fucking her with one hand, Aemond held her firmly by the neck, keeping her in the same position. She felt that the air was running out of her and the pressure in her belly was almost unbearable, and when her husband removed his hand from her neck and took it to the top of her thighs, violently pinching her pearl, she screamed with pleasure and pain as she came against Aemond's hands, who didn't stop his movements for even a second.

The Excessive Stimulation was making her go crazy. Aemond, without caring, slapped her on the buttock, making her grip the table tightly, the slap was followed by another, and another, and another, until Y/n was reduced to a crying and desperate mess.

— Husband. — She begged, babbling and drooling on the table top. - Please…

Aemond just laughed and bit her shoulder firmly, as he penetrated her all at once with his length, she whimpered even more at the sudden intrusion. And without waiting for her to get used to it like he always did, he started fucking her violently. Aemond took his hands to her hair, entangling his hands there and pulling her head back making her face their reflection in the mirror.

The Vision made Y/n moan even more, she was completely naked and Aemond was clothed. His hair was messy and scattered everywhere, his clothes were a mess, his face and part of his skin were covered in blood, and his look... oh, his look looked like that of a mad man. The flame that was there could burn the entire room, and it was certainly burning her.

— I should have fucked you in front of that bastard before I ripped his head off. — Aemond growled in her ear as he fucked her even harder and Y/n cried uncontrollably amid moans and panting. — Maybe I'll ask them to bring his head and hang it in our room so he can watch as I fuck you every night in the seven fucking hells. — Y/n let out a scream when she heard him say those things. The hand that squeezed her waist did so with such force that it hurt, as he went deeper and deeper into her.

— You have to know, wife. — He practically growled as he bit her neck violently. — That you are mine, if I see you dancing with that bastard Strong again I will make sure that an accident occurs and he falls from one of the towers. — He slapped her hard on the ass when he said that.

— If any of these servants touch your skin again, I will rip their head off in front of you. — He gave a strong thrust inside her as he stared at her in the mirror with his eyes burning. — I will kill anyone who dares to come close to what is mine. — He hissed in an almost venomous way as he squeezed her breasts firmly and Y/n felt her whole body shake with the uncontrolled pleasure that erupted through her body.

— Say my name, say the name of the owner of this pussy and this body. — Aemond grunted, slapping her pearl sharply and Y/n saw stars. She came screaming his name at the top of her lungs to anyone who would listen.

— Whore. — Aemond moaned in her ear as he continued fucking her. — Filthy whore. — He bit her ear as she cried amidst her orgasm. — My little whore.

— Yours. — She cried, rubbing herself against him uncontrollably, even with the pain of overstimulation. — You whore, only yours.

And Aemond came deep inside her with a moan that sounded like a growl as he bit and sucked on her neck.

— Never do that again, wife, or I guarantee you I won't be so indolent. — Her husband's breathless voice sounded against her neck.She nodded weakly and with no more strength in her body, she collapsed onto the table again.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

The sun was high in the sky when Y/n woke up the next day, still naked as on her name day, alone in bed and with all her painful limbs. Aemond, as always, had left very early, and she got up from the bed with difficulty, feeling her legs wobble like she hadn't felt since her first night with her husband.

She walked slowly to the mirror and sighed at the image before her, bruises of all colors covered her body, neck, thighs, hips, waist, ass, breasts. All covered in Aemond's handprints or her bite marks.

She smiled mischievously as she watched herself and lightly bit her lower lip as she remembered the other night. She barely noticed the door opening, and only looked up when she heard it close. Through her mirror her gaze met Aemond's and she could see his eyes burning like fire as he addressed her.

She had awakened the dragon, and now there would be no turning back.

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shirefantasies · 3 months ago

Note

Hi 🍄your work is so incredible! You’re literally keeping my hobbit/Tolkien hyper-fixation alive. I was wondering if you would want to write a first kiss situation with thorins company/hobbit characters? I hope your surgery goes well and you have a easy and speedy recovery!

Thank you what an honor omg!!! Man the surgery itself was ok but everything after was NOT IT 😭 so glad to be doing better now! This is a great idea & I sure do want to write it🫡😁 sorry it took so long because this request is apparently like 5 months old 🥲

Warning: loooooong post lololol, minor blood/injury mentions, some suggestive jokes/moments, corny at times hehe

Your First Kiss With the Hobbit Characters

Balin

“You can’t keep running off like that, you know.” Fingers closed around your wrist, but not so tightly as to provide entrapment, rather a secure anchor. Secure as the comfort of Balin’s deep brown gaze, something deep sparkling in his eyes you could never find elsewhere. Beads of sweat slid down your back as your breathing slowed, the adrenaline of battle washing away. Balin knew that feeling, saw it in you. “I know,” you answered, chest falling with a hard exhale, “But I can hardly leave everyone resigned to their fate when I can help.” It was then Balin’s turn to sigh. “I know, too,” he told you, rotating his grip around your wrist so the back of your hand was enveloped in his palm, “I suppose I am just being selfish.” Some number of seconds of you gaping passed before you managed to stutter out three words. “Does that mean…?” “Aye,” was all he said as he squeezed your hand, glancing down until you cupped his cheek, bringing his gaze back into yours before tugging him into your lips for one last adrenaline wave.

Dwalin

"You?" "Were you expecting Mahal himself?" You chirp in response, leaning on your hand and giving Dwalin a catlike smile. Unfazed, he continues. "What are you doing here?" "What do you think?" You answer with a question of your own, this one far less teasing. Softer. "You can't keep coming back. This is dangerous." Dangerous, he says as if it is not he who lies in a healer's tent with a broken arm freshly set and Valar know how many other bandages. Pain and pity cross your expression as you peer down at the warrior, rest your palm over his tattooed hand. "I can't lose you, too," he adds, gaze drifting from yours and eyelashes fluttering downward sheepishly, "You are far too precious. Too pure." Rosy glow overtakes you, shining outward through your smile and into your fingers, which spread to interlock with Dwalin's. "And too foolish, I suppose, for you, Master Dwalin, will never be rid of me. Do not let yourself be taken by such folly, for nothing is purer than you deserve, my hero." You feel his hand flex beneath you; his eyes finally flicker back upward before darting back shut as he leans up, cupping your cheek with his free hand. You taste salt and breaths of anticipation, war, relief, and love all in one. Pure indeed.

Thorin

A gasp startled you out of your dazed stare into the night, fire flickering at your back as you watched over empty hills. Turning your back to it, you returned your attention to those whom you presided over, protected for the night. The sight of Thorin bolting upright gave you pause, but soon you were at his side. “Are you alright?” “…Yes.” The king-to-be would not meet your eyes, his gaze falling into the shadows the fire cast upon his countenance. “Look at me.” Your command alone was enough to snap his head up; never had you spoken so to him or used do broken a tone. Thorin’s brows furrowed. “Worry not. It was just a dream.” “That was no dream,” you shot back, all but whispering. “No.” Thorin smiled wryly. “Sometimes it all comes back. I see it in the night when I cannot fight. I am helpless to it all. They cannot be saved. Then I wake and I wonder if it is to be so.” “No,” you laid your hand over his, “This weight is not yours alone. All of us are here with you, right? I am here with you.” A genuine smile crossed Thorin’s face, a shake of his head in wonder followed by a slow nod. “Thank you.” “Of course,” you answer. As you shifted, Thorin tightened his grip on your hand. “Stay.” “I will,” you told him, “I will.” “Good.” Not another word passed between your lips before they connected, passing over each other in moonlit words unspoken.

Oin

You hadn't even realized you were wounded at first. Shock overtaking you, you had run across the battlefield in pursuit of your comrades, only for them to gape and point at the blood seeping from your leg. You were fine, you assured them, but having none of it they hoisted you up over one shoulder each and dragged you over to a healer's tent, by which point a sharp sting had begun coursing up the expanse of your right leg. You were lowered down onto the tent's cushion-lain floor with it extended, and only when you looked up were you made aware of the familiar face before you. "Oin!" At your exclamation, the healer looked up and gave such a smile of recognition that your heart flipped. He spoke your name, too, although he did not match your enthusiasm, instead calling out with worry. "It's all right," you reassured him, "Not much more than a scratch." Rolling up your trouser leg, though, Oin winced at the blood before he began cleaning it. His bearded face fell into something much more serious than you were used to; for once he wasn't joking around as the jolly dwarf you knew and loved. That facade, the great focus, lasted the entire time he tended to you in fact. His hands were so dedicated and gentle as they worked over your torn skin. Upon completing your bandaging, he peered t you, dark eyes now intent upon yours. "You'll be fine." "Were you worried?" You couldn't help chuckling a bit. No healer were you, but the wound was nowhere near grievous or life-threatening. "Of course I was," Oin agreed without hesitation, "You know how much I care about you, don't you?" "I-" Lips parting, you stuttered for a moment. In your hesitation, Oin's hand found yours and gently brought you closer until his lips hit yours, beard tickling your cheeks. "Maybe now you do," he told you, smiling as you separated, "Now get some rest, alright?"

Gloin

“If you two do not stop acting like children," Gloin called to the princes, "We will treat you like children!” “What’ll you do,” Kili countered with crossed arms, smiling at his older brother, “Put us in the corner?” “We absolutely will,” you chimed in, mirroring the younger prince’s posture, “With pleasure, you ruffians!" "You two are like an old married couple," Fili tutted, shaking his head. "That's right," you agreed, grabbing Gloin's face with both hands and yanking him into a quick kiss that had one prince whooping and one calling out in disgust as they ran off. "What in Mahal's name was that?" Gloin asked you as you separated, auburn brows raised in distinct spite of the fact you'd felt him kiss you back. "Sorry, too much? I knew it'd scare them off. Might make them talk as well, though." "I wanted to kiss you first!" Gloin complained, pouting beneath his beard and prompting you to giggle as he took your hand, ready to make a more serious confession.

Bifur

Feet thudding against the ground, you ignored the shocks to your ankles and sprinted further. Dust clouds kicked up, but you clamped your mouth shut and ran, scanning across the black splatters of orcs’ blood and sheens of fallen blades. None of it stopped until you caught the sight of familiar braids, of black hair spilling out beneath a head trickling blood. “Bifur…” You whispered. He took your hand, gazing up at you with sad eyes. Muttered something faintly in Khuzdul…did you catch the word love? Your answer came in the way he leaned to press your forehead against his, ignoring the fresh wound and the axe still embedded in it. “I’ll take care of you,” you promised, “I love you.” Your lips met with all the passion of admission and promise and hope of recovery.

Bofur

“Come on now, won’t you have a drink?” You reached out a hand, wrapping it around the tankard over Bofur’s own gloved fingers, though you didn’t accept it straightaway. Instead, you kept your hand where it was and leaned in over the liquor. “Are you trying to get me tipsy, sir?” You teased. “Why, what’ll you do if you do get tipsy?” Bofur shot back with a playful, lopsided grin. “Use your imagination,” you replied, loosening your grip on the tankard and subsequently Bofur’s hand. The dwarf, however, was not giving up so easily. “Well, as a tipsy person myself, I suppose I would imagine something like this.” Tugging your hand back into his, Bofur ignored the tankard completely in favor of pressing his lips to yours, his mustache tickling your cheeks as you surrendered to the reverie of his lips’ sweet dominance. When you finally pull away, you both wore his playful look. “Alright, now I’m trying to get you tipsier,” you told him.

Bombur

“Wait, come back!” For a moment you thought you would finally get to thank the mysterious gifter of sweets, the one who left baskets of baked goods at the edges of your garden. Always tied with a different patterned bow, this time a gold-edged ribbon of maroon. Standing up, you’d made to follow the sound of footsteps only to see a form rounding the corner, just a wide bit of cloak trailing. “Please!” You turned around one way then whipped back the other when a skidding scraped the walls of your ears. Facing you was a very stocky, flaming-haired dwarf with his hands folded politely in front of him and rocking on his heels. "Since you said please," he said, his voice simple and sweet and a little bit scared. "I've really wanted to meet you," you told him, stepping forward, "To thank you." “Are you disappointed now?” Your gifter asked. “I promise I can do more than bake, I can fight, I will fight for-” Resting a hand on his shoulder, you shook your head. “You’re sweet enough for me just as you are. Never before have I had a secret admirer- someone who went to so much effort. That alone is amazing. Enough.” “You’re too sweet for me.” Pulling him closer by the hand upon his shoulder, you pressed a little kiss to his lips. “Just. Enough. Now, can I know my baker’s name?”

Dori

Of all the company members, only one of them supplied you with a spool of his own thread. Thick thread glittering with slivers of metallic sheen interwoven between lighter strips of the tiny cords. "So it matches the rest of my coat, you know," Dori explained, eyes flitting a bit sheepishly. "Ah," you set down your usual spool, a plainer brownish roll you'd just been using on one of Kili's pockets, "I see." You'd barely glanced up from your work, from ensuring you did not strike the thimble upon your finger, until you noticed the way Dori wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I…I know I’m a lot to deal with,” he said, “But it’s just that I know how I like things! I can’t help it.” “I do not think you’re a lot to deal with,” you replied, giving the dwarf your fully undivided attention, “I would be happy to deal with you.” The way his blue eyes widened, you could tell Dori was nowhere near expecting such a response, natural as it came to you. “Would you really?” “More than happy,” you added with a nod. “Well,” he fiddled with his hands, shifting closer to where you sat, “I would be more than happy to care for you in return.” “You already do,” you told him, eyelashes fluttering, “That is what I love about you.” Your allure got to Dori then, all glitter of threads fading in favor of your eyes, which he fell into, and your lips, which he leaned into.

Nori

“Get back here!” Chasing after Nori, you called out to the dwarf, who looked back over his shoulder with a cheeky grin. Of all things, he’d chosen to nick your undergarments, the fiend. Of course. Wheeling about, Nori ran up to a large rock and jumped up to the top of it, finally towering over you. He leaned down, your undergarments clutched triumphantly in his gloved hand as your noses nearly brushed. You could feel the warmth of his breath upon your face as you gazed upward, frown faltering and words failing at this new development. Nori, of course, still looked quite smug and had no trouble speaking. Remaining exactly where he was, he remarked, "Well, this is fun, isn't it?" "No," you answered, arms crossed, "It is not. Give those back!" "You're gonna have to make me, hm?" Fine. Two could play at that game. Frustration roiled in your chest, a fire burning as you eyes met Nori's. This whole charade had you quite ready to sacrifice whatever shred of dignity you had left to fight scoundrel with scoundrel. Taking the dwarf roughly by the collar, you yanked him into you and joined your lips. He fought back quickly, far less stunned and more passionate than you'd have expected. You were happy to escalate...at least until your hand slid down, felt his relax and drop the stolen article entirely. Jackpot. All but shoving Nori back, you mirrored his earlier smirk as you strode away, taking your turn to triumphantly brandish your undergarments. "Thank you, sir."

Ori

On the edge of your seat is the only phrase you could use to describe your position as you leaned over to watch Ori's work, the way his thick fingers slid so lightly over paper, creating shadows and the faintest of lines with subtle variations in that gentle pressure. Your eyes darted between his hand and his profile, staring as if keeping the focus in those brown eyes burning with the heat of your gaze. It is amazing that Ori can do that; you tell him as much. "Want to try?" He invites, profile swiveling to face you. "I can show you." You gave a nod, reaching out a hand in anticipation of pencil's weight. Thus it fell, but around your newly-filled palm his hand closed, coarse and warm fabric closing yours and lowering it to the paper. Several layered flushes of joy radiated through you as Ori glided you around, completing the lines of leaves upon a tree. "How's that?" An uncertain amount of time passed before he turned again to face you, this time inches from you given your shift and joined hands. "...Good?" The hitch of his breath and the quietening of his voice snapped something in you. Ori, too, for he leaned in and met you halfway through the inches, his lips connecting softly, joyously, to yours, only intensifying that soaring feeling.

Fili

"What's wrong?" "Can't sleep." "So you thought you'd bother me instead?" "Bother you?" You feigned offense. "Is that what my presence does?" "Your presence, no," Fili shook his head, "The way you keep kicking at my boots? Needless to say, yes." Grinning wickedly from your seated position, you gently darted out your foot to nudge his again, leading the dwarf to lean down to your level. "Do you want us all to get in danger? Is that it? I'm on watch, you know. You're risking the lives of all of us by distracting me." "Is that so?" "So it is." Nudge. This time, your foot slid along the length of his boot's side after you gave him your little kick. "That's it." Whirling around, mustache braids swishing with the motion, the golden-haired prince knelt down, his face inches from yours. "If you don't stop, I'll make you." Backing down was not in your vocabulary. "Make me," you commanded, voice low and expression smug and satisfied as ever. Before you could get another breath in Fili's lips were crashing onto yours, his facial hair tickling your cheeks in contrast to the hard, fast contact you made. His legs quickly wrapped around your waist, entrapping you beneath him as he cupped your cheeks in his hands, diving deeper and exploring your depths as far as he could for what felt like minutes until you finally parted for need of air. Fili's light blue eyes pierced yours intently, hungrily, as you stared back at him with much greater satisfaction than ever. "You're risking the lives of us all getting distracted," you repeated his words back to him, tracing a finger along one of his coat flaps. "I'll risk my life for you any day," Fili replied, cupping your cheek again and pulling you close, this time for a much slower, sweeter kiss that finally, finally, had you speechless.

Kili

“I’m bored,” you half-jokingly whined, eyes rolling back to look at Kili from the log you had draped yourself along. Straddling the log, he turned, leaning down to fix you with that glittering brown stare you loved. “What do you want me to do, hm?” Heart flipping, you swallowed, but painted a flippant smile across your face. “Entertain me.” “Entertain you?” He repeated, his own expression blooming with mischief. “Lot of ways I can do that.” “Well,” you crossed your arms, blood rushing to your head just as much from him as your upside-down position, “Choose one, then.” “Alright,” Kili hovered closer, his breath fanning your already-heated cheeks, “Let me know how this works, then.” The moment his lips crashed into yours, you responded, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his flowing black locks, which had a few leaves caught in them but still remained soft. As you gave them a little tug, Kili parted your lips for deeper entrance. You enjoyed your upside-down kiss right up to the moment you parted for breath, panting as he smirked down at you. “Still bored?”

Bilbo

Fog overtook the corners of your mind, dusting all your intents and purposes with a haze of questions. What were you doing in such a musty old place anyway? A voice at your side expressed a need for air. Why, you wondered as you jumped, startlement pumping pure adrenaline into your blood, were you with someone with a piece of axe blade protruding out of his head? Would the same happen to you? No, he was important, wasn't he? Think, think... Before you could get much thinking done, a hand clasped around yours. This time, the warm weight didn't have you jumping as far but it did pull you along, right along to the edges of the trees where you found yourself climbing after... Bilbo! Bilbo, the hobbit, the burglar, of course! The higher up you went, the more your lungs swelled and your head steadied with relief. How could you have been scared of sweet Bifur or not recognized Bilbo? Laughter sounded a bit above you; climbing faster, you burst from the treetops and squinted as you met the sun. Joined Bilbo's sweet mirth of relief and wonderment as light scattered over the clouds, illuminating the wings of gorgeous blue butterflies streaming out of the rustling leaves. "This is beautiful," you remarked, forgetting yourself and all the troubles of the forest as suddenly as they'd come on. "I'm glad you came with me," Bilbo told you softly. Turning away from the butterflies, you faced him only to see his grey eyes peering at you with the most utter sincerity. Had he drawn closer? A wave of emotion crashed over you, cresting as you closed the gap completely, feeling him gasp against your lips before he dove in himself. Sweet, gentlemanly, Bilbo never forced entry, his focus dedicated to a loving embrace of your lips alone. Giggling like a schoolchild as you pulled away, you grinned at the hobbit, whose expression you could only describe as starstruck. "I... am very glad you came with me," he remarked.

Thranduil

The king needed no advisors. Long had it been since he would have desired them, but concerns had grown and Thranduil did nothing if not care ruthlessly for his people. Thus, members of the nobility like yourself had come together as a council for the Woodland Realm’s ruler. Thranduil had been willing to listen, but your words grated against his like a block sharpening a blade; it seemed as though your every policy fought his in some way. Twice the meeting devolved into the two of you going back and forth across the table from your seats, which were quite unfortunately directly opposite one another. Such a scene it had felt to be that the king tarried in his room of council to speak to you at meeting’s end. “Do you take some form of issue with me?” Looking confident as you had in the meeting, you crossed your arms, smirking. “I take issue with your policies.” Thranduil must confess that in that moment he was shocked by the opposition, brows raising at your bold statement. “And you think you know what is best for our people?” “Maybe I do. They put me on your council, after all.” “You,” with great resounding taps the king crosses the room to stand before you, his face mere inches from yours, “would have us put at great risk right as we hit a point of prosperity.” “I would have us realize the threats at hand,” you replied cooly, tilting your head but balking not at all from the proximity. Thranduil moves ever so much closer, shaking his head and almost brushing his nose against yours with the motion. “Reckless warmongering.” “Hiding in fear,” you challenge back, smirking. “Do you wish to be shown your place?” “Do you need to ask?” A guard crossed briefly into the room, soft address of ‘my king’ dying upon his shortened breath at the sight of said ruler embroiled in a passionate battle for lingual dominance against one of his councilors.

Bard

You were never sure how the bowman felt about you. Certainly he was friendly and enjoyed spending time with you enough, but to what end? Perhaps you were doomed to live a life upon the edge of questioning. And yet the worst part was, you had yet to discover why you didn't entirely mind. Why, in fact, you found yourself in his barge once again, paddling out beyond the horizon of cobbled together buildings leaning into each other. Just as you could lean further into the thick brown furs of Bard's coat, perhaps even feeling it against your cheek as you lean against his shoulder. As it was, you simply stood at his invitation to take up steering, moving to the other side of the boat. Unbeknownst to you, however, Bard had left one of his fishing nets on the floor; shoe’s edge catching on the tightly connected loops of rope, you tumbled forward and made an unfortunate pitch into the cold lake. Swirling into the water and kicking back up through it did not last long, and soon Bard’s hand reached out to grab yours and pull you back into shivering safety. “Are you hurt?” He asked, hands hovering over your folded legs, the ankle you’d caught. Heart swelling over the look of concern in his dark eyes, all you could do was shake your head. Folding himself, Bard dropped to his knees at your side. “Good. I was worried about you.” “You were?” You asked dumbly, ready to blame shock over such a foolish question. You needed not, though, could not- not when his lips fell immediately upon yours.

Beorn

Neighbors minded their own business. This was a simple fact of making one's home out in the far woods, out also where more and more orcs and foul things had begun to roam. Thus you had always been left to wonder who the owner of the wonderful cottage you passed by was, never seeing a single soul beyond the great deal of livestock and pleasantly plump bees flitting about the immaculately-tended flowers. Was it a woman? A man? Some sort of trap like in the old tales where places and faces so fair were always the deadliest? But who, then, would be twisted enough to craft a trap so admittedly perfect in your mind... Such thoughts did not penetrate the desperation clouding your mind the day your beloved cow, the one you'd had from a young age, strained with the aching struggle of a birth gone wrong, your feet carrying you straight to your neighbor's door. If she died, you would lose a major source of subsistence alongside one of your few friends in the whole lonely woods. The look in her big brown eyes was all you could see as you rapped on the door, your look of pleading meeting yet another big brown stare, this time upon a man with a stern face and a great mass of brown hair. Brows furrowed in confusion and perhaps slight annoyance as they were, he had no chance to speak ill before you were begging him to come help your cow, you'd seen the shape his were in after all and you could tell they were loved, please, you needed his strength- she did. The unspoken promise that the man would see you this once, then never again, hung in the air as you led him to your home, to your pasture, to the dear friend whose life he saved. “Thank you, truly,” you told him as he made to leave, “You may not wish it, but you are welcome here anytime.” Before he could say anything, you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. Not realizing, of course, that he was turning his head, connecting your lips for the briefest of moments before you stared at him wide-eyed. “You might see me again,” he told you with a small, wry smile.

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aventurineswife · 21 days ago

Note

Mammon with a reader who seems to be oblivious to his feelings for them, but they are more actually like "naaah, he can't actually like me that way" and does their best to treat Mammon well without looking like they're leading him on, without bringing up the obvious as to not make things awkward between them and essentially ruin the friendship.

One day during another mandatory mammon-crashing-over-mcs-room-for-company-and-chat, when he brings up the topic of love, reader just shrugs their shoulders and go "dunno how romantic love feels like. Dont think ill ever feel it". Because while they are a bit of a hopeless romantic, they just resigned from the idea because they werent shown much love growing up, so the idea that someone would actually love them seems very foreign. And they are also scared that they wouldn't be able to reciprocate for someone (in this case mammon)

(hope i explained well, just take your time with it. I just wanted something for the favorite tsundere 😭🙏

-Smooch Anon 💋

“What is Love?”

Summary: You and Mammon share a quiet late-night moment together in your room, each engaged in your own tasks but enjoying the familiar comfort of each other's presence. When Mammon unexpectedly brings up the topic of love, you admit that you don’t really know what true love feels like, prompting him to reassure you that you’re worth much more than you believe. Beneath his usual cocky exterior, Mammon shows a rare, vulnerable side, leaving you questioning the feelings between you and him, and whether his words hint at something deeper.

Tags: Mammon x Reader, Fluff, Light Angst, Comfort, Vulnerability, Emotional Conversation, Established Bond, Self-Worth, Hints of Romance.

Warnings: Brief mention of insecurity and self-doubt, Slight angst (You express uncertainty about love and self-worth), Mild language.

A/N: OMGGG I DIDN'T KNEW YOU WERE INTO OBEY ME?!! 🤭 AND YES MAMMON THE BEST BOY AND FAVOURITE CHARACTER!! 👏💛 Do you think him and Aventurine would get along? 👁️👁️ I feel like Aventurine would make fun of him for being in debts lmaoo

The night was quiet, the only sounds in the room being the occasional shuffle of paper as you worked on your assignments. The ever-familiar figure of Mammon lounged on the bed next to you, one leg hanging off the edge as he balanced his phone in one hand and absently flipped through some random channels on the TV with the other. It was a usual late-night hangout, a kind of unspoken routine the two of you had fallen into since you’d started living together in the Devildom.

As usual, Mammon was being his typical self—loud, boastful, and a little self-centered. But you had learned to tolerate his eccentricities. In fact, over time, you found yourself getting used to his antics. He wasn’t so bad once you looked past the arrogance and pride.

“Oi, you hear that new song from the radio today? It’s fire, I swear!” Mammon’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you looked up from your work to find him looking at you expectantly, as if waiting for your approval.

“Yeah? Sounds cool.” you replied, trying not to sound too disinterested. Mammon’s eyes sparkled at your response, though you could tell it wasn’t the enthusiastic reaction he was hoping for.

“Cool, huh?” He chuckled, leaning back with a smug grin. “I knew you’d appreciate my impeccable taste.”

You just rolled your eyes, your attention returning to your papers. "Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that."

Mammon let out a dramatic sigh and flopped back against the bed with exaggerated flair. "I swear, you never give me the credit I deserve." he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t seriously upset. Mammon had always been dramatic like that, using over-the-top complaints to mask the fact that he enjoyed having your attention, even if it was in a teasing way.

After a brief silence, Mammon suddenly sat up, his usual cocky demeanor turning serious. You didn’t notice it at first, too caught up in your own thoughts, but the tone of his voice seemed to shift.

"You ever think about love, MC?" Mammon’s voice was quieter now, and his gaze drifted toward the window, as if the question had just popped into his head. "Like, real love. Not just the stuff you see in movies, but… the kind that lasts, y’know?"

You paused, the question catching you off guard. You weren't sure where he was going with this, but you didn’t want to make things awkward by immediately dismissing him.

"Love?" You muttered, not looking up from your work. "I dunno… can't say I’ve thought much about it."

You tried to sound nonchalant, but inside, your heart did a little skip. You had always been a bit of a hopeless romantic, dreaming about love stories that were too perfect to be real. But reality always crushed those dreams, leaving you to dismiss the idea that anyone could actually love you in that way. Especially not Mammon. He was the Avatar of Greed, after all. He loved money, power, and himself far more than anything else.

Mammon didn’t seem to let your answer dissuade him. Instead, he leaned forward, a faint frown on his face. "Come on, MC. You don’t ever wonder what it’d be like to be loved by someone? Like… really loved, you know?"

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but your voice wavered slightly. "Honestly, I don’t really know what that feels like. I mean, I never had much of it growing up. So… the whole idea just seems kinda foreign to me." You paused, hoping Mammon wouldn’t press you further. "I don’t think I’ll ever feel it. Not like that."

Mammon blinked, clearly surprised by your words. For a moment, he just stared at you, his lips slightly parted, like he was trying to process what you’d said. He had always been confident, always eager to show off, but in this moment, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes—something rare, something deep.

You quickly tried to change the subject, not wanting to make things more awkward than they already were. "I mean, love’s just… it’s not something I really need to focus on right now, y’know?" You forced a small smile, but you could feel the heaviness in your chest. "I’m just trying to get through each day."

Mammon leaned back, resting his arms behind his head, but you could tell that your words had struck a chord. He was quiet for a long moment, and you began to wonder if you had said the wrong thing.

"Well, I think you deserve it," Mammon finally spoke up, his voice softer than usual. "You deserve someone who’ll love you. You’re a lot more than you think you are, MC. Way more."

His words hit you harder than you expected. You froze, unsure of how to respond. Mammon, the one who prided himself on being the best was saying this to you? The person who thought he could never see them in that way?

You shook your head, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mammon, don’t say stuff like that. You’re just being nice." You didn’t meet his gaze, afraid that the look in his eyes might give away something you weren’t ready to face.

"I’m not just being nice," he retorted, his voice quiet but insistent. "I’m serious. You don’t get it, do you?"

You forced a nervous laugh, trying to keep the mood light. "It’s not that I don’t get it. I just…" You trailed off, not sure how to continue without making things more complicated than they already were.

But Mammon was quiet now, too, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he sighed and stretched out, as if trying to shrug off the tension. "Whatever. I just think you’re a lot more special than you let on. So don’t go sellin’ yourself short, okay?"

You looked over at him, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite understand. "Okay, Mammon. Thanks."

Mammon smiled, a little smug, but there was something warm behind it. "No problem, MC. I’m always here to remind ya how awesome you are."

You both fell into a comfortable silence after that, the awkwardness of the conversation ebbing away as Mammon eventually started talking about something else—probably some scheme he had cooked up to get rich, you guessed. But even as he rambled on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more behind his words. More than just Mammon, the greedy and selfish demon.

But you had no idea what to do with that feeling.

In the end, you just let it go, hoping it was a one-time thing. After all, demons people like Mammon didn’t really fall for people like you, did they?

#obey me x y/n #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x you #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me #x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon #fluff #light angst #comfort #vulnerability #emotional conversation #established bond #self worth #hints of romance #brief mention of insecurity and self-doubt #mild language

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araminakilla · 2 years ago

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Regarding Death Wolf...

Hear me out (NO, it's not the kind you are thinking)

We know Death has a job, right? To collect souls and most likely release them to the afterlife.

And for this job, he has to be there when somebody is about to die, as demostrated with him being there moments before Puss' eight death.

Supposing he is THE Death and he has been doing this since the beginning of time (or at least when there were enough stories of the Grim Reaper to adquire a physical form) that means he has seen a lot, A LOT of awful things.

Murders, suicides, massacres, death of infants, people who didn't deserve to die alone, animal cruelty, some other heavy stuff I won't mention here, etc etc etc.

And we thought "man, how is he able to cope with all of that? That job has to be utter torture for someone."

Probably many of you could think that he is able to do that because he is Death, and he was "born" with that purpose and only him can reap souls perfectly.

But while he is a force of nature, he also WAS a force of nature. Let me explain it well: He adquired a personality enough to be angry, excited, frustrated, amazed, happy, among other emotions.

While he has supernatural power and is most likely the most powerful being in the Shrek Franchise (or in Dreamworks as many say) he is also a PERSON.

Someone with a code of honor, morals, opinions, beliefs, etc.

Returning to the question "How can he bear all of that?" taking into account he is no longer an inevitable force, but a character of his own.

The answer is something you may relate to, and that is: Creativity and escapism.

To be the embodiment of Death, the guy is a very creative fella.

First of all, his design. I heard many people saying here and in Twitter that his design is something they would come up in their edgy, teen years of drawing their first fursona.

Guess what? They are right, the wolf form is someone's fursona. It's DEATH'S fursona. He clearly came up with this badass, piercing canine form to blend with the Fairy Tale Land assuming the form of the "Big Bad Wolf". He most likely had other forms he designed over the centuries and was able to present as them like if he were on a role play game in the living world.

His sickles? The weapon of choice with the little crossed cats on it to have a bigger effect of terror for Puss? Those who can become knuckles and join to create a scythe? Those are his creation, probably after thinking it for a while and writing all of those functions on a paper.

The way he presents himself? In the bar? The coins in his eyes as a "watching you" sign while being a cool reference to the Ferryman of souls? He transforming Perrito's forest into the background of a skull? The chilling reveal at the Cave of Lost Souls? The fire ring? It was all him.

As for the escapism part...

When the world becomes too heavy to deal with as real life issues tend to make us feel bad, depressed, angry... we tend to escape it somewhere. And in our time the common place would be the internet as in webpages or comics, stories, etc.

But what has to do with Death Wolf you may ask?

Well, while he would NEVER be able to escape his job entirely, he can have moments where he can enjoy a good hunt of people who don't appreciate life, like the whole plot of the Puss in Boots sequel could demostrate.

He managed to have a little time outside his eternal routine to chase an arrogant cat who took life for granted. He enjoyed it, it was thrilling, it was exciting.

It was a way to escape a monotonous, grim "life", if just for a short moment.

So, when the chase ended as his prey no longer feared him and now was ready to fight for his last life, the wolf retreats, happy for Puss' character development but resigned because he once again had to return to "The Eternal Duty"

And that's not even counting all the times Jack "I'm dead inside" Horner had to interrupt Lobo's hunt and remind him of his job even in his "spare time"

Death knew the chase had to end eventually, but he didn't want it to end.

He didn't want to return to his own world

And if we look at Death like that, then he is probably one of the most relatable characters Dreamworks has ever make.

In the Shrek Franchise:

Monsters can be loved

Princesses don't have to fit the perfect standards of beauty

Handsome guys can be possesive jerks

Love at first sight doesn't work like one would think

Happily ever afters had to be built and not just obtain them with magic

And Death is the most creative and "full of life" being in the world

Because he would absolutely go crazy with his life/work if he wasn't.

Because in a world of Kings, Poets and Soldiers, he's the Supreme King

And he's also a perky goth but none of you are ready for that conversation.

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ego13 · 10 days ago

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MESS ME UP – SHIN RYUJIN

track : chase atlantic - mess me up

SYNOPSIS : you and your friend decided to spend the evening in each other's company watching a movie, but something went wrong.

warnings : lesbian sex, fingering (r!recieving) cunnilingus (r! recieving), girls kissing, praise kink, slow sex, voyeurism.

pairing : ryujin x reader

you and ryujin have been friends since elementary school, despite the fact that they were complete opposites of each other. she always preferred noisy companies and parties, as long as you were that obedient the girl of her parents, who once again did not allow herself to be distracted from her studies, which was a frequent reason for jokes on the part of your friend.

despite her large group of friends, shin in most cases preferred you, you could talk on the phone for hours, look at the stars together, sit by the fire or just look at each other silently. she always picked you up from school, carefully throwing your briefcase over her shoulder, with the words, “princesses shouldn’t carry such weights," you always pushed her on the shoulder for such jokes, to which she only playfully ruffled your hair, to which she listened to an hour-long tirade about how long it took you to do your hair.

your parents simply adored her, often inviting her to family dinners and outings, which she only agreed to with pleasure, just to spend as much time as possible next to you. ryujin even herself stopped noticing the fact that her hand reached out to yours every time you were alone, and you just pretended not to notice it, silently allowing yourself to be taken by the hand, feeling her thumb stroke your palm, which made your heart beat faster every time.

another evening, and you, feeling insurmountable boredom, decided to dial the number of the older girl, without having time to say the offer to come, you at the same moment heard, “you don’t have to continue, I’ll be there soon, will take your favorite ice cream," you were about to answer something, but the call had already been dropped, so you sighed and got out of bed, wanting to quickly get yourself in order before she arrived.

you just came out of the bathroom when you immediately heard the delighted voices of your parents, who happily greeted ryujin, telling her how much they were glad to see her, but at the same moment the realization came into your head that you were completely unprepared to meet her, you looked into the mirror, realizing that you wouldn’t even have time to apply a light makeup, therefore, having resigned myself, I headed to my room, where Shin was already sitting on the bed, scrolling through her Instagram feed. hearing the door creak, she looked up at you, smiling brightly, "hey there, princess, is this all for me?"

you just looked away with displeasure, grabbing the first t-shirt and pants you came across from your closet, making ryujin look away with your gaze, hinting to shin that it would be nice to turn away, in response to which she just chuckled and turned away.

having changed clothes, you lay down next to her on the bed, picking up the remote control, flipping through the list of films for a long time, but none of them could catch your attention, seeing how you were suffering in trying to choose what to watch, her hand itself found its way to your waist, slightly lifting your t-shirt to touch the skin of your stomach with a cold palm.

you barely restrained yourself from letting out a quiet moan, you looked at her with a questioning look, to which she just put a finger to your mouth, hinting that you should stay quiet. her hand reached for the remote, turning up the volume, leaning down and running her nose along your collarbone, “you smell so good..." you closed your eyes, falling onto the pillow behind you, succumbing to ryujin’s hands, which were already playing with the hem of your pants. she looked into your needy eyes with a smile, whispering in your ear that she knows exactly what you need, with these words she pressed her lips to your neck, slowly untying the tie of your pants.

you sat up slightly, allowing her to take them off of you, tossing them to the side. her hands slid along your thighs, enjoying the feeling of your soft skin under her fingers, "mmm... you're such a gentle girl, I can touch you for hours and never get tired of it."

sliding her fingers into your underwear, shin saw how hard it was for you to remain quiet, so her free hand came to rest on top of your mouth, leaning down and placing a light kiss on your temple, "be a good girl for me, okay? I'll take care of you, I promise," her words made you relax at least a little, so you nodded obediently, and seeing your approving reaction, she slid down, trailing kisses lower and lower, her skillful fingers hooked your panties, removing them from you, lips falling to the soft skin of your inner thighs, forcing you to breathe languidly, squeezing the blanket in your hands to the white knuckles.

finally her tongue touched you where you needed it most, gently touching your clit, playing with it with the the tip of her tongue. ryujin felt how hard it was for you to control yourself and felt how you instinctively try to bring your thighs together, which only made her squeeze them tighter in her hands, almost to the point of bruising. she slowly pushed her tongue inside while you bit your lips until they bled, trying to remain quiet, because the fact that your parents can hear you has not been canceled.

as your velvet walls began to clench around her tongue, ryujin could feel your body trembling as you got closer and closer to your end, your mouth opened in a silent scream when you finally reached your peak, tiredly raising your gaze to shin, who, without breaking her gaze with you, greedily licked her lips, enjoying the feeling of your taste on her lips.

still positioned between your legs, she pulled you into a slow and sensitive kiss, pushing her tongue into your mouth, and you, hesitant to fight her, allowed her to do so, moaning softly. her fingers found your thighs again, sliding between them, moving away from your lips, burying her nose in the crook of your neck, whispering in your ear about how good you are, "that's my good girl...", "you're having a good time, yeah?", "make me proud, princess."

you were ready to swear that you could cum just from these words until her fingers slid inside you, until she found your lips again, swallowing your moans, slowly but deeply thrusting into you, enjoying the way your fragile body responds to every thrust.

"you squeeze my fingers so beautifully, you want to cum, mm? come on be a good girl and do it for me," to the accompaniment of these words, you finally reached your second peak, arching your back to a crunch, while her arms held you in one position, hugging you tightly, intertwining her fingers in your silken hair, running the strands between her fingers as you breathed shakily, trying to regain your breath after waves of orgasm wash over you.

"rest, my girl, I'm here for you, always."

#ryujin x reader #itzy x reader #girl group x reader #gg x reader #itzy x fem!reader #wlw #smut #shin ryujin #ryujin smut

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sky-scribbles · 10 months ago

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All right, BG3 gang, let me tell you about the incredible, accidental drama that happened when I went to save everyone in the iron Throne.

I messed up my first two attempts spectacularly, so when I reloaded for my third try, I was resolved. I was going to stick with the results of this run, no matter what. The countdown starts; Karlach runs off to grab the Gondians, my Tav Wildshapes and goes sprinting away to save Omeluum, and Gale Dimension Doors himself and Wyll right to Ulder.

As the boys take Ulder back up the corridor, Mizora appears with her exploding spiders. Gale drops a Globe of Invulnerability over Ulder, and runs off to save the last few Gondians while Wyll starts mopping up spiders. ‘This is great!’ I say to myself.

Then the last spiders run into the Globe of Invulnerability. They can’t hurt Ulder, but Wyll can’t hurt them, and if Ulder leaves the globe, they can explode him.

‘This is not great,’ I say, as Wyll spends several rounds shoving spiders out of the globe so he can kill them.

I finally kill the spiders. Wyll and Ulder sprint for the exit. It’s the final round, everybody else is safe, if they can just make it to the ladder –

They are ten feet of movement short. Everyone who could possibly help has already taken their turn in initiative – except for Omeluum.

Omeluum can teleport itself and one other person to the submersible.

And I realise what I’m going to have to do. Mechanically, the choice is clear: Withers can resurrect Wyll, but not Ulder. And from an in-universe perspective, the choice is even more obvious. Even in a world where, as in my game, Wyll has broken his pact. Even when he’s resigned himself to losing his father. Even when he signed Ulder’s life away in the hope of being free. There’s no question what he’d do in that moment, is there? When the choice is Wyll lives, but his father definitely dies or Wyll maybe dies, but his father definitely lives – with a second left to choose –

Wyll would shove his father to Omeluum and say, ‘Go.’

Omeluum teleports Ulder to safety. The submersible leaves, the facility comes crashing down, and Wyll is gone. To save his father.

And you know what absolutely destroyed me? Because the dev team can't possibly think of everything, especially this extremely specific and devastating scenario I've just landed myself in... there's no change in the dialogue with Ulder once I resurrect Wyll. He still tells Wyll he’s ashamed to have his blood run in his veins. He still accuses Wyll, who just traded his life to save him, of running off to chase a devil and her power.

I cannot even begin to describe how devastating that was to watch. Because it made me think – would Ulder change his tune in that scenario? I don’t know if he would. Oh, he’d be shaken, for certain, as he watches Tav and the gang sobbing, banging on the submersible hatch. As the tadpole’s grip loosens, the awful realisation would sink in – my son, my son – but how long before he tries to shield himself from that pain? How long before he says to himself – even says out loud, to Wyll’s grieving, furious friends, he was not my son, not anymore – I saw his face, and it was the face of a devil –

And even after he knows the truth, and Wyll is back, what then? Wyll still drowned in fire and iron and water to save his father’s life, and Ulder still said, he was a devil, as if that made Wyll deserve it – and he can never, ever take that back.

(In sleepless moments, Wyll wonders: would he?)

#bg3 #wyll ravengard #ulder ravengard #don't you love it when the dice give you drama #bg3 spoilers #i very much headcanon that the tadfools yelled the whole story to ulder as they travelled back #a very awkward sub ride for the gondians and omeluum #sky plays bg3

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fanwarriorfictions · 7 months ago

Text

Not Again - Part Thirteen

Summary: With Y/n reunited with her family, her and Az must face their inevitable fate, the exact reason Azriel hid the mating bond in the first place, their ending.

Warnings: ANGST!!!!! Light smut, and more angst

Series Masterlist

-Part Thirteen-

With a sword pressed to his back, dangerously close to his wings, he really should have listened. Azriel did the opposite, holding Y/n tighter to his chest, the words not quite registering, only the immediate danger to him, to his mate. Shadows swarmed around them, ready to defend, to kill.

“Gods,” Y/n groans, harshly pulling away, glaring over his shoulder, “Could you not?”

Azriel didn’t let her go far, instinct screaming to protect her from whatever dangers were behind him. His hand firmly holds hers as he turns to look over his shoulder, finding that sword still leveled at him, and a large fae male behind it. If Azriel wasn’t so concerned with protecting his mate, he’d be more than a little nervous of the foreboding male.

White hair, braided back from his face, sprawling tattoos going down one side, continuing to his neck, and onto the arm holding his weapon, in a language Azriel couldn’t read. The male was large, he could put even Cassian to shame in sheer size, daggers strapped to every part of his body, clad in fighting leathers. His green eyes were narrowed, lethal focus on Azriel, on the hand holding Y/n’s. Azriel almost snarled that attention, Y/n beat him to it.

Teeth bared at the male, she growls, “Put your sword down.”

Azriel’s shadows were frantically swirling around and around, trying to hide her from the male’s view. She hisses at them, and as if they answered to her, they backed off.

“I’ll kill him,” the male replies coldly, voice like the harshest winter.

“Now is not the time for you to go over protective dad mode,” she snaps at the male, “Put the sword down.”

And just like, the words finally register in Azriel’s mind. Take your hands off my daughter. Mother spare him, this was Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, one of the most powerful fae males in her world, her father, here, in his home, speaking his language.

That revelation left him reeling. They’d opened a gate, she’d reunited with her family, and she was still here. Still with him.

“Threatening lover boy without me?”

He didn’t need to be told who the female was, Y/n had inherited the very cadence of her voice, that confidence, that soft, swirling accent. Queen Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, gods killer, his mate’s mother. From the stories she’d told him of both her parents, he wasn’t sure which one to be more terrified of. Perhaps the father who had just caught him thoroughly kissing his daughter.

“Mom please,” Y/n sighs, “He just woke up from almost dying. He doesn’t need you two threatening his life.”

“He seems fine,” the golden queen shrugs, turquoise eyes examining him intently, “Fine enough to be pawing after you like a dog.”

“Gods spare me,” Y/n groans beside him, resigned to whatever was about to happen.

Aelin stalks closer, Azriel felt like he was being hunted, maybe he should be more concerned about her. She moves with grace, surpassing that of usual fae stillness, an assassin, a warrior, a queen. There’s a brilliant blade in her hands, an ancient presence, something made like his dagger, like Gwydion. It has an intricate golden hilt, a large ruby set into the pommel, when she raises the sword, level with Azriel’s throat, golden flames coat the blade, hot enough to bring sweat to his brow in seconds.

Y/n hisses, shoving herself between Azriel and that sword of fire. Despite knowing that she was essentially fire proof, and that her mother would never willingly harm her, Azriel wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her to his chest, shadows tightening around them, ready to shield them.

Aelin’s eyes sparkle with amusement, practically twinkling in the light of her flames, “Don’t get all huffy, I only want to offer him some advice.”

“Is Goldryn necessary for that?” Y/n snaps, gripping onto Azriel’s arm.

Aelin ignores her daughter, looking directly into Azriel’s eyes, “I know what you did for her, all of it, the weight you shouldered alone.”

Azriel doesn’t miss the flash of emotion in Rowan’s face, that look of old pain. It echoes in Aelin’s, tinged with guilt. There was a story there, and it wasn’t a happy one.

“I know you took that arrow for her gladly,” the queen continues, “That you would do it again, my advice is simple, dying for her is easy, getting yourself killed in some heroic need to protect her, is easy, but in the end she’s the one who truly gets hurt, having to watch you die, having to live with that hole in her chest where you used to be.

“Live for her, fight for her, and know, that if you ever hurt her.” The fire on that ancient powerful blade burns brighter, hotter. “If she doesn’t do it for me first, I will kill you, and I know a thousand ways to do it, each more painful than the last.”

Azriel simply nods once, holding Y/n to him, she didn’t need to warn him, he would sooner die on his own blade than hurt the female in his arms. Aelin, seemingly satisfied, lowers that flaming sword, Rowan stepping to her side, that harsh glare, cold, promising a slow painful death, Aelin smiles warmly at her mate, a vicious gleam in her eye.

They made a menacing image, Azriel remembers teasing Y/n when she’d first arrived, of how it must have been to bring partners home, he understood why some ran screaming. He prayed they hadn’t brought the Witch Queen with them.

“As much as I love Azriel getting threatened by the in-laws.” Rhys casually strolls around the corner, hands in his pockets, “Would you all care for breakfast?”

Azriel gave his brother a scathing glare, opening his mind, you couldn’t have come to my rescue sooner?

You’re the one who shoved your tongue down their daughter’s throat, where we could all hear you might I add, Rhys grins, gesturing to the dining room behind him, “Shall we.”

Y/n had nervously placed herself between her mate and her parents, her mother by her side, unbelievably grateful for Cassian who had taken up the empty seat on Azriel’s right, Nesta beside him, taking up the rest of their side of the table.

There were to many glaring sets of eyes on Azriel to count, to his credit, he didn’t back down from any of them, that calm mask firmly in place as he met every single one.

“Well this is just wonderful isn’t it?” Rhys grins from ear to ear, fighting back a laugh when Feyre smacks his arm. “We’ve been getting acquainted with your new extended family, Az.”

Across from her sat her uncles, all glaring and sizing up Azriel like they were ready to leap across the table and tear him to shreds, all but Fenrys who was grinning just as devilishly as Rhys.

“You disappear for nearly two months and come back with a guy with wings,” he laughs, it seems almost threatening, “At least he’s pretty.”

“Debatable,” her father says quietly, stabing his fork into a poor unsuspecting strawberry on his plate.

Beside Fenrys, Lorcan looks almost as murderous as her father, glaring past her at her mate. Y/n doesn’t miss the way Cassian sizes her uncle up from Azriel’s side. Even sitting, Lorcan towers over everyone around him.

Aedion sat to his right, the wolf practically snarling. He might have been one of the most protective of her uncles, he’d had more than his fair share of scaring off her past partner’s. Lysandra beside him eyes narrowed as if she’d shift into an actual wolf, together they’d had boys screaming as they ran from her home.

“Hands off,” Y/n halfheartedly snaps at Fenrys, fighting to break some tension, “He’s mine.”

She can feel a ripple of satisfaction from Azriel. Again, Y/n sends the word down that bridge, mine. He entwines his hand with hers, squeezing once in response, mine.

On Fenrys’s other side sat Chaol and Yrene, Dorian at her side, they were the only ones not seemingly premeditating murder, but her uncle Dorian was a master of hiding his true thoughts. He could easily smile at someones face, and send a shard of ice into their back. Y/n thanked any god or mystical force, the mother, the cauldron, the Wyrd, that Manon was not with him.

The witch would never admit it, had only let Y/n call her aunt once in her life, but she was sure Manon had hunted down one of her poor exes. There was no tears shed when the male had wound up missing.

Beside Dorian sat Rhys, separate she wouldn’t have necessarily made the connection, but side by side, they look eerily similar. Raven black hair, sharp jawlines, the only major difference was the eyes, blue to violet.

“I recognize you,” her mother says from her side, eyes trained on the Lord and Lady down the long table, “This place.”

“I’d had a theory,” Rhys says, “When dear Y/n had described your journey through worlds.”

Y/n feels the dots connect, she’s surprised she hadn’t done it before. Her mother had told her of the world of stars she’d fallen through, the male who’d slowed her down enough so that she could go home. The wings, the heavily pregnant female, the night kissed power that had slammed into her.

“You’re the one who slowed me down,” Aelin says, leaning back in her seat at the revelation, “Thank you for that, if it wasn’t for you, I might have never made it home.”

Her father takes her hand in his, pausing his glaring at Azriel long enough to nod his thanks to Rhys, turning back to her mother, the tell tale sign of a silent conversation passing between them.

“You were that red star?” Nesta asks, leaning forward to peer around Cassian at Aelin, “But that was only a few years ago. That happened many many years ago according to Y/n.”

“Time was strange when I was falling,” Aelin explains, “I fell through worlds, moving forward and backward in time and place. I fell into your future, twenty odd years seemingly.”

There was a brief pause as everyone takes in the information. Only a few years ago, her mother had been here, falling through the sky like a red falling star, Y/n hadn’t even been born and yet she fell into this word only a few years later. It was hard to wrap her mind around.

Cassian seems to finally finish his thorough examination, breaking the silence that had fallen, “How tall are you really?”

Lorcan simply gave the male a incredulous look, “Tall.”

Cassian sighs, “Why is there another one, we’ve already got a tall dark broody with Az.”

Azriel glares at him, “Really?”

Y/n grins, chuckling under her breath as he gives her a near perfect match of her uncle’s look. His eyes light with amusement, lips twitching like he was fighting a grin.

Cassian leans his elbows one the table, with a feral grin, “I bet I could-“

“Don’t make bets you can’t win,” Lorcan interrupts.

“I could definitely win,” Cassian scoffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest, perhaps to look threatening.

“No,” Lorcan says simply, “You couldn’t.”

“Don’t mind him,” Aelin waves off Lorcan, “He’s just grouchy because his wife had to stay home to watch over things.”

Lorcan turns his glare on Aelin, she only gives him a sweet smile. It instantly gets beneath his skin, his hands clenching into fist on the table. No matter the years they’ve spent as friends, Aelin never failed to annoy the male.

Azriel gently squeezes her hand, saying down that bond, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, exact same infuriating smile.

Y/n simply gives him one of her own, turning to look at the room full of her family and his, who slowly open up into uneasy conversation.

Nesta looks half ready to corner Lysandra to wring her for shifting stories. Dorian and Rhys look like mirrors talking, Feyre, Chaol, and Yrene talking beside them, glancing between the two with similar expressions of confusion. Poor Lorcan was not getting away from Cassian, with the help of Fenrys and Aelin.

The only one still silent, still paying attention to their hands entwined between them, her father. Rowan glares intently at the connection between them, Y/n was half tempted to hide her hand below the table, Azriel wasn’t having any of it. He held her firmly in place, scars fully on display, shadows gently twining over her wrist, caressing her skin in comfort. He held her father’s ice cold glare, met it with one of his own, the shadowsinger’s like the cold of darkness.

“He’s had enough, buzzard,” Aelin says quietly, her mother putting herself into Rowan’s view, “Save some of the threatening for later, you can sit by the door, sharpening your sword when he can come to visit.”

“Visit?” Azriel asks, a brow raised at Y/n.

“I was hoping to have this conversation later,” she glares at her mother who simply shrugs.

“What do you mean?” Azriel holds her hand tightly, like he was coming to his own conclusions, none of them good.

Y/n didn’t want this to happen now, for anyone else to be the one to tell him. She was still reeling from the pain of being told herself.

“We waited for you to wake up,” Rowan says, an edge to his voice, “For her sake.”

There were to many risks, to many long lost enemies that would be drawn. To go between worlds frequently, to open and close those gates to many times. They’d already opened so many, already tested their fate. So she had to make a choice, she had begged to wait for him before she made it.

“Wait to do what?”

Y/n could feel his panic down the bond, and she hates the words as they come from her mouth, “To go home.”

He knew it was coming, had known it from the moment Rhys told him she was his mate. It was the reason he didn’t tell her, the reason he’d fallen apart so spectacularly. Despite everything, of course she would still go home, still leave him, she was a princess, she had a destiny, a crown, a kingdom, and he, he was nothing.

He was a bastard nobody of a long dead lord. In what world would this female, this princess, stoop so low to be with him, to give up her crown?

“Az.”

Gentle, oh so gentle, as if she spoke softly it would keep him from shattering.

“Excuse me.”

Azriel stood, ignoring the eyes from every angle, concerned gazes, glares, all of it. He walked away, he didn’t break, didn’t fall apart, didn’t cry, didn’t scream, he just left. Put distance between him and the knowledge that he found this beautiful female, his mate, and fate would rip her away from him just like that.

“Az,” her voice almost broke him, “Hold on, stop for a second.”

He couldn’t, if he stopped he was scared he wouldn’t be able to hold himself up anymore, he would fall apart and he would never be able to put himself back together again.

“Az,” she pleads, running to catch up, “just hold on.”

Shadows screaming in his ears, stop, listen to her, stop, don’t let her go. He forces them away, forces his legs to keep moving, to find his room, to hide, hide, hide.

“Damnit, shadowsinger.” A hand wraps around his arm, nails digging into his skin to simply hold him in place, “Will you just listen to me.”

Azriel whirls around, and he does the one thing he could do without breaking completely, the only selfish thing he’d allow himself. He kisses her, putting every raging emotion he was feeling into his lips on hers, into his hands on either side of her face. She gasps and his tongue sweeps into her mouth, fighting, claiming, begging.

“Stay.”

One word, whispered against her lips, one word, one selfish selfish word. Azriel would never ask for anything else, would never need anything else, as long as she stayed.

“Az, I-“

He couldn’t do it, couldn’t listen to her say no, because she would, and he didn’t blame her for it, didn’t hate her for it, he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

He pulls her to him, lips crashing in desperation and despair. She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t continue to say those words, doesn’t break him. Azriel drops his hold on her face, reaching down to her thighs to lift her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist when her legs wrap around him. He carries her, blindly finding his way to his room several doors down, closing them into the space, lips never parting from hers, never allowing those words to come.

Azriel pulls away, only long enough to find the bed, to gently lay her down atop it, settling above her. Her hands caressing his face, brushing through his hair, dragging her nails over his shoulders and chest as they undress each other. He takes his time, ignoring the ticking clock in his head that counts down to the inevitable end.

She’s just as beautiful as the first time he saw her, soft skin beneath his palms as he holds her, admires her. Undoing each lace of her leathers, watching the way she writhes beneath him, listening to the whines and pleas.

“Az,” she gasps, “please I-“

He tugs the material down, taking the small lace beneath with it until she’s completely bare beneath him.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, not trusting his voice as the emotions rise in his throat, as words beg to be let out.

She can feel it, feel everything, the tears he bites back, her eyes fill with them, quiet silver tears that roll down her cheeks. Azriel takes her in his arms, kissing away the hurt as best he could, their naked chest pressed against each other. He could feel her shaking, Azriel wasn’t sure if that was just him.

“Az,” she begs softly.

Azriel knew what she was pleading for, and he wouldn’t deny her, wouldn’t deny himself. They were both selfish, they both needed this, needed each other, even if it was the one and only time. They would take everything they could before it was taken from them.

He lays her down, softly kissing her cheeks, right over those tears, before sitting back, scarred hands undoing his own laces, quickly, desperately. There’s immense relief when he pulls the pants down his thighs, a strike of pure lust through him, from that bond, from her when she sees him standing naked before her.

“Please,” she begs again, hooking her legs around him to pull him close.

The briefest touch has him gasping, and when she lifts her hips, pressing her center to him, he groans. Dropping down to capture her lips again, tasting her moans as he slowly guides himself into her. Slow, he would need to be so slow, she’d been tight around just his fingers, he didn’t want to hurt her, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.

“I’m not going to break,” she whispers against him, “Please, Az.”

Any control snaps when her voice wavers with the weight of her emotions, when she wraps her legs tightly around his waist and pulls, taking his breath away from him. Azriel had never felt anything like her, like their bodies along with their souls had been made for each other.

The sound she makes, the high breathy moan almost has him coming undone. He waits, letting her get used to the feeling, to the stretch, he kisses each of her cheeks, tasting the salt of her tears, and then he claims her lips, claims all of her, all that she can give, and he gives himself in return.

She writhes beneath him, silently begging him to move, he does, slowly dragging his length out, groaning against her lips, perfect, absolutely perfect. He rolls his hips, drawing sharp gasps from both of them, slow delicate movements to draw out their pleasure.

“Az, I-“ She gasps as he hits that spot deep inside her. “I-“

Azriel felt the words she tried to say, felt the emotion mirroring his own, felt his heart heal and break at the same time.

“I love you, Princess,” he whispers against her lips, his pace quickening, “I love you, I will love you even with a million stars between us.”

She cries, arching into him, matching each of his strokes. Bodies, minds, hearts, and souls completely intertwined, everything she felt, so did he, every emotion, every stroke, everything. He felt the tightening band in her core, threatening to snap and send them both over the edge.

“I love you,” she gasps out the words, struggling to speak around the pleasure and the pain, “I love you.”

And when she can’t speak it anymore, she chants it down that bond, I love you, I love you, I love you, my mate, those words are Azriel’s undoing. The band snaps, and both of them are thrown over the edge.

I love you too, Princess, he can’t find his voice, My beautiful mate.

She clings to him, like she’s terrified he will disappear at any moment, Azriel finds that’s exactly why he holds her just as tightly, sitting back, lifting her into his lap with his arms around her waist to have her as close as he physically can. Her arms wrap around his neck, nails digging into his skin like she could anchor herself to him.

In all their time together, he’d never actually heard her cry, not until now, the smallest, most heartbreaking noise, a whimper of pain. He can only hold her tighter as that small sound turns to a sob.

“It’s not fair,” she cries, burying her face into his neck, “None of this is fair. How could fate be so cruel, so gods damned cruel to gift me a mate, all the way across the stars, to bring me here, bring me you, just to rip us apart.”

Azriel wants to be strong, to just hold her, stay put together for her, but he can’t. The tears he desperately wanted to hide, to hold back, flood his eyes. And all either of them can do is cry, and hold onto each other.

They gave them time, time to be together, to cry, to feel everything they could offer each other.

Y/n had cried until she had nothing left to give. Azriel holding her through it all, listening when she’d finally gotten herself together to explain, to tell him what she’d been told.

That there were gates opening to worlds that should be long gone, that the threat of enemies like the valg, enemies stirring in this world even, was enough to keep them from coming and going from each others worlds, that it wasn’t forever, just long enough to find a solution, one they would work on in both worlds.

It was nearly nightfall by the time someone came knocking for them. Whoever was on the otherside waited patiently for them to dress, to have those last few moments together.

When Y/n finally had the courage to open the door, she’d been met by her mother’s turquoise eyes filled with love and understanding. She didn’t miss anything, the joined scents between them, the puffy red eyes, the hands that refused to let go.

“Everyone is waiting at the gate,” Aelin says gently, “We figured you would want to say goodbye.”

Azriel is a silent figure behind her, his hand never letting go of her own shaking one. They walk down those familiar halls, the house’s presence beside them, sad to see her go.

Y/n bows her head, a gesture of thanks to the first being in this world that had reached out a friendly hand and kept reaching despite her own protests.

Voices travel on a stray breeze, and Azriel’s hand shakes, that panic flowing like a river down the bridge of shadow between them. She never thought she would dread hearing her family.

“We’ll see each other again,” Dorian’s voice sounds, “We’ve had our best scholars looking into the gates while Y/n had been missing, we’ll continue searching for a solution.”

“As will we,” Feyre promises.

Y/n feels the tears welling up in her eyes again as they pass through the door way. Even in the large space, the sheer amount of bodies crowds the room. Her family, the one she’d been born with, had been surrounded by her entire life, and the family she was slowly growing into. Even Amren had shown up, the small female offering her a solemn bow of her head.

The gate was already open, and through it she could see Orynth, the setting Sun lighting the sky in brilliant colors, bright oranges and pinks slowly fading to deep purples and blues. And there, starting to faintly glow in the sky, the bright flame between his antlers, the Lord of the North, shining down on her, welcoming her home.

There were many eyes on her as the tears began to fall down her cheeks. The only thing keeping her from collapsing completely was Azriel by her side, his arm coming to wrap around her waist.

Azriel leans down to whisper in her ear, “He found you.”

She wasn’t lost anymore.

Her family said their goodbyes to the Inner Court, slowly filing through that gate until only her and her parents remained. Rowan still glares at that arm around her waist, but he raises his hand to Azriel’s free one. They shake once, and Y/n knows that her father was not holding back his strength in that grip.

“Take care of her,” Rowan says, and there’s a hard look in his eye, “I don’t care what hell it would bring down on us. If you ever hurt her, know that I will hunt you down through gates and worlds and I will kill you.”

Confusion lights her eyes, Azriel’s too, “I would never dream of hurting her.”

“What is this?” Y/n asks, searching her parent’s faces for an answer.

There’s a broken look in her mother’s eyes as she says, “Stay.”

Behind her, through that gate, her family stands united, sad smiles on their faces. It takes a moment for Y/n to understand, to grasp the words, the warning from her father, the gentle command from her mother.

“What? I- I don’t,” she struggles to find the words.

She staggers forward on shaking legs, Azriel letting her go. Her mother grabs her hands, steadying Y/n, she felt like she would fall apart at anymoment.

Aelin smiles, holding tightly to Y/n’s hands, “Stay, it won’t be forever, we will see you again.”

Her father stood beside them, a small heartbroken smile on his face. Y/n felt like the world was tipping beneath her feet.

“But,” Y/n felt like her throat was closing around the words, “I want to go home, that’s what I’ve been fighting for this whole time, to find my way home.”

And it was Rowan who said, looking over her shoulder, “You are home.”

Y/n follows his gaze, finding Azriel, a shattered expression on his face as he nods at her father. He’d made a promise to Rowan, and he would keep it.

“Stay,” Aelin says again, one hand lifting to Y/n’s cheek, swiping at the tears streaming down her face, “Live, be happy, love fiercely with everything in your heart, and know, that no matter how far away you are, the stag will always be there to watch over you.”

Y/n looks at that constellation through the gate, saw that brilliant stag watching her, watching the sky above like he could see all the way to the world she stood on now.

“We will always find you,” Rowan says, and she can hear the pain in her father’s voice, “I promise.”

“I’ll miss you every moment,” Aelin says, drawing Y/n into her arms, “But I will sleep peacefully knowing you’re here, safe, with him.”

She felt her legs give out, felt her father’s arms wrap around her and her mother as they all sank to the stone floors. Rowan held them all together, like he had always done. She felt like she was a child again, so small, so breakable, but with her family around her, she would always be safe.

“I love you both,” Y/n cries, “I will see you again.”

Aelin was the first to pull away, “We will see you again, my Fireheart.”

Rowan held on a moment longer, kissing that invisible mark on her brow like he’d done since she was a child. When he rose, taking Aelin’s hand, he looked past Y/n, to her mate standing behind her, Rowan bows his head just barely, a thank you. And her parents turned, and walked through that gate.

Y/n could only watch and cry as her family waved their finally goodbyes, as that gate closed between them, as the Lord of the North smiled down on her one last time.

He stayed with her, well after that gate had closed, her family behind it. His own had left, giving her the privacy to grieve. Y/n simply knelt there, staring at that empty arch on the wall, silent tears still streaming down her face.

Azriel was a selfish male, the relief he’d felt when Aelin told her to stay had almost taken him to his knees. But when he’d seen the broken look in his mates eyes, felt her heart shatter beside his own, he felt the guilt eating him alive.

So he stayed with her, sat down beside her, not touching, but close enough that she could reach out whenever she was ready.

Hours passed, and finally she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. Azriel sighs at the contact, wrapping his arm around her to pull her closer. She finally looks away from that blank wall, only to bury her face in his chest.

Azriel holds her tighter, lifting a hand to her chin, tilting her face towards his. He searches her eyes, the tears are long gone but the redness remains, and in them he doesn’t find the lost and broken pieces he expected, that he prepared himself to help put back together.

He tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, resting his palm on her cheek. She leans into that touch, nuzzling into his palm.

“Where’d you go, Princess?”

For a moment he doesn’t think she’ll respond, she only stares up at him. And then she’s capturing his lips with her own in a soft, gentle kiss. Azriel runs his thumb over her cheek, admiring the feeling of her lips against his own. Here, she was still here, with him, in his arms.

She pulls back, only just far enough, lips still brushing against his own as she says, “Home, I’m finally home.”

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#azriel #rowaelin daughter #acotar #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #not again #rowaelin #a court of thorns and roses

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metamorphesque · 21 days ago

Text

Short Story: "Why do flowers die so soon?", Vardges Petrosyan

(translated from Armenian by Tathev Simonyan)

…I remember the last days of my life, which were unlike any that had come before. To the world, I seemed so happy: I had brothers, a sister, a family, a child who was a bell and a brook’s murmur. What else could one need for happiness? And yet, something was missing, for I was not happy. And then, out of nowhere, she poured into my life.

Has it ever happened that, on a hot summer day, while you’re standing there, dazed by the sun and dreams, someone playfully poured cold water on your neck? At first, you might startle, maybe even scold the one who did it, but then you suddenly feel that’s exactly what you’d been standing in the sun for, perhaps you’d been standing your whole life just for that.

That’s how she poured into my life—wild and astounding, asking for nothing, careless as could be. Now I can’t even recall if she was beautiful. In her eyes, there was an inquisitive sadness, a sliver of sky, and a bit of rustling. It felt as though those eyes were always gazing at life, asking, “Why...?” She came uninvited, wrapped herself around my days like a grapevine curling up its wooden stakes, offering me all the clusters of her youth—everything she had. And she asked for nothing. Nothing at all. Until the very end, I couldn’t convince her that I loved her too. Perhaps I didn’t truly believe it then, for I kept reminding myself every moment: I have no right to love her. And maybe that’s why, when she laid her whole life at my feet, I kept glancing at my watch; she brought me the full nakedness of her youth, while I closed the curtains and turned off the light. I never went out in public with her, and the world never found out that I was finally happy. Our love was akin to a fire we tried to cover with our hands, though the flame was scorching and uncontainable.

I’m afraid my beginning is dragging on too long.

I was ill before I died. All day long, my mother, my brothers, and my wife—sorrowful and pale—remained by my side, though in those last days, we no longer understood or recognized one another. Only she was missing, the one I waited for and loved most. She couldn’t come to our house. My brothers knew I would die; the doctor had told them so. They believed it, perhaps even expected it—sad and resigned. Only my mother didn’t believe it, though not because she was unaware of what the doctor had said…

Perhaps it’s best if I tell you about my last day. By then, I already knew I would die that very day. That’s why I wanted to laugh when the doctor tried to give me an injection, examined my stomach, and then prescribed some medicine: “Give him this twice a day for a week.” I didn’t blame him—this calm, warm-handed man; he just didn’t understand me, and no doctor understands that people only die when they’re truly exhausted. Someone might grow tired at eighteen, and another at seventy. I was tired. But I wasn’t sad. My bookshelf was in front of me, though I didn’t think about the fact that my fingers would no longer touch those books. I knew that other fingers would, and for books, it makes no difference. Books are a bit like gossipers—they reveal their secrets to anyone, so I knew that they’d share them with someone else, too. With sadness I only looked at the acacia tree rustling below my window and at the sky in the distance. I wished I could take with me, to that place beneath the ground, just a bit of that rustling and a sliver of sky. But I knew it was impossible.

“I’ll go grab some cigarettes,” I suddenly heard my older brother say, even though I knew he didn’t smoke. He was either heading out to send a telegram to our relatives or he simply didn’t want to see me pass. I understood and said goodbye with a glance, knowing we would never meet again in this world. He left. I asked my wife to take our child outside for some fresh air. “I’ll take him,” she replied, not realizing she’d never hear my voice again. I also said something to my mother, but she didn’t leave. This saddened me deeply, and I slowly closed my eyes. I don’t know how much time passed, only that I suddenly heard my mother’s gut-wrenching scream and knew I had already died. Through my closed eyelids, I saw everyone come rushing in, saw them carry my mother out—the first to sense my death, though the only one who hadn’t believed it was near.

After that, everything unfolded as it always does.

For two days, people gathered around me, and I saw many familiar faces I hadn’t seen in years. They cried or stood somber and silent, then left. Sometimes, those sounds or that silence wore me out, and I wanted to ask them to talk or be quiet. But there was such calm within me that I didn’t dare to open my eyes. With a strange sense of wonder I began to observe people—many of whom I thought I knew well. Not knowing I was watching, they felt no need to pretend. I recalled what I used to think of them when I was alive, and, truthfully, at times, I felt embarrassed by those old thoughts and judgments. But that wasn’t what preoccupied me the most; every day, I searched for the one who never came. I knew she couldn’t simply come and stand quietly by my side like the others. I knew that as soon as she entered, everyone would know. My heart ached with longing; I missed her deeply, even thought of asking my mother to call her, but I was too worn out to open my eyes. I was so tired, and for the first time, I could think of her in peace, knowing no one would interrupt—not with a phone call, nor a glance, nor love, nor hate. I thought of her even when they carried me down my street, the street where I’d grown up, loved, and grown weary.

The street was full of sunlight, but for the first time, I didn’t feel hot; instead, I wanted even more of the sun, bigger and warmer. I looked at my street: trams, cars, people stood with a kind of sadness that wore my heart out. I didn’t want to be the reason behind anyone’s sadness; thus, I didn’t feel bad at all when I saw a boy and girl under a tree, holding hands and smiling into each other’s eyes. At first, I thought they hadn’t noticed the procession, but then the girl looked directly at me and smiled again. The boy looked too, with kind and happy eyes. I wanted to smile back, maybe even wave, but I was too tired, and besides, if I lifted my hand, the flowers would fall.

Then we walked into the cemetery, and that’s when I saw her. I saw her and smiled—or rather, that smile had been there on my face the whole time because I’d been thinking of her in my final moments. For two days, through my closed eyelids, I saw that no one understood that smile; some even looked at it strangely and confused. But at the graveside, she understood; I even saw her smile back at me. Then her figure was obscured from my view by my relatives, my loved ones, and I remembered our last night together…

We were walking through the darkness. Only in darkness could we love each other freely in the open world, which is why we despised not just electric lights but even the stars when they shone too brightly. We were walking through the dark, and she wanted me to say that she was the one I loved most in the world. I was silent, perhaps already sensing that I was too tired of keeping that sentence unsaid, one I longed to cry out through all the speakers of the world. I was tired—tired of this darkness, of the lights, of everything—yet she waited. And later, under the ground, I deeply regretted that I hadn’t said those words meant only for her, belonging only to her, but it was already too late.

As I reminisced about our last night together, they started to lower me into the ground. I caught a final glimpse of her between my relatives' feet and heard her gaze. "Should I come with you?" she asked. "Should I?" That’s how I used to hear her voice through the receiver back then. In that final moment, I realized that if I just nodded, she would come, but she was only twenty-one, so I replied, "Stay." She heard my gaze, heard silently, just as she always had. Soon, she was obscured from view, and I realized I was already beneath the ground. After that, I heard the familiar sounds of stones and soil. And then, nothing more; only the thick fragrance of flowers lingered, frozen between me and the earth, then, thinking of her, I grew numb: I tried to recall the date and the day, but could only keep track of the calendar for a week or two.

Thus, days turned into months, and perhaps years went by. And I remember the words I never said to her, to the world, which is why I began to murmur this belated confession from beneath the earth. I began to exist through those unsaid words. Each day, I tried to remember how long our love lasted. A few... months? days? years?…

One day, I looked up and saw the sky once more; they had torn down our cemetery and replaced it with a garden of grasses and flowers. I had become a flower. I looked around in excitement, eager to find her and give her the words that were meant for her, belonged only to her... But she was not there; all around me were unfamiliar flowers that I did not recognize. I realized I must have been beneath the earth for perhaps an entire century, and she, too, might now be a flower, a blade of grass, or a handful of grain—who knows where in all the fields of the world... I was ready to search the globe for her, but I was just a flower, and I died as soon as I tried to lift my feet from the soil. I died for the last time. When I once more turned into soil, only then did I understand why flowers die so soon: all flowers might once have been people who rose from the earth in search of that someone, only to not find them and wither away, dying one last time. I realized that nothing in this world can be found twice, and I longed to cry out with all my floral voice, “Don’t let go, people, don’t lose what you have!”

#quotes #literature #translated literature #armenian literature #short stories #my translations #vardges petrosyan #on love #on devotion

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