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mypoisonedvine · 4 months

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𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | angus tully x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | visiting home for the holidays, Angus runs into his old babysitter... or perhaps more importantly, his first real crush. the older, unattainable girl next door; the one that made him realize maybe cooties aren't all that bad. now he's older, too, and maybe you aren't quite as unattainable-- so long as he can play it cool and not make a complete idiot out of himself...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public/car sex, drug use (watch out for the devil's lettuce y'all!!) as well as brief cigarette use, inexperienced/virgin angus, no spoilers for the holdovers (2023) nor any significant relationship to the plot of it lol

technically this is a christmas fic so if you noticed that I'm posting it in january, no you didn't and mind your business <3

The sky was pitch black, and the world was dark— even with all those Christmas lights, their colorful glow seemed to be absorbed so quickly in the gloom of the evening.

The white snow served as a nice contrast, but it did look sort of grey in all the shadows, even as it was freshly falling to cover the ground. The snowflakes fell fast, they looked almost heavy: not that cute, fluffy snow that looks all whimsical and floats on the wind.

It was the sort of weather that should’ve made him appreciate being safe and warm inside, but as he pressed his nose to the cold glass, he wished rather ungratefully for escape.

The doorbell stirred him out of the moment, and Angus looked back over his shoulder towards the foyer. “Honey! Can you get that?” his mother called out to him from the kitchen. She made herself seem so busy when he knew she hadn’t really cooked at all— she was just arranging everything she’d bought on fancy plates to look homemade. The crinkle of tinfoil gave away that she was too busy disposing of the evidence to greet her guests herself. She was lucky all the ones who had already arrived were too busy drinking in the living room to notice.

Rolling his eyes a bit, he propelled himself off of his lean on the wall, stuffing one hand in his khaki pocket and the other opening the front door.

Your parents were always really… energetic. They greeted Angus with massive smiles and ecstatic faces, as if they could hardly believe he was letting them in to his own house. To be fair, he wasn’t here most of the year, but it wasn’t like he was a celebrity or anything…

“Angus!” your mom squealed joyfully.

“Hey, buddy!” your dad greeted, forcing Angus to fight back a cringe.

“Nice to see you,” he offered them, “come on in, the food’s almost ready.”

Your mom was preoccupied with the casserole dish she was holding, but your dad’s hands were free so he of course had to give Angus a playful punch to the shoulder as he stepped inside. “Wo-hoah! You been workin’ out?” your dad joked— as if Angus’ noodly arm in a red cashmere sweater was ever going to fool anyone into thinking he lifted weights…

As he turned to shut the door, he realized you were standing there, taking one last puff of a cigarette before dropping it on the ground and snuffing it out with your shoe.

He hadn’t known you were coming over— if he had, he would’ve… done something. Fixed his hair or not worn something so dorky, maybe?

“H-hey,” he greeted you, feeling pierced by even just your passing glance up at him.

“Hey, kid,” you nodded, making him frown as you walked in past him.

Your parents and his mom were already chatting up a storm, that sort of high-pitched suburban babble he’d learned to tune out easily. In fact, it really just muffled into a distant whirr as he watched you slip off your coat, revealing your outfit beneath. He always remembered you wearing jeans when you came over to babysit— and dresses at church. So the skirt and blazer sort of caught him off-guard. It made you seem even older— in a good way, like you were a businesswoman or something— and the seam of your stockings running down the back of your legs… his head tilted as his eyes followed it

“Well shut the door, Angus, you’re letting the cold air in!” his mother scolded gently, knocking him out of the thought.

“O-oh, sorry,” he mumbled, shutting it as you looked back at him over your shoulder and smiled a bit. He felt like such a loser when you looked at him like that…

“Let me make you two some drinks! What are you having?”

He wasn’t listening again, of course; he was staring at you again, wondering if you hadn’t changed at all— you were exactly how he remembered you, even though it was probably impossible that you looked the same as his 17-year-old babysitter as you did now. He hoped that he looked totally different to you, that you were thinking to yourself right now how much more mature he looked. He hoped that you could barely believe he was the same boy you watched when he was younger— or, better yet, that you’d just totally forgotten about all that.

“Would you help set the table, please, honey?” his mother requested as she zipped back into the kitchen. He nodded and hesitated before quickly brushing past you to get the silverware out of the cabinet by the table, placing a setting in front of each chair. She reappeared behind him, but he didn’t look up— not at her or you, even though you were the one she was talking to. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I forgot to ask— did you want a glass of wine or something?”

“No, I’m alright— thanks, ma’am,” you replied. “I’ll help with the silverware.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” she cooed at you before departing again, and Angus felt his hands get a little clammier around the handful of utensils as you reached out for them.

“Give me some,” you instructed him, and he only briefly glanced at your face; he tried to hand you the forks without touching your fingers, but all that accomplished was dropping some of them loudly onto the table while still brushing up against your soft hand. You snorted, picking them up and starting to set them around the placemats as well.

He tried to ignore you, both of you working around the table, but he sighed as he took a closer look at your work. “No the— that’s a salad fork,” he corrected, “that should go inside.”

“What?”

“The smaller fork goes on the other side, closest to the plate,” he explained, switching the utensils you’d just placed. “Dessert spoon goes at the top, butter knife on the left—”

You scoffed a bit. “And where should I put the opium spoon?”

“Listen, I know it’s stupid,” he assured as he looked at your face again— you were so close, standing right beside him, and his heart was racing. “But my stepdad will blow a gasket if it’s wrong,” he added in a lower voice.

“He sounds like a tool,” you mumbled back, and the two of you smiled a bit, in that way people smile when they share a secret. Not that his stepdad being a tool was all that exclusive of a secret…

“Alright!” his mom emerged again, carrying some ceramic dish with oven mitts, and you both straightened up. “Food’s coming out! Oh, are the Shaws not here yet?”

Your dad was carrying the platter of ham, and your mom behind him with another side. “I, uh, guess not,” Angus answered her question.

“Well, we’ll have to start eating without them,” she sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her head as the dishes were set down— like she was so exhausted. She probably was, but not from cooking or physical labor: just from the constant anxiety she’d been exuding for the last three days because of this stupid dinner party. She acted like the President or the Pope were coming, and not just a bunch of boring old people.

And you. She’d never mentioned you.

As she gathered the guests for dinner, Angus looked at you, and realized he should say something— be polite, at least. He was terrified to open his mouth and embarrass himself, but if he didn’t try, he’d seem like even more of a loser.

Quickly rubbing his palms against his trousers, he broke the silence. “So, um, how’ve you been?” he asked, and you looked back at him, seeming a little surprised that he talked to you at all.

“Oh,” you responded, “good, I’ve been good— just kinda busy. What have you been doing?”

“You know, just… whatever,” he shrugged, not wanting to admit he was still in high school.

“Aren’t you still in high school?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.

Shit. That illusion didn’t last long. “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly, “but I’m eighteen!”

You gave him a little pitying smile that made him realize too late how pathetic his statement was. Bragging about being eighteen wasn’t doing him any favors in terms of coming off as mature to you— why did he think that would work?

“U-uh, you… you’re in college, right?”

“Well— I was, until about a week ago,” you answered. “I graduated a semester early.”

“Oh, congrats,” he offered with a nod, “that’s great. You’ve always been really smart…”

“Well, it didn’t take a genius to help you with your seventh grade math homework,” you deflected his compliment with a tilted smirk, and he laughed nervously.

“I, um, can’t believe you remember that,” he mumbled.

“Of course,” you said, and just as he started to wonder what that meant, his stepdad spoke up over the dull roar of conversation.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats around the table,” he encouraged, “and we’ll all pray before we enjoy this lovely meal.”

Aside from the late arrival of the Shaws, dinner went off without a hitch— Angus fielded the same four questions on repeat, glanced at you every thirty seconds, and only got caught about a dozen times.

The only thing more boring than the dinner was the time afterwards, the indefinite mingling phase. He usually just counted the minutes until he could get excused to his room, where he could read or sketch or really do anything quiet. But now that you were here, he wasn’t as sure what to do: he wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem too excited to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem like an asshole or anything…

So he pretty much just sat on a couch, as far away from the bustle of the party as he could reasonably get away with, trying to look busy while not actually doing anything. Occasionally looking at you, but usually trying not to— until he realized you were coming towards him. Now was it okay to look at you?

He tried to act like he didn’t even notice you coming closer until you sat next to him on the couch; you were a little close, sitting on your side and putting one of your arms up on the back of the sofa cushions like you were trapping him in. He put his legs together so they wouldn’t bump into your knees which were dangerously close to him now.

“You look bored,” you noticed.

“Yeah? I wonder why,” he replied with a small smirk.

“You didn’t really tell me how you’ve been,” you remembered. “What’s boarding school like?”

“Uh, you know, pretty much your average hellhole,” he joked— not that it wasn’t at least mostly true. “Not that living at home would be all that much better.”

“You Barton boys get into any trouble up there?” you asked, and he shrugged a bit.

“Some,” he said. “If you’re not an idiot, you can mostly avoid getting caught for anything.”

“Like what?” you pressed. “Do kids ever get busted with pot?”

“Oh, all the time,” he laughed. “It’s really not hard to get away with it, honestly. I mean, I never got caught, so…”

You raised an eyebrow. “You smoke?”

He loved the way you said it, not quite under your breath but a secretive mumble. He just shrugged again, and you laughed a little. “What?” he wondered.

“You just don’t seem the type,” you explained.

“You don’t know me that well,” he countered, lowering his voice, hoping you would pick up on the undertone. But if you did, you didn’t quite respond to it.

“Well, are you the type to sneak out of this boring dinner and go smoke?” you wondered. He thought you looked really sexy asking him a question like that, eyes lighting up as you suggested something that risky.

He grinned excitedly. “Right now?”

“You’re not scared to get caught, are you?” you challenged.

“Fuck no,” he laughed, “let’s do it.”

“Where are we gonna go?” he wondered aloud, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

“My car,” you explained, having to talk a little louder to be heard over the wind. “I’m parked down the street— by the park, so nobody’s gonna notice us.”

You trudged through the snow together, each step a deep crunch into the frozen snow, and you squinted your eyes when a sharp, icy wind struck right in your face.

You picked up the pace a bit when you saw your car, excited to escape the freezing cold; and as you turned the key in the driver’s door, unlocking the rest, Angus came up beside you.

“Get in on the other side,” you told him, and he walked around the back as you got in yourself.

When you first got in the car, you could still see your breath in the air— but it was still a nice reprieve from the wind outside, and you unzipped your coat and tossed it into the passenger seat in front of you. Angus hopped in a moment later, and when he shut his door, you were both submerged suddenly into the quietest place you’d been all night. No wind, no dinner guests, no records playing— just each other’s breathing.

You considered turning the heat on, but you figured the chill would pass soon enough with Angus’ and your own body heat filling the space.

You clicked on the ceiling light, a dim yellow glow illuminating the inside of the car and really bringing out the dinginess of the grey-beige carpet and fabric all over everything. He simply sat on the seat, waiting patiently with his legs spread a bit and his hands on his knees, blowing out a breath through his cheeks which swelled with air; he watched you lean back and open the front console, bending somewhat awkwardly over it to reach in and rifle around.

“There we go,” you mumbled as your hand found the fabric bag underneath loose bills and receipts; you pulled it out and opened the drawstring, revealing with a proud smile the baggy inside. “Ta-da!” you announced softly, brandishing the crushed leaf and rolling papers. “Wanna show me your joint-rolling skills?”

You held the bag towards him in offering, but he shook his head and seemed to shrink away slightly. “N-no, I’ll let you do the honors,” he decided in a soft voice.

You rubbed your hands together to try to warm them up first, because the detailed task was trickier with cold fingers, but you managed alright in the end. His eyes were glued to the way your tongue slid along the paper before sealing it; it did intrigue you just a bit, wondering what he was imagining while you did that.

“Were you always a bad girl, and I just didn’t know it?” he asked. “Or did college make you more rebellious?”

“A bad girl, huh?” you snorted, and his face flushed a bit.

“That didn’t sound weird in my head,” he promised.

“Save it for when you can blame it on the flower, dude,” you laughed as you handed him the blunt and got your lighter ready. “You can have the first hit, I’ll light it up for you.”

He put it between his lips as you struck the BIC, and he leaned forward until the end was in the flames.

You watched him breathe it in, that singe-y, crispy sound of the weed burning with each inhale making you smile a bit in anticipation… though you had to admit, it wasn’t just your excitement to get high that had your heart beating faster.

He only managed to hold it in for a second before coughing roughly, clearly trying to suppress it at first before bringing his fist to his mouth and really hacking a few times. You smacked him on the back with a grin, and he nodded at you; poor thing, his eyes were all red, actually his whole face was red, but he eventually recovered.

“You don’t really smoke, do you?” you noticed with a tilted smile.

He cleared his throat and shook his head. “N-not really, no,” he admitted. “I mean, I’ve tried it before, I swear—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, “I just don’t want you losing a lung.”

“Let me try again,” he pleaded, reaching for the blunt, but you held it away from him and laughed.

“I’ve got a better idea, this might make it easier,” you offered, leaning in closer. He seemed to tense up a bit, like he wasn't sure what you were leaning in for, but he watched you with half-lidded eyes as you took a long drag.

You grabbed his jaw— not hard, but enough to make him open his mouth a bit— and exhaled the smoke into his face. He got the idea and breathed in deeply, staring right into your eyes.

“Better?” you asked.

“U-um, yeah,” he whispered, “I didn't cough that time…”

“Then we’ll just do it this way,” you decided, biting your lip a little when he shifted in the seat. You were having way too much fun with him, and you knew it was unfair, but how often do you get to tease somebody like this?

After a few more hits that way, you saw his eyes get a little glassier. You yourself were starting to feel it, and you smiled at him as you brought your mouth a bit closer to his for the next shared breath.

“How does it feel?” you asked him softly as you leaned back again— he chased you for a minute, like he wanted to stay close, but relaxed quickly.

“U-uh, kinda… floaty…” he mumbled. “Don’t you think my parents are gonna notice the smell when we go back in?”

“I’ve got perfume for that,” you explained.

“So I’m gonna smell, like… fruity?” he frowned, and you giggled.

“That’s what you think my perfume smells like?” you wondered.

“Yeah, not— not that I was, you know… sniffing you…” he trailed off, face getting pink again, and you laughed.

“I think you need another hit,” you decided, and he nodded in agreement. Inhaling deeply, you pulled him closer and breathed into his open mouth, looking back into his eyes through the thin veil of excess smoke.

After that, you leaned back against the door, basking for a moment in your own high. You watched the snow falling outside the window, letting your vision get a little blurry; the quietness of the moment didn’t seem awkward to you at all, it seemed peaceful, but apparently Angus was the more anxious type of smoker and felt the need to break the silence. “I always had the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out, and you sighed a bit, lips pressing into a pitying smile even though you didn’t look back at him. “I was kinda surprised you didn’t notice…”

“I did,” you mumbled.

“R-really?” he choked. “I, uh… I thought you just saw me as some little twerp.”

“I did,” you said again, smiling wider, and he laughed nervously.

“Oh,” he nodded as he looked away, “that’s… fair.”

He only let the silence linger for a second before interrupting it again.

“But I’ve grown up a lot, you know,” he reminded you. “I’m eighteen.”

“You mentioned that.”

“Right. Um,” he stalled, “but it’s not just that. I mean, I like to think I’m pretty… mature. At least, I am compared to the idiots at my school— but I probably still seem like a little kid to you. I can’t really compete with college guys…”

“Compete?” you repeated, tilting your head. “What are you competing for?”

“O-oh, I just meant like, um—” he stammered, and you scooted closer to him on the seat with a devious smile.

“What are you competing with those ‘college guys’ for, Angus?” you pressed again. “My attention?”

“Some… something like that, yeah,” he answered, speaking a little softer.

“Well, there’s not much competition here, is there?” you noticed, looking around the car. “It’s just you and me… we’re alone.”

He started to open his mouth to speak, but you reached up to drag one finger over his chest for a moment, and he only choked out a little gasp. “Yeah, I… guess that’s true,” he mumbled, going back and forth from watching your finger draw circles on his sweater to watching your face.

You wordlessly brought the joint to your lips again, seeing that it was about halfway gone already. You took a long, deep breath in, exhaling towards him without really pursing your lips, letting him come closer for his share this time. Except, finally, this time he didn’t stop. He just kept leaning in towards you until his lips brushed over yours and you shut your eyes.

His kiss was patient, almost too gentle, like he was holding back. You set the joint aside quickly in the ashtray and brought your hands up to his face, so you could kiss him a little harder and maybe encourage him somehow. It seemed to work; he got a little more ambitious, moving his lips against yours, sighing gently as you combed your fingers through his wild curls.

You heard the wind howl outside, whistling around the car, not that you really paid much attention to it. Instead, your attention was drawn to the way his hands were still sat in his lap; you smirked a little. What a polite boy.

“You can touch me, you know,” you whispered to him, never breaking away from his lips. One of your hands wrapped gingerly around one of his wrists, guiding it to your waist.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled back, grabbing onto you with a touch more confidence. He even pulled you a little closer as you kissed him harder, your hands traveling up to his shoulders in return.

Other than needing some guidance on the auxiliary stuff, Angus was a good kisser. You were actually a little surprised when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise: it seemed like a good sign he wasn’t holding back anymore.

One of your legs hiked up over his, just something instinctive to keep him close, and his hand trailed down over your hip to caress that leg; it was a shame you needed tights for the weather, because you would’ve loved to feel his touch right on your skin. “These are cute,” he informed you in a mumble against your lips, quickly pinching and popping the elastic-y fabric back against your leg. You broke away to look down at his hand on your thigh, which he did as well.

“Really?” you asked sweetly, not sure you were pulling off the innocent vibe of the question.

“Yeah,” he nodded, meeting your gaze again, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

You hummed and he kissed you again— and this time, as his hand slid back up to your waist, it took a route along the curve of your ass. You wouldn’t have minded at all if he got a nice handful of it, pulled you closer, gotten a little rougher with you… but obviously, he didn’t. It was still Angus, after all.

In fact, it took a few more minutes of kissing for him to even muster the courage to touch your chest through your sweater, but you both sighed a bit when he finally did. He groped at you a bit, but you didn’t care much for all the layers in between, so you sat up and perched yourself in his lap, breaking the kiss to shed your blazer and pull your sweater up over your bra. “O-oh,” he breathed as you did it, and you felt something tighten up inside you when he absent-mindedly bit his lip.

You sighed shakily, even though you didn’t know why you felt just a bit nervous— and you pulled your bra up, too, exposing yourself entirely to him.

He whispered your name; your pussy clenched again instantly.

He put his hands over you carefully, and you jumped slightly when those long fingers of his brushed over your skin— and he pulled back quickly in response. “Fuck, are my hands cold? I’m sorry,” he stammered nervously, but you just smiled back at him.

“It’s fine,” you promised, and he put his hands back on you with a long sigh.

“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the wide-eyed, awe-filled stare that never left your tits as he carefully massaged them; he toyed with your nipples briefly before groping a bit more confidently, your hips shifting in his lap without you really meaning for them to.

Your smile fell, though, when he suddenly leaned forward and latched his mouth onto one of them. “O-oh, fuck,” you mumbled under your breath as he suckled— rather voraciously, really— and fluttered his eyes shut, his tongue running all over the skin in his mouth. You looked down at him for a minute, thinking he looked pretty cute doing that, but had to shut your eyes and lean your head back when he sucked even harder at you. “Fuck, Angus—”

“Does that feel good?” he asked quietly as he broke away; you bit your lip and nodded, and he moved to the other one as you leaned back even further, held up only by the front seats. He, of course, gladly leaned forward with you to stay close, and kept a hand on the breast no longer in his mouth.

You could’ve sworn you felt yourself get especially wet when his tongue swirled around your nipple, and through the high that clouded your brain (equally from the pot and the pleasure) you realized that you were about to fuck Angus Tully. You sort of couldn’t believe it, and yet the thought didn’t disgust or offend you as much as you thought it would. You figured you would at least feel a little more guilty, but… you didn’t. Not very much, at least. Certainly not enough to stop you.

You sat back up and moved your hips back a bit, making him stop what he was doing just to wonder what you were up to; he groaned a bit when you reached down between your own legs to try to open his belt. “O-oh, fuck,” he whispered, lifting his hips a bit as well to make it easier for you to reach. “We're really gonna—?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, finally getting his belt open and working on his button and fly next; you could feel his cock already through the fabric, and it flexed a bit against the back of your hand in anticipation.

He groaned a little when you reached into his boxers and wrapped your hand around his length.

“You're so hard,” you noticed with a little gasp, gripping him tighter as you tried to (carefully) pull his cock out of the khakis and plaid underwear.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “fuck, yeah… you're really, um— you're hot.”

You giggled a bit, glancing up at his nervous expression. “You're sweet,” you offered, but your mouth was agape when you finally got a glimpse of him. “You're… fuck, Angus, you're big…”

“Oh, uh, really?” he perked up, cock flexing against your palm.

Giving him a few lazy strokes as you nodded, you giggled when his hips started to buck up towards your touch. “Fuck, I want you,” you moaned softly, and his cock just flexed in your hand again.

“You— god, you can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted you,” he assured, making you smile wide.

“I’m sure I can, but I’ll try not to,” you decided as you let go of him. He seemed disappointed until he realized why: reaching up under your skirt, you pulled your tights and panties down your thighs.

“What if somebody sees?” he wondered nervously.

“They’re all busy inside, nobody’s coming out here in this weather,” you assured. “I can turn the light off if you want though—”

“N-no,” he stopped you before you could keep reaching for the ceiling light. “No, I still wanna see.”

You laughed a little and kissed him again, quickly. “Me too,” you agreed as you lifted yourself up over his lap, guiding his cock’s head to your entrance.

He sighed a little as soon as it touched you, but that was nothing compared to the way he reacted when you lowered yourself and he slipped inside.

“Fuck,” you groaned deeply, loving the way he stretched you out— not painful, but just the right amount of challenge. The body high seemed to make everything a little extra tingly and soft, though you didn’t have a sober version of this experience to compare it to.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, “oh my god…”

You finally sank down completely into his lap, and he took hold of your waist with a little moan. “Fuck,” you said again, more of a whisper, your head falling back as you started to rock against him. “Oh, it’s so deep, Angus—”

He interrupted you with a sort of whine, like he couldn’t take hearing you talk like that… but that just made you want to do it more.

“So fucking good,” you praised with a sigh, feeling him press his forehead against your chest as he moaned quietly. “You feel so fucking good…”

He whimpered, grabbing on painfully-tight to your hips, until his head fell back and his Adam's apple bobbed with each noise he made.

A sharp, needy moan jumped out of his throat— and at the same time, you felt him pulse inside you. Your eyes went wide as he relaxed slightly under you. “Did you… just come?” you asked.

He was still panting, his face starting to flush red. “Um… yeah?” he replied breathlessly. “Sorry, I-I tried not to—”

“It’s okay,” you promised with a soft laugh, “are you— or, uh, were you a virgin?”

“Uh…” he stalled anxiously. “Yeah, I am— or was— sorry, I should’ve said something, but I thought you might—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, resting a hand on his chest to try to soothe him. “It’s cute, honestly. I don’t mind being your first.”

“I always wanted you to be,” he admitted. “I imagined it like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the car. “Like this?”

“Well, not exactly like this,” he laughed. “There was a lot more time involved, for one, and a bed. And whipped cream—”

“Okay, let’s not unpack all that right now,” you interjected, “we should get cleaned up and go back inside anyway…”

You tried to get off his lap, but he held you down by your hips (with more strength than you expected from him) and pleaded with you: “No, wait, not yet— I want you to come, too.”

“It’s okay, really, we need to go back before your parents notice you’re gone,” you insisted.

“No, they don’t care— please? Please just keep going? I’m still hard, I can—”

“Angus,” you interrupted, and he sighed a little because he knew already you weren’t going to be convinced. “You’ll get another chance to make me come, alright? We just have to get back inside now.”

He lit up instantly. “Really? So we can— we’ll do this again?”

“If you want,” you shrugged.

“Hmm, no thanks— I’ll just go back to being a horny loser,” he joked, making you snort. “Of course I wanna see you again. I can’t believe I have to do… anything else but that until then!”

“You’ll live,” you promised as you got up off of him— you both winced, but you mostly just focused on getting your panties and tights back up before anything, uh, spilled.

You pulled your bra and sweater down again, and figured out where your blazer ended up so you could slip it back on while Angus lifted his hips to be able to get himself back into the khakis.

Opening the console again, you put your paraphernalia back in and dug around for a glass bottle instead. “Hopefully this can cover up weed and sex,” you said as you spritzed yourself a couple times with the perfume, then got him once or twice for good measure.

“How am I supposed to hide this?” he asked with an annoyed groan, struggling to adjust his boner inside his trousers in a way that wasn’t obvious.

“Sorry, all I can help with is the smell,” you laughed, putting the perfume back and slipping your coat on. “You ready?”

“Yeah, guess so,” he sighed, “ready as I’ll ever be. W-wait— can I kiss you one more time first, before we go?”

You thought it was funny, and sweet, that he thought he had to ask. You nodded, and he pulled you into a kiss that was much more passionate than you expected. Not filthy or anything, but not as tired and slow as you expected after just coming. His hands held your head, and you had to really remind yourself not to get lost in it before your better judgment was overruled.

Pulling back slowly, you looked at him for a second and wondered if anyone had ever looked back at you quite like that before.

You leaned for the door handle, but just before you pulled it, a final thought popped into your mind. “Oh, I almost forgot— Merry Christmas, by the way,” you offered him with a smile.

“Yeah, no shit,” he laughed, almost sounding like he was in disbelief, “that’s about the merriest fucking Christmas I’ve ever had.”

[series masterlist here]

#angus tully x reader #angus tully smut #angus tully x you

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randomshyperson · 7 months

Text

Sanctify - Cult Leader!Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Kinktober #06

Summary: After your worst semester at NYU, your Aunt Agatha convinces you to join the Children of Chaos as an alternative, and very expensive form of therapy. Leaving the cult becomes a very difficult task when you develop an unexpected affection for their leader.

Warnings: (+18), dom!wanda and brat!reader, rough smut, face-fucking, power dynamics, brat taming (ish), praising, lots of tension and teasing, definitely blasphemous on some levels, a lot of plot, mentions of past toxic relationship, unspecified age gap. | Words: 7.900k

A/N-> I’ve been dying to write something about Cult Leader Wanda since I watched the second season of Yellowjackets and became obsessed with Lottie Matthews, so while writing this, I was picturing Lottie’s cult to be fair. I also like how I ended this, as it makes it possible to turn it into a series. Good reading!

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

Although the movement of the car brought a gentle breeze through the window, the weather was hot enough to actually make thinking painful. In an attempt to relieve the temperature a little, and perhaps escape Aunt Aggie's provocative reminiscences about the long journey and the events that made this trip necessary in the first place, you put your arm on the door, and propped your chin up, your face on the safety edge outside the window.

New York had been out of sight for hours and had given way to countless trees and a plantation further and further away. You figured it wouldn't take long for the radio signal to stop working, but to your pleasant surprise, the soft melody of cassette tapes hidden in the glove compartment by Nicholas were picked up once that happened.

Your cousin had grown up over the summer - His still youthful appearance now featured neatly cut curly hair and reading glasses that he often hung on the collar of his shirt. When younger, it was common to hear how much he resembled Sir. Scratch, his scumbag father in the words of Agatha and the other adults, not yours - but over time, he looked much more like his mother.

Nick met your gaze through the rearview mirror and gave you an assuring smile. You didn't reciprocate, but not because you were upset. Just because you were distracted by the huge sign coming around the next corner.

"Oh, boy, I've missed this place." Agatha commented with a nostalgic sigh, as soon as she noticed the entrance plaque. She slowed down enough that the wind wasn't enough anymore, so you returned to your original position with a low snort.

"There's still time to turn around." You muttered, getting a warning look from the older woman.

She leaned over, without answering you, to grab something from the open glove compartment. You pushed your hair back as a pamphlet was dropped into your lap.

"I know you hated the idea, but you need to trust your elders for once in your life, darling." Agatha began, as you grimaced at the crumpled paper. The title Children of Chaos was painted in red, but it was faded in several places. "The 70s were the apex for this place, I had a lot of fun here. It's such a unique experience, connecting with nature and the chaos that is part of us all."

Nick chuckled through his nose. "Mom, don't start your witch thing again, you'll scare her." Mocked your cousin from the passenger seat, but Agatha waved him off.

"She'll thank me when she gets there, I'm sure."

But you didn't do that. When the car finally came to a stop, and what looked more like a fancy farm merged with the forest took over your vision, all you did was crumple the Immersive Community pamphlet into your pocket and throw your old backpack over your shoulder.

Aunt Aggie and your cousin hugged you tightly, saying they were going to write, but they couldn't get past the reception desk since they weren’t part of the program. You saw Agatha take your mom’s borrowed credit card out of her purse to start your so-called treatment, and the last goodbyes left your tongue before one of the tutors started the tour of the place.

In between presenting a large number of different huts that served as dormitories and classrooms for the most diverse activities - painting, handicrafts or poetry were the ones you memorized - Mr. Emil Blonsky also took the time to welcome you, emphasizing how incredible the community was and how lucky anyone was to be there. You bit your tongue to keep from telling him that only those with money could.

Finally, Blonsky showed you the stables and greenhouses on the edge of the property, and on the way back to the rest of the huts, you noticed the path up the hill.

"And what's up there?"

The man stopped walking with a small smile. He was wearing clothes very similar to those of the other people you'd seen on the tour, the difference being a golden necklace with a strange symbol that was hidden by the movement of his loosely buttoned shirt.

"We must not go up there without permission." He begins, although he's smiling, there's something in his gaze that says this rule cannot be disrespected. " The Prophetess' Retreat is a sacred place of peace and reflection."

You look back at the hut at the bottom of the mountain, far enough away that you can't make out the decorations on the balcony, but still beautiful and quiet, high enough to make it look like the prophet had her own little piece of heaven.

"So, no bothering the boss without asking? Got it." You retort, getting a chuckle from the other at the summary. He starts walking again along the path towards the general area, but you can't help the curiosity burning in your chest. "About this prophet, will she be isolated up there or will I get a chance to meet her?"

Blonsky walks up beside you, and looks you in the eye to say; "You'll meet her when it's time to meet her, not early and not late."

You don't know what to say to that, everything here is so theatrical in a way. Mystical, you might say. It suits Aunt Aggie so well, that it's not hard to imagine her here, dancing to the midnight moon and talking to the trees. She already does that in New York, it should have been much simpler in the middle of the forest.

"Come, child. You must start the cleaning process soon." Announces the man as he picks up the pace on the trail. With a sigh, you decide not to contradict him by saying that you bathed before coming, thank you.

It was soon revealed that the cleansing process really meant a bath - the colleagues around you who helped you laughed when you joked that it was a strange way of saying that someone stinks, before clarifying that it was nothing of the sort. The Cleansing Process was a bath of salts and herbs, in a tub of stones and some kind of botanical baptism, the latter of which only members who had completed thirteen full moons could take part in. You would be invited to the baptism with the prophet's blessing, but there was still a long way to go.

Blonsky handed your uniforms, and explained the last rules before leaving you alone, or almost, since your hut was shared with six other people, and despite this, it seemed very comfortable and organized. There were bunk beds and private bathroom spaces, and at least three spacious shelves for each. The latter wouldn't be of much use to you, since you'd brought almost nothing and the vast majority of your belongings had been left at NYU. Just thinking about that place gave you a terrible stomach ache: You would have skipped dinner, but the mere suggestion of not attending made one of your colleagues frown in concern and repeat the rules, so you ended up giving that up.

The routine that followed was calm: it didn't surprise you that the new members were responsible for the hardest tasks, and it didn't bother you either. You were never afraid of hard work, and keeping your hands busy also helped to calm your mind, so it was a win-win. Besides, even if you didn't get the jobs nobody wanted, all veterans had chores. There was some rule about the amount of service time and dedication being rewarded, so those senior members could choose what they wanted to do first.

You didn't have to worry about this anyway: you would do what you had to do because, after all, the agreement was to stay here only for the summer. However, with each passing day away from exams, traffic, and New York's typical filth, it became harder to imagine leaving the Children of Chaos and their strange harmony and kindness.

After three weeks in the group, you learned to knit. You also earned the privilege of mail when you showed up for all your appointments without delay and decided to check the items in the privacy of your cabin during the last hour of prayer.

Since you hadn't yet found your faith or received your calling or whatever weird way Blonsky explained this, you barely joined in the prayer sessions. This evening, excited to receive news from home, was no different.

Aunt Aggie wrote about the store doing well and mentioned your mother, who didn't write to you with more than vague words about hoping you'd feel better soon. The best present was hidden in Nicholas' letter about the university being a sack without his favorite cousin. Wrapped in silk and next to a lighter.

You haven't earned the right to write outside yet - something about a month in isolation to accomplish. So you just clutched the items to your chest and wished your cousin knew how grateful you were.

Your initial intention was to save the weed for some more stressful day - which was rare in the leisurely pace of this place - but the last letter made you consider using it all that night.

The recipient's perfect handwriting, and the address you knew by heart. You didn't even open the item, you put it away in your drawer and stood up with the weed hidden in your pants pocket.

The common area was empty, as the vast majority of your colleagues were praying. You stepped up to one of the bonfires and threw the unopened letter into the flames, without hesitation and without caring to see it burn. You turned on your heels and continued along the trail, heading for one of the few more secluded spots you had discovered during the hours of exploring between tasks.

The rules were clear about the prophet's hut but said nothing about the road towards it. And since apparently everyone there was afraid of upsetting the boss, that spot was always empty and the perfect place to smoke in hiding.

You leaned against a tree, curled up and lit the weed, and tried to keep away all the painful memories about last semester that the damn letter had brought up.

You were halfway through a joint when you heard a voice at the end of the trail next to you.

"Good evening, Y/N."

"Jesus fucking Christ." You gasped, jumping with fright and almost dropping the blunt to the ground. You looked sideways abruptly, imagining that you were hallucinating because of the weed, and were almost sure that you were when the words escaped you due to the apparition in front of you. The most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life. Instead of a uniform, she wore a loose dark wine dress that hugged her curves perfectly; her long red hair cascaded down her shoulders and back and her emerald eyes shone curiously in your direction. The dim light from the fire lamps scattered along the trail and the moon really made the woman look like an angel.

You coughed awkwardly. "Sorry, you scared me." You clarified, the cigarette hidden behind your back a stupid attempt to mask what you were doing. Sure enough, your pupils were dilated, and it was very easy to see the smoke. So, as soon as you tried to hide it, you gave up, offering the woman an awkward chuckle and gesturing the cigarette gently. "Don't tell on me."

There was a soft pause, which you couldn't tell from the intoxication in your system. The woman watched for a moment as the charming gesture of bringing the cigarette to the smile formed on your lips and blew the smoke into the starry sky with your neck slightly stretched. Your mind seemed to clear, and before the woman could speak, you grimaced. "Wait, didn't you just say my name? How..?"

She smiled, folding her hands in front of her body. "It was premeditated that we met today, of course. I'm Wanda."

You've heard her name before, in conversation circles and in advertisements about her heavenliness hanging around.

"Shit." It was your natural reaction, which made her laugh softly, and it must have been the weed's fault that the sound echoed in your mind and made your body shudder.

"Don't worry, I won't snitch on you." She assures you with an easy smile playing on her lips, and you swallow dry, completely at a loss.

"Thanks... but I thought you were the boss." You mumble, and Wanda makes a funny expression, like a false realization.

"Oh, you're right." She murmurs amusedly. "I think I can let this one slide if you'll share it with me."

"Fuck, of course, here." Your limbs feel strange, almost too heavy to move around her. You awkwardly hand her the cigarette, certain that your face is flushed. Hell, the last time you were this clumsy was last semester, with-

"You swear a lot." Wanda's comment pulls you out of your daze. She takes a long drag before adding: "Especially for a Christian."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "My father's a Christian, not me." You retort, and end up grimacing. "And how do you know-"

"This is a very exclusive program, sweetheart." Wanda cuts you off again, the cigarette between her fingers but her gaze is completely focused on your face. "Having a lot of money or being someone's niece isn't enough to guarantee you a spot, but a good letter of recommendation might. And Agatha wrote me almost everything about you, except the reason for rushing to get you here before the next recruitment period."

The sentence was an invitation for you to speak, but you didn't fall for the bait. On the contrary, you looked away with tense shoulders, and Wanda didn't press. At least, not now. She took another drag before commenting more softly:

"We have general meetings every Wednesday. We encourage members to open up."

You grimace softly. "Group therapy isn't my thing."

But Wanda smiles lopsidedly, giving you back the joint. " Neither is nice weed." She retorts a little provocatively, attracting your attention. "If you want to try something new, show up next week. And if you want to try something good, you should try the weed from our greenhouse. It won't taste like crushed dirt." Adjusting her hair around her shoulders, she offers you a wink. "Have a good night, darling."

You think about the color of her eyes for the rest of the night.

-&-

Sooner than you'd expect, you'll discover that Wanda isn't the type to let things slide. Far from it, she notices everything, especially those who are being too slack and prone to not following the teachings of the Children of Chaos, possibly ruining their record of total efficiency or something.

She puts an end to your plans for a quiet summer, trying to go unnoticed among the countless other followers just as abruptly as she left her meditation hut. Wanda seems to appear at every moment that you consider escaping from your commitments - it even occurs to you that she has a particular interest in watching you, but the idea sounds so absurd that you push it away while forcing a polite smile before returning to your duties.

Less than two weeks after you met, you finally stopped avoiding Group Therapy and showed up on time to join the session. The presence of Wanda, in a loose dark purple dress and her red hair tied up in a neat braid, makes you almost give up, convinced that you couldn't say anything without stuttering in the presence of such a stunning woman.

But she offers a gentle smile, opening her arms softly. "Come along, darling, you're just in time." She greets and you stumble towards a corner in the background, begging the gods that you can attend in silence this time.

It doesn't seem so difficult when it's other people doing it. A young man with whom you've already shared the task of looking after the stables spoke of the frustrations of returning from enforced service with a missing limb, and how the support he didn't get from the government and family members, he found here. Bucky received a finger-snapping applause - something that was explained to you as a way to avoid triggers on the countless ex-combatants or victims of post-traumatic stress that make up the crowd - before giving his turn to another ex-military woman, Carol Danvers.

More stories were shared until Wanda's gaze fell on your slumped figure and she called your name. All the attention in the room fell on you too, and you chuckled awkwardly.

"Thanks, but I'm not good at public speaking." You retorted, but Wanda, with her hands folded over her stomach, gave you a gentle smile.

"Don't worry about it, dear, this is a no-judgment zone." She says, but you make no mention of getting up, and her gaze becomes more insistent. "It's important that we all make an effort to be present at these exercises. We encourage participation around here. Come along, dear, please." And she smiled so kindly that you could only trust her.

The group offered a small chorus of encouragement, and before you knew it, you were a few steps away from the redhead, who held out her hands for your wrists.

"I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes." Wanda guided, her melodic voice bringing goose bumps all over your body. "Turn all your attention inward. And tell me, is there anything in there that you'd like to share with the group?"

The memories of last semester hit you full force. But Wanda massages your wrists and it feels as if she can calm down the whole storm inside of you.

You sigh, before opening your eyes. "I... I don't know where to start." Your whisper is met by another chorus of support from the members, who retort that you're safe. Wanda releases your wrists to sit with the others, and you try not to be so self-conscious while you're in the spotlight. "I think I can share with you the reason why I'm here." You declare a moment later, taking another deep breath.

Bucky gives you an encouraging smile, mimicking that of the people around him, and you swallow.

"I don't have a history of fighting and overcoming war or any illnesses, so I'm sorry to disappoint anyone." You mumble, receiving confused looks.

The former sergeant assures you: "No problem competes with another. All our pains have their importance." And it seems to be something that has already been repeated here a few times because everyone shakes their heads in agreement.

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. "Right... well, I won't beat around the bush. A month ago, when I was first enrolled here, I had just been kicked out of my house. Well, it wasn't exactly my house anymore, because I'd been living on campus for about three years, but I think you get the idea." You say, laughing awkwardly at the anxiety in your chest. You try to clear your throat so that your voice doesn't come out so shaky, but only Wanda's gaze really helps to calm your nerves. "And the reason for this was a relationship that my parents, more specifically my mother, didn't approve of. To be fair, no one really approved, because, well, the person... hm, I don't think there's any other way to put it, was another woman. An older woman, and also my professor. And well, the whole thing would have been a scandal anyway, but I really let myself believe that when the worst was over, we'd be fine. Bad news, we weren't." You laugh sadly. You pause, imagining that you'll get judgmental looks, but everyone listens attentively. "For a while, I thought the worst part was afterward. When everyone knew and judged me, and how my mother freaked out, and I tried... but no. The worst part was not realizing what that love if I can call it that, was doing to me. How ill it was making me. And until I got here, learned things about myself, and managed to take a break from everything that was left behind... For a while, I really hoped to go back and fix everything, but now... damn, sometimes I don't even think about leaving this place."

The group celebrates quietly, exchanging words of encouragement. Your ears feel warm, and Wanda stands up again. "You can stay as long as you need, darling." She says, massaging your forearm. She calls someone else to speak, but doesn't miss the opportunity to whisper in your ear: "I'm proud, stay a little longer today, I want to talk to you."

And you think you haven't absorbed anything for the rest of the morning.

Eventually, the session ends, and as soon as the room is empty, Wanda turns her face towards you.

"You were brave today, sweetheart."

Your hands, busy putting the cushions away, tremble a little. But you offer her an incredulous chuckle.

"Yeah, right." It's your answer, which makes Wanda frown in curiosity. At her inquisitive silence, you sigh before clarifying: "Everyone's nice, but I know it's kind of silly that my big trauma is a break-up and not post-traumatic stress from war or something that actually matters."

Wanda presses her lips together, studying you for a moment, and you take the opportunity to put away the last of the cushions. Suddenly, she says:

"This lack of respect for your own feelings comes from parental negligence, I suppose." You turn your face away in surprise, but Wanda gives you a small smile: "James wasn't lying when he said that no pain should compete with another. We all have our internal and external battles, and we shouldn't belittle our pain. I believe we should honor it, and wear it. And here, dear, you will learn to do that." Wanda makes her way around to one of the cupboards at the back, and you watch her movements in silence, from reaching into one of the last drawers to returning to you with an item in hand. "I have an invitation for you."

She opens the box she's brought, and inside is a necklace very similar to the one the instructors wear. The main difference is the symbol, the crown that Wanda also carries on the pendant around her neck. You frown in confusion.

"What is it?"

She wraps the item between her fingers, her gaze on you. "The disciple's necklace. The last one from the current solstice."

You imitate the gesture, touching the item with the tips of your fingers. Wanda doesn't move her hand away as your fingers brush together, and you ignore your own shyness as you watch her bite her lip for a moment. "I don't understand what it means."

She licks her lips, and the movement doesn't go unnoticed by your eyes. "It means that you would be my apprentice. You would accompany me during periods of meditation, you would study my teachings closely, you would be... entirely dedicated to..."

"You?" you add, and Wanda lets out a shuddering breath, warm against your cheek. When did she get so close?

"If you wish." She whispers, and you pull away gently, your face hot but the last thread of sanity in your mind.

"I'm sure there are more experienced members dying for this position. It wouldn't be right-"

Wanda shakes her head, interrupting you. "They weren't chosen. You were." She assures you, pressing the box with the necklace against your chest. "And if it wasn't you, the place would be empty until the next solstice. You don't have to accept it, darling. It's not a summons. It's an invitation."

You sigh, holding the box against your chest. "I just... I've never done anything like this. I don't want to mess things up."

There's a bell in the distance, signaling the start of the next activities. Wanda glances outside briefly before stepping close enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth that makes your whole body heat up at once.

"Just listen to your instincts." She whispers, before pulling away with a small smile.

You write to Agatha about it the following evening, but you don't have the courage to seal the letter for sending. The whole conversation with Wanda seems too private to be shared in this way.

Although the woman said it was just an invitation, you could feel some pressure to make a decision, and it seems that the news had been circulating ever since one of the tutors couldn't find the box of the last chaos disciple pendant, and Wanda ended up mentioning that she had extended another invitation.

In a way, you were stalling. Between your activities and meetings, you hadn't made any decisions and you hoped that the end of the summer would force Wanda to choose someone else. But there was also the question of the new, burning feelings that had appeared since you first laid eyes on her, and which seemed to awaken every time you two were in the same environment.

The idea of departing, of leaving her behind like a closed chapter in your life, seemed absurd every passing day.

In your second month with the Chaos Children, you received a rather unusual request: take the prophet her morning drink.

The crumpled piece of paper was handed to you by one of your cabin mates: Kate Bishop. A former student, a little younger than you, who, after destroying a bell at the university, was sent here by her millionaire mother. Kate was to stay until she had balanced her irresponsible impulses and could take over the family's security empire.

She seemed a little reluctant to interrupt your concentration on cleaning the garden, but much more determined not to disappoint Wanda.

"Just give it to the kitchen staff, they'll know what to do. And prioritize, she doesn't like to wait." Said the girl, but you gave her hand a gentle tug before taking the paper.

"But why did she ask me?" you asked, but Kate had no idea and just shrugged before leaving the garden.

While the kitchen staff prepared the item, you tried to improve your appearance in the bathroom next to the lounge, wiping all the soil from the plants from under your fingers, and even what had run into your cheeks.

When you came out, there was another order on the counter and a small group of people who hadn't been there before. They didn't see you. Blonsky, accompanied by two other women you didn't know, were talking to each other.

"I bet it was Carter. She hasn't stopped talking about her private piano lessons with the Prophetess for four whole weeks." Said the first, but the other laughed quietly.

" Sharoon is a simp, that's all. Wanda wouldn't choose her after the episode with Rogers last year, she knows she can't trust her." Rebutted the other. "Besides, I would have assumed it was Bishop, after all, she already acts like a maid. Why train another when you already have one so dedicated?" The women laugh amongst themselves until they finally notice you approaching, and fall silent. Blonsky smiles, but he appears very vicious.

"Hello, miss. Wouldn't you like to have a say in who our next disciple is?" He asks you, but you shrug, moving forward in the queue in front of the canteen to grab the prophet's items that were clearly being prepared in priority.

"I don't know anything about it." That's your answer, but the shorter woman gets in your way.

"Come on, dear, it's easy." She begins with a giggle. "Every solstice, the prophetess chooses her disciples. There are 24 of them, 12 of whom will become apostles after their apprenticeship."

You grimace softly. "It's very biblical."

Blonsky chuckles. "Of course, it is, despite the multiculturalism of our group, Wanda was raised in a Jewish Christian home. You're not going to tell me you didn't know that?"

You clear your throat. "Not really. Sorry, I have to run."

But the man puts a hand in your way, only to stretch his body out on the counter and reach for some colored leaves that he crushes and drops into Wanda's glass.

"She likes it this way. I would know, I prepared many when I was her houseboy for the first few weeks here." He says, and you swallow dry, mumbling an awkward thank you before hurrying off.

The path is a little tiring, you think it makes sense of Wanda's physique if she had to climb that trail every day, and you mentally curse yourself for thinking about her body. It's not at all appropriate, honestly.

The door is open, but you knock anyway. The woman inside, wearing her typical long, loose dresses at the edge, is busy finishing a loose fringe in her hair and offers you a smile.

"Come in, dear."

You do so a little awkwardly, almost overwhelmed by the moment of entering the most private place in the whole camp. It's a beautiful cabin, you let her know, without stopping to admire the perfectly arranged surroundings. You would have thought that the privacy of this place would allow her to make some kind of personal mess, but everything is impeccably in place.

Wanda approaches to pick up the items, and the smile falters on her face at the first sip of her drink.

"Did you put... did you put maca root in this?" She asks, and your natural reaction is a short laugh.

"I didn't prepare it, Wanda."

But she doesn't smile again, her tone of voice remains the same but her attitude changes to one of false kindness. "My morning drink is an ashwagandha. I need my concentration to increase, not my libido." It really sounded like a scolding, and her attitude of handing the cup back to you, accompanied by the memory of the recent events, made your blood boil.

"Well, I'm not your fucking maid, so if it's not good, get another one downstairs, or even better, make it one yourself."

It's the first time you see any kind of fury in her gaze, hot and vibrant, and it makes something in you rouse. Your mention of leaving the cabin is prevented by her hands closing the door and trapping you against the wood.

Wanda takes a deep breath, and the gleam in her eyes changes. "Can I ask... where did this attitude come from?"

You hold the glass tightly against your body, very aware that you'll drop it if Wanda doesn't step away and let you breathe. "I just want to make things clear." You retort with a seriousness that doesn't do justice to the way your heart is racing. "I didn't come to this place to be your personal servant."

Wanda chuckles briefly, letting her gaze drop to your mouth. "Oh, of course not, darling." She whispers. "You're not the type to follow orders willingly. You'd do a terrible job."

Swallowing dryly, you retort: "And why am I here then?"

Wanda smiles innocently. "I asked you to bring my drink." It's her reply, clearly trying to tease you, and you snort impatiently.

"I bet you expected an answer. Well, I haven't made up my mind yet, so if there's nothing else, I'll just go."

Wanda moves to take the glass from you and put it on the table by the door. The next second, her hands are in yours.

"Don't be silly, of course, there's another reason." She retorts, pulling you along as she walks backward into the cabin. "I hear you love painting."

What you had assumed was her personal painting canvas is offered to you. The laugh that escapes you is shy and genuine.

"Wanda, I don't... paint anymore."

But she doesn't flinch, her hands still in yours. "I know you haven't since last semester. It was in the letter. But you've progressed so much, that I thought you could paint for me." When you don't answer, she makes such an adorable expression that your heart skips a beat. "Please?"

Wanda definitely knows how beautiful she is, and how those puppy-dog eyes can take her anywhere. You bite back a smile, agreeing, and almost forget to breathe when she jumps excitedly onto your neck, hugging it for a whole moment before letting go as if she hadn't turned you into a complete mess with one touch.

She doesn't complain about the cocktail again - instead, she drinks it entirely while you get comfortable on the painting stool, doodling for a few moments before starting to paint the only thing you could after so many months without touching a paintbrush.

It's only when the drawing is clearer on the frame that Wanda becomes restless again. Loud sighs take your attention away from the painting and towards her.

"Is something wrong?"

She smiles half-heartedly, and only now do you notice the soft color of her cheeks. "I shouldn't have ignored my own complaints and drunk that juice."

You frown in confusion, letting the brush rest next to the paints. "Was it that bad? If you want, I'll complain to the kitchen-"

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head and you have to shut up because she reaches over to push the canvas out of the way and stops right in front of you, close enough to touch.

"Remember what I said? About focus and about... my libido." She asks, and you can swallow dryly, looking up in the direction of her dilated eyes. She lets her hands rest on your shoulders, pressing the weight of her body gently into yours. "Well, I suppose you'll have to see for yourself. Hold out your hand sweetheart, no, no, down... yes, you can move my dress out of the way." Your trembling fingers brushed against her knee, and immediately obeyed the order. Slowly making your way under her dress, while Wanda bit her lip and watched you draw patterns on her thighs. Finally, your fingers reached the side of her underwear. Instead of pulling it down, you let the inks drop to the ground, and your other hand went under her dress too, repeating the same path as before while you and Wanda panted together. Your face fell forward, flush into her dress, and you pressed your nose against her, inhaling deeply the scent of arousal she exhaled so strongly.

Her hands squeezed your shoulders as yours began to pull down her panties right away. A moment later, gracefully as everything so far, she kicked the item aside and spread her legs gently so that you could slide your fingers between more easily.

You looked up the second your index finger met her warmth, gasping at the mischievous smile of the woman in front of you.

"All this time I've been here..." You started hoarsely, your fingers spreading the wetness between her folds, and enjoying the way Wanda's breath caught in her throat. "Were you this wet?"

Despite the failure of her own breathing, and the way it's harder to stand up with your intimate stimulation, Wanda gives you a mischievous look and leans her forehead against yours, her red hair making a curtain between your faces.

"I get like this every time I'm around you." She confesses, giving you a provocative tug on your lower lip that forces you to thrust inside her with more determination. Almost enough for her to lose her pose. Almost. "It's disconcerting, to be honest."

Your thumb presses down firmly on her clit, and Wanda almost buckles into you, the delicious sound that escapes her throat will be in your dreams for sure. "Well, should I apologize, high sanctity?"

She chuckles at the teasing hidden in the nickname, before leaning in completely and capturing your mouth in a fervent kiss that takes you out of orbit for a whole moment, intense enough for you to whimper into her tongue, and force her hips down into yours, practically begging her to grind your lap. Wanda's response to this is a dirty giggle mixed with a moan into your mouth.

Without breaking the kiss that turns into a much hungrier one the next second, you get to your feet, adjusting your hands to grab her thighs to pull her onto your lap and carry her around the room. Between stumbles, you press each other against the various surfaces of the room, tables, and cupboards, exchanging increasingly hot and desperate kisses, and you're pretty sure you're going to have Wanda against the bookshelf if she keeps grinding into your abdomen like that.

In a pause for breath, when she's still wedged between you and the bookcase, your mouth descends on her jaw and Wanda struggles to keep her eyes open. She whimpers shamelessly as your curious hands advance down her body, pulling her dress out of the way and leaving it barely hanging off her body for you to clasp your palms over her now-bare breasts.

Her patience for release is quickly exhausted by the precise stimulation of her breasts, your eager fingers teasing and pinching her nipples until you turn her into a whimpering mess. She gives a determined tug on the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your face back to hers in a hard, dirty kiss that makes you shudder. She breaks it only to give an order:

"On your knees." And you groan in obedience, falling to the floor almost at once, desperately pulling her dress aside to force your face into her, now with nothing in the way. Wanda arches her back once your hot mouth finds her drenched cunt; her hands desperate for some kind of support on the shelves behind her, while her chest heaves and her hips are restless against your face.

Your hungry mouth leisurely devours her, your tongue teasing her folds, spreading her wetness around and making a mess on your face. Your closed eyes show your dedication and surrender to the task, but Wanda tugs at your hair again, trying to gain a little control back and order you to quit the teasing and fuck her the way she needs you to. Fully dilated Irises then confronts her from between her legs, and Wanda loses her breath.

"Beautiful." She panted, staring back, shamelessly grinding herself into your face. "So beautiful... fuck... on your knees for me... oh, God, detka." She struggles to compliment you, but her native language begins to escape mixed with English shortly afterward, her climax approaching. You moan contentedly at the scene, aware of the state of your own underwear from all this play. Wanda's body begins to betray her, trying to pull away so you grab her thighs with a strong grip, and one of her legs ends up over your shoulder, increasing your reach just the way she needs it to fall over the edge.

Wanda comes on your tongue, spasming against the books, and in a deep moan. You don't let her pull away, keeping her restless hips in place as you lick your way through her previous climax in search of a new one. Soon her whimpering protests at the overstimulation turn into begging, and you fail to hide the smug smile at feeling her so at your mercy for a second time.

She's so close, so close, that the Sokovian comes back to her tongue, but there's a sudden knock on the door, and all the stimulation is interrupted by your fright. Wanda gasps incredulously, losing the time to react in time due to her own lust, and having to watch you stumble away - quickly wiping her cum from your chin with the back of your hand - as she tries not to fall down on her shaking knees.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" she asks in frustration through her teeth, but you, with a very flushed face, look at her with a certain desperation.

"Wanda, there's someone at the door!" You retort as if it were a very justifiable reason to steal an orgasm from her. Wanda huffs angrily, lunging at you and ignoring your confused eyes to pull you upright by the collar of your shirt, hurriedly throwing you onto the mattress. "W-wanda, what?"

"Quiet." She cuts in, pushing your shoulders until you're lying down and following the movement of your body to straddle your lap. The person outside knocks again, and although she's pulling her off, and is still shaking from her last orgasm, Wanda manages to speak in the same tone of voice as she does every morning meeting: "What is it?"

Your protests are muffled when Wanda sits on your face, and in fact, you would have forgotten any guests if Blonsky's voice hadn't sounded in the next second.

"Good morning, Reverend, I've come to join you for today's service." Says the man, but Wanda has to bite her lip hard because you're eating her out again, somehow even better than before. "Reverend?"

Wanda shakes her head, frowning at the difficulty of maintaining a rational thought when she has your tongue inside her. "Hm, I'm not going today, Blonsky... Deliver the service in my place." She fails to sound so breathless and has to close her eyes when your hands grip her thighs tightly, holding her down.

Blonsky then sounds concerned: "Aren't you feeling well, Reverence?"

Your nose nuzzles into her clit and Wanda reaches for the headboard, a satisfied sigh escaping her. "I feel great." She murmurs back and has to take a deep breath so that the next sound that escapes her isn't a moan. "Just busy. Anything else, Blonsky?"

The man clears his throat, Wanda has to press a hand against her own mouth as you reach another right spot.

"Hm, yes, Reverend... As you know, the deadline for the selection of the disciple is coming to an end." He begins, luckily unable to hear the muffled sighs inside the room through the closed door. "I have expressed my concerns to Your Reverence about a premature choice of new members-"

Wanda snorts impatiently. "Are you really going to question my choices again, Blonsky?"

"N-no, reverend!" He defends himself quickly. "Never. I just worry that the... affinity, that Your Reverence has acquired for some new members, might affect your judgment about their vocations. The premature choice of a disciple could result in their departure from our community, and we know how the withdrawal of one of our own affects everyone..."

"Don't worry about it." Wanda cuts dry, and now, she's remarkably close to climaxing. She doesn't care about the roughness, she thrusts her hips frantically into your face, muffling your breathless moans. "Y/N is the best choice... she's... so-god... dedicated and-hm... talented-" Wanda's lucky you're quick to react too. She would have screamed to the ceiling, exposing all the inappropriate activities in the room if you hadn't grabbed her thighs and spun her on her back onto the mattress. She didn't have time to lose this orgasm by the brief interruption of your movements - your fingers took the place of your tongue when you hovered above her, and your free hand covered her mouth when you sank inside her again.

Wanda came harder than before, squeezing your fingers and wetting the bed. She clings to your body in a desperate grasp, shocked by the achievement over her body, and grateful for the muffling of her moans. You keep thrusting until she stops squirting on the sheets.

You only remember that Blonsky is still outside because he speaks again. "I'll take your word for it, Your Reverence. And I hope you've made a good choice." He says at last, the sound of his footsteps moving away is ignored by you and Wanda, who meet in a hot kiss in the next second.

Your fingers continue to thrust lightly inside her, even though Wanda shudders from the excessive stimulation. And despite this, she also controls the kiss, which slows down so that she can ask in between: "Tell me, love. Did I do it? A good choice."

You kiss her a little harder. "I still don't know... what I want... or what I should do, Wanda."

She brings one of her hands up to your wrist, stopping your movements. You open your eyes to look at her. Wanda smiles, but her eyes are very mischievous. "You think too hard when the answer is right here." She retorts, giving your hand a gentle tug. You follow her lead, and soon, you have your drenched fingers with her cum inside your mouth. Your hips move instinctively, pressing down on her, and Wanda giggles mischievously, her free hand trailing down your back to encourage the movement. "Don't you want that, baby? You can be all mine."

You suck your fingerprints clean, removing them from your mouth to support yourself on the mattress now that you're so wildly grinding your hips against Wanda's thigh. She doesn't let you indulge in the sensation, grabbing your cheek and stopping your hips with the other at your silence.

Your soft protest is ignored, and your voice is almost a pathetic plea when it comes out. "It's not fair... I was feeling so good."

"Oh, darling, I can make you feel even better, every day if you decide to stay with me." She retorts, her grip softening on your cheek. You look at her, but there is still hesitation in your gaze and Wanda wishes to replace this doubt with something else. She kisses you but pulls away when you go to increase the intensity, ignoring your protest and pushing you gently away by the shoulders. "No playing, until I have an answer."

Wanda flees - because she doesn't think she'll live up to her words if she is under you - and slips out of bed before you can grab her back. Your next long protest is muffled against the mattress because you press your face down.

Wanda giggles half-heartedly as she stands up, reaches for her dress, and tries to adjust her appearance a little. "Thank you for the sex, sweetheart, it was a very pleasant surprise, but I can't let Blonsky lead a communion, he's not good at it. And you have errands, so if you'll excuse me..." Your silence made Wanda, now dressed, look at the bed again. To her surprise, you were sitting on the mattress, hanging something around your neck.

Your gaze met hers as the disciple chain was secure on your skin. The mischief in your gaze made her swallow. Twirling the symbol between your fingers, you smiled as you asked: "So how does this work? Should I confess my sins so that you can forgive me?"

"God offers forgiveness, not me." Wanda whispers back, brazenly watching you start to unbutton your shirt, the necklace hanging in the valley of your breasts is doing things to her.

"Hm, since I'm going to be forgiven, maybe I can sin a little more..." Wanda moved on instinct, crawling onto the bed to meet you halfway like a magnet being drawn towards you.

Your foreheads touched, and she sighed against your lips. "I should punish you for this blasphemy." She says, to which you smile naughtily before sticking out your tongue to tease her lips, eliciting a low moan from her.

"Promise?" You challenge, and Wanda gets tired of wasting time.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #kinktober 2023 #marvel imagines

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radiant-reid · 9 months

Note

A blurb on spencer with the audio thats like “I always thought you were the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen” and it’s to reader? :))

love this !! and i don't care if it's such a cliche image, I'm not going to stop

Spencer jumps when you slide the balcony door open. Even with the serial killer caught, you're all still on edge, chilly in the Alaskan spring.

"Sorry, I hope you don't mind me interrupting." You step forward and close the door to stop any heat from the fire escaping inside.

"Not at all," Spencer assures you, smiling softly to encourage you forward.

You stand next to him, looking out over at the hill and evergreen trees, everything with a fresh dumping of snow on it. The sun's just setting even though it's not too far into the afternoon, the sky beginning to turn soft pink and orange.

"Things were getting a bit tense inside." You laugh at the very recent memory of some passionate arguing.

"Prentiss and Morgan?" Spencer guesses. You confirm with a nod. "Hotch should add Uno to the list of banned games."

You laugh at the rare joke from him. "We're not going to have anything left now that Monopoly, Clue, and all card games are banned."

"We'll have to all play chess." He decides, matching his enthusiasm with a grin.

"Then you'll have to sit out so it's fair." You remind him with a smirk.

He pouts at that, not the answer he was after. A comfortable silence falls between you as you watch the sky changing colors. It's really like nothing you've seen before, and it's a nice reminder that there's still beauty in the world.

"It's just wow." You say softly, in awe.

"The stars will be out soon," Spencer notes. "They should be incredible. It's meant to be clear and there's no light pollution here like there is in DC."

"You looked it up?" You wonder. It's sweet, really, and his interest seems to go beyond adding to his vast general knowledge.

He turns to you to nod. "I'm going to come out after dinner to watch them. I've never seen anything like this in the cities I've lived in, and we don't get many cases in such beautiful, remote places."

You hum with your own nod. "You're right. Or..." Your curiosity doesn't allow you to resist the opportunity to segue the conversation. "Many beautiful people, like the deputy that's into you."

You're trying to disguise it as teasing him, at least then you can play it off as being teammates and friends, and you're desperately hoping he doesn't notice that you're tense about his answer.

His nose scrunches slightly. Maybe disgust, maybe excitement. "I wasn't looking."

"Not your type?" You ask, slightly alarmed again. You do share some similar traits with her, so if she's not his type, your chances are slimmer.

"I always thought you were the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen." He says sincerely, knocking the wind out of your chest. "So, no, Y/n, I'm not looking at anyone."

You take longer than you should to get over your shock. "You're serious?"

"Sorry, sorry." He quickly apologizes as his cheeks heat up more than can be accounted for by the cold weather. "That was weird. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"No." You rest your hand over his, hoping to calm his spiraling worry. "You didn't... just thank you. That's... the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"It's true." He reiterates.

Your smile deepens. "Can I come stargazing with you?" You ask. "I promise I won't distract you."

"Looking like that? Impossible." He jokes, flirtier than you imagine. It's like your reciprocation spurs him on. "But I'd love company... your company, specifically. Inviting someone else would be weird."

You chuckle. "Just me and you."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid blurb

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stevebabey · 1 year

Text

question on my lips

kia ora my loves, i'm stuck with writers block on another piece and this is hopefully the cure <3 its all sweetness as usual [established relationship + fluff + 2k words] mucho mwahs as ALWAYS <3!

Steve’s in a bad mood.

Which might be very fair considering the state of the weather outside. Flurries of snow batter against the windows and a hair-raising chill leaks into the panes, painting them in condensation. It’s cold. You don’t want to be caught outside on a night like tonight.

But, somewhere across town, there’s a reservation under Steve’s name that is being wasted. At a pretty restaurant, with 2 too many forks for your taste — but Steve had insisted. Even put on a suit.

And even though Steve has told you he prefers the quieter nights in with just the two of you, he seems quite… miffed that you can’t go anymore.

Maybe not quite a bad mood but… well, it’s a hell of a pout he’s wearing.

Amber drenches the wall of the room, lit by your bedside table lamps — a cozy cocoon that feels worlds away from the blizzard coming down outside. You’re actually quite excited; there’s seldom a comfort like being in Steve’s arms when it’s cold like this. Tangled together in your bed, letting his perpetually blazing heart heat the both of you.

But… he’s still pouting. You’re both unwinding a bit, taking off what you’d managed to put on before the weather took a turn for the worse — but Steve’s stuck, hands in his pockets. He seems to be fumbling with something.

His silence worries you more. Maybe you hadn’t realised how actually upset he was that your plans were cancelled.

He had been mentioning it all week, all month actually- since he’d first made the booking. Some claim that you’d love the food and he loved any occasion to see you all dressed up and drool-worthy— (“Not that that’s not all the time, babe.”)

“Steve?” You say. His head jumps up, hands in his pockets going still. “C’mon, come to bed.”

He softens at your coaxing words. Like the very sound of them, the sweet nature of your words, melts his hardened edges. He nods, tugging off his tie and beginning to work on his belt.

In the meantime, you creep into the bed. It smells like a smattering of something sweet that you know to be Steve’s hairspray, fabric softener, and maybe what you think love might smell like if it had a scent. You sink into it lovingly. Warm. Safe.

Your eyes find him instinctively. Watching, observing, drinking in the sight of your lover soothes you like nothing else. Love spools messily in your chest, like a knotted ball of yarn strewn through your ribs. It aches sweetly. Steve catches you as he’s pulling a pair of sweatpants up his calf.

“You’re staring,” He states plainly, but he’s smiling a bit, lips turned up in the corners. He jumps, hiking his pants up over his hips, and wanders closer.

You nod, hair scrunching against the pillow. Your voice comes out a bit muffled when you speak. “That a crime?”

Steve grins this time. He pushes the covers back, kneeling on the mattress beside you — pausing to push back the hair covering your eyes. He smiles down at you, eyes fond. “If it is, lock me up, baby.”

He pauses, thumb drifting over cheekbone lightly. “I could look at ya all day.”

Something delightful purrs behind your ribs, warm and all-encompassing. Where you would’ve once hidden your face away, this time you just let your glee wash over your face — and let Steve see every second of it. You’re happy. Steve makes you happy.

Steve gives an awed exhale and flops, bouncing down on the mattress beside you. He works the duvet around, bundling up as best he can before his hands begin to search for you. Traversing across the sheets, seeking, til they meet skin. He hums happily. Pulls you into his chest and lets you figure out how you want to wrap around him, like unkempt ivy. He’s warm, as always.

You’re not even trying to sleep yet, either of you, just having a moment huddled up in each other's embrace. The wind whirls loudly outside. You wonder what you’d be doing if your plans had gone through.

“M’sorry,” you say into his chest. It rises and falls with his breath, soothing and constant. “That we couldn’t do dinner. Y’seemed really excited.”

Steve makes a little noise, saying that he agrees. For a moment, your words hang in the air and then he clears his throat, pulling you closer.

“S’okay, not like you can control the weather.” He murmurs his reply. He pulls back to peer down at you with suspicious eyes, a tease on his tongue. “Can you? Because as your boyfriend, I should totally know that, and considering what we’ve seen—“

“Shut up,” you giggle. You poke him in the ribs because you can’t think of a good jibe back.

“Shutting up,” Steve says, before snuggling back closer. There’s another moment of quiet. The window rattles in the absence of words. Steve sighs.

“Just…” He starts. You can already tell he’s got his thinking face on, a little furrow between his brows. “Had some good plans for tonight, is all. Not a big deal.”

“A plan within a plan,” you muse thoughtfully. Steve chuckles. “How layered this night could of been!”

“And instead, you just have to have this, huh?” Steve murmurs, dejection creeping into his voice. Your heart twists. He must’ve planned a lot just to watch it go down the drain.

You pull back from his embrace and catch his eyes, searching his face. Disappointment lingers in his expression and it pushes a pout onto your lips.

“Well, is there anything we can do? That was like your plans?” You ask.

Steve breaks into a grin, giving a chuckle — but a glint in his eyes says he’s grinning for another reason. He stares at you lovingly, eyes dragging up and down your face as he seemingly thinks of his answer. He shakes his head.

“Nuh uh. Nothing we can do tonight.” He says, a tad forlorn. His hand on your back sketches a soft stroke up your spine. You shiver in a good way and Steve speaks again, eyes searching somewhere behind you, imagining something. “Well, not— not the way I want to do this.”

There’s a long pause. At the same moment a soft realisation blooms in your chest and on your face, Steve seems to realise he’s said too much. His eyes widen, the apples of his cheeks turning scarlet.

“Were you gonna—?”

You push back from him, suddenly sitting up in the bed. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, risking bruising the inside of your ribs with each resounding thud. You don’t even mind because… because…

Steve sits up too, wide-eyed expression still on his face. He looks flushed, taken off guard — he clearly hadn’t meant to tell you today. Well, he had meant to tell you today but he wanted to ask you at dinner, on one knee, and then the storm—

“You were gonna ask?” You squeak. A smile wobbles on your face as you try to rein in your reaction, even as joy floods every nerve. “Tonight?”

Steve seems unsure of the right way to answer. “Yes,” He stammers. Then crushes his eyes closed, dropping his eyes closed to curse. “Shit, I wasn’t supposed— I had it all planned! This isn’t—“

Steve pushes his palms into his eyes for a moment, dragging his hands down his face. You feel a pang of remorse for ruining your own surprise but it’s completely overshadowed by the rampant happiness. You can’t help yourself for what you say next.

“Yes.”

Steve blinks. “What?” A grin grows on his face, like your own is contagious even as he shakes his head. “I haven’t even asked you yet!”

He’s laughing, a glorious sound, and so are you. You're so full of love you feel stuffed like you’ve just eaten, it fills every crevice of your body. You nod. You think your teeth might be aching with how sweet the boy before you is— pouting and giving away his own surprises.

“I know,” you breathe. “But if- when you do, it’s a yes.”

And you’ve known it before. You have known it long before tonight that yours and Steve’s futures are knitted together so intricately that where one goes, the other follows. Still, knowing it and saying it— the difference steals your breath. You feel like a teenage fool again, back to the first time Steve ever asked you, ‘Be mine?’

Steve sinks into the pillows, deflating into them with a blinding grin. Like he hadn’t been sure up until right then. He giggles. Another awed sound, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.

“Okay,” he breathes. You sink down too, curling up into him. His warmth feels burning hot now as he pulls you back into his arms, the same as he had a minute ago; this time, you swear your hearts are an inch closer.

“I gotta come up with a whole new plan now, don’t I?” Steve asks, eyes shining as he peers down at you.

You laugh a little bit, delirious, and shake your head. Gathering courage, even as your stomach twists up in the best way.

“Nope. You can… you can ask now, if you really want.”

You hope your voice betrays everything you mean; that he could ask anywhere and you would say still say yes. That it didn’t need to be somewhere fancy, didn’t need to be a big spectacle, he didn’t even need to get on one knee and you would still say yes.

Steve stares down at you, drinking in the sincerity of your expression and he softens impossibly more. Smile lines you adore get scrunched up as he gives a shuddering breathy laugh, punched out of him by his own enormous affection. Christ, he loves you.

His hand raises, cupping your jaw sweetly and he tugs you closer to meet him in the middle. You come home to him, lips meeting lips as he kisses you deeply and maddeningly. There are a thousand sentiments in his kiss, I want to marry you and I love you among them.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against your own. His hand on your jaw rubs soothing, fingers tucking some stray hair behind your ear.

“Got a plan.” He murmurs, a wickedly handsome smile on his face as he taps his temple.

You’ll have to wait, it seems. You think you can stretch your patience a little longer, especially for this. Your cheeks are beginning to ache from your smile.

Another quiet moment. Then, your eyes light up with the recollection of an earlier memory. They skirt across the room and land on their target, Steve’s crumpled pair of slacks on the ground. You recall his fumbling with his hand deep in his pocket.

Steve follows your eye-line and the moment he spots what you’re looking his head whips back.

Steve fixes you with a stern look, a warning that says don’t. You move an inch, more to tease than anything — you don’t want to see anything til he’s the one giving it to you — but you don’t get very far anyway.

“Oh no, you don’t—” Steve’s arms around your middle tighten, pulling you closer as you pretend to reach off into the distance.

He shifts you easily, setting you down into the pillows and then squishing himself atop you. You let out a strange noise, a surprised yelp as Steve lightly crushes you beneath him, a slightly maniacal grin on his pretty mouth. His hair is a mess, cheeks still glowing, and he looks utterly in love.

You wiggle a bit, seeing if you can free a limb. Maybe to pretend to escape, maybe to dig your fingers in and hold him closer. Either way, it’s fruitless.

Somehow, you’re not all the mad with the situation; squished lovingly beneath your hunk of a boyfriend so you don’t go scampering around searching for a- for your engagement ring.

“Can I at least get a kiss?” You ask, knowing he’ll say yes. If there’s one thing, it’s that Steve never denies you a kiss if you ask. His eyes look a tad misty as he looks down at you so so fondly, eyes drawing down to your lips.

He doesn’t disappoint.

#written and edited in the space of today #wapow!#if there’s mistakes! no there’s not!#i’m worried u can’t tell he’s proposing in the beginning so fingers crossed #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #girl what tf do i tag it’s been so long so i’ve posted for the x reader girlies #ruby writes steve #steve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #steve x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #ok i can’t be bothered

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forteafy · 11 months

Note

3 + max!

MV1 x 'You and your stupid smile...Get that shit away from me.'

I've NEVER written for Max before, but I'm low-key in my enemies to lovers arc with him.

Loosing your paddock pass was bad; the rain tricking down the back of your neck was worse.

Working behind-the-scenes of Formula 1 came with some incredible perks; good pay, cooperate outings & the anonymity of your life; you’d seen it go really bad for some couples which had gone public. The same had gone for you and your ex-boyfriend, the golden child of Christian Horner.

After a few weeks of cold stares and silence, the press had died down on your part, leaving you alone whilst the cameras were continuously shoved into Max’s face; his stance was to keep his head down, his target solely being his third championship. Eventually, you faded back into one of the unknown faces of Red Bull Racing, a whisper sometimes crossing from a rival team; you. It was you. The ex-girlfriend of Max Verstappen.

Albeit, being well-known may have helped you in your current situation. Instead, you were stood in front of a security guard, arms folded as he waiting for you to pull out a pass. In all fairness, how many women showed up in team attire, playing the card that they had ‘forgotten’ their pass? Your phone was still at the hotel; a silent regret you had thought of, imagining your pass laid atop of it on your mad rush to leave that morning. Fuck Christian Horner for moving the meeting two hours earlier.

You were on the verge of admitting defeat- you would have admitted defeat, if not for the sudden eyebrow raise by the security guard and the voice emitting from behind you.

“She’s okay. She’s with me.” He nods, pulling his cap tighter to his head upon the weather becoming heavier. There’s a gentle pressure at the small of your back; after giving a thankful nod towards the security guard, Max leads the two of you through the barrier, waiting until you reached the other side to raise his eyebrows at you.

“No pass? That’s not like you.” He hums; his voice seems almost a ghost, having barely spoken more than ten words to one another in the past few months.

“No. Blame your boss.” You huff, feeling your clothes dampen by the minute. On top of the triple header, it seems you’re going to be carrying a huge cold through Austria and Silverstone. “Who moves forward a meeting at four in the morning?”

Max can’t help the smirk settling on his face; he’d miss this. The upmost sulking. The sheer black-cat energy that emitted from you. Everybody had been used to seeing him as the grumpy trope, anybody who knew the two of you understood it was so, so different.

“Don’t.” You snap, the wind only getting heavier, now soaking through the Red-Bull shirt you’d freshly steamed that morning.

“Don’t what?”

“You and your stupid smile…get that shit away from me.”

You’d not been able to get his grin out of your mind for weeks. Interviews, meetings, press conferences, nights out. It was always there, a reminder he wasn’t the cold, heartless brute the media could paint him as.

Your mind is drawn out of its trance of thoughts when you feel a sudden warmth pressed around your shoulders, vision darkening as something covers your sodden head; Max had wiggled out of his own windbreaker, slipping it around your body, pulling the hood up to cover your head. The man waits patiently, and at this point your body is so cold, it will take anything.

It’s clearly not thinking either, as once you’ve adjusted the garment, you automatically reach out to clasp Max’s hand, breath catching when you feel nothing but raindrops and cold air.

You prey he hasn’t noticed, ready to simply thank him for his gesture and walk on. What you didn’t expect, was for his hand to find yours, motioning forward, hands interlocked for the first time in months. And you couldn’t be mad, not truly. Not when you looked up at the man whom sacrificed his warmth and dry for you.

And especially not with that smile. A smile that emitted when Daniel walked past, eyes widening at seeing his favourite couple reunited for the first time in months.

Max says nothing, but his smile says it all.

#MV1 #Max Verstappen #Max Verstappen x Reader #Max Verstappen Imagine #Max Verstappen One Shot #Max Verstappen x Y/N #Max Verstappen x You #Max #Lestappen #Verstappen #F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Formula 1 x Reader #Red Bull #RBR #Red Bull Oracle

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daechwitatamic · 4 months

Text

The Price || MYG

banner by @/itaeewon

The Price

Rating: NSWF - minors do not have my consent to interact Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending WC: 8k

Summary: The Queen is responsible for everything you call yours: your home, your job, your freedom. You live without laying claim to anything else, lest the Queen leverage more in exchange for her grace. But the Queen has just named her latest price: the life of the young blacksmith, Min Yoongi.

Warnings: language, drinking, there’s a plague and it’s a problem, reader’s parents died (see the previous warning lol) and there are scenes of her grieving process, reader is a hunter so there’s mentions of animal carcasses and hides, lots of mentions of reader’s big fancy knife, a murder attempt, kissing, nip stim, groping, fingering, clit stim, penetrative sex (protection not mentioned either way), reader on top, angst, unhappy/ambiguous ending

A/N: Part of the Make Me Your Villain collab! Please give the other authors a lot of love!!! Huge huge huge thank you to @/here2bbtstrash for beta-ing!

Mirror, mirror - look and see. Who might take this throne from me? Mirror, mirror - who's the threat? Show me which boy's blood to let.

There are pros and cons to living outside the village. The pros are that you’re mostly left alone - you live by your own laws, most of the time. It’s better this way; you come and go as you please, you don’t worry about latest fashions or gossip, you aren’t under the thumb of any societal niceties or norms. You concern yourself more with what the forest tells you. Bad weather, humans who don’t belong, sickness on the horizon - the forest knows it all, and you know how to listen.

You knew about the plague - in a vague, something isn’t right here kind of way - days before the first villager fell sick. You didn’t see anything bigger than a possum for three days - you knew something was in the air. It was the baker first, then his wife. Now it’s made its way into the castle, the guards and servants falling like flies.

Another pro - you won’t pick up illness from the baker if you make your own bread in your tiny cabin in the woods.

The main con - the only con, really - is that when you make your weekly trek to the castle to present the King and Queen with your scores (deer, mostly, but usually a few fowl too) it takes so damn long to get there.

It would be faster on foot, much faster, but you have to load your kills onto a cart and take the dirt road, which winds and twists and takes its time. Today your cart is loaded: venison, fowl, a few rabbits, even a fox. That had been a good score. The Queen likes furs - she’ll pay you well for it.

But the trip into town once a week is a fair price for your freedom, you think.

A few vendors through the heart of town wave hello as you pass. You lift your hand in response but don’t stop. You’ll shop after, when your cart is empty and your purse is full. For now, you stay on the main road until it changes over from tamped-down dirt to cobblestone to, eventually, flat stone that leads to the bridge over the castle’s moat.

The usual guard, the one who knows your face and always waves you through, isn’t there. You wonder if the plague reached him, if he’ll recover or if they’ll send his body to the sea like all the others.

You show identification, the card nearly illegible due to how many times it’s been folded and stuffed into your shoe for safekeeping, and this new guard waves you on.

As usual, you stop in the courtyard just inside the first set of walls. You hop down and start undoing the straps of the fabric you have over the top of the cart. Two guards join you, and they begin moving your scores down from the cart. Each is weighed and given a quick once-over as a scribe stands to the side recording it all.

“Make sure you mention how nice that hide is,” you tell him, pointing at the fox. “I got that one special, for her.”

The scribe rolls his eyes a little, but you see him peer at the fox and scribble something on his little parchment. When they’re done, your cart empty, the scribe rolls his paper up and leads you up the steps towards the main doors to the castle. You flip one of the guards a silver coin and follow the scribe. As you head up the steps, you hear the sound of your horse’s feet moving across the stone, the cart creaking and groaning behind him, as the guard you paid takes him to be cared for.

Inside, you follow the thick, red carpet into the throne room. You’re surprised to see only the Queen present, but you school your face and drop into a bow anyway, your forehead brushing the soft carpeting.

When you rise, you see the scribe has handed her the parchment, and she reads over the report of your goods. You wait, knowing better than to speak until she has.

“A good week,” she observes.

“Yes, your Grace,” you say, eyes on the carpet. “I was pleased as well.”

“Are you well?” she asks as she signals for her Chief of Coin, who scurries close to the throne and lowers his head to hear her whispers.

“Quite well,” you say automatically, though you’re not sure what exactly she’s asking. Does she mean your health? Your home?

The Chief of Coin makes his way to you and you pull your practically-empty purse from your back pocket.

“You have need of nothing?” she asks.

This would be your opportunity to ask after anything major - repairs on your home, medicine, anything you couldn’t get during your walk back through town.

“No, your Grace,” you say. “I had need of a new blade, but the local smith took my request.”

The local smith and your new blade are one of your stops on your way home.

“I’ve heard from the citadel,” she tells you, and you pull your eyes away from the Chief of Coin to look at her. “They say your brother is doing well. He’s applying himself to his studies.”

When you’d lost your parents, you’d begged to keep your brother yourself, desperate to keep him away from the citadel’s orphanage. You were of age, could handle yourself. You could handle him, too, you’d argued.

The King had considered this. Your family was well-known in the village, and your father had hunted for the crown for many years. Your brother was only about five years out from finishing his schooling.

You were investments, you and your brother.

In the end, the deal had been struck - the crown would see to the rest of his education under the condition that when he finished he’d work for the crown, pay back his debt, begin to build his own name.

And, in the meantime, you’d take over the hunting. You could keep your family’s little cabin out in the woods, away from town. Your brother wouldn’t be apprenticed off to a stranger.

It was an easy deal to agree to.

“We’re grateful for the opportunity,” you say to the Queen. “If the report said anything less, I’d travel there to knock sense into him, myself. He’s at that age. You know.”

You try to bite back a cringe. The Queen might not know. She’d never been able to bear a child for the King.

She smiles at this, thinly. “Very well,” she says, and you take back your now-heavy purse from the Chief of Coin. “Then I shall see you next week. I wish you continued health in the upcoming days.”

You nod your head. “I wish the crown health and longevity,” you say. Head bowed, you miss the way her eyes tighten.

–

You pick up the goods you need - eggs, flour, and the like - on your way through town. You eye the tavern, tempted to stop for a pint. Alas, you are embarrassingly excited to get your new blade, so instead you carry on down the road towards the smithy.

After tying up your horse - though he’s a lazy thing and probably wouldn’t wonder anyway, not with the cart hitched up - you head inside, following the sounds of a hammer striking metal.

You wait until there’s a break in the noise and then shout a hey back towards the open door to let the team know they have a customer.

There’s the sound of a heavy instrument being dropped to the ground, and you catch yourself smoothing your hair back. Stop it, you scold yourself, scowling.

That’s the face that greets the youngest of the smithing team, Min Yoongi, as he steps into the shop, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light.

“Ah,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “Is it Thursday already?”

“Is my blade ready?” you ask, ignoring both his self-satisfied grin and his question. “Park Jihoon said I could get it today.”

At his boss’s name, Yoongi’s smirk fades until he’s all business again. He turns to the wall, where special orders are tacked. He searches until he finds yours.

“It’s ready,” he grunts, reading the slip of parchment. “Wait here.”

He disappears into the back again, returning with a hefty-looking blade, sheathed in a leather case.

He places it on the counter between you, pulls the blade from its case and turns it over so you can see each side.

You frown. “I didn’t order engraving on the case,” you say, jutting your chin towards the delicate design at the top. It curls in and around itself, all the way around. “I’d better not have to pay extra for that.”

“Ah, but he worked so hard on it!” Park Jihoon says cheerfully, appearing out of the back and clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. You keep your eyes on the knife; Yoongi looks steadfastly at the wall with the orders, a pink flush working up his neck.

“It’s not extra,” he mutters.

“I’m heading to Bridgeport,” the senior blacksmith tells Yoongi. “I’ll be back before sundown. You’ll be okay here?”

“Of course I will,” Yoongi says, disgruntled. Jihoon nods goodbye at you both and moves through the door, leaving you in silence.

“What’s the price?” you ask, placing your purse on the counter and digging for coins. He turns the paper over so you can see what his boss wrote, and you slide him the payment. You work on attaching the blade’s sheath to your belt, ignoring how Yoongi watches you through heavy-hooded eyes.

You know that look. You are ignoring that look.

“Lovely,” you say, once you’re situated and ready to go. You swipe up your purse and toss it once, catching it deftly. “Have fun pounding on metal, or whatever.”

His grin is razor-sharp. “I’d be happy to pound something else, if you want.”

The laugh rips out of you, unbidden and unwanted. “Disgusting,” you tell him, but the laughter takes the bite out of the words. “My God, you ought to throw yourself down the well for that.”

He lifts a brow, his smile turning less dangerous and more open.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “None of that today, thanks. I’ll be off.”

“Come on,” he cajoles, coming around the counter to follow you to the door. “You know you want some. It’ll be such a long ride back here when you change your mind later.”

“Keep dreaming, blacksmith,” you tell him, lips pursing in amusement.

He lays a hand over his heart like he’s wounded. “Blacksmith? You remembered my name just fine last week when you were -.”

“Well, I seem to have forgotten it again!” you blurt before he can finish the thought, pulling the door open. Over your shoulder you call, “Good day!”

His laughter rings out onto the street, following you home.

Regretfully, you have to admit that out of everyone who lives in this village, built out from the castle’s western gate, you know the most about Min Yoongi.

You knew him in passing, of course - before. When you’d ride through this same village on this same cart, your little brother squeezed between you and your father. When you’d stand silently, peeking around your father’s side, while he took payment from the King for his scores. When you’d greet the peddlers and the shop-keepers politely before climbing back on the cart and riding all the way back home.

Yoongi was just an apprentice then. You hadn’t paid him any mind. He was quiet, a bit scruffy, stayed close to Park Jihoon. He was no more interesting to you than the apprentice for the bakery, the tannery, the copywrite. Wasn’t even the best looking out of the bunch, honestly.

He was just there, unassuming. He was there when you’d pass through town on the cart full of your father’s scores, there whenever your family had business with the blacksmith, there when the holidays rolled through and your mother dragged you into town in a dress you hated and shoes that pinched.

There the day your parents’ bodies, along with six others, were loaded onto a barge headed for the sea. There the day your brother joined four more young people from the village as they climbed into a deep blue carriage headed for the citadel.

Yoongi’s dark eyes, cool and undemanding, had been on you as you stood fully alone for the first time in your life.

You hadn’t paid him any attention then, either. You couldn’t pay mind to anything then except dragging yourself through dark day after dark day until, finally, the clouds seemed to part and your new life seemed bearable. And bearable turned into decent. And decent turned into enjoyable.

The seasons turned. The hurts faded.

And you began to pay mind to Min Yoongi.

You began to learn things about him, then - after.

In your time around town, you learned first that he was good at his work - his blades were made well, easily as well as his master’s blades. You learned that he scowled and grunted but hardly ever meant it. You learned that he had a good reputation around the village - was known for helping his neighbors without being asked, known for being polite and keeping to himself. You learned that he had no family either, that the master blacksmith who’d taken him as an apprentice had more or less raised him, too.

Alone with him, you learned that his smile could be razor sharp, one side lifting and eyes glinting in a way that made your pulse sing. You learned that when he meant it, his eyes squeezed shut and his gums showed. His shoulders shook when he laughed. He made the funniest faces when someone said anything he didn’t agree with or didn’t understand. He’d grown strong, his craft shaping his arms and roughening his hands.

You learned that he took whiskey neat at the tavern when he was done working for the day. You learned that he had a smart mouth behind his quiet demeanor, and opinions about everything. You learned what he was willing and able to do with that mouth when he pressed you against the rough wood of the tavern’s side alley, and then later, back in his rooms behind the smithy.

You learned that he fucked rough but loved soft.

And that was where it had to stop.

Because it couldn’t be - but this you knew the whole time.

When he pressed his mouth to yours sweetly, stretching to reach you, brushed one lovely finger down your cheek and whispered, I want you, you knew this: it couldn’t be.

There was no life for you in the village. There was no life for you as someone’s wife. There was no future for you as someone’s homemaker.

Even if he could somehow give you partnership and love without taking away the wildness of your lifestyle - there was no love ready to bloom and grow behind your iron ribs. You had nothing you could give him back. You knew only survival. Only killing and coin. Only the forest and its secrets.

“You can’t have me,” you’d whispered back. “I am not to be had.”

You were surprised when he didn’t fight it. He hadn’t pushed back. He hadn’t held it against you, hadn’t been wounded. He’d accepted exactly what you were willing to give him and asked for nothing more.

You know this, above all else: he’s sweet, and conscientious, and good. Yoongi is good.

You - forest-dweller, hunter, orphan, unmannered, uneducated - don’t deserve him. You aren’t enough for how good he is.

The royal physician’s face says it all.

The Queen purses her lips, her eyes on her husband’s prone form. He meets her gaze weakly, too far gone to mask any of it.

“How long?” she asks, the words clipped.

The physician spreads his hands before him. “Impossible to say, your Majesty. Days, maybe. Weeks, if he can be strong.”

She scoffs. “Days it shall be, then.” She dismisses him with the wave of a hand.

No one is surprised, she thinks. The plague would breach their walls eventually. Only the strong survive - of course it would be her husband who would succumb first, and quickly. He’d never been strong, not like her.

After all, she was the one who tried all these years. She looked and acted the part of a partner. She was faithful. She focused on the crown, on the realm.

Not like him.

He coughs as he shifts on the bed, and she looks at him again. Weak, she thinks again. She can only feel disgust for him, for everything he never gave her.

“You’ll finally get what you always wanted,” he croaks.

She turns to look out the window. The day is grey, dreary.

“It seems I shall,” she agrees. Then she turns and walks closer to her husband’s sickbed - deathbed, perhaps. She drops delicately into the chair at his side and takes his clammy hand in hers.

It might look as if she doted on him. It might look as if she mourned.

“What became of him?” she asks, voice even and unbending. “The boy.”

Her husband’s eyes crinkle with amusement, and the chuckle that rumbles from his chest is accompanied by pained coughing.

“You truly are something, my Queen,” he says, shaking his head. “The boy doesn’t even know.”

He will say nothing else.

The Queen is delivered two things at once, not a week later.

The first, a gilded mirror, promised to possess magical ability.

The second, the expected news of her husband’s passing.

The realm begins its period of mourning, flags lowering, shutters closing. The Queen begins her incantations, alone in the southernmost tower of the keep.

The frame is made of ornately twisted gold, so heavy it takes two of her men to hang it for her. When they pull the dust cover off, she steps back to appraise it.

“Pretty,” she observes, watching her own reflection in the glass - unmagical, unextraordinary.

The swirling, green-hued mist doesn’t appear before her reflection until her men are dismissed, the door closing and leaving her alone.

Your Majesty, the mirror intones, the voice coming from the depth of the mist. Your wish is my command.

The Queen pauses, considering. The throne, the throne - hers, finally, only hers.

Unless.

The King’s last words to her ring through her head - the boy doesn’t even know.

She raises her chin and chants,

“Mirror, mirror, look and see…

Who could take this throne from me?

Mirror, mirror, who’s the threat?

Show me which boy’s blood to let.”

The mist, green and growing, takes over the glass. The Queen’s fists clench tightly at her sides.

The mist clears. The Queen lets out a laugh, short and bitter.

The blacksmith’s boy smiles shyly in the glass, one hand coming up as if to hide his face.

The blacksmith’s boy. The king’s bastard. Her only threat, the only other claim to her throne.

Your next trip into town isn’t with a cart full of venison and fowl. Instead it rings more true to the holidays of old, with your mother in charge. You wear black and a scowl, just as you did then.

The funeral services for the King threaten to last the full day, maybe into the night. You wish you could abstain, but if ever there was an event you were obligated to attend - this would be it.

You’re not sure what the King’s death means for you - for your brother. Will the Queen uphold the bargain? Does she still want your brother’s counsel, someday, when he’s of age? Without the King’s affection for your father, will she continue to allow you to live freely as part of the arrangement?

You sit alone in the church pew; rather, you’re surrounded on either side by strangers. You know Yoongi’s in the crowd somewhere - you can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head. You don’t turn to look for him. What good would it do?

It’s well after dark when the town begins to file out into the night. Your stomach growls, and you ponder if you should stop for a hot meal at the tavern before making the trek back through the woods or if you can hold out until you’re safely back at home.

You’re stopped on your way out the door by a guard reaching across you, blocking your path.

“Her Majesty requests your audience,” he says gruffly, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand at attention. Your audience?

It can’t be good. You’re sure of it.

You don’t meet her in the throne room as you have in the past. Instead, the guard leads you to a small chamber off the chapel, a nondescript little room with no decor, only a table with a candelabra lit in the center.

She’s seated, and it’s so cramped in the room that it’s hard to properly bow, but you do your best.

“Is my brother well?” you blurt out as soon as the guard has closed the door behind you. It was the first, biggest concern you had - you couldn’t hold it in. Had something happened in the citadel?

She inclines her head, shrouded in darkness. “I asked you here because I need something done. You seem, somehow, to be my best option.”

You duck your head, flooded with relief. “I’m at your service, as always.”

And you are. You owe the crown everything - the home you were allowed to keep, your brother’s education, your income. Your freedom, as conditional as it is.

The Queen seems to think before she speaks, and when she does each word is short and deliberate.

“There’s someone I need gone,” she says, her voice giving away no emotion. No sign of grief from the widow, no sign of trepidation from the new ruler, no sign of regret from the human asking you to take a life. “A threat to my throne. I’ll pay five times our normal scale. And I’ll pay you for your discretion, as well, on an ongoing basis.”

You respond with silence. You can’t process quickly enough - you don’t know what to tell her.

The only thing you can tell her is yes. She holds your whole world in her hands.

But if you tell her yes, then you have to do it. Can you kill a person, can you pretend it’s no different from cutting a rabbit’s throat?

Could you tell her yes and then leave? Vanish into the forest? What would become of your brother, if you did? Would he be responsible for your sins?

Five times your normal price could do a lot for you. You could send finer clothes to your brother, help pay for his books, maybe even a little spending money. You could fix up the cabin - patch the roof where it leaks, reinforce the cellar the way you’ve thought about for years.

And payment for your silence - ongoing? For how long, forever?

None of it matters. You can’t say no to the Queen.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you hear yourself say. Your stomach is a block of ice, turning over and over with the tide. “I am yours to command.”

You know it. She knows it.

“The blacksmith’s boy,” she says coolly, and you aren’t even surprised. It’s like part of you knew, somehow. Part of you has been waiting for this ending all along. Isn’t this exactly why you’d never let him get too close? There was never a happy ending in the stars - not for you.

She accepts your silence as acquiescence and adds, “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” you repeat, voice coming out too wispy.

She meets your gaze, still cold. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” you say, the only correct answer. But your mind is scrambling far away, getting ahead - what weapons do you have on hand, how will you do this -

“You didn’t strike me as softhearted,” she says, full of disdain.

“I’m not,” you defend. It’s just that it’s Yoongi. Yoongi, who sees your sharp edges and smiles because he knows firsthand how much sharp edges are worth. How - how - how can you? How can you pretend it’s just a hunt, just a necessity, when you know how his mouth tastes, how he looks at you like you’re something?

Her even look turns darker, a shade closer to a frown. “I know you have the stomach and skill to kill. And I know you dally with him. He’ll follow you - take him to the woods and be done with it.”

You haven’t been as discrete as you thought you had. You wonder who else in town knows about whom you dally with.

Not that it will matter, after tonight. Not if you follow orders.

Not when you follow orders.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you say, head bowed.

There’s no other correct answer. Your freedom had always had a price.

–

There’s some poetic irony, you think, in killing Min Yoongi with the blade he made just for you.

Your mind is stuck on this, circling it, unable to let go, as you approach the smithy.

The lights are out - there’ll be no late-night projects, not during the official mourning for the King. You hope Park Jihoon, whose quarters are above the smithy, just across the yard from Yoongi’s tiny cabin, sleeps deeply.

You know Yoongi keeps a key in the eaves above his front window; you’ve seen him retrieve it no less than a half-dozen times - usually he’s reaching for it, his shirt rising and showing a slip of belly that you can’t help but run your hands across as he laughs and tells you to be patient.

You reach it on your own, tonight. You let yourself in as silently as possible, closing the door behind you, placing the key gently on his tiny, wooden table. His bed is in the far corner of the room, and although the fire in the hearth has gone out, you can see the lump of blankets through the darkness that show you his form.

You approach quietly, as you would approach a potential score, letting yourself slip into the mindset of surviving the forest.

You hesitate when you stand over him. He sleeps on his back, the light from the streetlamps outside casting flickering yellow over his delicate features. His eyelids flutter. Next to his head, his fingers twitch.

If you strike true, this could be over in an instant.

His eyes slide open, and a hazy smile drifts over his face. “Am I having a very good dream?” he murmurs. His eyes trail down your form and freeze on the knife in your hand. The smile fades, and his eyes meet yours again, a question in them. “Or perhaps a very bad one?”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. Then, you move at the same time - you lunging and plunging the blade into the spot where his heart lay, and him rolling sideways and hitting the floor with a thud.

You yank your blade free from where it pierced Yoongi’s empty mattress and wheel to follow him as he scrambles upright and towards the door.

You should’ve locked it. You shouldn’t have apologized, your voice and your regret giving him the split second to bolt.

You follow him at a sprint, panting hard, as the fool runs barefoot through the smithy’s yard, heading for the forest.

Your forest.

It’s overcast tonight, threatening rain. No moon or stars to guide you, you follow Yoongi as he zigs and zags blindly through the trees. You have the advantage. You know where you are, even in the dark.

It’s primal, as you forge deeper and deeper through the underbrush, just sinew and silence as you run. Wind whistles around you as you focus on breathing, focus on following the crunch of Yoongi’s wild path. The earth seems to rise up to meet each footfall with a jolting slap. The darkness seems to spur you on like it knows you need this, pressing you onward, telling you, hurry, hurry.

If you can herd him towards the east, you can cut him off at the ravine - he won’t be able to do it barefoot, not without stumbling, not without cutting those bare feet on the sharp rocks. You pick up the pace, emboldened by the plan, knees and elbows pumping as you close in.

Without warning, Yoongi stops short and wheels around on you, feet skidding a little on the loose needles that coat the forest floor. It’s so unexpected that the inertia carries you to him before you can tell your legs to quit. Before you can slow, before you can turn, he grabs you by the arms and slams you backwards into the thick trunk of an oak tree, hard enough to knock the wind out of you with an audible gasp.

You’re surprised enough that the knife drops from your fingers, and he wastes no time gripping you even tighter and throwing you to the ground, instantly dropping his body over yours and holding you down as best he can as you struggle. The blade lies just out of reach, taunting you, and you reach up and stretch as hard as you can to wiggle your fingers closer, but Yoongi roughly jerks your arm away.

You’re gasping for breath as you struggle beneath his weight, trying to keep your vision clear. This wasn’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to have to chase him, have to fight him. You aren’t used to this - the deer don’t fight back.

“Why?” he pants heavily, his whole body heaving with each inhale and exhale. Sweat runs down his neck from the curled, damp edges of his hair. His eyes are wild, confused above you.

“Do you know who your father is?” you respond in answer, and the question surprises him so much that he leans back, like he’s trying to get a better look at you.

It’s all you need. You use your feet and your core strength to stretch just past where you couldn’t reach with his full weight on you, and your fingers close around the blade’s handle. In a flash, you have the sharp side pressing to the pulse point on Yoongi’s neck, hard enough that you know he can feel the sting, your other hand curling in his shirt and holding him still. His eyes widen and he freezes, straining to hold himself up and away from you.

“If you move I’ll do it, and it won’t be quick,” you hiss, teeth gritted so hard you’re sure they’ll crack. Your heart slams in your chest, adrenaline sending tingles clear down to your toes. You’re dizzy with fear. You aren’t sure what’s scarier - actually doing what you’re meant to, or having to report that you didn’t.

You’re both stuck there - a tableau, an oil painting, frozen for eternity, never moving on from this moment. A million possibilities stretch on as Yoongi’s pulse beats visibly against the knife he’d sharpened for you just days ago.

You feel like you’re floating outside your body; you can’t feel any of it - not the knife’s handle against your palm, not Yoongi’s hips still pinning yours, not the sticks and stones beneath your spine, not the sticky humidity of a night on the precipice of storm. Not your own thrumming, frightened heartbeat.

You know you can’t do it - not this way. Not like this, not with his eyes on yours, steady, as if he’s not staring down his death. Not like this, looking into his face and remembering the first time you were under him this way, remembering every time after that. Your hand trembles as you will yourself not to pull the blade away.

But he knows. Yoongi’s always called your every bluff, has always been perfectly capable of shooting you a knowing half-smile and pushing right past your blustering, always able to find the person on the other side of the facade - the person who’s scared,confused, alone.

“No you won’t,” he murmurs, low, and there’s nothing accusing or mocking in it. He’s simply telling you what he knows.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers his face closer to yours, so deliberately that the knife slides harmlessly along his skin until he’s clear of it. He presses his lips to yours, uncertain at first, then with more insistence when you don’t push him away.

The fear and adrenaline crash through you in time with a not-so-distant crack of thunder, blinding you, rendering you thoughtless and animalistic. You drop the knife with a thud, barely aware that you’re doing it, your hand coming instead to tangle in his loose hair, clutching it tightly at the base of his neck and pressing his head closer to yours, kissing him deeper, needing to absolutely drown in his kiss.

He grunts at your enthusiasm, nipping at your bottom lip before diving into you again, licking deep into your mouth and pressing his hips down into yours in rhythm with the kiss. You move with him desperately, the quiet of the woods scattered by your combined gasping breaths, tiny sounds of pleasure slipping through the cracks in your armor, the wet sounds of your mouths coming apart and meeting again hungrily. Despite the earth solid beneath you, you feel like you’re spinning. You clutch him tightly, one hand in his hair and the other arm coming around his shoulders, tethering him to you.

He’s the only thing keeping you here, in the present, not skittering off to somewhere safe inside your head.

You let him hold you there, pressed between him and the unyielding ground below you, channel all the rushing adrenaline into how you meet his fiery kisses, pressing your mouth hard back against his like it’s a battle, into how you roll your hips against his, thrilling at feeling him hard and ready for you. But for all the intensity, for the dizziness sweeping over you, neither of you rushes - you kiss for so long that your lips tingle, your core throbs, the night grows blacker, the thunder tiptoes closer.

You swipe your tongue over his familiar lips, whining in your throat when he opens for you again, welcomes you in, rocks against you and closes his eyes against the sting as you unconsciously tighten your fingers in his hair.

Then he breaks the kiss, pulls himself free of your grasp, nudges his nose to the underside of your jaw until you lean your head back, breathing hard, giving him room to attach teeth and lips to the skin of your neck.

He gathers a bit of skin and worries it between his teeth, muttering, “You won’t kill me. No one else can make you come undone like I do.”

The sound that tears out of you is half laugh and half desperate groan. “Prove it, then,” you goad, fingers finding the hem of his shirt and pulling the edge towards you. He releases the spot on your neck long enough to let you pull the material over his head. Then he sits back on his knees between your legs and looks you over, one hand absently sliding down the front of his trousers, pressing relief into his waiting cock.

“Yours,” he says, tone steely. You find your own hem with shaking fingers. Distantly, there’s a flash of lightning, illuminating the canopy of tree branches above you before plunging you into darkness again. You pull your top over your head and drop it next to his, leaning back on your elbows.

All thoughts of what you’re supposed to do here have left you; there’s only hands-shaking adrenaline and instinct driving you to give in to your desires and pursue what you want - Yoongi, Yoongi, more of Yoongi.

“Trousers, too,” Yoongi tells you, voice quiet. His fingers are on the string of his own trousers, but his eyes are on your exposed chest. Hungry.

You do as he says, untying your bottoms and pushing them away with your feet and waiting for his next move. The night isn’t cold, but you shiver. The forest, your forest, feels like a sanctuary, like it’s wrapping around the two of you and keeping you safe from everything outside. Like if you stayed in here, together, you might be safe from her after all.

But you know that’s a lie.

You push the thought away by coming up on your knees and approaching Yoongi, who’s still kneeling, too. You press your chest to him with a shudder as you reach to kiss him again. He gives a quiet, happy noise low in his throat and you answer with a hum as you lick into him again.

You slip a hand between your bodies and find him heavy and leaking. He presses into your touch with a nearly-silent keen that you manage to catch, and you trace your fingertips up his length, playing in the wetness you find waiting for you at the tip, then pulling that wetness down to the base again. You repeat the motion, touch featherlight, and listen to Yoongi’s breathing hitch and catch and sigh as he closes his eyes and enjoys it. He’s silky against your fingertips, skin like satin even here.

Yoongi trails kisses down your jaw, making a clear path towards your neck, and he skims a hand up your side and past your ribs, cupping one breast and rubbing his thumb roughly over your hardening nipple. You gasp, fingers twitching against his length, which spurs him on. He runs his knuckles lightly over the bud, then takes it gently between his thumb and forefinger, giving it an experimental roll. Your gasped ah turns into a liquid moan and he does it again, harder. You keen, a note of complaint in it, as he repeats the movement that is somehow both too much and not enough.

You wrap your hand fully around him, done teasing him with barely-there strokes, and roll your wrist once, twice, three times, his low grumbling reply music to your ears. He’s still mouthing at your neck and he switches hands, igniting sparks as he gently pinches the other nipple instead. Then he reaches and bumps your wrist out of his way as he cups your sex and spears you on his middle finger.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you whine, rocking into his hand, trying to take the digit just a little deeper.

He must hear the desperation in your tone or sense it in the way you clench around his single finger, because he takes mercy on you and presses a second finger in beside the first. You sigh, still rocking against his hand, as he fucks into the spot in your front wall that makes your eyes drift closed and your toes curl up. You abandon his cock, bringing your hands to his shoulders, hanging on to keep yourself upright. When he presses his thumb against your clit you groan, loud and long, no one to hear you, and let your head fall back.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, plunging his fingers in and out of your wet heat. You can hear it each time he pushes them back in, the sound ringing in the silent woods, the only competition the approaching rolls of gentle thunder.

He works you up until you’re panting, your forehead dropping to rest against his collarbone, your hips in constant motion as you seek more. Your arms are looped around his neck, though you don’t remember starting to hold him, and your fingers find the ends of his long hair, tugging lightly in time with his motions. Occasionally his thumb circles your clit, causing your hips to jerk, but the angle stops him from keeping it constant. He pulls his hand away, and you take a bracing breath, coming back to your senses as the sensations fade.

He drops back from his knees, one arm behind his head as he lays back. He locks his eyes on yours as he strokes himself, his teeth toying with his bottom lip.

“Come on, then,” he prompts, his hand languid and lazy on his cock. Your body buzzes as you climb over him and sink down, letting him fill you, stretch you, break you into pieces. You ride him hard, one hand splayed on his flushed chest for balance, as around you the wind picks up, the leaves on the trees fluttering.

Yoongi’s eyes screw closed and his head tips back, even as his hands continue to guide your hips through each rise and fall.

You slow, savoring the drag against your walls, savoring his pretty skin beneath your fingers, savoring the grunts and hitched breaths he’s trying to hold back.

You could have loved Yoongi. In another life, where you had chips to bargain with. In a life where you fit into place within the village, where wild wasn’t as necessary to you as air. Even if the Queen had never called for Yoongi’s head - this life never meant for you to love him.

This is what you think about as you lightly rake your nails down his chest, watching him squirm beneath you. You think about all the times he’d been on the edge of saying it.

You think about all the times the feeling had risen up in you, as warm as a patch of sunlit floor, and you’d had to blow it away like an errant dandelion seed.

Maybe you do love him. You just can’t forget - not for a second - how little it matters.

The knife sits where you’d dropped it before undressing, just past Yoongi’s head.

You could probably reach it now.

Yoongi seems to sense the change in your motions and cracks an eye open, his fingers on your hips loosening.

His gaze follows yours. A flash of lightning makes the metal shine for a split second, and then you’re surrounded by the sudden patter of falling rain.

“Guess we better hurry,” Yoongi mutters, reaching up to grip the back of your neck and pulling you down so your chest is flush with his.

All thoughts leave your mind as he hammers into you from below - the knife is forgotten. Your feelings are forgotten. The rain, starting to muddy up the ground around you, forgotten.

You cum around him in silence, jaw clenched, fingers digging into his biceps. The groan he lets out as you squeeze around him in waves is drowned out by a growl of thunder that feels like it’s right above you, all around you.

Yoongi pumps into you with abandon, suddenly losing the rhythm he’d created. He gives two more shuddery thrusts and then lets his arms flop to the ground with a contented sigh.

For a second, you both lay there, sweat-slick and panting. Another lightning splits the sky, and the rain comes harder. He slides out of you and you wiggle until you’re laying just next to him instead of on top of him.

You can’t stop looking at him. He seems determined not to look at you.

The rain washes everything away - the smell of sex, your sweat, your affection, your sadness, your pride.

“My father,” he murmurs beneath you, and you go deathly still. “Yes, I knew.”

You swallow, brush rainwater from your brow. “So does the Queen,” you say back. An explanation, and an answer to the why he’d leveled at you an hour ago.

He nods slowly, expression clearing with understanding.

You feel no absolution for it.

Finally, he leans his head back again, his bangs flopping heavily now that they’re saturated with rainwater, and eyes the knife.

You sit up. He brings his eyes to you and watches silently - as if he accepts whatever move you make. As if, should you reach for the metal, he wouldn’t fight you this time.

“Go.” The word tumbles roughly onto the inch of mud between you. You don’t remember making the decision to say it.

He sits up, elbows and shoulders caked with mud. But all he does is watch you, wait for you to change your mind.

“Go,” you repeat, meaning it. Now that you’ve said it once, now that the decision was made, you know it’s the right one. “I’ll tell her it’s done.”

You could never kill him. You both knew it all along.

He dresses wordlessly, and you do the same, pulling your top back over your head and tying up your trouser string. When you look up, he’s standing in the rain, watching you.

You stoop and grab the knife he’d made you. You grip it tightly in your hand, refuse to meet his eyes.

He’s not challenging you, not questioning you - and that, in itself, feels like a slap.

“You can’t come back,” you say, as evenly as you can muster. When he just looks at you, infuriatingly silent, you add, “You can’t. Okay? If she - she can never know.”

“I know,” he says, and then he gives you a long, searching look. He’s drenched now, and your hands itch to push his set hair away from his face, to use your thumbs to chase raindrops - you think - away from his lashline.

Then, choked, he offers, “You could -”

“Don’t,” you bite out, stopping him before he can make you any kind of offer. You can’t. You can’t go with him. You can’t disappear into the night. Your brother is counting on you. You won’t let him pay for your sins.

Yoongi shakes his head. He takes another step closer. Your fingers tighten on the knife’s handle.

“Y/N, I -”

You raise the knife above your head in a flash, eyes going wide in fury.

“Fucking go!” you bark.

He holds up his hands, takes a few steps backwards, giving up his quest to make this harder than it needs to be. Lightning illuminates him and above your head, the blade shines for a split second before everything is cast into inky darkness again.

When your eyes adjust to the darkness, trees around you forming a shape again, he’s gone.

You don’t follow him, and you don’t return to your cabin. You sink to your knees in the mud, dropping the knife onto the ground, and sob into your hands, the noise swallowed by the flurry of rain and the intermittent cracks of thunder.

—

You sleep. You hunt. When the time comes, you bring your scores to the Queen atop your wagon.

She doesn’t ask you about Yoongi. You don’t offer her anything, just thank her for her grace routinely when she orders your purse to be filled.

You don’t stop at the tavern on the way back home. You don’t stop at any of the shops - not this time. You don’t trust yourself to act right if Yoongi’s disappearance gets brought up. You don’t trust that no one will do the math that he vanished four nights ago, and now you’re a hollowed shell who can’t form words.

The townspeople have seen you grieve before. They’d know what they were seeing.

The next trip is easier, and the one after that even more. The Queen never thanks you, not that you expected it, but you start finding an extra purse of coins in your wagon each time you return to it after bringing in your kills.

The price for your silence. The price for what she thinks you’ve done.

It hurts the most when your wagon passes the smithy, but you keep your eyes on the cobblestones and your hands on the reins and eventually the hurt fades along with the village as you get farther and farther away.

The seasons turn. The hurts fade. You send extra money to your brother. You sleep. You hunt.

Eventually, you stop waking up from nightmares that feature the glint of metal. You stop waking up trying desperately to cling to your dreams as fruitlessly as clinging to smoke, left with only damp places on your pillow and the memory of a low, throaty chuckle ringing in your ears.

Eventually, you can ride past the smithy without the pang in your chest. You can stop for a pint without watching the shadows for the appearance of a gummy smile. You can laugh when the bartender cracks a joke, can sound like yourself when you ask the baker’s daughter how she’s been faring.

It is after one of these trips, deep into color-saturated autumn, that you return to your cabin with wagon empty and purses full.

Something isn’t right. You freeze, casting your eyes around the forest, but it holds its secrets tight.

On the ground in front of your door, illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight, is a brand new, shining blade.

thank you so much for reading!!! i really really like this one and i hope you do too!! <3

#bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #min yoongi angst #fairy tale au #fic: the price

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gyuvxx · 19 days

Text

A Party ꩜⋆.°⭑

Sungchan x Reader

In which YN meets a cute boy at a party…

Genres/warnings: fluff, crack, party fic, mentions of drugs and drinking, suggestive (no smut!), make out session, consent is given!! kinda open ending

The wind blew across her skin as she walked behind her friends. She listened to them talk ahead of her, excitedly chattering about something she couldn’t quite make out. Her outfit was ill fitted for the weather, more skin exposed than covered, that did nothing to keep her warm. They had been walking for about fifteen minutes, with ten more to go. If they didn’t freeze by then.

YN felt herself wobble in her heels, none of her friends ahead of her were waiting up for her. She just continued, not too bothered by silence, enjoying the peace in the atmosphere. She appreciated quiet moments, but couldn’t deny she felt a bit left out. She suddenly felt an arm sling around her shoulder, and turned to find who was next to her.

“Don’t be nervous,” She said playfully. Yunjin was dressed as a cowboy, a bandana tied around her neck, and a brown hat sat on her head. She said she was matching with the hosts of the party, two of her friends from class.

“I’m not nervous,” YN laughed, leaning into Yunjin. “I just don’t really want to go,” she confessed. YN was dressed like cupid, wearing a pair of little wings, and white boots that were too tall for her to walk in comfortably.

Yunjin smiled at the shorter girl. “If an hour passes and you still aren’t feeling it, then we’ll walk to the milkshake place,” She told her, lightly shaking her friend. “But you have to actually try to have fun, have a drink or something,”

YN nodded, but still felt reluctant. She was never the type to party, which was polar opposite to many of her friends, who spent a fair amount of their weekends at house parties thrown by other people at their school. YN didn’t blame them, she could see how they enjoyed the parties, but never really liked them herself. She didn’t like the crowds of strangers, or having to shout over everyone to talk to a friend, and she didn’t want to get drunk in a room full of strangers.

Her friends had convinced her to tag along with them, telling her it would be fun, and they would all stay together. It was halloween, she’d be so lame not to go. She agreed reluctantly, not holding much hope that she’d have a particularly good time. The group was made up of girls they’d met in class, all sweet, friendly girls, but Yunjin was the only one she was really close with.

When they got to the door and the host opened the door, YN could immediately gauge the atmosphere of the house. Loud, and crowded. Wonderful. The host, Shotaro, was in her chemistry class, and seemed to be close with Yunjin. He let them all in with a smile, and when she stepped foot into the building, the smell of weed, alcohol and body odor hit her senses immediately. As her group walked in, they all huddled for a moment, sticking together for the most part, until one by one, they began splitting off.

Yunjin kept her hand on YN’s, not wanting her to get lost in the crowd, leading them into the kitchen to get some drinks. She looked around cautiously before opening the fridge and grabbing two bottles of beer. No one was supposed to get into the fridge, but YN assumed it was okay since Yunjin was close to the host. She grinned as she handed her a bottle, and the two clinked their glasses together.

The two girls drank for a while, moving around from time to time whenever Yunjin felt like it. They laughed while trying to yell over the loud music, and the other people yelling around them, finding it amusing how the other would say ‘what?’ after every five seconds.

YN saw Yunjin look around the room, and wave to some people YN didn’t know. Yunjin turned back to her friend.

“Do you wanna come with?” she yelled, gesturing over to two boys dressed as cowboys.

“I’m okay, go talk to them!” YN yelled back.

“Are you sure?” Yunjin asked, not wanting to leave her friend.

“Yes, now go!” YN yelled with a small laugh, pushing her friend away to go talk with her other friends. Truth be told, she didn’t want Yunjin to leave, but also didn’t want to be a stick in the mud.

After a few minutes of Yunjin being gone, YN got annoyed with the atmosphere once again, moving from her spot to lean against the wall. She sipped her drink, which by that point was getting warm and sticky. She opted to people watch from her spot, waiting for Yunjin to come back.

No one approached her, which was a relief, she didn’t want to deal with drunk college students. She looked around the crowds for Yunjin, but couldn’t find her. The music seemed louder without anything to distract her, the house was hotter, and the smell stronger. It all was beginning to be too much for YN. So when Yunjin pushed her way through the crowds with a grin, YN couldn’t stop the sigh she let out.

“Have fun?” she asked, returning to yelling like before.

“Yeah!” Yunjin shouted back. “They’re in the basement right now, it’s cooler down there!” she yelled, and YN tilted her head.

“Who?” YN asked.

“My friends, duh!” Yunjin locked arms with the shorter girl. “And there’s someone I want you to meet,” she wiggled her eyebrows as she began leading her downstairs. The pair weaved through the crowds, pushing their way past people as Yunjin grinned. They walked downstairs, and YN felt a rush of cool air graze her skin.

“Is that her?” one of the cowboys asked from the couch. YN looked down at the seven pairs of eyes staring up at her, and gave a small wave.

“Yup,” Yunjin dragged her down all the way. “This is YN, everyone say hi,” the boys all greet her at the same time.

“Hi, I’m Shotaro, and I’m also the host tonight,” one of the cowboys stood up to greet her. “The other cowboy is Eunseok, we’re twinning with Yunjin. Freddy kruger is wonbin, Luigi and mario are seunghan and Sohee respectively, men in black wannabe is anton-”

“It was last minute!” the younger boy shouted in protest.

“Okay, whatever. And angel boy-” he looked around before getting cut off by a tall boy approaching with two drinks, one that was somewhat unfamiliar, and one that happened to be her favorite.

“I’m sungchan,” The tall guy said to her, a playful smile spread across his pretty face.

“Nice to meet you,” She replied with a small smile, locking eyes with him before his eyes drifted to examine her further.

Sungchan handed her the bottle of the drink she liked, and she took it without hesitation. She looked around the room, the big couch in the center with a pretty big TV in front of it, and a bar by the stairs. It was a calmer atmosphere, relaxed, just YN’s cup of tea. Shotaro told her she could sit on the couch if she wanted, so she walked over.

“Yunjin said there was someone she wanted me to meet?” YN asked as she sat down. She saw how Eunseok and Shotaro smiled teasingly and Sungchan looked behind him to see Yunjin grinning at him.

“Some friends are playing some games upstairs,” Yunjin grinned. “You can join us if you want,” she offered before walking up, Eunseok and shotaro joining her.

Seunghan and Sohee were upstairs drinking, catching up with their other friends. Anton was talking to a girl he liked upstairs, and Wonbin was playing beer pong. It was just Sungchan and YN in the basement. She didn’t realize until the awkward silence set in, and she looked up to see sungchan standing by the bar, sipping his beer.

The two of them made eye contact, as sungchan was already looking at her. She broke it after a moment, looking down at her lap. Sungchan took the opportunity to walk over, sitting down next to her, a little bit away. He turned to look at her, and she glanced up to meet his gaze. He gave her a soft smile.

“I think I’m the one Yunjin wanted you to meet,” He confessed, and YN tilted her head.

“Why do you think that?” she asked, moving to face him a little bit.

“She overheard me talking to shotaro about how I thought you were pretty,” He shrugged with a smile. “I saw you while you were upstairs, and told them about you. Yunjin went ‘oh I know her, i can go get her!’ and then she dragged you down here,”

YN smiled a little. “So that’s why she seemed so excited,”

“I guess,” sungchan agreed. “You have full right to tell me to fuck off by the way, I will not be offended,”

YN laughed, pushing her hair over her shoulder before looking at him. “I wasn’t really planning on it,” she shrugged. “I think you’re pretty cool, and for whatever it’s worth,” she paused, contemplating her words. “I think you’re cute too,”

The two looked at each other for a moment. YN felt the heat rush to her cheeks, feeling silly for just calling a guy who was two heads taller than her cute. Sungchan just smiles, relaxing into the couch a little bit, a smirk on his face.

“So… would you want to chill with me? I’m great at scaring people off,” Sungchan offered, looking over at her.

“Sure,” YN nodded. “Do you wanna go upstairs? Have some more stuff to do?”

“Sounds good to me,” He stood up, and offered His hand to her, seeming more confident than before. She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet, interlocking fingers as Sungchan led her upstairs.

The two of them joined their friends upstairs and teamed up for some games. Sungchan taught her how to play beer Pong, standing behind her to help her aim to sink the ball she threw. He cheered her on through the game, and drank whenever she drank. When the two of them won the game, they high fived each other, and neither of them fully realized Sungchan’s fingers intertwined with hers.

Through the next game, Sungchan’s hand rested on her waist, keeping her close when she took her third shot. YN always had one hand interlocked with his as they continued, pressing up against his side as the night continued, feeling gigglier than usual.

They played a few more games, and took a few shots too many, when YN felt that fuzzy feeling she got when she had a little too much to drink. She leaned against sungchan, talking to Yunjin as she felt the alcohol really kick in.

Sungchan stopped drinking a bit before her, only having a light buzz when he realized YN was getting a bit drunker than he was. He kept her close while they were upstairs, trying to keep her out of trouble, and to keep her from getting lost.

Sungchan had suggested they take a break from the crowd when he noticed her steps got wobbly, and started giving her water instead of more alcohol. He saw Yunjin give her a look from across the room, and he knew it was about time for them to start winding down, so neither would be too hungover.

The two of them went back to the basement, sitting on the couch while their friends relaxed around the room. YN leaned against him, as his arm draped over her, fingers rubbing gently against her dress. The two of them talked for a while, getting to know little things about each other. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, almost resting on his lap, as sungchan absentmindedly played with her hair.

“I want another drink,” YN murmured before looking up at sungchan, battering her lashes to really convey the message.

Sungchan smiled at her, and brushed the hair back from her cheek. “You’re drunk, cutie, you shouldn’t drink any more,” his finger grazed her cheek, squeezing her skin lightly.

YN jutted out her bottom lip, looking up at him through sad eyes. When she saw his smirk, and subtle head shake, she returned to leaning against his chest. “You’re no fun,”

Sungchan laughed a bit. “Sorry, baby,” he said softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her hair. He rested his arm around her again, holding her close to him as they sat together.

There was a silence between them, comfortable as He played with her hair. Sungchan noticed some of his friends had left, and now the only three left were Yunjin, Eunseok, and Shotaro. The three of them were clearly trying to observe what was going on between Sungchan and YN, and noticed Sungchan looking back at them. They made a few gestures, shotaro mouthed, ‘should we go?’ and all three filed upstairs when sungchan nodded.

It was just them in the room, and sungchan felt his heart beat against his chest. He didn't know what to do in the moment. He didn’t know what would be the next move, or what would be too far. So he decided to just try and take things slow.

“You know,” he spoke up, ears heating up at the confession. “Yunjin told me what beer you liked before you came downstairs,” YN looked up at him a bit. “She also told me you were a lightweight, so I should probably keep an eye on you,”

“I’m not a lightweight,” YN pouted.

“Sure,” Sungchan smiled, looking into her eyes. “But you’re drunk now, so i’ll take care of you,” he had a silly smirk across his lips, hand resting against her waist.

“You don’t have to take care of me, I’m just buzzed” YN muttered, looking down. “I’m a big girl,”

“I know,” he admitted, bringing his hand under her chin. “I just want to,”

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, YN’s eyes were wide, getting lost in his soft gaze. It was only a moment before YN sat up a little bit and leaned forward, gently pressing her lips against his. It was a soft kiss, lasting a fleeting moment before YN pulled away, embarrassed by her sudden movement. She looked at sungchan who had a playful smile before brushing his thumb against her bottom lip as he held her chin.

YN grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him closer, looking into his eyes, all the embarrassment gone. Sungchan’s gaze faltered for a moment.

“Is this okay?” he asked in a hushed tone as YN leaned back on the couch, pulling him to hover over her.

YN nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, feeling one of his hands press against her waist. His lips pressed against the skin of her cheek, breathing heavy.

“Are you sure?” he whispered before pressing a kiss to her jaw. “You’re drunk,”

YN just nodded again, pulling him close and kissing his lips. This time sungchan Let her have her way, still lightly buzzed by his previous drinks. He groaned lightly as he kissed her back, his forearm resting on the couch cushions while his other hand held her waist. YN had a hand in his hair, lightly brushing her nails along his skin.

They were both frenzied, lost in their own passion and lust for each other. Their kiss grew sloppy as YN began unbuttoning Sungchan’s shirt. Everything felt so fast to her, and she was unable to tell if it was because of the alcohol or sungchan, and his intoxicating cologne. Sungchan was about as lost as she was, kissing her neck, leaving light marks across her skin. The two of them were so lost, they didn’t even realize Sohee had walked downstairs.

“Oh shit!” Sohee gasped, pulling Sungchan and YN out of their dazes. He quickly covered his eyes and ran upstairs, hollering, “I saw nothing!”

Sungchan groaned a bit and YN just looked up at him. She met his eyes before she continued unbuttoning his shirt. Sungchan’s eyes widened, and he lightly grabbed one of her wrists, shaking his head.

“What’s wrong?” YN asked, eyes wide, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Nothing,” he said gently. “I just… don’t think we should do this right now,” He told her, pulling her up from her position to sit next to him. “You know, in the basement of a stinky house party,” He heard a soft Giggle from YN. “And you’re drunk, so let’s not do anything we could regret,”

YN reluctantly nodded, smoothing out her dress and looking down at her hands, feeling the embarrassment creep back up on her. Sungchan studied her for a moment, noticing the shift in demeanor, and how she tried to make herself smaller.

“Let me take you home,” Sungchan Offered. YN looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. “I’m bored of the party, and you probably should go get some rest,”

“I didn’t drive,” She admitted.

“I did,” Sungchan reached for her hand, and took it gently.

“We both drank,” She points out.

“I’ll walk,” He told her, looking at her with a serious look. “If you don’t want me to take you home, just tell me,”

“No! It’s not that, sorry…” She sighed, pushing her hair back. “I’d really appreciate it, thank you. It just surprised me a little.”

Sungchan smiled and stood up, buttoning his shirt back up and pushing his hair out of his eyes. He offered her his hand, and pulled her up to stand next to him. The two of them walked up the stairs and through the house, said goodbye to their friends and left.

The walk To YN’s apartment was quiet, neither of them knowing what to say to break the silence between them. YN showed him the way, and sungchan walked along with her, keeping their hands interlocked despite the unspoken words between them. YN felt embarrassed for getting drunk, and being so forward with Sungchan, only to somewhat be rejected, and have him walk her home. Sungchan didn’t mind at all, enjoying the change of pace for the night. It gave him a moment to study her more, to take in her beauty.

When they got to her apartment, YN let go of sungchan’s hand, dropping it to her side, missing the warmth of his palm in hers.

“Are you okay here?” Sungchan asked, studying her expression.

“Yeah,” She said after a moment, a slight sigh in her voice. Sungchan picked up on it.

“Do you want me to walk you up?” He asked. He watched as she processed his question, debating in her mind what she should say in response. He was hoping she’d say-

“Yes, please,” She gave him a shy smile, and Sungchan wrapped his arm around her waist, nodding for her to lead the way.

In the elevator, YN leaned against Sungchan, wishing she had taken the stairs to try and squeeze in more time with the handsome stranger she met that day. The two of them didn’t speak much more, just resting their arms around each other and enjoying the peace. They reached her floor, and Walked towards her flat. When they reached the door, they each said a quiet goodbye before YN slipped inside, and closed the door.

YN regretted it instantly, wishing she would have invited him in for some food, or to just try and get more time with him. Likewise, sungchan was beating himself up mentally for not trying to make another move. They both stood on opposite sides of the door, both ready to make a move to try and get the other to stay, even if just for a moment.

When YN swung her door open, she was met with the sight of a shocked sungchan, who had his fist raised to knock on the door. “You’re-!” they both stuttered out, shocked to see the other had the same idea that they did. The shock wavered and left the two just smiling at each other, both blushing a bit.

“Do you want to-”

“Can I get your number?” Sungchan interrupted her, feeling like if he didn’t ask at that moment, he’d never be brave enough to ask again.

YN smiled and took his phone, entering her contact information, and a little heart next to it. Sungchan grinned and pocketed his phone. “I wanna take you on a real date, not just a sloppy makeout session,”

“I’d really like that,” She grinned at him, unable to hide her happiness at his proposal.

“What were you gonna ask?” Sungchan asked.

“Oh! Well, i was just gonna ask if maybe, you wanted to stay for a little bit… but i know it’s late so,” she told him shyly, not wanting to pressure him.

“Do you want me to?” He asked leaning towards her with a little smile.

YN smiled, grabbing his hand and lightly pulling him inside. “Just for one movie,”

ITS FINALLLLLYYYYYY OUT

I have a lil smth smth planned for a part 2… and 3, 4, 5 😈 so lmk if you want those or just a silly oneshot

taglist: @oftenjisung , @vhuteryh , @skzhoe4life , @cheederzchez , @so-lychee , @leehanascent

#sungchan x reader #riize sungchan #sungchan oneshot #jung sungchan #sungchan fluff #sungchan #riize oneshots #riize x reader #riize fluff #gyuvxx ᯓ★#my love {sungchan} ☆.ᐟ #⋆｡°✩riize

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lalacliffthorne · 5 months

Text

🪽 if you go down 🪽

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: when a mission goes awry in the cold mountains, things take a turn, and suddenly, there's a lot more at stake than planned.

notes: look who's back!! yours truly got knocked out by a flu sent straight from hell, which meant being buried in bed and no writing for what felt likes ages. and of course when I did write again, I did not focus on other WIPs - noooo, I started this! whoops *winces*. to be fair tho, parts of this had been sitting in my ideas-folder for quite some time and when I had a sudden epiphany on how to use them, I couldn't just ignore that. especially since that epiphany was so... steamy. *grins* I'm back on my bullshit, and it's a spicy one! strap yourselves in, babes. we've got incoming drama and smut. also, even after splitting the whole thing, this is still long.

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The whole thing had been a shit show even before Azriel got shot out of the sky.

Rhys had sent the Spymaster and me into the mountains, to track down a group of soldiers gone rogue that had somehow swerved into the icy wilderness of the Night Court, raiding the small villages and leaving a trail of chaos and bodies.

It was a simple track and eliminate situation; find the group, assess the situation, move in if possible and track and wait if not.

Of course that meant nothing about it was simple.

“Damn it,”, I hissed, feeling my body tremble as a gush of ice cold wind grasped me.

I squinted, trying to make out anything in the chaos of swirling thick snowflakes that stuck to my lashes and hair. My cheeks were stinging under my heavy hood, my fingers freezing even in my thickly lined gloves, my skin icy under my winter leathers that weren't enough even with a second layer beneath.

The snowed-in wilderness of the Night Court was an icy climate to begin with, hard to navigate even in good weather.

Nearly impossible in a snowstorm.

We'd lost track of the soldiers about two or three hours ago, the quick falling fresh snow covering every track within minutes, the wind destroying every trace of footsteps and scent. Even Azriel's shadows seemed to be confused, coming up empty in the snowed-in woods, like the soldiers had buried themselves to avoid detection.

I huffed, my breath a white cloud.

Wouldn't have surprised me. They were trained to stay undetected.

This was bullshit.

Raising my head, my squinted eyes darted over the grey sky, clouds of thick whirling snow over the dark pines almost conceiling the dark figure high in the sky.

Even though it was risky, Azriel had decided that trudging through the forest without quite knowing which way to go wouldn't do. He had also ignored my protest that he'd be visible like a fucking beacon up there, no cover anywhere.

I had seen the hard glare he'd sent me before launching into the air - he knew perfectly well that it was a dangerous move. But just like me, he was irritated.

Pairing us together probably hadn't been the best idea.

The shadowsinger and I always clashed. Where Azriel was cool and quiet, I was fiery and quick to charge. Where he scowled, I grinned in challenge, where his eyes pierced, mine twinkled. He was rational and controlled to no avail, and I was empathetic and following my heart. His quiet watchfulness annoyed the crap out of me, and my smirks and cheeky taunts made his eyes flare.

I egged him on, challenged him where I could, and he usually rose to the occasion, shooting right back with sharp, well placed jabs.

It didn't help that he was breathtakingly beautiful. That his low, deep voice sent tingling shivers down my spine. It was infuriating, really; how it could make the hairs at the back of my neck rise, how him towering over me made something dip over in my chest.

It was a constant back and forth between us, which had made pairing us together for a mission a risky move even before the storm had hit. Now, we'd lost the soliders, I was freezing, Azriel's shadows were frenzied and uncoordinated, like they were responding to their master's agitation –

All in all, it was a mess.

Shivering, I slowly started to trudge through the snow again. I needed to move, or I would turn into a fucking icycle.

Screw Azriel and his stern “Stay here.”; if I did, he could take me home as an ice statue.

The snow swallowed every noise, the howling wind making listening for treacherous footsteps even harder. I moved slowly and carefully, my brown leathers blending in with the tree trunks, but still far too visible in the white forest as I squinted against the onslaught of falling snow that covered my tracks within minutes.

Gods, in this weather, those bastards could be miles away by now and we wouldn't kno-

Something shivered down my spine.

My eyes darted up, and I felt something dip over in my stomach when a wave of dread washed over me - premonition, instinct; precise and never amiss.

The strange tingle of sudden knowledge that something was about to go terribly, awfully wrong.

My instincts were something that even Azriel couldn´t scoff away.

In over 300 years, they had never once been wrong.

I swung around, drawing my swords as my gaze darted over the snowed in forest in search for anything; a trembling branch, a moving figure –

My gaze rose, and my eyes found the dark silhouette high in the sky.

Everything seemed to slow, my breath coming out in heaving clouds as something swelled under my ribs.

Then an arrow whizzed through the sky and hit the dark shape square in the chest.

My heart stopped. Simply ceased beating as I felt my eyes widen and my lips part.

In complete silence, the winged figure wavered. Then more black shapes whizzed through the air like lightning, catching and ripping through his wings, and like slow motion, Azriel tipped to the side and began to drop through the sky, freefalling towards the earth.

My limbs unfroze. A jolt went through my body as a wave of all-consuming dread crashed over me, and breathing a panicked “No.”, I rushed forward. Plunging my swords back into their sheets, I dodged a low hanging branch, then I started running.

My feet flew over the snow-covered ground, clouds of white whirling up behind me as I dashed through the trees. My heart was pounding against my ribs as something seized my chest, something like a clawed fist, squeezing tighter and tighter as I ran. Stumbling over roots and slipping on the icy ground, I dodged branches, freezing deadly cold washing through my veines as I stormed through the woods.

No.

I stumbled out from between the trees onto a stony beach, almost tripping as I skidded to a halt.

In front of me, a huge lake stretched, dark and deep and silent.

Right in it's middle, the water was sloshing, silently throwing small waves, like something big had crashed into it.

For a moment, I felt frozen, a name filling my throat, threatening to spill out, but I couldn't, couldn't scream without drawing attention, couldn't yell out the panicked cry building in my chest –

Azriel.

Panic crushed my ribs, and without a thought, without a second of consideration or planning, I darted towards the shore.

The water soaked my boots within seconds as I splashed into the lake. Icy cold water hit my feet, spattering up my legs and almost causing my muscles to lock in place. But I fought forward, holding onto the pulsing fear in my chest as I pushed my legs to move. Then I dove into the waves.

For a moment, the water seemed to freeze the blood in my veines. My lungs closed up, cold gripping my body. Then my head broke through the surface, the air hot in comparison to the icy water as I started to swim.

Something gripped my chest like an iron fist as I fought my way through the cold water. It was so deep, so dark, I couldn't see the ground, could only focus on that spot in the middle of the lake where the water was slowly beginning to calm.

Azriel had still not come up for air.

Something rose in my chest, gripped my throat, and I pushed, my skin burning with cold as I tried to swim faster, my arms and legs cleaving through the icy waves in powerful strokes. Then I sucked in a deep breath and dove under.

The water was so dark, I could barely see a few feet. Pushing myself deeper, feeling my wet clothes pull at me, my eyes darted through the depths until I spotted a huge shape floating below me. Shadows were slowly swirling around it, almost serenly, reaching out towards me like soft, gentle hands.

Something tightened violently in my chest, and I pushed myself up.

My head broke through the surface, and I gasped for air as the ice cold wind stung my wet cheeks. Breathing in deeply, I filled my lungs. Then I dove again.

The icy water enveloped me like hands pulling at me, like ghostly fingers numbing my skin as I started to swim into the deep. My body was burning as I fought my way through the stinging cold towards the far away bottom of the lake where Azriel was being gently swayed by the water, his wings stretched out and body limp, eyes closed.

My heart pulsed painfully.

Shit.

My lungs were beginning to protest as I reached out, feeling the pressure on my body pushing me as I grasped at nothingness. Then my fingers closed around Azriel's shoulders, and something dipped in my chest. I slipped an arm around his collarbones, feeling coolness sweep around me as his shadows pushed me upwards towards the light.

My chest was constricting as I fought myself upwards, black spots beginning to dance at the edge of my vision, and I tried to fight the panic, push forward -

My face broke through the surface, and I gasped for air, my fingers digging deeper into Azriel's shoulders as I hauled him up and into my chest, his face coming out of the water. The ice cold air stung my lungs and skin, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of Azriel's tall, solid body completely motionless.

“Shit.” Gripping him tighter, I turned, frantically trying to catch sight of the beach. For a second, I couldn't find it, feeling panic slosh through me. Then I caught a glimpse of black stone strip in the distance.

“No, no, come on.” Shaking, I began to fight my way through the sloshing waves. Azriel's wings dragged through the water, making him even heavier and pulling him down. Water sloshed over his face, and I tried to tug him up, my eyes beginning to burn and a desperate sound breaking from my throat as my muscles protested.

Come on.

It felt like hours until I reached the shore. I was shivering uncontrollably as I pushed myself to my feet, my knees shaking as I dragged Azriel out of the water, his wings scraping over the stony ground. His shadows whispered as I dropped him, falling to my knees next to him.

“Az?!” My voice was hoarse and panicked as I pressed my fingers against his neck and felt my heart skip once before stilling.

He wasn't breathing.

“No, no, no, come on!” An ache spread through my chest, and with widening eyes, I slid forward, beginning to press my hands down on his lungs in a quick, steady rhythm, my whole body shaking as my heart pounded in my throat.

“Come on,”, I whispered frantically, “come on –“

Water sloshed out of Azriel's mouth, his body rearing up as he coughed out lake water.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I hastily pushed against his body, turning him onto his side and patting firmly onto his back.

Azriel inhaled harshly, his breath rattling. His body was shaking under my fingers, and something tightened violently in my chest when I felt him slump against me.

With shaking hands, I turned him onto his back again, leaning forward to slap his cheek. “Azriel. Azriel, fucking look at me!”

Whispering curses under my breath, I stared at the ash arrow in his chest, feeling my heart pound. I couldn't take it out, not here, not without anything to stop the bloodflow, not without risking him loosing too much blood. His wings needed healing as well, the rips in the thin membrane too big, too broad.

“Shit, shit, shit,”, I whispered hoarsely, throwing my head up to look around wildly. I couldn't stay here, or we'd freeze, and with our luck, the soldiers were heading this way, just to check on whether they had actually hit their target.

We needed shelter.

“Alright, come on.” Scrambling to get to my feet, I grabbed Azriel's wrist, his body dead weight as I slid his arm over my shoulder and dragged him to his feet. His wings slumped towards the ground, and I clenched my teeth, wrapping my arm tightly around his waist and firmly nudging my shoulder into his side.

“You're not giving up, you hear me?” My body was trembling from cold and adrenaline as I started to stumble towards the treeline, half dragging, half carrying Azriel with me. “You're going to hold on until I find a safe place; you're not going to leave me!” My voice quivered.

“I need you to glare at me and call me stupid for putting myself in danger, and I need you to be a stuck up idiot so I can kick your stupid beautiful ass for it!” My voice broke, and I cursed myself, raising my head and blinking against the stubborn burning sensation in my eyes as I breathed shakily. “You're not going to die on me; you're not going to die!”

The snow made getting forward difficult. Soon, my knees were shaking under Azriel's weight, and I could feel his rattling breath against my soaking wet hair, becoming flatter. His body shivered like mine, like it was fighting against the icy winds ripping at us, howling as the snowfall became heavier. At least it would cover our tracks and mask our scents.

I nearly stumbled over a root hidden in the snow, and something in my chest clenched.

If we didn't find shelter soon, Azriel would be dead by morning.

Something hot and flaming rose in my chest, and I clenched my teeth, adrenaline surging through my body.

No fucking way.

“Come – on,”, I pressed, gripping him tighter and fighting against the cold stinging my whole body, numbing my skin as I dragged the shadowsinger with me. “You're not getting away that easily, you hear me?”

For once, I wish I would get back a cutting, precise remark. But Azriel just rasped a flat breath, his body sinking heavier on mine. Panic washed over me, tightening its grip around my chest.

Shit.

The wind howled around us. Every crack of a branch when the weight of the snow got too heavy made my head whip around, my eyes darting frantically through the trees. But I couldn't see a soul, could only hear the sound of crunching snow under our feet and our heavy breathing. My mind was racing while I dragged Azriel through the snow.

The arrows had come from the opposite side of the lake, probably from quite a bit inside the forest. If they wanted to check if they had hit their target, they would have reached the lake by now, but the quick falling snow had masked all our tracks.

Hopefully.

They would hardly check the lake for a body, so if they didn't find one washed onto the shore, maybe we had a chance. Maybe if we found a spot to hide, wait out the storm and I got Azriel at least half back on his feet, he'd be able to transport us back to Velaris, and we could send reinforcements to find the soldiers.

For some reason, the thought wasn't nearly as satisfying as the heat twisting and raging in my chest, urging me to hunt them down myself. And sink my knives into the bastard who had dared firing those arrows.

The image kept me going, fed my numbing, chattering body with a grim, burning fire that wasn't warming but gave me something to cling to, hold onto as I staggered through the snow.

That and the male I half dragged, half carried, his body becoming heavier with the second. It caused a desperate tremble in my limbs.

There was no way I was going to lose him, no way I wasn't going to push until my legs gave out, and even then, I would curl over him if I had to, protect his far too tall body with mine, give him the last bit of warmth that was burning in my chest.

It was either the both of us leaving this stupid forest, or neither of us, because there was no way I was going to leave him. Even if his beautiful, dumb, rational ass would tell me to –

My eyes got caught on a dark structure ahead, flashing between the dark trees, almost obscured by clouds of whirling snow.

My heart tumbled, and I exhaled shakily, feeling my eyes widen as I tightened my grip around Azriel's waist and started lugging him forward.

The thrum in my chest began to quicken when I caught a glimpse at what looked like a simple wooden cabin. It was probably nothing more than one big room inside, with small windows and closed shutters, the porch covered in a thick layer of snow that the wind had blown past the protruding roof – but it made my heart rise in a wild flutter and my limbs melt from their frozen state.

The cabin looked empty, no light peaking out from the shutters, the snow high and unmarked around it. I dragged Azriel to the front door and felt my heart dip.

The door had been opened by force. It looked like someone had kicked it in, and when I leaned forward, breathing heavily, I caught a glimpse at an empty, slightly trashed inside. Judging by the thick layer of snow that had covered the entrance, the raid had happened more than a few hours ago, maybe even already last night.

My heart fluttered and jumped into my throat.

That meant the soldiers had already been this way, had probably reached the lake from this side before moving to the other to disappear deeper into the mountains.

If we were lucky, that meant they wouldn't come past here again, clearly already done searching for valuables in this place.

Unless they had a reason to, they wouldn't just backtrack and risk running into the people hunting them.

I nearly stumbled, lugging Azriel up the steps to the porch. We almost got stuck in the door, and I had to slide my arms around him to pull him through sideways to not hurt his wings. Then I looked over my shoulder, breathing heavily as I quickly scanned over the inside of the cabin.

It was one big room, with a fireplace and a bed covered in furs on the left, a big table and shelves on the right. The air smelled ice cold but stale, like no one had been here for quite some time. The cabinets had been thrown open, but nothing but cups and bowls were scattered over the floors, the bottles and jars in the shelves untouched. The sight made my heart skip high.

Maybe I had a chance of mixing something for Azriel's wounds together from that.

“Alright, come on.” Dragging Azriel towards the table, I heaved him onto the top, my limbs shaking from his weight. Minding his wings, I turned him onto his back, hastily checking his pulse before turning around and darting towards the door. Kicking most of the snow out onto the porch, I threw it shut, bolting it and using one of the chairs to block the handle just to be sure.

Now, the cabin lay in almost complete darkness. Outside, it seemed to already get darker, the thick clouds and the snow storm that only seemed to get heavier darkening the woods even quicker.

My teeth were chattering as I darted towards the shelves, my trembling fingers skimming over the bottles and tinctures, dried herbs and berries in jars. I found some candles in a drawer and matches in another, and setting them up in holders around the cabin, I lit them, my breath shaking as warm, golden light filled the room. Now that I wasn't moving, I felt the cold clinging to me even more, numbing my limbs.

We needed to warm up, quick.

But first, I had to take care of that arrow.

I had never been more thankful for Madja.

My fingers flew over the pestle and mortar I had found in the shelves, grinding up berries, mixing them with herbs, honey and fresh snow. I heard the old healer's voice in my head as I worked, explaining how to best treat wounds caused by ash arrows, how to make the paste that would help the naturally quicker healing of an Illyrian.

Provided the arrow had not injured any vital organs.

The thought made something dip over in my chest, and I threw a quick look over my shoulder to where Azriel was laying still on the big wooden table, his breathing far to flat, the white of his eyes visible under his fluttering eyes. His tanned skin was pale.

Snatching some bandages I had found in the back of a cabinet, I turned around, dropping the mortar on an empty chair next to the bandages and some clean fabrics I had found in the chest next to the bed. My fingers were trembling as I undid the buckles of Azriel'ss chest armor, the heavy leathers pierced by the arrow. His clothes were soaked and clammy like mine, and his skin was icy to the touch, so much so that I flinched.

Shit.

Breathing out, I closed my hand around the arrow, my breath shaking as I pressed my free arm down onto Azriel's chest.

“I'm so sorry,”, I whispered.

Azriel gave a gargled sound when I pulled the arrow from his chest, twisting in the spot. I tried to hold him down, squeezing my eyes shut as the arrow clattered to the floor and I hastily pressed some of the cloth onto the wound that gushed blood, though it looked a lot less than it maybe should be.

Godsdamned cold.

Hastily, I dragged Azriel's leathers off his torso, dropping the soaking material to the ground as I caught the blood with the cloth, pressing it down. My body was trembling as I waited, then I peaked at the wound - the bleeding was already slowing down.

I prayed it was Azriel's healing that caused it, not the cold shutting down his bloodflow.

Spreading the thick paste over the wound, I picked up the needle and thread I had found in a drawer and held the sharp tip into the flame of a candle before pulling the thread through it. My fingers trembled, and I needed three tries until it was looped through the needle.

Azriel twitched when I started stitching the wound together, my needlework a lot less clean than Madja's, but I was shaking too hard. My eyes darted towards Azriel's face constantly, my heart dropping deeper every time I caught a glimpse at the white of his eyes peaking out from under his lids. It felt like he was wandering somewhere between concious and unconcious, twitching and groaning softly at the pain, but too far away to open his eyes or gather anything about his surroundings.

Tying off the string, I grabbed the bandages. It took all my strength to pull Azriel up, his wings dragging him down as I wrapped the white gauze around his ribs tightly, my arms shaking.

I was sweating when I finally carefully put him down again, my cold, wet clothes sticking to my skin and making my teeth chatter.

I needed to get out of these leathers or I would catch something worse than death.

But Azriel's wings were first.

The thin membranes had been shredded by the sharp tips of the arrows, blood crusting the gaping cuts. I cleaned them, whispering trembling apologies whenever Azriel shifted and gave slurred, pained sounds that sunk their own sharp claws into my chest. Carefully stitching them together in the way Madja had showed me once, I spread more paste on the wounds, thick enough to cover them from both sides.

Hopefully, it would speed up the healing process.

Pressing my hand onto Azriel's cheek, I cursed under my breath. He was icy cold, his skin clammy.

I had to get him warmed up. Now.

My eyes darted over to the fireplace, then to the windows, and a knot formed in my throat.

Even though it was getting darker by the minute, the smoke of a fire could still give away our location, even with the storm.

I turned back towards the shadowsinger, who's hair was curling with dampness and melted snow, his torso bare, his wet pants clinging to his legs.

I needed to get him out of those; he didn't have a chance of warming up when he was still wearing the damp, clammy clothes.

Which meant stripping him.

Even though I was chattering with cold, I felt heat bleed into my cheeks.

“Gods, get yourself together,”, I mumbled to myself, moving forward and beginning to unbuckle the sheaths wrapped around Azriel's thighs. I tried to avoid looking at him; his chiselled torso, the smooth curve and width of his shoulders, the ink swirling over the planes of his chest, tried to not think about the rising feeling in my chest that came to life whenever his amber eyes settled on me for too long.

Letting the daggers slip to the floor, I unlaced Azriel's boots, cursing softly at how stiff my fingers were. I could barely feel them as I tugged the black leather off before turning around, blaming the cold for my trembling limbs and for my inability to unbuckle his belt on the first try. Then, stubbornly not staring at his bare skin, I tugged his pants down his legs. They were soaked like the rest of his clothes, making it difficult to tug the thick winter leathers off his skin.

Dropping the pants, I felt the heat in my cheeks deepen and quickly averted my eyes, sliding my arm around Azriel's waist and grunting softly when I maneuvered him off the table.

“Alright, come on.” Staggering slightly, I tried to ignore the weight of his muscled body as it leaned heavily onto mine, the feeling of his harsh breath, his lips brushing over my temple and his skin smooth and cool against my fingers.

It proved impossible.

Somehow, I managed to get Azriel under the covers. Turning him onto his sides so his wings weren't in the way, I tucked him under the blanket and threw the furs over, shivering as I turned around and spread out his dripping wet, icy cold clothes over the chairs. My own were beginning to feel like they'd been frozen by the snow and wind, and when I caught a look at myself in one of the windows, I felt my heart drop at the sight of my slightly blue lips.

Crap.

Quickly throwing a quick look over to where Azriel was laying on the bed, buried under the furs, still breathing too harsh, too uneven, I turned around again, feeling something thump harshly against my ribs. Then I swallowed and quickly started peeling off my own clothes.

My leathers stuck to my skin, completely wet and clammy, and I hissed in frustration as I kicked off my thick pants. Suddenly, I realised how cold the air in the cabin really was, making my limbs shake even more as I rubbed my stiff fingers over my thighs before quickly spreading my clothes over the rest of the furniture. Then I hesitated, looking down at the bra and top I was wearing over my underwear, both sticking to my skin, making goosebumps rise on my body.

I needed to get them off, but if I did – I was practically completely bare.

For a second, I was still, just breathing quickly and feeling myself shiver. Then I cursed softly and quickly shed both the undershirt and the bra, throwing them over the backrest of a chair. Crossing my arms quickly over my chest to cover myself, I turned around, my eyes getting caught on Azriel's frame. He had started to shiver violently.

I felt the overwhelming urge to grab one or two of the furs and curl up on the armchair by the cold fireplace. But I could feel the icy cold seep through me, now settled in my bones, could feel myself grow number.

Staring at Azriel's trembling form for another second, I whispered a curse under my breath, then I darted towards the bed and slid under the blankets.

Immediately, my body started shivering more. It felt like now that I wasn't moving anymore, the cold invaded every inch of me, causing my teeth to chatter loudly as I curled up on my side under the heavy furs, my damp hair sticking to my bare skin as I stared at Azriel's face in the warm flicker of the candles. He looked too pale, his breath too labored.

Swallowing, I scooted closer under the blankets until I could feel his body, just shy of touching my curled up form. Then I forced myself to relax, to stop the shivering, focusing on Azriel´s face, the crunch of his brows, like even unconcious, he was fighting, angry.

The thought made my lips twitch softly.

Curling up tighter, I buried myself in the sheets and breathed out. Suddenly, the exhaustion crashed over my like a wave, my limbs burning not only from the cold but from dragging Azriel through the water and the snow. My eyes drooped, and I had to fight to keep them open, clenching my jaw.

I couldn't fall asleep, I had to stay awake enough to listen for anything. To, for once, keep watch over Azriel, in case anything, anyone found us after all.

But the woods outside were quiet except for the howling wind.

I dozed off a few times. I didn't fall into a deep sleep, my body too cold, my heart beating too quickly, my ears too sensitive to any sound coming from beyond the windows, where the world became darker and darker. But the exhaustion soon overwhelmed me, and my body took what minutes of shut-eye it could pry from the grip of my will. The rest of the time, I stared at Azriel's face in the light of the candles, something thrumming heavily against my ribs.

Please be okay.

I was slowly slipping away into a deeper sleep when the mattress jerked. My eyes flew open, and my heart skipped into my throat when I found another pair staring right at me.

Azriel's eyes were blown as his gaze slowly tracked over the sliver of my bare shoulders and collarbones visible from where the furs had slipped from his abrupt waking. Then his throat worked, and I could see the moment he seemed to tear himself out of it, could see the confused but soft, slightly feverish expression bleed from his eyes as his iris narrowed in and darkness settled over his face.

A muscle in his jaw shifted, and Azriel tore his gaze up, eyes flaring as they pierced into mine.

He didn't need to open his mouth for me to know exactly what was going on in his head.

Explain. Now.

I breathed out and dropped my head onto the pillow, mumbling: “Calm down.” Curling tighter into the furs wrapping around me and trying to keep my teeth from chattering, I grumbled: “This wasn't exactly how I imagined this whole thing going either.” Trying to ignore the heat bleeding into my cheek, I watched him, my voice becoming softer when I mumbled: “You fell into a lake when they shot you down.”

Azriel blinked, and his eyes found my hair that was still damp and cold, sticking to my neck. His pupils constricted, and something flared in his eyes.

“You pulled me out.”

His voice sent a tingle down my spine, low and deep, so deep, hoarse with exhaustion but cutting, his eyes blazing with something I didn't recognize.

I shrugged softly, pulling the blankets tighter around me as I sent him a smile that wasn't half as mischievous as usual.

“Yes, well, I thought about how much you would hate me doing that and just couldn't resist. You know how I like to push your buttons.”

Azriel's jaw twitched, and something burning grew in his eyes as they pierced mine.

I felt my lips twitch in a weak attempt at a cheeky smirk. “That would be the moment to thank me for saving your life.”

Azriel's eyes narrowed, and I could see the muscles in his cheeks shift. “You exposed yourself, left yourself defenseless. That was reckless and stupid.”

His voice was cutting, icy, but I just stared at him, feeling something hot bloom in my chest as my heart skipped high against my ribs.

I blinked and felt my lips curve softly.

“You're welcome.” I turned to slide of the mattress, shivering as my bare feet hit the cold floors. Wrapping the furs around me, I dropped onto my knees next to the fireplace, reaching out to close my fingers around my pants. The leather was icy cold and wet.

“Damn it,”, I whispered under my breath.

I looked over my shoulder and found Azriel's eyes on my face, something raging in his iris, something I didn't recognize.

“What?” My gaze flickered over his face, something skipping softly against my ribs. Then I blinked and looked him over, feeling my lips curve into a cheeky smirk. “Don´t worry. I didn't look anywhere important.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel's eyes dip towards his bare chest, and if I hadn't known any better, I thought I saw a faint blush spread over his cheekbones. Then he tore his eyes away and clenched his jaw.

“You left yourself completely defenseless.”

I turned back around, staring at the fireplace as I felt the smile bleed off my face.

“Yes, well, I wasn't exactly thinking,”, I mumbled, something tightening harshly in my chest.

Even from the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel's gaze flare incredulously, his deep voice slicing through me.

“Not thinking gets you killed.”

I swallowed. My heart thrummed against my ribs as the moment I had watched Azriel fall flashed before my eyes.

“What if the soldiers had been at the lake, what if they'd gotten there by the time you came out of the water?” Azriel's jaw clenched, his voice tight, unrelenting. “You didn't think, and it could have cost you your life –“

“What do you care; if I hadn't made it, you wouldn't have either, but we did; what's your problem?!” I turned to stare at him, my breath hitching as an ache spread through my chest, and shadows whipped up the walls as Azriel growled.

“How can you be so reckless when it comes to your own fucking life –“

Something under my ribs shattered.

“I thought I'd lost you!!”

My desperate scream caused Azriel to fall silent like I had slapped him across the face.

I stared at him, breathing heavily, my body trembling as I barely fought the burning feeling of tears behind my eyes.

“You asshole!” My voice was shaking even though I didn't want it to, a bright aching feeling burning in my chest, flaring like that flicker in Azriel's eyes.

“I saw you fall, and then that stupid lake and I thought –“ My voice broke as I stared at him, an all-consuming pain growing under my ribs.

“You were drowning.” My hands trembled, my throat closing up tight as I blinked against the tears threatening to spill over my cheeks. “I wasn't thinking about anything but that, and that there was no fucking way I was going to let it happen! And you're a fucking jerk for berating me for it, just because what I did doesn't fit with your strategic expectations, or because you think it was reckless, when I thought I had lost you!” My next breath shuddered as I stared at him, my limbs trembling.

Azriel's throat worked as his eyes pierced mine, but for once, he was completely silent.

“You think that it was stupid? That it was reckless and emotional?” I felt heat grow in my chest; familiar, angry heat, and I scrambled to push myself to my feet, glaring at him as I trembled.

“Well, I don't give a shit about what you think! I would have dragged you through that stupid snowstorm until my legs gave out, even if it meant freezing in the end!” I balled my hands into fists. “There's no fucking way I would have ever left you!” Blinking against the tears gathering in my eyes, I swallowed, staring at him.

“Because that's the next thing you would have said, right?” I breathed a bitter smile, something tightening harshly in my chest. “That the rational thing would have been for me to leave you behind? That there was no way I could have carried you until I found a village, let alone all the way back to Velaris? That pulling you out of that lake and taking you with me meant leaving myself defenseless, to those bastards and that fucking cold out there, and that I should have never done that?” I fought the way my breath hitched and tears pricked my eyes as I glared at him. “I don't give a shit about all of that. Because I don't give up. I don't give people up, and I sure as hell never leave anyone behind, especially –“ I cut myself off, biting the inside of my cheek.

Especially not you.

I swallowed and curled my fingers into the fur wrapped around me as I returned Azriel's blazing stare, even as something closed around my throat, causing my voice to sound hoarse as I mumbled: “I would have rather frozen to death with you than leave you behind.”

Azriel blinked again. His jaw worked as his eyes flickered over my face, and something flashed through them. But I turned away before I could find out what it was, my chest tightening as I angrily wiped away the tear that rolled over my cheek, treacherous and letting on that maybe, I gave quite a shit after all.

“Our clothes are still too wet.” My voice was thick and a little shaky, but I refused to look at Azriel as I stared at my pants before turning my eyes towards the windows, behind which, the woods were completely dark.

“Without warmth, it's going to take too long for them to dry. And your body's too focused on keeping you from freezing to properly heal you, so you need to warm up.” I started pulling logs from the stack of firewood next to the fireplace, mumbling hoarsely: “Let's hope it's dark and windy enough that no one can trace the smoke.”

I could feel Azriel's eyes on me as I built and stoked the fire, my fingers trembling not from the cold. Something was constricting in my chest, rage towards this stubborn male swirling under my ribs, mixed with something aching and fluttering that made my heart quiver.

I stoked the fire until I could feel the warmth of the flames on my face. Shivering, I wrapped the furs tighter around me.

Just the thought of being close to Azriel caused something to tighten harshly in my chest. But I could feel cold crawl up from the floorboards, and the desire not to freeze was stronger than the one that told me stay away from the male on the bed.

Pushing myself back onto my feet, I turned around and, without looking at Azriel, slid back under the covers. Turning my back towards the shadowsinger, I curled up, my limbs trembling with cold and something else that had closed tightly around my chest.

I could feel Azriel shift behind me, slowly moving back under the blankets. I tucked myself in tighter, my teeth chattering softly.

The flames in the fireplace started to crackle slowly. I stared at their light dancing over the floorboards, tried to ignore the presence right behind me. But I couldn't ignore his scent, night chilled cedar mixed with the metallic scent of blood, and how it made something twinge in my chest. My mind kept looping back towards the fact that if I shifted back just a few inches, my body would press into hi-

“You're shaking.”

The low vibration of Azriel's voice trickled over my spine. It was deep and clipped, and I pressed my lips together.

“Yes, well, I'm cold.” I tried to scowl, but my voice sounded weak, not at all angry or sharp like I had hoped it would be.

Swallowing, I stared at the light of the fire dancing over the walls. I could feel Azriel's stare piercing the back of my head, could sense the tension in his jaw and body –

The mattress shifted, then I felt something brush against my back.

I froze.

Scarred, calloused skin gently grazed over my side, and my breath hitched, getting caught in my throat.

Azriel's fingers curled against my skin, like he was hesitating, thinking about pulling back, or not quite in control of his own body – then his hand splayed over my skin, slowly sliding down onto my stomach, and carefully, Azriel pulled me backwards into his chest.

My heart dipped. Then it stilled.

I could feel Azriel shift behind me, could feel the tension rippling through every part of his muscles. His hand slid over my stomach, skin cold against mine as he slowly wrapped his arm around my waist and pressed me into his chest.

Suddenly, something twinged between my legs and in my heart.

I could feel every ridge of his torso in my back. Every curve of muscle, every inch of smooth, icy cold skin pressing against mine. His legs came up to thread through mine, and his tall, solid body slowly curled around me until there was no place we weren't touching.

Swallowing harshly, I stared at the light of the fire dancing over the walls, my breath fluttering in my throat and my heart pounding against my ribs. I could feel every shift of muscle in Azriel's body, could feel the tension in his chest as he tightened his grip around me. Then he carefully dropped his forehead against the back of my head and gently tapped his fingers against my ribs six times.

My breath hitched, and my heart stilled.

The tapping thing was something between Mor and I, to communicate when were in the same room but not able to talk to each other. I hadn´t even realised Azriel knew about it, but - of course he did.

He always knew.

One tap meant I'm here, two taps danger, three taps you okay?, four taps need a distraction, five taps for they're lying, and six taps -

Something rose in my chest in a wild flutter.

I´m sorry.

I swallowed and stared at the wall.

Azriel's hand was still for a second, and I could feel the tension ripple through him. Then his fingers gently tapped against my skin again.

One, two, three. Four, five, six, seven.

Behind you.

My heart swelled in a weak, trapped giggle.

For a moment, I hesitated. Then I slowly twisted around under the blankets, and my breath hitched in my throat when my eyes found Azriel's only a few inches away.

My head settled on the pillow. The fire crackled as I swallowed softly and stared, and Azriel's iris shifted as he stared back. His eyes looked less stormy, glinting like molten caramel in the warm flickering lights as they pierced mine.

Slowly, his fingers brushed over my bare spine.

I barely suppressed a shudder, my lips parting, and Azriel's eyes dropped. His pupils expanded, and something flared in his eyes.

A muscle in his jaw shifted, then he mumbled, his voice quiet and rough: “After pulling me out of the lake, did you call me a stuck up idiot?”

My breath hitched in my throat, and my eyes darted up to meet his as they widened a little. But Azriel just stared at me, and behind that strange blazing fire in his eyes, it almost looked like they were twinkling a little.

“No,”, I whispered and blinked, and just for a second, the corner of Azriel's lips twitched. His gaze pierced mine.

“You also called me beautiful.”

I stared at him, something fluttering wildly against my ribs when I mumbled back hoarsely: “No, I called you stupid.”

Azriel's eyes flared, the gold in his iris melting together as his gaze dragged over my face.

Swallowing, I tore my eyes away before the fluttering thing in my chest could break free. Dropping my head a little, I reached out before I could stop myself and carefully brushed my fingers over the bandage wrapped around Azriel's ribs.

A deep sound broke from his throat, and my breath got caught in my throat as my eyes darted up again, just in time to see a muscle in Azriel's jaw twitch, his pupils blown as he stared at me.

“You're freezing.” Something dipped over in my chest at the rasp in his tight voice, and I swallowed and stared up at him.

“I could think of some ways to warm up.”

It was supposed to be a cheeky taunt. But it came out breathless when I felt Azriel's scarred hand brush slowly over my bare skin.

Azriel's fingers stilled. There was something in his eyes as he stared at me, that strange blazing flicker I had seen before, something raging and all-consuming that seeped through his carefully crafted walls.

A muscle in Azriel's jaw shifted as his gaze dragged over my face. Then his hand brushed up over my ribs, rising from under the blanket.

His rough skin against my neck made me shiver, a tremble running down my spine that suddenly had nothing to do with being cold when his fingers slipped into my hair. They threaded through the strands, and I felt my next breath shudder when his thumb slowly traced over the side of my throat.

Azriel's eyes moved slowly over mine, and that look in his eyes flashed, grew stronger. Then he lightly tugged me forward, and when I followed, my breathing growing shorter, he dipped his head.

His nose brushed against mine, and I reached up like reflex, my fingers trembling a little when I wrapped them around Azriel's wrist as his hot breath hit my lips.

Azriel stilled, fingers still threaded through my hair, lips nothing but a breath away from mine. I thought I could feel his lashes on my cheeks, the heat of his pulse under my fingers. Something was thrumming under my ribs, growing stronger with every second.

I sucked in a soft, trembling breath when I realised he was waiting.

The thrum in my chest grew unbearable, and I moved, dipping my head and pressing my lips slowly against Azriel's jaw.

His fingers curled into my hair, muscles shifting under my hand wrapped around his wrist, and I thought I felt something rumble in his chest.

I slid lower. My lips traced over the shape of his throat, feeling it work under the featherlight press of a kiss against the side of it. My teeth grazed over his skin, and Azriel's fingers scraped lightly over my scalp when a grunt escaped his chest that sounded a little strangled.

Dipping my head, I carefully pressed my lips onto the curve where his neck met his shoulder, and my heart rose, flaring.

I hadn't known the taste of someone's skin could do this – make you feel drunk off of it, cause a rush to fill your body, make your skin tingle and heart race.

Tracing the shape of Azriel's collarbone with my lips, I left a slow, careful kiss on his cool, inked skin before following the shape of his chest. My hand slid lower, and I felt the thrum of his heart under my palm, quick and erratic. It made my own swerve sharply, and Azriel's breath shuddered when I dragged my lips over his smooth skin.

Looking up at him through my lashes, I felt something jolt right down into my lower stomach, my own breath hitching and something hot rushing through my chest when my eyes met Azriel's, fixed onto my face, the amber flickering in the light of the fire, pupils blown. His jaw worked, and my spine tingled.

Slowly sliding down his body, I traced my lips over his chest. Leaving slow, careful kisses on the swirls of his tattoo, the silver lines of faded scars, I felt his muscles shift and flex under my featherlight touches. My fingers brushed over the bandage wrapped around his ribs, and a sound left Azriel that caused my heart to tilt over when I carefully pressed a kiss onto the spot where the arrow had pierced him.

Somewhere buried deep in my head, the thought stirred that this didn't feel like it was just about warming each other up.

Not with the way Azriel was staring down at me, something flaring in his darkened eyes, his breath out of rhythm, his body reacting to the smallest brush of my fingers with a shudder like it was the answer to a long lost prayer.

My lips traced over the hard ridges of Azriel's stomach. Following the lines, I felt his muscles shift and clench beneath his smooth skin when I pressed my lips slowly against his side, my tongue tracing lightly over his skin, and Azriel's hand fell out of my hair to grab onto the sheets. His knuckles turned white as I slid down, and something curled and tightened in my lower stomach when I traced my lips over the sharp line disappearing into his underwear.

Azriel's hips bucked upward, and a low, pressed grunt left him that caused tingling warmth to wash over me, my stomach twisting.

I gently nudged my nose against his skin, then I raised my head, and something rose in my chest in a wild flutter when my eyes met Azriel's, his jaw locked as his gaze burned into mine until something closed around my throat and I barely kept myself from swallowing.

Slowly, I shifted. Then I slung my leg over his waist.

Azriel's pupils seemed to grow darker, and without looking away, feeling that steady thrum in my throat, I slid down his body.

The sheets and furs went with me, but Azriel didn't seem to notice. His eyes were transfixed on my face. Then my hand slid under his waistband, and his expression slipped, jaw going lax and eyes fluttering when I wrapped my fingers around his cock.

Slowly pulling him out of his pants, I felt something dip and plunge in my lower stomach at how hard he already was. Swallowing, I carefully ran my thumb over his tip, coaxing a low curse from him. Then I looked up through my lashes and sent Azriel a small, cheeky smile.

“Tell me if I'm doing something you don't like.”

The shadowsinger's eyes flashed as a choked sound left him, and I dipped my head and wrapped my lips around him.

“Fuck.”

A breathy grunt broke from Azriel's chest, his head fell back as his hands fisted the sheets, and I gently ran my tongue over the underside of his cock before sucking him into my mouth.

Incoherent sounds spilled from Azriel's lips, deep grunts and rough muttered curses that made my stomach twinge as I started to stroke him slowly. His blazing eyes were dragging over my face, the muscles in his stomach twitching as my hand worked what my lips couldn't reach, my tongue running over the underside of his cock as I took him deep, beginning to suck.

“That's it.” Azriel's hands fisting the sheets trembled as he grunted breathlessly, his throat working and eyes squeezing shut for a second like he was trying to reign himself in, but the words stumbled past his lips, deep and gravelly.

“Fuck, just like that.”

My heart swerved sharply as I drank him in, his cheeks flushed, hair dishevelled and body heaving the longer I worked him. I twisted my hand a little, and he grunted, head falling back and hips bucking. I could feel him pulse, could tell he was getting closer, closer to that edge, his breath shuddering.

Azriel groaned. His fingers slid into my hair, threading through the strands and beginning to guide me, like he just couldn't help himself anymore, had to touch me, his grip tight as his flashing eyes followed my movements. My teeth grazed the underside of his head, and Azriel grunted, his voice strangled.

“If you don't stop I'll -“

I looked up at him through my lashes and sent him a crooked, cheeky smile that made him break off with a grunt. Then I swirled my tongue around his tip and sucked him into my mouth, and Azriel unravelled with a sound so deep, it vibrated through my very bones.

His head fell back, his back arched and his hips bucked, and Azriel came with a shudder. His load hit the back of my throat, and I swallowed it all, the salty taste causing my eyes to flutter.

Sucking gently for a few more seconds, I slowly let him go, gently brushing my thumb over his base, and my eyes met Azriel's, flickering amber in the firelight, his skin glowing with a thin layer of sweat as his burning eyes dragged over my face. His grip tightened in my hair, and he tugged, pulling me up his body.

My breath hitched when our noses brushed. Azriel's eyes looked like molten gold in the light, the flecks all swimming together in his hazel iris as it flickered over my face, and I felt my heart rise, trembling –

“Get on your back.”

I needed a second to realize the meaning behind the words mumbled against my skin, so deep and low and like a tremble running down my spine.

A wave of heat washed through me, my stomach twisted tight, and I blinked and pulled back my head, feeling my brows crunch incredulously.

“You're still hurt. No way; you're staying like this.”

Azriel's eyes darkened.

“Now.”

“No.” I glared back, which really, was ridiculous, because just the thought of him between my legs caused the pulsing feeling in my stomach to intensify tenfold, and I knew he could sense it, saw it in the way his nostrils flared and eyes flashed, but –

Azriel's hands closed around my sides, sliding my underwear down my legs; he groaned deep in his chest, then rough scarred fingers dug into my skin, right where my thighs and hips met, and my heart dipped and fell when Azriel dragged me up, up his torso, up over his shoulders.

“Wha-“ My breath got caught in my throat, and I hastily grabbed onto the headboard to not loose my balance, my eyes widening when I realised what he was doing.

My gaze whipped down; I tried to lift my hips, and Azriel wrapped his arms over my thighs and dragged me down, his piercing eyes meeting mine.

“No; I'm too –“

Azriel's tongue sliced through my folds, and I jolted and whimpered a string of trembling curses, my hips bucking down onto his face as my stomach twisted and my spine melted into burning, glowing matter.

Azriel groaned, the vibration travelling through me, and I dug my fingers into the headboard, feeling my heart tip over and insides clench.

“Shit – I –“ I tried to twist away in a weak attempt of trying to keep my weight off of him, but Azriel dragged me down further, not seeming to give a fuck about suffocating as he licked a broad stripe through my folds. His eyes flutterered, and he gave another grunt.

“Perfect.”

The low mumble rose up my spine, so deep and gravelly, my insides tightened around nothing. My breath shuddered, my brows crunched as my lips parted, and Azriel buried his face between my legs.

Whimpered curses spilled from my throat, senseless, blending into each other as my limbs trembled and Azriel's tongue traced the shape of me, mapping it like he was trying to commit to memory. Then he lazily circled my clit, and my lips parted, brows crunching as my hips bucked down in reflex and a whimper built in my throat.

My eyes flew down, and I could feel myself clench when my eyes met Azriel's, burning and flaring as he dipped his chin.

My breath hitched in a whine, and my hips spasmed when Azriel licked over my clit and sucked. His grip tightened, and the shadowsinger hummed, his nose nudging against my skin as his hazy, hooded eyes tracked over my face, molten like gold. My left hand flew down to bury in his dark hair as he ground my hips down onto his face, and I whimpered.

My body shook, the reason now far from freezing as my spine shuddered and hips bucked and waves of heat washed over me as I felt the world tip. Then Azriel's tongue slid into me, and my insides shuddered.

A breathless sound left me, I clenched, and Azriel groaned, tugging me down, and my head fell back as his tongue started to lazily dip in and out of me, circling, lapping until my body melted into a puddle. My fingers dug into his hair, nails scraping over his scalp as my hips rolled down without me being able to control it, but Azriel just gave a deep sound that travelled through me, his heavily hooded eyes fixed hungrily onto my face.

A knot formed in my lower stomach. Slowly, it build, twisting and churning as Azriel carried me towards something that would probably make me lose every last bit of control over my body, sucking on my clit, his eyes trained onto my face, coaxing every little reaction out of me, from my trembling fingers to my eyes rolling and head falling back, my thighs shaking next to his head –

Azriel's hand shifted, sliding down over my stomach. His tongue slid into me, and his thumb found my clit, circling tightly.

The world exploded, shattering as heat washed over me and the knot inside me bursted into a thousand stars. My hips spasmed, my back arching as my body tightened and loud, trembling noises left me that caused my fingers to curl and chest to tighten, my spine bleeding into nothingness, waves of blinding pleasure racking through me and causing my body to shudder and tremble. My hips jerked, and something bloomed in my stomach when Azriel groaned against me.

It took what felt like a lifetime until the sensations slowly dispersed and my spine stopped shuddering, and yet, Azriel was still lapping lazily at me, causing my hips twitch and a soft sound to break from my throat.

Slowly sliding my fingers out of his hair, my joints weak from clutching onto the silky strands, I weakly held onto the headboard and lifted my hips. My thighs trembled lightly, and Azriel's hands slid up to close around my hips, steading me, his head tipping back to stare up at me as I slowly started crawling down his body.

When I was hovering above his chest, I dropped my gaze. My heart rose into my throat, something dipped under my ribs, and I stilled.

Azriel's face was only an inch away. His iris was nothing but a ring of golden flecks around his blown pupils, his skin no longer pale but slightly flushed, the crease between his brows almost gone even as his jaw flexed, his gaze dragging over my face, and his lips -

My chest tightened as my breath hitched and I stared at his swollen, glistening lips. My hips bucked back as my spine shuddered, and Azriel's lids fluttered heavily, eyes blazing as his hand slipped onto my back, pushing me down, down until –

My nose grazed his, and something turned over in my chest when my own scent hit my lungs.

A deep sound rumbled through the shadowsinger's chest, his hand slid up to cup the side of my neck, and he dragged me down.

His breath ghosted over my lips, and my own hitched.

Azriel's nose softly nudged against mine, his thumb slowly tracing the curve of my throat. I could feel him, the warmth radiating from his skin, could feel his scent invading my senses and causing my heart to shudder, could feel something building in my chest as my fingers trembled.

Azriel's lips brushed over mine. His grip tightened, a strangled sound built in his chest, and he tugged me forward and crashed his lips onto mine.

My heart faltered. Then the whole world stilled.

Azriel kissed me like he'd been starving.

A breathless whimper tore from my throat, my fingers dug into the pillows, and Azriel groaned softly. His fingers slid further into my hair, then his lips parted mine and his tongue slid into my mouth.

My breath faltered as the ground seemed to sway. I clutched onto the sheets, a desperate sound building in my chest, and Azriel's hand curled into my hair as he kissed me harder, more feverish. He was kissing me like he'd been wondering what it would be like for centuries and now that he'd had a taste - nothing else would ever be enough.

The thought made something pang painfully in my chest, and I whimpered, my body curving into his as I settled on his hips, my hands sliding to the sides of his neck, tipping his head, and Azriel's breath shuddered in a deep moan as his thumb brushed over the side of my throat. His tongue swirled lazily around mine, then his teeth caught my bottom lip, and a soft whimper broke from my throat as something clenched in my stomach.

Azriel's grip tightened, dragging me down towards him, his nose brushing past mine. I could feel something travel through his hands that felt like a tremble. Then he pulled me in with a hoarse noise and kissed me again, deep and hard and feverish as his fingers curled into my hair, and something in my chest rose in a wild flutter.

part II

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secret-ly-here @icey--stars @azriels-mate2 @ailyr92

#azriel #az #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel/reader #azriel smut #az imagine #az x reader #az/reader #acotar x reader #acowar #acomaf #acotar #lalacliffthorne

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myouicieloz · 5 months

Text

What Friends do

Kim Minjeong x 5thmember!reader

Synopsis: winter finds out that you and giselle have been fucking. as you grow tired of her subtle glares and questions, you ask her if she wants to try it, too. She’s hesitant about it, at first, but soon confesses that she’d love to try being edged in public, and naturally, you’re more than happy to help her with that.

Warnings: sub!winter x dom!reader. public edging + cumming. vibrators. lots of plot w a little bit of smut, I guess :) I hope this is ok ˆˆ I tried my best.

Word count: 5k

Notes: I j kept writing and suddely it was 5k long lol. honestly, I think +3k words (personally speaking) might be too much… the words start to lose their meanings and my writing kind of slacks off, yk? So it’ll try to tone it down, for any future works. that’s my opinion, tbh. what do you think?

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3

“Are you and Aeri unnie a thing?” Winter asks, ever so casually. Her eyes are still glued on her phone; playing sudoku, most likely.

Her words make you choke on your milkshake, coughing violently. “What? No. of course not,” You add, curiously, “What makes you think that?”

“She checks you out all the time.” Your bandmate shrugs, tone indifferent as if she were talking about the weather. “And it’s not like you’re exactly subtle, either. You’d think her face is in her tits, with how much you ogle them.”

You frown, playing with your drink’s straw. Your encounters with Aeri were happening with some sort of frequency now, although it was rather natural— you were both needy and the sex was good and easy, so it was truly a win-win situation. However, you’ve never stopped to think about the way you acted in public. Now that you did, you could observe the truth behind Winter’s comments: you’d gotten closer to her over the past few weeks. Giselle wasn’t a naturally over affective person, but she’d often be found tugging your shirt or brushing your hips, dragging you to be closer to her whenever you wandered too far.

You gulp, reminding yourself to talk to her about it, later.

“…because if you are, then it’s ok, too.” You’ve missed most of Winter’s discourse, lost in thoughts, one she’s deeply immersed into. The older girl’s voice hushes in a low, hesitant tone, the usual confidence she’d try so hard to bring on stage all gone now. “I just wish any of you told us. I-I thought we were friends! I tell you everything. It’s not fair.”

Winter’s short, auburn hair moves with the wind’s breeze, enticing her delicate appearance. She crosses her arms, rolling her eyes once she realizes you were too distracted to pay attention to her words and give her a proper answer.

She already knows about it, somehow. And she’s hurt you haven’t told her. You realize. She’s a smart, attentive girl, of course; probably figured it out all by herself.

“Sorry, I dozed out.” You shrug as she remains silent, not backing down from getting her answer—yet not amused, either. It wasn’t uncommon for you to unintentionally drift apart during a conversation, with your unnies having to explain stuff to you two, sometimes three times, before you finally managed to maintain your focus for long enough to understand. “Ok, ok. We might’ve fucked a few times…”

Minjeong smirks; she loves to be right about things. Clapping her hands, she lets out little giggles, “I knew it! Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Y/n? We’re literally best friends!”

She was right; Winter was the one you were closest with, out of all the girls, even though none of you knew exactly why. Your personalities were rather different. However, you’d often be found talking for hours and hours over the craziest topics with insane enthusiasm. You tell her everything, and she was great at giving you advice and putting you back to your senses. She never complained, not even when your banter was too frequent or too whiny for the other members to endure.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize, sincerely. You really should’ve told her: it was nothing serious, and there was no reason in hiding it. “It just didn’t even go through my mind. It was so natural how it happened the first time—and the others… I didn’t think it would even matter.” You poke her nose, noticing the way Winter’s pout turns into a small smile. You knew she wasn’t truly upset— she simply just longs to be a part of your life. “What do you want to know, though? C’mon, I’ll tell you everything.”

Your suggestive tone is the reason Winter’s face turns as red as a tomato, sipping on her Coke Zero avidly to avoid your suggestive answer.

She does smack you when your loud laugh starts attracting them attention, though.

“Aeri is going out.” Winter announces, taking your AirPods off without your consent, so you’d fully focus on her.

You glance at Aeri, who’s caught up rearranging a bunch of stuff in one of her small Prada purses. Your bandmate is wearing a beautiful leopard dress with scandalous black heels, pin-straight hair falling neatly to her waist and red tint kissing her lips. She looks flawless, much different from you— too cozy in your big pajamas and disheveled hair.

“I have eyes, you know.” You mumble, but smile at the sight of the Uchinaga, dropping your nintendo on the couch and whistling to get her attention. “You look so hot, Aeri unnie! Have fun!” Aeri smiles and gives you and Winter a kiss before running towards the door.

“I will, thanks Y/nn-ie! Don’t wait up for me!” She screams as she locks the door, leaving the room silent. The only apparent tension is Winter, who stares at you with narrowed eyes.

“What is wrong with you, unnie?” You scoff, annoyed as you return to your game. Mario’s red cap and silhouette can be seen through the screen in your hands, and Winter shifts on the couch, hugging her knees as she keeps on staring at you.

“Aeri is going out. Somi-sunbaenim will be there, too.” She repeats herself, making you even more confused. Seeing your frown and how her words weren’t enough to have you interested in paying her attention, Winter grabs the device, shutting it down.

“Hey! What the fuck?” You try to take it from her hands, only for her to tighten her grip.

The auburn haired girl has, unlike you, a significant amount of strength.

“Yn, focus! Aeri is going out and Somi will be there!” Her voice is outraged, not able to understand how you were so chill about this.

“So?” You are still frowning as you try to get your nintendo back, clearly not bothered. “Somi’s fucking hot, Winter. I hope Aeri fucks her. Again, I mean. You know…”

Winter’s mouth opens to a big O, surprised by your answer. You take advantage of that moment to grab your nintendo back, although she’d managed to get your sole focus. You cock your head to the sides, engines running with the earn of being able to understand what went through her mind.

“Aren’t you jealous? Or insecure?” Winter asks, frowning.

“What? No. Why would I be?” seeing her equally confused expression, you sigh, sitting properly. “Winter, we fuck, that’s literally it. Aeri and I are friends, and will only be friends. It’s just sex, really.”

It was clear that the older girl still didn’t understand your dynamics, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to be a bitch about it.

“Ok.” She nodded, messing her hair, “I just don’t really get it, I think.”

“There’s no jealousy between us, Minjeongie.” You tell her, hoping to clarify things. “Because there’s not a relationship, get it? And there won’t be one. We are friends, and bandmates, and we like to have fun, sometimes. Nothing else.”

She stands up, still looking at you as if you were an alien.

“Ok.” Your bandmate sighs, clearly disapproving your whole dynamics. “I’ll go to my room.”

“Huh, ok.”

You stare at Winter’s back while she leaves the living room, without waiting for an answer.

The two of you are splashed on your bedroom’s massive rug when she mentions it again.

“So… it all started with that?” Winter asks, looking at the vibrator displayed on your desk. You grit your teeth, realizing you’d simply thrown it in the first place you saw, after cleaning it. You had found the toy when doing your laundry, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to keep it extra clean, even if it had been ages since you’ve last used it.

After the day Giselle went to the party, you started noticing how curious Winter had gotten about your relationship— or lack thereof. She’d send you subtle glances whenever the five of you were hanging out, and her questions were soon becoming more and more obvious. It was fairly noticeable, how intrigued and interested the whole thing had gotten her.

With that, Winter started seeking for details of how you and Giselle fucked for the first time, which led you to the current situation: the green vibrator displayed in your hands, teasing your friend as you playfully jiggle it onto her face. You try to hand it to her so she’ll touch it, but she retreats instead, face all red from embarrassment.

“Pretty much, yeah.” You smirk, eyeing her just as curiously, “Why are you suddenly so interested, though? Would you like to try it?”

“What, no! Ew.” Her eyes go wide at your suggestion, and Winter shakes her head vigorously. You laugh at how she looks like she’s about to combust; she’s always been so composed, and so… chaste, whenever one of you mentioned anything about sex. It’s endearing, even.

You had thought, initially, that she was simply a private person— which was more than ok, of course. However, her current reactions led you to wonder if her reactions weren’t from lack of experience, too.

“Ok, then.” You tuck your vibrator back in the drawers and brush the subject off, immediately sensing how her muscles relax, and her face changes into a mix of easy features. The last thing you’d want is to make her uncomfortable, so the change is much appreciated.

You do notice how Winter keeps biting her lip, though. And the way her eyes flicker to your drawers, before focusing back on your face. You bite your cheek, too, to prevent a big smile from covering your face. She’ll come around, just like you did. Patience was a virtue, and you would happily wait for your friend to grow confident enough to come out of her shell and take whatever she wanted to.

“I changed my mind.” Winter announces, staring down at you with assertiveness. You snort, pouting.

“Yeah, that’s too bad. You gave me that fucking top, there’s no way you’re getting it back.”

“No.” She rolls her eyes, annoyed. “I mean, about that other thing.”

The five of you have just finished performing at Music Bank, and you’re currently trying very hard to sit still, so the makeup artist can work on getting all the foundation out of your face. As a result, you’re unable to turn and take a proper look at your bandmate, whose voice is so quiet you barely hear her correctly.

“You mean dinner? Because we still have to cook, even though it sucks, I know. It’s our day, there’s no escape.” You frown. Winter rubs her arms nervously, eyes staring everywhere but at your face.

“No!” She’s exasperated, and impatient to know you’re not playing with her: you simply don’t understand what she’s implying. Which means she’ll have to be direct about it, nearly begging. And that’s the last thing Winter wants to do. “I want to… try what you’ve suggested, the other day. With the, ahn sex thing.”

You try your best to not make your eyes grow wide, swallowing deep to keep focus. “Ok. Do you want to do it when we get back home?”

Winter hesitates. Her hands trace patterns on the beige vanity, “I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to do it at home, either.” She seems to ponder, before adding. “But I do want to do it. Badly”.

“Ok.” You nod, smiling at her to make sure she’s comfortable and completely reassured. “We can just go with it whenever you’re comfortable, then. There’s no need to hurry.”

Winter smiles back at you, before being dragged by Ningning to film that new tiktok challenge the maknae’s been so eager to shoot. You don’t mind, though. In, fact, you thrive on watching them being the silliest, carefree versions of themselves they can, while on camera. It pleases you to know they can show such part of themselves to your fans without being scrutinized or criticized.

The five of you are at the mall, enjoying your day off together as if you’ve never been separated in your entire lives. You’re laying in one of the waiting room’s cushions, waiting for Karina and Ningning to be done with trying on the whole store’s winter collection. Giselle’s hands are full, too, and her critical eyes examine every piece before choosing for herself. Her expressive faces leave you curious, eager to you know what thoughts go through her mind. In fact, you get so invested in trying to guess the girl’s internal monologue, you barely notice Winter’s frame standing beside you.

You haven’t touched her at all, not ever since she’s confessed to you about her urges. You know Winter must be fuming, whimpering with need and the desire to be relived, or simply touched, in any ways you’d like. Your intention was to leave the idea of being pleasured linger on your bandmate’s mind. The flashes going through her brain for weeks until she was nothing but pliable and ready for your commands, searching restlessly for an orgasm that she’d have to work really hard for.

It was the sweetest part, out of all of it. Being able to see Winter jump slightly whenever your fingers brush her skin, like a lost, fragile bunny. You adore it.

“Y/n.” She whines, and you can hear the neediness in her voice, no matter how much she tries to hide it. “I don’t want to wait, anymore. I want it now.”

You roll her eyes at her demands, even though you’ve already decided you’ve had enough playing, too.

“I do have something for you, Winter.” You tell her, reaching your arms out. Once she gets to you, you kiss her hands, ever so gently. “Something to make you feel better. To kill the urges that have been going on your body for weeks, now. Would you like it?”

Her voice falters. “I thought you had forgotten about t-that.”

“Oh, I could never.” You think your smirk will surpass your face, with how much you’re smiling. Ever since she’d pleaded for you to touch her, your mind has been plagued by the numerous ways you’d take her, ruining her pretty little body until she was passed out, drunk on her orgasms. “Shall we, then?”

Truth be told, the anticipation you’ve built was starting to get to you as much as it riled Winter up.

She was confused to be guided to the restroom stalls rather to the car. Were you not taking her home? How else would you get a taste of her, like you promised, then?

Her thoughts, however, dissipated once you started to unbutton her jeans, letting the loose piece fall through her knees.

“W-What are you doing?” She paled, trying to reach for them back. Her back hit the wall, and she was once again reminded of how petite she truly was, cornered by your frame. She tried her best to nudge you, hoping to get you off her. Your feet, however, were stamped onto the ground, and the grip you had on her hips was a tad too strong. She gulped, realizing you’ve allowed her to overpower you every time you played games or competed for something. “Someone might c-come in, Y/n. Please…”

It aroused you to have her begging so quickly. You’d barely touched her, yet there she was: with her mouth half open and her fingers poking, scratching your neck. You smiled.

“They can.” You confirmed, seeing her gulp. “We better not take long, then. Right? We wouldn’t want anyone to see you like this. You look so pretty, though. I wish you could see yourself, right now.”

Your words were nothing but true. She looks so adorable, it leaves you aching. Your hands twitch, tense with how much you’ve envisioned groping her tiny body and sticking your fingers up in her cunt until she was screaming loud enough for everyone in that store to know what you were up to.

You’d wait for her to come around and be confident, though, just like Giselle did to you. Besides, the anticipation was part of the fun.

She hums, already feeling herself become lightheaded by your praises. Soon enough, Winter finds herself getting distracted by your sweetness, and it’s not long until she’s completely relaxed under you. In fact, she’s so engrossed by your frame, she barely registers your hand. It trails lower, and your fingers brush her clit through her small panties.

Winter drops her head, even though she’s no longer worried, and looks up to meet your eyes.

“I did say you were going to get what you’ve been asking for, didn’t I, dearest?” You explain, focused on her big orbs. Winter’s eyes observe your every move, attentive. “And you’ve been doing so good with the shows and rehearsals… You deserve a treat, naturally.”

You allow your hand to cub her sex, slowly caressing it as you feel her shiver under you. With gentle manners, you insert two of your fingers into her cunt, smirking to find her already dripping wet. She moans so loud you start placing small, wet kisses down her neck, to gather her focus back to you and not to the deep, unhurried pleasure your fingers provide her, now pulling in an out in a slow rhythm.

Taking all of her in, you add, “Do you like this, Minjeongie? The thrill of knowing someone might walk in and know how dirty you are, spreading yourself for me with such ease?” You smirk, not resisting on rubbing her clit for a few seconds, before your fingers find the place they were meant to wander for so long. “God, your cute little cunt is so wet already.”

You let out a little laugh, reminding of yourself of your intentions as you retrieve your fingers from her pussy, making her lick them clean. She does so, like a good, obedient girl.

“You always excel in everything, unnie. Such a good job you’re doing.” You praise the girl locked in your arms, immediately shutting down her needy whines and complaints.

“Please don’t stop…” Whatever words Winter’s had in mind die the moment she spots a small toy in your hands. You flicker it between your fingers, allowing her to process what you intended to do. “It this—“

“What you’ve told me about? Yes, it is.” You smile, making a show of sucking and getting the vibrator wet for her yourself. This time, it’s her turn to have a darkened gaze, one filled with hunger. Her attention is all on you: on your next movements, on your body. You adore it. “I even got it in purple, just like you had told me. It’s so pretty, Winter. A pretty little toy for a pretty girl, begging to be ruined.” You murmur, getting to your knees and facing her pussy. Your gaze never leaves hers, careful to not miss a single breath of hers.

Winter is truly a sight, and you want to make sure you’d remember all of her sensitive, fast responses.

In fact, you were actually very surprised when Winter went to your room in the middle of the night, confessing about her few, failed sexual experiences and what she’d like to try, someday. It wasn’t unusual for you to talk about sex with your bandmates, although Winter never spoke about herself to you— at least, not directly. However, the two of you were already used to talking about numerous topics, and the conversation went by easily enough. You were pretty surprised to hear her confess, with a quiet tone, about how much the thought of herself being tossed around like a doll aroused her. How she sometimes fantasized about doing things in public, yet hidden enough so people wouldn’t be completely sure about her actions. It pleased her, knowing she’d be clouding their minds, leaving them wondering without a proper answer. Though they’d have their doubts, no one would have a clue about it: that was what aroused her the most.

Of course, you were more than eager to make her wishes come true, and the current time seemed like the perfect one to do just that.

Winter’s pretty cunt’s all on display for you, and you can’t help but to get a taste of her. So, of course, you do so: parting her folds, you give her clit a brief, sloppy kiss. You feel your friend’s delicate fingers forging a firm hold onto your hair, and Winter tries her best to not make any noises. It’s the same as nothing, though.

She is, just as you had imagined it, too sensitive.

“No! Y/n, don’t tease…” She huffs, frustrated. As the toy slips inside, she can’t help but to let out a high-pitched scream—one that’s muffled by her own hands, who run towards her mouth in hopes to keep herself quiet. Her shoulders shake due to her laughs, then, as she fails terribly.

Seeing her so carefree is more than enough to have you giggling, too. You mess her hair, pinching her cheeks.

“Behave, ok? If you’re good enough ‘till the end of the day, I might reward you when we get home.” You promise Winter as you get up, zipping her pants back to place adn kissing her cheek.

The look she gives you assures you she’ll be anything but.

“Are you okay, Minjeongie? Your face is all flushed.” Karina asks the red-haired girl, as the oldest sits beside you at the restaurant.

The three of you nod, and Ningning is quick to put her palm over Winter’s forehead.

“You’re hot, too. And all sweaty. Were you this sick earlier in the afternoon?” She asks, with a worried tone. Winter takes a sip of her water, hoping to collect herself before answering her bandmates, but nearly drowns herself in it once you increase the intensity of the vibrations. They echo into her cunt, making it impossible for her to answer anything straight.

She was so stupid, thinking it was an easy task: walk around with the girls as they tried some clothes on, then attend dinner, and soon to go back to their dorms, where she’d get her reward for being a good girl and finally get properly fucked, like she had silently begged you for so long. No, she was a smart, attentive girl. How could she not have predicted that stupid toy would send such hums deep into her walls? It was difficult to stay still, and nearly impossible to focus or to keep her mouth shut. In fact, she feared deeply she’d just end up moaning loudly if she even tried to speak anything.

Luckily for her, you decide to give her a few moments of peace. As soon as the settings were back to its lowest, she takes another long gulp, with deep breaths, too.

“I’m all good, really. Just tired from walking around so much.” It’s all she manages to say, avoiding Ningning’s lingering touches.

“We should get you to the doctor, perhaps.” Giselle suggests. Her eyes, however, are not focused on Winter. Her attention is all on you, instead. Her gaze is so strong you turn your head away, looking everywhere but to your best friend.

“No! No, there’s no need for that.” Winter gesticulates, nodding and moving her upper body as much as she’s able to without getting the toy to budge. She tries her best to prove to her friends she was indeed ok. “Really, I’m sure it’ll pass once the food c-comes fuck.” Winter stands up abruptly, leaning on her arms to lift herself up as her legs felt like pure jelly. “Nervermind. I j-just have to use the restroom real quick. If you’ll excuse me.”

So, Winter leaves, without waiting for an answer. Almost instantly, you get up too, setting your napkin aside in a calming motion.

“I’ll go help her, girls. Don’t worry.” They all nod, their features completely diverting from one another; while Karina is frowning, Ning keeps alternating her looks into you and the hallway Winter has just disappeared into, torn between letting you handle the situation or stepping up and helping her unnie herself, and Giselle… Giselle has a blank expression, the engines running inside her mind.

Her long nails tap the wooden table in a steady rhythm, staring at your back as you leave them be, walking into the restroom to meet your bandmate. You make sure to lock the door once you get inside, too.

The room is exquisite, a perfect portrait of the whole establishment; embroiled with white and red, the adornments are carefully thought to have the room give off a harmonious, eloquent vibe. You don’t pay much attention to it, though. Instead, your gaze is focused on the girl in front of you, the one who’s gripping the sink with too much strength.

“Are you unwell, unnie? How can I help you?” You ask her, playfully.

Winter stares at you thought the mirror, as you approach her. Her teeth are clenched, her clothes are nibbled and her looks hold fire in them. You’re certain she could kill someone with such thing as a stare if she wanted to.

She opens her mouth, ready to throw a world of curses at you, but stops herself once you motion to your phone, now placing her vibrator at a particularly high setting.

“I’d keep some of those pretty thoughts of yours inside your head, if you’d like to cum just now.”

She’s smart, insufferably so, and you get the proof of it as soon as your words leave your mouth. Quickly, Winter’s defiant stare is gone, and she’s all pliable in your embrace, instead. She’s a whiny little mess, rubbing her teeth on your neck, licking and sucking it just slightly— though not enough to bruise.

“Let me cum, Y/n? Please? I really think I might explode.” She pleads, looking at you with her best puppy eyes. “I need it s-so bad, I swear I’ll fucking do anything, ‘promise.”

You smile at her change of attitude, nodding as you take the vibrator out of her cunt in one, swift motion, replacing it with your fingers. Your thumb works on her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure on it. Finally, you allow her to get the relief she so desperately wants.

“You can cum now, darling. Do it, then.”

The permission is all Winter needs to explode, her body throbbing as she feels so full of pleasure, with fireworks dangling from her skin into every possible part of her body. It’s so good, and she feels so complete it becomes difficult to breathe— the overwhelming sensations enough to make her shiver. She bites on your neck, then; just a single one, to keep her from screaming like she wanted to. You hold her through her orgasm, your strong arms helping to ride her through it as you whisper sweet praises in her ear. You’re proud of Winter.

You lose count of how many minutes you wait, making sure her breaths are even and stable to release her from your hold.

“You did excellent, holding up the whole time. Didn’t even let a single whimper out, in front of the girls. You took it so good, Winter…. Truly perfect.” You smirk, giving Winter’s tiny waist a reassuring squeeze. She hides her face in embarrassment, humming curses at you, but you can tell she’s delighted, too.

Grabbing her by the hips, you gently put her up on the marble. It’s an easy task, with her being so small, but the way your palms nearly circle her entire waist is enough for her face to get all flustered, once again.

Your low tone soothes Winter, who leans her head back as she feels your soft hands between her thighs, cleaning you up with paper the best you can, careful to not touch her most sensitive areas. The ghost of your fingers are enough to make her twitch, though, as much as she tries not to. Her responsiveness lets a laugh out of you, and you kiss the insides of her thighs, looking up at Winter with a reassuring smile.

“Stop saying it like that.” She murmurs, biting her bruised lip. Her hands run through her hair, just for the sake of having something to occupy herself with.

You smirk, throwing the paper away as you turn, taking a proper look at the beautiful, messy state she is. Still knelt between her thighs, you massage her thighs, palming them in big, circling motions.

“Like what?” You smirk, feigning innocence. Winter slaps you, playfully, and you shake your head, helping her to get down.

“Let’s go. The girls must be worried.” She says, trying to guide you out.

You stop her, gently grabbing her by the elbows.

“Are you really ok, though?” You ask, scanning her. “It’s ok if you still want some more time to gather yourself before going out, again. I can totally come up with something to fool them, or I don’t know—.”

Winter shakes her head, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She’s shy, suddenly, as she answers, “I’m completely fine, I swear! Actually, I liked it a l-lot.”

You sigh, relieved. “Ok, ok. But if you feel otherwise, tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.” Your bandmate assures you, reaching out for the door. Before you can leave, she calls for you, quietly, “Y/n?”

You hum, staring at her still-flustered face. “Thank you, you know. For… all of that.” Winter says, giving vou a faint smile.

“Don’t stress about it, unnie.” You smile, nudging her. “It’s what friends do, right?”

Winter laughs, not believing your words.

“Sure. That’s what friends do.”

#sol writes #aespa x yn #aespa x you #aespa x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa smut #aespa winter #kpop x reader #kpop smut #kpop x y/n #kpop x you #winter x reader #kim minjeong x yn #kim minjeong smut #kim minjeong x reader #kim winter #winter smut

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asumofwords · 7 months

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Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series 1/4

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Drowning, descriptions of drowning, shipwrecks, dead body, fever, storms.

Note: Here is chapter one of Lighthouse hehe. This fic was inspired by me listening to the song 'Lighthouse' by The Waifs. Thank you all for being so patient for this. A it is going to be a mini-series, its going to be between 3-5 chapters long! I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: Cruel Seas

The waves rolled up the side of the rocky cliff face, salty sea spray disintegrating into the air like mist. The sky had turned a deep grey, a storm having rolled through the vast sea the evening before, which was now beginning to turn its way towards your little island.

You knew immediately from the sky that you would have a long night ahead of you, tending to the lamp at the top of the lighthouse to ensure that it stays lit for the duration of the dark night to come.

It was an arduous and tedious existence. Day after day, the same routine, and not once could you stray from it.

Each evening before the sun would set, you would climb the many stairs to the top of the lighthouse and light it, ensuring that its wick was good for use and would last the night. And then when daybreak came, you would extinguish the flame as soon as the sun rose, unless of course, a storm or fog had crawled amongst the salty waves of the sea, which caused for extra vigilance and keeping it lit at all hours.

The lighthouse itself was perched on the top of the cliff of the small island you lived on, just off the coast. And on that island, you had all that you needed; A small cottage with one bedroom, a kitchen and a small privy out the back.

Outside of the cottage was your own modest vegetable patch where you grew what could survive the acrid sea air; potatoes, pumpkins, and any sort of hardy vegetable that was good for pickling and hearty meals. All other food was brought to you once a month by boat, or if you dared to leave your post, you would take your small boat back to shore, not too long of a journey, weather permitting, to go to the local stores or market to buy your wares. But if you were truly in a spot of trouble, you had a small messenger pigeon that lived in its own hut by the garden that would send word to shore about your dire needs.

You had lived and worked at the lighthouse for years, happy to be alone and in your own solitude, finding companionship in the books that you read, or the occasional ship that sailed by.

A man named William came every one to two weeks, an old friend of your father who would bring your reprieve, to deliver you food and any other supplies that you may need to keep the lighthouse in check; more oil, more wicks, paint, or items to repair any damage from the raging winds that raced across the surface of the small island.

William was a kind man, older and sea worn. He had a wife and three daughters back on the coast, and on occasion would bring them to join you, or extend an invitation for you to join them, weather and duties permitting. They lived in the small town by shore, where you had been lucky to befriend shopkeepers and locals on your short visits.

It had been only a few days since William’s previous drop off, and for the most part, the weather had seemed fair. Each morning and each evening you would log the skies and seas conditions into a worn little leather book for any changes, and then, you would prepare for the lighting of the lamp. But the evening before, the wind had changed drastically and the sky had darkened, and you watched from the top of the lighthouse as a storm broke just on the horizon, black cloud glowing with strikes of lightning that cracked through the darkness.

You hadn’t risked going back down to your cottage to retire for the evening, instead, sitting yourself in your old wooden chair to watch the storm and ensure that the lamp was lit, and if any ships were to come to close to shore, they would be alerted by the light.

However, now it was morning, and the lamp no longer needed to be lit. For now. Though on the horizon, the storm continued to barrel towards shore, and you knew that you would have light it again soon.

Extinguishing its flames, you took the long winding steps down, crossing the small grassy knoll to get to your cottage, opening the old wooden door, which hinges squeaked and whined, salt rusting the joints. You whispered to yourself that you would fix it eventually, as you trudged to the fireplace and began to set it ablaze.

The cottage was cold with the winds of the storm that approached, and you shivered as you slowly lit the kindle, piling log after log into the hearth as you heated the home up. Your stomach growled loudly as you stood from your crouched position by the fire, joints complaining as exhaustion from lack of sleep, or food, finally caught up to you.

You decided that now was the time, more than ever, to eat and rest before you’d have to return to the lighthouse. You lit the stove with a candle by the fire and sat your kettle atop, water inside ready to boil. On William’s last relief drop, he had brought a large sack of flour and even some milk for you, and so with this, you had churned your own butter and made a large supply of scones and bread for the coming week.

The loud whistle of the kettle alerted you to the water boiling on the stove, steam pouring from its nozzle. You poured it over some tea leafs and unwrapped a scone from the cloth pile you had on the bench. As the tea steeped, you decided to spread some of the jam William’s wife, Celia, had made for you, using it sparingly before sitting before the hearth.

You ate slowly and sipped on your tea with ease, eyes cast out one of the many windows to check the progress of the storm. The dark clouds were slowly rolling in, and by your estimate, wouldn’t reach you until at least the afternoon, and with time on your hands, you decided to allow yourself a small rest, laying your head back against your worn couch, closing your eyes as the warmth of the fire lulled you into a shallow slumber.

The distant rumble of thunder pulled you from your light rest, half eaten scone wrapped in a smaller piece of cloth and shoved into the pocket of your skirt at the front. You would eat that later as you lit the lamp again before the storm arrived. As you cast your eyes out of the kitchen window, looking out to sea, you saw that it had approached far quicker than expected, and in fact, seemed to have regrown in size.

You made quick work of it, throwing on your large waxed coat that swept around your ankles, buttoning it up to your neck as the beginning spray of water began to lightly mist at the windows of the cottage. Racing to the lighthouse, you climbed the steps with ease, years of the same routine causing you to be fitter than most. Once you reached the top you looked out to the swell, watching as the waves crashed against the rocky cliff face below, and then swept up against the small sandy beach of the island on the side.

But it was not the storm that peaked your interest, you were no stranger to those. It was the objects that bobbed amongst the crashing waves, and lined your small beach. Concern coursed through you as familiar wooden planks, barrels, and other ship items crashed onto shore.

“Fuck.” You cursed.

There had been a shipwreck.

But not at your island.

It must have happened out at sea last night with the storm.

Your eyes cast down to the sandy beach again, gaze darting up and down the shore, looking, searching, and hoping for any sign of survivors, if they had been lucky or fortunate enough to be swept this far to shore after.

Another crack of thunder pulled your gaze away, the storm rapidly approaching. If you lit the lamp now, you could race down to the shore to look out in the water for any sign of survivors, or what kind of ship it had been to report back to shore. So with determined hands, you lit the large oil lamp, ensuring that the flame was strong and the glass that surrounded it was clear and in position to amplify it out to sea.

Rain began to beat against the glass of the lighthouse, and with one last glance cast at the lit lantern, you raced down the steps, two by two, skirts pulled into your fists as you flew down them, all but throwing the heavy wooden door open to begin to race down to the small sandy cove.

Thick drops of rain began to pelt down from the sky, the rumbling of the storm growing closer and closer, clouds growing darker with lightning striking through them. You squinted at the shore, skirts in one hand as the other hand came to try and shield your eyes from the growing downpour, looking for anything that could identify the vessel.

Your leather boots sunk into the sand and you raced along the shore line, eyes looking down to the broken wooden planks, and a large hoisting rope tangled amongst half a mast. Further ahead, a tangle of what looked to be shrouds, sail and hull.

The waves crashed against the sand as you moved towards the next clump of shipwreck, passing smaller pieces of debris as you went. The water that crashed against the shore was dark and unforgiving. Amongst the crashing waves, more planks of wood, net and barrels of something.

Chill dripped down your spine as your coat, as waxed and as warm as it was, took in the blast of rain and wind that blew into you with every gust.

The storm was coming, and it was coming with a vengeance.

You needed to move, and fast.

There ahead of you, amongst the tangled shrouds, was a large chunk of hull, with what looked to be the remnants of gold paint.

A name.

The name of the ship.

You almost tripped into the sand as you ran towards the mass, shoes now filled with water, socks soaked against your skin, toes numb from the cold. You bent down, pulling at the shrouds, the wet rope heavy in your hands as you looked at the broken hull.

'Vhag-'

You blinked.

Gods be damned.

Your hands moved faster than you thought humanly possible as you ripped the rope away from the hull, revealing the glimmer of silver beneath that had caught your eye.

There, tangled amongst the shrouds, trapped atop the broken hull, was a man.

Your knees hit the sand, wet soaking into your skirts immediately as you began to pull him from the wreckage, yanking at the ropes to untangle the body that was ensnared in them.

He lay on his stomach, face obscured by a mess of wet, silver hair that draped across his cheek and forehead. His clothes were soaked, and his skin was as pale as moonlight, blue veins prominent under the surface.

“Hello?” You called to him frantically, moving to turn him onto his back, his head lulling to the side.

You brushed away the hair from his face with haste, and your breath stilled in your chest.

His lips were blue, and across one cheek, cutting up through an eye, was a long and deep scar. The man’s nose was sharp, and his jaw even sharper, slender neck and shoulders peaking through the half ripped tunic that he wore, the white see-through as it clung to his body soaked.

Another crack of thunder boomed above, your head momentarily darting upwards to look to the sky, the storm having begun to move closer, crawling above the small island you called home.

You prayed in that moment to the Drowned God that he was alive.

Please, spare this man. Bring him back to the living.

“Please.” You whispered, hand at his neck as you tried to feel for a pulse, tried to feel for any warmth of his body that may indicate life. That may lead you to believe you had a sole survivor that washed ashore your tiny island, surely blessed by the Gods.

His head lulled in your hand as you looked out at the shore for any more bodies, whispering to yourself as you thought of what to do; If you should take him back to the cottage and send word that a body had washed ashore, that a ship that began with ‘Vhag’ had met its untimely demise in the cruel sea. Or if you should leave him at shore and hope that the waves do not carry his body away by the storms pass.

Your teeth began to chatter in your skull as your hands slipped around him, checking over his body for any grievous wounds or indications that he had died from anything other than drowning. But his body was fine, all bar his cold and pale skin.

Shifting to a crouch, you made your decision, and it pulled at your heart.

He would be too heavy to carry up to your cottage, but you also didn’t want to risk his body being taken back out to sea with the storm, this man, whoever he was, deserved a burial of some sort. So your option was to carry him further up the beach, to where the grass meets the sand, and send word on the morrow once the storm had passed.

You felt a pang of guilt for the man, a man who looked to be a handsome and skilled sailor, young but not naive in age, taken too soon. Though no sailor was skilled enough to survive the rolling waves, or the wrecking of a ship. The sea was a cruel mistress, and she took when and if she pleased with no repentance, rhyme, or reason. Your hands curled beneath his arms and you pulled, his dead weight dragging you down almost to fall in the wet sand.

“Bless him with salt,” You began to endlessly pray, something your father had once taught you many years ago, “Bless him with stone, bless him-“

The man’s chest erupted with a cough, sending you falling into the sand in shock, dropping his body back onto the beach as water spluttered from his lips.

“Gods be good.” You scrambled to him in the sand, turning him on his side so that the rest of the sea water would come out easier.

It seemed to go on forever, the jerking of his body as his lungs expelled spray after spray of water, until all too soon, he stopped again, a weaker cough or grunt falling from his lips as the last of the water was expelled.

The crack of lightning above you made your heart race faster than it already was, and so reaching beneath his arms again, you began to drag him up the sandy shore and back to your cottage.

He was alive.

A survivor.

It was no easy feat, taking him away from the furious waves, and by the time you had gotten to the cottage, your lungs and body ached from dragging him up to your home.

The man had groaned once or twice as you made the journey, storm full above the both of you, and once you finally were inside your home, you collapsed on the stone floor beside him, lungs burning as you sucked in air.

But now was not the time for you to rest, the man had grown paler since moved, and you watched as he shivered on the stone floor. Your teeth clicked in your mouth, from nerves and from the cold, your dress and coat soaked completely and shoes filled with water.

Your clothes weighed you down, but you only moved to take your coat off, dropping it by the hearth with a wet thump before you laid an old blanket from the couch by the fire, dragging the silver haired man to lay atop it as you surveyed what you could do.

First, you needed to get him warm, and the clothes that he had on were chilled from the sea and rain. You removed his torn tunic, his face creasing with pain as you ripped it off of him, pulling his leather boots and socks off after. His pants however, you faltered at, looking down at his dark breeches as a blush rose to your cheeks.

Not now, this man needs our help.

His privacy can come later.

You threw the last thick woollen blanket that sat on the couch over the top of him for privacy before you pulled his breeches down without looking, throwing the soaked article of clothing in the far side of the room before you laid him on his side to face the fire. You tucked the thick blanket around his body, noticing the chill of his skin that seeped through immediately, before pulling his wet hair away from his face and neck.

By then you were out of breath, muscles burning and joints aching, collapsing beside him again as you looked at the man, watching the way his chest rose and fell weakly with every rattling breath he took. You prayed he would survive, but you had your doubts. The amount of sea water he had swallowed, and the way he looked so pale that he was almost translucent, gave you little hope.

But there was nothing else you could do.

Nothing more that you were able to do but wait.

And all you had was time as the storm raged outside.

Unlacing your boots you pulled the from your feet, toes beginning to prune and ache as they were soaked inside and cold, water dribbling out of each shoe as you tipped them upside-down in front of the fire, pulling away the soaked woollen socks with it. You shook as you began to peel layer after layer of drenched clothes away from your body until you were left in your shift, shivering by the fire as you desperately tried to warm yourself up.

Your hair lay wet against your back, drying as you slowly warmed, the light of the fire being the only light source in the cottage until you finally moved and began to light your various lamps and candles around the home.

It wasn't until you were back by the fire did you spare the man another anxious glance, eyes immediately watching his chest rise and fall weakly, much to your relief.

He wasn’t dead.

Yet.

But you hoped he would at least save the night and storm until you could send word for help, and perhaps even send for a doctor to come to you. You suspected he would be too fragile to move just yet. So now, all you had to do was wait.

Wait until the man either rose to consciousness, or perished from the sea’s assault.

But the longer you looked at him, looking at his silver hair, to his sharp features and plump lips that were almost blue, to the golden ring that sat upon one of his fingers, you couldn’t help the thoughts that turned over your head about this man. But one question in particular seemed to rise above them all.

Who was he?

The storm raged on, day and night, wind howling outside your cottage causing the old home to shudder and groan. The windows rattled with the force of the gale, rain pelting against its surface loudly. All the while, the lamp in the lighthouse never went out, thanks to your constant checks, back and forth up the many stairs, bracing yourself agains the rain and winds.

The silver haired man had not moved, nor woke since you dragged him up from the beach. The only sign of life given being the rise and fall of his chest that occasionally jerked with a cough or wheeze. His long hair lay like a halo around his head, soft waves teased from the salted water and dried from the warmth of the fire. The mans skin stayed the same inhuman paleness as before, though some colour rose back to his cheeks and his plump lips.

You had been sitting at your small table writing notes on the weather in your log book, fearing that perhaps there was a larger storm that lingered out in the back of the sea, which caused the one on shore to rage for so long, when a soft groan caught your attention. Your eyes immediately flicked away from your notes and down to where the man was laying, the slightest shift of his head to be seen.

Swiftly you made your way over to him, kneeling back down beside him, knees pressed into the hard stones as you looked him over. His brows were scrunched shut, and lips pulled slightly down. But that was not initially what caught your attention; It was the sheen of sweat that covered him head to toe. Lifting a gentle hand, you placed the back of it against his forehead.

A fever.

The man was burning up, and the sweat beneath your hand was proof of it.

This was not good.

You stood and made your way to the kitchen, riffling through a draw to find one of the many warn, and scraggly cloths inside before you pulled it out. You grabbed an empty bowl and took it to the dry sink and began to use the cistern pump to fill it with rain water. When the bowl was half full, you threw the cloth inside and made your way back to the feverish man on the floor.

You wrung out the cloth of its water and began to wipe at the sweat on his face and neck, hoping that the cool rag would help to fight the fever that was causing the man distress.

Fevers were dangerous things, and after what he had survived, you worried that the fever may be the final nail in his coffin, so to speak.

The silver haired man shivered in the warm glow of the fire, though his body ran hot. Each swipe of the wet cloth caused a crackled breath to fall from his lips, the scar on his face crinkled with movement. With every moment or so, clearing the sweat from his face and neck, you would dip the cloth back into the bowl to then wring it and begin again, hoping its coolness would have some effect.

His chest rose and fell shallowly as you wiped away the sweat and salt from his collar bones, small pink scars littered amongst the flesh of his chest. As you worked, you could not help but admire the man. His sharp features and strange hair was unlike anything you had ever seen before, and had only heard once or twice in tales from town about people who lived in lands far from yours, with silver hair and violet eyes.

You had never believed those tales, for who could have such Godly hair, and even stranger eyes, and whilst the man had not opened his one seeing eye as of yet, you wondered if you would find it to be violet, or perhaps a more common shade of blue. The scared and clouded one was no indicator of what could be revealed on the other side.

A part of you hoped to see that the tales were true, that perhaps your world was much larger than you had thought, but for the most part, you just wished for him to stay alive.

As you rinsed the cloth once more and brought it to the scarred cheek of his face, you took caution with the skin, looking at the way it deeply marred the flesh around it, and prevented the clouded eye from ever closing. You brushed the cloth gently by his temple when suddenly you were greeted with a vision of lilac.

The man gasped, hand shooting out to grab your wrist holding the cloth tightly, pupil of his eye widening and shrinking as his brain tried to focus on the person touching him. Your heart beat in your chest, your own gasp falling from your lips as you looked down at him, his eye on you.

It was true then.

He was one of them.

The grip on your wrist tightened and you hissed, the wet cloth falling from your fingers onto the stone floor beside him as his brows furrowed, looking at you.

“Skoriot iksis… ñuha…” The man gasped, language foreign to your ears.

You shook your head down at him, his breathing becoming shallow, grip on your wrist faltering, “I don’t know what you’re saying.” You told him, voice slow and clear as his head rested back against the flagstones, lone eye blinking sluggishly up at you.

“You’re safe here. You need to rest.” Your hand hovered above his shoulder, unsure if touching him again would cause him more distress. Instead, the hand that held your wrist slumped back to the stones, and his lilac eye fluttered shut, mouth parted weakly.

You pressed your fingers underneath his jaw, and were relieved to find the slow, but steady, beat of his heart.

Your heart on the other hand was another story entirely. It raced rapidly within your chest, breath coming in short pants as your knees began to ache from how you were sitting over him. Gaze roaming over his soft skin and hair, you came to a mind spinning conclusion that the tales were true, and people who looked like him did exist, which only meant one thing.

This man was a long way from home.

Feeling as though you didn’t want to startle him from his rest again, you took the bowl and cloth to the table and placed it by the ledger. If you needed to ease his fever again, you could repeat the process later, just not now.

Outside the storm raged on, rain flying sideways and the crash of thunder above. At one point you had brought your pigeon inside with you to place in a smaller cage out of the rain and wind. She was much happier now, and sleeping restfully upon her perch.

You had to stifle a yawn as you sat back on your chair by the table, noting that you had had scarcely more than five hours rest over the past two days. You were running on fumes, and if you needed to keep the lamp safely lit, and the man by the fire alive, you certainly needed your own rest.

By that time it was midday, and you could safely rest a few hours before you would need to check on the lamp once more. Your limbs felt as heavy as stones as you trudged to your bedroom, pulling your heavy dress from your body and shoes from your feet before you slid into the warmth of the covers in your slip.

When you woke, it was not to the sounds of the storm outside, but rather to the unfamiliar groans and grunts of a man. Ripping the covers away from your body, you wrapped a robe tightly around you, fastening it against your waist with its belt in a knot. It had been your fathers, and was entirely too large for your smaller frame.

He lay where he was, still on the hard stone floor, the fire having shrunk during your slumber, but still, his eye did not open again. So you piled more logs into the hearth, stirring the embers with a fire poker before moving to fill the kettle with the pump by the stove.

When you looked out the window, the lamp was still lit, and the storm still raged on, rain and wind flying through the air, booms of thunder booming above you, and the constant shrill whistling of the wind through the cracks of the windows and doors. It was an eerie sound if you were not used to it, but after all those years in solitude already, it was as common as a birds cry, or a bugs chirp. You lit the coal stove and placed the kettle on top, casting your eyes back to see if he had stirred again.

There hadn’t been a minute that had gone by where you hadn’t wondered who this man was. What he did. If he had a family to go home to, a wife, children.

Were his parents still alive? Were they fretting for his arrival or communications? Wondering where their son had gone? Or did he have no-one? Were they too lost to the sea and not fortunate enough to have washed upon the shores of your small island?

By the time the kettle whistled loudly, you poured it into your tea pot, but behind you came a groan again, this time, much louder, and to your surprise, more conscious. Forgetting your tea, you raced to his side, the mans face screwed up in confusion and pain, eye blinking sluggishly up at you. You pulled your robe against you tighter as you knelt near him.

“Take it slow, you’re okay.” You reassured him, hands unsure of whether or not to touch him or stay limply by your side, “You’ve survived a wreck. The Gods saved you.”

The pink of his tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips, but his tongue was just as dry. His mouth parted, and a broken and confused echo came out, “Gods.”

You nodded, “Yes. The Gods surely showed you favour when they washed you on this island. We are the lighthouse just off the coast.”

It seemed to be a lot for the man to take in, his brows pulling downwards from either pain or confusion or a terrible mix of the two, but a more burning question came forth from your lips, “What is your name?”

The silver haired man, who’s cheeks had more colour than when you brought him inside days before, blinked at you sluggishly, mouth parting and then closing, before a rasping request came forth.

“Water.”

You jumped up from your spot beside him and raced to the pump, filling a glass before coming back to his side. You knelt on the stones, helping him to lightly sit up with a hand at the back of his head, leaning the glass up to his lips. At first he spluttered the water back into the cup as he tried to drink, a lone dribble trailing down his strong chin and neck, but then after a moment, he drank greedily, hand coming to grasp yours to tilt it quicker down his throat.

“Slowly. You don’t want to drown again.” You tried to make some light, and the man seemed to enjoy it, as he coughed into the glass, or at least, you assumed he did, as one side of his lip pulled into a weak smirk.

He coughed again once finished, and you asked him if he wished for more, to which you got a weak shake of his head, ‘no’. You gently laid him back down as you looked at him, pressing your hand against his forehead. Although the fever had seemed to settle, he was still hot to the touch, yet despite this, he shivered.

“...Cold.” His voice came out smoother this time, no longer dry and parched from dehydration, though it was still raw and ragged from the sea.

“You have a fever,” You explained, pulling the blanket only a little higher on his chest, not wanting to exacerbate it, “But it looks like it shall break soon.”

The man watched you with a half lidded gaze, lips mumbling in a foreign language once more, “...Issi… se… Riña…”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” You frowned at him again, "Do you speak the common tongue?”

The man watched you with his half lidded gaze before he nodded. You couldn't help but look at his cloudy eye that didn't move.

Now that he seemed more conscious, and had even asked for water, it seemed to you that perhaps this man would not die in your home after all.

“Are you hungry? Do you want food?”

A nod.

You went back to the kitchen, filling his glass with water again before grabbing one of your scones to bring back. You came to his side and began to break the scone in your hand into smaller pieces, lifting his head once more to feed it to him. He ate slowly, coughing occasionally to which you’d give him more water to help him wash it down, but you could tell that he was grateful.

“...Thank... you.” It came as barely a whisper, but it was there none the less.

You still didn’t know his name, and it ate at you.

“What is your name?” You asked again, hoping now that he had both food and water in him, that he would be able to answer you, but instead he just stared at you blankly.

Perhaps he had hit his head in the wreckage and forgotten?

And then another thought came.

Or perhaps, he was a pirate, and hiding his identity for fear of capture.

You stood and dusted the scone crumbs from your skirt, leaving the man beside the fire as you moved to the kitchen, pulling some carrots, potatoes and onions that you had grown in your garden out of your basket to rinse and begin to prepare.

“I’m going to cook a stew.” You cast your head to the side, voice calling out to the man, “I think it would warm you. I have some dried meat I can use in it too. I think it would-“

You turned around to find the man asleep again, “-Do you some good.” You finished quietly, moving back to the task at hand.

It didn’t help that a strum of disappointment raced through you at his unconsciousness, but it couldn’t be helped, after all the man was practically with the Stranger when he washed ashore.

Steam rose from the pot of vegetables and broth, the dried meat you had cut and put inside having absorbed the stew and become soft again as you stirred it. It smelt good, and as you had helped to bring it to boil, you had had enough time to check on the lamp in the lighthouse, ensuring that the oil and glass was all in order.

The storm seemed to have settled somewhat, but from your experience, it meant only that the eye had reached shore, and the worst of it was soon to come.

Not once had the man moved as you cooked, nor when you walked past him to put back on your dress, coat ,and shoes. He looked better, and somewhat peaceful on your floor, but you knew the harsh stone would do naught for his rest, and so as you stirred the stew you thought of ways in which you could get him up and into your bed.

You blushed immediately at the thought of him spread out inside of it, silver hair around his face, soft lips parted as he breathed, the furrow of his brow having softened as he rested, properly rested. And although it seemed indecent to have a man inside of your bed, to have him inside your house and bare, you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t anything untoward, nor would you be touching him, and it was just until he was well enough to leave.

It didn’t help however, that he would be the first and only man to ever be in your bed.

You stifled a laugh at the thought.

The first one in your bed, bare and handsome, only because he was on the brink of death.

The laugh proved to not be as stifled as you had thought, as the voice of the man startled you from your slow stirring.

“...Who are you?”

You placed the spoon down by the stew, turning around to look at him from the coal stove, to tell him your name. As you spun however, your name came as a bare whisper, eyes finally landing on the man by your fire.

Not only was the man conscious, he was sitting upright, leant heavily on one arm as he looked at you, legs stretched out in front of him. Your mouth went dry and you blinked, the blanket that you had carefully tucked around his body having fallen to his waist, bare chest on display.

You swallowed thickly, feeling heat in your cheeks as you tried to avert your eyes, but the image of his toned and lean chest blared in your minds view.

“Do you often strip drowned sailors?” The man mused, clearly having noticed his undressed state. His voice still crackled, but underneath, it was as smooth as honey.

The heat in your cheeks increased tenfold, and your feet took you swiftly over to the table where his now dried tunic and breeches were neatly folded on top. A crack of thunder boomed over head as you looked towards the kitchen, holding his clothes out to him to the side, feeling the weight of them being taken out of your hands.

“You were soaked and close to death," You explained, "I saw no other choice.” You cleared your throat awkwardly as you heard rustling beside you, moving yourself back to the kitchen as you kept your back to him to stir the stew in avoidance, “I kept your modesty with the blanket. My one priority being-“

“-A joke, Madam.”

“Miss.” You corrected him.

You were no married woman.

You didn’t dare turn back around, instead, beginning to pour stew into two seperate bowls using your ladle, ensure that his had an ample supply of meat and broth within to help give him his strength back.

As he dressed, you could hear him grunt and struggle, but offered him no help. A man of his breed would likely suspect you meant something untoward, and you had learnt from a young age that a mans strength and will should never be questioned, for their ego's, fragile as they are, shall bruise.

You could feel him watching you as you continued on, shaking the embers beneath the stove loose to put them out slowly, allowing for the stew to finish its simmering before putting the large lid on top.

“Who are you?”

You frowned.

Had he forgotten already?

You told him your name once again.

“No." He sighed from behind you, "Who do you serve here?”

Turning, you faced the man.

His tunic was thrown back on, but it gaped at his chest where it had been ripped, revealing the soft pale skin beneath that you could not help but admire. But despite his handsomeness, his question served to insult you.

“I serve no one.” You said stiffly, dusting your hands down on your apron, before grabbing two spoons to throw into the bowls.

This seemed to dissatisfied the man as he hummed, “And the man who tends to the lighthouse?”

The man?

Hands on your hips you glared at him, watching as his brows lifted slightly waiting for your response, “There is no man here. None but you.”

His brow furrowed, “Then who te-“

“-That would be I.” You snipped, turning back around to grab his bowl before handing it to him with his spoon, “I take you can feed yourself now?” All patience gone from your body.

And to think, you had brought this man back from the dead, and he still thinks that a man must tend to the island and not you.

Clearly the silver haired man was shocked by your station, and also your brazen way of response, “I meant no offence, Miss. I have only known men to tend to Lighthouses.”

You huffed through your nose, exhaustion from the almost week of storm, and nurturing the man on the floor back to health nipping at you cruely.

“And now you know a woman.” You moved back to the kitchen to grab your own bowl and plate of sliced bread, sitting at your table to eat your stew, all the while feeling his eye on the side of your face. You grabbed the plate of bread and offered him a slice, a small thank you coming from his lips as you ate in silence.

There was minimal talking between the both of you as you ate, and the sound of the storm seemed to fill the space instead. By the time the both of you finished eating, you knew you had to brave it outside once again, and climb the never ending stairs to check the oil and wick of the lamp.

You took your bowl and his to the kitchen, before coming back, standing above him as you pulled on your coat.

“I have to tend to the light.”

He nodded.

You shuffled on your feet as you looked at him, thinking of your earlier plan to move him into your bed so that the had a reprieve from the stone floor.

Now was the time if there ever was.

“Do you think you can stand?”

The man blinked at you.

“I won’t cast you out in this storm,” You reassured him, though his face didn’t change, “But you shouldn’t lay on the flagstones to recover. They’ll do more harm than good.”

A nod.

He shifted, pulling the blanket off of him to reveal his long, now clothed, legs, bare feet stretched out at the end. You came to his side, pulling an arm beneath his and offering your other hand as you slowly brought him to stand. The man swayed and groaned, and his face grew pale.

“The bedroom is not far.” You reassured him, steering him down the small hall, each slow step, moving slowly, and his breath coming out with a rough rasp. His weight was heavily leant around your shoulders, and you felt your muscles strain to hold him up. The man stood at least a foot and a half taller than yourself, and yet slumped over was still nowhere near your height.

He grunted as moved him to the side of the bed, sitting him down on the edge as gently as you could, pulling the sheets back before helping him to lay down. He coughed and wheezed and groaned as you moved him, eye scrunched tightly shut, as you lifted his legs up and onto the mattress. The man looked paler than before, and his seeing eye became half-lidded with fatigue.

You pulled the sheets up to his shoulders, ensuring that he wouldn’t roll out of the bed on either side.

Then suddenly you were hoping that he didn’t mind the feel of your sheets, or the spring of the softness of the mattress, or the plump of the pillows.

You shook your head.

Why were you worried about that?

“Rest.” You told him, but his eye had already slid shut, and so away you went.

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