#hearts divider by @/cafekitsune

[jqnehr]

𓂃₊ ⊹ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

⟡ ꒰ 𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 ꒱ ⨾ slow and deep. cliché, sure, but nonetheless dizzying. always leaves you panting, striving for oxygen that is him. his hazel-green eyes half-open, hooded, his full lips pink and flushed from melding to yours for minutes on end. zayne’s the embodiment of intensity, his touch searing despite his unrelenting iciness. 

⭒ ꒰ 𝐱𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 ꒱ ⨾ soft and tender. he can’t really handle kissing you for too long, it gets him all flustered and starving for more. he gives little butterfly pecks, almost hesitant, not wanting to obstruct on your personal space, but once he gets going, your lungs always scream out for air. xavier’s handsy, warm fingers brushing against the skin of your midriff and entangling themselves in your hair. so tender, so gentle, so ardent.

⊹ ꒰ 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 ꒱ ⨾ hungry and feverish. and he’s handsier. touches so brief, but never fleeting. this bozo has you gasping, begging, yearning. he’s also a bit messy—well, okay, very messy—but it’s never enough. rafayel chuckles almost evilly whenever you breathily pant for more, a devilish, fond glint bright in those eyes of his. hair ruffled, collarbones exposed, chest heaving, you can’t get enough, but can you ever even fathom how mad he is for you?

*sigh* I'm at it again y'all. this has already been done before but do I care? no. no I do not <3 listened to 'call me irresponsible' by bobby darin while writing this and um, it's giving me too many ideas about rafayel 😟 requests are open! <3

#⌗ ༘ ⋆｡𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐒❜ works #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace x reader #loveanddeepspace #xavier love and deepspace #xavier #love and deep space #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel #zayne #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace zayne #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace xavier #banner up top by me! please do not use with or without credit <3 #hearts divider by @/cafekitsune

[xxsabitoxx]

JJK Men: Who is Most Likely to Have a Daddy Kink

Warning: this contains smut but not like... explicit smut. More so NSFW talk about kinks and such hehe

A/N: Listen... I used to have a real big daddy kink and I grew out of it forever ago... but sometimes y'all use "daddy" just right in some of your fics and it has me kicking my feet. So, for funzies, I wanted to share my personal HCs on who has a daddy kink and who doesn't lol

Geto Suguru

Sitting pretty and number one is none other than Suguru. Listen, I think this man has a massive daddy kink. I think this man gets off on you calling him daddy in and out of the bedroom. Like honestly? If you are really into it just like he is, he wouldn't mind it if you called him daddy all the time. Like, maybe save for calling him daddy in public or around friends. But in the privacy of your own home? In bed? When no one else can hear you? He'll be putty in your hands if you sweetly call him daddy. Part of the reason I say this is because I think Suguru is 100% a brat tamer, I think he lives for you being a little brat to him just so he can assert his authority over you and put you in your place. He thrives off of the ability to feel superior.

But, roughness aside, he will absolutely give you the best aftercare. Suguru will make sure you know how loved you are, he will constantly ask you for your reassurance that you are alright and he wasn't too hard on you. He'll shower you in love and praise and assure you that you are everything to him. He can get mean when he's in the mood to put you in your place, so he always prioritizes the aftercare.

2. Nanami Kento

I think Nanami has a daddy kink but he's kind of shy about it. Nanami actively hopes that you take the initiative and call him daddy. He's a bit embarrassed about the fact that he really likes the idea of being called daddy. He fantasizes about it when you aren't around to help him get off, stroking himself to the idea of you whispering that one word to him when he fucks you stupid. If you aren't going to take the initiative and call Nanami daddy, he'll eventually give in. He'll likely be balls deep in you when he grits out that you are to call him daddy. He'll be too lost in your body to even feel shame or embarrassment about the request and fuck will he come fast when you finally utter that one pretty word to him. All breathless and fucked out, you'll have Nanami falling apart every time you call him daddy.

Nanami also enjoys alternatives to Daddy, like calling him "sir". Unlike Suguru, he enjoys how respectful it sounds. Nanami won't make you call him daddy or sir outside of the bedroom, it's strictly a sex thing for him unless you express the interest in trying it outside of that scenario. Then, just maybe, Nanami will entertain the thought.

3. Ryomen Sukuna

Before you come and chew me out for the king not being at the top of this list... hear me out. Sukuna is from the Heian period, the man canonically speaks in old Japanese. Hell he asked Megumi to bewitch him. The term "daddy" is a little too new for Sukuna. That's not to say he won't grow to find interest in it. Sukuna much prefers when you call him things like "my king" or "my lord" he even enjoys "sir". But daddy will definitely take some getting used to for him. Once Sukuna gets acquainted with the idea, he will thoroughly enjoy it. He rather likes how flustered you get when you utter the word, making you say it in front of others just to watch them get uncomfortable as you so politely refer to him as daddy. He gets off on the embarrassment more than the word itself, but he does enjoy the nice little ring it has.

Aftercare can be mildly nonexistent with Sukuna. Sometimes his form of aftercare is making you cock-warm him after he just spent hours abusing your most sensitive bits. But other times he'll wrap you in his arms and whisper about how "nobody will ever love you like daddy does." brainwashing you into being content with him.

4. Gojo Satoru

Satoru has mixed feelings about the whole "daddy kink". Depending on your relationship, it may not be rare for you to jokingly call him daddy. Just as he will jokingly call you mommy. But these little "jokes" take a steep turn one night when he's fucking you stupid and he asks you to call him daddy for real. For some reason, it does him in. You'll later learn that you rather enjoy when he calls you mommy while you fuck and then it turns into this awkward little "we shall not speak of this outside of the bedroom" topic. You'll use the words against each other when in public just to see the other get worked up. But, much to Satoru's dismay, he realizes he really does like it when you call him daddy. He can't even explain it, especially since he would relentlessly tease Suguru for having a daddy kink.

Satoru loves aftercare, especially after times when he's punished you. The same can be said for when you provide aftercare after punishing him... having a daddy and a mommy kink is a whirlwind for the two of you. Satoru will clean you up and the tuck both of you in under the nice comfortable blankets, whispering about how he adores you and appreciates you for letting him live out his little fantasies.

5. Fushiguro Toji

Toji isn't really into the daddy kink... mostly because it reminds him of the responsibilities he ran away from... but if you really have a thing for calling him daddy, he's not going to stop you. Toji actually prefers it when you're mean to him, calling him filthy and rude names, belittling him, and calling him a nasty old pervert. He gets off on you being rude to him while he fucks you stupid. Nothing gets him off more than being called a sleazy fucking perv. He doesn't know why but you degrading him will have him blowing his load shamelessly in minutes. But if you really want to call him daddy, Toji will for sure entertain you. Because fuck does he love putting a brat in their place.

When it comes to aftercare, it really depends on your relationship. Toji may just blow his load and then dip, leaving you to clean up and pull yourself together. But if Toji has feelings for you, or if you fucked him really good? He'll clean you up before collapsing in bed beside you.

#heart divider is from cafekitsune! #reader is gender neutral for most of these #satoru's implies reader is female #but you can just substitute one of the words #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #gojo smut #geto smut #nanami smut #sukuna smut #toji smut #smut headcanons #suguru x reader #satoru x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #toji x reader

[manjibunny]

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

SYNOPSIS: You swear you hate your soon-to-be stepmom, Shoko, but why do you want to fuck her so badly? C/W: stepcest, cheating (Shoko cheating on your dad), fem! reader, reader is being a brat (at first), brat taming, fingering, cunnilingus,face riding, mommy kink, public sex,spanking, alcohol, dacryphilia, sixty nine ZAYA SENT YOU A NEW MESSAGE: Guess who wrote some smutty headcanons to celebrate 69 followers? That's right, yours truly! I've had this idea marinating in my head for a while now, and finally I have a good reason to write my thoughts out! I wanna thank all of my beautiful followers for making this milestone possible, and my hot sexc moots for listening to my thirsts at three am when I can't fall asleep <333 You guys made it possible that I can finally post my unhinged thoughts on Tumblr hehe <3 special shoutout to @redskyvenus @avatarofstars and @gennysuga for being cuties <333

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who’s only ten years older than you, making her way too young for your old dad

♡ Stepmom! Shoko  who’s gotten together with your dad right after you’ve moved out for university

♡ Stepmom! Shoko  who got engaged to your dad about two years after she and your dad got together

♡ Stepmom! Shoko  who was baffled that you didn’t even know about her existence before your dad called you and told you about the engagement

“Hi dad”, you picked up the phone. You and your dad weren’t talking for the last few months as often as you were before. You chalked it up to him just being busy with his new position at the hospital he was working, and you being the studious girl that you were, you rarely had time to call him. You didn’t take it to heart.  “Hello princess, I gotta tell you something…” your dad said in a quiet voice. Immediately, you knew something was off. Hearing the nervousness in his voice, you told him to continue.  "Yeah? Of course, tell me” “Princess, I’m getting married” Now, THAT you took to heart. Nothing he said made it through to you. You knew he was talking to you, he was probably explaining, or begging for forgiveness. Heck, he might be talking about his soon-to-be wife, but nothing he said registered to you. The only thoughts  you had was about the costs of traveling back home and weighing the consequences of you missing a few days of university. At the end, you made up your mind: You will go home and you will give him a piece of your mind.  You didn’t tell your dad about your plans on paying him a visit. And why should you? He didn’t tell you about his engagement after all, so coming home unannounced felt a little bit like giving him a taste of his own medicine. Angrily, you pulled out the keys to your dad’s house, unlocking the door and entering the house. All hell broke loose when you walked in on your father and a young, brown-haired woman sitting a bit too closely to each other. Your poor father had to calm you down and explain the situation to the woman, Shoko Ierie, your future stepmom.  “Why didn’t you tell her about us?” She’d ask your dad, getting annoyed when she didn’t receive a good answer from him.

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who despite knowing she hasn't made the best impression on you, decided to at least try and be a good stepmom

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who tried really hard to make you like her

Shoko was at the end of her wits. She tried everything to make you like her. She tried making you your favorite food after asking your dad for the recipes the night of your little meltdown. The next day, when she was finally finished with the preparations and put your favorite dish in front of you on the table, you seemed to be less than impressed. You didn’t even touch the food, stating you’d rather get takeout than eat anything that was touched by her. Shoko would find out that you like manga and get you the titles that were recommended to her at the bookstore, only for you to reveal that you’ve already read these manga series years ago. Shoko overhears you talking to´your friend on the phone. With a soft voice that Shoko hadn’t heard from you yet, you reassured your friend that her mother wouldn’t hate her just because she got together with someone she didn’t approve of.  Shoko felt as if her moment to shine finally arrived. Determined to prove her worth as a good stepmom, the anxiety left her body. A newfound confidence spread across her body as she sat down next to you on the couch.  “Hey, I overheard that you were talking to your friend, I just wanted to-” offer some advice, is what Shoko wanted to say, but she never got there.  With an annoyed face, you stared her down.  “What the hell made you think that listening to a private conversation is ok?” you cut her off.  “Shouldn’t you be busy with my dad or something? Like, suck his dick or something?”Stunted, Shoko stood up and silently left the living room. She was aware that you didn’t like her, but did you have to be such a brat?

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who the more she pays attention to you, becomes more and more attracted to her soon-to-be stepdaughter and feels ashamed for that

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who decided that perhaps the best way to bond with you was to take you wedding dress shopping with her

“What?” “ To bond. I know you don’t like me a lot-” “And you’d be right” you snarkingly cut off Shoko.  “I know” Shoko remained calm “But you have to accept that me and your dad are getting married. Do you care so little about your dads happiness?” She tried to reason with you. Shoko already saw the conflicted look on your face coming. You stayed silent, thoughts crusading in your mind. She was right, you were acting selfish. You did want your father to stay away from Shoko as much as possible, especially since Shoko was way too young to even be dating your father. But maybe she makes him happy? You hated to admit it, but your father was happier than ever before. Seeing your knitted eyebrows and absent gaze, Shoko watched as your inner conflict unraveled inside your mind. She knew what she was doing, in fact, she planned for it. Trying to get you to like her made her observe you, trying to understand why you didn’t like her. While she guessed it must have been the age gap between her and your father, she noticed one thing: You were a daddy’s girl through and through. If you wouldn’t like her on your own accord, Shoko was ready to tug on your heartstrings. And unsurprisingly, it worked.  With a defeated sigh you gave in. “Fine, I’ll go to that bridal shop with you if that means to make dad happy”

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who looks absolutely gorgeous in every dress she tries on and tries to get your opinion on the dresses

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who noticed the way your eyes lingered a bit too long on her body but decided to stay quiet about it

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who took you back home after picking put the perfect dress and suggests you two have a glas of wine alone while your father was out

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who had a good time getting drunk with you,

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who knew that you had the hots for her and took the initiative and kissed you

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who quickly grew addictive to your lips and couldn't stop herself anymore

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who got you naked faster than the speed of light and spread your legs apart, eager to have a taste of your pussy

It happened so fast. One moment you were drinking wine with Shoko, the next you were laying naked underneath her. Drowning your growing need for your soon to be stepmom in the sweet alcohol was all you could do. You chugged the beverage like it was water, and with each drop that touched your tongue, the restraints you had seemed to grow weaker and weaker.  Instead of silencing your lust towards the woman you thought you hated, the alcohol in your system seemed to do the contrary.  Lust and alcohol are two dangerous things to mix, but drunk of the wine and drunk of Shoko’s lips, you were willing to deal with the consequences when you sobered up.  Intoxicated by the taste of your juices, Shoko couldn’t help but bury her face between your legs, lapping every drop of your essence as if she was tasting a rare wine. Her tongue grazed against your throbbing clit while she took in your flustered face. Mouth wide agape and teary eyed, you truly were a beautiful sight. Much better than her usual bratty behavior, Shoko thought happily as her tongue teased your sensitive bundle of nerves.  “Please” You moaned out desperately “I want more. Let me cum”“And you’ll get more if you’ll be good to me” Shoko replied. You’d get much more, more than anyone but Shoko could offer.

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who makes you cum more than anyone before her in one single night

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who became wet just by eating you out and hearing your sweet moans

Shoko knows how to eat pussy, you drunkenly thought as you laid on the couch, feeling limp and overstimulated from all the orgasms Shoko gave you. You swore you could fall asleep right there, but the sight of Shoko taking her clothes off seemed to wake you up. You had already guessed that she had a nice body after not so discreetly checking her out at the bridal shop, but seeing her in all of her glory topped any of your expectations. Her plump boobs and thick thighs had you craving to touch her. As if reading your mind, Shoko got on top of you and kissed you slowly and sensually. Her tongue trusted inside your mouth, giving you a taste of yourself. As she pulled away from your glossy lips, Shoko couldn’t deny herself from easing the almost painful throb between her legs.  “Will you be good for me?” She asked breathlessly. You nodded, unable to speak.  Shoko was satisfied with your answer, she had a feeling you would be obedient to her request. Without waiting too long, she repositioned herself. Shoko gently gripped your hair as she sat on your face, making sure to not put her whole weight on you.  “Stick out your tongue, pretty girl” Shoko mused.  You got a perfect glance at her sobbing cunt, her pretty pink clit throbbing in anticipation as you looked at her pussy absolutely mesmerized.  Shoko didn’t have to tell you twice. Greedily, you began licking her pussy, moaning as the taste of her juices hit your tongue.  Moaning, Shoko began slowly grinding against your face.  “You’re doing such a good job” she whimpered as she felt your tongue teasing her leaking hole. You groaned into her pussy as her clit pressed against your nose, still trying to tongue fuck your soon to be stepmom.  The coil in her stomach snapped, Shoko moaned out loudly as she came all over your face while you eagerly licked her clean, clearly enjoying the taste of her cum.

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who sobered up after cumming on your face and realized what you two have done, feeling a mixture of shame and satisfaction as she saw your fucked out face and her juices coating your pretty lips

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who apologizes to you the next morning and begs you not to tell your father

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who got frustrated with you when you told her she should leave your father if she's such a cheater

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who grew angrier and angrier as you continued to call her names and accused her of being a gold digger

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who in a fit of rage decides to put you back in your place, all sense of shame left her as soon as she reached her tipping point

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who makes you call her mommy as she spanks you to remind you of your place

It was almost comical how fast you complied to take off your clothes once Shoko used her authoritarian voice.  “Take off your clothes, right now” You knew you messed up big time when you saw Shokos glare, her eyes holding a dark glint that made you feel fearful of the consequences of not obeying her. Eyes landing on the floor, refusing to meet Shokos cold glare, you took off your clothes. You peeled your clothes off your body piece by piece, until you stood in front of Shoko with only your lacy underwear. Despite feeling fearful of what Shoko might do to you, a wave of excitement washed over your body as Shoko got closer to you. She forcefully grabbed your chin, making you look up from the ground into her icy gaze.  “Planning on going out?” Shoko mocked, hooking her index finger under the strap of your bra, before it snapped back against your skin. Being sensitive to pain, you lightly whimpered as you felt the stinging sensation on your shoulder, but you still tried to appear unbothered. Bad idea.  “Come on princess, you were so much more obedient last night. Do you really need my tongue shoved inside your pussy to stop acting like such a goddamn brat?”  You swallowed hard. This wasn’t the kind woman you met just a few days ago. The woman you saw in front didn’t resemble the sweet doctor you hated. This woman made you hot and bothered.   “Here’s what’s going to happen” Shoko leaned in, face dangerously close to yours. “I will sit down on that couch over there, and you will lay on my lap. Got that?” “W-why?” you stuttered out. Heart thumping against your ribcage, you both dreaded and anticipated the answer at the same time.  “So I can put you back in your place” You watched as Shoko made her way towards the couch, sitting on the soft cushion.  “What are you waiting for?” Shoko inquired “Don’t make me come and get you, brat” Brat. That word sent chills down your spine and pussy.  You laid on her lap, your ass propped up as you already knew what was coming your way. With a loud clap, her hand made impact with your buttcheek. Your eyes shot wide and a loud whine escaped your lips.  “Is this how I have to deal with you?” Shoko mocked condescendingly as her hand collided with your sensitive skin in a hard slap.  Teary eyed, you remained silent. You were far too ashamed to be in this position to talk with her. Another harsh slap followed.  “I spoke to you, brat. Mommy wants to hear an answer”  “No, mommy. I’ll be good from now on” You pleaded with her, tears rolling down your cheeks as Shokos spankings made you soaked wet.  “I don’t believe you. I gotta discipline you real good” She followed up with another slap. You knew for sure this wouldn’t be the last slap you’d feel, but you couldn’t complain as with every slap, your panties grew wetter and wetter.

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who gets off of your teary eyed apologies to never behave like a bad girl ever again, your cries of pleasure and pain seemingly appeasing her

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who doesn't need to do much after disciplining you you for you to not tell your dad

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who purrs into your ear "This is a secret between mommy and her pretty princess" the first few times she fingered you inside your bedroom

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who starts a secret relationship with you right after you stopped acting bratty towards her

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who asks your father to stop calling you his "princess" - for you are her little princess now

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who assures your dad that she and you get along just fine while

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who is such a good mommy to you, always sending you gifts when you've returned back to your uni town

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who has a secret folder inside her phone full of you wearing the cute lingerie sets she sent you

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who makes sure you visit her frquently, after all she's be damned if she can't taste your sweet pussy for an extended amount of time

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who keeps physical touch with your dad to a minimum, much rather fucking his cute daughter

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who proves to your dad that you and her are getting along by making you her maid of honor

♡ Stepmom! Shoko whose fingers are knuckle deep inside your pussy right before the wedding ceremony, not being able to resist after seeing you in the cute dress she picked out for you to wear to her wedding

“Keep your voice down, princess” Shoko cooed into your ear, lips lightly pressed to your ear as she fucked her fingers into you. It wasn’t the first time Shoko fingered you like this, body pressed against yours at a semi public place. But this was different.  “Mommy, please. He could walk on us any minute” you whimpered out. He being no other than your dearly beloved dad. You knew that what you were doing is bad and perhaps immoral. Who on their right mind is getting fingered by their soon to be stepmom inside of the bathroom right before said stepmom's wedding? You were, but you were far from being in your right mind. And how could you resist Shoko when her fingers stuffed your pussy so perfectly full? How could you resist when her soft lips against your neck made you weak to your knees? How could you resist when she’s the only one that can put you in your place, when she is the only one that knows how to tame a brat like you? Shoko’s fingers moved in and out deliciously, grazing every spot that had your toes curling and breath shorten. While she fucked her index and middle finger in and out of you, her thumb began grazing against your touch starved clit.  “Fuck!” You moaned out loudly, feeling the knot inside your stomach growing tighter and tighter.  “Mommy, please. Let me cum” You mewled as you felt her fingers thrusting slowly inside your cunt, edging you.  “This is what happens when you don’t obey, princess” Shoko lightly bit your earlobe. “Mommy will reward you if you stop being so fucking loud, ok baby?” She pulled her fingers out, lightly pinching your throbbing clit.  You clasped your mouth shut with your hand, barely being able to drown out a sinful moan. You bit your lower lip and nodded, signaling to Shoko that you were willing to comply.  “Good girl” With that, she plunged her fingers back inside your cunt, thrusting in and out with newfound fervor.  “You may cum” Shoko ordered you, and being her good little princess, the knot inside your stomach bursted, leaving you to see stars as tears from the overstimulation escaped your eyes.  Shoko chuckled as she saw your fucked out expression.  “Now come on, let me help you get ready for my wedding”

♡ Stepmom! Shoko who's so glad your father is knocked out drunk after the wedding, leaving her to properly fuck you

The wedding has officially ended with Shoko marrying your dad, making her your stepmom. Your dad, being way too drunk to consummate the wedding, not that Shoko would want him if she has her pretty stepdaughter do that for him. Your clothes dropped to the floor as soon as you and Shoko were alone inside your hotel room. She has been eying curing the wedding ceremony, admiring how the dress she picked up for you perfectly hugs your frame. Oh, how glad she was that she finally had access to your sweet, sweet pussy.  Shoko instructed you to lay down on your bed, legs spread apart as she laid herself on top of you. Instead of looking into your beautiful eyes, Shoko was facing your dripping cunt. Shoko let out an amused chuckle when she dipped a finger inside your pussy.  “So wet already?”  Shoko lighty pumped her finger in and out of your gushing pussy. While Shoko was amused by how wet you were, she knew that she was just as wet and ready to grind her aching clit all over your face. More importantly, she couldn’t restrain herself anymore, she had to have a taste of your cunt. Slowly, Shoko removed her finger and licked it clean, enjoying the flavor of your arousal.  Being mommy’s good girl, you patiently waited for Shoko’s command to eat her out. However, this seemed too hard of a task for you, especially since you were feeling needy yourself. Gripping into Shoko’s thighs, you felt like you were going crazy with Shoko just teasing your pussy and not shoving her tongue inside you.  “Mommy, I need you. Please, need you to make me cum. Wanna taste you too” You whined out.  “I’m feeling gracious today” Shoko stated before letting her tongue drag across your pussy, letting your juices fully coat her wet muscle. “You taste so much better than my wedding cake” Shoko groaned into your pussy, already feeling drunk off you. “You may have a taste of me as well”  That was all you needed to hear. Burying your face between her legs, you circled your tongue around Shokos clit, feeling it twitch and throb at your touch. You sucked on her clit while Shoko was lightly humping your face, needing more friction. You gasped as Shoko  thrusted her tongue inside your hole.  You already felt so close, and you could tell that Shoko was as well when she humped your face harder.  And when you two came, you wouldn’t stop. Bodies glued to one another, neither of you dared to stop pleasuring the other, wanting the euphoria to never end. But sooner or later, Shoko had to go back to her hotel room with your dad. As she kissed you one last time before leaving, you knew that despite everything, you wouldn’t feel sad. For Shoko might be legally married to your father, her heart, soul and body belonged to you, and only you.

#mdni! #tw: stepcest #tw: cheating #shoko ieiri #jjk shoko #jujutsu kaisen shoko #shoko x reader #shoko ieri x reader #Shoko Ieri x reader smut #shoko smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #mdni banner by @cafekitsune #heart dividers by @k2ils #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

[tadpolesonalgae]

The Other Woman

Azriel x Necromancer!reader

Synopsis: Coming from a long line of necromancers, you’re bound by an oath of submission to the High Lord. Dark power that many fear concentrates in your veins, a rare and precious gift. A perfect match for the Shadowsinger whose darkness comes to rival your own. Until one day, he seems to have no need for you anymore. Perhaps he never did.

Warnings: adolescent turbulence, beauty, angst, self-hate, violence (self-inflicted and other), general depression all around.

a/n: I think I went a little insane, writing this

Word Count: 15,042

“Did you see her makeup?” You laugh tipsily over your drink, blessed warmth sweeping away the day’s troubles. In truth you’re far from drunk, but a little playfulness never hurt.

Azriel rolls his eyes, wings tucked in carefully to avoid bumping into things despite being in a large private booth, overlooking the restaurant. “Maybe you should ease up on the alcohol,” he suggests, taking a sip from his own drink. “And waste your coin?” You muse, tilting your head to the side. “Never.”

The edges of his mouth quirk, gaze casting out over the busy scene below, waiters weaving in and out of the packed tables with trays practically piled to the ceiling—how anyone can eat that much food and not be ashamed is something you’ll never understand.

“Besides,” you say idly, glancing at the male. “I thought it looked nice.” But Azriel shakes his head, smiling faintly, your own reflecting their movement. “I’m sure you did,” he replies, still watching the tables far below. Hazel eyes following the waitress that had brought your drinks with slight interest. You subtly cast your attention after her—hair tied back, long legs, slim build but sturdy. Your nose wrinkles, lip twitching in disgust. “She could learn to lose that muscle,” you muse lightly, leaning forward to splay your forearms on the cool wooden surface of the table.

“She’s working a manual job,” he replies, still watching her. “Of course she’s going to have a bit of muscle from carrying those drinks around.” You take a sip of your own, watching as the waitress disappears through a door. “She serves as the pretty face of the restaurant,” you comment, “leave the heavy lifting to the others.”

“What are you going to order?” He asks, switching subjects. “Probably a salad,” you sigh, “I doubt I could manage any more. What about you?”

Azriel hums, the deep vibration warming your skin, and you resist the urge to shift in your seat, cunt aching to have him between your thighs.

“Probably a portion of mind-your-business with a side of roast potatoes,” he drawls, peering at you from over his menu. “Hold the judgement.” Hazel eyes glimmer with amusement, locking with your own, a slight smile softening the edges of your mouth. You raise your hands innocently, back curving to subtly showcase the generous neckline—deep but tasteful. “Just my opinion,” you reply, conceding on this topic.

He hums again, and you both settle back into peering through the menu. Much of the contents you can guess will be cooked in oil, making it greasy and fatty, something that would have made your mother’s lip twitch in disgust.

“Salad it is,” you mutter, pushing the menu away and sighing. “I know you like this place, Az, but this really is the last time we’re coming here. The air is practically dripping with sweat.”

“You know you say that every time,” he muses, hazel eyes flicking leisurely over the various meals and side dishes. “I mean it,” you counter, turning your head to once again peer at the crowd below, nose wrinkling ever so slightly before you suppress the inclination.

“There’s nothing wrong with letting loose every once in a while,” he replies casually, seemingly taking him time with deciding. “That’s rich coming from you,” you drawl, pointedly glancing at him. “You’re practically married to your paperwork. We had to set up a schedule for these dinners,” you emphasise, rolling your eyes. “Mother forbid you don’t get what you want exactly when you want it,” he replies, still choosing.

“What can I say? I deserve to be spoiled.” His shoulders shift, a low laugh huffing quietly from his mouth, the sound dripping between your legs. “Isn’t that right,” he drawls, deep hazel eyes settling leisurely on yours, shadows swishing idly over the plush seating.

You arch a neatly groomed brow, lips curving in a feline lilt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was something you wanted to say?” You angle your head, keeping his gaze. But he shakes his head, that faint smile still on his mouth.

The waitress decided to return at that moment, and you resist the urge to berate her for so clearly interrupting the conversation. Instead you offer a polite smile, requesting a salad, pointedly asking how big it would be. “How big?” She repeats, playing dumb. You nod, keeping the smile perched on your lips, refusing to let her win. “I’m really not that hungry tonight,” you explain sweetly, “I was wondering since I saw you carrying some pretty large trays earlier—how do you even manage to carry that weight?” You ask, laughing slightly as you eye the thickness of her arms.

Beneath the table, a shadow zips up your leg, and you flinch, before shooting him a glare across the table. Azriel watches neutrally, but his gaze seems amused. With curved lips you return your attention to the waitress—so much wasted potential there. “I’m afraid all the salads come in the same size, but if you find it to be too much, nothing will go to waste,” she says smugly, “scraps get sent off to the farms, either for food or compost, so you needn’t worry about not finishing anything.” You smile blandly, not appreciating her bringing up farms and animals in a dining space.

She sucks in a breath, smile tightening as she at last turns away from you. “And for you, sir?” She asks, and you could vomit from her tone. Sprinkled with extra sugar. “This, please,” he replies pointing to something on the menu—tilted away from you. Curiosity simmers in the back of your mind, but you refuse to ask in front of the waitress. He’s probably doing it just to get to you.

She smiles and nods, jotting it down on her notepad before finally leaving, trotting away down the stairs.

“You better not be thinking about taking her home, Az,” you muse, leaning back in the seat as you fold your arms, subtly plumping your breasts. Mischief gleams on his hazel eyes as he casually examines his hands, “I don’t see a ring.” Despite the irritation gnawing at the back of your brain, the edges of your mouth lift at the comment, sighing heavily. “I should be the only female on your mind right now,” you say slowly, pulling out your nails to examine them in the warm light. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore a dinner partner?”

“Forgive me,” he counters, lips quirked, “you’d seemed more interested in the waitress. Trying something different tonight?”

Your lip twitches in disgust. “Are you trying to put me off my meal entirely?”

“I don’t think I said anything particularly foul,” he replies, amusement fading. “Well we both know your mouth isn’t the cleanest,” you muse lightly, surveying the decorations upon the table: a small vase of flora that’s been pushed to the side, some candles, a half-empty bottle of wine and some playing cards. “I’ll use my mouth how I want to,” he drawls, watching you steadily. “As will you.”

Traitorous heat liquefies in the pit of your stomach, bubbling and simmering away at the low timbre of his voice. You hum noncommittally, returning to his gaze. “So long as you aren’t using it on another male,” you say, shrugging. “Then live and let live.”

Azriel’s brow narrows, the edges of his mouth lifting. “You know that’s a contradiction,” he deliberates, relaxing in his seat. “You aren’t supposed to pick and choose who you’ll let live.” Habitually your lip twitches in disgust, but you tamp it down. “So long as it’s not being shoved in my face, then they can go on with their lives and I’ll go on with mine.”

“And Mor?” He questions casually, and despite his gaze having drifted idly to the candles you can feel the weight of his attention. “What about her?” You reply, keeping your features neautral.

Hazel eyes flick over the table, locking with your own. “Where does she fall among your morals?”

“Mor is Mor,” you reply blandly, resting your cheek on your palm, nails prickling skin. “She can do as she likes.” Azriel’s features remain in an unreadable set, but tension lessens as he reaches once again for his glass, sipping lightly.

You watch silently, how the warmth of the candles smooth his naturally flawless skin, shadows flickering in the hollow beneath strong brows, darkness dancing down the column of his throat. His lips remain in a bland line, tongue flicking out to bring in the alcohol, before returning the glass to the tabletop.

Casually, you slide your attention to the three candles that have been pushed to the side. “Want to learn a new trick?” You ask, feigning boredom. “I didn’t think you were one for party tricks,” he muses, an edge of mirth underlying his tone.

Ultimately you ignore him, allowing no more than a roll of your eyes before a single candle is being dragged over. Eyes latched with his, you brush the pad of your thumb and middle finger over your tongue, before clamping them over the flame, putting in out in one swift movement. Digits pull away, revealing the extinguished candle, a glint of victory in your eyes.

“Very impressive,” Azriel replies dryly, just as you had anticipated.

Watching silently, you slide a candle across to him. “Want to give it a go?”

There’s nothing subtle about the way tension ripples across his features, muscle tightening from the talons of his wings to the tips of his fingers. Hazel eyes the candle warily, a faint grimace on his lips.

A laugh spills from your chest at the expression, edging the flame away and instead reaching for the deck of cards. “How lucky do you feel tonight?”

Some of the torsion within his muscles relaxes, but he remains stiff. “Under normal circumstances, very,” he replies, glancing down as you deftly flip the box open, cards dancing between your fingers. “How about a bet?” You muse, eyes locked, shadows flickering at his back, spilling onto the table. “But if I win, you give that trick a go.”

Silence stretches between you, charged and taut.

Hazel drops to the cards being shuffled effortlessly, how they blur beneath your ministrations.

“Okay,” he says after a long moment, “I accept.”

Darkness flares around the booth, your teeth gleaming in a flash of white as a brief grin splits your lips. “Spine?” You ask, to which he nods, accepting the game—not even a sly quip about a necromancer suggesting Spine as the amusement of choice.

The seven cards are dealt out, the top one flipped over. “Ace is the skull. Good luck,” you smile, picking up your hand. “I do remember how to play,” he counters, features shifting to neutral as the game commences.

The rounds tick by, with him winning time and time again, all the while you’re sat opposite, with that bland, lifeless smile on your lips not even getting a single set down on the table. Still, when you reach the final round, your total amounts to no more than thirteen, having been forced to go out on a two during the first round, since the ace was worth twenty five, being the skull.

For the last time, you deal the seven cards, darting like shadows across the table as fingers flick deftly, setting the deck down softly, and flipping over the top card. Putting it face up on the surface.

With vague interest you watch his expression as he takes in his hand. If you didn’t know it was doomed, you wouldn’t be able to tell, his mask set firmly in place, no hint of disappointment or frustration to be found. Not even a curve of his lips with the fulfilment of your mutual knowledge—you’ve never lost to him. To anyone.

(With one exception.)

As expected, all seven of your cards end neatly catalogued into flushes, discarding the skull on the pile—the king of spades.

Azriel sighs, knowing the victory was coming, revealing his score of seventeen. A small smile plays on your lips as you sweep the cards back into their pack, pushing the candle toward him. “Better luck next time,” you say, his turn to fulfil the bet.

He eyes the flame warily, hazel glowing softly as the light warms his usually neutral features. You drink the sight in quietly, memorising the lines of his silky hair, a single strand brushing just below his right brow. How nice it would feel to skate your fingertips across his skin, pushing the inky lock away.

“Is it too late to back out?” He asks grimly, and you prop your chin on your knuckles, peering at him with a faint smile. “You agreed to this the moment you accepted the bet,” you reply softly, attention on him not the flame. Even to a stranger, his hesitance would be blatant.

“I’ll do it with you,” you say dryly, pulling the third candle over. Lick your middle and forefinger, watching as he reluctantly copies. “And…out.”

The flame winks out, extinguished in a heartbeat, casting your table mostly in darkness.

Blown-out hazel locks with you, still smiling faintly.

The grin fades, fingers dropping to the base of the candle to push it away. “Impressive,” you murmur sincerely, “once you wouldn’t have even considered playing.”

“Maybe a few decades ago,” he mutters, quick to push the candle away, hands sliding beneath the table. You hum noncommittally, straightening in your seat, sensing his aversion to the topic.

Your brow furrows, nails drumming on the table. Lip twitching with annoyance. “How long does it take to prepare a damn salad,” you mutter, pretending not to notice the ripple of ease across his shoulders. “Really, we’re never eating here again. The wait time is obscene, not to mention that server had an attitude on her. Doesn’t she know she’s supposed to be doing her job? All I needed was a simple answer, not a deep dive into their personal ethics.”

“You’d complain to an orphan if you got the chance,” he says, a hint of mirth returning to his eyes. “And you’d sooner destroy your own mind than let someone else have a look at it,” you return idly, reaching once again for your steadily draining glass, spotting the waitress making the journey up the stairs.

“Took her long enough,” you mutter under your breath, before pasting on a bland smile to soothe the male before you, a look of wariness on his features. All irritation is assuaged however, when you spot a smudge of lipstick on her straight, white teeth. Your mouth settles into a deliberate, straight line, glancing at Azriel to see if he’s noticed.

The waitress flashes a pretty smile your way as she sets the plates down, and you bite down on the urge to laugh, keeping your features politely neutral. When she turns to Azriel however, you feel an icy bite at your ankle, startling as one of his shadows nips at the exposed skin and you watch as he makes eye contact with the waitress. He thanks her, subtly gesturing to his teeth to let her know about her little embarrassment. She flushes wildly, a twinge of humiliation in her eyes as she hastily covers her mouth, apologising.

You offer her a sweet smile as she swiftly leaves, making her exit as quickly as possible to the stairs.

As soon as she’s gone, you turn back to Azriel, laughing. “Why’d you tell her?” You ask, sighing with mirth, pulling your plate closer. “Why didn’t you?” He counters, amusement void from his expression. You roll your eyes at his comment. “I didn’t want to embarrass the poor girl,” you reply, picking up the cool cutlery, feeling its weight in your palms. “Did you see how humiliated she looked at the end there? That was awful of you.”

He hisses your name lowly, and you raise mirth-filled eyes to his, spearing a slice of tomato on your fork. “What?” You grin, twirling the small weapon in your fingers. But he pins you with a hard look, shaking his head. “You can be a real piece of work, you know?”

“I had no idea,” you drawl, biting down on the crisp, red skin, delighting in the slight saltiness. A selfish indulgence on your part.

“At least now she’ll switch to a different lip tint,” you muse, watching as his expression turns cold. “Learn through experience, right?”

————

The hall fills with the sound of rustling clothing, voices chatting with pitched cheerfulness, heat pleasantly flooding the great room.

Night settled hours ago, faelights glowing proudly as the scent of warmly spiced mulled wine weaves through the air, sprinkled with sugar. Wreaths hang from the walls, decorating the large glass chandeliers, dripping diamonds.

The dark red liquid swirls in your glass, caught in a group conversation consisting of Mor, Elain, and a quaint looking bunch the latter seems familiar with, along with a couple of other familiar faces from your own circles. Andriette, with the hat wreathed in sparky feathers, laced through with purple and gold thread, accents of silvery aqua running through the deep indigo coloured gown she’s selected for the night. Changria with the vibrant oranges, rubies adorning her fingertips, wrists and neckline, looking like bloody teardrops from her earlobes. Small sequins have been scattered through the deep black of her hair, silky and lustrous.

Then there’s Cordia, the newest addition to your preferred group, still in the initial phase of integrating herself into your world. With rich brown hair and eyes to match, she’s chosen muted colours for the evening, complimenting her skin tone that’s lacking in the ripeness of life. As one of the many Fae of the night Court who organise their lives around the sparkling starlight, you find her a little bland on the eye, lacking the visual charm to fully convince you she has enough to offer.

Elain seems to be content leading the flow of conversation, though you can sense your ladies are getting restless and bored from the discussion, uninterested in the best soil to sow orchids in. A few of Elain’s own friends nod enthusiastically, offering their own tidbits and unnecessary opinions, eyes hurriedly darting across the circle you make up in search of a flicker of approval. Occasionally Mor will nod or laugh, offering one of her own comments, but even she is flagging in the conversation topic.

Changria shifts on her feet, and you take a mild sip from your drink to hide the eager quirk of your lips.

“Speaking of flowers,” she muses lightly, rubies glittering as light refracts through their pure colour. “I haven’t seen you frequenting the Peacock Inn recently, Mor. Spending your free nights at Rita’s these days?”

The vivacious blonde doesn’t seem the least bit ruffled by the slight sneer in your friend’s voice, instead allowing her full lips to curve into a rosey smile. “I find the conversation to be much more stimulating that side of the city,” she replies silkily, swirling her glittering champagne between pearl-tipped fingers, forgoing her signature red for the night in favour of a glittering ball gown that sweeps across the floor like golden starlight. “I’m surprised your sister hasn’t yet managed to pull you over. With how much time she spends there I find it strange you haven’t latched onto the spot.”

Elain’s friends shift uncomfortably on their feet, anxious to return to familiar ground.

“I think you must be mistaken,” Changria replies with her viper’s smile, as clean cut as glass. “My sister has no interest in fraternising with…same-minded folk. We were raised to be aware what counts as polite company to surround oneself with.” She pauses, dark eyes flicking to Mor’s from beneath thick lashes. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your group, of course,” she says with fake sincerity.

The edges of your mouth quirk, attention shifting to the bubbly blonde to see what she’ll do.

Irritation flares up when your fun is cut short, her pretty caramel eyes cutting to yours with enough ice that you have to step up. “And you?” She asks, “do you think this is polite company?”

You take a leisurely sip from your drink, having her wait just a few seconds before deigning her with a response. Both Andriette and Changria hide their mirth well, but you recognise that glimmer in their eyes. “I’m sure it’s all in good fun,” you smile, meeting her gaze, inclining your chin subtly. “Isn’t that right, Ri?” The black-haired female laughs, waving her bejewelled hand dismissively, “of course. My sincerest apologies if you felt otherwise, Mor.”

You smile at the superficial expression on her features, meeting each of Elain’s friends eyes, hurried and nervous smiles quickly pasted onto their lips before you turn to Mor. “It’s been a long night, after all,” you excuse smoothly, “she means nothing by it.”

The blonde hums, clearly choosing to ignore the snide remarks cleverly shot her way. Really though, what did she expect?

She can handle herself anyway—she didn’t need you to put a stop to Changria’s remarks, simply that it was the smartest thing to do.

In your peripherals, you watch as Cordia shifts, spurred on by the sly remarks, tempted to come out of her shell to find her own target.

“Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink,” Elain suggests easily, eyes weaving through the crowd effortlessly. “There’s a server coming by—maybe have a couple of the snacks to soak up a bit of that alcohol. They really are lovely, those ones.”

“Am I right in understanding you advised what foods should be served, Elain?” You ask, watching as her cheeks flush a little with colour, dipping her head in a nod. The gesture is so imbued with feminine dignity you can’t help but warm to her, as if able to see a fragment of your younger self contained within her frame.

“That’s right,” Elain responds, a small smile on her lips. “Nuala and Cerridwen kindly assisted in preparation, as well as a good handful of others.” She nods kindly toward the gaggle of females she’d brought to the circle, and her friends faces soften into smiles. “You all remembered to wash your hands between gardening and preparing our food, right?” Cordia chimes in, eyeing the tray as it’s brought in.

They’re all perfectly bite-sized, different toppings upon small crackers with an assortment of herbs and spices sprinkled in varying heaviness. You glance tersely at Cordia from the side of your vision, before selecting one of the small biscuits from the outskirts, raising it to your lips to taste. Andriette and Changria follow suit, Cordia following soon after, eager to learn and copy. Elain’s group takes a few of the finger-pieces, nodding and congratulating one another on the different flavours.

You hum, pleasantly greeted by the slight citrine flavour of your tiny mouthful, finishing it off in another bite, aware more than a few sets of ears will be interested in how you judge the food. Moments pass, and you take your time examining the flavours—surprisingly enjoyable considering their size.

“Very nice,” you hum mildly, feeling the piercing weight of Mor’s attention on your lips. “Who’s idea was that one?” You ask, and Elain practically beams. Ushering forward one of the females in a pale blue gown, chestnut hair rich beneath the warm faelight. “This is Idris,” she introduces, and you incline your chin to look down upon the tall female. “It came from a home recipe,” Idris blurts out, and Cordia grins into her glass—at least she knows to hide her mirth. “My father used to make it for me and my siblings when we were younger, and I thought it would be perfect to share.”

“Your father did the cooking?” Cordia remarks snidely, and you send her another sharp glance, growing impatient with how she’s speaking out of turn. “What sort of circumstances led to that situation?” Idris shifts uncomfortably on her feet—shoes worn without heels, likely in attempts to muffle her unusual height. With a nervous glance your way, she elaborates. “My mother passed away when we were young, so my father had to learn how to care for us. Those snacks were the first things he mastered, so I’m proud knowing they’ve been served to such a vast number of people tonight.”

“He couldn’t afford servants?” Cordia questions humorously.

“Cordia,” you call sharply, pleased when she stiffens, twisting to face you—head slightly lowered. “Remember our earlier conversation about polite company?” You ask mildly, sipping from your emptying drink. The female nods, and you don’t doubt she memorised every word. You swirl your glass idly, before glancing at her sidelong. “Make sure to keep to that category. There are very few exceptions I make when it comes to the people I associate with, and you will not be one of them.”

The female flushes deeply, nodding hastily before mumbling a half-hearted apology to the tall but meek Idris, who accepts, likely out of sheer awkwardness.

You turn your attention to the pale-robed baker, meeting her eyes that flit about the room anxiously. With dark, tea-coloured skin, the dusty shade of red looks almost soft on her round and full lips, and you wonder why she’s decided on a pale blue robe when one that was wine-coloured would be far more suitable. With a dusting of gold over her eyelids, she could sweep a fair portion of the night’s attendees off their feet—both metaphorically and practically.

“Idris, correct?” You muse, nails glittering beneath the light. The female nods, fingers stuttering over the stitches in the bodice of her dress.

The very edges of your mouth raise, elegantly shifting your weight to one hip, running an appraising glance over her figure.

“Would you be interested in catering for another event like this?”

————

Footsteps tap softly along the floor of the open balcony, heels clicking as she finds you beneath the moonlight.

The glass has been refilled, and you gaze down at the revelry below, coloured lights dripping like diamonds, bobbing like fireflies between the shadows as fae sing and dance.

She comes to a stop at your side, waiting for you to address her, and you take another sip, just to make her squirm.

“How kind of you to join me.”

Cordia keeps still, attention keyed to your movements—smart thing. “You wanted to speak with me?” She asks, tone carefully neutral, but unable to mask the twinge of hope in her rich brown eyes. Her skin that must have once been livened from the sun in the Dawn court now lacks its vivaciousness, the colour of dried autumn leaves that crinkle and crunch daintily beneath booted feet.

“Allow me to be blunt as you are not someone I’m willing to soften my words for,” you say lightly, swirling your glass, glancing at her sidelong—watching as she stiffens further, and a twinge of fear creeps into her spiced scent. “You have not done yourself many favours tonight,” you muse, returning your attention to the sky, the clouds that have shadowed the moon. “It would serve you well to understand how things work for someone in your position.”

Her round figure is already fully facing you when you turn to her, fingers gripping her drink too casually.

“First of all, if you are going to target someone, do it with grace. Kicking a child does not prove strength, but weakness.” Cordia nods hurriedly, a sharp dip of her chin, eager to learn. “Secondly, do not go for someone contained within a group who will obviously side with them. Targeting that female when she was surrounded by others she was close with was foolish, and brash. A stupid error on your part, and embarrassing on mine.” She flushes wildly, lips parted, but nods again, mumbling out an apology. “And third,” you say voice icing over, “do not lash out with half-developed quips.” Deathly power condenses at your fingertips, like dew sliding along the taut string of a spider web. “There is a time and a place for mild jabs, but if you are unable to go for the throat, then you have no place in my circle.”

The sour tinge deepens, and your magic stirs in response, like a cat stretching out its spine, claws glittering.

“Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” she responds, a little hoarse.

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?” She echoes, and a small smile sharpens the cut of your lips, death haloing your figure as you stare her down. “Prove you can strike where it hurts.”

A blink reveals her hesitance, and you turn back to survey the city, sipping idly at your drink, as if you aren’t about to make or break the female at your side. The seconds tick by and you can hear how her lips fumble, silently scrambling for something sharp and bladed to gift.

Your eyes slide shut momentarily, mouth set in a sour line. “You can see yourself from the party.”

Cordia practically stumbles, but you don’t deign her with attention. “Reconsider,” she requests, gathering her pieces together, holding firm. “My answer is final,” you repeat idly, watching as a small circle appears below, people leaping and dancing as the round the small fire.

“Please,” she repeats, and through your peripherals you can make out as she discards her drink on the balcony, hands clutching the muted tones of her dress as she dips into a deep curtsey, holding the position flawlessly. The edges of your lips raise, before finally giving her your attention.

“I suppose it would be a shame to waste your dancing abilities,” you muse lightly, glittering black earrings tinkling as an icy breeze washes in. Cordia doesn’t dare look up, keeping her gaze trained on the round velvet of pitch dark heels. “Put on a show that will impress me,” you say at last, “and I will reconsider.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she breathes, relief soothing her muscles as she raises to a stand. “It will be the finest—”

“Down there,” you smile, gesturing with your chin to the bonfire far below, where the lower classes thrive and mingle, robes lacking the lustre and vibrancy of rich saturation, a sharp divide between the two spaces.

Cordia’s smile drops faster than a millstone through water, skin leeching further of colour, turning ashen. But she dips her head, understanding the ultimatum.

And so she leaves to dance, even if it will mean setting herself ablaze in the process.

No sooner than she’s out of sight, a familiar figure prowls silently out onto the balcony, stepping out of shadow and into the moonlight, bathed in silver.

“Azriel,” you greet, smiling faintly as he glides from the darkness, all calm quiet and reassuring grace. In a world that’s ever-shifting, he’s a constant, keeping the same cold attitude and unreadable mask wherever he goes. But then there are those moments where something warmer glimmers in his eyes, and your axis shifts a little, centre of gravity swaying as you enter his orbit. Rare moments where flame licks between paragraphs of conversation, small embers being allowed to warm before they’re once again fearfully stomped out.

“You could have chimed in when your friend was practically spitting in Mor’s face,” he says lowly, bypassing you entirely to lean calmly against the balcony railing and you blink, pulled back into your own realm. Features shift into a mask of soothing ease, moving silently to stand at his side. “She can handle herself,” you reply. “Besides, I won’t tell them what to think.” Through your peripherals you mark the slight frown between his brows, the displeasure in his mouth as he looks out across the midnight city, rendered in dark, inky blues and sparking pale starlight. You keep your back to the view, attention keyed to the male at your side, all thoughts of Cordia vanishing along with the task you gave her to complete.

“But you stepped in when it was Elain?” He asks, still not looking at you.

“Would you have preferred I said nothing?” You return dryly, sipping on your drink, casting your gaze back to the ballroom.

Azriel shifts, pushing up from his rest on the balcony, turning to look at you. “What would Rhys think?” He asks, and there’s something in his tone that has your full attention openly moving to him. “He’s like a brother, why would it matter what he thinks? We’ve all done bad things,” you reply grimly, memories pulling across your skin. “He’s your High Lord,” Azriel reminds quietly. “Your master, too.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “that bond hasn’t been called upon in generations. And besides, he’s too soft-hearted to ever use something as outdated as that.” A note of affection has entered you voice, despite the slander you’re spewing. You peer up at Azriel, smiling faintly, “he refuses to so much as peek into someone’s mind without them knowing, he could never manage the bond. Much less given our relationship.”

Likely dozens of centuries ago, the both of your families had been powerful. Yours powerful enough that the dominant lineage grew wary of the necromancy that passed from blood to blood, never losing its potency no matter who it was bred with. Eventually a bond of submission was forged, rumoured that a hand had been forced, and ever since then, your blood has been bound to the ruling one’s. An oath of obedience sworn with each new ascension.

Admittedly, when Rhys’ father had been killed, and your own mother passing as collateral, you had hoped to escape it. Having grown up together, arranged to be married, lived in the same city for centuries, you’d thought perhaps something would change with you. Instead something had changed in him, after the loss of his family. A proposal had never been offered, and hopes of absolute freedom had been abandoned. You’d taken the oath the day he returned from Spring, blood still dripping fresh from his leathers, violet eyes so abnormally cold and cruel you’d done what you could to return their warmth. Shown you’d chosen to stay by his side, needless of a prompt.

“Still,” Azriel says, pulling you from recollection. “The fact remains. Stepping too far out of line will only force an unpleasant decision upon him. One that will likely be unpleasant to receive, too.”

“You don’t understand what you’re talking about,” you say softly, darkness gathering down your spine, festering and writhing. Fifty years worth of memories he has yet to understand. He watches you quietly for a moment more than usual, before his attention is stolen by a figure entering your shared privacy of the balcony.

Azriel visibly relaxes, standing straighter as Elain walks up to him, greeting the both of you with a warm smile that noticeably reduces the strain in the air. She comes to a stop at his side, and you frown as they exchange a quiet look, feeling too close to the outside of his neat circle for once, having been unaware of the constraints tightening. She leans into him, and you feel a frown emerging on your brow at her forwardness. Maybe she should take her own advice and find something to soak up the alcohol.

“Elain,” you greet, inclining your chin slightly, plastering on a pleasant expression as she turns to you. “Thank you for offering Idris another opportunity,” she says sincerely, voice soft as cotton. Azriel stiffens at the small revelation—nothing Elain would notice, but something you have no trouble spotting, almost perfectly attuned to him. “She loves cooking, though she doesn’t let it show that often,” she continues, oblivious to the Shadowsinger’s tension. “So even if she’s already said it, I wanted to thank you, too. I think it’ll help her in ways none of us can—getting to finally do something she loves, and getting to do it well.” Deep, swirling cocoa rises to meet you, tender and soft with emotion, so easy to target should someone want.

“It’s no concern at all,” you smile pleasantly, the corners a little too sharp to be entirely sincere, an edge in your stomach at her proximity to Azriel. “Though I appreciate you upholding the pretence that it’s anything but a self-serving action—very gracious of you, I must admit.” Her brows furrow a little, tilting her head, but then she shakes it, smiling faintly, “you like your mask, don’t you?”

Before you can ask—or even react to—what she means, she’s turning to Azriel, pushing up onto her toes to press a light kiss to his cheek, before smiling again kindly, and taking her leave. You watch her go, silently, until she’s disappeared between sweeping bodies, turning to Azriel. Raise your glass to your mouth, “well that was interesting.”

The rigidity is beginning to make sense now.

“How long are you going to let it drag on?” You ask, averting your attention to the fire below, fuelled by twigs as fae and faeries dance about. He’s quiet, and you fight against the muscle in your jaw, the urge to grind your teeth at his silence. Jealousy isn’t a pretty colour.

“We’re together,” he says at last, and you scoff.

“And I asked for how long,” you reply, not looking at him.

He’s silent again, and your lip twitches in disgust, pushing up from the balcony, turning to face him. “And when were you going to tell me you were fucking Elain?” You ask bemusedly. “I can understand keeping your other lovers private, but Elain Archeron?” You marvel, voice dripping with fake incredulity. “What does Rhys think?”

“It’s serious,” he replies quietly, and you scoff again.

“Uh-huh. And the Mother’s going to kiss my hands when I go to heaven,” you reply sardonically. “Seriously Azriel, what the hell are you thinking?”

“I’ve already heard this talk from Rhys and Feyre. I don’t need it from you,” he says coldly, and you pin him with a hard look.

A heavy breath blows from your chest, and you return to the balcony, surveying starlit Velaris. “Whatever. Even I can’t stop you from making this mistake.” Your name hisses lowly from his mouth, but you ignore him. Instead you focus on a small, female figure appearing below, emerging from the shadows as she meekly approaches the bonfire. A smile sharpens your mouth, and you lean forward. “Evening entertainment is starting,” you hum to him, shifting the subject.

There’s a pause on his end, and you know he’s considering dropping it, picking up on your cue to change the topic. Move away from the unpleasant conversations in favour of lighter topics. The air shifts, but he glances over the railing to where you’re looking. “Let’s see what the little chestnut has, shall we?”

“What did you do this time?” He sighs, a note of familiar exasperation in his tone, a faint smile softening your mouth. “Why do you always think I’m behind it? Can’t she enjoy a night on her own?” You ask, shifting to face him, jaw resting on your palm.

A muscle flickers grimly in his jaw, darkness simmering in his gaze. “She’s taking her top off.” You blink, turning to peer over the balcony. A sharp, surprised laugh cuts from your throat, more a harsh bark than mirth, because there she is, undoing the corset portion of her bodice, revealing the translucent white fabric beneath, swaying as she joins the revellers. “She’s certainly putting on a show,” you muse, pleasure shimmering across your skin as you wonder at the humiliation she might feel. What you hope she does feel, and what will go unrewarded. You would never have allowed someone like her to join your circles to begin with.

Beside you, Azriel shakes his head. “You’re going too far,” he mutters, “stop it.”

“Stop it?” You echo, “but she’s just beginning to enjoy herself,” you croon softly, watching as a male figure joins her on the ground below, hands greedily skating up her waist. Your name is again pulled from his chest in a warning, dragged out deep and gravelly. “What am I to do?” You muse, returning your gaze to his, now cold and hard, lethal beauty painted in pale moonlight. “I can hardly order her about from up here. Besides, I know what I’m doing, and this is a small price to pay for what she tried to bring my way.”

His lip twitches in disgust, and your heart skips a sudden beat, heat swarming your chest. The familiarity of that gesture—it’s one he’s learned from you. Like how behaviours can rub off on other people, you’ve left your own mark on him, and here it is, presenting itself to you. Nerves squirm around your throat, warmth fluttering through your lower stomach at the thought. Biting back a small, helpless smile, averting your gaze.

“You’re a nasty piece of work sometimes,” he mutters lowly, and this time you allow a fraction of the genuine smile to show, warmth gathering beneath your skin as you accept his invitation, falling back into the cruel dance of life, sparring with sharpened blades. “And you just perfectly captured Elain’s future thoughts when she finds out the things you do, Spymaster,” you reply, amusement lining your features. “She might not see that blood, but I do, and it’s not something you yet know how to fix.”

His features harden to ice, hazel eyes glittering with frozen cold as your words crash against his scar-toughened skin.

Down below, more clothes are being stripped away, and you grin, wondering how far she’s prepared to take this dance. How far she’ll go to preserve her precious face.

“How do you feel about trying a new restaurant this weekend?” You ask, distracting from the show. “After the embarrassment of that last time, I think it’s fair we go to a place I like for once.” You turn to face him, smiling faintly, but you’re met with emptiness.

At some point within the last minute, it seems he’d simply walked away.

Leaving you quiet on the balcony.

————

The ball had quickly lost it’s appeal after the small shock—what on the Mother’s head is he thinking? Elain of all people.

Fingers rub across your chest, just below your collar bones, massaging the area to relieve pressure. Him and Elain. Why hadn’t he told you? From how casually she’d stepped into his side, it has to be something that’s been going on for a while. The others must have known about it…why were you left out? Brows twitch but you pull back on the frown, anxious to avoid any suggestion of lines.

The conversation reworks itself in your mind, repeating until you practically have it memorised.

She might not see the the blood…

With each replay you can see as he walls himself off. Can spot those self-defence mechanisms kicking in, as thoroughly ingrained in him as the scars on his hands. That’s not what’s supposed to happen when he’s with you. He’s supposed to open up, not close himself off. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say… You’d thought it clearly a game, but maybe he’d been taking you more seriously than you’d anticipated.

…but I do, and it’s not something you yet know how to fix.

And he’d left after that. You don’t even know if he’d heard your rather bold dinner invitation, or if he’d winnowed elsewhere. To be at Elain’s side. To enjoy her as he would a ripe fruit. Maybe she is something to be wary of… If their relationship is so out in the open… You can’t remember a time Azriel had ever been okay with any of you meeting a partner, preferring to keep them to himself, hidden away until he got bored or it fell apart. Whichever happened first. It’s unnerving to find your constant shifting, and not in a favourable direction.

The tightness builds in your throat.

While it wouldn’t be long, you’d rather not have to sit through their relationship for the few years or so, even if you know it’s bound to end in misery, just as it always seems to be when it comes to him. Like a little black raincloud.

Your heart stutters in your chest, pulse increasing and you have to even your breaths.

Yeah…you should say something to him. Even if he likely won’t accept your apology due to cripplingly low self-esteem and issues with vulnerability, you hope the effort will be worth it. You don’t want him to wall himself off around you. You want him to bleed and gush, guts spilling, allowing you to see the mess you know lurks beneath his skin. A mess you could easily find in yourself, too. If only you could open up enough to show him your similarities. The connection would be obvious, and maybe…maybe you’d get to have someone who understood you, too.

Maybe he wouldn’t hate his own darkness as much if he was able to see how deeply rooted it is in your own, soulless body.

————

The dinner happens as usual, and you try to resist sinking into the off feeling.

It’s nothing obvious, but it’s lacking the usual cohesiveness, the fluid conversation feels dwindling and forced, and you realise he isn’t pushing back as much as he normally does. The snide remarks you make are left untouched, no disciplinary glances or displeasured frowns when you pass a quick judgement. Even when the comments become unfair to your own ears, he ignores them, instead choosing to pay attention to the food.

Once again, despite all your protests, you’re here at the same place you always go. He claims it’s his favourite, but you can’t bring yourself to believe he could possibly enjoy a place where the air is so thick and heavy, to the point of being stifling. You can practically smell the sweat and grease with each breath, and your skin crawls with disgust at having to frequent the restaurant so often.

Eventually the meal reaches its end, and the two of you leave, Azriel having paid once again. You think it’s only fair, since it’s his spot. There’s no way you’re paying for such a mediocre meal and such poor service.

The skies are heavy and grey, verging on thunderous, the air dense even once you’ve breeched the wards that keep the restaurant alive with heat. Cobbles are slightly crooked in places, and you take care walking, wary of the thin pencil-wide stilts that serve for your heels. All around, folk are enjoying their suppers, sat beneath water-proof gazebos as day at last utterly yields to night, faelights warming the streets dimly through the bizarre heaviness of the darkness.

“Azriel,” you call from his side, voice coming out confident despite being so unsure how to go about touching on yesterday’s subject. He makes no sound to acknowledge he’s heard you, simply continuing on with the leisurely stroll, and yet you know he’s listening. Just as he always is. Ever attentive.

“Yesterday, when we spoke,” you begin slowly, intentionally shifting your gaze to brush disinterestedly over shop fronts and seating areas. Nerves crawl uncomfortably around your throat, tightening but you keep your spine straight, shoulders pulled back as had been drilled into you. “You seemed closed off,” you say, unable to look at him. Not with the stutter of your heart.

When he makes no effort to speak back or elaborate, you push forward, anxious to keep your feelings tightly concealed. “You understand I was joking with you, don’t you?” You ask, counting each step, marking the cracks between the grey cobbles. He hums, not really and answer. Your throat rolls, gaze sliding to eye him sidelong, the clean cut of his profile against the dark blues of the night, skin keeping its soft warmth despite the swiftly plummeting temperature.

“You took your time to tell me about Elain,” you remark, switching topics hastily. Quickly dancing away from the apology that was sat so readily on your tongue—just unsure how to come out. What words to join together to express your grief over his own reactions while not feeling an ounce of regret for what was said. You won’t take it back, but you wish he wasn’t…however he is, with you.

“About that,” he says, and your attention keys to him entirely, as it always does whenever he seems prone to revealing a little more of himself to you. “Things are going to change,” he elaborates, “Elain and I will be going out to dinners together, and because of our lives, this is going to have to find time somewhere else.”

You blink, steps faltering, heels stuttering over the cobbles as you stare at him but he keeps up the idle pace, forcing you to push your body into fluid movement, flowing after him. “What… Az, what are you talking about?” You ask, tone confused, lacking its usual sharp edge as apprehension tightens around your throat. “These suppers,” he repeats, attention remaining ahead, “they’re going to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because Elain and I are together, and we—”

“Shut up about Elain,” you say sharply, voice lowered, coming to a stop on the cobbles. Azriel pauses, features superficially neutral as he takes in your stance. Waiting patiently, as he’s always prepared to do.

“These are our dinners, Az,” you hiss, keeping your voice low, wary of eavesdroppers. “They’ve been our time for almost three centuries. And now you’re trying to replace them because you got laid?” Disbelief drips from your hushed voice, staring at him incredulously, shaking your head. “We’ll talk about this again when the blood’s returned to your head,” you hiss sharply, but his brow dips in displeasure, and you’re kept from walking away.

“Don’t talk like that. About me, or her,” he says bluntly, irritation itching across your skin. “Az, you’re thinking with your cock,” you hiss again, stepping closer to reduce the chances of being overheard. “These dinners are the only times we get to be together. You are not cancelling them just because you want to get between her legs, is that clear?”

Azriel makes a sound close to a sigh, and emotion—raw and unfiltered—sears across your chest, licking like flames as you stare at him. “Don’t bother getting frustrated. I’m not asking, I’m telling you what’s going to happen. Besides, the family dinners are still open.” Even if you haven’t attended one in almost two-hundred and fifty years.

Your heart pounds in your chest, long-suppressed rage rearing her head with such force there’s nothing you can do to muffle her. “Don’t pull that, Az,” you warn lowly. “You know that’s not a solution. You can find time elsewhere, these days are the only ones that work for us.”

“She’s my partner. She comes first.”

“And what about me?” You hiss. “You’ve known her for—what? Two years? Have been in a relationship for less than that, and I’m the replaceable one? Pull your shit together.”

His brows narrow, gaze hardening as he takes you in. Hazel eyes cool, freezing over as his patience is relieved of its duty. “I want to eat with her. I want to spend my time with her,” he says coldly, “you are tiring and draining to be around.”

“Tiring and— What has gotten into you?”

“This isn’t anything new,” he replies, “she and I have been together for a while now, and this is how things happen.”

“How long is a while?” You hiss, feeling as if the cobbles are falling away beneath your feet. “Long enough,” he replies monotonously.

“This is how you treat your century-old friends?” You ask, power writhing in your stomach. “Pushing them aside when something new and shiny comes along?” You hiss, emotion whipping at your heart until blood leaks out. “Fine. Fuck the tightness out of her for all I care. See if you’re still interested once you’ve gotten what you want.”

“Do not—”

“I have everything, Azriel. I’m the most sought-after female in this city,” you hiss, pressure building behind your eyes but you shove it away—you can’t have the kohl running. “Males have crawled on their knees to gain an ounce of attention. My life is perfect, I don’t need anybody but decided you might be worth my time.” Anger heats your skin, features twisted in an ugly carving of rage.

“If your life is so perfect, why do I pity you?” He replies harshly, rain beginning to drip from the heavy skies.

“Pity me?” You echo, faintly. “You pity me, shadowsinger?” You grit out, lip curling back with disgust. “I don’t want your pity. My life is perfect. People would die to be in my position. To be as coveted I am, and I gave you a chance at that.” You spit, seething, keeping an eye on the rain—looking like it’ll become heavier. It’ll ruin the curls you kept pressed in if you don’t get inside soon. “You can’t replace me,” you scoff, staring at him beneath lightly dipped brows—careful of wrinkles. “You’ll never find someone as good as me.”

A vindictive smile stretches across your dark-painted lips, triumph searing across your skin, heart pulsing in a way you’ve been craving for decades—centuries. “I’m everything you could ever want: beautiful, intelligent, rich. Not to mention excellent in bed, anyone would be blessed by the gods to call me their own,” you point out, baring your teeth with victorious rage. “You can’t deny we’re perfectly suited for one another. Everyone and their mother knows we’re a strong pair, practically untouchable. We spend all of our time together—there’d be no difference between how things are now and how they would be if you would just open your damn eyes and realise how much you need me.”

“I’m the one you confess your sins to, I’m the one who absolves you, I’m where you go to seek comfort,” you hiss, wary as a strand of neatly curled hair falls out of place. “And you think Elain is anything in the face of that?”

Breath puffs from your chest, air curling in thick tendrils as the crispness of the breeze deepens in its chill. Fingers tremble at your side, skin immune to the swiftly plummeting temperature, spurred on by self-righteous anger. The need to right a wrong becoming satiated now he understands what an awful choice he’s making.

Azriel’s expression doesn’t shift, hardly shows a grain of emotion, the rain beginning to drip into the soft, inky locks of his hair, weighing the strands down to curl over his brow.

“I spent my time with you because I thought I could fix you,” he says blandly, making you falter. “You’re so self-obsessed, convinced the whole world would pause everything for you—I can’t even begin to understand how insecure you must be to have reached such a severe state of delusion.”

“Delusion?” You snarl, freshly manicured nails piercing the soft flesh of your palms, hours of pampering ruined by a single outburst. “The only one who’s deluded is you, for even considering picking the flower-baring whore over me.” Hazel eyes gutter, taking on a glittering icy hue as his jaw tenses.

“You’re the court torturer, and I’m the necromancer—there’s never been a better pairing cast together, and there never will,” you seethe, death and rot simmering at your fingertips that his eyes trace warily. “You’re really so selfish you’d latch onto Elain and bring her down with you?” You ask, watching as the blade finds its mark, hazel flinching. “I’ve seen your darkness, and you’ve seen mine. The mother couldn’t have made our match more obvious.”

“You know I’m right, Azriel,” you crow, taking a step forward, needing to wrap this up quickly—people are murmuring, rain growing heavier. You can already feel it beginning to take the silky sheen from your hair. “I’m the better choice. Now and forever. I will always be the better choice.”

His expression shifts to something you can’t place—almost like sorrow—thick brows narrowing over dark hazel eyes. He takes a silent step forward, the edges of your mouth kicking up with a spark of success. Vicious pride blazing in your gaze—warping into tunnel vision.

“I will tell you only once,” he bites out, glittering fury lighting the deep hazel of his gaze. “Never speak of Elain that way.”

“Or what?” You bark, staring up at him, arms folding indignantly to plump up your chest. “You choose that bitch over me, and it’s over between us,” you declare, victory within your grasp. “You forget I know where her father’s buried,” you hiss viciously, keeping your voice low enough for only him to hear.

A blind person could spot his kindness from a mile away, as useless as it is. He would never put himself first, especially not before you. You’ve had centuries to observe his behaviour, you know this is his weakness, the cripplingly low thought of himself, somehow unable to appreciate the divine beauty of his own features, looking as if he’d been hewn from the heavens themselves then unleashed upon earth to wreak destruction.

He’s equipped with the weapons to be a heart-breaker, to have whoever he wants, yet has somehow managed to overlook his own beauty. A rare gem for you to take for yourself, to treasure and polish to perfection, to stare at and admire in the guarded privacy of your own heart. He’s the first, and only one who’s ever managed to get past those impenetrable walls of ice, having thawed you out over likely thousands of dinners, and nights out, and not-so-casual brunches.

But Azriel shakes his head slightly, sighing in the freezing air, breath curling in a smooth twirl, whisked away by the chill breeze. “You’re doing this to yourself,” he says quietly, hazel piercing into you beneath a narrowed brow, gaze filled with ice. “I’m not going to choose you.”

“So you’d throw away three centuries of simmering pleasantries?” You spit out, an icy drop of rain slipping down your generous cleavage, goosebumps raising. “Don’t be so arrogant; it’s unbecoming.”

He takes a step forward, casting you in his darkness, his warmth remaining just out of reach, pulling you into his orbit. “You think anyone will love you like I will?” You ask, but your voice shakes as the words slip out. Throat rolls, nails slicing into already ruined palms. “I know you, Azriel,” you grit out, “what you are. What you do.” You shift on your feet, spine straightening, shoulders flattening. “Do you really think anyone else will stick around for that?”

Shadows flick over the peaks of those great wings, wreathing them like dark halos as hazel shutters. “Walk away,” he murmurs, darkness swirling idly about, like early morning mist. “Walk away, and you can keep your fragile sense of self intact.”

“Is it the number of people I’ve slept with?” You grit out, glaring up at him. “We can pretend that never happened, if you want me to be more like her. I can learn botany—it wouldn’t be an effort. I have gardeners that could arrange bouquets, and lace my hair with wild flowers. I’m sure someone’s found a spray to keep bugs away, so—”

“I’m not picking you,” he says harshly, eyes pinning you to the cold, icy cobbles.

“Why not?” You hiss, but he shakes his head, exhaling a short sigh.

“Just go back home,” he replies, a little softer. “Save yourself the embarrassment. I’d hate to be the one to shatter your carefully cultivated image,” he mutters, turning on his heel.

Panic surges, blindly reaching out, heart clenching in your chest as both of you stare at your hand gripping his wrist. The murmurs hurry in intensity, but fall away as hazel meets your gaze, narrowed and wary. You know he must be able to feel the tremble of your fingers, but you can’t let go now, that would be admitting defeat. So you step closer, his warmth washing over you, night-kissed scent wrapping with your own.

“I can change,” you manage, voice hoarse in the freezing rain, weighing and ruining your curls. Tiring and draining, he’d said. “Tell me what to do, and it’ll be done. I can fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” he replies shortly, “I spent a long time thinking I saw glimpses of myself in you—when you used to quieten in the evenings instead of plastering on one of your catty smiles. When you used to enjoy the silence instead of trying to fill it with numbing activities.”

You stiffen in the cold, grip tightening on his wrist, gaze locked with hazel.

“At some point you might have been salvageable, but not anymore,” he continues, small pieces of yourself trembling with each word, raw and tender. “And what about yourself?” You reply, heart tight in your chest. “You think that you have the right to pass judgement on me? With the things you’ve done?” You stare up at him, pulse beating to a nauseous rhythm. “You’ve lied, murdered, and tortured your way to where you are. I’m an angel compared to you.”

“You’re rotten to your core,” he hisses, wings flaring wider, towering over you. “Rotten, spoiled, and utterly unloveable.”

Something faintly familiar stings through your stomach, wrapping in knots and dragging outward, twisting.

“No one would pick you—has anyone even thought of doing so?” He asks, sharp hazel eyes piercing like blades through the thawed out ice of your heart.

“You did,” you whisper, lungs filling with choked-down aches. “You chose me, Azriel. So I’m choosing you back.”

“That’s not how it works,” he hisses, pulling his arm from your grip like your muscles are made from rain-soaked paper. “I gave you a chance to change. You could have been better if you’d tried.”

You shake your head, staring at him, fingers cold as icy water drips over their outstretched tips. “That’s not fair,” you whisper, “I didn’t know I was being tested.” But he pays you no mind, turning on his heel, making to leave you out in the rain.

You’re moving without thinking, darting into his path, blocking his way.

“Fine,” you breathe harshly, fingers trembling as they clench at your sides. “I’ll say it.” Alarm flares in those beautiful swirls of colour, his lip twitching but you ignore the familiar expression, gone with a flash of pain.

Your throat rolls thickly, staring up at him, aware of the whispers from beneath cafe shelters, hardly bothering to keep their volume low. “I don’t—…” you fumble, shocking humiliation twisting across your stomach. Are you really doing this? Is he worth your pride? Worth losing those cultivated defences? They’ve been up for so long, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to swallow the emotion that’ll inevitably swamp you.

Hazel waits silently, all quiet grace and reassuring shadow.

“I don’t have anyone else.”

The words burn across your skin, the admission having nausea roiling in your stomach, pulse pounding wildly. Stripped bare, emotion flayed to a raw, bloody pink.

“She has other people,” you whisper painfully, lip curling in disgust. “She doesn’t want you like— She doesn’t need you like…like I do.” Despite the way your confession sears through your blood, hurting like a scar picked open, he already seems to be done with the conversation. Ready to move on and leave you behind.

“You don’t need me, or want me,” he replies blandly. “You’ve been so emotionally numb for the past dozen decades you’re addicted to the first drop of feeling you’ve gotten. You like the idea of being with someone after such a long period of loneliness, and you’ve misunderstood whatever you’re experiencing as love when it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” you whisper, heart fluttering in your throat so high you think you might be about to regurgitate it at his feet. “I’ve kept to myself because no one else has been worth it. No one else has made me even consider talking with you like I sometimes do.” A cold wind blows through your skeleton, a shiver shuddering in your stomach, hands clutching your exposed arms.

“I’m far more beautiful than she is anyway—”

“No,” he cuts in, “you aren’t.”

And suddenly you’re reduced to your adolescent self, secretly sneaking into her mother’s purse, snatching at all the makeup you can find and scurrying away to the bathroom to paint yourself beautiful. How heavily the bright lipstick had weighed on your lips, slippery and over-lined. How your eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot once you’d finished with the thick stick of kohl. The pins that had curled your hair into a matted mess, tangled into a unsolvable nest.

How proud you’d been of your work, parading out into your mother’s chambers, eager to show off your likeness.

She’d taken one look, and screamed, landing a hard smack across your cheek. Staining the carefully applied lip tint, pushing it onto gleaming white teeth that bit into your tongue with the force of the impact. She’d dragged you by the hair back into the bathroom, tub filling to the brim with freezing water where she’d shoved you in, clothes and all. Grabbed a towel and started scrubbing at your face, the water clogging your airways as her nails scraped and poked until your skin was raw. She’d wasted no time unpicking the curls from your hair, simply ripping them out, or in some cases, sheering the locks jaggedly from your scalp.

The following weeks had been the worst of your life, keeping your head hugged in a kitchen cloth, not having any of your mother’s precious silk caps to prevent friction and fraying. You’d hardly taken your eyes off the ground, keeping your gaze trained to the pretty bows on your shoes, clutching the straps of your bag tightly.

There had been other instances like that, but none quite as debilitating—the time a month later your’d put together a small breakfast, teetering up the stairs one at a time in your freshly pressed dress, starched and aired, before pushing her door open. She’d screamed worse than last time, and your feet had frozen to the floor. It was only when the glass vase had smashed against your temple that they’d unstuck, hands shuddering as you tottered backward, stumbling until the door had slammed in you face.

Whether it was that specific instance, or the litany of other formative moments of your childhood that had be warped and distorted into something cold and cruel that had led you to this moment, stood opposite him in a freezing cold street, gossiping whispers passing like a sickness between onlookers as the rain drips down cream-smooth skin, you’ll never know. Too many actions uncorrected for too long for you to ever understand when you truly became her spitting image. At what point you went from a young girl trying to fit into her mother’s skin, to fully embodying her rotten perfection.

Plump, rosey lips hiding a mouthful of foul, fetid teeth.

“So you’re—… You’re really…” something warm and wet drips down your cheeks, and you realise with mortifying humiliation you’re crying.

Azriel sighs harshly, the impatient sound slicing across your breast bone. “That’s not going to work,” he says coldly. “Cry all you want, it’s not going to change anything.”

Your heart flutters wildly in your throat, as if trying to break free, stomach twisting and turning in vicious knots. You don’t understand why he’s walking away. “She won’t… She’s not going to treat you better,” you manage, voice cracking along with your heart, shattering with such painful slowness you can practically feel it fracturing. Ice splintering off into shards.

His jaw works, and you resist the urge to turn and run beneath his gaze. He shouldn’t be seeing you like this. It’s gutting your chances.

“I trust her,” he mutters lowly, rain hissing on the cobbles. “I trust her not to take advantage of my weaknesses. To see them and accept them.” He steps closer, and your legs tremble. “Not to turn them into ridiculous little games designed to make herself look better.”

“That wasn’t—… I was helping you.”

“You enjoy succeeding where others fail,” he hisses, his warmth at last brushing over your skin, close enough for his scent to wrap around you fully. “You get a kick out of proving you’re better, no matter how good your life is.”

Your jaw trembles, nails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. “I have worked for my supposedly good life,” you say sharply, tone wobbling.

“Your predecessors worked,” he hisses, “you were born with a power that made you precious. Without it, you’re nothing.”

“Power is everything.”

“And that’s exactly why no one’s ever loved you.”

You flinch.

Stumble a step back.

“That’s not true,” you whisper. “Rhys loves me. So does Cassian, and Mor. You do, too.”

“You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor,” he snaps, and a long-forgotten memory flashes across your skin.

“I love…I like myself.”

He rolls his eyes, brows narrowing in disbelief. “You hate yourself more than I do.”

Shoulders bunch together, curving inward. “Doesn’t that make us perfect?”

He blinks, caught off guard by the tone, bathed in broken curiosity. He’s known for a while there’d been something wrong taught to you, but you’ve never really allowed him close enough to find out what.

Then he shakes his head, turning away. “Mutual hatred doesn’t equate to love,” he mutters, pausing. Looks at you from over his shoulder. “We spent three centuries together, and you couldn’t even figure that out?”

You remain silent, lips parted as you search for an answer.

He huffs in disbelief. “No wonder you’re always on your own.”

————

You’re hardly able to stumble your way back home, looming before you in a great mass of shadow.

You’re at the threshold of the tall gates, when a voice calls your name, and you turn to find a female with rich brown hair with deep eyes to match, skin just a little to wan for your tastes. Cordia.

“Leave,” you order coldly, the tall iron gates swinging open upon your command, power thrumming beneath your veins as you make your way up the road, thick forestry lining the edges. Breath drags raggedly from your lips, lungs spasming as emotion rages in your chest, ripping itself open upon the now jagged shards of ice that he’s splintered, damaged and bruised.

“You’re in a sorry state,” she calls mildly, following behind you as you march up the steep road with little difficulty, body shaking and trembling as raw feeling strikes at your core repeatedly. Teeth grit together, nails digging into your upper arms as you huddle against the cold, choosing to continue along the rain-soaked path in favour of winnowing.

“That was quite the performance you put on there,” she hums, and you freeze in your steps. “Oh? That got your attention,” she smiles, stepping into your path. “Yes, I saw your breakdown. So did Andriette, so did Sangria. Anybody who is anyone will have heard about your little-girl tantrum within the hour.” Terror thuds in your throat, stomach lurching as your meal is upended into the shrubbery nearby. You hear Cordia make a sound of disgust while tears prickle at your eyes, nostrils burning as your stomach spasms, retching over and over until you’re struggling for breath.

“And to think after all that effort too,” she gloats. “All that beauty and power, and you still couldn’t have the male you wanted. Serves you right for being so picky,” she hisses gleefully, watching as you remain hunched over, knees sunken into the dirt after your legs gave out. “I guess you’d call that karma. You destroyed me, now you’ll hit the bottom of the barrel too. How’s it feel to be in the shit-gutter with me, huh?”

The tremors become violent, and she laughs, stepping away. Breath shudders in and out, hyperventilating as you spiral away, discipline and control turned weak and mushy from flayed emotion, humiliation and terror mixing in a deadly combination. “Does rejection feel good to you?” She asks, arms folded across her chest, and you barely gather the strength to stand.

And that’s exactly why no one’s ever loved you.

You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor.

No wonder you’re always on your own.

Fresh tears sting at your eyes, stomach lurching again, retching and a palm presses to vomit coated lips, the taste bad enough to make you try to throw up all over again. Cordia makes a sound between disgust and pleasure, relishing the moments she’s being gifted. “Everything you have,” she marvels, “land, money, beauty, power. At least you’re an ugly crier. Who’d ever want to kiss piggy lips like yours.”

Rage burns you alive, hands wrapping around her throat, ripping her life away in seconds, reduced to dust, mixing with mud that you take minutes trampling deeper into the wet road. You wipe your mouth, staring grimly at the mess on your shoes, stomach turning but you feel a little better now that things are fairer.

When you reach your home, you make no effort to dampen your power, allowing it to roll in thick waves from your soaked body, rat-tailed hair slicked away from your features. Let the message convey itself, for every maid and servant to leave immediately, or face the consequences. Livid emotion rocks and shatters across your chest, swirling with unstoppable intensity and you kick off your shoes, heading up the stairs, treading rain into the clean white rugs.

A maid rounds the corner too quickly, slamming into you, and your urge to kill finds its target, power piercing into the quaking female. You grit your teeth, yanking at its leash, guiding it elsewhere to keep from murdering an innocent. Instead your hand pulls back, taut like a bow string before lashing across her cheek, the sharp jewels on your fingers biting and tearing at her skin as she’s shoved backward. “Get out,” you hiss, voice distorted and raw, power recoiling and refocusing, licking its lips as it finds the maid again, but she’s already scrambling away.

Breaths rage in your lungs, and you manage to make it to your bedroom, eyes skittishly darting to and fro in search of something, something you need—

Tears spill heavily, a sigh of relief and wonder releasing from your body as the razor drags across your forearm, short and sharp breath stuttering as that pressure builds and builds, the steel flying across your skin until you could peel the flesh apart like the crusty pages of an old book.

You pant heavily, arms trembling unsteadily with adrenaline you haven’t felt in years, suddenly crushed by the weight. Groans drag from your chest, sobbing wretchedly as you settle on the floor, ripping the clothes from your legs, slicing and slicing and slicing as you cry and smile and scream and die— Like it’s all condensed into fluttering feelings, passing through, forcing their way so intrusively through your mind it’s shards of glass nicking at your head, wrapping your brain in a bag of needles then tossing it down a flight of stairs.

Blood paints your floor, dripping heavily and exhaustion sticks to your skin like sweat, the compulsion to purge the poison dulling with your heartbeat, thudding weakly in your chest and life bleeds thickly and fluidly from your body, gashes torn through your skin already beginning to stitch themselves back together. Exhaustion fills you, taking adrenaline’s place, and the last thing you can manage it a flick of your wrist, transporting the blood-stained rugs to the large kitchen sink a few floors below, filled with water to keep it from setting.

You’re slumping to the floor, bones digging jaggedly into flesh as it’s ground into the hardwood floor, body relieved of consciousness, shuddering strain seeping away, washing like a cool breeze in the peak of summer up your spine. The world fades away, taking with it the heaviness of emotion, the searing ache across your breast bone, lungs stuttering with deep-seated pain.

At last escaping it.

————

Heavy thuds pull you ungraciously from sleep, coming from your front door.

The first thing you feel is a deep ache across your body—back and shoulders stiff from lying on the floor. Your lids feel thicker…heavier than usual, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth as you peel it away.

Memories hit you like a sack of bricks, passing in a flash before delightful numbness banishes it to some dark and lonely corner of your body. To sit until you’re ready to face it, or until it rots away to something harmless and unbothered. Whichever comes first.

The thuds repeat, and you close your eyes, sinking into your floor, skin thick with imagined grease, hair tangled at the base of your neck, skin hurting with stinging pain when you attempt movement. While the cuts have faded, the echoes burn beneath your flesh, small needles embedded beside bone, prickling and spiking with every motion. Whoever’s at the door can dissolve into the wind for all you care, you’re in no state to deal with anyone.

Magic clicks through the house, and you startle, as if zapped by a whip of static. Your heart pounds as the door unlocks, disobeying its enchantments and allowing entrance to the stranger. Except it’s no stranger, the only soul who has access to your house is the High Lord himself, a condition of the bond that stretches between you, malnourished and untouched.

Quiet steps to the staircase reveal him stood in the hallway, hands placed with deceptive disinterest in his pockets, clothing fine and tailored perfectly. Just as it always is.

Cold, violet eyes flick to you, stood atop the case, but even he’s unable to entirely conceal that razor’s edge in his gaze, glint cutting through purple-blue. Sharper than steel, colder than ice.

“What do you want?” You ask, not bothering with pleasantries. He clearly isn’t here for tea and biscuits.

He’s silent for a pause, gathering his patience, or…you don’t know what. But he takes his time, as if to set you on edge. “Come down here,” he says at last. There’s not a single note of inflection in his voice, lethally soft, whispering effortlessly across the marble of the front entrance.

Your features remain set in their hard, bland line, gazing down at him with mild hatred. Whether it’s a side effect of the bond, or his natural terror as High Lord, something inherent warns you not to disobey, reluctantly descending the stairs, glittering black dress still clinging to your body, hair a ragged mess at your shoulders, lips likely stained and eyes smudged from the kohl.

“What do you want?” You repeat lowly, bare feet settling on the floor, level with him. Darkness seems to whisper at his back, thrumming throughout the halls, muffling all those usual noises, becoming abruptly silent. Vibrations dying in his wake.

Cold, violet eyes run over you appraisingly, though he makes no comment over your dishevelment, and it’s somehow worse than if he had struck the mark. As if he knows he doesn’t need to sink that low to hit where it hurts, biding his time to deliver the fatal wound.

“Can you guess why I’m here?” He asks softly, wrath underlying his poisoned tone, hairs prickling at the nape of your neck. Your pulse spikes as his attention skims the lavish halls, entirely empty, before turning for the door that will lead him to the sitting room. “I’m too tired for your games, Rhys,” you mutter bitterly, following after him warily. “There’s nothing playful about the decision that’s about to be made,” he replies icily, nodding to one of the sofas as you pass by. “Sit down.”

“I think I’ll remain on my feet,” you say with forced calm.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, features remaining cold and disinterested. Warning chimes drill up your spine, alarming you to the off-ness about him. The tautness to his usually elegant movements, fluid and lethal. Now cut to something harsher, hewn to something more brutal.

“Tell me,” he orders quietly, “why you think I’m here.”

You stare at him silently. Sullenly. Stinging all over your body.

“You wanted to say hello?” You say at last, lacking any humour to the response, too drained to muster up even a spark of emotion.

The edges of his mouth quirk, no mirth to be found in his face. A grin a he would have given Under the Mountain. A grin you’ve come to despise, and one you thought would never be shown again. Sharp, glittering talons prickle at your mental shields, hardened to steel on their outer walls, utterly impenetrable without permission.

Or so you had thought.

In one clean slice, the razors have cut through your adamant as if it were fatty flesh. Not a single brittle bone impeding the clean incision. Shock paralyses you, breath stolen as that faint grin ices over, threat now rolling visibly from his shoulders, darkness condensing into something almost solid, gaining density as it slinks closer to the ground.

The sound of skin smacking against skin cuts through your mind, a sharp inhale stolen after, shuddering gasps rasping through the silence, followed by panicked footsteps as she flees. Your cheek burns, feeling the metal bite of jewelled knuckles upon rubbed-raw skin.

Fingers rise, trembling as you check absently for a mark, brushing lightly across the afflicted area self-consciously.

“Why do you think I’m here?” He repeats, the whisper as quiet as a last breath on dying lips, cold and utterly lifeless.

For the first time in three hundred years, terror filters through your veins. Cloying, and dominating, pinning down and twisting your senses. “It was for good reason,” you breathe, becoming acutely aware of the lethal brush of darkness. A single touch that could reduce you to a red mist.

“Stop,” he says, quiet and sharp, like scissors snicking through hair. “You’ve been toeing the line for a while now, and that was the last step you’ll take in my city.”

My city. Velaris.

Your mouth opens to speak, nausea rising, stomach twisting as emotions begin to seep back into your body, satiating your mind with painful vibrancy. But the words are stuck in your throat. You stare at him, eyes round and wide, at once blank and contorted with raw feeling. Rushing and spilling as guts twine together, restitching themselves after being sliced across the floor.

“You’re an infection,” he hisses lowly, talons tightening at your neck, and you remain helpless. Powerless. “I don’t care for whatever excuse you’ll try to spin. I’m done with you. We all are.”

The talons retract, and air burns at your lungs, nostrils and eyes prickling as you gasp, hunched over, stomach spasming enough you think you might vomit again, and you’re thankful you didn’t put anything in it. The thought of reaching for your own magic hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Whatever remarks you want to make, I will tolerate. You are, and have always been your own person,” he says lowly, prowling forward on predator’s feet. “But the second you lay a hand on one of my people, it’s over. You will not return from it.”

“I hardly even touched her,” you choke out, lip curled back from your teeth, emotion thrashing and raging against your ribs, volatile in your blood as you stare up at him. At once having given you everything, and left you with nothing.

“I saw the memory,” he hisses, “she told me what happened. How you treat—” His nostrils flare, freezing in his tracks. Pupils dilate then contract to slits, and you stare as he turns on his feet, making for the closed kitchen door. Where the blood soaked rugs and sheets remain.

“Rhys…” you rasp, stumbling forward. “Rhysand.”

The smell of iron is sharp, bursting throughout the room with a potent tang, saturating the air with its distinctive metallic scent. The water is a deep red, concentrated with cold blood, almost opaque with its thickness.

The High Lord is utterly still in the doorway, taking in the devastation of the kitchen, some of the sheets laying strewn wetly across the floor, and it occurs to you he will not know that it is your blood dripping across the white tiled floors. That’s it’s your blood staining the pristine surfaces.

Undiluted terror crushes into you a second before his own darkness does, breaking across your skin as you’re flung across the room, smacking against the ground as the air is knocked from your chest. Your ears ring with the impact, lips parted, back arched in pain, hands trembling as memories flash across your skin.

You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor, he had said.

You stare up at cold, merciless violet.

Both of you know what he’s just done, but only one of you cares.

Words fail you, unable to admit to your own stupidly self-inflicted disciplines. Shame ruptures across your skin, unable to move from the shock of being floored in a heartbeat, after having had centuries to put between the last memory of pain this deep. It always scars more when it’s from someone close by.

“I don’t know when you lost yourself,” he breathes heavily, staring down at you, twisted and warped from the force of his magic. “I don’t know when, or how, or why. And I don’t care.” The words break on your skin like whips, cracking and splitting still-healing flesh to put the pain deeper. “You hurt one of my people,” he hisses lowly, watching as you struggle to your feet, limbs moving disjointedly from pain he’s unable to see.

He takes a step forward, and you have to force your legs not to stumble back, to hold strong as he prowls closer, night rippling through the room. “Many people are hurt in your city,” you grit out, “many people are hurt in your court. And yet you’re finding fault with me?” You shake your head sharply, glaring at him from beneath your brow. “You went too far,” he hisses, the sound like hail and ice slicing skin. “Every day you pushed a little harder, and I let it slide because I thought you needed the freedom, that you needed to at last understand you were free of her.”

“Fucking shut your mouth,” you spit, death leaking across the floor, rising to meet his own.

Both of you know who would win this battle, but you don’t seem to care any more.

“I kept my mouth shut for too long,” he counters, striding closer and magic sparks and crackles, tendrils colliding then recoiling as it’s mixed in the confined space, pressure building in your fingertips. “I let you get away with too much. Leeching off Az until even his patience ran out. Putting Mor down because you couldn’t stand to see someone from your own position escape, and live. We offered you help and you chose to walk away.”

Fury lacerates through your heart, burning at your mind as you meet his step, moving forward as you bare your teeth, the house quaking as more power is funnelled into it’s contained space. “You dragged me beneath that godsforsaken mountain, Rhysand,” you hiss lowly, “I stayed with you for fifty godsdamn years, while they got to stay here, because I was the one who was common knowledge.” You shove at his chest, but he hardly budges. “I was there for you, whenever you fucking needed me. So don’t you dare try and spin betrayal on me.”

“It is your duty to stay by my side,” he snarls, hand gripping your jaw in a vice-like hold, muscle spasming beneath his touch. “Everyone suffered in those years. Everyone sacrificed something. Everyone had something taken from them.”

“You chose them over me!” You spit, nails tearing at the rough skin of his knuckles as heat burns at your eyes. “You protected them. You suffered, and gave up pieces of yourself for them. None of it was for me.”

He stares at you, unreadable emotion raging behind writhing violet, lips parted as darkness rumbles through the house. “Why would it be for you?” He whispers, still staring at you. “You’re so wrapped up in your own life you forget anyone else exists.”

“You’re lying,” you mutter, “that’s a fucking lie, and you know it.”

“You threatened to bring their father back from the dead,” Rhys snarls, the damper on his power coming clean off, air growing thin as pressure crushes down on your bones, too much to possibly be contained.

“I don’t care if you’re bound to me until the day that I die,” he hisses, and you can feel that fatal strike being prepared to wound. “I don’t care if you have no way to disobey me should I give you an order. I don’t care if I could command you to never abuse your magic like that again.”

“Rhys…” you breathe, staring at him, fear bubbling away. You’d told Azriel he would never touch the bond, that he would never do that to you, and yet… “Rhys, don’t…”

“I can’t,” he hisses, defeat lining his features.

Relief washes over you like a wave of cool water, shoulders slumping from their tension, magic beginning to dissipate.

He shakes his head, a lock of neat, blue-black hair falling out of place. “But if you aren’t out of Velaris by the time the sun rises tomorrow…”

He’s in front of you in a flash, but your power doesn’t respond. Not as he appears before you, or as his hand slides around your throat. Not even as he forces a bargain upon your flesh, ink burning as it’s stamped in plain sight.

“You will not only lose your powers over death, but your life, too.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut

#azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #heart dividers by cafekitsune

[wolfiesmoon]

Hiiii! (I hope this is the place to make requests aaaaa haven’t done this in a W H I L E) but can I request pocky challenge headcanons for Floyd, Vil, and Idia? :)

Hope you’re having a great week and I love your writing :D

the way i freaked out over receiving this omg i'm so happy u like my writing😭😭😭

i love pocky challenge fics and you really fed me with the characters you chose since I have like 3467346826428 vil and idia drafts i can't get into rn. also we already know how my brain is rotting over floyd the eel boy at the moment

ALSO ALSO ALSO you aren't dating yet in these!! you're still just friends (but not for long😈)

(@kairiscorner i borrowed ur idea of picking out what flavour would fit them to add a little spice, I hope u don't mind!)

☾⋆⁺₊ Floyd Leech + Pocky Colorful

he gets really excited when you pull out the box of pockies 😆i mean, sharing food with you????? that's, like, the third best thing he can do with you!

and these pockies look rlly funny too, what does "colorful" even taste like? He's kinda in a mood to find out 😌

and gets even MORE excited when you mention the challenge!!!!

I mean, kissing AND sharing food with you?! he calls that a win for sure 😤😤😤😤

you're rlly surprised at how casual he is about it considering you just challenged him to try and kiss you essentially

but okay, i guess it is kinda Floydcore to just casually agree to a pocky game with no blushing or getting flustered (i suppose this means he likes you back??? what a mystery he is...)

you laugh to yourself at the silly grin on his face as u pull out a pocky and place one end into your mouth, leaning towards him to let him take the other end

he does so and you close your eyes, feeling kinda giddy all of a sudden

but you can still feel his downturned peepers staring a hole into you, curious to see every facial movement and reaction you may have👁️👁️

he must be really excited then!! (even if you feel extremely unsettled rn)

you slowly bite down on the stick, getting nervous. you can definitely hear him crunching on it too...

you can feel his breath, your noses bump for a moment and you think "THIS IS IT THIS IS IT THIS IS IT"

but then you hear a *snap* and the pocky falls out of your mouth... what just happened?

"I bit into it a bit too hard..." You open your eyes to see Floyd pouting like a toddler who was told he can't have candy

"It's okay, we can do it again!" you take out another pocky stick, placing the end in your mouth and looking at him expectantly

must be hard having such sharp teeth sometimes💔

"Now I don't feel like it anymore." Floyd huffed, getting up and walking away💀

That little... you still love him anyway tho🤷🏻

☾⋆⁺₊ Vil Schoenheit + Apple Yogurt Pocky

initially, he'd refuse since pockies are sweets and he needs to watch his sugar if he wants to keep his model figure and his clear skin

but he supposes sugar is nice to enjoy every once in a while (especially if he gets to share it with you)

but THEN you ask him if he's ever heard of the pocky challenge before😈

"I have heard of it in passing but I don't know what is actually is, why?" he raises an eyebrow, recalling some comments from his fans talking about it after the Pocky commercial he was in

"Becauuuuse, I think you should do it with me." you blink at him innocently before going on to explain the rules and seeing his eyes widen 😌

"So, what you're saying is... If neither of us back out, we kiss?"

WAIT WHAT

You actually expected him to turn you down immediately and chew you out for even making the suggestion since you're just friends but this certainly took a turn for the better

"Precisely." you smirked

"Just so you know, I'm not one to back out once I set my mind onto something." he smirked back at you, taking out a pocky stick from the box and placing it in front of your mouth for you to bite onto

the stick slowly begins to get smaller as your lips inch closer to his and you grip the couch you're currently sat on nervously

You take another bite and suddenly feel his lips on yours🤭

SUCCESS! SUCCESS! SUCCE-

"Oh? This is an interesting flavour~"

wait... you recognise that voice😨

"ROOK?!" the two of you separated and yelled at the same time, then turned your heads to see Rook casually enjoying your Pocky beside you

"Did you both enjoy the flavour as well?" Rook smiled innocently at you, taking out another one from the box

Vil pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling something under his breath while you just sat there in shock🧍🏻

☾⋆⁺₊ Idia Shroud + Sakura Pocky

being the candy enjoyer that he is, he would never turn down free pocky (especially not his favourite... which speaking of, how did you know that one is his favourite?)

(ortho supplied you with that information)

however, his smile dropped when you started talking about the challenge all of a sudden

and he became all red instead🤭

"You got all that?" you asked, waving the pocky stick in front of his face with an innocent smile

"D-Do I- Do I...."

babe, he cannot form a sentence right now, much less process anything you just told him. you cannot POSSIBLY expect him to give you a clear answer right now🙄

"Oh, do you not wanna do it? That's fine." you get up, ready to leave (you're doing this on purpose, manipulation is key😈)

but no, seriously, you weren't going to make him do anything he was uncomfortable with, and you kinda expected a reaction like this anyways😭

"N-No, No, I want to..." he grabs onto your sleeve awkwardly, literally shaking from embarrasment

you're actually kinda worried, will he even survive till the whole kiss part?

No time like the present to find out, you suppose

you place the pocky in your mouth, waiting for him to bite into the other end. he does and immediately screws his eyes shut, WAAAY too embarrased to look at you

the distance between the two of you slowly closes but when there's just a bit of the pocky stick left he lets go and immediately runs away, hair slightly red at the ends😫

"Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god...." he whispers to himself over and over, thinking about how he almost kissed you just now

atleast he got to eat his favourite flavour...????

"Did it fail?" Ortho came out of his hiding spot and you nodded, pouting slighly☹️

"That's plan G crossed off the list. You wrote down '7 minutes in heaven' for plan H. Though I do not know what that is, I will assist you in any way I can."

#˗ˏˋ ★ ♡ 「Wolfie’s other works」 ♡ ★ ˎˊ˗ #pink heart dividers by cafekitsune!!!!! #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x mc #twisted wonderland x yuu #twst x mc #twst x you #twst x y/n #floyd leech x yuu #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech x y/n #floyd x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil x yuu #vil schoenheit x yuu #idia shroud x yuu #idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #idia x yuu

[songsofadelaide]

King Laios x succubus!reader who are both doomed by the (my) narrative™️ because: he is being pressured to find a wife to secure the future of the kingdom but he simply cannot help his fascination with the only (not so) monstrous creature that managed to bypass the Winged Lion's curse— a succubus who was shunned by her coven because of her lack of appeal and inability to seduce victims.

You swore that you weren't there to steal his life force, which easily convinces Laios to strike up a friendship with you (despite Marcille and Kabru's dissuasion). You visit him every night to converse with him about kingdom affairs. He doesn't ask questions about how you feed and maintain yourself since he considers it a private matter. You bond over his desire to see monsters again and your wish to form a more meaningful tie with humans.

The more time you spent together, the more you realised just how enticing his energy was to you, so you disappeared— not wanting your growing desires to pose a threat to the only human who saw you as an equal, who saw you as a friend.

Many years pass but Laios never married, opting for the wisest men of the kingdom to select his successor among the most brilliant men of the land instead. He often wondered where you were and what you were doing. Some nights, you let your curiosity get the better of you and check in on him, and you feel somewhat relieved that he shared his bed with no one else.

One night, he caught you leaving through his window and cornered you. He asked you where you've been and what you've been up to, and even commented about how your beauty hasn't changed even after all those years. You remarked on how handsome he still is even though he is already an old man. He finally asked you the most taboo thing of all: what did you feed on?

(You tell him the truth: You fed on the life force of living creatures— not enough to hurt them, though— rather than having intercourse with men. How could you bring yourself to harm humans after being friends with one?)

Laios was both pleased and relieved with your answer. He then offered you to take his remaining life force, eventually admitting that he wanted to offer it to you long ago but was afraid you'd rebuff him or be offended. You granted him a night of blissful dreams but not enough to bring him to his grave and vanished from his life for good— in fear you might kill him from loving him too much.

#songsofadelaidewrites💛 #mari's prompts 🎠 #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #laios touden x reader #laios x reader #laios dungeon meshi #things i can't stop thinking abt lol #i break my own heart sometimes #starry divider by @/cafekitsune

[kykyonthemoon]

Where The Ocean Whispers

Happy Rafayel's Day!

𓇼— The Lemurians use special seashells to transmit messages from their heart to one another. Would you like to try?

𓇼— Soft fluff, birthday fluff, confession

𓇼— Masterlist

𓇼— Request a fic

The waves brought layers of white foam to the shore, erasing the intertwined footprints, sand arches and tiny seashells covering two pairs of bare feet almost touching each other. Then, as if to wash away every worry, the cold water faded, leaving behind nothing except a sense of calm and coolness, with a sense of longing for the next wave. The crimson sun glistened well below the horizon, akin to a priceless ruby gradually sinking to the ocean floor.

"Look over there. The sea is swallowing your sun!”

A long finger of his gestured forward. Your gaze followed as you smiled. He was still reminded of the narrative you told about your childhood when you thought that every night, the sun would sink into the sea and rest.

“Now the whole ocean will be warmed, in red and orange, right?” You replied. That was what he said after hearing your story. He seemed so happy and content that you could still remember it and recite every word.

“Maybe we can't paint the sea the color of the sun,” your voice continued, “But we can do this…”

All of a sudden, you hurled water high with your foot. The cool water reached him, splashing a bit on his white shirt. He rolled his eyes at you.

“So you do enjoy being playful like this?”

He bent down, gathered the entire ocean in his hands then flung it in your direction. Like a very gentle wave, seawater fell on your hair and light garment.

After the celebration was over, he and you raced outside to catch the sunset over the sea, leaving your coats and shoes behind. Both of you were drenched.

"That's not fair!" You gave a loud shout. “Did you do that on purpose?”

With a big chuckle, he answered, "That's what we refer to as the blessing of the sea." You have to accept it all.”

“You are the birthday boy. Here, take it all!”

You kept splashing him with saltwater. He persisted nonetheless. Before long, your entire bodies was soaked.

“That's enough, Rafayel. I give up!”

You surrendered by raising both hands. You felt a bit chilled by the breeze. Rafayel hauled you right up to the shore. You had no idea when he had a big towel ready there. He wrapped it around you.

“Hurry. Dry yourself.”

You obediently did as told. Then you gave him another glance. Water dripped from his dark purple curls, framing his small, flawless face. You couldn't take your eyes off the damp shirt that adhered to his body, exposing lines that made you flush. Rafayel took one look at you and immediately covered himself with both hands.

“I'm aware that my beauty can stun others. But if you keep staring at me like that, it would not be proper anymore."

You hid your embarrassed face behind the cotton towel. With a smile, Rafayel enquired:

"So? Do you want to go back inside?”

You gave him a firm shake of your head. “I want to stay here a little longer.”

Not that Rafayel objected. He accompanied you on your beach stroll. You remained quiet. You did not want to go back partly because you could not bear to see the day ended.

It was Rafayel's birthday. You had carefully prepared for an intimate party, with only a few people from his studio and family members attending. You personally made the cake for him and prepared everything yourself. But your heart was still restless as you kept carrying the feeling that this was not enough. You had yet to give him what he truly needed.

You continued to ponder. Rafayel needed what? He was wealthy and famous. He was exceptionally gifted, and he may have lived an extended lifespan. Giving something to someone who has had everything is impossible. If you could give him your heart, you would do so. In a symbolic sense.

Between you and Rafayel was a feeling without a name.

You started off as merely his reluctant bodyguard, someone to take care of his errands. You were not sure when exactly, but the image of him planted roots in your mind like the way he frequently appeared in front of you, provoking you. He was adorable and obnoxious all at once. Although he posed a threat, being around him gave you a sense of security. But you never, ever dared to speak it aloud. Perhaps you were afraid. You feared that the relationship would fizzle out like sea foam the moment you began seeking to give it a name. You made an effort to suppress that emotion, but it kept returning, much like waves finding their way back to the shore.

"What's off?" Rafayel enquired. He came to a stop. His expression was undoubtedly showing concern.

"I'm alright." You dismissed him with a shake of your head. Your heart raced whenever you were close to him. The feeling of being on cloud nine, at the same time realizing that a bottomless black hole was waiting at your feet made you about to lose your mind. You hated this feeling, yet also addicted to it. Like the way you were addicted to his very existence. Perfect like a dream.

His cool hand was placed on your forehead. He frowned and said:

“It seems your temperature is a bit high.”

You retreated a step, rejecting his touch. It was as if there was poison from his body that would seep into your heart, and you would drive yourself to a slow death if you could not touch him again.

“I'm fine.” With a resolute reply, you took a seat on the sand, a little wet from the waves. “I'm just a little tired… Let me sit here for a bit…”

Rafayel looked at you with a puzzled expression. He was curious to know what else you were planning to do. But you hid your face in the white towel. He sighed.

"I'll go fetch you some exquisite seashells then. Maybe it will make you feel better.”

You gave a little nod, glancing at Rafayel's back as it absorbed the last bit of sunlight on a peaceful day. This scene was a bit familiar, like the first time you had by chance met him on the street.

Rafayel knelt to get something that the waves had just carried. He held it tenderly in his palm, studied it for a moment, and then came over to you.

“Look what I've just found.” A fairly large shell weaved together in shades of orange-red and ivory-white was what he held out in front of you. You had never seen a shell with such a special hue like this before.

"So beautiful!" You exclaimed as Rafayel plopped down next to you on the sand. Your heart raced again as he sat so near.

“You know, the Lemurians often use shells like this to transmit messages to each other.”

He twisted it in his hand to examine it more closely before placing it in your palm.

“Do you want to give it a shot?”

You raised the shell quite a bit. Its hue was nearly identical to that of the horizon's sunset. You said:

“Show me how to do it.”

“Just tell the seashell what you want to say the most right now.”

“Is that all?”

“Yup. That's all. But what you say to it must come from the heart. It will find the person whom you want to send this to, no matter where they are.”

You looked at Rafayel. He appeared so honest, but this story was too much of a fairy tale and not very realistic. You did not know if he was just making this up to tease you. Then again, you once thought the Lemurians never existed. But here he was, sitting next to you.

You put the seashell to your lips, gave him another glance, and then murmured something to it.

Once you were done, you gave it to Rafayel.

“It's yours.”

His lips curled into a dazzling smile, as though he knew you would give it back to him.

“Hmmm.” Rafayel took the shell and leaned it close to his ear. He gestured as if he was concentrating hard to listen. Then he said with disappointment evident on his face: “I don't hear any message.”

"What? How is that possible?" You were impatient.

“Do you want to try again?”

He returned the shell to your hand. This time, you took a deep breath and looked at him while whispering your thoughts.

“Still nothing.” After listening to it for a second time, Rafayel said. “Are you sure you sent the message with all your heart?”

You replied sullenly: "Of course... Maybe since I'm not a Lemurian, I can't make it work."

Rafayel held your hand and put the shell in it. “Try it once more?”

"I doubt that anything will be different this time around." You gazed at the shell in your hand with boredom. “I was just going to… give you one more gift to make your birthday special…”

“My day is already quite special.” Rafayel's bright smile made the distant sunset dim, and suddenly you caught his warmth. “Thank you so much, for organizing a party for me. To be honest, though, I don't like partying as much as going to the sea with you like this."

Listening to his words, you found yourself smiling. You took off the towel that was wrapped around you, letting it fall freely onto the sand. You held the brilliant seashell in your hands, this time determined to let him hear your heart out.

Rafayel nodded and smiled at you as encouragement. You closed your eyes tightly, and lips slightly parted. You had a feeling that it could read my thoughts whether you said them out loud or not.

I really like, really like, really like Rafayel.

I like the way you concentrate when holding a paintbrush, as if the whole world is spread out before your eyes.

I like your terrified look when surrounded by cats.

I like it when you overdo things or act like a drama queen just to get my attention.

I like the bright colors you paint in my sky when it's gray.

I like the way you tease and then comfort me.

I like how your gentle touches are enough to keep me up at night.

I like everything about you.

Maybe, I love you, Rafayel. So much.

The shell was brought towards Rafayel, but halted midway. You wavered. Once he knew your feelings, would he still be by your side? Or would he throw this shell into the ocean along with your heart, letting it dissolve into bubbly white foam?

Rafayel looked at you and smiled. Even though he had laughed many times, you'd never seen him as happy as he was at that moment. There was an increased shine in his eyes, as if pearls were rising to the surface and ready to burst out the corners of his eyes. Happiness. You had never captured such a genuine moment of pure happiness like this.

He took the shell from your hand, but there was no need to listen to it anymore. He leaned closer to you and whispered:

“The words from your heart have been received by the person you wanted to send them to… You have no idea how long he waited just to hear those words… I love you too. So much."

When you felt soft lips touching yours, little did you know; that Lemurian man had heard what you said the first time he put his ear to the shell. He merely wanted to hear it one more time, and another. He wanted to hear you confess being able to confess to you; this day, the day after, and the day after that...

Until the ocean runs dry.

#rafayel's birthday #fanfic #fanfiction #love and deepspace #heart hunters series #moments with rafayel #rafayel x mc #rafayel x f!reader #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #love and deepspace fanfic #dividers by cafekitsune; #divider by saradika; #lnd #l&d #lad #qi yu #homura #qi yu x reader #homura x reader #love and deepspace rafayel #lad rafayel #lad x reader #lads x reader

[bleach-your-panties]

🌶️/🍰/🍫 (your choice on which one) for Tamaki, please? (Sorry; am braindead rn--)

🍫🌶️Tamaki has always really liked you - ever since you joined his class in your second year.

You're academically bright and your presence lightens up a room, much like how his best friend Mirio does. The two of you are the sun while he is the darkened side of the moon.

Which is why it doesn't come as a surprise when you and Mirio start dating.

Tamaki is devastated because he wants you all to himself.

You are completely unaware of Tamaki's crush on you, though.

So when he asks you over to his dorm room to study for an upcoming test, you don't see the harm in it.

That is until he's got you pressed up against your bed's headboard, your skirt rose high on your waist and your panties around your ankles while he finger-fucks you roughly.

His long, dexterous fingers are covered in your slick while his other hand covers your mouth, concealing your loud whimpers from Mirio who's on the other side of your door asking if you want to go grab dinner.

His indigo bangs brush your cheek and his long tongue flicks out to lick up your tears.

"Only me, bunny. You'll cum only for me from now on. Right?"

#tamaki amajiki #tamaki amajiki smut #tamaki smut #tamaki amajiki x reader smut #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki headcanons #tamaki dark headcanons #💗💗🍡°mha headcanons #💗💗🍡°mha masterlist #💗💗🍡°just for funzies #💗💗🍡°ask box #💗💗🍡°mooties #💗💗🍡°yfneccentric #dc divider edited by me #heart divider by cafekitsune

[milky-aeons]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘, 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘

౨ৎ . . . there was a saying in the port mafia; that amongst their ranks hid an angel in disguise, who, through simple words alone, could make any man bend to her mercy. nobody could really resist her blinding charm. her mafioso boyfriend, of course, was no exemption.

౨ৎ . . . alternatively, you convince CHUUYA NAKAHARA to try on a maid's uniform. You like it a lot more than you thought.

warnings: criminal themes, swearing, female reader, slight manipulation, pet-names, suggestive content, w.c 1.9k

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄, at first. For your stout, temperamental mafioso lover was always such a pleasure to tease. He took everything so seriously, in that adorable, flustered way of his. Not many would think that the Chuuya Nakahara was so easy to work up. He commanded soldiers, legions; men were terrified of the underground General who was also a mortal master of gravity. Maybe it was a side to him he kept reserved just for you. That soft, cheeky side. The blush that always heated his ears to the colour of his hair whenever you decided to play with him.

"No fuckin' way."

You stood there in the bedroom you both shared — lavish and expensive, sitting on one of the highest floors of the Port Mafia's headquarters. He had already discarded his coat and hat, was busy scratching the crown of his head when you had put the question to him. Interrupting his yawn mid-way. Chuuya's eyebrows had scrunched, he'd shot you a disbelieving retort — the hell did you just say? Then, he caught sight of what was draped across your bent forearm.

His eyes had flickered from yours, to the dress, to yours, once more. When he asked you to say that again, that he didn't think he had heard you right, he had shut you down with that very blunt denial.

"Please?" You pouted, batting your eyelashes. "It's just a bit of fun. You'd look so adorable, Chuuya!"

"Hah?! No!" Chuuya snapped. He was like an angry kitten, his canines sharp and baring. "The fuck did you even get that thing, anyway?"

"I think Mori ordered the wrong size for Elise-chan," You held up the dress so it draped down, almost the length of your body, but not quite. It just barely sat a size too small. With its narrow set waist and countless little frills, you were, at first, a little disappointed — that such a pretty thing was going to go to waste. And then, the gears in your mind began their mischievous little tune. You looked at Chuuya with wide, imploring eyes. "Are you scared to put on a dress, my love?"

Chuuya scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not scared of anything, baby doll."

"Then put it on."

"Go fuck yourself."

"You're so mean!"

At your wounded tone, the General's shoulders tightened a little. When he stole a glance in your direction, he saw the way your eyebrows drooped over your sad doe eyes, how your full lips formed that pretty little pout. Damn him, he was not considering this shit, there was absolutely no way Chuuya Nakahara was going to fit himself into that ugly piece of cloth just to make you happy. Murder, espionage — sure. For you, he wouldn't even give it a second thought. It would come as natural to him as breathing air.

But this?

He poked his cheek with his tongue. He began angrily tapping his foot against the carpeted floor. Stealing a second glance at the woman he loved, he caught the shadow of disappointment hanging over your head like an ominous raincloud, and felt the last shred of his resistance dissipate into sorry little afterthoughts.

Chuuya let out an extremely exaggerated sigh. Blinking, you glanced at him. He had his head bowed a little and was holding out one open, gloved palm.

"Hand it over."

A little startled all of a sudden, you gawped, making a strange sound. "Huh?"

An impatient growl echoed in the air. Chuuya looked up to glare at you from underneath his fair lashes, his eyes the colour of diamonds, of hard impenetrable sapphires. They narrowed dangerously when you were staring too long at the rose that blushed against his alabaster skin.

"So? Are ya gonna give me the shitty little thing, or not?"

Quickly understanding that he was actually taking you seriously, that he was considering your little charade, you had become too stupefied to do anything else. With hesitant fingers did you hold the maid's dress out to him, which he snatched from your grip in one forceful, swiping movement. You thought you caught the ends of the fuckin' shit I do for this woman, at the tail of it, but you couldn't be totally sure.

Seething, Chuuya balled the garment in his fist and marched off to your on-suite bathroom. He took a little longer than you expected him to — of course, he had never tried on a dress before. Maybe he was having trouble getting past all the ribbons and buttons, ties and zippers.

"Fuck me!" You heard him swear through the door after a few more moments of silence. Tender chuckles rose like bubbles in your chest — he was trying so hard to please you, exposing that soft side you kept under lock and key, only for yourself to indulge.

You lifted your hand to knock softly on the door. "Do you need some help in there?"

A growling blue-streak of profanities. Somehow, becoming more colourful and creative than the last. "How the hell do you women wake up in the morning and do this shit, every day? There's like, a million buttons on this ugly piece of crap!"

Crashing and banging mixed into the collection of sounds that was coming from the small bathroom. Amused, but also a little worried that he'd pull a little too hard on one of the ribbons and fall backwards against the toilet seat, you placed your hand on the golden doorhandle.

"Because us women are just that amazing," You mused, not resisting the urge to goad him. Your voice then dropped into a serious lilt. "Really, it's okay, Chuuya — you don't have to—"

That was when you felt it — the cool, insistent press of gravity, the humming in the air that told you your lover had activated his fearful technique. Your eyes shot down to where it was coming from, and to your immediate surprise, you saw the soft glow of crimson enveloped around the handle you were trying to unlatch — holding it securely in place.

"No. I said I'd fuckin' do it, didn't I?" Chuuya remarked through the wood. "So I will. Go wait over at the bed."

Prideful, stubborn man, you thought, rolling your eyes at his defensive tone, oh, how you loved him. "Okay." You sang sweetly, then stepped away from the bathroom door so as to sashay over to your expansive king size. You barely had a chance to set yourself down on the satin sheets when — bang!

The on-suite door had been thrown off of its hinges and cracked against the neighbouring wall with the force he put behind it. And standing there in the doorway in all his blood-boiling, skin-heating, frill-covered glory, was that very General who instilled terror to even the most seasoned of underground criminals. The long black dress that stopped just at his ankles and puffed at the shoulders threw his wild fiery hair into focus. The frilly white apron hanging loosely at his narrow waist contested with the bright red flush creeping up his neck.

You must have been staring at him for a little too long, because Chuuya snarled. "You happy now? I look damn ridiculous."

You didn't laugh. Nor did you tease him, as always, but you rose slowly up off of the bed and began to walk over to him. Stalk him, quietly, your expression a smooth, unreadable slate. The extreme lack of a reaction from you was making Chuuya's eyebrows knit, his lips softening from snarl to frown.

"O-Oi?"

When you reached him, you shot out to grab the little lapels of the dress that collared his long neck and tugged him down. So that he came just eye level with your own darker, smouldering ones. Oh, you were going to pounce on him. Packaged up in that pretty little parcel for you, you were going to devour him where he stood.

You smiled, leaning in, and whispered, "Told you you'd look absolutely adorable, my pretty, pretty boy."

✎ . . . requested by the lovely @ringsofsaturnnnn!

WRITING REQUESTS

#oh i absolutely loved writing this one #it was so fun #chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd #chuuya fluff #bsd chuuya #🎋 — writing requests #line divider by fireflygraphics <3 #adorable heart dividers by cafekitsune

[avaxindy]

come over?

fratboy!indy x reader | minors dni | happy b-day indy

summary: late at night, indy texts you. it’s ambiguous. he doesn’t say why. since you’re just friends, you don’t assume anything by it. but when you arrive at his frat house, things get really heavy really fast.

features: @hanasnx fanfiction, sexual content, dry humping, light choking, explicit language, friends to lovers?, emotional manipulation, slight dubious consent

Your phone vibrates once and then twice a minute later while you are washing your face. The first assumption is that your best friend is trying to convince you to go clubbing with her at the last minute because the baseball team was seen out. You’ll never understand her obsession with them. Just like she’ll never understand your obsession with Indy.

You’re just lucky that your types are polar opposite. Because everyone else seems to have eyes for him. Everyone. And of course, you understand. How could you not crush hard over him? He just has this... way about him that drives you crazy. You’re not even sure he does it intentionally.

After you dry your face and moisturize, you lean over and tap your phone screen. You nearly shriek when you see his name. And the message that reads: come over?

You curse yourself for taking off your pretty clothes and your makeup. Not that Indy ever minded you without makeup. But if you showed up like you look now, you worry he might not get the hint that you like him.

He’s never invited you to hang out this late before. Sometimes you’ll hang out late because your hangouts run overtime. But when you’re with him, you never want to leave. All you can do is hope that he might feel the same way too. The hours you’ve spent analyzing your friendship with Indy is humiliating. You pay attention to his Insta posts and Snap stories, noting where he is and who he’s with. At every frat party hosted by his fraternity, girls practically throw themselves at his feet, and you get jealous every time he flirts back. But to your knowledge it rarely progresses further than that. He has a few exes from his years at the school, but they’ve always spoken highly of him.

You suspect that they’re the ones who have spread rumors about what he can do under the sheets. It’s something that he keeps very private. You suppose a guy like him doesn’t need to brag about his conquests. Girls just know. And you’re drawn to the confidence he gives off.

But what started as you trying to hook up with him ended in you inevitably wanting something more. You’d love to be his girlfriend. And everyone says that he likes you a lot, everyone but him. He’s not so direct about his feelings with you.

There was one time at the movies he leaned in to whisper something in your ear, and you swore he was going to kiss you. To this day you have no clue what he told you. You were too anxious to pay attention to his words. The sensation of his breath against your skin was too much for you to handle.

The truth is... you might not be able to take it if he actually wants you. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. Having what you have wanted all along seems like something that only happens in the movies.

As you frantically reapply your makeup, he texts you again: why aren’t u in my bed rn

While that might seem like he’s texting you for sex, Indy has a special kind of humor that you understand. He’s really just saying that he misses you.

You type out a quick response: Promise im about to leave.

He just hearts the message.

You pick out your outfit, electing for a lulu tennis skirt and a cropped hoodie. The worst thing to do in this situation would be to overdress.

When you pull up to his frat house, you realize that you should have walked from your dorm. There’s a party going on, and parking is shit. You have to park from across the street in a big lot, empty this time of the day. His frat house is at the end of the row. It’s a long and annoying walk, but it’s worth it to spend time with him although you really weren’t in the mood for a party. You have an 8am class tomorrow (Friday).

Passing by, you spot his black Camaro in his parking space up front. You know it’s his from the dark-green stripe on the side. He teases you that he owns that color. He calls it Indy green.

The guys running security for the event immediately let you in when you come up to the door. You figure they must know who you are because you’re always here during the day. Actually, you were here this morning studying with Indy. He has a test tomorrow. Maybe he invited you over for a quick cram session. You should have brought your backpack.

People are crammed elbows to elbows in the little two-story. Outside too. Half of the campus must be here. You finally find a familiar face, one of the younger pledges, and you ask him where Indy is. He points upstairs. Maybe Indy wasn’t in the mood for a party. You’ll ask him later.

He lives in the first room after the staircase. He likes it because he only has one neighbor.

You knock first. A couple seconds later, he answers. Evanescence plays in the background softly. You think... it’s a song from Fallen, but you can’t be sure. Knowing him it probably is.

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the door frame. He makes it look small. 

He waves you in. You notice his shiny black nails. He must have just painted them. You grab his hand as you enter and bring his fingers close to your eyes. He has model hands. His hands are decorated with thick and thin steel rings, silver and black. He curls his long fingers around yours.

“What’re you lookin’ at,” he laughs, an impish smirk spanning his lips. 

“They’re pretty, Indy.” You want to shove them in your mouth.

He pulls you along to his bed, and you sit beside him. Running a hand through his dark hair, he looks down at you and stares. His eyes sparkle. Something is different in the way he’s looking at you. You hope he feels it too.

“Did you want to study?” you ask, testing the waters. It’s the path of least resistance to find out why he asked you over.

He snorts and flicks the side of your arm. “Tonight? On a Thursday?”

You nod. “Yeah? You have a test tomorrow.”

“We studied. I’ve got it. I’m not worried.” He narrows his eyes. “Is that why you thought I wanted you to come over?”

“Maybe.”

He looks away and clasps his hands on his lap or picks at the tears in his faded jeans. “You’re wrong.”

“Why did you—”

Indy cuts you off. “Cause I wanted to spend time with you. Got tired of that fucking party ‘cause it’s shit without you. The guys told me not to bring a date this time.” Indy lies down on his bed, situating himself with his head on the pillow. He turns his body to face you.

In the midnight sheets, his skin is ghostlike. Sometimes you wonder if he’s just a figment of your imagination. He’s too pretty to be real.

You lie down beside him. This isn’t uncommon. He likes to cuddle sometimes when he’s in the mood. The metal beads on his leather bracelet are cold on your stomach. He holds you close to his chest for a minute or two before turning on his back to reach for the tv remote.

“Wanna watch something?” he asks, switching the tv on.

You shrug. “I don’t care. Only if you do.”

“If... you don’t care,” he whispers.

You don’t need to look up to know what he’s watching. Almost every time you guys hang out like this, he watches Batman Beyond. Hasn’t he seen it at least four times at this point? Nevertheless, you enjoy watching it with him. It’s really the only time you’ve witnessed him completely geek out over something. He’ll pause the show to answer any question you have. The way he comes alive when he talks to you about the things he adores is so precious to you. Even though you’re very, very familiar with the characters now, you still act like you aren’t, just so you can ask him about them. You like the way he explains things. He’s so confident, and it’s seductive, and you don’t want to wait anymore. You can’t. You need to kiss him. Maybe you should ask for permission, but you know he’d tease you for it. So, you decide to go for it while he’s lying there beside you.

Pushing up on the bed, you hover over him for a moment. Instantly, he notices and gazes into your eyes. Indy’s face is blank, void of all emotion and judgment. You can’t know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t let you. But you can’t back down. You’ve already committed to showing him what you want.

Indy’s lips are softer than you expected. Your mouth fits to his like puzzle pieces. You tangle your fingers in his hair. And he lets you kiss him for what feels like hours. You know that it’s only a moment truly. But you wish it could go on all night long.

Satisfied, you sit up, and he follows. He speaks first before you could even get a word in to explain yourself.

“If you wanted to kiss me, you could have just said it.”

Flustered, you look away. “I’m sorry. I’m so dumb, Indy. I know you don’t want me like that.”

“Who says?”

You only shrug. No one’s ever said that, but he’s never made it clear that he wants more than friendship

Indy leans close. He holds up his hand. “Can I grab you here?” Gently, he wraps his fingers around your neck like he wants to choke you.

You swallow and feel the motion of your throat collide with his skin. “Yes,” you whisper.

His grip tightens, not by much. As he falls on you, Indy pushes you down onto the bed, holding you by the neck. His sinful mouth devours yours as his weight crushes you into the pillows and bed sheets. The kiss turns wet when his tongue slips inside, and he explores you. Before Indy, you had always thought girls were just were exaggerating when they said he had his tongue down my throat

His bangs tickle your forehead and the side of your face. His hair almost reaches his shoulders now, but you like it long. It’s easier to tug on and play with, especially in moments like these. Between your fingers, his hair is taut silk darker than demons’ eyes. He moans into you when you tug, and he seems to like it hard.

When he’s finished, Indy leaves your mouth sensitive and wet with an exchange of fluids. You lick them, savoring the leftovers, and all you can think about is more. More from him. More of him.

His silver chains dangle around his neck and catch the dimmed bedroom light. Through the loose neckline of his shirt, you see milky skin, and you start to lift his shirt to touch him.

“Baby, you wanna go all the way, huh?” He lets go of your throat to take off his shirt. The dark fabric slides up his lithe body. His hair is tousled from the action. “Didn’t know you were that hot for me. Dammit, why did you wait so long to do something about it?”

“Why did you?” you look up at him with your eyes big and wide, lips pouting. It’s true. You had wanted him to move in on you first. But time had made you impatient.

“Didn’t wanna ruin us...” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist, nestling his face in the sweet curve of your neck. “What we have is so good.”

“I think it’s worth the risk,” you whisper.

He sighs lowly, very contently. “That’s just what I thought too.” He kisses your shoulder. And he starts grinding his hips into you, needing the friction, his budding erection digging into you already. “Want it now, baby?”

#heart divider by cafekitsune #ava x indy #indy x reader #indy smut #indy x reader smut #hanasnx #indy x you #hanasnx x reader #hanasnx smut #fratboy!indy

[jqnehr]

𓂃₊ ⊹ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

⟡ ꒰ 𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 ꒱ ⨾ he plays along. you want to be smart? two can play that game. he’s better at staying silent than you. although a bit confused at why he’s so content with remaining quiet and not whining about the attention you’re keeping from him, it doesn’t take you long to work out why. zayne’s probably glad to have a moment of reprieve from your seemingly unceasing chatter (that he enjoys, though he’ll never admit it) to read, work or eat in peace. so, it ends with you breaking the silence, and him giving you the silent treatment. he’s too slick for you.

⭒ ꒰ 𝐱𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 ꒱ ⨾ is absolutely sure he’s done something wrong. did he say something that struck a nerve without him realising it? is it because he threw your favourite t-shirt into the hamper last night? or is it because of the last two pieces of bread he burned in the toaster this morning, since he can’t cook to save his life? xavier wants to ask you why and what’s wrong, but he’s a bit afraid to. you get this wild glint in your eye whenever you’re pissed, and it actually scares him (but he’ll never admit it because, come on—him, a seasoned soldier, essentially, who kills wanderers without a blink, is afraid of his girlfriend? yes. yes, he is). so he gives you space, looking like a kicked puppy, and you fold, feeling awful about it. all’s well that ends well.

⊹ ꒰ 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 ꒱ ⨾ not only is he a yapper, but he’s a nagger. he’ll pester and pester and pester you, until you actually grow annoyed, and the silent treatment becomes real. then, he’ll leave post-it notes stuck around the place, with cute little illustrations of chibi-you with devil horns and fiery breath, and some of your favourite snacks next to it. rafayel’s like a little kid sometimes, with his pouting and whines and puppy-dog eyes, which never work on you. he spams you with texts of cooking videos, saying ‘we should make this tonight’, as if you guys have the ingredients to. ever clingy, he silently wraps his arms around your middle and buries his face into your neck, and you don’t have the heart to reject his touch. he’s an idiot, but when he sends you cat videos on an hourly basis even though he hates them, maybe he isn’t so bad.

im back with yet another cringeass headcanons list. this is me while writing this and y'all while reading it 🔥

#⌗ ༘ ⋆｡𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐒❜ works ! #love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace x reader #rafayel #zayne #xavier love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace x reader #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #banner up top by me! please do not use with or without credit <3 #hearts divider by @/cafekitsune #apart from the awful writing #I hope y'all enjoyed <3 #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x you #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #oracleofstars

[piichuu]

♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

LAST UPDATED: february 11th

KAMO CHOSO

TOGE INUMAKI

cute morning letters

NANAMI KENTO

cold mornings

taken by exhaustion

in sickness and in health

accepting weakness

reassuring kisses

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

cute lock screens

sick days

memories of life

paper rings

a melted heart

spilled out words

YUTA OKKOTSU

making a playlist

GOJO SATORU

late night

dancing in the rain

the comfort of him

an unwanted letter

forgotten days

racing thoughts

GETO SUGURU

07:15

fine line

ITADORI YUJI

his warm hold

HEADCANONS

sleeping on the couch after an argument - toge, nanami, megumi, yuta, gojo, geto, itadori

falling asleep on them - toge, nanami, megumi, yuta, gojo, geto, itadori

getting your attention - toge, nanami, megumi, yuta, gojo, geto, itadori

FICS

save your tears - nanami kento

SMAUS

the one and only cupid - fushiguro megumi

#heart divider by @cafekitsune

[zazter-den]

Stained Glass Circumstances

Series: Snippet 1, Current, Ch. 1 Foul-Mouthed Frit,

Synopsis- Captain Kirishima tries to focus on duty among the dogwoods of the onsen. Easier said than done.

Warnings- Servant Dynamics, Concubine Dynamics, Suggestive Themes, Hot Spring Setting.

Tags- Less explicit prologue, No Sex, Fantasy AU, Dragon!Kirishima, GuardCapt!Kiri,KingConsort!Reader, Black Haired Reader.

Word Count- 800 Prologue II

As Captain Kirishima traversed the dimly lit hallways, he couldn't help but catch whispers and curious glances from the castle servants and guests. The news of King Bakugou's latest acquisition—the very person he now cradled in his arms—was spreading like wildfire throughout the castle grounds.

The eyes of the castle staff, those less accustomed to the extremes of the king at least, lingered on the pair as they passed. Some glanced with genuine curiosity, while others showed a mix of respect and envy towards the Captain of the Guard. Yet, Kirishima's focus remained solely on the task at hand, one he cherished: ensuring your well-being after your night with the unconventional ruler.

Leaving the confines of the castle, he stepped into the castle courtyard, embraced by the stillness of the night. Above him, the starry sky spread like a sparkling blanket, the moon illuminating his path. The sweet scent of blooming dogwoods filled the air, their delicate petals scattered across the ground like silken confetti.

In the tranquil beauty of the gardens, still groggy from the earlier encounter with King Bakugou, you stirred in Kirishima's arms. The sound of a voice, drowsy and sweet, reached his ears as you expressed your appreciation for his assistance. He chuckled, the sound a pleasant rumble you could feel, and a warm smile graced his lips.

"It's my honor." Captain Kirishima replied, his deep voice laden with a tenderness only reserved for those closest to his heart. "Rest assured, you're in good hands." Barely restrained adoration for you lighting up his scarlet eyes.

Approaching the entrance of the hot spring cavern, you marveled at the sight before them same as every night, the Captain never failed to find your awe endearing. The cave was carved from a giant geode, its walls sparkling with an array of crystals that shimmered in the moonlight. Smooth pools held healing mineral water bubbled up through the tiny cracks and fissures below, warm water surrounded by the gentle embrace of towering dogwoods within the geode walls. Their delicate blooms added a touch of softness to the surroundings, the ombre petals floating upon the water's surface.

The most captivating feature of the structure was the giant hole in the ceiling—nature's own skylight. It allowed the moon's luminous rays to stream in, casting a ethereal glow on the warm pools. The combination of moonlight and crystal created a dreamlike ambiance, enchanting anyone who set foot in the cave.

Every night the sight would take your breath away. And every night Captain Kirishima would lose his in response.

He carefully set you down at the edge of your favored pool, turning away to offer privacy as you unwrapped the crimson Captain's cloak enveloping your tired body. It was a reminder of the boundaries that existed between them—the duty that he held to both his king and his own code. A boundary that Captain Kirishima knew he was beginning to toe.

With the warmth of the onsen air embracing them, you slowly entered the healing water, the delicate dogwood petals floating on the surface shifting as you made your way further in.

Turning back to face the water, to face you, Kirishima's heart ached as much as his sore body. His mind fully aware of the consequences that awaited him if he were discovered lingering.

But still, his gaze stayed on you, captivated by the sight of you wading closer to the ethereal glow of moonlight, surrounded by the enchanting ambiance of the cave. As you settled into the middle of the healing waters, Kirishima knelt by the pool's edge. Nights like these stirred a tender and treachorous longing within his heart. Despite his position as a loyal servant to the king, his feelings for you undoubtedly went beyond mere duty.

Gently, Kirishima reached down, trailing his bruised hand along the smooth surface of the water, ancient minerals slowly began to knit the laceration from this afternoon, causing ripples to dance across the pool's surface. The reflections of the stars and dark sky above seemed to come alive in the swirling water, mirroring the turbulent emotions within the captain's own heart.

He shouldn't be this close.

Kirishima reluctantly forced himself to stand. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, facing away from the pool, a quiet sigh escaped his lips. He knew he shouldn't have developed these feelings for one of the concubines of Bakugou, the barbaric royal he swore to serve. But the heart, the soul, has a way of weaving its own tapestry, ignoring the boundaries set by duty and loyalties.

The impacts from King Bakugou's winning blow during their sparring match still rattled his body, adding an additional injury to insult this time around. Residual pain etched on his face as he began to walk away from the steamy waters, towards the cavern exit.

"Wait, Captain…!" your voice reached out to him from behind, words soft and filled with a gentle insistence. "You…should join me."

Taglist: @themythicaldisaster

Wishing nonnie and you all the sweetest of dreams ❛ ֊ ❛

Comment/tag for what you might like to see of this series!

#reader just casually giving Kirishima a heart attack *chef kiss* #zaz drabbles #minors dni #Dividers by the hard working @CafeKitsune #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x reader #dragon kirishima #dragon!kirishima #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au #dragon reader #dragon!reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #stained glass circumstances series

[iheartchv]

🩷minors please don't interact with my nswf posts🩷

🩷 Masterlist | Rules for requests/commissions | carrd | Tag List | 🩷

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status: -

pfp was made by ape brain anon; ya know who you are😉

ⓘ this blog contains 18+NSFW content, MDNI

Hey there. Welcome to my multifandom blog! You can call me Kris, or whatever nickname you want. I'm just a girl from the South who hangs with fictional characters in her mind, and draws, writes fanfiction, matchups, and imagines when I got time. As for my age, I'm well over 18. I'm an app user, somethings may look different on a desktop. I thank you for every like, reblog, and comments on my stuff, I appreciate it very much. 🌤🌈🩷

I KNOW THERE ARE ADULTS WHO ARE SENSITIVE TO 18+ MATERIAL;FILTER THESE HASHTAGS TO SEE MY NON NSFW STUFF: #smut #lemon #nsfw #nsft

MY CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP! DNI IF MATURE THEMES BOTHER YOU

☆Been active since Dec. 2020; aka turtlesmakemehappy before i changed my name.☆

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[bakubunny]

hi, lovelies! it’s friday once again, and you know what that means. it’s time to share with the class. i can’t wait to hear from you all. ♡

how it works: from noon to midnight (cst), my ask box will be open with anons enabled. drop whatever has been rotting your brain this week, and i’ll respond. it can be anything from tooth rotting fluff to the smuttiest of smuts and everything in between. dark content is allowed, but please put tw: dark content at the start of your ask.

preferred fandoms: bnha, jjk, ffxiv, sk8, tokyo rev

♡ my ask box is open ♡

#on fridays we share with the class #mdni banner by cafekitsune #heart divider by benkeibear

[alexithykia]

baby, heaven's in your eyes

this blog is 18+ ONLY! minors & ageless blogs do not interact, i will BLOCK you!

rules & tags ; about alexi ; the angel's lovers ; daydream archives.

this blog contains dark content! please block pillow talk ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 in advance as this is what i’ll use on reblogs/posts that include dark content!

angel’s notes. the ball!au avenlexi doodle in my header was done by the amazing @/ainescribe !! ✨

this is a selfship blog! if you have a problem with that, please move along. your bad vibes aren’t welcomed here by the angel! (❀´ ˘ `❀)

with love, always ♡

#angel’s guide ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 #heart divider by @/cafekitsune