#his quirk is so cool and interesting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr was named as a finalist in Lead411’s New York City Hot 125 in Aug 2010.

#his quirk is so cool and interesting

pocketramblr · 1 year

Note

I like to think of 3rd as a former bodyguard of All for One, maybe he wasn't born with a quirk too. Maybe he received one from All for One and dedicated himself to serving him as a result only to come to his senses later on.

There was a bit of time when I thought that the ponytailed masked bodyguard of AfO was going to turn out to be the same as the pineapple silhouette one, (the indents on one's mask being similar to the shape the other's headband made from the side) and that like, he put his hair up when he changed sides and wore slightly new clothes and that he was the one to either get Yoichi out of that vault or pass information onto Second so he could get him out. But then we got more clear shots of Third with lighter hair and it seemed more likely Giga was the fate of the bodyguard... But I'll always have a fondness for former AfO guard Third. Perhaps his turning is why Yoichi is glad to see Izuku trying to save Tenko, perhaps that's why Third kept away from Izuku, shame or sure that he'd fail because at least Third was an adult at the time, and what hope do they really have, and why drag the kid in further... Love that plus I think we really should have more former villains in the OfA lineup

#also if AfO gave Third fa jin i think i would hate the quirk a lot less #it's so booooooring and dumb and just ofa-lite and i was really hoping for interesting weak early quirks #to test Izuku's quirk clever thinking #like the ability to increase the temperature inertia of a small bit of liquid- keep a cup of water cooler longer or a bowl of soup warm #and now Izuku's got to figure out the combat use of that boosted to 100x #BUT see now if AfO really did keep finding so many little stockpile quirks #itd kinda make sense that he'd just be tossing em out #to his expendable body guard and his weak little brother and who knows who else #stockpile being common like that and thrown away and then two of them together contributing to the downfall of AfO?#to the one who devalued them so much? that'd be neat!#but noooo the most villainous we can get is 'ohhh second and third killed a few people in their fight against AfO'#which as it happens after the reveal of AfO's extensive murder -> zombie guard pipeline and the villains killing thousands on thousands #with cities activity wrecked and the only reason it's not a total villain victory at all is the Hawks murder moment like....#yeah I'm not exactly feeling the weight of Second or Third having blood on their hands and possibly occasionally losing sight of the #humanity of their enemies. especially since the only specific we see is them rescuing Yoichi anyway so like #that would have hit more of we had seen some of their prior actions! that could have been actually setting up past villain users!#Third having actually worked for AfO first! even if it was i don't know‚ a double agent move‚ could have really dug that point home #but anyway yeah i like that. third deserves more cool backstories in fic #anon #pocket talks to people

13 notes · View notes

lynkolnevans · 1 year

Text

[Protean]

One was an animal who pretended to be human. The other was a human that pretended to be an animal(???) who pretended to be human. But was the human really pretending to be a beast, when something claws and itches at the back of their mind, guiding their new body and their new powers, making them want to devour whatever comes their way? When they have to be so careful to make sure they don't stretch themselves thin enough to lose themself in thoughts and actions that can't be their own, weren't even human.

----

Charley used to be human until they're not, but they can't really give that too much thought. Not when they were focused on making sure Nedzu didn't die before he could become the powerful hero he was meant to be. Or focused on the many spooky agencies lurking in the shadows, ready to snatch the two of them up as soon as they let down their guard. Charley had to keep them both safe, and to do that they had to be loud. Be so blindingly obvious and known to the world that no one can ever sweep their (very probable) future disappearances/deaths under the rug.

They just wished they had a chance to breathe, to have enough time to understand why the fuck they had to appear in a certain goddamn hero anime.

#throws this into the void #this is a kinda summary for a fic ive been planning out #a bnha fanfic first centering around Charley the human???animal???thing???#and Nedzu the coolest and most intriguing and most mysterious character in mha #at least i think so #we get such broad facts about this guy but nothing is ever expanded upon #i want this fix to explore Nedzu and his influence in the Quirk world along with a character who knows about the timeline #i want to pick a part the two of these guys and show what makes them tick #and be entertained by every other character getting blindsided by Nedzu and Charley's shenanigans #also cool eldrith powers are involved 😎#obvi the story is gonna move on closer to begining of canon and eventually into the thick of it #but im not sure whether to start at the beginning and go linear #or start with some outside perspectives -> start canon -> and then let some flashbacks/reminiscing explain pre canon #ill probably combine the two somehow #anyway let me know if interested in reading #mha #bnha

2 notes · View notes

cupofmilkyway · 3 months

Text

Laios' Art

Haven't seen any posts talking about this and it's one if not my favorite Laios detail so I HAD to share|

I noticed when I was reading through the manga that this drawing was silly for more reasons that the obvious, like how the chimera body looks fine but then the human Falin is all stick arms and goofy expressions.

It's so easy to chalk it up to Laios just not being great at drawing, cause we have seen him draw himself in a previous chapter (the one with the living paintings) and it was a very simplified shape too.

BUT THEN ON THE SAME CHAPTER A BIT LATER-

HE GOES AND DRAWS THIS GORGEOUS CERBERUS(?) LIKE HUH?? SIR?

And near the end of the manga they show us his (probably pretty old but) OC monster and it looks cool too!!!

So he IS a good artist!! He just. Does Not Care about humans. So he can't draw them. Which is SO funny because, same, for a good while when I was young I didn't have any clue how people worked so I drew my humans with paws and like, snout looking noses.

Guy who's autism won't let him draw anything that isn't related to his special interest trying to draw it regardless

Laios my beloved keep drawing your quirked up creatures like you're supposed to <3

#arek yells #dungeon meshi #laios touden #delicious in dungeon #i dont like that translation but sure #dungeon meshi spoilers #delicious in dungeon spoilers #dunmeshi spoilers

8K notes · View notes

yanderenightmare · 6 months

Text

Bakugou Katsuki

TW: NSFW, yandere

gn reader

You’re attracted to Bakugou for many reasons – he’s tall and ripped and handsome and a bit of an asshole – but really, what you like about him most is that he doesn't seem like he’d be too much trouble. And you mean that in many ways.

You’ve been in relationships before, and none of them have ended on good terms – always leading to deep upsets and disappointments. You’d come to the realization that boys, on any level that wasn’t purely sexual, were something you didn’t really need or want at the moment – which is why Bakugou, in all his disinterested glory, was just perfect for you.

He’d fold you in half in filthy places like the locker room or bathroom or in his smoke-steeped car – making your heart beat from the thrill without that nagging feeling of being underappreciated because, well, you didn’t really care. He wasn’t your boyfriend and you weren’t committed to each other in any serious way, so there really weren’t any grounds for standards or expectations – it was just sex – carnal ball-clapping sweaty sex – pure and simple and just what you needed. No more, no less.

You didn’t go on dates or meet each other's parents or give each other chocolate on Valentine's Day or any other presents on any other holiday – you didn’t even hang out aside from seeing each other at parties and sometimes in the school hallways. He’d cock his head with a grin, and you’d smile coyly up through your lashes, and you’d meet in the handicapped bathrooms between classes to get drilled over the sink with your face smudged against the cool mirror.

It's only when he starts knowing things about you that you grow a little stiff with your arrangement - things he couldn’t possibly know from you as you’d never cared to speak about your private life. And sure, some of those things he could have easily found out through your social media standing – which already makes you feel a little iffy – but there are other things he’ll slip out, specifics about your interests and classes and whereabouts and the stuff you do with your friends – stuff you’re positive you’ve not posted anywhere.

When you asked him about it, halfway jokingly with a somewhat nervous laugh, he’d only quirked a brow and brushed it off, insisting you’d been the one that told him. And you, despite being sure he’s lying, decide to believe it anyway. Because what the two of you have right now is still good – much better than any other fuck-friend you’d had before. Katsuki makes you so wet, and he's always so able to just pound your orgasm right out of you.

If payment is small talk, you can humor him.

But then the sex becomes a little dull. Instead of his fist wrapping tight around your throat, he’s now sucking gentle love bites into the skin. And he no longer has his hand in your hair, forcing your face down against a cold surface with nails digging into your scalp to keep you still while fucking you fast and selfishly from behind.

Both his hands are instead holding you around the waist, keeping your body skin-to-skin against his chest as he gently lolls you on his lap – so slow you can’t even feel your heart – so slow you’re still breathing through your nose. He hasn’t slapped your ass once, and it’s beginning to get a little sad.

You want to tell him that you want him to fuck you like he’s a dirty cop and you’re a criminal resisting arrest – and not this old married couple shit. But you also don’t want to be rude.

However, after all the one-sided heart-to-hearts he’d sat you through lately – spending more time chatting than making you cum – you were left feeling a little awkward, honestly. And between that and how he’d started texting you goodnights at eight-thirty – you were afraid he’d lost his original raw sex appeal.

He’s become so pedestrian in your eyes he might as well have been wearing glasses and a sweater vest.

You let him finish without saying anything – but you can't deny you’re happy when you feel him finally blow his load.

Dismounting him, you jump to your seat in the car and pull your underwear back up without a word.

It’s silent while he lights a smoke and rolls down his window – his hand coming to rest on your thigh after.

You look out your own window, your face in your palm while you think. And then talk. “I think… we need to stop.”

He's a little busy with his cigarette, but still, he answers, casually. “Stop what?” Smoke goes out his mouth and up his nostrils, then out again.

“This.” You answer. “Fucking.”

The hand on your thigh stirs and you catch him shifting his head to look at you, but you don’t return the gesture – keeping your eyes fixed on the puddle peppering with raindrops out on the empty parking lot the two of you’ve often spent time burning rubber drifting donuts before making the windows steamy.

“Why?” He eventually says. Flicking the spent filter out onto the wet pavement. Rolling the window back up and leaving the both of you in a way too tense silence of muted rain.

You sigh, leaning back against the headrest. “We’re not strangers anymore... It’s just getting a little boring.”

He taps another cigarette up from his box but doesn’t light it – just rolls it around in his fingers with his head bowed. “Boring, huh?” He repeats. And then there’s a pause.

A hefty pause. A silent one that lasts a little too long and makes you forget the subject in favor of thinking about other things – like, had your roommate done the dishes this time, or were they still on the counter?

“What if I lock the car and drive us off a cliff?” He breaks through your thoughts, and this time, it’s you who turns your head. Looking at him while he still fingers the same slim roll in his hands – mumbling to it, it would seem. “I’ll laugh, you’ll scream… and maybe I’ll light this cig’ while we’re in the air…”

He sighs – as though what he’d just said was not what he’d said – then copies your action, letting his head fall back to rest against the leather – his face blank and his breath steady.

“If you fuck someone else, I’ll break their face.”

This time you blink when staring at him – face riddled, doubting what you were hearing come out of his mouth. “You what?”

“If- you fuck- someone else…” He repeats slowly. “I- will break- their face.” He says it so calmly you’re still unsure whether you heard him right. “Understand?” He asks – chin cocked up while glancing at you from the corner of his red eyes. “I won't stop punching until their teeth are on the ground and their eyes are so bloated and bloody they can no longer see who it is that’s throwing the hits.”

You blink a few more times. Stunned into a stupor, picturing it with parted lips without any words escaping them.

He rolls down the window again and puts the smoke between his lips.

And while he lights it and blows the roof full of grey, you’re still hung up on the image…

Maybe Bakugou wasn’t as boring as you thought.

3K notes · View notes

euphemiaamillais · 3 months

Text

innocent - coriolanus snow

you never would’ve thought you’d end the night with a peacekeeper in your bed…

cw: 18+//loss of virginity//piv sex//handjobs//fingering

an: this gif is him above me 🤭🤭

perhaps it had been a bad idea to wear such a short skirt to the hob that evening. you’d caught the eye of many men as you swayed to the tunes of the covey; cheap moonshine in hand. you noticed one in particular—the one with those piercing blue eyes and platinum blonde buzzcut—was watching you intently.

you couldn’t help but blush, cheeks dancing with the warmth of being seen, chest filling with that sticky feeling. you’d felt it before, but the smiles of those other men had never amounted to anything more than a lingering kiss or two. your heart stirred when he came up to you, and you realised he was a peacekeeper. you knew better than to get entangled with one, or so you thought.

it was hard to resist one so charming and attractive.

'i saw you looking at me,' he remarked, drawing his arms around your waist.

you could barely meet his gaze, embarrassed by the way his cool touch sent a shiver down your spine and made your thighs tingle with want.

'shy are we, bunny?' he asked, removing one hand to cup your chin, drawing it up to meet his icy blue eyes.

you shook your head, but your eyes told the truth; fluttering about the room, trying to look anywhere but him. you wondered if anybody could see you—it would've been shameful to be caught so close with a peacekeeper. but nobody seemed to be paying you any heed, and so your pounding heart ceased its nervous palpitations.

‘how about a dance?’ he laced his fingers in your hand, moving it up so it rested against his shoulder.

you were acutely aware of the other hand which rested at your waist, and you couldn’t exactly say no when he had already moulded you into the perfect stance. the band began to play a slow song, and the blush stained your cheeks once again. he laughed, an almost mirthful laugh—although, coriolanus snow was never somebody to really, truly laugh—not that you knew that.

‘are you going to tell me your name, officer?’ you drawled, deciding that there was no harm in flirting. he was so handsome after all; and it would be rude not to talk to him.

‘it’s private, actually,’ he admitted bashfully, as if he was ashamed of his inferiority. but next to you, he felt powerful. you were just a district girl, and much smaller than his six foot frame. he could do anything he wanted to you.

‘well private, you ought to have a name,’ you began. ‘and it’s awful rude to not introduce yourself to a lady.’

you were teasing him; he wondered how many men you’d used that line on, but when he looked at the way you were bright red, and how your knees buckled a little, even as you attempted to maintain your composure, he reckoned it couldn’t have been many.

‘it’s private snow,’ he told you curtly.

you smiled; a pretty name. much different to the names here in 12, though you reckoned a peacekeeper was probably from one of the other, wealthier districts. not that you knew much about those.

‘well, private snow,’ your voice had a sweet twang to it, and he found himself thinking of another girl he knew, once, with that same appalachian drawl. he had come here to find her, and yet had no luck.

but you weren’t so bad—no, you were even prettier, and probably didn’t have a man like billy taupe clinging onto your skirts. he wondered if you had ever even kissed a man before. you had the sweetest looking lips, so plump, and a little wet with the moonshine you’d been sipping.

‘how are you liking district 12?’ you continued, brows quirking up with interest.

‘it’s alright. commander hoff works us to the bone but i suppose that’s the price you pay for 20 years,’ he huffed. his eyes looked a little distance—sad, perhaps. you wondered if he’d had much choice in the matter. still, even if he hadn’t, you did have to admit he would probably look good in his peacekeeper uniform.

‘20 years?’ your mouth stretched into a circle of surprise. ‘my, that’s terribly brave.’

his own cheeks reddened a little, though he quickly swallowed that feeling. he couldn’t blush, that was pathetic. that was something his fellow peacekeeper sejanus plinth did. no, a woman like you wasn’t to be caught by a blushing man. he needed to show you what it meant to be had by a peacekeeper—not the ambitious schoolboy in academy rouge that he’d left as soon as he’d set foot in 12.

‘i suppose so…’ his voice trailed off.

‘how do you keep yourself entertained, private snow?’ you asked as you swayed a little to one of the songs the covey was playing.

his mind flickered to what he’d been planning on doing to you—he’d not touched a woman in weeks, and at night he often found his body receptive to any and all thoughts. tonight, he had the chance to actually satisfy that ache that had been bottled up for weeks. he wondered if you’d feel better than that girl he did in the alley—at least his mind was clear tonight.

‘oh, dancing with pretty girls like you is one way of staving off boredom, bunny,’ he pressed a kiss to your hand, watching as your lips puckered into a bashful smile.

how innocent. he’d love to ruin you. he wondered what noises you’d make with his cock buried deep inside of you. you were probably tight as anything, just begging to be filled up with his cock.

‘well, if you think i’m pretty then i suppose i’ll have to thank you,’ you gazed up through your thick lashes, fluttering them ever-so-slightly.

his cock stirred in his pants—you were so fucking tempting. the way you were just begging to be fucked. he cocked a brow, curious as to what your intentions were.

‘what kind of thanks, bunny?’ he asked, breath fanning your ear.

‘well…’ feeling daring, you stroked at his chest, feeling the taut muscles underneath his shirt. you noticed the dog tag dangling, and a smirk played at his lips.

‘how about a kiss?’ you offered. oh, you were so innocent.

he nodded, and you felt your heart flutter. you worried he’d think you were being too forward, what, with you offering so quickly. but he was just so handsome. you wondered what his lips would feel like against yours.

perhaps you wouldn’t have to wait so long to find out…

you dragged him to a more secluded place, feeling a little too embarrassed about kissing him in the throng of people. he wondered, as you led him down the corridor of the hob, just how much you’d be thanking him. maybe you’d let him touch you a little, hands straying to cup your breasts, and then perhaps caress your hips. one thing would lead to another… and sweet virgins like you were easily persuaded.

coriolanus was swift with his kiss, leaning into you as you were pressed against the wall. you kissed back, soft at first, but when you felt his tongue pressing against your lips, you opened your mouth and surrendered.

he wrapped his hands around your waist, palming at the skin beneath your shirt. a heat crept upon your cheeks as his lips kissed yours with a hunger. pressed up against you, his cock twitched a little in his pants. he had to have you, you were practically begging for it in a skirt that short.

‘you taste so sweet, bunny,’ he mused as you pulled away from him. he wondered what you’d taste like in other places, whether your cunt had the same sweetness of your mouth.

you wanted more—your cunt ached, an unfamiliar feeling, but nontheless you knew you needed to be satisfied.

coriolanus could see this, the way you clenched your thighs together, and how your heart thumped inside your chest. he’d felt it when he’d been flush against you.

‘you wanna thank me some more?’ he inquired, blonde brow cocked.

you bit your lip, but you knew you couldn’t deny the rush inside your body, the way you were growing increasingly wet between your thighs. the ache that nagged at you, yearning to be satisfied.

‘mhm,’ you nodded dumbly, feeling his hands grab at your thighs.

‘you live alone?’ he asked, desire glinting in his eyes.

you shook your head, and a frown scampered upon his lips.

‘well, my pa’s not home til late, if you wanna come over…’ you drew a heavy breath, nerves making your knees buckle.

his frown turned to a smile, and he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. how endearing, the way you called your father pa. you were so beneath him, and he was determined to teach you that you belonged to him, the poor little district girl who’d been snapped up in the peacekeeper’s trap.

—

your house wasn’t far from the hob. coriolanus was glad of this, his cock was straining so hard in his trousers—he worried he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and finishing without even having touched you. well, that would just be a waste; embarrassing even.

you fumbled with the keys, and he felt a smile scamper upon his lips as he watched you, so afraid, his poor little bunny, struggling to open the door. when you finally slotted the key in the lock, coriolanus’ arms were wrapped around your waist, fingers tracing lightly across your skin.

‘you know bunny, you really should be careful around strange men,’ he murmured against your ear. you were acutely aware of what was pressing against your bottom.

‘but you’re not strange… you’re a peacekeeper,’ you hummed, moving your legs over the threshold. he still clung to you, breath heavy, hands roaming.

you had to get inside before anyone saw, and god forbid, alerted your pa. there was something deliciously thrilling about having a man inside of your home—you wondered if it made you a whore, inviting him inside and only having known him an hour. but you knew many girls who did that, and at least you weren’t taking money for it.

‘mhm, but men like me… well, they just can’t resist taking what’s theirs,’ he pinched you, watching you gasp at the stinging feeling of your delicate skin between his fingers. you looked so sweet when you squirmed.

‘well maybe i want you to take what’s yours,’ you looked up at him with wide eyes, fingers lacing against each other as you swung about.

you looked like a little lamb, so sweet and innocent. he wanted to take you between his jaw and make you bleed.

‘is that so, bunny?’ he asked, and you nodded dumbly.

you trailed along to your room, not desperate enough to let him have you against a wall, glancing back at him every so often and watching as his eyes followed you. you shoved the door open, and switched on the little lamp by your bedside table.

your room was bare, for the most part, but coriolanus felt it suited you, the cream bedsheets and the old floral wallpaper. it was so innocent. he wondered if you’d stain those sheets tonight as he stretched you out. he’d want to keep them, as a reminder of what he’d taken from you.

you sat down on the bed, and he followed suit, still reminded of his achingly hard cock. you couldn’t keep your eyes off the bulge in his trousers; it was of a considerable size, and made you gnaw at your lip in anticipation.

‘i want to help you,’ you said, mouth going dry at the sight of him.

‘help me, bunny?’ he inquired. your words were a little cryptic, but he could tell that your eyes were clearly focused on his achingly hard cock.

‘mhm, you’re so hard,’ you murmured. although you were innocent, you’d read enough romance novels to figure out what he needed.

‘you can certainly help me,’ he grabbed your hand and guided it to his clothed hard-on.

you palmed it lightly, gasping as you felt it. he watched as your mouth spread into an exclamation of delight, lips flickering a little. you were so innocent, the way you were gentle in your touches, how you sighed with amazement.

he groaned at the touch, but moved your hand away to free his cock from the restraints of his pants and boxers. your mouth hung agape as he pulled them down to his knees and you were presented with his hard cock. he was big, not that you’d really seen a cock before, but it had to be at least eight inches, and it was throbbing desperately against his stomach.

coriolanus guided your hand back, and wrapped it around the base. you could feel the blood coursing through it, and saw a little bit of precum dribbling from the tip.

‘just move your hand up and down, princess,’ he cooed, and you stroked him, sweaty palms not causing as much friction as he expected.

you moved your hand to the tip, and he urged you to give it a squeeze, groaning as you did so. you felt so good, the way you were thumbing his dripping head, stroking so diligently. but he wanted more, he needed to feel you.

your thighs burned as you continued to stroke him, and you watched as he bucked his hips a little at your touch. you fastened the pace, not too quick, but just enough that his breaths grew haggard. it didn’t seem so intimidating now that you were doing it, and his moans suggested you were doing a good job.

but still, your own body was aching with need, and you found yourself grinding into the bed. coriolanus saw this, the way you were practically squirming, and moved one of his own hands to grip at your thigh.

‘does bunny want me to touch her too?’ he said between breaths.

you nodded lazily, hand still pumping his cock. he was close already, the feeling of your hand too much, and the anticipation of finally burying himself deep inside of you was sending him over the edge.

coriolanus’ fingers traced lightly up your thigh, and when he reached your skirt, he pushed past the hem and slipped between the apex of your thighs. you spread them, and gasped as you felt his fingers brush against the wet patch of your panties.

‘oh bunny, you’re so wet,’ he sighed, his cock throbbing. he was so close…

you mewled as he removed your panties, fingers gently prying them off of you and leaving them to hang at your ankles. you kicked them off, but were left sighing as he ceased his touch for a moment.

his cock twitched in your grip, and he let out a loud, rough groan, spurts of cum coming from the tip of his cock. you blushed, watching as he came onto your hand, and his stomach. he’d have to wash his uniform tonight, because it was stained with the pearly ropes.

sweat beaded at his forehead, but he didn’t let the waves of his own pleasure distract from what he wanted most, which was to feel you. you spread your legs, and he sighed at the sight of your glistening cunt.

he ran one finger over your folds, and you clutched at the bedsheets, attempting to ignore how sensitive you already were. his thumb pressed against your clit, and you couldn’t stifle your moan this time, a feeling of warmth shooting across your body. you wanted more, and ground into the feeling of his thumb running circles against the sensitive spot.

‘so wet for me, aren’t you?’ he muttered, his long fingers edging further down your folds.

‘feels so… good,’ you huffed, eyes fluttering shut with bliss. of course you were already lingering on the edge of your own pleasure—he doubted you’d ever even touched yourself before.

he eased a finger into your hole; feeling your slick walls take it in, but only barely. you were so fucking tight, and he watched as you winced a little at the feeling. it only hurt for a second, but you were so wet that you were longing for more.

‘oh please,’ you gasped, feeling him arch his finger while his thumb began to vary its ministrations against your clit.

‘gonna cum for me, bunny?’ he cooed, moving his thumb up and down, watching as your thighs began to tremble.

the heat was unbearable now, and when he added another finger, stretching you out, you felt your whole body begin to tingle with the beginning of your release.

‘mhm!’ you cried out, exasperated from his touch.

you gushed around his fingers, though he continued to rub his thumb against your clit, and arch his fingers inside of you, mesmerised by the wetness coating them. your breath hitched, and you came completely undone, burning and trembling as he made you cum.

he felt his cock harden again at the sight of you coming around his fingers, and as he removed them from your hole, he decided he couldn’t wait any longer.

coriolanus pushed you back into the bed, cock pressing against your thighs. your head swam with the excess of your desire, but you surrendered yourself to him, longing to feel him buried deep inside of you.

he guided just the tip towards your hole, and ran it teasingly through the soaking folds of your cunt. you mewled, and clutched at his back in an attempt to get him to push into you. deciding he was greedy, he pressed the tip into you, and you let out a shocked groan.

it hurt—he was big, but you hadn’t expected it to make you tingle so much. you bit back a few tears, and let him put the rest of the tip in. you were so tight, he couldn’t believe it. if you’d felt tight around his fingers, this was a whole new sensation. you were clenching around his cock, and he had barely so much as the head of it inside you.

‘too big,’ you gasped, feeling him ease his cock further in. it stung a little, the stretch slightly unpleasant. but you wanted him so bad. ‘it hurts!’

‘poor bunny,’ he mused, stroking your cheek. ‘you gotta learn to take it, like a good girl. i know you want it, bunny.’

you did, you wanted it so bad. even though it hurt, you felt your stomach knot tightly as it did when he’d rubbed your clit. he began to buck his hips, grunting at the tightness of your cunt. your walls stretched around his big cock, taking him in as best they could, slick with want and need.

‘fuck, you’re so fucking tight,’ he groaned as thrust inside of you.

more tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks. he watched as you tried to fight off the feelings of pain, surrendering yourself to the pleasant feeling of fullness and his throbbing cock inside of you. he wanted nothing more than to pound into you, make you scream his name as he filled you up, but you were too delicate. he’d have to wait until you were ready, and you were special, anyways. a pretty doll just for him.

‘oh,’ you gasped as he fucked himself deeper, reaching a new angle inside of you.

the sound of your slick mingling with the slapping of his balls echoed against the walls of your room, and you clutched at his back. your desire began to brim again, edging its way up your thighs and deep into the pit of your stomach. coriolanus could hardly contain himself, you fit around him so perfectly, slick walls coating his cock as he thrust in and out.

‘fuck bunny, i don’t know how much more i can take,’ he admitted haggardly. he attempted to control his urges, but you were just so tight. what was stopping him from coming in you right then and there?

‘need you,’ you mumbled as he rutted against your hips, thrusts growing more desperate.

he moved one hand down to rub at your overstimulated clit, fingers deftly helping to unfurl the ache inside of you. you sputtered at the sensation, head spinning as he fucked you into the mattress.

he was so close, the clenching of your walls sending the blood straight to his head. he let out a final grunt, and slowed his thrusts, and felt himself come undone. he ground his cock into you, letting the thick spurts of his cum coat your walls. he came a lot, more than he’d ever done before, balls draining with what felt like every last drop.

he still continued to fuck up into you, wanting you to finish around him before he pulled out. your legs began to tremble, the feeling of his cum too much to handle, and you let out a sweet cry.

‘so good,’ you pressed your lips together, coming undone around his dock.

coriolanus pulled out, cock coated in a milky ring of your spend, his tip still red and angry from use. your body tingled, and you felt his cum trickling down between your legs. he couldn’t believe how pretty you looked, all fucked out for him, drunk on his cock.

he’d turned such a pretty innocent thing into a stupid whore, who could barely form a sentence without sighing from the excess of her pleasure.

he wondered how long he’d have to wait to go another round, and whether or not you’d let him. but you’d been so good to him that night, doing exactly what he told you and coming for him not once, but twice.

‘such a good girl for me, bunny,’ he mused, stroking your thigh. ‘and so innocent.’

2K notes · View notes

shotorozu · 1 year

Text

(gender neutral reader, reader went to middle school with bakugou and midoriya, reader can make chocolate, and reader bent their back for the making of said chocolate, not that much beta read /derogatory, i got carried away 😭)

bakugou katsuki is a feared, but admired guy— especially during valentines day.

it’s interesting.. when he was a younger boy— he’d take gifts from admirers (usually girl classmates or other kids that frequent the park he goes to) with widened eyes and a scoff, snatching the gift away from them with quick hands, and mumbling how valentines day is stupid— that it’s lame and he doesn’t understand it.

but refusing gifts are rude, he’d remember his mom say, after he refused to accept something his dad made for him— and back then, he’d listen to his mom like his life depended on it. so, for a year or two— he’d take gifts.

but as the blond boy manifested a quirk and became just a bit older— he started ignoring her words altogether, having had grown out of the “listening to mom all the time is cool” phase.

his features started defining themselves, and he was starting to become taller. before he knew it— he had a sudden wave of admirers crashing down at him almost everyday of the year.

and it almost excluding valentines day.

because he’d sneer at anyone willing to offer their affection in the form of sweetened confectionary, and resorted to blowing up love letters into smithereens.

if his personality wasn’t obvious enough, this was precisely the reason why his admire-from-afar to get-personal ratio was obviously imbalanced.

of course, no one really learns— even as he grows older, enters UA for highschool, and retains his personality even after some realizations, because bakugou katsuki is quite beautiful.

so there’s at least a handful of admirers that are willing to risk it all— even if it meant some form of humilation or intimidation.

but not you.

you’ve prepared a little something for everyone in your class— yes, even the forbidden grape haired classmate and him. your hands practically hurt from stirring, and you feel like if you’d even bend up slightly, you’d hear multiple cracks amass from your back.

but you think it’s all worth it. your work tastes good, looks good and cute, and you’re certain everyone would enjoy how their chocolates varied in flavor, even if the change was just slightly noticeable.

you hand out chocolates to each respective person as soon as they pop into the common room.

the girls of your class perk up in interest and clamor around you— smiles adorning their faces as they line up to receive their chocolates.

mina, kyouka and hagakure compare their flavors together, momo asks you how you did it, because she’s “bad at cooking”

ochako’s already munching on the sweets, when he starts thanking you. finally, tsuyu just looks at you silently, and gives you a warm side hug.

midoriya goes beet red when he realizes that you personally gave everyone a slightly different flavor (you don’t know how he blushed over that, but you find it endearing.) todoroki, tokoyami, shoji, sato, koda, and ojiro look a little confused and dazed at first when you give them your chocolates, but they end up accepting it with gratitude.

kirishima, iida, kaminari, sero, aoyama and mineta accept your chocolates rather quickly, wasting no time in giving their thanks (excluding mineta— who just teased you about liking him, which was and will never be the case)

but through it all, you managed to avoid eye contact with your snarky blond childhood friend and classmate— who was silently trailing you with crimson eyes the entire time.

for a moment you think he’s mad at you for not giving anything, which you’d understand— if it weren’t for the fact that he is valentines day’s #1 public enemy. but you exchange this thought for something else.

he must think that you’re strange for making the class chocolate, and you wouldn’t blame him. usually, it’d be sato making stuff like this. not to mention, you heard him remark rather loudly about the kitchen smelling strongly of chocolate, in his usual bakugou tone.

you made the right choice not to give him the chocolates you made, you think to yourself. not to mention, how amidst it all, you might’ve showed a slight bias to his chocolate’s design— and revealing your crush on him on today of all days is less than ideal.

and you think nothing of his behavior—

“s’ i’ve got nothing, huh?”

he jumpscares you when you close your locker, and he lets out a snort when your shoulders rise in reflection of your surprise.

your gaze trails to his locker, which cannot close due to a lump of chocolate and letters preventing it from properly doing so. “you’ve got plenty, though. i don’t want to give you diabetes or anything.”

(which was half true because wow the amount of chcolate—)

“you gave all of them chocolate. why’da do that?”

“because.. it’s valentines day..?” you start walking away from your locker— and to which he follows all the way. you try not to think much of the action

“but what makes you think that i shouldn’t get any.”

normally, one would state that as a question, but the way he said it, the tone of his voice— it wasn’t said like one.

“i know you, kachaan,” you reason while making use of his childhood nickname, which gains an eye twitch from the blond. “if i was told to count how many letters you’ve burned and chocolates you either gave away or thrown out, i wouldn’t have enough fingers on my hands.”

“‘cause all of them were fuckin’ store bought?”

“and what if they weren’t?”

“then they were horrendous.” he states, matter of a fact. then, his eyes narrow, “and it’s not like you’re giving me a damned letter.”

you feel your cheeks heat up. that’s not the case— but the idea of writing him a love letter has your mind going into haywire.

“it’s not. but you’ve never showed interest in this sorta thing in a long time.”

“what— eating chocolates?”

“pretty much.”

he blinks, unamused. “you can be such a dumbass sometimes. can’t take the fucking hint.”

you’re pretty sure he meant to say that quietly, but he didn’t. you’re unphased at this point.

but you don’t get what he means, so you try to defend yourself. “but—” your words come to a sudden halt, as you realize the uselessness.

“wait, why am i trying to reason with you?— look, i actually did make something for you too. if i didn’t then that’d be such an asshole move of me to exclude you.”

“really. you’re not bullshittin’ me?”

“no.” you reply, firmly. “but you have to promise not to laugh. you can insult me, but laugh? no way.”

he raises an eyebrow.

then, you shift onto one leg and start looking for something in one of the front pockets of your bag. the search doesn’t take long, because you pull something out— medium sized chocolate in clear wrapping, with an orange bow tying it together.

it’s clearly slightly bigger than the rest of your classmates, and you hope he doesn’t notice.

he silently unwraps the chocolate, and gets eye to eye with your creation. it’s three pieces of chocolate shaped as explosions— the middle explosion being bigger than the other two. anyone who sniffed it could smell orange first, as the middle (biggest) piece has a swirl of orange and milk chocolate, the left piece is simply milk chocolate, and the right piece is white chocolate.

he takes the middle one and bites half of it, and chews. you observe, like he’s a top chef reviewing your latest work, and when he finishes, he says—

“not bad,” he remarks, flashing that heart racing smile. “wanna taste?”

you gulp, stupefied by his offer. words don’t have real meanings for a second. “huh?”

then, he’s reaching up and popping the other half into your mouth, thumb pressing against your lips.

you almost choke— and it wasn’t from the chocolate. you bite, taste the flavor, the mouth watering taste of orange and chocolate swarming your mouth.

to twist the knife into the wound— he cups your face and presses a deep, but quick kiss against your lips. his soft lips linger onto yours, and this intensifies what you can already taste.

and then, as quick as he kissed you, he pulls back— gaze still lingering on your lips.

a toothy grin starts to grow on his lips, and he pats your shoulder— beginning to create distance between you two by walking ahead.

“next time, give me the chocolates first, will ya? tastes fuckin’ good.”

you have a feeling he isn’t talking about the chocolate.

6K notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

id love to request spencer reid with a shy!reader🙈🙈 i love him sm and your work even more!! if this doesn't appeal to you thats all cool i hope you have a great day!!!

Love you <3

Spencer Reid x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

Spencer peers over the top of his cubicle as you type up your report, the mug of coffee he’d brought you still full and no longer steaming. He’s got a hypothesis.

On Tuesday, he’d brought you a coffee at your desk. It had gone over like most interactions with you; you’d gone a bit red in the face, thanked him profusely, and cradled the mug in your hands like it was the most precious thing in your possession. But when he’d left that night, Spencer had seen the mug sitting on your desk, still full to the brim with dark, cold coffee. He’d brought you another today to see if those results would repeat. He feels a bit guilty for not just talking to you about it, but he’s got a theory and he knows you’d deny it if he asked. So instead, he’s sneaking furtive glances over the top of his cubicle, waiting until enough time has passed to call it.

“What’re you peeping at?”

He swivels his chair and Morgan’s leaning his hand on Spencer’s desk all suave-like. Spencer makes a face indicating he should be quiet, but you look up with a quiet “Hm?” and there’s nothing Morgan loves more than exposing him for his schemes.

“Pretty boy here keeps looking over at your desk,” Morgan says. Spencer turns again, and your cheeks are already getting pinkish. Another thing Morgan loves: bringing attention to you, even though it’s your own personal circle of hell. “I just want to know why.”

“I’m testing a theory,” Spencer admits.

Unabashed interest gleams in Morgan’s eye. He quirks an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Spencer tries to convey some apology in his look, and by the wariness in your features you read it. “You don’t actually drink coffee, do you?”

The response is clear even before you open your mouth. Your eyes drop to the full mug on your desk, shoulders hunching inward sheepishly and face taking on a fire engine-esque hue.

“I don’t,” you say quietly. And if there wasn’t already enough apology in your tone, you tack on a quick, “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” he says quickly while Morgan looks between you two and the coffee curiously. “That’s what I thought.”

“Hold up.” Morgan’s eyebrows go up, and you shrink further. “I brought you coffee just the other day. You’re telling me you’re not drinking it?”

“No,” you murmur. You look as though you fully expect to be shunned for your answer.

“Then why not say something?”

Spencer thinks that’s fairly obvious, but he’s not going to answer for you.

“I just…” You’ve got your hands in your lap now, probably fiddling with something under your desk in that nervous way of yours. Spencer wishes you’d warm up to them. You’re new and green and always so certain you’re doing something wrong, but he wishes he could pull your hands from beneath the desk and soothe them—soothe you—until you were comfortable. “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate it.”

He can see Morgan ready to dissent, so Spencer cuts in.

“Do you just not like coffee?” he asks, trying to stay as far from interrogative as he can for your benefit.

You do seem to relax a bit, pulling your stare from Morgan’s eagerly. “I just can’t do caffeine,” you admit. “It makes me too jumpy.”

Spencer can’t really imagine you much more skittish than you already are on a daily basis, so he agrees that’s for the best.

“I have seen you drink it, though.” Morgan’s voice is bemused. “In the break room. You had a cup just the other day.”

“It was decaf,” you tell him softly.

“We have decaf?”

“Have you looked on the top shelf of the cabinet?” Spencer asks. “There’s a surprising amount of variety. We have decaf, teas, hot chocolate mix—sometimes even apple cider mix.”

You nod, starting to look less fidgety. Spencer likes to get you like this when he can. It’s an ongoing project of his. Maybe it’s just that it’s easier to relax when the people around you are relaxed too, but there’s something about setting you at ease in particular that makes his chest feel warm and full. That might be something else to look into. When he has time.

“Yeah, yeah, the wonders of the top cabinet.” Morgan waves this off, as if he’s ever heard of it before (he hasn’t, Spencer can tell). “All I’m hearing is that you let us bring you coffee for weeks just because you were worried we’d bite your head off if you said something.”

You grimace, but there’s a bit less tension in you now as you look up at Morgan, thoroughly chastened. “Sorry,” you all but whisper.

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “I forgive you. Decaf only from now on, got it.”

“Thanks,” you squeak as he turns around, sauntering back to his own desk. Your eyes find Spencer, meeting his for a fraction of a second before dropping to his chin. “Sorry I didn’t drink your coffee.”

“It’s really fine,” he almost laughs, and the humor in his voice gives you the confidence to lift your eyes to his again. He’s glad for it. “I don’t care, I was just curious why you didn’t like it. And for the record,” he leans closer to the short wall dividing your desks, speaking low, “if there’s anything else like that, you can tell me. I won’t bite your head off the way he does.” He cuts a glance towards Morgan’s desk. You push your lips together, tamping down a smile. Spencer grins too, partly to encourage you and partly because he wants to.

“Thank you.” Your voice is quiet, a new teasing edge to it that he likes the sound of. “I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

“Great.” He reaches over, taking the mug from your desk. “I’m going to go pour this down the drain. Do you want me to grab you a decaf?” You can’t seem to decide between thanks so much and really, you don’t have to, so Spencer brings you one anyway.

926 notes · View notes

brodieland · 2 months

Text

.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 Bad Idea? Maybe.´ˎ˗

Percy Jackson x Fem!Aphrodite!Reader Synopsis: An Aphrodite kid is more interested in fighting than lip gloss. What happens when a Poseidon boy starts a fight with her? Warning(s): cursing? Word Count: 1851

Aphrodite kids were most known for their looks. Whether it was them admiring themselves in any possible reflection or having a bunch of other little fans, Aphrodite kids are here to take pride in the gift their mother has granted them. They were never ones to be advanced in archery or sword fighting in the fear of messing up a nail or getting a scratch on their perfect skin.

Except you. Despite being an Aphrodite kid, tending to your looks wasn't your biggest priority, you always considered yourself pleasing to the eye and so did others. Once you got to camp and saw people sword fighting, you knew that's what you were meant to do, you were instantly gravitated toward it like a magnet.

Of course, when you first arrived, you weren't claimed, so like most others, were sent to the Hermes cabin where the head counselor Luke, showed you around. Before the both of you managed to step out of the cabin you immediately asked him to show you to the practice arena where people were sword fighting. When you both arrived, that's when you met a kid named Percy. Luke saw it as a relief since he had other duties to quickly attend to so he left you with him.

"Hey I'm Percy" he extended his hand.

"I'm Y/N, I just got here" you shook his hand.

"I can you show some basics of sword fighting if you want, but Lukes the real master at it. Best at camp" Percy boasted, he clearly admired him from what you gathered.

"Cool, I'm new at this so you could've really told me that anyone here was the best and I would've take your word for it" he let out a small laugh. You felt a little relieved when he did. At first you were nervous on arriving but you were slowly staring to feel better about it.

Percy went to grab a sword for you, but the second he handed it to you a light pink aura began to radiate from you. When you looked up you saw a dove, meaning you were claimed by Aphrodite. Before you had the chance to think about it, a bunch of your, now sisters, ran up to you to escort you to your new cabin for a makeover and gossip session. In the process you dropped your sword and was dragged from Percy.

While you were getting your makeup and nails down, you could listen in on the swords clanking together as people fought and harnessed their skills outside. You were feeling kinda jealous, you wanted to be out there, not here getting ready for nothing when you already thought of yourself as pretty. After an hour they were finally finished and were all simultaneously staring in their reflections whilst listening to Lana Del Rey. You took this chance to sneak out and run back to where people were training, you saw Percy was still there and ran up to him.

"Hey, your still here" you said to Percy, breathing a little heavier from your run.

"Oh hey, so I guess you slipped from your siblings clutches" Percy joked making you exhale loudly.

"You would not even believe" you shook the thought of having a girl redo the same nail eight times because she kept messing it up and getting slightly burned at the back of your neck with a straightener. "Anyways I was wondering if you'd still be up for giving me some lessons. You know, the basics" you asked.

"Wow an Aphrodite kid who wants to fight, you might be the first. Why even bother now" Percy joked making you roll your eyes.

"Hey, I think love and desire can play a bigger role in fighting then you realize" you informed while crossing your arms and quirking up your eyebrow.

"Interesting, how so" Percy questioned.

"Maybe we'll find out later, now pass me sword."

Percy began showing you the basics and continued to do so for the next few months. Over this time you began to get better and better at fighting. Percy would call you best in your cabin as a joke since none of your siblings ever feel like picking up weapons and actually practicing.

Naturally over these few months, you also began getting closer to Percy. Your sisters loved to pick and prod at the, as they call it, budding relationship you and Percy had. The two of you just saw each others as friends, at least that's what you told your sisters. The friendship the two of you really had was more flirty if anything, because at the end of the day you'd be lying to yourself and everyone around if you said you didn't think Percy was hot. He really was.

After a solid six months, at least when it came to girls you were one of the best sword fighters at camp. You were out almost every day having training sessions whether it was with Percy or alone. This day in particular was alone. No one else was out so you had all the dummies to your self, cutting them up and chopping their heads off like it was nothing.

"And how did I know I'd find you here" Percy announced from behind you making you slightly jump.

"Because your so obsessed with me and have my schedule memorized" you humored as you looked at him over your shoulder.

"Your hilarious, has any one of your ass-kissers told you that today" Percy bantered.

"Yeah actually he just did" you returned making him roll his eyes. You both chuckled as he went and picked up a sword.

"Fight me." Hm?

"What?"

"I said," Percy raised his sword at you. "Fight me."

"Alright. You asked for it" you amused as you both took your places.

"What makes you think I'll lose"

"What makes you think I won't win" and with that you lunged forward and swung. Percy barely blocked as he jumped back. For the next few minutes the both of you were swinging and dodging with ease. That's the problem with trying to fight someone whom you've been training with for months, they know all your moves. The both of you had your blades pressed up against each other when Percy mustered up the strength to push you off and lashed at you.

"Shit, I'm sorry" you looked at him confused before he gestured downward, looking kind of nervous. When he slashed at you, he had created a giant rip in your shirt and absolute exposed your bra. Normally, you would've been embarrassed, but you had an idea to finally end and win the fight.

"Your acting like you don't like what your seeing right now" you boldly stated as you took whats left of the shirt off, now standing there in just your denim shorts and bra.

"No, no. Trust me I'm a fan" he eyed you up and down.

"Remember what I said to you when you first asked me why an Aphrodite kid would bother learning to fight?" You said as you watched him start getting redder.

"Um, yeah, I do" Percy was switching eye contact between you and your cleavage, trying not to make it obvious.

"I think your desire for me is clouding your judgement, clouding whether or not you still want to fight me."

"I think that might be.. kind of true right now" normally you would've been happy with an easy win, but you wanted to really earn your victory. You looked to your side and picked up your water bottle from the floor, opening it up, and dumping the fresh water on Percy.

"Too bad" you winked. "I want to really win." After that, you charged at Percy again, and if it wasn't for the water you dumped on him he probably wouldn't have blocked in time. You guys went back to swinging at each other but this time, you were the one who pushed him back. You took the chance while he was unbalanced to quickly get low to swing out your foot and kick the back of his ankles, leaving him flat on his ass. Before he had the time to react you quickly straddled him, pinning him down while pointing your sword at his neck.

"I win" you said in between breathes. Percy just smiled at you, clearly not upset at losing. The tension in the area was think. The combination of you both panting for air, you in your bra, and the position the both of you were in made the place suffocating.

Percy slid his hands upward on your thighs before saying "Congrats."

"So what? No victory kiss?" you said. And Percy didn't take another second before sitting up and engulfing you in a heated kiss. You both continued making out while Percy kept one hand in your hair while he leaned back and used his other arm to lean on. You began to move back and forth while your hands gripped on to Percy's Shirt, he shortly took the hint and slipped it off. After a few moments you heard someone shout your name, causing the both of you to shoot upward.

"Shit, I think that's one of my sisters" you said quickly.

"Here take this" Percy said while handing you his shirt. "I think this sight should be reserved for me" he winked at you, making you feel a little warm as you slipped on his shirt. It smelled like him. You stood up from your comfortable seat and extended your hand to Percy and helped him up. And at that moment one of your sisters, Silena, had finally found you.

"Hey Y/-" her eyes widen as she looked between you and Percy. "Oh my gods" she whispered as she ran off laughing. Oh no.

"Oh my gods" you said has you rubbed his temples. "She's such a little gossip, you know that?"

Percy just laughed at you. "Now I'm not gonna have to watch your fans try and be me, yet fail miserably" that made you laugh.

"You were my favorite one anyways. Literally my biggest, number one fan" you pointed the number one in his face. He swatted it away and held your hand in his for a second before letting go.

"I think it's time I head out and, you know, grab a shirt." Percy expressed.

"I mean I don't know" you eyed him up and down. "I'm kind of enjoying this sight right now."

"Am I being objectified right now" Percy gasped and placed his hand on his chest, fake shock flooding his features.

"Oh never. I'm just sharing an opinion" you quipped.

"Yeah yeah, anyways I've gotta go" Percy kissed your forehead before heading off. You smiled and made your way back to your cabin. When you made your way through the door, all your sisters were there. They all simultaneously turned to you with devilish smiles on their faces. One thing for sure is, just because they can't fight, doesn't mean Aphrodite kids aren't scary.

"That shirt doesn't really look like your size Y/N."

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson pjo #percy pjo #percy series #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you

764 notes · View notes

moominsuki · 5 months

Text

really fond of the fact that bakugou is really confident about himself as a hero and a man - he’s at his prime of 24-27 and his body is jacked, like he’s an adonis of a man and he’s objectively hot, all that jazz. bakugou doesn’t really think of his body in that regard: he works out but it’s for the job and he likes the general aesthetics of his body and thinks his scars are kinda cool. and they are!! very cool!! his friends think it makes him look scary (adds to his scary character which they like though :})but he likes the edgy look. a shrewd reporter once tried to insinuate that his scars were boorish and large and he shrugged them off with a snarl and the weight of his body. so yeah, he’s not insecure. not really.

it’s not until he’s interested in you does he start second guessing his physical appearance; the scar across his face looks larger, his hands suddenly feel more rough despite his quirk and he swears the blotchy cicatrix on his chest looks way worse than it did. you’ve even got him flexing in his bathroom mirror, ignoring the highlights of his muscles and fixating on what he’d now call ‘disfigurements.’

the crazy thing is, you don’t even care about any of the blemishes!! and not even getting into the fact that he’s practically blind to the way you salivate over him (that’s a whole other bridge to cross) but one day he unknowingly brings up how big the scar is across his nose, chastising it while you’re both talking by the photocopier, “if i knew the fuckin’ guy was gonna get me across the face, i woulda jumped out the damn way.”

you look at him slightly confused by his tone, eyes wide. “well, i like the scar. makes you look tough.”

“tough.” bakugou repeats, and you double down, nodding.

“nothing wrong with tough. girls - well i like tough. i mean, it’s not a bad thing! it’s kinda sexy on guys. also because you’re a pro hero. it tells a story, y’know?… it makes your face, you.”

bakugou nods slowly at that, touching his face again, your words resonating with him throughout the day. and the next. and the day after the next. and he thinks it’s so silly how worked up he gets over your off handed comment but what you think matters (much to his heart’s chagrin).

he’s so shy and so gruff at the same time. terrible romantic which is why he needs you to tell him how gorgeous he is: even though he appreciates his good looks and even though what people think shouldn’t matter but it’s different with you.

just imagining a shy, gruff twenty-something bakugou blushing at your not-so compliments is soooo incredibly heart wrenching. just imagining.

#brb eating my fist #He’s so perfect #he’s everything #༝˚૮ .♡ katsuki.#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou drabble #•• uma’s thoughts ••

2K notes · View notes

itaipava · 6 months

Text

— how f1 boys would act when crushing on someone.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

tries to become your best-friend. and makes sure everyone knows you two are close. actually plays it cool but secretly thinks of you 24/7. tries to deny his feelings and puts himself in the friend-zone so that it hurts less when and if you do. sometimes, his eyes subconsciously drop to your lips when talking to you. always invites you to hang-outs with his friends and unintentionally ends up ignoring or forgetting everyone else and mostly just talks to you or sticks with you. always tries to match your pace when walking together.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

casually flirts with you a lot but does so in a joking or playful manner. slow to realize his feelings but doesn’t bother hiding it once he does. goes out of his way to spend time with you and talk to you. so many little touches like slight brushes of the fingertips, a light rub of shoulders, or a game of footsie under the table. is endearingly protective over you and defends you a lot. asks you to text or call him when you get home, or often offers to walk you home himself. unknowingly smiles so big while texting you and lowkey gets embarrassed when someone points it out or when he notices his own reflection in his phone screen.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

looks at you like you must be protected at all costs, but also admires you and thinks highly of you. notices your little quirks and habits, and finds them cute. wants your opinion on things because he cares about what you think. wants to be updated about your life and keeps you updated about his. lots of eye contact. soft yet deep and intense gazes. unintentionally becoming more goofy and energetic around you. smiling uncontrollably when someone mentions your name or when he gets teased about his crush on you. always picking you first for his team when playing games with friends.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

is actually timid about liking you, and tries to teat you like just another friend because he doesn’t want to be too obvious. does subtle things like tagging you in funny posts, or remembering your favorite cake flavor and buying you one on your birthday. throws surprise parties or celebrations for you — your birthday? surprise! you just finished your exams? surprise, again! sends you memes and tiktok videos at 3 a.m. his words are neutral but his body language shows his feelings; can’t look at you directly without getting slightly flustered, especially when you’re in public or when surrounded by friends. sometimes becomes tongue-tied in the most adorable way when talking to you.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

becomes more talkative and tends to ask a lot of questions about you. he tries not to overdo it but he’s just genuinely curious and interested. tries to find excuses to hold your hand; subtly grasping your hand just a little longer after a high-five or asks for your hand so that he can “read your palm” or compares hand sizes for the hundredth time. lingering gazes and touches when you’re around people. always buys you little snacks that you like. if you just casually makes a comment about how a certain color looks great on him, he remembers that and wears that color even more around you.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

more smiley around you but is also generally chill. always tries to initiate conversations with you and keeps it flowing. he’s slow to realize his feelings, so his friends are more likely to notice it first. loves to tease you and loves it even more when you tease back. the type that probably won’t look away when you make contact but also gets flustered and a little annoyed when someone interrupts the moment. initiates hang-outs with just the two of you and likes to take you to his favorite spots, but claims that it’s not a date unless you want it to be.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

enjoys teasing you, but in a good-natured way; pinches your cheeks and ruffles your hair; steals the last piece of chips from you, only to buy you a whole new bag afterwards. showers you with compliments and also likes to help you with things — basically becomes your cheerleader and personal assistant. his voice or tone changes when talking to you, like he might be mad at someone and talking to them in an angry tone but as soon as he turns to speak to you, his voice becomes softer and sweeter. stalks your social media because you’re so beautiful and he can’t get enough of you. and he always comments on your posts, even if it’s a provocative comment, but he’s always there.

2K notes · View notes

earthtooz · 1 year

Text

fluff :p gn!reader, reader has a quirk, kissing cringe, not entirely proofread, lmk if there are other warnings

the first time that bakugou katsuki was teased by the students of class 1-a, midoriya was shocked to his core. baffled. taken aback. astounded.

so imagine his shock when the bakugou katsuki chases after someone, rather than the other way around.

oh, midoriya is floored because when they were in middle school, the explosive blond would (literally) blow up any love confessions he received, ruining the beautifully decorated cards, and crumpling any boxes of chocolates that people would gift him. his reputation around school with romance was not great, but that did not seem to deter people. he had a good quirk, good looks, and good grades, a big three of requirements for a love interest, apparently.

even though bakugou did not know how to interact with anyone rather than giving them the stink eye.

it got to the point that bakugou seemed to not have an ounce of compassion or romantic urge within him, too in love with the grind to adore another.

then, you came along.

beautiful, powerful, talented you. graceful with your quirk, competent in the field, and loved by your classmates, it seemed like you had bakugou charmed too.

midoriya noticed when the small things began happening, such as bakugou addressing you by your name rather than a ridiculous nickname, complimenting you- albeit gruffly, but nevertheless complimenting you, or even catching him looking at you during class. since you were seated across the room, it did not take a genius to know that bakugou was distracted from his studies, specifically because of you.

then, towards the end of first year, you officially become (dare i say) friends.

but the purely platonic vibe is never really there. you piss bakugou off to the point that he’s chasing you around campus, giggling at his empty threats as he catches you by the waist, holding you for a little too long.

bakugou takes the initiative to be as close to you as possible; always settling for the seat beside you on the couch, tugging you by your shirt towards him when he deems you’ve strayed too far away, and letting you be the taste-tester for his meals.

you take the time to talk him through his temper tantrums, calming him with ease despite performing a task that midoriya thought was impossible. you’re patient with bakugou, mindful to give him space whilst not treating him like a child that has been banned from the candy jar. you handle him at his worse, despite all the metaphorical explosives in your face.

bakugou works you through your struggles. your quirk is not cooperating with you? he offers you solutions. struggling with classwork? just ask bakugou and he’s telling you to sit your ass down so he can explain to you what is happening. although, unlike how he treats kirishima, he bides and explains everything to you civilly until you understand, even when you’re frustrated by your own shortcomings.

bakugou’s chasing after you and he’s running, sprinting as fast as his legs might allow.

he asks his friends for advice, they all come up with nothing worthy of you, and he was not going to confess to you like those pussy ass middle schoolers.

no, because where they looked at him like he was some sort of eye-candy; a prize to be won, he looks at you as if you’re his fucking limited edition all might card that he so desperately wanted signed. as materialistic as that sounds, that (stupidly cool) card is something he treasures, carefully laminated in a memory book where the card itself takes up a whole page of its own.

he too looks at you with soft gazes, and a desire to keep you with him as long as you’ll allow.

bakugou’s chasing after you and he’s using his explosions to increase his speed, wanting to close the distance in between.

but he skids to a halt one night. when the heart palpitations cease his rate completely, all the air is drained from his lungs, and the quivering of his limbs just stop, because you have just kissed him, on the balcony of his dorm, with the sun setting in the background.

he chases after you, knowing nothing but you, beautiful, powerful, talented you, as bakugou pulls you into a breathtaking kiss.

his heart is now revived, yearning for nothing but you, the air has returned for him to share with you the magnitude of his adorations, and his limbs are frantically holding onto your face.

he realises now that this chase has never been one-sided, and that you have been running to meet him in the middle after all this time.

midoriya is a little less shocked when he receives the news that you and bakugou katsuki are now dating.

#i had an idea #and i attempted!#somebody take bakugou blurbs away from me #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou imagine #bakugo imagine #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader

7K notes · View notes

oatsmeall · 3 months

Text

You and I?

Socially awkward!Jk! X f!reader | college AU

Warnings: Socially awkward jk, very awkward jk, suggestive themes, possible smut.

(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)

For as long as you've been coming to this course you've always seen this quiet guy, he always come in 5 minutes exactly before class starts, he brings the same black metal water bottle with one singular sticker, and he's always quiet but always raises his hand to answer questions. You didn't really pay much attention to him untill today specifically though, of course you noticed his usual quirks but today? Man, it's like he became a new man. You never thought the awkward nerdy guy would pull up to class late with new piercings. On his eyebrow and his lip. You were stunned to say the least, he's... Hot? This totally normal thing called being 'tardy' suddenly seamed like a sense of rebellion, especially for this guy, Jeon Jungkook. Wow, such a bad boy.

Throughout the week he'd show up less covered, usually he'd wear sweater vests with a neatly tucked shirt and black or brown slacks or occasionally jeans. Now he's been wearing oversized shirts and baggy sweats and jeans. And not to mention his entirely detailed sleeve on his arm, which has very much been in the works for quite the while you bet. Where was the cute nerdy boy you knew? This was a whole new man. Even the girls that never bat an eye started noticing. You weren't going to lie and say you weren't a little jealous. I mean come on? These girls were ignoring him just 2 weeks ago, now they're fawning over him and his new look.....

"STUDENT SETTLE DOWN PLEASE. today we'll be writing an essay about what we've learned this month. Please be sure to turn the essay in by Friday night." The professor was making y'all write an essay. This is so boring, you were just thinking about that comfortable bed of yours.

While digging in your backpack for your laptop and some paper, you couldn't find any sort of writing utensils. This was so annoying, how is it that Suddenly when you ACTUALLY need a pen or pencil you couldn't find one. Jesus Christ, what a unlucky way to start on homework.

"pssst, hey.. hey, ppsssst" you were trying to whisper call on Jungkook, he was not budging. "Jeon, hey" you were not getting anywhere. Suddenly he side eye looked at you. Okay?...

"what do you want, were supposed to get busy." He said monotoned, he really is still nerdy sounding.

"well I won't get anywhere near busy if you'd just hear me out for a bit. Do you have a pen or pencil I can borrow, please?" You're regretting asking. He's probably gonna decline and say 'you should've brought your own".

"hmm.. I do, but you have to give it back, I always keep 4 pencils exactly." Close to the response you thought.. kinda.

"ugh okay, thanks" ou! Fancy mechanical pencil! And it had a cool retractable eraser!

This essay was gonna kill you. come to think of it what did you even learn this month?....

You and Jungkook had became friends, this past month you slowly would talk to him or try to talk big conversations, you really found him interesting. He was like a new subject you were trying to learn about. You've learned he's quite....odd? He didn't get your jokes sometimes, he was unaware of social cues at times, and he was too straight up. You thought he didn't like you, he was so blunt. on a random day when you guys went to the library he commented on how messy your notes were, how your hair was messy and looked unprofessional for school, and even on how wearing Birkenstocks with socks was strange. He was nitpicking random things, things you wouldn't even pay attention to. This gave you a feeling of self awareness, you felt like he didn't like you, he was making you realize a lot of things you hadn't.

"Jungkook, I really like you but you've got to stop nitpicking things I don't even notice, I'm sure you can keep it to yourself? You don't hear me saying how the way you styled your hair today looks off from yesterday, or how you're wearing two different shades of black and I don't like that."

"why wouldn't you like it? I like it." He said confused and somewhat agitated.

You gave him a knowing look of "do you see now?"

He sat silently before asking

"do you really not like my two different shades of black?" There was a pause before you started giggling. He looked so confused, you couldn't help but giggle.

"alright. Wanna come by my dorm tonight? Study a little and maybe order takeout and watch a movie? Shrek perhaps?" You tried changing the conversation hoping he'd forget the little conflict.

This would be the first time you invite him to your dorm, you were too shy to ask, he was also shy though, more than you probably. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"uhm..sure.. just send me you dorm number." He seemed shy just asking that, you were excited though. He was such a cute and smart guy, he was very helpful when studying. He taught you new things too, the other day he taught you about why pigeons don't know how to build nests.

Around 6:30 he texted you saying he's on his way to your dorm. You were SO nervous for no reason, you tried to tidy up around your room, and by tidy you mean deep cleaned. You've never seen such a clean room, you loved it though.

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Comiingggg" you walked to your door and opened it to Jungkook. In a black tee shirt and grey sweat pants.. you felt your hear beat faster. He looked so.. FINE.

"Hello Y/n, I didn't know what kind of drink you liked so I bought Gatorade, orange juice, and water. I hope you like.. these." He looked so genuine, you appreciate him for trying.

"oh wow! I like all. I wouldn't have minded your pick. Thanks though, come in. Make yourself comfortable." He came in and sat himself on your bed, he was looking around curiously. He was looking attentively, like he was gather information.

"sorry if you might not like the scent in my room, Im trying this mango air freshener out-"

"I like it. It's okay. So where are your notes and stuff, we can get started right now if you'd like, that way we can have more time to hangout..if you want."

This genuinely surprised you? He wanted to spend time with you? Your heart had a sudden rush.

"oh? O-okay, yeah. Uhm let me get my laptop." You hurriedly grabbed your bag, you bent down you're oblivious but your ass caught Jungkook's attention by accident. He stared.. he felt his blood rush down his pants.

"okay I've got my laptop!" You walked to your bed and plopped next to him.

His face was red. Visibly red actually.

"you okay?"

"y-yeah.." he looked away from you in embarrassment. Immediately onto his notes.

After a long hour and a half, you guys were done, you decided to order for delivery instead, Jungkook didn't want to go out anymore, you were tidying around your room, who new studying was messy.

"can't wait for that pasta, I'm hungry. Also hot, this hoodie is too warm" Jungkook look slightly, seeing you take your hoodie off made HIM hot.. his body tensed up. Your black halter top made your boobs look so good, he caught a glimpse of them before you turned to him.

"freeeee!" you said in a giggle.

He was respectful, of course.. but he still IS a man.... with male... tendencies.

"can I use your restroom, please? I need to wash my hands"

"why the restroom? I've got a small sink by the dresser." You pointed to the hidden sink.

"I have to use the restroom too." He said straight faced. He was trying to get away from you as fast as possible or else his print would be visible VERY quickly, maybe he shouldn't have worn grey sweats. Maybe two different shades of black wasn't bad after all like you said.

"okay, yea. It's that door right there." You're not sure why but you have a feeling you made Jungkook uncomfortable, what could you have possibly done.

*knock, knock, knock*

"ouuu pasta must be here. JUNGKOOK! PASTAS' HERE!" you got out of your bed and quickly answered the door. You're excited.

After some very awkward moments of eating and small talk you put on Shrek the movie, you guys were on your bed now. But you felt a sudden rush, you've been avoiding thinking about him but he's so fine. He's hot in this little ensemble he put together, the grey sweats made his print noticable. Your mouth felt dry all of the sudden. You felt and decided to lay down and drape your legs on his thighs. You felt his body tense up. This made you feel butterflies. It's almost like you had an ad advantage.

"uhm.. Y/n.. I- " you cut him off and looked up at him directly into his eyes. Oh those siren eyes of yours.. they're killing him. His eyes began to widen when he realized that you're now turned around facing his lap. More so his crotch.

"Kook.." you start innocently. "Have you ever been... Touched?" You said softly and quietly. You scared him. He can't comprehend how you'd gone from fun from "fun and nice, sweet and understandable" to "horny seduction demon" he's also never had physical Intimacy, only cute kisses and hugs. This was odd, he liked how he felt though. You gave him butterflies.

"N-no" you looked at him straight in his eyes again. This time you say up slightly and palmed his dick through his sweats. He let out an lewd quiet moan. Your pussy was pulsating from excitement.

"mm poor boy. Do you like when I touch you like this?" You say quietly. You began stroking the outline of his dick, then you pulled his sweats down following after, his boxers. His hard Dick sprung up. You were in awe at the largeness before your eyes. You didn't know what you expected.. but surely not this monster. The sayings are true. It's always the quiet and shy ones.

"auh.. fuck" he whispered lewdly. What a turn on.

"mhm? You like that kookie?"

Precum began to slowly ooze from out the tip. Red and sore from the friction being created from your hands. You started pacing faster, stokes becoming gradually faster.

"augh, f-fuck. I don't wanna c-"

You sunk you whole mouth on his cock. Filling your mouth with only half of his cock. You started deep thoating, harder and faster, the lewd noises becoming louder and messier. Chocking on his dick you took him like a champ.

"I'm not done with you babe." You say with saliva and cum dripping from your mouth. You're Cock drunk.

"Y-you're not?!" He seemed genuinely shocked.

You got up and sat on his lap, legs sitting on either side of his thighs. Your booty shorts rode more up your thighs.

You began to ride him. Fully clothed, you began riding, Jungkook instinctively grabbed your ass and pressed you down to create harder friction.

"mm- F-fuck. Oh my, Jungkook augh- you moaned loudly, your pussy was so wet and it was throbbing. Suddenly. Jungkook's switched. He became the lewd one. You never expected to hear something like this come out of his mouth..

"Yeah? You like that you fucking slut? You like seducing quite guys?" He said through his teeth in a hiss. Gripping your ass. Your so turned on at his sudden switch.

"mhm baby" you mewed.

"take the shorts off. Now" yes sir. Anything for Me. Jeon.

You got up off him and you did a little strip tease. It was better that what Jungkook visioned.

You slowly hopped back on him and you grabbed his cock and slowly sat on him. Man was he stretching you out. Nice and good.

"augh fuck Kook. You're so big" you said in a gasp. He just looked at you with a smirk. Man you loved every minute of this.

"that's right baby take me like a fucking champ" you sat on him completely but suddenly.. when you began riding, his speed increased, he began slamming into you.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, augh babe, you're hitting the spot" your moans were something straight out of a porn video.

"yeah? You like that? Look at me when I fuck you Y/n look at me." He said grabbing your face. Who is this man?! This isn't shy little Jungkook with the cute boba eyes?! This was Jeon Jungkook. The fucking man.

After what felt forever, you and Jungkook did some after care. He went and fetched you an after pill at the nearest pharmacy. Yes at 1 am.

You were beat. Inside and out. Literally. You felt numb, could hardly walk. Your pussy was sore. You can't count how many times he made you cum and squirt but he really overstimulated you. You're so ready for a part 2 of this.

The next day you went to class and sat with Jungkook. Suddenly he became shy again?! Two faced much?

Guys... Let me know if you want a part 2 lol, this is my first time writing a fanfic lol🥹

#jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts

527 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 3 months

Text

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

603 notes · View notes

comatosebunny09 · 10 months

Text

kindle [ pt. 2 ] | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, modern au

warning(s): language, pining, terms of endearment (doll, sweetheart)

part 2 to this. hope you enjoy! thank you so much for reading! ❤️

It’s a date. Or at least, you assume it is.

Given the way Leon had sauntered up to your desk, all smirking and sheepish, it was only fair to surmise he had asked you out on one.

Took him long enough.

He came to you through the dull murmur of the office. When the sun crept towards the horizon, bathing your cubicle in an ethereal orange. You were elbow deep in SIR reports, gnawing on the cap of your pen. Irritation rested between your brows. If you glared any harder, the information sprawled before you would surely combust.

Paperwork was the bane of your existence. Dodging chainsaws, claws, and teeth seemed more appealing. You’d gladly take the cool steel of a beretta biting into your palm over that of a ballpoint.

Thick, work-worn fingers splayed on your desk, drawing your attention northward. You couldn’t help the slight quirk of your lips. Couldn’t parry that pleasant, fluttery feeling in your gut at the sight of him—your partner, that is.

Leon’s hair was ruffled with errant strands sticking this way and that. Irises glimmered like sea glass, dancing over your features with boyish fascination. His smile was dimpled, and crow’s feet hung to the corners of his eyes. Dark stubble dappled his chin. His tie was loosened around his neck, while his dress shirt lay slightly untucked and wrinkled. It seemed the day had been as kind to him as it was to you.

You found yourself resting your cheek in your palm as warmth flooded your innards. Fell under his spell, submerged beneath its shadowy depths, unable to resurface. Not that you wanted to. He held your heart in a vice. You cautioned a “Sup?” wincing at how your voice crackled. How you sounded prepubescent, and you cleared your throat to ward off your nerves.

Leon’s replying chuckle was like velveteen. You felt it in your stomach. Felt it play up your spine like a xylophone. You always found his voice endearing, the low gravel of it sticky and dulcet to your ears.

As if magnetically drawn to them, you watched his lips, soft and rose-petal red, form around words. Your own tingled as you recalled kissing that very mouth a few nights ago. Committed their texture to memory, quelling the urge to touch your lips. Leon’s Adam’s apple bobbed and the tendons in his neck flexed. You instinctively swallowed, readjusting yourself in your chair.

“Not much,” Leon said, shifting his weight onto one foot. Still propped up on your desk in an easy slouch, swaddling you in the aroma of gun oil and teakwood. Of course, his sleeves were cuffed, baring his sinewy forearms. How badly you wanted to touch them. Drag your fingertips down the forked veins beneath, conjuring the prettiest sounds from his throat. “Just checkin’ on my favorite partner.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m your only partner, dickhead.”

“I dunno,” he taunted, standing tall with folded arms. From this angle, it was easy to make out the power of his body. His clothes did little to disguise it. Your throat grew dry, and your voice caught in the bowels of your chest. “Marie over in HR is gunnin’ for your spot.”

It always surprised you how quickly you could move. How swiftly you could retrieve your stapler and chuck it at him. Leon snorted as he ducked, the damned thing striking a far-off window. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, a youthful crinkle to his eye.

“Relax, doll. I’m just messin’.”

You countered with a hmph, clearly over his shit.

Leon replaced his palms on your desk once the dust settled. Broke the heavy silence by asking, “How’s the admin stuff comin’?” Feigning interest in the documents littering your cubicle, he retrieved a packet, skimming through it with disinterest. Like he wasn’t using you to procrastinate, a pile of pristine, white paper leering at you through his office window.

With a weighted sigh, you answered, “It’s coming.” A quiet snicker garnered another eye-roll. “Oh, grow the hell up, Kennedy.”

“Never. You like me like this.”

You cut your eyes at him mid-scribble. Sat your pen down with a definitive clack. These childish games you played made you feel giddy. Like two grade-schoolers in the sandbox, clearly taken by each other. Alright. You’d bite.

“Says who?”

It was as if you initiated a challenge. As if you’d stuck out your tongue and said make me. Leon took the bait, inching towards you, huffing out a chuckle. He crept over your desk with the finesse of a jaguar quietly stalking through the bush. Poured himself into your personal bubble, the heat of his body rolling off him in waves, staining your neck, a shiver sifting through your bones. His breath was hot against the shell of your ear. Dizzying as he deliberately exhaled against your skin.

His timbre was dark with mischief as he finally crooned, “Says that dumb little look on your face, sweetheart.”

You’d never punched him harder.

Leon drew back, gulping down air between a peal of laughter. It became customary for him to torment you like that. To play on the attraction swimming between you, dismantling your resolve and leaking through the fissures of your heart. When the moment became too serious, he often sprinkled in a quip or two to keep you at arm’s length. It was frustrating. How he could act so cool despite the noticeable change in your relationship.

“What do you even want, Kennedy? I’ve got shit to do,” you sighed, exasperation wading in your tone. Your forehead collided against the cherrywood with a soft thunk. A migraine bloomed on the horizon. Leon’s teasing only served to exacerbate it.

His tone was muffled. Hesitant, rivaled by the idle chatter of your coworkers. “Well, if you must know, I … wanted to see if you had dinner plans?”

Magma filled your belly. Your eyes shot to him, a sheet of paper comically glued to your forehead. You were acutely aware of yourself, sitting up straighter, smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, fretting over your hair. “Dinner? Uh, m-me? N-no. Well—”

“Cool. Now you do have plans. Seven sound good?”

Your expression was awestruck. Well, now, this was certainly a new development. You blinked away your confusion, nodding dumbly. Caught a glimpse of a smirk canting Leon’s lips before he stepped out. Before he tapped your desk with finality, maneuvering out of your office space.

“Wait! Wait, is … is this a date?” you called to his retreating back.

“Take it however you want,” Leon supplied, a hand raised in farewell.

You sank into your chair once he disappeared within the maze of cubicle walls. Left at the mercy of your thundering heart and flaring nerves. The goofiest of grins lay claim to your countenance. You felt reinvigorated, taking up your pen. Scrawled away like an enamored fool, scanning through the catalog of your mind for what you would wear.