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florencemtrash · 3 months

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In a year's time - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Angst, jealous Azriel, fluff

Masterlist of Masterlists

"But for all he knew you could have fallen for some dashing golden warrior, or found that you preferred your shiny, new friends over him - that you’d found a quieter city full of fae that stole your heart as well as your attention away from him."

Mor narrowed her eyes at the Shadowsinger, watching as he adjusted the collar of his newly tailored suit jacket and then combined his hair back with scarred fingers.

Azriel had always been annoyingly beautiful - even during their middling years when their voices cracked and they hadn’t yet grown into their long, slender limbs - and so he’d never needed to take special care of his appearance. His hair dried in perfect waves, his skin was smooth and clean despite the scars, and his training had carved out a silhouette as strong and capable as it was alluring. So why did he keep smoothing down his waistcoat like he was nervous?

Mor darted out a tongue, cleaning up the drop of wine that threatened to fall from her ruby red lips, “Azriel? What in the Mother’s name are you doing?”

His eyes barely flicked over to where she lay sprawled out on his bed. She had no intention of attending this ball sober, and if the near empty bottle of wine balanced precariously against her knee was any indication, she would exceed her goal before they even stepped outside his bedroom.

He picked up the tie - midnight blue and hand-embroidered with silver thread - and flung it around his neck.

“Getting ready for the ball.” He answered blandly.

She rolled her eyes, “Obviously,” then continued to stare at him expectantly as he finished knotting the tie, folded his pocket square, and then slid his weapons into place as a last measure, cobalt blue siphons flashing from the backs of his hands.

It clicked all at once as he strolled for the door, forcing Mor to abandon the glass and drink straight from the bottle.

“Oh my gods.” She said, mouth agape. Her shoes clicked along the marble floors of the River House like the beating of drums.

Azriel groaned internally. Even tipsy and wearing seven-inch heels, Mor kept up with his long strides easily, prodding his side accusingly with her wine bottle. It magically refilled itself with every jab.

“You’re trying to impress Y/n!”

Suddenly it was as obvious as the sun rising in the east. He’d chosen the tie you complimented him on last Starfall, despite his hatred of its fanciful nature. He was wearing the silver moonstone cufflinks you’d bought him for his birthday. He’d even combed his hair because he knew you’d notice and muss it up for him.

“Mor-” He warned, color beginning to dust his cheeks. His shadows darted around the hallway, climbing the velvet curtains and peering around the corners to watch for any potential eavesdropping.

“I knew it! I knew it!” She said, swatting him with a frustrated hand. Her red silk dress clung to her waist and thighs before fluttering out in a halo around her knees as she chased after him, aiming to slap him across the head.

Azriel stopped in his tracks and grabbed at her wrists, desperately hoping no one else in the house had left their rooms yet. If he was really lucky, the two mated couples would be making enough noise of their own to drown out Mor’s excitement.

“Mor, stop it. And be quiet.”

“You loooove her.” She crowed, dragging out the sound. Suddenly she straightened up, hands on her hips and frowning, “Is that why you’ve been so irritable lately? Because you miss her?”

Azriel said nothing, gave away nothing, even though Mor had hit the nail on the head in her drunken stupor.

It had been a great honor when Thesan offered to take you under his wing and train you personally. More than a favor to Rhysand, he’d seen your healing talent and wanted your expertise to be well represented in the Dawn Court. So a year ago you’d packed up your things and said your goodbyes.

“It’s only temporary.” You’d promised him, “I’ll be back before you know it. In a year’s time.”

But a lot could change in a year. You’d sent plenty of letters back and forth to each other, and Azriel would be loath to admit that he slept with them clutched against his chest every night so whispers of your scent would chase the nightmares away.

But for all he knew you could have fallen for some dashing golden warrior, or found that you preferred your shiny, new friends over him - that you’d found a quieter city full of fae that stole your heart as well as your attention away from him.

He was happy for you and had been the one to encourage you to move to Dawn. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss you terribly. You’d been missing from his side like a torn limb, and Azriel had been walking through life at a crooked angle ever since.

“I don’t-” He sighed, he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love you. He just couldn’t, “It’s none of your business, Mor.” He amended.

He released her wrists breezed past her, but she sprinted ahead of him, splaying her limbs out on the staircase to block his path.

“You need to tell her you love her. Tonight.” She commanded. Her words slurred out gently, the faerie wine finally kicking in when she’d wanted it to. “I mean it, Az.”

He shook his head, “I can’t tell her tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t seen her in a year! I can’t drop that kind of truth on her.”

“Yes you can!” She fought back. There was some muddled piece of information hanging at the edges of her mind, something important she needed to tell Az. But the wine held it back. Fuck. She cursed inwardly.

“No. I. Can’t.”

“Yes. You. Can.” She was practically seething, pearly brown eyes unfocused but unrelenting. She knows something I don’t, Azriel realized in a burst of shock.

“What is it, Mor? What did she tell you?”

She blinked, dropping her arms from the burnt umber railings. His heart quickened. Had his worst fears come true? Had you found someone else in Dawn worth staying for?

“I-” Damn it. She shouldn’t have finished the second bottle. She cradled it protectively against her chest, feeling the glass cool her hot skin, “I don’t fucking remember.”

“What do you mean you don’t remember?”

“I mean, I’m drunk, Az. And drunk Mor doesn’t remember shit.”

His heart quickened further, a crushing sense of guilt and loss wrapping around his chest like a corset and tightening. Mor at least was saved from further useless interrogation when Rhysand and Feyre bounded out from down the hallway, tastefully disheveled and looking sinful in Night Court black.

Rhysand cleared his throat, straightening his dinner jacket and absent-mindedly straightening Feyre’s crown for her, “Everyone ready to leave?” His eyes glazed over, calling out to the last missing members of their party.

Cassian and Nesta spilled out of their room next, the braids of her coronet slipping out and spilling over her heaving chest. Azriel tipped his head to the ceiling and cursed silently. Mother have mercy…

Nesta pulled up on the strap of her lace dress, only to find that it had been torn to ribbons.

Cassian was in no better shape - the collar of his white shirt was smeared with lipstick, although he didn’t have the same sense as Nesta to look annoyed at the interruption to their… activities. A toothy grin bloomed on his face, shoulder-length hair tangled like someone had been yanking it for hours.

“Can’t make it tonight, Rhys.” He said. He glanced down at Nes, “I’m not feeling well.”

“Me neither.” Nesta said hastily, slipping back behind the door and hauling Cassian inside with her like he weighed as light as a feather. Four months after their mating ceremony and they were as insatiable as ever.

“You’re full of shit, Cass!” Rhys called out just before the door slammed shut. A muffled Fuck you! Came from within, followed by a, Tell Y/n we’ll see her at home! From Nesta.

They winnowed to the outskirts of Daybreak Hill, landing in a field of cushiony moss dotted with pink and violet heather that stirred in the breeze like the dusk-painted clouds above.

Feyre sighed deeply, breathing in the scent of lavender and rosewater. She loved Velaris and no one could hold a candle to the beauty of the Night Court… except perhaps Dawn.

It was like someone had laid a mirror flat on the earth. Periwinkle skies kissed rolling sage green hills dotted with red-roofed villages and sank into lakes of pearl and lavender until it was impossible to tell where the sky started or ended.

The Dawn Court Palace’s twisting spires of honey marble glowed brighter than the setting sun. So brightly in fact that Mor had to help shield Azriel’s eyes with her soft hands as he carried them up through low-hanging satin clouds. Dots of scarlet and midnight black soaring through cotton skies.

His hands turned clammy and the tightness in his chest felt like a giant’s fist squeezing his heart, but he convinced himself it was the thin air that was responsible, and not the raging longing in his heart for you. Still, he had to appreciate the beauty of the red-roofed villages below, tinkering hands hard at work inside chestnut workshops filled with glistening bronze and copper.

They dove through the columns into the open-air hall, any dampness from the mist magicked away by Thesan’s careful hands as he stepped down from the golden dias to greet his honored guests. His rich, copper-colored skin radiated light, melting with the darkness that rippled off Rhysand and Feyre’s shoulders as they shook hands and exchanged the usual pleasantries.

Mor stretched her silky arms above her hands, catching the eyes of a cherub-faced female reaching to grab a flute from the champagne tower. Normally, Mor would have been flattered, but with Emerie at home and a wine-drunk haze over her mind, she was feeling more anxious than anything else. What the fuck was it that she was trying to remember?

Faelights bloomed above him, tinkered in the shapes of roses that gently pulsed, fluttering petals propelling them across the room in a sway of light.

But Azriel was barely paying attention. His eyes skimmed the crowd, searching for a silhouette he knew as intimately as the ridges of his hands.

There.

You stood across the room, half-hidden in the stone archway beside Thesan’s lover, Herades. You bowed your head towards him in silent conversation, nursing a glass of champagne in your hand to try and cool your nerves. Azriel would be arriving soon, if he wasn’t already here, cradling the walls in search of dark corners like he was bound to do. You’d been imagining all the ways you’d greet him - with a joke, with a meaningful embrace, with a kiss. You shook her head, pushing the last thought out of your mind and focusing on Herades’s story again.

Your laugh was a flare of light blooming at the end of a match. Azriel stared utterly captivated. Time moved slower than syrup when you finally met his eyes and smiled with an affection more precious than gold.

“Az!” You squeezed Herades’s arm, politely excusing yourself, and then you were off. You sprang across the room in a billow of cream fabric, like milk poured into coffee. The tips of your pleated skirts were touched with blue like you’d waded out into the night sky. The color matched the ribbon in your hair, and the siphons of a certain lovestruck Shadowsinger.

“Y/n,” He breathed out. You flowed into his arms and he gathered you into them like a bouquet of wildflowers, breathing in your familiar scent of rosemary and peppermint. Gods I missed you. He whispered in his mind, hoping that somehow you’d hear it at the end of that glowing thread.

But the hug was short-lived. Too short-lived.

“Mor!” You sang in that melodic voice he loved so much, grasping for her next, then Rhys, then Feyre.

Thesan looked on humbly, sighing faintly when Herades caught up to you and immediately slid to Thesan’s side.

“Oh I’ve missed you all so much.” You said, rocking back and forth.

“We missed you,” Feyre said into your hair. She was the one to pull away, smoothing out ribbon and giving you a once-over look.

Your time had been well-spent at the Dawn Court. Extra color bronzed your cheeks and tinted your lips a pale berry shade. You stood up straighter, smiled a little wider, and walked with an extra height to your step. You’d always been beautiful and graceful, but it was like you were aware of it now - like you’d grown the last few inches into your body.

“You look lovely, Y/n.” Feyre said and Mor agreed enthusiastically, commenting on your dress and your hair and your… well everything.

“Thank you,” You said, blushing, “Thesan’s treated me very well.”

That was an understatement. He’d set you up in his personal household, paid you handsomely (even more than Rhysand paid you if that were possible), and had had the royal seamstress sew ten dresses for you to pick from for tonight’s ball alone. It was your party after all in commemoration of the advancements you’d made in child birthing practices. You’d handled twelve pregnancies alone in the past year across Dawn and Winter, all of the children delivered safely and as plump and rosy as summer cherries.

“And you’ve repaid it to my court ten-fold.” Thesan said and held up his drink. Even Herades smiled, tawny feathers flaring out with pride. You were responsible for the safety of his sister-in-law and the birth of his nephew - hawk wings and all.

It was a flurry of activity following the Night Court’s fashionably late arrival. You dragged Azriel and Mor up to the dais after Rhys and Feyre. Traditionally the table was only meant for High Lords and their partners, but Thesan was a unique and progressive leader in more ways than one.

Herades and Thesan sat in the middle with Feyre and Rhysand, leaving you, Azriel, and Mor at one end and Thesan’s sister and her husband at the other.

Azriel was eternally grateful when Mor lunged for the center-most seat, forcing you to sit between her and Azriel. You bumped knees with him, leaning close as you whispered about the Court gossip you’d managed to overhear from the cooks or discussing the progress you’d made in the Winter Court.

Course after course appeared in front of him and disappeared, hardly touched. He wasn’t hungry for anything other than you, focusing on the crease within your brows as you tried to remember all the news you couldn’t write to him about or the twist of your perfect, flushed lips as you displayed your displeasure and your joy.

If he believed himself to be worthy of your affection he would have whisked you away hours ago, disappearing into whichever room in the palace was yours and pressing you against the wall, lip-locked until the need for air forced him to stop.

“How are Kallias and Viviane doing?” Mor asked, perking up at the mention of the Winter Court.

You smiled, your cheeks flushing with color, “I’m not supposed to say, Mor, so you must promise not to tell anyone. Anyone.” Mor locked her mouth and threw away the key. Your lips brushed against the sharp curve of her ear, “She’s pregnant.”

Mor clapped a hand over her mouth, nearly upsetting the glass of wine balanced precariously on the edge of the table. One of Azriel’s shadows darted out, pushing it safely out of the way of her swaying arms.

“Stop.” She hissed in disbelief. Her golden hair seemed to brighten with her cheeks.

You nodded, “With twins.”

Tears flooded her eyes, “That wench didn’t tell me.”

“She’s been busy, if you can imagine.”

“Still!” Mor muttered under her breath, eating her food slowly and sipping on her wine quickly. She gave up on being sober the more males approached her from the base of the dais, bowing deeply with proud, puffed up chests and asking for a dance. Word had gone around about her… preferences, and far from dissuading suitors, it seemed to have been offered up as a challenge as to who could change her mind. Thank the gods Emerie had declined the invitation to join them. She would have castrated half these males in an instant, if Mor didn’t beat her to it.

Thesan, gratefully, put an end to it once he caught onto the pattern. One sharp look from him sent them scampering back, coattails between their legs.

There was one final male though who ignored the previous warnings, humbly bleeding out of the crowd as remnants of rose cake disappeared from the tables and the quartet swelled to include twelve musicians plus a singer. Full, cream-colored wings hovered above the ground, tawny-tipped and lush. Even Mor had to admit, with his olive skin, amber eyes, and warm honey curls he was stunning. Like liquid gold poured out of the setting sun.

He bowed deeply, a subtle smile on his face. Azriel went rigid, seeing you lean forward out of the corner of his eye with a blush coating your cheeks.

Mor closed her eyes and groaned. Fuuuuuuuck. That’s what she’d forgotten about. Or rather whom she’d forgotten about.

Naemon - the golden boy who’d begun to court you seven months back. You’d dropped his name only a handful of times in your letters to Mor. Not enough times to convince Mor you were actually taken with him, but enough times for her to remember the bastard’s name.

“Y/n,” His voice was silky smooth and kind, “May I have the first dance with you?” He asked politely.

Your breath caught in your throat and you risked a glance over at Azriel. He looked… bored and unaffected. He reached for his glass, looking more interested in the faerie wine than the male who’d just asked for your hand. It was stupid of you to think he would care for you as anything more than a friend, and even more foolish of you to think he might be jealous.

You pushed away from the table and floated down the dais, taking the strong and sturdy hand Naemon offered you. The first song was too spirited and quick to reveal any true feelings. It was a blur of silks and lean arms as you wove through the sea of dancers and were gently tossed from partner to partner. But the second song was slower, more intimate. Naemon flashed a look of gratitude to the singer, who winked in return, before scooping one arm around your waist, hand flat on the small of your back. You rested one hand on his shoulder, feeling the rolling of muscle beneath his crisp linen tunic, and held his free hand.

Naemon was a kind and gentle male. After the death of his parents, he’d all but raised his younger sister Namia on his own, relying on the money he earned in the Peregryn legion to make ends meet. It was his care for his sister that had first drawn him to you - any misgivings he’d had melting away as you grew close to Namia from among the other healers. You’d supported her throughout her pregnancy, become her friend, and served as a balm to his anxieties whenever his duties took him away for long stretches of time.

You looked down bashfully, apologizing for missing one of the dance steps and crushing his toe, “I’m better at the quicksteps.” You explained.

Naemon smiled brilliantly, and you couldn’t stop the faint flutter in your chest, “I can’t blame you. The slow ones can get boring. Leaves too much time for overthinking.”

“Exactly.” Too much time for overthinking about a certain Shadowsinger.

You’d never given Naemon any false pretenses about your feelings, always reminding him and Namia that your position in Dawn was temporary. But still… It felt nice to be courted by someone as open as him. With Naemon you never had to guess whether he wanted you or not - you knew he did. The flowers he often left in the healer’s temple, or the offers to take you out to dinner or to dances like this one proved it.

A curl of guilt coiled in your stomach. Maybe now was a good time to bow out and return to your seat. Surely the slow waltz would be finishing soon. The-

“You’re overthinking again.” Naemon said, his full lips brushing against the sharp curve of your ear and heating the gold cuffs you wore. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, Y/n. If you’re enjoying yourself - if you like dancing with me - keep doing it.”

“Naemon-” You began apologetically.

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about me, Y/n.” He said honestly, “I just want to dance with you tonight. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

You stared into his eyes, finding nothing but truth in them. A portion of your nerves melted away and you found that when the cello began to hum out a simple tune, you were still holding onto him and letting him move you through the next movements.

Azriel was barely holding on by a thread. Wine glass now empty and clenched dangerously between shadow covered hands. Rhys shot him a look, and when his attempts to breach his brother’s mental shields were met with resistance, he turned to Mor.

What’s wrong with him? His eyes flashed the question.

He’s being an ass who can’t come to terms with his emotions. Mor grumbled back, sinking into her seat with a fling of yellow-gold waves.

Rhys’s eyes went from confused to wide open as he shot a look to you across the dance floor. Fuck.

Feyre followed her mate’s attention with a look of concern, and then traced Azriel’s steely gaze to the dance floor where you were smiling reservedly up at Naemon. You two made a handsome couple, weaving a clear path through the other dancers as they parted for his magnificent feathered wings.

Azriel stiffened. He’d never been particularly proud of his Illyrian heritage, but his wings… his wings were one of the few true beauties he possessed. But in comparison to the golden-boy warrior that smiled at you and brushed back a loose strand of hair with his soft hands, Azriel found himself lacking… once again.

Naemon was a gentle breeze where Azriel was blistering wind. He was a wide open door, every look he gave you filled with clear affection. Azriel was a dozen locked boxes, each one nestled within the other with all the keys rusted and thrown away. Naemon looked reserved and in control. Azriel felt completely out of it, and it took every inch of willpower to keep the mating bond from driving him mad enough to launch across the dancefloor and bruise Naemon’s high, perfect cheekbones.

But then the dance ended and Naemon parted from you long enough to reach behind his back and pluck a feather from his wing. A few shocked gasps scattered throughout the room. Even Thesan and Herades looked on with raised eyebrows, leaning close enough to touch.

The feather was a beauty - the length of Naemon’s forearm and such a pure white it glimmered like moonlight. You froze, staring down at the treasure he offered you with bated breath.

Peregryns were fiercely protective of their wings and rightfully so. To be allowed near them alone was a great honor. To touch them was an intimate act reserved for family members and lovers. To be offered a feather?! In some circles it was akin to being gifted a thousand roses. In other circles it was tantamount to a marriage proposal.

Both offers were completely overwhelming to you.

“Naemon-” You began carefully, backing away, “I-I can’t.”

He smiled softly, eyes flashing briefly up to the dias where the Shadowsinger had gotten up to his feet, something like desperation and longing buried deep beneath the layers of his hazel eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, Y/n.” Naemon said resignedly, “But please, take this,” He begged, spreading open your fingers before curling them again around the feather, “For everything you’ve done for my family.”

And because I love you, even if you don’t love me back - were the words he didn’t say aloud.

“Naemon-” A shadow fell over your feet, curling around your ankles and skirts and tugging you away like a child seeking attention.

Naemon, for all his relative youth and gentle disposition, didn’t seem surprised or affected by the Shadowsinger’s presence. Azriel hovered close behind you, eyes blown open and desperate.

Please don’t. He silently begged. Please don’t say yes to him.

He almost melted with relief when Naemon only dipped his head in acknowledgement and kissed the palm of your hands. Even that innocent touch made Azriel’s stomach turn.

You turned when Naemon finally disappeared into the crowd. “Azriel, I-”

You had half a mind to hide the feather behind your back, but you couldn’t do such a cruel thing to Naemon. And it wasn’t like Azriel hadn’t watched the whole thing unfold in front of him. You clasped the feather in your hands, careful not to ruffle the delicate barbs.

Azriel was no longer bored and unaffected. In fact he seemed unnaturally flustered and nervous.

He swallowed thickly, mindful of the curious stares you were attracting. Not only had you just been proposed to, but now you were being approached by a male from your past after an ambiguous response - you’d accepted the feather, but Naemon had left alone. The court gossips would have a field day, if they weren’t already.

“Y/n,” He said, his voice thin and quiet. A mere whisper among the riff raff that was steadily building up again in a crescendo, “Can we please talk?” His wings fluttered nervously, and he shot a dangerous look at a male who came too close to you, “In private? Please?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. You’d barely recovered from Naemon’s dramatic display and you were scared about what Azriel might offer next.

Still you mumbled, “Oh-um… yes.”

The words were barely out of your mouth before Azriel’s hand was on your wrist, delicately leading you through the crowd towards the archway and into the hallway beyond. Fae mingled about in their finery, happy to escape the music and the sweep of dancers.

Azriel scowled. This was hardly any more private.

“My quarters are further down this hall,” You offered, pointing down a sky bridge that connected the public wings of the palace to the private ones. Azriel exhaled in relief, nodding and following you as you cut through unfamiliar halls draped in rich reds, golds, and turquoises.

You stopped at a door of solid oak, hand painted to look like it had been lifted from the pages of a storybook. Resplendent gold filigree traced the footsteps of maidens running along hills dense with colorful flora. Water trickled down from the mountain tops, so realistic that Azriel was amazed to find the handwoven carpets in your room were dry.

You peered down the hall before closing the door with a gentle whisper. Only the songbirds nesting in the high crevices bore witness to your activities.

You hesitated and then tucked the feather into one of the empty jewelry boxes on the vanity. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

Azriel stood motionless by the door, watching as you closed the box and slid it back against the mirror.

“Did you say yes?” He whispered, hating the way his voice caught in his throat, “Do you love him?”

You turned around quickly, the length of ribbon in your hair rippling through the air to land on your collarbone. Azriel was upon you in an instant close enough for you to feel his shallow breathing, but all he did was trace the blue ribbon with his fingers and then push it back over your shoulder.

“I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You stuttered and your face burned with feeling. Azriel had asked you for privacy so he could ask you about Naemon?

Azriel clenched his fists once. Twice. “The male you were dancing with. The feather-”

You blushed deeply, turning your face away to hide your embarrassment. You had hoped he didn’t know about that Peregryn custom.

He gently gripped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, pulling your gaze back to him. You blinked in surprise. For once Azriel looked… scared.

“Did you say yes to him? Please. Tell me.”

If you had said yes he might just shrivel up into nothing on the spot. Why had he waited so long to tell you his feelings? Why had he waited so long to tell you about the bond? But if he did it now it would just be terrible timing all around. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You shook your head and Azriel’s wings dropped in relief, eyes closing as he murmured a quiet thanks to the Mother beneath his breath.

“He-it wasn’t even a real proposal. He gave it to me as thanks for helping his sister. That’s all.”

He gave you a pointed look like he knew you were lying. There was no questioning Naemon’s feelings for you. No questioning at all.

“You never answered my second question.”

You crumpled under his gaze. Gods, he looked beautiful tonight. Torturously so. It wasn’t fair. Naemon had loved you openly, never given you cause to doubt his intentions nor made you feel guilty for not returning his feelings. And yet here you were, still pining after the male who’d never seen you as more than a friend. A male whose intentions were never clear. A male who always made you question how well you knew him, and whether those small touches and reserved smiles and affectionate letters were just a polite kindness or something more.

“No.” It felt wrong of you to admit it so callously, even if it was the truth, “No I don’t love him.”

Azriel looked ready to kiss the ground and something about that set a fire within you. Leave it to Azriel to ignore any romantic advances from you, to chase after other females left and right for literal centuries, and then get upset the moment another male found you appealing.

You huffed, pushing him away harshly and crossing your arms over your chest, “It’s none of your business anyhow. I’m allowed to have my lovers and my almost lovers. And if you truly thought Naemon was proposing to me, I don’t know why you’d want to fucking interrupt it!”

Azriel flinched at the coldness in your voice, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it, Az?” You exclaimed, clearly irritated now, “Gods, you never just say what you mean.”

Azriel tried again, grasping at straws. “I would never judge you for your choices, even if you said yes to him or-I just-fuck.”

On any other day you’d be laughing. Azriel was a male of few words, but the words he did say were always perfect and calculated. Nothing about this was calculated or thought out.

“I… you’re my best friend, Y/n. And I haven’t seen you in over a year. I just…” He cringed. Hard. Cauldron boil him. He was doing this terribly, “I was scared.” He finally admitted, and rather pathetically.

“Scared?” You dropped your arms. That wasn’t the answer you’d been expecting, “Scared of what? You’re hardly ever afraid of anything.”

He shrank away, hands clasped tightly behind his back, “That you’d leave me-us. That you’d find a reason to stay here instead of returning to Velaris. And when I saw you dancing with him tonight - the way he was looking at you and the way you were looking at him - I thought… I thought Naemon would be that reason.”

Now you were confused and even more irate than before.

You stalked up to him, jabbing his chest with an accusatory finger, “You were the one who encouraged me to do this. You were the one constantly writing to me about the importance of making friends and “putting myself out there.” You were the one who practically shoved me out the door when I left-”

“Because I thought you wanted this!”

“I did! I-I do!”

“Then what was I supposed to do, Y/n?!” He cried out. His shadows, which had been held back so tightly on a leash throughout the night, exploded outward, coating the bright colors of your bedspread and the rugs and the curtains in inky black. They swirled there, as agitated and timid as their master.

“What was I supposed to do?” He whispered again. He sounded tired. Defeated. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t hold you back from what you wanted. From the happiness and opportunities you deserve.”

“You could’ve at least said something! You could’ve at least told me that you were upset with me leaving. That you were going to miss me and that you-you-”

That you love me and that you wanted me to stay. You shoved the thought out of your mind, slamming the door and turning the lock. Useless, lovestruck pipedreams would do you no good now.

“Instead you just pushed me out the door and it’s been nothing but empty letters from you since.”

“They weren’t empty.” Azriel said weakly. He’d never been a man of words or poetry, but in that moment he desperately wished he was. “And I did miss you. Y/n, I missed you so much some days it felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

You deflated, your anger slowly ebbing away like the ocean during low tide. Sometimes you forgot that beneath all those hard-won layers of shadow and muscle, Azriel was still that little boy that had been abandoned in a cellar and taught to believe he was worthless. A waste of time and a waste of space. Nothing more than an inconvenient bastard.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were all doing fine. That I’d come back and it would be like nothing had ever changed. I would’ve-I would’ve made time to visit. Or-or come back sooner.”

Azriel chuckled without humour. He had not been “doing fine” without you. He hadn’t been “doing fine” since the moment you’d stepped across the doorway and winnowed out of Velaris.

“You make it sound like I was going away forever.” You added softly.

“It felt like it.” Azriel admitted quietly, “I always worried there was a chance you’d decide you liked things better in Dawn. That you liked the people better. So when I saw you with Naemon I just…” His voice trailed off and he slowly backed up to your bed, sinking down into the pillowy comforter. Even the beds seemed softer and kinder here. Softer and kinder than him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

He felt the bed dip beside him, your knee pressing against his in a burst of warmth. The blue tipped pleats of your dress slowly waved with his shadows as they once again curled around your feet, inching up your dress and closer and closer to your hands. Now that he was looking down he noticed the shoes you were wearing - cobalt blue with matching velvet ribbons tied up your calf. Same as your dress. Same as the ribbon in your hair.

“I wanted to believe you wore those colors for me tonight.” He said quietly, aching for your touch. Your hands were so close to his he could almost imagine that-

You covered his hands with your own, smoothing the rough skin with gentle caresses, “I did.”

It had seemed like such a stupidly hopeful choice at the time - some not-so-subtle declaration of love for all the months you’d spent apart - but when the seamstress had laid out all the dresses, you’d taken one look at the cobalt blue accents and the shoes and snatched them up in a heartbeat.

Azriel’s eyes were wider, more open, than the moon, shimmering with disbelief and hope, “You did?” He whispered.

“I did. They reminded me of you.” You stopped looking him in the eyes. It felt like too much. Too much emotion. Too much feeling. “I missed you too, you know.”

Azriel stayed quiet for a long while, sorting out the myriad of feelings roiling in his chest and trying to latch onto a single coherent thought. Finally he murmured, “I guess we could both work on saying things outright.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head and wiping at the corners of your eyes, “Yes. I guess we could.”

“We could start now.” Azriel offered hesitantly. His heart hammered away in his chest like a blacksmith at his anvil until he was sure his sternum would crack.

You raised your eyebrows. Curious.

“The next five minutes. We say everything honestly. No holding back.”

“I don’t know, Az. I-”

“Please.” He begged, holding onto your hands a little tighter. His shadows had traveled all the way up to your waist now, ghosting over flesh that he didn’t dare touch. He didn’t want to lose you. He’d thought he could handle being apart from you physically - that it would be no different from the decades he’d spent quietly loving you from right by your side - but he’d been horribly wrong. And he didn’t want to risk another, better male than Naemon coming to whisk you away before he had the chance to do things properly. To do things honestly.

His hands were shaking now, gripping your hands like you were the anchor to his ship trapped in raging waters, “I’ll start.”

“Ok.” You whispered, leaning a little closer.

Azriel swallowed and tried to stop the trembling in his hands and in his voice. In this he managed quite well, falling into a rigid, flat silence.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for years now, actually.” He dared to look at you. Your lips were parted in shock and he wished he could taste them, “Is that…is that ok?”

“Is that ok?” You repeated dumbly. “Is that ok?” You repeated a little louder, “Are you serious, Azriel?”

“Y-Yes?” He was trembling again, face open and terrified. He was offering you up his heart on a platter and praying to the Mother you wouldn’t crush it beneath those velvet blue shoes. Even if you did, he would find some solace in knowing you were the one to destroy him. He loved you so dearly that it was only within your right to do so.

Your lips broke in a stuttered smile, opening and closing like you didn’t quite know what to do. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. I’d hoped you might feel that way but I… I was never sure. I…” You cradled his face in your hands, tracing the curve of his jaw and his cheekbones with your fingertips, “I love you too, Azriel. I love you so much.” Your voice cracked, silver gathering in your eyes no matter how fiercely you tried to blink them away, “Gods, Az, you don’t even know.”

He gripped you close enough enough to bruise, arms locked around your waist and hands laid flat on your back. It was a sweet pain that grew even sweeter when you kissed him, searching for breath like you’d find it in his lungs. Azriel was just as desperate, ravenous even as he tugged at your clothes and flipped you flat on the bed. He wanted your lips again. You tasted like strawberries and cream, and he was starving.

He climbed on top, slotting himself between your legs as you yanked him close.

“Your hair,” You muttered, “It’s too neat.” The next minute was all teeth from Azriel as you mussed up his hair and he grinned wildly against your lips.

“Five-” He groaned, sinking further into you when you wrapped your legs around his waist, “Five minutes aren’t-” He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at your flushed face as you gasped for breath and finally untangled your hands from his hair, “Five minutes aren’t up yet.”

“You’ve been keeping track?” You dropped your head back on the bed with a disgruntled hmph. Had he been counting the whole time he’d been kissing you?

He kissed your chest, then the sensitive skin of your neck. But there wasn’t any expectation in the brush of his lips, just quiet, honest love.

You raised your head, finding that Azriel once again looked scared. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” He said seriously. “Before… before anything else.”

You drew yourself onto your elbows, craning your neck for one more kiss, “You can tell me, Az. You can tell me anything.”

The bond sang in his chest like a songbird in a cage. It wanted to be released. To be acknowledged in words if it couldn’t be acknowledged through feeling at this moment. Because Azriel knew you didn’t feel it yet. You didn’t feel the burning he felt in his chest that made it hard to breathe when you weren’t around.

What if she doesn’t want this? What if she doesn’t want me? Azriel swallowed thickly, tears springing into his eyes. He wanted so desperately to be worthy of you - to be the kind and gentle lover and mate that you deserved. He’d been born crooked even before he’d been tossed into that cellar, before his half-brothers had set his hands on fire. But… but he was yours completely. He’d offer whatever meager, broken shards of himself that he could in hopes it might be enough.

“Az,” You whispered his name lovingly and slid a wayward curl behind his ear so gently he thought he might break apart into a million pieces, “Tell me. Please. Tell me.”

“You’re my mate.” He confessed.

The words hung in the air, unaccepted, unrejected, and you went preternaturally still.

He had no feathers to pluck out and present to you. But he had his shadows. You tipped your head curiously to the side when Azriel knelt on the ground, holding your hand in his.

“I don’t have any pure white feathers. I don’t even have a ring on me right now-”

“Az, you don’t need to-” You stilled when a shadow flickered down Azriel’s wrist onto yours. It was a small, delicate thing. Willful too. You could tell by the way it traveled confidently down your ring finger, curling there tastefully like a castle spire reaching towards the sky.

It hovered over your skin like mist hanging over wetlands. A proposal in and of itself.

“Yes.” You said before Azriel could open his mouth again. He hesitated, afraid to believe he’d heard you correctly, “Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” He teased weakly.

But this time you knew exactly what he meant, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

The bond burst to life in your chest as the shadow sank into your skin, settling there like a tattoo. Like a promise.

Azriel stumbled, actually stumbled, clenching at his chest at the wildness growing within him. He chased after you, hurtling down the bond and finding you wide open on the other side. You were anxious and surprised and so so so happy. So happy you felt like you might just die from it, and Azriel felt it all.

Hello, Y/n. He called out.

Hello, Azriel. You responded. My mate.

Azriel groaned, slamming his lips and his body against yours. You held steady as you always did, letting him press against you as if you could keep him there forever.

I am yours and you are mine. You gripped his hair again, feeling the silky strands caress your skin. With one smooth motion he pulled out the ribbon and started to undo the buttons of your dress.

Promise?

You grinned. Promise.

___________

Author's note:

Nothing like a declaration of love after a year spent apart to make my heart swoon.

But honestly I would have fallen in love with Naemon... sorry Az...

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar azriel #azriel fic #jealous azriel #fluff #angst #azriel x reader angst #acotar #acotar oneshot #acotar fanfic

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historiaxvanserra · 2 months

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All That is Dark Within Me

Pairing: Azriel x Rhys!Sister Reader

Summary: In the wake of Nesta's sacrifice something ancient and long dead awakens, and you with it.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: allusions to sexual assault, and death, grief and longing. lots of dream sequences to keep things extra confusing.

The visions come in flashes of age-worn and the glimmer of Illyrian steel; thinly bladed and lethal, and through the blanket of the dark, the glare of cerulean light pierces the veil of obsidian shadow.

Death came to you as a girl; ravenous and heinous as it feasts upon you. Until all that is left is an assortment of crow-picked bones, interred in some unforgiving blue-darkness, further than Hel. And from that blue-darkness you find breath:

The fetor of decay is thick on your tongue; putrid and so palpable that you can taste it. It lingers there. Festering fruit-flesh in the damp heat and hemlock flowers arch out to kiss the skin that crawls from you. There, in the dark; all maggots and rot in the grave dirt, rebirth calls to you. A hand reaching through the veil of the black.

And you reach back.

The soul; the uneasy ally of the body, nameless as a river, creeps in like the sunlight as it comes back to you with the swiftness of the dawn; golden and ephemeral. It coils itself around you like the ribbons of shadowed sunbeams that come with the first light.

You emerge from your earthly tomb. Arms open. Waiting to become the shadowed ribbons of the firstlight. You are born anew; reaching and aching. Savage and sentimental. Searching for some semblance of touch as you break the surface of the wintry earth. The winter sun dawns over the valley and the earth grieves the loss of you. Sunlight spills onto your body all at once. You are painted in the colors of some celestial body; ichor and carnelian as the heaven-yellow light kisses its way up your spine.

You feel a tremor in the velvet of the earth. You falter with it and a cataclysmic vein of power ripples through the stagnant air; resurrected with you, amongst the dying moonflowers and jasmine, some fallow power.

It wakes from its dormant slumber and rages.

It calls to you.

In fleeting images of age worn bone and a shroud of shadow.

Speaks to you in a language long dead. So old that only the earth itself might infer some meaning from those words whispered on a westward wind. Words so sacred, told in the green tongues of the wilds. It grows in you and festers there. Taking root in your body. A slow, manifesting ache that spreads through you like disease.

Like rot.

The hum of the emerald wilderness lulls you into a misty sense of consciousness as breath comes to you like a bitter memory. That first breath of life burns like cold death as it crawls its brutal way down your throat. The next few tear through you in sporadic succession until you’re choking on the glacial breeze.

The morning air tastes like firewood and fruit flesh as your heart plateaus to a strong, steady rhythm that coaxes movement from you. Unfurling from your fetal position in the dirt you see the world as it once had been; the press of the winter sun into your skin, the draw of the wind as it flutters through the canopy the emerald forest, the darkening horizon and the shadows from the mountain that veil the valley in a misty shroud as the firstlight reigns golden over all.

You crawl from your grave, through the dying jasmine flowers, your fingertips arching and desperate to touch them. To feel the soft velvet of the petals as they give way beneath your trembling fingers. Their descent into decay; a testament to your own rebirth.

It takes a few moments of half-formed joints and muscle coming together to forge you anew but when you stand to your full height you realize that the fleeting remnants of rot and ruin have gone from you.

And in its place; resurrection.

Your girlhood and the innocence of your youth died long ago and what comes back is born wrong. With the knowledge of the ancient darkness from which we are born; and to which we will one day return.

In the distance, through the brush of the fir trees and Illyrian wilderness, a small fire burns golden against the first slivers of morning light, and the dying embers cling desperately to life. Smoky tendrils arch over the tops of the trees guiding you home. You press into the shade of the forest, the thick canopy is dappled in jewel tones; amber, gold, ruby and pale emerald that grant you shelter from the elements as the world turns silent and still.

Feigning peace.

The trees loom ominous overhead, foreboding and resolute, the sounds of the forest having died moments ago. Anxiety weighs heavy on you then, staring out into the dark edges of the forest, you are utterly alone.

You retreat into the darker recess of your mind in the knowledge that, whatever lies beyond, you must face it on your own.

Instinctually, like some archaic muscle memory you bid your wings to come and shield you from the world and the cruel wind. But as old muscles struggle with new life you find that your rebirth is marred with an air of barabarism that bids bile to rise in your throat. You’re brought to your knees in the dirt and a bone-deep sorrow nestles itself deep in the caverns of your chest; finding a home coiled around atrophied muscle and a aching heart.

You’re bereft, and screaming to the deaf stars when you feel the absence of the weight of membranous wings upon your back. The muscles in your back and shoulder blades sear in white-hot agony and trembling fingers trace the brutal scars etched into the skin there. You recoil in disgust and your body feels foreign under your careful hands. Unlike your own-- brutalized and butchered at the hands of the men; consuming and devouring, as they hacked and ravaged the expanse of your body like they had a right to it.

The world blurs at its edges and you remain there until the brush of the forest is cutting and brutal against the soft skin of your calves and thighs. Until you draw blood that falls like rubies at your feet; a testament to your resurrection.

The first of your tears begin to fall with the rain and you feel like the earth, that had held you for so long, is crying with you. Saltwater that purifies you, and your tears fall like moonlight on the Sidra; sparkling and sacred in the dying light of a new day.

As night begins to gather on the darkening horizon you feel exposed out here in the green expanse of the wilds. The temperatures begin to fall as rapidly with the encroaching night and the dying embers of the fire in the distance becomes a blaze in the dark-- a reckoning or a beacon.

You wrap yourself in the scraps of fabric that had shrouded your body in death and you know that you must face the forest and whatever lies within it. For the bitter wind holds you in its icy embrace and so, you press further into the Illyrian wilderness. The journey to the edge of the forest is long and the sounds of men in the distance is your guide to civilization. The forest becomes a dark symphony; the wind as it caresses the leaves of ancient oak trees and the rustling of the forest floor underfoot, it’s a cacophony of sensation that threatens to envelop you, beneath the leaves and fir trees, to lose yourself in its vastness until darkness descends upon you once more.

By the time you reach the edge of the forest you are close enough that, from your vantage point on the embankment, you can see the orange flames from the campfires as they climb high above the younger trees, the cinders rain down violently on the warriors camped below. These mountains always did have an austere beauty that called to you. Even then. Even as a girl, green and foolhardy with dreams of a life spent following your brothers and Azriel across continents. As a courtier in some distant land where the women were warrior-strong and softly beautiful. Somewhere Ramiel’s long, ghostly shadows could not reach you.

You never did outrun the shadows of the mountain that flanks the valley, you think as a shroud of darkness from the looming monolith blankets the world in a false twilight.

Burrowing down further into the valley of the embankment you find shelter nestled between a felled tree and the jagged moss-covered stone. You find comfort in the heady musky of fir and pine, and soaked to the skin by the morning mildew and blossoming bluebells. There in the valley, the hours pass strangely, against the backdrop of the desolate night, with only the songs of the forest and the sound of the warriors below in the distance to guide you into dreamless sleep.

The hum of the camp behind you lulls you into a sense of misty wakefulness, and every now and then you feel a tremor in the ground, a recollection of the darkness you had left behind. In these fleeting moments you wait beneath some strom-streaked cloud. A heavy velvet darkness descends upon the sky, extinguishing everything in its wake as you acquiesce to dreaming:

Death comes back to me veiled in shadow and flashes of age worn bone as it stakes its claim to me again.

The shadow of the mountain looms like some ill-fated omen over the valley and a red star bleeds into the twilight, casting Ramiel in a bloody halo. The mountain seems to tremble in your wake and the whispers of the Old Gods call your name like a prayer.

A great onyx monolith glitters in the amethyst moonglow and a vein of power hums on the westward wind. You reach out a hand to touch it and the world falls away from you again.Then there is a temple; carved into the stone of the mountain, a great antechamber, shaded in the musk of hemlock and incense as you pass between the sandstone pillars. The pillars themselves are shrouded in climbing ivy and blooming moonflowers that conceal the frescos on the walls.

You can vaguely make out the apparition of a man, cloaked in death. He wears it as some ancient King might. Proud, beautiful and lethal. His great dark wings spread across the landscape and the fae of old in the crowds kneel to him in reverence.

The onyx stalactites become entangled in the light that bleeds from the surface and you come to a stop at the foot of the altar when that myriad of dancing light falls onto you.

You are golden light, refracted and broken divinity-- the memory of some undying Goddess in the pale light.

Unearthly and ephemeral.

The emerald dias is littered with the remnants of the offerings left to a dying God; wilted jasmine and orchids, silver coins, minted with the faces of an ancient king, amphora’s of faerie wine. You sink to your knees at the foot of the altar and you swear you feel the whispers of the dead once more.

You run a fine-boned hand over the collection of offering laid in revereven, made in earnest.

That is when you notice the gleam of thinly drawn steel amongst the dying jasmine. Veiled in the shadows of the mountain; a bloody scythe. The hilt and pommel feel like cool marble in your hand as you raise it to the light that bleeds from the surface. The blade itself is coated crimson and rust and the ferrous smell of blood hangs heavy in the air.

Only false idols are worshiped in flowers and wine alone, you think.

True divinity requires sacrifice.

Out of the devastating darkness steps a figure; shaded in wretched shadows and a devouring black mass as he approaches the dias. As he steps to the altar all the sconces are afire with bluelight; sapphire and cerulean as his robe falls to reveal him in all his divine glory.

The saints whisper my name and his figure, wreathed in shadow and light materializes before you.

Tangible flesh and winged death.

Plumes of incense smoke, like salted-seafoam rise in the mountain air and the flickering blue flame douses me in its seraphic light. Like Venus born from the Kytherian sea. Or perhaps Persephone born again from the dark smoke of Hades.

Plumes of incense smoke, like salted-seafoam rise in the mountain air and the flickering blue flame douses you in its seraphic light. A priestess robed in pomegranate red, with milky, alabaster eyes rises steps from the smoke. The priestess looks like the apparition of a dark celestial body as she intones a mass and the thread that runs between your body and his grows taut, aching and agonizing as it burns through you like the first light.

“The thread of fate is severed and another is forged;

from my power I bestow power upon you,

and from my life-- life.”

The priestess chants and he touches you softly.

Your chest is tight and your muscles cannot be compelled to move. Your body is not your own and all autonomy is stripped from you as that thread that runs from your body to his glows pulsating, liquid gold.

“Stop,” Your voice is hoarse and strained, it echoes around the antechamber until his growl smothers all sound “please stop.” His touch grows cold against your skin and his grip on your arm is a bruising force. Bone crushing and cruel as he brings you harshly to your knees before him.

“Is it done?” His voice is harsh and laden with dark malice as he turns his piercing and deadly gaze upon the Priestess.

She eyes him and nods adamantly, “It is done, Lord.”

She leaves a trail of smoke and ash in her wake as she turns to dust and bone before your eyes. Terror fills you and your heart flutters wildly in your chest as he turns his cold gaze upon you once more.

Death takes your jaw roughly in his grasp, tilting your chin to look him in the eyes. Deep and reckoning, a twilight abyss so black that time and space itself falls away when you’re caught in the depths of his dark gaze. He runs a callous thumb over the sulk of your lip and the wet-heat of your tears fall at his feet.

“Oh, my love,” He coos menacingly, his voice a vacant echo as it ricochets around the chasm of the temple “resurrected from the grave dirt.”

It is a claiming; a devouring as he brings his cold lips to yours.

“To be brutal and mine.”

His words, like a sacred vow, are branded into your skin. There, between the valley of your breasts over your violent heart, in inky lines that same scythe-- age worn bone and blood.

An offering to an Old God. A holy sacrifice, you think as he runs a pointed finger over the hollow of your throat. His skin feels icy cold as he wraps those same fingers around you, pressing against the pulse point with practiced ease. This is it, you think. Death comes to you as an old friend. A darkness so deep that there is nothing before it and nothing beyond it.

But- a thread of light; blinding and golden against the black.

Suddenly Death’s face falters and a smirk spreads across his beautiful pale face when he feels the violent flutter of your heart in the cavern of your heaving chest. Death raises his scythe; a gleam of shadow and age-worn bone as he prepares to give you up in offering-- like a lamb led to the slaughter.

You will not return to the dark.

You are no sacrificial lamb; you are the shadow of a Goddess long forgotten and you will not bend to lesser men.

Nor submit to the will of some ill-fated deity.

You writhe in his hold; poised and ready all the while under the surface some raw divine power, like the light of a bleeding sun, pours out of you. It burns golden and sun-blushed as it spreads through you.

Wilful and ignorant in the face of his wrath you reach for that golden thread.

In a cataclysmic union of the dark and light, death is thrown down against the emerald dias. Brought to his knees before you. The amphora’s and trinkets laid in offering are strewn across the room in the fray and the merlot stains the marble wine red.

“Do not presume to touch me again” Your voice frantic and fragile echoes around the empty chamber and the ghost of his touch on your body makes your skin crawl.

The laugh that you tear from him is like death itself, cold and malignant as he turns his darkness upon you now. His shadows snake their way along the expanse of your limbs as you stumble backwards down the aisle. They curl into you, seeking out the light that bleeds from your skin in bursts of starlight and moonglow.

‘Death-touched girl’, they whisper to you. ‘Lovely bride, you belong to me’.

The temple trembles with a new wave of devastating force.

The mountain quakes and the world falls down around you; The climbing ivy is torn from the ancient and decaying fresco’s and the sandstone pillars give way, sinking and succumbing to Death’s cold wrath, like the trees that bend to the wind. Onyx stalactites fall like tangible night and pierce the earth, creating a cavern so great and so deep that you think it might be the opening to Hel itself.

A helmouth.

Looking down into that cavern. A deep blue-darkness that swallows everything in its wake. The jaws of Death open, awning and screaming as the temple is brought to its knees before you. Beyond the desecrated temple the Illyrian wilderness waits for you. Ramiel casts its long shadows over the valley and from the canopy of the emerald forest you hear a man screaming into the dark.

With only the light of a blood moon to guide you, you retreat into the twilight.

Your legs start moving before your mind has time to process it. So you run. You run. Until your heart is thunderous in your chest and each breath that is torn from you hurts. Still, you run.

Death’s voice whispers on the wind as it howls at a waning moon.

“You know me well, girl.” He says to you, his figure in the treeline like some voyeuristic ghost, “As I know you.”

Your calves burn but you push on, through the thicket and into a clearing. The moon wanes terrible and red at its peak in the night sky and you scream to the deaf stars. Crying for a God who had known your name once.

Only the Gods do not answer.

“Azriel.” You cry his name until your voice is hoarse. But he too does not answer the call.

Death-kissed shadows brush through the trees, appearing again at the edge of the clearing. There he stands, the perfect embodiment of a cruel God. Mercurial and furious as his dark wings spread across the expanse of his back.

Death is a beautiful creature.

His voice again cuts through the dark as you sink to your knees in the clearing, “I was there, waiting in the dark when you spilled your first blood.”

He stalks towards you and you scramble to your feet in some desperate attempt to evade him. He is shadow personified and dark eyes turn hazel and amber in the silver light of the moon.

“I am here with you now,” Death curls a shadow in his hand and smiles at you.

“as you run from me still.” He takes a step forward, cradling your jaw in his strong hand again. His thumb trails the line of your cheek.

The sound of a restless lake rings like birdsong in the air and you see the orange flames as they streak across the sky; a firebird as she soars over the shadow of the moon.

“You know my name.” He adds, half-amused as he brings his lips to meet yours in a cold, chaste kiss.

“Say it.” He commands.

You do not answer.

“Say.It.” Death spits venom through gritted teeth and you laugh as light floods the twilight forest.

“Azriel.” His name falls from your lips like some holy vow as light becomes you.

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic

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djarincore · 3 months

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The Object of My Desire

SUMMARY: You're a hardworking scholar and the spoiled daughter of a corrupt nobleman.

The mercenary hired for your protection is more than willing to take your father's money, just not your bratty attitude. Luckily, he's got a few ways to deal with spoiled little girls like you.

PAIRING: fighter!price x wizard!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

TAGS: DND!au, porn with some plot, f masturbation, dirty talk, cunnilingus, he bends you over a desk, PIV, rough sex, unprotected sex, slight breath play, creampie, slight jealously, reader gets called a bitch (not by Price but he does call you a brat whoops)

A/N: this is just a silly little idea that popped into my head while I tried learning more about DND! I actually rolled some dice to make some decisions/outcomes and it made the writing experience way more fun 10/10 recommend

Winter’s gray sky cast a torrent of rain against the cobblestone roads and blew frigid winds through the streets of Moongarde. Despite the relentless weather, citizens continued to migrate towards the town's center in attendance for the annual Heroes Feast.

You clutched your cloak tighter against your chest as you weaved through the crowds of people heading in the opposite direction. There were more important things to deal with than a stupid celebration—like the supposed danger you were in.

Having a father who enjoyed making enemies in high places certainly made your life interesting. Though, the threats on your life were, frankly, a nuisance. You had much better things to do than worry about silly threats from cowardly, old men. But, your father worried; he worried enough to hire a mercenary to guard you.

You hoped he wasn't old and boring like the last one you chased away. Any guard who succumbed to simple illustory spells like fear weren't worth the gold your father spent.

Ahead, a hanging sign swung forward in the wind. Carved into the wood was a crow perched on a branch, staring off beyond the borders of its design. The Ivory Crow—a dingy, little establishment you loathed to enter.

With a grimace, you made your way up the creaking wooden stairs. Already, you could hear rowdy, clamorous songs and bellowing voices seeping through the cracks of its shabby, wooden walls.

Before you could reach out to push open the swinging doors, they burst open and a man stumbled out, his weight nearly toppling onto you.

“S’rry ‘bout tha’, m’ss,” he slurred, hiccuping as he ended his sentence. He grabbed onto one of the doors to steady himself, though he still swayed.

“Move,” you demanded. His body blocked half the entrance and you weren’t interested in squeezing past him. He was covered in stains, presumably sweat and booze from the acrid smell of him.

He lifted his head towards you, eyes half-lidded. “Hey, don’ tell me wha’ ta do,” he hissed.

You rolled your eyes and raised a finger towards the man. The familiar warmth of magic pooled at your fingertip and was dispelled when you tapped his forehead.

He crumpled to the ground, eyes closed with his chest still rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

You wiped your finger against your velvet cloak and stepped over the unconscious body into the tavern.

The inside was warmly lit by a large candle chandelier hanging from the tall rafters and more candles decorating tables. No one in the tavern seemed to have noticed your exchange. They were all absorbed in their own ideas of fun.

A dwarven bard strummed her lute on top of a table, singing an unfamiliar tune and absorbing the adoring applause of drunken patrons who chimed in off-key. Couples, locked in heated embraces, cozied themselves to dimly lit corners of the tavern.

If it wasn’t singing or lovers, there was plenty of conversation floating through the air to distract from anything outside.

Your eyes scanned the tavern’s edge, looking for a lone figure at one of the tables.

The mercenary gave your father instructions for you to find him at the Ivory Crow. Look for a bear on the pommel of his sword, your father had said.

In the far corner of the room, you finally spoted a vaguely familiar figure matching your idea of him, sitting on a stool with his back facing the wall and nursing a pint of ale between his hands. His eyes were downcast as he stared at the overflowing foam sliding down the metal pint.

He seemed to be the only lone figure in the tavern, everyone else was joined by at least one other companion.

His attire was shades of muted green and brown, darkened by grime and dirt. A sword tucked in its scabard leaned against the table. The pommel bore the crest of a roaring bear head.

You approached swiftly, maneuvering your way past the overflowing tables filled with patrons and stumbling drunks trying to get to the bar.

When you reached the mercenary, you stood at the edge of his table. His gaze lifted from his drink to you. Blue eyes met yours.

He wasn't as old as your last guard, and he certainly wasn't as boring to look at.

There was no surprise on his face as he looked at you, no glimmer of recognition; his stern countenance gave away nothing of his thoughts. His gaze was almost intense, discerning, and calculating.

You broke eye contact first to look down at the round stool opposite him. It had a spot of liquid on the edge that made you grimace.

All the other surrounding chairs looked occupied. So, you dug through your leather bag and pulled a purple cloth from it.

You wordlessly conjured up a spectral blue hand and offered up the cloth for it to wipe away the liquid. The hand dried up the liquid and deposited the cloth on the table before vanishing.

The mercenary had crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall to watch you, legs spread wide. Inquisitive eyes followed as you took a seat, back stiff with hands tucked into your cloak, clutching it tighter to your body as if it were shielding you.

“Ser Jonathan Price, correct?”

He nodded once and said nothing.

You fished a hefty pouch from your leather bag and tossed it towards him. The platinum pieces inside rattled as they hit the table.

His eyes fell to the bag for a moment, then slid back up to you, not attempting to reach for the pouch.

Maybe he was unimpressed.

“There's your payment for today—one hundred platinum pieces,” you stated and cleared your throat. “Now, the rules for this arrangement are simple: protect me and stay out of my way.”

You think he understood. He didn't say anything otherwise. There was a slight twitch in your eye when he tilted his head like he was looking at an amusing, little oddity.

After another moment his arms unfurled and a hand reached out for the pouch. He cradled it in his palm, hefting it for its weight. The coins rattled. When he pushed two fingers into the closed seam and spread it open, you scoffed.

“If you think I'm lying, don't. Your coin is there.” You crossed your arms, in an attempt to be as nonplussed as he was—it was a poor attempt. You couldn't help the frown that stuck to your lips.

He removed his fingers from the pouch and rapped his knuckles down hard against the wooden table twice, making you flinch and catching the attention of a passing barmaid.

Their exchange was quick. She turned her head toward him with a bright smile, flirty even as her eyes roamed down his figure. He pointed a finger down at his pint and flicked his wrist up to call for one more. She nodded and flitted back to the bar.

“Easy enough,” he said when he turned back to you. His voice was smoky, low. Probably caused by too many cigarettes and shouting. He rested his forearms on the table, one hand still gripped around the pouch. “But drop the ser, m’ not a knight.”

Your brows furrowed. You recalled the description your father gave you of him. A knight who served under the King’s banner for twenty years. “But you’re-”

“I was,” he interrupted firmly, leaving you with no room to argue.

Your mouth remained open, wanting to bite back, but when his brow raised slightly at the hint of a challenge, you clenched your jaw. Any attempt to delve further into the topic would only prove futile and a waste of time.

You took in a deep breath through your nose and exhaled through your mouth. “Fine,” you acquiesced. “How do I address you then?”

“John’s good enough for me."

“Okay, John,” you ground out and stood from your seat. “I want to leave before nightfall.”

He held his hand up, stopping you in your place. “We're not going anywhere yet, love.”

You bristled at both the nickname and his order. The arrangement was supposed to be the other way around. You give him orders and he follows.

“Sit, drink—I already bought you a mug.”

On cue, the barmaid returned to the table with another overflowing pint in her hand and set it down on your side. She wiped her hand down on her apron and looked at John, her charming smile returning. “Anythin’ else I can getcha?”

“No, thank you.” He returned her smile with a grin of his own. He dug into the pouch and pulled out a platinum piece, setting it in her outstretched hand.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. “This is too much! The drinks are only ten silver!”

You crossed your arms and interjected, “I agree. That's far too much.”

“Keep it,” he assured, waving her off.

The barmaid scurried away with an even wider smile than you thought possible. Her hair and skirt bounced as she went.

With her gone, he turned his attention back to you and gestured back to your stool. “Drink with me.”

The foam dribbling down the sides of the metal pint made you grimace. You didn't drink ale; it wasn't to your taste. You preferred the rich, sweet taste of Evermead.

But, another part of you was tempted, not by cheap ale. It was the mercenary, the ex-knight, Jonathan Price. Stern to you, yet kind to the barmaid. Silent but still expressive. You felt the tug of curiosity, the desire to learn everything about this stranger and unfold his secrets.

You sat, watching as he took his ale and the bob of his throat as he drank.

He set down his drink, now half full, and nodded his head toward your mug. “Don't be shy, love. Go on.”

Your hand snuck out from your cloak and grasped the handle, cold and slightly sticky. Slowly, to not spill, you lifted the mug and took a sip. Cold liquid slid down your throat. The ale was bitter, watered down, and made your mouth twist with disgust.

“That bad, eh?” He chuckled. You were alarmed to find his low, raspy chuckle disarming. Surely, the ale hadn't got to your head already.

You set the mug down, pushing it further away with your fingers, and wiped your lips clean of any foam left behind with the back of your hand. “I can't believe you like this.”

“Oh, I don't like this garbage.” He laughed, grabbing his mug once more. His thumb idly ran down the handle, throwing a glance out to the crowded tavern. “Just drinking to pass the time.”

“Surely there are better taverns to drink in.” You glanced around at the rowdy patrons once more. Two men were standing toe to toe at the table across from you, exchanging heated words.

When he failed to respond, you tried following his eye. It led you to the opposite side of the room toward the barmaid who served you earlier tending to a group of adventurers. She pressed her hip against the table and chatted with them, laughing.

“So, it’s not the drinks that bring you back,” you muttered to yourself, moving your gaze back to him.

The small smile that tugged the corner of his lips as he watched her caused a strange feeling to stir in your chest. You clenched your hands together, forcing away the uncomfortable squeeze.

You stood abruptly from your seat, ignoring your chair tipping backwards and hitting the floor. His attention was on you again. The smile was gone.

“We’re going.”

“Haven't finished your drink,” he called as you stormed off.

You ignored him, pushing straight between the two quarreling men. Your hands pressed hard against both their chests to pry them out of your way.

The two men stumbled back, caught off guard.

“Hey!”

“Don't touch me, you little bitch,” the other snarled. His hand shot out to grab your wrist, narrowly latching on.

His movements were sloppy, most likely from all the ale he'd been drinking. You were quick enough to snatch your hand away before he could restrain you.

You were beginning to really hate this tavern.

More patrons were beginning to watch the exchange, sitting back like it was some spectacle.

But, you saw John rise from his stool. His hand grasping his sword as he approached the men from behind.

“Let's settle down, gentleman,” he said with a tired sigh.

The man who tried grabbing you turned his attention to John. “Stay outta this,” he hissed, clenching his fists and setting his shoulders back. He was much larger than John, towering at least a head taller.

You didn't want to find out how well a brawl between the two would end.

“Obtempero."

The spell sliped from your lips and the man stiffend. In that instance, your mind was linked with his as you forcibly erased any free will he had.

Shut up and sit down, you commanded.

The room went silent as the man lowered onto his seat. You clenched your jaw when your head began to throb, a sign of him fighting against your control.

“Quickly,” you beckoned to the mercenary. Your control over the man’s mind wouldn't last long and you didn't want to stick around to face his wrath.

You turned and dashed out the tavern doors, followed closely by John who was laughing to himself.

“Clearly you can handle yourself. Don't know what you need me for,” he said.

A light rainfall had started, coating you and the streets in water. You raised your hood over your head to shield yourself.

The street was still bustling with citizens with their umbrellas. A good cover in case the man tried following the two of you.

“I only agreed to a guard to appease father’s worries,” you muttered, sidestepping a pair of children running past you, chasing each other with wooden swords. “But, dealing with pea-brained oafs is easy compared to defending myself from someone with a dagger.”

He only hummed in reply, walking in stride with you up the cobblestone street. The rain was beginning to dampen his hair and clothes, but he didn't seem to mind.

You could feel your concentration on the spell waning the further you got until it snapped. You tensed and reached to grab John’s hand. His fingers wrapped around yours without question.

“We have to-”

“You bitch! I'm gonna tear you apart!”

Your head snapped around to find the man burst from the tavern door with a roar. Your heart jumped. The man almost seemed to burn with fury as he barreled up the street in search of you.

“This way.”

John tugged your hand and you allowed him to pull you through the street, weaving your way through throngs of people. He pulled you through unfamiliar streets that passed by in a blur before taking a sharp right into an alleyway, tugging you into the shadows.

Your back was against the stone walls and you heaved a sigh. Your heart raced with adrenaline. This certainly wasn't anything you'd experienced while nose-deep in a book. “Gods, I-”

“Shh,” he hushed, placing a hand over your mouth.

Your eyes widened. He was looking out towards the street and you realized how close he was standing, nearly pressed against your front. Your hand gripped his wrist; to pry it off or hold him close, you didn't know.

When he deemed the coast clear, his hand fell away.

“Don't do that again,” you said weakly.

He looked down at you, an amused smile forming. “Understood. Mind giving me my hand back then?”

You didn't realize your grip on his wrist remained. You released him and slipped away.

“I'll lead us home.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun was just setting by the time you returned to the manor. John had followed you silently the whole way.

“Welcome back, ma'am,” Ann greeted once you entered the foyer. She was a maid you'd known since you were a child. Her warm smile was akin to that of a mother’s, though you'd never call her such.

“Ann will run you a bath and get you some new clothes.”

She was already moving up the left side of the split staircase to fulfill your request.

“What's wrong with my clothes?” John glanced down at his attire, smoothing his hand down the front of his doublet, now soaked with rain.

“They're filthy and soaked. Now go.” You used your hand to shoo him off and he followed Ann with a sigh, ascending the stairs.

You went off to another area of the manor where you could take your own bath and wash away the grime of that tavern.

When the bath was filled and ready, you shed your robes and stepped into the warmth, sighing as the warm water enveloped your body. You ran your hand up your arm, over your neck, and down your collarbone.

While you washed, your thoughts wandered back to John. A hand slipped down the valley of your breasts and between your thighs.

There was no question that he was attractive. The mercenary was new and surprisingly exciting—an experiment to toy with. You wanted to win him, have him in the palm of your hand and study what made him tick.

Your index finger brushed against your clit. The first hum of pleasure bolted through your body. Slow teasing circles were drawn over your clit until you ached for more. Two fingers parted your folds to allow your middle finger to dip in.

You sunk lower into the water, chin rippling the surface, and let your eyes fall shut to embrace your own touch while imagining it was someone else's.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you slipped out of the bath, satisfied, you redressed into a new robe. The loose low neck reached your abdomen, teasing the inner valley of your breasts.

As you made your way to your room, you noticed the door was left slightly ajar. When you pushed open the door, you found John standing at your bookshelf, his fingers running down the spine of a tome.

He was in a fresh set of clothes, loaned from a butler by the looks of it. The untucked, white dress shirt clung to the curves of his muscles, growing taut when he folded his arms. The black pants fit his form enough to show off the thickness of his thighs.

You shut the door and leaned against it, eyeing his form. The ache between your legs was growing again, wanting more than just your fingers this time.

John turned around at the noise and you could see the buttons of his shirt were halfway done, revealing his toned chest with a smattering of hair.

“Impressive collection,” he remarked. “I’d expect no less from a wizard.”

“I spent my entire life building this collection,” you replied absently. Your mind was wandering to other things—the veins on his arms, the bulge of his pectorals in the shirt. You were unashamedly staring through lowered eyelids, greedily taking in the sight.

He was just as interested in your low cut robes. It was obvious in the way his eyes roamed your chest.

You chose to close the gap until you were beside the bookcase, just a foot away from his side.

He leaned his shoulder against the shelves and looked at you with a sly smirk. “Trying to charm me?”

Magic would make your game too easy.

Your hand moved to caress his jaw, smoothing over the soft hairs of his beard. He didn't move away, choosing to lean further into your touch.

“I don't need to,” you hummed. Your fingers clawed up the slope of his neck and into the short strands of damp hair, drawing his face closer. “You're already mine.”

“That so?” His words fluttered along your lips in warm breaths. Strong hands fell to the curves of your waist, smoothing down to your ass and pulling you against his front.

You felt the growing stiffness of his cock, trapped in his pants, press against your abdomen which only made the throbbing of your cunt worse. Instead of responding, you leaned forward and sealed your lips tightly against his, tasting smoke and bitter ale on his tongue.

John was quick to respond, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip to get you to open up for him. His grip slid down your ass, roughly squeezing the soft flesh in his large palms.

You rubbed yourself against his bulge, trying to satisfy the need growing inside of you. There was a needy, animalistic frenzy in his low groan, vibrating in his chest.

He backed you up towards your desk. It was cluttered with more tomes you amassed over the years, threatening to spill at the slightest touch. Your prized spell book, a gift from your father, was also sitting open, flipped to the enchantment spell you used earlier at the tavern.

John didn't seem to care much for your precious collection as he swiped the books off your desk to make room to set you down. They scattered to the floor.

You pulled away, intent on telling him off. That spell book was one of a kind—

He didn't give you room to argue, much less breathe. His lips were already diving forward to capture yours again, dizzying you, driving any thought out of your head. Your legs spread around his to accommodate his body as he forced your attention back on him.

John’s hands pushed aside the fabric of your robe which easily fell around your waist, exposing your bare breasts to the cool room air. Your hardening nipples rubbed against the coarse fabric of his shirt.

Your hands roamed his chest in turn, running over the coarse hairs and clawing down his exposed sternum. You worked quickly to unbutton the rest of his shirt and pushed it off his broad shoulders.

Once revealed, you trailed your eyes over his chest and down to a nasty scar sliced from his upper torso across his stomach. It was old by the scaring. You briefly wondered if it was the reason he was no longer a knight as your hand reached out to brush over it.

John caught your wrist in an iron grip. When you looked back at his face, his stern expression told you enough to stay silent about it. With your short nod, the tension in the air lifted and he was back to work on you.

Another night then, you thought. You'd unravel his secrets eventually.

When he released your wrist and pulled away, he moved down to his knees, untying the knot at your waist and pushing aside the rest of the fabric to reveal the rest of your body. With your thighs spread, he could fit his hand between your thighs, feeling the arousal leaking from your cunt.

“So wet already?”

His middle finger parted your folds, dipping in ever so slightly, causing your hips to shift forward, but he pulled away before you could feel him any deeper. He got to his knees, grunting as his settled.

Your legs hooked over his shoulders, leaving him face to face with your cunt. His heavy breath fanned over your exposed cunt.

“What a sight,” he muttered to himself before leaning in to flick his tongue over your clit again and again.

Your body trembled with static after every stroke of his tongue. Your fingers locked through his brown hair, tugging sharply at the roots. He hissed through his teeth at the sting, but even that didn't stop him.

His hands gripped your thighs around his shoulders, digging into the soft flesh and then smoothing up until his hands cupped your ass to push you further into his mouth.

One of your hands rested on the table to give yourself leverage as you rode his face. The hair of his beard burned against your inner thigh.

The pleasure thruming through your veins forced your legs to lock around his head as your orgasm came to its peak.

“That's it,” he coaxed. “Come in my fuckin’ mouth, love.”

John kept his mouth on your fluttering cunt, refusing to pull away until he had taken every last drop of your cum. Your hands weakly pulled on his hair, but his fingers dug deeper into your thighs as he forced his head back in.

“Gods,” you panted, looking down at him between your thighs, devouring you like a starved man. “Fuck me already.”

“Patience,” he huffed, flicking his tongue languidly over your clit once again. Your body stiffened again. “You think you can take me after one little orgasm?”

As you clenched around nothing and his tongue continued to take long strokes over your cunt, you rolled your eyes and snapped back, “Don’t be so cocky.”

He rose quickly after your remark, yanking your body off the desk as he went and forcing you around. One of his palms met the back of your neck and pushed you flat against the desk. His cock pressed against your ass. The fabric of his pants were rough against your bare skin.

“Let-"

His other hand clamped over your mouth and he growled into your ear, “No—no more orders. I'll give you what you want, but don't start cryin’ when it doesn't fit.”

You ached, wanting to rub your thighs together but his legs were in the way. His hand moved from your mouth to the button of his pants to pull himself free.

You could feel his thick cock press against your ass. Even without looking, you could tell he was nothing like the other wizards you'd have meaningless flings with in school.

His cock notched at your entrance and he asked lowly, “Ready, love?”

The hand over your mouth moved to caress the valley of your knuckles as your hand clasped the edge of the desk. Such an intimate gesture you almost wanted to embrace by turning over your hand and intertwining fingers.

But, you didn't have time for much thought before he buried himself into you as deep as he could go without resistance. Which was only the tip of his cock.

Your walls clamped around him, refusing to let him bully his way deeper. You whimpered, white-knuckling the desk, and shut your eyes. Gods, he was too thick.

“Shh,” he cooed in your ear. His fingers slid across your temple and into your hair, keeping your head against the desk. “You wanted this, right? You can take more.”

And he did give you more—and more, and more. Your clawed at the desk, welled up tears spilling down the side of your face, as he stretched you around his cock. You didn't breathe, not until his hips met your ass and you were completely filled to the brim.

You gasped, filling your lungs with air. The edge of the desk pressing against your abdomen allowed you to feel him deeper.

He grunted as you clenched around his length. “So fuckin’ tight,” he muttered to himself as he slowly rocked into your fluttering heat.

The friction wasn't enough for you. As always, you wanted more. You wanted to be fucked, ravished, devoured completely and thrown into a sickening rapture.

“More,” you moaned as his cocked dragged against your walls. You were needy and hungry for him to take you harder.

“Does a brat like you even know how to say please?” He slipped out of you completely instead.

You whined in protest, moving your hips back to fill the empty ache he left behind. His hands moved to grip your waist, holding you in place. “No, don't.”

“Too good to beg for it?” His fingers prodded at your entrance before he slipped two inside. They weren't comparable to his cock though—not as thick, not as full. “Come on my fingers then.”

His fingers curled against the sensitive spongey spot inside of you.

“F-Fuck you,” you ground out between your teeth, biting back a moan.

“That’s not what I asked for.” His voice was stern; there was no room for arguments, no room for demands other than his own.

You bit your lip. You weren't the one who was supposed to be begging—he was. Having John wrapped around your finger, desperate to please you like everyone else, was the end goal. But this?

Strong, commanding, taking what he wants—that was who John was. And even you couldn't help but relent to that dominance.

“Please.”

“Speak up, love.” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

Bastard.

“Please,” you repeated with a little more desperation than intended.

“Good girl,” he praised. His fingers slipped from you, pulling a string of your arousal with them, and he licked them clean. With his hands back on your hips, he lined up his cock and thrust back into you.

Your mouth hung open as your back arched into the desk. The pace he set was relentless. It rocked your desk, sending any books and papers left on it to the floor. But you didn't care anymore, not when he found that perfect spot inside you again and again. Your toes curled as warmth pooled in your stomach and your core tightened.

A hand wrapped around your neck once again, wrenching your back against his chest and forcing your head to the side. The sweat of your bodies melded you together. John’s fingers pressed on your throat with enough pressure to make you see stars. His gruff pants burst along the shell of your ear. His lips grazed the back of your neck as another hand moved to toy with your clit.

You cursed as your body seized up and you came around him. You held onto the arm pressed against your chest as you rode out your orgasm.

With a few more sharp thrusts, he spilled inside of you, flooding you with warmth. As you caught your breaths, he cupped your jaw and turned your head towards his to pull you into a searing kiss, still full of passion just like the first.

You were almost boneless, sinking into the kiss and his arms. “Bed,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder when he released your jaw. “Now.”

John clicked his tongue as he slid out of you. A mix of your arousal begin to leak down your leg. You flinched when his hand cupped your sex to stop anymore from escaping.

The action felt more possessive than anything else—something you weren't used to. Interest stirred in you once again.

#john price x reader #john price smut #cod smut #cod x reader smut #cod fanfic #cod x reader #john price fanfiction #mw2 fanfic #captain john price #cod mwii

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floressokaap · 3 months

Text

"What Was I Made For?"

Pairing: John Dory x Reader

Content Warning: none! Enjoy! :)

A/N: Hello! The majority of my fics will be AFAB w/pronouns unless specified/requested! Thank you!<3

Photo credit: etherealfeature on Instagram!

John Dory. You really didn't know exactly how to describe him. Many people describe him as somebody with narcissistic tendencies, and absolutely selfish. And, they were right. But what a lot of trolls didn't realize was the fact that you are in love with him, and he unfortunately stays trapped inside his mind for so long that he doesn't quite realize how good he has it right now.

After saving Floyd, everyone that parted ways started their recovery process due to their own talents getting slowly sucked out from them by ex superstars Velvet and Veneer. Floyd stayed with Branch in his underground bunker, Clay went back to the mini golf course with Viva to situate her reunion with King Peppy after the last Bergen attack, and Bruce went back to Vacay Island to be with his kids and Brandy. What did that leave you to do? The only thing you ever thought to do; To take care of John Dory and help him recover in Rhonda, wherever the roads took you both.

"JD, what are you doing?" Your ears perked at the sound of blankets rustling against the couch cushions. There was silence before a response was heard.

"I'm not doing anything, I'm resting like you're wanting me to."

You put a magazine down on the table and glanced over at him. He was slowly reaching for his jacket and goggles, and seemed restless. "We need food-" "JD, we already have food here for the both of us." He clenches his jaw slightly. He knew you were going to be hard to get through. "I need to check Rhonda's oil." He quickly sat up, and threw his fur coat on, slapping his goggles into position against his forehead. "You need to rest-" "I don't need to, I can't just NOT do anything, I'm the leader, I HAVE to be productive and do my part to make sure everything's perfect."

"John Dory, we're not doing this again."

He continued standing up and walking towards the side door. He looked down at the door handle, contemplating on your concerns before brushing them off his shoulders and walked out on you. You furrowed your brows and sighed in frustration.

You couldn't count how many times John Dory would have his perfection episodes, and pushed himself over the limits. Every time you call him out on those moments and try to calm him down, he refuses, and shuts himself out. You let him have about ten minutes of alone time outside before you eventually stood up from your seat and walked out Rhonda's side door. You expected him to be near her, but he was nowhere to be found. "C'mon JD.." you shook your head to yourself as you slowly walked around the forest where you were camping at. You started to worry before you found him sitting on a fallen tree log lying against the ground. He had his head lowered, and his forearms against his legs, staring at the earth beneath him.

You smiled in relief, because he didn't go very far as you knew deep down, and you slowly made your way to the seat right next to him. His shoulders fell more when he snapped out from his train of thought, and glanced over to look at you. You could see the pain in his eyes. His eyes were dry, and the crows feet near his eyes were more prominent and defined. "JD, are you.. alright?"

"Yeah, of course I'm alright!" He put on his photogenic leader and big brother smile on his face. Why couldn't he open up to you.

"JD, I know you're not alright, something is really bothering you. Why do you feel like you need to be perfect all the time? Even when your body doesn't even have the strength to begin with?" His jaw slacked a little at your forwardness, but he then clenched his jaw and darted his eyes away from yours. "Please, don't shut me out like this. You do this every time." He squeezed his eyes shut. He hated being confronted like that. He knew you, and he knew you would keep trying for an answer. He didn't have an escape from you. He let out a very shaky and slow sigh. There was no going back for him.

"My brothers, they all said I never changed. I mean, we almost didn't even save Floyd because of it." He shook his head disappointedly to himself and balled his hands into fists. "I'm the oldest brother, the leader, it was predetermined for me to be this way! And everybody has something to say about me! Why! They can't see the work I put into everything I do to be perfect! My brothers can't see that either." He frowned a lot, and his ears drooped downwards in disappointment, vulnerability, and freight. "I have to be this way, for everybody's sake. My own sake. This is what John Dory is. This is what I was made for. I was made to carry the responsibility. What else could I have been possibly brought here for?"

You immediately reached over and put your hand on top of his before he could even mutter another word out from his lips.

"JD, you.. you are so smart, strong, talented, and it kills me that you can't see that in yourself. So what if your brothers are right? There's nothing wrong with that. It's something different when you don't feel like you deserve that kind of commitment from people, even your own brothers, because you're too good for it. They say those things, and bring up a lot of the past because they care for you, and they really do love you. You can't change the choices you made when you were a teenager, but you can decide how that will build your character in this moment." John Dory stared at your hand slowly intertwining with his, you could see the tears in his glistening eyes. You could see the vulnerable, younger, and even current John Dory in his eyes. You could feel the fear, worry, responsibilities, and faults he made; and how much it absolutely eats him up and keeps him hostage in his own mind.

"(Y/N), where is this all coming from? Why?-"

"I've always felt this way, JD. When I got to know you and your brothers while we were journeying to Mount Rageous, I realized that.. nobody really hardly ever gives you enough credit for the things you deal with alone. Your brothers' own experiences with you are valid, but, I see the work you're putting into making sure you're still needed here, as a big brother, and.. as the man I'm in love with." You feel your heart shoot itself into your throat before sinking straight down to your stomach.

John Dory's eyes immediately widened, as his shoulders and back tensed up. You could sense the change of mood in him, and there was no way he was going to run away from his problems now like this. You tightened your grip on his hand and leaned towards him, putting your lips against his tense ones. It felt like time had completely frozen, but the world was still spinning as you felt John Dory's lips move and lean into the kiss more and his calloused gloved hand cup your cheek shakily. He then pulled you as close as he humanly possibly could with his arms wrapped around your waist. You could feel the passion behind his lips, and body language, along with the tears going down his tired cheeks. He pulled away from your lips slowly, and immediately slid his goggles off his face, tossing them aside to the ground and starts pressing his forehead against yours, letting the tears fall down from his cheeks.

"(Y/N).. thank you. Thank you so much."

"You don't need to thank me for that, JD. It's true. Everything that I said was and is true. I will stand behind it every single second of every day. I promise you that." His eyes stared at you lovingly as a soft smile spread across his face showing the slight wrinkles and crows feet that peek from his eyes and mouth.

"Oh, uh, here, you must be cold." He took off his fur coat and wrapped it around your figure. "We've been out here for a while now." You nodded and proceeded to stand up from the log, holding your hand out. "Let's go warm up inside Rhonda." John Dory nodded as he took your delicate hand in his rather large and tough hand. He smiled lovingly at you as he guided you back to Rhonda, who still kept her engine on and the inside very warm for you two.

You adjusted the couch cushions and made room for you and John Dory to spoon together, him being the little spoon tonight while you wrapped your arms around his torso.

"I love you, (Y/N)" You smiled lovingly to yourself as you squeezed him softly. "I've waited a long time to hear those words from you, John Dory." "Oops, sorry." He laughed playfully and nervously as he rubbed and massaged your knuckles with his thumb.

You pressed the side of your head against John Dory's shoulders, listening to the calmness and relaxation of his body. This may have been the only time he's ever been this way, for anybody, even himself.

But who knew that with the cards he was dealt with in life would be the turnaround point of his character, and even your own freshly started relationship with him; And you would be there every step of the way. That meant through the days he is the happiest with himself for being a good leader, and through the days where he would question his entire purpose with trying to maintain the perfect harmony, the perfect family and if that was really all there was in this world.

He knows now that's not true, and he can once in his life relax and be comfortable with himself, regardless of the past life he made.

He can finally start living his new life, with you and his real, true, full family.

#Spotify #john dory #john dory trolls #john dory trolls 3 #trolls x reader #brozone x reader #brozone #trolls band together #trolls 3 #john dory x reader #trolls x self insert

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ataraxiaspainting · 4 months

Text

Star.

Yan Kafka x F Reader.

Synopsis: Kafka is waiting for a supernova to appear.

Warnings: Yandere themes, implied future kidnapping, not SFW implications, and stalking.

Word Count: 1k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lust for a Vampyr by I Monster

Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie

Merry-Go-Round of Life - from ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’ by Joe Hisaishi

Stalker’s Tango by Autoheart

The Four Seasons - Winter in F Minor, RV. 296: I. Allegro non molto by Antonio Vivaldi

BLOODMONEY by Poppy

Fight of the Crows by Jhariah

Bernadette by IAMX

Smells Blood by Kensuke Ushio

Enemies to Lovers by Joshua Kyan Aalampour

“She's a Killer Queen; gunpowder, gelatin; dynamite with a laser beam; guaranteed to blow your mind (anytime).” – Queen, Killer Queen

*~*~*~*

“Hey, I like them!” You huff, grasping the bouquet of spider lilies closer to your chest, making the paper wrinkle up. At your response, Aina crosses her arms and sighs, looking at the other flower arrangements sitting on the shelves behind you.

“Those are too expensive.” Aina rebuts. She points, and you turn around to follow it, and in turn frown.

Because of the low supply, the price of spider lily bouquets has increased to 700 credits per arrangement.

Kafka, pretending to look at the roses in the corner not facing the two of you, does not try to hide her smile and slight chuckle as you gasp at the sign’s words. “Cute…”

Once more, you exhale with a mix of frustration and disappointment, forcefully planting your foot on the ground. Gradually, your stance transforms into that of a despondent balloon losing its air.

Utterly adorable.

“Why seven hundred? Flowers grow from the ground and they take hardly any effort to bundle up!” Aina puts her thumb and pointer finger on her temples, rubbing them like your question and exclamation just gave her the biggest headache in all of existence. She sighs.

You sigh too, grasping onto the spider lilies even harder.

“Spider lilies also represent bad luck.” She says, almost groaning.

Neither of you know if you can be reasonable enough to let Aina be your impulse control as she always has been. “The red shade is really pretty and the tendrils are pretty too!”

“Please put them back, it is a bad financial investment.” You shake your head. “Please. [First]. [First], please. We still have to go and buy ingredients for dinner tonight. If it makes you feel better I can also help you bake dessert.”

Kafka already knows what you are going to make tonight. Pasta with bechamel sauce along with apple cake.

“[First], at least choose a less expensive bouquet. That way we can afford everything. Plus we maybe can get something else small that is not on our grocery list.” Aina tries her best to put on a more gentle smile. “Please.”

Kafka moves to near the entrance of the food section of the store, waiting for this little trifle to be over with. She pretends to be looking at the meat aisle as that is the area closest to the flowers, ironically enough.

“Sigh…” She purrs, imagining your hair loose and gently wrapped around her fingertips. “I wonder if you would prefer blush or velvet… maybe burgundy?”

She imagines the way you will place your lips on hers and slowly but surely… move down.

She will do the same to you with her own.

“Maybe white.” She muses, thinking of different types of fabric to put on you. “Or perhaps black.”

Kafka wonders what you would choose if she brought you to a boutique rather than going by herself.

“Hm…” She murmurs, her mind going through many, many possibilities of the future ahead.

Then, she hears your triumphant laugh and then turns around to see you hugging Aina with the bouquet in tow. “I love you!”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Aina mutters, crossing her arms and looking away from your happy face with a blush. “Just put them in the basket. We’ve used enough time here as it is.” You kiss her cheek, and her face only gets redder. “L-Let’s just go already.”

You only hug her tighter.

“Sir, yes, sir!” You exclaim, saluting, and Aina rolls her eyes.

Kafka’s smile falters.

“Tsk. Young love, I suppose.”

Of all the future possibilities, none of them will result in full success if Aina is still in the picture.

“Juliets.”

At the sight of you kissing Aina’s cheek again, Kafka resists the urge to bite her lip.

“But with great risk… comes great reward.”

She imagines how you would look under her.

Aina eventually manages to pry you off of her. “Alright, that’s enough, you’re praising me like I just saved your life or something.”

“You did!” You pout, almost cooing and still laughing joyfully. “This bouquet is the only medicine that can ever heal me of what ails me!”

Both Kafka and Aina sigh at the same time but for entirely different reasons.

But Kafka is the one who also licks her lips afterward. “I think perhaps a chemise would suit you best.”

“Let’s go to the fruits first!” You exclaim, pulling Aina along by the hand while she holds the basket.

“Which type of apple?” Aina asks, but Kafka already knows the answer. “Be sure to not get the very expensive ones this time.”

You two go past Kafka.

She takes out her phone for a split second and clicks the button.

It has been the closest you have ever been to her while you were conscious. But she hopes that soon, you will be even closer.

Wait, no. She knows that you will.

“Cute.” She whispers, booping the picture of you’s nose.

This has already become a favorite amongst the many, many photos she has of you.

Where you go, she follows. “Cute.” Surely, eventually, when you know of her, you will know that all too well. “So cute.”

She sees you pointing to the apples with a pinkish tint. Rose apples. Quite rare, if Kafka remembers correctly.

As Aina reads the sign next to them, she immediately shakes her head. “Way too expensive.”

Due to the cost of importation/exportation as well as the rarity of this species, the value of this type of product is quite high. One apple is worth 1600 credits.

You surprisingly show agreement this time, promptly diverting your attention to the assortment of apple varieties, accompanied by a hint of nervous laughter.

You end up choosing the Honeycrisps. They are good for baking cakes, you tell Aina as Kafka eavesdrops as she always does.

She imagines you baking for her and sitting on her lap.

It was only a matter of time because regardless of who is with you, one thing about you never changes; your naivety.

“All that is left is to be patient.”

#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere kafka #honkai star rail x reader #kafka x reader #hsr kafka #kafka #yandere kafka x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #kafka honkai star rail #kafka hsr

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raz-writes-the-thing · 5 months

Text

Paying Attention (Six of Crows One-Shot)

Kaz Brekker x GN!Reader / requests are OPEN

Summary: You're a little clueless, but the Crows are trying their best to get you to see the light.

SAB/SOC: @the-sweet-psycho (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“You-” Jesper said, sitting down at the card table, crossing one leg over the other and running a gambling chip down his knuckles in an impressive display of his dexterity. “Are clueless.”

You practically choked on your margarita, eyeing him up and down and yanking the chip from his fingers before he had a chance to pull it from your reach. He cocked a brow at you in quiet respect and you clicked your tongue.

“Really? How so?” You deposited the chip onto your stack and shot Jesper an award-winning smile. He grunted, not at all impressed.

“The boss man,” he said, picking up his cards to check his hand, “and his very obvious feelings for you, of course.”

You checked your own hand, playing with the stack of chips. You risked a glance at the upstairs balcony area and who do you see? Kaz, of course. He’s leaning down at the tables below with that calculating glower that sends you mad with desire.

Jesper follows your gaze and has to stop himself from snorting. Kaz’s eyes flick over the tables and finally settle on you. The unexpected eye contact sends a shiver down your spine and a flush up your cheeks. Kaz arches one brow at you, expression otherwise not changing. You know him well enough by now to know that that eyebrow raise means ‘are you okay?’

You flash him a microscopic nod, which he returns before standing upright again and wandering off in the direction of his office. You know what that means- Inej is here somewhere keeping an eye on things. That leaves him to retire to his office and peer over ledgers and jobs for another several hours.

“Hello,” a velvet voice says over your shoulder as the body that came with it slid into a chair beside you with such grace it couldn’t have been anyone else other than-

“Inej,” you greeted warmly, placing your cards down for the round. “Kaz have you keeping an eye on things at the Club tonight?”

She’s barely moving, but you know she’s on high alert, watching and waiting for any sign of trouble. She hummed her confirmation.

“Yes, he’s concerned the Dime Lions are getting a little too bold with their territory. Kaz wants to make sure they don’t cause any trouble for the Pigeons.”

“Pigeons,” you reply, watching as Jesper finally makes his move. “Not language I hear you speak in very often.”

Inej lets out a sigh, allowing herself to break vigilance for just long enough to rub her forehead.

“No, but you stay in the Barrel long enough, you get used to the local speech patterns.”

That made sense to you, yes. It was easy enough to slip into the language of the Barrel. Particularly when you spent time in the Crow club and the dodgier parts of town.

“Inej,” Jesper piped up, that signature look on his face that told you he was about to stir shit up. “You know Kaz better than most- tell me, do you think he has a crush on our dear friend here?”

You spluttered, slapping Jes on the shoulder playfully in disbelief. You were about to defend your fearless leader once again when you turned to look at Inej. She was usually so good at keeping things to herself, but one look at her expression and you knew she thought the same as Jesper.

“Oh, no- not you too,” you protested. “You don’t seriously-”

“Oh, yes,” she said, eyeing a patron by the bar who was starting to look like getting in a fight might not be such a bad idea after all. “Completely smitten.”

You scoffed once again, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all.

“We’re not joking,” Jesper said, placing his hat on his knee.

Your laugh died off and you frowned thoughtfully. It would be nice if he did have a little crush on you, given how he made you feel, but you weren’t at all convinced.

“Well then,” you said. “Guess I better start paying more attention and see for myself.”

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drapopia · 1 month

Text

hard day's work

pairing: papa emeritus ii x reader

warnings: some small mentions of getting hot and heavy, the usual mention of secondo and the reader having a healthy sex life

summary: For a man who boasts of a plush king sized bed, Secondo surely loves falling asleep in an armchair with a good book, to the despair of his back the next day.

word count: 1.4k

authors note: whoa buddy, here's another ghost drabble! i have a hard time with secondo's personality, especially in softer, domestic spaces. i just hope i've done a sort of okay job? with time comes improvement! hopefully ya'll enjoy it, feedback is highly appreciated! :)

————

The room is silent, save for the hum of the central heating and the occasional flip of a page.

Well, it’s almost silent. Secondo sits in the corner of the room in his armchair made of lush velvet, a dark green that stands out against the muted gray robe he wears. You can see the slow rise and fall of his chest, his head reclined back against the chair at an angle. You can tell that if you don’t wake him soon, he’ll wake up tomorrow with a grumble and a hiss, and you would have to rub the knots from the base of his neck with a coo and a kiss. Not that you mind, but you don't want him in pain, even if he enjoys the feel of your hands on his sorest spots.

His hands rest on his lap, the book he was reading was slowly but surely slipping out of his hands. His breath is still light and even, a far cry from the usual deep snores he lets out when he’s checked out for the day. From your spot on the loveseat across the room, you can see his nose twitching in the cold air. Although being curled up in the fleece blanket on the couch is appealing, the thought of leaving him in the cold, even while dozing, makes your heart twinge in distress. How many times had he roused you from your sleep after a long movie, picking you up gingerly and tucking you into your shared bed? You couldn’t count, you couldn’t help but feel comfortable around him. You always had, even when you first entered the Ministry.

With a sigh, you pull yourself up from your sitting position, walking as quietly as possible towards him. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you got closer to him, standing beside and gazing down at him. His face was bare of paint, his eyes only holding a small smudge of black at the tightest corners of his crows feet. His nose was still twitching with the rise and fall of his chest, his breath light and slow. As quietly and gently as possible, you reach for his book to pull it from his loose grasp. Your hands close around it, and mark it to keep his place. Turning it over, you inspect the cover with a small smile. He was re-reading Crime and Punishment. You had teased him many times about it, how he would scoff and roll his eyes about his distaste for older Russian literature. How he felt it went on and on, was repugnantly repetitive, self pitying and obnoxious. But here he was, turning the pages once more of a book he ‘despised’.

Shaking your head, you turn towards him once more and place your hand on his cheek. You feel the harsh contours of his face, thankful that you couldn’t feel any tension in the apples of his cheeks. This week had been hard on him so far, and it was only Wednesday. You had found him earlier in his office when you stopped with a teeny-tiny quick pick-me-up espresso. While he had thanked you with a kiss and a light squeeze of your hand in his, you had seen the way his shoulders remained bunched with tension, how his hands had a tremor as they held the tiny cup in his hand. And now here he was, as docile as the lambs he spoke of in his captivating sermons at Mass.

Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek and pull away a fraction, noticing the way his eyelids twitched and his small mustache scrunched up. Smiling, you pepper kisses on his cheeks, as delicately as you can muster. A soft huff of breath hits your neck from where you’re positioned.

“Cara, what are you doing?” He murmurs, a ricochet of heat hitting your stomach at the deliciously rich timbre of his voice. A large hand, free of his gloves and comfortably warm, hits your hip. You pull back slowly, meeting his gaze as he blinks his syrupy eyes to clear the sleepiness.

“You know you can’t sleep here, you’ll be groaning all day tomorrow. This armchair doesn’t look all that comfortable, to be quite honest.” You whisper softly.

“That’s what you think.” He says quietly, the corners of his lips barely noticeable and curling into an almost imperceptible grin. Secondo was more permissible, a tad bit more open when he was slowly slipping from sleep. His eyes held a softness, his words losing their bite. And while you loved the cold charm of him in the day, it always made your heart skip a beat to see him so delightfully unguarded when he woke to the sight of you.

You pat his chest softly with your hand, raising up with a soft puff. “Come on, we’ve gotta get you into bed.” Your lips turn up at the corners at his small huff of exertion, extending your hands in an inviting gesture towards him. He slides up the armchair, stretching out slightly as he grabs your arms to pull himself up with a groan. And just as he rises from the chair, his arms come to wrap themselves around you, gazing down at you.

He looks at you, a fond smile on his face. Without the guards of papal paint or his sunglasses, his face was so kind. So much easier to see the way the creases on his forehead melted, the way his eyes crinkled with barely concealed adoration. “Sleep? I suppose we could.” He rasps, leaning in to press a kiss against your lips. HIs accent was deliciously thicker in the throes of sleepiness, and you felt the hair on your neck rise.

You return the kiss, your lips moving in a well practiced synchronicity. But unlike the passionate nights you shared and the lascivious words he would whisper in your ear with no shame, there was no heat behind the kisses you were exchanging now. Even as his hands curled behind your back, tracing the curve of your spine with dedication and reverence. You smile against the kiss, breaking it as you pull back.

“Come on,” you whisper and press a kiss to the tip of his nose before he could scoff in mock distaste. “I’ll warm up the heating blanket, maybe give you a back rub? Read you some more of that delicious Russian literature you like so much?” You say teasingly, grabbing his hand and walking towards your large bedroom the two of you found respite in every day. In each other's bodies, words, and simple gestures.

“I hate Dostoevsky, you know this.” He grumbles, ambling beside you to wrap his arm around your waist and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as your feet hit the plush carpet of your room.

“Of course, of course. And that’s why you fell asleep with it in your hands.” You smile, rolling your eyes. You reach the bed, pulling back the duvet. Slipping in with a sigh, you pull the covers up to your neck and nestle in, much like a rabbit in its burrow.

Secondo slips off his robe, completely naked. Before you can admire him, he slips into bed beside you and pulls the covers over himself. Maybe tomorrow you can catch a quick peek, but for tonight, you'll be content with the heat of him beside you.

“I had to bore myself, send myself off to sleep, no?” He leans back against the pillows, gesturing lackadaisically for you to lay against him. You shuffle closer to him, his warmth a soothing balm to the unease of the day.

“Just come curl up with me instead, problem solved.” You murmur, and Secondo chuckles at your comment as he leans over to flick off the lamp on his nightstand.

“What do you think it is we’re doing here, amore? I want you here with me, not the dreadful pages of a self pitying bastard pouring his heart out.” He says softly, his eyes falling closed. Papa is still tired, the rise and fall of his chest becoming more even. Your hands reach out instinctively, patting his tummy with as much care as possible.

“That almost sounds like an ‘I love you’, Secondo.” You say quietly, the tease barely noticeable under your exhaustion, feeling your own eyes slip closed under the weight of the darkness over you both. His hands pull you closer, his chest hair a cushion on your cheek.

“I do love you.” He says softly, the soft silence around the two of you relaxing the both of you quicker than you’d like to admit. “Now shush, amore.” He says firmly, but with no bite. You smile to yourself, and all you hear is the soft breathing of your Papa, your best friend beside you.

#the band ghost #ghost the band #secondo #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus ii x reader #ghost bc #secondo emeritus x reader #reader insert #ghost fanfiction #x reader #secondo emeritus

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laduenadelswing · 3 months

Text

Lovegame

Vox x female reader

Chapter one

Never in her life has she seen a sky, red like velvet, no sun just a pentagram. Where was she… She ran down the hill unsure of where she might stay for the night. Every shop had to do something with hell, it was pretty out of her ordinary life. Could she really be in hell. The last thing she remembered was a car. Everyone looked strange, some demons looked like animals. Other demons looked liked a mixure between human and animal, some demons ate their companions,. She was scared, alone and did not even know how she got there. She decided to go into a club, maybe she could meet someone there to go sleep. If it worked in Hollywood it will work here as well. Some demons stood in front of some screens. They looked like flies, hellhounds, rotten butterflies, everyone had something twisted in them.

“Vox entertainment stock reaches an all time high.”

“Vox tec is shining with new technology to keep you safe.”

“Vox tec keeps you safe”

“Trust us” Those praises and commercials ran trough every television, computer, phone and billboard in hell. Hell it’s funny that she ended here. She never thought that heaven or hell exists. Now she felt really stupid.

She saw how famous this ‘’Vox’’ was and how many people glued in front of his screens, his influence was present. If anybody knew one or two things about influence it must have been her. How she despised the fame. The night was still young, especially in hell there is always something going on. ‘’If I am already in hell I can still make the best of it. Can´t get any worse. Maybe there is a Club or a Bar where I can find a place to sleep otherwise I might and up as an easy meal.’’ She tought.

Amidst the chaos and clamor the consent club is a haven for the most adventurous demons of hell. Of course the Club belonged to one of Valentinos close friends. “Vox what is going on your so stressed, Chico. Always working and stressed. Maybe you should shoot your lowest paying employees too. That helps a lot.” Vox sighed. “I wish to shoot them sometimes but it´s not good for the image of Vox tec, you know.” Vox never could deal with stress like his hot heated friend. It´s not his business. “You know I have whores for every fantasy you could ever have. “Valentino whispered with a mischievous grin. They sat in one of the most exquisite launches drinking Vodka and champagne, smoking cigars ignoring all their future worries while the techno music blasted through the dancefloor. Vox was focused on his drink while Valentino scanned the dancefloor for a quite some time. “Oi Vox, darling look at this beautiful Chika. She seems like your kink! I bet I can make her a Star.” At first Vox scanned the crowed the ocean of drunk and drugged demons, it almost made it hard to single out someone. Certainly, it didn´t help that Val was smoking like a chimney, red smoke blurring the TV demons sight.

There she was. His LEDs led up. He has never been so captivated, intrigued and tempted in his life before. Vox a demon who only cared about money and power was interested in an demon? Val couldn´t believe his eyes. It must be snowing in hell, surely. She didn’t look like a demon at all. His eyes fixed on a woman unlike any he had ever seen. She was shrouded in an air of mystique and allure, her almost angelic beauty as captivating as the flickering lights of the club. She embodied every fantasy Vox has ever harbored. Vox’s friend and frequent patron of the “consent” Club noticed Vox´s gaze with a smile. “Well, well, Vox, what do we have here? Caught in the throes of infatuation?” They watched her dancing. For someone who seems so innocent she danced like the devil. The music pulsing through her veins and stringing her like a puppet.

Vox´s LED cheeks flushed. His wires sparked, uncontrollable, he rebooted and felt like he has been born in this very moment. His big charming smile had a dark, primal note. “She´s… she´s something else, Valentino” he murmured, his voice laced with awe. Valentino chuckled his eyes gleaming with predatory interest. “I know exactly what she is Vox. She is a rare find, a woman who knows what she wants and isn´t afraid to take it.” He leaned a little bit closer “I´ve been watching her for a while now and I believe that she might be the key to a very lucrative deal, indeed.”

Vox´s eyes widened, his fascination momentarily overshadowed by Valentino´s words “A deal?” he asked, intriqued.

“It’s a plan. A plan that could make us very powerful.” As Valentino began to outline his plan, Vox found himself drawn to a web of intrigue and temptation. The promise of riches and influence was intoxicating, Vox could not resist this power. Deep down he couldn´t shake off the image of her smile. This was his ticket to get to the top. Maybe this must be at the cost of something far more precious. His heart.

He kept watching. There was something odd about her. She had the aura, the looks, the smile. Some demons came up to her to ask her for a picture. ‘’Odd’’ Vox thought. If she is famous he should know her, if it is a more sexual kind of fame Valentino definitely knew her by name. ‘’ Vox, honey you know that we are in a sex club, right. Maybe you should go talk to her.’’ Valentino proposed. In this moment he wanted to punch him to the ground. How can Val think that she is up for something like that. ”I bet she is into you Vox. The ladies have a thing for you, your just too busy to notice it.’’ He said with a seductive tone in his voice. “I noticed that, I am not too busy. I am not interested.’’ He stated as Valentino rolled his red eyes. The Party continued and the crowed grew lager every second. There was no universe in which Vox lost her. He smirked, she is really gorgeous and parties like there was no tomorrow. ‘’If you find her, get her pretty ass to my afterparty. It will be in our headquarters.’’

Amidst the cacophony of the opulent party, Vox stood there confused his imposing figure exuding an aura of otherworldly power and mystery. His red eyes glew, like twin orbs of pulsating light, scanned the crowd, searching for a solution to a dilemma that had him on edge.

Valentino, a figure of immense power and volatile temper, had tasked him with finding and convincing her for the night's festivities. The task was simple, yet the stakes were high. Valentino's unpredictable moods were legendary. Sensing his gaze, Isabel turned towards him, her emerald eyes sparkling with intelligence and curiosity. Vox found himself momentarily lost in their depths, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. The flickering lights complimented her body and she looked even hotter than before. With a mix of determination and a hint of trepidation, Vox approached Isabel, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to strike a deal with her, a mutually beneficial arrangement that would appease Valentino's demands while providing Isabel with temporary shelter in the chaotic realm of Hell. Also it would made her stay with him.

"My lady," Vox began, his voice a low, smooth baritone, "I find myself in a rather peculiar predicament. My college, Valentino, has requested my presence at his gathering, but I find myself without a suitable companion." He smiled a hint of nervousness on his face.

Isabel raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "And how might I be of assistance, sir?" she inquired, her voice laced with a playful challenge.

Vox paused, his expression turning serious. "I propose a bargain," he declared, his eyes locking with hers. "In exchange for your company at this evening's festivities, I offer you temporary refuge in my humble abode, a sanctuary from the harsh realities of Hell. I mean without protection you are an easy target."

Isabel considered his proposal, her mind racing with the implications. On one hand, the thought of spending an evening with this enigmatic demon intrigued her. On the other, she was wary of entering into an arrangement with someone who, by all accounts, was a powerful and volatile overlord. I mean don’t talk to strangers doesn’t count in hell, does it.

"And what of your college, Valentino?" she asked, her voice laced with caution. "Will he not object to your taking me under your wing?"

Vox smiled, revealing a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Rest assured, my lady," he assured her, "Valentino will not be the least bit surprised by my choice of companion. He has a discerning eye for beauty, and I believe you would meet his standards." Vox said his voice became a bit deeper than usual as he took her and gave it a small kiss.

Isabel couldn't help but smile back, intrigued by Vox's confidence and the hint of playfulness in his demeanor. "Very well," she agreed, her voice laced with a hint of daring. "I accept your offer, demon." He smiled it was very charming almost hypnotizing. ‘’Call me Vox.’’ He insited as Isabel began to giggle. They danced for a little bit and Vox seemed to calm down, almost loosing his guard. He has never felt like this before. They left the party together and went trough hell to his office. She followed him quietly, trying not to steal the spotlight or become the center of attention. One of her special talents in the human world, she never knew how she got into those situation but she hated the fake love and attention. Her childhood dream became a nightmare to live in. Maybe hell isn’t so bad after all.

‘’This is my place.’’ He said as they entered the escalator. This afterparty was one hell of an event. She was used to opulent festivities in Hollywood but this was something no human sould could truly experience or process. In all of the chaos many people complimented Vox and his special guest. They drank quite a lot and took a bit to far. They danced completely wasted and she touched him a little bit. At first she touched his strong arms with her hands. Vox could not believe that she actually touched him. After he melted under her fingers, she stroked his extraordinary face. In this moment he fell head over heals into a pit where only she could get him out. This was the best night he ever had. As the new day began and the night faded away, they climbed onto the roof. She listened to the TV demon as he began to tell her that his life here was far from ordinary. They had a view across hell, which was incredibly calming. “What do you do when Valentino doesn’t want to go into a club?” She asked. ‘’I work, Valentino and Velvet are a bunch of work and the multitude of companies and Ideas are very time consuming. How did you get here’’ He asked. She shook her head, looked very tired and looked defeated into the sky. “I don’t think that I am here just jet. The last thing I remember is my car.”

#hazbin alastor #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox

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hh0320 · 1 year

Text

𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞;

part four of the velvet opiate series. part one. part two. part three.

pair. rockstar! hyunjin x fem! reader (+ felix, minho, chan) | genre. visual gothic rock band, romance, hurt/comfort, toxic skz, set in the late 90’s-early 00’s | warnings. profanity, smoking, mature themes, drug & alcohol abuse, violence, descriptions of drug use, mental health struggle, use of petnames | word count. 10k

a/n: i want to apologize for taking so long with this chapter. i had no idea so many ppl would message me about this story, begging me to continue it. i never abandoned the velvet boys, they’re always in my heart, i’m always thinking about them even when i’m not writing. anyway, this one is a wild ride, so i just want to mention that i don’t associate the boys with these behaviors, nor the language spoken. this is purely fictional, these are just characters. one more chapter to go. thank you for reading! feedback is always appreciated 🤍

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @adoreweb, @j-0ne25, @streetlight-s.

Hyunjin hadn’t seen you in two and a half months.

Hadn’t had heroin for more than that, nothing to numb him, the pain, the voices, the fucking train wreck his band had become after the ‘biggest rock scandal in ten years.’ So they’d slept with a couple groupies—big fucking deal. But it wasn’t just that, was it, because apparently one of them was now fucking pregnant and demanding for the father to recognize the child, to compensate for his doings.

It wasn’t just that, because it was the slut Hyunjin had fucked. A big fucking deal because Minho has been exposed for his cocaine indulgence, and has had to answer to the authorities, to pay bail and do community service or go to prison for a year. Chan wasn’t talking to them. Felix had been violent with Hyunjin for the first time since they met, beating the shit out of him outside their hotel, paparazzi gathering like crows to feast upon their rotting flesh.

And now Velvet Opiate was going on a national tour, press for before and after their album release. Thirty dates, over the course of winter. The label thought it wise to ride this wave of unprecedented publicity to the cost of their demise. The band was in shambles, Hyunjin was absolutely certain they’d break up before this year came to an end. They’d fucked it all up, let fame get to their head, let the cash control them, lead them to the brink of destruction.

Here they lay, clowns in a circus, with new hair colors, and an upgraded wardrobe, Westwood Spring collection ‘00. A new fucking century ahead of them with nothing to show, the world coming to an end. His mind was a dark place, darker than ever. There was no escape from this, no light at the end of the tunnel. Hyunjin would have to walk in the nine circles of Hell for all eternity, regretting ever being alive. Such was the fate of an unloved child.

No Felix, no you. Just him and his pathetic druggie ways, a vessel full of holes, loveless, poison in human form. You’d know by now, he’s sure, after all, every channel in the country is reporting on the news, another band flying too close to the sun, blinded by arrogance and ambition. A fucking cliché.

A day before they were to mount the tour bus, Hyunjin went to look for you at the club you worked at. If you were even still there, he didn��t know, he wasn’t able to contact you, wasn’t allowed to, and after everything, was too ashamed to try. His angel, his pure girl; he’d tainted you now, had dragged you into his bullshit life, spread the plague, and possibly lost you forever. But you were still his, his lifeline, the only exit, the only beginning he ever had.

Hyunjin would explain, he would beg, he’d get on his knees and kiss the fucking ground if you so desired. If it meant you’d stay with him. Felix saw him leave, bangs covering his tired eyes, leather jacket a few sizes too big on him. His friend had stopped eating a while ago, was now stubbornly relying on nicotine and alcohol for survival.

His friend but always more. The rings wrapped tight around his middle finger, heavy. Ivy luring him deep in its vines, drowning down under. Twins no more, they whispered to him sometimes. Felix would look in the mirror and see black, would think of Hyunjin and dream of a blade digging into his very chest, by his own hand. Honeycomb locks on his shoulder as he cried, as his knees gave out, death greeting him with a cold handshake.

You’re losing something important, his mind would say. You’re letting it slip right through your fingers. Just the night before, a nightmare like no other. The corpse of him lying next to his lover's. A suicide, a sacrifice.

“In a rush?” He calls out to the knife. Let it do its killing—it is fate, after all.

Hyunjin jerks, didn’t expect to hear Felix’s voice. A week had passed like a decade. It had been loneliness rendering him sleepless, lying on a bed that wasn’t his, no one to calm him down, to bring him back to reality.

Hyunjin also had no voice, had screamed it all out in his alcohol induced breakdown, had smoked it gone. He tried to reply anyway, wouldn’t miss the opportunity of mending things with his twin, his best friend. His equal.

“Never—for you,” he rasped, words broken in half.

They move closer like magnets, and the tension suffocates the blonde, makes him want to dip his head in ice water, freeze his brain, shock himself into a heart attack. This is what it feels like meeting Felix in the middle—like electrocuting yourself.

“I don’t want your fucking flattery,” Felix snarls, but he means none of it. Pay attention to me always, come to me at long last, no more of this torture.

Hyunjin flinches, fidgeting for a cigarette. “What do you want, then?” It is a whisper, because it is the question that matters most.

It is the truth that will ruin or make him.

They stare at each other, light and dark, black and gold, and a single moment passes before they both reach for each other, fingers grabbing onto fabric, pulling closer. Hyunjin’s bruised eye still hasn’t healed, and his cut lips sting as Felix presses him own on them. The fight is evident, because it’s them and they will never truly attest to this, to what runs between them, cocks too proud, bond stronger than bodily pleasures.

Still, hands push, mouths devour. In public, for anyone to see, under security cameras. Does it even matter at this point in their career, so beyond fucked over by their choices and decisions?

“What will your girl say about the bitch you knocked up?” Felix mumbles into the kiss, and Hyunjin growls, pins him against the wall between their rooms.

“Keep her out of your jealous fucking mouth.”

“What will you do, Hyunjin?” And that’s it. Like nothing happened. “You can’t keep her; you can’t let her go. Don’t go.”

The taller boy pulls back, straightens his jacket, lights a cigarette. Black stares, lips swollen, angry, hurt.

“If I don’t see her, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay clean this time, Felix. I say this to you as a cry for help. So no one can say shit to me.”

His friend sighs, and wipes at his mouth. Hyunjin looks at the rings on his finger, then at his own identical ones. “What if she refuses you, then? You’re gonna have to marry this girl, Hyun, do you understand how fucked this is?”

“I can’t do this right now, Lix.” With a press of his forehead against his twin’s, Hyunjin turns and goes straight for the stairs, descending in a hurry.

The more time he wasted, the less likely it was you’d forgive him. Felix kissed him, that was all that mattered—one good fucking thing in the world. He wishes he could say the same for the itch.

It was back. And it was stronger than ever.

Red Lights remained the exact same, an aching constant to Hyunjin's stormy life. In reality, nothing much had changed, nothing at all—except him. Drunks still occupied the bar stools, powder was still being snorted off the sinks in the bathrooms rendered in neon hues, the booth he frequently reserved was empty, off limits to anyone but him and his chosen company. His manager still paid a percentage to the club, the bartender still asked if he needed the ‘White Lady.’ Out of habit, perhaps. Hyunjin knew better than most—habits were fucking hard to break, even harder to quit.

“It’s our favorite guitarist, everyone!” You exclaim from behind him. “Jisung, give him a shot, quick. He has plenty to celebrate these days, it seems.”

He can’t turn around fast enough, and you give him no time to do so. You ignore his outstretched hand, ignore everyone’s gasps as they recognize the familiar face that’s been playing on every TV in the country. Jisung gives him the clear shot hesitantly, eyes drifting between the golden-haired man and the waitress he’s worked with for the past year. He’ll be damned. But it doesn’t matter; none of it does. You’re all red and black, smoky eyes and sweaty skin—furious with him, and understandably so. All he wants is for you to look at him, to give him a chance to explain.

Hyunjin feels very much like the prey now, standing in the middle of the bar as you circle around him in your leather skirt, the same skirt he’d fucked you in all those nights ago. You carried a different light then, you seemed brighter, more innocent. A sweet angel trapped inside the wings of the Devil. This time there were no wings, no sweetness about you. He’d cut his own freedom off and had sucked you dry—what he does best, what ultimately ended up happening to the one person he tried so fucking hard to keep clean, good.

He sensed the red poke under his skin, bleed onto him, take over his mind. He drank the strong liquid, tasted it on his chapped lips. His eyes followed your every movement silently, like a small child waiting to be reprimanded. Be angry with me, angel, yell at me, hit me, kill me if you must—anything but this. Please.

“Give me my bag, won’t you, Han?” you address the brown-haired man again once you come back from the table you’re serving. The music should drown you out, but Hyunjin has never heard anything clearer in his life. He’s clinging to your words by a thread—the cursed lifeline.

When your gaze falls on him, he almost breaks down right then and there. “Come on, Hwang Hyunjin, soon-to-be father, and a married man I’d assume. Let’s end this once and for all, shall we?”

“Angel, for fuck’s sake, don’t do this—”

You’re the biggest storm he’s ever had to endure. Your eyes are lightning that strikes him dead. He’d die by your hand, he’d die. He would. He knows this, he swears it.

“I’m going on break,” you call out and turn to walk away towards the back door. Hyunjin is out of breath, scared out of his body, doesn’t know what else to do other than follow.

So he does. Hitting the nails on his own coffin, delivering the eulogy for his funeral. Knife, the song he wrote for you, the title track available everywhere at midnight, the lyrics repeating in his head, a mantra, a wish, a prayer. He was never religious, but if one single God was willing to listen—let me keep her, let me keep her, let me have this one thing, this one girl, please, the only girl that matters.

You pass the threshold of the exit door first, Hyunjin holding it open for you, the proximity of your bodies stirring the darkness inside him. He’s been unfaithful to himself, not just to you. Even if nothing had been official between you; he’d proved you right, the words you threw at him that first night. He broke your trust, and didn’t even have the goddamn decency to, at least, tell you. The fact he’s getting any sort of ending is a fucking miracle. Mercy from an angel that could never belong to him.

“You changed your hair,” you comment coldly, keeping as much distance from him as possible.

He closes the metal door behind him slowly, leans on the coolness of it, the wet pavement glistening underneath his boots. He swallows, biting on the inside of his cheek. Then his fingers reach for the cigarettes again. Fucking habits.

“It wasn’t me,” he replies, and he wishes that’d be enough for other things too.

The man that fucked that girl, it wasn’t me. Anything that’s ever happened to him because of his addiction, it wasn’t him either. It couldn’t be. The lead guitarist on stage that tries to be cool, cigarette smoke clouding his vision, any time he’s doing interviews and says all that pretentious shit he’s rehearsed a thousand times over—he’d never be Minho, or Felix, or anyone besides a fake. A clown. An actor in a bad movie.

But the boy who paints alone in his temporary rooms? He likes to believe that’s him, or it could be. That somewhere inside, he had the potential of leading a peaceful life, with small happy moments like finishing a sketch, or writing a song. The person that came up with ‘Knife,’ the person he is with Chan and his notes, when they write melodies in the older members' makeshift studio. That’s who Hyunjin wishes most of all to be, to become. Someone worthy, someone able to provide happiness for others, not just for himself. Even a little.

“I wrote you a so—”

“I’d got you this to celebrate the conclusion of your recordings. Before… everything.” You move towards him to give him a black box, the familiar cross-topped orb surrounded by a ring logo he’s been wearing for most of his career staring back at him. You move back before he can keep you there, close, closer.

You slip away, again and again.

“(Y/N),” he looks at the box, then at you. The smoke burns his eyes. “Please, I can’t accept this.”

Despite your hard facade, he notices the slight flinch at his words. You turn your face away. Hyunjin panics, thinking he’s somehow offended you, so he quickly opens your gift, balancing the cigarette between his teeth. The silk encase contains a heavy metal chain with a locket hanging in the center of it, his name engraved on it.

“No,” he mutters, unable to control his body anymore, unable to control fuck all for that matter. “Angel, no, listen to me—”

You’re relentless, frozen in that fucking place of yours, so far away, suffocatingly too far. He forgets about what he should do, how he should respect your boundaries, your wishes. He lunges forward and grabs your wrists, turning your palms to him. He gives you the locket, as if the mere box touching his fingers burns him, gives way to fire and ruin. It does. It does.

“Put it on me,” he pleads, gripping at your delicate skin. “You got it for me, give it to me properly.”

You shake your head, and there are tears falling on his knuckles now. He sees them roll away, scorch his fingers, seep through his pores. Hyunjin shakes you, doesn’t know how else to convey his want. He wants to kiss you, wants to take you away, slip inside you, forget the shitshow that won’t stop happening, even then, especially then, because that means he’ll have to come back from it, from the special place, a place he never wants to escape from, the peaceful place he’s been dreaming of all his life.

Your fingers open the clasp as he leans forward, hands wrapping around your waist, and he inhales your scent, wishing this chain could interlock with another, so he can in turn wear it around your delicate neck and keep you close to him forever. It doesn’t last long, this daydream. The lock falls heavy against his sternum, and you pull away slowly, avoiding to touch back, to feel how real he feels under the tips of you. Because he is—real. He has been since the first day he locked eyes with you. You brought him to life, pulled him in, showed him his own heart.

The bag hanging from your shoulder drops to the ground, the thud of it a closing, an ending. He doesn’t accept it, he realizes he’s hurting you, that he should fuck off, leave you alone, he’s embarrassing himself, he’s pathetic in his attempts–Hyunjin has never fought for someone to stay. Has never had to, his life so full of people willing to leave, birds lingering on his branches before flying off, a moment of rest, somewhere to lay their burden, before they’re gone again, free, weightless. He’d accepted his fate, had made his peace—before you, all of it before you, and for every day after that never the same, nothing after you.

“I have no hold over you, rockstar.”

He blinks. For one goddamn second where human nature takes over and his eyes close—you jerk away from his touch and drop something in his hand. A small thing, something so mundane. A key. He blinks again, but it’s blurry this time, everything is. His heart has stopped, it seems, shop shutting down, system hijacked. Out of service. Hyunjin is crying. And it’s a first in the way that he’s never cried for love, not really, has never really known what it is to weep for it, even with Felix, because that was a different love, not this, not you, not you, not you—

“No,” the heaviest word he’s had to push out his lungs. “No, you’re wrong.” He searches for your eyes, he tilts his head, your gaze, he just needs that small connection with you, his body is on fire, his soul is decemating, he will die tonight, it hits him like a ton of bricks. If you walk away from him, he will die.

And it’s not blackmail, it’s not a manipulation tactic to get you to stay—you won’t know this, you won’t be aware, he won’t do that to you. You know nothing about that part of him, you never will. You’ll leave him behind and go back to bleeding red, and he’ll remain there, as he was, with his key and his engraved name and the itch that will take over once and for all. Maybe this time no one will find him, no one that can bring him back to a reality where he has no other escape other than death; no twin, no music, no band, no you. No you no you no you, fuck him fuck fuck fuck fuck—

Hyunjin doesn’t register his feet moving, his boots splashing in the rain puddles. He must look fucking insane, but he runs with all his might, as fast as he can—and then he throws that goddamn key away, never to see it again, never to be rid of this locket, of this weight that signifies your existence to him, whatever ounce of love you’ve felt for him. He wants all of it to lay on his back and push him to the ground, shove his fucking face in the mud and scream at him—I was here! I was here once and you shunned me away! You don’t deserve me.

An inhuman voice tears from his throat, a sound alien to him, he doesn’t recognize it. He looks around, surprised, awakened. He can’t breathe, and when the fuck will he stop crying? It’s two weeks ago all over again. He’s out of control, mad with grief.

“Hyunjin, you’re scaring me. Please stop. Stop!” Your hands on him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

There is no gravity holding him, nothing tying him down. He kneels, neck exposed to you, your gift. He stares at your stomach, as all fight escapes him. Nothing to lose, already lost. He sings, the lyrics that bloomed inside him once, now sung barely above a whisper—

I tried counting her smiling pain… I’ve lost my dreams and my love; lashed by the rain, I’m crying, I’m crying, I’m crying…

“What do I need to do, to be able to live as I am, without dressing myself up?” Hyunjin stops and looks up, at your tear stained face, a mirror looking back at him with nothing to say. He’ll say it for you, he’ll admit to the one truth he can. “I’ll wear this till the day I fucking die. I swear it, angel.”

Your beautiful face scrunches in pain, trying so hard not to break down, wanting to let him go, but holding on to him for dear life. “You don’t owe me anything,” but it’s not true. It’s not true.

He’s never been more sure of anything else— “I owe you my fucking life.”

Can you lose yourself two times over? He’ll never apologize for feeling so intensely, for getting fucked over for his heart. This is his show, his little play up on that stage he put himself on, and the curtains aren’t drawing just yet. The last act hasn’t yet began.

He doesn’t see you again until his birthday, half a year later.

Minho wipes at his nose.

Take his pixie dust away and he’ll resort to his absolute last option—pills. Anxiety pills, to be exact, forcibly prescribed by his former doctor for his unhinged nerves; former because the son of a bitch thought he’d try his luck with the ruthless bassist. The only way he’d be able to finish the tour, and go the fuck back into hiding at once, away from all the goddamn crazy people—their supposed fans—and their accusatory fingers.

If there was one thing, Lee Minho never pretended to be anything other than what he was. Who he was. An orphan. A loveless person, someone that had lost all hope, not just for himself but for everyone else, too. Part of him had died in that accident a few years back, and the rest of him had no intention of trying to revive whatever remained. There was no reason.

So, crushing and snorting Lexapro had become the new normal, the temporary solution to making it through shows and press. Getting rid of all evidence was proving to be quite the task, though, and it was taking a major toll on the purple haired man, only second to his and his band mates’ insomnia problems. The cause—obsessive stalker fans that seemed to monitor their every waking moment, waiting for a sliver of an opening to bring them down, to destroy them once and for all.

It’d started with a fucking mistake. As most things do. A split second of weakness, a lack in judgement. He should’ve known better, as should’ve Hyunjin. Because of this, all were to suffer until their heads were on flaming spikes on national television for the world to witness. Minho would rather slice his wrists open and bleed to death in the crammed tour bus bathroom, than answer to the public for his private life.

He was hurting no one. And he was certainly done with slip ups. One more show, he kept repeating putting on the outfit laid out by the stylist for tonight. One more show and I’ll be free. He thinks this until it’s time for soundcheck, and the lead guitarist is nowhere to be fucking found. Minho doesn’t even have to look at Chan to know.

The arena was empty, stretching enormous from ground to ceiling, the echo great and deafening as the staff tuned the instruments in the background. Rows upon rows of empty seats, exit lights shining brightly on each side. Felix sat on the second aisle, smack in the middle, boots propped in the seat in front of him, red plaid pants with buckles and zippers making him stand out amidst endless grey.

“Why fucking bother?” He calls out to the drummer, words resounding. “He does this shit every single day.” Black strands of hair fall in his eyes, and Minho doesn’t miss the bitterness of his tone.

“People paid to see us, Felix,” Chan replies, making his way from his drum set. His bulky biceps flexed as he pushed his hair back, the black sleeveless shirt accentuating the muscles further. “We owe it to them to at least have all four members on the damn stage.”

“Do we now,” Minho mutters under his breath. Fleeing, lately, had started to sound like a sane idea. A small mercy, even.

“You tried the waiting room?”

“I just came from it.”

The bassist clears his throat, descends the stairs from the stage. “Someone’s providing him with it—I’d check the staff’s bus’.”

Chan whips his head towards him. “I thought Joon had checked every motherfucker during the hiring process.”

“Rats can slip through cracks, Bang.”

Wasn’t that the truth. It was, after all, how he’d managed to survive all those years. He knew better than most about sneaking around; killing yourself with the help of others—people that would benefit from your downfall, because that way they could sell you out, make profit out of your misery.

Velvet Opiate fed on misery. They relished in it.

Minho was about to call for security to go and find Hyunjin, discreetly and without fuss. As was the way of such awful situations, where no one particularly wanted to get their hands dirty—or find a rotting corpse in a random parking lot in a city entirely too far from home. He informed them of the alleged whereabouts, but just as the two men were walking away, Chan cursed loudly and smacked his hand on the back of a seat, expression furious, exhausted, worried.

“I’ll go my goddamn self. Fuck this.”

Felix shot up immediately, hand reaching to halt his older friend. Chan avoided it swiftly, and walked determined to the nearest exit, set on figuring this out on his own—again. How many chances till they pronounce you a lost case? Minho wonders. A cursed battle.

“Chan, wait!” Felix tries to follow.

Minho holds him back. “Don’t. You’ll only make it harder for yourself.”

The boy’s eyes were wide, anxious. In love. For the longest fucking time, and despite, which was a curious thing. What we can do for it, suffer endlessly in loops—for someone to hold our hand, wrap themselves around our bones. Minho had it, once. Never again after that.

“He doesn’t know how to deal—”

The bassist sighs. “And you do? Yongbok, you insist on this torture and for what? You’re soft and blinded by selfishness. Love,” he chides. “Hyunjin doesn’t need someone like you.”

He sees the pretty hands balling into fists, the snarl of the younger’s lip, the hate burning in his button eyes. It does nothing for him.

“You’re wrong,” he spits, and there’s pure venom laced in his words. “None of you understand him, you’ve never tried to. He shoved needles in his fucking veins, Minho, do you think he cares about himself when he does that?” Tears gather, and fall. Minho remains silent, bites his tongue. “Motherless, lost in the world, clinging on a girl that’s long abandoned him… what the fuck, man. What’s it gonna take!”

He’s running before the older boy can stop him again. Pushes the heavy door open and disappears into the bright sunlight, leaving the bassist behind. The only one unshaken by the possibility of the events. It wasn’t indifference or coldheartedness that kept Minho grounded in the arena; it was calculated compassion. No one wants to hear a story twice—how he, too, was motherless, lost in his mind and in the goddamn world, clinging onto remnants of a girl half forgotten—no one cares, because a story told too many times is fucking reality, it’s been-there-done-that, it’s no big deal.

But Minho wasn’t someone that complained a whole lot, if ever. And he isn’t letting his friend die because it’s a hassle to get involved; he does it because addiction doesn’t stop unless there’s no one around to grab onto. No help, no second third fourth fifth chance. Hyunjin needs a fucking wakeup call harsher than nearly OD’ing. No one coming. His worst fear slapping him in the face.

“That girl of his figured it out faster than his own band,” he muttered bitterly to the emptiness staring at him.

The bass greeted him in melancholy.

Outside, Felix caught up to the leader, eyes panicked, searching the parking lot maniacally.

Chan’s anger was calmer, a sea storm felt deep within him, bubbling but contained for the meantime. It took nothing for him to lash out at strangers, but to family? He had the patience of a hundred old oak tree, unyielding, the roots having roots, having roots…

They took upon searching the buses themselves, Felix climbing up the stairs and yelling at everyone to tell him if they’ve seen Hyunjin. Some were still getting ready or having a late breakfast, but all looked at him dumbfounded, confused.

“He’s not with you?” A light technician asked dumbly.

Felix rolled his eyes and walked back the way he came from, ignoring the musty smells and disgusting underwear on the floor. “No, I’m asking ‘cause he’s right outside.”

“Are you giving me snark, boy?”

The black haired boy turned around so fast he saw stars. Two men standing near him widened their eyes and backed away in surprise, but the older man only pressed further, his nose stuck high in the air.

“Do you wanna fucking go?” Felix asked, riled up. “Cause I’ve been itching for a fight, bro, so don’t fucking play with me.”

No one expected it to escalate that fast, but before anyone could even blink, the two men were at each other’s throats, punches midway. Everyone jumped in just before the assistant stage manager could land his fist on the rockstar’s face, and that’s when Chan showed up, his loud voice making the singer stop and look.

“What the fuck are you doing?” It boomed down on all of them and shook the walls of the bus. “Are you fucking serious with this bullshit?” Breathing labored, stare wild, sweat dripping. “Come help me find my goddamn friend!” He barked. “All of you or you’re fucking fired, you hear me?”

And with that he stormed out, not caring to diffuse the situation, whatever it was. He couldn’t give a shit at that point. Hyunjin could be dead, and everyone seemed to care for their ass and their fucking pride. Fuck out of here.

“He’s not here,” is the only thing he’s heard so far, but just to be sure, he personally took a look around the bunks and in the bathrooms, keeping an eye out for any drugs or alcohol while he was at it. They’d been warned against any harmful shit for this tour; one strike and you’re out, special orders from the drummer. For their sake, it was a good thing he’d actually found nothing.

“I’ll call the hotel. Maybe he somehow found his way back,” Felix says and moves away from him, phone against his ear.

Chan doubted it, but it didn’t hurt to check. “I’m losing hope here, Hwang,” he mumbled to himself, quietly praying the tall boy would magically appear right in front of him, safe and sound. Highly unlikely; matter of fact, the possibilities of that happening were so slim that he wanted to laugh at himself for even considering it, but the desperation was so far etched in his brain, that he seemed to be hanging firmly from some sort of daydream. ‘October men and their maladaptive dream states,’ he had a girl tell him once, and he’s never forgotten it since.

“How’d you know when I was born?” He’d asked stupidly, as if this chick wasn’t a fan that had just attended his concert.

Her smile was the sexiest thing on her. “Hon, you wear ‘please love me I’m a good boy’ on your forehead.”

“Found him! Fuck, Chan!” Felix’s voice took him out of the bittersweet memory.

What did the brown-haired boy expect to see—not this. Anything but this. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out, could come out, and his head turned the other way immediately upon witnessing his bandmates state. Felix was on his knees next to him, completely on autopilot—Chan could see it from his dead eyes, doing what he did the last time he found him like this. Calling an ambulance, his other hand on the barely responsive guitarist, shaking him, keeping him awake.

“Fuck you for doing this to me twice, Hwang Hyunjin. Fuck you.”

Honeycomb hair over dilated, dark eyes, the pale man smiled a Cheshire smile, back sliding off the wheel of the bus. The leader actually whimpered seeing him do that, so completely lost in his high, his mind tripping over itself. The boy he knows used to be quiet, yes, introverted and thoughtful, but creative—so fucking creative, and animated. Full of life. Not this, whatever this was. Never this, and God fucking damnit when did it happen; when did he lose his best friend, the boy that came to him with a guitar and said he wants to play in a band? It all just seemed such a fucking lifetime away now.

“They’re saying they’ve already dispatched a vehicle to our location—” Chan sees Joon running up to them, a few of the staff he saw earlier in the venue behind him. It was only then that he noticed the siren going off in the near distance. “What do you mean, this is my first time calling you—”

“Minho called them,” Chan concluded, arms hugging his chest sadly. His cheeks were wet. “He already knew this would be what we’d find.”

The singer paused, looked up at him. Chan nodded sympathetically. Hyunjin’s head was dropping towards his twin again, but his lips were moving, his expression relaxed.

“The fucking asshole.”

“A realist,” the leader corrects. “Truly, Felix what did you think? That he’d be off buying us waffles or something? It’s his birthday and he’s falling off the side of a fucking bus, needle in hand. I can’t fucking do this anymore!”

"How much time do we have?" their manager asks roughly. "I told you, Bang. I told you if I ever found him doing this shit again, he's out!"

The drummer felt fire rush through his body, his fist rising in the air, all eyes on him—before connecting with the man's jaw, knocking him back, the sound violent, breaking. And fuck, did that feel good. It was a long time coming, the last fucking straw. He was done with it, the entire goddamn thing, taking orders, getting yelled at for situations completely out of his hands, the micromanaging, the sacrifices that lead to nothing—

Everyone was miserable. Everyone was hurting. Everyone wanted out.

"I'm sick of you putting words in my mouth. Sick of your fucking watch ticking like we're always running on your schedule. Look at him!" Chan croaked, the rage in his voice unbearable. "Fucking look at what your isolation did to him! Own up to your goddamn mistakes, you fucking coward!"

"Chan..." a dissonant sound behind him, coming down on him like a loved one from Heaven. "You got my back, Chan. Don't you?" a raspy laugh, not quite all there. "You got my back..."

Felix moved away, a supportive hand at the back of his twin's head, watching him with a crumpled gaze. Was the euphoria passing? If so, the best of the high was over. A life wasted for fifteen minutes of numbness. Of chemical happiness. The singer couldn't seem to keep the tears from running—and they ran, those useless things, hot, stinging, burning. What good did they do? Look at his love, watch as he's ruining himself on the dirty floor. He wasn't strong enough to even touch that goddamn needle, always hated getting shots, ever since he was a little kid. How could he bear taking the only thing that provides relief from his better half? His mirrored self? Even knowing it's a dead thing, even knowing it's not really that, that does the hurting.

It's the heart. The stupid heart.

"Why don't you kill me, then?" the honey dipped boy asked, paralyzed. Adrift. Broken. "Why don't you kill me?" A tear. Another tear. A pit of Hell, a mimicking nothingness. "Let me die, Chan..."

There are some words you don't say aloud. That make the monster real, that shatter the illusion. The leader could face the cold, hard truth—that the best guitarist he's ever known, the one that puts his soul in his music, in his fingers, his delicate hands—that person is a drug addict. That he uses needles to inject his liquified powders, and that his highs usually last three hours. That his friend has the deepest dark circles for a person who sleeps the most out of all of them. Sometimes, he has to slap him awake, force his eyes open. These are all truths, easy to digest, not-so-scary sentences that he's used to by now. That he's had to live with, in order to keep his band together.

But this? The fact of it? Who can face this? Who can be the bearer of the cross?

"Not me, Hyun," he replies, devoid of any emotion but sheer will for life. "Try in the next fucking life. I like having your sorry ass around a little too much."

Kintsugi, the Japanese called it. Repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It treats breakage as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise. There was no fixing Hwang Hyunjin. But maybe they could start to respect that, instead of desperately trying to cover it up, to get angry with it.

"Huh..." A crack of a smile, much like porcelain. "Is it still my birthday, Lix?"

Felix sniffled, rubbing at his nose, huffing out a devastating laugh. "It is, you goddamn menace."

A sheepish nod, soft golden bangs hiding beautiful, closed eyes. "Then we have a concert to attend, don't we?"

"I think so. You need a cigarette?"

A hand falling on top of his. An eclipse, the moon and the sun meeting, at long last. A celebration of the dark side.

"You know it." Then a hum, as his soulmate in male form lights the stick for him, taking a drag to get it going, then putting it between his fingers. A hum that turns into a familiar melody. "I just went through so much hell, went through so much, darling... I'm the warning, burn...burn..."

Chan nears his friend, extending an arm for him to take. The younger man peeks an eye open to it, inhaling smoke until his lungs know nothing else. He assesses the gesture, knows it means no more sulking on the pavement, no more gut-wrenching pain. Alone no more. Perhaps never alone, though not always clear.

He took it.

"Cancel the ambulance, don't let the crows anywhere near," the drummer tells a security guard. "We don't need this. It's our last show today."

As for Velvet Opiate, the curtains were drawing. Indefinitely.

Felix would love to say that their last concert was a hit, a success by label standards, and that everything went according to plan, but—well, that would be a fucking lie, wouldn't it? The setlist consisted of twenty songs, excluding the encore, most of which fell on him to pull through, and with twenty-nine shows on their back, plus countless radio shows and interviews for the album, his voice was completely and utterly fried, hanging on by herbal tea every night, and vocal rest—never. He liked to believe he took care of himself, definitely better than the others, but was that really true, or just default when pitted against an addict, an almost convict, and an insomniac?

It wasn't judgement. It more so felt like pity. What was Lee Yongbok's thing? What did he offer except deep, cave-like vocals and front man looks? Wasn't that just the bare minimum? What set him apart, what was the deciding factor for his status in the Rock scene? The poster outside the arena had him positioned in the center, newly dyed black hair pulled back in a half ponytail, standing next to Hyunjin, resting an arm on his naked shoulder as the guitarist smoked a cigarette and looked down at his Ibanez RG550. Always together, never apart. Out of everyone, it feels like he believed it the most. Is he worth nothing besides this? He didn't want to be petty anymore, have this green intent to turn everyone away from his moon, because he knew it wouldn't realistically get him anywhere. What was his twin above all?

Straight. To Felix, the line would always be bent.

Alas, he wasn't a realist. But he also wasn't an asshole. As soon as that spotlight shone on him, he noticed you in the first row, still as death, big arms wrapped around you, a man much taller than him hugging you from behind. Did you come to haunt? A ghost unable to find its way out of the body, destined to float about the living world until someone set it free? Was it closure you were seeking, so many miles away from home, and on the day Hyunjin had decided to play ridiculously fucking high?

If so, why rub salt on the wound? Why bring hemlock to a man so willing to die? He wished for many things then; for Hyunjin to go blind and never notice you, ever again. For that padlock to magically open itself and fuck off back to where it came from, because where Chan had never heard the blonde begging to die, Felix had to physically stop him from ending it all, that night he came back from you. He still remembers stealing all sharp objects from his room, and locking the boy in the bathroom, hearing his banging, his pleading, his tears through that white door, relentless, haunted haunted haunted, until the early hours of the next day.

When would Hyunjin escape the ghosts? Jesus, fuck.

"Good evening, we're called Velvet Opiate," he spoke in his baritone tone. The one he had to force. "Welcome to the Knife Tour. There's nothing left to fucking bleed. Let's go!" he screamed, as the intro to 'Liar' played by Minho, a bass-heavy tune that he'd written himself.

During the first three songs, Chan kept his eyes entirely on the lead guitarist. He wasn't quite stumbling, just sort of...balancing on his legs like they were sticks, with that famous cigarette that never seemed to burn out. He made no mistakes, kept up with the tempo, and generally looked fine, so the drummer decided to return back to his instrument and quit babysitting.

The first bottle was thrown when Hyunjin locked eyes with you. It smashed right next to him, and nearly scraped his cheek. Felix froze, but continued singing, turning momentarily to check on his bandmate. If he saw it or not, it wasn't written anywhere on his face, instead seeming to be entirely hypnotized by the inevitable standing mere feet away from him.

"I saw your face, I saw your face...and the light," the singer drawled dreamily, as security found the person responsible and dragged them away.

There seemed to be a group of them, all gathered on Hyunjin's side, and some of the fans took notice of that, yelling and pointing at them. Felix showed the problem area with his hands to the remaining staff, but not before a different person managed to throw another one, this time hitting the microphone stand. He maneuvered around it, grabbing the mic and walking to the other end of the stage, crouching to sing to a fan that was screaming her lungs out, reaching her arms out to him.

“I’m gonna please you, please me, please you, please me.” The lights turned a deep red color, staining everything in the arena, as Felix jumped to the barricades and sang the words close to the girl’s mouth, staring into her eyes. She went ballistic and started crying immediately, so he petted her hair and moved away quickly, hand in the air to collide with open palms.

On the stage, Minho was studying the crowd coldly, waiting for that one last fucking straw that’d make him lose it and get on the first plane back to Tokyo. He’s had enough—of this forsaken tour, of the aggressive fans, the bullshit that came with fame. They’d sold one million copies in their first week, for fuck’s sake, why do they need to tour the entire nation? It was a goddamn cash grab, nothing but a circus, and they were only getting forty percent of it.

Well into the set, Hyunjin looked like Hell. While Felix had taken it upon himself to speak and interact before introducing the next song, the guitarist sat down by the stairs and lit a cigarette, his naked, sweaty torso glistening under the intense lighting. Minho watched as he took his earpiece out and motioned to a staff to come to him, leaning to say something, before the person ran off to do whatever he was instructed to. The blonde hair was sticking to his neck, but it also blended in with the paleness of his skin, making him appear angelic, or something close to it. Ironic, considering, the bassist thought.

Still. Something was bothering him; it was clear to see. And it wasn’t the high.

“Every time I remember…nails dig into my heart,” Felix sings, then pauses, hearing the rest of the words being sang to him. “Oh, what lovely voices! But do they sing it as good as our lyricist?” He turns to the boy on the stairs, currently hunched over smoking, guitar on his back, his eyes never leaving your figure, as yours don’t either.

A man? In his show? While he’s bound by your chains? How cruel of his angel.

“Oi, Hyunjin. You wanna sing this one? My throat is fucked, lover boy,” the main singer waits for the request to register in the guitarist’s ears, before a sound person appears out of thin air to pass him a microphone. “Doesn’t he look fuckable today? Such a shame there’s no one to warm his bed…”

Twenty thousand voices joined to yell, “I can!” Even Minho couldn’t help chuckling to that.

Hyunjin checked to see if the microphone worked, shyly, taking the cig out of his mouth slowly, exhaling smoke like a goddamn fireplace, before bowing his head slightly to the crowd, and introducing himself.

“Hello, I’m Hyunjin of Velvet Opiate,” he mumbles, pushing hair out his eyes with his thumb. The fans went insane.

It was no secret he was the most popular member, despite never wishing to be. The label always promoted him as a sort of Jim Morrison character, brooding and quiet. Which he was—but not because of reasons the public might think. He was surprised no one had picked on the fact he was high as a fucking kite. Himself, he thinks he’s about the highest he’s been in a long time. Nothing spins, yet everything moves.

“His first baby,” Felix meant the song, but Chan inwardly facepalmed. “Most likely,” he added, humor to lessen the tension. “Acapella, Hyun?”

“No,” he replied. “This is ‘Knife.’ For the girl that breathed life into me then broke my fucking heart.”

The eerie melody started playing, the musician they’d hired to be on the keys specifically for this song following after. Taking a deep breath, and a long drag of nicotine, Hyunjin joins in a gentle, hard voice, a reprimanding tone, watching his girl in the arms of someone else—

“If I can have something from you… I have nothing, I’m so sad…I can’t take being alone. Every time I remember, nails dig into my heart…”

They must hate him now. Or resent him. Once the adrenaline of the concert, of the music passes, they’ll turn against him once more, prey for their headlines and magazine articles. Just a product made specifically to be taken apart, forced to turn itself into a thousand pieces so there’s enough for everyone. He’ll gladly be their doll, he thinks. You seem to hate him too. In fact, you do, don’t you?

Something he can’t take. He won’t.

He got up and walked down the remaining steps, all the while keeping the same breathy, heartbreaking tone that had you limply hanging from your date’s arms, gasping for air. He wasn’t the best singer, he was nowhere near one, to be completely fucking honest, but no one could sing that song better than him, in that specific moment, as you’re staring at his face like he’s the one that tore you apart.

The lock is still around my chain, angel. Until I die. I told you.

“Let me hear your voice more, I tried so hard to bear with it…the knife turns, my heart spills, blood mixed with tears…it must be my love. Here lies my love…”

Chan brought the drums to a crescendo, while Hyunjin gave his mic to a sound staff standing nearby, and brought his guitar around, feeling the strings under the tips of his fingers, eyes falling closed, his only purpose in life taking ahold of him, guiding him through, keeping him afloat. The rush is the same, he muses bitterly. Strumming chords, being in your presence—it equals his spoon, his lighter. His needles. Every time his soul is empty, he simply picks another addiction.

How truly fucking pathetic.

He plays for you, then. Stands right in front of you and that fucker, and pours his cursed, goddamned heart out, until nothing is left—the last of the poison outing, finally, finally, ridding him of humanity, of the filth and the shit, and his own weak attempts at pretending to understand life, and living, and why that fucking thing just has to keep…beating.

For what? So, he can witness with his own two eyes that for the one time that truly mattered—that he cared, that he loved, whatever the fuck that meant, he was abandoned? Again? And again, and again, and again. Lead guitarist/songwriter, Hwang Hyunjin, they’d said, is caught up in another scandal. Sources say the girl, twenty-year-old so-so, was receiving treatment at so-so hospital, when a pregnancy test came back positive. She alleges, that the baby belongs to the superstar, member of the controversial band Velvet Opiate.

A baby. His karma for betraying an angel. He expects to be buried six feet underground and never go anywhere, neither up nor down. Scum of the earth, and so he will remain. For his bones to decay, for his flesh to rot.

“How cynical you’ve become, my beautiful boy,” his mother would say, before leaving him alone once again.

Are you proud of your boy now, mom? He asked the crowd silently, fingers creating sound, creating art. His legacy of dust. Beautiful but never loved. Talented but immobilized.

“I tried counting her smiling pain… I’ve lost my dreams and my love; lashed by the rain, I’m crying, I’m crying, I’m crying…”

Bangs cover wet eyes. Fingers bleed on the smooth wood of the guitar, Ibanez RG550, always, but Hyunjin feels none of it. Not the heartbreak, not the injury. What does he feel?

Jealousy. How heavy his lids are, how sweaty his chest is. Unusually. Almost…painful?

He looks down. There’s blood everywhere. There’s glass all around him. He looks up. You’re freeing yourself from the arms, you’re screaming at him, you’re jumping the barricade. High as a fucking kite, huh? Must’ve been one of those beer bottles from earlier. Keep talking, Hyunjin, keep thinking, keep thinking!

A big noise on the stage. Minho smashing his guitar to smithereens. Minho walking out. On them. On him. On him.

“Who the fuck threw that?” Felix’s deep voice vibrates through him. “Who the fuck threw that?!” Louder. Angrier.

Life played out in slow motion after that. Like in the movies Hyunjin would watch as a kid. The lights would whirl, twirl, move move move, the people’s faces would melt off, their voices like a rewinding cassette, and his body would be floating, above all, nothing happening to him, nothing at all. He’d like for something to happen to him, he thinks, for once. He’s been too isolated, too cuddled.

Even dying requires a pass, a question for every attempt, hand raised, waiting patiently for something that never comes, that is never allowed.

The soundtrack to his life? His own digits playing the intro to their next song, unaware that he’s bleeding out in front of thousands of people, one member down, at long last the much-anticipated clown circus, coming in your town!

Don’t miss it!

He jostles out of sleep, sitting up at once, eyes wild, searching in the dark, chest heaving, needing air where air cannot be found. He'd blacked out again. He rubs his face, comes back to life, focuses on the one fixture of light, a bright hope on the other side of the tunnel. Hyunjin squints, tilts his head, tries to understand how a lamp has a head, and arms, and beautiful legs.

It walks, too. The light looks a lot like you, he thinks. Am I still high? Or am I finally... has the time come? Am I dead? Am I dead? He realizes he says this outloud, but his mouth doesn't stop moving, the shakes won't wear off for a little while still, and his cheeks are wet again.

When will he stop being so weak? He saw an angel and begged for death, instead of redemption. He's sick to his stomach, he can't stand himself. It's you, it's you, there, right there, coming over to him like you'd never left, never turned away, never abandoned—like a mother would come for her child, except he knows nothing about that, not how it feels, not how it looks.

Hyunjin jumps from the bed, long legs clad in black kicking off blankets, limbs reaching out, strands of yellow covering his vision, shielding him from reality, holding him in the in-between, a place where he gets to hold you again. To hold you. He's sketched your body so many fucking times, a hundred, a thousand, a mess of paper and coal, fingers stained for weeks, and then he's brought the drawings close to his heart, closed his arms around it, held it and prayed for sleep, cradled you, shushed you, sang to you, eyes closed, empty rooms. Always alone. Always half-mad.

When his bony arms wrap around a corporeal body this time, when there's flesh under his touch, a rush of blood, a beating pulse—he hugs it tight, God, he hugs it. You. The lifeline, the angel, the sweet thing that wanted to see him again, and again, so long ago now, it seems. For whatever damned reason, somehow, you've deemed him worthy enough to come back for him, and won't you please take him away this time? Won't you end his misery, stop refusing yourself to him?

"Your wound!" You exclaim, but there's no wound for him, no pain in your presence. Only pure euphoria, the brightest kind. He's overwhelmed, intoxicated, harnessed.

He bumps you against chairs, against desks, and smashes lamps, never once leaving you, never once caring for the destruction, the consequence, only wanting to be part of you, skin of your skin, the breath inside your lungs, so that he never has to part from you again. And he cries; he cries hard, ruinously, like a little boy would, and you let him, because he looks like he's travelled through Hell and back, twice over. He's pale, malnourished, injured, and hurting. So visibly hurting, despite his numb reactions to it. If you wonder, or if you know, you never say. You hold him back, because he leaves you no choice. Because there is no other choice.

When the heels of your shoes hit the nightstand, he collapses on his knees, and takes you down with him. He doesn't mean to, you see; to sink so deep, every time, to bring you too, but he can't help it, he doesn't know any other way, any way out. He really just wants out, and could you show him? Could you at least tell him? He's missed you. He's missed you so fucking much.

"I can't do this, Hyunjin. I'm not."

"I wanted to see you," he says quietly, like he's ashamed. In all of the rain and the thunder, this one thing, he whispers it. Like he's afraid to disturb it.

"God, it doesn't matter," you croaked, but you were crying, too. You wept with him, for him. "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter..." you repeated, shaking your head against his shoulder, losing oxygen.

He was squeezing the life out of you, he was everywhere. His blood was on your clothes. Make it stop, make it easier, make it last.

"Your song," he pulls back just to stare at your face, to search, to see. "Did you hear it? I wrote it for you."

You nod, and you smile, but it's a sad thing. Your hand caresses his cheek softly; your porcelain boy, trapped in a living body. "I did, rockstar. I did."

The genuine curve of his lips made you hide your face, your tears. You couldn't break. If you broke, it'd be ten times worse for him. But how to be strong, when your heart still beats the same for him? When you've never been a good liar.

"Happy birthday," you sniffle, and wipe at your eyes. "I brought you a gift."

His gingerbread eyes look at you like you've just told him something incredible. You're not sure if you want to know what it is.

"You're the gift," he mumbles, playing with your hair. His touch burns you. You want it as much as you want nothing to do with it.

"Hyunjin..." You reach up, at the desk, and pull your bag down on the floor with you. He watches, angel features in full mode, and you think blonde hair suits him a lot. "I went back to find it. I searched for hours."

It was the key he'd thrown away. His expression shattered at once. You rushed to explain, scared, terrified he's misunderstood—

"I know you don't want it, but I felt so bad about how it ended, that I just... couldn't leave it alone," you pressed your lips together. "So, I put a chain through it. I thought if you were to wear the padlock forever, I should do the same thing with the key. I wanted you to wear it on me."

His fist closed around your open palm, and he smashed you against his chest with one arm, breathing in your sweet scent. He'd never be alone again. That one thought was enough to get him through anything. There would always be someone out there holding a piece that can unlock him, a piece more important than death. I love you. I love you with whatever's left of my heart, and my soul. I'm yours entirely. All he had to do was seek them out, like he'd promised.

His fingers unclasp the necklace, and you hold your hair up and out of the way, exposing that pretty neck he tasted once, a million years ago. The taste on his tongue never faded, he never let it. He swore to himself he wouldn't touch another woman, ever again. He'd do his duty, and suffer silently, as he was meant to.

But seeing the key fall above your breast, it was too much. How would he let you go this time? You'll take everything. Everything.

"The band is going on hiatus," he admitted. "The girl is about to give birth; I bought her a house outside of the city. It's—I'm having a boy." Where the fuck were his cigarettes?

"I bet he'll be beautiful," you comment, putting a finger under his chin to lift his face. "Like you," you smile. "But you need to stop, Hyunjin. You need to stop."

You wait as he looks for his pack, as he brings the lighter close to his mouth, as he inhales, and drops his head again. "You knew?" he asks, embarrassed.

"Not till today." You gently lift one of his arms, the damage on the skin answer enough. "I can't get back together with you, rockstar. But I'll be there, if you need me."

Hyunjin huffs out a laugh, smoke coming out of his nostrils. "I'll always need you, angel."

You grin, bumping your knee against his. "Then I'll always be there."

There they were again. The angel eyes. The ones from your first meeting. They looked straight through you, those. Watercolor eyes. God's eyes.

"You have cursed me, sweetheart. I can't see anything but you." Full circle, with an open ending.

Like his words from before, they cut deep. They made a house in you. You would never separate from him, you think, not ever.

Love tormented, love purple and blue.

#straykidsland #stray kids scenarios #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin smut #skz hyunjin #skz scenarios #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #kpop scenarios #stray kids fanfic #stray kids hyunjin #skz fanfic #hyunjin x reader #hyunlix #mine.

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 14 days

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Request: Velvet, Eleanor, and Magilou with a shy S/O who is trying to hide the hickeys their girl friend gave them.

(Tales of Berseria) Velvet, Eleanor, and Magilou's S/O trying to hide their hickeys

Gotta say for all three of them, ow.

Velvet's S/O struggles to look at her directly, one hand gently rubbing their neck.

Velvet has a smug grin as she crosses her arms.

(Velvet) "I think that looks good on you, personally."

(S/O) "I-It's really obvious where they are!"

(Velvet) "I'm pretty sure that's the whole point of a hickey. Besides showing you're mine anyway-"

Honestly, she doesn't really care what anyone thought about the marks. And seeing S/O get this flustered over them was pretty amusing.

But there was one problem with her carefree attitude about it.

(Laphicet) "S/O? What happened to your neck?"

(S/O) "O-Oh! Well, t-that's!-"

(Eizen) "Why are you that flustered about-...Oh."

Eizen sighs, making Eleanor walk over to the group and realize what happened.

(Eleanor) "Oh my-VELVET!"

She gives Eleanor a glance, raising an eyebrow.

(Velvet) "What?"

(Eleanor) "It's...just so indecent! Why did you-"

(Laphicet) "Did Velvet do something to S/O?"

(Eizen) "No boy, don't ask questions about it. You'll learn when you're older."

(Laphicet) "...Huh?"

S/O had their face buried in their hands, making Laphicet even more confused.

Eleanor crossed her arms and looked extremely disgusted.

(Eleanor) "I cannot believe you two would-"

(Velvet) "S/O, go wash those marks off your neck. And Laphicet, it was from bug bites."

(Laphicet) "What kind of bug would...?-"

(Eizen) "One you shouldn't ask about. Here, let's ask Rokurou about it, and leave the ladies at...this."

Eizen quickly rushed away Laphicet from S/O, Velvet, and Eleanor.

(S/O) "I want to die..."

(Eleanor) "Well...at least wear a scarf!"

(Velvet) sigh "Pride still intact, S/O?"

(S/O) "No..."

Eleanor may have...gotten carried away in the moment.

Truthfully, if she had hickeys on herself, she would absolutely panic.

So to see that she had caused very noticeable ones on S/O's neck and shoulders.

(Eleanor) "...Oh my-..."

Eleanor and S/O struggle to look each other in the eye, both blushing a scarlet red.

(Eleanor) "I am so sorry...L-Let me find you something to cover it up! Or at least some makeup!"

Despite her best efforts, it is extremely noticeable.

(Rokurou) "Hey, S/O? Think ya got something on your neck."

(S/O) "D-D-Do I?!"

(Rokurou) "Yeah, looks like bite ma-...Oh."

Velvet turns around to both Eleanor and S/O, noticing both their expressions.

(Velvet) "Should've just let that lie, Rokurou."

(Rokurou) "Yeeaaaah, didn't realize till it was too late. But hey, didn't think you had it in ya, Eleanor!"

Eleanor facepalmed and swore under her breath, making S/O stare at the ground even harder.

(Velvet) "It's becoming our business when we can hear you two clear as day."

(S/O & Eleanor) "WHAT?!"

(Rokurou) "They're already dead, Velvet. No need to drive the dagger further."

Magilou did that shit on purpose.

Sure, there were other ways of saying that S/O and Magilou were a couple.

But those ways are a lot less interesting and hot.

And Magilou bit hard.

(S/O) "M-Magilou, I'm covered in bites!"

(Magilou) "That you are. And?"

(S/O) "AND?! I CAN'T GO OUT LIKE THIS!"

(Magilou) "Sure ya can! Here, let's go show the others right now!"

(S/O) "N-NO NO NO! WAIT-"

Magilou does not help with S/O's flustered reactions at all, in fact she made it worse.

The first people to see them was Velvet and Eleanor.

(Eleanor) "Good morn-..."

Eleanor's voice was caught in her throat as her eyes widened, looking at S/O's neck.

(Velvet) "...I'm even more glad I had my room far away from you two."

(Magilou) "Come now, you should be rejoicing at the healthy love blossoming between your two companions!"

Both Eleanor and Velvet's glance turned to S/O, who was on the floor, arms in their knees, and face in hands.

Accompanied by a noise that either sounded like a whine of agony, muffled screaming, or a mixture of both.

Then, the two looked back to Magilou.

(Eleanor) "Ugh, too much information."

(Velvet) "Doubt she really cares about that."

(Magilou) "I don't!~"

#tales of berseria x reader #tales of berseria imagines #tales of berseria headcanons #velvet crowe x reader #eleanor hume x reader #magilou mayvin x reader #velvet crowe #eleanor hume #magilou mayvin

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writing-havoc · 1 year

Text

A Moments Pain

♡ Summary: Kaz thinks you get shot with him while running from the Stadwatch. Imagine his surprise when you're fine

♡ Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader

♡ Fandom: Six of Crows, Grishaverse

♡ Warning(s): Blood, Guns, Drugs, Alcohol, Gunshot wound, Self-harming behaviour (only mentioned)

♡ WC: 4.7k

Soulmate au time! Pain sharing <3

This is a pain sharing soulmate au where your soulmate can feel your pain and they can feel yours.

Reader is a Squaller in this and as usual, gender neutral

Hope you enjoy <3

Please excuse any grammar and spelling errors

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Soulmates have a very particular place in Kerch conversation.

There's those that believe soulmates are a concept and reality directly bestowed upon humans by Ghezen himself as an ultimate act of trade. That there is nothing more holy than finding your soulmate and sharing your life together, because the pain you trade daily is a piece of Ghezen permanently part of your being and can be offered back as a sign of your faith.

These people share pain every day, purposefully pricking their fingers and smiling when their other feels it too, thanking their Saint for their life and the opportunity they got to trade this pain directly and receive it in full.

Then there are others that see it as a slight against him, that it's an easy way out and that soulmates were fabricated long ago before the time of Ghezen. That in order to be seen and heard by him you must put in the work to do so, to volunteer and offer your time till you're covered in sweat, tears, and even blood, and only then will you be worthy of the pay and recognition you're earned and deserved.

These people see using your soulmate as an offering as cowardly and lazy, and not as a true sign of faith, but more like a mockery.

It's a conversation you can't escape if you live in Kerch, especially Ketterdam.

Kaz can count on two hands the amount of times soulmates have come up in conversation under a different light than that. And it's almost always brought up by Jesper trying to poke fun at Kaz for not finding his, or Nina who talks about how Ravkan culture handles it much differently (Matthias tags along on said discussion to butt in about Fjerdan soulmate rituals but its only ever on the tail end of the conversation).

It doesn't concern him, not finding his soulmate. He doesn't think he even wants to meet them, to see the face he's caused to have suffered so much pain over the last decade and will continue to cause them for as long as he resides in the Barrel.

Their anger would be understandable, but he hates that he feels any guilt about it at all.

He had to do it to survive. The pain he's been through and the scars left behind are reminders that he's still alive and breathing, that he still has fight left in him. He will not be made to feel sorry for that.

So, perhaps its not that he feels guilty, but that he hates the concept of being forced to feel guilty for something that he's proud of, for something that's necessary.

Now matter how many times he has this conversation with himself, he always comes to the same conclusion and never feels any less guilty than he did before.

"Eat my arse, Jesper!"

"I will!"

He sighed, opening the door to the Crow Club and allowing it to shut behind him. A cacophony of sound assaulted his ears, people talking amongst themselves and dice and cards slapping against velvet covered tables. A bar towards the back brandished in dark wood and brightly glowing lights was at the focal point of his attention. It was like his ears had some horrible ability for picking up his crows voices. It was both a blessing and a curse.

Jesper, Wylan, and you were huddled together, chairs pulled away from their evenly distributed spots in front of the bar. You were talking animatedly, your hands flying in directions that he's not sure made the story clearer or more confusing the more you went on, but the two men in front of you seemed to be following just fine.

"... coming out the building, smoke blows in my face and I swear I met Ghezen himself." You leaned into the dark wood, resting your head on your hand.

"As if he'd want to meet you personally." Jesper snickered at the way your jaw fell open, Wylan laughing when you lunged out and swatted at Jesper.

"Not the point!" You hollered, giving a good shove to his arm before pulling back.

Kaz clicked his cane against the ground, standing not three steps to the left of your chair. "If Jesper has to take sick leave its coming out of your paycheck."

You turned to face him, a wide grin adorning your face. "Ill make sure to only beat him to the brink of qualifying for sick leave."

"Bold move discussing your plans in front of the boss like that." Wylan chimed, hooking his pinky to Jespers.

"Kaz doesn't care so long as the job gets done." You turned to the man behind the bar and held up a finger, ordering your regular.

He clenched his jaw, giving you a hard glare. Yet he felt his heart twist. "I would still prefer to have Jesper in optimal working order, Y/n."

"Fine, I won't touch him anymore." You said as your drink was handed to you. You inclined your head at the bar man, giving a silent thanks as you downed half of it in one go.

There was another thing about soulmates that's more unknown. Not really unheard of, but it's not discussed.

Fatal attacks don't have the same physical affects on your soulmates, neither do life altering diseases, bone breaks, or limb losses. But they aren't unfelt. It'll be a long lasting piercing pain in some cases or nerve damage depending on the placement, but nothing ever as extreme as what your partner experiences.

In cases of poison, the effects are similar but not a direct match.

If the poison makes you tired, your soulmate will also tire. If the poison chokes you alive on your own spit, your soulmates mouth will salivate uncontrollably. If the poison makes you bleed from every orifice and your skin melt off your body, your partner will ache all over, maybe even bleed from scabs, cuts, and scars that should have no reason to be bleeding.

Alcohol is technically a poison of sorts. Toxic. Once your partner drinks, you'll feel it too. But it's entirely dependent on your own tolerance.

Kaz's tolerance isn't excellent, but he's certainly not a lightweight. You, however? Huge lightweight. With the portion of the drink you just downed you'll be inebriated within fifteen minutes tops, stumbling on your own feet and apologizing to light posts upon running into them. He only hopes your soulmate has a higher tolerance than you do.

He has seen you become such a way at the hands of your soulmate twice. Both times you had thought you were dying.

"Tomorrow we've got a job." Kaz pipes up. "Be ready at seven bells. Pack very light."

You groaned. "I wish you had told me that before I downed half of this."

"Im telling you now before the whole of it is gone."

You put the glass to your lips, staring at him as you drank the rest.

There's no way you'll be up in time tomorrow.

-----

He was kind of right.

After very faintly stumbling back to the Slat because of his soulmate feeling the need to get inebriated, he sat at his desk and finished whatever paperwork he could before preparing for the next day's mission.

Somewhere while doing so he fell asleep, and when he awoke the next morning at six bells he immediately went about making sure everyone was ready.

Inej had her knives and was actively packing any other essentials on her person, Nina and Matthias were still sleeping, but the latter was stirring as Kaz cracked the door open, Wylan was in the process of waking himself up while Jesper snored under a pile of blankets, and you were... kind of awake.

When he checked on you, you were sitting on the edge of your bed, sleeping pants rolled down to just above your knees while you stared with glassy eyes at the wall opposite of you. The window was open, streetlights barely making their way through the glass, your face glowing in the soft light.

He stepped fully into your room, walking closer to inspect your figure. He's not sure you're even blinking until you do so, eyes moving separately from eachother in a way that's oddly frog-like.

"Y/n." He called firm and gentle, waving a gloved hand in front of your face.

You hummed, moving your head slow like syrup to look up at him, eyes syncing up. "Morn'n, Kaz."

He ignored the way his name sounded on your sleepy tongue, afraid of the palpitations punching his heart. "Just making sure you're getting ready."

"'m good. Changin' righ' now." You put a hand on your bare thigh, looking to your left at the clothes you laid out for yourself.

Dark, natural, and earthy colors made up your shirt and pants aside from a bright white pouch which held stimulant capsules. You would need one later. A pair of lace up boots was at the foot of your bed, along with a jacket and belt that sheathed a knife Kaz had gifted you a few weeks into your time with the Dregs.

"It's half past six bells," he said, voice softer than he was intending. "Hurry it up."

You hummed, pushing your thumb under the waistline and pushing them down, pooling them around your ankles. Kaz took that as his cue to leave, closing your door softly behind him.

For a moment he allowed himself to pause, thinking with his hand gripping the creaky knob. Your morning voice, bed hair, soft eyes- it made his head /spin/. If you weren't hungover and running on four hours of sleep you would have cared more and that knowledge was sobering enough that he could let go of the handle, cane clicking on the ground as he walked back towards his office.

While the Kerch had plenty of different opinions about how to utilize your destined partner, there is a long standing opinion that most natives held above all else: you do not deviate from your soulmate.

Because while there are those who believe using your soulmate as a way to trade is simply lazy, they're also the ones that tend to believe that deviating from them is a form of cheating and you'd be robbing someone else from a happiness they deserve to achieve.

The only exception to this would be if you found out your soulmate is dead. But who's to say your soulmate isn't already dead and you're searching for someone that no longer exists? It's a trap. No matter what you'll either be shunned or disappointed.

He's never heard your opinion about soulmates. He knows you have one, as you're often complaining about how much they get hurt, but you never participate in the talk. You either excuse yourself or sit back in your chair, promptly passing out before a question can be thrown at you about it.

The only one that's ever been able to get you to answer a question about it was Inej. And your answer was incredibly vague- or rather, simple.

She had asked your thoughts on the Kerch interpretation of soulmates and their usage. Your answer was, "I guess it makes sense" and following a shrug, that was the end of it.

Kaz never thinks about it. Except for when he does, which seems to be a lot recently.

He stepped forward, and cursed his leg when a flash of pain soared up his shin and into his thigh. He stepped down the stairs wrong perusing his thoughts.

The sound of a door opening and slamming shut caught his ears. "Fuck my soulmate." You came storming out of your room, fully dressed and considerably less tired than before. He wasn't that distracted, was he? "Doesn't know when to stop fucking around." You stormed past him, making extra careful to keep a distance as you walked down the stairs.

There was something a little off about your gait, but you were faster correcting it than he was at putting the pieces together for once, so there's not much he could infer.

Walking down the stairs, everyone emerged from their respective rooms and gathered at the center of the Slat. Like magic, the bell clock chimed seven bells.

Kaz looked at his team, scanning them over with a faint nod. "Right on time."

"Don't want to be at the receiving end of that cane of yours this early in the morning." Jesper commented. You snickered, Nina and Inej smirking at him while Wylan and Matthias took it upon themselves to school their expressions into fond smiles.

Kaz checked his watch. "We have half a bell to get to the Zelver District, let's move."

------

"I cannot believe that you thought seventy-seven and thirty-three made a hundred." Wylan states incredulously. "It's appalling, actually."

You snort. "Easy there with the fancy words, Mister Dictionary. In my little fourteen year old mind it made sense."

Jesper barks out a laugh. "Who taught you to do math? Even I know it's a hundred and ten."

"Bugger off why don't you!" You give him a lighthearted slap with the back of your hand to his arm, to which he hardly flinches and ruffles your hair.

His own head itches. He takes off his hat and fixes his hair, ignoring it.

The job had gone off without a hitch, which was good for everyone's spirit considering the last few weren't as lucky. Spirits were lower than he would have liked, so the twenty thousand kruge in his pocket and diamond necklace in your pouch were perfect for raising everyone's morals.

You did, in fact, end up needing to take a stimulant capsule soon after they left. Even with the added aggravation from your soulmate, you just couldn't stay awake.

He makes a mental note to watch you more closely. He's seen what those stimulant capsules can do to your impulse control, and he would like for you to cut down on how much you're taking them if you could help it.

He has every bit of confidence in you that you wouldn't take more than necessary, but the tired mind is an enemy that which he never likes to take chances with. The last thing he needs is for you to accidentally grab two instead of one and be so jittery that you end up getting them all caught.

Actually, the more likely scenario would probably be you realizing your mistake soon after you've made it, and taking yourself out of the mission, leaving your spot empty as Kaz tries to reconfigure everything on the spot to accommodate for a lost asset. And, on top of that, worry to Fjerda and back about if you'll make it to the Slat safe and with minimal damage.

It's exhausting. He doesn't want to take them away, because today goes to show that they're incredibly helpful if taken properly.

But everytime you do his skin feels like it's on fire and his heart pounds just a little bit harder. It feels like something is trying to claw its way out of his skin, right between his shoulder blades.

A little something clicks in his mind, then.

A gunshot rings out into the night. The group flinches for a moment, and then they're all taking off in a sprint.

"Who's shooting at us?!" Jesper calls out.

"No idea and I don't want to find out!" You yell, overtaking nearly everyone just behind Jesper.

The both of you split into separate alleys, everyone else scattering as well given Kaz's signal. He follows behind you, intending on splitting up even further up the passageway, but doesn't get to when it comes to his attention the route he was going to take has since been blocked up.

He needs to get newer intel, very, very quick when he gets back to the Slat.

"Do not shoot to kill!" A member of the Stadwatch comes into sight on the opposite end of the alley. "We need information!"

Apparently they needed intel as well.

"Up!" Kaz hooks his cane to your pants, yanking you back and around the back of a house with a very thin walk space between its walls and the canal.

Steel bars jut out of the back, leading up to a balcony. You climb first, nearly slipping a few times in your haste to get up. Dirt falls into his eyes, but he blinks them away as he climbs just behind you, his cane now clipped to his belt.

You waste no time picking a direction and run, leaping over wobbly shingles and skating around metal smoke shafts in a movement that Kaz can only call dancing.

Kaz damn near falls in love all over again, and actually does so when he hears your delighted giggles under the shine of the moonlight. He's right behind you, just barely keeping up with his bad leg, and the sound makes his chest... /bubble/.

Several other gunshots ring out, the sound of bullets hitting metal like notes on a piano.

Kaz moves to the far side of the house, away from the sight of the Stadwatch and leaps to another building, his good leg coming in contact with the slick roof. His boot squeaks as it slips off, his leather gloves grabbing desperately at the shingles.

"Let go!" He heard from below.

Without a second thought, he went limp.

A gust of wind hit his back, knocking the air out of his lungs for a moment. And just as quickly he was on the ground, your face staring over him.

You chuckled. "Rather fucked up trust fall, I'd say."

"I trust no one." He spits without venom, hauling himself up. He unclips his cane, leaning on it.

"Okay Kaz." He can hear the sarcasm in your voice, but he diverts his attention in favor to the gunshot wound that splits through the meat of his arm.

You jolt too, yelling in pain. In a fit of anger, you slam the Stadwatch into the wall with your wind, the air pressure shifting and making his ears pop.

He doesn't bother to check if they're still moving, running unevenly to the nearest crow owned business and slipping inside and through to the backdoor.

He has to get you back. Who knows what kind of bullets they were using or what kind of damage it did. Healing isn't Nina's strong suit, so the least amount of damage and less time wasted the better.

The moment Kaz is in the Slat he's ushering you into the medical room, cursing you for your stunned state. He only had so much ability to maneuver you lacking an arm and using a glorified stick.

"We need to wait until Nina gets here." He hissed as he closed the door behind him, shucking off his coat and placing it on the chair next to the table.

"Kaz." You say, voice small.

He quickly whipped his head around, mind going through every possibility.

Too much blood has drained from your body. You're too weak to hold yourself up. Your body functions were shutting down one by one in favor of your heart and brain.

Before his mind could launch into a plan of how to keep you alive, tourniquet above the wound perhaps, he saw you weren't in any pain at all.

Not even a speck of blood on your shoulder.

He limped over to you, wondering if he was beginning to hallucinate an oddly terrifying yet comforting fantasy where you were fine. Maybe he was the one dying. But the throbbing pain in his shoulder and the pounding of his heart told him that he probably wasn't.

"You're fine." It was meant as a question but came out as a statement.

"I'm fine." You whispered in the same stunned silence. "Although I am a bit sore."

It's you. It's you it's you it's /you/.

The door bursts open, making you jump back. Nina begins to rustle around the room, instructing Kaz onto the table, but he just cannot look anywhere but you.

How fucking insane is that?

Out of the potentially millions of people that exist just within the distance between the southern colonies and Fjerda, you're here.

He didn't stop looking at you, because you're fucking /here/, even as you left out the door, tripping on your way out.

He needed to talk to you.

Soon.

Now.

The moment Nina began to give him the go ahead he was hopping off the table and into the crowd of the Slat, doorknob hitting the wall.

Where were you?

He brought his hand up to his mouth, pinching his skin between his teeth just below his glove. A stunned yelp sounded over the crowd, heads turning up the stairs. Kaz felt his entire stomach tumble.

The steps groaned beneath his steps as he walked up them, doing his best to keep them even with some semblance of normal despite normal being thrown out minutes ago.

He was trudging through the Slat without his coat or cane, shirt torn at the shoulder, and a throbbing wrist that he just bit with little to no care about who seen or felt it besides you, and everyone found it weird.

But this entire situation was weird.

His arm ached as he pulled himself up the last few stairs by the railing, limping to the next set of stairs to his attic office.

And there you were, rubbing the inside of your wrist with your eyebrows knit, looking every bit as stunned as you were when you came face to face with reality.

"You bit me." You whined.

He took a moment to get his breath back into his weeping lungs. "I didnt bite you. I bit myself."

"But you may as well have bit me." You stood up, moving to the side.

And there really wasn't any arguing with that logic was there? You felt it just the same as he did.

Fuck.

/Fuck./

His heart continued to pound and pound on his chest as he, much slower this time, walked up the stairs, keeping tabs on his leg as he did so. There was no complaint from you as you followed close behind.

The door was unlocked when he got to it.

He turned to you, raising a brow.

The floorboards creaked as you rocked on your heels, looking away from his prying eyes. "I thought better of it only after I unlocked it."

"Usually makes no difference to you whether it's locked or not." He swung the door open, heading for his desk chair. "You walk in and sleep in my chair as much as you please."

It took you a moment to respond, the door clicking quietly. "It didn't feel right this time."

Ironic, considering you're literally destined to be with him if the universe has any say.

He stood beside his chair, remembering the last time he caught you fast asleep in it, legs dangling off the arm. Did you not want that ease with him?

It isn't unheard of for a person to reject their soulmate. Usually it's done when they have found a chosen partner rather than a destined one, or when they simply don't believe in that way of life.

Maybe that's why you don't say anything when the topic comes up.

His body feels heavy, utterly exhausted at the thought. The thought to beg comes to mind briefly before he puts it back on its leash and ties it to a pole.

Perhaps you don't want him, even if the universe or whatever it is dictates that you do.

"I can see that mind of yours working," you say, "and it's not what you think."

He grinds his teeth for a moment. "It would help rule some stuff out if you'd have been more open about the topic in the past."

Fuck the universe, he's allowed to be petty.

Your voice is tired and almost disappointed when you say his name next, and it makes him completely regret his words.

You sit on his desk, body angled towards the open window he loves and hates so much.

It's too drafty. Reflects too much light. Opens awkwardly. But it's warm and coats your skin like honey in the evening and tickles your face with your baby hairs in the early morning. It let's you slip in at the most awkward times when he's changing but also let's you in when he needs you most, even if you don't know it.

The window is always locked.

He taught you how to pick it.

"My parents are soulmates." You begin, Kaz lowering himself into his chair. "But they don't like eachother."

That does well to get his attention.

"Everytime the tie between them was activated, it was always on purpose to hurt the other." Your temple moved, teeth grinding. "When one would threaten to leave, the other would beat themself senseless. And when they really got angry at eachother, they'd almost kill themselves and then turn on eachother with knives and bottles.

I've heard stories of how it is to lose your soulmate back where I grew up. It's described as a nothingness. What was once there when the connection was really, really made disappears like it was never there, and leaves a dark, heavy feeling in its place."

You sighed, hand rubbing your chest. "I think that's the only reason they never actually killed eachother. They didn't want whatever they had, no matter how fucked up it was, to disappear."

He thought for a moment.

"You never spoke about it because you don't want to end up like them."

Your eyes squinted, lips pursing. "Yes and no." A rhythm came to life from your boot, legs swaying and hitting his desk. "You're right, but I also don't want to feel that feeling, that nothing. I don't know if it's true, if the grief takes that much of a hold on you, but I don't want to find out. Not now. Not ever." You looked at him then, eyes like glass and tears barely pooling on your lower lashes. "Not if it's you."

It hits him all at once.

The obvious realization that is that you /want/ him.

And the even more breathtaking realization that you really, really love him, and have loved him long before you knew.

Isn't that perfect?

You looked back to the window, and everywhere else, hand swiping underneath your eyes.

He tapped the table next to you, gathering your attention.

"I don't..." He licked his lips. "I don't want that either... if it's you."

He fucking hopes you get it. That he has loved you too. Before now. Before the lockpicking. Before the chair. Before the window. Before the bullet. Before the biting. Before. And has for a long time since.

Your mouth hangs open, lips shuttering just a little before you close it, biting the pink skin. "Okay." You whisper, head bobbing up and down. "Okay."

"One question, though."

"Um..." You clear your throat. "Shoot."

"How did you manage to go this long without knowing it was me considering my one true constant of pain?" He props his bad leg out, wiggling his foot a bit.

You laugh, a stark contrast from the pervious mood. "If you want me to be honest, I... completely forgot what leg is your bad leg?"

It's the truth, he can tell, yet the fact that it sounds more like a question gets a half chuckle out of him. "I assume you don't know how a cane works?"

"Well I wouldn't say /that/." You try to defend yourself. "I know it helps you walk I just... never knew what side it was supposed to go on."

He can't stop himself from smiling, then. Small and private. "Cane goes on the stronger side to aid the injured side when you step with it. It becomes a third leg."

You snort immediately, and he sighs. "Childish."

"Oh come on! You did that to yourself!"

"Y/n." He said.

"Yes?"

"You're insufferable."

You hopped off the desk, slipping the diamond necklace from your pouch and around his neck. "At yet you're stuck with me."

He touched one of the diamonds, watching you fall into the chair in front of his desk. "Not as much of a problem as you hope it is."

All tears gone, you get settled into the chair, perfectly warm and content in his company.

He loves that he feels the same.

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Tags:

@b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @a-candle-maker

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows x reader #six of crows x y/n #six of crows x you #six of crows fanfic #fanfic #blood tw #gun tw #sh tw #drugs tw #alcohol tw

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deny-the-issue · 4 months

Text

Rainbow Drabble Challenge

Yellow

64.media.tumblr.com

GIF by gameofthronesdaily

Red, Orange <- Previous Chapter, Next Chapter -> Green, Blue, Indigo

Overall Summary: This is a short love story about Otto Hightower being a sexy bastard. There WILL be a happy ending. The reader is mid to late twenties in age.

Chapter Summary: You gift Ser Otto a small token of appreciation.

AO3 link

Rainbow drabble challenge

link to divider

[spinster!reader] [Otto Hightower x f!reader] [fluff] [626 words] [Yellow expressed as optimism and friendship]

The dreaded day has come, and Ser Otto’s mood has suffered the brunt of it. His scowl sends the servants running, lest they draw his ire. He worries the gravity of his emotions has spread too far when you walk into his office with the same shy demeanor.

Then he spies a lacquered wooden box held by your delicate, nervous hands, and curiosity wipes the thought from his mind’s eye.

You have read every text Ser Otto has to offer, except for a single chapter. He knows you feigned exhaustion the evening before. How could he not? It is part of his duties to know when someone is lying. It is also not in his nature to deny the chance to spend more time with you.

You stand perfectly poised in front of his desk, finally meeting his gaze. A beautiful blush paints your face as you gently clear your throat.

“My lord, I would like to present you with a token of my appreciation for allowing me to study your texts these past weeks.”

Raising his brow in stoic interest, he takes the offering, hands touching for a heartbeat before you retreat. The contact made him greedy for the intimate and obscene, something he could only dream of in the loneliness of his private chambers. Cool eyes cast down to the box as he lifts the hinged lid.

Inside lay five bare quills in a neat row atop rich green velvet. They seem finer than the ones he typically uses at first glance. He’s inspecting one in his hand when you begin to explain.

“They are crow’s feathers, my lord. I was told they produce a finer line than any other.”

Ser Otto nodded in agreement. He was told the same but due to their more expensive nature, he chose to remain with the common goose feather for his missives. However, his hand often cramped after long hours of writing, and he wondered if the finer edge would save him that pain.

“Thank you, my lady. It is a most gracious gift,” he politely accepts the gift, his voice cold and unaffected by his internal turmoil.

“It is the least I could do, my lord, for encumbering you with my presence for so many evenings. If you would indulge me one more kindness–may I hand deliver your portrait in a month’s time?”

“You may,” his answer is curt, but you wouldn’t know it from the brilliant smile lighting up your face.

Anger flares in Ser Otto’s belly. Not for you, but for the absolute yearning you instill. So honorable he has lived, where other men visit pleasure houses, Ser Otto upholds his morals. He would take no whore, and the mere thought of ruining you disgusts him. To rip you of your worth for a moment of bliss is unthinkable.

The emotion leaks into his expression, stealing your smile with it.

“I’ll take my leave— I know my lord is a busy man. Farewell, Ser Otto, may your days be kind.”

“To you, as well, my Lady.”

The door shuts behind you, leaving Ser Otto to reflect in cold silence. Whatever warmth these chambers provided left with you, and he could feel the loneliness creeping up his spine. The sight of your gift wards off the cold, and the light weight of the quill in his hand brings forth the memory of the warmth you so effortlessly tended.

A smirk pulls the corner of his lips as he remembers your feigned exhaustion the day before. You make such a beautiful liar, with an innocence he cannot even think of punishing.

A month cannot come soon enough. Even if the portrait isn’t up to his standards, at least he would be in your presence once again.

#otto hightower #otto hightower fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #house of the dragon #hotd fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #eventual smut #fluff #otto hightower x reader #fem!reader #rainbowdrabblechallenge

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semisgroupie · 1 year

Text

part one: the most beautiful thing i have ever seen

vampire!choso x fem.reader

wc: 10.4k

warnings: death (minor character deaths), blood (consumption), unprotected sex, creampie, choking (non sexual), death threats, oral sex (f!receiving), monsterfucking (since choso is a vampire), virginity, reader is a virgin, age gap (here choso is more than 100 years old), description of a dead body (very brief), choso is very soft and gentle with reader, reader wears a dress, heels and a corset, slight angst, mention of illnesses (to be historically accurate), lots of talk about God, brief mention of satosugu

note: all flashbacks/events in the past are italicized

series masterlist | next part

(taglist form is on the masterlist)

Two men sat in the empty space of the large room. Expensive art and furniture was carefully placed to fill some void of the emptiness. A large coffee table sat between the two men, on top there were two mugs, a pile of magazines and a laptop.

“Okay, is there anything you need before we start?” The question was asked by the blonde man at one end of the table, his back was pressed against the cushions of the velvet couch, crows feet decorated the corners of his eyes and wrinkles were deep set on his face.

“No thank you, I had a feeding earlier so I’m full for now.” Now, the raven haired man spoke. He looked no older than 24, his dark hair was tied back loosely and some stray hairs shaped his face, his eyes were dark and empty, his lips were downturned to a small frown.

“It feels cold here,” the blonde placed his hands in his lap, looking around the room. All the windows were covered with blackout shades, no traces of sunlight entered the room and if it weren’t for the lamps and interior lights the room would have been pitch black.

“Do you want me to turn up the heat? The weather is changing, you should have brought something warmer to wear.” The darker haired male stood and just before he could take his first step the blonde male interjected. “No, not physically cold. How can I put this?”

“Just spit it out Kento, you won’t hurt my feelings by being honest. I prefer your honesty more than anything.” Kento nodded and tapped his finger against his chin, trying to find the right words. “It’s funny, I’m a novelist and I can’t even find the right words to put together. What I mean is this room, this entire penthouse is cold. There’s no joy, no warmth, it just feels like a space being put together for the sole purpose of habitation. It’s just a space but not a home.”

The raven haired male chuckled softly and nodded. “You’re not wrong, this place isn’t a home. It was never meant to be a home, I mean I tried to make it as such but seems like I failed with that. But without her, this space will never be a home. Only she could bring the warmth that’s needed, for I can never do that by myself. But, I’ll get more into that once we begin.”

“Fine, let’s start,” the blonde reached into his jacket that was splayed across the arm of the couch and pulled out a tape recorder. He hit the record button and held it to his mouth, “it is September 28th, the year is 2002. My name is Nanami Kento and I am here with,” he leaned in and set the tape recorder on the table, somewhat towards the middle point between them. “Go on and introduce yourself.”

The raven haired male brushed some hairs from his face and crossed one of his legs over the other, “my name is Choso Kamo.”

Nanami chuckled and shook his head, “a man of few words, you haven’t changed much over the years, Choso.” He smiled softly and gripped his mug, taking a sip of the contents inside, “what are you and how old are you?”

“I’m a little over 200 years old, 220 years old to be exact, and I am a vampire. Now, what I will say may seem made up, believe what you want because it is not my job to make you believe me. What my job is, is to tell you my story and since we are good friends, I will tell you every single detail. Don’t worry about me being offended if you need to research anything during our session, I understand so feel free to fact check while I’m here.”

“Thank you for that, so when you’re ready you can start from the beginning. Some of your life before you turned, or when you were turned, just let it all out. The mic is yours.”

Choso nodded and brought his mug to his lips, wetting them before setting it back down. “I was born in the year 1782, in a modest town. I was raised by my mother with a heart of gold and my father who was complete scum. She was always too good for him and deep down she knew it too but would never admit it. You know, when he died I didn’t shed a single tear. I was only 5 years old and not one tear fell from my eyes, my siblings were too young to remember him and it was good that they didn’t. I wouldn’t want them to remember someone like him.” He shook his head at the memory, not wanting to dwell on it further he decided to move on.

“I’m the oldest of four, two brothers and one sister. I think I did a good job as a big brother, I protected them as much as I could and became a father figure to them. I cherished them more than life itself and I still do. I so badly wanted to change them, I wanted to prevent the suffering and impending doom of old age but I could not give this curse to them, it had to be a cross I had to bear on my own. My youngest brother was the one who clutched onto me the most, Yuuji.” A small smile graced his face for barely a second before it fell back to a frown. “He had the brightest eyes and the brightest smile I had ever seen. When he smiled it was brighter than the sun, moon and stars combined. I envied him for that, it was selfish but I couldn’t help it. I had always thought, ‘why wasn’t I gifted with a smile like his? Why couldn’t I be like Yuuji?’ It just wasn’t in the cards for me and that was something I had to, and still, live with to this day.”

He pulled the elastic that held his hair together and let the dark strands fall into their own place. “It pained me the most to see him die, I think I had never cried that much before in my life. I miss him dearly, I still carry a note from him in my wallet. It’s written messily and the paper is on its last leg but I can’t pull myself to part from it. I guess I need it with me, it’s kind of like having him by my side.” He shifts a bit to pull his wallet from his back pocket and opens the black leather up to show the paper, stained from age and wrinkled beyond belief. The words are barely legible due to the messy handwriting and the smudged letters but Kento could make it, “Choso, I thank God every single day that you’re my big brother. I love you — Yuuji.” Kento sat back into place after reading the content of the note aloud, it was like the room grew even colder once the last syllable was spoken. Choso’s face downturned even more as he closed his wallet and put it away.

“But, let me get back to the story before I make this even more depressing,” he sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. “Where was I?” He tapped his finger against the arm of the loveseat he sat on. “Ah, my siblings. So, back home I found and picked up whatever work I could find. Both ethical and not but as long as it meant I was bringing money back home, then I did whatever it took. I never wanted my family to deal with the burden of going hungry, something that many people in my town dealt with. I mean at that time everyone was struggling so I’m not here to make my life sound like a pity story, it’s anything but that. I don’t want or deserve any pity, I just want to share my story.”

He took another sip of the contents inside his mug and set it down. “I had just turned 24 when I was turned into this. It was late and it was a warm Saturday evening. I was with a young girl, who everyone called the town whore, I believe her name was Selene. They said that you could give her a coin off the ground and she would sleep with you. I was a virgin so I was dying to test that theory out, it was wrong of me and it’s sad that only now I could realize that. I wish I could apologize to her for thinking what I thought, to try to make something up to her.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I had taken her out to dinner to be nice and we were walking down a back route back to her home. She lived alone so it would make it easy for me to fuck her without any interruptions but it seemed that the interruption had come before we would even come close to her home. It was a dark path, barely lit by some of the kerosene lamps that were put in front of the homes. She was a few steps ahead of me, leading the way back to her home and I had stopped in my tracks, hearing what sounded like footsteps behind us. When I looked around there was nothing there, or so I thought. She had gone ahead of me, believing I was behind her but I was too distracted by trying to figure out where the sound came from or who it came from. I took a few steps in the direction where I had heard the sound then the next thing I heard was a scream coming behind me, it was quickly cut off and when I turned around Selene was gone. Fear coursed through my veins and I yelled out for her, only to receive no response. I searched for her and then I found her, well her body at least. It wasn’t even that long since I heard the scream but there she was, limp and cold. I kneeled down and my eyes widened at the sight, her skin was extremely pale, her body was drained of its blood to the very last drop. I got up, I needed to get help, I needed to do something but the second my eyes moved from her lifeless body all thoughts left me. I saw him, blood dripped from his chin — let me correct that, Selene’s blood dripped from his chin and he looked at me with a proud smile on his face. Every nerve and synapse in my body screamed at me to run, to get away from him or to just do something but I just couldn’t.”

He shook his head as he recounted the story and Kento leaned in, “if it’s too much for you to recount then we can just move on. You don’t have to relive everything.”

He shook his head and tied his hair back up. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that, that moment was the first time I felt what true fear was like. I have been scared before by minor things but fear is a paralyzing agent, it swarms you and surrounds you like you’re wearing a straitjacket. So I just stood there, waiting for his next move. I couldn’t even ball my fists up to try to defend myself against this monster. I suddenly felt his hand wrap around my neck and squeeze with the force of a hundred men. The oxygen slipped through my lungs fairly quickly then darkness consumed me. When I woke up I was in a tight space, I felt around me and all I felt was fabric. I banged on what I presumed was the roof and after a few hits it opened. I crawled out of the space and once my eyes adjusted to the light I screamed. I was in a coffin and to the left of me was another coffin. I didn’t even know how I got there but I needed to get out. I got to my feet and stumbled out of the room, I went down the stairs and there he sat.”

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

Heavy footsteps padded the floor, they were frantic just like he was in the moment. He moved through the unfamiliar surroundings with surprising ease, like he had done this a million times already. Finally he made it down the long flight of steps, seeing the back of a chair and a mess of blue hair. The same mess of blue hair he saw just before he had gone unconscious. Without even turning around, the male sitting down spoke.

“You’re finally awake, you had quite a feeding. I thought I wouldn’t be able to gather enough bodies for you.”

Choso’s chest tightened and the unknown male stood from the chair he sat upon. “I should introduce myself, I’m Mahito, your creator.” Mahito took a few steps closer to Choso and with every step forward, Choso took a step back until he hit the nearest wall.

“What are you talking about? Creator? What is that supposed to mean?”

Mahito chuckled and in a flash he was face to face with Choso, he grabbed Choso’s hand and brought it to his neck. Choso’s eyes widened when he felt two bumps and he snatched his hand away. “What the fuck is that? Give me a mirror, now.”

Mahito shrugged and grabbed a handheld mirror, turning it so Choso could see himself in the small glass.

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

“I couldn’t recognize myself, blood stained my face and clothes and there were these two puncture marks on my neck, right at my jugular. If I was holding the mirror then it surely would have fallen to the ground. I was mortified and furious without really knowing the true extent of what this man did to me. I looked like a monster and I didn’t know if I wanted to scream, run, cry or end up doing all three but instead I just stood there, frozen once again. No word could form, my mouth went dry, I couldn’t do a thing. So he just spoke for me, explaining what he did to me and all I could really process was I was made into a killing machine, all to fill an appetite that would never be satiated. He told me that I fed off of 5 people before I passed out, I was in a frenzy. A gluttonous, blood-lust frenzy.” Choso adjusted his position in his seat, a small look of shame panning along his face before it went back to its usual expression. “I hated that I couldn’t remember a thing, I hated that I had killed people but the thing I hated most was the blue headed freak in front of me. I wanted to kill him on the spot but instead I just listened to him as he spoke.”

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

“You need to embrace this new life, Choso, you need to embrace this gift I have given you. You’re immortal! And so what if it just costs a few lives here and there?”

Choso scoffed and an expression of disgust graced his features, “I’m not killing people. I’m not embracing this bullshit you call a gift, I don’t want to live forever! I don’t want this.” Suddenly the weight of the word ‘immortality’ hit him. “What about my family? My plan was to grow old with them. I wanted to stay with them until I breathed my last breath.”

Mahito laughed and it made Choso grow furious. “This isn’t a fucking joke! What’s so funny?”

“You’re still so naive, it’s adorable. Your family will still be mortals, they’ll grow old and gray while you’ll look like you’re sipping from the fountain of youth on a daily basis. This is a gift, Choso. You won’t grow old, you won’t have to worry about the weakening of your body that comes with age, you won’t have to worry about your mind going feeble, you won’t have to worry about a single thing. It’s not bullshit, I have given you what other men would kill for. You should be thanking me, you should be praising me like I am your new god, since that is what I am. I have defied all odds known to mankind and now you will join me. So be a good boy and keep listening to me.” One of Mahito’s hands lifted and patted Choso’s cheek condescendingly, like he was petting a fucking dog. Choso pushed the blue haired male’s hand away, his eyes narrowing at him.

“Fuck you. I will never thank you, every single day I live like this will lead to nothing more than a growing pit of hatred. I will outwit you one day and I will kill you, only then would I be satisfied with what you have changed me into.”

Mahito laughed even harder and before Choso could process his movements, Mahito’s hand wrapped around Choso’s neck, squeezing down even tighter than before. “I could snap your neck, boy. You talk too much, that’s what the problem is with people your age. You’ll yap yap yap and then when someone reacts the way you least expect then you get that stupid saucer eyed look on your face. Go on then, try to break from this grasp and kill me.” After a few moments of squirming and trying to fight back Mahito scoffed and shook his head. “So, like I said before, keep your fucking mouth shut and let me speak. You will listen to every single word I say and that is all, if you have questions you will save them until I’m done.” With that he let go of Choso’s neck and moved back to the seat he was previously occupying.

Choso greedily sucked in air, he wanted to retort and say something clever but he knew anything but obeying Mahito would be futile. So, he just sat down across from him, relaxing against the fabric.

“So you can listen and obey, that’s good I’d hate to hurt you.” Mahito crossed one leg over the other and placed his hands on the arm of his chair. “You cannot go out during the day, the sun will be your worst enemy. If you go out during the day then you will burn, like a match to a flame. You can visit your family at night and you need to come back here before dawn. When you feed or have the desire to feed, you need to bring them back here so I can cremate the body, I’m not dealing with police over a few missing people. So now you’re probably wondering why I chose you, I’ll indulge you in that.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned close to Choso. “You’ve intrigued me, Choso. I’ve been alive for over 400 years and I’ve only been this intrigued by two others. Sadly, I had to get rid of them but I don’t think I’ll need to do that with you. You’re already vastly different than they were, so I’m sure you won’t face the same fate they met.”

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

“I didn’t need any clarification of what he meant by whatever fate they met. I knew that he killed them, it was just an ominous aura that filled the air. It sent a chill down my spine, the paralyzing agent of fear threatened to fill my nerves but I somehow found a way to push it aside. I was by Mahito’s side for close to one hundred years, he taught me everything I know now but I did go to visit my family at night, they were so surprised when they saw me for the first time since I turned. They thought I was dead.”

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

“Choso is home!” Yuuji’s high-pitched voice echoed through the small house. His little feet pat against the floor as he ran to his older brother, jumping into the dark haired male’s arms. The sound of more footsteps followed after, each of his siblings ran to hug him while their mother stood in the doorway. Once Choso pulled away from his siblings to look at her, the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes finally fell.

“Mom, don’t cry.” He walked over and pulled the frail woman to his chest, hugging her like that would be the last time he would be able to hold her so close. She shook her head and held onto him tightly, her sobs racked through her but were muffled by his chest.

“I thought you were dead. The police found Selene’s body and when we told them that you were with her they didn’t even bother to look for you. They just said we should buy a burial plot and bury an empty casket in your memory. What happened? Why were you gone for so long?”

His mother barraged him with questions but he couldn’t answer them, well not truthfully at least. Every question she asked was answered with an already prepared answer, it was like Mahito could read into the future and predict what she was going to ask him. Maybe this was the same procedure he went through with the two people he changed before. He spent the rest of the night holding his family close, enjoying the warmth of their bodies while trying to find something to distract him from the pounding in his head that matched their heartbeats. He could never feed off of his family but he didn’t know if this animalistic instinct within him would make him turn the people he loved most into prey.

Once they were sound asleep he escaped into the darkness of the night, making a silent promise to return every night to see them. He couldn’t leave them behind, he just couldn’t, they were his motivation to try to contain some form of his humanity.

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

“Within that year my mother died, she was sick but she didn’t tell any of us since she didn’t want us to worry. My siblings went into the care of my aunt, she was a wealthy woman and she took them in like they were own children. If angels existed then she would have been one of them. I watched my siblings grow up and when they grew older while I didn’t. Which led to suspicions and rumors. So, my visits lessened over the years but I still saw them. I viewed everything from the shadows, I saw all my siblings get married, I saw all the beautiful nieces and nephews they gave me. I only stayed close to Yuuji but I knew he was suspicious of my lack of aging. While he grew gray hairs I stayed with a headful of black hair, he grew wrinkles on his face and there was not a single blemish on mine, he never questioned me. With the joys of life there were also the pitfalls into the abyss. My sister died first, smallpox was the cause of her death. She was only 40, there was so much life ahead of her but it was taken away from her. Then it was my brother, her twin who died next. His cause of death was scarlet fever, he was only 55. Then came the day that I dreaded most, the day Yuuji died.”

He took in a deep breath and Kento looked up at him, over the rims of his glasses. “Take your time, I know this is going to be difficult for you. If you’d like we can take a break, you can gather yourself and then we’ll continue.”

Choso nodded and Kento stopped the recording. “Thank you Kento.”

“There’s no need to thank me, you’re a friend and I’m not going to force you to speak when you’re not ready.”

It was only a 10-minute break, giving Kento time to use the bathroom and refill his drink while Choso stood by one of the many bookshelves in the penthouse. He wasn’t looking for a book in particular, he just needed to try to distract himself momentarily. After the 10 minutes had passed, both males returned to their seats. Choso gave a curt nod to Kento to signal he was ready and the recording was started again.

“Yuuji died of old age, the bastard even died with a smile on his face. I was at his bedside the entire time, holding his hand. It killed me to see him like that, I should’ve been in his place, he should’ve been the one that was given the chance to see me get old. On his deathbed he finally asked what I did to keep looking young and I told him the truth. He just laughed it off and that was when he took his final breath. He died laughing, something he always did.” Choso lifted one of his hands to wipe at his eyes, Kento’s eyes widened slightly to see the tears that escaped his eyes weren’t like water but they were tears of blood. “That day was one of the days I cried the most. I held his body close to me and wailed like a baby, my heart had shattered. I was alone, I had no family, my nieces and nephews knew nothing about me. Even Mahito had left the day Yuuji died. I went back to the home we shared and I saw the note atop my coffin. After I had read it I ripped it to shreds so I cannot tell you the exact details. I believe that he had stated that he needed to move on, I believe he had found a lover or someone that intrigued him more than I did. The thing that’s odd is while I hated him, I missed his presence, I missed hearing his hearty laughter, I missed his little tantrums whenever he lost at a game of chess. I missed him. The anger and hatred turned into longing and even now I still think of him from time to time. I hope he’s okay, hopefully he’s still alive but if he’s not then may God be pleased with his soul. To pass the time I would just wander around at night and find the worst of the worst to feed upon, men who I knew were abusive to their family, drunkards that harassed women, whatever would make me feel better about killing.”

Choso checked the watch on his wrist and clasped his hands together. “Are you hungry? It’s getting pretty late and knowing you, I’m sure you’ve only had one meal today.”

Kento paused the tape again and nodded, “you actually cook? No offense but the last time you made a meal, you almost burned everything down.”

Both men chuckled and Choso shook his head, “there’s no need for me to cook or to hone in my cooking skills. There is a perk to living in a city like this one.” He stood and took out a handful of takeout menus, “here, take your pick and it’ll be my treat, for old time’s sake.”

After 30 minutes both men were sitting at Choso’s dining room table, in front of Kento sat his meal and in front of Choso sat a bowl of blood. “What’s going on in your life Kento? How’s your lady?”

Kento chuckled and held up his left hand, a wedding band on his ring finger. “We’re still in our honeymoon stage, you know, still lovey dovey, can’t keep our hands off each other, everything is just perfect. We got married almost 6 months ago, I would’ve invited you but it was in the middle of the day, I can’t imagine how difficult it would’ve been to explain why you’re burning up.”

Choso nodded and shook his head, sipping the blood off the spoon he held in his hand. “No worries, I’m glad to see you all settled down, happy. I wouldn’t wish for anything more for you Kento, you’re a good guy and I told you this when we first met 20 years ago, you deserve to be happy and have love in your life.”

The men continued to chat until they finished their meals, “okay, since we’re done eating, we could finish up the session for today. Unless you have anything else you want to say.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to end today’s session with just talking about Mahito. I want to talk about her, well if I were to say everything then we’d be here all month long but I want to talk about the first time I saw her.”

Kento nodded and stood up to throw his garbage away and both men went back to their original seats. “Whenever you’re ready.” Kento leaned forward and pressed record again before settling back.

“The year was 1899, I moved from my little town to one of the bigger cities that were closeby. At the time I was a tailor, when I was younger I learned how to sew and stitch things together from my mom and would often adjust my siblings' clothes so it just turned into a profession. A lot of the people that came into my little shop were wealthy and I was invited to one of the biggest celebrations in the city. It was a party to celebrate the end of the century and if only I knew then what I know now, that party would lead to another life changing moment.”

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

You sat in front of your mirror while your mother styled your hair. “Do I have to attend this party? It’s just another year, there’s nothing that special about it.” Your comment earned you a flick to your ear and a glare from your mother through the mirror.

“Don’t say things like that Y/N. As my daughter, you need to show face to this event and Satoru will be there.” You rolled your eyes and quickly lifted your hands to cover your ears when she went to flick them.

Satoru had been your friend since you two were babies and from that moment your parents tried to arrange a marriage between you two. You loved Satoru but only as a brother, plus his heart belonged to another, a young man that apprenticed under the local carpenter. Their relationship would be frowned upon by everyone so they had to see each other in secret. It pained you to see them keep their love hidden but there was nothing you could do.

“I know Satoru will be there but I’m not going there for him. I’m only going so you won’t rip my ears off.”

The hours flew by quickly and before you knew it your carriage pulled in front of the Astor’s home, a lavish mansion. Music poured through the open windows and doors and you could hear laughter erupting from the inside. You walked inside with your mother and she instantly parted from you once you two crossed the threshold of the mansion. You looked around and saw Satoru waving his arm, his lover standing next to him. Your heels clicked along the floor as you approached them and Satoru wrapped an arm around you. “Don’t look so pitiful already, you just got here. Put a smile on your face and enjoy the night! Who knows, you might find the perfect suitor.”

You rolled your eyes and jabbed your elbow into his ribs, making him whimper in pain. “I’m only here because my dear mother dragged me here. You sound just like her too, it makes me sick.”

Satoru’s eyes widened and his lover’s hand was placed gently on his shoulder. “You know she’s independent, I’d be surprised if she ever gets married.”

You looked over and narrowed your eyes at the dark haired male. “Shut it Suguru. Anyways, don’t you two have something to do? Like busying yourselves instead of bothering me?”

They laughed and after a few drinks they did exactly that. You leaned against the wall and watched as everyone danced the night away. You sipped the rest of the contents in the glass you had and looked around to see if there were any servants around.

“Looking for this?” You jumped at the voice and quickly turned to face who owned it. Your eyes scanned up his body and slightly widened when you made eye contact with him, a soft smile was on his lips and he held out one of the glasses in his hands. You set your empty glass on a table and you took it from him.

“Thank you Mr.—”

“Please just call me Choso, there’s no need for formalities.” You nodded and repeated his name before taking a sip of your drink. “I’m Y/N.”

You stuck your hand out to him and he took your hand in his and gingerly pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Heat bloomed in your face at the small gesture and you slowly pulled your hand away. He was insanely attractive, his dark hair was pushed back slightly but some hairs framed his face, his eyes were piercing like they were seeping into your soul, his lips were the perfect shade of reddish-pink, his cheekbones and jaw looked like they were chiseled by the gods. You had to force yourself to look away or you would’ve spent the rest of the night staring at him.

“Do you go to celebrations like these often?” He leaned in a bit to your ear as the crowd of people dancing grew louder and the closeness only flustered you further.

“Only because my mother drags me here, she’s the one in the red dress dancing with the governor.” You lifted your hand and pointed in the direction of your mother, dancing a bit too close to the governor. He chuckled and nodded. “Did you get dragged here by anyone?”

You looked up at him and your breath got caught in your throat at the closeness, you pressed yourself against the wall more but it didn’t change how close you two were. “No, I was invited by the hosts of the party. I’m their tailor so as a thanks I was invited.”

He looked down at you and another smile graced his lips, “sorry darling, I didn’t realize how close I was.” He pulled back a bit and you wanted to pull him even closer.

After a few minutes of small talk, he learned you had recently turned 23, had no siblings, and learned about your mother’s mission in finding a man for you.

“Well, do you think a dance would shut her up?”

Your eyebrows furrowed a bit at his question and he took your hand in his, walking with you to the dance floor. “I’m asking for a dance.”

The heat rose to your cheeks and remained there as he pulled you close to him, one of his hands firmly grasped yours and the other was placed gingerly on your hip. He led you as the music played but it served as background noise, the pounding of your heart taking the mainstage in your eardrums. You had never felt this way with a man before but something about him was just alluring. He told you about some of his life but he still had the mysterious aura surrounding him. You wanted to know him, you wanted to spill all your secrets so you could make room for whatever secrets he held. The mysterious tailor began stitching your heart to his.

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

“I know the concept of falling in love at first sight might seem like a myth but when I saw her I felt our souls begin to intertwine in a dance of love. Call me cheesy but that’s how she makes me feel, even now after all these years this stupid lovesick smile finds its way on my face. I guess that’s the power of love. A power that supersedes anything and everything.”

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

As the song came to an end, he moved his hand up from your hip to the middle of your back and dipped you back. A light giggle fell from your lips and it was as if the invisible string between you two was pulled. He licked his lips and closed the distance between you two and placed his lips against yours. You easily melted in the kiss and you held onto him tighter. He pulled you back up while your lips were still interlocked and only then he broke the kiss. Every nerve in your body tingled and your heart thumped in your chest even harder. Your eyes bore into his and you found yourself leaning in for another kiss, which he granted.

His lips were soft and molded into yours as if they were meant to be there. He pulled you closer to him and only pulled away from you when there was an obnoxiously loud comment from a guest nearby, “get a room!” He chuckled and took one of your hands in his, “what do you say? I’m sure there’s a spare room around here.” Words failed to leave your throat and all you could do was nod. “Perfect.”

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

“I felt excited and nervous as we started ascending the stairs, like I was a fucking virgin again. Before her I had indulged in sins of the flesh, a sinful dance filled with heavy breaths and pants with beautiful women before I turned them into my meal but I had never felt nervous. With them it was just nature acting but with Y/N, I had this unknown pressure on my shoulders. Can you believe it? Someone like me, a man who has killed others, wass nervous about taking a girl to a private room. With every single step I took, it was like more butterflies filled my stomach, I couldn’t even imagine how she felt.”

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

You followed him up the stairs to the top floor, your body vibrated with excitement and nerves. Once you two were away from the steps and he started looking for an empty room. Just as he jiggled the fourth doorknob to check if it was occupied you saw the hosts of the party from the corner of your eye. Mr. Astor approached you two with a drunken smile on his face while Mrs. Astor giggled.

“You two looking for a room?”

Choso quickly looked over with wide eyes, ready to apologize for something he hasn’t even done yet but Mr. Astor beat him to it. “Don’t apologize, you’re young, you’re supposed to have fun at parties. Here,” he dug a key out of his pocket and placed it in your hand. “This is the key to the second biggest bedroom here, not even our family sleeps there when they come over. Enjoy yourselves and don’t worry about being loud.” He winked at you both and walked with Mrs. Astor down the stairs.

You looked down at the key in your hand then up at Choso, just as you were about to open your mouth you heard the footsteps approach you two again. Mrs. Astor rested her hand on your shoulder and pointed to the other end of the hall. “Sorry, James forgot to tell you where the room is. Just go down the hall and it’s at the end of the pathway. Have fun, the night is long!” She pressed a kiss to your cheek and went back down the stairs to her awaiting husband. Your attention went back to the key then back to Choso. You two stood there for a few moments and you broke the silence.

“Should we go?” He leaned in and cupped your face to pull you in for another kiss, it took your breath away in an instant and it gave you the answer you were searching for without him saying a word. He pulled away and started leading you down the hall, you clutched his hand tighter as the distance between you and the door grew shorter. The reality of what would happen once you two were inside the room hit you all at once. You were consumed by your thoughts and didn’t even realize you two were standing in front of the door.

“Y/N? I need the key to open the door.” You nodded and handed him the key, a wave of embarrassment washing over you. He quickly got the door unlocked and walked with you inside. You looked around the room while he locked the door and then felt his arms loosely wrap around your middle. “Talk to me, if you want to leave or if you want to change your mind just tell me and I’ll understand.”

You turned around in his hold and looked up at him, meeting his warm eyes and soft smile. You felt like you wanted to pour your heart to him, let him know every doubt that weighed on your mind about not just this situation but about everything. “I’ve never been intimate with someone before.” You expected him to be shocked, to pull himself away from you so he could find someone else more experienced but he just stood there, even holding you tighter.

“That’s okay, beautiful. I would love to be the first person you’re intimate with. Let’s just take this slow and then we can see what you’re most comfortable with doing. I only want you to be comfortable and I want you to enjoy this.” With that he leaned in closer to close the distance between you both and captured your lips in his. He moved slowly, as if he was trying to memorize the feeling of your lips against his. You two stood in the middle of the room, kissing, and his hands remained on your waist, not moving from their position. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held onto him as your lips danced against each other. The thumping from the music reverberated through the floor you two stood on and he pulled back slightly, “let’s go to the bed, your feet must be hurting in those heels.”

It was only when he brought it up, was when you felt the slight ache in your feet. “Yes please.” He brought you to the bed and lifted your legs on his lap once you were both seated, his hands were gentle and his touches were light as he took off your shoes. He hooked his hand under each ankle and brought them up to his lips to gently press a kiss to your ankles. Your face heat up at the action, no one has ever been that gentle with you, not even the men that were trying to court you, but this stranger was treating you like porcelain. He glanced over at you and pulled you closer to him, making your legs dangle off his lap as he met you in another kiss. The kiss was slow again but you wanted more. You pressed yourself into him more, hoping that it would be enough for him but it wasn’t. He gently squeezed your waist as some sort of warning to slow you down. You did it again but were met with the same reaction. You tried it for the third time but this time he pulled away.

“I want more Choso, please give me more.”

He obliged and pulled you back in without a word, the kiss this time was hungrier, filled with desire and passion that made a fire burn within you. His tongue slid across your bottom lip and his hands moved to your hips, squeezing it a bit harder to make you gasp, taking advantage of it when you did. His tongue entered your mouth and licked along yours, it was a very foreign feeling but it made your mind cloudy nonetheless. His tongue continued to explore your mouth and your hands clutched at his shirt tightly, he was skilled with his mouth beyond belief and just kissing him made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

He broke the kiss so you two could catch your breath and one of his hands wandered up to the back of your corset. “May I take this off you? I can’t imagine how uncomfortable it must be.” You nodded and he stood up to move behind you, his fingers carefully undid the knots and ties then tossed it to the side. He leaned in and kissed your neck, a breathy whimper fell from your lips as he kissed along the expanse of it and a breathy moan fell from your lips when you felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin. You were too blissed out to notice how sharp his canines became, how his eyes changed to a glowing burgundy showing his bloodlust. He moved back and tried to calm himself and had to think of what he could do to make sure you didn’t turn around.

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

“What could I have said if she turned around? ‘Sorry sweetheart but I’ve been alive for over a hundred years but still look 24. Still want to fuck?’ I didn’t know how she would’ve reacted and I know you’re wondering but no, I didn’t bite her. I’m surprised I was able to control myself so close to her pulse point but I found a way to restrain myself. Maybe it was some unspoken effect she had on me, maybe it was God finally on my side, who knows.”

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

He somehow evened his breathing and his fingers danced along the buttons of your dress. “You can take it off, please take it off.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, you couldn’t speak any louder than that in fear of sounding too desperate. He slowly undid each button and leaned in to kiss down your spine, it sent chills across your body. “You’re so beautiful, absolutely stunning.” Once he reached the last button he lifted his hands and slid the dress off your shoulders only to lower it so he could expose your chest. Your nipples hardened at the exposure and your hands instantly moved to cover yourself but he moved quicker. “Don’t hide from me, you’re too beautiful to be hidden.” He pressed a kiss to each shoulder then moved to sit in front of you.

His eyes widened as he saw your chest exposed to him and the longer he stared, the more you wanted to crawl into a hole. “Choso, please do something.” He chuckled and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” He tilted your chin up and leaned closer to kiss your neck while his hands moved to cup your breasts. His movements were slow and calculated, he kissed along your pulse and gently sucked on the skin while his fingers pinched at your nipples. You arched your back into his touch and rolled your head back. “Choso.” Your moans were breathless but he wanted to hear you more, he was greedy for any possible sounds you’d make.

He moved down and pressed chaste kisses along your collarbones then moved down your chest until he reached your breasts. He focused his attention on one while his fingers absentmindedly teased the other. His tongue was warm and wet against your skin as he licked along your breast, circling around your nipple before he latched on. He started with gentle sucks and your hands flew to the bed, gripping the sheets tightly between your fists to ground yourself. After a few minutes he switched breasts and his eyes were trained on you, watching how your eyes fluttered shut and how your mouth fell open.

It was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and he needed more.

He unlatched from your breast and placed his hand on your shoulder, “lay back, I want to make you feel even better.” You nodded and leaned back until your head was against the arrangement of pillows. He pulled down your dress and hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear to join your dress until any clothes were off your body. He tossed them to the side so they could join your corset and he laid down between your legs, gently spreading them to make space for his broad shoulders. His mouth watered at the sight of your slick folds, he licked his lips and leaned in close enough to gently blow air on your twitching clit.

“Ah, Choso.” He glanced up at you and a smile grew on his face, the more flustered you got the more beautiful you became to him. Like you were sculpted from God’s hands. He pressed a kiss to your clit and kept his eyes on you as his hands moved to hold your legs apart. “I don’t want you to worry about a thing, I’m here. If it’s too much, just grab my hair.” You nodded and took your bottom lip between your teeth, anticipating his next move. He flattened his tongue and licked along your slit, he repeated the actions a few times and he already felt drunk off your taste. “The sweetest nectar I’ve ever tasted.” He groaned against you and spread your legs more.

You writhed with every flick of his tongue and every suckle on your clit. Your back arched off the bed and one of your hands gripped a handful of his hair while the other held onto the sheets. “Choso, it feels too good. You feel too good.” The feeling of him devouring you was better than anything you could imagine. He was beyond skilled and could easily make you crumble. He slowly dipped his tongue inside you while his nose nuzzled against your clit, your moans of his name turned into cries but all his senses were numb, the taste of you was all he could experience. He didn’t even realize you were cumming until he felt your walls contract around his tongue. He helped you ride out your orgasm and pulled back slowly, his face was coated in a mix of your cum and his saliva.

You panted and he brought his hand down to gently cup your sensitive pussy. “I know, I know it’s very intense. I just got so wrapped up in you I just couldn’t help myself. Are you okay?” You slowly lifted yourself up into an upright position and pulled him close, “I feel amazing, all thanks to you.” You pressed your lips against his and he brought his hands to cup your face, his thumbs caressing your cheeks and he slipped his tongue in your mouth. You gasped against his lips as the taste of yourself flooded your tastebuds. He pulled away and smiled, “do you want to do more?”

“I want you to take my virginity, I want you to be my first.” He pulled you back to him and groaned against your lips, his cock throbbed in his slacks, dying to be let out of its constraints. This time you broke the kiss and peppered kisses along his jaw, your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt as you mimicked his actions from earlier. Every single button you opened was followed by a kiss along his skin, his broad chest was exposed to you and your hands dragged along his abdomen, tracing the defined muscles with your fingers, feeling how they twitched underneath your fingertips. Your hand continued to travel south until you reached his belt, you undid it slowly, giving him time to stop you if he wanted to but he just watched you. He shrugged his shirt off and tossed it to the side to join the pile of your clothes, you tossed his belt then moved to undo his slacks, your hand gently grazed his bulge and he let out a low groan. “Sorry.” You didn’t know what to say at the moment so an apology was what popped into your head first.

He lifted your chin with one of his hands to make eye contact with him and you were met with another one of his warm smiles, “don’t apologize, I enjoy feeling your hands on me. It’s like I’m being grazed with silk, how about I handle the rest of this?” You nodded and he stood, he shimmied off his pants and underwear and your eyes widened at the sight of him in front of you., in all his naked glory. He looked even more handsome than before when he was fully clothed, your breath hitched as your eyes scanned his body, following every bump and ridge until your eyes flickered to his throbbing dick. It easily was one of the largest things you’ve seen and it was just as pretty as Choso.

He stepped closer and leaned in close to you, “we can stop here if you’re nervous, we don’t have to continue. I promise you won’t hurt my feelings. I’m just glad I got to make you feel good.” He pecked your lips gently and once he pulled away, you reached your hand out to try to wrap your hand around his cock. “I want this, I want you Choso. Don’t you want me to feel good? Only you can do that.” His eyes widened and followed your hand, watching how you could barely wrap it around his thick length.

He kissed you again and positioned himself between your legs while he pushed you back against the bed. “I can’t say that this won’t hurt because it will, but I promise to do whatever I can to make sure it doesn’t hurt you too much. If you can’t handle it, let me know and I will stop.” You nodded and spread your legs for him while he spit on his hand and lubed up his cock with it. He glanced over at you as he moved to line up with your entrance and took one of your hands, interlocking your fingers together. “I’m here for you, just squeeze my hand okay? I want to take care of you.”

He moved the head of his cock through your folds to gather some of your wetness on it before he started pushing in. He sucked in a breath as his cock started infiltrating your walls, slowly deflowering you. He slowly pushed until the head of his cock was inside you and the hand that wasn’t held by yours moved down to rub your clit. He rubbed the bundle of nerves gently while his hips remained frozen, only when he noticed you weren’t so tense was when he started moving again.

He repeated the process going inch by inch until he was half way inside you. He moved his hand from your clit to caress your cheek and wipe away the tears that had pooled, “how are you feeling? Do you want me to stop?” Yes, it was painful but you couldn’t let him stop. You needed more, you needed to feel him fully. So you shook your head no. “I don’t want you to stop, I want you to keep going. Please keep going.”

His hand went from your cheek to your clit and started rubbing it again. He continued pushing in slowly until he bottomed out, a small whimper left your lips and he leaned down, his hand still holding yours tightly as he peppered kisses along your face, kissing your tears away each time his lips were near your eyes. “I promise that you won’t cry anymore, this will be the last time I’ll make tears fall from your eyes.”

He continued peppering kisses along your face while you adjusted to him and after a few minutes you were ready. “You can move now Choso. You can move your hips, I’m ready.” He nodded and pressed his lips against yours as he started with shallow thrusts. You whimpered against his lips and his fingers were pressed firmly against your clit. Your free hand moved up to grab his shoulder, lightly digging your nails into the skin which made him groan against your lips. He continued with shallow thrusts, not wanting to overwhelm you unless you were ready for more.

“Choso,” you mumbled against his lips before breaking the kiss, “you can go faster, please go faster.” The pain still lingered but as he started thrusting faster, it soon started to subside until it was completely replaced by pleasure. You thought his mouth was amazing but you didn't know how to describe the feeling of his cock massaging your walls, it was heavenly. His face was centimeters above yours and his dark locks acted as a curtain, covering your blissful expressions from the outside world and saving them for him. “You’re perfect, so beautiful and so perfect. You’re irresistible, thank you. Thank you for letting me be the first to see you like this.” He pressed his forehead against your and moved his hand from your clit to your ass, gripping the flesh tightly as he lifted your hips a little higher.

The slight change in the angle made you gasp and shut your eyes. Your nails dug into his shoulder more as he hit this spot inside you that made your toes curl. “Don’t stop, I feel the tightening in my stomach again! Please don’t stop.” Your words came out between bated breaths and moans of his name. “I’m not stopping beautiful, I’m not gonna stop, I promise.” He kept true to his word, continuing to thrust into you while your walls gripped him tighter and tighter. You held onto him tighter and cried out as the knot within you finally snapped, your eyes shut and your mouth fell open with cries of his name tumbling out. It was like time froze in the moment and his eyes scanned over your features, trying to print them into his brain. If he were to die then this would have to be the last thing he saw to properly die a happy man.

His hips moved on their own, driven by animalistic lust while his mind was distracted by how you looked underneath him. Strands of his dark hair stuck to his sweaty skin and wet plaps of his hips against yours filled the room. “Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum. Fuck!” A guttural groan left him as his cock twitched inside you, he didn’t have enough time to pull out before his cum filled you, painting your insides white. He panted and rested his forehead against yours as he caught his breath, “that…was…perfect.” It was all you could say, any other thought or comment wouldn’t have been sufficient.

You had never dreamt of what it would be like to lose your virginity, you never dreamt of a man sweeping you off your feet but this moment, this man above you was what dreams were made of.

He lifted himself up a bit and slowly pulled out of you before laying beside you. “I didn’t want to crush you.” He chuckled and pulled you in to kiss you, it was a soft kiss, slow and filled with passion. Once it was broken you rested your head on his chest and felt your eyes grow heavy. Your hands were still interlocked and neither of you wanted to sever this tie. It didn’t take long for exhaustion to hit you and once Choso lifted his head to check on you, you were fast asleep. He chuckled and caressed your cheek, “get some rest sweet girl, may this new century be filled with something new for us.”

In the middle of the night Choso slipped from your grip and made his way to his home, to his coffin. He wanted to stay with you and had to fight his instinct to stay with you but he needed to survive. He needed to survive for you.

When you had awoken he was gone, you wandered around the room and found no trace of him. You would’ve thought your night with him was a dream if it wasn’t for the dull throbbing between your legs. As you went back to the bed you found a note on the nightstand that read:

“I’m sorry I had to leave you, it pained me so much to do so but I’d love to see you again. Meet me in the town square by the fountain today after sunset. You don’t need to wear specific attire for anything would look marvelous on you. I hope to see you then. — Choso”

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“I felt something that was foreign to me when I was with her. I was nervous, scared and excited all in one. I knew something was going to change in my life but I wasn’t sure what it would be just yet. I had just spent a few hours with her and I immediately wanted to spend my eternity with her. Sounds quite absurd, I know but my heart was speaking for me in the moment and it led me to her. Maybe I could thank Mahito for changing me, if he didn’t then I don’t think I would’ve met her and I wouldn’t be here today to reflect. I’d like to end our session today with that.”

Kento nodded and stopped the recording then chuckled as he stood and put the recording device away. “Nice way to finish the session, you getting laid.” The men chuckled and Kento adjusted his jacket then made his way to the door with Choso following behind. Once they made it to the door Kento turned with a playful smile on his face, “tell me this before I leave, did she meet you?”

Choso placed his hand around Kento and opened the front door, leading him out. “I’ll tell you in a few weeks, get home safe Kento.”

Kento sighed and walked out the door, “fine, I’ll see you in a few weeks. I’ll tell my wife you said hello.” Choso nodded and waved him off, once his blonde hair was out of sight he shut the door and walked back into the emptiness.

He tidied up a little then made his way to grab a book from the bookshelf, his fingers traced over the cover and a sad smile spread across his face. “This was your favorite book, always read it when we were together.” He held the book to his chest and walked into his bedroom, he looked at the painting by his bedside and wiped at his eyes then laid down, opening the book to where his bookmark was placed and read until he fell asleep.

taglist: @cyberparadis

#series: the cold hands of solitude #choso smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw:blood #tw:virginity #tw:death #tw:unprotected sex #tw:creampie

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