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writeforfandoms · 7 months

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Fear Not This Night

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Being part of the 141 pack meant you watched out for your boys, always. As their medic, it meant you sometimes flew into danger for them. When someone uses that knowledge against you to separate you from your pack, you pay the price.

Warnings: Blood, treating wounds, medical inaccuracies, shifter biology, shifter dynamics, psychological torture, physical torture, being blinded (hood over head), brief self-harm (pulling feathers). This one is a bit dark so if you would like more in depth warnings, come ask me.

Word count: 7.6k

Harpy eagle f!reader x 141 poly

You soared over the trees, sharp eyes watching for your team. You’d gotten the call that they needed you a few hours prior, so you knew they’d likely moved some from their last coordinates. But you doubted they’d gone far. You weren’t even tired yet, broad wings carrying you and your pack.

Finally, you spotted Soap, in a convenient space between trees. Good man, making your life easier. You didn’t cry out in recognition, because that was dangerous. But you did dive, tucking your wings close and waiting until the last possible moment to pull up, flapping down to land on your pack. It was specially designed to be sturdy enough for you to land on, fortunately.

“There ye are,” Soap murmured, grinning at you and reaching out one hand to stroke the top of your head. You blinked at him, chirping. “C’mon. Someone got a lucky hit on Ghost.”

You hopped off your medic pack, hopping a few steps away before you shifted. “How bad?” you asked, opening up your pack and throwing on clothes. For the chill more than for modesty.

You had no modesty around your boys anymore.

“Price wants ye to check, because Ghost is bein’ an ass.”

“I heard that,” came the grumpy growl from Ghost.

You rolled your eyes and picked up your pack, which looked more like a picnic basket when you carried it this way. “If you’re alive enough to growl, you’re alive enough to behave,” you pointed out. He still had his mask on, but he wasn’t arguing lying down, either. Hmm. Must be feeling worse than you thought.

You settled on your knees next to Ghost, giving him a quick once-over. Bandages had been packed down against his thigh, though you ignored them for the moment. Nothing else looked out of place.

“Anywhere hurting besides the thigh?”

“Took a round to the vest,” he admitted, a little reluctant and a lot grumpy. Probably mostly grumpy that he got hit.

“Just bruised,” Gaz said as he crouched a little to the side of you and behind you, out of the way but ready to assist. “Didn’t even crack a rib.”

“Lucky bastard,” you agreed, shifting your attention down to his thigh. “And this?”

“A graze,” Gaz said. “But it bled a lot, more than normal.”

You hummed acknowledgement, leaning closer. Ghost shifted, and you cooed softly, almost reflexively. He huffed but settled.

The wound wasn’t bad under the bandages, but it was in a tricky spot, just above his knee. You couldn’t see any real reason why it would have bled more than normal except use, which was kind of inevitable. But even so, just to be on the safe side, you smeared it with ointment and rewrapped it.

“How far do you have to go?” You packed up the rest of your supplies after forcing Ghost to drink more water.

“Little ways yet.” Price shrugged, planting his hands on his hips.

“I’m fine to keep going,” Ghost said, because of course he did.

“You finish your water,” you said, poking his hip. “Then we’ll see.”

He huffed, eyes narrowing at you. But he subsided. Mostly because you both knew Price would side with you.

“If you left now?” You raised one eyebrow at Price.

“We’d make it by dawn.”

You puffed out a breath. That was not too bad. Ghost was tough, you knew he could last that long, especially since he’d already been forced to rest (and probably to eat something, knowing the rest of the pack). “I’ll scout ahead,” you said, pushing up to your feet. “Circle back and follow behind, make sure you’re fine.”

“I’ve got your pack,” Gaz offered before you could say anything more. You rolled your eyes at him but didn’t protest. You knew better.

You also knew better than to shift again without eating something, so you ripped open a protein bar and ate it as fast as possible under Price’s approving eye. Tossing your clothes back at Gaz and grinning at his playful huff, you shifted back and took off again.

The route forward to their exfil point was clear and quiet, even to your keen gaze. Turning to circle back, you made sure to check back in on your guys as you flew above them.

No enemies behind, either. They’d done a good job of either killing everyone who’d tried to follow, or losing them. You expected nothing less from them.

Pleased, you made a few big circles just to be sure. Still nothing. No sign of enemies. You took your time following your pack to the exfil point.

True to Price’s prediction, just as the sun broke the horizon the pack made it to exfil. You dove down to join them, landing next to Ghost. Gaz tossed your clothes to you as soon as you shifted, and Ghost shoved water at you.

“You all are mother hens, y’know that?” you grumbled without any heat, grinning, even as you double-checked Gaz’s straps.

“Says the biggest hen of us,” Soap pointed out with a wicked grin.

“Now now, just because my tits are the best–” you started playfully.

“Enough,” Price interrupted, sitting on Gaz’s other side, between him and the opening. Smart man.

You and Soap subsided, though you did both roll your eyes. “Everybody good?” You looked around at them, meeting each gaze squarely for a moment, to make sure none of them were lying. They all tolerated it, well used to you by now. Satisfied that none of your guys were about to keel over, you settled back for the trip back.

Flying in a heli had never been your favorite thing to do. You much preferred to fly on your own. But you had to admit that the heli was faster - you’d tried once to keep up, and couldn’t. Which wasn’t actually surprising, just disappointing.

This flight was not bad. Not too long. Which was good, because you were getting antsy. Ghost had caught a nap on the heli, but you still wanted to make sure he was fine in better conditions than you’d had before.

As soon as the heli landed, you were out, watching Ghost carefully. He wouldn’t accept help, not in front of others, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t check in.

“‘M fine,” he grumbled at you very quietly as you fell into step next to him.

“I’m sure you are,” you agreed. “And I’ll be more sure after I get to look you over.”

Soap leaned closer, waggling his eyebrows. But he didn’t say anything, because he couldn’t. Not here. Not where people could overhear and get the wrong idea.

Simon was fine, as it turned out when you finally got him to medical. Heightened metabolisms were good for some things, after all, and that included faster healing.

But you still bullied all your guys into the nest to take a nap.

“Stop fussing,” Price grumbled, lifting his head to pin you with a look. “And get in here.”

“It is literally my job to fuss,” you grumbled right back, although you did stop messing with the pillows and observed the nest. There was a good spot next to Simon. You carefully stepped over Gaz and Price before you settled down with a soft chirp, nestled between Simon and Price. There. That was better.

Price’s soft huff made you grin to yourself. At least until Simon tucked you under his arm and started scratching your scalp. Then you relaxed into him.

Okay. Maybe you could take a nap too.

One good thing about having pack-only spaces was that you could be with your guys without fear.

Simon had been ordered to stay and rest and finish healing while the other three went on what was supposed to be a quick mission. A day or two all told, is how Price had phrased it. You didn't know the details, didn't need to know the details, but you did know that Simon hated this.

"Relax," you murmured to him soothingly, scratching your fingers against his scalp. "They'll be back soon."

He grumbled wordlessly, one hand curling against your thigh where he was also using it as a pillow.

"Easy, Simon," you murmured, low and soothing. The little bit of grooming helped both of you, you knew. And it was almost all you could do for the moment.

Until you got called to help with exfil.

You hated leaving Simon, knew he'd be all but climbing the walls in his anxiety, but… needs must. He understood.

This time you went without your med pack - supplies would be available after exfil.

You weren't even sure Price had called for you. But the order came from higher up, so off you went to go help.

From high in the air, the battlefield looked bad. You could see bodies still laying where they'd fallen, a visual indication of the path of retreat. It took a little time to find your guys, the three of them huddled together behind a half-burned building. There were no immediate threats, but you could see where enemies had set up to hinder them.

It was not an easy situation, nor an easy fix. You flapped your wings a few times, changing your trajectory.

You needed to give them a distraction, a chance to get out. Most people didn't look up - you could use that, get a good sneak attack or two in. Cause a little chaos in the line.

It would do for now, until you came up with a better plan.

You flew a little higher, using the angle of the sun to help disguise your descent. And then you dove, aiming for one soldier a little apart from the others. He never saw you coming.

But he screamed as your talons ripped through the vulnerable skin of his scalp and neck.

You flapped hard, leaving him to bleed out even as shouts started up around you. You managed to vanish into the sun, flying up high again. You'd be harder to hit that way.

Of course, now they were on alert. Damn. That hadn't quite been enough of a distraction for your guys to get away.

You needed something bigger.

Scanning the ground, you looked for something out of the way to pick up and drop on the enemy line.

It was a good plan, and it even worked.

Until you were flying away. Someone must have been watching, because there was a sharp pain in your wing, enough to make you screech. Your wing faltered and you fell, just able to slow yourself enough that you didn't injure yourself further.

You hit the ground in a flurry of blood and feathers and screeching. Your wing hurt, leaving you unable to fly.

Behind enemy lines.

The first man to lunge at you got your beak to his throat, blood hot as it splashed across your face and chest. Maybe you'd have time to get to safety, maybe you could shift and–

Something heavy fell over your head, completely blocking your vision. You screeched, loud and angry, but more heavy things landed on top of you. Something held your wings firmly down against your sides, the pain sharp enough to make you try to jerk away. But you couldn't, too many hands grabbing you and securing you.

Blind and trapped, you could only feel as you were picked up and moved.

But you weren't dead yet, which was terrifying.

People handed you off between them, and you tried to flap your wings or flex your claws or anything. But movement of any kind resulted in you being squeezed to the point of pain.

With no way to see where you were or how many of them there were, you gave up. Conserved your strength, so you'd have a better chance of escape once you could see again.

An engine rumbled to life, and you got squished in against a body.

"Try anything funny and I will break your wing," a man hissed to you in heavily-accented English. You didn't doubt that he, or someone, would.

So you behaved, because you wouldn't be able to escape if you had a broken wing. You listened to the occasional chatter in Arabic. You tried very hard not to panic.

Sooner than you expected, the car stopped and you were once again handed off. The thing never came off your head, never let you see anything.

But you could hear more people, orders shouted in Arabic, more movement.

Oh this was bad.

Someone carried you somewhere cooler. More movement around you, and for a brief moment you could see as the heavy thing over your head was yanked off - you could see two men in front of you, one of them grinning to show off two empty spaces where teeth should be.

Then darkness again as a hood was secured over your head. You'd never been put in a falconry hood, but you knew immediately that's what it was, just from the feel of the leather and ties around your head. You screeched, trying to flap your wings.

"Enough of that," a sharp voice scolded. You nearly startled to realize it sounded like a woman. There was another flurry of Arabic, orders it sounded like, and then hands grasped your right wing, the one with the bullet hole. Big hands held you in place, wing extended, other wing pinned to your side.

You had no idea what they were doing until you heard the snip, snip, snip. You screeched, enraged and despairing and agonized. But they didn't stop, and there was nothing you could do.

"There." The woman sounded far too smug, too pleased. "Now you can be my bird." She laughed, low and throaty and sadistic.

You shivered, tucking your wings in as tight as you could, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. Bells jingled as you moved and you froze in horror.

Hood and jesses. They were treating you like a falconry bird.

If you could, you might have thrown up. As it was, you made a tiny distressed noise.

A door shut somewhere nearby, leaving you with the terrible feeling that you were alone.

You tried to pace off the room, but the fucking bells kept breaking your concentration. You could stretch your wings, at least, though the right one hurt. And the way the air moved around your wing was… wrong.

That was all the confirmation you needed, even as you pulled your wings in tight again and huddled in place, shivering. They’d clipped your primaries.

Even if the hood was gone, you wouldn’t be able to fly.

You had no idea how long you stood there, alone in the forced darkness. Time was meaningless as you mentally went in circles. Simon knew you’d gone. There was a chance the other three had seen you or heard the commotion. People knew you were gone.

Someone would come for you.

Or you’d be killed first.

But you didn’t want to die, your pack needed you, you couldn’t leave them, they’d never forgive themselves if you died here–

The door opened hard enough that it slammed into the wall, and you jumped, wings flaring in agitation.

“There’s my pretty bird,” the woman from before cooed, over-sweet and mocking. “Hungry yet?” Her steps were deliberately loud as she approached you. You stiffened, holding yourself tense, but didn’t move. “Now, are you going to cooperate? Be a good bird?”

You didn’t reply, but you figured that lack of fighting would be a response. Because you had no idea where you were, and you held almost no power here. You knew that if you got too uppity, they’d make your life worse. Probably not kill you - they’d had plenty of opportunity to do that, and hadn’t yet.

But you could think of plenty of things they could do to make things worse for you.

The hood was pulled off your head, and you blinked rapidly as you adjusted to the light. The room had no windows and only one door. The artificial light washed everything yellow.

And, most importantly, left you no way to know how long it had been, how long you’d been gone.

The woman in front of you wore khaki and brown, simple clothes that were more functional than fashionable. Brown eyes held yours, a smirk slowly stretching her lips when you refused to look away first. But she didn’t seem to care about a dominance game. She just stepped further into the room, setting down two bowls for you.

Like you were a pet.

Your stomach turned and you stayed very still, head tipped, watching her closely.

“Well? Go on. Eat while you can.” Her grin had stretched into a cruel thing, showing too many teeth.

You shuffle-hopped forward, the bells on the jesses setting off every nerve you had. You hated this. Hated her. But this wouldn’t be forever, you knew it wouldn’t. You needed to eat, needed the fuel to heal and save up for your escape (as soon as you had a decent plan).

So, much as it grated on you, you ate from the bowl, keeping your gaze on her as much as you could. It felt demeaning, dehumanizing.

You felt like some exotic pet. The feeling made your blood boil, made you seethe. But you were careful to do so very quietly, only to yourself.

“Good bird,” she cooed mockingly. “We shall see how long it takes to train you.”

Before you could do more than flare your wings in protest, the hood was shoved back on your head, plunging you into darkness once more. You flapped your wings twice, momentarily off-balance.

The door shut. A lock clicked.

And you were alone again, in darkness and silence.

It was impossible to track how much time had passed. You could hear only occasional muffled sounds beyond your room, had no way to mark the passage of time.

The only breaks from the darkness were for food, always far enough apart that you were hungry, always the woman and one underling. Always demeaning. Always difficult.

You suffered through five meals. Five meals. Each one worse than the last, with more taunting, more mocking. It was harder every time to not just leap at her and rip into her.

But you remained patient, somehow.

The muffled sound of gunfire drew your attention, and you moved back and forth restlessly. It was hard not to get your hopes up, after however many days of being stuck here.

When the gunfire got louder and you heard the muffled shouts outside your door, satisfaction surged. That was probably your pack, coming for you.

And if it wasn’t, well… There was more than one way out of here.

You waited for a lull in the fighting, in the shouting and gunshots and chaos. And then you screeched, as loud as you could.

There. If that was your pack, they’d know it was you. If it was anybody else… You’d deal with that when you could.

The fighting and gunfire got closer, and you backed up slowly, carefully. The jingling of the fucking jesses still grated, but it was easier to ignore with the fighting outside.

There were two shots outside, two thuds. Your heart beat faster and you half-spread your wings, talons clicking against the floor.

“Found her,” came Soap’s voice from the door, and the breath whooshed out of you all at once. “Fuck,” he ground out, as angry as you’d ever heard him. “Okay, ‘s just me, sweets. Ah’m gonna take this off, yeah?” Hands fumbled with the hood for a moment before it was gone, leaving you blinking and near-blinded by the sudden brightness.

And there was Soap, clothes a little bloodied, expression torn between rage and sympathy. He spared a moment to smooth a hand over your head.

“Can ye shift?”

You clicked your beak and awkwardly held out one leg, jingling the jess still attached.

His expression immediately darkened. “Ah’ll burn the whole place,” he swore, rapidly removing one jess, then the other.

Relieved, you immediately shifted back. Your arm ached where the bullet hole had mostly healed, and you knew you probably looked a wreck. You felt a wreck, a little shaky and unsteady. But you were also determined to get the hell out.

“Give me a gun,” you rasped, throat dry.

“Ah donnae have supplies for ye,” Soap murmured apologetically, even as he unclipped his handgun and handed it to you. “Keep close.”

You nodded silently, pushing down everything else. You’d deal with everything else later.

Warm wetness on your feet made you look down as you followed Soap out of the room that had been your prison for however long. Two guards, both dead. Clean shots. Blood had pooled in the hallway. Your upper lip curled and you stepped carefully through the hall, not wanting to slip on anything.

Soap motioned you to wait as you came up to a corner, and he peeked around first. A gunshot had him jerking back.

“Counted eight,” he murmured to you. “Wait here.”

“But–” Your shoulders raised, and if you’d had feathers they would have been floofing out.

“Ye have no vest, no protection,” Soap pointed out, soft but firm. “Jus’ got ye back, sweets. Donnae ask me this.”

And you deflated again. As much as you wanted to kill every bastard in the building yourself, he had a good point. “Okay,” you agreed quietly, grip tightening briefly on your gun. “I’ll wait.”

Soap pressed a quick, hard kiss to your temple before he was gone, picking off one before he even rounded the corner. You could do nothing but listen to the chaos and wait for the all clear to move up.

A scuff behind you had you whirling, gun up. The woman stood no more than ten paces away, teeth bared, a gun in her hand.

“Well well, is this what pretty birdie looks like when she’s not a birdie?” She laughed, the sound unhinged, divorced from reality. “What a waste.”

“Don’t move.” Your voice didn’t shake. Your hands didn’t shake. But your mind… your mind quailed.

“What’s the matter, birdie? Missing your hood?” Her teeth were bloody, eyes fixed on you as she took a step closer.

You swallowed hard, breath coming faster. If you never saw a hood again it would be too soon.

“We can fix that.” She took another step forward, lifting the gun slowly, as if it was much heavier than it actually was.

You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t blink. You shot her, center mass.

She fell.

“Sweets?” Soap sounded only a little panicky.

“Clear!” You swallowed. Then again. You were a medic, yes, but this was far from the first time you’d killed. You’d hoped this would bring a little peace.

Instead you were simply numb.

“Move up!” Soap called after another minute. You obeyed wordlessly, turning your back on the corpse without another thought.

“How far?” you asked softly, stopping behind him, letting him be your shield again.

“Not much farther.” He glanced back at you, worried. “Ye alright?”

“Fine.” Your answer was short, clipped. Because you couldn’t think about being anything other than fine. “Let’s go.”

Soap hesitated a moment longer, gaze searching your face, before he nodded once, slowly. Then he moved, keeping you behind him. You kept close to him, moving as quietly as possible, ignoring the tackiness of blood drying on your skin.

He had you wait as he cleared one more room, and then the two of you met up with Gaz. Gaz breathed in sharply when he saw you but was quick to tug you to him in a hard hug, the edges of his vest and gear blunt and uncomfortable against your skin. You didn’t care, returning the hug with an edge of desperation.

“Here,” Gaz murmured, pulling spare clothes from one of his pouches. “Couldn’t bring extra gear for you, but this’ll do for now.”

You nodded, pulling the clothes on silently. They didn’t actually help you feel any better, but being with two of your pack did.

“Price and Ghost are almost done,” Gaz told Soap, tucking you between the two so you were protected. “Ready to meet up?”

“Ready.” Soap grinned, brief and vicious. “Ye’ll like this,” he promised you, taking the lead. You followed him, Gaz on your six. The building was quiet now, tension thrumming under your skin. But you kept up, swallowing back your nerves as best you could.

“All set up?” Soap asked as he stepped into a room. You followed, a little more cautious.

“All set,” Price agreed, eyes immediately finding you. A bit of tension leaked from his shoulders and he smiled, just a little. “Ready to get out of here?”

You nodded silently, but didn’t say anything. Which didn’t matter, because Ghost was in front of you in a few long strides, one hand gently cupping your cheek to tip your head.

“Injuries?” he asked softly, gaze sweeping over you.

“Just my arm.” And your feathers, but you couldn’t think about that for longer than a moment or you’d start screaming.

Ghost nodded, pulling you into his side.

“Let’s go,” Price ordered, taking point. The others kept you in the middle between them all the way out.

At a safe distance, the group of you turned. Soap waggled his eyebrows at you, grinning, before he pushed down on a detonator.

The entire building collapsed, shaking apart as explosions ripped through it. It was incredibly cathartic to see. Or, well. It probably was. You were… kind of numb.

“Here.”

You blinked slowly to find Price holding out a water to you. Your hands trembled as you took it, drinking slowly under the watchful gaze of your pack.

“It’s not far to exfil,” Gaz murmured, one hand resting on your shoulder. You leaned into the touch, breath momentarily hitching.

“Okay.” You swallowed hard and took the protein bar Price handed over, eating mechanically. You could barely taste it.

You knew this was bad, but. Not much to be done about it yet.

“You alright to walk the rest of the way?” Price asked, glancing down at your feet.

You blinked. You… couldn’t actually feel any discomfort from your feet, though you knew you should. You were standing barefoot on the ground, and it wasn’t even flat ground. “I’m fine.”

Price eyed you for a moment before he nodded. “Let’s get out of here, then,” he murmured. Contrary to his own words, he leaned in until he could press his forehead to yours, taking a moment to just breathe. Then he pulled back, once again taking point.

You followed, a little slow but moving under your own power. At least you weren’t in pain.

Yet.

The heli was waiting for you when you arrived. You shivered briefly against the wind and hurried in, buckling in with shaking hands. Soap dropped down on one side of you, Gaz on your other side. They both double checked your harness.

The flight back didn’t seem to take any time. You sat upright, tired and numb and cold, but unable to show any of that. You would eventually, you knew. You should probably warn your guys, you knew.

But you couldn’t.

The heli set down with a bump and you jolted. Two pairs of hands steadied you, Gaz and Soap both looking at you with concern.

But nobody said anything as they escorted you to medical.

You answered anything directly asked of you, quiet and stiff. The bullet hole in your arm was deemed mostly healed (it should have been more healed, really, but you hadn’t eaten enough), and otherwise you were dehydrated and bruised, but mostly unharmed.

The problem arose when one of the medics asked you to shift.

“No.” The word was only a whisper but you leaned away, hands curling into fists, muscles pulling taut.

The medic paused, eyeing you carefully. You were known to be more easy-going and cooperative, so this? Was unusual. “If you need privacy–”

“No.” It came out a little stronger this time, even as your gaze darted to the door, heart racing. No. Absolutely not.

The medic slowly leaned back, away from you. But their voice was calm as they called, “Captain?”

Price was in front of you a moment later, taking in your posture in a quick glance. He put one heavy hand on your shoulder, ducking his head to look you in the eyes for a moment. “Easy,” he murmured, frowning a little. “You done here?” He glanced back over his shoulder at the medic.

“She hasn’t shifted yet, so we’re not technically done,” the medic explained.

Price glanced down at you, and you shook your head, jaw clenched so tight your teeth ached. “Another time,” Price grunted, gently tugging you off the exam table.

The medic sighed, exasperated but unwilling to fight. “Fine. Make sure she sleeps,” they ordered, moving out of the way. “And eats.”

Price nodded, letting his hand fall from your shoulder. You tried not to focus on that, tried to focus on following him instead. But it was hard. The touch had been grounding, helpful. Helping to pull you back into yourself.

“You should get cleaned up,” Price murmured, heading back towards your quarters. “It’ll help.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t manage more than that, couldn’t force more out. The numbness was slowly fading, leaving you aching. And tired. So very tired.

Price paused outside your door, studying you. “Do you want someone here?”

You swallowed and forced yourself to nod. You didn’t want to be alone. But you didn’t want anyone looking at you just yet, either.

Price nodded slowly, brow furrowing a little. “I’ll stay,” he rumbled, pushing your door open and ushering you through first. “Get cleaned up, dress down for the evening.”

You nodded wordlessly, slipping past him and grabbing comfortable clothes. You had a bathroom to yourself, something you were extremely grateful for, and you shut the door between yourself and your alpha. And then immediately opened it a crack, because you felt too trapped otherwise.

Hot water felt heavenly, after everything. Getting to scrub your head felt heavenly. Everything else… Well. You definitely overdid it washing yourself, scratching your skin nearly raw in places. You did make yourself bleed again, accidentally breaking open the wound in your arm.

But you finally felt clean enough for the moment and emerged, drying off and wrapping your head in a towel. That would do.

Price was still sitting on your bed when you emerged, phone in hand, though he turned his gaze to you as soon as the door opened. His gaze lingered on your skin, and you knew he was making note of everything. But he didn’t comment.

“Figured we’d go to the pack room,” he said, carefully phrasing it as an option, rather than an order. “Got Gaz and Soap bringing food.”

You nodded. “Food sounds good,” you admitted, walking over to him. You didn’t ask, just plastered yourself to his front, cheek pressed to his chest, inhaling the comforting scent of your alpha. Price hummed softly, one hand cupping the back of your head, his other settling on your back.

“Take as long as you need,” he murmured, low and soothing. “We’ll walk together, hm?”

“Yeah.” You closed your eyes, relaxing into his warmth. Just a minute. You just needed a minute. Price only held you tighter.

You finally pulled back with one last deep breath. “Okay,” you croaked. “Let’s go.”

Price didn’t object, but he did keep you close as the two of you walked to the pack room. Almost nobody was around, which worked out well, because you were starting to use your captain for help staying upright.

No sooner had you stepped into the pack room than you got swarmed. Somehow, you weren’t exactly sure how, they settled you on the couch pressed up against Simon, with Gaz and Soap chattering as they made up plates of food, and Price hovering behind you and Simon.

“Don’t ask,” you murmured to Simon, fairly sure Price could hear too. “Not yet.”

Simon hummed softly, carefully bundling you even closer to his side. “Not yet,” he agreed, about as soft as he ever got.

Gaz and Soap carried the conversation through dinner, both of them settling around you as well until you were entirely enclosed by pack. It should have made you feel better.

It didn’t.

All you could think of were the past eight days. Eight, you discovered when Soap let it slip. Eight days you’d been stuck in that hood and silence but for the jesses, treated like an animal.

It was almost enough to make you sick.

You swallowed down what you could, but ended up leaving food. It was odd - you would have thought you’d be ravenous, after the last days. But you weren’t. You were barely hungry, only ate to try to stave off their concern.

Which didn’t entirely work, from the quick looks and little touches you endured through the evening.

And then you just… settled. Let one of them take your plate when it was obvious you weren’t going to eat more, and relaxed. Simon stayed on one side of you, refusing to move. You leaned more and more into him as your eyes tried to shut, until he simply pulled you in to use his chest as a pillow. You murmured something, half complaint half thanks, and closed your eyes, the soothing sounds of your pack settling around you.

You woke to total darkness.

For a moment you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. If you moved you’d hear those damn bells, and there was no point because you couldn’t get anywhere, you were trapped, and your wings– your wings–

“Hey, hey, s’alright love,” Simon murmured urgently, hands patting at you. Which was when you realized you were keening, breath hitching in your chest. You still couldn’t see but you could feel your pack moving around you.

“Get the lights,” Price ordered. “Simon?”

“Not sure.” Simon put one hand over your chest. “You need to breathe.” It wasn’t until he put your hand against his chest, letting you feel the exaggerated inflation of his lungs that you realized he was talking to you.

The lights flipped on, bright and sudden, and you went limp. You were fine. You were in the pack room. You didn’t have a hood on.

“Love?” Simon leaned closer to you, eyes dark and worried.

“‘M okay,” you gasped, blinking a few times, finally settling back into reality. “Just. A minute.”

Simon didn’t move, just breathing in again. You did your best to follow along, nerves still strung taut from waking the way you did. Soap pressed up close to your side, his head resting near your hip. Your fingers curled gently in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp to help calm yourself. Based on his pleased hum, that’s what he’d wanted in the first place.

“Better?” Price moved carefully closer, doing a quick visual check.

“Yeah.” You licked your lips, very aware of your dry throat now. “Just.” You clenched your jaw. Admitting weakness was never easy, and this was no different. “Couldn’t see.”

Soap lifted his head to look at you. “Sweets,” he started, carefully, like he was feeling for land mines. “Did they keep the hood on ye?”

You swallowed hard. “Except for when they brought me food.”

“Hood?” Gaz asked, handing over a bottle of water to you, expression mostly blank.

“And jesses,” you confirmed before taking a deep drink of water.

“We’ll make sure there’s a light on for you,” Price said, before anyone else could say anything. Which was honestly for the best - you didn’t think you could talk any more about what had happened just yet.

“You should go back to sleep,” you murmured, setting the water bottle down and scratching Soap’s scalp again. “Too early to be up.”

“Hm.” Price tipped his head, looking at you. Then he huffed softly. “Stubborn.”

You only had time to blink before he was settling back in with the rest of you, getting comfortable. The nest was big enough for all of you, because you’d made sure of that, but still.

You didn’t think anyone would manage to get back to sleep, especially with the light on. But they surprised you - Gaz snored gently against Price’s ribs, while Soap used your hip as a pillow. (He always made the oddest choices.) Price didn’t sleep, but he did close his eyes and relax.

Simon just kept you close, his steady breathing helping your own.

Your pack didn’t quite hover the next few days. They did, however, take rotating shifts making sure someone stayed with you. Simon nudged you into the pack room every night. Gaz had pulled up a nightlight from somewhere, the soft yellow light always left on now. They didn’t let you feel ashamed of it, either, though shame still tried to wiggle into your brain.

Things weren’t okay. Wouldn’t be okay for a while. But they were getting better.

Except for your wings.

You managed not to think about it most of the time, focused on staying human and getting through the worst of the aftereffects. Sure, it wasn’t conventional torture, but it was almost worse.

Things finally came to a head when the rest of the pack shifted, Gaz and Soap racing outside immediately, growling playfully at each other. Ghost followed, more placid, looking at you once over his shoulder.

Price stopped in front of you, the bear easily able to meet your gaze. You knew that if he stood up straight on his hind legs, he’d be much taller than you.

“No.” Your smile was small and tight, pained. “You go. I’m not shifting.”

His head tipped, fuzzy little ears flickering back towards the open door and back to you. He grunted softly and nosed your ribs gently.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’ll come out for a bit.”

Satisfied, he huffed and went first, lumbering out the door. You followed him, briefly squinting against the light before you adjusted.

Gaz and Soap raced across the open space, occasionally trying to trip each other or jump over each other. Soap even got bold enough to bite Ghost’s tail and run for it, angry cat hot on his tail and gaining fast. Price found a nice sunny spot to watch and make sure they didn’t actually go overboard.

Pretty normal. Except for you. You stood stiff and still, watching them and making no effort to join. It was… too much. It wasn’t their fault, or yours. The only people responsible were dead.

None of them looked when you slipped back inside, as quietly as you could. You had one more thing you needed to do, and you needed some privacy to do it.

Your room was far enough from them that you didn’t worry about being found immediately. You carefully took off your clothes, folding them on your bed. One deep breath. Two.

You could do this. Hell, you’d been doing this since you were a child. Nothing would stop you now.

You shifted between breaths, braced for… something. But nothing happened. You didn’t immediately panic.

Okay. So far so good.

You spread your wings carefully, flapping them a few times. You could just see your reflection in the mirror. Your beak was just as sharp, your crest still upright. Bits of downy feathers stuck up from a lack of preening, but you ignored the vague feeling of wrongness. You had something more important to fix.

Your primaries had all been cut on your right wing. Not just some of them. All of them. It would take months for them to molt on their own. Months of being grounded, being flightless, being useless.

The soft, mournful sound ripped free from your throat, and you flapped again. You could hop, maybe get a bit of air. But you couldn’t fly, not like this.

Unless…

No. No, that was a terrible idea.

Except that it wasn’t, really, a terrible idea. The longer you stood there, head tipped, staring at your clipped feathers in the mirror, the more sense it made.

One last deep breath in and you dipped your head, tipping your wing to make it easier. It took a little shuffling and a little preening to get the right feather in your beak.

The first one came out cleanly, a few drips of blood accompanying it. You dropped the shaft to the floor, not giving yourself time to really feel the pain. You just did it again. And again. And again.

Until the floor was littered with blood and snipped feathers, the red stark on the black and white banded feathers. Your wing burned and ached, throbbing in time with your heart, and your chest heaved with your panting, beak open. You felt almost dizzy with it, mind gone blank.

“Sweets?” The panicked yell made you blink and cheep softly, though you didn’t move yet. Your door was unlocked. “Sweets, I smell blood.” Gaz hit the door a moment later, nearly tumbling inside when the door opened easily. He froze when he spotted you, anguish twisting his features. “Oh, Sweets, what did you do?”

You chirped at him, turning carefully, keeping your right wing flared.

Gaz knelt in front of you, ducking down to examine where you’d pulled out your feathers. “Doesn’t look like you’re still bleeding,” he murmured, almost absently preening your feathers. “But why–?”

You chirped at him and picked up one of the feathers by the shaft, showing him the cut end.

“Cut?” He frowned, gaze darting between you and the small pile of feathers, before realization hit. He swallowed hard, rage like a dark thundercloud. “But why pull them?”

You chirped softly, dropping the feather and hopping closer to him. You were not designed for flat floors, dammit, you were designed for trees!

“Do you wanna shift?” Gaz asked, frowning a little at you.

You shook yourself. Now that you’d shifted, you actually felt a little better. Still kind of awful, because you couldn’t fly, but you didn’t feel quite as raw.

He huffed. “Course not,” he agreed with a wry smile. “Can I help you preen?”

You chirped softly again, ducking your head under his hand. He took it as permission, which it was, and began combing through your feathers gently.

“Gonna have to talk to one of us eventually,” he murmured, hands gentle over your injured wing. “Can’t put it off forever.”

You clicked your beak at him and stretched, gently preening his hair. He huffed but allowed it, muttering something about you being a menace.

Gaz ended up letting you perch on his arm as he walked back to the pack room. Price huffed at your wing, gently pulling it to get a better look.

“Did you do this or did they?” His voice was calm, but you knew your alpha. He was not calm.

You chirped softly, looking to Gaz to answer for you.

“She pulled ‘em, but they were clipped.”

“Ah.” Price blew out a breath, fingers gentle as he checked your secondaries. “Force ‘em to come in sooner?”

You chirped a soft affirmative.

“Gonna need to eat more, then.” The look he gave you told you this was not an argument you would win. So you didn’t fight.

You let them take care of you and fuss (not too much), and you just worked on being better.

It took time, but the worst of the nightmares faded. Pitch black still bothered you but it was manageable, rather than panic attack inducing every time.

Things got better.

Your feathers still hadn’t come in yet, but you could be patient a little while longer. You could feel the itch where they were forming and growing. Good enough.

Your first op was supposed to be an easy one. Well. As easy as anything the 141 took on.

You, Price, and Gaz were clearing one building while Soap and Ghost cleared another. It was… not easy, but routine.

Until you stumbled over one man Gaz missed.

The man was in the back of the room, laying low. You probably wouldn’t have spotted him except a bit of light fell right on a very familiar feather. The black and white banding could, hypothetically, have been from any number of birds.

But you knew.

An angry snarl twisted your lips, and you stepped intentionally into the room, barely remembering to call to Price over your shoulder, gaze locked on your target. Your gun was steady on him.

He watched you right back, one hand reaching for a weapon from a fallen comrade in a way he probably thought was stealthy.

The bullet you planted between him and the weapon disabused him of that notion.

“Where did you get that feather?” you asked, voice low and growly. If you weren’t so focused, it would have startled you to hear how furious you sounded.

He looked up at you and grinned, front two teeth missing. You jerked back, body recalling more vividly than your mind the sudden darkness that had followed that grin.

“Easy,” Price murmured from behind you, just to the side. Close enough to support you and take the shot if you needed, but giving you space to do it yourself.

You breathed in deep. And shot him. For many reasons, including not leaving an enemy alive at your back.

But bending down to pull your feather from his shirt was just for you.

“You broken?” Price watched you, giving you space still. Letting you decide.

You tucked the feather in your vest and smiled. “Not today.” You nudged him, tipping your head to rest against his shoulder for just a moment, before you started walking again. “If we finish up before Soap, he promised he’d buy cookies.”

Price’s chuckle followed you out of the room. Gaz called over comms that the building was clear, and Soap started swearing. He and Gaz went back and forth on the matter of the cookies, easy bickering in the middle of everything else.

You just laughed, knowing your pack had you. Always.

#shifter au #f!reader #reader x 141 #john price x reader #simon “ghost” riley x reader #kyle “gaz” garrick x reader #johnny “soap” mactavish x reader

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pandalorian36 · 15 days

Text

Azriel x reader

A night in a shared hotel room leads to confessions of love.

Word count:2260 Warnings: possessive Azriel, some suggestivness at the end

I joined the night court long ago, I don't really remember what happened but I was only just an adult when Rhys, Azriel and Cassian found me stumbling about in the snow with no memory of how I got there. They took me in and I found good friends among the court as they became my family. Finding my own magic and skills. I am fast and strong able to beat most in a fight. People learn the hard way not to underestimate me.

Groaning I follow Az into the battered inn shaking the snow from my clothes and feathery wings. The fluffy flakes have stuck to some of the feathers meaning I have to manually brush them off. Azriel stomps back over a singular key dangling from his hand "They only have one room." I shrug shivering "Long as its warm I don't care."

He huffs slightly and starts up the stairs having to stoop under the doorway. The room itself is tiny Az taking up a shocking amount of space, it consists of a small bathroom and a small double bed squashed against the wall and a dresser with a rickety looking chair but its clean and relatively warm.

I am too tired to argue about anything and drop my bag on the dresser peeking into the bathroom there is no way I can fit in the bath with my wings let alone Azriel who is significantly taller. I remove my jacket and begin to fill the sink with no hot water I make it quick scrubbing the dirt from my hands an arms before leaving the bathroom for Azriel.

I hear the water start followed by a large bout of swearing. I bite my lip to stop my laugh I forgot to warn him about the hot water situation. Minutes later he emereges hair dripping and shirtless. "Little cold?" he glares but light shines in his eyes so there is no malice behind it. I tuck my wings in and sit on the edge of the bed "I don't mind sharing. The floor is far too cold."

Az doesn't respond so I turn onto my side getting as close to the wall as I can so he has plenty of space. The bed is not built for those with wings let alone someone of Az's size, the bed dips significantly under his weight making me laugh as I slide into his side "Hello." he rolls his eyes slightly and adjusts his weight so the mattress evens out once more allowing me to move back to where I was.

The room is freezing the thin blanket offering little warmth. I fall into a light sleep exhaustion winning over. Before I fully wake I feel a sense of warmth and content moving closer to the source of heat I find its difficult to move a weight on one of my wings.

Blinking I find I am facing Azriels chest, it takes a moment to fully comprehend our position. One of his wings is under my side another draped over the top while my own almost mirror wrapping around him. His shadows are also wrapped around the both of us twining our limbs together. Azriel grunts slightly his whole body stretching out and I freeze terrified of moving. I'm trapped until he moves his weight.

I look up and find Azriel already awake staring straight back his face bright red. I think its the first time I've ever seen him blush. We both try and pull apart in a tangle of limbs failing completly when he ends up on his back with you sprawled on his chest faces inches apart. Blushing furiously you scrambled up managing to free yourself and fall onto the floor. Knowing how much he struggles with physical contact you stand "Az I'm sorry I didn't. I don't."

He stands combing a hand through his hair still visibly blushing"Its fine." His shadows are dancing around the room wrapping around my legs and arms chuckling slightly I glance down heat instantly rushing to my face as I notice Azriel's situation. Quickly I return my gaze to his face "I'm going to change." Hurridly I enter the bathroom filling the basin with water to splash on my face.

Its true you I have always harboured a crush on the stoic illyrian. He is handsome, kind and though people rarely see it has a wonderful sense of humour. Everything about him draws me in but I have never said anything not wanting to ruin our friendship. It took Azriel longer than the others to trust you but I spent a lot of time proving yourself to him.

Taking a deep breath I exit the bathroom finding Azriel fully clothed and surrounded in shadows. "Bathroom is free." he nods not saying a word as he finishes packing. I pack my own bag slowly and officantly putting my two short swords into place finished by the time Azriel reappears shaking water from his hair I smile slightly "Looks like the storm has passed we should be back in Velaris by this evening."

He nods and grabs his bag remaining silent. I put it down to embarrasment and don't pry following him silently out the room and out into the woods. There is a clean blanket of snow over everything the tiny ice crystals blinking in the sunlight. I smile brightly and expand my wings taking off into the early morning sky the soft flakes fluttering slightly as I move.

Az joins me in the sky the two of us heading towards Velaris. Cassian is first to greet us at the house of wind grinning broadly "Welcome home." before either of us can react he has thrown a snowball hitting Az square in the face. I bite my lip coughing to hide a laugh as Azriel wipes the snow from his face scowling at his brother. A shadow whips out wrapping around his ankle sending Cassian crashing too the floor.

Mor and Rhys walk into the room Rhys shaking his head looking dissapointed "You are back less than five minutes and already fighting?" Cassian grins standing up "I couldn't resist." Mor rolls her eyes "Didn't you get it all out your system last week?" Rhys chuckles "Cas is still sore that he lost. Az, Y/N anything to report?"

We both shake our heads and he nods "Excellent I still want a written report for tomorrow though." Cassian grins "Get caught in the storm last night?" I smile "We stayed at an inn. Didn't want to risk flying in it." he nods solemnly "Very wise." I roll my eyes at him shooting a smile at Azriel "I'm going home I'll send my report this evening. Bye Cass."

Cassian waves flopping down on one of the sofas while I fly home and sink into the bathtub glad for the warm water and space. Changing into comfortable trousers and shirt I sit at my desk and write out my report sending it directly to the house of wind by magic.

Azriel seems to be avoiding me over the coming days at training, dinners always finding excuses to leave the room when I enter. After a week the others begin to catch on Cass and Rhys cornering me after a dinner "What is going on?" I stare up at them confused "Sorry?" Rhys sighs "With Azriel."

I sigh rubbing my forehead "I have no idea. Every time I try and talk to him he finds an excuse to leave. Believe me if I knew what I had done I would apologise for it."

Cassian raises a brow "So hes ignoring you for no reason?" I sigh "I don't know he's been ignorning me since the inn..." Cassian gasps "Did something happen with you two?" I shake my head "No, nothing really. There was only one room left so we ended up sharing a bed but nothing happened."

Rhys grins sharing a look with his brother before leaving I watch them leave confused before shaking my head and heading home. Unlocking the door I remove all jewlery and kick my shoes off to the side jumping when there is a knock at the door.

I open it slowly finding Az his shadows dancing around him as he fidgets with his hands "Azriel?" I cross my arms sighing "Ready to explain why you've been ignoring me? Look if I did anything to offend you I'm sorry. I..."

"You haven't done anything." I must look shocked as he sighs deeply "I'm sorry. May I come in?" I step back allowing him in before shutting the door leaning against it. Az looks uncomfortable his shadows constantly moving around as he shifts his weight.

"Az what is going on you've been ignorning me since the Inn." he sighs taking a step closer "I didn't handle it well I'm sorry. I feel very strongly about you but never wished to pressure you into anything. I know you don't feel the same way..."

"Don't feel the same way," I laugh "Az I'm crazy about you." his face blanks and I take a step closer "Is that why you've been avoiding me? You thought I didn't like you?" He shrugs his shadows winding closer and I can sense there is something else he isn't telling me. I step closer taking one of his hands in mine slowly tracing the scars.

I look up meeting his gaze, he leans down slowly almost nervous as his lips brush against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck his sliding around my waist deepening the kiss. Heat floods through my body electricity shooting through my veins as something inside clicks into place something that feels like home, like a piece I've been missing. I don't know how I missed it my mind becomes clearer Azriel filling every gap.

My whole body sings mate. Azrael wraps his hands under my thighs pulling me up, I wrap my legs around his waist every fibre of my body wanting him, needing him. He pulls away pupils blown growling low "Mate." both of our chests are heaving as he leans in kissing me again moaning against my lips. "Mine."

I moan in response pulling away for air brushing hair out of his face his shadows twining around my arms tickling my skin, I frown kissing him gently this time "You knew didn't you?"

He nods grip tightening on my thighs as he backs me into the nearest wall "I knew from the moment we first met." he presses a kiss on my jaw working his way along speaking between kisses "I have loved you for years never knowing how you felt."

"I never told anyone." I run my fingers through his hair pressing kisses along his cheeks "You kept it to yourself all this time?" he locks his gaze with mine shadows playing with my hair "When you didn't react to the bond I thought I was wrong. But the longer I spent around you I knew I was correct. When ever you weren't around I missed you, when ever Rhys sent you on a mission I worried. I felt drawn to you at every moment wanting too kill any male who got too close."

He runs his hands up my sides "I wanted to tell you. I didn't know how." He kisses my cheeks "I'm shouldn't have kept it from you. I understand if you're mad." I smile blinking back tears "I'm not mad Az. I love you. Have loved you for years."

He tilts his head to the side "Why didn't you say anything? I thought you where ignorning our bond its why I never acted on it." I shake my head tighting my grip on him "No. Az I had no idea. You really thought I was ignoring you?" I sniff willing the tears not to fall "I could never do that to you. I promise you I didn't know. I think it something to do with my memory loss but I don't know. All I know is that you are mine. My mate and I love you with every fibre of my being."

Smiling softly he leans his forehead against mine shutting his eyes "My soul belongs to you Y/N L/N. Every part of me is yours." I cup his face bringing his lips to mine in a soft kiss pouring every ounce of my love into it before pulling away grinning "I believe I owe you a meal." he shakes his head slightly peppering kisses down my throat "Later."

I smirk pushing him away "No we are going to do this properly. You can control yourself for a little longer spy master." I nip at his ear making him growl while you jump to the floor walking through to your kitchen. Azriel slinks after you his shadows wrapped tightly around me waist carassing every inch of skin that is visible while I try and focus on what I am doing.

"Y/N you are testing my patience." I chuckle and turn around an apple in hand "And I thought patience was your strong suit. Do not fret spymaster I have no desire on making you wait." he glowers but takes the apple I offer biting into it and chewing painfully slowly.

He doesn't bother with the rest placing it on the counter smirking "Now I have waited long enough mate." his voice drops dangerously low as he backs me into the counter giving you a look that makes you weak in the knees "You are all mine." ...

#x y/n #x reader #acotar #azriel #acotar x reader #batboys #sarah j maas #azriel x reader #azriel x you #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin

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imaginesmai · 1 month

Text

Hewn City, where nightmares come true

Maybe this is a bit long and excesive? Maybe, but we love good angst, hurt and comfort. Thank you @marscardigan for your request! Feel free to send anything else. This is places inside the baker!reader universe, but it's independent. You can find other parts here.

Plot: your anonymity makes you a great choice for Rhysand's mission, even if Azriel doesn't agree. But you'll do anything to discover more of Azriel's life, even the worst part. So you decided to take that trip to Hewn City - where nightmares do come true.

Warnings: males being a lil creepy with their comments, Keir, violence.

“Az” you sighed for the third time that afternoon, staring at your stubborn mate. “It’s no big deal. Feyre has done it, Nesta has done it. Why can’t I?”

“They have done it because they have powers. They…” his words died when you raised a brow and dared him to tell you that they could and were different. More capable. “It’s not even about them, don’t change the topic. It’s about us. I don’t want you to do it”

“So, it’s fine when you leave for weeks to the mountains with a target on your back but I can’t accept one dance where you and your brothers will be watching?” you asked, and he finally looked away.

Azriel and you had been arguing about the same topic for two days in a row. Since Rhysand, who you had become fond of in the last years, asked you for a favor. He had been hoping you would come with them to Hewn City and dance with some males while they snooped around. You didn’t even have to carry weapons with you, since you would be introduced as part of their family.

It wasn’t dangerous or risky. It was a favor from your friend because Hew City didn’t know you. An unfamiliar face they would be too preoccupied studying to notice Feyre, Nesta and Mor sneaking into their studies. They would play the hard part. You just had to dance.

And Azriel was having a tantrum about it.

“The fact that you can’t even answer that question is enough. I’m going. And you can’t decide what I do and don’t”

“I can talk Rhysand out of it” he tried, not looking at you.

“Oh, like you haven’t tried that already”

You decided the conversation was finished and turned around to finish decorating the trail of cookies. Azriel was leaning against the counter, his usual place to watch you work in silent adoration. The storm in his eyes died down a little at the familiarity of your movements, at the comfort of the bakery.

Yes, he was mad. Mad at Rhysand because he hadn’t asked him first, mad at himself for considering he was your owner and needed to be asked for permission for you to do something. Mad at you because you couldn’t see how tight his heart became at the thought of you in someone else’s arms, dancing in a room full of vipers.

Half of the citizens of that rotten place had been tortured by Azriel at some point, and the other half had been gently tortured. He trusted Rhysand’s glamour to hide your bonded scent, but his rebel heart seemed to think otherwise.

For a while, he watched you work in silence, hands working your own particular magic with common ingredients. The fire eventually left his soul and he felt guilty enough to leave his spot. When you set the last trail in the oven, he took advantage of the vulnerable position and wrapped himself around you.

His wings created a small cocoon for the two of you, light barely seeping through the thick membrane.

“I’m sorry for being an overbearing mate” he apologized against your earlobe, letting his warm breath make you squirm. “You’re amazing and brave and you can handle everything you want, but I worry because I love you”

“And I’m also too smart and beautiful for your own good” you scoffed when one of his hands sneaked beneath your apron. “We’re gonna burn those cookies”

“Won’t the only thing burning for you tonight”

You bursted in a loud laugh and the rest of his anger faded away, giving up space for the usual love and adoration for you. In his arms, he could hear your heartbeat, smell the faint remains of vanilla from the previous muffins and your shampoo.

Azriel pushed you farther into his arms, and you didn’t complain. One of his arms was settled on your waist, under your apron but with no further intentions. The other one crossed your chest, and you gripped his forearm between your hands.

He was all hard muscles and soft skin. Even under his usual leathers, you could feel the familiar outlines of his arm. You looked up from his chest and saved the height different when you locked your eyes with him. From upside down, he was just as beautiful as ever.

His lips curved into an apologetic smile, although you were certain it wouldn’t be the last time you heard from it. Azriel was just a little less stubborn than you.

“I forgive you on one condition. You don’t bring it up to Rhys anymore. He already feels bad about it, you don’t have to remind him” you gently reprimanded him. “If he could, he would have searched for other solution. And I’m happy to help”

“You’re happy here, but down there it’s horrifying. And Rhysand and Hewn City can fuck – “

“Besides, I like doing things with you. From your other life”

Azriel’s life as the shadowsinger, as the spymaster, was still a bit hidden to you. You had gotten him to open up little by little, and he had shared some details that had you almost regretting your decision. But it was true that, besides doing Rhysand a favor, you wanted to do it with Azriel. Watch him work and be that tough male everyone feared.

That point made him roll his eyes and drop the matter with a brief kiss to your nose. He captured it between his teeth and playfully bit you, which earned him a swift elbow to his groin. Azriel teared apart just in time for the next customer to arrive.

With a sharp look that promised worst thing than an elbow, you left him in charge of the cookies and went to the front door.

Azriel hadn’t been allowed to see you before he big night. He had tried, but had received an arguable reason – that he would leave his smell all over you. As if he was a teen with hormone problems that couldn’t control himself. He was still fuming about it as he waited in silence by the throne, still pouting but intimidating.

His shadows were scattered all over the room, and he was purposefully ignoring Cassian’s warning glances. The last thing he could do to show his discomfort was terrorize a little their guests.

Rhysand had been introducing you in the dinner hall, where he hadn’t been allowed in. For centuries, the rules had kept Illyrian out of the finest and most elegant parts of the city, and it was one of the few rules he liked. He avoided pointless and tedious conversations waiting in the throne room.

“I bet Rhys he would wear line for a week you won’t last more than five dances” Cassian muttered under his breath, not looking away from the early guests. “Mor placed it at two”

“Glad my discomfort brings you joy, Cassian” he replied. “I plan to endure the whole night, if only for your troubles. What did Rhys bet?”

“Sex ban for a week”

Azriel rolled his eyes and finished the conversation. He was in for a long night, and he would try to endure it for you. Because you had looked so excited to be part of the plot, so bright and happy, he would never smudge that out.

The remains of your smile warmed his heart, and he relaxed a bit. You had been sitting right by his side as Rhysand went over the last details the previous night, listening to him like a hawk. Where you needed to dance, opposite from the entrance. Who you needed to charm or avoid, what you needed to act like.

He hated all of that, but he couldn’t deny that it made you happy. And whatever made you happy was worthy. The part he couldn’t stand was his absence during the grand dinner, during your introduction. It would raise many suspicions since Azriel never accompanied Rhysand there, therefore he had to wait at his usual spot.

Rotten on the spot with unusual nerves and doubts, he listened with trepidation the incoming steps.

“Don’t make me lose the bet. You don’t want to see me in a sex ban. Or Nesta” his brother announced quickly before the big doors opened.

“Shut up” Azriel hissed.

“A fair warning”

Rhysand walked in with cold indifference, Feyre walking by his side like the queen she was. His high-lord deemed worth the risk shoot him a warning glance, and Azriel thanked him, because it half-prepared him.

You walked right behind them, talking softly with Mor, and you were stunning. Beautiful. Bright. Radiant beyond the stars.

Azriel found the simplicity of your bakery uniform charming and perfect. The constant stains on your clothes, the sunny dresses you wore for your dates. Even training clothes made him stare longingly.

The dress you were wearing was long and dark, hugging all your curves and letting your left leg at plain sight. The cleavage lowered down to your waist, so low he could see the burnt scar you had gotten when you started your bakery. It showed your shoulders, your arms covered by a transparent, thin sheet of stars and bright dots. Azriel was glad he got a moment to digest the sight before seeing your exposed back.

You were so beautiful he stopped breathing, that he lowered his guard for the first time in that place. Someone could have tried to assassinate him from the front and he wouldn’t have seen them coming. Not when you were looking like a dream come true.

Rhysand was by his side before he could tear his eyes away from you, Feyre on his right.

“You may dance and drink and do whatever you like tonight” Rhysand motioned with a vague hand around. “But kneel first at your majesties”

“Lower” Cassian roared when only their heads lowered.

They all fell to their knees, as you and Mor watched by the side. While all their eyes were fixed on the ground, you looked at Azriel for the first time. He tugged frantically on the bond, proving Cassian wrong and behaving exactly like a hormonal teenager. You pulled back with a small smile – so small, so hesitant, that Azriel frowned.

It was different from the radiant one you had gifted him so many times during the last days.

He didn’t have to bother looking at Rhysand to have him speaking mind to mind.

“It’s her first time, she’s just nervous” his voice broke through the mental barriers, wary and full of concern. Azriel forced himself to look away from you, for your safety and his.

“What happened?”

“Nothing”

Rhysand knew him well enough to know he didn’t believe his answer, so he was met with flash of images of the previous dinner. How you had been introduced under predatory eyes, how your smile had died down a bit at the darkness and the coldness in their stares. Azriel’s whole body became alert as he watched through Rhysand’s eyes the dinner, no one daring to come close to you.

It would be different now, he knew, so he steeled his nerves as the first fae rose his head.

They rose up one by one, and when Rhysand just kept mumbling something in Feyre’s ears, they deemed safe to start moving. Music started playing and males started looking for the company of women. Azriel’s neck vein pulsed painfully when a lesser fae walked up to you and Mor, asking for your hand.

From up there, he could smell your hesitance. You would follow the plan, as Mor stepped out with a small vow, Nesta nowhere in side. Feyre would leave shortly too, and you would only have to stay there until they came back. But Azriel had to remind himself to breath when you were taken to the dance floor by another male.

He had to give it to the first one – he was respectful enough to keep his hands your waist and not lower them. Azriel felt his power roaring inside him the whole time, and he couldn’t help but stain his ears to listen to the conversation.

Through the dances you granted, he did that, ignoring the rest of the world and looking without seeing through the room.

You’re beautiful, how is it we haven’t seen you around earlier?

I have a son, he has lands and power. Would you like to know him?

I was hoping to catch you all night. What is such a sweet flower like you doing here?

You smell nice, unbonded

Rumors say you are an unmarried female. Such a pity

The comments grew more unfortunate the longer the night went. Rhysand power was gently holding him in place, reminding him the importance of giving the girls time. The High lord was looking too much at you, for his sake, so they wouldn’t notice Azriel acting like a boiling bull next to him.

And that started to draw unwanted attention, the notice of his High Lord staring at a woman. You were nothing like the female that had walked hours ago into the ballroom. Once you had seen what Hewn City was, what your mate had to work with, you were withering away – and Azriel noticed.

Azriel was seeing every drop of your smile, every muscle you tensed. Blood dripped to the ground behind him from how hard he was clenching his fists. His shadows curled in the edges of the room impatient, ready to attack. He broke every bet they had and then the last male walked up to you.

“May I have this dance?” Keir asked as you were dropped by your last companion. “You are hard to catch, my dear”

You brushed off the last feeling of discomfort from hands on you, all night, and tried to think quick. He had been one of the few males Rhysand had warned you to stay away from, but he had scared off any other options. And your friends weren’t back yet.

“I was hoping for a break” you tried to seem confident. “Sit this one out”

“Pretty things like you shouldn’t be sitting”

You bit your inner cheek, regretting the help you had offered. You had been regretting since you had stepped in the hall, and you had met Azriel’s eyes. The way they shone with worry and concern, the desperate tug on the bond. He had warned you and you felt foolish, because you thought you could handle it.

There were reasons in fate why you worked in a quiet bakery and he spent his life in dungeons.

“Shouldn’t have dance with every male in this room if you’re gonna get scared now” he chuckled, all void and dark. It made the hairs of your arms raise. “I won’t bite. Not too hard”

Apparently out of options, you accepted his hand and kept a straight face when he pulled you closer. If you were honest, you were too close to crying. Your feet hurt, your heart was pounding way too loudly against your chest and you had been touched way too many times. Every inch of your body felt dirty and wrong, and Keir certainly had big hands.

You had avoided Azriel’s eyes all night. You knew Rhysand was looking out for you, maybe to draw attention away from your mate. But that had made more males, the worst type it seemed, to become interested in you.

Keir was the last of a long list you had endured so far. He shamelessly inhaled when he pulled you closer, his nose brushing the space between your shoulder and neck. You convinced yourself it was his nose, not his lips, that traced your pulse point.

“You smell divine. So sweet” he commented, keeping you close to his body. “Have you been taken yet, dear? Has a male unfiled you?”

“That’s not a question I want to answer” you complained. You weren’t sounding confident at all, not with his hand pressing against your waist. It sounded more like another question itself.

“Oh, how I will like to see this city defile you. A little, sweet thing. Didn’t your mother warn you about wolves and rabbits?”

You kept quiet at his words, looking down at your moving feet. That way, he couldn’t see the way your expression broke. You noticed your lip quivering, your body trying to become smaller in his grasp. Just a dance, you reminded yourself. The heat of Azriel’s eyes was still present on your back, Rhysand glamour tight around you.

Keir’s shoes became blurry when your vision filled with tears. So desperately, you wanted to be home, with Azriel. You wanted Rhysand to never need you again, to have Keir moved to another continent along with the rest of that doomed city.

“I wonder if you’ll be as quiet in bed. How much will your father make me pay for you? Maybe we can arrange things for this week” Keir suddenly gripped the edge of your chin and made you look up, with a serious look on his cruel face. “Are you fertile, dear?”

The way he was speaking about you, his fingers gripping your face, was enough to make the first tear roll down. The male actually looked surprised at the sight, but once it had fallen, you couldn’t control yourself.

It could have been like that, you realized, if you hadn’t found Velaris. If Az wasn’t your mate, instead a male like Keir or someone worse. Your eyes searched desperately for him, without need to ask for help.

Azriel had reminded you many times that only one look and he would be right beside you, court matters dammed. He had made you say it out loud multiple times, had gotten you a small bargain tattoo on the back of your ankle. His eyes were already dark and troubled when you met them, his body ready.

He winnowed between shadows before anyone noticed, and then those same shadows were besides you. Keir’s fingers were ripped from you with a sickening crack, and you only saw Azriel’s fighting leathers. His rough hands tucking your face farther into his body, his shadows crawling up to your knees and calves.

They were cool against your sweaty skin, Azriel a calming and safe presence. Your face scrunched in a silent cry as you let your pent-up emotions consume you. You hugged him tight, not looking at the source of the screams.

“Scum” Azriel scoffed at the male in the ground, shooting Rhysand a warning glance.

“This is over. Forever”

“Azriel. They will know”

“Fuck you”

Rhysand could only witness in tense silence as Keir’s body tried to fight off Azriel’s shadows. Always so gentle around your body, they wrecked the male on the ground. They burnt his arms and snapped his fingers, squeezed his throat until his eyes budged. Azriel watched with murderous indifference as he held you trembling.

That was what he had wanted to tell you, to warn you about. You were capable of everything, you were brave and amazing. But that city was filled with trash and they could suck the life out of anyone.

“I want to go home” you whispered against his chest, your knees trembling.

“You have always been stupid, Keir, but you can always surprise me” Azriel growled, so primitive and feral that the room fell quiet. “Let’s see if you can quiet your screams tomorrow”

Feyre running out of one of the many doors was the last thing Azriel saw before winnowing you both away from Hewn City. He let his shadows hide you, but used his wings for good measure of protection.

In a few seconds, you were back in your apartment in Velaris, above your bakery, the sweet scent of summer nights filling the space. It no longer smelt like death and expensive perfume, like rotten flesh and arrogance. Azriel didn’t let you go as you squeezed his middle with a surprising force.

He knew what you needed without explanation. Carefully, he unlaced the dress on your back, his hands brushing any inch of skin those males had touched. Each trembling sigh, each tear he smelt on you, made him physically hurt to go back and kill them all. Pull at their limbs and hang them from their insides.

Rhysand would be hearing for him for a while, everyone in his family would. He squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to your whimpers, that stabbed into his heart like sharped knives. Azriel ripped the sleeves off your dress and could have burned it with the sheer force of his hate.

When you were finally standing with just your underwear, he allowed himself a moment of reassuring. Since the moment he had met your eyes, he was done for. The destiny of the world could have been in risk that he would have had still acted.

His hands were shaking too when he pulled your face away from his chest, cupping your cheeks. They were wet with tears, Keir’s fingers marked on your chin. He watched those beautiful eyes, that had shone at the idea of working with him, carry the burden of that night.

“I’m sorry” you whispered brokenly, your breath speeding up again. “I’m sorry I messed it up”

“You did perfect, darling. You did so good. So good” he assured you with passion, bringing your face closer to him until you couldn’t avoid his burning gaze. “They got out and you did perfect, but you won’t have to do it never again. I promise, Y/N, never”

You cried in his hands, and Azriel broke at the sight. What type of mate allowed their partner to go through that? To have strangers’ hands on them for hours? He hated himself a little bit more for that, but tried to hide it as he kissed your forehead.

He tangled his fingers between your locks as his lips lowered down your face. To your closed eyelids and wrinkles. Azriel kissed every tear, your nose, the edges of your pointed ears. He let his lips linger at the bruises on your chin, and found comfort at having Keir paying for them next morning.

Azriel ended up picking you between his arms, and carrying you to your room. It still held the remains of your excitement – scattered clothes close to the wardrobe, make-up products opened and half-used. He pointedly ignored them as he carefully dropped you in bed. Your arms didn’t unhook from his shoulders, and he didn’t complain.

“I hate them so much” he admitted in a whisper, close to your ear. “I hate them”

He had hated them since he was a child, had wanted to keep them away from you. He considered if moving to another continent with you was far enough, or if he would be forced eventually to kill them for breathing the same air. Those decisions would have to wait until the next morning.

Still on his leather clothes, Azriel let you lay on his chest and draped the sheet over your bodies. He ignored Rhysand’s talons against his mental shields, only hug you closer. He listened to every shaky breath of yours, caressed away with his thumb the last tears you shared.

“I’m sorry I doubted you” you said eventually, almost when Azriel thought you were asleep. Raising your head from his chest, you met his eyes. “You were right. I’m sorry”

“I wish I had been wrong. I… sometimes I wish it was different. That I worked in the Archives or owned a coffeeshop” Azriel talked just as quietly. “Then I could have you with me always. I hate my job, but I love my court. I love Velaris and I want it to be a safe place, so I gotta endure those things”

“I wish that was different too”

It was foolish to wish on things that couldn’t happen. Azriel would die before letting you close to that part of his life again. He wasn’t done by far with Hewn City or his own brothers, but that night he only held your naked body close. Every now and then, he would recall a certain moment of the night and remember the exact point a stranger’s hand had touched – Azriel would caress that same spot, feeling you hug him tighter.

Neither of you slept that night, and you didn’t open the bakery the next day. It took Azriel two days to be able to leave your presence without feeling the need to rip Rhysand’s head off his shoulder, five baths to erase the memories of those hands. Keir rotted in a cell, accompanied only by Azriel’s shadows, in the meantime.

Three days later, when Azriel came back to Hewn City after leaving you in the bakery, Keir couldn’t keep quiet.

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thehusbandoden · 9 months

Text

You Flinch During an Argument -Hawks

My confidence for this series is like at a 2 outta 10 but I can't really take it back now sooo ig I'll just continue to write. I hope someone's enjoying it </3

Hurt to Comfort | 1,097 words

Warnings!: Mentions of arguing, flinching, mention of someone beating up on themselves (Hawks), Hawks' name used. Let me know if I miss any <3

Gif credit: @tatakaeeren

His heart will stop as soon as he sees you recoiling from him.

He was planning on simply taking your hand to ground you both.

He'll softly ask if you're okay and what you need from him.

You need him to leave you alone? Sure thing, he'll be busy cussing himself out in the kitchen- doing those stupid dishes the argument started.

Want comfort? Don't worry, he'll hold you for hours upon hours, accomanying each peck with a soft apology.

He'll get very upset with himself and will be very reserved and somewhat cold for the next week or so.

He keeps thinking back to that one movement from you.

And no matter what he was planning on doing and how you said that you knew he wasn't going to hurt you, he can't get the idea that you flinched because of him out of his head.

You finally have enough when he leaves for a mission and only gives you a peck on the lips, no extra cuddles, kisses, hugs, compliments, or tickle fights the entire week he was preparing to leave.

Right as he was saying his goodbye his eyes were as cold as ever, holding no liveliness in the honey depths.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" You pout, crossing your arms across your chest.

And that was quite normal for the two of you.

He would chuckle and swoop you in his winged embrace, kissing your lips before inhaling the scent of your shampoo, kissing your forehead as he did so. "I love you, and I miss you already", "You're so goregous.. don't find someone better when I'm gone, mkay?", "I cannot wait to see your smiling face when I get back" were some of the things he would whisper to you as he hugged you, mentally bracing himself for the long week or more that he would be apart from you.

But now? All he did was glance around before giving you a negative response, informing you he had everything.

"A-aren't you going to kiss me?" You ask, emotions getting the best of you.

He then came and gave you a small, fleeting peck to the lips before heading out with another hushed 'goodbye'.

You then labored to figure out how to help him for the next three weeks, until he finally came home to you.

As Keigo's hand made its way towards you you recoiled back out of instinct, not fear. You would never fear your Keigo.

But did he know that?

Terror consumed Keigo as soon as he saw you flinch.. were you.. scared of him?

His heart beat faster against his chest as sweat protruded from his body... you were scared of him... he scared you.

Forcing himself to get a grip and focus on you, Keigo weakly asked, "Y-y/n... did you think I was going to hit you?"

You immedietly shook your head no, and made your way to him, one hand on his cheek. "No baby, I know you would never hit me. I don't know why I flinched, I guess it was just instinct. I'm not scared of you."

"O-oh.. well do you want me to leave you alone or.."

"I would love it if you would cuddle me. We can talk more later, right now we both just need one another." At that, Keigo nodded before making his way towards your shared bedroom, holding your hand in his trembling one.

Since then, Keigo has been a wreck.

He doesn't eat properly, he doesn't sleep properly, and he's not his usual chipper self. He's a lot more cold towards you, sitting on the other side of the living room instead of right next you, he does the dishes, laundry, vaccuming, and any other kind of chore you can think of without playfully bantering with you like usual, he avoids starting arguments, always just agreeing to whatever you were saying, and he hardly touches you.

If you want a kiss before he goes to work, you need to ask for one, and then you'll get a small peck on the lips, and sometimes just your forehead.

You want cuddles after having a nightmare? You're going to have to deal with you clinging onto him for comfort while he awkwardly rubs your shoulders.

He's miserable, punishing himself for a simple reaction from you.

"I'm leaving y/n." Keigo called, picking up his bags and suitcase, entirely ready to leave.

"Wait! Wait!" You exclaim, dashing into the enterance way. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"I have everything needed for the trip." Keigo muttered, honey eyes cold.

As Keigo turned to leave your emotions went out of whack, Keigo is really messed up if he won't kiss you before a three week mission.

"C-can I get a kiss?" You ask quietly, emotions ready to leak any minute.

Keigo just walked towards you, pecking your lips once, before walking out of the door with a quick "goodbye".

As soon as the door closed you fell onto your knees, overcome with emotions. Your Keigo was truly broken. He hadn't even said 'I love you'.

Three weeks later Keigo came home, and you had a plan in mind. You would simply sit him down and have a talk with him, ask him what's bothering him, get him to talk, comfort him, and then reassure him. Then, things would be back to normal.

But that bird just had to ruin all of your hardwork.

As soon as Keigo stepped through the door he jumped on top of you, dropping the two of you onto the livingroom floor.

"K-Keigo?"

"Oh y/n I am so so sorry! I was so focussed on my worry about you that they sent me home and then I decided to go take a vacation and clear my head- and I realized how cold I've been to you! I didn't even give you a kiss- or, or say I love you- y/n I am so very very sorry." Keigo exclaimed, burying his face into your chest pitifully.

"Oh baby what changed? I was going to sit you down and make you talk it out unil you were normal again."

"I thought about it over and over again- and I realized that you're not acting scared of me. If you were you would be quiet and would want to stay away from me and not start those silly arguments you keep tryin' to pull." Keigo pouted, pecking your lips once he was done talking.

"Keigo.. you still haven't said it."

"Said wha- oh I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you!~"

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abibliophobiaa · 10 months

Note

I'm bad at giving prompts because I never know what authors would be inspired by, so I'm going to give you vague ideas and you can pick whatever parts suit your fancy. I know you'll write something cool no matter what :)

Soulmates, but only one party knows they're soulmates

Eddie insecure of his scars

Walking in the woods

"Don't you know I care about you?"

Some innocent cuddling or handholding

did you look for me?

i ended up going with eddie being insecure about his scars and the anniversary of one year post S4. eddie munson x f!reader. warnings: drinking to the point of intoxication; eddie becomes physically ill - throw up mention; wound description, scar mention; smut, but the vague, sort of poetic kind. formatting is also kind of weird because i did not use google docs and…it shows. (3.5k words)

He’d told you he’d be going out with Steve. Wanted to get out and spend time with him on the day Vecna almost took everything from you. He’d left with a kiss brushed against your forehead in the night, his hands lingering over the dip of your hip, cooing softly to ease the tiredness from your form as you shifted and raised yourself up onto your elbows in bed, palms brushing against your eyes to bring some life back into them.

“Just going out for a little while,” he promised, thumbing at the curve of your jaw. Wiggled your chin until you smiled. “You worked all day. Please get some sleep, okay?”

“I love you,” you’d mumbled, face pushing back into the endless comforters lining your shared bed.

“I love you too, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

And you should have known. Should have been more awake to argue with him to stay home. To stay here. Should have anticipated what an absolutely terrible idea that had been. Not when you’d known what he’d experienced. Not when you still remembered that day so vividly. The call from one of the kids—them crying that something had happened, just as the world beneath you had rocked endlessly.

An earthquake, you’d been told.

Eddie had been hurt. Badly. The kind of hurt that had you fumbling with your keys in the ignition of your car. Cursing and slamming your fist against the steering wheel when you’d lost grip of them and they clattered onto the floor to taunt you. The kind of hurt where you’d gotten a flash of him as he’d been thrown onto a gurney shortly after you’d arrived, someone already there balancing on the edge of the table doing chest compressions until they could get him into a room, because his heart had stopped.

A whole minute. For a minute, you’d lost him. All of you had.

For a minute, Eddie had left the world, lingering somewhere away from his body. Away from you. Nearly gone. And then…not. He’d come back and had been immediately hooked up to endless machines and taken in for surgery. Surgeries that had seemingly lasted for hours, your feet carrying you back and forth in an endless back and forth line you hardly cared about potentially leaving a burn mark in the carpet.

After that it had been days of touch and go. Months of healing, tending to his scars, watching him adjust to the way he looked in the aftermath of it all. He pretended to be okay. You knew that. Watched him hide behind smiles, behind a joke, behind doing the things he’d done before. Watched him strum away on his guitar at band practices, stand in front of rooms of people suddenly intrigued by the boy who had been cleared of rumored murder charges, the boy who had defeated death and came back.

A “Freak”—yet this time, one of their own making.

He carried on with the kids as usual, too. Started up Dungeons and Dragons meetings, began growing the group. Invited the girls, invited Robin, Steve and yourself. You always clung to the outskirts, watching him do what he did, watching him try and make sense of the world after the unimaginable. Putting his best foot and face forward, if only to protect those around him from the monsters who roamed his dreams at night, with endless teeth and flapping wings.

So no—no, it comes as no surprise when later at three in the morning you receive a phone call from Robin. The motherly figure of the small trio that had gathered that evening. She’s short and concise in speech, oddly enough for her, in her explanation of what’s gone on. Eddie drank…and quite a bit, from the way she describes it.

Exactly like a year ago, you fumble with your keys in your car, slam your palm against the steering wheel when they drop near your feet, and eventually peel out of the parking lot of your apartment complex.

He’s out on a lounge chair in Steve’s backyard when you find him. When Steve opens the door and apologizes. Says he didn’t realize Eddie must have drank before even arriving, and then offered him more on top of it. Your hand curls around Steve’s shoulder, grimace settling into place as you walk out onto the patio, eyes searching for the familiar form of the man who stole your heart two years ago now. The man who is lost now in his mind, swirling around a drain, staring up at a starry sky.

“Hey, handsome.”

Your chest flutters as he turns his head over the side of the chair, his flushed cheeks tugging upward with the silliest smile that spans his features, body gravitating to yours as it always does, flailing limbs and all. His dimples practically strain from it, though he nearly falls off the chair upon doing so, hand slapping against the ground to keep himself steady.

“Careful there,” you sigh, stepping closer into his proximity, gesturing to the small space on the chair near his hip. At his nod, you settle down, grimacing as he loops his arms around your waist and presses his forehead into your neck. Eddie on a normal day is a big fan of cuddling. Drunk Eddie’s favorite pastime is cuddling. “How about we get out of here? I’ll drive you home and we can get ready for bed?”

“I was just trying to forget.”

It’s like a hammer coming down to pulverize your heart. The quiet tremor of his voice, the sharp inhale of breath, the moisture on your collar bone. But you grant him that safety of your comfort, instead. Curl your hand around his ringed fingers and help him to his feet, quiet and careful as you lead him through Steve’s home, mindful of the sharp corners he bumps and sways into.

Steve’s there at the passenger door to help ease Eddie down inside, a sad frown set in place as he claps his friend on the shoulder and wishes you both a good night. Robin reminds you to call if you need anything else, and blows Eddie a kiss, both waving as you pull away from the Harrington home and head back to the place you share with Eddie, certain you have a long night still ahead.

—

The night is long, as you expect it to be. Getting Eddie into bed is one thing. His hands rest on your shoulders as you help him out of his jeans, his gangly thighs tangling in the material, nearly sending him careening backward into your shared mattress. He strips out of his shirt next, insistent that it’s too hot in the room. And for a spring day, with the windows already gently parted, you’ve needed to put on a hoodie to block out the chill in the air. But you watch him undress all the same, his back falling against the plush pillows beneath, a loud exhale spilling from his lips.

“I’m going to go get you some water and some pain relievers, okay?” Moving to make your way toward the bedroom door, Eddie’s fingers snatch yours before you can go any further. Chocolate brown eyes lift to meet your face, beckoning you back onto the mattress beside him, grunting as he throws himself on top of your chest, arms tangling in the fabric of your hoodie. “Eddie, you really need to drink some water. I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he mumbles.

“Eddie, I’m not—”

“I can see it in your eyes. I know you.”

“I was worried, that’s all. I promise.”

“I’m sorry.” And there it is again. That lightning bolt to your chest. That feeling of anguish that rattles you deep within your bones. “I haven’t slept in days. I needed…”

Days. He’s gone days and you’ve been too busy with work to see it. Guilt drops like an anchor in the pit of your stomach, grief joining it there. Pity—for the man pressing close to your body, shame swallowing him whole, suffocating him. Fingers reach out to untangle the strands of dark curls on the back of his head, running through each coil, patting them into place. He sighs and sinks further into the mattress, and eventually stills, the sound of your heartbeat lulling him into sleep.

Hours later, you wake to the sound of retching in the adjoining bathroom. Eddie’s groans of displeasure echo off the tiled walls. Careful to not startle him, your feet drop down to hit the carpet beside your bed and carry you across the short distance between the bedroom and softly parted bathroom door where yellow light spills out into the hallway.

“Eddie?”

You catch him swishing mouthwash around puffy cheeks. He spits into the sink and glances your way. Eyes red-rimmed and tired. The sort of tired not even the best night of sleep could take away. No words are spoken as you step into the bathroom further, as you run your fingers along the side of his chest. Against the curve of his cheek, where new stubble has grown in since he’s last shaved.

“You been up long?” you ask, even though the fear of the answer has you weary. He nods, but at least he seems more aware of his surroundings now. More himself, despite his haggard form. “You should hop in the shower. It’ll make you feel better. While you do that I’ll make you the waffles you like. Strawberries and all.”

It’s a silent parting. You slip away from his side with a squeeze of his hip and a brush of your lips against the corner of his lips, making your way down the short hall to your shared living room and connecting kitchen. It’s small, but it’s yours. Has been for months now. After a serious conversation with Wayne, about how Eddie was struggling even if he hid it well, you’d all come to the agreed upon conclusion that he needed space away from the rest of the chaos of Hawkins. Away from those who still sneer at him in supermarkets, or shout out false accusations in parking lots.

Murderer. Freak. Killer. Psycho. Names thrown around, barbed wire and daggers, aimed at the man who had done nothing wrong.

It doesn’t matter Hopper had his name cleared shortly after the events that occurred that horrible week. Those who hated Eddie Munson hated him long ago. Chrissy and the other’s deaths were just further ammunition to leverage their ill intent.

Your apartment at least grants him the peace of safety and solace of quiet. On the edge of town, away from prying eyes, and close enough to both your jobs. The other renters in the complex leave you both be, despite a few noise complaints you’ve made about the rowdier tenants just above your bedroom, and it works for the time being. Until you can save up for something new; something you can grow in, grow old in.

Humming to yourself, you begin unloading the things you’ll need from the fridge. Pausing only to pet your presently purring orange kitten, dubbed Frodo by your boyfriend, when you notice that the apartment is still quiet.

There’s no water running.

The bathroom door is still open. Just as you left it. Slowly, so slowly, you walk over to the door, breath catching at the sight of Eddie standing in front of the mirror, fingers tracing over scars. Over the patch of skin over his heart, where it’s the worst, over grooves and ridges of what once was smooth flesh. Trails his fingers lower, to the marks along his abdomen, on his arms. The movements still along his cheek, over the divots you’ve kissed numerous times now. Remember the day you saw him when his eyes first opened in the hospital, and he’d asked you how bad it was.

“Still handsome as ever,” you’d promised, and you’d meant it.

Still mean it now as you knock on the doorframe, jolting him from his slow perusal of his frame. “Are you okay? Didn’t hear the water running.”

“‘M fine,” he says, kicking off his sweatpants for emphasis.

Turns then toward the knob in the shower and sets the water to run hot, fingers lingering under the stream to test the temperature. You open your mouth to speak but he slips out of the bathroom and into your bedroom for a moment. Out the corner of your eye, you watch him retrieve the tablets you left on the bedside table. He swallows them down with a swish of water from the glass laid out, and then returns to your side, where the water now steams up the bathroom mirror.

“Right…I’ll…uh,” you mumble, slipping out from around him into the hallway.

He slowly closes the door, leaving it only slightly open now, and you walk down the hallway. Frodo’s yellow eyes meet yours, and your resolve hardens, feet propelling you back from whence you came. Inhaling deeply, you shuffle inside, calling out into the open space that you’re coming in.

This part, you don’t think about. You strip off your leggings and hoodie with ease. Toss your underwear in a pile with his. He’s quiet as you enter. Those dark eyes of his roam your form, though their usual appreciative and amorous affection is replaced by a hollowness unfamiliar to Eddie’s usually spirited features.

“You’re far away from me right now,” you say softly.

Eddie lifts his head, tangles of wet curls falling loose around his shoulders, rivulets of water trailing down his cheeks like freshly fallen tears. “A lot on my mind, sweetheart. You know…sometimes I forget they’re there.” He gestures vaguely to his chest, waving a hand in front of himself. “And then I catch myself in a damn mirror, and it’s like I’m there all over again. In that fucking dimension, laying on the damn floor, waiting for it all to just…stop.”

“Eddie…”

“It’s hard to not believe you’re a monster like people think you are, when you look in the mirror and might as well be.”

Your hands cup his cheeks, forehead against his. Bodies slick with water, inches apart. More space than you like between you. “You are not a monster, Eddie Munson. You have never been. It’s not in your nature.”

Arms slowly twine around your form. A face against your shoulder, hair brushing your shoulders, his body flush with yours. That distance, that crevice, sews shut in an instant. Comfort comes in the form of his palm along your lower back, in the form of your lips against his shoulder, palms against the middle of his shoulders, holding him tight as the cries of a broken man fill your bathroom. As rain begins to splatter against the window, crystalline shards like diamonds rolling down the pane, the rumble of thunder drowning the blood racing in your ears.

He draws back with a deep exhale, the remnants of his tears visible in the red rims surrounding his eyes. In the shaky inhale, the hiccup that shudders in his chest. Fingers slide up across his chest, over his shoulders, the side of his neck, his cheek. He cradles your palm there, over the space you brush with your gentle thumb. Kisses the inside of your wrist, whispering how much he loves you.

An idea forms.

The hand resting on your face is lowered in the space between the two of you. Your hand flips his palm upward. The fingers on your opposite hand trail his callus scored palms. Tease at the yellowy skin there, at the marks that reveal countless hours of practices. Of time spent honing his craft, trying to make something of himself, trying to be the best at it.

“I love these hands,” you tell him idly. More to yourself, maybe. But he lifts his head all the same. Looks into your eyes as you meet his, the water warm against your back. “They make beautiful music. Music that I’m sure will change the world some day. They write songs. Beautiful songs that mean something. And they write stories. For those kids who absolutely love and look up to you.”

You trail your fingers up along the inside of his forearm. Over the tattoos there. Along his bicep, where you pause. “These arms are pretty great, too.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles at that, and you nod.

“They fix cars and…we know that’s helped me out of many tricky situations.”

Like last week, when you’d had an issue with your car starting and he’d been able to fix it before you were ever late for your shift.

“But they also give the best hugs,” you sigh, sliding up against his chest, relishing in the feeling of them caging you in close. Tight. “They feel like home. Safe. Like nothing could touch me, as long as I’m right here.”

He squeezes you tightly, and you know it’s his way of reassuring you that as long as he has breath in his lungs, you’ll always have somewhere to run to. The safe space in the cradle of his body, a place that he knows you fit perfectly into.

“Don’t even get me started on your cheeks,” you laugh, tipping your head back to press a loud kiss to both of them.

Eddie’s nose wrinkles. “My cheeks?”

“Don’t make fun. They’re adorable. Bite me,” you grumble, pinching at one of them for emphasis. “Really, the whole face is adorable.”

His forehead rests against yours, eyes dark in the dimly lit room, the room growing darker by the minute from the storm rolling in outside. They shift downward as you rest your palm over his abdomen, gliding upward slowly, along scarred flesh, over the parts of him he hates most, until you stop over his sternum.

Over the rapid thrum of his heart.

“I love this heart the most. Because despite everything, it’s kind and loving and warm. And for a minute that day it had stopped and I thought I’d lost everything.” He kisses your forehead as you heave a sob, as your breath chokes off at the memory of him lying on that hospital bed, eyes closed, swathed in bandages, uncertain if he’d ever wake up again even though the doctors reassured you he would. “But then you came back. You came back to us. To me.”

He sniffles, thumbing at your lower lash line as you continue, “And I know you hate this body some days. But I love it. I love it because it’s beautiful and it holds your soul, and…I-I—”

“I love you.” He cradles the back of your head and kisses you.

Once. Twice. Three times.

For each word. Each a promise. Each a swear.

Never to be parted again.

—

He lays against you in silence. His head on your chest, his thighs a tangle with yours, a hand around your hip to keep you close. Bare chests covered only by thin bedsheets. In white linen draped along thighs. You’re not sure what time it is, but time doesn’t exist here. Not right now. Not with him quietly slumbering at last after five days of running from the demons in his mind.

Safe, at last, in the circle of your arms.

Safe and sound, you tell him quietly, fingers combing through his hair.

Safe and sound with you. Here, in this apartment, in your home, where no one can touch you.

Vecna is gone. The kids are okay. Your friends are fine. The world is whole again. The monsters are gone.

He doesn’t have to run anymore.

There will be days like these. The hard ones. More to come in the years that will surely follow. But now, right now, there’s only peace.

And later—later he wakes and kisses you slowly. Softly.

Languid.

Perfect presses of plush lips against skin. He asks you a question. You nod, and he slides the blanket away from your form, baring you to him. Later there’s heat that builds and grows as he trails along the curve of your neck. Over the swell of your collar bone. The valley between your breasts. He divides his attention between your breasts, teasing nips and taunting brushes of tongue and teeth against sensitive skin. Quiet murmurs of praises from his softly parted lips, and peals of pleasure from yours. Fingers knot in hair as he trails lower, as the heat of his tongue glides through the honey of your center, as fingers pull you closer and closer to a precipice. Pulls you nearer as you plummet, planting a kiss against your forehead.

He’s quiet as he rolls over you. As your hand reaches down between the two of you and guides him to where you crave to feel him. Suddenly it’s the comfort of being so full of him that robs you of air. The familiar roll of his hips against yours, fingers bracing one of your thighs over his hips. The slow drag of him; in and out, in and out torturously so, stars bursting behind your vision with each breathless thrust.

Your fracture around him like dozens of stars visible through your bedroom window.

He holds you until sunrise. His chest rising and falling against yours, both of you content and sated.

Cheeks warm, skin warmer.

Tangled as two people could ever be.

And it’s a new day. One neither of you will take for granted.

——

xoxo love you all.

#lunaloveseddie #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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juneknight · 8 months

Text

Pleased to Please

The sequel (AKA Jake's Revenge) to Making Trouble.

About this: MK System/fem!reader, use of 'slut' as a term of endearment. An unnecessary amount of gloves. Jake Lockley.

You wake up to Marc pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You hum in pleasure, burrowing deeper into the covers, sleepy enough to miss what he says the first time he says it. His voice rumbles over you again, warm with mirth. His hands work the blanket away from your face, and he repeats himself again:

“I know it’s Sunday, but I have errands to run. Want to come with or stay in?”

You crack one eye open.

The two of you stand at the bus stop leaning against each other to make room for the others who crowd around for the same purpose. Someone jostles into you, and the look Marc gives them is cold—it makes strange butterflies unfold their wings in your belly. You lean in to press a kiss to his cheek, turning his focus back to you.

“What errands do you need to run?” you ask in his ear to make sure you are heard over the rumble of traffic.

“Swapping out supplies,” he says, explaining the duffle bag he has over one shoulder. “Boring stuff, but I’ll buy you coffee after.”

“Now you’re talking.”

The two of you shuffle your way onto the bus. He crowds you protectively, looping an arm around your waist to keep you close while his hand grips the bar to keep you both steady. You’ve gotten used to taking the bus after meeting Steven. Before him, you had walked or taken the tube, not the biggest fan of London drivers. Occasionally, you and Marc would go in on a cab together; you had never felt safe doing such a thing alone. And with Jake…

Your face flames. Leaning in to whisper in Marc’s ear again, you says: “It’s a shame we don’t have Jake’s car, isn’t it?”

Marc’s eyes go heavy-lidded, a smirk tugging up the corners of his mouth. He remembers as well as you do your activities in Jake’s car only days before. He glances towards the window of the bus—likely hearing some colorful commentary from the man in question—before turning his eyes back to yours.

“We’d just end up making more trouble in it, wouldn’t we?” he says back, letting his voice dip low under the guise of privacy, as if he doesn’t know what the timber of it does to you.

“You’re probably right,” you breathe back. “How much further ‘til our stop?”

“Not much. You’re already thinking about going back home aren’t you? Crawling back into bed?”

“As long as you join me.”

“My god, you two are better than television,” says the woman behind you both who has been clearly standing close enough to hear. You jump, startled by her sudden intrusion into your private conversation, embarrassment making your face burn hot. Thank god she had said something before the two of you really got going—

“Mind your business,” Marc says, uncharacteristically cold as he glares at the woman.

Middle-aged, clutching a recyclable tote in her arms, the woman looks like her first instinct is to argue back—perhaps something about how the two of you were making your business right there on a public bus—but the look on Marc’s face stops her words in her throat. She shuts her mouth with a click and nods, awkwardly trying to shuffle to a different spot on the bus to stand.

You frown up at Marc, but he smiles down at you like nothing is wrong. Reaching up, you lay the back of your hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling alright? You’re acting strange.”

It’s Marc’s turn to frown, his head tilting to one side, warm brown eyes roaming over your face.

“What do you mean?” he wonders But before you can answer, Marc glances forward and says: “Shit, this is us.”

He helps you press your way to the front and guides you two back out onto the dreary London street. You glance up at the building, frowning in thought.

“Storage units? Do you have a unit here?”

Marc just grins in answer, holding up a keyfob with the business’s logo on it.

The building is cool and quiet, sounds oddly muffled as you walk through the halls lined on either side with storage units. Occasionally you pass one with the door open, lock hanging loosely on the outside. You shiver. Places like this always make you feel odd, knowing how much history is here, each unit a snapshot of someone’s life. You cheer yourself with the thought that you’re about to see a snapshot of Marc’s.

When you arrive at unit #43, you bounce a little on your toes as Marc unlocks it and opens the door, a gentleman allowing you entrance first. But whatever you were expecting inside, you cannot help but be disappointed.

The unit is mostly empty, perhaps ten-by-ten. It is very utilitarian, with walls of alloyed metal shiny enough to see yourself in, even if your figure was a fraction distorted. A lightbulb hangs in the corner casting an unflattering fluorescent glow over the room. There are a series of storage totes, opaque to conceal their contents. A cot is in the corner, with a poor excuse for a pillow and a blanket folded with military precision.

“Do you sleep here sometimes?” you ask, baffled at the thought.

“I used to,” says Marc, going to the corner and setting his backpack down. He kneels, the zipper loud in the quiet of the unit. “It was a safe place, a place of my own, before Steven and I—reconciled.”

That makes you inexplicably sad, imagining Marc spending any length of time here, stretched out on a cot too short for him and listening to the hum of lights all night.

“That’s terrible,” you murmur.

Marc makes a sound in the back of his throat, derisive, clearly not feeling so maudlin about it. He says something, but you are too entranced by testing the cot, sitting heavily on its coarse fabric. It barely gives under your weight, unyielding and uncomfortable. At last you become aware of his gaze on you. You glance over to see him kneeling at his duffel bag, eyes glittering with some foreign emotion as he watches you.

“Sorry, what’d you say?” you ask.

“I said, Take your clothes off.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him properly. “What?”

“Do it slow,” he adds, his chin tipping down and the look in his eyes simmering into something condensed, something so heated that you can feel it from across the room the way you feel the heat of flames when standing too close to a fire. Shifting, he sits with his back against the wall, one leg outstretched. “I want a show.”

“I don’t—oh my god,” you whisper. “Jake? Has it been you this whole time?”

He runs a hand through his curls, pressing them back. The grin that settles on his mouth is so unlike Marc. At the beginning of your relationship, you had been so insecure that you would mix the boys up and potentially offend them, but you had quickly learned that such a thing was very unlikely. Each of their personalities was so unique, so distinct from the other: the way they stood (or slouched) the way they walked, the way they smiled and laughed—each of them had a million little tells, characteristics that set them apart.

“Don’t feel bad,” he says. His voice is a little flatter than Marc’s—less likely to fluctuate with emotion. It is softly accented; you know that he mostly prefers to speak Spanish. “I am very good at what I do.”

“You even took the bus—oh, Jake you hate the bus—”

He hums. “We’re walking home.”

“I just—why? I would have come with you anywhere.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“How can you say that?”

Jake looks up at you, brow cocked. From within the duffle bag, he removes his leather gloves and begins tugging them on. Those fucking gloves. Something about them makes your heart pound. The buttery softness of them, the scent of well-maintained authentic leather, the methodical,calculated way that he puts them on and takes them off. Or maybe it’s just the connotation that comes with them: that Jake is about to get his hands very, very dirty.

“Because you’re a good girl,” he croons. “If you had known Marc was taking you to my car, you wouldn’t have gone with him—just the same way you wouldn’t have come with me if you knew I was bringing you here for my revenge.”

“So this is Marc’s storage unit?” you breathe.

Jake nods slowly. He says: “You know what else I know?”

“What?”

“You’re such a good girl,” he says, voice soft, needing nearly no volume for the sound to carry to you just feet away, “You’re going to take your punishment without complaining. Because you know you deserve it, don’t you?”

“Jake,” you sigh shakily.

“Undress,” he says softly.

You stand up. Your knees are knocking together, you’re so full of adrenalin, hands shaking as you slip clothing item after item off. You fold them the way you know Jake likes you to, sitting them neatly on top of the stack of storage totes. As you turn, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the walls and it makes your face burn. Fuck, you hope that the helpful guy behind the desk out front doesn’t come to see what’s taking you both so long.

When your eyes find Jake again, you suck in a gasp. All the things you might have suspected he would have—the tripod wasn’t one. Sleek, it is simple but effective. He whistles a little beneath his breath as he fits Marc’s phone into it. When he realizes that you have stopped undressing, his whistling stops, lips puckered softly, dark eyes finding your own. Whatever expression you wear must delight him.

“Problem?”

“Come on, J,” you whisper, shifting on your socked feet. “Marc is going to be pissed enough, isn’t he? What do you plan to make him do, watch it in 3D?”

Jake points to the tripod, a look of near-comical innocence on his face. Some might not guess that Jake has the silliest humor of the three of them, sometimes bordering on cheesy or even slapstick. Demasiadas telenovelas, as he might say. “What, this? You think—? Oh, darling girl. This isn’t for Marc.

“The walls? Those are for Marc. Let him see the way I fuck you in every angle, I don’t care. But this? This is for me. I intend to remember this for a very long time,” he says, his words ending distractedly as he plays with Marc’s phone, getting the settings just right. He eyes your socks pointedly.

“It’s cold in here,” you gripe.

Jake snorts softly, but he doesn’t object. He stands and goes to you, gripping your bare shoulder gently and moving you a fraction this way—a hair that way. Into the best view of the camera, you realize. Being treated like some doll, stop-motion, only made to be bent and twisted into whatever shape pleases him has a surprising effect on you. Even as your thighs clench together tightly, you find yourself…bashful. Crossing your arms over your breasts, you shrink in on yourself.

“Qué es eso?” Jake wonders. He abandons the camera and comes to you. His presence is more comforting than intimidating the way some might imagine it to be. You lean your head against his chest and let his hands encircle your wrists, drawing them away from your chest. “Who is this shy woman? I remember the way you let Marc strip you naked with nothing but my tinted windows to protect your modesty.”

“You know how he gets,” you whine. “He uses that voice, that tone, and then I’m naked.”

“This voice?” he asks, mimicking Marc’s Chicagoan accent flawlessly. He slips into it the way you might slip into a comfortable shirt, familiar and well-worn. He leans back away from you a little to grip your chin firmly, to lift it up for his inspection. “This tone?”

It is. It really is. And as much as it makes your thighs clench, it drives you even wilder how easy it is for him. Jake is so fucking good at it, at pretending, at impersonating—his skill makes you swoon. It makes your heart pound. It makes your pussy wet.

Jake must sense this. Maybe he senses the ripple that seems to pass through you, or maybe he feels the goosebumps that rise on your arms. Either way, he laughs, soft and teasing, rumbling against where your bury your face in his chest.

He clicks his tongue at you until you look at him once more.

“I’ll play Marc for you another day,” he says, eyes growing steelier than the walls. “But right now—it’s me fucking you. I’m going to fuck my cock so deeply inside you that there won’t be any room for him. ¿Me entiendes?

“Now, lay on the cot. I’m hungry.”

Jake eats pussy masterfully, but true to character, he is a mess of contradictions. First he spreads your thighs wide, leather-clad thumbs finding your slippery outer folds to part you to his gaze. He lets go and leans in to suck and kiss at every part of you that isn’t your clit: sucking at your folds, tonguing your hole, kissing your thighs. He is clean shaven (like to keep up the charade of Marc), not a hint of painful stubble to chafe your sensitive pussy.

Jake leads with his tongue and lips, knowing how sensitive you are. For many long moments, he eats you without purpose, like he is giving you head just for the sake of it, no goalpost ahead to punt your orgasm through.

But then he becomes frantic, pressing his tongue as deeply into you as he can, sucking on your clit, dragging the flat of his teeth against your folds. He is lackadaisical and then frenzied, patient and then desperate.

The whole time, you have both hands over your mouth, nothing but the aborted gasps in your throat, the frantic breaths through your nose, and the wet, lurid sounds of Jake eating your pussy to fill up the quiet room.

When you get close, your heels dig into his back. He finally either gets bored with you or decides that he’s warmed you up enough. Your loud groan of protest has his eyes sharpening in a warning that makes you flush. He’s right, though. You have to be quiet.

Jake guides you into the next position he wants, and it’s almost unbearable: on your hands and knees, face towards the camera of Marc’s phone. Jake leaves you like that, on your hands and knees while he undresses slow and methodical, only the slightly warped imagine of him on the metal walls your visual..

Sometimes he says something, low and light and Spanish, before chuckling at whatever Marc’s response is.

“Is he mad?” You wonder, unsure what you want the answer to be.

“No,” Jake croons, kneeling behind you. He draws you up til you kneel, back pressed flush against his bare chest, cock hard between your thighs. In your ear, he says: “He is livid.”

“Jake,” you whine.

He clicks his tongue again. He holds up his hand in front of you, leather gloves still in place.

“Open your mouth.”

You open. Carefully, he has you tug the glove off with your teeth. He holds it while you do the same with the other. Then he makes you open your mouth so he can tuck the palms of his gloves between your teeth for you to hold.

“Drop those, and you’ll be punished,” Jake says, bare hands smoothing along your back, down your hips, finding your ass. He spanks you, once, hard. A warning that you feel all the way to your toes. “Leave a single mark from your teeth on my leather, and you’ll also be punished.”

You whine in dismay at this twist, trying to find the perfect balance between keeping the gloves in your mouth but not biting with enough force to leave a mark. Distracted by this, you miss whatever Jake says to his reflection, though his bright laugh at whatever its response is makes you shiver.

Gently, he urges you back onto your hands and knees. His cock nudges against the wetness between your legs. You make a desperate little sound, shifting, arching your back to offer his cock more contact with your pussy. The fire Jake had lit inside you with his mouth flares to life again, unsatisfied and aching.

“Can you take it?” Jake wonders, slipping and sliding along the seam of you, soaking his cock in your own arousal. “Or do you need my fingers to open you up?”

You try to answer him with the gloves, but the words are nothing but muted sounds. His cockhead, thick enough alone to be a pleasing stretch, presses at your entrance.

“What was that?” Jake wonders, cupping a hand to his ear.

No use in trying to tell him twice. Instead you press back, welcoming him into your body. Your eyes shut, and you nearly drop the gloves when your mouth craves to fall open and release a groan. It is by the skin of your teeth (pun intended) that you manage to keep the gloves in your mouth. You seethe with jealousy at the quiet but robust moan that Jake gives out, his fingers dimpling the skin of your hips with force as he grips you and pulls you back further and further on his cock.

“Impaciente,” he reprimands breathily. “Who is fucking who? Are you fucking me? Go ahead then. Fuck me.”

Jake lets go of your hips, crossing his arms contemplatively across his chest. You whine, leaning forward and then sinking back onto his cock. The throaty hum that Jake gives makes you shiver, pleased to be pleasing him. You begin an unsure rhythm, rocking on and off his cock.

For a while, it is enough for Jake. But then he takes your hips in his broad hands again.

“Do you need help? Here.” He gives a series of near-brutal thrusts, the sound of his balls slapping your cunt loud in the enclosed room. You choke on a groan, head falling forward and eyes screwing shut with pleasure—and then a burst of pain across your scalp has your eyes opening as Jake tugs your head up. Back to face the camera. “Head up. I want to see your pretty face. I want to watch you wreck yourself on my cock.”

He makes you go on like that for an endless amount of time. Eventually you find a rhythm, making sure not to turn your face away from the camera as you rock back against his thighs, taking his cock to the root again and again.

“Why do you look so sour?” You make a confused sound. Jake’s hand smooths across your flank. His other hand points. “Not you. Him. You’re putting on an amazing show for him, and he isn’t even appreciating it.”

All of the sudden, there is a distant bang. You freeze, Jake’s cock halfway buried inside you. Distantly–so distantly, you can hear the sound of approaching footsteps. Behind you, Jake’s body begins to shake with quiet laughs even as your own seems to seize with terror at the thought of being caught. The lock for the unit only hangs loosely, offering the two of you no privacy should someone decide to investigate the noise and open the door.

Jake draws you up, lowering himself onto his haunches as he tugs you back against his chest. In your ear, he murmurs: “Perhaps Marc is the only person we should give a show to. Oh—oh no? You’re shaking your head, but your cunt can’t lie to me. Not when I know her so well. If you don’t want anyone to see what a beautiful little slut you are, then you had best keep quiet.”

Keep quiet—simple, except that he reaches down between your legs, fingers tracing along your stretched entrance, and then dragging up over your sensitive, otherwise-ignored clit. Your body jerks, desperate to get away from the sudden stimulus and desperate to get closer all at once. You whine, the sound echoing off the walls and back to you. It takes all of your fortitude to press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and try to stifle any further noises.

Jake takes your clit between his fingers and rubs softly, purring into the nape of your neck at the way your pussy spasms around his cock. In the distance, the footsteps draw closer, the quiet murmur of voices heard. Can they hear you as well as you can hear them? Fuck, you imagine they can. Your orgasm, so far denied of you, swells low and sweet in your belly, and you dread it just as much as you ache for it—

All at once, a warmth fills you, Jake’s cock twitching where it is buried deep inside you. He groans so quietly against your skin, trailing off into a little breathless laugh. The feel of his spend filling you has your cunt clenching, approaching that edge. But before you can let yourself trip over the ledge and down into pleasure’s abyss, Jake’s fingers freeze.

Did you hear that? a voice asks. Your heart pounds, entire body flashing hot and then cold with panic. Jake’s hand reaches up and wraps around you throat, fingers flexing gently in warning. As if you need one!

Rats, probably. City’s got ones bigger than your cock—not that that’s saying much.

You make too many jokes about my cock for a bloke who's straight.

The voices begin to fade away. Jake’s fingers relax, stroking the line of your throat softly.

“Good girl,” he murmurs in your ear. “Very good girl, keeping quiet, fucking me so good. Did you cum?”

As if he doesn’t already know. You shake your head, slow and emphatic, gloves flapping softly against your cheeks.

“Do you want to cum?”

A nod.

“Roll over. On your back. Shh, shh—I know it’s cold.”

You lay there shivering, looking up at him, the taste of leather on your tongue. You’re nearly shaking with need, thighs spread so he can kneel between them. He’s cum, but his cock hardly looks softened, flush and dark between his legs. Jake grips his cock and strokes himself a few times, the muscles in his belly tensing. He is so fucking hot, you feel like if you laid here long enough looking up at him, you would cum.

With his other hand, Jake reaches for Marc’s phone. He works it softly off of the tripod and turns the screen to face you, lets you look at yourself in the front facing camera. Your hands cover your eyes at the brief glimpse you catch of yourself looking so fucked-out, thighs splattered with pearly seed, cunt swollen, nipples hard, those fucking gloves held between your teeth.

Jake laughs softly as he takes the camera and turns it the proper direction so that he can film you. “Hands down, what did I say? I said I want to see your pretty face.”

Two of his fingers, thick and strong, slip inside you. Your hands fall away from your eyes, mouth going slack enough that the gloves slip dangerously and you have to tighten your lips to keep from dropping them altogether. Jake’s grin behind the phone is downright sinful as he takes obvious, obscene pleasure in your struggle. His fingers squelch as he begins a moderate pace of fucking you with them.

“All you have to do is ask me, and I’ll make you cum.” He pauses to slip his fingers from you and drag the mess of yourself up over your sensitive clit, delighting in your whine and writhe. “So go ahead and ask real pretty. I’m all ears.”

You ask, words severely muffled around the gloves.

“I can’t understand,” he says, pointing the phone towards your pussy in a move that has tears filling your eyes with how tightly your cunt grips at his fingers. You didn’t know you liked being filmed so much—wouldn’t have imagined such a thing in a thousand years. “Keep asking. I like to hear you struggle. Say, ‘Please make me cum, Jake’.”

You’re desperate enough to keep trying, feeling the muscles in your belly tighten, though you desperately wish he would stroke your clit. You would cum nearly straight away, you are so close to the precipice. You repeat his words.

“Who? Did you say—Marc?”

Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking furiously. You repeat his name again and again, though he puckers his lips to look doubtful. He slips his fingers out of you again and you nearly wail, desperate for the release you have worked so hard to earn. But instead of taking his hands away, Jake takes your slippery clit between his fingers again, working the little pleasurable knot with dextrous, merciless skill.

You cum before you know you are cumming, back arching against the chilly floor, barely aware of Jake tugging the gloves from between your teeth to hear the way your voice grits out his name. He rubs and softly pinches your most sensitive flesh until you are whining and shaking and whispering for him to stop, it is too much, you are too sensitive.

He adjusts the camera to take in your entire expression: dilated, heavy-lidded eyes, mouth swollen and parted, tears clinging to your lashes.

“Good girl,” he says again, soundly absurdly pleased. He sets the phone down, using the free hand to smooth softly across your trembling belly as you are riddled with spasms and shivers in the aftermath of your release.

Then, a sound you dread, one you dread more than even footsteps or voices:

Jake clicks his tongue in displeasure.

Eyes wet and wide, voice raspy from your whines and cries, you ask, “What is it?”

His eyes flash up to you, smile spreading slow and dangerous across his face. It makes you shiver, makes your pussy clench. He holds up his glove, pointing. “What is that? Hm? There, denting the leather.”

A toothmark.

“Looks like you are due for that punishment after all.”

Gripping both gloves loosely in one hand, Jake brings them down to spank your clit.

I'm currently raising money to afford the emergency care provided to my perpetual-pup who passed away on 8/25. Please consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed this; every penny goes to him. Reblogs are invaluable. And come leave a request in my inbox, if you'd like.

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader

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weebsinstash · 2 months

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Oooh Val's uses his coat wings to hide reader away whenever he gets jealous because someone looked at you.

Do you think he would do that to like some of his workers to make the reader jealous?

GOD this immediately makes me think of him doing something EVEN WORSE ACTUALLY

To make him a little more unhinged and sadistic here, imagine a sadistic yan Valentino who will literally bully you to fucking tears and hurt your feelings on purpose because it 'proves you care about him'.

You and him have an actually sweet mutually respectful moment and he says something specific to you... calls you a new nickname or gives you a really specific compliment, and, it also just really makes you all warm and fuzzy. Or there's a specific way he likes to hold you or nonsexually touch you.

Then you "cross him", you two are arguing, there's several days of you basically all but completely ignoring him, and Val's suddenly making sure to deliberately do that same action or pet name or phrase to someone else RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU and I'm talking you're like, IMMEDIATELY SNAPPING YOUR HEAD IN HIS DIRECTION, and he's already fucking looking at you with this shit eating grin to look at your offended, upset expression

Like sorry can you even fucking imagine he tells you something that makes you feel really special in private and he KNOWS THAT and he compliments someone else the exact same way and you're looking at him literally IN TEARS and he's ENJOYING THAT HE'S MAKING YOU CRY

Just.... setting the scene.... you and him have been drinking, smoking, doing your drugs of choice, whatever, and... it's late at night... you guys are completely alone... and you're just... talking. Talking about your lives, about being in Hell, about experiences you've had, and then Valentino just kinda pokes your arm all coyly smirking/flirting like "It's weird but I feel like I can talk to you like we've known each other forever, like i actually care what you have to say and shit"

And then later on he gets pissed off at you (and it's something stupid like he gets jealous of you talking/bonding with another person) and he says that to some bitch that he like BARELY KNOWS, I would be GASPING CRYING WANTING TO THROW THINGS AT HIM like he could have you sitting there borderline suicidal and he's GRINING WITH GLEE, internally cheering "awwww they DO care about me 🥰 they care what i think about them and they're upset cause they think i dont like them 🥰" like some genuinely evil shit

Like lmao I've talked about "what if Reader became the fourth Vee" but I haven't mentioned "what if when Vox goes to calm down Valentino he also has to go to YOUR tower and comfort YOU because the reason you're both upset is YOU WERE ARGUING" (and maybe Vox takes your side more often because, you're his baby duh and you're newer and you probably have a better head on your shoulders than Val)

Vox is going upstairs, finding Velvette, "so, what kind of mess do I need to help clean up today?"

"The two of them started going at it right inside of my studio! Valentino said some NONSENSE to one of my models and then Vegas went BERSERK! Tore that unlucky bitch to pieces and then launched right at that lush, RIPS OUT a patch of his hair, then HE goes into A RAGE, they were both drunk and THROWING THINGS AT EACH OTHER--"

Like just the mental image of Vox having this dichotomy of, dealing with Valentino having his drunken rages where he wants to resort straight to violence, he's screaming, throwing things, and then Vox goes to YOUR section of the place and you're opposite end of the spectrum, crying, I mean ALSO angry as fuck but in a "Val makes me feel worthless I hate him I hate everyone" kind of way. Vox finds Valentino drinking and wanting to hurt other people and lashing out at his employees and breaking shit, and then he finds you like facedown on a couch in a cloud of smoke and booze, crying about what a pathetic worm you are, why do they even keep you here, you don't belong here, Vox probably hates you too- WHICH HE IMMEDIATELY CORRECTS YOU ON BTW

Vox is out here having to baby and infantilize and SCOLD Valentino to talk him down to a normal level and then to you he's like GENUINELY like "nooooo oh my gosh are you kidding, dont say THAT, you're so cool though 🥺 Val said WHAT, noooOoooo, that's fucked up, I'm sorry, I'll talk to him. You wanna eat cereal and watch anime? I developed a new gacha game for you to play, you wanna play while i watch?" like forreal the favorite is so obvious fkcnckcnfb which is also why it hurts extra hard when VOX loses his cool with YOU because who are you gonna run to, Val or Velvette? Oh you mean the catty narcissistic pimp or the even cattier bully of an influencer? I'd sooner double die.

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hellaverse #hh #yandere x reader #sinprompts

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riniworld · 2 months

Text

fulfil my wish

yandere!emperor oc x general!f!reader

warnings// obsession,yandere theme,mention of killing and blood,breaking bones,not proofread, let me know if i missed anything!

refrence// you,my love,flower,your majesty-honor, she/her

a/n//i don't actually know if all of this make sense-

it's been months since you've got married to taron,and you hated every second of it.

your place is in the field with a sword or in a war not in this luxurious life full of lazeness,but he prevented you from using the sword again saying it's too dangerous for an empress to go to the war.

in the start you didn't mind because you don't want to hold the sword against your home,but you can't handle it anymore when you couldn't even go out the castle.

your life start to become plain and boring,you literally had read the entire library.

whenever you open the topic with taron he close it immediately.

You've gave up on getting out from there and didn't argue about it more untill...

You have a younger sister who got married early to one of the soldiers who was under your wing, but he died in one of the battles so you took her and her children responsibilitys on you,You found a job for her to support herself and her children, and you visited them every month but after what happen you forget about her.

you were on your way to taron to give him some papers he had told you to bring because he forgot them in the room when you stumble on one of his correspondents telling him news about the empire and he mentioned something about your sister losing her job.

you had alot of questions first is that how does taron know about her? second Why does he receive her news? She doesn't even live here,but all those questions faded away when you realize you should go visit her.

You were jolted out of your thoughts when the door opened,the correspondent bow in respect and go.

taron smiled softly when he saw you "ah did you bring them already?"

you put the papers on his desk "what did the correspondent told you?" you asked like you didn't hear anything,maybe he'll told you what happen to your sister in details.

"Don't bother yourself with it, it's just normal news about the state of the empire"

you nod in acknowledge "I'll go now then,i need to do something"

"do you now? why don't we drink some tea together,We don't usually sit together" he took your hand and kissed the back of it

you pull your hand quickly "no thanks" then you left.

but then you stopped in your track,Why don't you get closer to him? Maybe he'll let you out the castle then? this idea hit you as you made your way back to him.

you opened the door aggressively "you know what let's drink tea together i don't have anything to do"

taron was confused as much as he was happy,did you finally decided to give him a chance?.

"sure,of course come sit" he said and pull the chair for you to sit on.

when you sat down he demanded the servants to bring two cups of tea in a rush

you sip from your cup in tense,since he sit down he kept just looking at you.

"your tea will get cold" you point out.

"hm?....ah yes,yeah right" he shake his head like he just come to his sense.

you roll your eyes when he wasn't looking.

he sip from his cup befor he speak "What is the reason for the sudden change in behavior,hm?....it's not like i'm complaining of course"

you pause thinking of a reason "...nothing really....I'm-just bored."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise "you're bored? Did the servants fail to bring you anything? do you need anything? should i punish someone?"

"whao there,it's nothing like that i just.....it's boring being here all the time"

he sigh "i don't like where this going to."

"why so? all i ask is a little walk in the cit-"

"no." he shuts you up immediately. "we've talked about that before,if you need anything I'll send someone to bring it to you."

"it's totally different! i need some fresh air"

"the garden is big enough"

"but it's annoying to be in the same place over and over again."

"look.." he say as he made his way to you taking your hands in his "it's all for your safety,we don't know what will happen if you set your foot outside the gates."

"i belive I'm more than capable of myself." you say in annoyance.

taron chuckle slightly "yes,i trust you can of course, let's just say i don't want anyone to see your beauty as well...If I didn't have to, I wouldn't let the servants see you at all"

"that's bullshit" you mutter under yout breath.

"i know you're not the type to stay in one place,but you'll get used to it"

you glare at him in anger and pull your hands from his.

taron sigh in frustration and ran his hand through his hair.

"is boredom the only reason that you want to go out?"

you stayed silent for a moment, "no...i want to visit my sister."

"...oh..you have a sister?"

what a liar,it taking everything in you to not punch him, "i do" you say between gritting teeth.

"don't worry about her,just tell me where is she and I'll take care of her." he smiled at you.

"no need, just let me visit her." you say in desperate.

"I'll think about it" he goes back to his side of the table "i would love to spend some more time with you but i have duties to attend" he say in an apologising tone.

you left the room without saying anything,knowing that it's just lies and he won't let you go.

you're laying down on the bed,you couldn't sleep last night thinking of ways to visit your sister.

Even if you can avoid the servants, you will not be able to avoid the guards outside.

you sigh and gets up to change,you'll think better in the fresh air.

When you open the door to leave, you're stopped by a guard standing at the door.

"please forgive me,your majesty,But it's orders you can't leave your room."

you scoff and get inside,that happened alot when taron get guests.

you sit beside the window looking out at the garden lost in thought,you heard rambling outside the door,that most be the servants busy providing hospitality,poor people.

but that when an idea crossed your mind,everyone busy with the guests,no one will notice you snaking out,And if you use a little of your power as an empress, you can leave, and no one will tell taron immediately.

you open the door again and cut the guard before he say anything "i need to use the lavatory."

the guard look between you and taron's guest room,you clear your throat to get his attention again "I'm sure taron wouldn't mind,in fact he might even get angry if he knew you didn't let me go." you feel a little guilty to use his fear against him but you know you had to,for your sister.

the guard stood in front of you in tense "as you wish,your majesty,but let me escort you."

you had no choice but to accept,now you're here in the toilet thinking about how to get rid of him.

You use one of the moves you had learned as a general,

You pull him in quickly as you apply enough pressure to the carotid arteries,while you cut off the blood flow to his brain, render him unconscious.

you mutter "sorry" and left,walking slowly to the outside gates you've bumped on one or two of the servants who questions you if you need anything or telling you that taron don't want you to go out now,but you brush it off by some excuses as he the one who told you to bring him something or you want something personal from a room.

You have successfully reached the outdoor garden, you made your way to the gates and the guards stopped you "sorry your honor but you are forbidden from leaving, it is the Emperor's orders"

you expected this to happen "I've been given permission to leave"

the guards look at each other and then one of them speak "excuse us but we have to ask his majesty about this"

"are you calling me a liar?" you say sternly.

the guard started to get tense and bow his head "i would never your honor!"

"it's-it's just for safety,your honor,so his majesty won't get upset" the other guard says shakly

"there's no need to disturb him right now,i belive my word is enough to go by,isn't it?"

the guards opened the way to you and shouted "yes of course your honor!"

it would be strange for you to go walking in this clothes in public so you take a trolley to escort you.

your eyes land on a clothes shop,it sells ordinary clothes just the thing you need so you told the trolley driver to stop by it, when you enter everyone star at you,not that they recognize you thank to taron's possessiveness, but because you look more like a royalty to buy something from a store like that.

you ignore the stars and whispers in your way looking for something more comfortable you can run in it if needed...or fight.

when you find what you want and wear it you head to pay but then realize that you didn't bring with you any money,cursing under your breath as you think of something you can pay by, your eyes landed on your ring,your wedding ring,it's not like you loved it anyway so you give it to the seller who look at you with shock but eventually take it of course even if it was too much for the price.

as you walk out the store,you tries to hide your face as much as you can so the trolley driver won't recognize you,when you get far enough you start to walk casually but fast trying to reach your sister as fast as you can before taron knows about your disappear and make a huge deal of it.

8:00p.m

it's been two hour when those shame of royalties has been here,taron grew annoyed,What they say is all bullshit to him,he could kick them out easily and for no reason but he doesn't want to deal with the drama that will happen... not now at least not when you finally softened up to him a little bit,his mood ease a little when he thought of you.

he wonder if you're asleep right now,and hope you're not, he want to spend some time with you again.

8:30p.m

oh finally they're gone!,taron bid them farewell coldly and fast he didn't even escort them to the gates but can they complain? they're lucky enough he even accepted to meet them and didn't kick them out by 5 min.

taron head to your room and got angry when no one stand at the door,didn't he set a guard here?.

he opens the door to your room slowly so he won't wake you up if you were sleeping,But all his annoyance changed to shock when he did not see anyone in the room he made sure to not let you out didn't he?!

taron shouted for the servants to come and by seconds three servants bowing on their hands before him,no one dared to left their head up not when their emperor is angry.

"i belive I've made myself clear to not let y/n left the room,haven't i?,so where is she now?" his tone is terrifyingly filled with coldness.

"We-we were s-s-so busy hosting that we didn't notice anyone leaving,your-your Majesty" one of them say shakly with terror.

"you useless insects!" he shouted "I'll deal with you later,go and prepare my horse and let some of those guards prepare themselves too...quickly!" he demanded.

the servants hurried to do what they had been told.

taron knew exactly where are you going to,if you only waited for some days, he was going to take you there of course he was, why would he prevents you from visiting your sister?? he was just going to make it a surprise but you had to break his words and now you ruined everything, he has to make you learn how to obey him even if he have to use power.

day later

it wasn't easy to left the empire the guards was everywhere, you even had to hide somewhere for like three hours.

but eventually you're out know and close to your sister's house it only take an hour walking.

you finally here after alot of trouble,you knock on the door and your sister opened the door real quick.

"ah-y/n! what-what got you here?"

you didn't answer instead you throw yourself at her and hug here tight,she return the hug but there was something strange about her, she sutter and seems like really anxious,you shrug this feeling off maybe she's still brokendown.

she guster you inside "I've heard about what happened" you say while sitting down.

"o-oh really? it's not a big deal...and i-i heard about your marriage" she brings some tea and biscuit to a table in front of you.

"ugh don't talk about that now,it's miserable..that sham of a man thinks he have the right to control my life or something"

"y-y/n ac-actually he's-"

"but it's true my love, i do have the right to control your life" someone cut your sister off, you recognize that voice, taron

you stand up in a defensive pose quickly wich lead to knock the tray off "what are you doing here?!"

"what? am i not allowed to visit my beloved wife sister?" he said with innocent tone.

you look at your sister with a questioning look,but what got you angry more is how your sister shiver in fear, what did he do to her?!.

"i swear to god taron if you've hurt her!" you warning.

taron only chuckle slightly "I've never heard you say my name,it's like honey when you say it"

you didn't replay don't want to go further with his playing.

taron's expression suddenly turned serious "now let's go back to the castle,and you're going to come with me obediently" he say coldly

you wanted to argue but your sister life is on the line,before you even replay he grabbed your arm and dragged you to his horse behind the house, he ride the horse at first and demand "ride" as you ride hesitantly.

The road to the castle was quiet and full of tension, you knew full well that there would be consequences when you return, but at least your sister was safe.

as soon as you reached your destination, taron took you by your arm forcefully and then threw you on the floor of the room.

you fall on your back hard but you swallow your groan,Before you lift yourself off the ground taron place his foot on your neck It chokes you a little.

"you broke my words,flower. i have to make sure you won't do it again." he say strangely calm as he tuck down and take one of your arms

the next thing you hear is a cracking noise,fuck he broke your arm.

you bite your lips to not scream and sound weak,All thanks to your training as a general,but you eventually let a little groan escape as he force more wight on it.

"you broke my heart,flower. The least i can do is break your arm,and this still not as much pain as I felt" with every word come out his mouth he twists your arm more "be thankful i didn't kill your sister."

with that he left you alone,you lift yourself up and embrace your arm letting out a few tears,it of course doesn't hurt like the battles injuries But this is the first time someone has broken your pride, and who did it? The person you hate most!.

you swear you'll get your revenge someday.

someone knock on the door,you gave permission to enter, the castle's doctor entered,she respectfully told you to sit on the bed so she cast your broken arm. (i guess it's like that?)

When she finished, she wished you a speedy recovery and left.

taron entered as soon as the doctor left,he looked at your arm for some minute before he exhale and sit down beside you.

"you lost that" He takes your good hand and place your wedding ring in your finger,a blood-stained ring,did he kill the clothes seller?!.

"you of course hadn't gave it willingly,so i brought it back to you, don't mind the blood it'll go easly with some soap" he was smiling, how can he smile when he just killed an innocent person!.

maybe the blood on the ring will remind you what taron can do without guilt, if you hadn't listen to him this would've been you sister blood.

he's terrifying.

finallyyyyyy

hope you like it :)!

have a nice day/night♡

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x you #yandere emperor #yandere emperor x reader

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