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readychilledwine · 2 months

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Small World Pt 2

Summary - After discovering you and Azriel share much more than a mating bond, your relationship grows stronger as tensions between you and your aunt seem to grow higher.

Warnings - implied emotional and mental abuse, second child syndrome in a not good way, we find out Nyx is an asshole, unrequited love, slight smut, use of daddy

A/n - a potentially cliff hanger ending because I haven't decided 100% how this ends

Peep Part 1 Here 💙

Azriel stared at the dress box sitting on Rhysand's desk and nicely folded Illyrian leathers. He couldn't remember the last time he had worn them. The last time he had used a siphon. The leathers were fitted for 7, something Azriel immediately knew would no longer work.

His powers after removing the precious stones had gone wild. His shadows were different now. They were more aware, able to span wider distances, and able to recruit more shadows into his network to join them.

He had spent 5 years alone meditating and learning even more control over them, over what they could do, over how deadly they actually could be.

7 siphons would not be enough.

And he didn't understand how Rhysand did not see that.

He finally spoke, gesturing to the box. "What is this?"

Rhys was settled in his chair, trying to maintain his composure as Cassian stood near the bookshelf to mediate if needed. "We're going to the Court of Nightmares. My daughter's engagement has spread like wildfire, and dear Keir wants to host a party in her honor."

A breathy chuckle left Azriel's lips before he could stop it. "So my fiancée will be dressed like a goddess while I am in leathers at a party to mock us?"

Cassian shifted slightly. "We've always worn leathers to Hewn City, Az. It's to honor our heritage." Rhys just inclined his head to Cassian and nodded. "Y/n wears leathers."

"She has never worn a single set in the 2 years we've been together. There isn't even a set in her closet."

"There's several sets in her closet here," Rhys said quietly. "All set up for pink siphons. 14 of them." Cassian and Azriel couldn't help their chuckles. "Imagine a blonde Illyrian with pink siphons, Azriel, its quite the sight." Rhys smiled fondly, eyes glimmering with pride despite everything. "She's-" he looked up, searching for the perfect word for his daughter. "She's my everything. And I've done a horrible job showing her that."

Azriel sucked in a deep breath. "I won't mediate this, Rhys. This is a you two thing. Not an us three thing."

Azriel knew now why you were estranged from your family. Nyx was their golden child. Constantly praised, admired, in the spotlight. He was, and still is, their reminder of how they had almost died to pass along their love. He could do no wrong, never be wrong, and was treated as such.

You, on the other hand, were the second child. The significantly younger one Nyx learned to plant blame on and watch as you were scolded and seen as "the problem" as you had told him you were now addressed as in Hewn City and Illyria. You had been raised by Ness more than Feyre and Rhys, passed off to them until your powers bloomed at 16, and suddenly your father found you interesting again. With a lack of a spymaster, he exploited you, forcing you to touch people and feel their emotions, when they lied, their stories. Forcing you to live trauma over and over of females clipped in the mountains, of tortured traitors in dungeons, of Nesta's dark phase.

You locked your powers so far away one day, so deep inside you that even you hardly could access them unless you actually wanted to. It had been just before your 18th birthday that happened. And then the fight that sealed the casket happened. Rhys had verbally lashed you. Attacked you for refusing to let him use your "one worth" to keeping his family and court safe.

Your father had said he saw you as useless, and everyone else just stood by watching.

Like they had with Nesta.

Only you were just a child. Not a head strong warrior, a goddess in fae form.

You packed the basics and spent the night on the streets in a dark alley.

Even if you and Rhys magically fixed things, even if you forgave but not forgot, Azriel would never. How you were raised, how you've been treated, it forever will taint his vision of Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx. The abuse they unleashed on you, they'd never make up for.

Rhys nodded, eyes glancing to the doorway as footsteps approached. "I would never ask you to fix my relationship with her when I need to fix my relationship with you as well. I just need you to know I love her. That she will always be my girl."

"You have an odd way of showing her your lo-"

The door opened, and you stepped in, immediately going to Azriel's side and eyeing the box. "Dad. Cassian." You opened the lid and nodded. "Well. At least it's sparkly."

Rhys cocked his head. "You don't like it?"

Azriel watched as you paused. The bond flared with conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, longing. How long had it been since Rhys held you? Since he told you he loved you without you having to earn it. "No, I like it. I just know what this means. You never give me nice things unless Hewn City is involved." The last sentence trailed off quietly, and pain flooded the bond.

Rhys looked down, nodding as he scratched the stubble growing on his face. "I am sorry. I just-"

"Please don't. You never mean it." You grabbed the box. "I will wear it and find jewelry." You turned to Azriel. "Elain would like to speak with you. She said something about a garden you two planned together and how I'll never understand the love you two share. How it breaks bonds and shakes worlds."

The relationship between you and Azriel had been messy since dinner two weeks ago. You two had your first fight over, of course, Elain and her rekindled love, lust, whichever felt appropriate at the moment for Azriel. He ignored the constant letters, the random headache powders, the message coded flowers.

He had reached out to Lucien, asking the male what had happened. According to the new Lord of Day, Elain and he had tried for 5 years, but the damage had been done. Lucien didn't trust Elain, Elain spent most of their time comparing the two of them, and nothing Lucien gave her was enough. He had been the one to reject the bond, and after 7 years, he had found himself heavily involved in a relationship with a now fully fae Vassa and Jurian.

Rhys and Cassian both gave him gentle looks of concern as he held your hand, preventing you from walking away. He stared Rhys in the eyes, doing something he felt Rhysand had never done to prove a point. "I'd rather go home with you, so if you were planning on winnowing, we might as well go together." He picked you.

They watched as all tension left your body, as security eased into your face. "Then let's go home." Azriel grabbed the leathers, nodding to Rhys and Cassian before following you.

Azriel's elbow locked around your neck, hand squeezing your hip as he pinned you below him and continued taking you from behind. You both had no interest in heading to Hewn City, so you had distracted him, walking into your shared bedroom in just a pretty blue silk night gown offering to give your body to him for what he had done, the message he had sent.

You were supposed to be getting ready, but instead, Azriel was growling above you, pumping into you carelessly. Your toes curled at how deep he was hitting, at how good he felt, how good he felt every time. "So close," you whispered. "So fucking close-" You were moaning his name when the knock on the door came.

A shadow rushed to him, curling his ear as he paused. "It's Elain," he muttered. "She's relentless." You whined below him, hips wiggling to get friction back. "Baby,"

"Please," you begged. "It's been weeks, I've been so good, please, daddy."

Azriel felt his cock twitch at the use of the name. He'd longed for a moment to erase the memory of what happened, and you had just given it to him. He felt you moving your hips, doing the best you could while pinned to the mattress to fuck yourself on his cock.

You were his focus, the rest of the world melting away as he heard your moans turning into screams of his name. You sounded so pretty coming for him, crying for him, begging for more for less for everything as oversensitivity took over. You especially looked pretty dripping his seed when he pulled out of you. Once again, he had chosen you.

You two laid there, holding each other until claws came for both of you. Scratching angerly as your mental shields and causing you to bury your head into Azriel's chest. "We need to get ready unless you want him showing up here next," Azriel played with your hair, scratching your scalp lightly. "Let's see how many siphons I blow through."

After 2 sets of siphons being destroyed, you were currently dragging Azriel down the streets of Velaris and to your brother and father's tailor. You knew she'd be able to fit and dress him in seconds and that he'd look every bit handsome as he deserved. You were pissed when you saw he had been gifted Illyrian leathers and not a suit. Your father was out of touch with Azriel. With you.

"Helena," you smiled at the older female. "We need help."

Azriel felt stiff. Staring at the doors of Heen City as a shocked page boy ran to inform Rhys and Feyre of the late arrival. You two were about to upstage them in their own court. The guests of honor arriving late and being introduced after the Lord and his Lady.

You would have upstaged them by yourself anyway, though. Azriel admired you one more time. Rhys had picked well, though you both would never admit it. The dress had a see-through bodice of black lace and floral applicates with thin straps. It led to a satin skirt that was tight and then flared out to your hips. The left leg had a high slit, showing the toned beautiful skin Azriel was begging to cover in his kisses. You had picked a simple necklace, a single tear drop shaped sapphire with matching earring and a matching bracelet. Your ring sat on manicured nails painted a soft shade of pink to white coffin head tips. Heels graced your feet, the red underside flashing when you walked. "Gods, you are stunning," he finally whispered out in a hoarse voice.

"And all yours," you looked at him, adjusting the lapel of his jacket. "Forever." Your mask slipped on as the doors opened, a collective gasp ringing through the room over who was on your arm followed by whispers.

Azriel knew this song and dance, walking you into one thousand eyes staring and gawking. He hated seeing you like this as you were ushered to the dance floor. The first dance of the night had been delayed, and the fae were restless.

Once you were centered on the floor, you turned facing him, eyes cold and distant as you disassociated from this place. He placed a hand on your hip, leaving his other to his side where both of your sat.

It was unfair of Feyre and Rhysand to expect you to do this traditional waltz, but you followed Azriel's steps as the music began, that first note echoing in your bones and soul. Your parents had claimed your first dance with your mate. The first true dance you two would ever share, and it had to be done in front of hundreds of fae who spat your direction when the Lord and Lady were busy.

Azriel had decided he hated this side of you. He was studying you like a project. You were a different female down here. Cold, uncaring, forced into this role of the High Lord's daughter.

Did these fae know you took far too much creamer in your coffee?

That you were afraid of storms?

That you only ate fruit pastries because you found chocolate too bitter?

You were Rhysand through and through with that mask on. But inside, inside Azriel knew you carried the very light of what your grandfather built. You were a true dreamer, and you could rattle the very stars themselves if your father would just give you the chance.

If Rhysand would just believe in you.

Azriel decided in that moment what the answer to your happiness was. He'd take you tonight and you two would leave.

Fuck expectations.

Fuck the rules.

Fuck your family.

Azriel would pick you for the third time today, and you two would leave.

He just had to get you through this visit at Hewn City first, and as he watched Elain shatter a champagne flute in her hands, he knew that was going to be a mission all on its own.

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@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish

Azriel-

@elle4404

Small World Taglist-

@amara-moonlight @iimichie @acourtofbatboydreams @justasillylittlegoofyguy @janesalvarerelochanarcheron @hungryforbatboys @sidthedollface2 @hunt1bryce

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x feysands daughter!reader #az x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster

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stylesharrys · 2 months

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all that you are | prologue [mafiarry]

authors note: okay, here you are, the start of mob!harry all the way from patreon. this has been so special to me as it’s been brought back from the past (we’re talking 5 years ago) and turned into what it is now! in this series, gem is younger than harry. i really hope you love this series as much as i loved writing it

word count: 1,156

summary: an arranged marriage is set, and y/n has no say in the matter.

Giovanni Saccaro sips on his scotch in his parlour. His grey, wispy hair is combed back, his balding head glinting under the orange hues of the wall lights. His son sits beside him, twenty and full of life and excitement.

Bruno’s always teased Giovanni for the lack of hair on his head, promised that when he becomes Capo of the Californian Famiglia, he wouldn’t lose his looks and hair as his Father had.

Opposite them, across the dark oak desk, Stefano Dellucci leans back in his chair. He’s a few years younger than Saccaro and his hair isn’t balding just yet. Flown in from New York, he’s got a proposition to secure power and strength in his Famiglia.

There’s a glimmer of excitement in Dellucci’s eyes as he clasps his hands over his middle and relaxes further into his chair.

He shouldn’t be this relaxed in such a situation. He should be on his toes, ready for anything. His step-son sits beside him, dark brown locks ungodly waves on his head and his face is void of emotion, but there’s a wicked hint of a smirk that tugs on the corners of his pink lips.

Harry Styles-Dellucci, twenty-two-years-old and soon to be Capo of the New York Famiglia. Clad in a black Armani suit, his thick legs are spread wide and a menacing glint flickers in his eyes as Giovanni begins to lean forward and speak.

“It’s unexpected for me to receive a visit from the Dellucci’s. I don’t remember the last time New York and California met without there being a bloodbath,” he sips his scotch, “Tell me why this shouldn’t end the same way.”

Stefano fights back the urge to scoff but Harry doesn’t hide the way he rolls his eyes. Jeff stands by the door, warm brown eyes, that are anything but, drilling holes into Giovanni’s head and his hand rests on his gun holster beneath his suit vest.

Giovanni’s guard, Gomez, does the same from beside him. He reaches a hand to his side, a silent order to remain calm, to not cause a scene, and Gomez removes his hand from under the lapel of his suit blazer.

“There’s no need for hostility, Giovanni. We come in peace, to form an alliance of sorts,” Dellucci grins.

Giovanni sits back and squints, but waves his hand to continue. Harry has to bite back a scoff. The man acts as though he’s doing Stefano a favour by hearing him out, but in reality, Harry is about to be the one to save both their asses.

“And what did you have in mind?” Giovanni asks, somewhat interested.

Stefano’s lips twitch. “I understand you have a young daughter, almost of age to marry, but I hear you’re also yet to find her a husband.” Harry hates how disgusting Stefano sounds about the matter.

He isn’t entirely innocent, though. When he found out he’d have a trial of taking over as Capo, he jumped at the chance to rule and finally be away from his stepfather. But becoming Capo also means holding larger responsibilities, and to keep up appearances, he needs a wife.

A young, unscathed wife.

“And what makes you think I’d want to marry her off to some traitor by blood,” Giovanni seethes, his poisonous words doing nothing to phase Harry, even if it is direct disrespect toward his dead father.

Stefano raises a hand.

“Now, Saccaro, we all know what my son's relation to the English ensures us. People have come to terms with his blood heritage and it only secures our alliances with London, who are also allied with the Portuguese and Russians. Be wise with what you say next.”

It’s been no secret about Harry’s background and family. That his biological father was of English heritage and a mobster in an arranged marriage with an Italian woman to form allies between London and Italy.

Many view Harry as the poster child for a traitor, though others view him as one of the most powerful and dangerous Made Men out there. Harry has connections to the Portuguese, the English, Russians and Italian, all of which are just from being born.

No other Famiglia has connections quite like him, and the Saccaro’s should consider themselves honoured to be given this type of consideration.

Giovanni hums, a finger on his lips as though he’s deep in thought. Bruno squints his eyes as though anything he says will have an impact on Giovanni’s decision. Harry glances at his father, who looks like he might just burst if Saccaro turns him down.

He sinks back into his seat and smirks to himself. He knows the type of man Giovanni is, he’s heard the rumours. Late nights at the whoreclubs while his wife sleeps, blissfully aware but thankful he isn’t touching her instead.

Giovanni is a man that craves power and respect. And if he thinks this deal will give him that, there’s no reason for him to turn it down.

“She’s not even 18. I won’t whore her off until she’s of proper age,” Giovanni speaks and if Harry didn’t know better, he’d probably think he actually cared for his daughter, and not that the longer he waits, the more she’d be worth.

But he does know better. So much better.

“But she is of innocence, yes? There will be blood on the sheets,” Stefano asks, as though asking of her virginity is the most appropriate question for a father.

Harry can’t help but smirk at the idea. Having a woman completely bound to him, to respect him and please him only.

Harry has slept with enough women to know how to use his dick, but something about taking a woman’s innocence and making her completely his has his cock twinging in his pants.

Giovanni scoffs, Bruno’s grin thickening. Like father, like son. “Of course. She’s never even spoken with a man outside of this family and her guard, Gomez. I raised a respectful young woman, not a dirty whore,” he raises his head.

You mean your wife raised a respectful young woman, Harry thinks.

Stefano nods his head.

“Very well. We can turn her birthday into the engagement party two months from now, allow them to meet and that gives us time to plan the wedding and discuss further arrangements.”

Giovanni nods. “Three years. When she’s 21, she may be wed.”

Harry sits back in his seat, cocky grin on his lips and he’s eager to get a look at his fiancé. He watches as his father and Giovanni reach across the table, their hands meeting in a firm shake and just like that, it’s sealed.

Y/N Saccaro will be his wife.

okkk so this is just the prologue, a little warmer up for you guys as the next parts of this series are something like 20k words long each! next part is scheduled for next week! please please leave some feedback on this series, it truly means so much to hear what you guys think!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #mob!harry #harry styles fic

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emeritusemeritus · 9 months

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Can I sleep here tonight?

Title: Can I sleep here tonight?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x pregnant!wife!reader, Molly and Arthur Weasley (being absolute gems)

Timeline: Set post-war. George lost his ear a per canon but Fred is very much alive and thriving, married and expecting his first child. The burrow is mentioned for story purposes so it didn’t burn down and we’re ignoring canon once more.

Summary: George arrives at the burrow asking to spend the night, desperate to get away from Fred and his pregnant wife.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, pregnant character, brief mentions of war and previous injury, though no graphic description is included. Mentions of sex.

It's way past tea time, darkness settling all around as the last glimmer of winter sun fades into the hills when George Weasley apparates onto the familiar dirt road leading up to his childhood home. He's armed with only his wand and a small suitcase no bigger than a briefcase, only holding the basics.

Since the war, Molly and Arthur had kept up the old enchantments placed upon the Burrow as a precaution, the fears never truly leaving them. With a wave of his wand, George clears the enchantments and steps through the invisible barrier to get to the house. As he steps towards the little stone step that acts as the threshold to the house, the door is thrust open and a warm and solid body pulls him inside. He recognises the body as his mother the very second her height and smell come into focus.

"My boy! What are you doing here? You look tired and peaky, is something wrong? I'll make you something to eat. Arthur!" Molly shouts loudly for her husband after fretting at seeing George on their doorstep without any prior warning, especially without his twin. Since opening the shop, them moving out together, the war, George's recovery, and Fred's wedding, the twins have been so busy it's been an endeavour to get them back home even for a simple visit. "Arthur!"

"Mollywobbles what is it?" Arthur shouts back, his voice getting louder as he moves towards the kitchen. "Oh hello son," he says as he walks into the kitchen, seeing George stood there clutching a small briefcase. Arthur instinctively frowns at the unexpected visit but welcomes his son with warmth, wrapping him in a hug, patting his back a few times before pulling away.

"Do you want a cup of tea dear?" Molly asks, already making her way over to the kettle and busying herself to make something to eat for George, regardless of his radio silence.

"Now Molly, it seems he might need something stronger than tea, right son?" Arthur asks, patting George's shoulder once. "Why don't be crack open some of my Knotgrass mead? I've been saving it for an occasion, no time better than the present." He ushers George to sit at the table and Molly rushes over with a large bottle of mead and two pint glasses, bringing over an elaborate sandwich on a plate for George.

"Thanks mum," George says as Molly places down the welcomed food, noticing that she'd used one of her nicer plates for him, not something that he was ever allowed when he was younger.

"Cheers!" Arthur says, holding up his glass towards George's after he'd poured them, happy to have a drinking buddy at home.

"So what's wrong son? Not that you're not always welcome of course," Arthur says, eyeing his son with a hint of suspicion as Molly takes a seat opposite George, placing down a cup of tea made for herself.

"Can I stay here tonight?" George asks, cringing at the slight awkwardness of his request, feeling like a child again.

"Of course you can!" Arthur says as if he's offended by the notion of George even having to ask.

"Of course you can dear, how nice to have a fuller house again! I'll put some fresh linens on the bed for you," Molly rushes up towards Fred and George's old room and with a swish of her wand, changes the bedsheets in no time at all. She returns to see the men chatting at the table and takes her place once again, reaching for her tea.

"Do you want to tell us what's wrong?" Arthur says, taking the lead. George sighs heavily, not wanting to say outright what the problem is but unable to think of a plausible excuse.

He sighs once more before admitting to the issue under his parents concerned gazes, "it's Fred and y/n."

"Have you had a falling out?" Molly quickly says, interrupting George. Arthur gives her a quick look which tells her politely to be quiet until their son has finished to which she nods and waits.

"Not exactly, it's just... I can't bare to listen to them having sex anymore. Silencing spells don't work, I've even tried muggle earplugs, well one, but that didn't work either! I only have one ear and it's still bad! Since Y/n got pregnant it's none stop, I thought getting pregnant was bad enough but bloody hell," George barely conceals a shudder at the thought of his twin brother and his wife having near constant sex in the same flat as him.

He picks up the sandwich and begins tucking in, not having time to get any food in his haste to flee the flat about the shop that he shared with Fred and y/n.

He turns his gaze back to his parents and is immediately surprised at the look they are sharing between each other. Both of them are smiling lovingly, a blush spreading on both of their faces, both appear to be speaking with their eyes.

"What?" George says with a mouthful of food, frowning, not understanding their reaction.

"Why do you think we had so many children?" Arthur suddenly laughs, earning a little giggle from Molly, a sound that George had never heard fall from his mother's mouth.

"I couldn't resist your mother when she was pregnant, just something about it," Arthur trails off as if he's daydreaming, a nostalgic smile plastered on his face. "The second she popped one of you out I wanted to try again."

George wants the ground to swallow him up in his entirety as he sits disgusted and uncomfortable. Was nowhere safe anymore? He finds his appetite has significantly decreased and is thankful that he'd finished the sandwich quickly; only praying he could keep it down if his parents kept talking about that.

"It's entirely biological son, it's what the muggles call 'hormones', or so I'm told. There's just something about seeing your wife carrying your child..." Arthur shakes his head slightly as he daydreams, a goofy smile still hanging off his lips as Molly swats his arm playfully.

"I'm going to bed," George mumbles, wanting desperately to get away.

"We'll keep it down tonight!" Arthur jokes earning a cackle from Molly as they both laugh at Arthur's attempt at humour. George grumbles the entire way up to his old bedroom, holding back a shudder at the very thought of not only his brother and y/n but now also his parents.

I need to move out, he thought.

#fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #fred weasley #george weasley #fred weasley x you #harry potter #emeritusemerituswrites #emeritusemeritus

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parkerslatte · 4 months

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Deals With Our Devils || Chapter Two

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: none.

Part Summary: Y/N arrives in the Night Court and her former family have a lot to say.

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Y/N looked down at the coffee sitting on the table before her, she hadn’t touched it since it had been placed there. It was cold now. No one had said a single word since Rhys insisted on sitting at the dining room table for more comfort than his cramped office. Y/N didn’t attempt to explain herself, she knew that her efforts would be futile as everyone was silently processing everything.

The gaze fixated on her cup lifted the smallest amount to scan the faces of the people she used to call family– with three new faces thrown in. Two-hundred years had seemed to be all it had taken for Y/N to forget specific details about her family. There was a small scar slicing through Cassian’s eyebrow that Y/N wasn’t sure whether he had it when she was still around or not. That glimmer in Rhys’s eyes that seemed to suggest a certain love that Y/N did not recognise. The specific features of Mor’s face that she loved to put makeup on when they were younger. Y/N even forgot how much she towered over Amren– somehow she remembered her to be a similar height. Seeing her now made Y/N realise how much she had really forgotten over the past two centuries.

Then there was the matter of Azriel. Despite the rest of her former family and the small details she had forgotten about them– Y/N hadn’t forgotten anything about Azriel. From the colour of his dark hair that seemed brown in direct sunlight to the unique blend of colours in his eyes that made up his hazel. He hadn’t spoken yet but Y/N could still hear his voice clearly in her mind, soft spoken yet still had a small edge to it. Y/N hadn’t forgotten anything about him.

“So,” Rhys spoke up after a long and painful silence. “This is certainly a surprise.”

Y/N nodded. “I am here on official business.”

“I gathered that,” Rhys replied. “Your Queen had been corresponding with me for several months.”

“She is aiming to build alliances,” Y/N replied. “Vassuryn is a very small kingdom and not very well known. It is vulnerable to attack so Queen Selvina has been gathering allies from all over the continent. This is the first time she has reached out beyond.”

Cassian finally raised his gaze to meet Y/N’s, his eyebrows drawn down in a frown. “I don’t give a shit about alliances. What I want to know is why you left two-hundred years ago.”

“Cass–” Rhys tried to intervene.

“No,” Cassian shook his head. “It’s been two hundred years, Rhys! Surely now it is time for an explanation as to why she has been gone.” Cassian’s burning gaze fixated on Y/N. “You left in the middle of the night with no word, no note, nothing. We searched for you for years. Azriel searched even longer.”

Y/N glanced Azriel’s way but he was staring at the table in front of him, as if he were fascinated by the woodwork.

The female next to Cassian reached out and touched his arm and he instantly began to calm. The furious expression that had gradually melted onto his features disappeared within an instant– only to be replaced by sadness.

“Y/N, we didn’t know if you were alive or dead,” Cassian admitted. “You were our family. Losing you was hard for all of us.”

The broken look on Cassian’s face made Y/N’s heart drop. She never knew her disappearance had affected her family that much. Mor hastily wiped away a tear and Amren’s silver eyes bore into hers, though deep down through all of the guards she had up, she could tell that Amren cared.

“I am sorry,” Y/N whispered. “I hadn’t realised my disappearance had affected you all so greatly–”

“Please stop being so formal,” Cassian pleaded. “We are your family.”

“We haven’t been her family for a long time,” Azriel’s soft voice cut through the air.

Y/N’s head snapped in his direction. His gaze had finally lifted and the only emotion Y/N noticed within them was betrayal. Her eyes stung with tears.

The female next to Rhys, her arms tattooed with swirls up to her elbows, cleared her throat. “Any arguments that might happen will end here.” She turned to Y/N with a small gentle smile. “Y/N is a guest here and I won’t tolerate arguments from someone trying to do their job, no matter your history.”

Y/N gave the female a grateful nod as she took a deep breath. All pairs of eyes felt like daggers in her heart. “I understand that all of you must despise me for what I did, but you must understand that I haven’t come here for myself, I am here under my Queen’s orders. All I am trying to do is a job for her, don’t let any hostile attitude towards me affect what she is aiming to do.”

The room was silent, the only exception was Mor placing her wine glass down on the table. Y/N’s heartbeat increased and her body felt hot. If Floris had been with her, everything would have been okay, she would have had someone to lean on. But now she was alone in a house where everyone hated her.

“Will you answer one personal question for us, Y/N?” Rhys asked.

Y/N met his gaze. “Only one.”

“Why did you leave?”

That was the one question Y/N had prepared for on her journey to the Night Court. As she answered, her voice was almost robotic from how she had rehearsed it over and over again.

“I was a danger to all of you and the whole of Velaris,” said Y/N. “I needed to get away before I hurt any of you.”

“A danger?” Rhys asked. “How were you a danger?”

“She has powers,” A quiet voice spoke from the end of the table.

Y/N tore her gaze away from Rhys’s and landed on the third female she hadn’t recognised. She looked startled like she hadn’t meant to let anything slip.

“What do you mean, Elain?” Rhys questioned.

The female– Elain, gazed at Y/N, an apologetic expression on her face. Elain opened her mouth to respond but Y/N beat her to it.

“She is correct,” Y/N replied, once again looking down at the table. “I have powers.”

Cassian chuckled humorously. “We would have known if you had powers.”

Y/N shook her head. “You wouldn’t have. Because I didn’t even know until days before I left.”

Y/N stood up from her seat and stood at the head of the table. As she brought her left hand up in front of her, the surges of power wrapped around her arm and around her body in thin blue thread. The former family watched in astonishment– all except Azriel, whole face remained neutral.

“When I left, I couldn’t control it,” Y/N began. “I could feel it bubbling inside of me and it was only a matter of time before it burst. I didn’t want any of you to get hurt in the process so the safest thing I could do was leave.”

“We could have helped you, Y/N,” Rhys said, with an attempt to keep his voice calm but the sadness in his eyes betrayed him. “Why didn’t you come to us?”

“It was all too much,” Y/N said. “I could feel a surge of power threatening to release and I knew that it would be fatal to anyone within my vicinity. When I left, I never expected to survive it until it happened– that burst of power. It didn’t kill me but I felt weak, I could barely move, but I knew that power surge would happen again. It happened three more times until I reached Vassuryn and Queen Selvina took me in. She helped me control my power and master it. I owe my life to her.”

The room was silent once more as Y/N let her power fade away. “I never came back because I expected to die.”

“Why didn’t you come back after?” Mor asked, speaking up for the first time. “We would have all understood.”

“I owed Queen Selvina my life for helping me control my powers,” Y/N replied. “I began working as Prince Floris’s guard at the palace. I made a home for myself there.”

“And abandon the one you had here,” Azriel said, his words cutting Y/N like a knife.

Y/N tried not to let his words affect her, but as she toyed with the hem of her sleeve, it was evident to everyone that his words had cut her deep. Rhys was the first to speak up. “Y/N, for the next few weeks, we will be happy to host you while you tell us about Vassuryn.”

Azriel’s gaze shot to Rhys, his eyes narrowed at his brother. Rhys simply ignored him. “We can meet tomorrow to go through anything Queen Selvina needs to discuss.” Y/N nodded as everyone began to stand from the table. “Elain will show you to your room.”

Y/N’s gaze met Elain’s and she offered her a small smile, Y/N tried to return it but failed once she noticed that Azriel hadn’t even risen from his chair.

“I will meet you in the hall, Y/N,” Elain said before swiftly exiting the room.

For the first time in two centuries, Y/N was left alone with Azriel. And for the first time ever, she had no idea what to say to him. As Y/N opened her mouth, Azriel looked up at her.

“If you are going to apologise, don’t,” Azriel snapped. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I am not going to apologise for leaving,” Y/N said. “I did the right thing.”

Azriel scoffed. “You did the right thing by leaving your family? By leaving me?” By the time the second question left his mouth, Azriel’s voice was barely a whisper. “I searched for you for fifty years, long after everyone else gave up. I still held onto hope that you were out there.”

Y/N closed her eyes as Azriel rose from his seat, stepping closer to her. His familiar scent, the scent that used to relax her, now made her tense.

“But you were out there, weren’t you?” Azriel’s voice was low and void of any emotion. “You were happy in a palace while all of us were driven mad thinking you died. Tell me, did you ever think about us in those two hundred years? Did you ever want to come back?”

“Of course I thought of you all,” Y/N said, her eyes meeting Azriel’s. “I missed you all so much.”

“But not enough for you to come back or even send word that you were okay,” Azriel hissed.

Y/N swallowed, her words dying on her tongue. Of course she had wanted to come back. Her found family were the only people in her life she truly cared about– the ones she truly loved. But she couldn’t. Not when she was such a danger to all of them and to the city of Velaris.

“I did think of you, Y/N,” Azriel continued. “I thought about you every single night after Rhys told me you left. You left me while I was in the middle of recovering from a mission, you promised you would help me train the next day to build my strength back and you were gone. Do you have any idea how I felt when Rhys told me you were gone?”

“I am sorry, Az,” Y/N said, a tear finally falling down her cheek.

“Don’t apologise to me,” he snapped. He took one step forward, before bending slightly so his mouth was next to her ear. “Don’t even try to talk to me when you are here. I don’t care what you have to say to me. I don’t care about you– not anymore.”

Azriel stepped back and turned his back on her without another word, leaving Y/N watching him leave. Y/N felt her heart shatter as the door slammed. She anticipated this reaction but as she lived it, she never could have imagined that Azriel’s voice could be so cold to her. Ever since she had met Azriel, the two had always been close. He had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. His voice was always full of warmth when he spoke with her now she was afraid it would never return– and it probably wouldn’t.

Y/N’s feet moved on their own accord until she exited the room to find Elain waiting in the hall. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Azriel’s scent lingered in the hall and she sighed. “I am. I am ready for this task to be over so I can return to Vassuryn.”

“Everything won’t stay this hostile forever,” Elain said as she led Y/N to her room.

“I doubt that,” Y/N replied. “Azriel hates me. I’m sure Cassian does too. Mor and Amren are harder to read but they will most likely not want anything to do with me. Rhys is only playing nice because I am here on official business. If I were here for any other reason, he would banish me as soon as he got the chance.”

They paused outside the room Y/N would be staying in. Elain turned to her. “They don’t hate you, everyone is simply emotional.”

“How would you know?” Y/N questioned. “You don’t know anything about the situation between us.”

Elain offered her a small smile. “I know more than you think. And from what I know, not everything will remain like this. Things will get better.”

Y/N studied her for a moment. “I’m not sure I completely believe you, but I hope so. The less hostility, the easier my job and the sooner I can return home.”

“If you chose to remain,” Elain said, her voice distant. “You will find that you will soon have a very difficult choice to make.”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

Elain seemed to snap out of a daze before smiling at Y/N. “Don’t worry, just something I read earlier.”

Y/N wasn’t too convinced but placed her hand on the door handle. “Thank you for walking me to my room, Elain.”

Elain nodded and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “It was no problem. I hope you get some rest, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” said Y/N, thankful that at least one person was not hostile towards her in the house.

Elain bid Y/N goodbye before leaving down the corridor. Y/N pushed open the door and stepped inside. The bags she had packed were sitting by the bed but that was not the first thing Y/N noticed. The first thing she noticed was the familiarity of the bedroom. The sage green walls and the ornate furniture. The bedside cabinet held a mirror gifted to her for her three-hundredth birthday. The wardrobe in the corner was still missing one leg and was held up with a pile of books.

It was her room.

Nothing had been moved since the day she left, the only thing that had changed was the bed covers. Everything else remained the same. After two-hundred years, Y/N thought that her former family would have forgotten about her, but from the looks of her former bedroom, it was clear they hadn’t.

DWOD TAGLIST:

@lostinpages13 @thelov3lybookworm @mell-bell @daisydark @captainsbaby @mischiefmanagers @scooobies @a-frog-with-a-laptop @venussdovess @radishsworld @fussel9913 @luvmoo @marscardigan @lizziesfirstwife @starlumiere @melygarcias @esposadomd @azrielswhore @sleepylunarwolf @going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @drAgOngirl

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#azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year

Note

Hello!! I hope this is the right outlet to male a request ☺️ Reader has gone out to look for a remedy on Aemond's eye pain. When she comes back, finds Aemond looking relieved she is safe and angry she made him worry. hehe

this is just the sweetest thing, she notices the small things, how he winces and attempts to hide the pain. she'd do anything to make it all go away <3

Remedy

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader.

WORDS: 1,212.

WARNINGS: fluff, soft!Aemond.

Although he tried to mask the pain, you were able to notice the small details. The way he would turn away from you, his hand swiftly massaging the temple near his lost eye, before resuming to whatever he was doing. You'd convinced yourself you'd even heard your husband awake, wincing from the sharp pain late at night. The site and wound had healed, now where his eye was held had been replaced by a glimmering sapphire gemstone.

It saddened you to see Aemond in such a state, trying to bury his own issues aside, for whatever reason he held. Perhaps he did not wish for others, especially you to consider him weak. Regardless, your conscious would not allow it to continue.

You'd enquired with the maesters if there was any type of remedy available to help rid Aemond of the pain. The only thing they'd known to be most effective and that they had supply of was milk of the poppy, although Aemond was never a fan of it. He hated how drowsy and lethargic it would make him feel, he avoided the cost of being inattentive.

The maesters suggested a herb that could be transformed into a topical ointment, that may help to numb the site without any severe side effects. Although much to your luck, they had just run out of the supply and were awaiting for stock to arrive, for the ingredient was hard to come by in Westeros. One of the younger maesters however, urged you to seek out certain markets in King's Landing that would sell the plant, for a pretty price.

"Not many people know, Princess, it is a very hard thing to come by. Although, these merchants are willing to sell for a decent cost."

"Then you shall take me to them!"

****

What felt like hours on end, the young master and yourself had searched countless markets and streets, without any luck. You'd left Aemond unaware of your errands, the Prince was busy training and attending council meetings, so you'd convinced yourself now was the time. However, much to your dismay, you hadn't realised how much time would be spent in search for such a delicate thing.

"There's a few more stalls I can take you to, Princess, but the hour is late. Mayhaps we try again another time."

"No, let us continue. There will be no need to come and go, just show me to the next seller, and be done with it today."

The stalls that you'd encountered, many merchants recognised you however none would question your whereabouts, for many feared the One-Eyed Prince himself. And as hopeful as they were to sell to a royal member, they were just as disappointed as you being unable to provide what you desired for.

As you walked towards the next stall, did you finally begin to realise how sore your feet and legs felt, walking through the narrow streets, the countless steps. But you know had the moment come, it would be worth it for Aemond.

And thankfully, your luck had finally struck!

“Here she is, the last of our supply. You just made it, it’s quite popular here in the city.”

The ecstatic look on your face, a wave of relief coarser through your body as you held a few of the branches of the beautiful white flower up. Examining it carefully, as though it was a dragon egg.

You’d paid the heavy price and returned back to the castle, the sun had just disappeared off in the horizon. It felt like a spring in each step, the exhaustion you’d felt only moments ago vanished, as you both made your way back up gleefully.

You thanked the young maester for his tremendous help, and would reward him with a high recommendation to his seniors. You’d spared only a few more minutes as he prepared a vial of the ointment for you, before you both departed your own ways.

As you made your way back into your chamber, Aemond sprung himself up, storming towards you.

“Where in the Seven Hells have you been, Y/N?! I sent Criston and his men to look for you across the castle and you were no where!”

“I-”

“You had me worrying sick, you understand-”

He snapped, cutting you off before you could explain yourself.

“Why would you leave without consoling me, and where did you go only to return so late in the hour. Are you okay, you feel cold, come closer to the fire.”

You could feel the tension in his grip, even though some relief came as he watched your face appear at the doorway, he was pacing himself, as he led you to where he sat before.

“Aemond, my dear, it’s alright. I went out to look for something with one of the maesters, I needed his guidance.”

“May the Gods be good, what took up your day so late into the night. Nothing happened, are you okay? You could’ve just sent him off yourself, or why didn’t you tell me so that I could have accompanied you! Seven Hells, Y/N don’t you ever disappear like that without a trace… I-I thought you left me.”

He knelt beside you, as you pulled his hand down to come face to face. One hand cupping his cheek, as your thumb gentry caressed his tender skin, whilst the other hand remained clinging to his.

“Aemond, don’t you ever think that. I would never do that to you, you know this… I just had to retrieve this for you. It’s for the pain, my dear. I know the eye troubles you, there’s no need to deny it.”

You’d let go of his face as your hand reached out to reveal a small glass vial with the ointment the young maester had created.

“What-” He softly uttered.

“Just apply a small, pea size amount around your eye my dear, just like so-“

You gently applied the ointment around his temple, and around the eye socket of his sapphire eye. He slightly winced as you first touched it, although began to settle. You glimpsed a faint look of surprise on his face, as you presumed the pain had finally gone.

“And it should ease the pain. Aemond, I hate seeing it trouble you, and I know how you dislike milk of the poppy so please-”

You slowly place the vial in his palm, as you close his fist up.

“Just use this for now.”

He remained silent for a short while, as he stood up again, walking towards the small mirror by the wardrobe. He observed the ointment had been perfectly rubbed in, and as he touched the area, he felt nothing, no more ache, no more of the dull, irritating pain that nagged at him.

He turned back towards you, you reaching him halfway as you closed in on each other.

“You are an angel if the Gods thought of me blessed enough to have you.”

His hands cupped your face, as one began to stream through your hair gently. You smiled up at Aemond softly, as your lips gently hovered over his.

“But don’t you ever run off like that again, without me knowing, unless you want the whole Kingsguard to seize the city until we find you.”

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #Aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer

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mitsuyeaah · 10 months

Text

TRAIL OF BROKEN HEARTS

TŌRU OIKAWA x f! reader

“cause i’ve made some real big mistakes but you made the worst one look fine. i should’ve known it was strange.”

cw: college au, older brother’s best friend!oikawa (older brother is iwaizumi ofc), mutual pining (but oikawa is dumb and doesn’t know how to handle his feelings), nsfw (mdni), slight angst, smut, drunk sex, creampie, mentions of alcohol use (brief), pet names (baby, pretty girl)

word count: 5.9k

a/n: for my pookie tōru!!! hehe of course i’m posting something for him, i’ve been having severe tōru brainrot and i just HAD to write. © divider: animatedglittergraphics-n-more

“Say it..” Oikawa panted, umber eyes staring intently at your own, clouded with lust.

Loud music that penetrated the thin walls of the frat house slowly turned mellow—the sharp beats, and bass that had vibrations coursing through your veins were drowned out as every minute passed. Occasional cheers of many intoxicated college students that littered the house were watered down into a muffled mess as your ears rang from the sheer tension slowly building inside the walls of this very room you were in. That’s right, it was only the two of you—you and Oikawa, all alone with the door locked behind him.

Your cheeks warmed under his intense stare, moonlight that seeped from the window casting a faint glow on the side of his handsome face, accentuating his features and bringing out its sharpness that you’ve grown to love—pools of endless hazel glimmering from the silvery light. You swallowed thickly, his hot breath fanning over your face as he waited for your response. Your skin burned under Oikawa’s touch, his hand rested on your hip, and the other planted on the pillow, just beside your head to brace his torso.

He needed you to say that you wanted him—all of him—before doing anything further with you. Yes, his head spun from the mix of lust and alcohol but he was still in the right mind to ask you whether you wanted this or not because after all, you were his best friend’s younger sister. God, there were so many things wrong with this but neither of you cared; not when you’ve already exchanged a passionate kiss before entering the room, moaning his name into his mouth as his lips desperately collided against your own.

Fuck, Oikawa had been waiting, waiting, and waiting for this. There wasn’t a day where his mind didn’t wander to you, sometimes wandering a bit too deep for his liking which usually ended up with his hand wrapped around his hard cock, desperately fisting it as your name escapes his parted lips. He’s been waiting long enough, and tonight was the night he decided to do something about whatever he felt deep inside. Oikawa knew he’d be dead if he ever told Hajime about any of this, which is why he kept it all to himself but it didn’t help how his fantasies drove him up the wall—his body yearning for you to the extent where he swore it was almost painful.

Everything that led up to this moment was a blur, kind of. All you knew was that Oikawa was all over you as soon as you stepped foot in the house. His hand wrapped loosely around your waist, him pulling you onto his lap, his lingering stares; normally, you wouldn’t even bat an eye at him since he effortlessly made you nervous in his presence but you blamed the alcohol in your system. Oikawa mentally cursed himself for being so mean by slightly rejoicing at the fact that his best friend—your brother—couldn’t make it to tonight’s party due to being rostered for a shift.

This was all new to you because Oikawa had never given you this much attention for the entirety that you’ve known him—the two of you weren’t even close. Your older brother, Hajime, being the middle ground for both you and Oikawa. There were small exchanges of formalities here and there but that was just about it but tonight was different, he followed you everywhere and you let him—like two celestial bodies locked in an endless orbit around each other, bound by gravity. But what exactly was this gravity for both of you?

There was this voice at the back of your mind that told you this was wrong. That this would end it a messy disaster, given his reputation—not only loved and adored by many women but also surrounded. A ladies’ man, if you must, all thanks to his popular history with volleyball. You’ve always known deep down that Oikawa would never reciprocate your feelings because he merely saw you as Hajime’s younger sister, and acted like nothing but an older brother to you. But up until now, everything you believed didn’t seem so believable anymore; not when Oikawa had you underneath him, eyes blown with pure lust.

Maybe this time, this time you’ll shut out that pesky little voice in your head because you wanted nothing more than him—the man that’s got you trapped between his body and the mattress in a stranger’s bedroom, your brother’s best friend. Whatever comes after this, you’ll face head on but you trusted Oikawa to handle your heart gently despite the trails of broken hearts he’s left behind—something in you knew he wasn’t going to let you down. Nonetheless, you prayed to the stars above that you were right about this. About him.

Pleasure now, consequences later.

“I want you..” You breathed out, chest heaving up and down as your breaths became shallower with every passing minute.

Oikawa cursed under his breath before dipping his head down to kiss you. This time, his kisses weren’t as eager as earlier, they were slow and sensual; cherishing every second the way your pillowy lips moved against his own, and how it felt. The desperation behind Oikawa’s kisses were long gone, like he was rest assured that you weren’t going anywhere else, that you chose to be here with him. You reached your hands out, shakily grabbing the collar of his shirt as he shoved his tongue past your lips.

He placed a knee between your legs, situating it under your skirt, right at the apex where you needed him the most but he didn’t dare move it; it drove you absolutely crazy, the pressure on your cunt was there but it wasn’t enough to elicit some kind of pleasure—it also didn’t help how there was no friction at all. Whining into his mouth, you moved your hips up and down, grinding your clothed cunt against his knee. Oikawa pulled away from the heated kiss, the corners of his lips tugging into a smirk as he watched you desperately rut your hips into his knee. “How eager..” His tone was saccharine, sweeter than what he usually uses around other women.

If Oikawa was being honest right now, he was completely shitting himself. Not because it was his first time, no, but because it was you. You weren’t some other woman who would fall to his feet from mere flirtatious expressions which were often not genuine—hell, he’s pretty sure you never even saw him as a man but instead just another older brother figure. Oikawa knows this was wrong, completely wrong; he won’t blame you if you were confused out of your mind right now, given how he’s been acting neutral towards you for the past years you’ve known each other, and now suddenly he was all over you.

It was like he was put in a trance as his eyes wandered across your features. Fuck, you looked so pretty and it was all for him. Oikawa hastily grabbed the hem of your blouse and yanked it above your head, exposing the white lacy bra you donned underneath—his eyes traced your front, from the valley of your breasts down to your stomach. You were only half naked and yet you already left him speechless.

Oikawa didn’t hesitate to strip down to his underwear, he also didn’t give your eyes enough time to wander down his torso by flipping your skirt up and parting your legs further. At this point, the alcohol coursing through his body made him hornier and more impatient. He planted your feet on the bed, bringing your knees up before peppering your inner thighs with sloppy, wet kisses that earned small whimpers from you—Oikawa held your gaze as he kissed your clothed cunt.

You sucked in a sharp breath as you stared at his lustful gaze, your hands gripping the hem of your skirt at his lewdness. It wasn’t your first time having sex with someone but Oikawa was just so different from the ones you’ve slept with—so lewd, so dirty, and not as adventurous as the other’s you’ve had. “O-Oikawa.. Haah..” A moan slipped past your lips as he licked the wet spot on your underwear, the tip of his tongue stiffening to apply pressure at your sopping entrance.

“Hmm? So wet f’me already..” You threw your head back at the friction from his fingers that were rubbing up and down your clothed cunt. Oikawa’s smug smile widened as the wet spot on your panties grew from his ministrations, earning another moan from you as you clenched around nothing. “Oikawa, please. I want you in me..” You whined, the warmth from your cheeks spreading to your ears as you held his gaze. You didn’t miss the way his hazel eyes glimmered at your pathetic plea.

He tilted his head to the side, fingers still rubbing at your clothed cunt, “Oh? It looks like you don’t want me at all, baby. Your begging sounds pathetic.” The drunken words he slurred earned a slight whimper from you. You felt defeated that he was making you beg more for him when you were already as impatient as you could get. “Mhm.. Please, Tōru..? Fuck. I want your cock inside me.”

Oikawa would’ve asked you to beg for him more if you didn’t use his first name. Fuck, something about the way his name rolled off your tongue made his cock twitch. He used to fantasise about you moaning his name underneath him, and now that it’s right in front of him, he won’t let it go any time soon.

“Let’s get these off first, hm? Show me yourself, pretty girl.” Oikawa skilfully snaked his hands behind your back to unclasp the lacy restriction on your chest. Before you could even compose yourself, he eagerly pulled your bra from your chest—goosebumps immediately forming from the cool night air. “Oikawa, h-hold on..!” Your arms defensively crossed over your chest, hiding your breasts from his view. “Mmm, there’s no reason to hide from me is there? After all, I’m going to be fucking that sweet cunt soon.” Oikawa circled his hands around your wrists, gently tugging them out of the way and pinning them on either side of your head to expose your breasts.

He bit his lip at the view. Fuck, it was just like how he imagined when he fisted his cock to the thought of you. Your heart pounded against your chest, getting extremely shy from the way Oikawa was eyeing your breasts a little too long for your liking. He let out a breathless laugh, not missing the way you turned your head to the side from embarrassment. He slowly let go of your wrists to cup at each mound, his large palms perfectly covering the entirety of each breast.

Your lips parted to let out a soft moan, face contorting in pleasure as Oikawa massaged your breasts—he switched between squeezing the supple skin and lightly pinching at your hardened buds, earning a small yelp from you. “Baby, as much as I’d love to spend more time playing with your tits, I’m sure we both have one thing in mind.” He gave you a saccharine smile before placing a chaste kiss on the valley of your breasts.

Oikawa pulled back to remove the last article of clothing he had on, your keen eyes watched as he slowly pulled down the fabric, his hard cock slapping against his abdomen as he fully exposed himself. You bit your lip at his cock, your gaze tracing every ridge along his shaft. Not only was it pretty but fuck, was it long. Pride swelled upon Oikawa’s chest as he saw the way you keenly eyed his cock. You watched as he wrapped a hand around the shaft and languidly stroked it, throwing his head back in pleasure.

As if on instinct, you sat up from the mattress with your hands jutted, wanting to grab his pretty cock—your head spun a bit from the swift movement. “Ah, ah, ah. There’s another time for that, my pretty. I want to be inside you right now.” Oikawa grabbed your shoulder and gently pushed your torso back down on the mattress before climbing over your body once again.

Another time? Was that a sincere promise or an empty one? You couldn’t help but think.

With your skirt flipped up, he pushed aside your soaked panties to tease his tip at your wet entrance. You threw your head back at the raw skin contact, allowing Oikawa to dip his head down to pepper your collarbone with open-mouthed kisses.

“Fuck.. P-Please just put it in, ‘Kawa..” “Mhm, that’s Tōru for you.”

Oikawa breathlessly chuckled against your skin, and before you could retort, he pushed the blunt tip of his cock past your wet folds, earning a whine from both of you. Your hands flew to wrap around his torso, nails gently scratching at his back as he pushed his cock in inch by inch—tracing every dip and curve of his back muscles. Oikawa’s eyes rolled back at the sensation of your nails running down his back, sending a shiver up his spine as the pleasure within him grew.

“S-shit..! You’re so fucking tight, huh? This pussy is taking me so well—aah!” He let out a heated gasp as you clenched around him, his arms trembling and almost giving up from it. “Ngh! Just put it all in, Tōru.. I can take you.” Oikawa almost moaned out loud, not only did you use his first name again but you also reassured him that you could take his length just fine. That there was no need to hold back with you. His arms wobbled as he pushed the rest of his length in.

With his cock fully sheathed inside you, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a long loud whine. Oikawa stayed that way for a while, heavy pants leaving his lips as he pulled himself together. Fuck, you were squeezing him so good. His nails dug deep into his palms as you scratched his back once again from the way the blunt tip of his cock kissed your cervix, he was about to lose his mind and he hadn't even started thrusting yet. “What? Best pussy you’ve had?” You panted, one hand snaking up to play with his chestnut strands.

Normally, Oikawa would’ve retorted with something cockier but what you said was true. He’d been fantasising long enough about your sweet cunt but he didn’t know it was going to be this good. Too good. “Of course.. And it’s all mine, yeah? Fuck, this pussy is all mine and no one else’s.” He lifted his head from your neck to meet your gaze—his cheeks were now a shade of crimson, lids heavy from lust.

“Yes, Tōru. All yours. I’m all yours.”

You didn’t miss the way Oikawa sucked in a sharp breath as he held your gaze. Both of you knew there was weight to your words—it had meaning behind them, and not spurred like a drunken, meaningless confession at the heat of the moment. But that was reserved for the morning, at least.

He pulled his hips back and started thrusting while giving you a passionate kiss, earning a loud muffled moan from you. Oikawa couldn’t believe this was actually happening and fuck, it was definitely much better than having a hand around his cock while imagining it was your cunt. The sound of skin slapping, squelching, and heated moans bounced around the thin walls of the room as he picked up his pace. Fortunately, these erotic sounds coming from the two of you were enough to be drowned out by the loud music originating from the living room.

Normally, Oikawa would’ve had you in a ‘face down, ass up’ position just like with the other girls he’s had—mainly because it was his favourite position but something about being in missionary with you was different, despite how boring he thought the position to be; Oikawa wanted to see the entirety of you, how you reacted to the pleasure he gave you, your breasts bouncing with every sharp thrust of his hips, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. All of it. Not to mention how intimate the position was, being able to look into your pretty eyes as he pounded into you, and whisper sweet praises that only you can hear.

“F-fuck..! So tight for me—ngh! Just like how I ima—aah! ..How I imagined.” Oikawa rested his forehead against your own, his hot breath fanning over your face as he angled his hips to drive his cock deeper. You let out a broken moan at the feeling of his heavy balls slapping your ass over and over again which each thrust; the slapping was so harsh that it felt like your skin was burning but fuck it burned so good. “Ha—aah! Tōru..! So so good—ngh!” Oikawa breathlessly chuckled at your broken moans before grabbing your leg to prop over his shoulder, driving his cock deeper into you.

You arched your back at the new angle, a heated gasp leaving your lips in the form of his name as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Oikawa held onto the headboard with one arm, the other one planted beside your head before moving his hips harder and faster, causing the bed to squeak loudly. His lips were parted, endless desperate whines escaping as his pretty face contorted in pure bliss—his sounds definitely did not disappoint, they were breathy and higher in pitch, so desperate and needy. His moans and whines went straight to your cunt, making you wetter with each erotic sound that came from the man above you.

“Mhm—aah! Yeah? Better than any dick you’ve had, right? Haah! Of course it is..” You clenched around him, earning a loud heated gasp, and his head bowing in pleasure. “So perfect f’me, my pretty girl..” Oikawa whined, bringing his lips closer to yours—he had a hard time chasing them due to your body jolting from his quick, rough thrusts; his own lips were parted, sloppily kissing you with desperation.

Your moans increased in pitch as the familiar knot in your stomach was slowly starting to thin, and ready to snap any time soon. “Ah..! Haah..! T-Tōru—ngh! I’m cu—ah! I’m cumming!” You tugged at his hazel strands, back arching off the mattress as your limbs started to tingle with pleasure. Oikawa moaned against your sweaty skin at the feeling of his hair being pulled, he had his face buried on your neck, his whines and whimpers loud against your ear. “Y-Yeah? Mhm—ah! Fuck! That’s right, cum for me, my pretty.” He trailed wet kisses along the side of your neck and up your jaw, leading to your lips.

“Look at me. Look at me when you fucking cum so you know who’s cock is making you feel this good—haah!” He pulled away from the heated kiss, grabbing your chin to keep his gaze on him by using the hand that was previously on the headboard, while the other rubbed tight circles on your clit. You looked up at Oikawa, his umber hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, no longer swept in a neat hairstyle. His lips were red, and swollen, parted to let out heavy pants while staring into your eyes. Fuck, he was beautiful. You couldn’t help but think that all the other women he’s had have seen this view before as well.

Oikawa looked down at you, eyelids threatening to close from immense pleasure but he didn’t dare give in, he wanted to see your face while you came around his cock—the face he’d been fantasising about since the day he realised he had feelings for you. Your face contorted in pleasure as the knot deep in your stomach finally snapped, mouth forming an ‘o’ as you screamed in silence, orgasm washing over your entire body as you came around him. Oikawa cupped your cheek, thumb stroking your face while breathlessly whispering sweet nothings as you two locked gazes. Your body trembled with a cry of his name, pleasure shooting up your spine, “Tōru..!” “F-Fuck! I’m here, baby.. Ngh!—So so good for me..” He whined desperately as you clenched around his cock, his hips stuttering.

“I—aah! Inside..” You moaned, head lolling to the side as you came down from your high. Oikawa didn’t know if he heard that right or he was just drunk, “Wha— Huh..?” Your words definitely sobered him up a bit but it made his head spin. “Cum inside me. Please, Tōru.. I want all of you.” He cursed under his breath, giving you a few more hard thrusts before letting go. Oikawa sheathed his cock deep inside you and held your torso against him, his arms securely wrapped around your trembling body as he lifted your back off the mattress.

With your chests pressed against each other, he gave you quick shallow thrusts as he came, fucking his cum deeper into you while moaning you name close to your ear. The leg that was propped on his shoulder burned from the stretch but you didn’t care, not when he was fucking you this good. “A-aah! Fuck..! That’s it—ngh! God, I love you so much.” Oikawa whined as he pressed his fingers against your back, the last bit of his hot cum spurting inside you. The two of you plopped down on the mattress with a soft thud, his head buried in the junction of your neck, letting out heavy pants as he tried collecting himself.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, your hands gently playing with his messy hair as you stared up at the ceiling, realisation slowly washing over you as you sobered up more than ever. Instead of catching your breath, it turned into panicked ones, realising that you’ve had sex with your older brother’s best friend. Oikawa noticed this and looked up at you, holding your panicked gaze as you were already looking down at him.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I love you? Did he really mean that or was it just from the heat of the moment? You definitely heard him say it, so you knew you weren’t just making it up, not when his lips were that close to your ear.

How foolish, you thought. What happens now? Worry settled in as you remembered the trail of broken hearts he had behind him. You knew it was wrong to judge a person this way but everyone—your brother included—was aware of the relationships Oikawa had. Yes, no one is perfect but yet most—if not all—his past relationships weren’t ideal, and some didn’t even last more than a month long while some clearly were just a one night stand. Was that where you stood with him? Just a one night stand? You let out a shaky exhale, “Tōru—” Oikawa cut you off with a sensual kiss, his lips eagerly moving against your own as if he had an idea of what was about to come next.

This didn’t make you feel better. You didn’t know why but there was something in your mind telling you that he wasn’t going to leave you hanging like this; your mind suddenly went back to earlier tonight, where Oikawa basically gravitated towards you, following you wherever you went. You felt something back there, like he wasn’t holding himself back anymore—not selling himself short like what he’s been doing for all the years you’ve known each other. Like he wore his heart on his sleeve.

He broke away from the kiss, umber eyes tracing your features as his thumb gently swiped your bottom lip. “D-did you really mean that..?” You stared into his eyes but he didn’t return your gaze nor answered the question, “Shhh.. Let’s just stay like this for a while.” Oikawa rolled over to the side, wrapping his arm around you from behind and resting his chin atop your head. You stared at the wall in front of you, unmoving and mind racing with unwanted thoughts. No matter how much his hand massaged your hip, it didn’t put you at ease because now you didn’t know where you stood with Oikawa after sleeping with him. Fuck, how were you even going to face your brother? What would he think of you?

Shit. You wouldn’t even know how to face Oikawa the next time you see him after this, that is, if you do see him. Not only did unwanted thoughts plague your mind but you also felt disgusting. For doing something like this with your brother’s best friend; yes, you’ve had feelings for him for as long as you could remember but did he even reciprocate them? Or did Oikawa just stick beside you tonight because you both had alcohol and he wanted to get in your pants? No. He asked you earlier if you really wanted this with him and you said yes.

Maybe you weren’t so foolish after all. Or so you thought.

It had been a few days since that night and you were fucking restless. Every single time your phone chimed from a notification, you’d be quick to grab it, hoping it's from the man you’ve been wanting to hear about but disappointment washes over you when his name doesn’t pop up. Panic builds up as the days pass without hearing anything from Oikawa. You didn’t even know why you were waiting, it wasn’t like he owed you anything but you just thought that maybe it would be different for you. It also wasn’t like he was obligated to contact you, maybe you really were just a one night stand for him, and that attraction you felt was one sided. Were you just really imagining it all? Were you just waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen?

“Iwa-chan!” You were pulled back from your trance as you heard a familiar voice coming from the living room, where Hajime was. Closing your notebook, you stood up from your desk and took a few steps before peeking through the slight crack of your door to see Oikawa happily chatting with your older brother. Your heart skipped a beat upon seeing his face, legs tingling with eagerness to go to him but what would you even say? It’s not like he promised you a relationship that night nor did he confess his feelings. You couldn’t help but remember those three words he told you but at this point, it looked like it was just from the heat of the moment. Those three words probably didn’t have any weight to it like it did when you stated that you were all his.

You stiffened as your brother called out your name, instinctively ducking down as if he caught you peeking. Making your way out of your room, you tried to act as normal as possible. “We’re going to head out for a bit. Do you want anything?” “Mmm, any food is fine. Thanks..” You replied before shifting your gaze to Oikawa who stared off to the side, not even acknowledging your presence. Normally, he would smile at you whenever he came over or even give you a pat on the head while he greets you. Hajime nodded before ushering his best friend out the door, Oikawa didn’t even look back. Not even once.

The door slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the whole apartment, and you were left with your mess of feelings. Ah, so he’s ignoring me, you thought. You didn’t even know why you were feeling this way. Was it because you hoped for something more given the feelings you’ve held for Oikawa for the past years? You sat on the couch, not knowing what to do—your mind kept replaying the words he said to you that night. How he told you he loved you; how he said he’s been imagining you in ways you didn’t even know. What was the meaning of that? You knew better than to believe these words given how his personality is but you couldn’t help hoping that there was at least some kind of feeling behind them.

You buried your face in your palms, letting out a deep sigh. You couldn’t even get angry at Oikawa because he never led you on in any way. For him, what happened that night was just plain sex but for you, you thought he was finally seeing you in a different light and not just his best friend's younger sister. And now you’re left with nothing but confusion. Another statistic to the trail of broken hearts that he wore like a cape, dragging behind him. You were frustrated at yourself for letting your feelings completely overtake your common sense.

A few days turned into a week but nothing changed for you. Oikawa was still on your mind but he never reached out to you—not that he was obligated to but you figured it was necessary, given his deep-rooted friendship with Hajime. At least a little discussion about that night would’ve helped you with your thoughts a bit but no, your mind was still a swirling mess. You cursed yourself every time you remembered your foolish mistake, you knew what you were getting yourself into and yet you bit onto the bait without thinking about the dire consequences to not only your feelings but also your relationship with Oikawa.

Maybe after all, you were just imagining it. That was the easiest fact there was—being delusional because you had feelings for him, so you instantly misread what he told you that night. You looked into words that never had a meaning behind them. Baseless sentences that held no feelings.

Deciding to study at a nearby café on a whim, you enter the cosy shop, the distinct aroma of roasted coffee beans and warm atmosphere of the café immediately putting your mind at ease. The café was filled with the soft chatter of customers, and the sounds of the coffee machine. Before taking a few steps to the counter where the cashier stood behind, you noticed a familiar brown-haired man sitting at one of the tables, and he wasn’t alone. Your heart skipped a beat as Oikawa already had his hazel gaze on you, his expression somewhere between surprised and panicked. He noticed your gaze drift to the person who sat in front of him—a woman—who happily talked about something you couldn’t exactly hear.

Seeing Oikawa with other women wasn’t new to you. After all, you’ve known him long enough for you to become accustomed to this sight despite your heart breaking a little. Throughout the years, you’ve managed to patch up the little cracks in your heart whenever you saw him with someone else—whether it be the flavour of the week or a relationship that lasts for a month but today, seeing him with a woman after being intimate with him was enough to break your heart into pieces. What you did next was purely out of instinct, your feet moved on their own, hasty steps out of the café just to get away from Oikawa; you didn’t know where you were going but you wanted him out of sight.

You knew you were being a complete idiot for acting this way. Hell, why were you even running away from him? Stupid. Foolish. Why am I acting like this?! You thought. You let out a shaky sigh, your nails digging into your palms as you swiftly walked down the footpath, trying to forget the way Oikawa’s face looked when he saw you.

The sound of shoes loudly hitting the concrete footpath behind you suddenly filled your ears, you stopped in your tracks as he called out your name—you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Oikawa knew exactly why he chased after you, it was almost like a reflex for him given how fast he stood up from his seat to run to you. He’s aware he’s been ignoring you for the past week, and he also knows it’s probably shitty of him to suddenly chase after you like this but Oikawa’s got a sinking feeling that if he didn’t chase after you, you’d slip away from his grasp. Forever.

Turning around, you crossed your arms over your chest as if to shield your naked heart. “What do you want, Oikawa?” He winced not only at your tone—sharp, and cold—but as well as the use of his last name. He didn’t know what to say if he was being honest; you watched as he opened his mouth but no words came out, gears turning in his head to find the right thing to say to you. “I meant it.” Oikawa held your gaze, brows knitted together. You knew what he meant by that, it was the answer to the question you asked him that night. You sucked in a sharp breath, heart pounding against your chest as if it was ready to leap out and jump straight into his hands like it belonged there—to be cherished, and loved.

As much as you wanted to jump with joy that he did, in fact reciprocate your feelings, it was anticlimactic. The overwhelming hurt and confusion you’ve felt for the past week was just consuming you. “I-I don’t..” You trailed off, not knowing what to say to him, especially when his umber eyes stared at you with such desperation. You’ve never seen Oikawa like this; he was usually a man of many expressions—mostly full of cunning, and ingenuine smiles but this one you haven’t seen.

“Look. I know I fucked up. I really do love you. I don’t know why I ran away—no I do know. I was scared because I’ve never been so serious about a woman, let alone my best friend’s younger sister.” He scratched his nape, taking a step closer to you. You watched him in silence, a wordless invitation for him to keep going.

Oikawa let out a shaky sigh. “I know saying sorry and this half assed explanation isn’t enough but.. these feelings I’ve had for you.. they’ve been here for as long as I could remember, and it fucking sucks that you had to find out through this mess. That night.. I don’t regret anything but I did wish it could have happened without any of these consequences. I know I’m asking for a lot but.. can we start again?” It was your turn to sigh, “It’s not that easy, Tōru.. but it really isn’t your fault as well.” Oikawa’s face softened at the use of his first name. “I mean, I knew what I was getting myself into. I admit that maybe I was just being a bit dramatic about this whole thing because I had feelings for you but looking back at it, there’s really no reason for you to be apologising..”

You took a step closer before wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest. Oikawa blinked, taken aback by your sudden action, nonetheless, he wrapped his arms around you—still trying to process the fact that you actually like him back. “T-That woman back there, we were meeting up for a project..” You chuckled at his reply before looking up at him to meet his hazel gaze, “There’s no need to explain to me, you know?”

Before he could reply, you smiled at him,

“I want to start again, Tōru. This time, no running away from our feelings?” “No running away.”

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marleyybluu · 1 year

Text

Secret Crush

Oscar x black!fem!reader

Warnings: just fluff, Oscar being a simp, flirting

Word count: 1.7k

He felt like he was visibly shaking. He wouldn't stop bouncing his foot while he sat in the chair. Three bottles of liquor and a shot glass to his left with an empty awaiting chair in front of him. Today was the day he'd finally admit his feelings to his crush and what better way to do it than with some liquid courage, a room full of cameras and in front of thousands of viewers?

Thanks to his little brother Cesar, he received an email from one of the producers of a YouTube channel called 'Cut' for their popular segment of Truth or Drink. He wasn't for it at first but in the words of his younger sibling it was time for him to "grow a pair." Reminding him he should've smacked him in the head for this.

It was plain as daylight that he had a crush on her, he hated the feeling though-- the way his heart would almost burst out of his chest when he saw her, the way he would listen attentively when she spoke and how that sweet smooth voice of hers could have him hypnotized all day. He wasn't used to these feelings it almost scared him.

"Hi. Do you mind telling us your name?" The lady standing next to the camera greeted bringing him down from his thoughts. "Wassup, my name is Spooky." He nodded not giving his government name.

"And why are you here?"

He lowly chuckled while shaking his head. "I am here to tell my crush that I like her."

"Does she have any idea why she’s here today?"

He shook his head. "She's actually a fan of these videos, but I told her we were doing truth or drink friends." Lowkey hated that he had to lie to her. "Is it okay if we bring her out now? Are you ready?"

Spooky took a deep breath and nodded as he sat up straight, the same lady had gone to the backrooms to summon her. She came back out with her hot on her heels, Spooky had a small glimmer in his eyes as he smiled at her, she was all bright and cheery as she waved to him. "Hola papito."

"Hola mamita." He beamed, his brown eyes following her as she sat down. She rested her hands on the table and turned over to the camera. "And who do we have here?"

"I am Y/n."

"Heard you're a fan of these videos."

She turned to look at Spooky knowing he was the only one who would binge-watch these with her. "Yeah, it's a bit nerve-wracking to be on the other side."

"So, how do you two know each other?"

Y/n started to giggle. "His little brother is dating my cousin, so I met him at one of our family functions."

Spooky's tongue poked the inside of his cheek fighting so hard not to smile as he himself recalled the first time he met her and how she dragged him inside when he claimed he was only dropping off Cesar. He was glad she did it.

The producer allowed them to take one shot before the questions started, Spooky poured her drink for her and slid it over before pouring his own, they clinked the glasses and threw their heads back to quickly down the burning drink. Y/n's eyes squeezed shut and her head shook as she reached for the glass of juice next to her. She wasn't much of a drinker but if it was being offered she'd take it.

The cards were laid out faced down in front of them, each person had their own stack. He offered that she go first, she picked up the first card almost nervous to do so since she knew a lot of these questions could take a turn at any time. "What is something about me that you find intriguing?" He watched as she put down the card next to the stack she just took it from. "I don't know if it's weird to say this but you change a lot. Your hair is different every time I see you and I like that, it's cool to see that you can do so much with it. You watch one video and recreate a style perfectly, I like it."

She flashed a smile. "It's not weird to say, thank you I appreciate that. I always feel like they don't turn out good."

"Nah they turn out amazing, trust me." He said getting ready to pick a card.

"Do you have a favourite style of hers?"

He nodded. "I like when it's up and it's got a little puff at the top. Sometimes she'll... make it curly, sometimes she won't. I like it either way."

"What are my toxic traits?" He rolled his eyes placing the card down.

Y/n raised her eyebrows. "You are so hard-headed." Spooky kissed his teeth turning his head away from her, she laughed and pointed. "See! You guys have no idea how many times I tell him 'I told you so.' All because you don't want to listen."

He looked back over to her fighting another grin but that dimple of his gave him away. He gently kicked her under the table and she returned it a bit harder. The producers could already tell the dynamic they most likely have outside of this interview, childish and playful, he was such a serious person when he was sitting in that chair but the minute she came out he was a different person. They had chemistry there was no denying that.

Y/n flipped over her card, reading it in her head first and blushing at the fact that she really had to ask this. "Would you say you're a good kisser?" She was pretty interested in knowing.

He looked over at the camera and back at her. "I would say I am yeah."

"Do you use tongue?" The lady in the background instigated. Spooky nervously laughed, his hand went to the back of his neck, he lightly scratched it as he nodded his head. Y/n bit her lip and shuffled in her seat feeling a sudden heat and tingle building in the pit of her stomach.

He reached for another question. "Rate my attractiveness on a scale of 1 to 10." That was more of a statement than a question.

"10."

Spooky's face fell, not in a bad way but more in a surprised way, he did not expect her to answer so quickly. Y/n shrugged providing an explanation. "Spooky, sweetie, I'm not blind. You are very attractive. I'm not the only girl who thinks so either." A subtle jab at the number of girls she sees flocking to him whenever he has a Santos party or even if he's just merely driving around town.

She had no reason to be jealous, at least that's what she told herself, but she couldn't help but feel a little disdain towards them. "Hold on, I kind of want to know what you rate me."

Spooky reached over for a bottle and poured some liquor, Y/n's mouth hung open and her heart sank, she could feel her posture slouch in disappointment. He raised the glass to his lips before saying, "20." He winked at her before tipping his head back.

Her frown quickly disappeared. "Pendejo."

They went back and forth until the pile became smaller and smaller. "If we were to have sex, what would you do to me or what would you let me do to you?"

Spooky was full-on blushing at this point. Y/n shrugged reaching for a drink. "If you're lucky, querido, you could find out." She answered.

She was teasing him and he was liking it. "We're actually going to have Spooky pick up another card, sorry, we didn't get that shot." The producer lied.

He inhaled deeply and exhaled enough that it almost sunk his chest in. He picked up another card, staring at it a bit longer than the others, he cleared his throat as he put it down. "Can I just take a shot instead?"

"Boy, just ask the question, you know you can ask me anything." Y/n reassured. He exhaled once more and just went for it. "I have a crush on you..."

Her eyes widened slightly and her shoulders relaxed. "No you don't."

"I do."

Y/n squinted and reached over to the card that he had just put down wondering whether this was a joke or not. And it wasn't. The card instructed that he confess his feelings. "Oh shit..."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for, now all of a sudden he was starting to be filled with regret, he knew doing this was stupid. Y/n noticed his demeanour change and quickly responded. "Spooky... I like you too."

"You do?"

She nodded eagerly. "A lot. Why do you think I pulled you into the party when we first met? I thought you were so fine, and then we started talking... and then I saw you again and we kept seeing each other outside of Monse and Cesar..." She was rambling, she was rambling nervously. He placed his hand on top of hers, a small gesture to get her to stop before she talked her head off.

"I'm not gonna lie yo, I was nervous to do this, nervous you wouldn't like me back."

"Oh papito, what's not to like?" She cooed.

"So what is the plan now?"

Spooky looked at Y/n. "Good question. I say I'll take you on our first date tomorrow. If you're cool with that."

"I am more than cool with that."

"Come here." Spooky held onto her hand as she stood up from her seat, she pulled down her skirt a bit a made her way over to him comfortably sitting on his lap. His free hand wrapped around her waist.

"Well, I think we'll end it here. I just want to thank you two for coming on, and I wish you nothing but luck on this, hopefully, new journey."

Y/n grinned. "Thank you."

"Thanks."

As the team took down the equipment they stayed seated together. He placed a hesitant and gentle kiss on her shoulder. "Maybe I should take you on a date now instead."

She placed her hand on his cheek, pressing a kiss on his nose. "Let's go then."

If you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

peace and love

tags (also tagging those who might be interested):

@skyesthebomb @darqchilddaydreamz @realhotgurlshit

#oscar diaz #black!reader #spooky #spooky x reader #spooky x black!reader #oscar diaz x black!reader #oscar diaz x reader #spooky fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfic #on my block #on my block fanfiction #poc reader #marleywrites #marleysfanfictions #fluff

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gudfornuthin · 5 months

Note

Hiii❤️, are you taking requests for Bernard rn? And if so can you write a Bernard x reader (she/her) where she has a very flirtatious personality and he has a huge crush on her and he lovesss when she’s being that way towards him but when he sees her talk to other people like that he’s kinda jealous and maybe end in some smut ( ofc only if you’re comfortable writing that!<3)

Jealousy looks good on you

Bernard the elf x reader

A/N: ‘tis the season and the Bernard girlies have awakened. I’m shocked at all the support I’ve received from these one shots and I’m so glad to be writing more. This isn’t my best imo, I don’t know where I was going with it so I kinda got carried away, but oh well lol. I have another Bernard request after this one and then I’ll be back to my Beauty and the Beast rewrite. Hope you all enjoy :))

“She’s doing it again.”

“Who?”

“Y/N. She’s flirting with him again.”

“Your obsession with Y/N is becoming a problem.”

This wasn’t the first conversation Curtis and Bernard had had with each other about Y/N. This topic specifically. It was known by the other elves that she was confident, and very blunt when talking to others. That also didn’t stop in the romantic sense. And Bernard knew that. She wasn’t afraid to flirt with him in front of others, and that’s why he loved it so much. It made him feel good. And also slightly embarrassed. Only because he wasn’t used to that sort of attention, especially from a very beautiful girl. He wasn’t great at reciprocating her advances, but he hoped she wouldn’t stop. So far she hadn’t. But a new ‘suitor’ had entered the picture, and Bernard was not happy. Some tall, blue eyed elf that he hadn’t bothered learning the name of was also receiving the flirtatious attention from Y/N, and unfortunately he was much better at dishing it back than Bernard was.

“I’m not obsessed with Y/N,” Curtis rolled his eyes at that remark, “I’m just curious to know why she thinks it’s okay to talk with that guy when they both have a lot of work to do.”

The younger elf snorted. “You don’t seem to have an issue when she’s talking to you and wasting precious work time.”

“You’re not helping,” Bernard huffed, walking away from Curtis and towards the workshop, trying to get the image of Y/N and the tall, blue eyed elf out of his head.

**************************************************************************************

It had been a few hours since his last conversation with Curtis, and Bernard had quickly calmed down, busying himself with tasks he had yet completed for the holiday season. However, it hadn’t helped him get Y/N out of his head. From the constant flirting, to seeing her using that charm on someone else, Bernard was unsure where the relationship stood. Was it all a big joke to her? Had she been leading him on the last few months to mess with him? Before he could dive deeper into his existential dread, a soft voice sounded from behind him.

“Hey handsome.”

Bernard froze slightly, and looked over his shoulder to see Y/N walk through the door, a stack of paperwork in her hands and a bright smile on her face. Glitter on her cheeks and nose, sporting a new dress that glimmered in the light, Bernard thought she looked like an angel ready to be set atop the Christmas tree. He shook himself out of his trance, and smiled tightly back at her, unable to form any words. He quickly turned back around, continuing his sort out of different coloured wrapping paper. It wasn’t usually Bernard’s job, but he needed the distraction, and the wrapping room was a quiet place to come in the evenings.

“Curtis told me you’d be in here and I need you to sign these papers for Santa.”

Y/N held the paperwork out towards Bernard, their fingers touching briefly once he reached out to grab them. He placed them on the side of the desk and mumbled a ‘thanks’ under his breath, barely audible. Y/N let out a small huff and strolled around Bernard, taking in his tense form.

She smiled again. “So. How’s my favourite elf doing?”

Bernard didn’t bother looking up from his work. “He’s very busy at the moment,” his tone dull and unwavering.

A hand suddenly came into the head elf’s view, and hit the desk hard, jolting everything laying on top. Bernard jumped back and looked to the side where Y/N stood with eyebrows raised and her mouth pursed.

“Have I done something to upset you?” She asked, crossing her arms and popping her hip to the side.

Bernard wasn’t sure what to say, nor how Y/N might react. He’d never been great at showcasing his feelings, especially in the romantic sense. But this wasn’t just some random girl he’d found cute once and never interacted with. This was Y/N. One of his closest friends, someone he cared deeply for. Who seemed to care deeply about him too. She was also someone he worked with. The possibility of admitting how he felt, and for her to not feel the same, it would no doubt make things awkward. And he’d hate to ruin what they already have. Even if it killed him to see her flirting with someone else.

“You’ve done nothing, I’ve just had a lot on my plate and I can’t handle any distractions at the moment,” Bernard finally replied, trying to keep his voice level.

“Really?” Y/N bit back, “because I feel like you’ve been avoiding me all day. And since when do you spend time in the wrapping paper room? When Curtis told me you were here, I was worried you might be having a mental breakdown.” She ended with a joke, but part of Bernard knew there was truth behind her words.

The head elf felt himself boiling over. His temper was short, and everyone knew that, but when it came to Y/N he was unusually chill. Her presence was good for him. Not at this moment though. He could feel himself ready to lash out, and he was worried what could be said.

“Do I have to explain everything to you? Can I not spend time alone without you knowing where and what I’m doing every second of every day?”

“I’m sorry I care about you and want to know what you’re up to! Sure you can have all the time you want alone, I just don’t like it when you avoid me completely,” by now, both of their voices were shaking and getting louder.

“I thought you’d want to spend more time with your new tall, blue eyed friend,” Bernard instantly regretted his words.

Y/N opened her mouth but closed it almost instantly, her brow furrowed and confusion clear on her face. “What are you talking about?” her voice now considerably calmer.

Bernard could feel the embarrassment wash over him, desperate to think of some excuse, but coming up short. “This morning, I saw you talking to someone. It looked like he was flirting, and you seemed to be doing the same back,” Y/N’s face softened as she begun to realise what and who the older elf was talking about. “It got to me, okay? It bothered me that you were talking to him in that way when,” a slight pause, “you usually only talk to me that way.”

Y/N shook her head, a confused look returning briefly. “I don’t understand, you never showed any interest in my flirting, why is it bothering you when I do it to someone else.”

“Because I like you!” There it was. That barrier Bernard built high for years, keeping relationships at bay, had just been broken. And he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. “I’m not the best at showing my emotions. Romantically speaking, I’m an amateur at it. And I’m sorry I was never good at reciprocating your advances. I guess it doesn’t matter if it was just a joke to you.”

Y/N reached out quickly, grabbing Bernard’s hand and holding it close to her. “It was never a joke to me. I just didn’t think you liked me in that way so I stopped. Thought I’d try with someone else to help me move on from you.” She moved a step forward, standing toe to toe. “I knew it would never work. You’re the only person I truly care about, in that way.”

Bernard was speechless. He couldn’t stop staring into her eyes, brimmed with emotion but full of love. He mostly felt like an idiot. Never taking the chance before now to make a move or admit how he felt. He finally felt at peace. Like everything had finally worked out.

“What now?” Bernard awkwardly questioned, placing his hands on Y/N’s hips.

“I think you should probably kiss me before someone else does,” She jested back.

They both laugh and lean in, Y/N’s hands going to hold the head elf’s face. The kiss deepened, Y/N moving her left hand to the back of Bernard’s head, tugging slightly at his curls. This elicited a deep moan from Bernard’s throat, his pants growing tighter, as he tugged Y/N somehow closer to him and towards the desk still covered with wrapping paper.

“Why did we wait so long to do this?” Y/N mumbled out between wet kisses.

Bernard moved to sucking her neck, most definitely leaving bruises. “I don’t know. But I never want to stop.”

They continued making out, Y/N feeling the desk behind her and sliding on top, pulling Bernard in between her legs. She felt him growing harder, and slowly moved her hand down, palming at the front of his pants. Bernard couldn’t help but whimper slightly, gripping the side of the desk as well as Y/N’s thigh. Keeping one hand on his hard on, she moved her other back up and unbuttoned his shirt, rubbing her hand in circular motions on his chest. Bernard followed soon after, taking hold of the bottom of her shirt and lifting it over her head. The couple continued kissing and touching anywhere they could reach, seeming to care little to none about the door still being open, or whether someone walked by and found them in their current predicament. They were just glad to have finally admitted how they felt. In the back of his head, Bernard reminded himself to thank that tall, blue eyed elf for bringing out the jealousy in him.

(Sorry it seems to cut short, I’m terrible at writing smut or intimate stuff but I hope you all enjoyed anyways :))

#bernard x reader #bernard the elf x reader #the santa clauses #the santa clause #x reader #david krumholtz

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obxsummer · 8 months

Text

Broken Pieces // JJ Maybank

when jj, kie, and pope get the notification that you escaped the camerons again, they decide they're done sitting on the sidelines. it's up to jj to talk you off the ledge that you've been pushed on.

jj maybank x routledge!reader

warnings: this is dark umm su!cidal mentions, guns, involuntary drugs, mentions of abuse, no use of y/n

a/n: sorry this request took so long! i changed it a little bit just because I wasn't 100% comfortable but I hope it does justice :)

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The past few weeks in the Outer Banks had been like none before. Tourists had watched along as friends were lost to the sea, families were torn in two, and the best sheriff Kildare County had seen was killed in the blink of an eye.

John B and Sarah, presumed dead, had left a void that seemed impossible to fill. But the greatest torment was reserved for another soul—John B's younger sister, you. Your life had taken a nightmarish turn as you were thrust into the clutches of the Camerons. In the absence of your brother, you found yourself trapped in a living nightmare.

The Camerons, exploiting their legal authority as your guardians held you in an iron grip. Everything was isolated, cut off from your friends, your life, and any glimmer of hope. Your attempts to escape, though frequent, only led to capture, a vicious cycle of desperation and frustration. JJ, Kiara, and Pope had heard whispers of the attempts to break free, each thwarted by Shoupe returning you to Ward Cameron with no questions or complaints.

The remaining Pogues stood in The Wreck. Everything felt so wrong to be here, out living their lives, when they couldn’t get you home. Going to school felt so wrong when they were lacking the Routledge presence and leadership that came with both you and John B.

“Do you think she knows John B’s alive?” Kiara’s question was quiet as she referenced the text that had come through hours before. Your phone number was included on the group but nobody had heard from you in the weeks since you’d been taken.

Her question was left hanging in the air as Shoupe and his deputies, who had been taking their lunch break, quickly left with no explanation.

As the three friends exchanged quiet glances, a shrill ping cut through the heavy silence. Their phones buzzed in unison, displaying an alert that brought their collective pain into sharp focus—you had run away again. Kiara, Pope, and JJ exchanged urgent glances, their eyes mirroring their shared concern.

"We can't just sit here anymore. We've got to do something."

Pope nodded, his jaw clenched. "You're right. It's been too long. We have to find her ourselves.”

JJ's mind was racing, thoughts of your desperate situation flooding his mind. He knew you well enough to understand your pain, your yearning for a family that cared, especially after losing your mother at a young age. "Let's split up and cover more ground. Kiara, you head towards the docks. Pope, check out the beach area. I'll go back to the Chateau. She might have gone there."

The tension in the air grows with each passing minute. JJ's heart raced as he treaded through the overgrown path leading to the Routledge residence. The memories of John B and Sarah hung heavy on his mind, adding a bitter layer to the anguish he felt for your predicament.

As he approached the door, he could feel his pulse quicken. The heavy atmosphere of the place was suffocating, a stark contrast to the lively household he remembered from his childhood visits. Taking a deep breath, he knocked, his knuckles rapping gently against the wood. The door creaked open but he expected that.

The house was dimly lit, the air heavy with memories. And there, in the midst of it all, stood you. Your once vibrant eyes were now dulled by pain, your face stained with tear tracks. A loaded gun, JJ’s gun, was clutched tightly in your trembling hand. How you had it, he didn’t want to know.

JJ's heart plummeted at the sight. He slowly raised his hands in a calming gesture, his voice gentle as he spoke, "Hey, hey, Birdie. It's me. I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk."

You turned to him, eyes wide with a mix of fear and desperation. "JJ? What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you," he replied softly. "We all did. Kie and Pope are on their way." JJ was quick to notice your bloodshot eyes and the shaking in your hands. Whatever Rafe and Ward had given you was still in your system and you weren’t handling it well.

Tears streamed down your face as you took a shaky step back, the gun still pointed in his direction. "Why? No one cares. No one cares about me. John B is gone. Dad is gone. I should've gone with John B. I should be with them."

JJ's heart ached as he listened to your broken words. He knew he had to tread carefully. "Sweetheart, I know. I know you miss him, but we care about you. I care about you. We've been searching for you because we want to help."

Telling you John B was alive would only set you off right now, but JJ wished the knowledge could bring you some comfort.

You shook your head, voice trembling as anger mixed with grief. "You don't understand, JJ. The Camerons are horrible. They're abusive, Ward a-and Rafe. And no one is helping me. I'm trapped, stuck in this repetitive loop with no hope."

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air. JJ's fists clenched involuntarily as he fought to control his emotions. He took a step closer. "I’m here now, yeah? I won't let you go through this alone. We're your family too."

“I… I see him every day. In my dreams, in-in the house,” You choked for air in your lungs. Your grip on the gun loosened slightly, and your shoulders shook as sobs racked your body. "You don't know what it's like, JJ. Every day is a nightmare. No one believes me. No one listens. They hurt me, control every damn thing. And no one helps, no one cares. I might as well be invisible, 'cause no one loves me.”

He continued to approach slowly, his eyes locked onto yours. "I get it, I get it okay. I’m right here, a-and we're here to help you get out of this nightmare. You don't have to face it alone."

A mixture of vulnerability and anger crossed your face. You’d given up long before you saw him. "You can't save me, JJ. No one can."

JJ's heart shattered, his chest tightening as he struggled to rein in his own emotions. He knew he had to reach you, to break through the fortress of pain and despair that had taken control of your thoughts. He knew you didn’t know how the gun worked and the fact that the safety was still on was the slightest tinge of relief he had.

His voice cracked with raw emotion as he said your name, "We love you, I love you. I would never leave you, okay? You're not invisible, and you're not alone. You're family, a family that cares about you more than words can say."

Your grip on the weapon slackened, and JJ approached slowly, his heart pounding. One wrong step and he would fuck this whole thing up. "Give me the gun, baby," he implored gently, his eyes locked onto yours. "Please. Let me fix this.”

You looked at him, tears streaming down your face, and hesitated. JJ saw the window of opportunity and jumped, smacking the gun out of your hand as the two of you collided with the floor. The scream you let out was heartwrenching as he pulled you into a careful embrace, letting you cry against his shoulder.

The floodgates had opened, all the pain and anger you'd bottled up pouring forth. JJ held tightly, offering a sanctuary amidst the outburst of your emotions. You screamed and shoved against him but he refused to let go.

As your sobs subsided, he let out a deep breath of relief. "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He continued to hold you in his lap, your face buried in his neck as you clung to him for some form of grounded relief.

The two of you sat like that for a decent amount of time. Long enough that Kie and Pope had come to the Chateau for themselves and witnessed you both on the floor before staying out on the porch to give you space.

“John B’s alive,” JJ’s whisper was soft. He figured you were slowly calming down and with the water he’d been forcing you to drink, he hoped things were exiting your system.

Your eyes were teary when you pulled back to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

He kept his palm against the back of your neck to hold you while digging for his phone to show you the text. Your face shifted to a pained expression as you viewed the conversation on the screen before all the tension exited your body at once and you curled back into JJ’s hold.

“Is this real?” Your voice cracked as you continued to stare at the picture on the phone.

“Yep,” JJ said as he took the phone back, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his actions a soothing gesture that spoke volumes. The chaos of emotions that had consumed the moment was slowly giving way to a sense of clarity and understanding.

"Holy shit," you murmured, your voice filled with a mix of wonder and amazement. You continued to stare at the screen, your gaze fixed on the image of your brother and his girlfriend. The realization that they were alive, that there was hope, seemed almost too good to be true.

JJ's arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close as you leaned into his embrace. The room seemed to hold a sense of warmth and comfort, a sanctuary from the storms of the outside world.

The weight of uncertainty had lifted, and a glimmer of hope shone brightly in its place. As you held onto JJ, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you had someone who would support you through it all. And in that moment, as you stared at the screen and held onto each other, you knew everything would be okay. John B would come home, you’d make sure of it.

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#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #outer banks imagine #outer banks #jj maybank imagine #jj outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks netflix #jj maybank x routledge!reader

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fallenclan · 3 months

Note

TW death and blood and whatnot but it’s moon 205 so what do you expect

…

The day had been so, so bright, and now the scent of blood nearly choked out the sun.

Flyspots felt Wormshade flinch against his side at another yowl of pain, cut off suddenly by what was surely the end. The camp was too flooded by noise and violence to know who it was for sure, but Flyspots could only hope that it wasn’t a young warrior dying before their time, that their kin didn’t have to see them go. He hoped it was fast. Not everyone had the luxury of a quick death today, he thought grimly, glancing behind him at Salmonskip.

Wormshade had managed to drag her here, into the cover the pair of mates had found at the start of the attack, after the dog that had fastened its jaws into her had let her go, apparently bored once its prey had grown too weak to fight. Even now, with the wound in his neck weeping and tears and blood splattered across his face, Salmonskip tried to stand. Wormshade was quick to return to her side, motioning for her to stay down. Flyspots followed, for once quiet.

“Well?” Salmonskip asked frantically, her breath wheezing with the effort. “Did—“

“I didn’t see Moosefall, not fighting nor on the ground.” The /injured or dead/ part of the last statement remained unspoken, though you could hear it in the roughness of Wormshade’s voice, the wetness of its eyes. “Your sibling or Brackenwing, either. And don’t even worry about Jumblepaw. I saw Rustbee leading the apprentices out before we hid, so she’s safe.” Though there was little emotion in Wormshade’s voice, anyone could see the words brought some semblance of comfort to the younger cat. He finally stopped his fruitless attempts to stand, and the tears flowed a little slower as Flyspots laid his tail on her ginger and silver back. He could feel a tear of his own slip down his cheek, and he spent one moment wondering how Wormshade could seem so calm, even now. But it’d always been that way, hadn’t it? He could remember its old mantra— Flyspots, we both know you’re dramatic enough to have enough emotions for the both of us. But he knew Wormshade always felt just as much, if not more, as he did.

“Yeah, what he said,” Flyspots said after the sounds of fighting from beyond the outcropping of stones that shielded them got too much. “Everyone’s gonna be fine.”

He jumped as Salmonskip released something resembling a laugh, his yellow eyes fluttering closed with pain and exhaustion. “Everyone but me,” she whispered, and Flyspots couldn’t quite tell if the words were bitter or not. He saw Wormshade lower his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Can you…” she paused, eyes open again, clearly struggling to speak now as her voice failed her. “Can you at least lay with me while I die?”

Flyspots could not bring themself to respond at first, too shocked and overwhelmed and devastated, but Wormshade’s reaction was quick and short. “Of course,” it rasped, and lowered itself beside the bleeding molly, only hesitating a moment before resting his head on her flank. After that, Flyspots was quick to nod, to begin to lie down in honor of her request.

His belly hadn’t even touched the ground when the dog thrust its head around the rocks and grabbed him.

The pain was so great that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, but he heard Wormshade wail as he clawed desperately at flesh, trying to do anything to stop it. But it was too late, and everything went black.

•••

When he woke up the pain was gone, the sounds of the battle muted, but he saw the blood on the ground. He was still here, in this blood-soaked camp, and yet he wasn’t truly here. He rose, feeling lighter, stronger than he had in fifty moons, and met Salmonskip‘s eyes, saw her cheeks glimmering with tears that shone as stars on her ghostly form. But her fur was clean of crimson.

He hadn’t laid beside her as she died after all.

Flyspots didn’t look down, he didn’t want to, he dreaded seeing his own body lying lifeless. Instead, he scanned his surroundings, the ceiling of the cave. In death, he could somehow see the stars through the rock that separated the clan from the stars. As he watched, he spotted a brown flecked form leaping upwards, before disappearing in a flash of light. Beefreckle, the name appeared in his thoughts, and the realization sent a sensation so strong through his chest that he thought he was dying a second time. His kit. His little boy was dead.

Salmonskip’s voice broke him from his shock, and when he looked at her once more, he found her watching him with sympathy in her eyes. “I was waiting for you, to go up there,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the stars. “We can go now, if you’re ready.” He couldn’t go, though. Not yet.

When he found the strength to look down, avoiding looking at the body his spirit had left behind, his gaze fastened to what he’d been searching for. Wormshade. His mate was a few steps away from where he’d died, his sides rising and falling shallowly despite the wounds that decorated his sides and face and the blood that matted his dark fur. Flyspots stepped towards him, settling against his side, curling his tail around his back legs and settling his head down, listening to the faint sound of his breathing.

He didn’t hear her, but he could feel Salmonskip grow closer. “I know. He’ll be with you soon, but… it’s going to take him a while.” Flyspots knew. Somehow, he could sense it, could sense Wormshade slowly drifting. Slowly dying. The elder’s eyes were open, ever so slightly, but Flyspots couldn’t tell if it was conscious or not. Oh StarClan, he hoped not.

Flyspots curled a paw against Wormshade’s side, but he couldn’t feel his fur, or his warmth, only the pressure of something stopping his paw from going further. “Can we wait?” he asked suddenly, twisting his neck around so he was looking at Salmonskip. She was still crying stars.

He could see her hesitate, but after a heartbeat, she gave a slow nod, and sat down.

He didn’t know how long the two waited, but after a long while, Wormshade stirred.

The black tabby didn’t speak as he lifted his head, looked down at his corpse, saw the two ghosts waiting for him. It simply rose with Flyspots, pressed its head against his, gave Salmonskip a nod. Then the three leapt up through the stars.

Hours later, when the couple sat alone, still unused to the stars in their pelts as they watched the clan below them grieve, Flyspots asked his beloved a question.

“Are you sad that we’re here?”

Wormshade raised his head to meet his eyes, silent for a bit, lost in thought. Flyspots didn’t mind, of course, taking a moment to study him. The shimmer in each cats’s pelt were different colors, he’d realized. Salmonskip had glowed pale green. Flyspots sparkled with a hint of sky blue. And Wormshade, in death, was dusted with gold. It clashed a little with his amber eyes, but Flyspots thought it might have been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d never cared for things that matched, anyways.

“No,” Wormshade responded, voice even and calm. “We were old. It was going to happen regardless.”

Practical. It always was practical. But still, it wasn’t enough for Flyspots. When was it ever? “Did it hurt?”

The silence was longer this time, and Wormshade’s voice was quieter when he answered. “Yes. So much.” The tabby breathed. He closed his eyes. He lifted his face upwards. “But that’s okay.”

And then he leaned against Flyspots’s side, and— oh. He understood.

It was okay.

Anyways I will never be the same <3

Wormshade is my favorite so even though this takes place through Flyspots point of view this is really a memorial to him. I included Salmonskip as well because Moosefall is my third favorite and I figured I’d pay homage to his mate

WUGHGGHH??? AUGHHH??? OH MY. FUCKING HOD. this hurts so bad. the sentence "His little boy was dead" actually gave me a visceral reaction. YEOWCH

#fallenasks #fallenfic #smoothsands #cat death tw

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rotworld · 5 months

Text

The Oldest Dance

you knew a werewolf when you were younger. your lives went in different directions, but you find yourself suddenly reunited under the worst possible circumstances.

->explicit. contains kidnapping, drugging, power imbalance, mentions of noncon and conditioning, biting, feral behavior, mild gore.

You’ve never seen so many stars before.

The thought strikes you only after the sharp burn of adrenaline dies to a simmer. Fear curdles into exhaustion. Time gets fuzzy. Between the hairpin turns of the road and the lush sea of furs and bedding all around you, there’s no way to get your footing or your bearings. You test the rope around your wrists again and there’s no give, no weakness, just an unpleasant, stinging friction where they’ve been chafing your skin. You hear the rumble of the engine, the scrape of tires over dirt, branches dragging like nails across the windows. You can barely see a thing, and it’s not just your blurry, swimming vision, the exhaustion clinging stubbornly to your eyes. It’s dark here and dark outside, the whole world just a mass of merging shadows.

And the stars…you must not be in town anymore. Not even close to it.

There’s nowhere to go but you still fight to sit up, to get to your knees at least. It’s not a dip in the road or a sudden turn that throws you off balance this time. Someone grabs the back of your neck and shoves you down again. That large, callused hand could almost wrap all the way around your throat if it wanted, but it settles on your nape, squeezing with the gentle but firm chiding of an animal scruffing its young.

“First one’s awake,” you hear.

There’s a sharp, amused exhale from the front seats, driver’s side. “The one who barely touched their drink, I’m guessing. You got a grip on them?”

“Yeah. It’s fine, they’re still groggy.”

You run your hands through the blankets, hoping you look confused instead of searching, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Wool. Flannel. A zipper? Someone curled up on their side, breathing softly. Your elbow bumps into a warm body beside you, a bony shoulder exposed by a sagging, oversized sweater. They mutter in their sleep. The hand on the back of your neck eases when you settle and don’t try to get up again, but it stays, thumb gently stroking. It takes everything you have to keep your breathing calm and even.

Three of you back here, you count. Captives. The other two still out cold. And four of them. Two in the front and two in the back, keeping watch.

“Should only be a half hour or so for the rest, as long as you didn’t give them too much.” You recognize the voice from the passenger seat. He was at the club. Smaller guy, not huge like the one kneeling next to you. Dark hair. Dazzling smile. And touchy, always trying to get in your space, talking a little too close for comfort. It all starts coming back in a slow trickle. Right. The club. And that guy, Corbin, you’ve seen him a few times before, thought he was a little weird but he always seemed to know when to back off. So how…why…?

“Wish we could’ve taken the fourth one, too,” the guy holding you down says wistfully. His hand rubs up and down your back in a soothing, absentminded motion. “Such pretty eyes, and a sweet scent.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from the other guy in the back, a hulking figure sitting against the wall further from you. “Bigger hunts are always more fun,” he murmurs.

“Aww, I know,” Corbin coos. “But trust me, they weren’t a good match. These three, on the other hand? They’re perfect.” There’s a glimmer of light in the front seat—the glare of a cell phone illuminating part of Corbin’s jaw. It’s nearly blinding after your eyes have adjusted to the dark, and it suddenly occurs to you why you can’t see anything. Not the men, not much more than lumpy silhouettes, not any trees distinct from the moving shadows beyond the windows; nothing but stars.

They’re not using headlights. These are wolves.

You surge up in a panic, scrabbling blindly for the doors. It’s probably not a good idea—even if they’re miraculously unlocked, you won’t accomplish much more than tumbling out in the middle of fucking nowhere, maybe skin yourself on the road in the process—but your terror is louder than your rational thinking. You fight the hands that grab you, screaming, clawing, biting like an animal, thrashing with all your strength. It takes both of them to pin you back down and you savor that even through the humiliating briefness of your rebellion, wrestled onto your stomach with a hand shoving your head down into the blankets.

You don’t expect him to bite you and that drags a shrill but short noise out of you. You’re not ready for what it feels like, the weight of him across your back and the crunch of his teeth sinking in, a hot gush of blood dribbling past his snarling lips. It hurts like hell and it doesn’t stop. Every time you squirm, every panicked jerk and attempted wriggling movement, makes him growl against your skin. He holds your hands down with his much larger, much stronger ones, fingers pinning yours on either side of your head, and that’s when you finally give in. You aren’t punished for the last nervous shiver that travels down your spine, or the whimper that slips out when he loosens his jaw and pulls away, strings of saliva and sticky blood slicking your neck.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good human. Stay down.” The gentleness of his fingers stroking your scalp makes a sob build in your throat.

“You got it?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, sorry, I got it. Tried to keep the bite light, but they wouldn’t submit. Might leave a mark.” He traces his thumb over the throbbing wound he left behind, ragged and still bleeding.

Corbin chuckles. “It’s fine, I’ll vouch for you if anyone asks.” You can’t see him clearly but you can tell he’s turned around, leaning slightly around his seat to peer into the back. You can feel his gaze burning into you. “I won’t tell you not to fight. I hope you do,” he says, lowering his voice slightly. Talking to you rather than about you, you realize. “I chose you because I knew you would. It’s a good thing. Good for the pack. Eventually, you’ll learn how to pick your battles.”

“Fuck you,” you say, embarrassed by how shaky and hoarse you sound.

You can’t see what kind of expression he has, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “You’ll thank me someday.”

It doesn’t take long for the other two to wake after all the commotion. One just stares in silent shock and disbelief. The other starts to cry. The other wolf in the back pulls them into his lap and nuzzles his face against their cheek and neck, as though they want anything to do with him. He grunts unhappily when they cry harder and shove him away. You can just make out a chorus of howls over the sound of the engine. The wolf who bit you starts stroking your back again, a melodic hum rumbling in his chest.

“The heartland joining us tonight?” the driver asks.

Corbin hums softly. “They’re abstaining. A few might come to watch.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. I hoped one of these might be a good fit.”

“Linden needs an absolutely perfect match. It’s my next project.”

You don’t catch what else they say because those quiet, miserable sobs turn to heartwrenching wailing. The other person in the back starts to plead for their life. The wolf closest to them strokes their cheek. “You’re not going to die,” he murmurs. “Hush. It’ll all make sense soon.”

The van slows, relief and terror warring in your heart. You can run—and go where? You don’t know where you are, don’t know the way back to town. Outrunning a werewolf is a tall order under the best circumstances. You’re on their turf, in the dark; you don’t stand a chance. Doesn’t matter. You have to try. The road gets rougher, the foliage thicker like grasping hands. The van rolls to a slow, grinding stop and the engine dies. You’re surprised nobody tries to restrain you before the locks disengage and the back doors are thrown open, but it doesn’t take long to see why.

You’re deep in the woods. The full moon drapes a thin, silver gleam over the silhouettes of shifting figures, animal eyes shining in the dark. There must be dozens of them—thirty, maybe forty wolves, all sniffing the air, growling and pacing impatiently. More are still coming, slipping through the trees in the shape of both humans and beasts. You’re completely surrounded. They form a wide circle around the van, all eyes trained on you and the other two petrified people huddled at your back. You can hear them talking to each other, their voices half-feral with barks and growls.

“Three? Just three?”

“Three’s a lot for the off-season.”

“All awake, too. Afraid and alert. Gonna be a good hunt.”

“And look at that one in front, bristling like that. Think they’ll bite back?”

Laughter. Your stomach churns. One of the wolves gets out of the van while the other leans in close at your side, the two of them gradually easing you out and onto your feet. A door slams. The wolf who was driving gets out, stretches his legs. You see him kick off his shoes and shed his shirt, tossing his clothes into the driver’s seat before he suddenly falls down on all fours and shifts into a wolf. The change is nearly instant, a chorus of unpleasant, bone-cracking sounds, his skin engulfed in dark fur. Corbin wanders into view, glancing at the three of you with an expression of infuriating tranquility.

Golden light flickers in the corner of your vision. The crowd parts and the man who steps forward makes the wolves you’ve seen so far seem small and delicate in comparison. Massive and towering over all the rest, his chest bare and broad, muscled shoulders adorned with tattoos, he comes forward with a lantern in his hand and a sharp grin on his face. The others all have that intimidating air about them but this one truly looks like a werewolf, overwhelming and wild. His sharp gaze flicks to each of you. Your heart leaps into your throat as, one by one, he looks you in the eyes and speaks your names.

“Welcome, chosen,” he says. “My name is Vanagandr, and this is Hoarfrost Falls. The pack is eager to meet you. Are you well?”

It takes you a moment to understand this is a serious, genuine question. He waits patiently for an answer, studying each of you in turn. “Are we well?” you repeat in disbelief. “Are you for real?”

To your dismay, he finds your anger harmless and amusing, a soft chuff of laughter escaping his lips. “Let me rephrase. Do you feel sick or hungover? Any injuries, particularly to the legs or feet? Be honest. We have a medic.”

The two cowering behind you don’t say a word, too afraid to even lift their gazes. One of them is shaking, clinging to your shoulder. Still, Vanagandr waits, and the uncomfortable silence stretches on. Eventually, one of them shakes their head. The other mutters a quiet, “I’m fine.” The wolves around you stare and point openly, muttering to one another about which one of you smells the best, which one looks the softest, the most defiant, the most fun to train.

“I was bitten,” you mutter.

He doesn’t wait for you to show him, grabbing you by the shoulder and turning you in place. His hand is large, his nails sharp like claws. He traces the teeth marks in your neck and growls softly. The wolf who bit you stiffens and turns his head. Baring his throat, you realize.

It’s then that you see Corbin slink closer, pressing himself against the enormous wolf’s side. “It wasn’t his fault,” he says in a soft, demure tone, his head bowed so he looks up at Vanagandr through his thick lashes. “He couldn’t let up because they wouldn’t submit. It took a little while.”

“I figured as much,” Vaganadr chuckles. He rubs his face against Corbin’s neck and jaw, a gesture that strikes you as odd, affectionate, and a touch possessive. “Go on. Your alpha’s looking for you.” At that, Corbin’s eyes light up and he slips away with one last lingering touch to Vanagandr’s shoulder, but he doesn’t rush to leave. He meanders through the crowd of wolves and the others greet him with the same eager affection, grabbing him, passing him amongst themselves like a toy to sniff and touch and grope shamelessly. The display unsettles you and in your haste to find somewhere else to look, you see something that makes your heart skip a beat.

A small group has just arrived. These wolves are younger, noticeably nervous and fidgeting. They’re led by a wolf who looks like he got stuck in the middle of shifting, limbs long and furred, hands and feet tipped with claws, a bushy tail swishing behind him. He’s talking to them in a low, gravelly voice, something about herding and not rushing, but that doesn’t matter. None of it matters except for one wolf who stands out from the rest. Not because he does anything unusual. Not because he’s particularly big or intimidating looking—he always was bigger than you but here, he’s average. Right at home.

You know that wolf. You recognize the scars slashed from his hairline to his jaw, long, jagged lines clawed across the left side of his face. You remember that nervous little twitch of the nose whenever he ran into something new, some situation that made him nervous. He’s grown his hair out longer, let it spill over his shoulders and down his back in thick, black waves, but you know it’s him. The fearful expression on his face transforms into full-blown panic when your eyes meet.

“Flint?” All you can manage is a strangled whisper but you know he hears you. An unhappy, dog-like whine rises in his throat. “Flint? What—why are you here?” You aren’t thinking when you push your way towards him. No one is stopping you but you barely notice, don’t even hesitate to wonder why. You shoulder through the crowd, ignoring the whispers, the uneasy glances, Vanagandr gone completely still and silent behind you.

Flint lowers his gaze, staring at the grass by your feet. You’re further from the lantern and the shadows are thick, his face half-hidden in flickering, lurching darkness, but you can hear him panting the way he always would when he felt overwhelmed. Your name comes out in a needy whine, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “No…no, no, no, not yet…” He has trouble getting the words out, and even more trouble trying to look you in the eye. His voice is exactly the way you remember, low and rough and painfully quiet, like he’s afraid to speak any louder than a rumbling whisper. “I’m not—I’m not ready, I can’t…”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they kidnap you, too?” you ask, your voice raising with anger the more you speak. You know next to nothing about wild wolves, but you know Flint is meek and easy to boss around, the kind of person who got picked on by other wolves when you were younger. The tall werewolf, the one who looks caught between human and animal, steps closer as though he means to separate you. “Don’t touch him!” you snap. He looks down at you, an expression of muted surprise smoothing into understanding.

“Corbin,” he says quietly. The smaller man rushes over, now carrying the lantern Vanagandr held earlier. “You two. Follow.” He doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you. He just starts walking. You’re startled that Flint obeys without question, keeping his head down. Corbin grabs your forearm and drags you along, frowning at your attempts to squirm free and pry his fingers off.

He leans in, lowering his voice. “Remember what I said before about picking your battles?” he asks. You’re suddenly aware of just how quiet the clearing has become, all eyes on you. Vanagandr watches you very carefully, his gaze hardened and threatening. You glance ahead where the tall werewolf has stopped moving, looking back over his shoulder.

Flint is hunched next to him, head down, whimpering. The wolf has a hand on his forearm, gripping hard enough to leave marks. You take a deep breath. Fine. You can play along for now. You’ll do anything for Flint’s sake.

Wolves have their own gods.

Flint knew that when he was little, of course, but it was a vague sort of awareness. Hearsay, rather than knowledge. Wolves, he was surely told at some point, have many faiths and traditions depending on where they live or where they come from. But these things are distant for city wolves, even shameful at times. Why stick out any more than you already, unavoidably do? His family had distanced themselves from any sort of archaic, wild customs long before even his parents were born. When he followed the family tree as far back as it went, tracing those ancient scribbles on the old, yellowed parchment kept hidden in his father’s lockbox, he found strange symbols and names he wasn’t sure how to pronounce. The word ulfhednar was written in thick, black ink.

When he repeated the word to his parents, they looked at him like he’d dragged a human corpse through the front door and dropped it at their feet. “It’s an old, awful thing that you shouldn’t tell anyone,” his mother warned. And that was that. For years, he went on thinking there was something wrong with him, some secret shame he’d unknowingly inherited. It isn’t until much later—until Hoarfrost Falls—that he finds out the truth. Ulfhednar is not a dirty word, but it is something city wolves don’t talk about.

That, and gods. They don’t talk about those either. Not the old ones like the Poised Fang, god of the perfect strike. Some have forgotten and some no longer understand. Sawyer taught him all about that. Sawyer, who leads the three of them now—him and the hrefn and you, he can hardly believe it, you where he least expects to see you, exactly the wrong place and exactly the wrong time. He hadn’t even planned on being there. He was still too new to take part in the claiming chase, still too uncomfortable with the realities of acquiring pack humans to even watch.

Sawyer had insisted. He was kind about it. He had waited until the evening lessons were over to pull Flint aside, dusk simmering like dying embers along the horizon. Flint’s peers had all come from loose, disorganized city packs. Like him, they had dulled senses and smothered instincts. Their shifts were slow and uncomfortable because they’d all learned to do it quietly, stifling the popping of their joints and the rearranging of their bones in a way that left them winded when it was over.

There was comfort and camaraderie in being new and terrible at everything together, but Flint knew he was falling behind. The others were just as clueless but twice as eager, embracing each new facet of wild pack life while Flint was still reeling. He didn’t think they were judging him for it—he desperately hoped not—but he wasn’t sure. He was used to being an outcast. His whole life, he’d been the obvious werewolf in a room full of humans. He was tall, strongly built, his limbs thick with muscle, his nails constantly needing to be filed down as they grew quicker and sharper than he could keep up with. He’d tried joining packs before. Things always started well and soured quickly. City wolves would look at him and assume he was something wild, and as soon as they realized he wasn’t, he’d start getting pushed around and singled out. He didn’t like making a fuss so he just did what he was told and kept his head down.

But you—you would fight for him. You always did. You’d find out, no matter how hard he tried to keep these things quiet, and you’d tell him you were going to his next pack meeting. You’d be the smallest one in the room between all those werewolves, and you’d still march right up to whatever loudmouth was calling themselves alpha and tear them a new one. You’d demand all of his stuff back if anything had been taken and placed in communal storage—family heirlooms, usually, fur-lined coats and old quilts. Sometimes you’d manage to get a few of his membership fees reimbursed by citing breaches of contract, listing all the ways his pack had failed to behave like his pack.

You’d gotten hurt doing that, just once. It was the last pack he’d tried joining, the last desperate attempt to find belonging. The alpha had claimed his car as a pack asset and taken his keys, and you’d marched in there and refused to leave until they were put in your hand. Yelling had turned to shoving and someone had bitten you. Flint is ashamed to admit that he can’t fully remember everything that happened, only that he woke up in wolfskin, lying on the tile floor of his shower. You were kneeling next to him beneath the spray of warm water and running your fingers through his fur, wet, partially shredded clothes hanging off your body. Blood swirled down the drain.

“Not mine,” you assured him. “Not all yours, either, but don’t move around too much.”

He thinks about that all the time. He dreams about it. Curled up with his head in your lap and your hands running up and down his body, your touch soothing and affectionate. That’s what he was thinking of earlier tonight when Sawyer stopped him as the others ran off to gossip excitedly with their elders about the new pack humans coming up the mountain. Sawyer led him down a trail that wandered away from the commune’s structures, deeper into the woods.

Flint smelled it before he saw it; perspiration. Excitement. Arousal. A human and a werewolf. The end of a chase. They were up ahead, tucked away in a grove of crooked, towering oak trees. The human was making soft, scared sounds as she was forced down to her knees and made to present herself in proper submission, but she smelled eager and Flint saw a smile before her head was shoved down into the leaves. The wolf growled playfully when he mounted her, nuzzling against the nape of her neck. He whispered something in Old Wolven Norse; a term of endearment, Flint guessed, from the tone.

It felt wrong to stand there and watch. They’d come here to be alone, hadn’t they? But Sawyer looked at him sharply when Flint glanced back the way they’d come. They were going to talk here? In earshot of another wolf and his human as they joined in bliss, rutting on the forest floor? Sawyer did nothing without a reason. There was something Flint was meant to see here, something he was supposed to learn.

“You don’t want to watch tonight’s claiming,” Sawyer said quietly. “I think you should.”

Flint said nothing. He couldn’t gather his thoughts. He was too focused on the human’s alluring scent, their needy whimpers and squirming as the wolf took them. Would…would you look like that, under him? Would you be so open, so sweet? So much had gone unsaid between the two of you before. You weren’t together. You’d never broached the subject, even though he could smell your interest in him. He hadn’t wanted to push, terrified of scaring you away.

“Flint.” Sawyer was studying his face in the subtle way wolves did, a sidelong glance whenever he let his guard down. “Something’s on your mind.”

Flint swallowed. He could feel himself reacting to the couple in front of him, the tender flesh at the base of his cock where his knot swells up pulsing gently, and he was ashamed. “I’m thinking about studying a different trade,” he admitted.

Sawyer said nothing. Flint found himself looking desperately at his face, searching for signs of anger or disappointment, and found him completely unreadable. Sawyer was stone-faced and taciturn most of the time. Flint had to take a deep breath, relax himself, and remember to look elsewhere for answers. Sawyer’s scent was…calm. His tail was still, slightly raised in curiosity but there was no evidence of aggression or displeasure in his posture. He tilted his head slightly and avoided direct eye contact, looking in Flint’s general direction rather than right at him, trying not to make him feel threatened.

Emboldened, Flint continued. “It’s not your fault, it’s all me. You’ve done so much for me since I got here. You’re always patient with me no matter what I screw up. I know I can tell you things and you’ll listen. It’s just…I don’t think I can do this. I wouldn’t be a good shepherd.”

Sawyer grunted. It was more of a wolf sound than a human one, a chiding growl and a resigned huff all in one. “You’re the only one who decides your path. But if you want my opinion, I disagree. You’d make an exceptional shepherd.”

Flint shook his head. “I could never hurt them. I can’t wrap my head around it. The whole claiming thing, the biting, the…”

“Fucking?” Sawyer said it so easily.

“We’re forcing them, aren’t we? They don’t want it.”

“They do. They just don’t know it yet.” Sawyer had barely taken his eyes off the wolf and the human since they’d arrived, something nostalgic and bittersweet in his gaze. He nodded to the two of them, the human writhing in mindless pleasure and the wolf pounding her breathless, groaning into the flesh of her shoulder. “They’re no different from us. Strip the wild out of them and they become caged, miserable animals. Here, they learn to heed their instincts again.”

Flint knew that. He’d been taught all of this before. Alpha Druian told him that most humans lived in societies of suffering, and Flint knew he was right because he’d seen it himself, had lived in it for most of his life. Taking pack humans, teaching them everything they’d forgotten after centuries of isolating themselves from wolves—it was all natural and beautiful. It was the steps in between that he had trouble rationalizing; the claiming and the training. The fear and the pain, how new humans shivered at the sight of him and whimpered when he came too close. He was told that this, too, was perfectly normal, a necessary and expected part of the process.

He heard a quiet chuckle. A smile tugged at the corner of Sawyer’s lips. “This is why you’d be so good at it,” he said. “I stopped shepherding a long time ago, but those instincts never go away. I know what to look for. All that thinking and worrying, that’s what we’re best at. The pack’s most tenderhearted are the ones who should be closest to our humans. Confidence is important. Being able to make difficult choices and administer discipline, that’s also important. But you have to care, more than anything. You have to want what’s best for them.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he hadn’t said anything. Sawyer had simply stood beside him as the shadows grew and the sky darkened, night draping across the mountain. They watched the wolf bring the human to climax once, twice, a third time shuddering and wailing as her toes curled, the wolf’s hands roaming her sensitive body. When he finally spilled inside her, he sank his teeth into her neck. The spot was already marked and the precise way he angled his head, tonguing at the indentations before biting down, told Flint that was his mark. His human. A bond, renewed and made even stronger. He thought of you again and realized he was fully hard.

And now—here you are. He’s not ready. He can’t meet your worried gaze. Sawyer leads the way to the guest house, a large cabin where friends and allies stay while visiting the territory. Neutral, scentless ground. You’re wary, probably because you can’t see very well. Corbin sets the lantern down on a table but the light is dim, unable to crawl into all the cozy nooks and crannies in the spacious common area. Flint is happy that you go to him, sticking close to his side, but he doesn’t like how stiff and standoffish you are. He risks inching closer, pressing himself against you—and he smells another wolf on you. Saliva. Blood. A bite? Without thinking, he tugs at the neckline of your shirt, nostrils flaring at the sight of the wound.

“I’m sorry, Flint. I had no idea,” Corbin says softly. “The bite happened on the way here. It was intended to force submission.” He reaches out, trying to offer comfort. You slap his hand away. Flint’s hand twitches at his side, instincts warring within him. He wants to soothe you. Wants to scold you. Wants to protect you. Wants to protect Corbin. Paralyzed by indecision, he does nothing. Corbin’s attention shifts from Flint to you, his expression thoughtful. Part of Flint lurches in fear at the thought of Corbin getting his hands on you. Training you, the way he helps Druian train all the new arrivals. He sees that eager look in Corbin’s eyes, the way his gaze roams. He’s sizing you up. Finding weaknesses. Memorizing all of your movements, conscious and unconscious, how you carry yourself, how long you can look him in the eye.

Another part of him, deeply buried, considers it with alarming calmness. Before Hoarfrost Falls, he’d blame those thoughts on his “inner wolf,” but Sawyer has cautioned him against that kind of mental partitioning. “Don’t cut yourself into pieces,” he’d say. He is a wolf and a man and the melding of those things, all together, all at once. He is the clear-headed human understanding that you have every right and reason to be terrified right now, and he is also the feverish need to wrap around you in wolfskin as though his closeness can take all of your worries away.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Corbin says. An absurd statement, intended to be disarming. You make a sound that’s not quite a laugh, sharp and guarded, not taking the bait. Flint is proud—excited—for reasons he is afraid to identify. “I’m serious. There’s been a big misunderstanding. I know how it looks from your perspective, but—”

“You slipped something in my drink,” you say, accusing. “You kidnapped me, and two other people.”

“‘Kidnapped’ is a really loaded word.”

“Sit.” Sawyer’s voice comes from the far end of the room, by the windows. He’s got the long, draping curtains pulled shut to hide your view of the woods, just in case the chase comes this way. Corbin drops where he’s standing, immediately settling onto the soft rug. Flint seats himself on the couch, dismayed when you don’t follow his lead. You’re still standing, looking Sawyer in the eye and glaring hatefully. Flint understands suddenly what’s happening here, why you’re not just uneasy but furious.

“It’s not like that,” he tries to tell you, tugging at your hand. “This pack, they’re not like the others.”

“That’s what you always say. And then they boss you around and take advantage of you,” you mutter. And that’s true. He would always say that everything’s fine. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of his problems, and he didn’t want you getting hurt trying to defend him. It was all backwards. He was supposed to protect you. The ulfhednar didn’t just have pack humans, they had human allies, human trade partners, human settlements within their territory they defended from harm.

And yet, here you are with another wolf’s bite on your neck. Here he is, failing you again.

“Sit down, human,” Sawyer repeats. “You want an explanation. I’ll give it to you.”

“Are you the alpha?” you ask.

“Beta. Sit, please.”

Flint lets out a shaky, relieved breath when you finally obey, sinking onto the cushion beside him. Sawyer makes his approach slow and indirect, pacing, pretending to fuss over the decor. He straightens out a blanket draped over the back of an armchair and returns a book left on the table to its proper shelf. It works. You don’t relax completely but you follow his movements with your eyes, curiosity rounding the edges of your annoyance. You try to hide it when Sawyer finishes his minor adjustments and comes to stand in front of you, towering over Corbin beside him, but your sweetening scent gives you away.

Flint knows he should let the pack beta speak, but the guilt is eating him alive. “This is my fault,” he blurts out. You look at him the same, soft way you always have.

“That’s not true,” Corbin insists. “It’s mine. I should’ve been more thorough—”

Sawyer growls quietly. “It’s nobody’s fault.” He mutters in Old Wolven Norse, “It’s fate. Keep your fangs poised.”

Flint’s heart skips a beat. He can’t. He can’t do this. He’s not ready. He feels a whine building in his throat and bites it back, embarrassed by how readily his feelings show. He’s always been bad at keeping growls and barks out of his speech, especially when he’s particularly nervous or excited, overwhelmed by emotion. Sawyer glances at him, holds eye contact for a meaningful moment, before he returns his attention to you.

“This is Hoarfrost Falls. We’re what you would call a ‘wild pack,’ although we welcome wolves of other backgrounds if they’re willing to make the lifestyle adjustment. My name is Sawyer. You’ve met Corbin, our hrefn—”

“Your what?” you say.

Sawyer visibly bristles at the interruption but doesn’t comment on it. He runs his hand through Corbin’s hair and Corbin melts under the attention, nuzzling his face into the dark, thick fur on Sawyer’s thigh. “It’s his rank,” Sawyer says, pausing to consider his word choice. “He’s a pack human with authority over our other pack humans.”

“Pack humans? That’s a real thing?” You sound horrified. You’re looking at Corbin like he’s something wounded on the side of the road.

“It’s real. It’s why you were brought here. Normally, you’d be enjoying your initiation right now, but I pulled you out for the pack’s safety.”

“The pack’s safety?” you echo, disbelieving. “How are you the ones in danger?”

Sawyer says nothing. He doesn’t have to. He just looks at Flint, and Flint looks anywhere else, and you know. You remember. He’s territorial. Obsessed, people used to say, as if they’d never yearned for a human before. City wolves like to pretend they don’t have instincts. He tried to pretend, too. But any little thing could happen—you could scrape your knee on the pavement, or someone could raise their voice a little too loud while talking to you—and he’d feel himself growling, bristling, ready to fight and die for you.

When he saw you earlier tonight, knowing what would happen, imagining you stumbling afraid through the woods with some other wolf lunging and pinning you and leaving marks, he felt that reckless urge rise up like an inferno beneath his skin. He’d nearly thrown himself at Alpha Vanagandr—would’ve, if Sawyer and the others hadn’t talked him down.

“It’s clear to me that you’re Flint’s. His…friend,” Sawyer amends, seeing your expression pinch in confusion. “I don’t know much about you. He doesn’t like talking about his old life and I don’t like to dredge it up more than necessary.”

Flint bows his head, feeling guilty again. “I left someone behind.” That’s all he could bring himself to say when the subject came up. It wasn’t entirely true; you’d both gone your separate ways. But he’d left first—decided to try his luck with distant family in another city, relatives his parents rarely spoke to. You’d tried to keep in touch but things had fizzled out. You were both busy with your own lives and your talks became less frequent. You left messages for each other on occasion; pictures from you, embarrassingly long and heartfelt texts that felt more like letters from him. He wanted you to know he was okay. He was strong and capable, and you didn’t have to worry.

“So can we go?” you ask.

The corner of Sawyer’s mouth twitches, the movement very quick and very slight but unmistakably a suppressed snarl. “We?” he repeats stiffly.

“I’m not leaving without Flint.”

Flint feels like he’s going to burst out of his own skin, terrified by your open defiance and how you won’t drop your gaze, even more afraid that he’ll lose control himself at any moment. He trusts his mentor but Sawyer has a reputation. He forgets to go easy on pack humans sometimes. He can be harsh, less forgiving of trespasses, dangerously aggressive in the heat of the moment. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Sawyer comes any closer. Flint knows there’s an old, awful story behind all his scars carving through the thick wolf fur he can’t fully retract. It’s not always easy to tell what’ll set him off.

It’s just as hard to predict what he’ll laugh off and deem unthreatening. Flint sags in relief when Sawyer lets out an amused huff, his posture loosening somewhat. Whatever he was looking for, whatever it is that reminds him of his scars, he doesn’t find it in you. If anything, he looks a little fond of you. “You’d better stay put,” Sawyer says. “The claiming hunt isn’t over. Won’t be for a little while. No one would purposefully antagonize Flint, but nobody is thinking clearly during a chase, either. Do you want something to eat or drink?” You glare at him. “Suit yourself. I have to speak with the alpha about this. Corbin, you’re dismissed. Let’s give them some space.”

Corbin never takes his eyes off you as he gets to his feet, returning your scowl with a sweet smile. “It was so nice to meet you,” he purrs.

Your frown deepens. “Feeling’s not mutual.”

“Mm. Give it time.” He winks before Sawyer herds him out the door with a playful growl.

Sawyer pauses on the porch, looking back at you with a sharp gaze. “Stay,” he rumbles. He smirks. You think he’s making fun of you, but his gaze shifts to Flint just briefly. Flint’s heart skips a beat.

Because Sawyer does nothing without a reason. All of that, every little thing, had a purpose. Getting you accustomed to hearing commands. Keeping his distance to put you at ease. Bringing Corbin along showed you that the pack keeps humans, that they’re fed, cared for, permitted some mischief from time to time. Giving you an order he knows you won’t follow wasn’t for you, though. That was for Flint. Because Flint is a shepherd, and when you disobey, it’s his responsibility to do something about it.

Your shoulders sag, a long sigh slipping out when the guest house door slams shut. The silence that follows is deafening. It’s just the two of you now. You and Flint. His hands shake. He tries to take deep breaths to calm himself but every inhale is full of your scent, the sharpness of your sweat and worry. He’s not ready. He’s petrified. What is he supposed to do now? What is he supposed to say? He wants to tell you so many things but the words won’t come. They never do. You’ve always understood what he tries to say, even when he can’t say it, but you don’t understand the situation you’re in now.

“Come on,” you say. “He’s probably bringing the alpha back with him. We have to hurry.” You rub your face on a few blankets and pillows—decoys. He recognizes this trick. You’ll take those with you when you run, toss them around to hide your trail. Then you rush to the kitchen and he follows nervously, reminded of a dozen other messes you’ve gotten him out of before. You turn on the sink and lather up the strongest-smelling soap you can find in the cupboards, scrubbing your face, your neck, your wrists, any exposed skin. Your natural scent isn’t gone but it’s smothered in earthy musk because all of the pack’s homemade soaps smell like the woods. Clever. Worryingly so.

“They didn’t…kidnap me,” he admits. “I chose to come here.”

You pause to look at him, your stony focus softening with sympathy. “Yeah? I bet it wasn’t what you thought it’d be,” you say.

You’re right. Just not the way you think you are. “This isn’t like before. They’re different. The alpha is good. I know it seems strange. They’re not like the packs we’re used to. But—”

“Flint.” You look up at him and his voice catches in his throat. “Come here. Your turn.”

He shouldn’t. Shouldn’t encourage this any further. He has to be honest with you, has to make you understand. “It’s not safe out there,” he says weakly. “Sawyer wasn’t lying about the chase. It gets…intense. If anybody catches your scent—”

“They won’t,” you insist. You take one of his hands in his and his resolve crumbles bit by bit, eroded by the tender smoothing motions of your fingers over his palm and knuckles and joints. He’s thinking about that shower you took together years ago. The warmth. The safety. The certainty that he was home at last, pack or no pack, that he had everything he wanted. Hoarfrost Falls is where he belongs, but something has been missing all this time, something important. He can’t help it. When you tug on his arm, he kneels, letting you smooth your hands over his face and neck, shutting his eyes and savoring your touch.

He’s not ready. But Sawyer told him he doesn’t have to be. Now and then, when the other lessons are done, they sit under the moon and talk about gods. “The Poised Fang is old. Very, very old,” Sawyer told him. “In his time, wolves had no names. Humans were prey. Smart, vicious prey, worthy of respect. The hunt is the oldest dance, and he is the best dancer. There are others who came after—gods of hearth-keeping and shepherding. But when you see a human—your human—you call on the Poised Fang first. That’s why we have that saying in Old Wolven. ‘Keep your fangs poised.’ It’s an invocation. Do you know the key to hunting humans?”

Flint hadn’t known. The topic made him squeamish. But Sawyer reassured him they meant it differently now. That the Poised Fang, timeless and eternal, was pleased that the hunt continued, even if its end had changed.

“The key is patience. It’s not strength. Not readiness. Patience. You’ll see this firsthand someday. You don’t have to be ready. You just have to wait. The moment will come.”

Flint opens his eyes and you’re staring at him, your palms framing his face. He nuzzles against your touch and you blink, startled, pulling away. It makes him want to growl but he holds it in. “We should get going,” you tell him. You’re embarrassed. He can smell it. You shouldn’t be. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He wishes the two of you had talked about it before—all of it. Your feelings. His instincts. The desire to hold you close and leave you drenched in his scent. The throbbing need to sink his teeth into your neck.

“It’s a long way to the nearest town,” he tells you, his voice low but steady. “Hours. Too far on foot, for you.”

“Shit. They didn’t take your keys, did they? Guess we could steal theirs.” You laugh. Flint smiles. He’s not ready. He’s a storm inside, hope and fear and revulsion all crashing against one another. Some part of him has always known he would come back for you, but he wanted more time. More certainty. Then again, hasn’t he already had all the time he needs? Nobody knows you better. You peer through the front windows, then the back.

“Is there a river nearby?” you wonder aloud. “It rained the other day. Should be able to cover our scent with mud, if we have to.”

Flint inches closer. Afraid. Excited. He’s panting. He can’t help it. The truth is that he’s going to have to hurt you. Just a little. Just enough. You’re going to scream and cry and it’s going to feel like a knife in the heart, but he knows you’ll feel even worse. And that’s okay, he tells himself. That’s normal. Natural. Part of the process. Like when you were children, and he got a splinter stuck in his paw, and you sat him down with a pair of tweezers and scratched under his chin while he whined. He didn’t want you to touch it but you insisted. It had to come out. It would hurt just a tiny bit one last time, and then it wouldn’t hurt anymore. It’s just like that.

“Look!” you’d said, pointing up at a tree. “Squirrel!”

He knew, logically, that you were just trying to distract him. But he’d perked up anyway, took his eyes off of you, and then it was done. Over in a blink. It’s just like that, he tells himself. He whispers a prayer in Old Wolven Norse to the Poised Fang, begging to know if prey can ever forgive the predator for the sharpness of his teeth.

“I love you,” he says.

You freeze. Your palm hovers over the door handle. Looking up at him with wide eyes and mouth parted in shock, a question starts forming on your lips. And like the oldest of his gods stalking a primeval forest, Flint does not waste the moment.

#rotpeach writes #meanwolves #inspired by an ask i got a while ago about what happens if a new pack human recognizes a wolf as someone they knew before #im extra behind on asks gonna try and get to some of those tonight or tomorrow #this time of year is always pretty busy for me and this year is no exception #corbin #sawyer #flint

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