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amisunderstoodgoddess · 7 months

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The Hunt

(final part here)

Rating: Explicit +18

Summary: When the creature you fear so much manages to escape containment, will he show you any mercy or take you without any regret?

Author's note: I intend to make this story with just two chapters. This is the first, the second will soon be available. Hope you like it!

English is not my first language.

'ALERT: Specimen 375-6 is out of containment.

It's not training. All search and capture units were activated.

ALERT: Specimen 375-6 out of containment.'

You swallow hard as you read the warning message on your phone, the words falling over your body like a truck of bricks.

He had escaped.

The creature you knew and didn't know.

It was yet another top-secret government item, another non-human biological material captured and kept for research.

He stands out from the others, of course.

With his height, intimidating physique, and obvious intelligence, but you never actually approached his cell, only catching brief glimpses from afar as you did your job collecting and saving data from the scientists' research in the system.

But you always felt something strange in the rare moments you needed to approach the cell block he was in.

He kept to the back, using the shadows to stay hidden. And yet there was one thing that caught your attention, regardless of how dark the place was.

His eyes.

Two orange spheres, standing out like beacons in the night.

He remained basically the same every time you entered that part of the building. Sitting on the floor with his legs half bent and his wrists firmly restrained by chains resting on his knees, you couldn't make out the color of his scaly skin or his features in general, but the color of those eyes shone like neon lights in the darkness of the cell.

He looked at you, every time.

It was disturbingly intense. There were no blinking eyelids or shifting gazes, he stared at you with unwavering focus from the moment you entered the lab until the moment you left. His eyes…they shone with intelligence and superiority. Like he's just there because he wants to be there, not because he was captured. He owned everything he laid eyes on. The rational part of your brain screamed, 'Look away! Run away!' but those eyes seemed to want to capture your soul with each encounter.

All your co-workers had noticed the strange fixation that the creature seemed to have on you, but you always denied it, diverting the subject while saying it was just their imagination.

Deep down you knew it wasn't.

You saw the way his unsettling gaze settled on your form, felt the shiver run down your spine at his gaze and yet - even now, you could still feel that warm buzz inside at the memory of his burning gaze locked on you.

You could admit that it wasn't healthy to feel any level of curiosity towards a murderous monster who was obsessed with you. It was scary.

Your only consolation was that he was tightly contained with the best technologies the government could dispose of.

But he always seemed very calm to you, as if he were above all that. In a confident and almost arrogant way, in the way that only people who have a coldly calculated plan are.

Now he was free.

And you had a horrible feeling that you knew exactly who he was going after.

You quickly walk down the street towards your house. Your heart beats fast, the gentle breeze brushes your warm skin and your loose hair. The canopy of trees above and the few lights along the main path cast their shadow in the opposite direction as you walk faster and faster.

At the end of the street, your eyes notice movement, something large and slow, moving behind a row of parked cars. It's not completely unusual for pedestrians to be out so late - after all, you're here, right? - but your stomach drops a little, very consciously. Something instinctive warning you that it is smart to be afraid.

By the time your trajectory takes you past the line of dark vehicles, the street is once again empty and you allow the hairs on the back of your neck to rise with relief. It was probably just some insomniac suburbanite, taking out the trash or smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk.

Rows of closed windows stare at you blankly as you pass by, colonial houses with sagging porches and overgrown backyards, the residents of the peaceful neighborhood sleeping soundly within the comfort of their homes.

A noise breaks the silence: a loud, prolonged rumble, followed by an inhuman whine, an undeniably animal sound.

There's a single lamp behind you that puts an enormous silhouette into sharp relief, but you can still easily see his solid, dangerous structure.

Your knees threaten to give way, your throat burns as you try to take a deep breath, fear leaves you numb and clumsy in exactly the least desired way at the moment. You don't think, not really, you just act. Getting to the house across the street is like running a marathon, and raising your fists to knock on the door, swing the doorknob, requires a huge effort against the adrenaline that makes your hands shake uncontrollably. "Please help me!", your voice is hoarse, your throat is tight, it's not loud enough, no matter how much you want to scream - it's like you're trapped in a nightmare where no one can hear your screams for help. "Let me in, please, I-"

The door swings open under the weight of your fists, and you almost fall to your knees at the abrupt movement. You don't have time to think, to weigh whether this would be the smartest choice compared to the others, you don't know if he's clinging to your back or if there's still a safe distance between the two of you -

You just enter.

---

The realization of the terrible mistake you made dawns on you in the space of a few minutes of panting breaths.

The living room is empty, strangely enough, not that you really have time to think about it. A staircase appears in your field of vision, and your panicked animal brain sends you toward it, taking two steps at a time, crossing a long landing and climbing to a second floor, holding on to the railing like a wooden board salvation. "Someone please!" You manage to scream, "Please, someone! I'm being followed, call the police!"

The police couldn't help you, and if you were thinking clearly you would know that. No one, not even the army, could help you against this thing.

Yet there is no voice responding, no shuffling human movement, no clicking light. And then you see the paint cans, the tarp, the door off its hinges and against the opposite wall.

This house is under construction.

Nobody. No lights. Without help.

Spinning on your heel, you stagger back toward the stairs. But there is no more time. The door you left ajar in your moment of despair lets in a pale beam of moonlight through the unfinished wooden floor of the foyer, and you watch in mute horror as a shape fills it - huge, so tall that he has to lower his head past the doorframe, a brick wall of an alien assassin wearing a metallic mask. The soulless black holes of the visor, poor excuses for eyes, stare back at you.

Alone, in an empty and unfamiliar house. Your heart pounds in your chest, bile rising in your throat - you're trapped.

You know it. And he knows it too.

The creature walks with slow and determined steps towards the end of the stairs. You briefly, wildly consider waiting until he reaches the landing and then throwing yourself off the balcony. You can survive.

The thought makes you feel like a panicked rat, chewing on its own leg to get out of the trap.

Of course there's also the possibility that you'll break every bone in your body and die from sheer stupidity - which may be preferable to death by those sharp claws on his massive hands, but at least the latter you'll be able to escape. If you can keep your wits and your legs under you, you might be able to outwit the Predator. Evade the trap.

You almost want to laugh at your own delusions of salvation.

Your unsteady feet drag back without your eyes leaving him, but with every slow step you take back he takes one towards the stairs. The silver rays of the moon bathing his reptilian-looking skin, highlighting his entire body dyed in a singular tone of obsidian, with some lighter variations on the abdomen and in some internal points. Thick, long tendrils of 'hair' flow around the mask and over his broad shoulders, adorned with gold and silver metal beads. One of his hands - oh, huge and with long, sharp black claws - seems to want to reach out towards you, but the creature holds back for some reason, preferring to continue with the strange war of glances.

It seems that in his escape from the laboratory he recovered some of his things: in addition to the mask, he wore the wrist gauntlets, the net that covered his body, the strange piece of cloth wrapped around his hips decorated with bones and skulls, and the metallic protectors on the shins. The metallic chestplate and combi-stick weren't visible, you can't tell if he managed to recover it or not.

Regardless, he was infinitely more frightening now that you can see him outside of containment; big and broad, a solid wall of defined muscles. But it was his posture that unnerved you. The roll of his shoulders, the tension in his arms. The almost imperceptible flex of his calf muscles, as if he was preparing to jump - just waiting for a movement from you to attack.

He reaches out, this time to his own face, grabbing the metal there. Air pressure is released when the metal mask is removed.

You hold your breath.

His face was lighter than the rest of his body, a slightly grayish tone with some black streaks mixing with the dreadlock-like hair on his head, a few black barbs framing the sides of his face and along his elongated forehead. There were, of course, those flaming eyes you already knew. Instead of lips, he had four folded jaws with long teeth at the tip of each of them. Inside those jaws, you could see more of his teeth, smaller but more numerous and frighteningly sharp.

He moved his jaws as he climbed the stairs with purposeful slowness, his massive size making the stairs creak, strange clicks and rumbles emerging from his mouth.

You gasped in response to his face, shaky and scared, your backward steps continuing until your back hit the wall.

End of the line.

If you ran you would have to turn your back on him, and you couldn't do that. Never turn your back on a predator, everyone knew this rule.

It was as if you were in a horror movie or a nightmare, where you could only watch without any reaction as the monster approached. The predatory way he approached awakened the primitive instinct to flee, but your legs were shaking too much for that.

You pushed yourself further against the wall, even though there was no longer any space. It looked like he wouldn't stop walking, that he would simply knock you into the wall, but at the last second he pinned you against him and ice-cold wood at your back.

The air was knocked from you, hands flat against his chest instinctively as a way to get some distance. Even under the net, his skin was clearly much warmer and firmer than your own, smooth in some places and textured in others, the latter matching the gray patterns that spread across his extremities. He smelled mostly of moss and damp, like a forest after rain. But there was also a muffled current of pheromones, a slightly peppery scent that hit you like a tsunami.

In fact now that you felt it, it felt heavier and heavier by the second, as if he was exhaling on purpose. With each inhale, that smell seemed to make you a little more relaxed, a little more dizzy.

It took a few seconds for you to realize that he was even closer, hovering above you, his breath hot and wet, stirring your strands of hair. A gasp left your throat as his sharp jaws dove down, digging his nose or whatever it was into your hair to press into your neck - though you didn't know if that sound had been out of terror or something else. All you knew was that when he backed away, another low, animalistic growl resonated from deep in his chest, long and continuous and it took you a few awkward seconds to realize he was...purring? Purring like a cat? It was bizarre, but your own body began to uncoil, as if some force tied behind you sternum had pulled your back with him.

Your breathing is now labored for what seems like an entirely different reason. You can increasingly smell that intoxicating scent in the air and that, plus the mesmerizing purr, is making your eyes roll back slightly, a blurry haze taking over your thoughts. You can feel his sharp claws as they dig into your shirt and you, in turn, can't control the shudder in your body in response.

His scent is doing something to you, something that definitely shouldn't be happening. There's an overwhelming pressure blooming in your core, the beginnings of a dull ache that makes you clench your thighs to ease the tension. The saliva in your mouth comes down with difficulty as you swallow and lick your lips, stretching your neck to look into his eyes - god, you could barely reach the line below his chest with your head. What's happening with you? He is not human, he is not human. This is wrong.

"..." His jaws click and move, strange sounds fill the room with deep growls and hisses; he was talking, but you couldn't understand him. His eyes roam your face as he speaks his strange language, and his thumb gently wipes away a tear you hadn't even noticed falling from your eye.

You open your mouth to question, to scream for help, to beg for mercy, for anything...but nothing comes out.

His breath is hot as he bends his body until he's almost face to face with you, all predatory expression and clicking jaws, almost drooling on your skin. And then, as he forcing the words out of his depths, he says, “Mate.” He declares to you, slowly and gravely in a way that no human sound could ever be, but a little more understandable now.

You look at him in shock, not expecting a deep, English word to come out of his alien mouth. His inhuman eyes are bright enough that you clearly see the orange flames in the dim light of the night, slashed down the center with black, almost feline pupils that threaten to drag you inside.

Mate.

What the hell?

You blink slowly, the low rumble persisting as he purrs under your attention and you can tell he's trying very hard to appear less threatening to you. You bite your lip against a hysterical and completely untimely laugh that wants to escape, the tension of fear finally channeling into something different (something manic and traumatized) when he presses his broad forehead to yours in a frighteningly intimate gesture, tilting his head even further to rub your cheeks with those sharp jaws, snorting into your hair and sniffing at your neck.

The drag of the deadly fangs against your skin is exhilarating, in the worst way and you fear what is to come, a very animal and very instinctive part rooted in the most unconscious corner of your being, knows exactly what this creature is wanting from you. And the worst part, the most disturbing and embarrassing part of this realization, is that you don't know if you want to resist. Not with the way his scent and purrs are making your legs shaky and your mind fuzzy.

You're shaking, but it's not just from fear and perhaps the creature knows this, because he pulls back a little until he looks into your eyes - something very carnal and very primal vibrating almost visibly beneath that reptilian skin.

He slowly looks away from yours to fiddle with something on his wrist, and you feel like you can breathe once again without the oppressive weight of the orange orbs on you. He clicks the object on his arm for a few moments and then pulls a small metal disk out of it. It's no bigger than a small cell phone chip, and he balanced it on his fingertips.

Curious, you lean in a little. You just want to take a look at what he's doing; but before you even know what's happening, the giant puts his hand around your throat and pulls you towards him. You scream at the hostile action and try to fight him, but of course it's no use. With his strong hand, he can easily subdue you and move your head to the side, pressing the metal thing against the skin just behind your ear in a quick, burning blow.

You don't have time to react, much less to understand how he did that at that speed.

You just feel the effect.

It burns, like you're being branded, and you scream. Your whole head hurts, and for a second you wonder if he hit you against the wall in the process. It's a wrong and distorted feeling, like someone is tuning a radio inside your head, you hear screams and white noise echoing inside; so loud that you have to cover your ears with your hands, but that does little to decrease to the cacophony inside your mind.

When the alien releases you, you kneel on the ground, still writhing in discomfort and pain from the chaos in your head – and then, suddenly, everything stops. You're panting, your fingers covering your ears and your head between your knees, but when the noise quiets, you slowly look up. And although you are dizzy and a little disoriented, the presence of the creature hovering ominously above you is clear.

“W-what was that?” you mumble between quick breaths. "What the hell did you do to me!?"

The alien blinks slowly and tilts his head, jaws clicking before he responds. "Now we can talk."

Your eyes widen at the strange sound (but fluid and articulate, very different from just a few minutes ago), your stomach tightens and you pull your knees closer to your chest. “W-what?”

“It’s a translator,” he says. His voice is still very dark and booming, but his growls and clicks have somehow turned into words you can understand. “This allows your little ooman brain to understand my language.”

You swallow hard and feel the blood drain from your body. He was scary when you couldn't understand him, but he was even scarier when he could talk.

“Get up, little ooman,” he murmurs. “We should get to my ship. I don’t want to spend any more time on this miserable planet.”

You can't believe what you're hearing, everything is happening so fast. With shaky legs, you gape at him. “I…I don’t understand.”

The moment is interrupted by something when the alien turns his head towards the window of the house, the various dreads tubes rattling with the movement and his jaws opening in a low trill while a long, forked tongue at the tip comes out of his deadly-looking mouth. You gasp at the sight, but he doesn't look at you, using his own body in front of yours, as if he was instinctively hiding and protecting you from something you cannot see, feel or hear. The burgundy appendage is long and glistens with the moisture of his alien saliva, along its length there are some quivers and small barbs. He slowly waves the thing in the air, almost as if he's proving something. And then you understand.

He's smelling it.

Maybe he's even more snake-like than you thought, after all, catching scent particles in the air with his tongue.

The air is positively thick with eager anticipation, he's alert and ready and you feel it.

You don't have time to think about it too much, though. Because soon he is looking at you again, although there is no longer any sign of malice and hunger in his posture now. The way he lifts his colossal body until he's completely erect, swelling the already prominent muscles to appear more menacing, only speaks of a creature with a purpose.

"Oomans here. They must have some kind of tracker." He growls once more and clicks that gauntlet again, making you jerk back with a new wave of fear.

"Y-yes, all the containment units are after you now. It's only a matter of time before they find you and try to arrest you again. Y-you should go." You respond quietly and slowly, trying to make him understand every word.

"My ship is nearby." He grumbles sullenly. You try to control the wave of curiosity that the word 'ship' evokes in you. Seriously, how many humans have had the opportunity to see one up close? But of course you don't say anything, if you got out of this situation with your life it would be good enough. You would forget about this bizarre encounter and go on with your peaceful and boring life as if you had received the greatest gift of all.

But then he continues.

“You…” He covers your body with his once again, cornering you against the wall. Your eyes widen as he wraps a thick arm around your waist, pulling you into him. "You belong to me now, ooman. You'll come along."

You feel like you didn't get it right. “T-to space?”

He doesn't seem to want to entertain this conversation anymore and just grunts again.

It's like all the red flags go up in your mind at once.

"N-no! No, I can't, that's...I can't!"

But he doesn't listen to you, and you can't predict the sharp sting on your neck. It doesn't hurt like it used to, but he cradles your head with huge fingers almost tenderly as a sickening sensation wracks your body and makes you stagger. You feel weak, your body giving out as you babble out things that even you don't understand. Everything is getting dark and your little fingers are scratching his arms looking for support, your breathing is coming with difficulty and your eyes are unfocused.

"It's okay, mate, just give in...I'll take care of you..." He purrs, but you can barely hear him, your senses are fuzzy and lethargic and you know you're going to pass out.

The last thing you see before the darkness swallows you and the unknown can wrap its tentacles around you, are orange flames above you. Hot, consuming and scary.

And then there is nothing but emptiness.

5K notes · View notes

jyoongim · 23 days

Note

Hey, so I LOVED your Alastor x doe reader with synced heat/rut fanfic! I was just wondering if maybe we could get some aftercare? Like say, Al is all smitten now that he's calmed down and just cooes over her plush body, yknow, just regular malewife material :)

THANK YOUUUUUUU X <3

Read this one first!!

————————————————————————

You woke up with a groan.

Your body was sore all over.

You blinked, trying to gauge your surroundings.

You were in your room.

You no longer had that burning need to be fucked and filled.

Your heat had been sated.

You stretched and winced, feeling the stickiness of cum between your legs. You rolled over in your nest, finding the space occupied.

A surprised squeak left your lips when large hands pulled you into a warm mass.

”Good morning my doe” a raspy voice said, sharp teeth nipping at your shoulder.

Alastor!

You purred as the demon pressed soft kisses along your neck and shoulder, snuggling into him. You blushed remembering the night event before

“O-oh good morning” you said softly looking up at the deer.

You and Alastor had mated.

He mated with you…

Satan!

He nestled his head in the crook of your neck, chest rumbling in a purr “How are you feeling?”

Sore. Thats how you were feeling but you felt happy and filled with dopamine.

”better. T-thank you for…for last night” you averted your gaze to his chest flush, fingers twirling.

He hummed “it was my pleasure dear. You were such a good girl”

You realized you were naked and went to cover yourself, but Alastor stopped you “Theres no need to hide yourself. I am your mate, there’s no need for modesty in the nest”

Your ears perked as you blinked at him “You dont mind being mated to me?” Your heart was fluttering.

He let out a chuckle “Of course not! You have no idea how long I’ve waited to bed you. I admit i would have preferred courting methods but here we are all the same”

His eyes looked over your body, marred with marks and bruises from your rutting.

Your belly grumbled and you blushed. He smirked “hungry?” You nodded and watched as he heaved himself up and walked to your closet.

Towels. He snapped his fingers and a tub of water appeared.

He gathered you in his arms, settling you in his lap as he washed you. Rinsing you of dried cum and blood. You saw his eyes light up seeing your cunt drip with his cum.

Once you were clean, clean pajamas were on your body and a hot plate of food appeared.

Fruits and water.

You happily grabbed the fruits and munched as Alastor massaged the knots out your body.

You pierced a berry with your claw and held it to his lips.

”You need to eat too” you said sweetly, making the overlord smile and wrap his lips around the fruit and your finger.

Once the plate was empty he snapped his fingers and it disappeared and his normal attire manifested on his person.

He set you on your bed and you watched as he cleaned up your room, discarding your ruined bedding and cleaning your nest.

You giggled when his shadow wrapped around you, cooing at you.

”Why dont you rest for the remainder of the day my dear? You took a lot last night” Alastor scratched your head as he tucked you into bed. You pouted, usually you opted for fresh air, but you were still very tired.

You nodded “Won’t you stay?” Your big doe eyes looked at him. Alastor smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your pouty lips “Ill be back doe. Dont worry your pretty head. Just rest until I come back”

Your eyes grew heavy and you snuggled in your bed. Alastor’s shadow stayed behind, eerily chirping and cooing quietly as it watched over you.

————————————————————————————-

Alastor smiled softly as you snored.

His eyes raked over you.

You were beautiful.

His beautiful doe.

His beautiful mate.

Your fur had adapted some of his colorings, streaks of red blending in your natural coloring.

He never thought he would mate with another demon, but he was happy to be bonded to you.

He had moved all your things to his room and had prepared a nice warm bubble bath for you.

Unlike him, does typically needed more care after a rough heat. So he took it upon himself to make sure you were pampered and rested.

After all…

You were stuck with him forever…might as well get comfortable with with spoiling you at any given chance.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader #jyoongim #alastor the radio demon #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor smut

1K notes · View notes

candy69gurl · 1 month

Note

can you do hybrid! Wolf toji claiming you during his rut?

THE HOWL OF DESIRE

Hybrid! Wolf toji x f!reader

Warnings- 18+, dark, slight non/con (Toji does not intend to harm you), size kink (both are adults), cave sex, multiple orgasms, nipple biting & play, fingering (Toji has black big nails), raw sex (cumming inside many times), breeding, pussy eating

wc - 2.6k

ART NOT MINE !

As you traverse through the dense woods, you find yourself getting increasingly disoriented, unsure of which way leads back to civilization. The sun's rays barely penetrating the thick canopy above, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. You begin to worry, knowing that spending the night here could lead to dangerous consequences.

Suddenly, your senses pick up on the sound of rustling leaves nearby. You freeze, trying to discern whether it is an animal or something more sinister.

A figure emerges from behind a tree, and you gasp involuntarily. It is a creature of height 6'1ft, he appears as a magnificent wolf-human hybrid. He is slender but muscular and athletic, and his wolfish aura makes him look intimidating. As he closes on your position you notice his ears flattened on his head and his tail is pointed upright, his body has chiseled muscles and trademark scars, his green sword-like eyes looking through your soul. His mouth bore fang-like teeth that you swear are more vicious than natural canine teeth of humans.

His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of hunger and desire burning within their depths.

"Hello, human," he growls softly, his voice tinged with an animalistic quality. "Lost, are we? Well, I don't normally go for humans, but you seem intriguing enough."

As you stand frozen in fear and confusion, Toji takes a step closer, his form shifting slightly, the wolf aspects becoming more pronounced. His eyes gleam with lust, and you can faintly smell his pheromones in the air – a testament to his overwhelming need to mate. "Ah finally," he says, taking another step toward you. "It's just my rut, and I need a mate to breed with. Normally, I wouldn't ask a human, but I cannot wait anymore."

His voice is calm, almost soothing despite the terrifying situation. Your heart races as you contemplate your options, but you realize that running might only agitate him further. Nonetheless your legs unconsciously start to move. There is only one way to get out of this- by running.

"So," he continues, his back facing you but when he turns to you, he sees you running, " What's a prey if they don't try running".

With a grin spreading across his face, Toji starts running after you, muscles rippling as he leaps after you. His movements are fluid and quick, darting through the trees with ease. You feel your adrenaline surge, pushing your speed to its limit as you navigate the unfamiliar terrain. However, he seems to know these woods intimately, and your panic increases as you realize you're unable to shake him off.

"Caught you little bunny" he exclaims, grabbing your neck. Despite his triumphant words, there's a hint of concern in his eyes. He pauses, contemplating his next move. "Running isn't going to solve anything, and believe me, you don't want to get hurt.. Or do you?"

"P-please let me go.. I have to get back home."

Toji weighs your plea, his gaze lingering on you thoughtfully. His need for release is urgent, but he doesn't wish to harm you unnecessarily. "I can let you go, but I'm afraid you won't find your way back alone." His voice holds a note of genuine concern, his eyes softening momentarily.

Then, his expression shifts, the wolfish hunger returning. "But," he adds, "If you agree to stay and help alleviate my… condition, I promise to guide you safely back to where you belong. You won't regret it, trust me." He leans close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "I'll make sure you enjoy it too."

You stand there, contemplating your options. The thought of being alone in these woods, possibly lost for another night, is daunting. On the other hand, submitting to Toji's demands is equally terrifying, but there's a strange allure to it as well. His promise of safety and pleasure seems almost too good to be true.

As you weigh the pros and cons, Toji watches you intently, his eyes never leaving yours. He can sense your hesitation, and it fuels his desire even more. "I understand if you're scared," he says softly, reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "But I promise, I won't hurt you. I just need someone to share this with, and you seem like the perfect one."

His touch is warm and comforting, despite the situation. You can't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence, as if he truly means what he says. "So, what do you say?" he asks, his voice low and seductive. "Will you help me, and let me help you in return?"

"O-only if you promise to be gentle..", you reply, your voice shaking from his intimidating aura.

Toji's eyes crinkle at the corners, a rare smile gracing his features. "Gentle it is," he assures you, his grip on your cheek gentle but firm. "I can't promise but I will try since you are my first human mate.. Come, let's find a suitable spot. We don't want to draw attention, do we?" His voice is smooth, radiating confidence and control. You hesitate, but there's a sense of safety in his presence that you can't deny.

With a deep breath, you take his hand, allowing him to lead you deeper into the woods. The fear is still there, but it's tempered by a growing curiosity. You're stepping into unknown territory, but for some reason, you don't feel threatened. Instead, there's a strange excitement coursing through you, making your heart beat faster.

As you follow Toji deeper into the woods, you begin to notice subtle changes in the landscape. Brambles part before you, revealing a hidden trail leading to a small clearing. In the center of the clearing lies a cave, half-hidden by the surrounding foliage. This is where Toji leads you, guiding you inside with a gentle push.

The cave is surprisingly cozy, lit by the dim light seeping through the entrance. There's a palpable sense of warmth and security, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. Toji observes your reaction, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"This is my den," he explains, gesturing around. "Now, shall we proceed?" He tilts his head, his eyes holding a mix of anticipation and expectation. You can tell that his rut is still strong, but he's patiently waiting for your lead.

Your nod sends a wave of excitement through Toji, his eyes glinting with eagerness.. He quickly steps closer, nearly ripping your pants and panties off. He hovers over you, his eyes locked on yours as he positions himself between your thighs.

Surprised by his sudden movement, you struggle in his grip, "W-wait you need to loosen me up"

Toji pauses, confusion clouding his features for a brief moment. "Loosen you up?" he repeats, his voice heavy with confusion. Then, understanding dawns on his face, and he chuckles softly. "Tsk, I can wait no more but fine since you beg me so obediently", moving between your legs. He gently parts you with his fingers, feeling your dampness.

"You're already prepared," he murmurs, a note of approval in his voice.

"Ah~", your back arches at his finger movements, your back hitting the ground of the cave.

At your response, Toji's eyes darken with lust. He thrusts his fingers into you roughly. You arch your back,

"Are ya loose yet?" His eyes remain locked on yours, his expression a mix of impatience and excitement.

"n-no not yet.. a-ah", your voice cracks up in pleasure.

Toji's eyes narrow, his brows furrowing in concentration. He inserts a third finger, thrusting harder this time, stretching you wider. You cry out, a mixture of pleasure and pain washing over you as you near your edge.

"Humans are so responsive..." he mutters, his voice thick with desire as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity between you and him building, is only heightened by the dim light of the cave.

Finally, after several more thrusts, you reach your orgasm and he withdraws his fingers, a satisfied smirk gracing his lips. "Ready?" He asks, his gaze locked on your face, waiting for your answer.

"mghh.. n-not now.. I need sometime.. I am sensitive right now", you protest.

Toji's eyes squint in annoyance "Shut up, I have been patient enough. I can't wait any longer."

With that, he positions himself between your legs again .With a sudden powerful surge, Toji thrusts into you, his giant cock stretching your poor hole wide. You gasp, your nails digging into the cave floor as you struggle to adjust to the intense sensation.

"Please.. A-ah .. be gentle"

"Shush..I am trying .. You humans are so fragile.. But", he grunts in pleasure, "ya feel so good. I never thought humans feel this good"

Though he is trying to be gentle, but your insides feel so good that he can't help but move relentlessly, his hips pumping in a primal rhythm. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure and pain through you, your body responding to his dominance.

Despite your initial protest, you can't help but moan loudly, writhing beneath him. His roughness sets you ablaze, and you find yourself meeting his thrusts eagerly. His scent, his strength - everything about this experience overwhelms you. Your body cries out for release, and you know you won't last long.

"That's it, take it!" Toji growls, his eyes locked on yours. His primal nature is on full display, and it's intoxicating.

Your toes curl up as Toji's thrusts intensify, his eyes widening at your reaction. "Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You feel incredible." His pace quickens, his hips slamming into you with brutal efficiency. You cry out, the cave echoing with your sounds of pleasure and pain.

His rut is nearing its peak, his body trembling with suppressed energy. With one last powerful lunge, he buries himself deep within you, filling you with his seed. "Take it all," he rasps, his breath hot against your neck.

In that moment, you surrender to the sensations, your own climax washing over you. Together, you collapse onto the cave floor, feeling spent but incredibly fulfilled. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, holding him close.

As he recovers, Toji nuzzles your neck, his breathing ragged. "I hope I was gentle enough," he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction.

"No .. you are so mean..", you reply panting.

Toji laughs, his chest rumbling against your throat. "Mean? Maybe, but effective, wouldn't you agree?" He teases, his grip on you tightening. "Besides, don't lie, you enjoyed it too."

He's right, you did enjoy it - despite the roughness. The intensity of the encounter left you shaken yet exhilarated. He turns you on your stomach "don't think it's over yet.. It's just a starting"

"w-what?", your pupil dilates at the though.

Toji pushes you on your stomach and he enters from behind. You moan, feeling him stretch you once again. With a smirk, he begins to thrust relentlessly, his body slamming against yours. His large hands grip your sides, holding you steady as he takes you from behind.

"We are going to do it whole night" he growls, each word punctuated by his thrusts.

You cry out, your body responding eagerly to his advances. You can't deny the pleasure surging through you. His dominance excites you, the raw intensity of his actions sending you spiraling towards another climax.

"God, you're so good," he praises, his voice thick with lust. "I could spend hours with you, sweet human."

"P-please can't no more", you plead.

Toji stills, pulling his cock out, your body shaking from oversensitiveness. "Already?" then he thrusts into you again. "I know you can handle this."

You cry out, feeling him entering you again.

Time skips, and you and he are still at it, you don't know what time it is, you don't know how many orgasms coursed through you.. The only thing you know is the pleasure you are getting from this.

Toji's eyes shine with lust, his hands firmly grasping your hips as he bounces you on his lap. Your hair falls in disarray around your face, your skin flushed from exertion. Each thrust elicits a soft moan from you, your body responding to his every command.

"Feel good?" he asks, his voice low and sultry. His eyes hold a mixture of satisfaction and hunger, his gaze never leaving your face. You nod, breathless, your nails scratching lightly at his shoulders.

"Good," he growls, increasing his pace. "I knew you'd love this." His hips buck, driving into you harder, faster. You cry out, your body reacting to his every touch.

"p-please play with my nipples too.. mhmm", your face flush with shame as you beg him to pleasure you. Unknowingly removing your hands remove your top and push up your bra, revealing your breasts with stiffening nipples.

Toji's eyes light up at your request, his hands immediately moving to your breasts. He pinches your nipples gently, then harder, eliciting a mix of pleasure and pain from you. You cry out, your body arching in response.

"You like that?" he asks, his voice thick with lust. "Is this what you wanted?"

You nod, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He leans to catch one of your bouncing tits in his mouth, licking and sucking. His fangs brush your nipples, nibbling on them gently

"f-fuck .. dont bite them.. ahhh."

Toji pulls back, releasing your nipple with a wet pop. He looks at you, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "My apologies," he says, feigning innocence. "It seemed to please you though."

He resumes his thrusts, his movements fierce and unrestrained. His hands pinch and twist your nipples, his tongue lashing over them in turn. Each touch sends waves of pleasure-pain coursing through you, your body responding eagerly.

"I'm close," you whisper, your voice hoarse.

"Not yet," he growls, his eyes darkening. "I'm not done with you."

His words send a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You cry out, your body writhing beneath him as he plays with your nipples, fucking you relentlessly.

"R-really can't anymore.. please let me .. let me cum", you beg him, tears falling from your cheeks.

Toji's eyes meet your teary eyes, his breath ragged.

"Don't cry little human", he licks your cheek wiping off your tears. "Then cum," he growls, his voice rough with pleasure. "Let go."

With a final, hard thrust, he drives into you, the motion perfectly synchronized with your climax. You cry out, your body shaking as you crest over the edge. He follows suit, his cock pulsing within you as he finds his own release. He growls which sounds more like a howl, as he fills your womb with his thick seed.

Exhausted, you slump against him, your breathing ragged. He holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

Soon you pass out. Toji catches you easily, his grip firm yet tender. "Awww. I wanted more though," he whispers, his voice softening, "but fine.. I have had enough fun.. I will help ya return tomorrow"

He gazes at your sleeping form, a hint of tenderness in his eyes. Despite his rough exterior, he cares for you. He wraps his big arms around you covering your fragile body, ensuring you stay warm throughout the night.

You awaken slowly, feeling warm, wet warmth between your legs. Your eyes flutter open, landing on Toji's face, his eyes gleaming with desire as he licks your cunt. The sight is both erotic and overwhelming.

"Morning," he greets, his voice thick with lust. "How are you feeling?"

You swallow hard, your heart racing. "W-what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" he responds, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Cleaning you up after last night's fun."

You blush, your body reacting to his touch whether you want it to or not. Your eyes squeeze shut as he licks and kisses your most intimate places.

"Mmm, you taste delicious," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Like sweet honey."

"H-hey you said.. you will help me return back home.."

Toji raises his head, his eyes locked on yours. "Go home?" he repeats, surprise clear in his voice. "Oh yes.. But I want to fuck you before I leave you alone for good"

Your skin is already sensitive from his licks and touches, your body ready for more. You bite your lower lip before nodding.

He grins, his eyes filled with lust. "What we waiting for then?" He quickly moves, positioning himself between your legs.

He chuckles as your walls devour his huge girth. "I love how good your taking me.. Fuck.. I'll always find you during my rut, my little bunny."

3K notes · View notes

slu7formen · 20 days

Note

So I got this from a book but a truth and dare game with Luke where she has to lick whip cream of him. You can do whatever you want with this prompt but like a smut could be nice.

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

this single request itself made me wanna try it, love you <3

warnings: teasing, kissing, s3xual tension, food play, drinking, oral (f receiving), mutual m4sturbation, unprotected s3x, possessive!luke at times, biting, f1ngering, chocking, also this is SO LONG, I’M SORRY

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

₊˚⊹♡

The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the faces gathered around the hidden clearing. You all had managed to sneak away from the watchful eyes of Chiron and Mr. D for a game night in the woods. The air buzzed with the energy of a rebellion and contagious laughter – a night of games for the older campers, fueled by salty and sweet snacks and stolen alcohol —a sweet thank you to the Hermes’ cabin—. Laughter and playful groans punctuated the evening as truth or dare, with a twist, played out. Two decks sat in the center of the circle – red for dares, blue for truth.

Silena patiently waited as Clarisse read a red card out loud. "Whoever you find most handsome, kiss them" the card declared, "or take a shot." A playful smile spread across Silena´s lips, her gaze lingering for a beat too long on Charles Beckendorf. A blush crept up her neck as the others hooted and hollered.

"Come on, Silena" Connor Stoll, Hermes' resident prankster, prodded her with a playful jab. "Don't be shy, show us who the lucky guy is!"

With a playful toss of her hair, she leaned across the circle, her eyes meeting Beckendorf's for a fleeting moment before landing a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. Beckendorf, caught off guard, sputtered and stammered, his face mirroring Silena's blush. The clearing erupted in cheers and teasing whistles.

The teasing went back and forth, fueling the already lively atmosphere. Next, it was Beckendorf's turn. He scanned the circle, eyes falling on a tall and skinny guy sipping on the last drops of his beer.

“Travis” he called. “Truth or dare?”

Travis, ever the clown, leaned back on his elbows, a confident smirk plastered on his face. "Dare" he replied, popping the r out.

Beckendorf announced the dare after picking up a card: "Take off the socks from the person on your right with your teeth, or take two shots." A collective groan rose from the circle. Lee Fletcher happened to be Travis' unfortunate neighbor.

"Come on, Trav" Luke chimed in, a playful look in his eyes. "Those feet are all fresh and sweaty for ya'." The rest of the group roared with laughter, picturing the image of Travis attempting the sock removal with his teeth.

Travis, with a grimace that contorted his face, finally managed to grab Lee's sock with his teeth and yank it free. He held the sweaty trophy aloft, earning another round of cheers and jeers.

Meanwhile, Luke couldn't help but steal glances at you, sitting next to him. The firelight cast your features in a warm glow, highlighting the soft curve of your lips and the way your hair cascaded down your shoulders like a waterfall. The scent of your perfume, a mix of strawberries and something else he couldn't quite place, filled his senses, making his heart pound a little faster. He found himself captivated by your laugh, the way your lips curved into a smile as you spoke, or the way your brow furrowed in concentration when you contemplated a dare. Sitting next to you felt like being next to a goddess, both exhilarating and intimidating, just like the rest of your sisters; girls from cabin ten.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Travis scanned the circle, his eyes stopping on you. You met his eyes, a playful sparkle in your own, as if daring him to choose you.

“yn, truth or dare?”

You took a swig of your beer, the cold liquid a welcome contrast to the warmth blooming in your cheeks under his scrutiny. "Dare" you replied, your voice laced with a hint of flirtatious defiance.

A surprised whistle escaped his lips. Clearly, he hadn't expected you to choose the more daring option, you´ve been picking truth all night. He reached for a card from the red deck, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The silence grew thick as he scanned the card.

A barely audible chuckle escaped his lips as he read the card. "Alright, pretty girl" he began, drawing out the words for dramatic effect, " 'Lick whipped cream out of the person on your left's neck, or take a shot.'"

A collective gasp rippled through the group, followed by teasing comments towards Luke. "Castellan's lucky tonight!" Connor hollered, patting his back. "Looks like you owe cabin ten a thank you, man."

Luke felt his cheeks burning like rubies. He tried to appear confident, as he always was, a casual slouch to his posture, but the rapid thump of his heart betrayed his cool facade.

You just stared at him for a moment, a nervous yet malicious smirk on your lips. You enjoyed the sight of him suddenly all red and flustered, a stark contrast to his usual cool demeanor. He looked as cute as ever. "Well?" Katie asked, shrugging your shoulder playfully. "Whip cream or a shot?"

And how could you resist the dare? A chance for your lips to brush against the warm skin of Luke's neck in a gesture that was more intimate than any game dared to be? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, a delicious mix of excitement and nervousness. Licking the sweet whipped cream off him, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your lips... it was too tempting to pass up, and the possibilities were simply intoxicating.

Ignoring the teasing catcalls and whispers, you turned to Katie with a sly smile. "Where's the whipped cream?" you asked, knowing full well that Silena had brought a large bag of candy, a can of whipped cream nestled amongst the chocolate bars and sour gummies.

Your question erupted into another wave of cheers and whistles. Luke, meanwhile, felt like his insides were about to explode. He felt like a churning cauldron of emotions – nervousness, excitement, a burning desire dancing in his stomach.

Silena tossed the can to you. You caught it in the air, the coldness of the metal a stark contrast to the heat burning in your cheeks. You met Luke's gaze once more.

"Looks like you're about to get a little messy" you declared, getting on your knees now for a better access. With a sweet but weirdly evil smirk, you shook the can, the hiss of the pressurized cream a prelude to the sweet mess you were about to create.

As Luke held your gaze, a slow smile spread across his face. He knew this was a chance, one he couldn't afford to miss. "Alright" he sighed, chest heaving up and down in one hard and heavy movement, his voice rough with suppressed nervousness but laced with an undercoat of confidence. He tilted his head slightly to the left, offering you a better angle, his final invitation. "Do your thing."

The weight of his words, the vulnerability in his gesture, sent a jolt through you. Luke's neck, bathed in the warm glow of the fire, looked impossibly inviting, the smooth skin a stark contrast to the dark fabric of his shirt.

Taking a slight breath, you placed a few dollops of whipped cream on the side of his neck. The coldness sent a jolt through him, making him flinch and hiss lowly. A wave of whispers rippled through the group, a mixture of nervous anticipation and excited curiosity.

Luke caught a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye. You tossed your hair to the side, the movement exposing completely one of your shoulders. In that moment, under the watchful gaze of the fire and their friends, he felt himself going faintly insane with a mixture of desire and nervousness.

You leaned closer, the sweet scent of your perfume filling his senses. As you both closed your eyes at the same time, the air crackled with electricity. Your tongue, soft and warm, darted out with boldness. Pulling down on the collar of his shirt to avoid a mess, your other hand flew to the back of his neck, holding him gently in place.

The gentle rasp of your tongue against his skin sent shivers down his spine. It was a slow, deliberate movement, almost reverent, seductive, as you savored the sweetness of the whipped cream and the warmth of his skin beneath it.

Your actions were hot enough for his cock to start hardening against his cargo pants, painfully. But he has to thank the gods for luckily sitting in a position in which he was covering it.

He pressed his lips together, and apparently, that made his friends laugh. He could hear the soft gasps of your breath as you worked your way around the whipped cream blob, the sound echoing in his ears like a siren's song.

Luke felt like a live wire, every nerve ending tingling with awareness. He couldn't believe what was happening. The gentle touch of your lips made him feel as if a hundred ants walked down his spine, his heart thundering in his chest. He was trying so hard to hold back a moan.

He tried to imagine something else, literally anything, but whenever he tried, the only thing he could picture was you with him in his room, pouring whipped cream all over his neck and just licking, like a cat, as he tilted his head back and you bit down on his pulse, you whispered in his ear, you moaned loudly, you let him touch you.

He was a dead man.

Finally, with a satisfied sigh, you pulled away.

"There" you said, your voice barely a whisper. "All clean"

Luke opened his eyes, his gaze lingering on your lips, cherry lip-gloss long gone, as you finished licking off the last bit of your sweet treat. You met his gaze. Neither of you spoke.

A loud cough from Connor broke the spell. "Well, that was..." he began, searching for the right words, "intense."

“Yeah” Chris joined in, suddenly grabbing Clarisse’s hand and turning to her. “Can we do it?”

The moment was broken, the playful environment resuming its place. A wave of laughter washed over the group when the night took an unexpected turn. Soon, the whipped cream became a must along your friends.

Travis´ eyes landed on a weak Lee. The following minutes were filled with chaos and laughter as Travis chased Lee around the nearby trees, whipped cream can in hand, finally managing to catch him and plant a sloppy glob of cream on his neck. Lee's retaliatory attempt at tickling Travis only resulted in both of them collapsing in a heap of loud laughs.

The game continued, couples forming and reforming with each dare. Beckendorf and Connor, fueled by a rivalry, ended up smearing whipped cream on each other's faces, resulting in a food fight of sorts. Silena and Katie shared a non-stop giggly mess as they licked cream off each other's cheeks.

Even Clarisse, despite her initial resistance, found herself cornered by Chris.

By the time everyone´s face was sticky, exhaustion had settled in. As the fire crackled down to embers, casting long shadows across the clearing, everyone decided it was time to head back to their cabins.

The walk back was filled with drunken stumbling and whispered jokes. Silena and Clarisse, whose tolerance for alcohol was notoriously low, were stumbling back to their cabins, supported by their patient friends.

You walked behind them, a smile playing on your lips as you watched the scene unfold, bag of leftovers snacks swinging on your wrist.

Behind you, Luke admired your figure bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the trees. Your hips, swaying with each step you took, were basically asking him to be grabbed, to be pulled. So did your hair, bouncing and shining on its on and he wondered what it would feel like to have it wrapped around his hand. His mind couldn't help but flash back to the way your tongue had felt, flat and warm, against his skin. It was a sensation that gave him goosebumps even now, a memory that made his brain feel like melted butter.

He also found no way of getting rid of his boner. His pants were a little baggy, and his friends were drunk, but still, he was just walking around camp, with a boner, and the girl that gave it to him was walking just five feet ahead.

His train of thought was abruptly derailed by a booming voice. "Alright, guys" Beckendorf announced, his voice thick with concern, "I think I'm going to take Silena back to my cabin" he turned his head behind him. “She seems a little too excited, actually” he says, as you all watch Silena´s figure almost falling to the ground as she reaches the Hephaestus cabin.

The others murmured agreement, offering sleepy goodbyes and pats on the back. You joined the chorus, your voice a gentle murmur.

Unlike many of the other campers, whose siblings populated Camp Half-Blood year-round, you were one of the few who stayed all year, along with Silena some months. With the winter season in full swing, your cabin stood empty, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional curious critter.

"You alright?" you heard beside you.

Luke, walking next to you now, seemed to pick up on your quiet contemplation. He cast you a sidelong glance, his face unreadable in the dim light.

You pulled a small smile from the corner of your lips. "Yeah, just-, realizing I have the whole cabin to myself tonight."

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Well, then" he began, his voice a low rumble, "Want me to walk you there so you don´t go alone?"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as Luke's offer hung in the air.

"My cabin's not too far away, Luke" you teased, pointing towards a cluster of trees in the distance. A flash of pink peeked through the branches – the lace curtains that adorned the windows. "See? I can practically see it from here. You just really wanna spend more time with me, don't you?"

A faint blush crept up Luke's neck. He wasn't used to being so transparent, especially not around you. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

"Then I guess" he stammered, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. "that my company is not wanted?"

You couldn't help but laugh, a melodic sound that echoed through the stillness of the night and ringed inside Luke´s ears. Deep down, you knew that was the furthest thing from the truth. The dare had awakened something inside you, a flicker of something warm and exciting burning in your belly. Looking at Luke now, bathed in the cool moonlight, you saw him differently. The way his hair tousled in the gentle breeze, the way his dark eyes held a depth you hadn't noticed before – it all made your stomach twist and tighten.

You placed both hands on the back pockets of your jeans. “When did I say that?” you ask.

A slow smile spread across Luke's face, mirroring your own. He couldn't deny the truth in your words. This playful back and forth shattered a barrier, revealing a connection neither of you had anticipated. His gaze drifted down to your lips for a second.

You noticed. Just as you noticed his hardened dick hidden inside his pants.

As you continued walking, a comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. The thought of him, his touch, his nearness, sent a hot wave through your stomach. It wasn't just about his good looks, though you couldn't deny his attractiveness. It was the unexpected intimacy, which was in fact, not so intimate due to your friends’ stares but, it left you with an empty feeling in your chest. It left you wanting more. More about Luke.

And then, it all just made sense.

As you reached the front door of your cabin, you turned around on your feet towards Luke. His eyes were wide and shiny in anticipation, waiting for you to speak. "So," you began, your voice dripping with feigned innocence, "since my company is apparently so delightful, how about you come inside for a bit?"

Luke blinked, surprised by your sudden offer. "Inside?" he echoed.

"You've never even been inside my cabin, have you? Don't you at least a little bit curious about what it looks like?"

You knew your question was a blatant and dirty lie. Luke likely knew the layout of every cabin at Camp Half-Blood, even though it is true that he only took small look from your cabin when the door was open, never fully stepping inside. But it was a way to gauge his interest. You knew how to play.

Luke shifted on his feet, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He wasn't sure if you were serious or just messing with him, but the invitation, whether genuine or not, was tempting. The thought of spending a little more time with you, alone, in the privacy of your cabin, made him think twice.

"Well," he began, his voice rough with well hidden desire, "if you want me to”

The sweet, cloying scent of perfume hit him first, a heady mix of flowers and vanilla that instantly relaxed his nerves. The walls were painted a soft, rosy pink, trimmed with crisp white molding. Pastel blue and green curtains adorned the windows, their gentle hues echoing in the twin beds adorned with pale blue sheets, a stark contrast to the brown bunks of his Hermes cabin.

Instead of the communal sleeping arrangements he was accustomed to, each camper here enjoyed the luxury of their own space. Twin beds stood side-by-side, separated by a blue dresser that boasted a large mirror and neatly organized drawers overflowing with what he could only assume were makeup and beauty products. In the corner, a chest with your name painted in a cheerful font held your personal belongings, and the space above your bed showcased an assortment of pin-ups – Hollywood starts and sultry singers plastered across the wall alongside a few candid photos of your friends, their faces beaming with laughter.

As Luke took in the scene, you walked further into the cabin, the plastic bag of leftover snacks crinkling in your hand. You tossed it onto the bed, rummaging through your chest for a change of clothes.

Suddenly, a small, gushing sound startled you. You looked up to find Luke standing directly in front of your bed, eyes sparkling like a little kid. In his hand, he held the can of leftover whipped cream, a playful white dollop clinging to his finger.

"Really?" you asked, a surprised laugh escaping your lips as you watched him contemplate licking it off. The audacity of the move, the playfulness in his eyes, made your insides twist.

"Don't judge me" he said. "I didn't get to lick it off someone's neck like everyone else did"

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. His words were a playful accusation, but the way he looked at you, the way his gaze lingered on your lips for a beat too long again, it was more than just whipped cream he craved.

You stood up slowly, a smile playing on your lips. Walking towards him, you stopped just out of reach. "Because you didn't want to" you teased, your voice laced with a hint of playing.

Luke met your gaze, his smile fading into a more serious expression. "Honestly, no, I didn't" he admitted, looking down at you from his taller height. "In front of everyone, I mean."

You tilted your head, a knowing smile gracing your features. "Why not?" you pressed, your voice a gentle murmur.

"I was thinking," he began, you immediately catch up on his nervousness, "that maybe... maybe I could do it privately."

A slow smile spread across your face again. “Privately, huh?" you echoed, your voice a teasing murmur. “Who with?"

He scoffed. “Isn´t is obvious?”

A shiver danced down your spine at his words. You couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through you, the delicious anticipation that hung heavy in the air.

With a playful and exaggerated sigh, you sat on your bed, sinking down onto the soft mattress. You look up at him, resting both of your hands behind you, making yourself as comfortable as possible.

He stared down at you, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. He took a second to sit down next to you, the close proximity making your heart beat just a little louder, and the tip of your fingers sweat. The scent of your perfume, a sweet and intoxicating mix, filled his senses.

"Can I?" he asked.

You simply nodded. “Sure” you say. Every fiber of your being was waiting for him to follow in your footsteps, to recreate the intimate touch of your earlier dare.

Bingo.

You were convinced he was going for the same part of your body that you did on his, but instead, you felt the coolness of his fingertips against your skin as he gently pulled down the collar of your tank top, exposing the delicate curve of your collarbone and the top part of your breast.

A gasp escaped your lips as the coolness of the whipped cream hit your skin. Without missing a beat, Luke took tossed the can aside and, mimicking your earlier action, swiped his tongue across the exposed skin.

The cold sensation of the whipped cream mingled with the warmth of his touch, sending a shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, savoring the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

His movements were slow and deliberate, his tongue tracing a lazy path across your skin. It was a stark contrast to the playful swipe you'd given him earlier, a wet touch that made both of you, very clearly, what this whole thing was about.

A soft moan escaped your lips, barely audible but undeniably present. Luke's breath hitched at the sound, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.

Suddenly, you felt a sharp nip on your collarbone. Luke had bitten down slightly, the sensation sending a confusing feeling towards your chest.

"Gods, Luke, that's-" you gasped, the word dying on your lips as a wave of pleasure washed over you when his teeth grazed over it again. You didn't even care to finish your sentence, too lost in the whirlwind of emotions his touch ignited.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. He licked off the last bit of the sweet treat from your skin, mimicking the way you'd cleaned him earlier.

"There" he said, his voice thick with mockery. "All clean."

You stared at him, your eyes glazed over with a desire that mirrored his own. You felt like a wild animal, unleashed and untamed. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your breath coming in ragged gasps from your parted lips. Your collarbone glistened with saliva, a testament to the intimacy you'd just shared.

You couldn't take it anymore.

You smashed your lips against his in a hungry kiss. It was a kiss unlike any you'd ever experienced, raw and desperate, fueled by the tension that had been building between you all night.

Luke, caught off guard for a moment, quickly responded, his kiss turning passionate and possessive. He slipped one hand behind your back, pressing you closer, the other finding its way into your hair, tilting your head for a deeper kiss.

You tangled your fingers in the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you as you fell onto the bed. He followed willingly, his body hovering over yours. That dare. That fucking dare. It had morphed into something far more intense, a stolen moment of passion that threatened to consume you both.

The taste of whipped cream was there, with the heat of his kiss, a bizarre yet strangely intoxicating combination. Your senses were on fire, your body yearning for more. You reached up, your fingers tracing the planes of his face, memorizing the feel of his strong jawline, the slight stubble that brushed against your skin.

As the kiss deepened, his hand found its way under your shirt, sending a fresh wave of shivers down your spine. You gasped, a mixture of surprise and delight at his touch.

Your response was immediate when he started to graze his fingertips down your spine. You arched your back into his touch, a wordless plea for more. When he reached to your lower back, he grabbed your hip and pulled you impossibly closer to his body.

You felt his boner pocking on your inner thigh. You wondered how many hours he just spent with his dick painfully hardened, because you don’t really remember how many hours have passed since you chose dare as an option.

Your hands were quick to start pulling Luke’s shirt over his head. He only stopped kissing you to fully remove it and toss it to the ground, lips slamming against yours once again. He held a tight and possessive grab at your jaw, he didn’t want to let go of you.

The tip of his fingers trailed down your neck, your collarbone, a slow path down your body and over the fabric until his finger hooked your jeans, using a single had to get rid of the button, and quickly making it disappear along with his shirt.

“Why are you wearing this?” his voice had gone lower, his throat dry. He looked perfect like this, lips glistening with your saliva, hair messy and a finger hooked on the side of your light pink laced thong.

You couldn’t help but roam your eyes down his torso. The many years of training gifted him with a toned and well-worked body. His veins popped out with ease, starting on his biceps and getting more and more noticeable on his hands, manly, big and rough hands. You bit down on your lip for a moment, fingers tracing down his abdomen, he hissed at your cold fingers against his heated skin.

“It’s just my underwear, Luke” you explain. “Don’t like it?”

Instead of answering, the hand that was holding onto your tiny peace of underwear started trailing up your torso, flat against your stomach and all the way up to your sternum. He felt the soft fabric of your bra and gave you a lopsided smile. “I’m just hoping that this is matching”

And he got rid of your tank top. And it was, in fact, a matching set.

Luke couldn’t help but think that maybe you planned it all. Your cute lacy matching set, the empty cabin, the game. His mind started to race, circuits inside his brain working like a machine.

He hovered over your body again, trailing kisses around your neck. You moaned at the first one since he immediately found your sweet spot on the right side of it, goosebumps all the way from your skull to the bottom of your spine. “Was this all-, some plan of yours?” he asked, rushed voice and breaths coming out in gasps as he started to suck on your neck.

You giggled. “No, it wasn’t. But I was hoping for it-, oh” you moaned, pulling on his hair when he released his suck on your skin with a bop, but you felt his fingers trail up your inner thigh, knuckles brushing against your heated core.

“How?” he asked, slow and painfully teasing movements against your panties, occasionally focusing too much on your clit, making you gasp a little louder as you gripped on his bicep.

“I might have read all the cards earlier” you begin. “And I might have asked Silena to get me some whip cream with your cabin. Just in case I got to-, to do it with you. That’s why I wanted you to sit next to me”

Luke chuckled lowly, beads from his necklace tickling the skin on the base of your neck. “So it was a plan”

“No” you shrug off, feeling his lips against your neck again, sucking greedily. “I just, I wanted it. But I wasn’t sure it was gonna happen. I didn’t know this was gonna happen either”

Luke enjoyed so much the way you couldn’t even speak without letting out a moan or two in every sentence. He felt the fabric of your underwater getting wetter by the second. He listened to you and replied with little “hm’s” as if it was a casual conversation; a conversation in which you had him in your bed, almost naked, as he left bruises down your neck and you had his fingers teasing your entrance, hips rolling against his touch.

“You’re evil” he says. But it’s not you who’s touching him so boldly. It’s not you who leaves him wanting more, it’s not you who teases. But him.

So you let your hand make its way to his cargo pants, slipping past them and his boxers, directly going for his cock. A strangled moan escaped his lips, followed by his chest heaving up and down, surprised by your sudden movement. It felt hot against your hand, hot and heavy and you knew, that it was the hardest Luke has even been.

Your cupped hid balls just for a moment before you started to slowly ascent, finally reaching for his tip. Your fingers wrapped around his length and your thumb started torturous circles around his sensitive head. He sucked in his stomach constantly as you touched him, momentarily forgetting about your pleasure, but you enjoyed this a lot more.

“You really don’t want me to be evil, Luke” you say. “I could be evil and just stand up and make you walk to your cabin, or not letting you fuck me. But I’m not, ‘cause I really wanna feel you inside me, Luke. I really want you”

He let out a long and shaky breath full of relief when you started to bob your hand up and down, and that encouraged him to pull your thong aside, fingers teasing at your entrance. Your own breath came shaky as well when a single finger entered you.

Luke shook his head. “You’re so fucking wet” he pants. He didn’t even touched you properly and you were soaking his finger, lips glistening in your own arousal and leaving a wet patch on your pink underwear. “I need to taste you, doll. Please”

Your chest shakes when you laugh. You think it’s so cute that even though he has a finger buried inside you, your hand wrapped around his cock as you pump him slowly, he still says please, he still asks.

“Do whatever you want to me, Luke. I’m yours tonight”

That’s all the needed to hear. You let go of your hot grip as he steadies himself on your bed. But his hand reaches for something beside him, next to his calve. He brings the whip cream out again. “Can I try something?” he asks.

And how could you say no to his face?

You hold your breath when he leaves little balls of whip cream down your abdomen. You figure it’s empty now, because Luke throws it carelessly to the ground, a soft thud against the carpet on the side of your bed.

He holds your waist steady when you squirm slightly, as if you were about to run away from him. He glances at you for a second, his eyes, dark and dominant, basically telling you to not move a single inch. The plain sight of him, looking at you like that, while his big hands are gripped on your sides, only made you wetter.

He lowers his head to the first blob, tongue agonizingly slow as he only takes the very tip. You whine, you want him to touch you more, you want him to kiss you everywhere, to lick you everywhere, but he only makes it seems like a torture when he stops his movements.

“The more you complain, the more time I’ll take” he said. You nodded to his words, closing your eyes as you tried your best to patiently wait for him to start again.

Soon, you felt his tongue against your skin. This was so much better than your cleavage, so much hotter. You felt his teeth teasing you, attempting to bite but then pulling again, licking the last bit of whip cream before moving down to the next blob. By the time he reached under your belly button, you let out little gasps as his hands massage your inner thighs, dangerously close to your cunt.

He’s not directly touching you, but you feel the arousal getting ticker, and how close Luke’s breath was now to you, so hot and dry. You felt like dripping, even though you weren’t, but you were surely more than ready for whatever it is that he wanted to do to you.

It feels like heaven to him when he finally gets to taste you. He pushed his own head deeper in between your thighs as he groans, as if what he’s getting is not enough. Your high pitched moans fill his ears when his tongue starts slow, little kitten licks over your clit, too soft to even consider them as licks, but it has you squirming and grinding your hips down onto his face, pulling at his curls and asking him for more.

Oh, your sweet pleas. Your moans. Luke feels like a mad man as he start to gently rut his hips against your mattress. And to this point, he’s completely gone in you, too drunk to even care about how loud you were being, how hard he was eating you out, how if someone even tried to walk past your cabin, they’ll hear.

But maybe this is just what he wanted too. He didn’t know how long has it been since he realized he wanted to fuck your brains out, but he always cared about everything too. Where could it be, in a place where no one could see you, how he’d have to cover your mouth to stop you from moaning and letting the others hear you, how he had to pull his dick out slowly and put it back in at the same speed because he knew that if he did it too hard, he’ll become a mess. But he didn’t give a fuck about those things now. He finally had you as he wanted you, why in the world would he care about all those stupid things now?

In fact, he encouraged you. “Don’t hide those pretty noises from me, baby” he panted. “Let me hear you”

He was drooling. He couldn’t help it. You tasted so deliciously sweet, and not because of the whip cream leftovers on his mouth. Yes, it did change things a bit but, he knew how to distinguish what was artificial and what was you. And he loved you. He loved how you couldn’t stop coating his lips with your juices, how your arousal mixed with his saliva and dripped down your ass and onto the sheets.

He never enjoyed a meal so much.

“Luke, wait” you say, pulling at his curls but he only leaned into you more, nose bumping against your clit as his tongue remains inside you. “Luke, I’m gonna cum, wait”

“Then cum” he lifted his head as fast as possible when he heard your words. “Do it, baby.” He noticed the way your thighs were shaking, soothing them down with the palm of his hands.

You shook your head. “No, no” you whine. “I wanna do it while you fuck me, Luke. Please? It’ll feel so good, please”

Luke was starstruck. Oh, how the tables have turned. And how he turned you around too.

You still laid in bed, faced down onto the mattress. Luke had placed a pillow under your hips, ass in the air as he placed himself over you, one knee on each side of your legs. The shaking on your legs had stopped, but Luke noticed how excited you were, how even though you were so fucked up, how a white and sticky mess covered your inner thighs and how your whole body was glistening with sweat, you still managed to crack a smile to yourself as you bit your thumb.

You were driving him crazy. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to look at another’s girl’s face after you. You had him wrapped around your finger and you knew it, and you were just so mean about it, patiently waiting for him to fuck you as he pumps himself a few times, cock harder than it’ll ever be again and his tip leaking with precum.

He placed himself in your entrance, slowly rubbing it up and down your folds, and pushing himself into you at an agonizing pace. His tip was quickly covered in you, glistening with a mix of his saliva and your juices. He tried his best to not let any drop go to waste, getting absorbed by your sheets.

“You wanted my cock, didn’t you, doll?” he asks, pushing himself into you faster than you expected, a loud gasp scraping from your throat. “Then take it”

Your hands instantly reached for the sheets on your sides due to his fast pace, that took the air out of your lungs and started a racing heartbeat inside you, your knuckles quickly turning white as your nails digging into them, but Luke took them both, pushing your wrists together behind your back and holding them there. He used your hands to push himself deeper every time, rock harder, faster.

You were decent enough to muffle your moans in your sheets, but Luke could still hear them mixing with his owns; low grunts, loud gasps and hitched breaths. He had to close his eyes many times to prevent himself from cumming, because what a sight did he have under him.

Your cunt, shiny and coated with a white creamy consistent was sucking him in even when he pulled out. You were so greedy for him. Your walls tightened around him and wanted him to stay there, still, but the rocking of his hips and the gushing sounds of your pussy as he pounded into you was too good to let it pass.

He loved the sound. He loved how you were much wetter inside, making himself feel as if he was pounding into the tiniest and warmest hole ever, creaming his cock and not wanting for him to ever pull out and leave.

He suddenly lowered his body to yours, one hand letting go off his grip to pull your hair aside. “You say you’re mine tonight” he repeated your words in your ear. Your back arched unconsciously, ass slamming back into his cock. “Nah, baby. You’re mine forever”

He let go of your hands, only to place one hand on your throat, pulling you slightly back to him, his fingers squeezing on your sides. Your moans quickly became quite as you tried your best to breathe, but you loved it so much you didn’t even attempt to remove his hand from you.

“You’re all mine, yn” he panted. “Mine. This body,” he gripped on your waist with his free hand, “this pussy, those lips” a ghost of his thumb brushed your bottom lip, pulling down on it. “Mine. Mine. Mine”

He slammed his hips against you repeatedly. You didn’t know when exactly, but you came, and Luke felt it too when the consistent that ringed around the base of his cock became more and more noticeable. And it didn’t take him long to do the same.

He collapsed over your body as you finally gasped for air. You coughed slightly, tears forming on the corner of your eyes but quickly drying out.

“I’m sorry” he said, sliding off you and laying next to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah-,” you laugh “Yeah, I’m-, wow”

That made him laugh. His arm wrapped around your waist as he placed a tender kiss on your cheek. His hands then started to run down your hair, all the way down to your lower back. You close your eyes at the feeling, only momentarily opening them to see something red in between your clothes, shining carelessly to the moonlight from your window.

You reach down to grab the empty can. “We should get another one of these” you say.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan smut #pjo series #pjo #pjo smut #luke castellan x you #luke x reader #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #pjo x you #luke castellan x female reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan imagines #aphrodite

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prythianpages · 1 month

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Be Safe | Azriel x Reader

summary: you are on your way to Day Court when Azriel stops you. After the two of you fall victim to Cassian's and Mor's teasing, Azriel realizes why he can't just let you go.

warnings: fluff and a hint of suggestiveness at the beginning

note: I saw this tiktok and decided to write it into a little scenario because I loved it so much.

“Oh, you’re going to love the Day Court,” Mor purrs with a grin. “And it’s High Lord. Helion…let’s just say his pegasus isn’t the only thing you’ll want to ri–”

“Oookay.” Cassian chimes in with a chuckle, placing his hand over Mor’s mouth to keep her from finishing her sentence. “Settle down, Mor. We don’t want her to love it too much!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back,” you respond and then laugh as Mor bites Cassian’s hand. "Besides, Rhys will be there and he’s, you know, my boss. This trip is purely professional.”

The three of you stand in the foyer of the town house, Cassian cradling his hand to his chest with a pointed look at Mor, who merely rolls her eyes. You were heading for Day Court, where Rhysand already waited for you. Cassian and Mor had stopped you, insisting on wishing you well before leaving, even though your mission was amicable. The only danger you could possibly encounter on your trip, it seems, would be Helion’s chambers. A welcomed danger, if Mor’s insinuations were to hold truth.

“I should go now. I told Rhys I would be there within the next half hour almost an hour ago.”

As you gaze at your friends, a subtle ache tugs at your heartstrings, a silent yearning for another’s presence. Though you know he's currently engaged in a mission, you can't help but wish he were here beside you too.

You turn away from your friends, preparing to winnow to the Day Court. It's as though the Cauldron itself heard your unspoken longing. Just as you're about to step forward, a hand emerges from the depths of the shadows, halting you in your tracks with a gentle yet firm touch.

You turn back around, watching as the darkness seems to part for him, revealing those warm hazel eyes that could pierce through the darkest of nights. “Azriel,” you greet in pleasant surprise.

His eyes lock onto yours and you suddenly find it hard to breathe. “Be safe,” he murmurs, his voice deep yet sweet like honey. The way he looks at you, full of concern and something else you can’t quite discern at the moment, sends a delightful warmth seeping into your heart.

Azriel’s gaze flickers down toward your intertwined hands and you notice the subtle tension that comes from his scarred hands before he abruptly lets yours go. It’s a moment of vulnerability that makes your chest ache. You want to reach out for his hands again but he comes to stand by your side instead.

His arm brushes against yours. The dark tendrils dancing around his shoulders revel in your proximity, slithering down his arm and coiling around you in a cool embrace. You welcome his shadows, smiling softly when you feel them tug you closer to their master, deliberately enchanting you with the scent of cedar and night chilled mist. It’s as if they don’t want you to leave his side.

“I will,” you finally respond, your voice a mere whisper as you look up at him

Azriel’s gaze softens. The tension between you dissipates into something lighter, something magical. The world around seems to fade into darkness, leaving only the two of you suspended in a moment that feels both infinite and fleeting. No words are spoken yet so much is said.

Meanwhile, Cassian and Mor exchange a knowing look of their own. The mutual crushing between you and Azriel has been evident to everyone for years. Well, everyone, except for you and Azriel. Mor and Cassian will give you grace, as Azriel can be unreadable at times. But Azriel? The spymaster of the Night Court? How he cannot see your unmistakable crush on him is beyond them.

“Be safe,” Cassian says, mocking Azriel’s tone.There’s a mischievous gleam in his hazel orbs as he gazes down at Mor, pouting his lips in an exaggerated manner.

Mor’s eyes light up, mirroring Cassian’s mischief. She leans in toward Cassian’s shoulder–the very same way you’re doing with Azriel. Except, she wraps her arms around Cassian’s larger one, resting her head on his chest. “I’ll be so safe,” she cooes, voice like velvet.

Azriel feels the heat rising to his neck. He turns to Cassian and Mor, gaze darkening with an icy glare. “Stop,” he warns but it only encourages the two further.

They continue to hug each other and make kissing sounds. A blush creeps up your cheeks and you seek solace in Azriel’s arm, burying your face against it. Azriel’s wing instinctively curls around your form in a protective manner. Were you being that obvious? Your answer is immediately given as your hands gravitate towards each other once more.

“Stop it! Or I’m going to kill you!”

Cassian pulls Mor even closer. His brows furrow, softening his expression as he directs his pout toward Azriel. “But how would that keep us safe?”

None of you will be safe if you keep delaying y/n. Helion does not like to be kept waiting, echoes an all too familiar voice–Rhys’s– through your minds. He leaves your mind as quickly as he entered it, lingering only in Azriel’s long enough to add: Let her go.

Azriel blinks, not realizing that throughout the teasing, his fingers had intertwined with yours. He turns his attention back to you, reluctantly releasing your hand. A sheepish expression takes over his features as he brings the hand that had been holding yours to rub the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t help but worry when you’re not home,” Azriel admits quietly.

Mor and Cassian both let out a sound that Azriel is quick to stifle with his shadows.

“It’s only for a week,” you assure him as you open the door and step outside. You feel a flicker of anticipation tingling in your veins as you prepare to winnow. You turn back to face Azriel and your friends one more time.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

But I miss you already, Azriel thinks as he feels a strange stirring awakening deep in his chest. His shadows buzz around him in excitement.

“Bye, y/n. Have fun but not too much fun!” Cassian calls out to you in mock warning over Azriel’s right shoulder.

Mor peeks out from Azriel’s left shoulder and winks at you. “But if you do find yourself having too much fun, call for me, okay?”

“Sure,” you agree and Azriel fails to notice the reciprocated teasing in your tone.

He’s too busy glancing between Cassian and Mor, hazel eyes wary. His shadows whisper to him, confirming the suggestiveness of their words. Uneasiness settles into his stomach, causing his entire body to tense up.

He’s familiar with the flirtatious nature of the High Lord of the Day Court. Too familiar that he can already dreadfully anticipate the sweet words Helion will shower you with. His shadows stir, excitement morphing into panic. What if you fall victim to Helion’s charm?

Suddenly, he hates the idea of you going to Day.

As your gazes meet once more, an unseen force seems to settle into place. His eyes widen in realization, his mouth parting to utter your name, but it’s too late. You’re already winnowing away and he lurches forward, after you, pulled by the golden threads that have wildly unfurled within his chest.

Mate. You're his mate.

note: I did not know how to end this so please don't come for me for ending it like this lol. Just know that Az is winnowing away to join you in Day Court right after. I hope you enjoyed! <3

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #azriel imagine #acotar fanfic #azriel x y/n #acotar x y/n #acotar x you #azriel fluff #acotar fluff

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nova-amor · 2 months

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tags. +18 mdni, female reader. cunnilingus, overstimulation, biting, mild choking, coercing. pet name: ‘bird’. wc; 670.

“Simon—” His name slipped from your lips in the form of a whisper, the syllables drawn out in a long breath. Your heart stammered in your chest as his tongue ceased its ravenous assault, your half-lidded eyes peering down at the man who had found his home burrowed between your legs. Your thighs shook as the soft, wet muscle of his tongue licked a fat stripe up your sex, the tip dragging up the hood of your sensitive clit and exposing it to his warm breath.

Your thighs trembled from the sensation, your head lolling to the side as he flickered the pointed tip of his tongue side-to-side against your little nub. His honey-brown eyes remained on you. Amusement and desire fueled the intensity of his gaze, the twitch of a smirk tugging at the corner of his wet lips.

With a deep rumble, he gave you a moment to make your plea, the murmur of a “Hm? What is it, bird?” leaving his lips.

“Si— I don’t think,” Simon’s mouth inched away from your sopping cunt, his tongue darting out to lick at the remnants of your spent lingering on his lips. His chin dripped with saliva and creamy cum, the short prickles of his five o’clock shadow glistening under the amber glow of the nearby nightstand lamp. “I don’t think I can handle anymore— I think,” Your sentence came to a sudden halt, the sharpness of your breath stinging your lungs as you inhaled.

Simon’s sharp canines nipped at the delicate skin of your inner thigh, his thick fingers curling around the tightening muscles to keep you in place. Your hips bucked at the sensation of his tongue darting out to flick against your skin, his teeth shortly returning to sink deeper into the flesh. A whimper left your lips as he continued the cycle, your brain short-circuiting like an old processing computer.

“Stop,” Simon ordered, his tone so casual, it was as if he had gotten used to torturing you. Which he had. He had made residence between your legs an hour ago, feasting on the plump flesh of your folds and nibbling on your clit as if it were his last meal.

“What?” You questioned as he lavished attention on the sensitive skin. One of his hands trailed up the length of your body, ghosting over the terrain of your hips and stomach before settling on your breast. He sank his canines further into you, ripping a pained hiss from between your teeth while sweet slick dripped from your core.

His calloused fingers kneaded at the soft flesh, squeezing and pinching at your hardened nipple, eliciting a cry of pleasure from your drying lips. “Stop thinking.” Simon peppered a few kisses up your thigh, laying a fat peck upon your clit before drawing the bud into his mouth. He released it with a wet ‘pop’; “Stop using that pretty little brain of yours and let me enjoy my meal. I’m starving.” He relayed, speaking as if he hadn’t ripped orgasm after orgasm from you.

“Simon, please…”

“One more,” Simon cut you off before you could continue, his desire to consume you making him impatient. He gave your nipple another sharp pinch before moving up to curl his fingers around your neck, keeping your head in place to watch him as he ate you out. “Gimmie one more, and then I’ll stop. I promise.” He lied as his thumb rubbed soothing stripes up and down the side of your throat.

Your eyes grew hazy as his tongue flicked at your clit, the tip of it tracing your puffy slit. He delved deeper into your heat, relishing in its sweetened musk as the taste of your arousal flooded his mouth. You nearly cried his name in the form of a high-pitched whine as he plunged his tongue deeper into you, driving it further into you with frantic pumps.

“Just one more,” He growled the promise. “I know you can do it. You’ve always been such a good girl for me.”

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astraystayyh · 2 months

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The snow falls, we fall apart.

summary: when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.

genre: producer student!hyunjin x reader. roommates!au. friends to lovers. acute descriptions of heartbreak and general sadness. slow burn. hurt/comfort. healing and hopeless romantic hyune. very inspired by long for you so lots of pining and yearning. (wc: 13k)

warnings: mentions of alcohol. it is implied that reader was in an a very toxic relationship but no details are shared.

a.n: happy birthday to my hyunjin, my muse, my light. thank you for being so full of love that it made me love love again in return. this is i think my most personal piece, and i hope it reminds those who need it that love should be soft and kind, that it shouldn’t hurt, that it should heal not break. i love you guys and i love you my xi, writing this collab with you has been a true honor <3 also!! please listen to long for you while reading :,)

winter falls masterlist.

You’ve only ever felt utter despair twice in your life.

First, when you were seven years old, playing hide and seek with your cousins at your grandma’s house. It was a warm summer afternoon, the air sweetened by pastries you devoured hours ago. You decided to hide in a wooden cabinet up in the attic, only to end up stuck there. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the oxygen seeping away from the cracks underneath the door, leaving you deprived of air, of life.

Second, at twelve, when you've come to discover sorrow's new facet, clad in grief's heavy cloak. Your parents adopted a hamster for your birthday, but they did not know he had a terminal disease. You were distraught, to say the least, when you awoke to its still form, death claiming a frail heart unaware of its imminent fate.

And now, third, many many moons later, you are knocking on Hyunjin’s door a few minutes after midnight. It is cold out, tears tracing rivulets on your cheeks, your fingers tinted pink from roaming outside in the harsh winds, your heart much heavier than when you were a child. More grief-stricken, at your own hands, this time.

A disheveled Hyunjin opens the door, his blonde ash hair tousled and sticking upwards, a clear indication of the many times he had run his hands through it in fits of frustration. His gray hoodie zipped up hastily, revealing the silver cross necklace he was wearing, nestling perfectly against his honeyed skin.

You've always had an aversion to seeking comfort, saw it as revealing your deepest vulnerabilities to a world that isn't always kind. It was easier, much simpler to do so when you were a clueless child— when you sank in your cousin Lia's hold as she attempted to steady your breathing, when your mother cradled you in her lap after Pinky died.

It is much harder now, much more embarrassing because Hyunjin has never seen you this sad, never glimpsed your shadows that now swarm his doorstep, unannounced.

“What's wrong?” he quickly asks, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds. He wouldn’t find any. All your injuries stem from within— blood doesn’t have to be spilled for your heart to weep.

You had rehearsed a lie as you walked up to his doorstep. You would say that your car broke down near his place and ask if you could stay over for the night. He would insist he could drive you to your place and you’d refuse, saying that it was too late and you did not wish to bother him. You’d sleep on the couch and slip away in the early hours of the morning.

Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that dismantles the fortress you've hidden in, melts the lie in your throat, morphing it into a steel lump coiling in your throat. He looks concerned when all you’ve had directed towards you recently was anger. And you missed someone looking at you in care, not reproach.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You admit, your voice shattered, fragments of your vocal cords scattered out in the wind like a broken mosaic, the sound of it scraping against your ears.

Blow one hurt. It felt like your body turned against you as it deprived you of oxygen. The sobs that escaped you once you perceived the light pained you, perhaps more than being confined in the darkness.

Blow two was even worse, it was your first time experiencing grief. It was too hard of a concept for your innocent heart to grasp, too complicated for you to find solace in anything as adults do.

You promised yourself that you’d reserve blow three for monumental agonies— big pains and big sorrows only. That’s how you managed to keep all your tears at bay for most of your life. Would they be worth losing your third sob for? No, you've always found the answer to be.

And in all the twisted scenarios you’ve conjured up in your mind, deaths and illnesses and the haunting tale of failure, you did not imagine that it would happen on Hwang Hyunjin’s doorstep. That you’d burst into sobs at the compassionate look in his gaze, and the sad smile he sent your way. As if he knew, as everyone did around you. That you had handed a knife to a serial killer and it was only a matter of time before he stabbed you in the heart.

Two weeks ago.

“I’m trying to understand you but you aren’t helping me,” Seungmin is frustrated as he paces relentlessly before you from left to right like a swinging pendulum. You sit on the couch, beholding only his shoes, avoiding his gaze that would reflect the truth you dare not confront.

“He’s sucking the life out of you, can’t you see that?”

You can, out of everyone that surrounds you, you can see it the most. You feel as if you are carrying a skin that isn’t your own, weighed down by a relationship that has taken everything from you. But admitting it is admitting that you were wrong, in trusting him, in loving him. You couldn’t bear it.

“We are fine!” you shout back, the defiance in your voice surprises even you. This is a familiar script with Seungmin, a recurring conversation spurred by your puffy eyes and diminishing appetite. He tells you, begs you to leave, but where could you go? How could you leave a home where you've shed all your treasured belongings at the door— your skin, your bones, your very self.

What place would welcome you now that you're stripped bare of your soul?

“When was the last time he made you smile, huh? All he does is hurt you, and you...” he chuckles incredulously, running his hand through his hair. “You are letting him.”

Deny, deny, deny.

“This isn’t true. He loves me,” the words taste foreign in your mouth like rusty metal dragging across your lips. A small voice whispers that love shouldn't feel like this, but you quiet it down.

“Are you hearing yourself? Yn, I…” he kneels before you, his hands resting comfortingly on your knees. This is Seungmin, your best friend of five years. You know he has your best interests at heart, you are even more sure of it when his voice softens, shakes slightly when he utters your name. “Yn, please. I’m trying to help you. Please.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you push away his hands, standing up. “I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it.”

You quickly leave Seungmin’s dorm, your heart heavier than when you entered it, foolishly hoping that he'd ignore your distressed state after yet another fight with your boyfriend. But Seungmin doesn't understand, no one around you does— you’ve gambled your heart, and you cannot stop drawing the cards, even in the face of losing strikes.

❁ ❁ ❁

Hyunjin offers you a cup of tea with a gentle smile and you grab the steaming drink from his hands. The smell of chamomile wraps around your senses, and your brain fizzles out for a second before the soothing aroma. But it is a fleeting respite, the tempest of your thoughts crashes back onto you with an unsettling force, causing you to almost drop the drink as your hands shake. You place it down the table without taking a sip.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” you apologize, wincing at the intrusion, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“I always sleep late. Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, but you know it isn’t a genuine grin, because his eyes betray an unsubdued concern, refusing to morph into their usual moon crescents.

You’ve always thought that Hyunjin wears his emotions openly— when he laughed, he did so loudly, his boisterous giggles traveling around Seungmin’s dorm. When he hurt himself, everyone in the vicinity would know so from his loud yelps. And when something worried him, he would bite his lip, toying with the plush flesh to ease his nerves.

As he is doing now. Looking at you.

“We broke up,” you quickly say, and your words hang over you like a gloomy cloud. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you want me to fight him? I’ll bring changbin too,” he suggests a serious tone underlying his playful offer, and it manages to tear a reluctant giggle out of you.

“Changbin doesn’t know me well enough to fight for me,” you counteract and he shakes his head. “He’ll fight for me, I'm his princess.”

“Are you now?” The giggle escapes your mouth less forcefully, and the smile that graces Hyunjin’s face is a genuine one.

“I am. My proposal stands,” he extends his hand and you wrap your fingers around his palm. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” you smile but he frowns, flipping your hand around in his hold.

“You are freezing,” he whispers, using his other palm to rub warmth into yours.

“It’s fine,” you lie, slipping your hand out of his grasp, not feeling deserving of his kindness.

Wordlessly, Hyunjin stands, walking into what you assume is his bedroom. You only know of his place because you dropped off Seungmin here some time ago. You are too exhausted to even drink in the interior.

“Here,” he returns, handing you a navy hoodie of his and black joggers. “This will keep you warm at night.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again. “Can you please not tell Seungmin, I... I can't face him right now.”

“Of course. I’ll be awake still if you do need something.”

Hyunjin’s clothing is warm, although peeling away your own garments felt like shedding layers of your skin, as if the fabric melted into your very flesh, just like memories from the day did. You have never felt this worthless before, discarded like a forgotten leaf on the roadside, one he stepped on for his own enjoyment, leaving you crushed in his wake, unable to fly away again.

Hyunjin’s rose perfume wraps around you, and you find relief in sleeping somewhere where your, his, scent was no longer around. You foolishly hope that if you close your eyes hard enough, you’ll manage to convince yourself that you’re someone else, tonight. Someone who isn’t tethered to the heartache, someone who can slip away from the clutches of a love that hurts more than hate could ever manage to do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Heartbreak isn’t beautiful, no matter how eloquently you try to dress it in the syllables of poetry, no words can soften the burn in your lungs, the searing ache that courses through your very core, reminding you that deep within, down to the fundamentals of your being and the most basic alchemy that ties your atoms together— you are unlovable. Whether you cut your hair or allow it to grow, change your heart, or leave it as it has always been, you will remain so.

You don’t remember much of the past week, blurry fragments here and there that float in your mind like a distorted water reflection. There is little room for memories when you are busy trying to remember how to breathe— one inhale in, one exhale out. The simple concept seems harder when there are unkind hands permanently lodged into your heart, squeezing it tight.

What you do remember is telling Seungmin through text the next day, because you couldn’t bear the way his eyes would soften if you spoke to him in person. No signs of surprise cast on his figure, because he knew that it was long coming, a train with one final inevitable destination— you in shambles, him okay.

You remember Seungmin cradling you in his arms when he came to see you, and you trying desperately to keep the tears at bay— too focused on pinching your arm to let Seungmin’s warmth radiate through your being, Hyunjin lingering uncomfortably by the entrance of his living room.

You remember begging Seungmin to grab your belongings from the apartment you shared with your ex because you were unable to face him, him, and everything that your old place spelled out for you. Stand in the ruins of what you once thought would be your permanent home.

And now, you watch as Seungmin and Hyunjin bring suitcases full of your stuff into the latter’s place. And you feel like an outsider in your own body, standing at the corner of the room gazing at utter destruction, unable to stop it, unable to mend it. Seungmin quickly reassures you that you could crash in his and Minho’s place until you find a new one to live in, already taking out his laptop to search for new apartments for you.

But you did not care for it, your eyes zeroed in on the satin shirt peeking out of your suitcase. The one he bought you on your first month anniversary. Back when love felt like a gentle feather running down your spine, and not a dull knife slicing away at your skin.

“This place's expensive too,” Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple warily. Your logical best friend could not fix your heartbreak but he took it to heart to alleviate your other troubles. You would thank him for it, later, when your tongue finds enough will to move.

“What if you move in with me?” Hyunjin suddenly says and his words filtrate through the fog in your mind easily, as if he rehearsed them enough times so they’d roll out smoothly out of his mouth. “I mean, Felix is away for the next year since he went back to Australia. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway.” He shrugs and Seungmin turns to look at you, his eyes convey the question his mouth doesn’t articulate— is it okay with you?

“I don’t…” your voice is croaked, so you clear your throat. “I don’t want you to do things out of pity.”

“I’m not. If I was, I would've told you to move in with me for free. I still need you to pay rent,” he raises his eyebrows, a playful tease and you smile in relief, nodding, “Okay, I will. thank you.”

Heartbreak is ugly and all-encompassing, weaving through the roots of your heart and infecting each organ with its insidious touch. It renders you immobile, incapable of performing the simplest tasks, burdened by a weight unseen by the world. But you try your best, your very best to contain it.

You smile at the cashier as she hands back your money only to wonder if her soft, well-manicured hands would too crush a soul without remorse. You go to all your classes without fail but your mind is elsewhere, contemplating why the sun filtering through the windows no longer warms your skin. Can nerve endings perish when subjected to too much pain? What's left of life when you can no longer feel the caress of the sun?

You watch a movie at Seungmin's dorm but your mind is elsewhere, fleeting to this morning and how you refused to stay in the shower for more than three minutes because your thoughts might become haunting ghosts tempting you to follow them. You brush your hair and spray your perfume, only because you have to, because you live with Hyunjin and you wouldn’t want your sadness to taint him too. You wonder how long you’ll have to bear it. You wonder if it’ll ever leave you or if the veins in your heart have molded themselves after the pain and they wouldn’t know how to accept happiness anymore.

You greet Hyunjin as he walks past you, shaking your head when he asks you if you want to eat dinner with him, quickly retracting back into your room. You have ten unread messages and a pile of growing laundry you need to do, but all you can muster is to gaze at the empty walls, mirroring the void within you. Your mom told you to call her again and you don’t know how you’ll speak to her without bursting into a sob, how you’ll tell her that all it took was one person to break you. Or maybe it was two people, your hands and his tearing apart your flesh and bones. Maybe that’s the worst part about it. So you don’t call her.

And you only ever emerge from your room when you need to, just like now because your water bottle is finished and you need to refill it. You go to open the kitchen door when you hear Hyunjin’s muted shatter, Felix’s distinctive deep voice coming out of the phone speaker.

“Next you add the melted butter and stir it,” Felix instructs, the sounds of pots and utensils clinking in the background. You fidget slightly, mustering the strength to paint a fake smile on your lips.

“What next?”

“Sift the dry ingredients then add them to your wet mixture,” Felix explains, met with a few seconds of silence. You can almost visualize Hyunjin's perplexed expression, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“Explain it to me like I’m five years old,” he requests, prompting a small smile to etch itself onto your face.

“How are you surviving without me?”

“I’m not please come home,” Hyunjin sounds horrified as Felix’s rich chuckles fill the air. “Why do you suddenly want to make brownies anyway?” he then asks.

You go to open the door when Hyunjin’s response catches you off guard.

“They’re for Yn.”

Hyunjin's words resonate in the air, causing a hitch in your throat and Felix’s teasing whistles simultaneously, but Hyunjin is quick to stop him. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. They’re just a bit down and I remember them loving your brownies. So…”

It takes you a fleeting moment to dig the memory out of your mind, a year ago, right before your ex came to pick you up from Seungmin’s dorm. You had a bite of Felix’s brownies, a surprised gasp escaping your lips at its delicious taste, back when food had taste and happiness came easily to you. It was an insignificant memory, you did not imagine Hyunjin, out of everyone, would remember it.

But he did, and he’s now pacing before your closed door, contemplating how he’ll convince you to finally eat something with him. He throws a thumbs-up in the air for no one but himself, inhaling deeply before knocking on your door.

“Hey,” he greets with a hopeful smile, his gaze meeting your tired form. He hesitates for a second, clearing his throat. “Brownies?” You remain unmoving and he falters, “Hm? Please?”

“Sure,” you nod and a wave of relief floods through Hyunjin as you step out of your room. His joy is short-lived when he takes the brownies out of the oven, only to find them thoroughly burnt.

His mouth hangs agape, and he walks back shamefully to the oven, lowering its door only to scream inside of it.

“This will be more therapeutic,” you say, pointing nonchalantly to the fridge and he agrees, opening its doors and yelling once again in the much larger space.

Your melodic laughter fills the kitchen, Hyunjin’s embarrassment is suddenly a forgotten memory.

“I’m craving kimbap. Should we get it instead?” you propose, a touch shyly and he quickly agrees, afraid you’d change your mind and walk back to your room where he can no longer ensure you are okay.

Hyunjin absentmindedly dances along to the music blasting through the convenience store when a girl sidles up to his side, a saccharine grin on her lips as she looks up at him, “hi,” she greets and his tentative smile mirrors hers. “Hey.”

“Are you single?” she asks, her gaze briefly fleeting to the window. “I think you are really cute.”

“I’m…” he glances at you but you're suddenly engrossed in the ingredients of the tuna kimbap you are holding, pretending not to listen. “I am but I’m not interested, thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” she places a hand on his arm and he physically recoils. “Give me your insta and we could talk.”

“No,” he repeats, grabbing her hand to remove it when a loud voice startles him. “Baby, what’s taking you so— What are you doing?” Hyunjin watches in horror as the girl’s eyes grow wide, before she scrambles to the man’s side, feigning fear.

“He kept hitting on me when I said I had a boyfriend, baby.”

“What?” both you and Hyunjin gasped in comical unison. He would find it amusing if not for the escalating anger radiating from the man, who looks like he spends all his days in the gym. Hyunjin suddenly regrets not working out with Changbin.

The man strides towards Hyunjin. “Do you want to die?”

“No? there’s a misunderstanding,” he replies, swiftly standing before you and shielding you with his arm. “Your… baby,” he wiggles his finger in front of the man's face, “she was the one hitting on me!”

The man scoffs loudly, his face growing redder from the anger seething in him. “So you hit on my girlfriend and then accuse her of cheating?” His fist rises threateningly, prompting Hyunjin to step back, accidentally bumping into your chest.

“Wait, wait, wait! Let’s go talk outside, man to man,” Hyunjin pauses, his voice taking on a taunting edge, “unless you're too scared?” he smirks as he feels you pull at his shirt, whispering an incredulous- “What are you doing?” He shakes his head, grabbing your hand and leading you outside, throwing a sly wink at the man behind you now.

“Are you seriously going to fight him?” you ask, your gaze shifting towards the deranged couple who are about to step out of the grocery store. “No, of course not. I'm a lover, not a fighter.”

“You said you'd fight my ex,” you point out and his eyes soften surprisingly.

“You are an exception.” He looks back at the man, who's now walking towards you both. “But anyways, do you know how to run?” he asks and you frown, “who doesn’t know how to—” you pause as realization dawns on you. “No," you whisper furiously.

“Yes.”

“No,” you shake your head, horrified and he nods, eyes apologetic.

“Yes.” His fingers entwine with yours, he squeezes your hand once before he takes off running.

“Hwang fucking Hyunjin!” you shout and he looks back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m sorry Yn my face is too pretty to be beaten up.”

“He’s following us!” you yell, looking back horrified as the, even angrier, man runs after you.

“Well, run faster!”

“I’m wearing fucking slippers!” you curse and he giggles, tipping his head back, the wind slamming into you both, his hand never letting go of your own.

“Oh my god why is he still running!” you groan and Hyunjin picks up speed, moving you even closer to his sprinting figure

“I know, is it ever that serious?” he yells above his shoulder and you dig your nails into his palm.

“Shut up, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so gorgeous.”

“So, you think I’m pretty too?” Hyunjin grins proudly and an incredulous laugh escapes your lips.

“Really? Is this what you’re getting out of this situation?”

“Silver linings, Yn, silver linings,” he shouts as you round a small alley, finally stopping to catch your breath. You both fall to the ground, heavy breaths escaping your chests.

“Holy shit, I’m not athletic at all,” he heaves, his eyes meeting yours. He expects to find anger lingering in your gaze but all he can grasp is your amused smile before you collapse into a fit of laughter, clapping loudly and clutching your stomach with your hand.

“Oh my god, I’m crying,” you laugh harder, wiping away at the tears falling from your eyes. Hyunjin’s weariness disappears in the blink of an eye— he did not realize how much he missed your smile until he glimpsed it again. And it is beautiful. Happiness looks beautiful on you.

“Idiot,” you hit his shoulder playfully, and his response is delayed for a few seconds, the warmth from your smile rendering him immobile.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, pulling you up. “Here, I’ll carry you home,” he squats slightly before you. “How impolite of me. How dare I make your majesty run.”

You shake your head, amused, before climbing atop his back, his warm palms holding your thighs securely. “Only because the slippers hurt my feet.”

You walk in silence for a while, your arms wound up around Hyunjin’s neck, the ghost of a smile still lingering on both your faces.

“They said it will snow tomorrow,” Hyunjin speaks suddenly and you stay silent for so long he starts to wonder if you even heard him.

“Mm? That’s nice,” your tone is melancholic, and he pauses at the peculiar sadness in it— as though you were trying to act nonchalant about something that has once meant the world to you.

“Don’t you like the snow?” he asks and your hold on his neck falters.

“I loved it. Loved ice skating and building snowmen.” Your voice is light and airy, like Hyunjin’s favorite mint chocolate ice cream. “But now it reminds me of bad times, bad memories.”

“I understand.”

Hyunjin knows what it feels like to relinquish parts of yourself you never wished to part from. For someone to grab your happiest places and to cast a gloomy filter atop them. Sometimes it is the loss of a season that hurts more than the departure of a person.

And Hyunjin loves winter.

He’ll do everything so that you’ll come to love it again too.

❁ ❁ ❁

Is it a nightmare if the person in it is one you once loved, looked forward to beholding with your gaze, hoping they’d never slip out of your reach? You don’t know, but you are growing tired of having the same dreams every night. Of waking up with an exhaustion that goes beyond your restless sleep but pleads from your soul to rest after almost a year of torment.

You sigh wearily, rubbing a hand through your face before walking to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. You find Hyunjin there, eating a cupcake while standing shirtless, scrolling through his phone. You blink at the sight.

“Hey,” you clear your throat and he startles, dropping the cupcake on the ground. He goes to pick it up only to bang his head on the table, a loud yelp escaping his lips. You barely contain your giggles as you walk to his side, rubbing your palm soothingly on his head. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you.”

“At least pretend you are sorry,” he mumbles, pointing to your amused smile and you chuckle, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

“What are you doing up now?” he asks as he grabs some napkins to clean up the pink frosting smeared across the floor.

You hesitate for a few seconds before whispering, “Just nightmares. And you?” you quickly add, not keen on pushing the subject any further.

“I'm working on a song,” he explains, as his gaze lingers on your sunken eyes, weighed down by dark circles from too many sleepless nights.

“And the cupcake?”

“Some people need caffeine to function. I need flour.”

“I literally see you drink three americanos per day.”

“Okay well maybe I need both,” he admits sheepishly and you grin, drumming your fingers along the countertop.

“Can I sit with you while you work?” you ask quickly, before the words linger enough in your mouth that you no longer wish to spit them out.

The smile that Hyunjin sends you is kind, pushing the shadows of your nightmares just slightly out of reach.

“Of course, yeah you can. Don’t even need to ask.”

Hyunjin walks first into his bedroom, quickly slipping on a hoodie while you take in the interior. It is a quite simple room— a large bed with gray covers, and a desk filled with what you assume to be his producing equipment sits adjacent. But what catches your attention is the dried rose hung delicately on the wall, and the array of paintings surrounding it. You edge closer to it, drawn to the well-crafted paintings— a sun-drenched beach, a couple lost in an embrace so intimate their forms can no longer be separated, and an elderly pair riding a motorcycle, their love radiating vibrantly as if enclosed in eternal youth.

“You paint?” you ask, turning around to find Hyunjin watching you. He steps closer, enveloping you once more in the fragrance of his rose perfume.

“In my free time.”

“You are amazing, Hyunjin,” you compliment sincerely, your gaze fixed on that imagery of the old couple, one that most likely grew together. It tugs at your heartstrings, stirs a painful longing within you, a memory of a time when you too believed you’d find such boundless love.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, before brushing his fingertips gently against your forearm, for a fleeting second. “Are you okay?” he asks, a tenderness you’ve been aching for latched into his question. Your eyes refuse to peel away from the paintings and the love spilling from each paint brush stroke, a love that refuses to rest on your being as if you were harboring an armor that repels it.

“No,” you reply sincerely, turning to face him. “It’s really hard,” you say with a smile, hoping that the mechanical display of happiness would keep your tears at bay, tricking your brain into believing you're not as sad as you feel.

It fails to do so, and the tears well in your eyes like a gathering storm. Frustration twists your features as you shut your eyes, tilting your head upward in a desperate attempt to contain the flood. It pauses as Hyunjin cradles the back of your head, drawing you close to the warmth of his neck. His palm glides soothingly along your spine, before patting your back ever so gently.

Your back stiffens, hands curling into tight fists, breath catching in your throat. You've grown accustomed to pushing away comfort, putting up tall barriers to shield yourself. But tonight, Hyunjin seems to break through your defenses.

Tonight, you soften, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, head nestling deeper against his tender skin.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers and another sob wracks through you, but he only holds you tighter. “It’ll get better soon.”

“I loved him,” you hiccup, your voice breaks, “a lot.”

“I know, that’s why it hurts.” His voice is gentle, and yet his hold on you feels secure as if you could stumble and fall, and he would be there to catch you

“I want it to stop hurting.”

“It will, with time.”

Your next words are tinged with a childlike vulnerability, reminiscent of blow one, then two. But you do not care for it, in that instant, you crave the reassurance, you need someone to plant a seed of hope in your soul because your hands are too frail to dig for it.

“Do you promise me?”

His response doesn’t come hastily, carelessly thrown into the air like idle chatters. He takes his time, considering it with the gravity of an oath.

“I promise you.” He finally says, each syllable infused with sincerity. A brief pause hangs in the air before he adds. “And if it doesn’t then you can hit me.”

“On your pretty face?” you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“On my pretty face,” he confirms with a chuckle.

“What an honor,” you roll your eyes playfully as you lean back and he grins, tenderly wiping away your tears with the back of his fingers.

“I can't believe it took three minutes for you to cry in my room. This isn’t good for my reputation.”

“Good thing this will never leave this bedroom, right?” you point a finger at him threateningly, and he pretends to zip his lips, tossing away the imaginary key. “You got it.”

“So what are you working on?” you ask as you settle on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to your chest.

“It’s a pretty sad song, wanna hear?” he offers, sitting across from you on his chair.

“Yeah, I'd love to,” you smile, and Hyunjin deftly adjusts a few buttons, before his melancholic whistles weave through the air, coupled with the somber melody of a piano. Your breath catches in your throat, the music reaching into the very depths of your soul. It's as if the notes are calling out for a loved one, for a time that has long passed, for a past that will never come back no matter how much we long for it.

The instrumental continues, each piano note and each violin string echo like a bittersweet lament, springing tears to your eyes. But the melody remains beautiful, akin to the beauty always found in the sadness— in the tears that cascade down your cheeks like glistening crystals, in the tremble of your hands akin to branches swaying in the wind, in the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, mirroring the ebb and flow of the waves.

Hyunjin watches you intently as the music envelops you both, his gaze softening with each passing moment. You bring a hand to your chest, almost unconsciously, too engrossed in the melody to even blink. He feels a blush sprout on his cheeks as your teary eyes hold his with the last fading guitar strings.

“You keep on making me cry,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion, and he grins, tilting his head shyly against his shoulder.

“You like it?” he asks, a tad eager and you nod, not bothering to wipe the lone tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“I think this is what my loneliness sounds like,” you confess softly.

“As do mine.”

A silent beat runs between you both, it isn’t uncomfortable, but safe. Because you understand him, just as he understands you.

“Sometimes I long for things that have passed," he admits, “although I know I can't get them anymore.”

“The most terrible thing you can long for is yourself.”

“Because no one’s to blame for that loss but you?” he muses and you nod, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, exactly.”

You bite your lip, casting a glance back at the paintings adorning the wall. “I don't love him anymore,” you begin quietly. “I stopped a long time ago because there was no room for love anymore to grow amid weeds and thorns.”

He remains silent, sensing that this is a weight you need to unburden yourself from.

“But in the midst of it I think I stopped loving myself too,” you whisper, a confession too terrible to be uttered out loud. “That's what I long for. The things I used to love that I'm indifferent to now.”

“Like you’re a stranger before everything once familiar to you.”

“Yeah, you express it prettily,” you remark with a small smile.

“It's my job,” he grins lightly.

“I think when your heart is pure,” he begins after a while, pausing to carefully choose the words that will soothe your burn, help sleep come more easily to you. “You give love to others more readily than you do to yourself. And it takes time, patience, to redirect that love back to your own heart once again. But it's not a mistake to love, you shouldn’t hate yourself for it. Nor should you blame your past self for loving the wrong person because they did not know what you now do.”

“Think of it as a caterpillar in their cocoon,” he continues gently, “when they finally emerge from their chrysalis, they might long for who they were, where they once were because it is the only place they've ever known. But they do not realize that they've transformed into a beautiful butterfly, that they can now fly, and witness much more than their chrysalis. So maybe, your new self will love the same things as before, or maybe you’ll find new, better things to love that you would have not known before. But in either way, your heart is beautiful. That is what matters, no?”

A small pout draws on your lips, your eyebrows scrunched as you gaze at him.

“You have a very tender soul, Hyunjin.”

Your words linger in Hyunjin's mind long after the sunrise, as you lay peacefully asleep on his bed. The melody of the instrumental he produced continues to play faintly in the background, serving as a gentle lullaby that eases you into slumber, entwined in his sheets, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself, one hand cradling your shoulders and the other resting gently on your stomach. The image sears into his eyes as he sketches the outlines of a figure holding itself absentmindedly, long into the night.

Hyunjin has had his fair share of compliments, mostly pertaining to his face, and others to his craft. but it is you who seems to have sensed that a part of his soul resided in his art, that he left pieces of his heart hidden in the notes he composes and the lyrics he writes, hoping they’ll find soft hands that will take care of them, just like your own.

Five days later.

hyunjin [11:34 p.m.]: are you home?

yn [11:34 p.m.]: yeahh, do you need anything?

hyunjin [11:35 p.m.]: come downstairs, im waiting for youu

if you say no i’ll freeze to death..

hurry i can’t feel my fingers anymore (please please) ㅠㅠㅠ

“This better be a life and death situation Hwang Hyunjin,” you say threateningly as soon as you appear before Hyunjin, causing him to straighten up from the wall he was leaning against.

“It is a very dangerous life-altering situation that requires your immediate assistance, indeed,” he responds solemnly, ushering you gently to his car and opening the door for you.

“Which is?” you ask as soon as he settles inside the car and he simply grins at you, his left dimple coming forth like the very sun on a gloomy day.

“You’ll see.”

Hyunjin’s eyes fleet to your figure every now and then, but you do not seem to notice, your gaze lost into the blurring lights ahead. He can tell you're still not entirely yourself, so he was prepared to forcibly drag you along with him. He’s almost surprised you accepted to come down so easily.

“Is that… Seungmin?” you speak suddenly, pointing to a man waving in the distance, as Hyunjin parks his car near an empty field.

“And Changbin? And Minho?” you continue, squinting your eyes, “and a bonfire?” you giggle with a hint of excitement.

“You love s’mores during the winter, right?”

Hyunjin smiles, your soul softens.

“I do,” you say quietly, “I really do.”

You quickly exit the car, running into Seungmin's arms with a grin of disbelief plastered on your face. “This is insane,” you almost shout, squeezing him tight in a hug.

“It was so hard to find the perfect middle of nowhere for this,” Minho grumbles as you move to greet him, but the warmth of his embrace assures you he's only teasing.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile as you hug Changbin, who affectionately ruffles your hair. “It was Hyunjin’s idea,” he reveals, and you glance back at Hyunjin, who stands with his hands buried deep within his sweatpants behind you. You mouth a silent “thank you” to him, but he shakes his head modestly as if it is nothing to bring happiness to a bruised heart.

The night unfolds in endless laughter, with Minho and Hyunjin taking turns roasting marshmallows over the crackling bonfire, and Seungmin serving you hot coffee to keep your hands warm. Your stomach aches from the uncontrollable fits of giggles that overtook your being as Minho recounts the time he danced so vigorously on stage for his dance club that he ripped his pants, feeling a breeze where there shouldn't be one; and Changbin tells you the story of the time his voice cracked in the middle of a rap battle, and how none of the boys stopped teasing him about it for months to come.

And as the four of them take turns making you laugh, a quiet, tender realization dawns on you—you are loved. It is something he tried to convince you was impossible, that no one around truly cared for you but him. And even then, you weren’t deserving of his love whole, only scrapes of it, as if you were a beggar tugging at the outskirts of his heart.

But Hyunjin reminded you otherwise. And if your friends found something worthy of love within you then perhaps so will you again, one day.

“Did you have fun?” Hyunjin asks as he opens the door to his, your, apartment hours later. What he doesn't expect is for you to respond by wrapping your arms around his slender torso, squeezing tight in gratitude.

“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods, though you cannot see him, returning the embrace by wrapping his arms around your shoulder blades.

Hyunjin doesn't let go first, sensing that perhaps you need this hug more than he does. He smiles as your eyes meet his again, but his grin falters when he notices your gaze flickering towards your bedroom, a hint of unease clouding your expression. It's as if behind that door lie monsters only you can grasp, wearing the faces of people you once knew, once loved.

“Wanna stay with me while I work on the song?”

“Last time I ended up sleeping on your bed,” you say a bit shamefully, recalling the morning you woke up to find yourself covered with a thick blanket that wasn’t there before, alone in Hyunjin's room.

“It's okay,” he shrugs, “I missed sleeping on the couch.”

You stare pointedly at him and he chuckles, “Fine, I did not miss it. But you needed the sleep, so it’s okay with me.”

“Fine,” you concede, though you did not need much convincing for it. “But only if you promise you’ll wake me up if I end up falling asleep again.”

Hyunjin tilts his head, thinking to himself for a few seconds before shaking his head stubbornly, a small pout drawn on his face, his eyes semi-closed. “No.”

“Hyunjin!”

“Nu-uh,” he insists, shaking his head once more as he walks back towards his room. “I'm waiting for you!”

“I'm not coming!”

But you do eventually join him, after changing your clothes and washing your face. You find Hyunjin clad in beige and white checkered pajamas, his glasses pushing back his silky hair as he hunches over his journal, scribbling away before erasing what he wrote.

“Struggling with lyrics?” you ask, leaning against the wall and he startles. “Do you float on the ground? Why can I never hear you come in?”

“Or maybe you just love being dramatic,” you sing-song, laying atop his bed, much more at ease than the previous night.

Hyunjin sticks his tongue out childishly in response, and you playfully mimic the gesture before both of you dissolve into happy giggles.

“Kind of,” he explains once you both settle down, “I have this specific feeling in mind that I need to convey.”

“You'll do well,” you reassure softly, “your lyrics are always so beautiful. Remember Cover me?” you smile and he scratches the back of his ear, a shy grin spreading across his face.

“You still listen to it?” he asks and you nod eagerly, attempting to belt into Seungmin’s ending high note. You fail horribly and Hyunjin throws a crumpled piece of paper on your face to get you to stop singing.

“My poor ears,” he laughs loudly, and you retaliate by throwing back a pillow on his head.

“You just don’t get my artistic abilities.”

“I’d get them more if you stayed silent.”

You gasp, faking offense as you stand up to tickle Hyunjin on his chair, he starts squirming immediately, his loud giggles spilling all over the room, coating it in vibrant hues of happiness, and you’re suddenly captivated by the sight of him— his head thrown back, a golden lock framing his laughter-filled eyes, his top lowering slightly to reveal glimpses of his collarbones and the delicate veins that trace enticing paths on his neck.

You pause, your hand hovering over the side of his stomach, as a long-forgotten warmth spreads through your heart, like the first rays of dawn greeting the earth after a long winter night. It doesn’t diffuse quickly through your being, but rather drapes like sticky honey on your veins, making you well aware of your growing blush, of how beautiful Hyunjin is in his joy.

“Never singing to you again,” you clear your throat, laying atop his bed once again, and quickly reaching for your phone, anything to avoid his eyes which rival the crescent moon outside his window.

Hours pass before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, rousing you from your slumber. Blinking away the fog of sleep, you find Hyunjin leaning over you, his grin wide and infectious. “Wake up,” he whispers, but you only groan, burying your face deeper into his pillow.

He doesn’t yield, taking hold of your wrist and guiding your drowsy figure upright, before wrapping the blanket snugly around your shoulders. Without a word, he leads you out onto his balcony, carefully putting his neon green beanie on your head to shield you from the cold.

“It’s snowing!” he smiles, and his excited tone manages to dissipate the fog in your mind. You blink repeatedly and soon enough, you too behold the fallen snowflakes, each one resembling a tiny speck of light bidding farewell to the sky to greet the earth.

“You missed the first snow so I didn’t want you to miss this one too,” he explains, and his thoughtfulness blankets you with a warmth that seeps into every crevice in your body, drips down your fingertips and makes the cold of 4 a.m. seem less harsh, less biting to the touch.

You don’t know how to say thank you, because those two words don’t encapsulate the depths of gratitude that you feel for Hyunjin. Because he is speaking to the person within you who still loves snow, the part buried underneath layers of dust from a ground heartbreak. But you still manage to hear him, and you squeeze his hand tightly, and he doesn’t let go until you finally do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Remembering has become easier for you these past two months— both the good and the bad. And each day, the scale tips towards one side or the other. Sometimes you recall the suffocation you felt with him, the feeling that no matter what you did you could never please him, that your hands were crafted to break rather than mend. And on those days your wound grows, it throbs and bleeds different emotions.

Sometimes it's anger— at him for treating your heart so carelessly as if you were a being devoid of feeling. And then at you— for staying, for giving him excuses and desperately searching for goodness within him, for the one redeeming quality that would convince you he was worth the pain.

And other days bring an excruciating sadness along, a weight that presses down upon you until you're paralyzed. Because you feel bad for yourself and for everything you went through. Because you’re unsure how to rise when unseen hands push you deeper into the abyss.

And on these days, Seungmin becomes your anchor. He buys your favorite food, skips classes with you, and takes you to your favorite gardens. He talks and he talks and you try your best to laugh because you do not wish to worry him more. It is enough to be your own burden, you do not wish to burden him too.

But when he drops you home, your facade slips away, the smile fading from your face as if it were never truly yours to wear. You are too tired to pretend so you don’t, and Hyunjin doesn’t let you, either. He brews you tea and orders takeout because he knows you lack the energy for cooking. He goes with you on walks and drapes you in pieces of his clothing— scarves and beanies and gloves because he knows you couldn’t care less about a cold when there is a frost coating your bones. He lets you sit in his room while he works on his songs, and while he paints. Sometimes you talk and often you don't need to. But he’s there. He's there with you.

But you also remember the good. You remember your movie night with the boys, Hyunjin building an entire fort for you, adorned with twinkling lights and the softest blankets. How you watched movies until 5 a.m. your bodies so closely huddled together that there was no room left for sadness.

You recall Hyunjin begging you to build a snowman with him at the crack of dawn, the two of you collapsing in fits of laughter as you threw snowballs at one another, your footsteps marking the fresh fallen snow.

You remember being so exhausted after one of your showers that you simply laid atop the couch, gaze fixed on the void, too drained to even untangle the knots in your hair. Yet, it is not the tiredness that you exactly recall, nor the salty tears you shed underneath the scorching water jet. But it is Hyunjin's tender hands as he brushed through your hair, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck, his knuckles ghosting over the slate of your shoulder. You remember whispering that it was a particularly hard day and Hyunjin understanding. You remember him watching many YouTube tutorials to prepare your favorite seaweed soup, only for it to end up being too salty. But you still ate it all, because he made it for you, to lift your wounded spirits. And that alone was enough for it to taste good.

You remember your heart hardening then softening again, breaking then stitching itself back together, closing off then blooming like flowers on the first day of spring. You remember smiling only to cry then smile again. And you remember liking snow, a bit more than you thought you would. Because Hyunjin was there, holding your trembling hand, steadying it enough for you to rewrite your memories with winter.

So, you want to say thank you.

You do not wish to spell it out, because there are too many things to thank Hyunjin for and too few words to do so. Instead, you drag him to the farmer’s market near your home, and you tell him to help you pick flowers.

“I could be in bed watching my favorite show and yet here I am bestowing you with my enchanting presence,” he sighs, not too modestly, as you both eye the array of colorful blooms.

“Okay, Shakespeare, are you done?” you roll your eyes, attempting your best to hide your grin.

“Done annoying you? Never. These are very pretty,” he adds, pointing to the white roses in full bloom, their delicate petals emitting a sweet fragrance into the air.

“I agree, what else should we add?” you ponder, picking out four roses.

“Mm, Hibiscus? The red in the center is so vibrant,” he suggests, taking out his phone to capture the flower.

“Cute. Baby breath’s would look good too,” you say as you gather the flowers, heading to the cashier with Hyunjin trailing behind, still admiring the delicate blooms.

“Can I write a note?” you ask the middle-aged man as he wraps the bouquet in a powder blue paper.

“Sure,” he replies with a smile, and you return the gesture, quickly jotting down your words.

“Are you done?” Hyunjin grins when you return to his side and you nod, exiting the flower shop.

“What do you think?” you ask, angling the bouquet towards him.

“It's beautiful.”

“It’s yours,” you smile, growing shier at the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you, then the flowers, then on you again. “Take it,” you hand it to him, your cheeks flushing like the hibiscus’s crimson core.

“Actually?” he says softly, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepts the flowers and you nod in response. You bite your lip as you watch him take out the note, his eyes softening once he reads the words inscribed in it— thank you for making my winter less cold.

“Should we go?” you say a tad too cheerfully, turning away, but Hyunjin grabs your wrist, spinning you around once more. His fingers trail up your arm, coming to rest gently on your cheek as he leans down to plant a tender kiss there.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. You think that if his soft lips grace your skin a few times more, your nerve endings might forget the harshness they were subjected to. If his gentle hands remain on your cheeks, then maybe, your heart would heal quicker, better. Maybe your past self that you long for would emerge again, maybe Hyunjin would be able to unearth it.

Your hopeful thoughts disappear as quickly as they arrive, overshadowed by a sense of helplessness that crashes over you, all of the sudden. You sense him before you hear him, the familiar anxiety that is only synonymous with your ex’s presence.

“Yn?” the sound of your name feels harsher in his mouth, the syllables spat out rather than spoken tenderly, as they are when Hyunjin pronounces it. Your veins run cold as his voice pierces the air, your heart skipping three beats at once before plummeting to your knees. You wrap your hand around Hyunjin’s forearm instinctively, and he looks down at you, his expression morphing into one of concern.

You’re unsure of what he sees in you— whether it is your pale face, the quiver of your lower lip, or the fear that has coated all your features— but his eyes harden, his brows furrowing as he gazes at the man behind you.

You refuse to turn around, bracing yourself for his next words. “Yn,” he repeats his tone laced with anger, his fingertips grazing your arm as if intending to force you to face him. But before he can touch you, Hyunjin intervenes, swiftly stepping in between you and your ex, shielding you with his own body protectively.

“Leave,” Hyunjin's voice is cold, dripping with a venomous edge you've never heard from him before, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.

“Is this your new shiny toy, Yn?” your ex taunts and his voice cuts through your being against your will, triggering a flood of memories you've tried so desperately to suppress. Memories of his cruelty, his manipulation, and the pain he inflicted upon you—using your love as a weapon to bolster his own ego.

“What's in it for you?” you find your voice again, though it trembles when you speak. He is the very embodiment of your pain and everything you loathe about yourself. You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, for a bolt of lightning to strike the earth, anything to spare you from facing him.

“It's only been three months, I didn't know you were a whore.”

Hyunjin's fist connects with his cheek before you can register his words. It all unfolds so rapidly that you barely have time to comprehend it. Your ex staggers back, blood trickling from the cut on his lip, while Hyunjin stands before you, his chest heaving with restrained anger, his right hand clenched into a fist, the bouquet still held tightly in the other.

“Fine, I deserved it,” your ex chuckles, his voice laced with mockery as he wipes the blood from his lip. His gaze meets yours briefly behind Hyunjin's back.

“You might not be a whore but you are unlovable, keep that in mind.” He spits out before walking away, crude words that tear at every scab covering your wounds, reopening them with a brutal force. Hyunjin moves to follow him, but you grab his shirt, pulling him back.

“He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Your words seem to snap Hyunjin out of his haze as he turns to look at you, worry cast across his figure. He moves to cradle your cheeks but you step back, refusing to meet his eyes. He swallows thickly, clutching the bouquet in his hands. “Are you okay?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head slightly. “Let's just go home,” you whisper, eyes fleeting to his for a split second. All the lights in your gaze are muted.

You’re crumbling before him once again and he cannot stop it, no matter how much he yearns to.

It's long past midnight when you find yourself seated on the floor of your living room, a bottle of red wine placed between you and Hyunjin. You exchange it wordlessly, taking turns sipping from it, the alcohol warming your insides but doing little to ease the ache in your heart. You don’t exactly recall when Hyunjin sat next to you, but you don’t mind. You were too lost in your own thoughts to even register his presence.

“Yn,” he calls out softly and you hum absentmindedly, memories of when your ex spoke your name haunting you, each time he yelled your name, uttered it in disdain as if it was the starting point of everything wrong with you.

“Talk to me, please?” he pleads, angling his body towards your own. But you refuse to meet his eyes and Hyunjin’s heart twists in his chest. He is afraid of all the ugly thoughts that must roam your mind. He wishes he could enter it, open the windows wide, and usher the light in.

“I'm sorry you were dragged into this,” you say, your gaze fixated on the bouquet placed atop the table. The crimson painted on the hibiscus’ petals reminds you of the blood that spilled from your ex’s mouth, and your gaze fleets to Hyunjin's hand, slightly bruised from the punch.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, “there is nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s as though you don’t hear him, your fingers trailing gently across his scraped knuckles, tears pooling in your eyes the more you stare at his hand.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice thick with emotion, and Hyunjin’s quick to shake his head. “No, don’t worry about it. He deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Neither did you.”

Your disbelieving scoff that follows scares him. What if you’re slipping away into a dark place yet again, one void and barricaded, in which the only sound that echoes is your ex’s hurtful words? What if he can’t reach you again?

“If the only person I’ve ever loved says I’m unlovable then maybe I am.”

You’re drunk, you wouldn’t have said such an ugly thing otherwise, wouldn’t have allowed this sentiment to materialize into the air, to take a tangible form apart from your abstract thoughts.

“No,” Hyunjin says in a panic as though he’s trying to quickly pull the brakes on your free-railing thoughts. He cups your face between his palms, your tears falling freely atop his hands but he does not move away.

“No,” he repeats, more calmly this time. “How he treated you is a reflection of who he is. And how you see him is a reflection of who you are. And you wanted him to be loving because you’re full of love. You wanted him to be good because you are a good person. And he can’t stomach that, can’t stomach that you are happy without him so he’s trying to ruin you again.”

“Hyunjin…” you shake your head but he only inches closer to you, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. “No, listen to me. Seungmin loves you so much he couldn’t eat properly for the first few days you stayed here, texted me all the time asking me how you were and if you were feeling better. He isn't good with words so instead he tries to make you laugh. He wishes he could give up parts of his happiness for you.”

A sob swells within you but Hyunjin presses on. “And Minho, he tried to memorize all your favorite recipes so he could cook them for you. It isn’t a coincidence that every time we go over to their dorm it is your favorite food that we eat. He takes more pictures of his cats these days so he could send them to you because he knows it cheers you up.”

“You told me Changbin doesn’t know you well enough to fight for you but when we saw your ex across the campus one day he wanted to get up and beat him. He always asks me if you are well and if there is something he can do for you, anything.”

He inhales deeply, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “And me…” a tender smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, “you make this house a home. I feel like my true self when you are around and loneliness doesn’t come to me as often as it did. Because you are here. You are like a beam of sunlight that lightens up every life you touch, mine first,” he’s baring his soul to you, vulnerable yet resolute. “So tell me, Yn, what’s not to love in you when you yourself are so full of love?”

“Hyune,” you speak the nickname for the first time, and Hyunjin’s heart thrashes achingly around his ribcage. “If you keep talking like this I might end up loving you,” you smile sadly at him as if it is a terrible thing to be loved by you.

“But I don’t want to love you, because I won’t know how to, not anymore. So I'll end up leaving. And I'll long for you, and I don't think I can stomach longing for you from afar.”

“So please,” you place one hand atop his own, wipe away the lone tear rolling down his cheek. “Don’t make me love you, hm? You deserve more than to be loved by someone like me.”

You leave Hyunjin in the living room, alone before the white flowers you gifted him. He doesn’t want to put them away in a vase, for as soon as he grabbed them from your hold, everything around you both crumbled. So he leaves them there for the night, the creamy white petals aglow underneath the moonlight. He spends the night painting the bouquet from memory, but the petals end up too tinged with red, perhaps mirroring the blood his heart refuses to stop spilling still.

He did not realize it before, maybe he blinded himself so he wouldn’t see what was before him all along. But it is all the clearer to him now— that in his attempts to make you love winter again, Hyunjin only ended up loving you.

A week later.

hyune [1:25 a.m.]: i miss you

You and Hyunjin spent the last seven days avoiding one another, well you more than him. He just understood your silent plea when you took a step back the one time he tried to talk to you in the kitchen, swallowing thickly before inching away, allowing you to move past him.

You did not know how to face him after what he said, partly because you were embarrassed by your own response, mostly because even in your drunken daze, his words etched themselves permanently into your memory.

It is his reassuring words that echoed in your brain for the past week, not those of your ex.

hyune [1: 26 a.m.]: and i miss sleeping on the couch

You giggle, shaking your head before replying.

yn [1:26 a.m.]: no you don’t

hyune [1:26 a.m.]: no i don’t ㅠㅠ

but i finished the song

wanna hear?

Walking to Hyunjin’s room feels as familiar as going into your own. And when your gaze finally meets his you can’t help but break into a relieved smile. It was foolish of you to punish yourself, enough people have done that for you already.

“Hey,” he greets tentatively, and you respond with an awkward wave, a moment pregnant with anticipation passes before both of you dissolve into laughter.

“What is this? Are we in middle school,” he teases and you giggle, settling comfortably on his bed once more.

“I know. We are so lame.”

“You are,” he corrects with a grin and you gasp, pretending to leave but he quickly catches your hand, stopping you. “No, please stay. I meant it when I said that I missed you,” he repeats quietly, as if afraid that his confession would make you run away once again.

Your heart aches, the knots in your stomach tightening and unraveling all at once. “I missed you too,” you admit softly, and he smiles, his thumb tracing a gentle path above your pulse before releasing your hand.

“So it's done then?” you ask and he nods, running a hand through his hair with a hint of anxiety. “How do you feel about it?”

“Good. I hope you’ll like it, mostly.”

“I'm sure I will,” you reassure him with a soft smile, and he nods once more, pressing a few buttons before his melodious whistles fill the air once again.

Nothing could have braced you for the sound of Hyunjin's voice that followed, its timbre soft as silk yet imbued with profound sorrow. It's as though he recorded the song on one of his loneliest nights, his honeyed vocals dipped in an excruciating nostalgia that seeps into every corner of the room, every corner of your heart.

In the faded photo, I come across a smile spread across a youthful face, overlapped with the seasons.

Your gaze flickers to Hyunjin as a shadow of recollection dawns on you. You remember telling him that you couldn’t stomach looking at pics of your past, ones in which you smiled so freely because you were blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The night’s so cold that it’s almost unreal.

Because you weren’t aware of the winter that will follow and the biting cold that it would bear, for everything that will go astray in your relationship, for your ex's facade to crack like a glacier succumbing to the pressure of lies and pretense.

I wake up in another silence, and I close my eyes.

You remember Hyunjin confessing that silence haunted him more than words ever could, and you had agreed, sharing how sometimes you shut your eyes, pretending that the reality you woke up to wasn't the one you were living.

The white flower we planted together has bloomed. I do not dare pick it. Now it withers away.

You gaze at the white flowers you brought him, now wilted in the vase placed on his desk, yet Hyunjin refuses to throw them still. You see the card you wrote for him hung on the wall, right next to the dried red rose. He kept it. Though it withered, he kept it all.

So I long for you. And I long for you. And I'll long for you.

You remember the longing you both spoke of, how he understood a feeling you felt so incredibly alone in. How he tried to reassure you when he too was caught in the webs of the past. How you longed for him in the past week. How you wished he longed for you just the same.

So I can keep loving you. So I could be loving you. And morе.

The violin swells and so does the emotion in your chest. You remember him asking you ‘What’s not to love in you’ and how you've spun those words in your thoughts ever since. You remember thinking that if he gave you a few more weeks, just a bit more time, you might have found it in you to believe them.

You see Hyunjin’s glimmering eyes holding yours, you see his heart atop a platter handed to you, and you see the resignation in his being. Don’t make me love you, you told him. You didn’t dare to tell him not to love you in return, deemed it too foolish of thought to entertain.

For he was Hwang Hyunjin, the quiet producer who paints in his free time and who wears his heart on his sleeve. Who remains hopeful, loving, and tender, despite the thorns pricking at his side. Who is beautiful, so much so that he allowed you to see beauty in the universe once again, through his eyes.

How could he love you?

How could you not love him?

“The song,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips as you stand, trembling, on your feet. Hyunjin rises too, meeting you in the center of his room.

“It is about you. For you,” he says simply as if his words don’t cause your world to burst at the seams only to mend itself once again, too eager to fix itself and exist in the same timeline as Hyunjin.

“I don't… I don’t know what to say,” you say earnestly, feeling your heart pound in your chest, its beats resounding loudly in your ears.

It is wrong of you to assume he wishes you to say something. He is Hyunjin, the one who finds words in your silences too, after all.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” he shakes his head, taking another step closer to you. “I don't want an answer, I don't wish to pressure you. I just wanted to tell you that my love is here, it is yours to take or to leave, to cherish or to discard. But it is yours, because this is who I am. I am someone who loves you.”

“So do not tell me to forget you because I don't know how to. And don’t tell me that you’ll leave because I will love you still, because you’d still be you, near or far, you are you. And you are someone I long for.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I long for you, Yn, more than anything I've ever longed for. And I've spent all my life longing.”

His lips meet your forehead tenderly, and you feel your entire being grow limp at the chaste kiss, as if your limbs wish to liquefy and form a puddle on the floor. His touch is soft, and you miss it the moment he parts from you.

“There must be something in this room that keeps on making you cry,” he smiles and you bring your hands to your damp cheeks, surprised to find there tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

“It’s you,” you pinch his arm playfully and he squirms away from your hold, stabbing his toe on the desk in the process. A loud fuck echoes around the room, and your laughter dissipates the tension clinging into the air.

“Can you play it again?” you request softly and Hyunjin’s theatrics fade as a shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Is it good?”

“It's everything to me.”

“It's called ‘long for you’, by the way.”

“Long for you,” you repeat quietly. There has never been a prettier combination of words.

The title all but makes sense as you lay on the bed, your gaze fixed on the paintings hung on the wall, Hyunjin sketching quietly on his desk, the song resonating softly in the background. You've longed for many things in your life—the person you once were and the tender love you once craved—but amidst it all, nothing has weighed heavier on your heart than the longing for the man sitting just two meters away, almost in your loving grasp. Almost.

❁ ❁ ❁

It is an excruciating five days that Hyunjin spends apart from you, the both of you too caught up in your assignments to find a moment to properly speak. But you do not shy away from him when he greets you, and your grin is kind as it drapes across his being, and Hyunjin swears he has never seen a prettier sight than you smiling.

On the sixth night, Hyunjin completes the cover for the song— a figure wrapped around itself protectively, mirroring the way you hug yourself in your sleep. He hangs it on the wall, right next to your thank you card and the white bouquet he drew once again, wishing to properly immortalize its beautiful flowers, to purify that memory from the tumult that followed it.

On the sixth night, the house is quiet, the full moon high up in the sky, snowflakes falling softly to the ground. Hyunjin wonders if you too mimicked the snow’s descent— both of you falling apart with it.

But then, there’s a knock on his door.

His heart catches in his throat, his body freezing as if it forgot how to move. You are here.

“Come in,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. You push the door open, and Hyunjin's words wilt on his tongue as he sees what you're carrying—another bouquet, filled with white flowers, yet again.

“Hey,” you smile, standing by the door.

He remains silent, unsure of what to say, or how to speak. He longs for you when you are away, even more so when you’re before him.

“We shouldn't let these white flowers wither away too, right?” you smile slightly, placing the bouquet on the desk before walking to Hyunjin’s bedside. His voice falters, vocal cords refusing to move and overshadow your voice.

You sit beside him, gently pulling his hand so that you’d both lie on the pillows. Your hand doesn’t leave his own, instead, it moves to rest on his cheek, reminiscent of the many times he had cradled your face before. Inch by inch, you close the gap between you, nuzzle the tip of your nose against his own. “Hi, Hyune”, you say softly, and he swallows thickly, his voice coming out just as quietly.

“Hi, my Yn.”

“If we take care of the white flowers together do you think they’ll survive a bit longer?” you ask, your gaze never wavering from his, countless stars twinkling in the depths of your irises.

“I believe so,” he says tentatively, too aware of the warmth of your palm against his skin, of the sweet ache unfurling within his being.

“Mm, and even if they wilt we can always buy new ones. We can learn how to care for them better, with time,” you say, and he nods in agreement, laying his hand atop your own, tilting his head to bestow a chaste kiss on your palm.

“With time,” he echoes softly and you smile, vulnerable yet secure in his gray sheets, in his hold.

“Will you give me time too?” you ask, and Hyunjin reads in your eyes what you mean, understands in the shake of your voice the question you are too afraid to voice. Will he give you time to heal in order to love?

“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, pressing his forehead gently atop yours, and you both close your eyes, as a running warmth encloses you both, blooms a blush on both your cheeks.

His arms wrap around your back, drawing you close until your chests are pressed together, your head resting naturally in the curve of his neck. And it is long forgotten in your mind, all the nights you slept in this very bed alone. You feel safe, safe enough to long for love knowing that it patiently awaits you behind the door, once you find enough courage to turn the doorknob. You feel serene, as Hyunjin’s warm palms glide soothingly up and down your spine, as every muscle, every nerve, every atom in your being relaxes in his hold.

You are healing, slowly, with each fleeting second that passes in which Hyunjin’s heartbeat resounds within your chest, as its melody runs through your veins, melds with your own as if it was destined to be there all along. As you rest in Hyunjin, as you find a safe home within his soul to discard your worries at the doorstep and breathe.

“It did get better,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Hm?” He leans back to look at you, and he’s so beautiful, so tender as he gazes at you, you can’t help but trace the contours of his face with your fingers, hoping to commemorate him with your eyes, with your touch.

“You promised me it’ll get better, and it did,” you smile, as your legs further intertwine with his, and his rose perfume becomes an indelible mark on your skin. “Too bad I can't hit your pretty face now,” you joke and he giggles, tipping his head back.

He's so beautiful, body and soul, and he longs for you, you alone.

“But I can still do this,” you murmur before finally pressing your lips against his like a boat finally reaching the shore after months of sailing. You both exhale, in yearning, in relief, as your mouths move together in a slow, languid dance, his hand finding the pulse on your neck, yours settling atop his jaw.

He would kiss you again, this intimately, in the coming months, when your heart expands enough to contain the love Hyunjin deserves. He would kiss you again, when your past comes to haunt you, and healing sounds like an elusive myth you’d never encounter in your life.

And he would kiss you again, over the kitchen table and under the fridge’s light, in between paintings and in supermarket aisles, while picking flowers and watching the first snow.

He would kiss you, this tenderly, in the next winter, and the ones after it, as if his longing for you never wanes. Till blow three disappears from your memory, till all you remember is the love, the true one, the kind one, the soft one Hyunjin alone could have brought you.

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after-witch · 2 months

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Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.

Word count: 7100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre

The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly.

In surprise.

In trepidation.

In realization.

The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance.

How lucky for him.

How unfortunate for you.

You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?

The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill?

And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear.

He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later.

His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise.

As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you.

The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches.

Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy.

What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate?

All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front.

As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way?

But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once

From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.

And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.

He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him.

Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis.

It’s you that he focuses on, now. And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted.

Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person.

You.

What to make of you?

You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find.

He remembers such a living.

You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats.

It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them.

With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you.

Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.

He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm.

“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you.

You stiffen.

“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.

“None of your business,” you say.

And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.

“That’s all right.” He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”

Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.

“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”

Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City.

“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.”

He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.

And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.

He nods his head.

“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach.

“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”

He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels.

You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that.

“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”

Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.

“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”

The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them.

Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it?

You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more.

Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear.

“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.”

“You want to buy me clothes?”

You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips.

He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.

You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant.

“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies.

For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised.

The elevator doors open.

Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter.

“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”

You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?

“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.

That might come in handy.

He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him.

“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.”

You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.

Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.

Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs.

5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets.

Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.

The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining.

He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement.

What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?

Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?

He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You.

What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume.

What would you be like, once you were fully his?

What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden?

The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it.

He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--

Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.

He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.

The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder.

But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits.

He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it.

This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate.

Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping.

Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two.

But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.

Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb.

And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least, you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit.

It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut.

Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer.

At least, not before today.

“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.

Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good. Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.

“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.

“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?”

You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.”

“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.

Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.

Only... none of that happens.

His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.

“I know a lot about that, actually.”

It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you.

It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside.

“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom.

He nods.

“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think.

He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.”

Dear.

The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.

Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself.

Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top.

The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest.

A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.

There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.

And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner?

He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears.

“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.

Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”

“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”

His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.

“You’re familiar with his work?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling.

You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?

“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.

He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm.

His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why?

Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.

The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap.

And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.

Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.

The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you.

Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.

“So you were… homeless, before?”

You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.

His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?

“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.

If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.

“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”

“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin.

“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”

“Which was?”

There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.

“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you.

Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.

Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.

“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.

He tilts his head a little. “What for?”

Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.

Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.

“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”

You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology.

He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.

It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.

Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.

A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.

You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do.

The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild.

Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap.

Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it.

Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two…

You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.

There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.

But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.

You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there.

You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras.

The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.

He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.

You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years?

How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.

He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be.

Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this.

There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever.

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #yandere #yandere chrollo lucilfer #afterwitch writes

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comfortless · 3 months

Note

Pygmalion!König and Galatea!Reader………. 😖 What do you think?

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, light angst. self harm, implied animal death (not done by König or reader), fluff, König is horrible and by that i mean yes— he fucks the statue, outercourse, unprotected piv, implied mutual loss of virginity.

notes: lovely Salome did something similar to this already! 💖 however. yes. i am thinking about it and well…. take this out of my hands.

König has never had anything that could properly be called his own.

He walks the city entirely alone, no wife at his side to paw at his chest and bless him with adoring glances. His only steadfast companions are the grit slipping into his sandals as he walks, head held high even as the shadow of a boy begging on his knees for any semblance of love eternally tethers itself to him.

A glance lingering too long at the appeal of a soft face, the brush of his calloused fingertips against a pornai’s bare stomach before deciding that no, he didn’t want something so simple.

He merely slips a few apologetic drachma into her waiting palm and sets her free of him.

A warm body would never be enough, it was the heart that he starved for. To bed some poor creature that would never properly love him would be worse than the greatest of tortures in his mind.

It wasn’t a simple affair to find a lady to marry, either. Foreign soldier that he was, he had no right to some politician’s pretty daughter, court her properly and sweep her away to a bed that’s only ever been a harbor for lonely, twisted bitterness and blood.

Most turned away the moment he passed by: frightened glances that rightfully accused him of immense violence, shushed whispers of “barbarian” passed from soft lips before the sand beneath their fretful feet shifted and their shapes had disappeared from view entirely.

The ceaseless loneliness carves a burning ache somewhere within the expanse of his chest, something he knew he would never truly be free of, not until it rotted it’s way out of him in full.

It only seemed to quiet in moments he shed blood for this foreign country; burying his sword in some poor man’s gut was the closest he could get to sheathing a part of himself inside another, to touching a heart, seeing lips part in a gasp as their world becomes entirely consumed by him.

Just as the many days prior to this one, he grips the hilt of his blade, letting the metal dig into his palm, his knuckles bone white, as he makes his way back to the empty shack deemed a home.

Streets quiet and crowds disperse with each of his silent footfalls— not one of these smaller men or fearful women dares to look him in the eye. The only thing that does, the only eyes that ever lock to his, are those peering out from the harbor.

The figurehead guarding her expertly crafted ship has always called to him.

Her beauty was remarkable, from the curl of her hair to the patient look in her eyes. Her hands clasped before her breasts in silent prayer as she looms over the darkened depths of the sea beyond the soil, calling him to board, to venture away from this place that his left him in such an acute state of misery.

He swears he hears it then, a mere whisper on the wind, urging him in featherlight comfort to lie down his sword and take up the chisel and hammer.

It’s only when he pauses to look the gentle face of the figurehead over once more that he finds himself resolute in what he must do.

— — —

When he took to crafting her it was born of this desperation; hazy moonbeams cutting through the shade of his shack for hours before he would reluctantly pull away from a beautifully carved hand or the soft but stiff curve of a neck to retire to the straw-stuffed mattress at the corner of the room.

She was beautiful, a representation of all of the sweet, effeminate softness he would marvel at from afar. The swell of plush breasts, curved hips and silken thighs, eternally parted by her stance, the sweet face that could make any man feel entirely weak…

His hands tremble when they rest upon her form, unsure of just how such splendor could have come from his own coarse palms.

Weeks of scarce sleep only seemed to further his devoted madness. Though the warring dulled the ache and sated his blade, the longing seemed to only grow far more prevalent.

He yearned when they were apart, dreamt of coming home to her less lifeless and only demure smiles and hurried kisses the moment he would return to her. He would always come back.

Upon her completion, he took to courting her proper. Though she could not in any way reciprocate or reject his advances, he believed wholeheartedly that the cushiony love that had blossomed within his aching, neglected heart must be mutual.

Gifts were strewn at her cold feet, some gilded and shimmery, some soft with an abundance of colorful petals: offerings for a silent goddess that kept a part of his soul hidden away deep inside the pristine marble that she was carved from.

When he wraps her neck in a necklace with a sparkling beryl amulet attached, his hand does drift to the swell of her breast beneath the woolen chiton.

It’s hard and cold, but his groping becomes as incessant as the kisses he presses to her jaw, to her cold lips, tongue leaving a warm path down to her neck before he finds himself committed to having her.

He’s careful when he disrobes her, slowly revealing the mounds and curves and softness of her imitation of human flesh.

Dropping to his knees, his tongue laps at the ivory depiction of smooth lower lips, spearing between each silken ridge until he imagines her eyes squeezing shut as she cries out for him, rolling her perfectly sculpted hips to coat his tongue in waves of vulgar honey.

He moans into her cunt, drools and sucks at the mimicry for as long as it takes to find her thighs drenched in his saliva and his cock aching horribly between his thighs.

He rises to slot himself between her legs, pushing forward with a keening whine that dissipates into a relieved gasp. The feel of her pressed against him; the smooth ridges of her makeshift flesh running over his stiff, leaking cock is akin to finding divinity.

His hands rove over her breasts, thumbs pressed against her eternally pebbled nipples as he kisses her, each sloppy and filled with years of need.

It is pure bliss, almost as though he is burying himself to his hilt inside of her pulsing cunt.

He would fuck her better than any man— not a single other could match the strength of his affections nor his hapless willingness to please.

If he could have carved a proper hole between her legs, not a drop of his seed would be wasted on thin sheets or spilled into his palm, she would be filled, womb brimming until some loving god or goddess blessed her with child.

His pace quickens to the point of frantic, feverish hands drifting to her hips as he mouths at her breasts instead, hissing out praises for how good she feels against him, how his heart bleeds to feel her nearer.

There is so much heat between her thighs now he could swear it burns like the cold mist of the Underworld itself; the fuzzy heat pools from his navel and further as his muscles begin to tense and leave his thoughts a haze and his lips parted in a silent, worshipping cry.

It’s only when he envisions her tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, back arching as she drags her nails over his shoulders and whines through her own damnation that his cock throbs in repetition as his eyes roll back. His heavy sack arrives at her mound as his seed spills from him, cascading down to paint the thighs of his silent lover, smeared pearly and glistening over her labia as he rubs his cockhead against her with an agonized groan.

His forehead finds her shoulder, warm breath replacing the coldness of her skin as he wraps his arms around her perpetually beckoning form, lovingly trailing kisses from her clavicle to her ear where he whispers a breathless, “I love you.”

It’s only after he’s finished wiping away the evidence of depravity from her that he feels the first wave of shame, sharp and feathering from his chest that leaves his jaw set and throat tight.

What lowly man envies the warmth others experience with far less gratitude? König has never seen himself as pathetic, no matter how commonly he’s been sent off and kicked like a stray.

She’s the only thing that’s brought him any sort solace in a world that’s left him starved, but also a cruel mirror casting a reflection of his own nature.

Pulling the thin blanket from his mattress, the statue is soon swallowed up in her entirety, all guilt and pity-drawing attestation neatly hidden away behind rippling sable fabric; her form silent and waiting as it would remain eternally.

None of this is enough.

———

König has never found himself fond of prayer, never felt the need to partake in the festivals and ceremonies. His luck in battle was only a mere measure of skill, of a body so brutal and immense that most trembled before him, not born of any benevolent gift. There was no need to kneel, to bestow offerings upon the altars. If the people turned away from him, then surely any god or goddess would be even more inclined to do so.

Only… his mindless wandering has led him here, to Aphrodite’s altar whilst the festival of Aphrodisia plays on everywhere around him. The people invoke and dance, abundant offerings brought forth as the scent of timber burning and bold floral incense floods his senses. Blood and flowers already riddle the stone, a stark vibrancy of color that lures him closer, commands him to kneel.

He doesn’t have a thing to offer to the goddess, not so much as a petal, but if the pull were not just the first signs of a withering mind…

The glimpse of hope he’s offered is not taken for granted.

Thick fingers curl over his sharpened blade, dragging his palm against the steel until it stings almost sweetly. If she could accept the blood of a goat then surely, his could be no more polluted. Beads of crimson revel and dance along his forearm before dropping down onto the stone.

And he does pray.

It is not a vulnerable prayer, one that bares him in full, but only a wish— a longing for warmth, to have her share his breath, to admonish his shame and live free with the one thing that has never given him anything but safe harbor.

He unveils her when he returns, knowing that this is the closest he will ever come to love.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against her cheek, leaves a kiss there before dragging himself away to disrobe and pull himself back into bed.

When the weariness takes him, his sleep in dreamless and calm. If any blessing were bestowed upon him at all, the surely that would have been more than enough. A night without turning, without visions of a darkened grave devoid of anything to haunt him.

He only begins to stir when the mattress dips at his side, a soft palm pressed to his chest, stroking along the loose curls of auburn there.

“König..,” a voice calls out, more gentle than any he’s ever heard.

He wakes to find her, leaning over him with the sweetest glimmer in her eyes, wide and fascinated. Her touches only trail further up to his face as he tries to silence the rapid beating of his heart, the stinging born of adoration in his own pale blue eyes.

“I missed you,” she whispers, moving to curl at his side, her hands cradling either side of his jaw.

König is utterly stifled and so terribly smitten, the most he can manage is a quiet huff of breath as he rolls onto his side to take this sweet, unreal woman into his arms. Dreaming or waking, it mattered not, if he were given only the night or a lifetime with this beautiful little creature it’s still more than he has ever had.

His head dips to press a chaste kiss to her soft lips, only finding a warmth there that had never been the many times he had kissed her prior. His palm runs along her side, feeling ever perfect dip and curve, all heated and so very alive.

She only falls apart beneath his touch, already quivering and softly gasping even from such a gentle kiss. The thought that this little dove has been longing for him just as much makes his heart bleed. He whispers his apologies against her temple, for his frustrations, for his doubt in their love, for all of the temptations and hatred that plagued his mind before she came to be.

She only answers with eager touches, grasping at him as she murmurs her own perceived shortcomings. If only she knew that she could never do wrong, that she was what’s saved him and that nothing could shatter that.

When her tongue slips past his lips and his breath grows heavy, there’s little else he can concentrate on than the throbbing pillar between his legs, the scent of her around him, under him when he guides her onto her back.

Thanking the goddess could wait, he’s far too focused on the one that’s willingly climbed into his bed.

One hand splays at her side forcing him upright as the other trails over her breasts, a satisfied groan leaves him as he feels her softness, fighting back to urge to squeeze and pinch until she cries in pleasure, howling out like those at the altar he had encountered only earlier.

A nipple is snared between his thumb and index, twisted gently beneath each pad, her back arches…The wetness of the dew slicked flower between her legs brushes against him and he whines like a starved dog finally presented with the aroma of a meal.

His hand falls from her breast to her hip, encouraging her to buck the source of her own need against him— take anything she needed. If she were to pull a blade and carve a hole in his own chest he would only let her, the taste of this heated bliss and the look that she gives him, enchanted and curious, is more than he has ever deserved.

Only does he pause when he parts her thighs, and her stare becomes more curious, searching him for any reason as to why he would even stop.

“We have done this before. Are you afraid now?”

No, he wants to tell her, that before was not the full extent of it. Instead he only laughs, peeling away just enough to fit his head between her legs, mouth only a small measure from her weeping cunt.

“I want to taste you.”

With a whispered plea from her lips, he raises her hips, mouthing and suckling at her until she shivers and sings against the cushions. He groans against her when she does come, her hips stuttering in his grasp as she drives further against him.

He hisses in his mother tongue when he pushes the backs of her thighs up, grinds his leaking tip against her until he swears he really will fall into madness if he doesn’t fuck into her immediately.

The ache in his chest that his been so prevalent for so long is finally smothered out the very moment she tugs him down by his shoulders and pulls him into a frenzied kiss. She encourages him in each lapse, murmurs how long that she’s waited, how starved she’s been for him while hidden away.

He nearly sobs when his tip snags against her entrance, so divinely wet, pulsing and begging just as he is. When he penetrates her, the breath is punched from his lungs, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of her within reach as she wraps around his shaft as though her cunt was made for him.

His little dove only covers him in kisses in turn as he mumbles obscenities into her flesh, revelling in her tightness, in the way her body fits so perfectly against his, mutually carved by the gods to fulfill one another. His professions of love come in abundance as she fits her legs over his narrow hips, crying out from his sudden depth as his cock jumps against a spot that leaves her writhing.

Though it’s almost painful to keep himself restrained, he tries his best not to rut into her like a mindless animal, even when he feels her constrict around him as another orgasm leaves her cunt drooling and pulsing. He doesn’t give her time to recover, however… forced to lie in wait for so long, it’s nearly taken out on her as he spears into her as she moans and babbles her praises against his chest.

He’s lost to the empyrean as his muscles finally pull taut, crying as he buries his head into her shoulder and pumps his come into her, shaking as he wraps her up in his arms and clutches her close as he melts against her.

Spent and sated, König holds her tightly against him as they pant and share sweet words, secrets and giggles from her that make every moment of dolor before this night seem insignificant.

She slots her fingers between his own, compliments his damaged face and the worships his body with brushes of her lips and tongue just as he does her. He does not leave her empty, warms her heart with words he’s kept trapped in his throat for months, guides her gently as she perches over him to descend back onto his cock, his thumb stroking her stomach as he tells her over and again just how much he loves her, compared his feelings to that of Orpheus, how he would suffer anything all for her.

A pleading “Stay” is uttered as she falls limp against him, stroking along her back as they come down for the second time that night.

The last thing that leaves her lips before sleep takes her is the most saccharine she’s said that night, a simple, “I love you.”

It’s the only thing that he’s ever truly longed for.

———

They marry after the voyage back to his homeland, his head clouded during the entire trip of seeing her swell with his child in time, a home built with her in mind for the two of them, of lying flowers at her feet just as he had before.

His blade lies neglected in the little glade they had chosen, taking up only a hammer and his own hands as he works tirelessly to provide for his wife, the dove that looks at him as though he were not a dog but a king.

When their home is built after many weeks of tedious work during day and bedding her beneath the stars each night, König only then thinks to pray his thanks to the foreign goddess who gifted his salvation to him with little more than a scrape from his palm. All the while his true goddess leans over him to tickle his cheek with flowers he had plucked for her only moments prior, covering him in a fragrance so sweet it only seemed befitting of herself.

She giggles and sighs when he pulls her down into the grass to roll over her, blanket her in kisses and gentle bites to her throat.

The beryl amulet around her neck catches the glimmer of the sun above as she sifts her fingers through his hair and tells him that the gods already knew he was grateful, that his worship of her was already telling enough.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #cod fanfiction

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myfictionaldreams · 3 months

Text

Subspace // Batboys x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel introduces Rhysand and Cassian to Subspace, with your help, of course.

A/N: Please make sure to read the tags before reading. Specifically for the breathplay aspect, as it's nearly to the point of passing out. This is also a reminder that this is a work of fiction and not a way to teach fetishes; if I have described anything wrong, then I apologise; this is just my interpretation of a specific scenario. It is not real. Please stay safe out there if trying different kinks, only practice with those you trust!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, fluff, Polyamory, Mates, creampie, size kink, dom/sub undertones, rough sex/oral, restraints, praise kink, masturbation, subspace (!), discussion of safe words, multiple orgasms (!), crying, overstimulation, fingering, breathplay (!!), nearly passing out, cum eating, past emotional abuse (ex), aftercare

Words:6.4 k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Unsure as to who was louder with their orgasmic cries, you or Cassian, as he pumps you full with his seed, the pulse of his cock matching the time of your fluttering cunt. Not only was Cassian’s cum coating your inners, mixing with your slick, but also that of his High Lord, who had thoroughly filled you moments before. A steady creamy puddle had been dripping out of your delicate hole and was saturating the satin bedsheets beneath.

It was a beautiful sight to Cassian as he tried to catch his breath, staring down at where you were both still connected as his firm hands clenched around your thighs where he was currently pressing your legs so far back that your knees and ears almost touched.

You always mused that you thought he looked like a God when he looked like this. Yes, others who had witnessed your mate on the battlefield, in charge of his High Lord's armies and defeating the enemies, was a sight to behold and often had people whispering for the Mother.

You agreed with this astonishment, but when seeing him like this, naked, muscles flexing from the exertion, a sweaty sheen over his body that caused his hair to stick to his face and the pure dominance that radiated from his energy. Cassian was beautiful, as was each of your mates, but with his cock currently still stretching you full, there was no one else on your mind but him.

Cassian’s full mouth twisted into an all-knowing, arrogant smirk as he gazed down at your lust-filled eyes ravishing his body.

“I’m surprised you’re still conscious after that; you must really be in a mood”, he jests with an eyebrow raised, the scar running through it moving with the movement. You’d have laughed and agreed with him if you had the energy. These ‘moods’ that he referred to was the polite way your mates described you being unfathomably horny.

Of course, you wanted your mates every second that there was air in your lungs, but sometimes it would become so overwhelming your skin felt too tight, heart palpations, tremble in your fingers that would settle until one of their bodies was touching yours. Rhysand reassured that it was expected to feel this way whilst newly mated, and you had not one but three mates - possibly a joke played to you by the Cauldron - so it was rational for your body's reactions to be heightened.

That didn’t make it any easier as you fucked each of them to multiple orgasms and only felt sated after reaching a new unconscious state. You were close too, but not close enough as you continued to admire Cassian, from how his beautiful wings stretched out behind him to how his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, moistening them for a moment before he dipped lower.

The kiss was heated and messy, saliva and sweat mixing on your tongues as they stroked together. A flicker of joy warmed in the centre of your chest as you could finally run your fingers through his damp hair, tucking the strands behind his rounded ears so you could see his face without the shadows.

Each of your legs was carefully lowered on either side of his body so that his chest pressed against yours. His powerful arms now rested beside your head so that he could stroke the back of his knuckles against your cheeks.

The affection and love he was projecting were the opposite reactions to moments ago when he was pounding into you like it was his latest mission. After Rhysand had teased and pinned you to the bedpost, making you orgasm until your knees trembled and he had to carry you to the bed where he finally came inside of you, Cassian had chuckled that he wasn’t sure you could handle him with the fucked out expression on your face.

You smirked and instructed him to fuck as hard as possible. Cassian never backed down from a challenge and did just this, leaving you exhausted and dreamy.

“Cauldron, I fucking love you”, Cassian pants into your mouth, the warmth of his breath tickling your neck as he kisses his way to the sensitive area below your ear.

“I love you too, " you sigh in contentment, fingers lowering over his powerful shoulders, causing him to shiver as you neared his sensitive wings.

As his lips hovered over the shell of your pointed ear, he whispered, “Do you really think you can handle my brother's cock?”

You can’t help the giggle that bursts from you, wishing you could stroke Cassian’s ego and say you were too tired for the last of your mates, but that would be a complete and utter lie.

“Oh, I know she can, can’t you, my love?” Azriel's deep voice comes from behind Cassian, who observes you closely. The male hovering over you turned to look at his friend over his shoulder, but Azriel continued to glance at you as his wing twitched, indicating Cass to move.

With one last kiss to your cheek, the warmth and weight of Cassian crawled from your body, meaning the setting sun was now directly beaming into your eyes, causing you to try to bury your face into the pillow beneath your head. “What can I say? I’m greedy for you all”, you insisted with a sigh, smiling to yourself but attempting to keep your voice quiet after seeing the windowless arches to the sun.

You were pretty sure all of Veleris had heard you being fucked by your mates, and every time you remembered that there were no windows in your home and only the sheer curtains flowing in the breeze, you attempted to keep the noise down. This only meant that your mates’ attempts to make you cry out in euphoria improved tenfold.

“Insatiable you are indeed”, growled the voice of the male who had been quietly watching the three of you interact. Rhysand’s usually perfectly combed hair was thoroughly ruffled from and sticking to his temple from where you’d been running your fingers through it earlier in the afternoon. Your eyes connected with his; the usual brightness that gleamed with the violet colour seemed clouded to a near-pitch-black colour of pure night as he admired his mate being thoroughly worshipped on the bed.

You were thankful the three of them were so close, Brothers in a way that close childhood friends were. Their possessive tendencies were always there, growling or baring their teeth at one another when they’d decided it was enough touching. However, most of the time, they were patient, more content with the fact that you were feeling happy and thoroughly pleasured. On the occasions where all three of them touched you simultaneously, it was more fun than you could handle most days due to the manhandling and dominance, but that’s always what made it more fun.

Today was not one of those days, though, as you admired your handsome High Lord as he stroked his thick cock slowly, those dark eyes searching over your body and resting on the puddle that was growing beneath your cunt.

Smiling over at him, Rhysand’s lips twitched into a soft gaze, the speed of his hand increasing as the joy on your face increased his arousal. For a moment, you contemplated trying to crawl over to him, kneel on the floor and offer to keep his cock warm with your mouth, but the growing shadow forming at the end of the excessively large bed captured your focus entirely.

You’d thought for a moment that Azriel’s shadows had been the object to block out the sun from blinding your vision, but a quick glance showed you that it was his wing, which meant a deep red hue now covered your body from the sun beaming through the membrane of his wing.

An ice-cold breeze circled your ankles, dragging your attention away from Azriel as his shadows formed into pairs of hands, trapping your legs in their spread position. Licking your lips in anticipation, you attempted to sit up and reach for Az, but the shadows grew in size, skimming over your sides and adding pressure to your shoulders until you were lying back down. The pressure remained over your shoulders, and further hands firmly gripped around your wrists so that they were pinned to your side. There was no getting out of the hold you were now captured within, and as your pulse began to pound within your chest, a delicate caress against your cheek fluttered by as the shadows tried to calm away your anxieties.

Azriel watched you closely, from the way your breathing rate increased as anticipation and adrenaline began to pound through your veins to the way more thick white cum dripped out of your cunt with the movements.

The Shadowsinger’s head tilted to the left as he asked, “Do you remember what we discussed earlier?” Azriel could have been perceived as the opposite if Cassian had looked like a God earlier. The setting sun beamed around his body, causing a light aura over his outline, but the front of his body darkened into a shadow so that you couldn’t see his handsome face. Power rolled off of him in waves as he waited for your answer.

Your mouth became suddenly dry, making it difficult to form words, so you simply nodded yes in response.

“Wait, what did you talk about earlier?” Cassian asks as he heaves his bulky body into the spare seat on the opposite side of Rhysand. Your eyes flicked to him for a second, noting the fact that his cock was still very much hard and now glistening in your juices. Cassian spread his legs and took the object of your desire in hand, beginning to stroke slowly, his balls tightening due to the action.

You didn’t answer, not wanting to discuss what had been talked about earlier. Azriel took a step closer to the bed, not taking his eyes off you for a second, as he casually remarked, “You’ll see. "

“You know, it’s not nice to keep secrets from your High Lord, " Rhys says quietly, his eyes flicking to Azriel with the underlying command that laced his words.

“All you need to know is that we have trust between the four of us. I know what I’m doing, and our sweet mate knows what’s doing and has trust. Isn’t that right, Love?”

“Yes, I trust you. All of you, " you say confidently, gripping the sheets beneath you until your knuckles strain.

Azriel nods, moving closer to the bed's end as his shadows pin your body down. “And what else do you need to tell me?” Azriel asks.

“If I want you to stop, I shake my head, say red, or tap twice” As you explained, you made the motion, tapping against the bed and shaking your head no.

“Good girl”, Az praises, his deep tone causing sparks of arousal to heat in your pussy as you attempted to rub your thighs together to ease some of the tension, but the shadows kept your legs separated.

Cassian’s fist stopped moving as he looked between you and Azriel and asked, “Are you sure I don’t need to be worried if we’re talking about safe worlds?”

“It’s fine”, you answer in place of Az. “I wanted to try this and didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, which you two are making with the silent conversation I know you’re having, so please, just have some trust that this is something that I want, and it’s safe”. Cassian at least had the decency to look embarrassed, having been caught talking to Rhysand mind-to-mind. However, the High Lord just continued to glance between his Shadowsinger and you with uncertainty.

A flick of coolness strokes down your sternum, and a shadow spirals over your skin. Azriel continues to use the darkness to praise you with subtle touches.

Cass leans further back into the chair until it groans under the strain of his powerful body. “Fine, fine. I’ll shut my big mouth”, he explains with a grin, his fingers tightening around his cock once more.

You were too busy admiring the drip of precum that had formed at the tip of Cass’ cock that you’d not noticed that Azriel was finally on the bed until his ice-cold scarred fingers trailed up the sensitive area of your inner thigh.

“I’ve been counting, you know”, Azriel casually mentions under his breath.

“Counting?” you ask, confused about what he was referring to.

Azriel settles between your knees; with him having moved closer, you could see him in all of his glory, the smooth, perfectly formed muscles over his body, the black swirls of both ink and shadows that ran over his skin and those captivating hazel eyes that seemed even darker than Rhys’.

“How many times you’ve came. I’ve been counting. Even the little one, you didn’t verbalise as Rhys took you from behind. Now, usually, at this point, you’ve had so many. I know you’re only one or two away from passing out, but that’s not our plan for today, is it?”

Even though your cheeks flood with warmth at his truth, you still shake your head, wishing you could reach up for him. Azriel smirked cooly down at you as his hands began to smooth over your stomach, higher until cupping your breasts, his finger and thumb pinching your pebbled nipples, causing you to moan and try and arch into the touch.

“My greedy, greedy girl. Is it not enough that both of my brothers have made you cum all of those times already?”

“I need you” you gasp breathlessly at his rough touches as he continues to play with your already sensitive nipples.

“And I need you”, he says earnestly, and you couldn’t deny the whimper that left your throat at his words. “What do you want first, fingers, mouth or cock?”

“Cock”, you say without a hint of hesitation but are unable to look him in the eye at the use of the crude word, which also earned a hearty laugh from Rhys.

Azriel’s hand's massage further up your body until he's covering you completely, almost in the same position that Cass had been, as his fingers cup around your jaw and hips slot between your thighs.

“My pretty girl can have my cock”, Azriel muses as he lowers his lips to hover just over yours, not closing the gap entirely as you try and lean up to capture his mouth, but he teases by staying an inch away.

You’re soon distracted by your cunt once more, stretching to accommodate your sizeable mate, particularly Azriel. A moment passed when he allowed you to collect your breath before his restraint was released.

He fucked you with long, powerful thrusts that, if you weren’t already being held down to the bed, you probably would have shifted up into the headboard with how hard his hips slammed into yours. Those lips of his that you had been desperate to kiss finally closed the gap as well, absorbing all your begs and moans for more. The restraints around your wrists released but only for a moment as Az eased your hands above your head, holding your crossed-over wrists in one hand as his other squeezed and held onto your hip for stability.

The dominance of his hold was similar to how Cass and Rhys had held you, but there was just something else when it came to Az; whether it be his shadows or the way he paid such close attention to your body, he seemed to be able to bring you right to the edge in no time at all.

Pulling your lips back from his for a second, you gasped, “I-” Your words failed with the need to tell him you want to orgasm, but he already knows.

“Cum for me”, he demands, not slowing with his fucking. Your cunt tightened around his girthy cock, squeezing in flutters until you were squeezing your eyes closed and forgetting to breathe.

The hand on your hip moved to your throat, wrapping around it, pressing slightly but not enough to stop you breathing as he ordered, “Cum again”.

You weren’t sure whether it was a shadow or the specific way he was rolling his hips, but your clit was being massaged in time with his thrusts, and you were just about ready to explode. One orgasm led to another without a break in between, and with the previous orgasms that you’d already experienced, Azriel was right that something seemed to switch as you reached your level of exhaustion.

“You look so beautiful when you're cumming on my cock. Want to know how I’ve been keeping count of your orgasms? When you cum, your eyes glaze over for just a second, like you’re so lost in pleasure that you leave your body and then come back, but feeling how tight your cunt is gripping me right now is just a bonus”.

Hearing his words and grunts had you in a state of pure bliss, wishing even more that your arms were free to hold onto some part of his body. Your mouth opens to let out a mewling moan, biting your bottom lip as you try to remain focused on Az.

“I know it’s a lot for you to deal with. Love, do you need to use your words?”

“No, please don’t stop”, you demand, trying to roll your hips to match his movements, but the weight on top of your body pinned that area of you down.

“Good girl. Want to cum together? I know you can do it again for me; I know you’re sensitive, but let’s cum together, my love”, he groans as he finishes his demands as he watches your eyes glaze and then roll back as your cunt begins to squeeze him tightly in bursts as you came again.

Azriel’s wings flared even further, nearly knocking Cassian and Rhys as he came with a heavy grunt and thrust, stilling so that every drop emptied inside of you until there was no room left, and it began to trickle out to join the puddle of your other two mates on the sheets below.

Soft lips caressed your cheek as Az praised you with kind words, “You did so well for me”. He moved lower, exploring your throat, collarbones, sternum, over your belly button and only then did you realise what his plans were. “I’m not done with you yet”.

The shadows release your ankles so that your mate can grip your legs and press your thighs back, baring your thoroughly fucked, pulsing, cum filled cunt to him. Az growls as he delves his tongue deep within, feeling the lingering pulses of your overstimulated walls, the softness that had slightly swollen from the amount of fucking you’d been doing.

Even though you released a guttural scream, back arching as far as you could reach, his warm tongue was a welcome sensation, soothing the ache. Your arousal also burned in your core at the thought of Azriel eating all the different concoctions of seed still spilling out, but he only groaned in pleasure at the taste.

You were enjoying the feeling of his tongue trying to empty your pussy of juices with a flick and curl of the muscle, but as he moved p to your hypersensitive, swollen and throbbing clit, the fire and burning returned as he circled the nub slowly.

“Ah!” you cry out as your eyes clench close, attempting to close your legs, but he held them firmly open.

“Eyes on me”, Azriel demands, looking up at your face closely to look for signs if it's too much or if you’re doing any sort of sign for him to stop.

“Please!” you beg, eyes widening as you make sure to look at him lying with his face between your legs, his hair sticking up, and once more, your hands itched to stroke through the strands. You weren’t entirely sure what you were begging for, but as he continued with the slow circling of your clit with his tongue and the burning subsided and was replaced with the tightening within your pussy, you knew you were going to cum again. The thought frankly scared you with how many you’d had already.

“I know you can do it”, he encourages as his wet tongue returns to your hole as his cold thumb presses your clit. Tears had begun to line your eyes, streaking down your cheeks as you came with a cry, your entire body trembling and muscles aching from the amount of tensing you’d been doing for what seemed like hours now.

Your hearing was turning fuzzy, so when Rhys deeply groaned as he came over his chest from watching you orgasm so hard, it sounded like he was in another room, almost like cotton wool had been forced into your ears.

“It’s too much, " you hiccup, wishing you could wipe away the tears wetting the pillow beneath your head.

Azriel tried to sound as sympathetic as possible as he looked up at you, kissing your thigh that was once more being held back by shadows, “I know, my love, but only a few more times. You can do it”. You cry out once more as he begins to lower his face back to your pussy but pauses just as two of his fingers circle your hole. “Remember what we talked about?” Nodding your head in response whilst maintaining eye contact, he continued, “You’re in control of the situation, understand?”

“Yes, I understand”, you utter whilst taking a deep breath, trying to calm your cries. His two fingers enter you slowly at first, easing and out before a third one joins. Usually, it would take you some time to adjust to the size of his fingers, but after the sizeable cocks, you didn’t need any prep for the three fingers.

Az moved them with speed, curling to stroke against that beautiful spot that had stars beaming in your eyesight which only heightened as his lips sealed around your already overstimulated clit, and he sucked. He knew exactly what he was doing, and with each orgasm that came, the response was more exaggerated from you, and the time between them decreased. You were pretty sure if he continued, you would just be having one single orgasm that went on and on until you inevitably passed out.

Just when you're tensing all over, cunt tightening around his three fingers, did he move in with the next and final step of his plan. Azriel's icey, scarred hand wrapped around your nose and mouth. It was a relief at first to have something cool against your hot skin, but as you tried to suck in a breath as your orgasm neared closer, the panic set in.

It was what you had hoped for, to have the control taken away, but knowing that if you tapped your fingers or shook your head underneath his palm, it would stop. The thing was, you were already beginning to feel somewhat loopy from the orgasms that you didn’t want it to stop, which was why Azriel was doing this; he knew your body down the tiniest detail, especially with his shadows whispering away in his ear, counting your heartbeat.

The adrenaline only seemed to increase further as panic was doubling as you attempted to pull against the shadows around your wrists and thighs. The overwhelming pleasure between your lungs was the only thing that burned more than the need to breathe. You’re unsure what you need more, to cum or breath, but you’re only given one option, just as dark spots replaced the stars in your vision as you came around his fingers with an incredible squeeze of your walls around the digits.

Musky, sweated scented air filled your lungs desperately as his hand now cupped your cheek, supporting you as you tried to regain your full consciousness, but as Azriel continued to finger you, now at a slower pace, all you could think about was him and nothing more.

“That’s it- nice deep breaths for me. You’re doing so well for me. Did that feel good?” Az asks.

“Ye-Yes!” you stutter while trying to catch your breath. Your head lolls to one side while you nuzzle into his palm. Your eyes are entirely gazed at and unfocused, looking down at your mate.

“Good”, is all he says as he returns to sucking your clit and covering your mouth and nose again.

This time he had to tap your face a few times after you came to rouse you properly, but you were still greedily sucking air without an issue. However, now, Cassian and Rhys had stood, towering over the sides of the beds with concern, but arousal still evident across their beautiful faces.

“That’s a good girl. How do you feel?” Azriel asks, ignoring the two other males.

“Goo-Good. Good, " you say repeatedly, having only the energy and mental capacity to repeat the same words repeatedly.

You’re starting to feel a tingling sensation throughout your limbs, the edges of your sight blurring completely as your thoughts remain on how good you felt. Az watched you so closely that you weren’t sure he was blinking. “I know I can get you to cum one more time for me”.

However, before you can nod, you’re both interrupted by Rhysand growling, “Azriel. She’s had enough”.

“No, she hasn’t. I know she hasn’t. Just trust me. You can do this, can’t you, Love?” Azriel asks you.

Making sure to look him in the eye, you nod your head and say, “Yes”. Those special fingers of his begin curling with great speed once more as his tongue circles your throbbing clit.

You’re breathing heavily, screaming constantly until the air is cut off once more. Your lungs burn, your head is spinning, and all you can think of is cumming, begging silently to cum for Azriel, to be good for him, that you could do this, you could cum and show your other mates that Azriel was right.

As your orgasm rushes through you, your entire body does the opposite as it had been before. Instead of tensing, it went completely limp, eyes rolling back as your cunt continued to pulse and squeeze around his digits. When your eyes opened again, Azriel was half hovering above you, his fingers carefully easing out of your cunt, but you could hardly feel it as he tapped your cheeks a few times to bring you around more.

“I-I-I-I-I”, you mumbled incoherently as the shadows dispersed from your body entirely so you were no longer restrained.

“Shhh, you’re ok. You’re safe, Love, you’re ok”, Azriel whispers carefully as he begins to massage areas of your body to help you feel more, but it doesn’t help the complete and utter bliss settled through your mind and soul. It felt as if you were floating, and you never wanted to come back down again.

Azriel gave silent instructions to Rhysand, who shared these with Cassian as they stood beside the side of the bed, unsure if they should be ripping Azriel apart or helping their mate.

“Azriel”, Cassian warns, his entire body stiff and muscles flexing as he watches you blink heavily, body twitching with uncontrollable movements. Even though you were sucking in deep breaths, it seemed like you couldn’t catch your breath again.

“She’s fine, aren’t you?” Azriel asks, stroking away the flowing tears that you hadn’t noticed had started again down your cheeks.

“Ye-Ye-Yes. Yes, Yes”, you say, nodding tiredly.

“Are you sure?” Cass whispers, kneeling on the side of the bed and reaching for your hand, noticing that you couldn’t even squeeze his hand back as he held it carefully.

“Just give her some time; her head is all over the place at the moment, but it’s exactly where she wanted to be”, the Shadowsinger explained under his breath, still watching you very closely.

“Cu-Cum, cum”, you mutter, words still somewhat muffled from how heavy your tongue felt in your mouth.

“What’s that, Love?” Azriel asks, “You want to cum again?”

“Y-Yes”, you nod slowly, still staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Azriel smiles down at you. “So good for me. I think you’ve had enough for today. Just take some slow, deep breaths for me” You follow his instructions, taking slow, deep breaths until you don’t feel breathless anymore. As exhaustion begins to take over, your eyes close, but those scarred hands tap gently against your cheek to keep them open; you can’t even feel the temperature of his cold hands.

“I need you to keep your eyes on me. I don’t want you to fall asleep in this headspace, okay? Just like we talked about. "

“Ok”, you say just once, looking up at him but not seeing at all.

“What headspace? Did you break my mate, Azriel?” Rhysand snarls as he, too, kneels on the side of the bed, his wings extended to match his Brothers. The darkness of night crawls from his tense shoulders as he reaches forward to run a hand over the arm and leg closest to him.

“She’s not broken; she’s just floating. Isn’t that right?” You nod, looking only at Azriel. Cass sighs through his nose, having not had the answers given to him right away, as Az continues to give only half sentences. “I’ll explain in a minute, but I just need you to be there for her as she properly comes back”.

It takes several moments of tense massaging and silent raging for the boys as they watch you tiredly blink, the unfocused gaze and dreamy stare slowly hardening until you’re actually looking at your surroundings, shivering at the coolness of Azriel’s hands as they travel down your ribs.

Floating was the only way you could describe the experience like you had miraculously grown your own pain of Iillyrian wings and were flying through the clouds without care. Even the soft sheets beneath you couldn’t be felt when you were in that high headspace. Not even your name could be drawn out of you if asked, but slowly, with the help of your mate's touches and scents and Rhysand caressing the wall in your mind, you finally topple back to reality.

Eyes flicking between your three mates, two of which looked like they were bracing for war, you finally gave a tentative smile, feeling your cheeks warming back up from their intense gazes.

“There’s my girl”, Cass praises as he squises your wrist gently.

“Hey”, you whisper croakily, throat aching from all the screaming you’d been doing.

Azriel lowers himself, kissing your lips carefully once before maintaining intense eye contact. At this close proximity, you can see the hints of green throughout his hazel eyes. “You’re safe with us; you know that, right?”

“Yes, I know. I feel safe”, you reassure him, trying to lift your hand to caress his cheeks, but your arms are still too quick.

“Good, we’re going to bath together and clean you up. Then I think we need to explain to these two what’s happened”, Azriel explained as you nodded in understanding and closed your eyes, but a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose had you opening them again as his gaze softened, “I still need you to keep your eyes open. I don’t think you’re completely back yet, so no sleeping just yet.”

Before you can nod in understanding, two arms are carefully shifting beneath your body. One hook is under your knees, and the other supports your back as Rhysand lifts you to his chest, your head carefully laying across his shoulder as he walks the two of you into the bathing room.

Nuzzling into his warmth, he rested the two of you in the vast-sized bath and began to run the water hot, letting it slowly creep up your body as you sat between his muscular legs. Rhys held you close, ensuring that your eyes remained open and on his. The violet colour returned to the brightness you were used to as he continued to massage your limbs back to life.

Splashing from behind you indicates that the other two had joined in the water as they both hissed at the heat soaking into their muscles. Az takes your legs into his lap, massaging carefully over your calves as Cass takes hold of a hand, kissing the back of it and linking your fingers together.

Everyone’s attention then turns to Azriel as he begins to explain. “It’s called subspace”.

“Sub? Space?” Cassian repeats slowly, as if trying to sound out the new phrase but is entirely unsure.

“Yes”, continued Az, “It’s related to hormones and an emotional state where an individual becomes so lost within the moment, almost like a trance, that they aren’t able to make decisions for themselves and experience side effects like feeling the sensation that they are floating or euphoric. Similar to an out-of-body experience or a high. It can come from a physical response like shown today or an emotional response depending on how submissive the individual is”.

Rhysand seemed to tense further after the explanation, so you tried to lean into his body more as he began to talk. “Right, ok. So, this is something you’ve experienced before?” he asks, tilting his head down to look at you.

“Yes”, you say stoically, now not looking him in the eye as your fingers curl and grip Cassian, as the sensations return to you. “You know the male that I was with years before I met any of you? He um- He,” you were struggling to find the correct phases to say as you could feel the tension suddenly thick in the air at the mention of your previous lover.

Thankfully, Azriel continued the explanation for you, but you didn’t miss the stern tone of his voice. “With subspace, it’s important for the one experiencing it to have some sort of support. As I’ve explained, it’s to consent or look after yourself when going through a high like this. What my love is trying to explain is that this fucker used to leave her like how she was and either go drinking or fall asleep. She’d be on her own and-” Azriel blows out a long, steady breath as he closes his eyes, the shadows beginning to shake around him with the increase of his anger.

Sitting up further in Rhys’ lap, you continued the discussion. “I like getting to the point of being in subspace. It feels so freeing, and I trust you all to look after me; that’s why I spoke to Az first, just to make sure that you’d even want to try it, and I know it can look scary. But with my previous partner, he would leave me by myself, and I’d fall asleep, and when I woke up, I would have this impending doom sensation. I’ve read that it still has something to do with hormones. Still, I would feel so low and depressed without the support, almost like I was going to die with how low I felt. Still, after a few days, I would feel back to normal”.

You wanted to be open with them all, but seeing them all holding back some restraint with the anger they were experiencing, you knew you needed to pull them back before they went on the hunt.

“Please, for the love of the Mother, tell me this fuckers name”, Cassian demands lowly. It was your only secret, the name of the male you’d once been with and had been emotionally scarred from. You were unsure as to why, whether it be fear or to refrain from violence, but you had never told any of them the name.

Shaking your head no, you collapse further into Rhys, which causes some tension to leave his body as he holds you close with an arm around your waist and his lips caressing the back of your head.

“You know, I could just slip into your mind and find out”, Rhyand whispers, stating something that both Cass and Az were wondering.

“Yes, you could, but you won’t, " you confidently say. It was the one wish you had made him promise upon becoming mate- no creeping through your mind, no matter what. Rhys kisses your head again to confirm that he wouldn’t do this.

“So this subspace, " Cassian interrupts the anger by changing the subject to something you were thankful for. Are you sure it feels good? I thought you had passed out earlier, which frightened me, to be truthful with you. "

Your fingers squeeze his once more as you look over at him and give him a reassuring smile, “It feels amazing and a little addicting to feel like that and like I said, I trust the three of you more than anyone. Usually, it doesn’t take long for me to fall into subspace, but it’s been a while; I think I’ve put some barriers up in my mind to stop going to that place because of my past”.

“And luckily for her, I’ve seen this sort of thing before”, Azriel explains.

“So how do we make sure she doesn’t feel awful like she did with that fucker?” Cass asks with a subtle growl.

“Aftercare”, Az explains with a shrug of his shoulders, “Exactly like you have been doing already. Making sure she stays awake and feels safe, food and water helps. Talking to her, holding her, and warm baths are always good”.

You gently smile with Azriel as he lists what you cherish most about aftercare, but Cassian’s next question causes you to nearly bite your tongue.

“And the choking? To the point where she nearly passed out. Was that part of the subspace, too?”

Azriel smirks cockily as you giggle and hide your face in Rhys’ chest. “No, she just wanted to try that out. It’s called breathplay. It’s not for everyone; I’ve had some experience with it. Can’t just go around choking people until they pass out like a brute, Cass”.

The water sways as your mate shoves Az in the shoulder.

The chest you’re learning on begins to vibrate as Rhys muses, “Guess even after 500 years of living, I still have lots to learn”. You hum in response, exhaustion fully settling into your body now as you wish to close your eyes so you look over at Az,

“Can I sleep yet?”

“Not yet. I need you to eat and drink something first. Stay here; I’ll get you something, " he explains as he kisses your knee, lowers your feet into Cass’s lap, and climbs out of the bath. You sigh into the embrace of your other mates.

#batboys smut #batboys x reader #acotar smut #acotar #batboys #azriel x reader #azriel smut #azriel #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand smut #cassian smut #cassian x reader #cassian #ive never written for acotar before im excited #mine*

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assassinsblade · 3 months

Text

Arrows and Ashes | 3

Azriel's determined to help you get better. You are determined that you are fine.

WC: 3.6k

Warnings: Pining, friends to lovers, injuries, fluff, some brief unhealthy coping, self-deprecation.

a/n: If you would like notifications for my writing, you can turn on notifications for the blog @assassinslibrary where I reblog all my fics!

Part 1 Part 2

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Azriel couldn't sleep. All night, he stayed by your side, watching your back rise and fall with each breath. He counted them, making sure you were getting enough air, that you were alive and well. And when that didn’t quell the pounding of his heart and the trembling of his hands, he moved closer and listened for the air leaving your lungs and the heartbeat in your chest.

He tried to read to pass the time, picking up the book he had brought in from your bedroom. But the words refused to sink into his brain, and he found himself unable to focus on anything other than you.

Any time his eyes wavered from your form, anxiety pooled in his chest. His eyelids had even become heavy with sleep, but he forced them open again, his shadows swirling around him in irritation.

He realized while sitting in silence that this was the first time you had been in his bedroom for more than a few minutes. He had known you for centuries, since he had been a child, yet he kept his room very private. You would enter occasionally when dropping something off to him, calling him down for dinner, needing to tell him something, or asking him to accompany you somewhere. But spending a longer amount of time together? Normally that occurred outside of either of your bedrooms.

Now, as you laid in his bed, your hair fanned out on the pillow, Azriel couldn’t help but feel like you were meant to be there. You occupied this space like it was your own, despite the aesthetic contrasting so deeply with your vibrant personality. It made something warm pool in his chest, a feeling that reminded him of coming home after a mission or falling asleep after a long day. A feeling he had pushed down until the past few days. One he had tried to ignore out of fear.

A soft groan pulled him out of his thoughts, and he immediately sat up straighter, his heart faltering.

You started to roll over to face away from the wall, your body moving toward him instead. But Azriel jumped to his feet, laying his hands gently on your arm to keep you from turning onto your back.

“Don’t move too much.”

His voice came out as a whisper, as if the volume could pierce you and cause you more pain.

“Azriel?”

“It’s me,” he clarified, scarred fingers stroking soft circles on your bicep. “I’m here.”

You swallowed, and he could feel your body start to tremble beneath his touch. Adrenaline shakes, he surmised -- your body still recovering from the pain and trauma it suddenly endured.

“You don’t have to say anything. You’re in my room, you’re safe. You’ve just been resting.”

Blinking as if trying to orient yourself, you tried to turn again. His strong hands kept you in place.

“Could you-“ you coughed lightly. “Could you help me turn? I want to see you.”

One of his hands moved beneath your knees and the other cradled your back, just beneath your wounds. He lifted you from the bed slightly, moving your body toward him before releasing your legs and encouraging you to turn on your right side to face him, keeping pressure off your back.

When he finally released his hands, his hazel eyes stared into your own.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he spoke softly in return. His fingers gently moved your hair behind your ear.

Your eyes traced his face in silence before you finally moved your gaze away from him, noting where you were.

“Your bed is cozy.”

Azriel had to control his facial expression so as not to reveal his confusion and concern. That was the first thing you thought upon waking?

He gave you a soft smile instead. “Can I get you anything?”

You shook your head, burying yourself further into the blankets. “No, I’m okay.”

There was no way.

But you didn't elaborate and seemed content enough to stay laying there in silence, no acknowledgement of the life-altering event that had occurred to you.

Azriel didn’t like this at all. He had expected you to wake up in pain, whimpering, asking for him or Cassian or Rhys. For you to have been in a panic over your wings, sobbing and mourning them. He had been prepared to comfort you and hold you and explain how you were safe and that those males had been torn to pieces for hurting you.

But you were acting like nothing had even happened.

It was unnerving, and the shadowsinger for once had no read on the situation.

He eyed you carefully. “I’m going to have to change your bandages in a bit.”

You stiffened, your body tensing at his words before relaxing, your eyes feigning nonchalance.

“Later,” you challenged, closing your eyes again. “Is everyone coming for dinner?”

Azriel couldn’t mask his uncertainty over the situation, his brows furrowed and fingers twitching at his sides. “I’m not sure. Are you hungry?”

“You know I’d never turn down something sweet. Do we have any of those chocolate croissants from our cafe?”

“I’ll check. If not, I’ll have Rhys bring you some.”

You smiled, and he stood from where he was sitting by your form, looking at you one last time before crossing the threshold into the hallway so he can check for something to appease your unexpected sweet tooth.

Your entire behavior was unexpected. You wanted to eat. You were smiling. Not at all hinting at the trauma you had been through.

Azriel’s job was to inflict torture onto those in the dungeons (among other tasks). He knew the trauma it caused — the pain, the nightmares, the way it would permanently break some fae. He wasn’t sure if what had happened had not caught up to you yet, if you were in shock still, or if you were pretending to be okay, unwilling to show weakness in front of him.

Both possibilities made something twist in his stomach.

He forced his feet to move away from where you curled up in bed, shutting the door softly behind him and making his way to the kitchen. It was empty still, save for the bundles of daisies Rhys had dropped off at Azriel’s request. The high lord hadn’t questioned the order for the flowers, only leaving a note with them that said they all love you.

The two large bouquets looked silly now to the shadowsinger. Of course, he was hoping they would make you happy based on your past joy from flowers, but with everything that happened? They seemed so small in comparison.

He shook the thoughts from his head, instead looking around the counters and cabinets for any sign of your favorite treats. When he found none, he wrote a letter to Rhys seeing if he could deliver some of those chocolate croissants per your request. Once the high lord knew you were awake, he would probably do just about anything you asked.

Azriel sighed in defeat, bringing one of the bouqets back to the room with him so he wasn’t empty-handed.

He paused outside of the door, trying to settle his nerves. His shadows only swirled around him in agitation, and he tried to soothe them back to his sides. Only when he went to shush them, though, did he realize why they were unsettled.

A quiet whimper sounded from the other side of the door, followed by a sniffle and a small choked sob.

Azriel immediately opened the door, not hesitating to knock or make sure you were decent. His eyes scanned the room hurriedly, noting the tossed blankets on his bed and the light spilling from the bathroom.

He walked into the entryway, body instinctually turning toward your presence, guiding him toward the cracked door on the left. You shouldn’t be out of bed without assistance, and he definitely didn’t want you to be in there crying alone. He quickly placed the flowers on the desk next to the door before he peered into the open doorway, eyes immediately drawn to your red rimmed ones. You weren’t looking at him, though. Your eyes were turned over your bare shoulder, looking at the reflection of your back in the mirror.

Your back. Azriel's stomach dropped at the sight.

He hadn’t seen it all cleaned up without the bandages yet. It was still somehow just as gruesome as when it was splayed open and bloody on that table.

The wounds were large. Crescent-shaped and still healing. They were deep, gouged into the skin, and anyone else would look at them and call them ugly, an eye-sore, a blemish marking what would have been beautiful skin. Not Azriel, though. Never Azriel. Not when he still ran his own fingers along his scarred palms when nervous.

He slowly inched the door open further, the movement catching your eye and causing you to quickly turn your back to him, your arms crossing to cover your bare chest.

It was silent, your startled eyes searching his own for some sort of reaction. Did you expect him to be disgusted by your? By your scars?

In a way, he was. He didn't think you were disgusting in any way, but the act that was committed against you, the pain you had gone through in those moments, Cassian's memories still flashing in his mind -- that was what disgusted him.

You swallowed, and Azriel was moving before you could say something. He walked around you in a way that was cautious but attempting to be casual as to not put you on edge. He didn't face your back right away, especially as he felt you stiffen as he passed your side, and instead reached toward the counter where one of Madja's creams sat.

Unscrewing the lid, he finally made his presence known close behind you, pausing to let you breathe through your nerves before gently moving the hair that had fallen back over your shoulder. You shivered at the movement, but you didn't flee. You didn't tell him no.

So he gently dipped his fingers into the medicine, bringing it carefully up to the first of your wounds, still red and angry and glaring at him as if he were an enemy. He so very gently covered one edge with the white substance. You flinched at the feeling but still said nothing, so he continued, holding his breath and waiting for you to either lash out or break down.

Neither came though.

You stood still as can be, letting him apply the cream and dress your wounds, even taking the wrap from him and around your front to help hold the gauze in place. When he finally finished, he pulled your hair back from where it laid over your shoulder, letting it flow beautifully down your back, no longer suffocating the space by your neck. Then he walked back around to your front, meeting your gaze immediately and refusing to let it go.

Azriel tried to read what you were thinking, what you were feeling. But you only blinked away the remaining tears as if you were breaking out of a stupor.

You stood up taller, putting a faux smile on your face. "No chocolate croissants? I'm disappointed, Shadowsinger. You know Cassian wouldn't have returned without them."

A sharp pain twisted in his chest at your deflection, at your so obvious false display of contentment.

"Daisy-" he started, voice low and quiet.

"Why don't we go pick some up? You can use your shadows to get us to the gate right?"

"Daisy-"

You made your way toward the door, stumbling and moving slowly with your body's new imbalance and soreness. "Then you can go see everyone else. You shouldn't have to babysit-"

"Daisy."

You halted at his tone. The strong, demanding voice filled with such concern and care.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

He couldn't see your face, but he could almost picture your haunted look as you took a moment to collect yourself, your voice shaking when you finally spoke.

"Do what?"

"Pretend." He sighed. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Taking a deep breath, you shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I just want you to feel what you need to feel. You have been through a lot, and it's not good for you to just pretend like it didn't happen."

He walked closer to you, approaching you from behind, but you whirled around before he could get too close, gripping the doorway to stop yourself from stumbling.

"Of course I can't pretend like nothing happened. My wings are gone, Azriel. They are gone. My back feels like its been shredded -- like someone took me down to the butcher in Velaris to play with. And every day I will see those scars, feel those scars. I will watch as Rhys, Cassian, and you all fly, and I will forever be grounded. I will never again feel the wind in my hair or leap from the balcony. My body is changed; half of who I am has been taken from me, so I'm sorry if I don't know who I'm supposed to be after that."

By the end of your outburst, you were breathing heavy, choking on sobs that threatened to come up. Azriel watched as you swayed, your still healing and exhausted body needing rest, and he stepped closer.

"You aren't supposed to be anyone," he started, tears filling his own eyes. "You will always be Daisy, no one can take that away."

When he reached where you were standing, you shook your head, backing up into the bedroom as tears began to fall down your cheeks.

"You don't understand-"

"You're right. I could never understand. But I still want to help. Let me help, please."

"You can't help me. You can't go back in time or reattach my wings. I’m no longer me, I’m ruined.”

Azriel lunged forward at your words, propelled by something deep in his chest to correct you, to defend the sweet girl in front of him. His eyes were wild with hurt as he grasped your face between his palms, guiding your teary eyes to his own.

“Don’t you dare say that. You are the same girl who walked out of this house days ago. You are strong and brave and selfless, and everything you have lost is proof of that. You are not ruined, you are everything.”

You only looked at him, lip quivering as you tried to listen to him and hold back your sobs.

You shook your head slightly. “I’ll never be able to fly with you again.”

“I’ll take you.” Azriel vowed, voice deep and resolute. “I will carry you wherever you’d like.”

“I can’t even walk balanced-”

“My shadows will help support you while you recover. I will help support you.”

You looked away from him, tears filling your eyes once again. The words that came next were small, insecure. "No one will want me like this."

It took Azriel a few seconds to realize what you meant, because he could never dream of not wanting you. They all had trauma and nightmares, but you were referencing your scars, your forever-marked body. Madja had been able to close the wounds, but the worst ones had scarred. The lashings that had become infected in those dungeons had scarred. Only days ago you had been scar free save for a few. Not, you had hills and valleys of rough textured skin on your back, abdomen, thighs...

And you were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Every scar a testament to your love and devotion to your family, a testament to your strength. He wanted more than just you, he wanted to worship you. He wanted to lay you down and cater to your every need, to massage and kiss every inch of your healing body, to show you just how beautiful he found you.

He swallowed, passion and an overwhelming amount of love filling his chest. It nearly ached. He directed you to look at him again. Nearly commanded it with his grip on you.

"I want you. In every form, in every life, in every universe. You are everything."

His words were strong, confident, and warm. He was pleading with you to believe him, to see and hear the truth that was right there.

You looked at him, studied him. Azriel knew your teary eyes were watching closely for a crack in his resolute stance. You would find none, though.

Eventually you sniffed, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you asked in a sweet but broken voice, "What if your mate had these faults?"

Azriel didn't even have time to be shocked at the question, because he was immediately retaliating against your self-deprecation. "They are not faults. They are a part of you, of your story, and of your selflessness. They encompass so much of your beautiful heart in them, they could never be a fault."

The insinuation made him angry, but he tried to tamp down those feelings. You needed reassurance, not a reprimand.

You didn't even flinch at his response. Instead, you held his gaze and tried to cover the meekness making its way into your voice by standing up straighter. Azriel held you firm, steadying your balance with his shadows and his own feet against yours.

"And you'd still be saying this? If it was your mate?"

He was surprised the question didn't have that much of an effect on him. Anyone else bringing up mates normally had him tensing, snapping, getting defensive and changing the subject. From you though, It was comforting. Natural.

"Especially if it was my mate. But they would be able to feel all of this from me too. I would make sure they always knew they were wanted. I'd tell them everyday how beautiful they are, I'd get them sweet foods to make them feel better, I'd surprise them with flowers..."

As if the words summoned your eyes to them, he saw you see the giant bouquet of daisies sitting on his desk by the door. Your eyes widened slightly, your brows furrowing and chest rising a bit more rapidly. Azriel tightened his grip on you to steady you further.

He tilted his head to bring your gaze back to his own. "You are wanted, Daisy. I loved you before this, and I love you now. I will continue to love you always. Because you are you."

His words cracked something within you, because the next thing he knew, he was catching your weight against him. Your cheek pressed against his chest and your arms wrapped around his back, and then you were letting out such a heart-wrenching sob that Azriel immediately held you as tight as he could. He wished he could take all of the pain away, all of the haunting memories and nightmares. Any threats or fears, he vowed to fight them for you. Do anything until a smile was back on your pretty face.

"I want you too. I love you too," you mumbled into his chest.

It was only a few minutes before your sniffs subsided, and you pulled back with red splotchy cheeks and swollen eyes, skin wet with tears. Azriel cleared the hair from your face, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"You're my mate."

The words were so quiet, Azriel almost missed them.

But he couldn't. How could he? Mate, you had said. Him.

He was shocked enough at the acknowledgement of a physical bond between the two of you that he probably looked absurd, but he wasn't that shocked at the Cauldron deeming you two well-suited. After all, he had cared for you as more than a friend for months now, even if he had tried not to acknowledge it in fear of rejection.

He breathed, allowing his love for you to fill his veins, fill his very heart and soul. And then he met your sparkling eyes, still slightly watery from minutes prior.

And he felt it.

Deep within his chest, it's presence slowly becoming more prominent, was a golden thread. A tether that thrummed inside of him and brought him to you. A tug nearly sent him reeling.

"Your mate," was all he said.

"Yes," you whispered, still a little sniffly. "And I'm yours."

He let out a wet, happy chuckle, tears beginning to coat his own cheeks.

"You're mine," he repeated.

He made sure you were stable before grasping your face in his hands once again, bringing his lips to your cheek, then your forehead, then your other cheek, then your nose, and then your lips. He peppered them all over your face and arms, over the lacerations. He let the warmth in his chest take over and sing a song he had never known. The song escaped his lips in the form of kisses, in the form of I love you, my beautiful Daisy, and I'm so glad you're safe.

Only once he had regained control of his actions, he let his forehead rest on your own.

"You're mine," he said once again. "My everything."

And he knew you felt it.

#writing #acotar x reader #acotar fic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fluff

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