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polakina · 11 months

Text

intensified senses

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader

rating: explicit

outline: being highly recommended by his lieutenants, miguel decided to recruit you into the spider society. wary of you at first, he kept a distance. but you were persistent on getting through the cracks of his stony exterior

warnings: cursing, fluff, eventual smut, miguel being a sarcastic bitch, pining, flirting, masturbation (male), blindfolding, sensory deprivation, blowjobs, unprotected sex, riding

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

masterlist

He watched you from afar at first. Crouched from a high tower, dressed in inconspicuous clothing and hiding in plain sight. You came highly recommended. Jess and Ben spoke rather fondly of you, of your loyalty, bravery. You took care of your neighbourhood, of your city. And you were damn fucking good at it.

Miguel didn’t see it. He looked at you with a rather cold stare as you perched from a rooftop, your headpiece laid beside you as you looked out towards the streets. You crouched there with a bagel in one hand, iced coffee in the other. Your suit was all yellow, like the sun. The spider on your chest a deep orange. The sunset made it shine brightly. A pretty amber in the light. Miguel just sort of scowled at you.

“What do you think, O’Hara?” Jess came through on his earpiece, crackly, but clear enough to understand.

“She’s…you think that she could join the society?” He asked incredulously. “She’s a kid!”

“She’s actually similar in age to you, just with a better skin care routine,” he heard her chuckle lightly.

“That’s funny,” he responded coolly. Sarcastically. As he usually did. But he trusted Ben and Jess’ judgement, and to be fair, he was trying to expand the spider society further. So perhaps you would be an ample addition, in his eyes.

You knew someone had been watching you for a while. You felt eyes on the back of your head. For what reason, you weren’t sure, but they didn’t pose a threatening feel. So you let them be.

It wasn’t until you felt their presence behind you that you felt that something needed to be done about it. You heard his footsteps quite a fair distance behind you, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up straight. He was big. Very big. Putting your headpiece back on, you stood up straight and kept looking ahead of you. It was only when you felt him get a little closer that you sent your webs in his direction. You heard him grunt as he was webbed to the rooftop door, stuck in place.

That’s when you turned around to face him. Glad that your face was covered, he wasn’t able to see the look of surprise on your face. The way your eyebrows raised or your mouth fell slightly open. Goddamn. He wasn’t exactly what you had expected to be following you all these weeks.

Dark curly hair. Reddish eyes. A waistline that would put any model to shame. The man was built like a brick wall, but with a face carved from a God or something. You blinked back into focus, not letting him distract you right now.

“Who are you?” You asked, trying to conjure a sort of authoritative voice to not seem so young. Or small. Which you were in comparison right now.

“That isn’t important right now,” he said, struggling against your webbing. “I need you to come with me. I’m recruiting you. That’s the reason I’ve come to find you. Not so we can chitchat and braid eachother’s hair.”

You laughed a little. Miguel ignored how his heart leapt a little at how pretty it sounded. “Wow you’re really good with your people skills. Has anyone ever told you that?” You walked a little closer to him, still hesitant. “Unless you tell me exactly who you are, and exactly what you’re doing in my city, I’m not going anywhere. And by the time that webbing’s structure decomposes enough for you to break free, you won’t find me again.”

He just sighed at you, rolling his eyes out of impatience. “Okay, I’m over this.” talons protruded from his hands in replacement for his fingers, and he sliced through your webbing. Shit, you put so much effort into that webbing too. He sauntered towards you, hips swaying as he looked down at you with a deeply disinterested glare. You backed up until your legs hit the edge of the rooftop, pinning you between him and the ground below. You could have just jumped. Leaned back until you fell from the roof and swung through the streets, far away from him. But you couldn’t. It was like you were frozen in place. “You’re coming with me. One way or another.”

You stepped up onto the ledge, almost as tall as he was now. “As much as I’d love to come back to what I assume is a cute little lair, I’m going to have to pass.” You fell backwards off the ledge and watched his eyes widen as he went to reach for you, but he wasn’t quick enough. Clearly his spidey senses weren’t kicking in today.

You fell, looking towards the ground as it got closer and closer to you.

But you never did reach it.

It was a blur, a flash of coloured lights blinded you for a few moments. There was a pressure on the back of your neck, as though someone had grabbed you harshly, penetrating skin from the pain it inflicted.

Instead your body collided with a solid stone floor. Hard. you felt somethin crunch as your body hit the ground, sending shooting pains through your entire arm. Blinking your eyes a few times, you adjusted to the bright fluorescent lighting around you. Screens were put up on every wall, a large computer sat atop a much larger desk was raised above you.

“What the fuck?” You whispered, pushing yourself off the ground. Turning slowly in a circle, you tried to gauge where you were, until you came face to face with him again. “You! Where the fuck have you brought me?” You started swinging at him. You don’t really know why. It was a defense mechanism, you guessed? But you swung at him nonetheless. Pointless as it was, it made you feel better.

He just huffed and shook his head, batting away your hands and feet as they came at him, as though they weren’t even hurting him. It wasn’t until he grabbed your wrist which you injured, feeling the dislocation in the bone. You hissed in pain, trying to pull away, to no avail. He said nothing, just snapping it back into place and your cry echoed throughout the room.

“Asshole!” You cried out, turning away.

“You’re welcome.”

“I wouldn’t have even been hurt if you hadn’t have kidnapped me!”

“I told you I was recruiting you for something.” His voice was so plain, so boring, so calm. Not a smidge of emotion or humanity in it.

“You could have asked nicely! Maybe explained the situation before…teleporting me to your shitty office,” you breathed heavily.

“You didn’t give me a chance. This was the only way.” He turned towards the desk, making his way up to it. You followed, rolling your wrist to alleviate the pain.

“So why am I here? And who exactly are you?” You walked to the desk, taking a seat in the chair and spinning in it until his face became blurry. You came to a sudden stop when his hands fell hard onto the arm rests, his face inexplicably close to yours. You held your breath as he scowled down at you.

“Get. Off. My. Chair.”

“Who. Are. You.”

He rolled his eyes. But it wasn’t he who answered your question. It was a woman. “Miguel, you’re back! And you brought company. So this is the Lemon Spider? I expected something…different.”

“Lemon Spider? That is not my name,” you chuckled, looking over to see a blonde woman on the screens.

“Well, LYLA is my name. And Lemon Spider suits you, so Lemon Spider is your name.” She smiled, her grin was big and bright.

“And you’re Miguel? I’m glad someone finally told me.”

Eventually Miguel explained why he’d brought you to him. The Spider Society. Hundreds of spiders from hundreds of different alternate realities protecting the canon events and ensuring nothing disrupted them. His lieutenants had recommended you after close observation of how you handled situations within your own universe. You were small but quick, good at getting in and out of places that others couldn’t fit. You had heart. You never acted out of anger, or revenge. Only when someone needed you, needed your help.

It was a noble cause. One that, of course, you would have signed up for yourself if Miguel hadn’t first brought you here against your will. The man really needed to work on his people skills.

Months later, you had worked your way up the ranks. A valued member of the society. Even Miguel was impressed. Not that he ever showed it. You’d even met some other spiders. Pav and Hobie being the ones you were closest with whenever you got a chance to see them.

But Miguel was always the one you wanted to see the most, but you tried to keep that your own little secret.

“So…how ya been?” You asked, spinning on the desk chair once again as he leaned over the desk beside you. He rolled his eyes once again, but his mean demeanour had slightly softened with you around over time. Even LYLA had noticed it, once asking him if he did in fact begin to soften towards you. She earned a low growl in response and never spoke of it again.

“Busy.”

“As always,” you huffed, looking at the same thing he was, a screen with a lot of maps and circles and colours…you understood none of it.

“Shouldn’t you be working? Doing spidey stuff?” He asked, looking over at you, his eyes softening at the way you looked up at him. He brushed it off quickly though.

“My canon events are safe,” you assured. “Besides, I’ll be notified if anything canon related or otherwise is affected or in jeopardy. So until that happens, I have a clear schedule.”

He just looked away, scanning activity on the screen. “Well, that’s great,” he mumbled under his breath, sarcasm lacing his tone.

“Come on, I’m great company,” you smiled up at him.

“Uh huh.”

You sighed, leaning back in the chair, putting your feet up on the desk. “Well, you’d prefer me over Hobie, at least.”

He grunted, pushing himself off the desk and turning towards you. Grabbing both your ankles, he yanked them off the desk, pulling you closer to him, your legs either side of his body as the wheely chair rolled swiftly towards him. “Look, as much as I love the cute little attitude you seem to have,” he leaned closer towards you, his cologne filling your senses. “I have work to do. And you’re a distraction. So either be quiet, or go elsewhere, okay?”

Words escaped you. And Miguel realised exactly what he’d just said. He also realised he’d essentially caged his body between your thighs. You gazed up at him, he noted a little surprise in your eyes, as well as something else. But he couldn’t put his finger on it. Letting go of your ankles, he stepped away. You stood from your chair.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be a distraction now, would I, O’Hara?” You asked, a little smirk playing at your lips. You patted his chest and walked away.

He hated that he watched you leave, completely ensnared by you as you left the room.

You stayed at the base that night, knowing that Miguel had his room set up there, a few doors down from the meeting room. You planned to go back to your own dimension, but it was quite boring back there right now. So you hung out in the meeting room, suspended upside down from the ceiling. Tracking the activity of your own city, you were met with absolutely fuck all. No activity. No spikes in crime or anything altered on your own timeline.

Sighing, you dropped down to the floor, preparing to go back to your own timeline. You would have said goodbye to Miguel, but you weren’t exactly sure he wanted to talk to you right now.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard something. Your ears perked and the hairs on your arms stood up. It was coming from Miguel’s room. You shouldn’t have inspected, it wasn’t your place. But your feet took you there anyway. Outside his door, you pressed your ear up against it, listening intently. At first you thought he was communicating with someone. LYLA, perhaps. Until you heard something else. Groaning? Grunting, maybe. But then you heard moaning. And he was saying something. Your name. Your hand covered your mouth so that he wouldn’t hear you. But he sure as hell would have sensed your presence. Wouldn’t he?

You stepped back, knocking into the wall behind you. His noises halted almost immediately. Hearing his footsteps approach the door, you backed away quickly, but he opened the door before you were completely out of sight. His pupils were blown wide, his shirt discarded and his chest glistening slightly with sweat.

“I thought you’d left,” he said, his voice low, gruff.

“I stuck around, kept an eye on the screens for a little while,” you admitted. It wasn’t a lie, for the most part. “Thought you would have heard me, or known I was still here.”

He cocked his head in confusion.

“Spidey senses? I always know when someone’s around,” you smiled. But he shook his head in disagreement.

“I don’t have those. Wasn’t bitten by a spider, you see,” he revealed, and your eyebrow quirked. “How long have you been stood out here?”

Your heart dropped. “Um…not long. Was just about to leave anyway, so you get back to…whatever it is you were doing. I’ll see you around, O’Hara.”

You turned to leave until his voice stopped you. “Or you could…stay?” You didn’t turn around at first, but you felt him come up behind you. Close. Very fucking close. His heat radiated onto your back. “I’ve been cold towards you, I know that. I haven’t meant to be.”

“So why have you been?” You spun on your heel, almost stumbling as you came into contact with his bare chest. But his hand on your waist caught you.

“If I let myself enjoy your company as much as I do, I’ll become distracted from my life’s work,” he let his head drop.

Confidence suddenly overtook you and you placed a hand on his cheek, tilting his head back up to look at you. “Sometimes a distraction is what you need to be able to do your job.”

He chuckled. The first time you’d ever seen him do that. “You saying I do my job wrong?”

“I said sometimes, O’Hara,” you smiled. “But maybe a distraction is what you need right now.” Taking his hand, you led him back to his room. You expected him to pull away, but he didn’t, he followed. Miguel shut the door behind him and your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, the only light source coming from his desk light. His hands found your waist from behind you, his breath on your neck.

“A distraction sounds pretty good right about now,” he purred in your ear, kissing your neck softly. You melted into his touch, your legs becoming a puddle. He kissed down your neck to your shoulder and you turned your head, letting your lips meet his in a gentle kiss.

This was the gentlest you’d ever seen him. Usually his walls were up, and he was cold and distant from everyone. But here…here he was entirely exposed. To you. You walked him slowly to the couch in the corner of the room, the backs of his knees hitting it before he sat down, his hands pulling you closer.

“You said you don’t have spidey senses, right?” You asked, standing before him. He looked up at you expectantly.

“What are you getting at here, princesa?”

“Just something I want to try.” You pulled the thick ribbon from your hair that tied it up in a bun whenever you were out of your suit. Your hair fell down to your shoulders, falling in front of your face.

“Oh, we’re trying things? So early on?” He joked, a small smile in his voice.

“Oh shush, I think you’ll like it,” you held the ribbon in front of him and he realised what you wanted to do. He nodded, his trust put in you. Covering his eyes, you tied it around the back of his head. “Just have a little faith.”

“In you, I do.”

You knelt before him, so thankful he was just in sweatpants. You weren’t very good at handling belts. Wrapping your fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants, you felt him tense up lightly. “Easy, O’Hara. Just relax, okay?”

You looked up to see him nod. Smiling, you continued, pulling his sweatpants down to his ankles. He’d opted to go commando under those pants, and you stifled a gasp at what awaited you beneath the fabric.

Shit. you knew he was a big guy…but you didn’t expect him to be that big of a guy. Miguel’s cock sprang out of its confinement, hard, long and thick. For a moment you worried yourself that you wouldn’t be able to take all of him. Or even…most of him. But you were too pent up and needy for him that you pushed past it.

Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, Miguel shuddered at your touch. He didn’t want to admit it, but it had been a while for him. Having only his own hand to work with, he couldn’t fathom how good it felt to be your hand instead.

But fuck, the second he felt your mouth envelope his dick, he couldn’t stop the moan that escaped his throat. You loved it, the raw feeling behind his groaning and whimpering. Taking him further in your mouth, you sucked slowly, deeply, your tongue circling the tip so his legs tightened under your hand where it laid, resting on his thigh.

You felt his hand travel to your head, fingers entangling in your hair and gripping it with a firm hold. He didn’t push, he just held you there. The more of him you took, the tighter his grip got. His panting and moaning was like music to your ears.

“Shit…shit…” he breathed, raising his hips up off the couch, his dick pushing deeper down your throat. He was about to come, on the verge of it, you could feel it. His head fell back against the top of the couch, his teeth gritted against each other as he felt the precipice of his orgasm fast approaching. “Wait, wait, wait.” He spoke quickly, racing through his words.

You did stop. Pulling away and looking up at him. “Are you okay?” You asked, worried you’d gone too far, too fast.

“I’m fine,” he panted, head tipped towards the ceiling. “But…” Miguel pulled down his blindfold so it hung loosely around his neck. He gazed at you, his eyes coated in a thin sheen, glossed over. “I’m not gonna be the only one who gets to feel this good though.” He pulled you up and onto his lap. You felt his dick twitch beneath you as your face was ever so close to his, inches away from one another. “So now it’s your turn, princesa.”

Miguel smirked, his hand sliding down the front of your pants, gliding under your panties and came into contact with your bare skin. Your breath shortened as his fingers drifted down to your pussy, already soaked from the moments previously, and he smirked at the wetness he felt there. “Already this wet, hmm? Guess it’s not going to take long for you to be able to take me, huh?” He was so smug. So confident. In any other instance you’d find it annoying, but right now you couldn’t have found it more attractive. All you could muster up was a quiet, desperate please.

He smiled, pushing a finger deep inside you and pulling a soft moan from you. God, he could listen to that on repeat for the rest of his life. Moving his finger in and out at a quickened pace, curving his fingertip to hit that sweet spot you could never reach yourself, he felt you clench around him, your eyes begging for more when your mouth couldn’t form the words. He happily obliged, adding a second finger. The palm of his hand grinding against your clit with the added pressure of his fingers fucking you was driving you to the edge quicker than you thought possible.

He knew it too. Your eyes rolling back, your hips shifting to rock with the rhythm of his fingers inside you. You were close.

“You want to come, angelita?” He asked, his words dripping with want, with need. For you. He watched you nod frantically. But he slowed his fingers, his other hand gripping your jaw gently, but firmly. “On my fingers, or on my cock, hmm?” He saw the way your eyes lit up at that proposal. “Oh, honey. I think I already know what you want.”

He didn’t even try and take off your pants, he tore right through them instead, his talons scraping against your skin, but never breaking your skin. Throwing your torn clothes across the room, he lifted you up so you hovered above him. Miguel grabbed his cock by the base, running it along your pussy, soaking the tip with your wetness.

Words escaped you and your mind went numb when he first pushed his cock into you. At first it felt overwhelming, the size of him frying your senses and fogging your head. Only at about half way in, Miguel started to feel resistance, and the look of shock and the overwhelmed tint in your eyes showed him why. “Just relax, conejita. You’re taking me so well,” he whispered, one hand on your thigh and the wrapped around your back.

His praise and encouragement cleared your clouded thoughts. You nodded, taking your time and sinking lower and lower until you reached the base. Letting out a deep breath, you gave yourself a few moments to adjust. Miguel smiled up at you. “Atta girl,” he mumbled, a smirk on his lips. He shifted his hips, rising up into you, purposefully grinding his dick up into your soaking pussy. Fuck, he loved the way you bit your lip to stifle your noises as to not make too much noise. Not that anyone else was here anyway. He wanted to hear you.

You started rocking back and forth on his dick, the tip hitting something devastatingly sweet every time and it sent shockwaves through your entire body. You wrapped your arms around his neck, nails scratching into his back, digging crescent shaped indents into his skin as you rolled your hips quicker and quicker. Miguel’s hands both found their way to your hips, guiding your movements and controlling your speed. His head dipped down as he kissed your neck, taking your skin between his teeth and biting gently, sucking deep marks into your neck.

His lips trailed down, passing your collar bones, down your sternum to your breasts. His tongue circled your perked nipple before he sucked identical purple marks into your breasts, kissing along to the other breast as he did, giving the same treatment to both.

Mumbles and whimpers fell from your lips, flooding the room with your desperation for Miguel’s touch, for Miguel’s praises, for Miguel’s hands all over you. His fingers dug tighter into your hips, grinding you against him hard, his cock reaching the perfect places inside you to make you squirm, to make you cry out his name.

“You gonna come for me, princesa? Hmm?” He asked, a smidge of cockiness in his tone. He was good. And he knew he was good. You couldn’t deny it, not knowing that even though you were already so overwhelmed by the size of him, mixtures of pleasure and pain that balanced one another out perfectly, you couldn’t deny that you weren’t already craving more of him.

But the second he started raising his hips to meet yours, you lost it. Your head fell against his shoulder, and his lips attacked your neck, pressing soft kisses there, biting gently. His hand drifted between your bodies, putting pressure against your clit with his thumb. That’s when your body began to unravel, your senses skyrocketed. You gripped the back of his neck so tightly as you felt your orgasm growing closer, your thighs shaking and your movements started to falter in both speed and momentum.

Miguel sensed it it too, his hands on your hips becoming the sole thing after a point, that kept you grinding on his cock. He was close too. But he held out with all of his focus. Wanting you to come for him first. Needing you to. “Come on, honey,” he purred in your ear, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You let out a small cry, Miguel’s name playing on your tongue. Your orgasm washed over you. It wasn’t gentle either, like it usually was whenever you touched yourself. This was powerful. This was like a tsunami. It tore through you, electrifying your veins and causing you to clench hard. Your thighs caged him, closing tighter around his body as you clung to him. You bit into Miguel’s shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, but it didn’t stop him from fucking up into you. He didn’t stop. Not until your orgasm had finally satisfied the both of you. Your body collapsed against him, your chest heaving as you tried to regain all of your breath, filling your lungs to their capacity.

“You okay, conejita?” He asked, raking his fingers up and down your spine, kissing the side of your head. He chuckled lightly as you just nodded, a quiet groan all you could muster up at an attempt for words.

You lifted your head, leaning back to look at him. A gasp escaped your throat as he shifted beneath you once more, his cock twitching. “You didn’t…” Your words trailed off as you looked fown for a split second.

Miguel shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” You asked, a mixture of curiosity and a little embarrassment lacing your tone.

He smiled, leaning back, running his hands up and down your thighs. “You think I can only last one round, honey? I’m offended,” he laughed jokingly. Your eeys widened a little, and you were slightly concerned you wouldn’t be able to handle more right now. Not if it was as good as that. “Don’t look so afraid, baby,” he whispered, lifting you and your legs wrapped around his waist. He carried you to the bed on the other side of the room, laying your down gently, your head settling comfortably into the pillows as he climbed on top of you, his body between your thighs. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Miguel, I don’t think you know the meaning of gentle.”

He matched your soft laugh with one of his own. Rolling his eyes, he leaned even closer to you, your lips almost touching. “I’ll try to be gentle. At first.” His eyes darkened in the dimmed room and your heart beat just a little faster. “But don’t think it’ll take me more than five minutes to fuck you into this bed until all you can do is scream my name.”

#miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #spiderman #spiderman into the spiderverse #into the spider verse #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #spiderman x reader #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel ohara fanfiction #smut #fluff #fanfic #fanfiction

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sunny-mercya · 10 months

Text

Wasted

Poly! Billy Loomis and Stu Macher x Male Reader

Masterlist

H a v i n g t h e T i m e of my L i f e !

D i g g i n g t h e D a n c i n g Q u e e n

«Where's [Name]?» a question Billy shouldn't have asked Stu—he looked like a deer caught in the headlights, wide eyed and a flicker of realisation and panicky fear in them.

«Stu. Where is [Name]?» Billy repeated again, harsher this time, demanding even. Giving his boyfriend a expectantly look, brow raised, a sort of glare it was—the kind of which a parent would give, when they aren't being amused and mildly disappointed with what their child did.

Stu feels like this metaphorical child. His hands getting clammy, eyes darting around from side to side, everywhere and anywhere—even focusing on those, in his humble opinion, absolutely ugly paintings which hung on the walls alongside the staircase, just so he doesn't have to look at Billy and getting this....this look of disappointment from him. Though when Stu accidentally did, he winced visibly.

Now, this was a situation—one of the rare occasional ones—where Billy, who's normally an composed person, was feeling restless and a tiny amount of fear spiking up in him.

This wasn't one of Stu's many parties, where they have established unofficial rules to what was allowed—in drugs and alcoholic beverages wise and where they have control over everything—this was the party of an stranger, a person Sidney (or had it been Tatum or another one of their friends?) was acquainted with, from over next town.

A party, where the two couldn't keep a proper watch over you. Couldn't keep you out of harms way—and it wasn't like, that you neither could hold your own or defend yourself in dire times of need. You're perfectly capable of such things. But, for them, you're their precious little boy—which they just, if they could, would love to lock up and keep safe.

And Stu had one fucking job this night, keeping you near him. Yet in the end, Stu had failed in it, managed to lose you in this crowd.

Billy was craning his neck, straining his muscles and he even could feel a pull at it. Trying to find you in that cramped mass of human strangers. Stu, standing behind Billy on the staircase, being a lot taller then his friend, swirled his head from right to left. He too trying to spot you, your mop of (h/c) hair or the clothes you are wearing. No avail.

An underlaying panic, deep buried in their pits of stomach, sets itself free. Rising up and giving them side stabs. Leaving goosebumps on their skin and a tingle down their spines.

«Fine. We're going search for him together. [Name] can't be that far.» a string of cruses left Billy's mouth afterwards.

~~~

You swayed from side to side, trying to find your way back to the house as you wandered through the backyard, a rather big one with lots greenery, some trees and a stony path. You hoped at least that you were still in the backyard, sight a bit too blurry to tell what all the difference blobs are.

A hiccup here and there left your mouth. Swallowing your own salvia and taking another sip from your cup, drowning the last rest. Wanting the sandy dryness to get away.

A few minutes later and your mouth was dry again. You drunk enough to have your body being hydrated. More limo and soft drink than alcoholic beverages, besides a few shots and one or two cups of beer.

So getting a dry mouth within seconds was a bit weird, so you thought. Did you always had such a excessive sweating? And since when was the night so warm?

You stopped your walking, just standing there wherever that was, because it sure doesn't look like a backyard anymore (and perhaps it never has.)

Taking one step forward, still wanting to continue your way back and in the next moment of seconds, you felt a wave of air around you. Falling and your face hits the asphalt.

The small shock shook your mind awake form the haze. Turning onto your side, you tried to sit up. Needing a few tries before you accomplished it. The few glass shards, which laid around, digging into your palms—leaving bloody cuts.

Huh, funny, the blurry dots which comes flying nearer and nearer, reminded you a bit of your boyfriends—the colours seemed to fit the dots so well.

You snorted loudly at this thought, falling onto your side again. Giggles left your mouth, waving a hand at your dot boyfriends. Dot boyfriends. Another snort.

~~~

It had taken some time till Billy and Stu had found you. First they searched inside the house, checked every room—interrupting a few people by two things; sex and taking a piss. Then they took a look around the backyard and pool area, but nothing.

A few fleeting thoughts, what if imagines came to their minds. Non of them pleasant at all. You could have been kidnapped or you going back all on your own or you even going with someone else.

They came to the same conclusion. You're wandering somewhere on the streets around and on their way out of the house—passing through the mass crowd, bumping shoulders—Billy sneered at Sidney when she gave them a confused questionably glance.

If it weren't for Sidney, this wouldn't even be happening. Not Stu was at fault.

All of this was her fucking fault.

Billy thanked whatever god might be existing above there. They didn't had to ventured through the streets for too long, till they saw you sitting in the middle of the street.

Stu helped you sit upright again, keeping his hands on your shoulders to give you hold.

Billy crouched down in front of you, holding your face into his hands. Scraping the small bits of shards away and drawing circles with his thumbs over your cheeks. You leaned into his touch—a contrast to your warm skin.

«....It's so warm....» you mumbled, blinking owlish at Billy, eyes dropping every so often.

«What happen [Name]?»

Billy watched patiently how you opened your mouth, trying to form words but all it came out was a jumble of unintelligible sounds.

Billy was concerned, even if you were drunk—fully intoxicated—you would still be able to say intelligible words.

Though you didn't look too good either; laboured shallowed breaths, ghostly pale, sweat trickling down your skin, shivering—besides you complaining about the chilly night being way too hot—pupils dilating and your nonchalantly about the cuts.

Noticing the empty cup next to you, Billy had a hunch and hoped he was wrong. The bit of leftover drink in the cup, a slight purple colour with a bitter smell, had proving his hunch correct. Drugs.

Billy narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips into a line. He crushed the cup in his hand, throwing it away. Whoever fucker had done this, they would pay this. Dying a long and painful death.

«You carry him Stu, though lets find the fucker first.»

~~~

«Bills, let us go home. [Nickname] needs to sleep and getting the drugs out his system» Stu whines a bit, adjusting his hold on your thighs again to carry you more evenly on his back. All the while you nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck, moaning out complains—with a few giggles and in between incoherently talking of something—how damn hot it was, how thirsty you are and that you want some cuddles.

Stu, to keep you delighted and from falling asleep, nodded and agreed along to whatever you were saying. Giving you seriously meant answers.

Billy let go of Ben's—the asshole who drugged not only you, but also Kelly—shirt collar, leaving him leaning against the wall. Ben snickers, smirking at Billy, practically a invitation of dare.

«Aww, c'mon a bit of drugs hasn't harmed anyone. Don't get yer panties in a twist. Pretty boy is taking well, isn't he?»

A wave of anger took over Billy's face, contouring into a grimace of furiousness. Without wasting another second, Billy punched him across the face. Breaking Bens nose in process, a satisfying crack being heard.

«Try to drug him again Benny boy and I will make sure that your nose isn't the only thing I will break.

~~~

«Ya think some good ol' horror films will help our darling babe to fall asleep faster?»

«No Stu. That wouldn't be such a good idea, not with the intake of drugs. Could mess with his mind.»

Stu laid you down onto the bed, crawling next to you and pulling the covers over you and taking you into his arms. Billy coming back in the room, placing a glass of water and some pills onto the nightstand. Putting a cool washcloth onto your, already burning up, forehead.

Bill sat on the edge of the bed, caressing your cheek, swatting away Stu's hand from himself for a moment. Deciding after all in the end, to lay down next to you too.

Ben would pay for this, Billy having planning the perfect death for him.

Though this could wait for a bit later, after all you're their first priority.

D a n c i n g Q u e e n, f e e l t h e b e a t

D i g g i n g t h e d a n c i n g Q u e e n

#male reader #x male reader #scream 1996 #scream x male reader #billy x stu x male reader #poly!billy and stu x male reader #billy loomis #stu macher x male reader #billy loomis x male reader #fluff #drama #slasher x male reader #ghostface x male reader

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angelshadowsinger · 10 months

Text

Prized Possession

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.3k 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: fluff!! littlest hint of spice. like a little angst too bc they have a brief fight??? idk

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

You lose something and Azriel gets it back for you.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

im too soft for this pls its too much. i almost made this a smut but i am wholesome and refuse to listen to the little devil on my shoulder. also this is unedited

･゜゜・．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

･゜゜・．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

The ground shook as the air cleaved and two bodies fell to the floor from the mass of shadow above. A wave of cold river water surged out, slickening the marble tile with a slight greenish tinge.

You were retching up water on your hands and knees, drenched hair plastered to your face and your neck. A large slice of skin was exposed diagonally across your collar from where the siren had scratched you, a red ring around your wrist quickly turning purple from where it had grabbed you and dragged you under. That was all before Azriel had dove in from the sky, as graceful and lethal as a bullet with his wings tucked tight and limbs flush to his sides. In but a flash of blinding, brilliant blue did he slay the faerie, the life just starting to leave its gaze before firm hands had snatched you and you’d slipped away into the shadows.

Now the shadowsinger was coughing violently, all the while glaring at you as he braced his scarred hands on his knees, heaved over. His large, dark wings were dripping, a mist showering over you as he shook them free of moisture. You could feel his stony stare fixed on you as the puddle on the floor gradually grew, both your bodies dripping.

The moment you regained some semblance of control you were up on your feet and jabbing a finger into the male’s broad chest, a vicious growl emitting from your mouth and your eyes ablaze.

“What the hell is your problem?!”

He had the audacity to look shocked by your outrage, a dark brow scrunching and lips pulling back to snarl something back at you but you were quicker than him.

“I had it, Azriel, what the fuck?”

“The only thing you had was a watery grave,” he instantly barked back, now standing upright so he loomed over you as usual.

Somehow he looked even more devastating fully drenched, his clothes sticking to his lean frame, revealing his rippling muscles to you with every movement. His dark locks were pitch black and curling at the tips, heavy, shiny droplets collecting at the very ends. Hazel was lit aglow beneath that darkness, his gaze lit with some unknown wrath that you didn’t quite know how to place.

It was just plain unfair how good he looked after nearly drowning.

“Fuck you,” you scoffed, even if he was right. The ache in your lungs remained from your lack of breath, the creature having dragged you underwater so deep that your ears nearly popped with the pressure.

You turned away from him as your fingers ran over your chest, toward the spot that your necklace usually laid upon. But now there was only a shallow slice where the siren had swiped it from you, and the tattered edges of your top. Tears welled in your eyes at the barren expanse of skin you felt, but you refused to let them fall in front of the shadowsinger, refused to let your anger turn to sorrow before you were in the privacy of your own room.

“I think gratitude would be more appropriate,” Azriel spoke harshly, still glowering from his position behind you. “You know, for saving your life?”

You whirled around, fists clenched at your hips. “Would you just shut up!” your hiss morphed into a gasp as you trembled with the effort of curbing the sob that tried to escape.

The haughty look instantly dropped from Azriel’s face, his eyes flicking over every inch of you to assess you for any sign of physical damage. When all he came up with was the cut on your collar and the bruise around your wrist, his brow furrowed.

You were shaking, frustration peaking as you ran your fingers through your sopping hair, starting to pace before the male. “I had it, it was right there…” you muttered to yourself, quickly swiping away a rogue tear, praying he hadn’t seen it.

The shadowsinger remained rooted where he stood, watching your display of upset with quiet intensity. After you had paced for a minute, he finally asked, “You had… what?”

His voice was deep as it sliced the silence in the room. The chill of his chambers was now starting to leech into your bones, your arms crossing over your soaked midsection.

You pinched the spot between your brow and nose bridge, willing any nearly-boiling emotions to relax to a simmer, at least while you were still in front of your long-time crush. “Just forget about it…”

You weren’t looking at him so you didn’t see the way his plush lips pursed.

“Forget about what?” he pressed. His persistence forced an annoyed sigh from you, and you shot him a quick glare before continuing your pacing.

“It’s nothing,” you said, trying to shut him down again. You didn’t know why enlightening him of the true reason you were so upset seemed somehow embarrassing. Maybe it was because the male had never shown profound emotion to you and therefore cueing him in on your own felt… too intimate.

But Azriel wasn’t having it.

“If it’s really nothing—”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

You turned again, facing the male before you and gauging his stance. With one look you knew he was not dropping it. Any excuses you would attempt would be futile.

“It took… my necklace.”

You held your breath, waiting for him to explode, for him to belittle you and call you stupid and materialistic and any other insult he could produce. But all he did was stand there, and look at you.

Eventually, he said, “So you’re telling me that you nearly drowned… for some jewelry?”

Your eyes fell from his to the floor. You knew he wouldn’t understand.

“Risking your life for such a thing is extremely reckless and I don’t care to entertain it,” he stated, callous.

“It’s not just some jewelry!” you quipped, standing your ground. You didn’t care if it made you look weak, stupid. Yes, you thought he was cute and funny and usually kind, but this meant a lot to you and you were going to hold your own.

Azriel sighed, stepping closer to you. “I don’t think you understand the value of your life, or the importance of your existence in others’.”

You brushed off whatever that meant.

“It’s the only thing I have left from my mother,” you finally revealed, the words fading softer toward the end. You regretted it immediately, but you knew from the emotion that flashed in his eyes that he had heard it, and there was no taking it back now.

You had never mentioned her to him before, only the fact that she was dead and had been for a long time. And Azriel hadn’t pushed, so you hadn’t felt the desire to give any further detail.

But now he was looking at you with some sentiment you couldn’t quite place. It seemed like… maybe it was… empathy.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

You were surprised by his immediate apology, hadn’t expected it. A somber smile graced your lips and you nodded, gaze drifting down to your feet again, turning to head back to your room to wallow in self-pity. “It’s okay, it’s just a necklace.”

Three steps into your retreat Azriel cleared his throat.

When you turned to look at him he was still standing there, but he now had a little smirk on his lips as he held out a clenched fist. He released his grip and out dropped a small, silver-laced heart pendant, the chain bouncing from its coil around his fingers.

“You mean this necklace?”

Your breath was genuinely sucked out from your lungs, your eyes tearing up as you blinked furiously, unsure if he was really holding your most prized possession.

“Az,” you blubbered, choked up and your lip quivering. “That’s…” Two slow steps and then you were flying into his arms, your limbs wrapping around his torso as you clung to him and laughed.

Azriel stumbled back just slightly, unprepared for your abrupt launch into his embrace. But he quickly recovered, his free arm wrapping around you so your bottom was secured by his elbow, his hand at your waist. He chuckled as you squeezed him, fingers reaching out to stroke the pendant that now lay in his open palm, to make sure it was really here and you hadn’t lost it. Your longtime crush had saved you and somehow managed to sneakily grab your necklace at the same time.

“Thank you,” you sniffed, tears welling up with relief, “thank you, thank you so much, thank you Az.” You whispered it over and over, tucking your face in against his neck, breathing in that soothing cool cedar scent you loved so much.

The shadowsinger was blushing with your proximity and your praise, near giddy from your outright gratefulness. He allowed himself to nuzzle your ear just once, not wanting to toe the line. “Of course, sweetheart… anything for you.”

You sat back so you could look at him, your beaming smile reaching your eyes. Azriel couldn’t help but grin back at you.

“I can’t believe you got it! You’re the best, Az!” you cheered, fingers now resting on his palm, pleased to find the necklace was indeed there and not lost at the bottom of the river.

The Illyrian was basically looking at you with heart-eyes now, not used to such overt flattery. You wiggled in his grasp, totally overjoyed. The display of your content was making his heart feel funny, his icy exterior completely melting for you.

“I’m so happy right now, I could just—”

You planted your mouth on his, hands coming to cup his strong jaw and hold his face flush to yours.

Azriel went stiff, his eyes widening as his grip on you became steel. But you were undeterred, pulling back to plant a few more swift, equally-firm kisses on his lips and then across his hot cheeks and nose.

When you pulled back, Azriel was gaping at you, lips now parted and his cheeks and the tips of his ears a soft, warm pink. Your smile faded as you took in his expression, settling into the knowledge that you’d just assaulted him with a barrage of kisses.

“Shit— I— I’m sorry Az,” you laughed, embarrassment creeping up the back of your neck. “I just— got a bit excited, I guess.”

You shifted so he would let you down but he refused to budge, arm taut around you. His wings were held high and tight behind him, still buffering as he tried to process what you had just done.

Your cheeks were becoming the same shade as his now, and you swallowed, uncomfortable under his intense stare. You weren’t accustomed to being able to look him head-on like this; he usually towered over you. He was so handsome up close, it made your heart drop into your stomach at the thought that you had just kissed him. About ten times, give or take.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before the shadowsinger finally blinked and closed his mouth, his eyes falling to linger on your lips. You felt aflame as you watched his tongue dart out, tasting the spot your lips had just claimed. “That’s alright,�� he murmured, the hand that was holding the necklace coming to tuck your wet hair behind your ear, fingertips gliding down your jaw, leaving you wanting more. “Seems like a worthy reward for returning your most prized possession to you.”

Then he was setting you down, your ankles suddenly weak as your feet touched the ground.

“Allow me,” he said and gently placed his hand on your hip, turning you away from him.

You held your breath as the rough pads of his fingers coasted up your shoulder, the familiar weight of your mother’s pendant heavy against your rapidly-beating chest while he secured the clasp. You tried to calm yourself down but it wasn’t happening, your body leaning back against him on its own.

Azriel hissed lowly, firm hands grasping the back of your forearms and holding you out, far from where your back had grazed him. “Careful— you’re not the only one excited here.”

Your face burned and your core stirred at the same time.

“Sorry…” you whispered meekly.

He sighed a soft laugh, one hand rubbing your arm. “It’s alright. You go and run a hot bath, you’re drenched and I can hear your teeth rattling from here.”

You turned and smiled smally, grateful he was offering you an escape. You took extra care in keeping your eyes locked with his, no matter how bad you wanted to look down and see just how excited he was. “Thank you again, Az. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

And with that, you slipped from his chambers, the sound of your wet feet pattering down the hallway.

Azriel watched the spot where you had disappeared around his door, his shadows now surging out and dancing around him with glee, flickering across his mouth to get a taste of you. He didn’t care that he was still dripping wet as he flopped back onto his bed, his fingers coming to trace his lips. He recalled how your mouth felt on him, closing his eyes as he tried to preserve the feeling as best he could.

“No sweetheart,” he spoke to no one in particular, a confession only the stars in the sky would hear, “you’ve no idea how much you mean to me.”

･゜゜・．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

#azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar fic #azriel fic #angelshadowsinger #my work

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thisblogisaboutabook · 11 days

Text

Mr. and Mrs. Shadowsinger

Azriel x Reader - Angst - Smut

His eyes are cold and restless, his wounds are almost healed, and she’d give half of Prythian just to change the way he feels. She knows his love’s in the Hewn City and she knows he’s going to go. But it’s not a female he’s leaving for, it’s his damned duty to the Night Court.

Warnings: sexual content, grinding, dom/sub dynamic, language, bondage, grinding, fingering, toxic couple, using intimacy as a form of persuasion

Her mate was strong but gods damn it, so was she. Perhaps that’s why by some cruel twist of fate, she was mated to the infamous Spymaster of Night Court. A male that could torture the secrets out of seasoned liaisons with even the highest of clearances. Nobody in Prythian was better at the game than him, and he wouldn’t allow anyone a moment to doubt it. “Cold”, “Calculating”, “Ruthless”, those that feared him would whisper.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Azriel?” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

His cold, stony gaze fixed on the door behind her as she pressed her body against it, blocking the exit.

Placing two palms to his leather covered chest, she shoved - perhaps she was the only one who didn’t fear him. In fact, she loved him and that was the fucking problem. She wished she didn’t, wished she could let his ass walk right out that front door and not give him a second glance. Instead she was so hopelessly devoted to him that she couldn’t fathom letting him go without a fight. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she needed him, like he needed to draw information from anyone he perceived as a threat to the Night Court. Those that respected him would call it honorable. She called it fucking insufferable.

To his credit, at the belligerent outburst of his mate, a slight tick of his jaw was the only sign of his irritation - a large hand raising to each of her shoulders.

“You just got back! This is fucking bullshit and you know it!” She huffed. She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t let him see her weak. No, not today. Let him read the resolve in her eyes.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.” His firm tone left no room for argument.

Too bad for him she didn’t give a damn about personal space as she made room to retaliate anyway.

“You’re not even healed! Your left wing is tattered in two places. Never mind the fact that I’ve barely seen you this past month. What the hell, Azriel? Do I not matter to you?”

His cold, restless gaze faltered for a moment. “That’s unfair, Y/N, and you know it. You matter and so does ensuring the safety of the court we live in. It’s my duty.”

She pushed a finger into his chest, emphasizing her next words. “No, Azriel, what’s unfair is the way you are walking out on me again. Fuck this court and every person in it, I only want you.” Rage seeped through her, rising to a boil beneath her heated skin. Azriel’s lips remained pressed in a firm line, a slight rustle of his wings the only show of frustration.

Lifting a scarred finger and tracing it lightly along the side of her face, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t mean that.”

Her brow creased at the implication. “I do and you know it. You are all I care about, you’re my fucking mate, not the people of this court, not the city of Velaris, YOU.”

Shaking his head, he remained calm, letting out an exhale. “We can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You’ve known my duties since well before we mated. You don’t see me complaining when you’re away on missions for the Valkyries.”

Oh- he struck a nerve with that. Bracing himself for the recoil he stood firm, crossing his arms in the warriors stance he and Cassian had both perfected over the years. With a cock of his head he continued, “Did I strike a nerve there? Let it out, Y/N. Let’s get this out of the way so you’re not stewing the entire time that I’m gone.”

“You are infuriating!” She howled, her power rolling off her skin in waves, Azriel’s shadows recoiled but he didn’t flinch. “You know why you don’t complain? Because you’re still fed, fucked, and fawned over every single night you’re home. Do I get the same treatment in return? No!”

“So that’s why you’re upset?” He challenged. “You need me to fill your pretty cunt? Is that it baby?”

He hit his mark with the statement. A rush of arousal barreling into him before she clamped down on their bond, rage again lining her sharp features. “I can get off well enough on my own, Azriel.” she spat, his name dripping off her lips with venom. He wanted to bite those lips, suck the venom coating right off of them.

He leaned in, centimeters away from her ear, running a thumb gently up and down her forearm. “You sure about that? You seem a bit-“ hazel eyes roved hungrily up and down her form, from the exposed flesh of the thighs her negligee did very little to cover, to the hint of areola peaking over the deep cut of lace trim, disheveled in her haste to catch him before he left the house. He closed the distance, his lips now caressed the shell of her ear. “-tense.”

“Fuck you.” She snarled.

“Oh, did I not make that clear enough?” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his hazel eyes boring into the depths of her own. “That’s what I’m offering.”

“You can’t fix this with fucking! I’m going to get Rhys, now. You’re not leaving. Not this time.” She stormed to their bedroom, the curve of her ass teasing him as he followed her through the house. Throwing open the armoire door she grabbed a silk t-shirt and leggings, hurriedly putting them on over her slip. Azriel’s tall form leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, watching his angry little mate with a smirk.

“I’m not fucking joking.” She scowled. “I don’t give a shit that he’s your High Lord. You’re MY mate first. Or did you forget that?” She marched toward the doorway shifting to slide past his towering frame. Just as she thought he’d let her past he flung out an arm. “How could I forget, my love? Your fiery rage is the soothing balm warming my own forged of ice.”

She hissed as she barreled into his arm, no match against the 500 years of hard-earned, corded muscle beneath. “No you don’t.” He hauled her over his right shoulder as she kicked and beat her clenched fists against the defined muscles of his back. “Put me down!”

He smiled to himself with satisfaction at the fact that though his mate was livid as all hel with him, she still was careful to throw those fists away from the sensitive membranes of his wings.

Reaching the edge of their oversized bed and much to her dismay, Azriel cradled one hand to the nape of her neck, and looped the opposite arm beneath her ass, dropping her onto the bed, his shadows darting out to restrain her.

“This isn’t going to work!” She yelped.

He hummed, a look of pure male arrogance crossing his gorgeous features. Leaning over the edge of the bed, he braced his weight on his left arm, tracing a calloused finger down the valley between her breasts. “Is that why the sweet aroma of your need is filling every inch of this room?”

Gritting her teeth, she fought the shadows pinning her to their bed.

She loved this and he knew it. His mate was wild, untamed, only yielding within the safety of their bedroom walls.

He placed a knee between her thighs, spreading them, and placing just enough pressure against her core to earn a whimper at the friction.

“Tell me what you need, Y/N.” he demanded.

The female shook her head.

“I may be a patient male, love, but I don’t have time to wait for you. Going to need you to use your words.”

She only scowled at him and he didn’t miss the way she almost imperceptibly arched her back, raising her chest, pebbled nipples peaking from beneath her silken shirt.

“Very well.” He tsk’d, turning his back, wings flaring slightly to remind her of just how accurate the rumors about wingspan were.

He stepped outside the door frame, turning the corner when a pitiful “Wait.” came from their room.

Her scent flowed to him from their room, his cock jerking at the win, at the fact that her submission and desire for him was so evident. He waited a moment. Oh yes, he was going to make her wait for this. Spymaster duties could hold off long enough to punish his girl for her outburst, in all the ways she loved to be reprimanded. She needed the attention and her behavior was a clear sign of it.

So he sauntered back into their room, oozing with confidence as he took in the sight of his mate, defenseless in her binded state.

“Can you be good for me, baby?” He asked in a condescending manner.

She nodded her head, apology dancing in her eyes.

“Promise me, baby.” He teased. “Show me just how good you can be.”

“Yes, sir.” She spoke submissively.

Pride sparked in his chest at her changed behavior. Releasing his shadows, he looked to her with faux empathy in his eyes, seating himself at the edge of the bed. “Strip.”

She did as he requested with no argument.

“Good girl.” He cooed, patting his thigh. “Now c’mere”

He took in every inch of exposed skin as she strode toward him, avoiding eye contact in a show of deference. Very well, the subtle bounce breasts with each step was captivating his attention anyway.

His submissive girl was so fucking good for him.

She spread her legs, straddling his thigh, dropping her weight down onto it, waiting patiently for his next command.

Looking into her eyes, he whispered in a low voice that sent chills through her, his palm cupping her jaw, thumb running across her lower lip. “You’re so delicious, you know? Those pretty lips make me want to devour them until they’re puffy and red.”

He was setting the bait. The next sentence determining whether she’d be rewarded or not based on her response. “But, unforunately” Azriel let out an exasperated sigh, “I don’t have all day. Our court needs me.”

He caught the flash of violence in her eyes, the rage warring within them. But to his surprise, she didn’t react. Not one single word of resistance falling from that pretty mouth.

He placed a hand on either side of her hip, situating her center over the seam of his leathers. “I know you didn’t like that, sweet girl. But look at you, you’re being so good for me right now. You’re learning.”

She smiled coyly at the praise, biting her lip and looking up to him with fluttering eyelashes.

“You can move now, baby. Take your pleasure.”

So she did, finding that perfect angle and rhythm to bring the friction she so desperately needed to her aching core.

Her body began to tense, little moans and whimpers spilling from her lips, brows furrowing as she focused on her pleasure. “Azzie.” She whispered innocently. “Please, may I come?”

He brought a scarred hand to the back of her head. “Such good manners, baby. So proud of you.”

She beamed at the praise.

“Yes, my good girl. You may.”

A whimper fell from her lips as his thumb found the sensitive bud of her clit, moving it in those rhythms he’d long ago perfected, bringing her to the edge in no time.

She cried out his name through shattered moans, her head falling to the crook of his neck, breasts heaving against him. When her panting settled, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Opening his mouth to accept her gratitude, he was taken back by something pulling at his wrists, ankles following suit.

His mate hopped off of him, heading to the closet. “What the hell?” Azriel shouted.

“Some Spymaster you are.” She chided, eyes rolling with contempt. “When would I ever submit so easily? Think with your other head next time, Az.”

Throwing on a set of leathers that typically would have had his cock at full attention by the way they hugged her like a second layer of skin, she flashed him a vulgar gesture and left the room, leaving him pinned to their four-poster bed by his own damned shadows.

He fought against the binds but the traitorous things were having none of it.

“Y/N! Come back!” He yelled but the only response was the slamming of the front door echoing down the hall.

——————————

Hours later a disheveled Shadowsinger found himself in the Hewn City. After much convincing his shadows had finally let him free of their restraint when he promised the lecherous things their share of playtime with their favorite little mate - their mate who was absolutely going to be punished later.

He was fuming, embarrassment weighing heavily upon him like an anchor. He almost felt bad for the subject Rhys has sent him to elicit information from today. They expected it would take at least a day, if not two to work on this one. Azriel guessed a day based on the less-than-generous mood he was in.

His heavy footsteps echoed off the walls of the Hewn City dungeons as he neared the cell of his subject, shadows promising violence, an obvious attempt to win back his affections after their betrayal.

Azriel gaped as he rounded the corner to find his leather clad mate sitting in a chair outside the cell, seated in a relaxed show of dominance with one leg crossed over the other, irreverently picking at her cuticles with fucking Truth-Teller.

“What the hell?” He fumed at his mate. “Where is the prisoner?”

“Oh, him?” She flashed a wicked grin.

“He’s gone. I got the information Rhys needed.”

His brows furrowed with disbelief. There was no way. It had only been a couple of hours. “How?”

She stood, swishing her hips as she sauntered toward him, brushing her chest against his. “I have my ways. Certainly you would know that.” She flicked her gaze to his swirling shadows who quickly hid in shame. “Your shadows surely do.”

Gripping him by the front of his leathers, she pulled him into a kiss, claiming his mouth with her own. The Shadowsinger too dumbfounded to argue.

“C’mon Shadowsinger.” She quirked an eyebrow, as she looked into his eyes with challenge. “You’re mine. Now, let’s go home.”

—————————————-

A/N: you get extra credit if you know where the summary for this story came from.

General tags: @lilah-asteria

#acotar #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger #Azriel smut #azriel one shot #Azriel’s mate #azriel spymaster #spymaster

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lightwing-s · 3 months

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𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢 ; 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader

summary: a helping hand turns an enemy into a friend for one single night of truce. one single night that ends up redefining their entire relationship, the start of where everything is about to change.

rating: 18+ (MDNI)

word count: 6,4k warnings: mentions of heavy drinking, sex, p in v, oral (female receiving), fingering, language, size kink, breast play, male dominance, jason's sex stimulated superiority complex

a/n: the fact this was supposed to be way longer scared me of how many chapters i might need to end this series lol. and i tried making it possible to read without the context of the series for those who just want to read a nice smut lol. also, thank you for all the support thus far, it has been incredible seeing so many people invested in this story and wanting to see its development. thank you thank you thank you for supporting this silly writer's dream. ♡♡♡

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! ♡

links: previous ; next ; series masterlist ; general masterlist

Thanks, man. Have a good night. Shutting the door closed behind him, Jason thanked the driver before he watched his Uber ride drive his car away, turning the corner and leaving the street he was left on. The night was cold and dark, the faint lighting of the streetlamp doing nothing to provide him a clear view of his ambiance, instead, all was gloom.

Standing on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building, he let out a deep, long sigh. It was late, really late, past 1am the last time he checked, and the weight of the alcohol in his system begged him to find his way to bed. But the soft, barely audible, breaths of the lady behind him reminded Jason he still had a task ahead: getting you to his apartment.

As a strong wind blew past him, he zipped his jacket up, protecting himself from the unusually chilly night, for this time of the year at least, and turned on his heels to find you resting against the stony wall of the old structure, eyes narrowly managing to remain open. You felt the weather as much as he did, hugging yourself to acquire some type of warmth despite your inappropriate attire.

Carefully, he approached your sleepy frame and guided you inside, a hand placed on your back the entire walk up the stairs. Jason’s building was old, but well maintained. Meaning, it looked decent for all the decades it’d been through, but didn’t have an elevator casting on whoever lived on the last floor (Jason) the curse to climb all the way up every single day.

Already struggling due to the alcohol and tiredness, halfway through your journey you let out a moan without realizing. Your pace grew slower, and you lacked the effort to simply lift your legs and place your foot on the next step.

“Come on, love. We’re getting closer.” Jason said, pausing right behind you. He had to hold his laugh as you turned back to face him, eyes watery and lips sticking out in a pout.

“Why didn’t we use the elevator? Do you hate me?” you cried.

“Not everyone has daddy’s money to afford an apartment with an elevator,” he joked, but your response caught him by surprise, as your face crunched into a sort of angry expression mixed with a tint of sadness.

“I’m not… I…” you tried to mumble out, but failed countless times. “My feet hurt!”

Sighing deeply once more, he pushed you up by your waist, hands placed safely around you but alway mindful of its position. As you reached the next floor, you thanked your slow mind tonight for not allowing a scream to leave your mouth when Jason grabbed your legs and lifted you up so he could carry you to his apartment.

You had to say, it should’ve surprised you that he carried you with what seemed like a total lack of effort on his part, like you weighed nothing. However, you knew him. You knew he spent countless hours training at the gym, to the point you often wondered if he didn’t live there as well. That he’d often pass you carrying up to eight different weight plates in one single trip to use in his next exercise.

It did surprise you he could carry you. It surprised you he actually did it.

On his arm, the sweet coconut smell reached your nose, and you had to hold yourself from feeling sick. The alcohol was doing its job on you, and gosh you hated it. Tiredness taking over, you rested your head on his shoulder and fought against yourself to keep your eyes open.

“How much do you lift?” you mumbled a question, poking the bicep within your reach. You felt his breath hit your skin as he let out a soft chuckle.

“A lot more than you weight.” he stated, and continued his climb silently until you two were inside his deliciously warm and scrupulously tidy apartment. “Come,” he called after you when your feet were back on the ground. You followed him through the darkened living room until he opened a door and turned the light on in his bedroom. “You can sleep here, I’ll take the sofa.”

Your polite and sober side wanted to complain, to offer to sleep on the sofa instead, but your drunk and seriously exhausted one just wanted to throw yourself on the bed. Accepting the drunk side’s victory, you sat down with a noise and laid on his bed, eyes closing soon after, but being forced to open as you felt the mattress sink right beside you.

Struggling to lift your head, you found Jason bent down to catch your feet, loosening the laces of your converse and helping you take them off. “Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closed as you sat up again and started to unhook your bra from beneath your shirt.

Jason got nervous, eyes quickly shifting from you to the floor, not knowing what to do. Pulling your bra off through one of your sleeves, he took it as his key to leave you alone before you could start stripping off your pants too. Standing up, he reached the bedroom door just as you were climbing under the duvet, head laying on the pillow with eyes already closed.

He knew that, in your state, it wouldn’t be long before you were in deep slumber. So, turning off the lights, peeking at you one last time, he closed the door behind him. Careful to not make any noise. Careful not to wake you up. Unaware of the smile gracing his lips.

It’d been well over an hour since you had fallen asleep. The darkness still loomed outside, but the dim lighting of Jason’s side table lamp illuminated his living room, casting a shadow upon his body.

Jason couldn’t fall asleep, for some reason. He had tried lying down and forcing his eyes closed, had tried listening to whale sounds, rain sounds, brown, blue, black, white, purple noises. Nothing. Nothing seemed to put him to bed, not even his half drunk state.

So, feeling exhausted, he stood up from the sofa and went to the small kitchen to make himself some tea, hoping it would help him give in to sleep. He tried to be quiet, mindful of his guest still sleeping in his bed, filled his red mug with the tea and returned to the sofa, sitting beside his also sleeping kitten, whose snores were too loud for a beast of his size.

The drink was warm, and the taste pleased him just enough. He immediately felt more relaxed, letting the warmth fill his entire body, as he laid back onto the sofa and he could really feel like he was starting to rest.

On the other hand, you woke up confused. It was dark, and the pillows were comfortable, but they didn’t smell like your soap, nor did you find your childhood plush toy just within reach on your bed. Suddenly sober, you almost jumped off the bed before the memories started flooding your mind.

Shit. You definitely weren’t home, and this home certainly wasn’t from someone you wished it was. Slowly, you remembered Jason helping you take your shoes off, remembered him helping you up the infinite stairs of his building. And gosh, you remembered his damned smirk while he flirted with you.

You were pissed. P-i-s-s-e-d. Pissed. Why did you do that, Yn? Why did you end up here? Where the fuck did Nessie go to and why didn’t you go home?

In the darkness, you felt your feet touch the cold wooden tiles and you had to bring them back up quickly, not expecting the chilly night weather, but soon remembering how cold you’d felt just before coming to his apartment.

Your bare legs were feeling it too, and you struggled to find your pair of jeans. It wasn’t anywhere, goddamn it. There was no way you’d go out in only your shirt. You had to find something, and remembering you were in a 6 foot tall monster, you knew he ought to have something around.

Blindly skirmishing through the room, you felt the soft cotton fabric of what seemed to be a hoodie and put it on. It fit largely on you, the hem falling on the middle of your thighs, and the strong smell of perfume lingering from it.

With light footsteps, you got to the door. Twisting the handle with care, you heard the cracking sound of the door as you opened it, exposing the dimly lit living room. Jason heard the same cracking sound you did, his head jolting back so fast he felt the muscles on his neck aching.

There you were, hidden behind the door, a string of light illuminating your shape. You still looked sleepy, your cheeks puffed, and the minimum makeup you wore looked smashed on your face. But then, his eyes fell on your body, how your legs were bare and you somehow wore his favorite red hoodie.

Wow. Just, wow!

“Hey” he greeted, waving awkwardly in your direction. You only offered him a shy, toothless smile, eyes scanning the room and landing everywhere but him. “Did I wake you?” he asked, voice tinged by worry.

“No,” you shook your head, meeting his eyes for a brief while. His stare gave you goosebumps, and you returned your eyes to the floor, the tiling giving you more comfort. “I just… woke up.”

An awkward silence fell before you, neither brave enough to look at the other. The air was warm, you didn’t know if it was a sudden weather change or if it was the lingering tension between you two.

“I,” you started, and he immediately looked at you. “I think I’m gonna head home.” you announce, trying to return to the safety of his bedroom.

“No way,” he denied. “It’s almost 4am, Yn. There’s no way I’m letting you out this late. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

Sighing, you accepted defeat without even trying to counter argue, aware his decision was well intended, and you too didn’t feel like facing the gloomy and dangerous streets of Gotham at this hour of the night. So, you just nodded, looking back into the room without moving your feet.

“Can I give you something?” he then questioned. “I mean. Do you want anything? Food, water?” Like clockwork, your stomach roared, making your cheeks go red and a smirk to appear on Jason’s face. “I don’t have much in my pantry, but I can make you a sandwich.”

Standing up, he walked to the kitchen once again, mug in hand being left on the sink. He seemed to move around the small area seamlessly, his bigger size never slowing him down. He opened cabinets, taking out of it a couple of dishes and a bag with a long and crusty baguette. Slicing the bread in half and then open, he set it on the plates, spreading butter on top and fishing for the other ingredients from various parts of the kitchen.

“I’m not a chef, you know,” Jason told you while he fished for the cheese, the ham, the vegetables and something else from the fridge. In normal human arms, they’d probably have fallen due the lack of space, but they all seemed to fit in pretty well in his much larger ones. “But I do enjoy cooking sometimes.”

His whole energy levels seemed to rise, and a sparkle tingled in his eyes. He seems to really enjoy it, you thought, watching the scene unfold from the same spot under the doorframe you were not even two minutes before. He was swift, picking things up and down , left and right, with ease and started constructing a delicious looking late night meal.

With watchful steps, you walked closer, something in you wanting to watch him in action from up close. Too enticed by the way he moved, the way he meticulously cut the tomatoes, a green vegetable, that you didn’t recognize due to your total lack of cooking skills, and the garlic before shoving them on a blender. The noise that proceeded, a disturbance of the silence that reigned on the night, but when it ceased, the smell that spread across the room seemed all worth it.

Continuing his craft, he was swift, picking things up and down with ease, spreading butter on the bread, adding cheese, sliced turkey from the smell of it, and the tomatoes. He grilled it on a pan he had started to heat while he assembled your snacks, and shortly after, placed a plate with the sandwich in front of you on the kitchen island.

“I didn’t know if you liked pesto, so I left it here for you to dip in if you want.” he stated, placing a small bowl with the green sauce he’d blended together earlier.

“Wow,” was all you could manage to say, the sandwich’s look worthy of those pins you’d constantly save on Pintrest but never make it yourself. Picking it up with one hand, you wanted to try it first on its own, your stomach getting louder, apparently aware you were just about to fill it and getting anxious over the masterpiece crafted just before your eyes. “Hmmm,” you hummed loudly, closing your eyes and enjoying the taste, your mouth already watering for one more bite.

You heard Jason’s breathy laugh, and your attention was instantly brought back to him. Supported by his elbows on the marble island, he sat beside you, his side profile a beautiful view from where you stood. He had a smirk on his lips, not smug or annoying or flirtatious like he usually had, but a lighthearted and fun one. One that didn’t drive you insane.

Looking at him, though, side by side with you, after making you a sandwich at almost 4am in the morning, you felt a lump on your throat you could not explain or justify. It was something no one had ever done for you and for some reason you wanted to cry. But you wouldn’t, instead, opting to do the sanest thing anyone could do in your position.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, his eyes darting to yours and his eyebrows doing their annoying move and lifting up in question. “For everything. Tonight, especially, but at the hospital too. You were really kind and you didn’t have to do either of those things. So, thank you, really.”

A smile you could not decipher clouded his lips, and his eyes shone with a glint of mischievousness you could not mistake. “Say it again?” he joked, and you had to roll your eyes.

“Jerk.”

“Sounds more like you,” he sneered, finally taking a bite out of his sandwich. He dipped it in the sauce, taking another bite, and you took your time admiring his jaw clenching as he chewed. “But you don’t need to thank me. I hurt you that day and it was the polite thing to do. And I couldn’t just leave you drunk at the party, it didn’t seem right.”

“Why not?” you questioned. “There were many other drunk girls at the party.”

“Yeah, but none of them looked like they didn’t belong there,” he stated, soon regretting letting those words out of his lips. He knew it’d bring out more questions, and he didn’t want to spend his night explaining how you would linger in his head on a daily basis.

“Why not?” If Jason wasn’t so tired, he’d notice you’d felt insulted.

“I don’t mean today,” he said, playing with the sauce with his sandwich. “You were having fun today, but I’ve seen you before…”

“Why?” you insisted impatiently.

“Because people go to parties for either or two things: to have fun with their friends or to find a hookup,” he lifted two of his long fingers to you. “That day, you were clearly alone. You stood to the side all night, not talking to anyone, almost barking at whoever came closer. Option one impossible. And you also weren’t exposing too much skin to fit into the other.”

“I was having fun tonight!” you tried to argue.

“Yeah, but your friend had disappeared. And you were too drunk. I couldn’t leave you there, alone to the wolves,” he concluded, staring deep into your eyes. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.”

He seemed honest. And nice. Actually nice, like, he looked like a decent person, not the one you villainized in your thoughts every day. He was nice, a sweetheart, and a great cook if his sandwich was any indication of what else he could do in a kitchen. It wasn’t supposed to, but it only made you madder at him. You wanted to punch his face while also giving him a kiss. Stop it, Yn, don’t go that far.

You were quiet, not knowing what else to say. Jason decided on not speaking too, buried in his own thoughts, afraid he’d let too much out. Finishing your food, you dipped the bread into the pesto when the intrusive thoughts came over, and for once, you let them win.

“No…” Jason gasped when he felt the cold sauce on his cheek. You let out a good chuckle, looking at the green stain on his face. Your masterpiece. But Jason was competitive, he wouldn’t let you win. So, he dipped his own bread in the sauce and tried to do the same as you, but you held his arms to stop him before he could stain yet another one of your shirts. His in this case.

It took all your strength to keep his arms away, your laughter, louder than it had been in a long while, making the job much more difficult. “Jason,” you screamed when he got too close for your liking, but you managed to hold his hand and, to his surprise, took one bite of his weapon.

You really couldn’t stop laughing. Tears formed in your eyes from it, and all Jason could do was shake his head and finish the last bite of his sandwich you’d left for him. He felt good seeing you smile again, laughing even, and he just confirmed it was now one of his favorite sounds. It wasn’t polished, it was loud, fun. Everything you usually weren’t, but proof you could be sometimes, if only you’d allow yourself to let loose.

He waited till you calmed down, taking deep breaths to steady it. Then, you stretched your arms to grab a towel opposite of you on the islands, cleaning your hands before looking back at him. “Here,” you called.

His heart stopped. Your hands going for his chin and pulling his face closer to yours, cleaning the pesto stain you’d left on his cheek. Jason had never seen you from this close, every detail exposed to him. The way you sucked in your cheeks in concentration, as you cleaned his face, your soft touch barely brushing his skin, aware not to give him any type of skin irritation.

From this close, he could get a better glimpse of your lips. How they were plumb from you biting on it, how reddish they were, how soft they looked. He watched them as the tip of your smile briefly lifted up. And then, watched your tongue leaving them wet.

You were aware of closeness too. But you had committed to cleaning the stain, you couldn’t show him any weakness now. Pulling away slowly, you noticed his eyes lingering on your lips, setting your stomach in a spiral. He bit his lips, lifting his eyes to look at yours through his lashes, and your heart nearly stopped. Your breath hitched, and you had to look away.

“Hmm,” you started, avoiding his gaze and himself entirely. “I think I’ll go back to bed, it’s late.”

Something inside Jason dropped, and he felt a weight in his chest. You stood up quickly, and walked back into the bedroom without looking back. Fuck, he wanted to scream, but he had to contain himself. So, he stood up, set the plates on the sink and made his way back to the sofa. The tightness in his jeans making it uncomfortable to walk.

Resting against the door as you closed it, you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your heart raced, wanting to break free from your chest, and you felt the warmth rising from within you. Your legs trembled a little, and your mind flew to things you did not wish to think of right now.

You couldn’t give in. You couldn’t. Jason meant trouble, and trouble meant bad things. You couldn’t let yourself fall for it again. You couldn’t invite trouble in, even if it looked as pleasing as he did. He was nice to you tonight because he was polite, but you knew his type well and knew it never ended well. He was just like the others, he’s not perfect, stop it!

A knock on the door broke you from your thoughts, and as if caught doing something bad, you were quick to react to opening it.

“Can I just get some clothes?” Jason asked, heading poking inside. “I just don’t want to sleep in the same clothes from the party.”

Giving him space, you allowed him in. He gave you a weak smile as he pass you, going in the direction of his closet. He indeed was wearing the same outfit from earlier, jeans, and a white shirt you could notice had some green stains on it. Karma.

“I’ve noticed you found my hoodie,” he pointed out while fishing for his pajamas, making your cheeks burn red. You went to apologize, but he was quicker to continue. “You can keep it, if it makes you comfortable.”

He turned back to face you, and you offered him a smile in gratitude. Suddenly mindful of your exposed legs, you tried to hide it with your hands, but you noticed how it only got his attention in that direction. He was about to leave when something made him stop.

“I need a blanket,” he said, running back to the closet. “Just a minute.”Jason was tall, but he seemingly was part of the crew who would hide their blankets on the tallest shelves, so tall that even he couldn’t reach properly. He stretched his arms up, the heels of his feet not touching the floor, and his shirt lifted up just a little. A treat for a very tired Yn to enjoy.

From your position, you caught a sight of his stomach up to his belly button. The toned muscles on the base of his abs made a perfect V shape, pointing downwards to a place you avoided imagining. A few of his tattoos peeked in and out of view as he moved, decorating his skin in drawings you could hardly identify. The thin line of hair going down the cherry on top of this tempting monstrosity.

Through his white t-shirt, you spotted the silhouette of his back muscles. Well defined, well designed, strong enough to carry two of you up the stairs, and wide enough making it the perfect canvas to be painted by your nails.

You knew your mind was traveling through a very dangerous territory. You knew where it was going. You knew the consequences, yet you wanted it. You wanted the danger, you wanted the consequence. Just this once. Just this once you wanted the bad, the naughty, the dangerous. You wanted Jason. You wanted him. You wanted him.

Fuck, you wanted to scream. Run at him, kiss him. Kiss up the hair line on his stomach, up his abs, his chest. Damn it!

You didn’t notice him moving, wishing you a good night, walking to the door. You didn’t notice any of it. Didn’t notice his intoxicating smell leaving the room, because you knew your mind could make it up pretty quickly. Filling your nose with his inexistent scent. His shadow looming around you, with you at all times.

“Yn,” he broke you from your thoughts. He was worried. You stood still before the bed, not moving since he walked past you, not even your eyes following him along, or moving somewhere else. He’d called you before, but you hadn’t noticed. “Are you alright?”

He’d walked back in, closer to you. Approaching you worriedly, your breathing heavy, eyes now lingering on him. He couldn’t decipher them. They were darker, darker than he’d ever seen them. They hid something, something he couldn’t figure out.

“Yeah,” you breathed out a reply. “I’m fine,” you confirmed, arm extending to touch his chest. Jason’s breath got caught on his throat, and when he looked back at you, he found your eyes, and finally could decipher them. “I’m really fine.”

Sliding your hands from his chest up to his neck, you brought him closer, slamming your lips against his. A shiver climbed up your spine as you felt his tongue immediately sliding inside your mouth, and yours soon fought with him for dominance.

You couldn’t explain it. It just fit. He kissed you hungrily, like he’d been wanting it for long, and you replied with the same ferociousness, wanting him closer, more and more. You fingers tugged at the little hairs at the nape of his neck, and he moaned inside your mouth, the vibration reverberating through your entire body.

His hands roamed your skin. Squeezing your ass, caressing your back from underneath his hoodie. The feeling of his hands around you waking the little hairs on your body wherever they touched, leaving behind a burning sensation, a need for more of his touch all over body.

Stumbling, you two took a few footsteps backwards, feeling the ends of the bed hit your calves. He carefully lowered you on top of it, not breaking your kiss until you were left out of breath. When you two finally broke apart, he took the opportunity to pull his shirt over his head, exposing you to the tattoos you’d had a hard time identifying earlier.

An angel falling graced his left ribs, while something was written underneath his right boob. Overwall, you couldn’t count how many were there, you just knew they made him sexier and your cunt ache harder for him. Lifting yourself up a little, you pulled him back to you by the hem of his jeans, your mouths meeting soon after, afraid that if you had too much time to think about it, your mind would force you to stop whatever the hell this was.

On top of you, lips glued to yours, Jason started grinding his crotch against your clothed core, feeling his hardness through the harsh fabric of his jeans and only eliciting your arousal. Trapping your legs around his waist, you bent your back so you could reach him further, grinding yourself against him in a clothed love making session.

You wanted more. You need more. Desperately wanting him in. It was a wild, primal feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in ages. Or ever at all. You needed him, like you needed air. You needed his tongue all over you, not just on your lips or occasionally traveling to your neck.

His hands slid underneath your shirt, and he broke the kiss to ask you for permission to take it off. His eyes looked at you with a mix of lust and something else, something softer. With a nod, he swiftly had both your shirt and his hoodie thrown off somewhere in his bedroom.

You didn’t want to waste more time, sliding your underwear off too as soon as your breasts were freed, finding yourself fully exposed to the guy that just a few hours ago you would rather find dead than in his bed.

Seeing you rush your underwear off, Jason had to stop and admire. Admire your body and all your curves. Your bare chest, your hard nipples, a sight Jason wanted pictured in his mind forever.

He wanted to remember how your excitement dripped off your thighs, its smell reaching his nose, intoxicating him. Driving him crazier for you than he already was. He really wanted to rip his pants off and fuck you right then and there. Slam his dick into you until he had you screaming out his name for the whole neighborhood to hear. But he also wanted to devour you little by little, taste every corner of your skin.

Pulling you closer from under the knee, he spread you open and fell on top of you again, resuming the action on your lips before moving his kisses down your neck and to your chest. He made sure to leave marks wherever he’d go. He made sure to bite, to suck on your skin until little red and purple stains decorated you instead of your shirt.

His hand, once holding tightly at your waist, found its way down too. Sliding to your arousal, he felt his fingers drench wet as they reached your soaked pussy. Finding you like that, so wet from just his kisses and touches, boosted his ego, giving him extra confidence he could do to you whatever he wanted.

Pushing one finger into you, he felt your body jolt up. He laughed against your skin as his mouth finally found its way to your breasts. He fucked you with one finger while sucking harshly at your nipples. You moaned loud, already feeling a tightness forming on your belly, that sweet but painful sensation you hadn’t felt in a while.

When he pushed another finger inside of you, speeding up his movements in and out while his thumb managed to somehow rub at your clit till it ached, it didn’t take long for you to see black spots in your sight. It did take long for your back to arch up, a muffled scream leaving your lung.

Nibbling at your nipple still, Jason took your moans and screams as motivation. He laughed as you came as if you were just a prey he was playing with, mocking your petite, fragile frame underneath him. Slapping your cunt, he moved his mouth to quickly play with your neglected boob before his tongue drew a line from between your breasts to the entrance to your core.

You could already feel your breath leaving your lungs, your mind half numb from your orgasm and tiredness. His breath hit your folds, as he pecked his way down to your entrance, licking from your ass to your clit, as you had to put a hand over your mouth to stop your screams.

Like a thirsty dog, Jason licked you up and down between your lower lips. His whole mouth stuffed on your vagina, enjoying your sweet taste filling his taste buds. You squirmed from the sensasion, so much he had to pin you down with his strong arms. You tried to push his head away, tug on his hair, anything to make him stop, already aching down there. But it also felt good, and you could feel another orgasm growing inside you.

However, he removed his face from your cunt as soon as he felt you were about to come. He was enjoying torturing you, making you weak to his touch. He wasn’t going to give in much easier, but he also needed to feel you. Feel you around him, sucking him dry till he himself was left just a moaning mess.

Fumbling with the button and zipper of his pants, he managed them down his legs, pulling with them his boxers, letting his hard penis hit against his stomach. You let out a gasp when you saw his erection, already knowing it was going to hurt but be so worth it. He was thick, probably the size of your hands around it, and just long enough.

Jason looked around, trying to remember where he’d last put his condoms on, before your voice void his mind of any coherent thought.

“Fuck me, Jason,” you begged, hands reach to touch his dick. “Please, fuck me.”

“Fuuuck,” he let out a loud and prolonged groan, forgetting everything and placing himself at your entrance. He pushed the tip in, getting a painful moan out of you. You were tight, but he was going to make himself fit.

Collecting your juices, he rubbed it along his shaft, pressing himself in ever so slowly. As he entered, you molded yourself perfectly around him, taking him in entirely eventually. He let you adjust, allowing you to get used to his size. Lowering down, he pulled you into another kiss. This time, deeper, slower, hotter.

He started with slow thrusts, moving out entirely before placing himself back in. You moaned and your body jumped every time he moved. His low groans on your ear making you wetter, and his speed started to pick up.

The sound of skin hitting skin getting louder, filling the room along the strong smell of your sinful act. The bed creaked and hit against the wall along with Jason’s thrusts. He started to gain more and more speed, taking one of your legs and placing it on his shoulder.

He modded as the action gave him more access to your cunt, speed going so fast your boobs bounced up and down vigorously. With the spare had the wasn’t holding your leg up, he reached for your clit and your moans only got louder, screaming Jason’s name like a fucking prayer. Begging for release.

He’d sobered up from the party a long time ago, but he was getting drunk on the sight of your glistening skin, coated in sweat, screaming his name as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Not rolling out of anger, or annoyance. But because he was making you feel so fucking good you couldn’t control yourself anymore.

Jason felt like a king. Total control over you as you felt your mind go numb, drunk on his cock, drunk on the sensation he was giving you. He moved his hips harshly, slamming against your wet core like a MMA fighter fights his opponent. He felt the growing knot on his abdomen, speeding his thumb’s movements, wanting you to cum along with him.

A few more thrusts had you screaming so loud Jason had to put his hands over your mouth to shut you up, afraid his neighbors wouldn’t enjoy your fucked up symphony. He felt your release hitting his cock and he too released inside of you, feeling your walls clenching around him, milking his ball dry of any cum he had to offer.

The room was now filled with groans and heavy breaths. The air was thick and warm, and the smell of sex sticking to every corner. He pulled out, watching you juices mixed up and dripping off your pussy. Sticking a finger inside, he took some of you mixed orgasm and put it on his tongue. He didn’t lick it, instead just placing it there before lowering himself to give you a kiss, making sure you two got to taste your second late night snack together.

When you pulled away, begging for air, he had his forehead rested on yours. His eyes were closed, and his hair stuck to your forehead from sweat. Something you’d seen many times at the gym, now got a completely new meaning to you. One you enjoyed a lot more, seeing and making it happen.

You too closed your eyes, tiredness weighing your lashes down, as you barely missed Jason’s body falling beside you. You also missed his arms wrapping around your waist, and his face snuggling into your neck. Soon falling into slumber, a delicious ache on your core, as the dream world quickly took over you.

It wasn’t until hours later that the bright sun beams hit your eyes, or the loud noises of Gotham’s traffic found your ears. Eyes taking too long to open, as you woke up more tired than usual. Your body ached in pain, every muscle seemingly sore, but you didn’t remember going to the gym yesterday.

You only remembered you had to work and ended up getting drunk at a party. You remembered getting mad at your parents and deciding you had to release all your anger doing something they’d despise. You remembered your gym enemy taking you home. To his or mine? You wondered, eyes finally opening to the unknown bedroom.

Fuck. Looking behind you, you found Jason’s body spread on the same bed you now laid, and you quickly became aware of your own lack of an outfit. No, no, no. You went too far. You were just supposed to get drunk at a party, not fuck a stranger, Yn. Not fuck fucking Jason!

Carefully removing the duvet off of you, you slipped out of bed and fished for your clothes around his bedroom. Your shirt was tangled on his hoodie you had worn last night, and your panties were thrown on the other side of it. Your bra rested on the bedside table on Jason’s side of the bed, while your jeans were perfectly folded on top of a chair.

You tried to be quiet, to put your clothes back on without making any noise. But your own constant shits and fucks didn’t help your case, and as you buttoned your jeans you heard shuffling on the bed. Jason rubbed his eyes, trying to understand what was going on. “Yn? What are you…”

“THIS IS FUCKED UP!” you screamed, his eyes jolting open at your reaction. “We shouldn’t have done this, Jason.”

“Woah, I didn’t do it alone.” he replied, feeling annoyed at the tone you’d been treating this interaction with.

“We shouldn’t. We…” you wanted to cry, pissed off you’d let yourself sleep with him of all people. Taking your shoes, you rushed out of the room, wanting all of this to be just a silly little memory of a silly little moment when you had lost control.

Opening the door to the living room, you stepped on something that bit your leg in return, a loud hiss forcing your eyes to the black kitten clutched to your leg. Shaking the cat off of you, you proceeded with your run of shame.

“Yn!” Jason screamed after you, but your feet never ceased, and you ran down the stairs. Eyes only jumping up to find him as he stood by the door. The towel you’d cleaned his cheeks with hardly managing to hide his groin. The last sight you got of him haunting you for the days that followed. His sad eyes, frown and pressed closed lips a memory from his heartbreak.

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#jason todd au #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd x yn #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagines #jason todd blurb #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x female!reader

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writingmuses · 1 year

Text

Love Potion

Request: Based on a request for an IC x Reader, either a sex pollen fic or a magic potion fic (I may or may not do a sex pollen fic in the future 👀)

Elain x Reader, Nessian X Reader, Azriel x Reader, some mentions of Lucien X Reader (maybe I’ll do a prequel?) → a little bit for everyone.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, minors do not engage. Self-pleasure, fingering, grinding, breast play, p in v, biting, mentions of being under the influence. 100% consensual. ANGST.

Use of she/her for the reader. The reader is Rhy’s sister.

Literal Porn with plot for the sake of porn but there is a lot of potential angst to turn this into an actual fic if anyone's interested by the end (so much drama to unpack).

Synopsis: Reader accidentally drinks a love potion. As desire courses through Y/Ns veins, and her inhibitions lower, she encounters the different members of the Inner Court.

Word count: 15.7K (WHOOPS)

-MOR-

“What is it?” Mor asks, gently tapping on the side of the glass pitcher. She brings her hands to her knees and lowers herself down to eye level with the fluid inside. She watches the plum-coloured liquid swirl within the glass, glimmering with tiny flecks of gold, dancing around one another to music that does not exist, suspended in infinite motion.

She must admit that it is beautiful. That, however, just makes her all the more suspicious. Mor blows an annoying stray curl out of her face and swivels to meet her cousin’s eyes. Rhysand’s violet gaze is clouded and dark, full of irritation. That means, Mor notes, that her dearest cousin is already aware of what’s inside the pitcher that has been gifted to her High Lady.

“Yes, Lucien, do indulge my cousin and tell everyone about the swill you have brought into my home," Rhys voice clips. Lucien had arrived at the River House mere minutes ago, holding a large oak tray. On that tray sat the pitcher containing the mystery liquid, one ridiculously bejewelled challis, a single red rose, and, a note addressed to the High Lady:

Dearest Feyre,

I hope you are well and safe.

I apologize for my dismissal of your title as High Lady earlier this year. You are more worthy than any other female I have come across in my many centuries.

I understand now that you would make a wondrous High Lady in any court.

I am sending this note with Lucien along with my finest tea as a token of peace and as a toast to you in your new role. I would love for you to sample the wine and write me back letting me know how it made you feel.

Please do not tell Rhysand of my gift to you, for I fear he would not understand this gesture between friends.

I count the seconds to your reply.

All my love,

Tamlin

Lucien is quite pale. His normally bronzed skin looks ashy and his eyes are sullen. “Rhys… I-I know what you must be thinking.” The male clears his throat, worrying his bottom lip,“I’m sure he just wasn’t in his right mind - or maybe he didn’t know the properties of the liquid. Tam-”

Darkness begins to creep out from behind Rhys, his face stony.“Do not mention that name in my house right now, Lucien. I have half a mind to winnow over to Spring and gut the coward where he stands.” Rhys holds the note in his hands and quickly crumples it into a tight ball. “Do not make excuses for that vile creature.” His eyes burn with fury as he sends the balled up note careening through the air, and right into the roaring fireplace.

Almost all of the inner court was gathered around the two males, standing tense and mystified at this interaction. Everyone is dressed in fine clothes and gathered at the River house for family dinner. “I’m confused,” Mor queries again, “Rhys, please tell us what is happening?”

Feyre approaches her mate, resting a gentle hand on his bicep. He turns to look at her. Their eyes locked in a way only a pair of mates could. The two converse internally, and after a moment, Feyre gasps aloud. “A love potion? Rhys, truly?”

“What the fuck?” Cassian chimes in, brows furrowed, attention turning to the ginger male. “Why the fuck would you bring this to us,” Cassian takes a lumbering step towards Lucien. Mor takes a step forward as well, gripping the General's arm, not in the mood to have dinner ruined just yet. “Were you in on it?” Cassian barks to the son of Autumn.

“Cauldron no!” Lucien slinks back a step, eyes glued to his worn leather boots, trying to dissipate some of the tension in the room. “I brought it here to show you that Tamlin is desperate - and not above resorting to such vile means.” He clears his throat and looks up to Feyre, a small, apologetic smile on his lips. “I brought this here to warn you that Tamlin will likely try again and that you need to be on your guard.”

It is Mor now, who takes another step forward, rage simmering beneath her skin. “Likely story you prick. I’ll-” she starts, but she is cut off by a hand on her shoulder. The High Lady had made her way over to Mor, now gripping her shoulder with a delicate hand.

“He’s telling the truth,” Feyre concludes. She eyes Rhys, another one of their private discussions taking place within the confines of their own minds. “Lucien showed us.”

“Feyre darling is correct," Rhys sighs, "Our dear friend Lucien here, while foolish - meant well.” the anger in his eyes disperses as Rhys nods a brief thanks to the ginger fae. “Besides,” he ponders, “ this love potion would have no ill effect on our dear High Lady.”

“Now how’d you figure that Rhys?” Mor raises a brow at her cousin.

“Because the High Dunce of Spring still believes I have Feyre under my evil spell.” Rhys wiggles his fingers at his mate, dry humour dancing in his eyes. “You see, the particular love potion good ol Tam picked out is called Affectus Revelare, also known as Feelings Revealed." Rhys gestures at the pitcher. "The potion itself is quite rare and rather ancient even by fae standards, which is why I'm not surprised none of you recognized it. Even you Az.” Rhys nods to the shadow singer in the corner. Azriel, who prides himself on his diverse knowledge of poisons, spells and potions, nods in thanks, upset with himself for not having been able to place the potion immediately.

“I think I've heard of it,” Mor muses, all eyes on her now. “It works to remove inhibition. To allow those who drink it to reveal their true feelings? It is strong, and able to cut through most other potions or spells. Which is probably why Tamlin selected it." Her cousin nods in agreement. She continues, "However, to my knowledge, it went out of favour a long time ago because of the side effects.” She turns back to her cousin and he nods in agreement.

“What side effects?” Cassian asks.

“Think of it as a magic truth serum. However, this truth serum removes any suppression of morals and makes its drinker uncontrollably horny.” Rhys says in a strained voice. “Unstoppably so. The only way to get the urges to dissipate is to have a way with the object of the drinker’s strongest affections.”

The jaws around the room hang low. Cassian lets out a startled cough. Azriel is the first to recover from the uncomfortable silence, his shadows flying around his head as he quickly mutters to them. Some of his shadows disappear into thin air, Mor assumes they are presumably off to keep further tabs on the High Lord of Spring.

“So Tamlin thought what? That I would drink this so-called love potion, break the “evil curse” you’ve trapped me under, again, and then come running back into his arms?” Feyre was full-on laughing now and it was contagious. She wiped her eyes as tears formed as she fought to control her deep belly laugh.

“And right into his bed.”

Rhys slings an arm around Feyre’s shoulder and starts to turn her away from Tamlin’s ‘gift’. He kissed the top of her head, a signature smirk returning to his face. His eyes were clear and bright once again. “All that potion would have done is make you find me even more irresistible than I already am," he coos.

“I don’t know how that could be possible.”

“Oh Feyre darling, please, we have company.” Rhys groans and nuzzles deeply into his High Lady’s neck, laying kiss after kiss along her pulse point. He pulls his lips from her neck with great effort, and only after poor innocent Elain clears her throat uncomfortably. “Let’s bring this up to the House of Wind for now, we can further investigate the source of this potion tomorrow. I would be very interested to find out where Tamlin was able to source such a thing.” He nods to Cassian who scoops up the tray and heads towards the door. “Everyone meet back here for dinner in 10.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-CASSIAN-

“I’ll drop this off, I need to pick up Nes anyways. I’ll be right back.” Cassian walks out the door and spreads his wings wide. With powerful strokes, he is up and into the air. In a few short minutes, he touches down on the stone balcony of the House of Wind. Not a single drop of the potion has spilled, and he smiles triumphantly. Nesta sits at the table, a smutty romance novel gripped in her hands. She looks up at him with a smile but worry quickly crosses her face and her eyes drift to the tray in his hands.

“Don’t worry Nes,” he reassures her. “I didn’t get you anything. This was a gift for your sister, I wouldn’t dream of such a sweeping gesture. I know that you much prefers other methods of celebration,” Cassian says with a wink.

“Who’s it from?” Nesta closes her book, and rises from the table.

“From Tamlin, of all males.” He sets the tray down on the tabletop, the bejewelled challis rattling against the pitcher at the sudden movements.

“A gift? From Tamlin?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s head down to dinner, I’ll tell you on the way.” With that, Cassian scoops his beautiful mate into his arms. Her arms lock around his neck as he shoots off into the sky and back towards the River House. The love potion left on the table to be dealt with tomorrow.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Y/N-

You winnow out of the sky a number of feet above the House of Wind and begin to make the unceremonious crash down to the balcony. You quickly generate a tiny cloud of sparkling night with a single thought to slow your descent.

I am so running late.

You had been away in the Summer Court for three weeks visiting your dear friend, Tarquin. The High Lord of Summer and you had bonded over your shared love of the ocean, gossip and fruity drinks many decades ago. He now invited you every couple of months for a visit to his vacation villa, where you would swim, eat and share the juiciest, most jaw-dropping tidbits from your respective courts. You are the only one of the inner circle ever to be invited. This, of course, made Cassian infinitely jealous.

You loved your visits with the High Lord of Summer. The weight on your shoulders would slip away, even if it was just for a few days and you would both be free of responsibilities. However, this visit had been mostly diplomatic and unfortunately, you had found yourself roped into weeks of dinners and meetings. Working on updating trade agreements between the courts, while important, had been dreadfully boring. So much so that as you had left, Tarquin made the promise that this trip didn’t count and that you would meet up again in two months' time for a redo.

You feel dead tired. What you truly need is a hot bath and good long sleep. But tonight is family dinner and you are excited to see everyone. No work talk, that would wait until tomorrow, but it was rare to have a moment where we were all together, wine flowing and laughs ringing through the River House. You wouldn’t miss it for the world.

You pass into the dining room and drop your large satchel on the table beside one of Nesta's books. Beside her book, sat a pitcher of tea you assumed Nesta had made for herself during her afternoon reading session. You giggle at the rose laid out next to it. Nesta truly was a romantic at heart. You scoop it up and admired the luscious red of the petals. It was just like Nes to indulge herself in the finer things, especially amidst one of her reading frenzies.

You twirled the delicate blossom in your hand and inhale the scent deeply, when suddenly you hiccup in pain. Looking down at your hand you realize one of the thorns had sliced your finger. You quickly drop the flower and bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the coppery drops of blood. The cut is shallow and heals instantly, the tiny pink scar disappearing right under your gaze. With the flower now forgotten, you turn your attention to the tea.

You quickly scan the room, as if Nesta would appear out of thin air at any moment and berate you for taking what wasn’t yours. The thought made you let out a nervous chuckle. If Nes is putting out fancy flowers with her drink, then the tea she selected must be simply divine.

Don’t mind if I do!

You grasp the gaudy bejewelled challis in one hand and picked up the crystal pitcher with the other. You pour yourself a large cup. As the liquid pours from one vessel to another, you can’t help but admire the way it sparkles and shimmers, almost like stardust suspended in liquid - not unlike your own magic.

With a little cheers in the air, you take your first taste.

A low moan erupts from the back of your throat. Never have you tasted anything so divine. Hints of rose and lavender, honeysuckle and almond, rose and hibiscus. But also something deeper, and tangier, a musk of dark earth and fresh rain. It tasted of desire and warmth, of friction and longing. The flavour overwhelms your senses, and becomes all-encompassing.

You take a second small sip. Another groan involuntarily passes your lips.

Then a third and fourth sip, both larger, more eager.

You take a fifth, and down the rest of your cup.

Now, in a frenzy, you refill the challis and drain it all in one gulp.

Again. And again. And again. It is as if you are in a trance, unable to stop yourself, needing to feel the sweet nectar pass your lips, and slide down your throat. The mesmerising liquid burns deliciously as you drink and drink and drink until the pitcher is empty.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. With the pitcher empty, your desire to consume was gone. Your hands shake as you place the challis and pitcher back onto the tray. Your memories of what has just transpired are hazy. In one breath all memory of drinking the tea was gone. In the next breath, you remember it is family dinner. You quickly grab your bag and shuffle up to your room. Throwing the bag into the corner, you turn to the mirror to address your appearance. The dress you don is a light sea foam green, a slit running all the way up to your hip bone, and a low V neckline descending down almost to your navel. As it was currently winter in Velaris, you would need to change into some warmer clothes. As you reach around to unclasp your dress, you are suddenly hit with an intense feeling of warmth. Your face flushes and in the mirror you see sweat form at your temples. It lasts only for a second before your temperature begins to regulates, but it was enough to convince you to stay in the cooler summer garment. I must just be tired.

You head back out to the balcony ready to go meet your family. You leap off the ledge and as you enter a free fall, you sigh in relief, letting the chilled air cool you down as you let out a blissful sigh. You catch yourself on a cloud of starlight, pulling out of your free fall and making your way towards the River House.

You land just outside the border of the River House. As you pass through the boundary and up the front steps you are hit again with another wave of heat. This time it is stronger. You brace yourself on the handrail. Did I spend too much time in the sun? you pondered, thinking back on your time in the Summer Court. You had not spent more time than usual.

I must just be overtired from my long trip. Right as you reach this conclusion, the heat rapidly dissipates, returning your body to normal once again.

There was no further time for contemplation as the front door swung open and Cassian comes into view. "Oh, mighty adventurer,” he mocks with a salute, “welcome home!” He bellows loudly. You jump up the last two steps and he immediately pulls you in for a deep hug. Your face buries into the side of his neck. You had missed him dearly while you were away, but of course, you would never tell him that.

But, what starts as a friendly welcome home, quickly changes course.

Suddenly, the smell of sandalwood and crackling embers surrounds you, invading all of your senses. This was Cassian’s scent, something you smelt daily for 400 years, and have never thought twice about. But now all of a sudden, he is the only thing you want to smell. You huff in his scent and feel your body warm and tingle. What the hell? you cry internally. You know you should pull away. But instead, you have the irresistible urge to lick the thick, long column of his neck, and you nearly do. That’s not the only thing that’s long and thick I want to be licking, you muse, and your core throbs. You have no idea what is happening. Cassian, Cassian, Cassian your mind repeats over and over. Lick him, bite him, claim him. You bite your lips, teeth surely drawing blood. Anything to keep your mouth from latching onto him. You need him. You take a shuddering breath, his scent dancing in your lungs as you-

You’re pulled out of your twisted mind as Cassian adds, “Now, get the fuck inside before you catch your death.”

You quickly pull away from the General and look down. You had forgotten that you were still in your summer attire. An outfit that while gorgeous was not equipped to handle the Velaris winter you were currently experiencing. You risk a glance back up to Cassian, he smiles gesturing inside the house. Luckily he didn’t seem to notice the massive loss of judgement you had just experienced. You do not have feelings for Cassian. That much you know to be true, at least not anymore. Right? You reassure yourself once again that you must just be tired, that your brain was playing tricks.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts as you step through the door. You failed to notice how Cassian’s nose flared as you passed him.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone greats you as you enter the dining room. Luckily, your head seems to remain on straight, as no further desire of Cassian clouds your brain. Your brother and his wife offer you both a quick hug, with the promise to debrief tomorrow, you all take your seat at the dinner table. You have strategically placed yourself as far from Cassian as possible, sandwiched in between Feyre and Mor. You hear the chair across from you slide out and you look up to meet the shadowsinger’s eyes as he slips into the chair. You had not seen him when you arrived. But now you see him - more clearly than ever before.

He offers you a small smile. “How was your visit to Summer, Y/N?”

You don’t hear his question. You are too busy staring at his mouth. Plump lips, tinged slightly red from the cup of wine he’s been sipping out of. His tongue darts out, coating his lips in a glossy sheen. You wonder how those lips would feel against yours… against your breasts… against your core. You blink slowly, noticing his lips are still moving. Oh, the things those lips could do. Suddenly, you feel a hand squeeze your elbow. You yelp and turn to see Feyre grasping your arm.

“Are you alright Y/N?” She frowns softly, concern dancing in her eyes.

“P-perfectly” You mutter, blinking rapidly, looking anywhere but towards the shadowsinger.

“Are you sure? Azriel’s been trying to talk to you for a good minute.”

“J-just tired.” You assure them. “Think I spent too much time in the sun.” You raise your shoulders in a shrug, mumbling.

“I’m relieved to hear you’re not intentionally ignoring me,” Azriel quips trying to meet your eye once again.

“Never.” You say, still not meeting his eye, picking up your wine glass and drinking deeply. “Never.”

And it’s true. Normally, you would never ignore the shadowsinger. You had known him for over 400 years and loved him for 200. Being 80 years younger than your brother Rhys meant that you had grown up with the three of them as your primary moral figures. Rhys was your brother who acted like a father, Cassian your best friend, and Azriel your fiercest protector. And you loved them all for 200 years until something began to change. You had developed a crush on Cassian from an early age. With his broad and muscular chest, and his lushes locks, he sure knew how to make a female swoon. But he was your best friend, and that came first. Your bond with Azriel, now that was even more complicated. He had an uncanny way of being able to see you, to truly see all of you. You loved him as something more, something different than the infatuation you felt with Cass. You yearned for Azriel, and for a time you thought that maybe he desired you too.

But nothing ever came of it. Maybe it was because he had watched you grow up? Or perhaps it was because you were Rhy’s little sister? You didn’t know. But you’ve been a grown female for four mortal life cycles, and both of those excuses didn’t hold any water as far as you were concerned.

After 150 years of you pining away while he pined away for your cousin, you finally thought he was seeing you as you are, the female who could obliterate enemies with a thought, the female who held the court together while Rhys was under the mountain, the female who was not just her brother’s little sister, but an equal.

Then the Archerons arrived.

And you loved them all dearly. Feyre making your brother’s heart sing, Nesta having Cassian wrapped around her little finger, and Elain. Elain, who was a gentle breeze on a warm night. A breath of fresh air amidst the fog. Elain. Who was gorgeous and talented and funny. And while you may have thought those things, so did Azriel. You could only assume as he never did confide in you, but his glances lingered. Yours lingered as well, but more so in appreciation, in lust. Not in love as you suspected the shadowsinger’s did.

And there she was now, sitting beside Azriel, looking perfect as always. Hair smooth and glossy. Eyes big and bright, the richest, most delicious shade of brown you had ever seen. A long slender neck and cleavage that heaved tight against her bodice with each breath, as if her milky flesh was a moment away from bursting-

The sound of breaking glass yanked you out of your lustful thoughts. You looked around for the source of the noise before you realize that it was you. Your wine glass once, in your hand was now in 100 pieces on the floor beside you, a small puddle of red wine at your feet.

“Y/N/N are you alright?” Rhys had made his way towards you in the blink of an eye. He snapped his fingers and the glass, and the puddle of red disappeared. He leaned down to your height, pressing his palm to your forehead. “I think you might have a slight fever.”

“I’m so sorry about the mess, I don’t know where my mind went!” Yes, you do. “ I think I must just be overtired.” You offer a tight smile. “Too much sun.” you offer as an excuse. Yes, too much sun and now you’re a delirious fool.

Rhys only nods fondly, “Maybe you should head to bed kiddo.” You’re so eager to get out of there that you don’t even snark back about him calling you a kid.

“Good idea.” You raise from your chair, and you feel the arousal that had been unknowingly collecting at your core, begin to coat your thighs. You had to get out of there before you were scented. Family dinner nights meant everyone was staying at the River House. Luckily for you, that meant you didn’t have far to go. You turn and hightail it out of there, not noticing how the shadowsinger across from you holds his breath as you scurry away.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once you are up the stairs and out of sight, you kick off your shoes and run. You run down the hallway and around the corner to your chambers. You swing open the door and slam it shut behind you. Leaning against the wooden door, you take a shuddering breath. What is wrong with me?

You were no stranger to love and lust. But you had never had quite such a visceral reaction. For so many different fae. At the same time. You are hot all over now and it is as if there is fire in your veins. Your breath is shaky. You need to get a grip. Blinking hard, you make your way to the washroom, and fill the tub with icy cold water.

Your fingers grapple with the claps on the dress, fighting to release yourself. You give up, snapping your fingers, the dress disappearing, leaving you bare, and still burning. You sit at the edge of the tub before quickly sliding your feet below the surface. The shock of the cold hits your brain and for a moment you stop thinking. But it is not enough as you feel another wave of arousal dripping from your core. You know you are going to regret this, but you also don’t know what will happen next if you don’t. You take a deep breath and fully submerge your body. All you feel is cold. Alll you feel is ice. The fire under your skin tames. The lustful thoughts vanish. It is just you and the cold. Relief floods your bones as your face breaks the surface.

You lean your head against the rim of the tub, happy to be rid of your dirtiest thoughts. You lay in the cold water until the warmth of your body has rendered it tepid. You finally feel in control of yourself again. You heave your relaxed body out of the tub and wrap yourself in a fluffy white towel. Tucking the ends under your armpit, you move back into your bed chamber. The towel drops to the floor as you walk up to your wardrobe and pull on a simple silk nightgown, as dark as the night sky, dressing cool to avoid any future heat spells, hopefully.

You hastily scramble into bed and slide under your silk sheets. Exhaustion hitting you. You lay on your back, eyes closed as you slowly drift off to sleep. With not a single thought, your mind is finally quiet.

And then it’s back.

Heart hammering, your eyes fly open. Searing heat spreads through your entire body. Heat radiates from your core all the way to your fingertips. Your desire is bruning you from the inside. The heat wants to be fed, wants to consume.

Wants to be consumed.

Is it that simple? you ask yourself. Would self-pleasure finally rid you of this torment? It had been a few weeks since you had last found release, the time spent in Summer Court kept you too busy for simple pleasure. But it was not like you had not gone this long before, in fact, you had gone much longer and never with any issue. You craved the touch of another, but you suppose your body will hardly care where the pleasure comes from. Your nipples harden at the very thought. Decision made.

Arousal is now weeping from your core as your thighs clench together. As if with minds of their own, your hands pull the sheets off your body, exposing your skin to the night air. Your nipples pebble even harder, straining deliciously against the silk of your nightgown. You palm one of your breasts, the action causing shockwaves of pleasure to roll through your body.

Your other hand comes up and palms the other, a strangled moan leaving your lips. Your fingers dance along your left breast and encircle your nipple over the glossy material of your nightgown. You were still too hot. You quickly pull the straps down your arms. As your nipples meet the cold air, you could weep with joy. Your hands, finally able to touch your bare skin ghost over the sensitive flesh before your fingers are quickly clamping around your left nipple in a tight pinch. Your thighs clench again, as your core pulses, as if with a heartbeat of its own. You give your nipple another delicious twirl.

Your other hand travels down and down and down until it reaches the hem of your nightgown. Without a moment's hesitation, you pull the material up to your waist. Your arousal coats your thighs, as your hand move closer to your core, fingers disappearing between your legs.

The moment your fingers touch your clit, your hips buck wildly, back straining off the bed. Your fingers swirl around it again and again and again, the friction causing strangled moans to escape your throat, hips thrusting up wildly.

Your skin gleams in the moonlight, the heat building inside of you. Your eyes screw shut in pleasure. This time as your hand swirls around your clit, your other hand, still clinging to your breast, gives your nipple a sharp torturous twist. Pleasure and pain unite and suddenly you’re shaking as release barrels through you, your orgasm so intense your whole body shakes as you ride wave after wave of pleasure.

As you come down from your high, your body trembles with exertion.

But it is not enough.

Breathing deeply, your hand, now coated in your juices slides back down between your legs, and this time, you slide two fingers inside. You thrust in and out sharply. Setting a torturous pace and your fingers sink deep into your cunt, curling expertly inside you. In a matter of moments, you are overcome with another orgasm. Again and again and again, you work your body to climax.

It is never enough.

Your body gives out sometime between the eighth and tenth orgasm, releasing you into a dreamless sleep.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awaken groggy, and unsure of your surroundings. The fog clears with a couple of blinks of your eyes and you realize you are in your bed at the River House. Looking down you see you are laid out, your nightgown askew and your thighs sticky.

And then it all comes flooding back.

How you pleasured yourself over and over again, the pace never relenting, just like the hunger for release did not relent. You had fucked yourself into oblivion.

But, it appears to have worked. Laying still you realise that your mind has returned to blissful silence once again. Finally free. No thoughts of lust or desire, just calm and slight confusion. Now more awake, you glance out the window and see that the moon is still high in the sky. It was late, but still a long way off until morning.

Confusion still runs through your bones. The intense need you felt earlier had come on so fast and strong, a hurricane of arousal. But it appears that the skies have now cleared, feeling content and more like yourself you huff and slowly sit up. Your stomach growls painfully, starved from the exertion and the lack of dinner. You could also do with a wash. Food first, you decide.

No one should be out and about the house at this hour, but just in case, you slip the nightgown over your head. The material is coated in your slick. Already ruined, you use the dress to clean up the arousal on your thighs. You refuse to think about how good the silken material feels against your inner thighs. You make your way to your dresser, and this time you pull out a pair of plain grey underwear and a long black t-shirt. The t-shirt fell down to your mid-thigh.

You make your way to the door and pry it open slowly, so as not to wake anyone else. Elain also has a room in this wing, and she was a notoriously light sleeper. You begin to pad down the hallway lightly, the marble cold against your bare feet. You feel a cold breeze wafting down the hall. Someone must have forgotten to close the balcony doors, you think. But then again, who would have opened the windows in the middle of winter? Snow had yet to fall, but the cool winter air had definitely arrived. More alert, you slowly make your way towards the open balcony doors, arms close to your sides, fists clenched.

Your arms lower immediately when you see who stands out on the balcony. You would recognize her shapely figure anywhere.

Elain stands with her back to you. She is wearing a blush-coloured pair of wide-legged pyjama pants,a shawl embroidered with flowers covers her shoulders. Her hair is unbound and glows like individual strands of gold. You feel your stomach tighten. She looks beautiful. You shake your head, trying to rid it of any other thought beyond concern. You gently rap your knuckles on the doorframe. Elain, still not fully tuned in to her new fae senses, jumps and spins around quickly. Her hand comes up to clutch onto her heaving chest. You could see her breath slow when she sees who it is, hand falling back down to her side.

You make eye contact with her, deep chestnut eyes meeting your own. And then her chest starts heaving again, and it takes all your strength to keep your eyes from wandering. You look up at the night sky instead.

“Elain, honey what are you doing out here, you’ll catch your death.” She looks at you nervously as you approach. Your feet tingle in protest at the cold stone beneath you.

“Erm- nothing. I just needed some fresh air,” you reach for her hand. She laces her hand in yours, eyes squeezing shut, “and some quiet.”

“But it is-” oh. Oh no. She had heard you. Your cheeks flush scarlett as you try to pull away. “Elain, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t realize I was so…” You trail off. Her hand tightens around yours, rooting you into place. Her fingers are frigid from being out here on the balcony for Cauldron knows how long.

“Loud.” She finishes your sentence. “The walls are quite thin.”

“I am sorry Elain for disturbing your sleep. I’m not sure what has come over me. It won’t happen again, I promise.” Are you happy with yourself? Poor, delicate Elain was awoken by the sounds of you touching yourself. Poor, gorgeous Elain had to escape outside in order to avoid hearing the sounds you made. Poor, delicious Elain- and oh did she look delicious. She wore a thin white camisole underneath her shawl. She wore no bra underneath, her nipples rock hard from the biting winter air. Oh how much you wanted to devour her.

You freeze again and fight against your mind. Not again. Not now. But it is Elain’s next words that have your lustful thoughts winning once again.

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Elain’s eyes met yours again, darker, more intense. “You, pleasured yourself for over 2 hours, did you know that?” Her sentence tumbled out. “Two hours without stop. Two hours of sheer pleasure.”

“Again, Elain I am so sorry but we should discuss this inside, we’ll catch our deaths out here”. You go to pull her along with you, back into the warmth of the hallway. She releases your hand.

“I never have, you know.” Her voice sounded far away now, mind far away.

“Never what Elain?”

“Never-” She trails off again. You finally catch on, and the fire within your belly reignites.

“Never touched yourself?” She lets out a slight giggle at your question and looks down at her slipper-clad feet.

“No, I’ve definitely tried to self-pleasure.” She shakes her head. “In fact I tried just tonight, listening to you.” It is your cheeks that burn red hot now. You swallow deeply at her confession. Did she touch herself to the sound of you? “But,” she continues, “I’ve never been able to make myself…reach completion. Never. I don’t know if there’s something wrong with me. I want to, gods do I want to. But, it just never happens.” Her voice shakes, and as she looks away again, you can see her eyes shining with tears. “I have been getting a lot closer with Lucien. I do think he is an honourable man.. Male, I mean. But I do not wish to saddle him with a mate who does not know what she is doing. He has lived centuries, and I do not even know how to please myself, never mind him.”

“You do not owe him anything, you know? There is nothing wrong with you, and if he is truly a good male, then he will not be bothered by any experience you do or do not have. There is so much more to a relationship than sex.” She is one of the most perfect creatures in existence. That male should be so very lucky for dirt under her shoes never mind anything else.

“I do know that. I do. But, I think this is something I have to do for myself first. Before I look towards a future with Lucien.”

“What is it you need to do?” You lick your lips.

“I want to feel good like you made yourself feel.”

“Do you want me to make you feel good, Elain?”

“I want you to make me feel alive.”

And then she is vaulting towards you, hands grasping your shoulders, and then her lips are on yours.

She tastes of jasmine and honey. A taste you never thought you would experience. But here she is, this perfect female, and Cauldron she was kissing you. Her plump, rosy lips are soft and firm. Her nails dig gently into your shoulders, and you can now smell her arousal, sharp and heady. Your core clenches in response. Your arms come around and encircle her waist, pulling her body tight against yours. You can feel her nipples against your own chest. She is freezing, and burning all at once.

The kiss ends and she pulls her lips away. Foreheads pressed together she looks at you through her brows. Your eyes meet and understanding passes through you. Your heads give a little nod, and she nods her own in response. Your hand finds hers and you gently pull her over to the corner of the balcony, to a long chaise lounge, the cold forgotten. She sits gently, legs swinging up onto the chaise, head tilting back, exposing the pale tender flesh of her neck. Her shawl falls off her shoulders. You now stand at the edge of the chaise, eying her up and down. You can feel the desire within you trying to surge, to consume. But you reign it in. This is not about you.

It is all about Elain. ”Let me bring you back to life,” you say as you gently spread her legs, and crawl up in between them. You align yourself perfectly, foreheads touching once again. “If anything is too much El, you let me know.” She nods again and tilts her head until her lips meet yours. The second kiss is slower, and more passionate. Her lips part and your tongue slides in, dancing upon hers.

After an eternity you separate, a thin trail of saliva connecting you. You pepper kisses to her cheek, her nose, and her chin, working your way down her throat until you arrive at the place just above her collarbone. Your lips clamp onto the sensitive flesh, and you hear Elain moan in response. It is music to your ears. As you lap at her neck, your fingers begin to trace down the length of her torso, eliciting sighs and pleasure. You run your fingertips gently down the valley between her breasts, down past her navel and along her hip bone, stopping at the hem of her camisole. Your mouth comes away and you make eye contact once again. Elain is in control, and you pause, waiting for her consent to continue.

“Please.” Her breath is coming in quick pants as she begs. Your fingers grab the hem and Elain leans forward and lifts her arms. You make quick work of pulling it over her head, tossing it to the side. Her skin glows like the stars in the sky. Her large breasts are firm and aching to be touched.

Elain’s teeth clench at the exposure to the cold, but the moan that follows is enough to spur you on. Your mouth trails more kisses along her collarbone and down between her breasts. Elain’s hands wind into your hair, holding you close. You look up at her and wink, and then your lips enclose around one of her perfect, pert nipples. Elain lets out a breathy gasp at the sensation of your hot mouth upon her breast. Your tongue swirls around her peak, a chorus of gasps and moans spilling from Elain’s lips.

Your lips detach with a pop, and the cold air blows against the wet bud. Elain lets out another sharp gasp and she cries out “More. Cauldron please, more!” Her chest is heaving. One of your hands comes up and cups her other breast, and you slowly slink down the chaise. Your tongue trails against her skin as it follows the same path your fingers had made, down between her breasts, all the way down to her navel. Your tongue swirls around it, the thin trail of saliva igniting Elain’s skin despite the cold. You continue your path down until your lips reach the hem of her pants. You breathe deeply. “You smell so gods damned good El.” Her hands untangle from your hair and go to grab the hem of your shirt, you quickly stop her. “This isn’t for me El, this is all for you. Let me make you feel good.” Elain nods, briefly and her hands relent, moving up to cup her own breasts instead. You pull the tie on her pants gently and hook your thumbs into the waist. You see a patch of wetness on the crotch of her pants and your question is answered as you gently pull them down her legs. No panties.

Her pants and slippers are now discarded and you take a moment to drink her in. She is exquisite. Her hair lays around her like a halo of gold. Her skin shines as bright as a star. Her hands work her supple breasts and her eyes are lidded and dark with desire. Your eyes skim lower, to her round hips, thick and shapely. And then your eyes fall to the patch of dark curls above her core, and then further still to the glistening arousal coating her thighs as she squeezes them together.

You move up to capture her lips in yours once more before you drift lower again. Your hands grasp her thighs and you gently spread her legs. She is so beautiful. You bend her knees and they part, on either side of your head as your mouth approaches her sex. You blow a gentle breath across her clit, and you see her cunt pulse in response. “Gods, Y/N, please. Please!”

Your hands wrap tighter around her thighs and you taste her. The salty taste of arousal pulls a groan out of your own throat. Your tongue circles her clit, and one of her hands finds your hair again, and her hips buck in response. Her thighs clamp around your head, as you suck her clit hard. You pull her even closer, your tongue travels lower, and traces around her opening, before diving in. Thrusting your tongue in and out of her core, she is moaning your name like a prayer, hips gyrating against your face, fucking your tongue deeper inside of her. She rides your tongue hard, in a state of euphoria.

Breathless, you pull your mouth away and you move back up to her lips. “You taste divine.” You say simply and then your lips are on hers again, and she is moaning from the taste of her own slick upon your tongue. One of your hands smooths gentle circles against her cheek. “Still with me?” you ask. She nods and catches your lips again. Your hand trails down her side, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before drifting through the thick soft curls guarding her core. Your hand slips between her legs as your fingers circle her clit. A new wave of arousal drips from her cunt as your hand moves further down. You hold her gaze as your finger slowly enters her. Her teeth clamp onto her bottom lip and she groans.

You start slow and quickly gain speed as her hips rock against your wrist. Meeting you thrust for thrust. You add a second finger and spread her deliciously. Fingers curl inside her, meeting the spongey flesh that makes Elain scream.

“Oh, oh, gods, yes, yes,” you hear Elain gasp over and over again. You lower yourself back down as your other hand grips her pubic hair tight, your thumb goes to her clit, rubbing at a relentless pace and you watch her come undone.

She screams in such pleasure, again and again, her core clenches around your soaked fingers. Her juices squirt and coat your t-shirt-covered chest. You continue to circle her clit, extending her orgasm as long as possible. She comes down from her high, her pants slowing, and you withdraw your hands. You lean up and capture her lips with yours once more.

“Are you ok?” You ask. Looking into her eyes, you see they are alight with pleasure and joy.

“What does this mean?” Elain worries her bottom lip.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything El. This was about you finding yourself through pleasure.”

“Gods, Y/N that was- that was perfect”. A smile now shines brightly upon her lips. “Thank you-” You cut off her thanks with another quick peck on her lips.

“Do not thank me Elain Archeron. Thank yourself for deciding to put your body and your pleasure first. If anything I should be thanking you for allowing me to come along on this journey with you.” Her smile is mirrored on your own face. “Lucien is going to be a very lucky male, El. You are perfect in every way.”

Sitting up now, she throws her arms around you, squeezing you tight. She pulls away and looks down at the dampness coating your shirt. “I was not aware women- I mean females could do such things.” She traces the dark stain slowly, running her fingers along the slopes of your breast.

“Some do,” you confirm, “if encouraged enough. Everyone is different, and I know that if you decide to, Lucien will worship everything about you.” She smiles again and pulls you in for another hug. You knew that this was not the start of a fling or romance with Elain. But instead, it had been a self-awakening, and she had allowed you to lead her through it. You were beyond honoured to help.

“But how do you know that he- Lucien will like it. Like me.”

“I have a confession of my own El.” You clear your throat, praying to the cauldron you weren’t about to say the wrong thing. “Lucien and I are about the same age. When we were growing up, we met on occasion at different events, and quickly developed a rapport.” Elain quirked a brow. “We, well, we fucked. A lot.” Elain’s jaw drops. Your core clenches at the memories. Lucien’s mouth on yours, on your cunt. His member thrusting in and out of you, sloppiness and uncertainty turned to precision and strength as the years went on. You fight to tamper the flames of arousal within yourself. This is not the time or place. “We were each other's firsts and we experimented over the years. But that was well over three and a half centuries before you were born. It was so long ago that I don’t want you to think anything of it! We are friends now, have been for the last 300 years, nothing more, I promise.” And it was true.. The memories you had made together, were definitely special, cherished, and enough to turn your crank some days, but the actual male, was your friend and was now mated to another. “What I am trying to say, is that I can guarantee that you are everything he will ever desire.”

“Me and Lucien both lost our virginity to the same female?” she questions finally. You nod, eying Elain again. Hoping beyond hope that she does not take the news badly. To your surprise, she begins to chuckle, which turns into a cackle, which turns into a full-body fit of laughter, and you find yourself joining in. You both laugh and laugh while holding each other close. Eventually the fit winds down and with a few last giggles, Elain sighs, “I’m not sure why, but it seems very fitting.” You hum in agreement.

Elain’s eyes drooped in relaxation and exhaustion and she lays her head on your shoulder.

The next moments happen in a blur. You help her to her feet, gather her clothes and you both make the quick, and risky walk back into the hall and into her chambers. Luckily the hallway is empty.

You sit her on the bed and start a fire. Heading to her bathing chamber, you wet a cloth with warm water. Returning to find Elain still perched on the edge of her bed, you gesture for her to lean back. She obliges and you begin to cleanse her skin gently. Nothing save for respect and adoration floats between you now. You tuck her naked body gently under the covers and kiss her forehead. Swiping your thumb against her cheek you whisper softly, “Good night El. Sweet dreams.”

Her eyes crack open and you hear her mumble, “Are you sure you don’t want me to try-”

You shush her. “This was a big moment for you El. I expect nothing in return.” She smiles again deeply.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for helping me find myself.” With that, Elain drifts off to sleep and you head out the door and back to your own chambers.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back behind the closed door of your room, you stand frozen. The last few hours of your night running through your head. From the moment you arrived at the River House, something was different. You were different. Less… restricted. You’d felt no such feelings while away in the Summer Court. Your mind races, searching for an answer but coming up short.

It was then that your stomach let out a loud growl. You missed dinner. You had been on your way to the kitchen when you encountered Elain. You scoff at yourself and your forgetfulness. You pull the shirt stained with Elain’s juices over your head, letting it join your previously discarded nightgown on the floor. Your panties were damp, but with the way the evening was progressing, you figured you’d end up just soaking another pair later, and opted to keep them on. Strolling over to your wardrobe for the third time tonight, not bothering with another shirt or nightdress, you pull on a simple grey robe. The material is thin but warm, enough to reheat your body after your outdoor escapade.

Feet still bare, you head back out into the hallway and slowly pad down the empty corridor. You make it halfway down the stairs before you hear it.

“Are you going to be a good boy, for me?” a female’s voice floats from the kitchen. You grip the railing and take a fractured breath.

“Yes, my Lady. I promise I’ll be such a good boy.” Your core clenches as you recognize the low gravelly voice. For Cauldon’s sake. You should turn away, head back upstairs and forget the words you had just heard coming from the kitchen. But some unknown force, the same force that had emboldened you all night, urges you forward. Each step has your stomach clenching in anticipation.

Eventually, you arrive at the threshold to the kitchen and your jaw drops.

In the centre of the room sits Cassian, arms tied behind him to the back of his chair. His wings flare lightly to the sides. He is dressed in nothing but a pair of black undershorts. His bare back is to you, muscles rippling as he squirms, testing the limits of his bindings.

On the counter is Nesta. You take in her figure and decide that they do indeed call her the Lady Death for a reason. Nesta lays atop the counter, body barely covered by a tight blood-red nightgown, garters on her thighs and red stilettos on her feet. Her hair is twisted into a crown of braids. She lays on her side, head propped up on her hand. In from of her sits a bowl of strawberries. Her hand dances above the bowl before plucking a strawberry from the pile. She brings it to her lips, tongue darting out to taste the berry. Staring into Cassian’s eyes she takes a bite. You and Cassian gasp in unison.

Nesta’s head jerks in your direction and her steely eyes lock on yours. Caught in your act of voyeurism, you want to look away, look anywhere but at the female, shame should be bubbling through your veins. But it isn’t. You feel no shame. Only desire. Desire spreads through your body, a familiar feeling over the last few hours. Your cunt pulses with every second you stand there, rooted in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of you.

“Who is it Nes?” Cassian questions, trying to gauge his mate’s response to their intruder. You know he could break his binds easily if necessary. Something glimmers in the eldest Archeron’s eyes. Her nostrils flair and her lips quirk in a smirk.

“I’m surprised you can’t smell her yet.” Nesta answers, pushing herself up and into a seated position. You can see Cassian’s back shift as he takes in a deep breath.

“Y/N.”

Fuck. They can smell your arousal.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” you have no idea where the sudden confidence has come from and you surprise yourself as you continue, “I seem to have interrupted a late-night snack.”

The two mates lock eyes again, a whole conversation happening without words. Nesta eventually breaks the stare and returns her eyes to yours. “You’re looking a bit peckish yourself Y/N. You’re welcome to join us.” Mother above. “Come,” Nesta holds her half-eaten strawberry out towards you, “come have a bite.” Your gut tightens.

Your feet move before your brain can fully process what you are doing. It takes you 10 steps to pass Cassian, still tied to the chair, and another 3 to reach Nesta’s outstretched fingers. She parts her thighs so that your body can slide in between them. You gasp as her hand comes up to grasp your chin. Your legs tremble as Nesta leans in and whispers, “you are hungry, aren’t you?”

“Starved.” You manage to choke out.

The tension is palpable as Nesta brings her strawberry up to your mouth. She traces the bow of your lips with the strawberries dripping flesh. “Open.” She commands. You do as you’re told and you take a bite of the tender fruit, its juice dancing on your tongue. It is Cassian now who lets out a low groan. In a moment you are flooded with sandalwood and lust as Cassian’s arousal hits your nose, and surges throughout the room, mixing with your own. You finally look over to the Illyrian, and what you see makes you hold your breath. A male who normally exudes strength, the General and Commander of your brother’s armies, Lord of Bloodshed, reduced to a squirming mess. Lust glows in his eyes and he looks from Nesta to you.

“What do you think General?” Cassian squirms again at the use of his title. “I think she is still hungry, don’t you agree?” He lets out a low whine and his hazel eyes lock back on yours, both a reflection of lust and desire.

“What do you say, Y/N?” he asks, voice low. The innuendos vanish as he probes you for further confirmation. He is making sure you are truly consenting to join in on whatever this was. You lied to yourself when you were shocked by your lust for Cassian earlier this evening, as you did in fact find him incredibly attractive, only more so now that he was entirely whipped by the bewitching Lady Death. It took you less than a second to answer him, the desire you had walked hand in hand with all evening flaring within you.

“Yes,” you say.

Nesta’s hand curls more firmly against your chin, turning your head back to hers. “Delectable,” she says. And then her lips are ghosting yours, breath mingling as your eyes flutter shut. You feel her tongue trace the same path of the strawberry, up and around the bow of your lips, and sweeping across the small gape of your mouth.

Your hands instinctively come up to encircle her waist.

Nesta’s lips leave you immediately, and you feel her arm reach down and give you a sharp smack on your ass. The sounds reverberate through the kitchen. You let out a hiss and your eyes fly open. “Unh unh kitten, no touching,” Nesta says, as she pulls your arms back down to your sides “don’t make me punish you.”

You’re pretty sure your eyes roll into the back of your head at her words, and your thighs clench as wave after wave of desire crashes in you. “Yes, my Lady,” you murmur back. You hear Cassian let out another low groan as he shifts in his chair.

“There’s a good kitten,” Nesta smiles, “now why don’t we give the General a little treat.” You hum in response. Nesta spins you around so that your back now falls against her. Your head falls into the crook of her neck as you eye Cassian once again. He looks up at the two of you through hooded eyes. You tilt your head slightly to the side and inhale Nesta’s scent of steel and pomegranate. “I want you to ride his thigh,” she says and the world stops for a moment. You stop breathing and you’re sure that Cassian does the same. Are you really about to do this with your best friend? The step forward you take is answer enough. You’re only another foot away from the Illyrian when Nesta’s voice rings out from behind you again, “Oh, and kitten,” you can hear the smirk in her voice, “drop your panties.”

“Yes, Lady.” You reach under your robe and slowly slide your panties down your legs. You can see the dark patch made by the arousal now coating your thighs. Panties on the floor, the room is awash with a new wave of your potent arousal. Another low growl tears through Cassian’s lips.

Cassian sits with his legs spread. His thighs are thick and muscular, the tanned skin shifting as you approach. Now standing in front of him, you quickly shift so that one of your legs is on either side of his left leg. Using his shoulders for leverage, you slowly lower yourself down onto the General’s thigh. The heat of his leg causes your breath to hitch. Cassian whimpers as the juices from your bare cunt weep onto his leg. You begin to move then, slow torturous gyrations as you get a feel for the large corded muscle beneath you. As your core soaks the General’s leg, you begin to pick up speed, rocking back and forth as the pleasure builds.

“Good girl.” Nesta approaches you from behind. “Isn’t she being such a good Kitten, General?”

“Mhm,” Cassian grunts, “so good.” His breath is coming out in pants, just as forceful as your own.

“And Kitten, isn’t the General being such a good boy?”

“Such a good boy,” you squeak out, your clit rubbing against his muscle.

“I think he deserves a little treat.” From behind you, Nesta reaches between you and Cassian and palms his engorged member, straining painfully in his underwear. Cassian bellows in relief at the touch. Nesta’s fingers dip below the hem of his shorts and pull them down. Cassian’s cock springs free, slapping his stomach. His cock is massive and rock-hard. Long, and girthy with thick veins running along his shaft, his tip a dusky pink. It pulses in time with your ruts against his leg. Your nails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulders as your pupils blow wide with lust. Nesta pumps his shaft once, then again in rapid succession before her hand releases her mate's member. The General whines at the loss of contact, rutting up into the air, desperate for friction, precum gathering at his tip. You don’t dare indulge him without permission from your Lady Death, but your cunt throbs at the thought of punishment.

Nesta’s hands now travel to your body. Her nails graze up your thighs, against your curved hips, and up to your shoulders. She squeezes them gently before her hands travel further, up your neck and into your hair, brushing it all to one side. Her mouth lowers to your neck and she licks a long strip up your sweat-soaked flesh. She hums in delight at the taste, nuzzling the crook of your neck as she whispers into your ear. “Do you like looking at your best friend’s cock, kitten?”

You let out a breathy moan, not able to form any words as you ride the General’s thigh into oblivion. Nesta tuts and her hands grip your hips painfully, stopping the delicious friction. It was your turn to whine in protest, core aching at the loss. “Use your words kitten.”

“Yes.” you whine, as you try to regain momentum. Nesta squeezes your hips harder.

“Yes, what.” Her tone is sharp.

“Yes, Lady.” And then you are free again, hips moving wildly as you chant Yes, Yes, Yes.

“Good kitten.” Lady Death places a kiss at the corner of your mouth. “You’ve seen his. Now it’s your turn to show us yours.” With that, her hands descend between you and the General once again, travelling to the tie at your waist. With a sharp tug, the rope comes loose, and your robe opens. Your nipples harden at the exposure.

Cassian groans and the tip of his cock weeps at the sight. Your breasts rock back and forth in time with your thrusts. Cassian pulls on his restraints, desperate to touch them, to touch you. “Please.” He moans. The General bucks into the air again and again, “Please, Please Lady, Please”.

Your hips gyrate faster, and you feel your release approaching. Nesta, still behind you, leans down and bites the lobe of your ear. “Come for me, kitten.”

And then you are toppling over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you and you scream in delight. The General is right behind you, wings flaring and release thundering as he cums all over your chest. Your hips do not slow as you ride out every wave of pleasure. The three of you were so lost in the moment you had not heard the approaching footsteps.

“What the Fuck is this?”

Your hips still, and from your position on Cassian’s lap, you open your eyes gaze dragging over the tips of his wings and to the doorway.

And there stands Azriel, shadows swarming around him in a frenzy.

“Az.” you croak, voice horse from screaming. The look of astonishment and anger in his eyes have you trying to stand up, to go to him and try to explain, but Nesta keeps a firm pressure on your shoulders, keeping you astride her mate. Confusion runs through you as you look up to meet her eyes, and youquickly understand her actions.

Cassian’s wings currently shielded your naked body, now dripping in his cum from Azriel’s view. As if in understanding, Cassian’s wings flare a little wider, ensuring full coverage of his mate and yourself.

“Brother,” Cassian replies, trying to keep the fucked out tone from his voice, “I do believe you’ve caught us at a bad time.”

“Y/N? What sort of sick-, Why would you-, You know I-, Y/N, really Cass?” Azriel tries to form a coherent sentence.

It’s Nesta that responds. “She is not your property, shadowsinger. You do not own her.”

“You took advantage of h-” Azriel roars.

You roar right back.

“I wanted this Azriel! I wanted this with every fibre of my being. All three of us chose to be here. Nesta is right, you do not own me. We are three consenting adults. The only one who has no right to be here right now is you.” Your gaze pierces his, and you can see the hurt on his face. “Now, get out,” you spit, and he disappears into his shadows without another word.

With the shadowsinger gone, Cassian’s wings lower, and your head falls to rest on his sweaty chest. "Well, fuck me." Cassian grunts, his nose burying into your hair. You feel his chest rise and fall, the powerful thumps of his heart slowing with your own.

“I believe she just did, my dear mate.” Nesta muses, she slinks around the pair of you, coming up behind Cassian, and resting her head on his other shoulder. Your mixed arousal hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of the dalliance that had played out in the kitchen of the River House.

You want more. You want to feel Cass’s lips upon your own. You want to lick the sweat down his pectorals and taste the cum that was now pooling between your breasts. You wanted to feast upon Lady Death herself, and to have her feast upon you, to feel her sharp tongue against your cunt. This new development in your relationship felt natural. It felt right. You wanted to spend hours exploring the line between pleasure and pain, exhilaration and humiliation, domination and submission. You want more, and you can see in their eyes that they want more too.

But the tone has shifted, and you have Azriel to thank for that.

You sit up straight and push your wobbly legs up into a standing position. Cassian hisses as the air blows across the cooling slick left behind on his thigh. “Y/N,” he mumbles, “that was-”

“Incredible,” you finish for him, “that was pretty damn incredible.” You pull your robe closed and retie the stay at your waist. Nesta leans down and unties the bindings on her mate's wrists, he too rises to a standing position, retucking his spent cock into his underwear. Nesta slides her arm through his and the mates regard you appreciatively.

“I hope you don’t-”, Nesta trails off, words like glue in her mouth, “have any regrets?”

“Never,” you confirm. “My only regret is that we were interrupted.” You stare at the small smile that replaces the concern on Nesta’s features. You lean up and give them both a kiss on the cheek. “Good night my Lady. Good night General”. You stand back and give them a wink, “Let’s do this again soon, yeah?”

Come daylight, there would likely be some serious conversations to be had. But that could wait. For now, you turn on your heels and make your way back to the stairs.

“We’ll see you soon, kitten.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Azriel-

Azriel winnows himself out into the estate gardens. His mind races and his shadows swarm, blocking out the light of the moon. His scarred hands are shaking, and with horror, rage or sadness he is unsure.

Cassian and Nesta… and Y/N?

He is baffled by what he saw transpiring in the kitchen.

He had been out on an after-dinner patrol and had arrived late into the night. He was used to the carnal activities of his brother and his mate and was keen on ignoring their sounds of pleasure when an unfamiliar cry of indulgence had piqued his interest. A third? he had wondered. But as his morbid curiosity had propelled him forward, he had realized that the new voice was not unfamiliar in the slightest. It was the voice of all his desire. The voice that had lived in his mind and in his dreams for the last 250 years. He reached the threshold to the kitchen and his worst nightmare was confirmed.

There had sat Cassian with his back to him, hands tied to the chair behind him. Nesta stood in front of him, a devilish grin on her face as she watched the events unfold. And there, saddled between the two, was Y/N. Her eyes closed, she violently rocked back and forth atop Cassian. He could not see what was happening in its entirety from behind his brother’s wings, but he could smell the heady scent of arousal oozing from every pore of the trios' bodies.

Azriel had watched Nesta lean over and whisper something in Y/N’s ear.

And then Y/N and Cassian were coming undone. Azriel stood, unable to move as he watched the female he loved, cum atop his brother. He couldn’t take it.

“What the Fuck is this?” The question tore out of his throat before he could stop it.

And then you had opened your eyes and whispered his name, and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine what it would have been like to be in Cassian’s place. To have felt you come undone for him…on him…with him.

But she hadn’t been with him. Y/N had chosen his brother and his brother’s mate of all the Fae in the Gods damned Court. He could not recollect the words he had spoken after that, anger and despair had blinded him. He was going to be sick.

He shoots up into the sky and heads to the House of Wind. He needs to be away from them all so that he doesn’t do anything else he would regret. His wings flap hard and fast, the cold air slicing against their membranes painfully. Good, he thinks to himself. He lands on the balcony at the House of Wind too soon, and he drops hard onto the marble floor. He needs to hit something so that he doesn’t hit his brother in the face.

Azriel stalks his way through the dining room with the intent of heading up to the sparring ring, when a shadow curls around his ear. Stop, it whispers, not right. The table. Azriel whirls back around and surveys his surroundings. His eyes narrow in on the table. On the table sits a book, likely left by Nesta, and the tray Lucien brought. The tray that holds the love potion. Correction, the tray that held the love potion. Azriel seizes the pitcher off of the tray. Empty. His mind races once again. Who would have taken it? Why not take the whole tray, the pitcher at the very least? Maybe, Cerrdiwen or Nuala dumped it out? No, they haven’t been up here today. Azriel has no idea what is going on.

His nose twitches as it perceives a faint scent. He turns back to the tray inspecting it closely. The jug and challis were bone dry, with not a drop of the elixir left. The note was long gone, burned to ash by his brother upon Lucien’s arrival earlier this evening. He turns his eyes then to the rose. The rose, which upon further inspection housed thorns coated in a thin layer of dried blood.

Y/N’s blood.

Y/N who was been at the Summer Court until right before dinner,

Y/N who had missed the discussion about the contents of the pitcher,

Y/N who had likely stopped by the House of Wind to drop off her bags before joining the family at dinner.

Y/N, who he had just been riding Cassian into oblivion.

“Fuck.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Y/N-

You once again find yourself leaning against your bedroom door.

“What the glorious fuck was that?” you ask aloud, letting out a nervous chuckle. You had just participated in a three-sum with your best friend and his mate. Your best friend and his mate. Cassian and Nesta. The General and his Lady Death.

The names alone make you shiver.

The memory of your core ground against Cassian’s well-muscled thigh, Nesta whispering sin in your ear makes you clench your teeth, and your thighs. You let out a frustrated moan. This lustful hunger just won’t LEAVE, and the chance of further ministrations was halted by that winged fuck, Azriel. Azriel, whose eyes you had held as you road out your climax. Azriel, who had looked devastated as he saw you astride his brother. Had he been devastated? You wondered, or disappointed.

He has no right to be disappointed in anything that you do. He held no claim to your body, or to your heart. Well, he held no claim to your body and if he had known about the space he occupied in your heart, after all this time, and still had not acted upon it, well then he did not deserve even a sliver of the adoration you felt. Let him be disappointed, it was none of your concern.

He was none of your concern. Not his thoughts of your activities, nor his distaste for your actions. His glowing eyes did not deserve to behold you. His plush lips did not deserve to taste you. His rough fingers did not deserve to slip below the waistline of your panties, and-

Another frustrated groan tears through your throat as your knees quake, thighs snapping together, desperate for friction. You push off the door with a huff, walking towards your bathroom. You need to wash Cassian’s seed off of your body. You undo the tie at your waist and allow the now cum stained garment to join the others on the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember that you had had panties on when you entered the kitchen. You can only hope that Nes and Cass had grabbed them during clean-up.

You draw yourself another ice-cold bath and submerge yourself fully. The cold water distracts your mind as you scrub your body and hair. Once you are thoroughly cleansed, you step out of the tub, wrap yourself in a fresh towel and you make your way back to your damn wardrobe. You pray to the Cauldron that this is your last outfit change of the night. You pull out a blue pyjama set with tight but pliant shorts and a cropped camisole. Not bothering with undergarments you quickly pull your clothes on and flop onto the bed.

You pull the covers up to your chin, mind blissfully blank from the cold bath… Until those glowing hazel eyes and sensuous lips hurtle around the walls of your mind. You think of his toned chest, glistening with sweat in the sparring ring, the curve of his wings as he holds himself with deadly precision. His intoxicating scent of night-chilled mist and cedar is almost upon your tongue as you imagine what it would be like for the shadowsinger to interrogate you like one of his prisoners. Cauldron boil me. Your hand travels to the hem of your shorts, and then lower still to your already slick slit. Your fingers easily find your swollen clit, and begin to swirl around it delectably. Your other hand comes up to palm your breast, when suddenly you hear a knock at your door.

Your fingers still.

You don’t answer, hoping that the nuisance will get the hint. You hear another sharp knock at the door, followed by a muffled voice. “Y/N, please let me in. It’s important.” The slight rise in his tone, has you muttering a quick ‘enter’. The door swings open and the shadowsinger slinks in, a fae light bobbing behind him.

His nose is immediately overwhelmed with scent. The heady scent of your arousal was emanating from every surface in the room. It was intoxicating the spymaster, your scent driving him to the edge of his wits.

An edge he is quickly pulled back from as he smells his brother’s scent intermingling, as well as the scent of another, Elain. He eyes the pile of soiled clothing on the floor, the evidence that confirms his suspicions. “Gods, Y/N.” He clears his throat. “I know you were not feeling yourself tonight, but-” he starts. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Incorrect shadowsinger,” you stare at him, “I feel more myself than I ever have. Just more-”

“Free of inhibition?” he supplies.

“Suppose I was. What concern is it of yours?” Your lips purse.

“I figured you deserve to know what was happening.” Azriel moves to your bed, sitting on the edge. He reaches into the pocket of his leathers and produces a single crumpled red rose. All of a sudden forgotten memory floods your mind. A pitcher full of plum-coloured starlight. The burn of it on your lips, down your throat. You remember drinking and drinking until there was nothing left. The urge you felt to drink, warped and resurged as the desire for Elain, for Cassian and Nesta, and for Azriel. Your hand twitches at the thought, fingers still primed over your clit.

“So what was that mystery beverage, you all so lovingly forgot to label?”

Azriel snorts before replying, “Affectus Revelare.”

“No shit?” Bewilderment shines in your eyes.

“It’s a love potion of sorts-”

“I’m well aware of its side effects.” And you were, having heard stories of its potency from your brother. “I had just never seen it in person.”

Azriel huffs, trying hard to keep his face void of emotion. “I’d assume then that you know that any intense feelings of pleasure you acted upon while under its influence, were no fault of your own.”

“Let me make one thing absolutely clear, Azriel.” Your voice cut like glass, eyes as sharp as steel. “Anything I did tonight, I did because I wanted to. The bullshit spell does nothing but bring to the surface feelings I already have. I have no regrets about what I have done or will do tonight.” Azriel looks as though he is swallowing a mouthful of marbles.

“Right,” he hastily stands, “I suppose now that you are feeling…better, I should probably let you get some sleep.” He treads to the door, head low, shadows tight against his silhouette.

You should let him go, let you both stew overnight, and then try talking again. It is the smart thing to do. In spite of that, you curse your horny mouth as it opens and words fly out, “Who says I’m feeling better?”

He freezes two paces from the door. Whipping around to face you again, his eyes are alight with panic. You pull your stilled hand out of your shorts and sit up. The blanket pools at your waist, your puckered nipples on full display from underneath your shirt. Your hand, still coated in your slick shines under the fae light. He looks from your face to your chest, to your sex-slicked hand and back again. He blinks and his nostrils flare, likely scenting the new wave of arousal that was coursing through your veins.

In a flash he is back at your bedside, the back of his hand coming up and resting on your forehead. He is mumbling to himself. Cauldron, he’s having more mood swings than I am. “Care to share what the Hell you’re doing Azriel?”

“It must have been laced with something else,” he grimaces, “another tonic or elixir maybe. Something to increase potency,” he swallows. “Did you… finish when you were in the kitchen?”

“You were there, Az… You saw me… You know I did.”

“Well, it’s not a matter of your partner reaching completion. If Elain and Cassian both-”

You were unnerved that he knew about Elain as well. “Az, what are you trying to tell me?”

“Maybe you need to, erm, try again? Or perhaps, it is Nesta and not Cassian you truly desire? Perhaps if you-”

“Azriel. Stop with your nonsense ramblings.”

“No, Y/N. You don’t understand! Something must be wrong. Your desires should be satiated by now. Once you bedded the true object of your affection, the potion was supposed to wear off.” His eyes met yours, and you could see that his mind was running a mile a minute. He was still upset, but now concern sat at the front of his mind.

“I assume you tried with Elain first, and when that didn’t relieve your symptoms, you finally gave in to your basal instincts and realized it was Cassian, not Elain you truly desired.” Anger clouded your vision as he continues to spew utter garbage. “But you should be feeling better after your session in the kitchen. I should wake Rhys, perhaps he-”

You vault up to a kneeling position, shoving him with both hands. He staggers back a step.

“The hell you will! Do. Not. Wake my brother. What would be your plan for that anyways? ‘Oh Rhys, wake up! Your sister can’t stop fucking the other members of your Court! Oh please Rhys, come and get your little sister under control before she gets her horny over us all’ Ya, great plan Az.” Your eyes are burning with rage now, and your cunt pulses with a heartbeat of its own. You were yelling and you couldn’t make yourself stop. “Even so, everything I did tonight was something everyone involved consented to. There was no primal urge forcing me to finger fuck myself for hours, to fuck Elain, to ride Cassian. It was me. I wanted those things, and they wanted them too. And it was beautiful and passionate, and intense. I desired them all, hell I still do.” You take a deep breath. “But, did you, even for one second use your tiny brain to think that maybe Elain or Cassian or Nesta aren’t the dominant object of my affection? You stupid Illyrian brute.”

“Who’s left Y/N? Who? Who could it possibly be? Amren? Lucien?” Azriel’s hands fist into the blankets on your bed, his shadows flying, his words disjointed as his mind can’t stop racing. He doesn't notice that he too is now yelling. “Oh, it’s Lucien, isn’t it? I know you used to fuck but come on-”

“IT'S YOU, YOU INSOLENT ASSHOLE.”

Time stops as you watch the shadowsinger’s mask crack. You see a hundred different emotions ripple across his face, joy, wonder, thrill and love? But then you also see, confusion, anger, jealousy, betrayal, sorrow, and disgust. “Y/N,” he whispers, voice horse and cracked, “Y/N, you don’t want me- you can’t want me.”

“For Cauldron’s sake Azriel, I have loved you for the last two centuries! I wept and pined for you as you obsessed over Mor, and then I agonized over you as your affection turned to Elain. Not that I can blame you-”

“I have no interest in Elain.” He declares, eyes locked on yours. “I never did.”

“Bullshit.” You snort, “I’ve seen the way you stare at her, the way you follow her around-”

“I stared because you stared, Y/N. I followed because you followed. Elain is lovely, but it was you, not I, who obviously fell for her charms.”

You are at a loss for words now. Your jaw twitches. What does this mean? He wasn’t watching Elain. He doesn’t love Elain. Your entire body felt aflame. Sweat was gathering at the base of your neck leaving your hair damp. You wanted to combust, thigh trembling at this admission. Your nipples are taut, pressing tightly against your top. Your breath is shaky, “What are you telling me Azriel?”

“I-I, okay look,” Azriel grinds his teeth, “It doesn’t matter. What I’m telling you is that you are mistaken. It is not me you want.” He takes a step closer to you, his knees grazing the edge of your bed.

“Oh, I’m mistaken?” You lift yourself higher on your knees, edging closer to the Illyrian in front of you.

“Yes.”

You can feel his breath on your face.

“Then prove it.”

His lips crash down onto yours. The kiss is hard and rough, but his lips are as soft as velvet. His hands are at your waist, and he is pulling you up until you are flush with his chest. You gasp, and Azriel’s tongue surges forward into your open mouth, dominating your tongue with his own. Your hands snake up to his hair and pull hard at his black curls, bringing his body even closer to yours.

You pull both of your bodies back towards the bed, lips never separating. You work to unfasten his leathers, as you do. Agile fingers make quick work, and soon his chest is bare and heaving, his tattoos stark against his skin under the fae light. Tiny scars dance across his torso as his muscles ripple, and he pulls you to the head of the bed. He kneels above you now, one knee between your legs, hands resting on either side of your head as he braces himself. He begins to pull away from the kiss, so you nip his lip, a shrill whine leaving your throat. A bead of bright red blood wells on his lip. His eyes open, and you see that his pupils are blown wide. He watches your tongue dart out to lick the crimson ichor. His mouth clashes with yours once again, his body pinning you to the bed, as the coppery tang of blood mixes in your mouths. The elixir in your veins sings at the taste of his blood. Him. The very taste you craved.

You roll your hips against him and you can feel the bulge in his pants. Azriel growls, and he brings a hand down to your hips to halt your movements. His hand then travels up your body, leaving a burning trail up to the edge of your shirt. His hand stills for but a moment and you lift your back off of the bed in answer. Your lips separate once more as his hands pull the thin material up and over your head. He beholds your naked flesh as if he were a male damned to the gallows. As if you would be the last sight he sees. You hear him mutter under his breath, a plea or a prayer, but you can’t quite make it out.

“Az.”

He unleashes himself on you.

His lips devour yours, a battle of teeth and tongues. His mouth moves down your neck, leaving hard wet kisses in his wake. He reaches the crook of your neck, mouth suckling your skin. His teeth brush the bruise that is forming there. And then he is clamping his teeth into your flesh. The force of the bite makes your body tremble. The sharp pain causes a scream to rip through your lungs, your hands fly up to grasp his shoulder blades, your nails shredding against his skin. The pain fades to a deep throb, pulsing in time with your needy cunt.

Your neck stings as his mouth pulls away. He offers you a smirk and you can see your blood in his mouth. He’s on you again, lips trailing down your collarbone to the valley between your breasts. His tongue trails lazy strokes against your dewy flesh before his lips clamp around one of your pert nipples. He groans at the taste of your flesh, his tongue flicking against it. You let out a shriek of ecstasy, your hips bucking up against his groin. You thrust against him, desperate for friction. His hand gives your other breast a rough squeeze in response.

“Please Az. I need you.” You were gasping the words, stuttering with every hard suck, “I need you inside me. Now.”

His lips leave your breast with a diabolical pop. “Patience, little one.” A small smile graces his lips, “Not until I’ve tasted your sweet cunt.”

The weight of his body leaves you, but before you can question him, you feel two strong hands clamp around your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed. Azriel’s thumbs hook into the waistband of your shorts, and they quickly join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

You lay completely bare before him. He spreads your legs, and he falls to his knees, eyes in line with your dripping cunt. Your arousal has seeped down your thighs and to the bedsheets below. He utters your name in worship as he lowers his mouth to your core.

He feasts like a man starved, drowning in your arousal as your thighs clamp around his head, your core pulsing with the need to be filled. His tongue flicks against your clit, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through you. His scarred hands clamp around your thighs as he pulls you impossibly closer. His tongue thrusts into your hole and you see white. You are so close to the edge, so close to climax.

“Az-. Az! Please, Please Cauldron, please. I’m close.” You’re moaning, pulling at his hair to make him look up at you. “Please, I want to cum with your inside me.”

His fingers lessen their grip, and his mouth leave your sex. His lips are glistening with your juices, as his hands travel to the buckles at his thigh, removing the sheath containing Truth-Teller, next he works the ties of his boots and pants, both are quickly discarded. With a tug of his undershorts, the Spymaster of the Night Court stands before you in all of his glory, and he is magnificent.

His cock throbs against his stomach as he watches you watch him. He fists his rock-hard length and he looks at you with a question burning in his eyes, giving you a chance to turn him away. But you need him, you burn for him.

“I need you inside of me Azriel.” You can feel the head of his cock brush against your folds, your head falling back and you whine at the contact, “Fuck me. Gods fuck me.” His cock rubs against your sex a few more times, your slick lubricating his length, and then he is slowly pushing inside of you.

Your cunt stretches, and you’re not sure if you’re moaning in pain or in rapturous pleasure. He stills for a moment, halfway inside you, letting your body acclimate to his thick member. He leans down and leaves a chaste kiss against your lips.

“Ready?” he asks, voice low, strained with the effort to remain still.

“Yes.”

He pulls his cock out all the way out, and with a buck of his hips, completely sheaths himself inside of you. Again and again, his hips slam against yours, cock pistoning in and out of you. His cock fills you completely, your cunt stretched as far as it can, and each vein along his shaft rubs deliciously against you. The tip of his cock brushes against your spongey tissue and you whail in bliss.

“Harder.”

He complies, his hips fracturing against your pelvis, driving him further inside of you. Your hands reach around and grab his ass, driving him even deeper. The fae lights are flickering in and out, the bed is shaking, cracking against the wall, and you are screaming, and screaming, insane from the pleasure.

You plummet over the edge, wailing his name as your orgasm cleaves you in two.

Azriel follows you over the cliff, his wings flare wide, and he lets out a roar as his thick cum paints your insides. His pace begins to slow as he continues to thrust in and out, prolonging your pleasure. He stills inside of you but doesn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to fully unsheath himself, savouring the feeling of you around him.

“Y/N…” his voice is hoarse. He starts to pull away, but you just lean in and capture his lips with another kiss.

“Let’s talk about what this means later Az. For now,” your eyes shine bright in the moonlight and it takes his breath away, “for now, can you just hold me?” He nods and swallows hard. Shimming up to the head of the bed, you both slide under your covers, he tucks you into his side, arm draped around your waist. Your head rests on his chest, and you breathe in the scent of his sweat and musk.

You can feel his come slowly trickle down your leg.

You feel complete and satiated. The roar in your veins from the potion has gone, left in its place was love. Your eyes feel heavy and you begin to drift off to sleep. “Told you so,” you mumble. You’re fast asleep now, and miss the look of regret that crosses the Shadowsingers face.

Hours later you awaken to an empty bed.

#elain archeron #nessian x reader #nesta x cassian x reader #nesta x cassian #elain archeron x reader #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #lucien x reader #azriel x reader #acotar #acotar fanfiction #love potion

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bucketsofmonsters · 1 year

Text

The Witch’s Apprentice - Part 4

cw: demon summoning, prolonged isolation, more tags will be added as the story continues

male demon x afab reader

Word count: 4k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

You woke up wrapped in Lucien’s arms, his tail coiled up your leg.

You couldn’t get up if you wanted to. Not only were you trapped by a cuddly demon, your exhaustion was overtaking you. Your limbs felt like they were made of lead and your brain was attempting to lull you right back to sleep. You were convinced you could sleep here forever if you allowed yourself to.

Which was exactly why you needed to get up. This place was dangerous, you couldn’t let yourself get too comfortable and completely succumb to it.

As you started to rise, the demons arms around you tightened, pulling you closer to him.

“Lucien,” you tried to call out but your face was smashed into his chest and instead it came out as an incomprehensible mumble.

It was still enough to wake him, his grip on you loosening as he came to.

You slipped out of his grasp, although his tail followed you to your new position standing beside him, curling right back up your leg.

He looked up at you with a smile. “What are you doing up so early?”

“How long did I sleep?”

“Not long. Maybe fifteen hours.”

Your eyes widened. “Fifteen hours?”

“Relax, you needed the sleep. I wouldn’t have let you sleep forever, I only do that to the annoying ones.”

“Glad to know I was in such safe hands,” you said with a roll of your eyes and a playful smile.

You looked back at him expecting to see that same wry smile as always on his face but instead his face had gone stony, his eyes darkening.

“You have a decision to make,” he said, all the teasing gone from his voice as he rose to his feet, towering above you.

His black eyes bored into you, asking you to make a choice about something, what it was you weren’t sure.

“I don’t understand,” you said, searching for clues in his face but it looked nothing other than weathered and exhausted.

“I’m being summoned. Time plays differently here but I can only stretch away from it for so long. So, what will it be?”

It didn’t feel like much of a decision at all.

“Well, that means I’m going back. Of course I’m going back, what else would I do?”

“You could go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere but there.” His voice was low and breathy, almost sounding as if he was pleading with you.

“She’s my friend. That’s my home.”

“It’s your prison. You're free now, you’re out and you’re asking to go back.” His voice increased in volume as he spoke, hints of anger tinging his words.

“Just because it is your prison does not mean it is mine. I want to go home.”

Creases formed between his brows and you couldn’t tell if they were from worry or anger. “And if I won’t take you?”

You reeled back at the suggestion, a bolt of fear running through you.

You tried desperately to put more force behind your words, needing him to listen to you. “Take me back. Now.”

In the back of your mind you were terrified that he'd leave you, that the unthinkable would happen and you’d be locked away from Eden forever.

He wasn’t surprised by your response. You could tell that much. If anything he looked overcome with dread,

“Don’t say I didn’t try.”

His hand wrapped around your arm and suddenly you too could feel a distant tug pulling at the both of you.

Without the adrenaline running through you this time, you got to actually see the change happen. The room around you faded away slowly, like a mirage you’d gotten a little too close to.

For a second you were nowhere. You didn’t even see black, just true nothing in all directions. Your stomach flipped and you leaned closer to Lucien, part of you terrified of being trapped in this void.

And then everything faded back in and you were confronted with a familiar face.

The second Eden laid eyes on you she grabbed your arm and yanked you out of the circle. You looked back apologetically at Lucien, the treatment feeling absurd after everything he’d done for you.

Lucien’s gaze had hardened once more as he looked down at your witch.

Eden’s focus wasn’t on him at all. Her eyes raked over your body, nails digging into the skin of your arm, like she was afraid you might slip away. Or maybe like she was afraid you might step back once more, back over the line she'd just pulled you from.

“Are you hurt?” she asked frantically. “Did he hurt you?”

When she finally spoke, her voice was shaky and guilt pierced through you. You’d been off fucking around with your new favorite demon and she’s been panicking. You wondered how long she’d been like this, what she thought had happened to you.

You pushed past her iron grip, throwing yourself towards her, arms wrapping tightly around her midsection. You buried your head in her neck, her familiar scent bringing waves of comfort to you.

Her arms hesitantly wrapped gently around you but you could tell she was still looking up at him.

As soon as your embrace loosened she pulled you behind her, putting herself between you and Lucien. Ultimately it was a futile gesture, he couldn’t reach either of you out here, but it seemed almost instinctive. She just wanted to put a barrier between the two of you and as much as you’d grown to trust Lucien, it made your heart swell. It awoke some unquenchable instinct, to throw yourself into danger to see if she’d come running.

But there were more important things to attend to. You glanced around at the undamaged cabin, looking exactly as you’d left it. The only change was the new summoning circle beside the old one you’d broken.

“You’re alright?” you asked. “They didn’t hurt you.”

Now that she had established that you were safe, she seemed uninterested in engaging with you. The question was ignored in favor of turning toward Lucian.

“You’re a despicable man,” she said with a sneer. “What did you even gain? They’ve done nothing to you.”

“You don’t understand,” you insisted, trying to get through to her. “He saved me.”

She regarded him with no less disdain at your declaration of what he’d done for you.

You butted in once more, refusing to back down, not this time. “He didn’t do anything wrong, I owe him my life.”

Eden snapped, her head turning towards you as she stopped ignoring you. “We cannot do this right now, not in front of him.”

“When else? You said all he wanted was to hurt us and he saved me, how is that not substantial to you.”

“He did not save you,” she shouted.

You drew back at her harsh words. “What? No, he did. I don’t know what happened here but…”

“How many times have I warned you about demon trickery? This is exactly why I wanted to be there, why you two never should have been alone. How long did it take before he managed to make you break the circle.”

“He didn’t make me do anything, he protected me!”

“There was no threat. This was all a mistake, I never should have shown you all of this, you’re not built for it. Trusting you with it was a mistake, I’ve gone soft on you.”

“You’re wrong,” you insisted, eyes flicking to Lucien looking for help. He stared back silently, watching you from the sidelines.

“Am I? Then why was there no one here when I returned?” Eden asked. “Why did this dangerous threat do nothing to the cabin? What explanation do you have other than what is right in front of you, what you refuse to see because your heart is bigger than your head.”

“To what end?” you insisted, refusing to back down on the issue. You were not the fool here. There were gaps in what happened, sure, but her story was not flawless either. “He’s done nothing to me. He created a ploy to what, keep me safe and bring me back unscathed?”

She scoffed. “I don’t pretend to understand the machinations of demons. But neither, frankly, do you. At least one of us understands that.”

“You’re wrong.” It didn’t make sense, it was based on nothing but faux ideas of monsters and you wouldn’t stand for it. Not when he’d just saved your life.

Lucien chose that moment to butt in. “She’s really not.”

Eden looked up at Lucien with wide eyes, seemingly wondering how things had gone so badly that she was on the same side as a demon.

Both turned against you, despite everything.

When Eden turned back to you she looked a little sick, less confident than you’d ever seen her before. “You’ve done so poorly you turned a demon honest. I would be impressed if I weren’t so disappointed.”

“It doesn’t make sense. He was kind, he didn’t hurt me.”

“All in service of some greater plan, I’m sure. You’ve heard it from his own mouth now, surely you don’t need any more hand-holding. The truth is right in front of you.”

“But then why would he tell me?” Your eyes flicked up towards the demon, the one you’d put all of your trust in for days. “Why would you…” You trailed off, dread pooling in your gut, a sickening bile of betrayal bubbling up inside of you.

Lucien refused to meet your gaze, his face stony and unreadable. You wouldn’t have noticed so much if it hadn’t been such a shift from what he’d begun to show you.

But maybe those emotions were fake too, another performance he was putting on. Another trick you were too stupid to see through.

You’d been wrong, dangerously wrong. You couldn’t trust your judgment anymore, never should have in the first place, it seemed.

Eden seemed to take your silence as acceptance, quickly sending Lucien away,

The second he disappeared she turned to you, some of that manic energy from when you’d first returned appearing back in her face. It seemed she’d been hiding it from him, keeping it just under the surface.

Both of them seemed so good at their faux emotions, Eden’s confidence, Lucien's performance as your rescuer. Maybe this was a skill you were supposed to have, maybe you were the odd one out.

Eden’s hands gripped your shoulders, fingernails digging into your skin once more, clinging to you like a lifeline.

“What did he say to you, how badly did he get through to you? He’ll try to lead you astray, to put you in harm's path. He’s a liar, you can’t believe him.”

“He didn’t say anything, he was just… nice.” And he had been. You couldn’t see the signs of this scheme that they both seemed so convinced were obvious.

You could tell Eden didn’t believe you. She rarely did even before all of this, you knew it would be a long long time before she ever did again.

The pressure of her nails subsided, leaving a dull ache of pain where their imprints remained on your skin.

She pulled you along a familiar hall and you didn’t put up a fight, still caught up in trying to make sense of everything.

You barely realized what was happening until she was guiding you to sit on your bed, pushing your hair away from your face and looking down at you with sad eyes.

“This wasn’t your fault,” she said. “I should’ve known not to let you near all this.

The reassuring graze of her fingers against your cheek faded and you heard the lock on your door click.

“It will stay this way until you show a sense of self-preservation, alright?” she called through the door. “I will permit a lot of things but I will not allow you to hurt yourself.”

You collapsed back onto the bed with a sigh and heard her walk away, not waiting for an answer.

With nothing better to do with your time, you ran through it in your head over and over and over again. Hours passed and you just lay there, turning the events over in your mind.

The signs they’d both pointed to didn’t track, they didn't lead to anything. You couldn’t combine them to a point where they would make sense. If this was a trick, why had he told you the truth when you’d been so convinced? If it was to harm you or Eden why did he keep you safe in his home and bring you back here? You might not have been the best bargaining chip but you would be a good piece of leverage against her and instead here you were, locked back in your room, where you are no longer useful to him.

None of it made sense.

Right up until you stopped thinking about him as Eden’s type of demon, an unthinking force of evil trying to do as much damage as possible.

Because there wasn’t any other perspective you could see. He didn’t hurt you because he didn’t want to. He didn’t hurt you because he saw someone who was scared and alone and couldn’t help himself, just like Eden had done when she found you all alone in the woods all those years ago. He didn’t hurt you because, as much as he might protest, some part of him cared.

And, once more, he wouldn’t hurt you.

You were betting your life on it.

You didn’t have the materials for a summoning circle in your room but it didn’t matter. All you needed to be able to do was get him in here, you didn’t need protection from him.

Honestly, you didn’t want the protection. You were convinced that the warding gave him something to hide behind. As long as he was locked in there, he could claim that he was a monster, that he would hurt you given the chance.

Take that away and you’d find out what he would really do, one way or another.

The summoning spell wasn’t long. All you needed to get him here were the words, everything else was to keep you safe or to keep him bound.

The second he saw you, his eyes widened. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as you smiled softly up at him, giving him a little wave.

He did not wave in return.

His gaze dropped slowly to the floor, staring blankly as the seconds ticked by. He seemed baffled by the blank floor beneath him, trying to comprehend what could possibly be happening as you waited patiently for him to react.

Finally, his gaze rose to meet yours once more.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“Nice to see you too.”

“Genuinely, what is wrong with you? It's not a rhetorical question, I would love an answer.”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure. You should ask my witch, she’s got some theories.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he insisted and you couldn’t help but think that he and Eden might actually get along if it weren’t for the fact he was a demon. They seemed to have a lot of similar ideas.

“Well, nothing has happened yet. Do you intend on killing me?”

“I could do anything to you, you couldn’t stop me.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

The longer this went on, the more relaxed you became. This man had no intention of hurting you, that much was more than clear.

“I should kill you right now,” he said with a growl, one that you didn’t even have it in you to pretend you found frightening. The both of you had long since passed that point.

“Why?”

“Because I’m a demon. That’s what we do.”

“And yet here we are and I remain unharmed. So it seems demons are more complicated than that. Either that or you’re a shitty demon.”

He couldn’t seem to fight back a smile at that. “Yeah, well you’re a shitty witch.”

“I’m not a witch. A witch-in-training at most, although something tells me the training is not going to happen again for a very long time.”

“My bad,” he said, and you could almost detect a hint of sheepishness in his tone.

“I know how you can make it up to me,” you said leaning forwards towards him from your seat on the bed.

His head cocked to the side. “And how is that?”

“Tell me why you did it.”

He groaned. “You and your why’s. I’m not telling you anything.”

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll give it a shot then. Do you know what I think? I think you never imagined I’d break that warding. You were just trying to scare me or prove some point about me or whatever and then I broke the warding and you didn’t know what to do. I think I ruined your little plan and when confronted with someone who was scared and who trusted you, you helped them. Who wouldn’t?”

“Cute little story you’ve spun yourself.”

You shrugged. “It’s what I would’ve done.”

“You would’ve created a commotion to scare the shit out of a witch-in-training?”

“No, but testing someone? Trying to prove the very worst? Seeing when push comes to shove, what will people do? That’s not demon scheming.”

“Yes it is.”

“It’s really not. Seems more insecure than anything.”

That got a real hearty laugh out of him. “Oh, does it now?”

“At least that’s what my witch says when I do it. Do little tests and push at things to see if she trusts me. I mean, I’ve never made her fear for her life but she’s never trapped me and made me do anything so I think we have different levels of frustration.”

“She doesn’t believe in you,” he observed and you wondered if he was just now coming to understand that.

You rolled your eyes. “Who would?”

The question hung in the air and you could feel him waiting, wondering if he should answer it.

You took the choice away from him, asking a question of your own in return. “When was the last time a human trusted you?”

“A long, long time ago, little one. Not to say I haven’t earned my reputation.”

“I don’t know. You seem pretty trustworthy to me.”

“You’d be surprised.” He looked down at the bare floor below him once more. “You know, there’s nothing stopping me anymore. I could take you away, let you leave this place.”

That caught you by surprise. “What? No, I… I can’t”

“Why? Because of the woods? I could take you right past them. There’s no way you’ve never wanted to leave. Come on, I could even take you back after, you don’t have to be imprisoned here.”

“This is my home,” you insisted.

“What the fuck has she done to you? You could leave, right now, go anywhere. I’m offering you the world, one trip, no fees, no fine print. I never do that, you’d be a fool to refuse it.”

“She hasn’t done anything to me. She just wants to keep me safe.” At the end of the day, it always came back to this with the two of you, Eden forever being the wedge between you.

“The little warden has you playing good little prisoner. I’m honestly impressed. And they call me manipulative.”

“Stop it. I know she’s wronged you but-”

“But? There is not but. She is a monster and you’re trapped in her web just as much as I am.”

“She is a good person.”

“Maybe you’re too far gone. I don’t know if I can help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you said.

He opened his mouth to insist you did or tell you once more how much of a monster your savior was but you dismissed him before he had the chance.

Without the warding, he could have stayed. He could have clung to this plane easily but he let you push him away and once more you were locked alone in your room.

It took a long time to fall asleep. Your conversation with Lucien kept swimming around and around in your head.

Eventually, exhaustion got the better of you and your room faded away to another familiar place.

It hadn’t even been a full day since you’d left and Lucien’s room was just as vivid as when you’d been standing in it.

He was there too, looking down at you with that hungry look he’d gotten in his eyes on occasion, when he thought you weren’t looking.

“I’m glad you came back,” he said, walking over towards you, his hand moving under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “It gets boring around here without you, I could always use a sweet little thing to play with.”

Your face warmed and you managed to stutter out, “I… uh…”

You heard a chuckle from behind you and dream Lucien dissipated in a puff of smoke as you stiffened.

You whipped around to see Lucien again, a notably more real one, leaning against the wall. “Pity. I wanted to see what happened next.

Your face burned, glad dream Lucien left before he could do anything particularly embarrassing.

You folded your arms with a huff. “Are you just going to invade all of my dreams now?”

“Maybe. If they’re all as fun as this one was gearing up to be then you can sign me up.”

You clamored for a retort but came up empty, ending up just sputtering and then staring at him all while feeling as if your cheeks might melt and your heart might beat its way right out of your chest.

He chucked again. “Relax. It’s sweet. Next time I’ll try and come in later, you could use some stress relief.”

You might actually spontaneously combust. “Please say you came for some reason other than to embarrass me,” you pleaded.

He shrugged. “Just came to talk. Embarrassing you was an unexpected bonus.”

Next time you saw him in the non-dream world you were going to throw something at him.

“Talk about what?” you asked, desperately trying to change the topic.

“We ended on bad terms earlier.”

Oh. That. You’d almost prefer he keep on humiliating you.

“Did you come to apologize?” you asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

But nothing could ever be simple with him.

“You know,” he said, “there’s lots of different reactions demons have when humans summon them, trap them, make them do their bidding, all that nasty business. Some get violent, some get tricky, some have given up and are just filled with despair, following along until they’re finally free. There’s no right reaction to this sort of thing, not really. But there’s one kind that we all hate, the real traitors. Because sometimes there is no fighting back, no despair. Sometimes they just happily fall in line. It’s certainly safer that way, I can’t fault anyone for listening, but to do it happily? And sometimes, eventually, they don’t even need to be forced. They just go along with it, anything for their little masters.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I didn’t think you would. I won’t push too hard, you’re clearly not ready for that, but you witch is a very, very bad person.”

“She just doesn’t understand you. I’ll make her understand.”

“At least you're going to try. That’s something.” He spoke with a halfhearted smile, his mind clearly elsewhere. You wished more than anything you could read him, that you could understand what was going on in his head.

“Of course I am. And she will understand, I’ll make her see that you’re not a threat, that she shouldn't be summoning you.”

The sadness written across his face was clear, with hunched shoulders and a furrowed brow betraying him as he stared down at you.

Finally, after staring intently at you, contemplating something as he mulled over your words, he said,“Thyme.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t have enough thyme. That’s how I can get in here. Most witches use way more than necessary just in case but you tried to make it exact and it fucked you over.”

“Oh. I didn’t want to use more of my witch’s stash than I had to.”

“One of these days someone crueler than me is going to come along and that mindset is going to get you hurt.”

“I’ve been fine so far. Why did you tell me, if I fix it you can’t get into my head anymore.”

He shrugged. “Figure it out.”

“Is it an apology or another trick”

“What do you think,” he asked with a smile. He enjoyed this, giving you little pieces of information and seeing what you’d do with them.

“An apology,” you decided.

“Your witch would call that foolish,” he informed you, as if you weren’t already intimately familiar with the idea.

“She already calls me foolish, might as well trust my instincts if it’s going to happen anyways.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think I’m so good-intentioned.”

You laughed. “Yeah, because you’ve been so cruel to me”

“I tricked you,” he reminded you, as if it had just slipped your mind.

“And then you took care of me when I proved you wrong.”

“An outlier. You caught me off guard.”

“How?”

“Because you fell for my trick.”

“Oh, is that so? Maybe your expectations of me were too high. Do you think me foolish now too?”

“Maybe. I’m not entirely sure what to think of you.”

The room snapped out of existence as you woke with a jolt at Eden banging at your door, some food having already been slipped underneath it. You considered asking her to bring you more thyme but thought better of it. You didn’t think you’d be needing it anytime soon.

#terato #demon x reader #demon x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster x reader #demon #the witch's apprentice #Sorry I was on a sort of unplanned hiatus for a bit guys #I am back now #also would you believe me if I told you I didn't see the garden of eden metaphor in this until someone pointed it out to me #incredible things our subconscious can do #Especially when you were raised catholic lmao #I was having issues writing this so I went with the tried and true write it like a script #and then add dialogue tags and description until it works lol

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yaut-jaknowit · 8 months

Text

Carved Into Flesh

Pairings: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x Reader

Word Count: 3075

Summary: With your ex-mate challenged by the Monarch, he has no choice but to fight. With nowhere to go, you were rooted in your spot and forced to watch. To watch as this random female demolishes and wipes the floor with Dwainet, quite literally. He stands no chance against someone who holds themselves with such pride and confidence that leaked no falsehood. There’s a reason she is Monarch.

Author Note: Part three is here! Writing this new story is so much fun! I've had time to draw up a few more pictures of her as well. I'll have to post them later though, they're not finished yet.

Masterlist

Ao3

From her spot on the mat that’s slicken in blood that’s not hers, We’ar-ow begins to circle. Dwainet starts to mirror her actions. The same, safe distance continuous placed between their high strung bodies. Your eyes couldn’t look away from your ex-mate’s face. Between the young lines on his sculpted face, you read the worry. In those stony cold eyes that shone in the day and night, you saw his fear. Not for you. His gaze was far from yours; pinned on the hunk of pink scales in front of him. The one who initiated this. All for you.

You.

A meek human who fell in loved with another just to get heartbroken a year later.

Someone who was abandoned.

You. Out of everyone.

The Monarch wanted you.

She was willing to risk her hide to claim you.

The skin on your body pebbled with bumps, form shuttering. You swallowed thickly, eyes flickering between their two frames. The only stable thought on your mind was: who did you want to win? Your backstabber of a mate who left you for hole to bury his penis in. Or, the Monarch who without hesitance, pulled you under her wing. The one who wanted you.

It seemed like your mind was already made up. But your heart wasn’t there. Yet? Maybe.

Thoughts began to fill your mind. Thoughts of escape. The Monarch had powered. Does that po- a powerful, earthshattering roar interrupted your thoughts. Your whole body jumped. No one was paying you mind. No, they were focused as the battle finally began with a domineering start.

What you first saw once your eyes focus was a barreling force of Dwainet rushing We’ar-ow. He was done waiting for her to start this. A young blood mistake. With one step, We’ar-ow dodged his simple rush with her hands clasped behind her. The stance enraged the male Yautja all the more. His thick claws on his feet dug into the durable mat as he spun around to try again.

As the female Yautja danced around the bull like fight that Dwainet created, she let her eyes flick over to your meek form. The moment they landed on you, you felt a piercing gaze and looked at We’ar-ow. The fact she let her guard down enough to peer at you, it made your already unstable heart to pound fiercely in your chest.

All the while Dwainet believed she was distracted, he took the false opportunity to barrel at her once more. A tactic he should learn wasn’t going to work, no matter how much he tried. It was like that was the only move he knew. We’ar-ow scoffed at the thought.

With her eyes still on you, she sidestepped the fumbling idiot, arms finally twitching into movement. One muscular foot stuck as he raced past her. In that same instance, a blur of pink smashed into his back. The male was sent sprawling like an imblice onto his front. He slides a couple of feet before he was scrambling back to his feet.

The false confidence he once grasped onto drained from his body. An open book to be read. To everyone in this room.

Behind you, all around you, the room erupted with an uproar of thundering voices. The translator screeched out, trying to fulfil its job while being overwhelmed. You hissed from the high pitched sound and clawed at the device behind your ear. Former scars met your nails smooth and light colored.

Your nails caught something just below the skin, slightly tearing the skin but flipping something in the process. The screaming stopped, just the ringing in your ear and the roars of the surrounding Yautja.

Despite them all being wrapped into the fight, none stepped a foot closer. Something you took note of. A low, final hiss escaped your parted lips. The pain lingered but drawn away enough to refocused on the fight.

Things turned up two notches by the time you looked back at the mats. We’ar-ow still played with the young blood, drawing this out for what ever sick reason she had. But a new mark painted Dwainet’s right arm with neon green blood. A flesh wound by the way he dismissed it and still used the limb. If this was a human though, there wasn’t enough adrenaline in the human body to drown out that pain. You shook at the thought.

He was wounded. Blooded. Your broken heart still ached for him, not just for the pain he caused but the fact he was hurt. You worried at your bottom lip, ignoring the tangy taste of metal. Now, your eyes focused on Dwainet as he received another harsh blow from We’ar-ow.

Dwainet snarled out his agony as more blood pearled to cover the new wound. Your heart jumped into your throat then, tears pooling to the corner of your eyes. As much as you wanted to step in and stop this madness, you held no courage to even move a single muscle towards the brawling duo. All you wanted was everything to go back to normal. Back to yesterday morning when you woke up in your mate’s arms.

Titled as pet to his kind. To him, you were his lover, the one he shared his bed with. The one he would make love to me in all different kinds of ways. Here he was, fighting the Monarch.

Was this my fault? It resolved arou-stop it! I wildly shook my head to clear of my thoughts and narrowed down on the fight. There was a time and place wallow in my sorrows. Not when I’m surrounded by predators as meek prey. I steeled my nerves, pulled back my shoulders, and stared up at the two battling giants.

From this far into the one and only round, it was clear as a sunny day who was going to win. This morning, you knew. Deep in your bones, you knew. As much as your heart craved for the things to return to two days ago, this was life. You’ve come to learn the harshness it spat in your face and lived with the life given.

We’ar-ow had finally stepped up her game and officially joined in. Her lethal claws already have been used time and time again. Dwainet didn’t slow and let his new wound affect him too much. He kept the same war plan running and We’ar-ow grew bored.

When the young blood came at her, took the full brunt of the hit with pride. A pink hand snatched the male around his neck and smashed him into the mat. A choked cry rang in the tense room. The air forced out of his chest. Dwainet gasped for his lung to fill but the hold she held on his throat stopped him.

Panic grew in his movements as all of his limbs kicked out to strike at her. Anything to get her off. For the fun of it, her hand released him. A foot was swiftly heading toward her head, aiming to knock the giant away.

For once, We’ar-ow showed off. Her thighs used their strength to spring her entire body up and off the ground. She leaned back in the air, arms out, and hand meeting the ground. Once more, she pushed off and came to land on her feet. The jutting movement from the usually calm Yautja stilled the room for only a moment.

Even though Dwainet had his back to you now, you could read him still. He had to be saying ‘oh, shit’ in his mind like a mantra. His entire body tense, either to run or meet his maker, you didn’t know this.

The female picked up her head to keep her pink chin level with the ground. That look in her orange eyes had you ready to bolt yourself. And it wasn’t even directed at you.

One moment, there stood the pink wall of muscle. The very next millisecond, Dwainet was promptly lifted into the air. All that kept him there was We’ar-ow hand connected to his exposed throat. One tense move of her hand, and he would be dead. The females stronger, bigger, more intelligent, and cool minded their male counterparts.

“Dwainet!” you called out without thinking. A trembling hand reaching towards the smaller Yautja.

Everyone’s eyes were on you. Everyone’s. At the very moment, you wanted the ground and swallow you whole. To take you far from this room.

Hiss and chittering filtered into the air. Shit, the translator. You reached behind your ear and swipe through the blood’s origin to feel that same switch. A flick of your nail had the thing back on.

Words of disgust and distain rang through the air like a cold, threatening wind. As if it was real, you shiver and drew back your hand. Clearly this was a huge mistake on your part. You had nowhere to run. As prey cornered by predators, your heart thundered in your ears, on the verge of jumping out of its bony cage. There was no place to even more to get away from any of them.

The mat was encased by Yautjas. Not an inch given, not inch of hope of freedom. Not like you could make it far if one gave chase.

Her eyes were pinned solely on you now, head cocked just slightly to the side. “Why speak his name?” The translator rumbled deep in your head. “Are you defending him?” You flinched when the device screeched halfway through.

You shook your head to rid of the pain before lifting it up to peer at her. The Yautja was a good twenty feet from me. But with the way her piercing gaze studied me, it felt like her skin was on me. That’s when you found the ground a far better place to look at. No words came to me.

Hisses of displeasure had your skin spiking, mind screaming to run but no place to slip through. But a clip snarl quieted the area. “Pet, I asked a question.” Of course, she wanted you to answer. Of course. Of-fucking-course. You steeled your nerves and swallowed. Now to either speak truth or lie straight through my teeth.

“N-no.” You stopped yourself from cringe at how pathetic that sounded.

We’ar-ow scoffed, head tipping just enough to peer over her mandibles at you. For a moment, you thought this was her exposing her throat to Dwainet foolishly. The Yautja was too cowardly to react let alone know what she did. He was still kicking like a captured kitten in his hold. “Then tell me why you have interrupted.”

All just a demand. Just the Monarch commanding you. You took a shuttering breath that raked your torso. “Please, do-don’t hurt him. He’s le-learned his lesson.”

Bickering and snarky remarks throughout the crowd started. A thundering presence appeared next to you, starting you from the safety of the shy half circle of space given to you. Before the Yautja had a chance think of any harm towards you, a knife was embedded into the male’s shoulder. He hissed from the pain and was swift to back off.

“Don’t touch what’s not yours,” We’ar-ow’s voice entered your ear alongside the monotone of the translator. Then, her attention was returned straight to you. “He is dishonorable, though in a low crime, he has yet to learn true punishment for what he’s done. Oomans are foolish. You do not understand nor will you. You try to defend someone who has abandoned you despite taking responsibility for you. I’m curious.” It was a silent question. Another one.

More quiet talking caught your translator. Many were surprised that she was allowing a chance to speak, something a pet doesn’t have the right to do.

“I-I love him, okay?”

There was another uproar of displeasure but what you heard over all of it was Dwainet snarling… in disgust. “Nothing more than a pig.” That last word, the translator struggled to find a word for a moment. Your lips parted. There was nothing to stop the barrage of tears that started to pour down your cheeks. Nowhere to run.

A deafening roar shook the ground before the sound of skin slapping harshly met your ears. Your sight finally caught up to see what had happened. We’ar-ow had slammed the squirming male down to the mat with a death wrapped firmly around his neck. She snarled like a raging female. The first time you’ve seen her show emotion.

“You are dishonorable! No female will allow you to mate with them this season or any upcoming seasons for the time being. You hold no true heart of a warrior,” she barked, the words almost drowning out the translator. “Yield like the scum you are and I won’t cut off your penis.”

Fuck… Your eyes widened at the threat. The male pushed his thighs together as if that would stop her from fulfilling her mission. “Yield! I yield! You can have the damned thing!”

His words cut through you like his sharpest knife. He gave in, so easily. He called you ‘thing’. A thing. You hiccupped back a sob and cradled your hands to your chest. More hot tears stung at your eyes. A never ending cascade of your sorrow.

For a tick of a moment, you thought We’ar-ow was going to snap his neck after he yield. Something that didn’t need to be taught to know was completely dishonorable.

The pink Yautja released her hold completely and stepped away from the dishonorable male. Her steps light, calculated she beelined for her new prize. You. Her movements weren’t registering in your brain until you felt the hot breath fan over the top of your head. You snapped your head up to find her gaze upon your trembling form.

Before you had a chance to think, her hand held a strong grasp on the back of your neck. Next, with a sliver of strength, the Yautja had you pinned to the ground. Face down into the mat with neon blood smearing into your skin and new clothing. Your prey instinct drove you to fight, to kick, to bite, to scratch. Anything to get her off of you.

But she didn’t even flinch a single centimeter. She captured both of your arms then straddled your back, pinning both limbs to your side. You sobbed for escape and looked over at your ex-mate who has sat up. His eyes met you in a brief encounter before he looked away. Abandoning you all over again. He got up and slipped through the crowd.

Everyone was far too enraptured with what We’ar-ow was doing to do you than the male leaving with his tail between his legs.

The muscles in your neck grew too sore to hold up your head anymore. Your face pressed back into the slick mat, sobs wracking your body. “Stop it! Get off of me,” I demanded as if I had a place to do so. No matter that she had control of my upper body, I still fought. A deep instinct drove me. Maybe it be a prey instinct or not, I kicked my legs to the best of my ability. Nothing coming close to hitting her.

A hand lined with blacked tipped claws cleared the space at the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. You instantly froze. The threat of death so close with a lethal predator sitting on top of you. Yet, her four hundred pound body was relatively off me, letting me breath but not escape. “Wh-what are you doing?!”

Pain zapped at the spot cleared. A scream tore at your throat. Your efforts for escape double, muscles flexing and straining against ones thrice their size. You thrashed your head about, any efforts to get away. You felt her weight shift above you, long thin tresses scrapping over the skin on your back. “My pet does not writhe in pain! My pet is strong! Silence yourself and earn the title as my pet,” her voice harsh, close to your ear. Soft enough not many could listen but enough for your translator to pick up on.

You take her words in and bite harshly at your lip to silence any noises. While the white hot pain continued, it registered in the back of your mind that We’ar-ow was carving something. Straight into your skin.

The only thing you could not control was the tears. Which, We’ar-ow either didn’t notice or reprimand you about it as she continued. Then, her weight was lifted off of you but you did not move. Your skin far too hot for you, breaths labored as you tried to gather yourself internally.

“Come along, my pet,” We’ar-ow’s voice carried out in the quiet room. Your chest ached. You rolled onto your back and gaze upon the plain ceiling that made up this mothership. But, We’ar-ow didn’t give you a second chance. Her feet swiftly carried her towards the exit, acting as if she didn’t just best your ex-mate and carve something into your back. When you have the chance, you needed to see what she had done to you.

Right now, you needed to your ass off of this stupid mat.

Trembling limbs barely listened to you. One arm after another, you placed your palms on the ground and pushed, muscles straining. Next was drawing your knees up enough to get into a kneeling position. That allowed all the weight on your chest to slide right off. You finally were able to breathe fully.

Through the crowd that still hung around, you spotted your mate through the sea of people. Unlike any time you’ve seen him before, his gaze caused your entire body to shutter. Death. All you could see was death. Your gaze dropped swiftly to the floor. You struggled to get to your feet, but you made it.

With one last fleeting glance in his direction, you stumbled out of the sparring room. Blood coating your skin, some yours and not. One a bright, flashy green while the other dark in contrast. Red.

Like a good pet, you followed your master. The blockade of Yautjas spilt like the sea to Moses. You paid them no attention as you tried to reel everything back in. All you felt like is a hollow person of yourself after today’s events. Worse than yesterday. And you still didn’t have any clue to what was the next step in your new life.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #we'ar-ow

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lovelykhaleesiii · 10 months

Note

request game:

"i don't care if someone sees us. i need you, now." - aegon II

pls 👉👈

Aegon ii SMUT Prompt #3

pairing: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x niece!fem!Reader

warnings: incest, swearing, breast play/kink, fingering, mentions of p in v sex, mentions of spanking, dub con.

Your relationship with your eldest uncle, Aegon ii, was one that blossomed out of sheer love and passion. You both had always been somewhat inseparable, always seeking his company out in your youth. You felt that his dry humour that never failed to make you giggle, and protectiveness to defend you against your cousins, bullies and mean maidens, went hand in hand to how your affections would evolve and amount towards him today.

Likewise, Aegon felt this loyalty towards you. Seeing as how despite his flaws that his mother, grandsire and even his younger brother, Aemond, seemed to see and rip apart, you remained faithful towards him. Not to mention, as you grew into a mature, young adult maiden, your beauty was incomparable.

He was in absolute awe of you.

The day he was crowned as King, many had their doubts towards his rule, despite upholding century long tradition of naming a male heir. Fearing that with his temper, history of lashing out and holding grudges, that a second Maegor would be in the making… However, just as Aegon would, not much to your surprise but that of his council, he was a leal, young King. Although, from time to time, he did abuse the advantage of his title and position, particularly against you.

He convinced your family to keep you at King’s Landing, as his younger sister, Helaena’s closest companion.

“Both maidens, I shall see to it myself of their marriages,” in which your family were quite relieved of Aegon’s interest and decision to betroth you… Presuming it would be some loyal, highborn knight or Lord, little did they know of his true intentions.

Regardless, he had you in close proximity to him, and that was all that mattered. Even if he was busy attending to matters of the realm, the thought that you were close by, near him, he was able to breathe.

And from time to time, whenever he felt the need to see you himself, he’d have his loyal Kingsguard fetch for you, and today was no different….

“You summoned me, my King.”

The last of the main doors shutting close, as he’d instructed his present guards to stand outside.

Comfortably sitting atop the Iron Throne, you had to admit, it did quite suit his tastes or rather he had suited the throne. His stature was powerful and he oozed this forbidding look that fuelled the fears of a second Maegor coming, that yet, only you could see through.

“I needed to see you, my Princess-” Despite your relationship not being publicly announced nor decreed, Aegon had taken a personal liking referring to you as his. And often it seemed it went unnoticed, or mayhaps no one wished to question his wording.

Walking down the stony steps of the throne, one by one, he’d made his way down before you. Encircling you, as he intently gazed over your every inch, a hand caressing the sides of your body, before making it’s way to undo the knots of your corset.

“Aeg- Not here! Out of all places, does it have to be right here? What of the guards? Or the council! Someone could hear us, or worse, see us-”

Your haste interruption, as you swiftly swivelled your body to face him from behind you, your hands latching to his to hold firmly, stopping him from pursuing to strip you bare. Concern strewed across your face, you however, were met with Aegon’s amused expression, with a tinge of hurt, as you denied his attempt.

“I don’t care if someone sees us. I need you, now.”

Scanning the vast room from corner to corner, a sigh of defeat escaping your mouth, as you once more, caved into your Uncle’s carnal lust.

He loved you endlessly and would never intentionally put you in harms way, that you had come to know from a young, childish age.

Allowing his rough, large hands to resume their place on your body, carefully stripping each layer of your gown off [if he had his way, he’d have ripped it off you in a few mere seconds, although knew better than to leave you vulnerable].

“Mhmm- My beautiful, sweet girl. God, I’ve missed these-”

His hands gently squeezing and massaging your plump breasts, his thumb lightly grazing and flicking at your nipples, earning a visceral reaction from your end. Chills sprung across your soft skin, as your back arched, moving forward towards Aegon’s frame, as you bit your lip mindlessly to his teasing touch.

“Turn around-”

And as you did so, now your nude backside facing towards him, as the remainder of your undone gown fell to the cold, stony floor. Your quickness to obeying his instructions was rewarded with a sharp, taunting spank. The bare skin of your ass cheek, stinging with pleasure. One of his hands remained snaked around your waist, kneading at the flesh of your breast, as the other held your hand guiding it down to the entrance of your moist cunt. His fingers overlapping yours, began to guide your digits with his own, massaging at your sweet, sensitive spot, slowly plunging themselves deeper and deeper, as the wetness began to pool.

“A-Aeg-”

“It seems that you need me just as much, my dear. How could I deny you that pleasure? What kind of a King would I be to deny you my service? Let me take care of you, my Princess.”

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #TGC #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii targaryen fluff #aegon ii x fem!reader #aegon ii targaryen prompts #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #hotd fanfiction

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rehfan · 16 days

Text

La Belle Dame avec Merci -- Chapter 5: Time in the Shaft

Eddie Munson x Unpopular!AFAB!fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ readers only please - minor children DNI! – No Upsidedown; reader is technically a virgin; mutual pining; Eddie has trust issues; emotional hurt/comfort; female masturbation; male masturbation; emotional manipulation; reader is kinda shitty to Eddie; reader gets better; angst; more angst; Eddie’s mom is dead; small act of accidental physical violence; Uncle Wayne is the best;

Tagged: @bluestuesday / @ali-r3n / @winchester-angel / @iletmytittiestitty-russ / @mewchiili / @chaoticgood-munson /

DO NOT POST TO ANY OTHER SITE. My words are mine and mine alone.

Inspired by @/hard-candy-writing ‘s ORIGINAL POST

MASTERPOST LINK �� AO3 LINK

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

Once the doors closed, the space was suddenly stifling. You regretted wearing the cardigan sweater you had put on this morning. You moved to open it up with your free hand, but even the few buttons you undid didn’t help. It also didn’t help that Eddie was silently boring holes into your head with his eyes.

“Well,” he said, “you got me where you want me. What now?” He pulled his hand away from yours and crossed his arms defiantly.

“I’m really confused. I know you’re kinda pissed at me for all the using you stuff, but you weren’t this angry two days ago. If anything, you were the opposite. What happened?”

Eddie couldn’t tell you. There was too much to tell. First, there was the conversation with his mom — which you were never going to find out about thankyouverymuch. And then there was pleading with Wayne until the old man relented, shaking a finger at him reminding him that he only gets two days if he’s not actually sick and dying before leaving the house with a slam of the door that night. And then there was all the moping and stress smoking and pacing and vegging out in front of the TV and jerking off to the thought of you and smoking weed on the roof of the trailer to forget his orgasms only to wind up watching the stars in their slow rotation and wondering what you looked like when you slept. And today. Today when he reminded himself of his own monster of a father.

No. He was definitely not telling you about any of that.

“Nothing happened,” Eddie shrugged. “I just got wise to myself is all.”

“And now I can’t even talk to you?” you asked. You needed to understand. You ached for him to understand. You hungered for him to wrap his arms around you, safe and secure, and kiss you again, to help you understand. Was he okay with you existing at all? Could you breathe the air next to him? Would that be permitted? Could you silently live in the knowledge that you were another human being on the planet that he didn’t mind so much?

He didn’t have to be in love with you. He didn’t even have to like you. He just had to not actively hate you. That was all. That was enough.

“You can talk all you like, sweetheart,” he said. Faintly, you heard the strains of guitars, vocals, and the thud of a bass drum from outside the doors. “All I’ve got to do is wait for four songs to roll on by.” Here he backed up to the wall behind him and sat on the floor, one knee up, forearm balanced on his knee. He regarded you with a cocked head and a stony expression. He waved a ringed finger in a slow circle, silently motioning for you to get on with it.

You took a breath. And then another. “Okay. So. Apologies should start with the obvious, so — I’m sorry, Eddie. This whole thing was my idea and it was a royally bad one. I used you for the purposes of getting back at all those assholes. I shouldn’t have done it. I should have considered the consequences. But I was just so fed up, you know?” Eddie didn’t indicate that he sympathized. He continued to simply silently stare you down.

“Okay, so maybe not. You’re always much more eloquent in expressing your frustrations. You just hop up on a cafeteria table and let it all out for the whole school to hear. Possible detention be damned. Me? I’m terrified of detention. I’ve never had it and I don’t want it. So I do other things. Like…” Here you took a pause to actually consider what you had done. The frantic delivery of your apology faded away into a dull realization: “Well… I guess I use people to get what I want.”

You regarded him again. “I never thought of myself as a bad person before, but lately, I’ve noticed that I can be a really bad friend.”

You had been pacing the length of the ample space, talking with your hands, trying to not look over at Eddie at all if you could help it. All your thoughts spilled out of your face and, as your body got to the end of the space, you turned, stalked to the other end and turned, stalked to the other end and turned…. But calling yourself a bad friend had stopped you. Your eyes searched Eddie’s. He was still unmoved. You looked away again, crestfallen. You resumed your pacing.

“I was terrible to you, Eddie. And I’m sorry. I didn’t start off this life intending to be a hateful bitch, but I guess I am.” The words caught in your throat, tight and sore. You swallowed past it hard. “Pathetic too. I mean, what was I hoping to accomplish anyway? I didn’t want to be the popular girl. What do I care what the preppy kids or the jocks think of me? I have a few friends who know me. They know none of those stupid Ice Queen rumors are true.

“I also have my schoolwork. The teachers know I’m a good student….”

Eddie was still staring at you, dark eyes tracking your pacing like he was taking in a tennis match, only something had softened in his glance. It was only a minuscule shift, but you could swear you saw it there. He was almost looking at you like he was listening and really seeing you.

You shook it off. No. You were mistaken. He couldn’t possibly care about the ramblings of a girl who had treated him so shabbily. You were making a hatchet job of this apology but you couldn’t stop the word-avalanche spilling out of your face.

“But somehow, the way I’ve treated you has made me see myself differently. Like I’m not as squeaky clean as I thought I was. That I can be cruel and treat people without mercy. Christ, I never even thanked you.” A choked sob came out of nowhere and you clapped your hand over your mouth to stifle it. It embarrassed you. You didn’t mean to crack like that and the reflexive “I’m sorry” that came out of you had nothing to do with your need to apologize for your behavior, only the humiliation of your momentary weakness. You found the far corner again and faced into it, willing your body not to cry. Not here. Not now. But your body had other ideas. Your shoulders shook with your efforts.

You had been right: Eddie had not only watched you through all of this. He listened. He saw you. And he agreed with most of what you were saying with the notable exceptions of ‘hateful bitch’ (you had never been one of those), pathetic (not a word he would associate with you, even after your admission for the reasons behind the way you treated him and Gareth and Jeff thinking that you were), and ‘…without mercy. Christ, I never even thanked you’.

That one struck a chord.

La belle dame sans merci rang through his head over and over. Without mercy. Without thanks. Without compassion. Without kindness. You could be single-minded, it was true. But you were in no way merciless. You backing off of the whole Sadie Hawkins thing was evidence enough of that.

You were trying hard not to cry and it killed him.

He found his feet and softly came to you as you faced the far corner. Gently, he laid his hands over your upper arms and you started with a gasp, bringing your head up suddenly. “Shhh,” he soothed. “Can’t stand to see a woman cry. Stop that now.”

A flash of his mother crying in her bed came to him. He had to have been only five or so. He remembered his small hand on hers and how she had gripped it as she sobbed. His heart had ached. He couldn’t help her. He didn’t know what to do. He was too little. So he just did what she had done when he was upset. He reached up and stroked her hair, carefully avoiding her swollen eye that was slowly purpling, “Shhhh.” he had told her. “Shhhh. It’ll be alright, momma.”

Eddie wanted to turn you around and kiss you so badly it was a physical ache. All he could do in that moment was rub your arms and hush you just like his mother taught him. Your scent was all around him and he closed his eyes.

“Please forgive me,” you said, your voice thick with tears. You still couldn’t face him. Your brain was spiraling downward into a self-loathing bottomless pit. “I never meant to be so cruel. I really didn’t. I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

He nosed your hair. “Shhh,” he whispered, “just breathe. Just breathe. It’s all going to be okay.” The need to protect you was tangible but he didn’t realize what it was. All he knew was that you needed comforting and he was literally the only one available. If your one of your friends Marie or Gail or anyone else from your gang had been there, he wouldn’t have bothered. He really wouldn’t have. If they had been there it would have meant that you weren’t his problem because you weren’t his. And he wasn’t a girlfriend kind of guy anyway. Women were nothing but trouble. And when they cried…

Case in point: your tears. Jesus, a woman’s tears got to him like nothing else. It was a weakness he fortunately didn’t have to work on much because hardly any woman ever cried in front of him nor was he friendly enough with any of them lately for any girl to want to. Until now. Until you. He nosed your hair and memorized its scent and hated himself for his weakness the entire time.

And yet…he longed for this: for the intimacy of moments like this. The closeness that only could be had through time spent and secrets shared. Time he was not willing to invest because look where it gets you: a broken heart and loneliness all over again. His uncle Wayne was living proof. His mother was dead proof.

So he would comfort you. For now. Just long enough so you would stop crying because Jesus! He couldn’t stand it.

You regained your breathing with only the occasional hiccup, traces of the crying jag fading off. Eddie’s touch grounded you. His words were a balm. It was just what you needed. It felt like forgiveness. Was it? Was this him forgiving you? You turned in his arms.

“Better?” he asked. You wiped a tear away and nodded, not yet trusting your voice. “No more crying, okay?” he said. “Can’t handle it when girls cry. Always makes me feel like—“ he shook his head.

“What?”

“Never mind,” he said. He turned and sat back where he had been.

Silence reigned between you. Only the faint strains of a distant Led Zeppelin song reminded you that you were on a time limit to sort this out. Cosmo was on the other side of the door and would probably play something even longer if you didn’t take care of this mess.

“No,” you said. Your quiet voice was loud in the room. “Go on. Girl’s crying always feels like what?”

“Like emotional blackmail. Like a lie,” he said frankly, gazing hard at you, trying to hit you with the words.

“Why?”

He didn’t want to tell you about Deb Garson, she had been the only other girl to cry in front of him besides his mom. The boys had been playing soccer in the school yard. The ball had been kicked hard, she had stepped in front of it and it hit her in the leg. She had shrieked, cried, and fallen down. Eddie had been closest to her, stupid enough to go to her, to comfort her, and her friends had come up behind him and laughed. Soon Deb was laughing. It had all been a trick to see which of the boys would race to her side first. “See! I told you he had a crush on you, Deb!”

“Ew! Eddie Munson has a crush on me? Ugh! Gross! Disgusting loser!”

Before Deb, a woman’s tears always called for comfort, for understanding. For weeks afterward, the other kids painted him with a brush that meant he was a sensitive sap. Someone to be ridiculed for being weak. And it was all Deb’s fault.

Eddie’s hands became fists and he curled into himself all the more at the memory of her hateful laughter. “It just does,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

“What happened?”

He glared at you now. Good lord, the power that boy held in his eyes. His gaze fairly held you against the wall. “None of your fucking business.”

“Okay. Jesus,” you said and sat opposite him. The interior of the elevator was decorated in framed vintage posters for bands from long ago. Clearly cheap reprints of the originals, but at least it gave you something to read besides the unreadable boy across the way from you. Jefferson Airplane, The Holding Company featuring Janis Joplin, and Jimi Hendrix all surrounded you and you focused your attention on them as you waited for Cosmo to open the doors. After all, you accomplished what you set out to do. The rest was in the hands of one Edward Munson, the unreadable boy, the angry boy, the boy that kissed you once and ran away.

“I liked it, you know,” you said. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“Liked what?”

“Our last kiss,” you said quietly, busying your hands with the buttoning and unbuttoning of the bottom button on your pink cardigan, not really sure why you were ashamed to admit it. “Looking into your eyes like that. You have really pretty eyes.”

He looked at you sullenly. “Thanks,” he said. “But I wasn’t wondering.”

“You really hate me that much, do you?” you asked, bracing yourself. He didn’t answer you. He looked collapsed onto himself, sitting there all hunched over, forearms resting on his bent knees, head bent slightly, as if the dingy floor of the elevator somehow held the secrets of the universe.

“Finally,” he muttered.

“What?”

He raised a finger toward the door and waved it in the air. “Stairway,” he said. “Last song before our freedom is granted.”

“I wonder if he’ll let us go,” you said to no one in particular. Lord knows you couldn’t talk to Eddie.

“He better,” he said.

“He said to fix this,” you said, “Those were his very words: ‘fix this’. I’m willing to fix this. Why aren’t you? I mean, okay, be mad, but don’t hate me. You know I’m just as much of an outcast as you are.”

“Just as much of an outcast, but you used me like all the rest, didn’t you, sweetheart?” he asked, tilting his head.

“What?” you asked, genuinely puzzled. “Like all the rest? What “rest”?”

“You know, the jocks and party kids who don’t want to actually invite me to party, but need my weed. So I get ushered in the back door and I sit off in a corner somewhere. Granted, I make a buck, but god forbid I go in to chat with one of the ladies. Or maybe grab a beer? Oh no. Completely forbidden.”

He huffed a laugh. “Hell, even the teachers do it! Just this year, Hawkins High’s finest teacher at the school, O’Donnell, had to ask my help to fix her stupid audio/visual issues. Missing cable connector. They wheeled the fucking thing in set up wrong. ‘Course, I made her sweat it out a bit, but what the fuck? She’s never taken it easy on me? Why should I afford her any—“

He was about to say ‘mercy’, but stopped short. He turned his head, sick of the conversation. Sick of feeling like the pawn in someone else’s chess game.

The guilt of your actions washed over you. You didn’t have a defense. Still, you wanted to offer him a bright shining example of selfless love, so you said: “I imagine your mother—“

He pointed a finger at you. “You do NOT get to talk about my mother.”

You made yourself small, curling your feet in, hugging your knees. Even your voice was small. “I only thought she would be the one to love you without condition or agenda. Her and your uncle.”

“My mother took off without me. Multiple times. Last time? She ran off into the fucking snow. Dad tracked her down - again. Only this time, when he saw her walking along the side of the road, he hit the brake, and when he did, the car hit some ice and swerved and—“ Now it was his turn to hug his knees.

“Jesus, Eddie,” you whispered, the walls carrying your voice around to him. “Did she-?” But a shot of his sullen angry eyes over the horizon of his forearms told you everything you needed to know. “I’m so sorry.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight. Fuck. You weren’t supposed to know she died. That bit of information was secret. It was part of his control over you NOT knowing him. And he just gave it up like a fucking goddamned sap.

“You know what?” He hopped up and started banging the side of his fist on the doors. “Let us the fuck out, Cosmo!” He was yelling at the top of his voice and the sudden noise caused you to clap your hands over your ears. “Come on! All done! Let us the fuck out!” You were fairly certain that he would have pried at the doors with his fingers if it were a regular elevator whose doors met in the middle, but this was a freight elevator and the telescoping door passed over the whole opening left to right. There was nothing to claw at.

“COSMO!” Eddie cried, his voice breaking a little, “I swear to god, that old hippie’s deaf.”

You don’t remember getting to your feet, but you had. You went to him slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are a miracle, you know.”

He spun on you and you pulled your hand back. “What?” He met your eyes with another glare. For a moment, you lost your breath. He was gloriously angry. Like an avenging angel.

“I mean— I just— The, uh, the fact that all that happened and you’re still as kind as you are? Still as playful? Still imaginative? You know that’s a miracle, right?”

“Leave me alone,” he said.

“Yeah. Sure,” you said, taking a step back.

He turned back to the door and began pounding on it again. Silently, you watched, willing him to forgive you and give you that stupid grin of his. But he didn’t. He just kept on beating at that door, all white knuckles and tense tendons. You were going to have to live with him hating you forever, it seemed.

“You’re going to hurt your hand, Eddie,” you said. He ignored you. Eventually he opened his fist and slapped at the door with the heel of his palm, still shouting, still angry. “Eddie, please.” Now he kicked at the door, a picture of pure rage that only a toddler having a meltdown could have. You knew then, that the anger he was putting into destroying what he could of the steel in front of him had nothing to do with Cosmo or even you. This was something bigger. Something that ran deeper.

“You’re going to hurt yourself! Please, Eddie. Please!” You grabbed his left arm with both of your hands in a feeble attempt to spin him away to look at you, but he was too strong and with his one swift motion to shake you off, you were thrust backward and onto the floor. You had stumbled a few steps before feeling yourself go and so were able to cushion yourself from any real harm, but in the end, you were sprawled along the floor flat on your back, stunned at your current position.

You had cried out when he had shaken you off of him and it had stopped his rage. Instantly, the horror of what he had just done made him sick.

No. No. Nonononononoooo.

He was at your side in an instant hovering over you, hair framing his face, the ends tickling your cheeks, the door, his rage, and the deaf hippie forgotten. “Holy shit! Are you okay? Are you? Jesus fuck. I’m sorry. Christ, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t think— Are you okay? Please say you’re okay. I didn’t—“ his hands hovered around your face, your shoulders, open, pleading. He didn’t know how to touch you, if he was permitted to touch you, the terror taking all his confidence away.

“I’m fine,” you said, “I’m fine. Just a bit shocked, that’s all. You’re really strong.” You sat up slowly and Eddie, who had knelt at your side, now sat on the floor with you, arms open, hand in your hair, the other on your opposite arm, pulling you into his chest to be cuddled and cradled and soothed.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry so sorry so sorry. I’m so sorry—“

He rocked you. He was trembling. You could feel the thrum clean through him. “Eddie? Eddie, honey?” You looked up at him. “It was an accident. I know that. You aren’t violent. You’re just upset. It’s okay. It was my fault anyway. I was trying to stop you and I should have just waited for you to calm down, but I didn’t want you to break your hand.” You took one of his hands in yours and kissed the side of it where his fist had met the metal. “You wouldn’t be able to play your guitar if you did.”

Your words were so real, the sound of them so sincere, it broke his heart. Of course he was violent. He knocked you over, hadn’t he? He was just like his father. The realization of it in the moment had ripped him apart. But now you making excuses for his behavior just like his mother used to do with his father. But you were kissing him. Kissing his hands better. No one besides his mother and uncle had ever bothered to heal or protect him. Especially from himself.

He didn’t understand you. All he knew was that receiving your concern didn’t feel natural to him. I don’t deserve—, he thought, his eyes welling with tears. I’m too…angry. I’m too much. I’m too much of a freak. Too much of a monster.

Your lips found his instantly. His stilled in response before eventually slowly melting into your touch. His hand fell from yours to your waist and his other cradled your shoulders as the kiss lingered. You brushed a hand to his cheek, feeling the five o’clock shadow there, letting him hold you and take comfort from you.

His uncle had tried to teach him about grace when he was about twelve. “Grace, when given,” his uncle had said, “is a beautifully divine thing. A real gift from God.”

“But what is it?” he had asked.

“It’s when we don’t allow the flaws of others to stop us from loving them anyway. We love past them. That’s God’s grace. Grace and mercy exist hand in hand.”

Now he thought he understood. Eddie felt nothing but God’s grace in your kiss. It wasn’t a grace he felt he deserved, but it was there for him anyway and he took it gratefully. And when the kiss broke, it was like seeing you for the first time. The scales that covered his eyes, the ones that were made of mistrust, were slowly falling away. They weren’t all gone. That would take time. But they were going.

He kissed you back. He felt you return it.

And there was no one there to trick or fool into thinking that you liked him. You had kissed him because you wanted to. Because you liked it. And he kissed you back. And you hadn’t shied or pushed him away.

Still, a dark voice in his head whispered, the one that always carried his trauma around like an embarrassing photo album to show off all the sordid and ugly memories of past betrayals and lies at the first opportunity to whatever happiness or hope he had harbored about anything. Still, it whispered, she could be playing the long game. You never knew with women.

Your second kiss broke and before you could say anything there was a low rumble and the door slid open with a creak and groan. Cosmo stood there with Jeff, Grant, and Gareth. Cosmo looked positively delighted. The rest of the boys did not.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” said Gareth.

“I’m not sharing pizza and a listening sesh with the Ice Queen, dude,” said Grant who turned away back toward the sitting area. Jeff silently followed with a shake of his head. Gareth crossed his arms, stood his ground, and glowered, the young angry beardless opposite of Cosmo’s joyful bearded expression.

“I’d better go,” you said softly but you didn’t get up. You wanted to feel his arms around you for just a few seconds more. “I know I won’t see you tomorrow at the dance, but will I see you on Monday?” you asked, stalling for even more time, hoping that he wouldn’t notice that you hadn’t taken your hand from his face.

He did notice. Your hand was warm, but that could also be the heat of his own face with the embarrassment he felt getting caught kissing you by his best friends. And after all they had done for him to get rid of you. Because you were evil. And a user. And manipulative. And beautiful. And lost. And really really sorry.

His confusion bred anger. He released you and stood up. “Leave me alone,” he said and walked past a concerned and disappointed Cosmo. Gareth joined him in his retreat with a hand on his shoulder that you noticed Eddie shook off. “Not a word,” Eddie told him as they joined the other boys.

You sat on the floor of the elevator just watching him go. Was that kiss forgiveness? Was it just him letting you so that you would shut up? It hadn’t felt like either. A hurt settled in your chest and you couldn’t shake it.

Cosmo came to you and offered you a hand up. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” he said, “I think the lad just needs some time. Perhaps if I speak to-“

“No,” you said, patting the hand he put around your shoulders fondly, wanting the pain of Eddie’s attitude not to hurt like it did. You couldn’t tear your eyes from the back of his head as he flopped into the space on the couch you had just occupied. “I don’t want you to do anything else. I wouldn’t want your thing with the boys tonight to crumble into nothing. Just have some pizza, listen to some music, and have a good night.” You held your hand out for him to shake. “I made my apology. His acceptance of it is up to him. Nice to meet you Cosmo. Thanks for trying.”

He shook your hand with a sad smile and you willed yourself not to cry on the drive home. You succeeded and it added to your resolve; he wasn’t going to get any more tears from you and that was that. If he didn’t want to forgive you, that was his problem. Monday at school, you would just go about your day.

As you flopped on your bed, barely making it past your parents’ inspection without having to explain your emotional state, you stared at the ceiling and tried not to torture yourself with all the things you should have said or done that would have made everything all right between you two. After all, you had no idea what you could have done differently. You didn’t know what the secret code was to crack his heart open. And you didn’t know why you even wanted his forgiveness anyway! Weren’t you happier before your stupid idea to kiss him? Weren’t you far more content on your own? Ruling your own little ice kingdom?

You would just have to go back to that. You would just have to forget him and his conspiratorial smirk and his rumbling voice and his smell and his eyes. You would have to forget the cool confidence in his strut through the halls. His warm hands on your hips as you pulled him close to fake yet another kiss.

Nope. No way. You didn’t need that. You didn’t need him. Not at all. He was just another distraction.

All of this and more you said to yourself over and over as you got ready for bed.

“He’s not mine,” you said to the darkness of your room. “He’s not mine and he never was and he never will be.” The tears that streamed out of the corners of your eyes and across your temples into your hair and ears meant nothing, of course. They certainly had nothing to do with the fact that your heart was breaking into a billion pieces.

~080~

Eddie didn’t want any pizza after you left. He sat in your old seat, turning his head into the cushion, trying to capture your scent there. He thought he could detect it, but Grant held a pizza slice under his nose and it was gone. He took it from him with a wan smile, but his heart really wasn’t into the whole vibe that night. Eddie the Bold made a valiant attempt, however, even finding a laugh or two inside himself, enough jolly peaceable emotion to appease the others around him even if Cosmo kept a perspicacious eye on him the whole evening.

“You’re falling in love with her, aren’t you?” he had whispered to him quietly at one point in the evening. Eddie returned a glare that he hoped would melt the polar ice caps and said nothing. Cosmo sighed and settled a friendly hand on his shoulder. “You could do worse, my boy. She clearly cares for you.”

But Eddie didn’t want you to care for him. What could he offer you in return anyway? He mulled over this on his way home. Turning off the engine, he stared at the trailer he called home. Your home was probably large and sturdy; his hadn’t been updated since ‘71. As he went up the stairs, hearing the familiar creak and slap of the screen door as he entered, Eddie was sure your doors didn’t creak or have screen material that needed to be repaired every spring. He was sure your parents would be home when you got there while his lone relative was pulling night shifts so that they could have the essentials. He sat heavily on his bed and looked around. His room was a pit. “Organized chaos” Wayne called it. Yours was probably pretty and pink and frilly. And clean. Probably really clean.

Clean like the smell of your hair.

Eddie lay on his unmade bed and closed his eyes. He wanted to fall into a dreamless slumber, but the image of you in his arms tonight was burned on the inside of his eyelids. The splay of your hair beneath him, the look in your eyes as your hand came to his face. The feel of your mouth against his.

His erection was undeniable. He palmed at it and grunted. Either he could take care of himself now or wait for his hardness to fade. “Goddamnit,” he muttered.

Unfastening his trousers quickly, he licked his palm and reached into his boxers, tugging at his shaft in practiced strokes. He thumbed over his wet slit and moaned your name, picturing that perfect mouth around his tip. He wondered if you would suck his dick or if you thought it was gross. Probably not. But if you did? You’d be a student of the art. Perfect pressure, perfect rhythm. Just like you were using on him now. Your soft warm tongue circling his glans, flicking at his frenulum, your fist grasping and stroking him perfectly. He watched your head bob against him and he held your head gently, not pushing, but loving the feel of your hair, caressing it.

“Oh thank you, baby,” he whispered. “So good to me. Such a good girl. Don’t deserve you.”

You pulled away long enough to whisper back, “You do deserve it, Eddie. You deserve the fucking world. Love you.”

He fell into the feeling, the warmth in his chest, the tightening in his throat, all of it caused by the sight of you fellating him out of sheer love alone. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be, but he let himself believe it just this once.

He threw himself into the thought of being yours for real. Knowing for sure that you wouldn’t get up and leave him. Knowing he wouldn’t be the butt of some joke the next day at school, an act of cruelty he had foolishly not suspected. Knowing that he could show you real affection and real dedication out loud and in front of everyone with no shame attached. God, would you stay with him? Live with him? Marry him? Fuck, would you have his kid?

His balls tightened. His breathing became stuttered and he braced his feet against the mattress as his back arched. Frantically pumping at his cock, he came and cried out your name.

Catching his breath, he reached up behind his back with one hand and pulled off his shirt, wiping his skin clean with it and tossing it across his room. His messy chaotic room that still looked like a fucking pit.

You weren’t there anymore. The image of you vanished like smoke in the wind once he came. You never would be there either. Eddie honestly couldn’t picture it. Not for real. Why would you be? You'd probably turn tail the moment you saw the outside of his trailer - never mind the inside. And why would he want you there? You were confusing and frustrating and filled with contradictions. He didn’t need that. He didn’t need you. And for the next two days he was going to harden his heart against you. He would avoid you like the fucking plague, no matter what his dick said.

It was going to be a long fucking weekend.

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

#fanfic #writing #joseph quinn #joe quinn #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fake relationship #la belle dame avec merci #lbdam #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #ao3 writer #slow burn

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acourtofmenandthirst · 1 year

Text

The Fox & The Hound

Eris x Reader, based off a request! I combined this with an idea @azsazz came up with a long time ago, so this was the perfect combination! Featuring baby Lucien, he's only about 1-2 years old (I have no idea how old kids are when they're walking/talking, etc. so just go with it lol)

Warnings: Beron being an asshole, rabbit stew

Word Count: 2.6K

Eris crossed over the stony bridge, officially leaving the grounds of the estate for the dense forest before him. Lucien watched as the Forest House grew smaller and smaller, the farther Eris carried him into the woods. Eris patted his back, cradling the babe close to his chest. With his chubby cheek pressed to Eris’s shoulder, he garbled a few words of nonsense, grabbing at the brown piping on his eldest brother’s jacket.

Carefully stepping over the piles of leaves and loose rocks, Eris’s hand rubbed over Lucien’s back, keeping him calm as they escaped the loud household. Eris was quick to pick up on the telltale signs of his father’s anger, the yelling between his parents ensuring things would turn ugly fast. He took Lucien from his room, where he was surely able to hear the shouting echoing off the stone walls, and made haste for the foggy woods.

Eris had spent the past many decades of his life taking his brothers out of the house in moments such as these, shielding them from the abuse he wished someone would have protected him from. Many years were spent in the river beside him, teaching each of his brothers how to fish, showing them how to hunt, set traps, and wield their fire. Lucien, the youngest of the unruly boys, seemed to invoke a special kind of anger in their father, something Eris wasn’t sure Beron even knew the root cause of - it was what Eris prayed to the Mother above about each night: that his father didn’t truly know.

He propped his brother at his side, hooking his arm around the babe tightly, turning him forwards to see the expanse of the forest in front of them. Lucien blabbered on, something about the colors on the trees, red and lellow - Eris didn’t try to hide his smile. But he continued on, pointing things out to Lucien as he expertly followed the trail between the trees. It was a path Eris carved himself: dry grass trampled beneath his horses hoofs, flattened under Eris’s own boots; he walked that path a million times to your little cabin on the outskirts of town.

Without any warning at all, the older male swooped toward the ground and plucked a blooming flower from the earth. Lucien exploded with laughter, tiny fists grabbing at Eris’s coat, legs kicking at his sides. The babe’s bright eyes shut as his cheeks reddened, nothing but pure joy at his brother’s antics. Eris tickled Lucien under his arms, in which he knew he barely actually touched him through his many layers and thick corduroy jacket; but he squealed nonetheless, perhaps just happy to be spending time with his older brother.

“This,” Eris began, once Lucien had calmed. “Is a Celosia.” Lucien’s eyes widened, mouth dropped open in awe. Eris twirled the spiky red flower between his fingers, showing his brother the new object. He caught the drool forming on Lucien’s plump bottom lip before it fell to his coat, wiping his knuckle against the babe’s lip before tickling his nose with the tip of the flower. He handed it to Lucien, whose smile widened as he grabbed the plant with both hands. “Gross,” the older male muttered, wiping the baby drool off on the side of his pants.

As he approached the small clearing near the river, Eris caught sight of a hole buried deep under a tree root. He inspected the area, catching sight of a pair of glowing eyes. Lucien’s attention shifted to the approaching fox, crawling cautiously out of the dark cavern. Eris stood still at the edge of the nest, watching as one approached, followed by another, and another. They walked around Eris’s feet, swirling between his legs like how the mist curled around the mountains.

Lucien hurled himself forward, arms outstretched towards the fuzzy foxes. Eris caught the babe quickly, leaning over to set Lucien on his wobbly feet. He managed to hold himself upright, but only until one of the foxes lunged toward him, standing on its hind legs to sniff his curly red hair. Lucien fell on his bum, nothing but laughter and smiles as his hands came up to pet the animal.

Eris smiled, settling down on a large rock beside the den. He ran a hand through his own hair, loose against his forehead, and glanced up at the sun. It was nearing sunset, leaving the sky streaked with orange and red, kissing the tops of the darkening trees. He turned his attention to the ground when something pulled on the hem of his pants - expecting Lucien, he turned his head with a small smirk, prepared to meet his excited brother. With a quirk of his brow, his lips pressed into a firm line, watching as the dark brown paws clawed gently at his leg.

The fox peered up at him with a tilted head, spiked ears propped up in curiosity. Eris mirrored the animal, turning his own head as he tried to shoo away the small kit. Those trousers cost more than he cared to admit. With a shake of his leg, the fox ran around his other ankle, waiting for Eris to settle back before crawling over his boots again.

Lucien giggled in front of him, waving his hands around as the other foxes jumped around him. The older male huffed, pushing himself to his feet, grabbing Lucien and hoisting him away from the rowdy animals. “We gotta get going,” Eris said to him, straightening out his little jacket. “It’s getting late.”

Lucien’s eyes widened, staring up at his brother in disbelief. As Eris took a step forward, away from the skulk, Lucien started screaming, yelling out in irritation. Eris shushed the babe, patting his back as he continued on down the path, but Lucien was not to be calmed. He twisted and turned in Eris’s arms, reaching out for the one fox following them.

Eris pressed forward, taking longer steps, hoping to lose the kit - but to no avail. The farther the fox followed, though, the softer Lucien’s screams were, and no longer was he squirming in Eris’s grip. “Come, come,” Lucien called, reaching over Eris’s shoulder out toward the animal.

The tall male stopped in his tracks, holding his leg out to try to stop the fox. It simply walked around him, plopping down on the soft earth, waiting for Eris to continue. Lucien twisted, calling to the kit, who was seemingly only waiting for Eris’s next move.

“My dogs will eat that thing,” Eris muttered, trying to wrangle Lucien in his arms.

But with no sign of stopping - Lucien or the fox - Eris huffed. “Fine,” he sighed, mostly to himself. “Let’s all go then.” He began trudging down the path again, letting Lucien fawn over the animal that trailed closely behind.

The minute they approached your cabin, though, Lucien smiled, turning his attention to the tiny front door. You’d stuck more flowers into the pots beside the landing, Eris noticed the dianthus, pointing it out to Lucien, too, who seemed fond of the purple petals. With nothing more than two knocks, Eris let himself in, ducking his head to step inside.

You met the males in the living room, as you wiped the flour from your hands, greeting the both of them with a smile. While Eris dropping by in the evening came as no shock to you, the extra visitors were a pleasant surprise. Lucien made grabby hands for you, leaning far away from his brother. You plucked him from Eris’s grip, happy to see the babe, despite the pull at your heart as you cradled him to your chest in a hug. Eris frequently visited you, but you knew he only brought Lucien when things turned sour at home.

Lucien wrapped his arm around your neck, grabbing a fistfull of your hair as he planted a slobbery kiss to your cheek. “Hello, Lu Lu,” you crooned, cradling his head in your hand. You twirled his red curls, much like his older brother’s, and propped him up on your hip.

Eris rolled his eyes, in jealousy no doubt, placing his first finger under your jaw and turning your chin away from Lucien, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. The babe in your arms was already distracted by something beside him; you followed his line of sight to the open doorway. “Brought a new friend?” You asked, eyeing the small fox sitting in the open doorway.

As Eris moved to shut the door, the kit jumped through, landing on the hard oak floor. You cocked a brow at the male, who shrugged in response and loosed a sigh. Don’t ask.

You made your way to the kitchen with Lucien held sturdy on your hip, leaving Eris and his pet in the living room. Lucien giggled, sticking his hands in the pile of flour on the counter. He slapped his hands together, shrieking as it made a cloud in the air. You placed the small ball of dough in the cast iron baking dish, helping Lucien to sprinkle some of the powder atop the bread. “Good job,” you hummed, trying to wipe off his hands with the apron hanging off your waist.

Lucien mumbled some incoherent words, to which you adamantly agreed, nodding along with his ramblings. You made sure the babe was held on your opposite side as you moved to the oven, placing the dish in with your other hand. You kept him as far away from the oven as you could, but he reached out for it. You weren’t sure if it was the innate fire simmering in his veins that made him grab for it, or if it reminded him of Eris, the male who ran hotter than that oven at most times. You liked to think it was the latter.

Eris was simply drained after caring for the babe all afternoon. He sat slouched in your small dining room chair, legs spread out into the walkway, shoulders shrugged and arms sprawled out on either of the arms. The fox was curled up, laying over the bridge of his boot, tail curled up into its chest. You slowly made your way to the table he sat beside, bringing him the mug of tea you’d been sipping on.

You plopped Lucien on the rug, the babe stumbling over to where Eris and the fox were so well relaxed. The fox yipped when Lucien made to pet its fur, shiny crimson coat so captivating in the faelight. “You don’t want any babes of your own, my beloved?” You stood across from him, eyeing his exhausted state of being.

He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Our children would be much better behaved.” He stared into space, eyes unfocused, but in Lucien’s direction, where he was crawling around on the floor, behind the fox, mimicking his sneaky walk.

You tut at him, running your hand over the side of his head and through his hair, mucking up his wild hair. You dropped down in his lap, smiling to yourself as his arms wound around your waist and he nuzzled his chin in the crook of your neck. Your hands fell to his, tracing the warm skin over his knuckles. He hummed against you, relishing in your sweet smell - the flowery scent of your hair and aroma of freshly fallen rain that laced your skin.

“Leaf?” Lucien questioned, drawing both of you out of your daze. His small hand ran over the fox’s tail as his golden eyes washed over the red fur.

“That’s a fox, Lucien.” Eris was so tired.

“Leaf,” he said again, more desperate, pointing at the fox.

“He’s naming him, Eris,” you whispered, dropping your head back against his, your temple resting against the top of his head.

“Fuck no, we’re not naming him Leaf.”

“Fuck,” Lucien repeated, stumbling over the word. You smacked the back of Eris’s hand, but the male only laughed, burying his face into your neck.

The two brothers stayed for supper, feasting on the tender rabbit stew you prepared. You and Eris took turns ripping up small pieces of bread and meat for Lucien, who sat happily propped up on Eris’s lap. You gazed longingly at the male beside you, elbow propped up on the table and head held in your palm. He shed his jacket long ago, donning just his white buttoned shirt with the collar half undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Lucien’s sweater had hand embroidered leaves on it, large orange maple leaves - the telltale sign of Autumn. You’d fretted immensely as he grabbed a fistfull of carrots from the stew and failed to actually get it in his mouth, dropping it perfectly onto that cream colored wool. The chunks of meat that had fallen from the table were happily lapped up by the small fox, who sat perched on its hind legs.

When you’d moved to the sofa after dinner, Lucien was quick to fall asleep. Laid perfectly on the warm expanse of Eris’s chest, the babe’s arms and legs were sprawled over his older brother. You ran your fingers over Lucien’s back, lulling him into a deep slumber. His lips were parted ever so slightly as you listened to his steady breathing, the only other sound accompanying the small fire in the hearth across the room.

Eris watched your fingers trace patterns over his brother’s back, in the same manner you did on him when he fell asleep in your arms himself. It surely did the trick on him, why wouldn’t it work on his brother? He couldn’t help that envious feeling, the anxiety he felt with sharing the one good thing he’d found for himself. Maybe it was that possessive part of him that made him want to keep you tucked away on the outskirts of the small town, away from his real life, his home, his family. That in some irrational corner of his mind, he’d lose you should he get too close, should he share too much of his life with you. He felt guilty enough bringing Lucien there, to your home, in escape from his father.

He was basically falling asleep himself, though, with you tucked up close to him, the warmth of your touch heavy at his side. His forehead rested against yours, your arm pressed into the couch yet still curled around his bicep. His hand fell to your knee, thumb brushing over your leg through your thin dress. He was content to lay there, for all of you to fall asleep on your soft sofa. But his mother would be expecting him to return Lucien soon, the routine of him taking his brother from the house becoming much too normal.

“I’ll have to get this little one to bed,” Eris whispered, voice barely audible.

You smiled, twirling one of Lucien’s curls between your fingers. You loved seeing Eris care for his brother, the soft side of him you barely bore witness to. With a slow turn, you cupped his cheek in your palm and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He was quick to blush, scarred face tinged with pink. But he brushed it off, moving to stand before you, keeping Lucien held tightly to his chest. “I’ll be back later tonight,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your lips.

As Eris moved, the fox - once tucked into a ball, sleeping beside him - shot to attention, staring at him from the couch. With a roll of his eyes, he sighed, holding out his hand for the fox to hop into his palm. It crawled its way up his forearm, latching onto the light fabric. “Come on, Leaf, let's go home.”

#eris vanserra #eris #eris acotar #eris x you #eris vanserra x you #eris/reader #eris vanserra/reader #reader insert #fanfiction #eris/you #eris x reader

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urfavenarrator · 1 year

Note

[daryl dixon] [cxm!r] [fanfic] [daryl forced to sub, rope play, body worship, muscle worship, edging, overstim, praise kink, all to daryl]

ya i am a horny fucker what about it

Same lol anyway

Got board a wrote dialog in a accent not happening again

Slutty!needy!Daryl Dixon x Top!male!reader

------♡Starved♡------

growls.

"Need somethin’, dar?" You say, not looking up from your book. Daryl stares you down with deadly eyes

You sigh. "Come ‘ere," you say, as you put the book down.

He sighs and walks over. He looks down, standing before you. Then, he stares at you with his sapphire eyes, waiting for you to talk.

You pat your leg and say, "Sit down, baby." He obeys but is still on edge. "'m not yer 'baby,'" he says in his southern drawl, eyes hard. l"What do ya want?" "What happened out there?" You gently rub his back. "You seem so tired." You reply softly.

"Gotta lot on mah mind," He admitted as his expression softened. You can tell he's tired by the way he leans his head on your shoulder. His short black hair sticks up in various places. His clothing has seen better days. There are dirt streaks on his face, and there's a cut on his forehead. He's tired, hungry, and ready to take on the apocalypse. The world around you is silent and still. Daryl closes his eyes and leans into your shoulder with a deep sigh. He seems to be relaxed.

"Wanna go home?"

He sighs at your words, "Home... What does home even mean anymore? Everywhere I go, death follows." he pauses"'m tired."

"Alright, le’s go home." You pick him up, your muscles flexing softly, and carry him back to your shared house in Alexandria.

Daryl grumbles and blushes, unable to contain a slight look of amusement at your show of strength. He scrunches his face slightly as he tries to maintain his tough guy act. He looks down at your feet, unable to look you in the eyes as you carry him. He gives up and relaxes into your arms completely. He lets out a soft sigh.

We get home, and I spend about an hour and a half trying to get him in the shower.

Daryl sits in the shower, silent. He isn't exactly crying, but it is clear that he has been. His face is streaked with tears, and his eyes are red. He stares ahead of him, his face stony and unfocused. He's trying to stay in his tough guy persona to maintain what's left of his dignity and his pride. But in reality, he isn't the tough guy he likes to think he is. He's tired. He's hungry. He's not a hero or a leader. He's a survivor. And he's struggling.

I grab the shampoo and rub it into his greasy, matted hair.

Daryl flinches.

"Oi! Stop!" he snaps, in a louder tone than intended. He's embarrassed and is trying to maintain his tough guy act while fighting back against his tired, bruised, and battered nature. But it's obvious he desperately needs a wash. He's been out of action for a while and has accumulated a fair amount of grime and dirt on his face and body. Despite his best attempts to stay stone-faced, he cannot hide his exhaustion. His eyes are bloodshot, his face is drawn, and he is covered in days worth of facial hair.

"Daryl!" you shout, putting your hands on your hips.

Daryl scowls at you. It's clear his true self is beginning to show.

"... What?" he says through gritted teeth, his face still covered in cuts, tracing trails down the sides of his face. A bruise can be seen on the skin of his neck.

"Yer actin’ like a toddler, just let me wash ya," you say with a huff. Your face is stern, your [E/c] eye glaring at him; he knows he won't win this argument.

His shoulders sag and his arms droop limply by his side as he allows you to take control of the situation.

"... Fine." He says this dejectedly, letting out another sigh, and lowers his head. You can see the tears that have been streaming down his face. The rough look on his face is starting to give way. Reality is catching up to Daryl. He is tired, and he hurts.

"Good boy, see that wasn't hard, was it?" you say, washing the shampoo out of his hair and then washing it out of yours. You smile and grab the Lofa and some body soap; it foams up nicely.

Daryl rolls his eyes. His tough-guy act is completely gone. He's not even trying at this point. Daryl's once rough expression has softened. His eyes are no longer stern and aggressive. They look tired. Exhausted, even. His face is relaxed. Daryl just stands there, looking at you with his sapphire eyes while not saying a word. However, he can't hide how grateful he is for the bath. The dirt and grime of the outside world are being removed, and Daryl can't help but feel a little bit of relief from the process.

You wash the dirt and gore off of his toned body and clean yourself, as well.

Daryl sighs, his eyes still closed. A small part of him enjoys the feeling of getting clean, even if he doesn't want to admit it. A smile crosses his bloodied lips as you clean his hair. The dirt, sweat, grease, and blood that have been covering his face for days are finally being washed away, leaving soft, smooth skin beneath.

You finish up and head to bed. You go to the closet and grab a box from the closet.

"Hey now, I don' bottom," he says sharply. His southern accent becomes thicker.

"'Didn't ask, now sit up," you command, not looking at him as you dig through the box and pull out some rope.

He looks over at you with a confused look. You quickly tie the rope around his arms and legs so he can't move, and you take another piece to make a nice design.

He glares up at you. "Too tight?" You ask.

"Nome…. t‘s not too tight," he replies, a faint smile on his lips. But while he seems to be enjoying himself, a certain look of confusion forms on his face. It's almost like he's shy. Daryl tries his best to maintain his tough-guy act, but to no avail. He's so used to being in charge. So used to being the "big man" and the "leader". But now? Now he's just...happy. He's embarrassed to have been tied up so easily, and this, of all things, is making Daryl feel...shy and vulnerable.

"Good. You look so fuckin hot like this, tied up just for me," you smirk as you run your hand up and down his thigh.

"Yer going to sit here and be a good boy, yeah?" You declare before you stop touching him.

"Y-yes’sir," he said, and there was not a trace of his usual bold, brash, and cocky attitude. This is a new Darryl—the calm, reserved, and shy one. The Daryl you never knew existed.

"Good."

He's not used to being the one who is being "led" in a situation like this. But despite his shyness, Daryl does not argue with you. He is your "good boy", and he will do what you order. He nods again before speaking up, trying to maintain a calm and level tone.

"Yea ‘m yer good boy," he says quietly .

"Look at all those muscles," you say as you run your hand over Daryl's biceps, "nice and pudgy," and you give them a squeeze.

Daryl blushes as you run your hand over his biceps. Your words make him feel shy. Despite his tough, no-nonsense persona, Daryl secretly loves it when you show him affection. You can tell he's not a person who is used to receiving compliments like this. He's the kind of person who always has to be tough and "macho" all the time, but deep down, he loves it when you compliment him. He secretly craves validation and praise. Daryl starts to calm himself down again, taking deep breaths to clear his head. You can see the relief on his face as the tension leaves his body.

"Ya like that?" you whisper in his ear.

Daryl gasps at your whisper. The tone of your voice sent a flutter through his heart. He stares at you, a slight shade of pink on his cheeks. This is Daryl, who loves to be given praise and to be praised for what he does. He loves your attention.

"Tell me what ya want, Daryl."

Daryl blushes profusely and turns his cheeks a bright pink. Despite his tough-guy persona, Daryl has a soft side. He enjoys praise, validation, and affection. This is the Daryl you don't often see out on the streets. This is Daryl, who is shy and introverted. But still... Your words and your actions have an impact on him.

"Answer me, Daryl."

The prideful, "macho" side of Daryl starts to take over again. He's the "big man", the leader. He can't show weakness! If he does, who will protect the others? The community needs him! But Daryl's vulnerable side still wants to respond honestly. Daryl feels torn. In the end, Daryl chooses to be honest. He's always been honest. Daryl's a survivor. But his honesty is part of what makes him Daryl, so he is always honest. What comes out is his honest answer—the answer to your question.

Despite being stubborn and tough and being seen as a strong, independent man, he's still a human being. And a romantic and a lover, too. And he is not afraid to admit that. Daryl gives you a soft smile and nods back in reply to your question. Daryl's heart begins to beat faster, fluttering like a bird's wings in his chest. Blood floods through his body, leaving his face red. His eyes are still locked on yours. You're close to Daryl now. He can feel your warmth and your touch. This is something Daryl is not used to. In a way, he's embarrassed by these feelings, but in another way, it's something Daryl craves. He craves love, affection, and attention. Your attention, specifically. And Daryl doesn't know anything about words, anyway. All he knows... in action

"Say what ya want," you tighten you grip on his chin.

"T-touch me please," Daryl begged.

"Touch ya where?" You smirk, knowing it'll break his ego a bit.

"I- Anywhere, j-just be gentle." He looks up, his face flushed with embarrassment, his ego hurt.

"Of course, sweetheart, 'll be gentle." You lean forward and kiss Daryl.

Daryl melts into the kiss,

He lets out a deep sigh of relief as he relaxes into your touch, while your hand gently traces and caresses his cheek. Daryl looks at you with his sapphire eyes, wide-eyed and a little bit scared as the situation sets in.

"Don' worry, 'll go slow," you say, resting your hand on the side of his face.

"L-Listen..." Daryl says, stammering a little. He looks a little embarrassed. He rests his head on your hand, and he looks away from you. You can tell it was an action he didn't anticipate, and he is at a loss for words. The man in front of you is very unfamiliar and very different from the Daryl you see every day. It seems that when Daryl gets emotional, he can't help but lose all his usual composure and dignity.

"Hm?"

"W-Well, listen, I..." he stammered again, and he struggled to even form basic sentences. He looks up at you expectantly. He cleared his throat and looked a little flustered, his eyes darting from the floor to your face and back again, trying to find something to say. It's like the Daryl you thought you knew has left the chat. Right now, the Daryl you're talking about is not the strong, "macho" guy he usually is. He's the Daryl that craves affection and attention.

"Take yer time, 'm plenty patient," you smile at him.

Daryl is vulnerable, and he craves affection, attention, and validation, but he won't say it aloud because it is too embarrassing.

"Ye alright, honey?" you said in a worried tone, your words soft and caring.

He shakes his head; he feels vulnerable under your gaze. The rope isn't helping; he's shy and embarrassed and craves your touch.

"Don' worry, 'll be careful with-cha." Your voice is intoxicating for Daryl ; he wants you in him. Wants you to whisper sweet affirmations in his ear.

He blushes hard; he's supposed to be a man, supposed to take care of you, but here he is wanting your touch, wanting to be taken care of.

"Don' worry, honey; I know what ya want. Ya want my hands all over you; you want to be touched; you want to be taken care of. 'll make sure yer needs get taken care of.”

You were right, and you knew it, but it's too embarrassing for him to admit it yet. It's too much for him to bear. But deep down, his eyes say more than his lips could ever tell you. You have found the hidden Daryl, and he's vulnerable—vulnerable and craving validation. Daryl craves affection, attention, and praise. And he deserves it. He's sensitive and in need of love.

You run your hand over his pecs, then his stomach, then his thighs, saying, "What soft skin ye have, all scared and pretty."

As your hands run down his body, they leave a tingling trail. It's something he hasn't felt in years. He loves it. You see what your touch does to him—he's flushed from embarrassment. You smile

You smirk, "God, I think 'm goin’ to need to mark you up; I'd love to see you with my bitemarks going down yer chest." Daryl blushes heavily, his mouth slightly ajar. There's a small heat building in his abdomen.

You lean forward and gently bite his neck, making sure you leave a hickey. Daryl shutters, his neck is sensitive, and the feeling is intense. He looks up at you, his eyes like big sapphires. You can see how much he craves this sensation. You go back to biting him, trailing down his chest, and kissing in between the makeshift shibari. "Mmm," he holds back a moan as his head hits the headboard. Daryl looks at you with lidded eyes; he needs your touch; he's completely at your mercy. You hold the power; Daryl's all yours.

Daryl's breath hitches as you kiss his lower abdomen, his whole body burning. He's scared to show this side of him—the soft, touch-starved, needy part of him. He thinks it's his weakness. You stop kissing his body and sit back up and put your hand on his cheek, saying, "Ya look so pretty like this." You lean forward and give him a quick kiss; he looks at the floor, embarrassed. Although his body's acting normally. He's sheepish about it, about how he leans into your touch and wants you closer, about the heat growing between his legs.

He thrusts up, trying to get any friction at all, and he lets out a needy moan. You smile and move away slightly; "Need som’ help?" you say with a shite-eating grin. "YES! Please. Please touc-" you start kissing him. Dragging your hand up his thigh slowly Daryl kisses back excitedly, and when you pull apart Daryl's breathless and panting slightly, his eyes are closed. He's so needy as you get closer and closer to his member, but you stop right before.

“Huh?” he looked hurt and slightly embarrassed.daryls is unable to make eye contact. “Beg” you commanded. “please…” he said meekly, his tone sheepish and soft. “Please what?” your stern voice “i… i need you…”daryl spoke quietly, looking away from you he can't bring himself to look at you. “Need me to what?” your tone is much sweeter now. Daryl blushed the heat of embarrassment rising to face, his heart fluttering and his mind a whirl of emotion. He couldn't think straight, you face inches away from him, your hands spreading his thighs, “anything” is all he could manage. “Want me to touch you” you pry him for an answer, he nods, you put your hand on his cheek and make him look at you. “Alright” you say burying your face in the side of his neck. You wrap your hand around his shaft and move at a painfully slow pace.

Daryl bit his lip trying to suppress his soft mewls, he hasn't been touched like this in years. He rutts into your hand and you stop moving, “no moving honey '' Daryl whines in response, tears of frustration start to form. You move your free hand to his hip to hold him in place and go back to your pace, his crumbles and starts begging for you. “Please, i- ‘m a good boy,” he pleads. You bite your lip and start to move much faster, sending shocks of pleasure through him. “Fuck yeah, ye are such a good boy” you voice echos around the bedroom, daryls brain is turning to mush as you praise him, and love on him. The room fills with lustful sounds ``that better?” “mhm” is all he can manage. “What do ya say daryl?” your voice antagonizing, “t- thank you, s-”

“Ya close?” he doesn't respond, “i need ya to talk to me daryl '', he says yes but it's hard to, .he lets out a choked moan, you can tell he's close so you stop and grab a bottle of lube. His powerful thighs quiver when you stop, he's panting “wh-why’d ya stop?” he pleaded quietly “cant have ya cummin yet can we” you spread the lube around your fingers, and gently put one in him. His face contorts eyebrows drawn to each other as he screws his eyes shut, but soon relaxes. You pump it a bit before adding another finger. As you stretch him out you can help but listen to his stifled moans.

There's a light layer of sweat coming at him “ye look pretty like this' ' he doesn't respond and you don't make him respond, you decide he's stretched enough and slick up you dick. “Ya ready dar?” After a couple seconds he nods, you slowly push in, his face twists in discomfort and pain, you pause halfway so he can adjust. He nods and you fully bottom out in him and he lets out a small sob, you wrap your arms around him and stay like that for a while til he starts grinding down.

You pull all the way out then gently push back on him, it's clear he's never bottomed before. You keep your arms around his midsection and your face in the bend of his neck, his chin on your shoulder. You keep your pace for a while before speeding up, he bites down on your shoulder to hide his moans. It's still embarrassing to him.

You feel his legs start to shake and his knees clench around your waist, you slip one hand into his hair and gently pull at it. “Good boy… so good”is the last thing Daryl hears before the coil in his stomach breaks,his whole body spasms.

He paints your stomachs with cum. He pants heavily as your thrusts get slopier and erratic. “In- in or out” you say unevenly your quick breaths now audible “in '' daryl says still heaving. After a few more thrusts and more whines from daryl. You slam into him and release as deep as you can. You thrust one more time before pulling out.

You sit up and look at Daryl, his hairs messy, and he's covered in sweat and semen. His chest rises and falls as his pants grow softer. You wrap your hand around his now flacid dick and give it a few more tugs, he squeezes his eyes and wines in a high pitched voice, you stop before he gets hard again and grab some tissues to clean him up a bit. You cut the rope off of him and lay next to him. He curls up in your arms and you both fall asleep next to each other.

#- ̗̀❀⋆˚̩̥̩🪻Bo writes🪻˚̩̥̩⋆❀ ̖́-#daryl dixon smut #bottom daryl #twd daryl #TWD #daryl dixon x male!reader #bottom daryl dixon #top male reader #x m!reader #x male!reader #the walking dead

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therenlover · 8 months

Text

Balm (A Medieval!Helmut Zemo x Maid!Reader Fic)

A/N: Guess who's back from a 2-year hiatus and dragging Zemo back into style with me kicking and screaming? ME! ME! ME! More explanation is to come about why I've been gone and what the plan is now, but for the moment, enjoy the most-requested unfinished fic I had from before my mysterious disappearance <3

Synopsis: Your forbidden dalliance with Baron Zemo, the lord of the house, has finally landed you in the dungeons, subject to the whims of the guards and the endless passage of time. As your sanity slips away, you wonder what will come first, your execution or the Baron's return?

Tags: Hurt/Comfort Heavy On The Comfort, Reunions, Medieval!Zemo, Maid!Reader, Dungeons, Psychological Trauma

Rating: M (+18)

Warnings: References to Recent Sexual Assault and Psychological Torture (Male on Female, No Graphic Descriptions), Imprisonment, PTSD Symptoms **Stay safe and avoid this fic if you need to, this was a personal project made to help me cope with my own feelings about my trauma**

Word Count: 5,800~

_________

“Where is the girl?”

Sharp voices, some unknown and some chillingly familiar, boomed against the dark walls that closed in on me by the minute, gaining ground with every agonizingly long second. They were still far out, at least a minute away from the wrought-iron door of my cell. Somehow, though, I couldn’t bring myself to care. No, not anymore. If my execution was finally rapidly approaching with the sound of armor and thundering feet, it would be much more to my benefit than anything else the men approaching could possibly do to me. Or what they had already done.

The thought sent a shiver down my bare form despite the hardness of my heart.

Was there any torture, commonplace or strange, worse than what I had already endured at the hands of men who considered themselves to be bringers of justice and keepers of peace? I could not fathom it. Even a painful, slow death in the iron maiden would be preferable to the time I had been confined to the dungeons of the manor I’d once called home.

A soundless laugh, weak and bitter and halfway to a rib-crushing cough, escaped my cracked lips at the irony of it all. I tasted blood with every swallow.

Yes, I decided death was a welcome friend a long time ago, even if with it came the moment I dreaded most of all. In the pitch darkness, I let my eyes fall closed, and somewhere down the hall, the cacophony of voices grew louder.

“Why was I not informed of this the moment I returned to the manor?”

“I assure you, my lord, we thought it for the best-“

“For the best? You ignoramus-“

My lord.

The words stirred nameless feelings in my chest. Screaming, sobbing, nameless feelings that pulled the dregs of my humanity back to the stony surface of my strong facade.

How long had it been since those words had left my lips, a veneration above all others reserved only for the man I loved, despite their demands? I couldn’t even wager a guess. There were no windows in the dank room that served as my personal hell, just darkness and torchlight. The only way of keeping track of the suns and moons that passed was through the changing of the guards, and I had come to anticipate those for an entirely different reason. Counting the days had ceased being a priority long ago. It was much more important to count the passing shifts in order to prepare for the true punishment, doled out by faceless men in near-identical leathers. Here I was little more than the Baron’s abandoned whore, and rather than counting days I counted the cycling of warm bodies in the frigid underground air.

Horror and shame and rage coursed hot in my veins at the thought.

Surely this amount of men could only mean I was to be escorted to your execution, but I wondered in the darkness: Would they defile me one last time before dragging me out into the square, heavy hands and covetous eyes taking and taking and taking until there was no chance of forgetting what they had stolen from me, even as I took my final breaths? Or would they feign justice instead, slipping my bruised body back into the rough prisoner’s uniform that had remained crumpled in the corner far beyond my reach since the first hours I’d spent at their mercy? Either way, their impure actions would be evident when they dragged me out to the town square, which was a small blessing amongst the terrors that awaited. Maybe it would not be clear to the public, but the Baron… he would know.

He had known every inch of me. He would have to know.

He would see the marks, so similar to those left by his own fingers and teeth and lips and palms, and he would know the truth of the cruelty I’d faced, but he wouldn’t turn away from the sight of my broken body. It was his job as a crowned head to witness my death to the end the same as any other prisoner, no matter how gruesome or horrible an end I met. Perhaps that was to be his end of the punishment for the beautiful crime we’d shared. Perhaps, in a turn of events that I could only now imagine in the depths of my despair, he wouldn’t feel pain or punishment at all. My head could roll to his feet with no more than a tired sigh from his royal lips.

None of those possibilities really mattered though. Nothing mattered because nothing could be changed. Not anymore.

Distantly, I wondered if they would hang me, burn me, or separate me from my head. If I was especially unlucky, which I usually was, they might choose to make an example out of me and choose to draw and quarter me instead. The thoughts hung heavy in my mind, and all the while the end of my life drew closer and closer, marked by angered shouts and the gentle glow of torchlight, growing brighter and brighter in the corner of my sight.

I closed my eyes to the oncoming reality.

Seeing their reaction to me, strung up nude and probably still dripping with spend, would be too much. instead, I allowed myself to listen. That was the one sense they could not sully or steal away from me. Besides, if I kept my eyes open I would be forced to behold the faces of the guards, and I would much rather not have features to put to the nameless, faceless shadows that haunted both my nightmares and every waking hour. I had managed to keep them anonymous in my mind until now, and I would prefer to keep them that way until the end.

Something clanged a few feet away from the cell door, loud and tinny.

A voice called out from beside the noise, low and raspy. Familiar in the worst of ways. “My lord, what are you doing down here?”

“Where is she?” A new voice replied, “Which cell?”

Or… perhaps the voice wasn’t new. It rattled something within me, and slowly my memories regained some of their clarity. His voice was louder than I was used to hearing it, rougher around the edges than I remembered, but it was Helmut’s voice nonetheless. A weak smile spread across my bloodied lips despite my internal protestations.

He had come.

For what reason I still couldn’t say, but he was right there. He had come back and he was searching for me. The sound of him, his heavy footsteps and thunderous timbre close enough that I could almost imagine grasping the sounds from the air… I could not begin to describe the strange feeling bubbling up through my chest at his very presence, so close and yet so far. Still, I did not dare make a noise, I doubted I could manage a shout or even a whimper if I tried to, and instead, I listened as intently as I could.

The frantic conversation outside only grew louder as the men approached my cell. It was hard to fully focus on it. Through my hazy delirium of starvation and pain and hope, I could only focus on the image of his face in my mind, smiling brightly down at me in the firelight as he had so many times before. His touch was a phantom on my burning skin. It was a memory so close to reality that if I kept my eyes squeezed shut, it was almost indiscernible from the real thing, down to the bruises on my hips and the ache in my legs. Still, it was a fantasy, the final beautiful dream of a scullery maid who had taken too much from this cruel world to be allowed to continue to live in it.

I relished in every single moment I was gifted with him; past and present, real and imagined. There was little else I could possibly do but wait and hope, and hope was a dangerous thing.

“I’m afraid you’re too late, Baron. She is… no longer with us,”

The words made all the warmth I’d gathered up through my dreaming turn sour and cold in an instant. This was why hope was such a dangerous game for me to play. It comes just as easily as it goes, but it never leaves without taking something with it.

“What?”

“Her womanly constitution was simply too weak for the dungeons, my lord. We did everything by the book, I assure you of that, but she couldn’t manage it past the first week. She. Perished in her sleep,”

The guard's voice was so sickeningly genuine that even I almost believed him.

“That cannot be true. I refuse to believe it is true,”

“Aye, my lord. Any of us men could verify,”

Metal slammed against metal in the distance as shouting began in earnest, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. No, my mind was far, far away as I pondered the consequences of what I had witnessed.

I began to think that they never intended to let me die. At least not in the way I had been meant to. Instead, they would kill my soul and rob me of my sanity until my heart simply gave out from the horror of it all, hidden away in the bowels of the Baron’s manor where screams of pain and wails for help would fall on deaf ears. No one would come looking for me again. No one would even know I had survived. A sob escaped my mouth, breathy and broken. Would the tortures never cease?

A sudden silence followed.

Helmut spoke again in a quiet, measured tone. “What was that noise,”

I sniffled as the faceless man outside the door clambered to cover up whatever had caught the Baron’s attention.

“What, my lord?”

“That noise. What. Was. It.” The T seemed to be spat from the baron’s quivering lips. “I thought you said no others remained in these cells as we descended, so what could possibly be making noise?”

“I can assure you it was-“

A slam echoed through the dungeon. “Tell me the truth, or I shall imprison you long enough to find out when someone of your… constitution would perish under these conditions.”

There was silence.

No one spoke or moved an inch. I couldn’t even manage a whimper in that soundless eternal moment that seemed to stretch on and on into the oblivion that surrounded me on all sides. Creaking armor finally cut through it all, breaking through the void, and like a spark on dry kindling, everything burned quickly from there. Something clattered to the ground, metal rattled, boots stomped and keys clanged on their loop. Still, I could not bring myself to open my eyes, even as the great iron door of my cells groaned open and exposed my bare body to a new rush of freezing air from the hall.

All at once, silence prevailed again, cut only by the wails of air rushing down from the stairway.

I couldn’t lift my head; it was far too heavy on my trembling shoulders with my grubby, matted hair falling like a filthy curtain in front of my face. I didn’t need to lift it, though, to know Helmut was there in the doorway, beholding me in all my shame. Another sob cut its way through my throat and body at the thought. I was so consumed in my pain that I almost missed the sound of soft footsteps on the packed earthen floor beneath me.

“Schatz?” He whispered. I winced at the tenderness of the nickname he had once grown so fond of. It was like I could slowly feel him comprehending the level of my suffering the longer I sat, eyes screwed shut. If I stayed just like that, unmoving and unseeing, I might be able to imagine it all away like a dream. That was easier than the alternative. He had finally seen me as what I had always been: nothing. It was only a matter of time before his kindness soured too.

Despite the gruesome scene before him, though, he did not turn away. He did not run.

Instead, the Baron took a few tentative steps forward. I could practically feel his presence before me. Then he inhaled, sharp, but stayed silent for a moment more. If I hadn’t dared to know him better, I would have thought he had reached out to touch me before choosing another course of action. He couldn’t have done that, though. There was no possible way he still cared for me, especially after seeing me in such a state of filth and shame. Right?

“Oh, my sweetest one,” Helmut murmured, “what have they done to you?”

And just like that, I shattered at his slightest word.

“M-my lord, I…” my throat burned in protestation, a thousand red-hot needles thrust with every breathy whisper, “I have failed you. Punish me how you see fit,” In a sudden rush of pain, it was as though I could feel every bruise and slice on my body, every aching muscle in my arms screaming for release from the manacles above my head. I didn’t dare strain against the restraints, though, because even with Helmut present I couldn’t fathom what might happen if I stepped out of line knowing the guards were just steps away at the door. Despite the fear, it was excruciating.

As if he could sense your agony, the Baron jumped into action. “Someone remove her shackles! Now!” He shouted back towards the door.

I could hear a bit of shuffling behind him, trembling as the noises grew closer and louder. There were people with us now, people who might witness firsthand the impropriety of my relationship with the lord of the house. People who would use that against me in the worst of ways. A whimper escaped my lips at the thought as I could feel them lean in to undo my hands from the bolts on the wall. Though no one else would possibly notice, the man above me still smelled like sex.

Helmut was a constant tether to sanity through the terror. A distraction from the world outside the two of us in each following moment.

“You have not failed me, little one,” he said, “In fact, I’m incredibly proud of how strong you must have been.” His voice was soft, one only ever used for me. It felt almost too good to be true.

I shook my head, ignoring the sharp pains that shot through my neck, eyes still firmly closed. I couldn’t allow myself to hope. Not yet. “Why have you come here?” I begged, “We cannot be seen together. Your reputation…”

He sighed softly, and a familiar hand came to rest on my knee. I jumped from the alien sensation at first but corrected myself quickly. It was just Helmut. I knew those calloused palms by touch alone, as sure as I knew my own. Those hands were just as incapable of hurting me now as they had been when I first held them in the soft lamplight of the harvest festival so many moons ago.

“I am the head of this manor and the Baron of these lands. If I wish to protect the woman I love, I am well within my rights to do so,”

“Don’t,” I protested.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t give me hope. Not now, not so soon before we’ll be parted again,”

With a loud clunk, my wrists were released from their manacles.

After however long I had been imprisoned in this dark, wet hell, the muscles in my arms had weakened considerably. What once was toned muscle from years of labor now sat taut against bone, withered away with time and disuse. I could do little more than let them drop to my sides as the Baron rubbed calming circles into my knee with his thumb.

Why couldn’t he see how much it would hurt to be apart from him after this agony? How allowing me to dream now would only mean those dreams could be crushed when he returned to his life above. I had committed a crime, after all. Even if the punishment I had endured until this moment ended, I would still serve the rest of my treasonous sentence to the death without him. Alone. It all made me feel so defeated that I could do little more than cry dry tears and memorize the feeling of his skin on mine. It would keep my mind with me longer once he had gone if there was a pleasant memory to cling to. I couldn’t decide, though, if keeping my mind would be a blessing or a curse.

Helmut didn’t give up despite my insistence on pushing him away. In fact, I could almost imagine he grew gentler as a few guards shuffled about behind him. “Where are the fine clothes I had given you, my love?” he asked, “How can I warm you?”

What little moisture had returned to my mouth dried completely in an instant at his words. I couldn’t rip the answer from my tongue if I was forced to with a dagger at my heart.

Still, the Baron tried again. “If they’re here, please try to guide me to them. I can have one of the guards retrieve them,” The moment he mentioned the guard, every muscle in my body tensed, trembling from the effort of it all despite my mental protestations to calm. I couldn’t raise any alarms. I was too late, though. Helmut took note of my reaction with a measured rage as his teeth snapped together. “Ah,” his voice was a low growl, “I see now. No need to fret, Schatz. I’ll have Oeznik bring you a fresh gown. You won’t need whatever they dressed you in down here from now on anyway,”

Distantly, I could hear the hurried rush of slippered feet disappearing down the stone corridor, and I could only assume it was the trusted manservant following his lord’s orders to fetch me some clothes. I was so focused on following the sound of footfalls up the stairs that I almost didn’t notice the warmth of a cloak settling around my bare shoulders, draping over my nudeness and surrounding me with the string musk of cedarwood and sweat. I almost felt safe there, within the thick fur and leather of that mantle. When was the last time that had been even partially true? I couldn’t honestly say I knew. Maybe was that Helmut was there, so close to my side, or maybe it was that my modesty was covered for the first time in gods know how long, but no matter which was true, a strange sense of relief began to flood my veins. It burbled up to the surface like some sort of warm natural spring flowing from the very core of my being. For the first time in ages, I could breathe without terror, even if not without pain.

After the initial rush, though, it almost felt as though not facing my imminent demise made everything worse.

If I wasn’t actively about to be executed at any given time, that meant I had to face the things I’d seen, the things that had been done to me… oh yes, things felt much worse when I had to confront them in the proverbial light of day.

All at once, I learned that there were fates far worse than death and that mine was one of them.

A gasp, wet with blood and spittle, escaped my throat as I burrowed deeper into the cloak, pressing my face to the collar where the Baron’s scent was strongest. He was quick to bring a hand to my face, but I pulled away from the gesture. I couldn’t bear to look at him. To let him look at me… it was unfathomable. Not as I was.

Despite everything, Helmut was as patient as he could be while I trembled there. He rubbed his calloused thumb slowly over my gaunt cheeks, hushed me, and dried my tears. Everything about him seemed to radiate comfort like the sun.

The switch flipped when one of the guards made the mistake of speaking.

“Baron,” the new voice said, voice low, “don’t you think it best to-“

He never got to finish his sentence.

No, before he had the chance to utter another syllable, Helmut was standing at his full height and grasping the man firmly by some piece of his armor, dragging him closer across the muck on the floor.

“What were you about to say to me?” The man did not reply, but the Baron refused to relent to his silence. “I asked you a question, worm. When your lord commands, you obey,”

The guard's reply was stuttered out as soon as his heaving breaths allowed him a moment's respite. Was Helmut… choking him?

“I was going to suggest that you return to your father to get an official pardon before you decide to elope with a rightfully imprisoned woman, Baron, no matter the nature of your business with her. Need I remind you that he is the true Baron of this manor until his passing, after all,”

That was, evidently, not the correct thing to say.

A growl ripped free of Helmut’s throat that could have been loosed by a wild beast as he shoved the man harshly to the floor.

I heard others move to defend their comrade, but they all seemed to still at the sight of Helmut’s ferocity. In an instant he was standing over the fallen guard with what I could only imagine was a murderous rage from behind my shut eyelids.

“Rightfully imprisoned? Rightfully imprisoned?” Rage dripped from every seething word, “There is no rightful imprisonment when you strip a prisoner of their decency- of their humanity! When was the last time she was fed? Allowed time off the rack to care for herself? Rightfully imprisoned… you lost the right to claim that the second you locked her down here without the advisory of my father, who has given me full permission to free her and return her to my quarters immediately,” Helmut paused for a moment before adding, gravely, “I shall call a healer for her there to confirm what I believe to be true, and if it is… well, may the gods have mercy on your souls, because I certainly will not,” With that, he spat into the face of the guard at his feet and stepped back, taking heaving breaths, though I could not tell if it was from the effort of his rage or the effort of holding it back.

The moments that followed beloved into sort of quiet chaos in the darkness of my mind. There was a shirt scuffle as the guard seemingly rose to his feet once more, aided by his compatriots, while Helmut stood silent. I could just make out the shaky sound of his ragged breathing. Everything else just melded into a cacophony of voices and loud, disjointed noises that seemed to jump out of the darkness and straight for me. It made me want to implode.

It was as if, all at once, everything became… too much to bear. The air was too thick and the sounds were too loud and every inch of my being was alight with small bursts of needling pain, driving far past my skin and deep into my bones as the room grew colder and colder around me. The sensations were nothing compared to the tortures I had endured before, physically or otherwise, but with the promise of freedom and safety waiting so closely to me in the form of the man that I loved, even the smallest of pains felt unbearable and unending. It was as if every bit of suffering. Had fought through at the hands of the guards to survive to see this glimmer of hope had been compounded into one, large pressure that threatened to crush me the second I clawed my way to freedom.

Helmut would never allow that to happen, though. Not again. Not after he had seen me in this state. I could only suspect that this newfound softness in him meant he wouldn’t allow me away from his side for quite some time, no matter how ridiculous or unbelievable such an idea seemed. In the deepest, most shameful corners of my heart, I could only hope it would be true. I wanted desperately to be tucked away someplace soft and warm and utterly mundane where I would never be forced to face another ounce of horror or darkness for the rest of my life.

Somewhere between the sudden influx of sensation and the daydream of peace, I forgot to keep my eyes shut.

My eyelashes peeled apart, adhered together with some sort of muck, revealing Helmut standing before me. The sight of him was enough to let me fight through the pain of the light and keep them open. A soft sob escaped me once more.

His body was tense and readied for movement, white shirt soaked with sweat and grime and what looked like it had to be blood as he stood with his back to me, one arm outstretched back towards me in a silent gesture of comfort he didn’t even know if I would see. He could not reach me, nor did I think he intended to, but it offered me security nonetheless. His other hand sat easily on the hilt of his sword, resting sheathed on his hip as it always did during long trips outside the manor walls. Had he come directly to me upon his return home, not even taking the time to shed his outdoor cloak and sword, only to find me missing from my place in his chambers? I banished the thought from my head. That was unimportant at the moment. What mattered was that Helmut’s body served as a barrier of safety between me and the rest of the world. It gave me just enough courage to keep my eyes hooded, but open.

It took a moment to adjust to the darkness. While the torches in the hall still burned brightly, the great iron door blocked most of their glow from reaching my gaze. The light was just enough to focus in on the world beyond Helmut’s silhouette, letting me catch sight of the glint of a guard's sword appearing from the dark corner of the room before the Baron did.

What once was quiet chaos devolved into loud, maddening chaos from there.

I screamed. That was certain, even when all else was not. It was a dry, cracked, raw thing that escaped me as the hidden guard broke rank and lunged across the room. There was no humanity in his ice-cold eyes, not the slightest glimmer of anything besides bloodlust and pure self-preservation crossing his face, and yet somehow, despite all the time I had spent at the mercy of him and his companions, I held no fear for myself. Instead, the terror that wracked my body was for the man who stood between me and the sword.

Helmut was the only thing in the world that could keep me from an eternity of torment and his attacker knew that better than even I did at the moment. He intended to kill the man I loved, a treasonous act, in exchange for the safety of his own hide. If Helmut was bested… I couldn’t even fathom it. The moment stretched on endlessly, and yet there was no time to think about the sight I beheld. As the Baron took note of the man, he drew his own sword. I urged my own abused muscles forward, managing to almost drag myself across the few feet of space that separated me and my lord and his hand, still outstretched towards me; a beacon of reassurance. The moment my fingers brushed his, I collapsed, muscles spasming against the dirt. I had done my part. From there, I could do nothing but close my eyes once more and wait for the telltale metallic noises of swordplay.

They never came.

Helmut jolted before me, hard enough that even from my spot on the floor I couldn’t help but wince, and I heard the telltale swish of his blade leaving its sheath, feeling the wind in its wake on my teary face. Still, the terrible fight I anticipated didn’t rage on. I couldn’t hear any of the other guards present so much as breathe. I found myself utterly lost in the darkness. My cluelessness towards the current situation was almost worse than seeing Helmut skewered, at least in that moment as I reached out and grasped fistfuls of dirt, desperate to hold on to something real. Someone groaned a quick, pained breath, and then everything ceased to be.

Time stopped there for a while. Maybe it was only in the prison of my own mind, but it was as if the space between breaths had extended out into the infinite darkness and fear that consumed me whole. He couldn’t be dead. Even if he was, I couldn’t bear to check.

The moment was only broken when a familiar voice cut through the silence. “Shall I have him disposed of, my lord?”

My eyelids were heavy, but I forced them up and open as I released my fistfuls of dirt and dragged my face up to look towards the door only to find Oeznik had returned. With a bundle of linens in one hand and a bloodstained sword in the other, he stood flanked by some of the elder Baron’s personal guards. If looks could kill, the man who had attempted to take Helmut’s life would have been in a much more merciful situation, and the baron stood before you, triumphant.

His blade remained pressed into the man’s neck, keeping the poor bastard frozen mid-swing for fear that one wrong move would take off his head. All the while Helmut’s face remained hidden from my view. If his body language was anything to go by, it was taking all of his self-control not to slaughter the guard right then and there, but he remained as still as a statue, unreadable and cold, as I reached a trembling hand up to his still extended hand like a lifeline. He squeezed my cold fingers in his own comfortingly the moment we managed to touch.

“Just ensure that he doesn’t move from this cell,” Helmut replied, “None of them should,”

It was as if the great group of men gathered around the door forgot how to breathe. I, on the other hand, felt freer than I had in an eternity.

“Shall I lock the door behind us?” Oeznik inquired.

Despite his hidden face, I could hear the pure wickedness and vengeance in Helmut’s grin. “Yes, Oeznik, and station a few of our best men at the door. One of them may still have a key, and all would be for naught should they simply remove themselves from captivity,”

“Right away, my lord,”

It shouldn’t have surprised me when Helmut let go of my hand and finally shifted himself to regard me once more. Still, the look in his eyes made my heart feel although it could stop beating. He turned and knelt before me, taking my muddied face in his hands and brushing a thumb over my cheek. His touch was so tender I almost forgot to breathe, as though taking even a gulp of air would break the spell and plunge me back into reality. The light, remained, though, even as he sank to his knees to assist me.

“There's no need for us to tarry here any longer, schatzi. Come along now,”

An almost childlike, hysterical wonder flooded my senses as I tried to pull his cloak tighter to my body. The warmth was addictive. “We’re going? Together?”

“Yes darling, together,”

“But what if someone sees us? Baron, I can’t let them see you like this, especially with me in such a state. If someone from town were to see-“

Though his face betrayed none of his emotions, the ice-cold tone of Helmut’s voice was enough to send a shiver down my aching spine. “I will cross that bridge when I’m required to. Now come. You’ve spent far too much time in this dank hole already and I refuse to let you remain here for even a moment longer,”

I needed no more convincing than that to take the Baron’s hand as he helped me up on unsteady feet.

Standing again was a strange sensation, to say the least. It was as if I were a fawn taking my first steps across the damp forest floor in spring. Helmut kept me upright against his side and jumped into action the moment he was needed, bracing my body on his as my legs gave out time and time again in the steps toward the door. When the struggle became too great for him to bear watching, he wasted no time before sweeping an arm beneath my knees and cradling me to his chest, making sure to keep me wrapped securely in his mantle along the way. From there I could do little more than let the shock set in, drifting in and out of the present as he carried me away from the hell hole I had believed I would never leave again. All the while, a loose, pained smile crossed my bloody lips.

On the way up the steep, winding stairs, I faintly recalled hearing Helmut muttering to Oeznik, who remained a few paces ahead of you during the ascent like a buffer. The contents of their conversation eluded me. I could only assume they were speaking of what had transpired, but I couldn’t say with any certainty. Not with the way my mind seemed to be covered in a thick fog as soon as I let my eyes drift shut once more, tucked into the furs that surrounded me on all sides. The only certainty in the world became the steady thrumming of Helmut’s heart and the heady musk of travel clinging to his clothes and skin.

As the last of my lucidity faded, I opened my eyes one last time, only to be greeted by the warm light of dawn. It streamed down upon me in a million colors from the stained glass windows lining the hall. I had believed so truthfully that I would never see the sun again, and yet here I was, bathed in the glory of a new morning. A new day.

Everything became lost to time from there as my eyes drifted shut once more, still catching glimpses of colored light from behind my eyelids until I lost my grasp on the present.

#helmut zemo #zemo #baron zemo #zemo x reader #daniel brühl #x reader #marvel fanfiction #falcon and winter solider series #technically there will be a part 2 to this but it'll take me a few days to edit it up

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