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yandere-daydreams · 9 days

Text

Title: Unchaperoned.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.2k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Prolonged Captivity, Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of Physical/Psychological Abuse, Mentions of Kidnapping, Reader's Just Going Through It In This One Okay, and Dissociative Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as you realized Satoru wasn’t in bed.

Most mornings, he’d already be gone by the time you woke up, with the only signs that he’d ever laid down next to you at all being the phantom weight of his chest pressed into your back and a sickly sweet note left on the bedside table (usually something to the tune of ‘be home late tonight, can’t wait to see you again’ or ‘if you keep trying to pick the lock on the kitchen window, I’ll know’), but today was supposed to be one of his prized days-off, and when he wasn’t pried away from you by obligation, he preferred to spend as much time as he could sprawled out across the mattress, your body tucked against his, waiting for the haze of a slow morning to dip and ebb until his mouth founds its way to your neck and his hands to your waist. Sometimes, he was called away by an emergency mission, a sudden problem with one of his students, but you weren’t often that lucky, and he never left without waking you up, first.

Failing that, you should’ve known something was wrong when you did finally open your eyes, and immediately found Satoru looming above you, perched on the edge of the mattress, already dressed and wearing the wide, toothy grin that made your stomach drop and something embedded deep within your chest curl up and pray for death.

You tried to shut your eyes, to roll over, to pretend you were still asleep, but Satoru must’ve been watching you for a while. His hand was on your shoulder before you could so much as settle into place, his mouth crashing into yours before you could brace yourself for his rough affection. He’d never been a very good kisser, even when you’d been a willing victim, but there seemed to be no moment sweet enough and no occasion soft enough to stop him from forcing his tongue down your throat, from keeping his mouth slotted against yours until your lungs ached, from nipping at your bottom lip with enough force to sting. Too resigned to be genuinely annoyed, you remained limp and pliable underneath him until he finally pulled back, his smile just a little brighter as he beamed down at you.

“I picked out something nice for you,” he muttered, his voice low, sentimental. If it wasn’t for the cold bolt of dread that accompanied the sound of his voice, you might’ve called it playful. “Get dressed. We’re going on a field trip.”

You swallowed, thickly. “Where are we going?”

Impossibly, his smile seemed to grow wider. “It’s a surprise. You’ll like it, I promise.”

You blinked up at him, too used to suppressing your reaction for the effort to be conscious. Satoru was possessive, but he was also childish, impulsive – too self-indulgent to keep his favorite toy locked away for very long. Usually, though, your little trips were planned meticulously and limited to five-star restaurants with private backrooms, rented-out theaters, picnics in the countryside where he could ensure you wouldn’t have anyone to pay attention to other than him. He’d never been so vague, before. You didn’t like having to guess what he was going to do to you.

But, his grip on your shoulder tightened, and you were abruptly reminded that you didn’t have much of a choice. It was either go along with his whims, play into his domestic fantasies, or risk disobeying him and—

And disobedience wasn’t an option. Not anymore. Not after so long.

A little more than an hour later, you were in the backseat of a black sedan, hands clasped together in your lap and Satoru’s arm draped over your shoulders. Every so often, your eyes flitted from the floor to the window, lingering on the passing landscape for no longer than a few seconds before falling back to something less direct, less contentious. Still, from what you could tell, you were miles outside of the city and deep into the backwoods that surrounded it. Anxiety alternated between tying knots in the pit of your stomach and stabbing into the tender flesh at the back of your throat. You’d never been very prone to motion sickness, but maybe, if you told Satoru, you’d look pale enough for him to buy it, tell his driver to turn around, and let you go back to the kind of misery you were used to.

You straightened, sucking in a deep breath and doing your best to choke down the worst of your paranoia. If Satoru noticed the extent of your distress, the most the offered by way of reassurance was an airy laugh, a gentle tug that left you pressed that much deeper into his side. Fighting not to draw back, you broke the silence, more eager for a distraction than a genuine answer. “Are you really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“I can’t, baby.” He was still playing coy, playing cute. It might’ve been charming three years ago, when you were just having fun with a mysterious man with endless funding and eyes brighter than cloudless sky, but it was hard to find someone charming after you’d known them longer as a captor than you ever had as a friend, as a partner. “If I did, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it?”

Your gaze fell into your lap. You’d been allowed to do your make-up and style your hair to your preferences, but he’d chosen your outfit – an ankle-length sundress the color of snow and daisy petals and pale skin bled dry. The color of his hair, although you tried not to let the automatic association needle its way into your conscious mind. “I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.” Another laugh, another tug. Your skin was crawling. Maybe you wouldn’t have to play sick after all. “It’s real special to me. Thought I should finally get around to sharing it with you.”

You could remember complaining about that kind of thing, once – just how little you knew about Satoru in comparison to just how much he knew about you. You shared your life openly with him, and even if you hadn’t, he always seemed to be just around the corner, always where he needed to be to walk you home after a dull workday or invite himself to drink at a downtown bar with you and your friends. He’d been more secretive, more discreet. It’d taken you three months to find out he was a teacher, and another six so much as hear the word ‘sorcerer’. In retrospect, it was probably more of a deliberate effort than you’d been willing to give him credit for, at the time. He’d assumed that, the moment you found out anything more than his name, you’d try to run, and he’d been right. He’d wanted to delay the inevitable, and he’d succeeded.

It was stupid to be so worried. It was stupid to be so… so upset. Most days, you would’ve traded anything to be able to leave Satoru’s suffocating penthouse apartment, would’ve sold your left kidney for just an hour of freedom, but this wasn’t freedom, and it was hard to enjoy the illusion of it when you didn’t know what price you’d have to pay after it was pried away from you. You didn’t like not knowing what to expect. You didn’t like not knowing what you’d done to deserve this. You didn’t like that, even after years of learning to deal with Satoru’s bullshit, he could still make you feel just as scared and just as helpless as the day you first woke up in that dark room, your hands tied behind your back and—

The car jolted to an abrupt stop. Reflexively, you snapped up, going rigid, but Satoru seemed unaffected. He started to reach for the door, then stopped himself – fishing something out of his pocket. “Show me your hand, princess.” Satoru didn’t give you time to obey before taking you by the wrist and slipping a thick, silver ring onto your finger. You glanced from it to Satoru, who winked. “Just in case.”

You didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before he was threading his fingers through yours and dragging you out of the backseat, into the open air. You tried to be thankful to have room to breathe – tried, and failed.

The driver didn’t follow you out. You stood, alone and unprepared, next to Satoru at the foot of massive, winding, temple-style staircase. Weather-beaten torii separated the pathway from crowded foliage, and with your hand still trapped in his, Satoru guided you through the steep ascent, each step accompanied by another drop of tell-tale dread, a fresh wave of anxiety. For one long, terrible minute, you managed to convince yourself that there was a sacrificial altar waiting at the top, or a guillotine – something ornamental and damning that he’d use to cut your life that much shorter, to tie you that much closer to him. Your eyes were clenched shut by the time you crested the peak, your breathing rapid and shallow, any panic you might’ve been able to stave off during the trip now returning in full force. It was all you could do to keep yourself from breaking down entirely when he finally, finally came to a stop, squeezing your hand with enough force to leave it aching.

You wanted to stay like that, blind and deaf and only on the verge of sobbing, but it wasn’t possible – your body couldn’t take much more, and even if you had been more durable, Satoru wouldn’t wait much longer. Tentatively, you forced yourself to open your eyes and took in—

A schoolyard. A bog-standard, borderline uninteresting, utterly devoid of life schoolyard. The architecture was a little pre-modern, sure, and it was strange not to see any students or teachers milling through the open space, but it was far from the ceremonial execution site you’d primed yourself to step into. As far as you could see, at least.

“Pretty, right? In a rustic kind of way, I mean.” Satoru was still grinning from ear-to-ear. You doubted he’d stop any time soon. “I promised I’d get around to showing you where I work eventually. C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.”

Right. You’d known he was a teacher, but somehow, you’d managed to go your entire captivity without ever so much as attempting to picture the school where he must’ve taught. Then again, to be fair, you may have had more important things on your mind.

The tour wasn’t optional. When Satoru wasn’t dragging you from building to building, he was rambling on about his students, his own education, telling you decade-old stories with more energy than a man closer to thirty-one than eighteen should’ve had. You listened to very little of it and retained even less, but Satoru seemed satisfied with your occasional nod muted noises of acknowledgment. You never passed anyone else, but he kept a vice-grip on your hand, as if he was scared you’d make a run for it as soon as he turned away. A few months ago, you might’ve considered it, but you weren’t that hopeful, anymore.

“One more stop,” he said, as he pulled you towards the last building – or, buildings, rather. It was a row of ornamental classrooms, all divided into separate schoolhouses. Against your better judgment, you edged forward, willing him to move a little faster, too. This was the last stop. He just wanted to show you his classroom, then you could leave. This was the last thing you’d have to endure, and then, you could go back to the kind of misery you were used to.

Or, at least, that’s what you might’ve told yourself if a blur of pink and black hadn’t emerged from the nearest corner, sprinting across the small courtyard, and running directly into Satoru’s chest.

You flinched back, but if Satoru was fazed, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t see his eyes, not through the tint of his glasses, but he wore a crooked smile as he looked down at the teenage boy now standing in front of you. He must’ve been in high school – a first-year, if you had to guess, his black uniform coated in dust and debris. Rubbing the back of his neck, he blinked a few times before seeming to notice Satoru and straightening, bowing his head shallowly. “Gojo-sensei,” he barked, speaking quickly enough for the name and the honorific to blend together. “I was looking for Nanamin, but— So, Kugisaki found this ultra-cool cursed weapon, and we thought Fushiguro could figure out—”

He was cut off abruptly by a sneaker hitting the back of his head. A second later, another teenager – a girl, this time – seemed to appear behind the boy. Notably, she was missing a shoe. “He’s lying,” she said, her tone nearly venomous enough to be believable. “Whatever he says, it isn’t true. He’s a liar, and sexist, and I heard Sukuna say—” Abruptly, she cut herself off, her attention snapping towards you. She was quiet for a second, then another, before going on with a polite smile. “Hello, ma’am.”

For the first time, the boy turned to you, his eyes immediately widening. “Fuck,” And then, his gaze falling to where his hand was still wrapped around yours, “Fuck.”

You couldn’t stop yourself – bringing up your free hand to stifle your laugh. You almost introduced yourself, but Satoru was quick to cut you off. “These,” he explained, with a broad gesture to both teenagers. “are my beloved students, Kugisaki and Itadori, who value my mentorship and look up to me as their teacher.”

“I know,” the girl, Kugisaki, whispered to her companion, Itadori, only half-heartedly trying to hide her voice. “I really didn’t think men or women could stand to be around him.”

“And, adoring students, this,” His grip tightened as he forced your hand into the air, your new ring facing the students. “is my beautiful fiancé.”

“Fiancé,” Itadori repeated. “Was it, like, arranged?”

And then, from Kugisaki to you, “Did he pay you up front?”

Reflexively, you moved to respond, used to having to provide an answer as soon as you were asked a question lest Satoru resort to more drastic means of getting your attention, but something else caught your attention. A mop of black hair rounding the schoolhouse’s corner, the collar of a white t-shirt pulled over a bloody nose obscuring, but not completely hiding, a familiar face. You didn’t want to, but you recognized him immediately.

Megumi.

Huh.

You’d never seen him without his sister, before.

He made a point not to look at you, dark eyes trained on the ground as he positioned himself a few feet behind his more energetic classmates. You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened it again just as quickly. You might’ve actually found the courage to say something, if Kugisaki hadn’t lurched forward, shoving Itadori out of the way and tearing your hand out of Satoru’s. She clasped both your hands between hers, staring up at you with a frantic kind of urgency. “Listen,” she started, her tone just as dire as her expression. “If he bribed, kidnapped, or threatened you to make you go along with this, say so. There’s another sorcerer on campus – we’ll make sure you’re safe while he’s brought to the proper authorities.”

You hesitated, for a second.

Then, you opened your mouth, and distantly, heard your own voice spilling out. “We used to be in a relationship.” You stopped, swallowed, then went on. “But, he kidnapped me three years ago, and he’s kept me trapped in his home ever since. If I ever leave him, he says he’ll break my legs and kill everyone I know. He hasn’t really proposed, yet, either. He just shoved a ring onto my hand and started calling me his fiancé a few hours ago.”

There was a beat of silence, then another.

And then, Satoru laughed. It was a cheery, juvenile sort of laugh. A ‘forget everything you just heard and look at me’ sort of laugh.

Soon enough, his students joined him – Itadori first, then Kagisuki. Megumi never made a sound.

“I think what you meant to say,” Megumi didn’t even look at you. You wished you could ask how his sister was doing. You wished you could say anything at all. “is that it was love at first sight. I was on a mission, fighting my way through a group of a hundred curses. That’s when I heard someone crying out from the heart of the swarm, and I—”

You made no attempt to listen. As Satoru’s story drowned on, Megumi’s eyes flitted upward – first to Satoru, then to you, widening slightly. You made the same realization a second later.

Satoru wasn’t holding your hand, anymore.

Satoru wasn’t paying attention to you at all.

Finally, Megumi met your gaze. He held your stare for a second, before shifting – looking towards something behind you. His message was glaringly apparent, albeit unspoken.

You took half a step back, then another. Satoru was still caught up in his story, and if his students noticed you moving, they didn’t feel the need to comment. It wouldn’t work, something vile and fearful whispered into the back of your mind. He’d notice, and he’d drag you to somewhere isolated and claustrophobic, and he’d break every finger on your right hand, or dislocate both your ankles, or lock you in a room so dark and so tiny that you would be able to convince yourself he’d buried you alive. It wouldn’t work, but you were already three feet away from him, then ten, then twenty. At some point, Megumi shifted, taking your place just outside of Satoru’s peripheral, replacing your presence at his side. When you reached the corner of the nearest schoolhouse, you turned on your heels and ran.

Your mind raced as you made your way back to the main schoolyard, back to the front gates. You were in the backwoods, but you couldn’t be that far from the city – not if you’d been able to drive here. There was bound to be a public road nearby, or better yet, a highway, something with drivers you could flag down and beg to take you as far from here as possible. You’d pawn the ring, dye your hair, call yourself by a different name until you found someone willing to get you out of Tokyo, to get you out of Japan. Maybe, if you made it to a port city, you could—

You stopped abruptly about twenty feet away from the main gates. A blonde man in a suit leaned against one of the wooden beams, his face familiar but not immediately placeable. Someone working for Satoru, you thought, irrationally. Someone who wanted to stop you from getting away.

He was already looking at you. He nodded, the gesture slow and measured, and you continued to stare blankly in the direction of the gates. “(Y/n).”

His identity came to you immediately. Not Satoru’s employee, but one of his coworkers, only barely remembered from a few nights spent drinking, a handful of conversations you only barely remembered. “Kento.”

You’d taken a few beats to respond, but Kento wasn’t as hesitant. “Gojo said you left the city.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re here with him?”

You swallowed. “He’s talking to his students, right now.”

He took a moment to evaluate you – your disheveled dress, your wide eyes, the way you couldn’t seem to stop breathing in shallow, panicked huffs. Should you have tried to look more sympathetic, more like a captive? Should you be talking to him at all?

He didn’t smile, didn’t soften his tone into something overly sweet, overly dizzying. It was good that he didn’t – or, actually, it might’ve been bad. If he had, you would’ve forced your way past him without ever stopping to hear what he had to say. “He was never the type to think further than he could reach,” Kento said, straightening. “I’d like to talk to you, sometime. Somewhere private.”

“I… Satoru doesn’t really like it when I—”

“Gojo doesn’t have to know.” He paused, straightened. “Honestly, I’d prefer if he didn’t.”

Something thick and acidic rose into the back of your throat. It was your turn to straighten, now, to ball your fists at your side, to let your mouth fall open and—

And shut it again as you felt an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you against a broad chest. You didn’t have to check to know it was Satoru. You felt his fingertips dig into your side, his chin settle onto your shoulder. “Just can’t stand not to havin’ me all to yourself, huh?” His voice was low, playful. If you’d been able to think over the deafening static in your head, you would’ve called yourself an idiot for ever thinking it was cute.

“Thanks for looking after her for me.” He was talking to Nanami, now. You might’ve been grateful, if not for the ever-present pressure of his hand on your waist. “My fiancé tends to wander off.”

Kento’s expression, as always, was near-unreadable. He seemed to catch on the word ‘fiancé’, but whether that was because of the implication or the way Satoru seemed to bask in it, you couldn’t tell.

His response was curt, polite. “Congratulations.”

You could feel Satoru’s grin against your throat. He’d been glad to show you off in front of his students, but it almost seemed compulsory for him to flaunt you in front of Kento. “One wrong step, and suddenly I’m a taken man. Not that I’d have it any other way.” His arm fell away from your waist. Rather than reaching for your hand, he took you by the wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise. “I’ve gotta show the little lady a couple more things. You’ll keep an eye on the first years for me, right?”

Kento might’ve tried to answer, but you were around long enough to hear it. Satoru was already dragging you back in the direction of the schoolhouses, and willingly, you followed, keeping your head bowed and your teeth grit. It was almost a relief to know he was going to do something terrible to you. At least, while you were injured, or bound, or so heavily sedated that you couldn’t remember your own name, you wouldn’t be able to try to run away again. You wouldn’t be able to get your hopes up, and have to bear the hollow, gnawing agony that came when they were, yet again, dragged back down and crushed under Satoru’s heel.

There were no flustered students to intercept you before you reached his classroom, this time, no stoic teachers to pretend to care that you looked so miserable. Satoru only let go of your hand once you’d crossed the threshold, once he’d shut and locked the door behind you. Idly, you wandered into the empty space at the front of the classroom, only sparing a quick glance towards the empty chalkboard, the vacant teacher’s desk, the barren walls before letting your eyes fall back to your feet. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I didn’t mean to do anything, but—” You almost brought up Megumi, but stopped yourself. “I… I’m just sorry.”

Satoru hummed. You felt a hand on your hip first, then your side, nudging you towards the desk. When you failed to move, he chuckled and abandoned the idea of your cooperation entirely – lifting you off of your feet without a hint of strain and placing you on edge of the empty desk, positioning himself between your legs. His hands fell to either side of you, caging you between his arms. “I know, pretty girl, I know.”

“And—And, your students seemed so nice, or—uh, energetic, at least. I haven’t talked to anyone other than you in so long, I just didn’t know what to do.”

“I get it, princess. You were always shy like that.”

Shy. You’d never really been shy. Not before he kidnapped you, at least. Not before he took all the things you’d always told yourself that people just didn’t do to each other and done them to you.

Still, you didn’t correct him. “Can we…” You trailed off, shrunk into yourself. “Can we go home, then? I don’t want to—”

His mouth was crashing into yours before you could finish. You jerked back, but one of his hands was already on the back of your neck, keeping you in place while his tongue racked over yours and he moaned shamelessly into your mouth. Just as suddenly as he’d lounged, he drew back, his mouth falling to your throat as his free hand slipped under the skirt of your sundress.

There were a few minor differences between building dread and cold, pointed fear that you’d never noticed, before your time with Satoru – that you still managed to sometimes forget, during the brief calm patches spread throughout the course of your captivity. What you’d felt in the back of his car, that aching pressure that can only ever stand on the precipice of crushing – that was dread, all anticipation and no catharsis, your own mind doing worse things to you than Satoru ever could.

What you felt as the pad of his thumb traced over the length of your slit – that was fear.

“No,” as your hands found his shoulders, nails burrowing down, and then, a second, later, as your eyes found the door you’d come through. “Not here, ‘toru, it’s—Your students, they’re still—”

“You don’t have to worry, pretty girl. I’ve still got an eye on them.” His voice was airy, distant, his words only just audible in the gaps between open-mouthed kisses pressed into the curve of your throat. You could feel his saliva on your skin, the heat of his breath fanning across your jugular. Disgusting. He was disgusting. Disgusting and messy and vulgar and perverted. You were ashamed that you’d ever so much as considered loving him willingly. “I’ll be quick – all you’ve gotta do is sit still and look pretty.”

“But, someone might—” Your voice cut off as he found your clit and pressed down, immediately using too much force and too little care. You jerked forward, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, but Satoru had only ever taken your aversion as a sign to go further, to do more. You could feel him drawing little, quick patterns into the sensitive bud through the thin fabric of your panties, and even worse, you could feel liquid heat beginning to pool in the pit of your stomach, dripping out from the space between your thighs – your own body betraying you when faced with Satoru’s coercion. “Satoru,” you whined, your pleading tone the closest thing to actual anger that he would allow. “Please, I don’t want to do this her—”

He hushed you, the noise soft and definite, and just like that, you gave up on speaking entirely.

Satoru’s impatience was unparalleled, but he’d had time to train your body to keep up with his impulsivity. By the time he pulled your panties to the side, slipping two fingers into your tight entrance, you were already wet, already waiting for something new, something more. “That’s my girl,” Satoru muttered as he slid his ring and middle digits into your dripping cunt, only stopping once he was knuckle-deep. “Always so bratty until you get something inside of you. It was a good thing I found you when I did, before someone else realized just how easy it was to get you all soft n’ pouty.”

His fingers curled upward, scissored apart, and you let out the smallest, weakest possible whimper – quickly cut off by a bubbling, half-choked moan. Your eyes darted to the second door; he’d been decent enough to lock the one you’d come through, but there was another, leading into a hallway that must’ve connected the disparate classrooms. It didn’t have a window, meaning you wouldn’t be able to see if someone walked by, wouldn’t be able to know you’d been caught until it was too late to tell Satoru to stop – not that he’d listen, even if you did. Rather than drown out the feeling of Satoru’s pumping into you, it only seemed to make the sensation of his fingers battering against the walls of your cunt more acute, only seemed to heighten the awful pressure starting to mount in your core. You buried your teeth in your bottom lip, shut your eyes and buried your face that much deeper in his shoulder, but no amount of self-suppression could stifle the slick, lewd noise of his fingers thrusting into you. No amount of self-loathing could convince Satoru to shut up, no matter how strongly you willed him to choke on his own tongue and die.

“I don’t think you were taking me seriously – about the whole engagement thing, I mean.” His voice was airy, almost distant. It was the same way he’d talk to you over breakfast, or when he insisted on resting his head in your lap as he told you about his day and you half-heartedly pretended to listen. “I meant it, y’know. I’ll have to do something more romantic for the actual proposal, but—” He paused, laughed. You felt his lips ghost over your cheek, then the corner of your jaw. “I meant it. Couldn’t stand the idea of putting it off any longer, ‘specially not when I already knew that you were going to say yes.”

Whether he was speaking out of narcissism, cruelness, or genuine delusion, you couldn’t tell. You didn’t want to know. All you could seem to focus on was the terrible heat of his affection, all you could seem to do was whimper through grit teeth as he forced another finger into your hyper-sensitive cunt. “We’ll have to get married, too. I wanna do it as soon as possible – fuck, I wouldn’t mind being able to call you my wife today.” You stiffened, shook your head, and Satoru huffed, amused. “Right, right – gotta pace the good stuff out. That’s why I love you so much, babe. If it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have time to breathe.”

A ragged sob escaped your pursed lips as you came undone around his fingers. He nursed you through your climax, only drawing back after you’d gone limp against him. There was another kiss, this one to the corner of your mouth, before his lips found yours – his touch suddenly gentle, featherlight. Your head fell to his collarbone as he straightened his back, but you were beyond the point of caring. You let your eyes fall entirely closed, sinking into him. At least, if someone walked in now, you’d be able to write it off as Satoru comforting you after a sudden bout of heat exhaustion, or a purely romantic (albeit, uncomfortably intimate) moment between a man and his—

His captive.

You could last a few more days before you fully submitted to the role of his fiancé.

You opened your mouth, unsure as to what you wanted to say but aware that you couldn’t stand to sit in silence for any longer, but anything you might’ve said was swiftly and callously drowned out by the sound of rustling fabric, the weight of a hand on your hip while another positioned Satoru’s now-free cock against your entrance. For a moment, you thought about attempting to shove him away. For a moment, you thought about screaming and hoping someone was close enough to hear you.

Then, he thrust into you, and you couldn’t do anything at all.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #yandere gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #yandere gojo x reader

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notmyneighbor · 2 months

Text

Let Me in ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 3

Word Count ~ 2.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ blood and gore, body horror, character death, minor violence, dubious consent, sexual content

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You sit on the side of the bed that had once belonged to Francis Mosses.

The comforter and top sheet have already been pulled down. You lean over to slide out of your low heeled pumps, tucking the pair of navy leather shoes neatly under the bed.

There’s a bible on the nightstand. A worn looking copy. Beside it a glass with a shallow amount of water resting in the bottom, the remnant of a late night attempt to quench thirst, perhaps.

The doppelgänger watches your movements. How methodical each action is. Slow and deliberate. You’re stalling.

He settles beside you and the mattress creaks as the springs are compressed. That odd sort of shimmer you’d noticed earlier outside the security booth outlines his frame for a brief moment. A surge of light and color as the skin ripples before settling. They still weren’t completely able to disguise what they were. All hope was not lost.

Your own fate, however, seems sealed. You lie down slowly, carefully. You feel as if you are laying yourself to rest in your own coffin. Turning your face ever so slightly to see if there is any trace of the man that had once slept here, some lingering scent or an indent from his face. Nothing but the fragrance of clean linen. The imposter moves as if to join you but you halt him, your fingers closing over his forearm. Your first time touching him and not the other way around. “Take your shoes off.”

The creature snickers, glancing down at the scuffed oxfords he’s wearing. Overdue for a shine. “What possible difference does that make?”

“It’s respectful. You never put your shoes where someone sleeps.”

“He won’t be sleeping here ever again.”

You inhale sharply, wincing. “Please just do it.” You can’t say why you’re so hung up on this. Only that it seems the right thing to do. A small thing in a sea of wrongs that you’re clinging to like a life preserver.

“Fine.” He acquiesces, bending to unlace them. There is no care in his actions. Just brisk, impatient pulls to undo the knotted ties. Then he is lying beside you. Your heads sharing the same pillow. Francis only used a single one, apparently. Preferring to slumber lying with his head and neck rather flat. You always used two fluffy pillows, minimum.

You can hear the sound of music starting to play, emanating from the resident’s apartment next door.

Mia Stone, perhaps. The blonde teacher who was Dr. Afton’s fiancée. You instantly recognize the musical artist crooning through the walls: Billie Holiday.

I say I'll move the mountains

And I'll move the mountains

If he wants them out of the way

You would have loved to play this record for Francis. You envision trying to dance in the cramped space of the living room, twirling around in his arms. “Did he really like my fragrance?” You know the creature could lie, of course. He’d say anything to manipulate you and get what he wanted. But you have to ask. Your heart won’t let you avoid the query.

The dark eyes of the pretender regard you. You detect no malice or dishonesty there. “Yes,” he says simply.

You close your eyes, sighing. “What else did he like about me?”

“Your smile, gifted once you were certain it was really him. The way you covered your mouth when you laugh, making some little relieved joke when you passed his identification and entry request back to him each day. The strands of hair that came loose around your face as the day wore on into late afternoon when he returned from his route. The—”

“—Stop. Please.” Tears well in your eyes. They didn’t sound like the kind of details the deceiver would create on his own. There was a note of truth to them. Genuine recollections. He truly was all that remained of Francis Mosses. A man that had been fond of you. You could have been with him, if only you’d been a little braver.

“You asked me to tell you.”

“I know. It’s just overwhelming.”

Like the wind that shakes the bough

He moves me with a smile

“Your kind is so fond of music. Your milkman was always humming. I don’t see the use for it.”

The your wrenches your heart. He wasn’t yours. Never would be. “It’s a way to expression emotions. When words alone aren’t enough.”

“Hmmm.” He reaches out and you flinch. “Why are you fighting this so hard? This is what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want Francis to die.” You pause, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Why do you want this?”

”Curiosity. An experiment of sorts. There has never been a union between our kind. Not of this nature. A desire to know what it feels like. To see what might result.”

You shudder. An experiment. Using you like some kind of animal for breeding. A mere whim.

He reaches again and this time you force yourself to hold steady, your chin lifting with a short jerk of defiance. Your hair is his goal. Tucking it back behind one ear. Maybe something the milkman had wanted to do. There’s a sudden softness in the doppelgänger’s eyes. As if the human he’d once been was peeking through at you. You find yourself melting again, your defenses coming down.

I say I'll care forever

And I mean forever

He moves closer to you. Inching over across the white fitted sheet. A thumb strokes away one of the tears that has escaped its prison. He captures the other from the opposite cheek, bringing it to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the droplet. “Salt,” he says, recognizing the mineral.

He kisses you.

You’re not sure if it’s better to think of the man you had loved or not. Was it dishonoring his memory or was it a way to keep him present in some vague capacity? There’s no clumsiness this time. He knows the feel of your mouth. The way to shift against you. Tongue mapping past smooth cheeks and dragging along the carpet of muscle at the base of that maw. Maybe it was better to pretend this was Francis after all. You cup the back of his neck, fingers teasing the edges of his milk chocolate tresses. Curling slightly on the ends. It would be time for a trim soon. Would have been. The illusion you’ve created is crumbling again. Your lips falter, your hand dropping away.

Crazy he calls me

Sure, I'm crazy

Crazy in love am I

“Sweetheart,” the invader murmurs, tasting along your jaw, your neck. “I like the way you smell.” Speaking for himself, not Francis. You hear the sharp intake of air. The hand that had been casually laid across your shoulder slides down until it reaches your breast, gently kneading that globe through the layers of your bra and blouse. “Does this feel good?” His voice is octaves lower than you’d ever heard from the milkman. Slightly raspy and sultry, not unlike the singing voice that permeates through the wood and plaster behind the bed. You don’t dare answer, merely whimpering a little and he seems to take this as an affirmative response.

His hand leaves your breast and finds the top button of your shirt. Always sensible, pure white, part of the uniform standard the company requires. Another threaded plastic disc is pushed through the hole. He works his way down until all those that are exposed have surrendered, the remainder still tucked within your skirt. His fingers part the edges of the fabric encasing your torso, peeling them back to reveal the white satin brassiere beneath. He caresses you briefly through this slick material before tucking inside the cup until he brushes across your areola. Your nipple peaks beneath his ministrations as his lips move back to yours. He is surprisingly gentle, lightly pinching and rolling the aroused tissue. Your body betrays you, responding to the creature’s touch. You should be ashamed, disgusted. Instead you find yourself wanting more.

“Off,” he murmurs impatiently, plucking at your bra before his hand departs your chest. You struggle to sit up and he allows it, watching you pull your blouse free from your skirt and unfastening the cuffs before sliding it off your arms. With a swift gesture borne of long practice you easily pinch and release the hook and eye closures resting along the center of your spine, the cups immediately folding down over the underwire, the straps drooping over your shoulders.

The doppelgänger assists you now, sliding the brassiere off the rest of the way, exposing your chest to him. Your cheeks are pink, flushed like the nipples he’s toying with again, his head bending to suckle at one and a lick of flame sears your core. This is part of the invasive species’ learning process, you think. Taste as important as touch. His mouth moving not with the sole purpose of your pleasure in mind, but as a means to explore flavors and textures. Cataloguing. More of humanity’s secrets unveiled.

There is a song you don’t recognize playing next door now. Muffled voices. You’d had no idea the walls were so thin. Francis had never complained.

You’re shoved back down onto the pillow. His mouth wanders, back up to sample a collar bone, the hollow at the base of your throat, then dips in between your breasts and tastes the skin of your abdomen. You wonder if he can detect the floral soap you’d bathed with that morning, the traces of lotion you’d applied during your hygiene routine.

“I like this,” he says, his breath warm on your body. “You’re so soft. Smooth. Not like…I’ve never taken…” It had often been debated if there were sexes in their species. How they propagated. There was still so much unknown. Was there a reason he’d only chosen men to replicate? Was it simply because he was male himself? You could not explain how you knew it, but there was something distinctly masculine about him. Authoritative. Blunter than a woman would be. A lifetime of being raised to respect decorum had been firmly ingrained in you. Society valuing a woman who knows her place. Taught to be demure, deferring to the wisdom and guidance of their male counterparts. Serving and obeying, like you’re doing now.

The imposter returns his attention to your face. Licking your mouth back open. He likes this, you think. All of what you’d shared thus far, but perhaps the kissing best of all.

The background melody silences and you think you detect the front door opening and closing. You wonder if the couple will be going out to an early dinner. Curious when they find there is no one guarding the building. But not alarmed. Not yet.

Your skirt is being lifted, polyester dragged upward after the copycat’s hasty reach downward to gather the hem. Immediately sliding back down, stroking over your exposed thighs that are clad in nylons that stop midway across each of your upper legs. Nothing fancy, just utilitarian features in a shade of nude slightly more tanned than your own complexion. He nudges against the seal you’ve created by pressing your legs close together. “Let me in, sweet girl.” An echo of what he’d said earlier in an attempt to gain access to the building, now seeking entry into you. You feel your limbs parting for him nearly as promptly as you’d opened the door.

The pretender works his way back up to the fork of your body, teasing along the crotch of the white panties. You gasp and he smiles against your lips. His palm drags over the fabric until his fingers find the elastic waistband and he dips beneath it, running overly the neatly trimmed hair on your pubic mound, following the curve of that padded flesh until your sex is palpated.

Another gasp and a moan escapes you. “So wet,” he remarks, fondling the pink lips, parting the petals with his middle finger to slide through the slick arousal your body is creating, working the lubricant up and down, passing over the hooded nub and then delving back towards your entrance, where more fluid escapes.

It feels good and yet it doesn’t, his fingers too rough and just shy of where you need him. You squirm and wince at the harsh handling of your clitoris and he pauses, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Show me. Show me how you like to be touched.”

You reach down cautiously, guiding his fingers to one side of your sensitive bud, lightly pressing and rolling a fingertip so that your clit is ground slightly against the bone beneath. Alternating now, reaching back down to gather more of your slick before spreading it over that hooded button, a few direct strokes applied before beginning the process again. He replicates your actions and your body responds immediately, a hum of pleasure heating you. You close your eyes and you think of the milkman, the real one, with his kind smile and his tired eyes.

“Francis.” The name escapes your lips and you freeze, the rocking motion of your hips against the imposter’s hand abruptly ceasing. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Alarmed by how easily you’d allowed yourself to give in to the desire, accommodating this make believe passion.

“It’s alright, love. It’s me. I’m here.” His tongue laps at your ear, at the sensitive patch of skin behind it. You shiver and resume grinding against his fingers, letting yourself be deluded once more, your hand curling over his forearm.

“Francis,” you say again, hoping he can forgive you, in whatever form he now occupies, if he is saved as his faith professes he would be, finding redemption and peace, somewhere far from your sinning body that writhes in pleasure from his murderer’s touch.

You push against his hand and he allows it, applying force against the hollow cavity that leads to your womb. “Let me in,” he breathes, and you feel a finger invading your body, shoving through the narrow confines of that muscular tunnel. Withdrawing and spearing again, the digit saturated with your arousal. You moan and lift your pelvis to meet him. Curling inside, massaging that dip of spongy tissue. Crooking each time he enters as if he is leading you forward, beckoning, his thumb drawing circles over your clit. You feel as if you’re on the edge of a chasm, teetering on the rim, about to drop forward into heat and darkness. Keening now. Thighs tremoring violently. Your face turns and your teeth sink into the pillow. “There you go, love. Give it to me. Give in to me.”

The coiling pressure within you snaps and you find release at last, the fabric clenched in your teeth doing little to muffle the sound of your orgasm. You’re drenched in sweat, the aftershocks of your appeased nerves still sizzling through you. The doppelgänger cradles you through all of it, holding you as you ride the waves that exhaust your limbs, making you feel boneless and limp.

“Francis.” It’s a yearning plea, a futile prayer, answered by the thing that is not him, but masquerades as such, crooning to you, whispering false promises, draping you in synthetic affection, a lie you want so desperately to believe.

#thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #francis mosses x you #francis mosses x reader #milkman x you #milkman x reader #doppelgänger

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theeveninghour · 2 months

Text

All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby!

WC: 16.1k ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things.

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it.

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo.

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour.

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous.

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return.

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into.

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed.

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal.

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee.

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit. But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.”

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys�� arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone.

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure.

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else.

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.”

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove.

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully.

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire.

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.”

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone.

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked..

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it.

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift.

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief.

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes.

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance.

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment.

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed.

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon.

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate.

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room.

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees.

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction.

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension.

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel.

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again.

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.” He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on.

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind.

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind.

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.”

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way.

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.”

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you.

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment.

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up.

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive.

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily.

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features.

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed.

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness.

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight.

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple.

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up.

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here.

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed.

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose.

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred.

Shit.

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky.

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed.

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead.

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting.

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit.

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared.

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand?

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles.

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt.

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head.

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently.

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming.

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound.

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago.

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate.

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you.

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode.

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian.

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded.

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try.

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you.

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives.

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens.

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook.

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him.

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!”

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered.

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.”

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back.

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home.

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body.

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you.

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.”

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically.

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now.

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.”

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly.

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained.

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently.

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own.

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.”

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life.

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male.

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time.

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.”

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit. You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly.

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action.

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee.

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly.

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off.

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.”

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading.

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin.

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth.

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven.

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier.

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.”

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed.

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.”

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile.

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested.

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you.

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love.��

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.”

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core.

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh.

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations.

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh.

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket.

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself.

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back.

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch.

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off.

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up.

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed.

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest.

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked.

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder.

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there.

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt.

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest.

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours.

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf.

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I��m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm.

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard.

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.”

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked.

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versadies · 2 months

Text

MY LOVE, MINE, ALL MINE (various x gn!reader)

SALUTATIONS. my love, mine, all mine

ADDRESSED. neuvillette, alhaitham, capitano, diluc, itto, tartaglia, kaveh, kaeya (x gn!reader)

STAMPS. what body part they kiss the most (sfw)

CONTENT. ooc (?), fluff/no-angst, established relationships, possibly cheesy (not sorry), possible grammar errors, mentions of battle, mentions of blood (capitano, childe)

POST-SCRIPT. all these characters are nothing but pokemons to me, i see one, i'll collect one in game. part two will come soon (with zhongli, wriothesley, ayato, thoma, pierro, and pantalone!)

LINKS. masterlist / taglist / part two

HANDS – Neuvillette, Alhaitham, Capitano, Diluc

NEUVILLETTE kisses your knuckles the most. To him, he believes that kissing you on the lips is far too intimate to be seen in public, preferring to do it in closed doors where it’s just the two of you alone, and so he often kisses your knuckles whenever he can.

Whenever he does, one of his glove-covered hands would reach towards yours before lifting it to his lips, kissing each knuckle with care as though your hand is a delicate treasure, as if every kiss is a promise that he’ll hold your heart with care and unwavering devotion.

It doesn’t help that you often find your cheeks warming up when his intense violet-shaded eyes look at yours, and no words were enough for you to explain the connection that you both have from just a simple stare.

By the time he pulls away from your hand, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

“Oh, do you have a fever, my dear?” He asks worriedly, removing one of his gloves to check on the temperature of your forehead after kissing your knuckles out of nowhere while the two of you were lounging on the couch in his office. “Fret not, I can make something that can ease your fever away.” He adds, before standing up and rushes away to make a drink that will help you ease yourself, unaware that he’s the reason for your flustered state.

Ah, the things you’d do for this sweet man of yours.

The same goes for ALHAITHAM when it comes to kissing you in public. He believes that the two of you kissing on each other’s lips should be private with no one to ruin it or spoil the intimacy, and so you often find him kissing you in other parts instead – specifically, your hands or cheeks.

It’s rare for him to kiss you in public since he’s not much of a PDA man, but when he does, it happens at a quiet or secluded moment when the world seems to be muted around you two. When Alhaitham finds himself staring at you for too long, he couldn’t help but smoothly put his hand on top of yours, and raises your hand towards his lips to kiss it.

His turquoise-shaded eyes stay on yours when you look at him, never looking away as you feel his lips on your skin, bringing chills to your spine from the feeling. The way he stares at you is as if he knows your deepest secrets and desires, and knows what sets you off to make your knees become jelly-like.

It doesn’t help that he’d casually act as if nothing happened after, as if it’s just a casual thing to do (it is, to him), leaving you staring at him with your mouth agape.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” He asks, hiding a small smirk as he glances at you.

He definitely knows what he’s doing.

CAPITANO is a strong man with a physique that could make anyone intimidated – both vision-holders and non-vision holders alike. It’s no doubt that such a powerful man like him would most likely be found in numerous battlefields, bringing the Tsaritsa many victories that she deserves.

So it’s a strange sight to see said strong man on one knee, holding your hand as he gives it an affectionate kiss. He does it in a way that’s as though you’re a deity worth worshiping. He’s a captain by others, but to you, he’s your knight in shining armor (that’s corrupted by bloodshed and death, but we don’t talk about that here).

You cannot see the expression he makes, but the way he kisses your hand is enough for you to know how much this man, who had killed so many and left no mercy to his opponents, is soft and caring for you. He kisses with care, as if afraid that you’ll shatter if he doesn’t control his strength.

It became a custom for him to be on one knee and kiss your hand whenever he comes home to you from another mission – which is perhaps more often than you both like to admit. Despite your insistence that he doesn’t have to do such things, he does it anyway. In a way, it’s his way of apologizing to you for the lost time, and will do anything to make it up to you.

And he always did, with gifts, comfort, and of course, love.

“I’m home, my love.” He spoke, with a hint of affection in his gruff voice that usually holds so much authority, kissing your hand tenderly.

DILUC is a gentleman by heart, and although he’s seen as the epitome of perfection around Mondstadt, he is seen indoors as a vulnerable man who you dearly care for. For so long, the two of you have found comfort and love within one another in the dimly lit room that you both share in the manor. He’s your warmth, and you’re his pillar.

In private, where no one could see underneath the aloof and courteous man but you, he’d tiredly wrap his arms around you as he sighed in contentment. It’s normal for a man such as him to be so tired from work, so tired from his duties, and so tired from everything outside of his manor, but he is never tired of you, his beloved spouse who he treasures. He’s a zealous soul who cares not for wealth and materialism, but for the people of Mondstadt and the ones he loves.

Your hand is often intertwined with his, and he’d bring up your hand up to his lips in the quiet moments of your shared intimacy. To him, your hand is a canvas that he paints with his deep affection and adoration.

You couldn’t help but soften up as a result, feeling cherished and loved by your beloved man who never fails to make you swoon.

For Diluc, kissing your hand is more than some simple intimate gesture, but rather a way to honor your pure essence – to show you how grateful he is to have you who has captured his soul in a tight grip that he never wants to leave from. And so, he continues to kiss your hand more, each a testament with a silent vow to love you throughout your lives together.

“A-Ah.. My bad,” He clears his throat, his ears turning almost as red as his hair, “It seems I almost got carried away.”

LIPS – Itto, Tartaglia, Kaveh, Kaeya

ITTO is a kind soul at heart, with a fiery passion when it comes to his loved ones – specifically, and with no certain favoritism, you. The oni is not one to shy away from showing you how much he loves you with all of his huge heart, so expect lots of kisses from him!

The most prominent part that he kisses is of course, your lips.

For Itto, there is no greater joy than the taste of your lips, each kiss contains joy and love on his end. With his endless energy and passionate spirit, he approached each kiss and affection with an infectious enthusiasm, eager to lose himself in the overwhelming warmth of your presence and affection.

In the sweetness of your kiss, he finds it much better than the feeling of sweet victory from a beetle battle, and he couldn’t find himself to remove the pleased grin on his face whenever he gets a kiss from you.

It’s as if your lips is a magnetic force to his, as he never hesitates to kiss you whenever he could – be it whenever he greets you, whenever he wins a battle, basically every moment with him (a bit of an exaggeration really, but you get what I mean!).

“My boo boo bear!” He cheers when he sees you in his vision, running up towards you as he instantly gives you a bone-crushing hug, lifting you up with his immense strength regardless of your weight. “I missed you! How was your day?” He asks excitedly, giving you a big smooch! on your lips.

CHILDE is just as fun as Itto – if you excuse his battlelust, of course. Besides his need for an activity or someone to fight with, the prowess fighter is not shy when it comes to giving you what he believes you deserve, which is giving you his undying affection.

He’s an infectious man, who leeches off to your kisses and hugs. He’s a fighter by spirit, but a lover by heart. He’s attentive to your needs, very willing to give you tons of kisses if you ask for it. Of course, even if you didn’t, he’d snatch a kiss or two from you without you expecting it.

His love is like an unforgiving ocean, often wild and untamed, yet it comes with a fierce and unrelenting passion. In moments between the two of you, he seeks to plant his lips on yours, as though your kiss is a battlefield conquered by him, a well-done victory even.

With each kiss on your lips is a vow, a vow that he’ll see to it that he gets to see the light of day after every battle, to see you by the end of the tunnel and show you that you won’t lose him that easily. For in your presence, he found his salvation, the arm that reaches out to him to pull him out of the abyss he’s in, guiding him out of the unforgiving ocean that seems to drown him whole.

And so, he’ll never stop kissing you, regardless of where you are and the circumstances.

“Were you watching me?” He asks eagerly, running up to you before planting a kiss on your lips, his hands that are scarred from the numerous weapons he held and the battles he fought in find themselves cupping your cheeks.

When he pulls away, he looks at your eyes with a cheeky grin. “I did great, didn’t I?”

Known for his works and talent, KAVEH is no doubt a respectable man around the land of wisdom and scholars. Many would sing praises to his masterpieces and his original ideas that bring potential to Sumeru. As what a certain scribe would describe him, he is the light of Kshahrewar and a master builder and craftsman.

However, such a bright reputation hides a man whose heart is tender and emotionally fragile, with too much on his plate. Which is why he is ever so grateful to have you by his side through it all.

For every affection the two of you share, Kaveh feels like the luckiest man in all of Sumeru – no, in Teyvat even. He doesn’t feel like he deserves you, a person who loves him for all that he is. With you, he feels cherished and appreciated even, and you balance his emotional fragility with your presence that seems so encouraging and comforting.

He seeks refuge in your affection, often cupping your cheeks and giving you a kiss. His kisses are frequent, and his lips often find themselves on yours. Each of his kiss is full of love, and there’s no doubt that there seems a desperation laced in it, as if he’s scared that this kiss is his last, and you might be gone before he knew it – just like his loved ones.

Yet, in the softness of your lips, he found reassurance. He’s reminded that amidst the struggles of his life, your relationship remains timeless and true. Just like how he does with his work, he pours his heart and soul into your relationship together, cherishing the bond that you both have towards one another with tenderness.

“Thank you.” He said, kissing you on your lips with a look that threatens to crumble. “I know I’ve said it too many times, but I can’t help myself. I really am grateful.”

When you ask for what he’s thanking you for, he could only give you a smile, a sight that shines far brighter than the sun itself.

“Thank you for staying.”

You’d be lying if you said you’ve always thought you’d end up dating the notorious Cavalry Captain, who is more than often a flirtatious man whenever you’re around. KAEYA is not one who shies away from something, and if it means reminding you every now and then that he’s into you, then so be it!

Every waking moment with Kaeya is a thrilling challenge, and you two often find yourselves in a dance of wits and flirts, with a few glasses of wine and other drinks that the tavern sells. The two of you know how to push the other’s buttons, often playing banters and all. Even when you two are now dating, things are still the same – besides the fact that the two of you are free to kiss one another and often crash at each other’s places.

Yet underneath such playful flirting and bantering, there’s a deep and abiding connection between the two of you that remains unspoken but welcomed.

Unsurprisingly, Kaeya finds home in your lips. To him, it just felt right. Sure, he likes to kiss your hands and cheeks, but it’s a different story when it comes to your lips. For him, stealing a kiss on your lips is not just an ordinary gesture of affection, but rather a declaration of his unwavering love for you.

And so, more often than not, he prefers kissing you more on your lips.

With a teasing look and smirk on his face, he’d pull you close towards him without warning, his lips finding yours with an urgency that left you both breathless. There’s often laughter and desire lingering around the privacy of your bedroom, and it was a safe sanctuary that Kaeya finds comfort in.

His laughter would fade into a whisper of “I love you”’s as he traces his cold fingertips on your face that he loves to see at every waking moment. He cherished these kinds of moments, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t spend each one as if it’s his last. And so, he continues to give you more kisses to drown your sweet laughter, for in your warmth and embrace, he could only find his great happiness and peace.

“Come on, give me another one.” He chuckles, urging you to let him give you one more kiss before the two of you can sleep in each other’s arms. “Just one more kiss, I promise.”

PENPALS. @scaraslover @saving-for-xiao @dawgimsohot @ragnvdnr @chiruru @aqualesha @renamichii @mrkamisato @shenhesl0ver @serami00 @serenareiss @hiqhkey @emperatris-rinaka @bystander36 @irisxiel @ladycoleigh @034ven @dear-dairiess @owozi8 @hadesaedes @chiro-chiro-kun @hersscherofyatta @mariusvonhangme @yuzuricebun @nejibot @hoshikistarlette @solaaresque @crowbird @lordbugs @flowersforayato @headintheclouddd @estelwrld @giyusimpsassemble @irethepotatosblog @moonlightaangel @alice0blog @shotosbrainrot @sniffoat @chihawari @mxsomn @kuni-kuzushii @jiminscarmex @mitsukii14 @ylimeprive @sachispet @loreleis-world @sn-owo @starforecasts @someonetookmynamelmao @ceylestia @astrequa @ymikkos @reallysporadicarcade @melodyyamino @dudufodd @somberrock @yevenly @lemontum @nghing @shaiah @miss-lady-witch @yashe @imkaaayy @badlywrittens @0rah-s @totallynotaraidensimp @garlicforthewin

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leclerced · 4 months

Text

my girl | op81 cs55

summary: mafia!oscar is possessive over his best friend who he hasn’t seen in months due to his work. he has to step in when a rival tries to ignore his city wide ban on her. inspired by this brainrot from j about mafia oscar

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. possessive oscar, degradation, carlos being tied up, reader getting fucked in front of carlos, mentions of violence (its a mafia au what do you expect?) unprotected sex, marking, etc.

author’s note: will eventually write about them talking. but wanted to post and am too tired. this is 7.7k worth of smut. please let me know what you think 🫶🏻

Carlos has always known about the protective order, it’s part of what makes the chase so fun. He’d seen her around town and asked about her and his men told him she was off limits, deemed so by the leader of his rival gang. Many told him they’d tried hitting on her and were later threatened by someone to stay away from her, usually when they went for a drink or a piss. Carlos wants to laugh at the idea of someone scaring his men away from a woman, but then someone says they know people have been beaten half to death for getting too handsy in a club, people who disappeared when they didn’t listen to the warnings.

Carlos is the one she’s dancing with when Oscar finds them, Lando had pointed out her presence in his club when she arrived and he’d been searching for her. It would have been preferable to find her with anyone except his rival, but there she was, in a slinky black dress with her arms around his neck and his thigh slotted between hers. He’s sure his rival is here just to bother him, but he has a rule where no business is conducted on club grounds, so if Carlos is just here to party, he won’t start trouble. But this- he knows Carlos knows that she’s off limits by his own word. He can’t help the way his possessive side comes out when she sees her grinding against his rival.

Oscar doesn’t think twice before he sandwiches her between them, his hands resting over Carlos’s and the man’s eyes flutter open. He grins wickedly at Oscar, the very man who has a do not touch order on the woman he is very much touching right now. Carlos pulls her closer and presses his thigh up and she whimpers, her head falling back to rest on the shoulder of the new body behind her when the smell of his cologne hits her. It makes sense why the touch felt so familiar, why she felt so comfortable when a stranger joined them. Oscar.

She would have frozen if Carlos wasn’t guiding her body with his, she suddenly feels exposed as her best friend trails his hands down her hips. Suddenly, he tugs her back against him and at the same time, he pushes Carlos’s leg away and replaces it with his own. “Really? Didn’t think you think you had it in you to be riding a thigh in the back of some club.” The alcohol coursing through her veins prevents her from thinking clearly enough to remember he’s her best friend and best friends don’t do this; ban others from touching them and then interrupt their would be hookup, but it feels so natural she doesn’t think twice about rocking her hips down on his thigh.

His lips brush against the shell of her ear and he feels his rival try to guide her body back to his but he tightens his grip and holds her to his chest. “Don’t fucking think about it, Sainz.” Her mind splinters as she realizes they know each other, that Carlos definitely knows about the rule she didn’t know about until a few nights before when one of her best friend’s new buddies told her of it. She wants to ask him where he went, where he’s been for the past six months, but he presses his thigh into her pussy and she can’t do anything but gasp. She can feel him smirk as he rocks his body against hers, and she leans into him unconsciously.

His next words send a shiver down her spine, “Were you planning on taking her home?” Carlos nods and her stomach tightens, pussy fluttering at the thought. Oscar’s fingers twitch against her hips and he presses her down against his thigh. She lets out a moan as her clit rubs his thigh and he asks her, “You think he could make you cum? Is that why you’re here tonight, looking to get fucked?” She can’t help but nod, her hands tugging Carlos’s hair as she rolls her hips against Oscar’s thigh desperately. Carlos tries once again to pull her back to him and Oscar snaps, “You’re in my fucking club, Sainz, remember that. My girl, my club.” His sharp tone causes Carlos to stop pulling on her. He’s never called her his girl before and it makes her moan embarrassingly, in shock and satisfaction at hearing the words she’s always longed to hear. Oscar directs his next words to her, “Did you know that, doll? You came to my club, looking for cock.” She gasps at his words, wondering how her childhood friend could own a club, but he doesn’t give her time to ask for clarification before one of his hands slips between her thighs and presses against her panties. “You came to the right place, baby, I’ll give you what you want.” She grinds against his hand as Carlos glares at them, her eyes lock with his and she can see the hatred burning in them as her lips part in a moan when Oscar’s fingers slide her panties to the side and find her clit easily.

She doesn’t know where he’s been, what happened to him, hadn’t heard from him other than occasional texts or flower deliveries. She doesn’t think this is her Oscar, the sweet boy who picked daisies for her on the playground, or the one who makes her soup when she’s sick. No, this is someone she doesn’t know. This is an Oscar she hasn’t met before, one who bans a city of men from dating her because she’s his. One who owns clubs and claims her like this in them. She wants to know where her Oscar went, but she doesn’t want this Oscar to leave her. She’s drunk on him, soaking in the feeling of his middle finger swirling around her clit as his lips begin working at a mark on the side of her throat. Her head lobs to the side, and his lips drift further south. It’s like he’s searching for something when he pulls her hair back and ghosts his lips over the nape of her neck. Then he’s whispering in her ear, “Where is it?”

Her mind spins with confusion and she mumbles, “What?”

He nips at the lobe of her ear then growls, “The necklace. Where. Is. It?”

She shivers at his tone and one of her hands leaves Carlos’s neck to reach for the bare spot on her chest, where his initials have hung for years, but finds nothing. She almost panics before she remembers how she specifically took it off, not wanting his initials branding her when she went out looking for another man tonight. She doesn’t have to say it. He knows, and it makes him angry. The fact that she’s worn that necklace every day since he gifted it to her, but chose tonight to take it off. He bites her throat, really bites it, she think there might be a bruise tomorrow in the shape of his teeth, but the thought turns her on instead of angering it the way it should. The possessive gnash of his teeth on her flesh hurts, digging in enough that the momentary pleasure turns to pain and she’s clamping her thighs around his and whimpering.

Carlos watches the act, doesn’t know what Oscar whispers to her, but he sees his lips move, feels her hand leave his hair and meet her blank chest, lips parting in a silent gasp. Then Oscar’s giving Carlos a look that should scare him, as he sinks his teeth into her flesh. Her eyes flutter shut and he sees a grimace of pain on her face as Oscar releases his hold. Then, he bares his teeth at Carlos as he slides the strap of her dress down before sinking his teeth into her shoulder, and her other hand leaves Carlos to reach and tangle into Oscar’s hair. When he releases the second bite, he grunts, “We’re leaving.” He says it to Carlos, and something about it tells him to follow, that Oscar wants him to follow. She looks at Oscar like she’s in love, turning her head to him and brushing her nose against his cheek affectionately.

She’s not expecting Carlos to follow them or Oscar to let him follow and climb into the backseat while Oscar opens the passenger door and ushers her in. He even buckles her in, pressing a kiss to her hand before he ducks out of the car and shuts the door before rounding the car and climbing into the driver’s seat. She assumes they’re going to Oscar’s, she isn't sure where that is anymore, she tried going to visit and it was up for rent, and he didn’t return her texts to hang out. It sends a pang of hurt to her heart, the way he’s ignored her for months, and the anger she should have felt earlier begins to set in as she realizes he’s been ignoring her until he saw her with another man. He seems to sense her unease and rests and hand on her knee, she wishes it didn’t, but his touch immediately relaxes her and the thoughts fade away.

Instead of Oscar’s mysterious new place, she finds herself recognizing the route back to her apartment. She stays silent the entire ride, wondering what Oscar’s planning in his head. Once they make it inside her apartment, Oscar grabs a dining chair and begins walking towards her bedroom, so she follows him, Carlos in tow. Oscar sets the chair in front of the bed and she waits behind it, Carlos by her side, as he begins looking through her dresser. A moment later, he pulls out a tie, an old one either he or an ex left behind. “Sit, Sainz.”

The older man rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest, “Like hell you’re tying me up.”

Oscar glares at him through the vanity mirror as he begins searching through the jewelry box on top, “Sit down, or get the fuck out.” She glances between them and Carlos looks at her, probably expecting her to speak out for him, but she does nothing. He sits. Oscar turns a moment later, a gold chain in one hand and the tie in the other. She recognizes it instantly, and her hand drifts back up to the space just under her collar bone where the gold letters always sit. He doesn’t have to ask her to lift her hair when he moves behind her, she does it automatically and he clasps his initials around her neck like a collar, brushing his fingers over the still darkening teeth marks on her skin. He nudges her aside and crouches behind Carlos, tugging his arms behind the chair and tying his wrists together. Carlos instinctively tries to pull his arms away when Oscar finishes to test the knot, but it holds. Oscar pats his shoulder as he stands and mockingly says, “Good boy. Now stay.”

The order makes Carlos see red, and he begins to react, to jerk up and out of the chair and smash his fist into Oscar’s jaw, but the knot fights his strength and the position he’d tied in holds him back against the chair so he can’t even stand up. He slumps back after a moment of writhing, Oscar’s hand burning a hole through his shirt. He realizes then he’s about to be made to watch them fuck, not partake like he’d foolishly thought at the club. He should have known, should have let them leave and found someone else to sink his cock into.

He can hear lips smacking and then they’re in his side view as Oscar pushes her towards the bed. His cock twitches in his jeans as he watches Oscar unravel her with a kiss, her hands grasping at his shirt to pull him closer as she pushes herself up on her toes to kiss him harder, moaning into his mouth. He can feel his heart pumping faster, can feel the blood pumping through his entire body as he fights the restraints. Oscar easily lifts her onto the bed and her legs wrap around him automatically, grinding her pelvis against his and she moans again. It’s easily the hottest thing he’s ever seen, he can tell Oscar is putting his all into the kiss and she’s taking it all and giving herself to him. He’s never wanted to be anyone other than himself, but in this moment be would kill to be Oscar.

The instant Oscar’s lips are on hers, the man she met earlier in the night vanished from memory. She can’t get enough of him, if she thought his lips on her neck earlier felt good, this was euphoric. He keeps biting her lip too, nipping and sucking at them before slipping his tongue back into her mouth. She’s never been kissed so good before, she never wants to stop kissing him. Then he pulls away, tugs her lower lip between his teeth before letting it smack against her upper lip and diving in for another sweltering kiss. She can feel how wet she is in her panties, the feeling of soaking fabric would be annoying if the ridge of his cock wasn’t pressed against her. She wondered if she was soaking through his jeans with how wet she was, if he could feel how hot she was for him down there.

It’s as if he can read her mind, his hands on her hips pull her closer and he grinds his hips against hers as he pulls back from the kiss. He brings one hand up to curl around the dainty letters hanging at her throat and she imagines him twisting the chain around his fist to choke her with it. The image makes her whimper and she looks up at him, awaiting.. something. Oscar licks his lips, can taste her strawberry lip balm on his own lips, the same one she’s used since she found it a decade ago and hailed it as her personal holy grail. He knows the taste well from having borrowed it over the years, but it’s much better coming from her own lips. He keeps the chain hanging from a finger as he lifts his hand to her jaw and squeezes lightly, “Open.” She blinks slowly at him and it reminds him of her cat, he wonders where it is, he didn’t notice the orange pest when he walked in, and then forgets about it again as her jaw falls open and she blinks at him again, just as slowly as before. He leans down over her and gathers saliva in his mouth before spitting onto her awaiting tongue. She flinches as he spits but doesn’t close her mouth, just blinks a few times in quick succession as her cunt throbs with need. She’d expected him to press the necklace into her mouth, not spit. She’s too turned on by the possessive act to be grossed out, and then he tells her to swallow it and she can’t help but moan as he presses her jaw closed for her.

Carlos has never heard something so erotic as the sound that leaves her when she swallows Oscar’s spit. The sound is so needy, he can feel precum dribble out of his cock as he squeezes his eyes shut and imagines she’s making that sound for him. He opens his eyes again when he hears her gasp and finds Oscar on his knees between her legs. She’s blushing and staring right at Carlos like she’s forgotten about him in the time that Oscar was kissing her. He clenches his jaw then teases, “Forget I was here? You look surprised to see me.”

Oscar laughs from his place between her thighs, “Haven’t even touched you yet, and I’m all you can think about, hm? I told you she was my girl, Sainz.” Carlos growls at the words but doesn’t deny them. Neither does she. There’s no point, not when her cheeks flush more at his words and she looks down at him fondly as she pushes his hair back off his forehead, leaving her hands curled in his hair. He watches as Oscar leans into her touch momentarily, imagines he’s letting his eyes flutter shut as he relaxes into her. Then, his hands are on her legs and he’s pressing a kiss to her knee before stands back up. He tugs at them hem of her dress, and she lifts her hips so he can pull it up. She automatically raises her hands above her head so he can lift it off, then lets her hands fall to his chest as he drops the dress behind him on the floor, his hands finding new purchase on her thighs. They teasingly slide up until they meet her panties and he hooks his fingers into them and tugs. She lifts her hips again so he can pull them down her legs. He kneels like before, pressing her legs apart so he can fit between them. Her hands find his hair again, running through it before stopping halfway through and resting on the crown of his head.

Her eyes meet Carlos’s again, briefly, before he looks down to take in how bare she is. The gold letters glint at Carlos as his eyes rake down her body. They’re the only thing remaining on her, marked with bite marks on either side of the gold chain and a hickey further up her throat. Her tits are as nice as he imagined, as plump as they looked in her dress. He wishes he could touch them, kiss them. Disappointingly, Oscar’s blocking the view of her pussy with his head.

Oscar’s lips find her thigh and he begins trailing kisses up her thighs until he meets her center, her hips unconsciously shift to meet his mouth. She keeps her eyes on him as he sucks his lower lip between his teeth and brings his hands up to part her lips. He groans at the sight, and his warm breath against her makes her shiver. He lets his lower lip fall free as he leans forward and presses his lips to her swollen clit. The action makes her stomach twitch and she whines, pressing her hips forwards again for more contact. He pulls back and she huffs impatiently, but before she can complain he leans back in and flattens his tongue against her, licking from her entrance to her clit before sucking the bud between his lips.

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth as she lets out a moan and Carlos groans, wishing he was the one tasting her. Her hands leave Oscar’s hair to press into the sheets and her head falls back between her shoulders as a louder moan spills from her lips. He tries again to slip out of the tie around his wrists, but doesn’t feel it give, doesn’t hear the fabric begin to tear. The skin around his wrists is sore already from his attempts to get out, he doesn’t know what will happen if he does get out, but he needs to touch her like Oscar is. She looks delectable as Oscar pushes her legs up to rest on his shoulders and nuzzles his face into her pussy. She arches her back as she falls back on the bed, catching herself on her elbows at the last minute. Her hands find her tits and she whines blissfully. Carlos watches as she pinches and tugs at her nipples while grinding her hips against Oscar’s face, her brows scrunching and lips parting each time a moan slips out. He would do anything to touch her right now, he can’t think straight because of how good she looks. His mouth is watering, he keeps licking his lips and swallowing down the spit that gathers in his mouth. It’s unfair. Carlos has never been more turned on his life, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Oscar moans against her pussy, he’s never tasted something so good in his life. This is where he’s meant to be, between his best friend’s legs with his tongue fucking inside of her. She sounds like an angel above him, whimpering his name and grinding on his face. When he flutters his eyes open and looks up at her, he’s blessed with the sight of her glossy eyes staring back at him. Her perky nipples are pinched between her fingers and she twists them as he moans against her again. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment as her head tips back and she moans, but then she licks her lips as she reopens them and cries, “Feels so good Osc, ‘m so close.”

He really can’t help but moan again as she clenches around his tongue and he shakes his head to the side, his nose bumping her clit. He suddenly pulls his tongue from her hole and he licks flat up to her clit before mumbling, “Cum for me.” At the same time, he slips two fingers into her entrance and curls them. He reattaches his lips to her clit and sucks softly, gently nipping it with his teeth. He’s rewarded by her thighs clamping around his head and a warm gush around his fingers as she moans sweetly.

Carlos can hear the slick squelching noises coming from Oscar’s fingers in her as she cums, mixed with the sounds of their moans. He wants to mock Oscar for moaning into her pussy, but knows he’d be doing the same in his position. He can’t believe he’s fucking drooling watching his rival eat the object of his fantasies out. At this point, if Oscar told him he could touch her if he begged, he’d get on his hands and knees and kiss the floor at his feet for a chance at tasting the nectar between her thighs.

Oscar doesn’t stop lapping at her pussy until her thighs relax around him, then he suddenly releases his hold and kisses his way up her body. A moment later, his wet hand is grabbing her jaw and pulling her in for a hot kiss. Oscar’s hips grind against her’s as he kisses her, licking into her mouth as he moans. She can feel her pussy clenching around nothing as his cock rubs against her through his jeans. She detaches her right hand from her now sore nipple and drags it down his chest to slip under his shirt and press to his abdomen. “Fuck me, please, Oscar.” She pulls back from the kiss and whines, rubbing her nose against his softly.

He grins and stands to look back to Carlos. He looks angry and turned on, Oscar can see his cock hard in his jeans, and can feel the anger radiating off of him. He can’t help but tease, “You look fucked.”

Carlos snarls at him and tries to fight the restraints again and Oscar laughs. Laughs. He looks fucking gleeful, his slick mouth opening wide as he squeezes his eyes shut, his head falling back. Carlos tries to stand and can’t, and it makes Oscar laugh harder. Then, suddenly he goes quiet and his face softens, but he looks at Carlos with pity, not fondness. “Be good, and I might let you cum.” The idea that Oscar has any control over Carlos makes his stomach twist, and he spits at Oscar. It lands on his shirt and the older man smirks. The younger man returns it and leaves his place between her legs and grabs Carlos’s jaw. He can taste her on Oscar’s fingers when he squeezes his jaw and shoves two inside.

Carlos gags as they hit the back of his throat and pants, his tongue unwillingly pressing out. Oscar smirks as he spreads his fingers and forces Carlos’s mouth wider, then spits on his tongue. Anger flares through Carlos and he tries to yank his arms free, tries to jerk his face out of Oscar’s hold, but it only hurts his wrists and forces Oscar’s fingers back into his throat. He hears her gasp behind Oscar and feels humiliated at the thought of her witnessing this.

Oscar groans at the feeling of his fingers spreading his spit over Carlos’s tongue. “Can you taste her? Does she taste good?” He’s surprised the older man isn’t biting his fingers off when they press into his throat and he fucks them into it twice. He retracts them at the idea and the man’s mouth snaps shut, he can feel his jaw tensing under his fingers as he grits his teeth and swallows. He lifts his knee and presses it into the man’s crotch, softly, and is rewarded with his eyes fluttering shut and his head tipping back as his jaw relaxes and his lips part. Then he seems to catch himself and his eyes jerk open and he kicks Oscar away with a grunt.

Oscar releases his hold and turns back to find she’s made herself at home in the pillows. He strips himself quickly before joining her on the bed, grabbing her ankles and pulling her to the center. She lets out a surprised squeal and his stomach flutters at the grin that briefly takes over her face. He trails his hands up her legs and taps at her thighs. “Sit up for me.” His voice is soft and she instantly follows the command. She pushes herself up with her elbows, then hands, and tucks her knees under her as he slips behind her.

As soon as he moves, she locks eyes with Carlos and her entire body flushes as she takes in the way he looks. She can see his chest rapidly rising and falling, can hear the pants falling from his lips as he stares at them. He’s not glaring anymore, his eyes have glazed over and he just looks starved. Or fucked, as Oscar said. He meets her eye and she almost wants to ask Oscar to take pity on him and untie him, but then he’s lifting her hips and she can feel his cock against her ass. She wishes she had taken a look at it when he was in front of her, but she was too preoccupied thinking about her best friend spitting in Carlos’s mind. She breaks eye contact with Carlos to look down as Oscar’s hand sides from her hip to between her legs and watches as he swirls them around her clit before slipping two back inside.

Carlos finds himself following her gaze down and is met by the sight of Oscar’s fingers dipping inside of her. He looks back up to catch her reaction and finds she’s tipping her head back on Oscar’s shoulder as she gasps. He watches as she lifts a hand to curl it in Oscar’s hair behind her, to pull him impossibly closer. Her other hand wraps around his wrist to keep it between her thighs. He can feel Oscar staring at him and he meets the boy’s eyes.

Oscar curls his fingers as Carlos looks at him and she whines. “She’s so pretty, yeah? See why I won’t let anyone else touch her?” Carlos nods stupidly, he wouldn’t let anyone touch her either. Oscar smiles a little as he continues, “Haven’t done this before, y’know?” He presses a kiss to her neck and she sighs, tilting her head to the side to give him more room but he leaves it at one chaste kiss. “She’s so perfect, I didn’t wanna ruin her.”

She arches her back and presses her hips down on his hand, his fingers brush deeper inside her and she mewls. “Want you to ruin me, Oz.”

He snickers at her words, “I’m going to, and he’s going to watch. Gonna enjoy it too, aren’t you? You’re going to love every minute of it, watching me make her mine.” Oscar pulls his fingers from her cunt, she tries to push his hand back into place but he shakes her off and brings his hand around to wrap around his cock. She relaxes when she feels his hand behind her and realizes he’s about to replace his fingers with his cock.

He sighs as he guides the head of his cock to her entrance, dragging it through her slick to bump her clit. “Can’t believe I waited this long, can you, baby?”

She tugs his hair as she shakes her head, “Too long, Osc.” He slips his cock back to her entrance and she feels him press inside slowly. A whine leaves her lips at the instant stretch and she reaches behind her to grasp at his thigh, “Oh god, you’re big.” He presses further in and moans into her ear. He lets her adjust for a moment, his hands find her hips and he strokes his thumb across the skin soothingly as she pulsates around him. Then, he suddenly tugs her flush against him. She screams at the sudden intrusion, she can feel him in her stomach as he bottoms out. It burns, her cunt clenching around him helplessly to accommodate him. She almost falls forward but he catches her before she can, his hand quickly sliding up her body and wrapping around her throat to hold him against her. He doesn’t put any real pressure on her throat, just holds her.

Carlos can’t tear his eyes away from the pair, he can see her pussy stretching around Oscar’s cock, can see her slick soaking his cock. His own cock twitched at the sound of her scream and dribbled precum at the sight of her taking the other man’s cock. He finds himself wishing he hadn’t kicked Oscar’s momentary touch away. Her entire body is stretched out for Carlos to see, Oscar’s hand keeping her in place around her throat. The pretty gold necklace taunting him. She looks so fucked out just from Oscar being in her, mouth hanging open and eyes fluttering open and closed like she can’t keep them open but she wants to see. The idea that she wants to see Carlos in front of him makes him groan.

The sound piques Oscar’s interest, distracting him from the feeling of her squeezing him. “She feels so fucking good, mate.” He shifts his hips, barely drawing out before pushing back in, to see if she’s ready. When she moans and it doesn’t sound pained, he repeats the action. “Feel good, baby? You like taking my cock?”

She sighs and nods, “Feels so good.” His hand on her hip moves between her thighs, skimming over the soft patch of hair there before he finds her pussy. He presses two fingers to her entrance around his cock, slicking them up before her drags them to her clit and begins tracing his name into her clit one letter at a time. Her entire body convulses on the R shape, so he repeats it and he feels her thighs twitching against him.

Carlos looks defeated to Oscar. He’s slumped over in the chair, head hanging limply as he watches them. He keeps licking his lips and swallowing, but that’s all he’s doing. Watching Oscar’s cock slowly thrust in and out of her. He decides to give him a show. He picks up the pace of his thrusts and the room is filled with the sound of her moans and his pants, the slick squelching of his cock entering her eat time and his skin slapping against hers. Her back is arched beautifully, probably painfully, as she tugs on Oscar’s hair and presses herself back on his cock each time he pulls out.

It doesn’t take long for her to come unraveled, he can feel it before she tells him, the way her cunt flutters and her stomach contracts. It almost does it in when she tells him, whiny and breathless, “‘M gonna cum.”

He brings his lips down to her ear and says, “Cum around my cock, pretty.” She moans at his words and he presses harder on her clit, fucking into her harder. He sinks into her neck again, just under her ear, and the pain sends her over the edge. He holds her against him as she tries to pull away with the force of her orgasm, he wants Carlos to see it all. He keeps his eyes on the man as he fucks her through it until she finally goes lax in his grip and he lets go, of the bite and his hand around her throat and she slumps forward. He feels bad when she doesn’t even catch herself, lets herself fall face first into the plush mattress. Her body shivers once more from the sensitivity of her orgasm as Oscar leans over her and his cock shifts again. He looks Carlos in the eye as he says, “She’s my cockdumb whore, got it?” Then sinks his teeth into her shoulder. She whines and tries to jerk away but he bites harder and she stops squirming. Her pussy flutters around him blissfully and he groans against her skin. When he releases the bite, he flicks his tongue over the indents of his teeth and kisses it before pulling back to admire it. He brings his hand that was around her throat to press into it and she whimpers. His voice suddenly goes soft as he softens his touch and traces the outline and coos, “You want me to stop? Is it too much, honey?”

She shakes her head, spit slick lips dragging against her duvet as she mumbles, “Feels good.” She knows he can’t understand the muffled words as soon as they leave her and she quickly turns her head and presses her cheek into the sheets and repeats it clearly.

He presses down on the mark, “Yeah? You like it when I bite you? Mark you?” She repeats herself again, and he grins. His hand trails down her back until it rests on her hip and he pushes himself back up. “You’re so fucking wet, baby, all for me. Soaking my cock.” He wants to fuck her like this, with her face buried in the sheets, staring at her pretty ass, but he has a better idea. He pulls himself out of her, his grip tightening on her hips as she pushes back to chase his cock. He taps her hip with one hand, “Roll over, on your back.” She huffs but follows the order, rolling onto her back then shuffling underneath him. She automatically lifts her legs and wraps them around him to pull him closer. He allows it, brings his hands to rest on her hips and lifts her, holds her to her chest and shifts them closer to the edge of the bed then drops her, her head hangs off the edge and Carlos has the perfect view of her face and the necklace sitting pretty between her tits. He hadn’t realized his grip had tightened so much when she was cumming, but there’s a pink imprint of his hand. He wants Carlos so watch him fuck her like this, in the perfect position for her mouth to be fucked by him, but restricted from doing so.

Oscar lines back up with her entrance before he places his hands on her thighs and buries his cock in her in one swift movement. She chokes on a moan, and Oscar finds himself jealous of the sight Carlos gets when she arches her back and claws at the sheets. He tightens his grip on her hips to hold her steady as he sets a bruising pace, eyes locked on where her pussy stretches around his cock. He hears her whimper and casts his gaze up to see she’s playing with her tits again, squeezing them with both hands before pinching her nipples and repeating the action. He releases his right hand and grabs her hand to press it into the sheets, then dips down and wraps his lips around the abandoned nipple. Her hand fights his grip and he releases it out of curiosity, and she tangles it in his hair as she moans, “Oscar, more.” He lets go of her nipple and mouths at the flesh of her breast before he sinks his teeth into it. Her legs tighten around him and she moans sweetly, he releases the flesh before he cups the back of her head and pulls her in for a kiss.

She whimpers into Oscar’s mouth as his cock brushes her sweet spot on every thrust. Her hands find purchase on his shoulders for a moment before she curls them around his neck to hold him against her. His nails scratch against her scalp as he licks into her mouth. She can feel him all over her, fingers digging into her hip and scalp, his cock in her stomach, sweaty chest pressed against hers. She drops her head back to gasp for air and his lips find purchase on her throat, nipping and sucking harshly. She meets Carlos’s eye again and licks her lips as she thinks about his cock in her mouth. His lips are bitten red and she wants to taste them, see if she can taste herself, taste Oscar, on his tongue.

She’s suddenly overwhelmed by pleasure when the hand on her hip moves and he presses his thumb to her clit. Her back arches as she moans his name, fingers slipping into his hair and tugging as he nips at the column of her throat. Oscar moans softly before teasing, “G’na cum around my cock already? So good for me.” His words push her over the edge a third time and she tightens her legs around him so he can’t move as her orgasm rocks through her. He resigns himself to grinding his cock into her, apparently perfectly so because her moans suddenly get pitchier and she writhes beneath him. Her pussy is hugging his cock so well, pulsating around him as her orgasm rolls through her body. She collapses underneath him after a moment and gasps for air. He pushes himself up to look at Carlos, his own cock twitches at the sight of his rival. He kind of looks pretty the same way she does, red lips and glossy eyes. His cheeks and nose are flushed and his hair looks soft, nice to run his fingers through. He looks down the other man’s body, to the obvious bulge in his jeans and feels his stomach stir. It probably hurts, he almost feels sorry for him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and pushes the thoughts aside, refocuses his attention on his best friend beneath him when he reopens his eyes. Her tits are bouncing with every thrust, the necklace shining in the light. He leans down and captures the pendant between his teeth then drops it into her own mouth, hanging off the bed. She instantly closes her mouth around it and whines. “That’s my girl. You look so fucking good like this. Doesn’t she Sainz?”

Carlos lifts his head slightly and groans, “Fucking incredible.” He wants to ignore Oscar, tell him to fuck off and untie him, but he’d agree to anything right now. She whines at his words and he instinctively bucks his hips up in search of friction and moans pitifully when he finds none.

Oscar dips his mouth back down to wrap around her right nipple, tugging on the bud with his teeth before sucking on it. She pets the back of his head as she sighs and presses into his touch. He’s so fucking close, he’s barely holding himself together as he quickens his pace to bring her to the edge with him. He stops circling her clit with his thumb and traces the letter R again, and she begins trembling around him again. “You almost there, baby? Gonna fill you up, mark you as mine.” A long, drawn out moan falls from her lips and she grips him so tight he almost explodes, but then she gasps, “Please, ‘m so close.” He groans against her skin and drags his lips from her breast back to her throat and skins his teeth into the flesh. Her body seizes under him as her orgasm crashes over her and the feeling of her gushing around his cock again sends him over the edge. He releases his bite to moan against her skin, pressing his lips to the indents his teeth made. His entire body shudders as he spills his seed inside of her, he can’t help but press his hand into her stomach to feel his cock bulging out.

Carlos has never been harder in his life as much as he would like to protest it. His jeans have a dark spot where his cock has been steadily leaking precum and it aches with a need to be touched he hasn’t felt before. He groans as he watches Oscar empty himself in her, his ears burning from the sounds of their mixed moans. It’s a sinful sight, Oscar rolling his hips into hers and her blinking dazedly at Carlos as her orgasm crashes through her. He finds himself moaning as he grinds his hips into nothing, feebly searching for satisfaction. She finds it in herself to grin at him, before her mouth falls back into an O as a moan spills past her lips and her eyes roll back.

Oscar pulls back from her throat when he’s sure he’s done cumming, but the sight of the marks on her throat and chest force another ribbon of cum out of him and he hisses. He slowly pulls out of her and immediately moves to Carlos, pressing his knee into the man’s crotch again. He doesn’t fight it this time, so Oscar curls a hand in his hair and forces him to look up at him. “She’s mine, got it?” Carlos nods as best he can with the hand holding his hair. “Say it.”

Carlos grits his teeth before admitting, “She’s yours.” Oscar nods, pleased. He maintains his hold but steps away from Carlos, turning back to his friend. “Darling, come to me.” She whines but rolls over and sits up, crawling to the edge of the bed before she swings her legs off the edge and stands. She wobbles and tips forwards into Oscar, he catches her then lowers her to the floor between Carlos’s legs. Oscar presses her face down with a gentle hand on the back of her head and she immediately places her hands on Carlos’s thighs and leans in. She lets her mouth hover over the wet spot before Oscar gives her another nudge and she begins lapping at his cock through his jeans. The moan he lets out goes straight to her cunt and she clenches around nothing, Oscar’s cum dripping out of her to the hardwood floor beneath her. She moans at the taste of him on her tongue and sucks at the fabric, earning another moan from Carlos.

Oscar’s once again struck by the thought that Carlos looks pretty when his eyes flutter shut and his lips part in a moan. He lightly tugs on his hair, not to be mean, just because he wants to, and is rewarded by a soft sigh and Carlos pushing his head back against Oscar’s hand. He tightens his grip and pulls harder, drawing a moan from the other man. “Look at her,” he coos and releases his hold on Carlos so his head drops again. He moans at the sight of her mouthing at him through his jeans, at the feeling. “She’s only doing it because of me. You get to cum because of me.”

Carlos groans at his words, his cock twitching at the bare mention of an orgasm. He’s worryingly close already from watching, from not being touched for so long. She looks up at him as she finds the head of his cock and begins sucking at it through his jeans and he can’t do anything to stop his orgasm from crashing over him. His head tips back as he moans and shudders, fighting against the restraints to tangle his hands in her hair and the pain of the fabric rubbing his wrists raw makes his mind spin.

Cum seeps through his pants and she eagerly laps it up, much to Oscar’s enjoyment. “How’s it feel to cum in your pants? Can’t say I’ve done that before.” Carlos starts to retort back to Oscar’s teasing, but then her teeth skim his sensitive cock through his jeans and he whimpers instead. It causes Oscar to snicker and pull her head back, “That’s enough, I think.” Carlos sighs and slumps into the chair, sucking in air as he stares down at her slick lips. The golden necklace is shiny as ever on her throat and he wishes he could rip it off and replace it with one of his own.

She looks up at Oscar and smiles like she didn’t just suck Carlos’s cock through his jeans, and then leans forward to press a kiss to Oscar’s bare hip. He ruffles her hair like a pet before stepping away, behind Carlos. He feels cool hands on his wrists, then a moment later his wrists are being massaged by cool fingers. He wants to jerk back from the touch but he doesn’t have it in him, too relieved to finally be released from his confines to care that his rival is doing something caring. A moment later, his arms are let go and he immediately brings them to his face to investigate the damage. His wrists are red and chaffed, sore, but nothing too bad. As he’s studying his wrists, he feels a nudge to the back of his chair, “We’re going to shower. You can let yourself out.” Carlos frowns at the words, jealousy burning in his stomach as she stands and he takes in her bare body again, hopefully not for the last time. Oscar’s hand finds her waist and he takes her hand and guides her to the bathroom. The door shuts, and he hears the lock click behind them.

He spends a few moments collecting himself, running through the last few hours, before he pulls out his phone and calls his friend Lando to come get him, hoping he doesn’t notice the wet spot on his dark jeans when he arrives at the sent location.

#my writing #oscar piastri smut #carlos sainz smut #op81 smut #cs55 smut #usually do a gif at the top but im tryin smth different td #not totally happy w the pics but i couldnt find others i liked as much so #here we go !#mafia!oscar

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gojossocks · 4 months

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Anything For You

Sukuna x Reader genre: fluff, hurt/comfort summary: After a thousand years, Sukuna never thought that he'd find you again. Only this time, your goals have changed and you weren't the person he can rule the world with anymore. Would he give that up just for you? wc: 2.7K content: friends to lovers, lovesick sukuna, kinda ooc sukuna because of how lovesick he is, mutual pining. they were in a situationship for a thousand years, can you guys handle that?

“Sukuna, don’t you feel alone in the past thousand years? I mean, all you’ve wanted is to gain power and do other villain-y things. It’s pretty lame and sad in my opinion.” Yuuji, his vessel, says mindlessly as he chews on his food while he waits for Megumi and Nobara.

“You insolent fool.” He sneered, a mouth forming on Yuuji’s cheeks. “I don’t mope around like you do. I was not alone either.”

Contrary to popular belief, Sukuna wasn’t heartless as most people paint him out to be. In fact, during the Heian Era, Sukuna is always seen to be with a powerful sorcerer.

There was you. The only person he sees as his equal.

But after you were killed, your history with Sukuna was quickly forgetten as the men write history in their own perspective. You are a significant figure in history, yes– but you and Sukuna together were only briefly mentioned in the books.

People have forgotten about how Sukuna, the King of Curses, have ruled the Jujutsu World with you by his side.

In the bygone days of the Heian Period, You and Sukuna have a unique bond as you two had grown up together. You were the only one who witnessed how he rises up to be the King of Curses. You were a powerful sorcerer too in your own way, despite the lack of title. Your benevolent nature has gotten a lot of people to respect you. People were not intimidated by your power but by your wisdom.

Despite your personality which is in contrast to Sukuna’s, it never became a hindrance between your bond. In fact, he seemed to like you more because of it. You taught him how to kill and destroy with purpose. and together, the two of you wreaked havoc on Earth.

You were the first and last person who knows him inside and out, not even Uraume could compare. He even prefers your shitty cooking, for god’s sake. He feels weak in your presence. Sukuna kind of resents you for it, how you make him feel. How he’s willing to burn the entire world at your command. He’d kill anyone without batting an eye if you ask him to. You have him wrapped around your pretty fingers and you don’t even know it.

He remembers going into the gardens of your shared home after a battle and you’d welcome him with open arms, hugging him with your little frame. You didn’t care about the blood on his clothes or how he reeks of death. You look at him with such kindness, as if he has done nothing wrong in this world. You held his hands with such gentleness, as if he has hasn’t covered his hands with so much blood. And you smile and crack jokes around him after terrorizing villages, you wrap bandages around his wounds even if he can heal it in a heartbeat. He loves being doted on by you.

He was really good at keeping his emotions to himself unlike you who’d outwardly show how much you love him. He had a feeling that you knew of his affections slightly. After all, you were the only one allowed to touch Sukuna, to tease him and be alive after that. He chose not to tell you his feelings because he thought that he’d have all the time in the world to tell you.

Well, he thought he did until he received the news that you were killed.

Sukuna didn’t look at your corpse, refusing that seeing your cold lifeless body would be his last memory of you. After that was just endless rampage of destruction. In his mind, it was his way of avenging you. People have forgotten about you because of the amount of lives he had taken— his crimes outweighed any humanity he had left of him.

It goes like that until he was defeated and sealed. Well, that was years ago but even now, all he thinks about is you. So much that he could still hear your laugh.

“Really?” Yuuji exclaimed. “I think I should ask Gojo-sensei about—”

Yuuji’s rambling was cut off with a sound of laughter, which causes both him and the demon inside him to look where that voice comes from.

That all too familiar voice that even after countless lifetimes, he would still recognize anywhere. Sukuna felt like his entire world stopped when he sees where that voice comes from. Everything seemed to blur as his entire attention is fixated on the woman.

It was you, in the flesh.

Or rather, someone who is an exact copy of you.

He had found you! You had reincarnated as he hoped you would. You kept your promise and you’d see him again.

You were walking and conversing beside Gojo Satoru as you approach Yuuji who stood up straight and looked at you with wide eyes.

“Who might this be?” You gave the kid a playful smile.

Sukuna was able to examine you up close as you walked closer to Yuuji. You were as beautiful as the day he lost you. You fit right into this modern period— you’re wearing a uniform similar to Gojo’s, but instead of pants, you were wearing a skirt and knee high boots. If someone were to tell Sukuna that he’d find you like this, fighting against him, he would have howled in laughter before killing that someone.

“Yuuji Itadori, miss!” the young sorcerer said, exuding a bit too much enthusiasm.

“So he is the vessel.” You acknowledged with a nod before sharing a look with Gojo Satoru.

“This is Y/N Y/L/N! She’s a special grade sorcerer from Kyoto but will be transferring here to accommodate you. She doesn’t go to missions anymore just like I do so Y/N would be there whenever you need her.” Gojo explains, putting a hand on you and Yuuji’s shoulders.

Yuuji’s eyes widened as he registered the significance of your name “Like the one in history books Y/N Y/L/N?”

“I wish.” You quipped, inserting a playful note in your response. “It was nice meeting you. I’ve waited for you, you know.” Then you extended your hand toward Yuuji and as your fingers met his, Sukuna could feel the familiarity of your touch. You looked at Yuuji with so much intensity, as if you’re looking at the curse residing in him. Right at Sukuna. and he didn’t fail to notice the way your smile was gentler compared to the ones you’ve given the kid.

It was for him.

You’ve seen him.

“Well,” You let out a sigh when you’ve pulled away. “I better get going. I’m sorry to cut this short, Yuuji. I hope we’ll get to know more of each other. I heard you like rice bowls, I’ll treat you to my favorite restaurant in tokyo next week, yeah?” You pat the top of his head and Yuuji gives you a huge grin.

Once you’ve left, Yuuji could finally notice Sukuna’s silence. He had been silent ever since you’ve arrived and Yuuji was about to tease him for it until Gojo spoke up.

“It’s her if she wasn’t being obvious enough.”

-.-

In the week following his unexpected encounter with you, Sukuna’s demeanor underwent a subtle transformation. He was less mean to Yuuji and the snarky remarks had lessened.

True to your promise, you spent time with Yuuji, fulfilling your role as a companion and mentor. However, your newfound indifference towards Sukuna fueled a frustration that within him. Did he merely imagine the spark of recognition in your eyes? Was it truly still you?

He found out a lot about you during the time you spent with Yuuji as well as the information that Gojo discloses concerning you. It seems as though you have helped the Jujutsu World slowly gain back its glory just like back in the golden days. You’re a teacher too, and from what Gojo has mentioned, you’re still the same patient and kind person he fell in love with.

Sukuna feels a twinge of jealousy at the mention of how you’re close with the white-haired sorcerer. He finds himself scoffing at the thought of you finally replacing him. It isn’t far from reality, you’re too likable for your own good anyway. You make it so easy to love you that Sukuna failed to notice that this disease has swallowed him whole and now he’s stuck, absolutely pining for you like an idiot. How dare you move on from him if that’s the case?

He needed answers from you or else he’d go crazy. So he finds out where you live and he found out that you were living in the more peaceful side of Tokyo. It took him a while to get in control again and the moment he did, his feet carried him to you.

Your house is beautiful, it looked like the mini version of the place that you once shared with Sukuna. He entered it quietly and to his surprise, you were no where to be found but then he catches a glimpse of you in the window overlooking the garden.

Sukuna finds himself smiling as he reaches the garden. It had a variety of flowers and plants, the very ones you had planted with him years ago. You’re wearing a beautiful red plaid sundress and the modern age never looked so good in anyone but you.

You were simply ethereal.

You were too engrossed in watering your plants when he walks towards you.

“Old habits hard for you, Y/N.” Sukuna spoke up, his voice devoid of any usual domineering tone that he uses to other humans.

You turned to him, wide eyed. It was the first time you’ve seen him in ages. Sukuna’s still in the body of the young sorcerer that you frequently saw the past week but he looked like him—with his tattoos and demeanor. Your eyes are soon filled with tears and you shakily reached for him, engulfing him in a tight embrace.

“Finally.” You choked out, burying your face to his chest. Sukuna carefully snakes his hands towards your back on instinct. “It’s been so long. it was all worth it. I knew you’d come back.”

He rests his chin on the top of your head. Sukuna’s voice turned hoarse as he spoke. “I thought you were killed I-”

“I’m already here, Ryo.” You interrupted, pulling away to cup his cheek gently. Sukuna leaned in to the warmth of your touch, melting in an instant. “ I wasn’t. I was just sealed until I was let out by one of my dearest friends. I came to find you but you were already gone, so I waited.”

“You don’t know how much I’ve missed you, Y/N.”

“You were asleep for almost a thousand years. I was alive for most of it, clearly I missed you more.”

“Well, I thought you were dead. Cut me some slack, doll.” Sukuna teased with a smirk. You bite your lip to stifle your smile, playfully nodding inagreement.

“Come with me.” He murmured, pulling away to press his lips against your forehead. “After I kill this brat, I can take control and we can finally change the world.”

“By killing everyone in it?” You shakily asked. Sukuna thought that you were just shaken because of how glad you are to have him back.

He gave you a smirk. “Well, that was my idea. You know how I am.”

“Times have changed, Ryo. I’m afraid that it has softened me. I’m not the person you used to imagine burning the world down with anymore.” You calmly admitted, meeting Sukuna’s intense gaze and you tried to calm him down by tracing circles on his arm but he didn’t look convinced in the slightest.

“I’m here now. You could drop your act. I can protect you now, you know.”

“You don’t understand, dear.” you interjected, gently pushing a strand away from his face. “We have different objectives now. You seek to take over the world and be feared forever. I seek to live out my days in peace until I decide to end it.”

You must’ve noticed how Sukuna’s expression dropped at your words so you quickly clarified. “oh no, but don’t think I’d end my life after our interaction. In fact, I’ll live for a few more years until it will bore me to death. Literally. But there’s just so much to love and to do in this world, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t you want to be with me? Have you grown tired of me?” He demanded, his voice getting louder as he continues to talk. You weren’t fazed in the slightest and it aggravates him even further. It used to comfort him, that you know him so well, but now the butterflies in his stomach makes him anxious more than anything else.

You have always had the upper hand and he feels you cursing him the more you grant him your presence.

He feels disregarded as you implicitly rejected him.

“No.” You offered him a sweet smile, your eyes never leaving his. Sukuna thinks he might float with the way you’re looking at him right and his breath hitched once he hears you say the next words. “I love you, Ryo. In fact, I love you enough to know of your nature and I would be the last person who would stop you in achieving what you want. I wouldn’t be in your way but I couldn’t stay by your side anymore.”

Sukuna searched for a hint that indicates that you were lying and he found none. You had always been honest with him. He looks at you with a heartbroken expression but still trying to maintain his stoic face. He’s clearly hurt “Did our past mean nothing to you?”

“I’ve done everything I could, Ryo. I’ve done everything for you. You know I did that all for you. Wasn’t that enough? Didn’t you feel my love for you in the slightest? You could kill me now, if you want. It’d be a pleasure to die by your hand.” Your eyes are once again brimmed with tears again yet you continued to smile as you trail your fingers over his cheek “I’m sorry but I’m tired of seeing red. Gojo must’ve told what I did, you must know my change of heart.”

He did.

Of course he did.

He knew of what you did yet he still held on to the fact that he might be wrong. So is this really how it ends? Sukuna enjoys destruction and killing. He loves being in power and he will not admit that if you weren’t alive, he’s probably murdering civillians in Shibuya right now. But after he’d gain control over Yuuji Itadori’s body, the only thing that he keeps thinking of is coming home to you.

And what would the point be if you are not by his side?

“Then I’ll stay with you.” He declared.

A scoff escapes your lips and your bewildered expression makes him smirk even more. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ll just finish this and I’ll come back to you. None of this matters anymore. I’ll abandon all of it. For you.”

You looked at him incredulously, your mouth agape. Sukuna wastes no time to finally pull you in a kiss.

It was a gentle one at first and he pulls away slightly to see you pout, eliciting a chuckle from him, only to pull you back to a deeper, passionate kiss. Sukuna smiles into the kiss as a soft gasp escapes from you.

He kisses you fervently, as if he needs your air to breathe. And as you run your hand through his hair, moaning to the kiss, he pulls you impossibly closer.

He’s home.

He returned to you 3 months later, in his original form. He entered your house with wounds and bruises, his body covered in blood once more. It was just like before, but this time, it feels so different. He had a soft look in his eyes and he feels like he’s floating on air now that he’s gone home to you.

Just like before, you welcomed him with open arms. He lifted you and spinned you around, eliciting a squeal from you. When he puts you down, you peppered kisses to his face and hugged him really tight.

“I love you.” Sukuna whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear before leaning in to kiss you gently. You smiled at his confession. There was a look in your eyes that you knew it all along.

“It took you a millennium to say that.”

wanna read more?

a/n: i bet he still murders in his free time after being retired 😻

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna hurt/comfort #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #sukuna fanfic #sukuna x reader angst

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scientia-rex · 2 months

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I feel like disappointment in Biden is baffling to me because he was always a disappointment. He was the asshole who got to ride to power on the coattails of a better man. He told bizarre and repeated lies (despite getting caught at it and his team telling him not to) about having a Welsh coal miner dad when he did not and he stole that story from actual Welsh people. I read a profile of him years back that pointed this out and told the story of the time he straight up ignored good advice from an expert not to plant a certain kind of tree too close together and flew a bunch of them out to plant, at night because he was just too fucking excited about it, and they all died. He’s not a smart man! He’s charismatic ish and lacks principles and as far as I can tell doesn’t really care about abortion rights or a lot of things we’d consider pretty critical to preserving freedom. I sincerely thought he couldn’t become President because there were so many obviously better candidates in the pool. I underestimated the sexism and antisemitism in American politics, and when he became the candidate in 2020 I gritted my teeth and voted for him because the alternative was a man who is not only an idiot but also profoundly dangerous. Trump is not ha-ha crazy, he’s Mussolini crazy. He is not dangerous because he’s stupid, although that doesn’t help; he’s dangerous because he does not care about anyone except himself under any circumstances and if that means he lets the far right push us straight into forced birth for white women and sterilization for women of color he’s going to do that. If that means conversion therapy for queers and death penalty for homosexual acts he’s going to do that. He has literally no limits. If he gets back into power, a whole lot of people are going to die, again. It’s not a hypothetical because it happened the first time and he’s only going to get worse.

I am not, never have been, and never will be a fan of Biden. To pretend that he and Trump are in any way equivalent is wrong at best and another goddamn Russian psy-op at worst. To pretend that a third party candidacy is viable in the US is to completely ignore every election of your lifetime and your parents’ lifetimes, and to further ignore the lesson of Ross Perot.

You cannot save Palestinians by not voting for Biden in November; the best you can do is chip away at his margin, and the worst you can do is see Trump elected so he can decide to do the worst possible thing in ever circumstance. Biden has Palestinian blood on his hands and watching this when we could have had Bernie or Elizabeth Warren instead is maddening. (I would have preferred Hillary to Trump, but I don’t think she’d be any different than Biden here. They’re both old-school politicians.)

I hate everything about this, and I hate that saying “maybe don’t put the man who literally said he would kill his political enemies in power” is seen as supporting genocide. It’s acknowledging reality. Joe Biden as a person can eat rocks for all I care. I was kind of hoping he’d die sooner in his term so we’d have time to get used to and then vote for President Harris. (Remember when the line was “she’s a cop, don’t vote for her”? Funny how there’s always a reason not to vote for a woman or a person of color or someone you just “don’t like” and can’t put a finger on why except she “seems angry.” Oh does she. How would she not? When Michelle fucking Obama, the picture of grace , STILL got called angry for having the nerve to be a Black woman with an opinion? When Hillary Clinton lost to a man with no political experience to her decades and who openly discussed sexually assaulting women? Would you have voted for President Harris? Or would you let Trump win again because you don’t LIKE her personally and she’s made decisions and statements you disagree with?)

Biden has both less power than his critics give him credit for and more power than his fans give him credit for. He needs to do more to pressure Israel and although it’s a delicate diplomatic situation I’d rather see us fuck up our diplomatic relationship with Israel than watch more Palestinians get murdered for things like “wanting to eat” and “existing.” The line has been crossed, and he doesn’t see it. Because he wasn’t the best person for the job. Because they didn’t get elected, because of sexism/antisemitism/racism. Hell, I have no idea what bootlicker Pete Buttegieg would have done here, but I’d have given him a try. But no. We got Biden and we’re stuck with this reality where you can be as leftist as you want and still have to look at the situation and decide whether you’re comfortable contributing to a Trump victory through inaction. I want socialism—I want every single person on Earth to have clean drinking water, enough safe food, shelter, medical care, and education—and I’m going to vote for Biden, pissy as it makes me, because the only actual alternative is so, so much worse, for me personally as both a woman and a queer, and for everyone in America and the rest of the world who Trump would find reasons to hurt. What do you think the man who openly and repeatedly praises dictators is going to do when those dictators massacre their own people? Yes, we need to care about this genocide now. We also need to care about all of the other people who are at real risk, both at home and abroad. Would a Trump government agree to fund military intervention in Haiti without insisting on it being a colonial exercise in power? Would a Trump government roll back the restrictions on discriminating against transgender patients in healthcare? How would Trump respond if Orban started dragging people into the streets and shooting them en masse? How would Trump respond if China finally went for it and invaded Taiwan? There are more lives at stake here than mine or yours or even those of the Palestinians, who have deserved better for literally decades and are being mass killed in ways that should result in immediate sanctions, a war crimes trial, and the execution of Netanyahu.

The world deserves better from you than complicity in a Trump victory.

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dollfacefantasy · 5 months

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Restless Dreams

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon gets home late after another hard day at work to you having some extra sweet dreams.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, fingering, somnophilia, wet dream

word count: 3.6k

a/n: hey everyone!! hope you all enjoy this :) i guess i've been into soft leon with somno lately idk LOL. i was kind of tired myself when writing/editing this, so forgive any errors pretty please. new divider from here. thank you for any comments and reblogs <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus

“So what time do you think you’re gonna get here?” you ask before blowing on the drying polish that coats your nails.

“My shift finishes up at 12, and then I gotta file some reports. I’ll probably be done at 1, so not too long after that,” Leon explains through the phone. Despite his attempt to lay it out for you, there’s still a pause, one he came to recognize as your reaction of displeasure. A smile plays on his lips. “But you know the real answer is as soon as I can.”

You look down at your phone on your vanity, a pout forming on your face. Obviously, it wasn’t his fault he had to work so much now. He’d warned you when he started at the police station a few months ago, but it didn’t prepare you for how much you’d miss him.

It made you feel dumb, that nagging, achy feeling of longing in your chest. It wasn’t like he was off to war or something. You still saw him almost everyday. But more and more of his time was consumed by work now. Even when he was with you, he was often exhausted.

Sometimes all you could think about his new job was that he was your boyfriend, not theirs. You’d mentally scold yourself for being so immature when that happened, but the sentiment still lingered in your head.

“Ok…” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral. He hears the dejection in your tone though.

“Baby,” he coos in that voice that sent warmth through your spine and got you to agree with everything he said, “You know I’d rather be with you. I’m just new and have to take the time to learn. Plus, with the caseload and the number of officers here, they need me at the station.”

“I need you more,” you say. You try to pass it off as playfulness, but it comes from real feelings. Your heart was beginning to tense with resentment for the RPD for taking him away so much. You knew the job meant a lot to him though which is why you would never unleash your admittedly petty frustrations.

A low laugh leaves him, and you can hear that loving smirk on his face as his voice comes through your phone’s speaker.

“Do you now? You’re really missing me that much?” he teases, leaning back in the driver’s seat of his cruiser.

He knew that you did in fact miss him that much. And even though, since starting at the police station, he tried to project the image of a tough guy, he missed you just as much. That’s why he started calling you during lulls in his shift.

“Mhm. It’s not fair. It’s like I’m sharing you with the station. And I don’t like sharing,” you say with an exaggerated huff.

“Oh, I know you don’t,” he chuckles. He sighs happily, checking the time to calculate how much time was left before he could have you in his arms again. “But not much longer, baby. Then you get me all to yourself for the whole weekend.”

“I better,” you grumble with a smile.

“I promise you will,” he says genuinely. A light on his dashboard flickers, alerting him that his attention is needed elsewhere. “Just don’t stay up too late waiting for me tonight, ok? Your rest is important.”

“Seeing you is more important,” you respond.

“I know, but I prefer my girl when she’s not all cranky and sleep deprived. So try tonight, sweetheart. For me?” he asks.

“I guess,” you concede. Your heart already aches, knowing he’s about to hang up.

“I love you, baby,” he says softly, “I’ll see you later.”

“I love you too,” you tell him before he disconnects the call.

The silence that falls over your room makes it feel even more empty. You tap the glass screen of your phone, scanning for the time before you finish getting ready for bed. Your mouth curves downward when the numbers light up on the screen.

Only 10:30. Too much time till you’ll hear him come through your front door, but it’s not like you can do anything about it. You haphazardly go through the rest of your routine before dragging yourself over to your bed and getting in.

Sliding between the soft pink sheets, you flop down against your pillow and stare at the ceiling as you contemplate how to kill the time. Nothing grabs your interest because none of it’s him. It’s all just filler.

And worst of all, you were starting to feel sleepy. You wanted to wait up for Leon so badly, but you also went through a whole day of your own that tired you out. Plus, your bed was just so comfy with your plush blankets and full pillows, stuffed animals and frilly decorative cushions scattered on one side.

Thinking it would help to keep your eyes actively focused on something, you try to read. Your eyes scan over the words, and it isn’t long before you realize you’d made a horrible mistake. Moving your eyes along the page only made them more drowsy.

Next you turn on the tv and put on something you didn’t really have to pay attention to. But the soft glow of the tv casts across you and the low chatter of the characters becomes background noise, making it even harder for you to keep your eyes open.

You lazily reach across your bed and grab the bunny stuffie Leon had bought for you a few weeks prior. Tucking it beneath your chin and close to your chest, your drooping eyes fall shut and your breaths become soft and even. Barely any time has gone by before you’re sinking into slumber.

Leon glances down at his phone, the small numbers illuminating 2:04 in the darkness of the hallway. He enters your place with the key you gave him and shuts the door as quietly as possible. He knows you’re sleeping from seeing the dark bedroom. Already feeling guilty for taking longer than he’d expected, he didn’t want to add to that feeling by waking you up.

He makes his way to your room, padding silently down the hall. Once he reaches the door, he pushes it open with almost no force in an attempt to avoid even the slightest creak. You’re where he expected you to be, curled up in your bed, completely peaceful as you slept. He knew he probably looked like a little lovesick puppy right about now, eager to hop into bed and snuggle up to your side, but he didn’t care.

It takes him no time to shed his police uniform. He makes quick work of unlacing his boots and kicking them off. His pants and shirt crumple up at the foot of your bed next to his belt and socks. Finally, once he’s got on a pair of sweatpants he kept at your place, he climbs into bed with you.

He shoves your stuffies and extra pillows out of his way with a playful roll of his eyes and gets as close to you as he can. His arm drapes over you, and he nuzzles the back of your neck, planting a few kisses on the base of your head. You smelled so good, felt so soft, perfect to come home to.

His body melts into the mattress, and he’s ready to give into his own urges to sleep. That is until he notices you’re not as peaceful as you appeared from the doorway. His eyebrows raise as he feels your legs squirming. Restless movements from your feet beneath the covers and your thighs shifting aimlessly against each other.

He’s ready to brush it off at first. ‘Must just be having some wild dreams,’ he thinks with another kiss to your head. But then he hears the faintest sound, so quiet that he probably would have missed it had he been focused on anything else. It’s a whimper. A gentle, tender squeak that slips from between your lips into the cool air of your bedroom.

Now, his face conveys his concern. He worries you’re having a nightmare. That at any moment you’ll wake up with tears in your eyes and your heart pounding out of your chest. Immediately, he begins stroking your arm, kissing your temple, murmuring “It’s ok, baby. I’m here.”

But you make that little noise again, and this time it paints a different picture in Leon’s head. This whimper didn’t sound scared or stressed, like you were crying out for his protection. No, this sound brought to mind images of you writhing beneath him, nails marking his biceps with small crescents as he pumped himself in and out of you.

He shakes his head because that couldn’t be it. That’s just his horny mind creating things that aren’t there from being so pent up.

At least that’s what he tells himself until you make the noise again. It brings the same memories up, but this time he’s even more sure of it. He lifts his head off of yours to look down at you and try to figure out what to do next.

You look so cute, brows slightly furrowed, lips parted. As he brushes some hair from your face, he notices your fingers clutching your stuffed rabbit a little tighter. Your breath hitches for a moment before you let out a soft, sleepy whine of his name.

It’s unmistakable now what’s going on. He smirks and traces a finger over your lips. The pad of his index finger drags on your bottom lip slightly, turning your mouth into that pout he loved so much. He leans and kisses your cheek as you whine again.

“Please.”

He chuckles at how needy you sound even in your sleep, but at the same time, your voice has blood rushing to his cock while his head swirls with desire. He shifts his own hips, subtly pressing his erection against your ass. His eyes flutter at the minute pleasure. He grows more bold, and his hand rubs your hip before coasting up your side to your chest, giving your breast a gentle squeeze.

You whimper louder and squirm. He squeezes again softly while lowering his head to your neck to lay some tender kisses on the side of your throat. His palm leaves your tits and smooths down over your tummy in the direction of your shorts.

Cautiously, he maneuvers his hand past the waistband and dips into your panties. He cups your pussy, feeling the heat radiating off the area. A single finger slides between your folds in almost an exploratory touch. He feels your slick all over his digit. Clearly, this dream was a pretty good one.

He begins to use another finger, sliding the two up and down through your wetness. You roll onto your back, your breasts rising and falling as your breath gets heavier. Your thighs spread a little as if you subconsciously sensed his presence between your legs.

In your dreams, Leon was doing a lot more than rubbing you with his fingers. After you had fallen asleep, it felt like no time had passed. All of the sudden you were just on the table in your dining room, spread out for his rapture.

You didn’t realize you were dreaming, everything felt so real. To you, he was really there, looking down at you with those loving yet lecherous eyes. Hands roaming your exposed body, lips caressing your skin all over. Everything seemed light and airy while also feeling heavy and thick. Your head, filled with clouds, slipped in and out of the moment. The sensation of him rutting his cock between your thighs and sliding inside of you was your reality at the moment.

In actual reality, Leon continues to move his fingers slowly, swiping them over your entrance and taking them back up to circle your clit. You mewl when he applies some pressure, sending sparks through you. Your squirming becomes more motivated, and he can tell your drifting away from your restful sleep back toward consciousness.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice huskier with arousal this time around.

You hear his voice in your dreams. The deep rumble enters your ears as you envision his hips pistoning into your wanting cunt. You mumble something in response, but he can’t understand the sleepy babbling. He rubs your clit a little harder with some more speed. You twitch in response, yet your eyes remain closed.

“I know, baby. I know it feels so good,” he coos and kisses behind your ear.

More incoherent words fall from your mouth. He sucks love bites into your neck, and you tilt your head back, craving more of that feeling. The dream version of him began mimicking the actions of the real Leon as you neared waking.

Whining louder, your fingers dig into the smooth fur of your plush bunny before letting it go. He nips at the sensitive skin of your throat as his fingers travel down and push inside your heat.

The feeling rips a moan from you and causes your eyes to open. Your back arches as he works them deeper. Your hips wriggle a little as you make sense of what’s happening.

“Leon?” you whimper. Your sleepy eyes struggle to stay open after being torn from the fog of sleep.

“That’s right, baby. It’s just me. You were having some nice dreams, weren’t you, pretty girl?” he says.

“Mhm,” you hum mindlessly.

“About me?” he teases, eyes watching your body fidget with the pleasure you felt.

“About you,” you confirm before he leans down and kisses your lips. They were so soft against his own. He slowly moves his mouth with yours and languidly slides his tongue against yours.

You moan into the kiss as his fingers curl within you and hit your favorite spot. Your feet lightly kick at the sensation. Your hips rise a little as you feel the flood gates holding your release about to break.

You’re too sleepy to tell him out right, but he knows the signs. He keeps working you there until your body seizes and arches off the bed. You let out a throaty moan and turn your head to bury your face against his shoulder.

“There you go. Let it all out, sweetheart,” he whispers and kisses your head.

You ride out the high on his hand, and by the time you’re done, you’re ready to fall asleep again. Your mind is hazy with the fog of release. You’re drifting off as your body settles without even realizing it.

You’re only yanked back to reality by Leon scooping you up into his lap. He’s sitting with his back to the headboard, and he situates you between his thighs, back against his chest. His arms keep you caged in nice and close, safe and warm.

“Don’t fall asleep again just yet, babydoll,” he murmurs while kissing up your neck.

Your head lolls back against his shoulder. The fight to stay awake gets a little easier as his hand returns to your soaked panties. He doesn’t tease this time, just slides in two fingers and starts moving them in and out.

The new angle makes you squirm and whine, but he holds you tight in place with his free arm.

“Gotta work you open, honey. Can’t just slide my dick in you with no warm up,” he says with a smirk.

His voice pulls you towards lucidity a little more. Your hands wrap around his free arm for support while your hips instinctively roll into his blissful touch.

“I missed you,” you choke out between gasps and whimpers.

“I know you did,” he teases, grinning against your throat. His cock throbs against the small of your back as his ears latch onto the sound of your slick around his fingers. “Came home to cuddle with my sweet girl, and I find her having such dirty dreams.”

Your cheeks heat up as you start to piece together what had happened. You fully realize now that your escapade on the kitchen table was entirely in your mind. You feel embarrassed for a moment, but the feeling dies pretty quick as you rapidly approach the edge for a second time.

“Not my fault,” you whimper shyly.

He chuckles and kisses your temple once more. “I know it’s not. If anything, it’s mine. I think I’ve been neglecting my baby,” he says with a mocking lilt in his voice.

You cry out as his fingers brush against those same spots that brought you to the finish last time. Your hips twitch, and you grip his thighs as your peak rises within you. Moments later your cumming all over his fingers, sucking in a harsh breath as a second release courses through you, even more intense then the last.

His free arm keeps you secure against his chest while rubbing your side soothingly. The heel of his other palm roughly massages your clit as his fingers pump in and out.

“Good girl,” he coos, “That’s it, just one more and then I can put you to sleep how you deserve.”

As soon as you seem to be coming down, Leon lifts you up again, tugging your clothes off and moving your body around like a doll to get you in the position he wants. You were definitely more pliant after two orgasms, but you could also see how his training had been paying off. Maybe this new job wasn’t all bad.

He has you on your back now, thighs against your chest and knees hooked over his arms. Again, he had no patience to tease right now, so after pushing his sweats down to mid thigh, he takes his cock and slides it in you with no hesitation. He groans as your hole takes him in, your walls pulsing around him even after he bottoms out.

“So wet. I can just slide right in,” he mumbles as his own hips twitch.

Your eyes droop at the stretch. It always felt so satisfying, having him buried balls deep in you. As close as he could possibly be. No fear of him leaving or pain of being separated. You whine and reach up to pull him closer.

He follows along and rests his face against your neck as he begins thrusting. You hear him panting right in your ear. His hands grip your hips so hard you know there’ll be marks.

“Perfect pussy’s made for me,” he grunts while snapping his hips, “Miss it every second I’m not inside it.”

You nod lazily as you continue to clamp down around him. After two releases, you didn’t even feel a building ecstasy anymore, just a constant stream of pleasure.

“Leon,” you whine, “Harder. Wanna feel it.”

He moans at your plea but indulges you, grabbing you harder, pressing your legs higher, filling you deeper.

“Wanna be sore after, don’t you, sweetheart? Want a reminder of me while I’m at work. Something to tide you over till I can do this again. Won’t have to rely on dreams then, right?” he says.

“Yeah,” you whimper. Your bed creaks as he picks up the pace, but your moans mask the sound as they grow in volume.

He fucks into you over and over, stoking the flames within himself, trying to build to that explosion. You were so tight, so warm. He hums another low moan and whimpers softly as he feels it right there. He gasps softly before holding you tighter and muttering in your ear.

“Ready for another one, honey? Gonna be the last one and then we’ll get you comfy and off to sleep.”

“Yeah,” you moan again, unable to say much else.

“Good… good girl,” he moans before his hips buck wildly and he finally releases.

You finish for a third time. You cling to him tight as the euphoria washes over you again. Locking your legs around his hips, you keep your face pressed to the warm skin of his neck as it goes through you. You feel the hot flood of cum he fucks into you. His chest is heaving now too as he recovers from the high.

He stays on top of you for a moment before pulling out. You cling harder upon losing that full feeling. He smiles at your desire to be close to him and gives you one more kiss before sitting up.

“So sweet to me, baby. I hope that made up for the late night,” he whispers and strokes your hair.

“It did,” you say with a nod. Your eyes were already shutting again, ready to go back to sleep after being fucked so good.

He looks at you with all the love in the world as he pulls his sweats up. He then helps you pull your panties and shirt back on, trying to laugh at your sleepy, half-assed movements.

After that, he gets you all tucked in next to him, snuggled up in his arms like he originally intended. He even grabs that stuffed bunny he got you and fits it close to you in case you want it.

“Get some rest, honey. You need it,” he whispers while rubbing your back.

“Mhm,” you respond tiredly, “You too. You’re all mine for the weekend, and I don’t want you tired out the whole time.”

“Alright, but I’m gonna be tired out if we do some more of that again tomorrow,” he jokes. He pulls you close to him and shuts his eyes, nestling his head against yours and settling in to rest.

That puts a smile on your face and you nuzzle him once more before letting yourself fall asleep for the night.

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