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assriels · 25 days

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take me to church

pairing: azriel x f!reader

summary: azriel was not a religious male, but you were his goddess incarnate and he would willingly worship at your feet until his dying breath

word count: 3.8k

warnings: smut (18+!! mdni pls), canon typical religious imagery, allusions to azriel’s work but nothing explicit

a/n: my hozier era has returned i fear

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune !

Azriel was not a particularly religious male, offering his acknowledgement to the Mother oftentimes in the heat of battle, on the brink of death as a curse on his lips, hoping someone somewhere would heed his plea to live another day. Whatever religious underpinnings existed within him were but remnants from ancient tradition, built into his body as steadily as his bones. But, aside from the rare moments he’d faced Death and lived, Azriel was not one to offer daily prayers of thanks.

Since meeting you decades ago however, Azriel had considered more and more changing his relative indifference to the celestial beings that reigned. He was sure he hadn’t done anything in his lifetime to deserve you as a lover — let alone a mate — but still the Mother blessed him, and for that he was more grateful than words or prayers could ever express.

Every brush of your lips against his skin, every tender gaze and soft smile was enough to bring Azriel to his knees every night before the altar between your legs. He sang praises and hymns until his jaw was sore, desperate to pull those seraphic moans from the depths of your throat as he worshiped you ceaselessly. He pledged his life to you the moment the bond snapped for him, never having been able to imagine an existence without you by his side.

Azriel had assumed that he was condemned to a life of desolation and loneliness, rotting with guilt and insecurity for all the things he had done and all the things he could never be. But despite the blood that perpetually stained his scarred hands and the weight of his past burdening his shoulders, you never shied away. Never so much as frowned when he confessed to you the serpentine nature of his hidden work for the Night Court or the calamity he’d endured as a young, lost child.

You had sat and listened all those years ago, delicate fingers tracing the calluses on his palm as if the lines on his hands whispered all of the things he left unsaid. You’d understood the complexities of his character, loved them as much as you loved every other part of him.

You made your unwavering affection for him known at every possible opportunity, often massaging away the crease between his brows when you knew he was losing himself to the spiral of his unwanted thoughts. You’d kiss his forehead and run your fingers through his hair, silent but understanding as you allowed him time to open himself up to you in whatever manner he pleased.

Azriel’s adoration of you was no different. He cherished the way you confided in him, revealing to him the depths of your own darkness and fears. He would safeguard your trust with his dying breath, always and forever striving to be your safe space, a lockbox where you could store your darkest thoughts and insecurities without fear of judgment.

Just as you had always done for him. Just as you were doing now.

In the comfort of your shared bedroom in your private residence, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, rolling on to your toes to kiss the back of his neck while he undid the intricate laces and buckles of his leathers. Your deft fingers soon joined his in the process as you both worked in comfortable silence to unfasten the tediously complex web of clasps.

The tension in his shoulders and the microscopic ruffle in his brow was all you needed to conclude that his latest task was a gruesome one. One of those missions that tended to stick around, following him and taunting him until his guilt festered and spread.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, voice steady as you removed the last of his Siphons secured tightly around his bicep. It was an effort not to gawk at his exquisite physique that lay hidden beneath the constricting leathers; no matter how many times you’d seen Azriel shirtless, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to the sight.

He hummed in response, taking a moment to survey his torso in the mirror for any cuts or bruises that needed tending to. When he didn’t spot any — most of them had quickly stitched themselves together on the flight back home — he met your gaze in the mirror and shook his head gently, “Not really.”

Azriel was somewhat avoidant by nature, too used to minimizing his feelings in lieu of the success of a mission, but the gentle definitiveness in his tone told you all you needed to know. He’d open up about this latest operation when he was ready, but he needed time to process and think, formulate coherent thoughts about what had transpired. And as much as you wanted to soothe the emotional aches and pains you knew plagued him after every mission, you would give him that time.

You sighed and came to stand in front of him, taking both his cheeks in your hands as you forced his gaze to yours. It took everything in him not to lose himself in those pretty eyes of yours.

Azriel could sense the worry you habitually hid in the moments after he returned home, and so he leaned into your touch, turning to kiss the heart of your palm before offering you reassurances, “I’m okay. Promise.”

Azriel held his pinky out cutely and you chuckled, shaking your head fondly before wrapping your own around his. You used your joined hands as leverage to pull him down to slot your lips over his. Azriel sighed contentedly at the pressure of your kiss, his long lashes fluttering shut as his hands repositioned themselves around your body.

One hand splayed steadily on the cage of your ribs as the other made the devious trek down, grabbing a handful of your ass to squeeze playfully.

You yelped and pulled away as he smirked at you fondly. His gaze traveled over your shoulder to look in the mirror, never tiring of how the curves of your body looked pressed against his.

The two of you stayed like that for a long while, Azriel’s chin hooked over your head as your arms wound themselves comfortably around his waist. The cadence of his heartbeat was one you were well acquainted with, like a steady metronome that measured itself to the beat of your own heart.

When he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, you murmured, “Want to take a bath?”

You felt the near imperceptible quickening of his pulse against your ear and you pressed yourself further into his chest, reveling in the way he so instinctively reacted to every little thing you did.

“Only if you join me,” he responded cheekily, corners of his lips twitching in affectionate jest.

You hummed and pretended to think about it, shifting to rest your chin against his heart, pretty lashes fluttering as you looked up at him.

“I could be convinced.”

Gods, how beautiful you looked. How beautiful you always looked. Your charming allure caught Azriel off guard every single time you merely breathed in his direction, and he briefly wondered if he’d ever get used to the ease in which you enchanted him without even meaning to.

Unable to resist, his hands came up to cradle your jaw, supporting your neck as he bent down to kiss you, his nose brushing affectionately against yours as he pulled away.

“I’ll carry you,” he offered, lips brushing your skin, hazel eyes never once leaving yours.

“Deal,” you said, laughing delightedly when he lifted you, throwing you playfully over his shoulder to make a beeline to the bathroom.

Running a bath — a normally automatic part of Azriel’s routine — was made infinitely harder when he was so busy pressing his lips to your jaw, your cheeks, your mouth. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him tonight — maybe it was the adrenaline from a hard task completed, the warmth of home coaxing him to let go and savor you — but he wasn’t complaining. And neither were you, if the way you matched his fervor was anything to go by.

When both of you finally settled into the warm water, he sighed in contentment, lazily, adoringly watching as the tension eased out of your shoulders.

Before you came into his life, Azriel had never really understood the desire to worship. He knew logically that it was an act of devotion, but never did he really feel the inclination to pray to a god in thanks.

But it was moments like these — the wonderfully mundane moments of bliss with you — that finally made him understand. If the Mother was anything like you, it wasn’t difficult for Azriel to fathom a devotee’s need to pray.

He thought this as he ran his soapy hands gingerly over your body, as he buried his fingers in your hair to massage your scalp. If you were his goddess, then these were his acts of reverence and he would practice until his physical body no longer could.

And when you did the same for him, when you gently scrubbed his back and wings and arms and chest with the deliberation and gentility of an artist with a craft, he thought that maybe this gratification was what the gods felt when their followers prayed.

After a while, once the soap had run down the drain and the water was warm and clear again, you settled against him with your back pressed to his chest.

It was in that moment he realized the arousal that had slowly eked its way into his bloodstream; he had been too busy basking in the feel of your fingertips on his aching muscles to realize that your lovingly innocent touch had made him hard. Embarrassingly so.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, his attention now on the way his cock pressed so tightly against your lower back.

Your laugh — melodic and lovely — curled around his ears in a lover’s embrace, “Don’t be sorry. I’m irresistible, I know.”

He knew you’d meant to tease, but he couldn’t help but agree; if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that you’d casted a spell on him to ensnare his unyielding devotion to you. Your head fell back onto his shoulder and you captured his chin in your fingers to tilt his lips towards yours.

This kiss, unlike the ones you two had shared earlier in the night, was much more insistent, revving your desire with each stroke of his tongue.

His hands remained frustratingly chaste on the curve of your waist, and you squirmed in his embrace, willing him to touch you. The pressure of him against your back and the feel of his mouth — now leaving a scathing trail of little bites down your neck — pressed to your skin left the space between your legs slick with a wetness unattributable to the warm bath water.

Your hand settled over his and for a brief moment your mind flickered to appreciation of the ridges raised by the scars that wound themselves like vines up his fingers to his wrists. Azriel had always been somewhat self conscious of the puckered skin of his hands, but you stood firm in the belief that they only served to make him that much more wonderful.

(And you couldn’t deny the pleasurable sensation they added when his fingers were buried inside you. But that was neither here nor there.)

You guided his touch as he reared back up to kiss you again. You led one of his hands down between your legs and the other to your chest, where he eagerly played with the peak of your nipples.

“Oh?” he intoned, amusement coloring his inquiry at the feel of how wet he now realized you were.

“Sorry,” you muttered, mimicking his earlier apology with much less sheepishness.

“Don’t be sorry,” he mimed back to you. His hands fell into a practiced rhythm, circling your clit with delicious pressure.

You arched into his touch, moans falling from your lips as he teased your entrance before he mercifully sank a single digit into you. The stretch was a welcome feeling, but it quickly dissolved into the need for more. But it seemed that Azriel was in no hurry, languidly alternating between lazy strokes and nonchalant circles.

You arched again, silently pleading with him to give you more as you gripped his knee beneath the now tepid water. Though the heat of your body alone was probably enough to re-warm the bath.

Azriel indulged you, unable to resist your alluring pull. He added another finger to his ministrations, blissfully dizzy with the sounds falling from your lips. His other hand snaked from your nipples down between your legs, timing his well placed caresses of your clit to the unrelenting plunge of his fingers.

He knew you were close — so quick, he thought with a lethal satisfaction — by the octave of your moans and the desperate way your hands fought for purchase on his legs, your breasts.

He bit down on that wonderfully tender spot at the junction between your shoulder and neck, and shivered when he felt you clench around his fingers, walls pulsing temptingly around his fingers as you came.

Azriel captured your lips with his own once more, prolonging the pleasure from your release for as long as possible. You shifted to straddle him, never once breaking the kiss as the water sloshed dangerously close to the lip of the tub.

The way you ground your hips down onto his had him groaning, eyebrows furrowing with the effort to restrain himself. He could take you now, could give in to your attempts to guide him inside you, but you were shivering, goosebumps raising the skin on your back and shoulders as the chilled water and even chillier night air caressed your form.

Besides, his mind was working in overdrive, crafting plan after plan to have you keening and arching for him, all of which required a more comfortable setting than the marble bathtub in your bathroom.

He stood with ease, looping your legs around his midsection to carry you back to the bed.

He tossed you softly — though quite unceremoniously — onto the bed, and you would have complained about getting the sheets wet, but 1) you knew Azriel would make an obscene joke about how they’d get wet anyway and 2) the feel of his cock grinding against your clit was enough to rob your consciousness of any coherent thought.

Azriel was murmuring sweet endearments into your damp skin as he made the excruciatingly slow trek down your body, his lips mapping a tedious trail of kisses down your torso as if he were committing each ridge and valley to memory in fear that he’d lose his way on the journey back.

Finally, finally his mouth found that wonderfully sweet spot between your legs and he licked a broad stripe up the length of you. You shivered as he lingered, tongue lazily alternating between teasingly shallow strokes inside you to wide circles around your clit.

It was torture of the purest kind that he wasn’t giving you exactly what he knew you wanted, and by the wicked glint in his darkened hazel eyes, you could tell he was being intentional. Your fingers found their home in the impossibly silky and slightly damp strands of his hair as you attempted to pull his mouth tighter against you, petulant pout curving your lips downward.

His responding chuckle was enough to make you groan, the reverberation vibrating against your cunt before settling tantalizingly in your bones. Azriel’s arms came up to encircle your legs, effectively keeping you from grinding your hips up. You tossed your head back and keened, giving in to the languidness of his affections.

Your eyes met his at the sound of a purposely lewd smack of his lips against you, and you felt him smirk against you before you were swiftly flipped over.

“Azriel!”

What was meant to be a gasp of surprise quickly devolved into a moan of pleasure by the time the last syllable of his name left your lips. You were acutely aware of the sudden switch in positions as you were now straddling your mate’s head.

He coaxed your gaze down to his with a featherlight touch down your spine, and you were met with a swirling mix of love, lust, and adoration swimming in pools of hazel. Your chest swelled momentarily and you probably would’ve said something sweet and much more coherent than what left your mouth as he pulled you down onto him and feasted.

Azriel was addicted to the way he could make you fall apart, even from beneath you with your knees straddling his head. It was borderline sinful – an angel brought to the precipice of obscenity and seduction.

His hips shifted on the bed, body desperate to find friction. But this moment was yours, and so Azriel refrained from giving in to his baser physical desires. His tongue sang praises against your cunt, his hymns translated to the exquisite moans that fell from your lips.

It wasn’t long before you were toppling over that wonderful edge into what felt like a never ending orgasm. You could barely register the change in your positions again, head spinning and dizzy with insurmountable pleasure; before you knew it, your back was pressed against the cool sheets of the bed, eyes glassy with a post-orgasm haze.

Azriel leaned down to kiss you then, a sweet contrast to the near indecent way you could taste yourself lingering on his lips. He took his time kissing you, sending you wave after wave of undying love and loyalty down that invisible golden tether wound tight around your heart.

You briefly thought of returning the favor, of flipping him onto his back and putting your mouth on him in just the way you knew would coax those wonderfully rare sounds of unbridled, wanton pleasure from him. But his body was heavy against yours – a more than welcome comfort – and you couldn’t find the strength in you to pull away from the warmth of his skin.

You arched into him as you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while you encircled your legs around his waist. Relishing in the way he shuddered against you, you urged your hips up to grind against his, aching for the feel of him despite having just orgasmed. Twice.

Thankfully he obliged you, shifting to ease himself inside you, slowly – gods, so slowly – pushing into you with the deliberation and practiced self-discipline of a male centuries trained in espionage.

Azriel let out a half-restrained groan when his hips were flush against yours, always marveling at how close you could make him without even lifting a finger. He had meant to take a few moments to collect himself, not wanting to ruin the moment with a quick release (though admittedly he was struggling), but you shifted beneath him impatiently as you whispered salacious pleas into the shell of his ear.

The drag of his cock in and out of you was a pleasure you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to, and you couldn’t help the prurient sounds that tumbled from your lips. Though, this just seemed to urge Azriel faster, more insistent in the most delicious way.

You knew he was close by the way his breath hitched in his throat and his fingers tightened around the flesh of your thigh. The feel of his abs flexing as he pushed his hips into yours and the perfectly timed grind of his hips against your clit filled your head with a heady, hazy bliss and you nearly forgot where you were for a moment.

You wound your fingers into his hair to steady him as you bit kisses into his jaw, nails raking a gentle path of encouragement down his back.

“Come for me, Az,” you half-pleaded, half-commanded.

And he did. With a gasp and moan so beautiful it sent you into another spiral of pleasure, arching into him as he whispered incoherent praises into your neck.

As you basked in the aftermath, chest heaving and legs tangled beneath your fluffy duvet, Azriel couldn’t help but feel a lightening in his chest. He once again thought of how he had been shown so much mercy, so much kindness by the Mother, the gods – who or whatever governed the celestial plane of existence – to be bound so graciously to you. He never ceased to be amazed that he had met his goddess incarnate and had the overwhelming honor of loving her.

With your cheek resting above his heart, he didn’t doubt that you could hear the quickening of his pulse when he pressed his lips to your hair. “I love you.”

Those three words were his prayer, his penance, his praise, and he would never stop offering them to you so long as you allowed him the privilege of saying them. He could feel you smile as you kissed his collarbone, sleepily offering your benediction in return, “Love you.”

As you fell asleep, encased in the warmth and safety of his arms, he idly traced the lines of your mating tattoo, swirling tendrils of ink dancing up your hip to your waist. He always loved how they were so reminiscent of his shadows. The shadows that were now winding through your hair and tickling your cheeks in adoration.

As he too began slipping into the sweet relief of slumber, he briefly thought of his mission – it had felt so far away, so long ago now that he was guarded within the shield of your presence – and the guilt and sorrow he’d feel in the coming days. He used to dread the aftermath of his work, never allowing himself to rest comfortably for fear that sleep would be too much of an undeserved reprieve for the atrocities he’d committed.

But ever since he selfishly allowed himself to love and be loved by you, he had found solace in your embrace. You couldn’t offer absolution of his sins – if such a thing even existed – but he was certain you were his salvation. An offering from the Cauldron – that he was convinced he was wholly unworthy of – as a chance to right his wrongs. You listened and loved him and saw him for all of the parts he was ashamed of, and for that he would willingly spend the rest of his life striving to deserve.

(Though he was sure you’d frown at him and adamantly insist that he need not do anything but exist to deserve the love you gave him.)

As he let himself descend into the comforting darkness of sleep, Azriel thought that if he would be punished in his next life for the sins he committed in this one, as long as he’d be able to love you through it all it would be worth it.

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cowyolks · 3 months

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IN DEATH’S HANDS

PART ONE OF TWO

Pairing: Grim Reaper! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: You survived that car crash. Despite all the doctors saying you should have been crushed like a soda can. It shouldn’t have been possible, but you had a strange suspicion it had something to do with the cloaked figure that followed you everywhere.

Words: 5.7 K

Warnings: Mentions of Death and dying, stalking, gore, car crashes, deception, protective Simon.

You had considered yourself to be abnormal since you learnt to comprehend your own thoughts.

It started when you were little, sat politely on an old wooden pew, termite bitten and nearly rotting. Worn cloth was placed over the wood, proving little cushion or support. Odd and depressing music relayed through your ears, the mournful toon of an organ, and the slow chanting of hymns covered by sorrowful hiccups.

You were too small to register loss, to feel the grief of not seeing your grandmother again. So you sat, swinging your legs in a continuous loop, cheap pen held between your fingers as you crudely sketched upon a faded bulletin.

You drew your latest fascination, the black-robed figure that stood over your grandmother the last couple of days. Face covered and massive scythe in hand.

It didn’t speak, it didn’t grant you any attention, it didn’t even look to be breathing.

All it did was loom.

Something inside yourself screamed, instructing you to not draw any attention to its haunting aura. To avoid the blowing shadows of its cloak and not stare at the chilling gleam of such a powerful weapon.

It cornered your grandmother once you left the house, tiny hand holding onto your mother as she took you back home after her shift at work.

You were the one that found her, body still and cold as you went to show her your new toy. You called for your mother after she wouldn’t answer from your tugging on her frigid and stiff fingers.

You were beyond confused when your mother ushered you away, shutting the door behind your grandmother and letting fat tears fall down her cheeks.

Later, she had told you that you wouldn’t see grandmother again, that she was dead.

But as life goes.

People live, they flourish, they attempt to imprint their memory into the hearts of others before they are stomped out like wilted roses.

Death was nature, something that always occurred and a stone-cold constant that no one could best. Yet, it still didn’t describe the dark wordless figure that followed you, or the fact that you were older but hadn’t shown any signs of aging since your 25th birthday.

While your friends, the same age as you, began to grow grey hairs with soft crows feet imprinting their skin.

They always asked your secret, and all you could do was shrug, truthfully you didn’t know.

Candlelight flickered eerily in front of your face, a large three and two placed gently down on the table by your generous coworkers.

You likely wouldn’t eat the chocolate cake, seeing as you were still working and all. You never ate in the morgue. It was a superstition that just felt right, you couldn’t see yourself taking sustenance when the corpses couldn’t.

“Make a wish!” Dana clapped her hands together as her and Mark finished the last chorus of Happy Birthday. You didn’t believe in wishes, but regardless the candlelight made you twitch, not liking the idea of fire being around all the embalming chemicals in your office.

You blew them out perhaps too quickly.

“What did you wish for?” Mark asked, leaning closer with a curious glint in his eyes. He liked you, it was rather obvious from his puppy dog eyes and the fact he politely asked you out this weekend. You always found some excuse for his advances, not looking for a relationship.

He was good looking with curly dark hair and forest green eyes. Certainly a reliable worker as well, someone who was kind while also getting the job done.

You should have been happy to hop in a relationship with him, at least maybe go on a date or two. But something in your mind always made you hesitate. Perhaps it had something to do with the looming figure always stepping closer when the two of you spoke.

“Aren’t I not supposed to tell?” You asked lightly, shaking your head when Dana offered you a slice of cake.

She huffed, but knew of your rule. Instead she handed it over to Mark, who happily took a small bite with the flimsy plastic fork. He swallowed, “I guess not. Do you have anything planned for your birthday?”

He shifted a few inches closer, the movement didn't make you uncomfortable. Actually, it was almost comforting to feel the warmth of his skin through your white coat.

"No, I was going to order takeout." You shrugged.

Birthdays had always left a bitter taste in your mouth. It was one year closer to death, one year closer to being put on a cold table and embalmed like you did to constant others.

The cloaked figure swayed at your revelation, as if it could actually hear what you were thinking. Your eyes briefly caught on the bleach white of bone, the color contrasting against the hood like a mask. Maybe it could hear what was going on in your head?

“Well, you have to go out for your birthday!” Dana insisted, pointing the dirty spatula towards you in disbelief.

You sighed in displeasure. Honestly, eating greasy takeout and watching cheap rom coms sounded better than going out, but the look on Mark and Dana’s faces had you pondering as you pursing your lips.

“Fine. But I want to be home by eleven,” you grunted, watching as your two coworkers tried their best not to burst in excitement. You were so engrossed in their expressions you missed the chilled sweeping of black fabric.

It came so abruptly you couldn’t help but let out a little yelp, the coldest sensation you had ever felt had settled upon your flesh. It took a moment to catch your breath, the frostbite-like pain shooting through every nerve until it zeroed upon your wrist. Teeth gritted, crunching down on the crowns. You glanced down in horror at bleached bone—resembling of human phalanges, connected to the cloaked figure who loomed over you like a chilling shadow of dread. Like cutting thorns and blood-suckling leeches.

Not even a gasp or inhale could escape your body.

It’s the first time the specter had acknowledged you, just as it was the first time you had really engaged with it, round eyes meeting the shadow beneath the hood.

Frosted eyes flashed, so ghoulish and hair-raising you were sure you’d faint. The bones around your wrist tightened, before the figure stepped back and muttered something so low you could not hear, but could only feel the rattling vibration of sound against your quickening pulse.

“Hey! You okay?”

With a snap much like a rubber band, you flew back to reality, rounded eyes settling upon the chocolate birthday cake. A quick exhale, and you fell backward against the chair, huffing.

“Uh yeah, I just…I don’t feel well.” You managed to explain to a hovering Mark, who now stood in the same spot as the figure.

His lips pursed in concern, his large hand going to gently cup upon your forehead, feeling for a fever. He was too kind for his own good.

“You feel ice cold, go take the rest of the day off, I’ll pick up where you left off.” He voiced, removing his palm and placing it nervously upon his knee. You sighed, not enjoying the thought of taking a sick day, regardless of almost being done.

“Don’t even think about staying, we expect you to get some sleep and be ready to leave to go party at 7.” Dana tutted motherly, as she always tried to do when you worked too hard.

With a final huff, you nodded, going to stand up shakily.

“Do you need a ride home?” Mark asked, still attempting to conceal some of his worry. You shook your head, already feeling guilty about leaving in the first place. "Uh, no, I can walk. Besides some fresh air could do me some good." You offered, before hesitantly placing your hand upon the door after grabbing your bag from under your walnut office desk.

"Are you su-"

"Go," Both Mark and Dana spoke, echoing thorough the small office. You let out a weak chuckle. "Okay."

You stepped out of the mortuary, shielding your eyes from the beating sun. Little breeze blew throughout D.C, but despite it, you were happy to be out in the heat, away from the chilling freezers that kept the bodies from prematurely rotting.

It was a short walk home, through the very busy streets, so you felt comfortable enough around all these people to not get kidnapped or robbed. You lived in your small condo off the Potamic, high enough you could see boats cross the dirty rippling waters.

You huffed, beginning to make your way down the cracked sidewalks without completely losing your mind. Whatever the creature was, it had made a point to grab you, to suck all the warmth from your flesh in its threat. The cloaked figure had never acknowledged you besides the cool stares it occasionally froze you with... but this, this was an entirely new playing field.

In this case, you couldn't help but to feel like a pawn instead of a king.

You startled as you felt a shoulder bump against your own, knocking the wind out of you and having you fall back onto your ass. You collided with the rough cement, your tailbone throbbing in retaliation. What a birthday you were having.

"Hey! Watch where you're-" you cut yourself off as you glanced upward, behind the complaining stranger you had collided with. There the figure appeared again, this time levitating near the steps of an old library, one you frequented in.

The figure's hood was pushed higher than it typically was, skeletal features barely visible, but pearly eyes like freezing blizzards bit back into your own stare. You stood there for what could have been hours, perhaps even years before the robed figure moved. His head declined at an angle, a gesture most commonly associated with 'follow me", before it floated into the library.

You blame your constant curiosity and yearn for the unknown for taking a hesitant step forward, up those familiar crumbling steps.

Immediately you are hit with the aroma of coffee beans and printed paper. Before this scent would comfort you, now it leaves you on edge. Your head was on a swivel, searching for the robed creature, but when you couldn't find him, you deflated in surprising defeat, why were you upset you couldn't find a ghost no one could see but you?

You took a left down the historical aisle, one of your absolute favorites. It was fascinating learning of different cultures and how they viewed death, how they mourned and what religion they practiced. Would it be heaven, resurrection, eternal damnation as a deity or God dragged you to a version of Hell?

Could it be Thanatos, or Hel, or maybe even.....

A heavy book dropped to the floor, as if it was pushed on its own. The dark cover mocking you with words red like crimson.

The Origin of Reaping.

The Grim Reaper. A deathly figure everyone seemed to idolize in horror movies, tv shows, and comic books. Kids dressed up as him for Halloween, swinging plastic scythes at their siblings. The figure was even in Sunday morning Cartoons.

Your mysterious figure happened to have a few too many of the same characteristics, as impossible as it sounds.

With a final glance around the section, making sure no one saw the book fly magically to the ground, you picked it up by the beaten spine, shuffling over to a cushioned seat and sitting with a quiet exhale.

You opened it randomly in the middle, a particular passage catching your attention,

Reapers can come in many forms, some even taking shape of a persona their prey finds to be most attractive, as this likely assists in retrieving souls. Other modern depictions display a dark cloak and iron scythe used to reap.

Your mouth was left agape with every word you read, the impossible pieces carving into place in your mind, despite how crazy it sounds. You flipped another page, eyes drinking in the text as if you were parched.

It is said that Reapers are only seen when their prey is close to death. Although there is some occasion of ‘seers’ appearing throughout history. It is said that seers could spot certain deities since birth or a tragic event. In history, Edgar Allen Poe, William Shakespeare, Frida Kaleo, Queen Mary I, and many others all reported seeing signs of reapers or beings with similar characteristics.

Seers often can predict who dies with their ability of watching a reaper touch its prey. No one knows why they're able to see what they do, but the gift is sought out by thousands for the unique information of knowing how and when death will occur.

Your knuckles were growing white amongst the yellowing pages at every passage you read, gathering more of an understanding in these last 10 minutes than you had your whole entire life. But why? Why would your reaper lead you here, to learn more about him?

With a final turn you eyed a last passage, the font in a starling bold,

If one suffers the touch of a reaper, it will only be a short period of time before death.

A frozen chill set over your body again, throat constricted and unmoving as no air expelled from your lungs. The deity had touched you, the bony fingers clutching your wrist in a permanent sentence. Your limbs were frozen as the world seemed to disappear, the very air drowning. You were going to die, and soon.

"Hey, love. Alrigh' there?" A deep Mancunian accent startled you from your shock. A tiny yelp left your tightening throat, breaking you out of your trance as you glanced upwards to the voice.

He was undeniably handsome in a ruggish way. He was by no means pretty, but captivating enough to distract you for a moment. He had light hair, stubble covering his scarred face and framing his smashed nose that had been broken one too many times. His eyes were a rich brown, devoid of emotions, despite the fact that he had just voiced concern. He was dressed sloppily, dark sweats hanging low from his hips and a black hoodie to match.

Rugged, but certainly your type.

“Oh, ummm.” You blinked, falling back into the present with your cheeks burning from your blunt stare. “Yes, yes I’m fine. Just… it’s been a long day.”

His head bobbed, tongue licking his dry bottom lip quickly. “Aye, it has, hasn’t it?”

You chuckled nervously, never one to enjoy speaking to strangers or engaging in small talk. The man seemed to connect the dots, but still, he held out his hand, visible calluses littering his large palm.

“Simon.”

You nodded, reluctantly saying your own name before hesitantly reaching out to grip onto his hand. As your warm skin brushed upon his, you jolted, feeling the same icy cold temperature that led you to your crazed state in the first place.

Your eyes rounded, just as Simon’s eyes flashed in curiosity. You ripped your hand out of his grasp too quickly, standing before your legs could catch up to your body.

"Uh, it was nice meeting you, Simon. But I have to go."

He nodded, further displaying the scar running down his cheek and ending near his lip. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you again, this is my favorite section, and one of my favorite books." His deep voice bided goodbye warmly, although you couldn't stop your hairs from raising and your pulse from skyrocketing like hiding prey.

"Right, well goodbye." You lowly spoke, plastering on a fake smile before rushing to leave the aisles and head for your apartment to rest. As you walked home, you couldn't help but glance over your shoulder, dread filling every nerve of your body.

The annoying buzzing of your alarm woke you from your sleep, something you had desperately needed. Your hand slapped the off button, effectively killing the noise. You felt better despite the twilight that had already set in. Darkness had flooded into your bedroom, the moon illuminating the river, casting eerie shadows across your wardrobe and bookshelf.

With a sigh, you pulled back the silk covers, yawning and stretching before making your way to your walk-in closet.

Your phone's ringtone rang through the small space, making you jump and realize just how paranoid you've became.

"Hello?"

"Hey, how you feeling?" Dana's cheery voice broke through the device, making you relax slightly.

"Better, I got some rest. When are you picking me up?"

"Oh, I'm not. Mark is."

You sighed, but couldn't stop the gentle smile that fell onto your lips. It came as natural as it could. "You set me up.” You put the pieces together. “Are we still going to the same place?"

"Of course, I'm not that mean. What are you wearing, birthday girl?"

“Haven’t thought about it. Probably just a nice blouse and jeans.”

You could hear her scoff through the phone, an offended tut escaping as well. “Hell no, it’s your birthday, and the last time you wore a dress Mark was basically drooling, and I’d love to get a picture this time.”

A short laugh huffed out of both of you, just as your fingers trickled further back in your closet, feeling the fabrics of the dresses you only wore for conferences and the occasional luncheon.

“I’ve got this black one, short and sparkly, you’d like it.” You informed Dana, pulling the dress from the hanger and holding it out to inspect.

“Perfect! I told Mark to pick you up at seven, so better hurry!”

You checked your phone, white font glowing, 18:09. You had about fifty minutes give or take. That was plenty for someone who rarely cared about appearance.

“See you there.” You bided farewell before clicking the red button, effectively cutting off the call.

It took little time to get ready, slipping on the dress that just nearly passed your ass. This one, you decided, was from your rebel years as a teen. Now you’d never wear anything that short or revealing as it pushed against your breasts.

You lightly dusted some make-up across any blemishes, and did your hair as best as you could before snatching your purse. Eyes flickered around the condo, making sure there was no sign of your ghoulish companion.

Thank God—he wasn’t there.

You hobbled, slipping dark stilettos upon your feet, making sure to not completely trip down the stairs as you spotted Mark’s navy BMW sitting at the curb. The man popped out of the driver’s side as you approached, mouth visibly popped open at your difference in wardrobe.

He looked quite handsome himself, an ironed white button down cuffed at his forearms, and black slacks accenting the whole look. He’d done his hair, styling it perfectly to accent his handsome green eyes and rich olive skin.

"H-hey, wow." His hand went to the back of his neck, likely rubbing the nervous sweat that gathered there. It was cute, in a childish crush kind of way. He opened the passenger side door, gesturing for you to step in. "You look beautiful." He sighed out, as if it was taking all his strength to spit out the words.

You chuckled brightly, daring enough to reach upwards and kiss his stubbled cheek, smelling the addicting bergamot cologne he wore. "And you look handsome." You climbed into the car, relaxing against the cool leather seats and smoothing your dress as Mark shut the door behind you.

As he opened his own door and climbed in, you could see the cute dusting of red on his cheek.

You sat in comfortable silence, riding for nearly ten minutes before you arrived at the small pub Dana had always spoke of in high regard. It was proudly Irish owned, known for having the best Shepherd's pie in all of D.C.

Perfectly your scene instead of a busy and loud nightclub.

Mark pulled the car into park, huffing a sigh before he turned. "Ready for some fun?" A soft smile was easy to come by, as was the aura of feeling safe in his presence.

"Only until eleven." You reminded him with a smirk, you could change your clothes, but you couldn't change who you are.

"Only until eleven." He repeated, amusement coating his words as he turned the key and stepped out. You opened the door after him, stepping beside him before making your way inside.

Immediately the whiff of beer and sweat flooded your senses, making you wrinkle your nose in protest as you adjusted. Mark let out a little cough, seemingly adjusting as well.

"Do you see her?" You yelled over the live band, hoping to spot the long braids Dana always styled to perfection. Mark, being taller than most, easily spotted her, "I see her!" He shouted, lightly going to grab your hand in his, the warmth of his skin welcoming.

Both of you weaved through people until you reached Dana, who was viciously guarding two barstools next to her. "Fuck off, dude, I already told you these spots are taken!" She snapped, poison dripping off her words as she glared.

"Easy..." you deescalated the situation, watching the man storm off as you took the seat at the end, Mark sitting in the middle. "Hey, you made it!" Dana's mood automatically switched, a cheery and blinding smile once again on her face.

She automatically reached over, pushing a red shot towards you with a giggle. "Get started, I've been waiting to see you hammered for like five years now."

"Alright, Alright." You giggled as well, picking up the shot and downing it only with a slight wince. It’s been way too long since you’ve partied.

“So, Mark, what do you think of the Birthday Girl’s outfit?” Dana quipped, obviously wanting to see the man’s cheeks glow red. It worked, his cheeks warming and pupils dilating.

He cleared his throat after taking a sip of his beer, "I see what you're doing, asshole. And for your information, she looks beautiful, I already told her that."

"Asshole? How about you come play this asshole in pool?" Dana challenged, a smirk on her red lips as she glanced back to you with a playful expression. "Wanna play too? You can partner up with Mark, he'll need the help."

Mark flicked her across the forehead, a small smile pulling at your lips at her muted ‘ow’.

“Go ahead and play, I'll stay here and play the winner." You compromised; far more interested in people watching anyways.

"You sure?" Mark asked. Your heart fluttered at his concern, but you nodded anyways. "Go ahead." You vaguely heard the trash talk from Dana as the two of them left to find a table and scavenge for quarters.

A sudden brush of leather scraped across your bare shoulder, the cool material causing goosebumps to spread across your flesh as you turned, a scoff escaping you as you noticed two more barstools open and the stranger took the one next to you instead.

"Whiskey." His deep voice sounded oddly familiar, as he adjusted on the seat, legs spreading wider as his kneecap bumped into yours. An annoyed huff left you as you scooted a couple inches away, so your ass was nearly hanging off the seat.

"What kind?"

"Irish, one for the lady as well." His head tilted to you, just as you caught a glimpse of the familiar light hair and raised scars from earlier. The man in the library, Simon.

"Oh, thank you." You awkwardly mumbled, settling for fiddling with your thumbs under the table. His eyes, the color of coffee beans crinkled, visible amusement dancing between the flickering lights.

"Welcome, dove."

The bartender set the two glasses in front of you, happily taking the green bills Simon offered. You watched as he gripped the glass, hand swallowing the material as if it were puny. He extended it to you, offering a toast. You picked up your own glass of amber liquid, if only to spare you the embarrassment.

"To life, we all have it, and sometimes it may kick us down. But here's to kicking it back." The glasses clinked, and you swallowed the alcohol with a cough. Simon's jaw ticked as he swallowed his, no wince visible, or even the twitch of an eyelid.

You wiped your lip softly, careful not to mess up your lip gloss. "So, what's the coincidence of finding you in two random places all in one day?" You joked, but honestly wanted to know the answer, to breakdown this stranger just as you did in the morgue.

"I like this place, reminds me of home." He gestured vaguely, his deep voice mellow and calm. "Where's home?" You questioned, interrogation being one of your many bad habits, it's a wonder how Dana and Mark even became your friends.

"Manchester."

"This is an Irish Pub." You deadpanned.

"Clever bird." He matched your sarcasm, something you found shamefully attractive. "Ireland is closer, eh? And don't tell a soul, but the brew is better there." A deep chuckle rumbled through him, his hefty shoulders vibrating with the sound. He was massive, muscle rippling off of him and filling him out, despite his tall appearance.

And his accent.

"Your secret is safe with me."

His lips ticked upwards for a moment, before dropping again. "So, what brings you to a place like this? Quite a different scene from the library."

"It's my birthday, my friends wanted to celebrate."

"But you didn't, eh?"

You sighed, nearly startled by how well this stranger could read you. lips pursed, you glanced at him through your eyelashes, then turned to see Dana lining up a shot as Mark strategized his next move.

"No, not really. But I haven't been feeling myself lately, I thought it would help to go out. To feel again, to know that I am here." An embarrassed chuckle escaped you, "I'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear all of that."

Simon shrugged, "I've heard worse."

A loud celebratory cheer broke out, you turned spotting Dana pumping her fist after hitting the 8 ball in. Mark huffed in defeat, forest eyes latching to you with a soft smile. Wanna play? he mouthed over the music.

You shook your head, gesturing for the two of them to play again. Mark frowned but didn't push on the matter. You sure?

Yes. You mouthed back, before turning back to Simon, cold eyes watching the scene unfold in curiosity.

"That man really likes you." He observed, rough fingertips tapping on the table, if he pushed any harder you were sure it would cause the wood to indent.

"Oh, yes. He's a great guy, handsome and kind. Smart too, he just..." You trailed off, chewing your lip as you tried to ponder for a word to say that wasn't too harsh.

"He doesn't give you that spark. Of excitement and mystery." Simon finished for you, tilting his head downwards as he studied your expression. You hummed, heart beating a little faster at the revelation.

"And you could?"

"I didn't say that, Dove."

Your cheeks flushed, embarrassment rippling down your spine at such an accusation, and how he had been so quick to make you to squirm. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you felt the sudden sense to get up and go play a game to avoid more teasing.

"Needa smoke, want to come out with me?" He offered just as you were about to stand and walk away. You struggled, wondering if you should run like prey, or put your hands into the beartrap and hope it didn't close on your bones.

"Smoking is bad for you." You quipped but followed behind his heels like a wounded puppy. A chuckle vibrated through him again, teeth flashing as he held the door open for you. "And I know it."

You stepped out into the chilly air, a pleasant change compared to the stuffy bar. Your arms wrapped around your waist; elbows leant against the rickety iron railing. Simon fished in his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter with an exhale. A quick flick and a flame sparked, settling upon the paper as the scent of tobacco aired.

He placed it between his lips, the red cherry glowing before he released, exhaling smoke from his nose and mouth. You'd think it was hot, if you couldn't smell it, or know how bad it was for him.

"So, what's your story, oh mysterious stranger?" Your heels pinched at your feet, you couldn't wait to get them off and back into slippers. Another exhale of smoke as he glanced down, the lamppost catching the reflection of his eyes, making them look almost white.

"No story. Joined the British military when I was 18, retired, here I am." He spoke with amusement, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. It wasn't, the military was no joke, just death and bullets, and if they happened to survive, they could still hear those bullets at home.

"It takes guts to serve, a lot of death." You sympathized, knowing it would be impossibly hard to watch the people you called brothers and sisters die in horrendous ways.

He took a drag on his cigarette, a slow nod of his head signifying that he heard. He flicked the dying bud to the ground.

"It takes a lot to do your job too. A mortician is a serious job, espically after seeing so much death in your family." He related; words sharp as a knife. Your blood ran cold as he spoke, never once had you mentioned your job, or the death of your parents and grandma, he shouldn't have known.

Muscles froze, heart beating nearly out of your chest as you glanced up at him. Your mouth was left agape as you stared.

What was once a warm body with handsome scars and bulky muscles now stood a black cloaked figure, skeletal bone, and white glowing eyes.

It was him, the Reaper. And oh, how it had tricked you.

A scream was crawling up your throat ready to expel until you heard his voice.

"Listen to me, Dove. I've followed you all your life, and I've never hurt you. But we are out of time." His voice was the same, still Simon's, even as those glowing eyes bore into yours.

"How is this happening?" You muttered as you squeezed your eyes shut, going as far as pinching yourself until freezing skeletal fingers gripped your chin.

"Listen. I know you read the passages in that book. I made sure you did, so you know since I touched you, it’ll be over soon. You have to keep yourself safe.” he squeezed your face, not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you pop your eyes open and listen closely.

“Why’d you touch me then? Why are you even acknowledging me if you’d ignored me all my life?”

“I’m just a soldier, dove. I don’t make the rules. Seers, they’re destined to find us, to make our hearts beat again. The higher ups don’t like that, so we are told to kill anyone like you.”

Your heart beats faster, knowing this was enough weird to send you straight to a psychiatric ward. What did he mean make his heart beat again?

“Hey! Stop touching her!” A familar voice broke out through the buzzing of the street lamps. Skeletal fingers dropped from your chin, just as the two of you turned to face Mark, his jaw clenched and fury in his eyes.

“Mark, no-” you started, watching in horror as he stormed Simon, forcibly pushing him away from you, even though he barely moved an inch. Your heart dropped, knowing the damage was somehow done. Mark had touched a Reaper, and now he would die. He shouldn’t have been able to see him in the first place.

“Fool, what have you done?” Simon growled, now back to his human form to spare Mark the shock, dark eyes nearly black in the night.

“Seriously dude, what I have done? I’m not the one harassing women.” Mark hissed, looking small despite his height as he squared up to a reaper. Simon inhaled, chest puffing even larger than before, a nonverbal threat.

“He-he touched you.” You whimpered, eyes watering with salty tears, one threatening push and they’d fall. Mark, sweet Mark, he didn’t deserve this.

Mark’s head tilted, taking his eyes off Simon, always one to check on you instead of worry for himself. His features softened, if only for a moment.

“Cmon, we’re leaving.” He spat through gritted teeth, sending one last wicked glare to Simon before he turned his back, gently grasping your wrist and steering you away from Simon.

Before Simon could utter another word, Mark had steered you to his car, keys in his grasp as he unlocked it with a stab of his finger. You’d never seen him like that, anger flooding off of him. You weren’t sure if he’d send you sinking to the depths after him.

The key slotted into the ignition, engine roaring to life as he reversed speedily.

“Put your seat belt on… please.” Mark spoke through slotted teeth, pulling out of the parking lot and into the nearly vaccant roads. You gulped, but otherwise reached behind you to pull the belt into the slot with a latch. Your hands shook, adrenaline being your enemy as you couldn’t stop your rapidly beating heart. What if this was how you died? Your heart beating out of your chest.

“You can’t just disappear like that, I was worried sick. I love you too much for something to happen to you.”Mark expressed, taking his eyes off the road for a moment, only to frown at the horrified expression on your face. Perhaps he overstepped, but you weren’t thinking about that, only about the person he was about to run over, standing right in the middle of the road.

“Look out!”

It was all a blur, the swerving, the uncontrolled movements of the tires. It was poetic in a way, the man you had at your heels had just torn his heart out, only for it to bleed as the vehicle crashed.

You gasped, black coating your vision as bent metal pinched at all your sides. Metallic blood scented the air as tv static coated your brain.

The last thing you saw, as your vision turned black, was glowing white eyes and bleached bone.

#call of duty modern warfare #cod #simon ghost riley #modern warfare #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty #tw death #tw dying #no one asked for this but I’m posting it anyway

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genericpuff · 1 year

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LORE | REKINDLED - MASTER POST (READ BELOW!)

LORE | REKINDLED is a transformative project dedicated to the S1/Pilot era of Rachel Smythe's Lore Olympus. Rekindled will attempt to re-interpret and reconstruct the foundations laid by Rachel Smythe in S1 of Lore Olympus' publication, while also remaining true to the themes and messages of the original myths upon which Lore Olympus is based.

We hope you enjoy this re-interpretation of The Hymn to Demeter - also known as The Rape of Persephone - expressed through the lens of a meta re-interpretation of Lore Olympus. Made by the fans, for the fans.

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit transformative fan project drawn and written by @genericpuff. All brushes, textures, and font packs used to replicate Lore Olympus' art and style are sourced legally, and panel art is created from the ground up. All Lore Olympus-relevant character designs and branding belong to Rachel Smythe. All interpretations of Greek characters, mythologies, and themes are purely fictional and should not be used in any factual sourcing when researching Ancient Greek material.

Now available to read on Dillyhub!

EPISODE LIST

(check back to this pinned for updates to the episode list!)

#lore rekindled comic #lore rekindled #lore olympus au #anti lore olympus

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ghouljams · 4 months

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Prev part (The Ghost Distribution System) tw violence

It's funny how something that once was almost comforting can now feel so unfamiliar in his arms.

Ghost readjusts his hold on his rifle for a third time, tries to find the same comfort in the cold unforgiving metal that he finds in the soft curves of you body. He's never been twitchy like this before. The novelty is wearing off fast. He's a sniper, he's not made to twitch. He tries to think about you, but somehow seeing your face in the midst of a battlefield isn't the comfort he'd hoped it would be.

He spends hours in stillness, in silence. Your voice haunts him, and silently he prays for your absolution. The violence he commits, the job he preforms, the sins that he racks up on his tally board, it would sicken you. The voices of his team chirp in his ear, begging for response and only getting the barest response. He tries, gives and takes a few jokes, but his mind is elsewhere. Ghost has never been anything but present. When the present is all the matters, all he can plan for, he doesn't have any reason to exist in the space around it.

Except now. Except for you.

His motions are mechanical, practiced. Ghost drags the bolt on his rifle, loads ammunition, breathes, eyes fixed down the scope. He is silence, he is death, he has a job to do. One that lets him draw the line where he needs to. One he hopes you never know the details of. A job that, once done, leaves him silent in a helicopter.

The spray of blood used to bring him some sort of purpose, but without you... Without you it's all meaningless. Who cares for the world when he finds it in your arms, when he sees it in your eyes, when he sees your face in every passing moment? He hardly breathes without you, it's all etcetera.

He has to get out of here.

Soap bumps his shoulder against Ghost's, jogs the man from his silent penance with a smile and a, "You alright LT?"

"Fine," Ghost tells him, he feels the words rough on his tongue. Too many hours spend in quiet.

"Cummon yer actin' like a ghost," that gets a soft huff of a laugh from the man, "what's got ya tied up?"

"Found god," Ghost grumbles. Soap and Gaz exchange a glance before the dry sarcasm triggers some sort of recognition.

"You got someone back home," Soap says, almost in disbelief. Ghost gives a short nod and Soap lets out a low whistle. There's a beat of silence, the air humming with curious anticipation. Soap and Gaz weigh their options, staring Ghost down like he's grown a second head. Price shifts where he's leaned back against the wall, fixes his hat down over his eyes to pretend he isn't listening.

"What are they like?" Gaz asks finally, and Ghost realizes that for all his worship, for all the salvation you've offered him, he knows you as well as any follower knows their god. What are you like? What do you do when he isn't there? What are your interests and hobbies, what do you worry over, what do you treat yourself to on bad days, do you separate your whites when you do your wash? He knows your name, your phone number, he knows that you hate the cold and love salty snacks, he knows that when he's with you everything seems to make sense. He knows that he feels safe with you.

"Kind." Ghost supplies the only word on his lips, feels it sting in his throat. Benevolent, he wants to say, the very ground they walk on is holy to me, their home a temple, their laughter my hymns.

"They do anything when they aren't dealin' with ya?" Soap chimes, grinning as he leans against his knees. The helo jerks, the cabin moving with the wind.

"Take in strays," He lets his eyes drift to the floor, the grated metal feels as foreign to him as his rifle did. Not long ago this was a familiar life, how different the world seems now. Gaz and Soap silently exchange a glance.

"Sounds nice," Price rumbles from his repose.

Somehow it's easier not keeping you a secret. Being able to talk about you feels like a weight off his chest. Not that Ghost is particularly forthcoming with the details, but it's enough just knowing he can talk. It makes it easier to do his job. Makes it hurt less getting patched up while waiting for extraction when Soap tells him, "Got someone to get home to, yeah?"

The risks don't scare him. The job doesn't scare him. Death doesn't scare him. He's survived long enough to feel the sting of homesickness again. Something he never thought he'd feel after he lost his mom. It's enough to keep him going, to keep him focused. He has to take care of himself, has to get out of here and back to you.

He posts up in a derelict hospital, smiles under his mask as he tracks Soap through the street. His mind is quiet save for your gentle humming, the ghosts of your fingers carding through his hair. He could spend hours like this, held still by the memory of you.

"How 'bout this one then," Soap buzzes low in his ear, keeping his voice down as he moves, "General is at a ball chattin' up a bonnie lass, she asks him 'when's the last time you had sex?' General tells her '1945' and she gasps, 'oh my god! Well how about some now?' General looks at his watch, tells her 'ma'am it's only 2030, I'm gonna need a minute.'" Ghost snorts, he can hear Soap smiling on the other end of the comms, "Thought you'd like that one."

"Two dinosaurs having lunch in the park, one looks at the other and asks, 'you think that big rock up there's gettin' closer?'" Ghost responds, rolling his shoulders to get some of the tension out. Keeping still starts to wear on him after a while. Nothing he can't deal with.

"Aye, like that one," Soap chuckles, Ghost hums, "Your somebody like your jokes?"

"Some of 'em." Ghost smiles to himself. The image of you laughing at his jokes, wiping at your eyes and pushing his shoulder. The worse they are the harder you seem to laugh. It's one of his favorite things about you.

"Quiet out here," Soap mumbles. Ghost can see him sweeping around corners, checking his six.

"Careful Johnny," Ghost tells him, his heart feels lighter, "bad luck sayin' that."

It happens all at once, as these things usually do. The door behind him opens and Ghost turns to throw a knife, hears the soft sick 'thunk' as it sticks in its target, before a smoke grenade is tossed through the opening. The hiss of it is almost as bad as the fumes it lets out. Choking smoke.

"Position compromised," Ghost growls into his comms, ignoring Soap's affirmative reply in favor of slamming the butt of his rifle into the first unlucky soul to emerge from the smoke. Blunt force against their nose, cracking the dark reflective face shield. Then the knife, tugged from his belt and forced into the side of the man's neck. Ghost is efficient, yanking the knife free to watch the arterial spray, turning to toss it into his next target. It's only when the giant emerges from the smoke that he considers radio-ing for backup.

Ghost knows he's a big guy, but this motherfucker...

The soldier rushes him, a human battering ram that Ghost has no option but to catch, planting his feet and twisting to divert the assault. The man hits the wall and growls something Ghost doesn't catch. He supposes it doesn't matter.

It's Ghost's turn to rush him, shouldering the man in the chest in the hopes of knocking the wind out of him. The giant is too reliant on his reach, swinging for Ghost to try and grab him. It's easy enough to grab his arm and flip him, the same way he does recruits that are all brawn and no brain. The man hits the ground and twists to kick him, catching Ghost in the stomach.

He lets out a pained breath and shakes it off, lunging when the giant pulls his sidearm. The gun is trained on him and Ghost grabs the barrel, his fingers slipping over the muzzle as he forces the gun down and away from himself.

Ghost grits his teeth and reels back to clock the guy, just a moment too late when he pulls the trigger. Pain explodes over Ghost's hand, shoots up his arm and forces the sound out of his mouth. He doesn't have time to focus on the mangled wreck of his hand, the mess of blood and tissue, bones barely strung together. The warmth of it, the bleeding pain, he wonders how many fingers he has left. It doesn't stop him. Worse injuries might, but a hand is just a hand.

He wrestles the gun away from the big fucker and raises it with heavy breaths, firing a quick shot and clipping the side of their head and taking a chunk out of their sniper's mask. The armored helmet stops him from giving it another go. Fucking military for hire. They pick his belt, tug a knife free and reel back to bring it down quick.

I have to get out of here, the thought flashes through Ghost's mind with the deadly glint of the blade. It freezes him and the blade hits his mask, carving its way through the bone's eye socket and into his own. He's lucky it doesn't lodge deep, but his vision is shot. The pain is starting to set in in earnest. He swallows it down and tries another shot, focusing on the seams in the man's tac gear. Any injury is better than nothing.

It's strange that he'd think of you in this moment, that your face would flash through his mangled brain, but he steals the comfort the same way he steals all your other kindnesses. He's been too confident, taken unnecessary risks while he was outside the halo of your grace. It had felt like proof of his devotion each time he skirted death, not it strikes him as proof of your anger. Your punishment for his sins as he's grappled and shoved back, back, back.

The old stories say that Lucifer was God's most devoted servant, the most beloved, before he fell. Even Jesus' apostles betrayed and doubted. The fall is a natural part of faith, as unnatural as it feels.

The sky is blue, and the air is warm when Ghost hits the ground,

And everything goes black.

#simon ghost riley #x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #the ghost distribution system #tw violence

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cheriiyaya · 3 months

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01: "ANGEL" HE CALLS ME ♡

FEATURING: D.Fyodor + Fem!Reader

♡ Your first encounter with Fyodor

series masterlist

CW: chapter 113 spoilers, lots of setting up the future chapters, wrote this in a writers block, no real cws lol

A/N: welp. Umm i began this the day b4 ch 113 LMAO @aureatchi this is for u :D !!

"♪ "You're so pure," he says. Does he know, I'm forsaken? ♪"

The first time Fyodor met you was in the dungeons of Lord Bram's castle.

The quiet drip of droplets against cold stone was the only indication that time was even moving along in that cold, damp place. By dawn, he'd be impaled. Painful, yes, but it wouldn't matter. Fyodor knew it was naught but a minor set back, and he'd rise like the lord on the third day.

But chained up in a dreary catacomb was by far the most drab way to wait. All he could do was hang there in wait. Fyodor did expect this, but even for a calculating man like him it was painfully boring.

The low creak of rusty iron gates and the echo of footsteps drew fyodor's attention. It wasn't a guard, that much he could tell. The approaching figure, from the sound of their steps, did not bear the heavy weight of armour and knighthood.

What he didn't expect to see was a young maid creeping about, sparing glances around her surroundings as she pushed the door open, cradling something in her skirts.

You looked up at him, hesitantly walking into the dungeon. "You are the travelling minstrel? Dostoevsky right?" you inquired in a soft tone, one fyodor would've mistaken for the hymn of an angel. He didn't respond, watching you carefully. You didn't pose a threat, that much was obvious, yet he for once did not watch with scheming gaze, but rather one of uncharacteristic curiosity.

"of course." He replied simply. You nodded and kneeled on the grimy floor, grimacing at the murk staining the hem of your skirts. You then unfurled from the cradle in your skirts an apple and a dagger, one not very memorable. Fyodor raised an eyebrow, watching you as you carefully sliced the apple.

"Do you always take such pity on the devil's prisoners?" His words were sharp, thickly accented. You looked up at him, frowning. You stilled your hand, blade pressed deep in the apple and juice dribbling down your fingers.

"Well, does it matter if I do? You'll be dead before dawn tomorrow anyways." You resumed cutting the apple. Fyodor suppressed the growing smirk curling at the edges of his lips.

After cutting the apples into thin slices, you approached him slowly. Then, you brought the slices up to him lips.

"Eat." You nudged it against his lips, frowning when he didn't take a bite. "Do you wish to starve, minstrel?" You sighed sharply, dropping your hand and turning around.

"What is your name?" Fyodor's voice remained in that level, cool tone as he spoke. You looked over at him and paused, then told your name.

"-it doesn't really matter if I tell you, anyways." You added that part under your breath.

"You seem to be quite eager about my death." He chuckled, chains rattling as he leaned forward. "Would you be disappointed if I lived?"

You faced him again. "No, I'm not. I've tried making your last hours a little more bearable, but you refuse my help." You dusted off your skirt. "So, I will not waste my time on you anymore."

"Smart choice, myshka." He leaned back, violet eyes locked on you. You lingered for a little longer, torch-light flickering a warm hue against the curve of your features. The set of your eyes, the curves of your lips and the shape of your nose, though covered in a layer of grime, were something that rang something deep in fyodor.

"well, I'll take my leave now." the way you said it was almost inaudible, and though you spun around quickly, fyodor saw the glint in your eyes.

one of pity.

Why would someone like you pity him?

You left the dungeon, the door clanging behind you.

©Cheriiyaya 2024

tagging: @walking-simp, @soullessfyodor @guacamoleroll @justcallmesakira @dilucslilmeowmeow @inojuuy

#dividers by @cafekitsune #☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝕽𝖊𝖉'𝖘 𝕽𝖚𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾#bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor x y/n #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor bsd #bsd imagines #bsd headcanons #bsd x female reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bungou sd

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ghost-1-y · 9 months

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Kinktober 2023 / Monsterfucker Plans (Updated!)

Sea Serpent!Obanai x AFAB Mermaid!Reader – October 3rd @ 6pm PST

Your father had always warned you of the dangers of the deep ocean, demanding that you stay within the safe borders of the underwater kingdom. However, one day, you become curious and secretly travel into waters untraversed by any merperson still alive today – wishing to know what lies beyond the safe confines of your home, not realizing that the countless warnings from your father had been given to you for very good reason.

Incubus!Gojo x AFAB!Reader – October 7th @ 6pm PST

It’s been months since your husband had touched you in the way that you wished, and you’ve started to grow tired of the way he constantly flirts with other women. Completely fed up with both him and the never-ending dry spell you’ve been going through, you retire to the guest room’s bed to fall asleep without your husband, unaware of a shadow that’s been lurking in your home each night, waiting for the right moment to prey on his new victim.

Angel!Mitsuri x AFAB Succubus!Reader – October 10th @ 6pm PST

Mitsuri had always done what she was told to do, singing hymns and praying to her god every single day – ensuring that she fulfilled her duty of spreading the Good News to others far and wide. She never once thought about breaking the rules – much less her vow to chastity, until she found what initially appeared to be a human in a darkened alleyway in need of help, unknowingly falling into a trap that would corrupt her from holiness for the rest of eternity.

Human!Giyuu x AFAB Naiad!Reader – October 14th @ 6pm PST

As a water nymph, you never saw the world from beyond the spring you were born from, having only seen humans come to your spring bearing gifts and performing rituals for the sake of worship. However, one day, a beautiful human male stumbled his way into the domain of your sacred spring, and without offering nor sacrifice to give you, you thought of another way in which he could pay you worship.

Witch!Shinobu x AFAB!Reader – October 17th @ 6pm PST

Your girlfriend usually spends all day cooped up in her cabin brewing potions and studying spells, and, of course, placing the occasional hex on someone she doesn’t particularly like. One day, when you decide to visit her place deep in the woods, she has come up with a rather…interesting potion recipe, and wishes for both of you to try it out together.

True Form!Sukuna x AFAB Sorcerer!Reader – October 21st @ 6pm PST

Having been one of the sorcerers of the Heian Era to attempt to eradicate the King of Curses from the face of the earth, you were the least bit surprised to find yourself awaiting death within Sukuna’s domain. What you didn’t expect was that the Disgraced One had other plans awaiting you, to which you selfishly conceded if it meant you were allowed to live yet another day.

Surtr!Kyojuro x AFAB Worshipper!Reader – October 24th @ 6pm PST

The legends stated that the mighty fire giant would one day bring about the beginnings of Ragnarök and engulf the world in flames. You had been told of these prophecies since childhood and were a firm believer in appeasing the proclaimed Ruler of Fire through worship and sacrifice – just as you had been taught by the village elders since you were a mere child. What you didn’t expect, however, was for the village to turn their back on you and suggest that a human sacrifice would be needed to appease the giant once and for all.

Trickster!Sanemi x AFAB Tricked Princess!Reader – October 28th @ 6pm PST

As the Princess of your kingdom, you have been a voice of authority for all of your royal subjects. In fact, you had grown quite accustomed to your way of living – it was comfortable, and you rather enjoyed having others serve you – believing it was your divine right to have such privileges. That is, until one day you started to notice acts of mischief occurring around the castle – and with no one stepping up to take responsibility, you decided to seek out this imposter yourself, not realizing that was what he had wanted all along.

Vampire!CEO!Nanami x AFAB Secretary!Reader – October 31st @ 6pm PST

As the new secretary for a company, you find yourself excited about getting hired for your first job ever! You never thought to question why the position you’d applied for had been listed as vacant once every few months, nor did you wonder why all of the previous secretaries were female – all you wanted was to impress your new boss with your amazing work ethic. However, as you continue your weeks working for him, you start to notice rather…odd habits, and the more you observe, the more it becomes difficult to ignore – and why was it that the usually stoic man would seemingly become friendlier with you at the beginning of your menstrual cycles?

If you'd like to be tagged in any of these fics, please comment under this post with which ones you'd like to be tagged in! You must be 18+ (with your age in your bio) if you wish to be tagged! No age no entry!

divider credit: @/benkeibear

#kinktober 2023 #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #demon slayer smut #kny smut #jjk smut #obanai smut #gojo smut #mitsuri smut #giyuu smut #shinobu smut #sukuna smut #rengoku smut #sanemi smut #nanami smut

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godkilller · 2 years

Note

❝ Ichimaru ku~un ! I have a gift for you ! ❞ Said gift is a flower, living for once, behind the ear. A vibrant blue, though not quite matching his eyes. She steps back with a laugh, admiring him. ❝ You're perfect ~! ❞

SHE WAS ALLOWED TO REACH OUT, TO TOUCH, TO PLACE THAT FLOWER TUCKED BEHIND AN EAR, and Gin gave her no difficulty. In fact, whatever she had him programmed with was quick to detect she was reaching for the near-top of his taller height and thus Gin slouched, a leaning forward and a dipping of his head downwards to accommodate their differing heights. The flower nearly matched his eyes. Strange to see them, strange to have Gin open them -- stranger, too, that his gaze seemed so vibrant and simultaneously dull, clouded, clear, contradictions alongside his living-dead self.

SOMETHING WAS WRONG -- WHERE WAS... --

❝ H'oh, where'd ya find this at? ❞ He didn't know what type of flower this one was -- he caught only a glimpse before she tucked it behind his ear. Gin straightened up, swaying, grin wide. ❝ Do ya pick flowers now when you ain't pickin' up corpses? ❞

#[ roleplay ] predator; murder on his mind & hymns on his tongue #[ verse: zombie ] i have carried all the deaths there are for one soul; again & again #;w; ah.#he's all prettied up now. thanKS

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kuni-is-daddy · 5 months

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Switch!Wanderer x Female Reader

Birthday Special

Ft: Mentions of nahida. Word Count: 1.32k

|Scaraficlist!|ScaraNSFWAlphabet

:// Spoilers for his lore if your not updated. Use of Darling, Good girl, Soft wanderer, subtle grinding. Kuni tries to be dom. Aftercare

CW: Minors do NOT interact past the cut! This is a NSFW POST!!

Wanderer was bored. So he decided to go to the sanctuary of Surasthana while you we're 'busy running errands at the akademiya'. Or, that was the story you went with. "Errands?" Nahida was sitting on her swing while flicking through the pages of a colorful animal book. Slimes, Whopper flowers and even vishamps were all printed in bold along the pages with pictures and definitions in the corner. "Hm.. But I thought she was getting ready for the surpri-" Nahida stuttered and bit her tongue. Wanderer noticed. "What is it?"

he insisted and she nervously closed her book. "Well Uhm.. I know your stance has changed, But shouldn't you take some time off to compose yourself? Its your-" "My birthday." He said sarcastically. "I don't celebrate that Irrelevant holiday; it wouldn't even apply to me as I wasn't even given a concrete date of birth. Who cares, It's just a waste of time when I could be doing other things." Nahida got up. " Well, if you're comfortable, maybe you can give a gift to someone else? Someone you care about! You know.. your thes-" Wanderer groaned. "Yes buer. I know my thesis is due. Youve reminded me. SEVERAL. Times." She smiled, now that Wanderer was attending lectures and studied at vahumana, the little archon was eager to read out his findings. Nahida then waved him off as he turned away. 'A gift..' He immediately thought of you. What would you like this time? Make-up, Clothes, should he take you out on another date? He didnt have much mora on him at the moment, But didnt care since it was for you. Wanderer sighed, He'd just have to go off his own idea.

Wanderer fumbled with his keys. You probably still weren't home anyway. He thought. He did tell you how he felt about his birthday. For all he knew his existence was just a hinderance. His mother, Niwa's suffering… The deaths in the clans…. Wait. Is that why you stayed in the akademiya for so long? A pit began to swirl in his chest and eyebrows furrowed at the thought. Nahida was obviously holding out on something when she referenced you. He tsk'd then turned the doorknob "Y/n?" and was greeted to your shared house covered in decorations. Wanderer fell completely quiet as he looked around the house, there we're teal and white decorations along the walls, A feast on the table, then gifts neatly tied in a bow. He took off his kasa hat, hanging it up by the door. Many gifts we're lined up along the hallway. Two we're in sparkling green wrap. 'From Nahida, To hatguy' Was written on the tag. While 3 other gifts we're from you. He Opened the door to his room; Light came from underneath. "Y/n. Darling? Are you-" "SURPRISE!!!!!!" You yelled and jumped off his bed, Kuni blinked as he heard a pop and watched shreds of confetti fall onto his head, one on his nose that he blew away a bit annoyed. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!" you ran up to hug him, practically jumping into his arms as you hugged him tightly.

You then pulled away as he looked you up and down. You wore a f/c dress, Stockings and a blue bowstring tied on your right wrist. He grinned and tugged you by his arm, pulling you closer and into his grasp. Before you could react his arm was already wrapped around your waist. "Hm. So all I have to do is indulge in this stupid holiday to have you wrapped up for me like this?" Kuni's gazed stayed focused on your now flustered expression with your body pressed against his, He trailed his free hand down to the hymn of your dress, Rubbing his fingertips along your clothed thigh. "Well..it is your birthday so I thought id-ah-give you~ something~" A small moan escaped your lips as he rubbed his hand along your ass, He scoffed a bit when he felt the latex of your stockings. "Oh? And what was that? This perfect body of yours that I can have whenever I want?" You nodded and stumbled in his touch, "Fuck.." Kuni let out a raspy breath. Your knee pressed against the forming tent in his pants. "If your done playing around, Im going to unwrap my gift now."

---

Kuni scooped you up properly, then placed you onto the bed. You looked at him eagerly as his pupils began to glow a fainter purple. He hastily took off his open chested kimono and bodysuit, discarding his vision as it dangled off the side of the bed. "Lay down for me." Kuni ordered. You complied and got comfortable, kicking off your flats and laying on the middle of the bed. He sunk his face into your neck and bit along your shoulder before leaving petals of kisses along your neck. You moaned softly into his ear and pressed your knee up a bit further, Stimulating him through his pants. "You- mn Slut. Rutting against me like this." Kuni bit harder, Sucking on your neck and creating red patches along your skin. He pulled away from your neck and smashed his lips against yours, His tongue eagerly intertwined with yours, Your lipbalm softly smeared against his own lips in friction as you moaned into his mouth. Kuni's hands shifted down towards your breasts, Cupping them harshly through your dress cloth. His member began throbbing through his pants, You wanted more. Touching him like this wasnt enough. Kuni pulled away and you whined. "Shh shh..Be patient my love." Your heart rate increased at his sudden sweet nickname, And as you we're distracted he pulled you near the edge of the bed and spread your legs. "K-kuni- wait! my stock-"

He tugged at the cloth and ripped it, Holes formed in the stitching near your thigh. Kuni's eyes widened a bit, You also had lacey lingerie on underneath. "Shit..You've been plotting this all day huh? To have me fuck you with these on?" His fingers pressed on the cotton, and slowly pulled your lingerie off as well. Your pussy was already glistening from his remarks and Kuni bit his lip. "God..I need to taste you right now darling, You look so good for me~ My perfect gift." Kuni leaned down in between your legs and licked along your folds. He was going to drag this out as long as he could. He took more short licks along your clit, Occasionally Licking at your bud while gripping you closer. Your legs twitched from his teasing. "Kuni..Please~ More~! I need it~!" You pleaded and kuni finally inserted his warm tongue inside your pussy. "Mn You taste s' good darling~" kuni's tongue licked along your walls and You bucked your hips a bit softly into his tongue. He then sunk farther in-between your legs, giving you a hazy sight of him pulling his bangs out of view and rubbing your clit against his lips. "K-kuni! wait your tongue~! Its-" "Loudher slut~ Mm-let me hear how good im making you feel~" You moaned into your hand while gripping tightly onto the bedsheets. Out of desperation to chase your high you pressed his head in between your thighs, Suffocating him in your taste. Kuni was so used to training himself how to breathe he forgot he was a puppet; He felt a bit lightheaded but couldnt help it as his length began throbbing so hard in his pants he felt as if he was going to cum untouched while rubbing your clit as you moaned out his name.

A coil snapped and you came undone, Letting out a muffled cry as you coaxed his lower face and tongue in your Juices, Squeezing your thigh one more time as your high subsided. The deafening silence blinked you out your daze as kuni got up from in-between your legs, Panting and his hair completely messy. "I- Kuni Im so sorry! Are you okay I didnt-" As you looked further down you noticed the wet stains coming from his shorts, He pulled the string and slid down his shorts and boxers, finally freeing his aching shaft. "Mmm..Fuck..You really are my slut arent you. My Pretty cocksleeve~" Kuni pulled up your dress finally over your head, frazzling your hair slightly and he panned your locks back in place with his thumb. "Spread your legs again for me.. darling And dont you dare-Hah..Get quiet again. Okay?" He said between panted breathes, you nodded and parted your legs again then held them up a bit until his tip grazed softly against your wet entrance, The puppet was already twitching from the contact and his precum smeared along your clit. Kuni looked up at you again, "Are you ready doll?" You hummed and he immediately plunged himself inside you, Moaning and groaning at your warmth.

"Ah~ F-fuck y/n." He bucked his hips up and down slowly. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer as he kissed under your neck with your head rested on his pillow. Kuni let out heavy pleasured sighs in sync with your moans as you chased your second orgasm. With his face dug into your neck he searched for your hand, gripping at the bow then intertwining his hand in yours. Your body arched further as his bed began to creak from his quickening pace. His ornament and kimono fell off the bed with a slight clink, But kuni was in a daze from your walls clenching around his cock. "Y-your so tight y/n i- im fuck~! Gonna cum~!" Kuni tilted his head up, biting harder into your neck while your nails dug into his shoulders. You quickly came again, shuddering from your second orgasm as you coated his cock. Kuni soon came after, bucking himself balls deep into you with a harsh thrust, Ropes of his Cum gushed into your womb, Painting your walls the color of his seed.

Wanderer panted into your chest, The only sounds coming from him we're soft sighs of relief from his pent-up orgasm. He tried getting up, slowly pulling himself out of your stuffed pussy and fetching a towel. He then held your hand softly, gracing you up as he wiped any sweat or fluids off your body. He was deafly quiet and focused on cleaning you up. He sighed and got up until you gripped tightly on his hand. "Stay with me kuni…Please~?" Your eye lashes fluttered, Blinking out the small dry tears. The puppet stared at you as you held his hand. He was never showered with this much affection. Nonetheless for his birthday, He didn't know whether to get emotional or frustrated. And chuckled to himself at another one of his fatal flaws that he couldn't understand. "Heh. So needy arent you? Fine. I'll stay." Kuni then laid down with you ontop of him, planting a kiss on the crown of your head while you rested on his chest.

The next morning you woke up limp with your knees wobbling. You stumbled out the bed, noticing a pair of clothes sitting by the edge with a small note attached. "Not bad, I guess cooking is another thing Your reliable on. Lessor lord Kusanali is having me attend another Boring lecture, She says its 'important' But I don't really care. Ps. Check my desk when your done, Then meet me at the Akademiya. Hurry up."

On his desk was a bouquet of flowers….And another note. 'Thank you for the birthday gift darling.'

A/N: I Havent wrote in like...WEEKS omg :( Ty all so much for your patience and HAPPY NEW YEAR!. Thank you for reading!!!

#genshin smut #genshin impact #scaramouche smut #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x female reader #wanderer smut #wanderer x female reader #wanderer x you #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #wanderer x y/n #wanderer x reader

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munson-blurbs · 11 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Summary: Grandma's funeral brings out a side of Ms. Sweetheart that Eddie hasn't ever seen, leaving the two of them questioning everything they've built up together.

Warnings: funeral service (I tried to keep it as neutral as possible so it could apply to any religion), mentions of cause of Grandma's death, failed attempt at sex, pretty much all angst sorry

WC: 5.1k

Chapter 10/20

Divider credit to @saradika Harris's note credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers

Eddie can’t remember the last time he went to a funeral. It might’ve been for one of Wayne’s friends, or a distant great-aunt twice removed. He doesn’t even own a proper suit for such an occasion; everything he’s wearing actually belongs to Wayne. He smooths down the creases in his black slacks; the material of anything other than worn denim is foreign against his legs. The elbows of his coat jacket are patched, and he slides his palms over them in embarrassment.

He takes a seat in one of the back rows, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible while the other mourners file in. There’s a pit growing in his stomach as his gaze swoops to the coffin resting at the front of the room. The realization that Grandma was inside was almost too much for him to handle, and he’d only met her a month ago. He hadn’t known her when she was…herself, but he saw glimpses of her now and again. The last time he was over for a Wednesday night dinner, she rested her head on his shoulder as though she’d done it a million times. You’d mouthed sorry, but Eddie had simply smiled and let Grandma stay there as long as she wanted. If he was being honest, he felt special, knowing that she was comfortable with him.

Eddie’s eyes are only drawn from the casket when he sees you walk among your family. He immediately takes note of your face, normally soft and vibrant, now stoic and emotionless. It’s a sharp contrast to your relatives, who wear their grief through bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The hymn playing in the background fades out as a man speaks up at the podium.

Eddie’s barely listening, keeping his attention on you. He watches your mouth move as you recite the prayers along with the rest of your family, though he’s only half-listening to them. He’s never been one for organized religion, but he echoes the closing statement when everyone else does.

That’s when you stand up, smoothing down your dress at the back of your thighs, and walk towards the front of the room. You’re clutching a piece of paper in your hand, which Eddie notices is slightly trembling. He locks eyes with you, dragging his teeth along his bottom lip and offers the smallest of encouraging smiles. You acknowledge it with a tiny nod in his direction before taking a deep breath and beginning the eulogy.

“Um, h-hi.,” you start, stumbling over your words awkwardly. You clear your throat and try again. “Thank you all for coming to honor and remember Grandma. It’s evident that she meant a lot to so many people.

“When I was writing this eulogy, I kept thinking about who she was as a person.” You don’t let your gaze drift from Eddie’s, and you could swear that he’s the only force keeping you from crumbling to the ground in a heap of grief. “For a lot of us, we wonder what ‘big thing’ will define our lives. The occasion that people will remember us by, you know? But with Grandma, there wasn’t one ‘big thing.’ Her life was a series of little kindnesses that she made sure to sprinkle into her everyday life. Like, when I was a kid, my dad broke his ankle. My mom couldn’t leave me home alone, so Grandma drove him to and from the hospital and stayed with him while he waited. She always took care of us.

“One of my favorite memories is how she would bring me a bouquet of flowers after every dance recital I was in. She’d be waiting for me by the stage door with a big smile on her face, telling me what a great job I did, even if I totally messed up…she was the best. All she wanted was for the people she loved to be happy.

“And that’s what I associate with Grandma—love. How much I loved her, and how much she loved us. Just a few weeks ago, she was sharing Oreos with the kid I tutor, and it reminded me of how she used to be with me.” At that line, Eddie feels his lip quiver, tears dampening his lashes, and he ducks his head to keep you from seeing him break. This time, it’s more for your sake than his, since you’re leaning on him to remain upright. “I encourage all of you to find the little kindnesses in life, and to be the kindness in someone’s day.

“Grandma, you are already so missed. I hope you’re seeing the values you instilled in each of us. Rest easy. We’ll take it from here.” The only sounds in the entire room are the heels of your shoes clacking on the floor and sniffling from nearly everyone else in the congregation. You take your seat quietly, bowing your head as though trying to hide.

The rest of the service is a blur of hymns and prayers; nothing, Eddie notes, nearly as moving as the eulogy you gave. He barely notices when the people around him start moving, keeping a watchful eye on you. You’re trying to blend in amongst your black-clad relatives, but Eddie has no problem finding you. He cranes his neck just in time to see your family make a right through the doors, while you pivot left.

Instinctively, his hands tuck into his pants pocket as he fumbles for his cigarettes and lighter. He has no idea what to say to you, no idea where to even begin. He needs a smoke or three to clear his head before he sees you and stammers out some half-witted acknowledgment of your loss. There’s no time for that; however, because as soon as he steps outside, he sees you sitting on the steps. It’s freezing outside, but your arms are bare, and Eddie can see the prickle of goosebumps lining your skin.

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asks, drawing your attention as he takes a seat next to you. He shrugs off his own jacket, placing it over your shoulders without a second thought.

You offer him a sad smile, tugging the coat so it covers more of you. You didn’t realize how cold you were until you felt the contrast of his body heat. “Trying to avoid my family,” you admit, placing your hand over Eddie’s. “Could you take me home? I got a ride here from my uncle, but I really don’t want to go out to eat with everyone.” They’re probably arguing over where to get lunch right now, acting as though their matriarch isn’t about to be lowered into the ground.

“You sure?” Eddie’s eyebrows pinch together in concern. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want to take you away from them or anything.” He can picture the sneers he’ll receive, a pit forming in his stomach.

You remain unfazed to the conundrum he faces. “Trust me, you’d be doing me a favor. I can’t…” your voice catches, so you restart your sentence. “I can’t sit there while everyone’s smiling and laughing. That’s what happens when an old, sick person dies; people don’t even try to hide their relief. I need…I need to be alone.” You tuck your lips inside your mouth, attempting to bury your feelings.

Eddie nods, reaching over to take his keys out of the jacket you’re now wearing. “Yeah, no, I get it. We can get outta here.” He stands up, takes your hand in his to help you to your feet, and leads you to the car as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing either of you need is to be confronted by one of your relatives.

The two of you sit in the car quietly, without even the radio on. Eddie can’t remember the last time he’s had a silent car ride; he either has music playing, Harris yammering his ear off, or a combination of both. He keeps his hands at ten and two, internally debating whether or not to rest one on your knee. It wouldn’t be a sexual thing, not even close, but he doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea. His grip remains steady, the hum of the engine is the only sound.

You take this time to study him, taking in the crow’s feet that line the edges of his eyes, the tiny patch of stubble that he’d missed while shaving, the slight dimple in his chin. You try and turn before he can catch you, and though your efforts are fruitless, he doesn’t quite call you out on it. “Y’good?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, smoothing a part of your dress that isn’t wrinkled. “Could you come inside for a little while? I thought I wanted to be by myself, but I really want you to stay.”

You really want him to stay. Not just that you need company, but you want him specifically. The notion sets all of Eddie’s nerve endings alight. “‘Course,” he replies, perhaps a bit too casually to cover up his excitement over the realization that he brings you some form of comfort.

When he pulls into the apartment complex’s parking lot and shuts off the ignition, he takes the opportunity to hold your hand again. It’s so much different than when he held it a few days earlier on your date, when there was an atmosphere of joy and hope. Now it’s like he’s pulling you along, like his lead is what has you placing one heel-clad foot in front of the other.

You unlock the door, accidentally leaving the key within its latch, and Eddie quietly removes it and places it on the table. His fingers ghost your biceps to remove your–his–coat from your body, but you just pull it on farther like a safety blanket.

“Y’want coffee? ‘M gonna put on a pot,” you offer quietly, already heading over to the kitchen. You scoop out a serving of coffee grounds for you, inhaling the hazelnut scent before dumping it into the basket, glancing over at him for his response.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he nods, and you put another scoop in before filling the carafe with tap water. With a flick of the power button, the Black + Decker rumbles and kicks on, and the drip drip drip of coffee fills the room.

You grab two mugs from the cupboard and place them on the counter. “How’d you even find out about the funeral?”

Eddie walks over, though he feels as though he can’t get close enough. He just wants to hold you tight and never let go, but you’ve put up some sort of barrier that he can’t quite interpret. “Oh, um, I asked Byers. I hope you don’t mind–I tried calling you, but it said the line was disconnected.”

Your cheeks burn. “That was Grandma.” Eddie looks confused–rightfully so–and you elaborate. “The morning that she…she got annoyed with the phone ringing, so when I wasn’t looking, she took the scissors and cut the wire.”

Eddie’s jaw drops in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. I left the house for a few minutes to get a new phone, and when I came back, she’d fallen asleep and…” you swallow thickly, rummaging through the refrigerator for the tiny carton of half-and-half, “…and she never woke up. First call I made with the new phone was to 9-1-1, but it was too late.” Too late. That’s what the EMTs told you: I’m sorry, but it’s too late.

“Oh, Sweetheart. My sweet girl…” Eddie’s heart lurches, and he instinctively reaches out to you. One hand lays between your shoulder blades while the other rubs up and down your spine. He’s careful not to let it drop too low, never going past the small of your back. Though you’re pressed flush to his chest, there’s still a strange disconnect between you.

Despite every urge you have to cling to him, you pull away and shove a teaspoon into the sugar bowl, sliding it towards him on the counter. “S’okay. I mean, it’s not, but…they said she’d had a heart attack. If I didn’t get the phone, I wouldn’t have been able to call for an ambulance anyway.” The dripping of the coffee maker slows as it finishes brewing. “Only thing I could do is go back in time and stop her from cutting the wires, and Melvald’s was all outta time machines,” you joke, but it falls flat.

Eddie frowns, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the countertop. “You don’t have to do this, y’know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Pretend like you’re alright,” he explains, voice hardly louder than a whisper. He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear.

You feel an anger rising within you, though you’re unable to pinpoint its origin. “I am alright,” you insist through gritted teeth.

Eddie shakes his head, peering at you through his impossibly long eyelashes. “It’s okay to be sad–”

“Don’t you get it, Eddie?” You cut him off with a snap, slamming the coffee pot down so harshly that it almost cracks. “I’m not sad. I’m not relieved. I’m not anything. My grandma just died, and I don’t feel a goddamn thing! It’s like I’m some kind of monster.”

“Hey, hey, c’mere.” He hugs you again, holds you even tighter than before as he kisses the top of your head. “You’re not a monster, ‘kay? I promise you.”

You look up at him, not quite believing his words, but you press your lips to his. He kisses you back gently; timidly even, but you deepen it and graze his tongue with your own. Your left hand weaves its way through his messy curls and your right fumbles with his belt buckle, but you’re unable to unhook the clasp before he steps back.

“What’re you–” His eyes widen and he puts his hands up to avoid touching you, clearly confused by your behavior. If you had the capacity to be honest with yourself, you’d admit that you’re not sure why you’re doing this, either.

“Please, Eddie,” you beg, trying to reconnect your lips with his, but he just pulls away again. “Please, I…I need this. I need you.”

“If we sleep together for the first time right now, while you’re like this, you’ll regret it,” he says.

You don’t deny the accusation; instead, you double down on it. “Okay, so I’ll regret it! I’ll feel regret, but at least I’ll feel something!” Your trembling fingers brush against his shirt, trying to grab onto it and bring his body to you, but he turns with a scoff.

“You’d really be okay with that?” There’s unmistakeable anger in his tone, but it’s laced with something more than that; something that sounds more like hurt. “Regretting our first time together?”

“Didn’t we almost fuck on your couch the night we met? You didn’t even know my last name. You barely knew my first name.” Your words are biting, thick with malice. “When did you become so averse to meaningless sex?”

“Meaningless?” Eddie balks, digging his fingernails into his palms until they leave crescent-shaped marks. His lips contort into a perplexed grimace as he formulates a response. “I, um, I gotta go. I’ll call you–”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that line before, and I’m not falling for it again.” You can’t stop the words before they’re tumbling from your mouth, and you can’t take them back. “Shit, Eddie–”

“Just—don’t say anything else, ‘kay? I’m leaving.” He turns around, digging into his back pocket. “This is for you. From me and Harris.” He tosses a piece of notebook paper, folded into fourths, onto the end table and closes the door with a slam.

You stand there, dumbfounded at what just occurred–mostly at your own actions. When you move towards the paper, you realize that you’re still wearing Eddie’s suit jacket, and you yank it off and throw it to the ground, leaving it in a heap. You open the note and read, vision blurred from the tears threatening to spill over.

The innocent kindness of a little boy is all it takes for you to break down and cry, muffling your sobs in your palms though there isn’t anyone around to hear them. Grandma was gone. You’d chased Eddie away with the same vitriol he’d spewed at you that day at the record store. You’re really, truly alone.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you chant to no one in particular. You’re sorry to Grandma, for leaving her home alone. You could’ve asked Jess to run out and get a new phone, but you’d needed a break from Grandma’s anger that was always directed towards you. That morning, after you’d discovered the cut phone line, there had been another argument over taking her medication, and she yelled “I HATE YOU!” at the top of her lungs. Then she sat at the table and ate a bowl of cereal like nothing had happened. Instead of taking a deep breath and brushing it off, you’d grabbed your keys and headed to RadioShack. You could’ve driven there, it would’ve made the trip much faster, but you’d decided to walk. The fresh air would do you good, you told yourself, pushing away the full truth of the matter: you’d desperately needed to be away from Grandma. When you got back, she was laying on the couch, and you would’ve sworn she was only sleeping…

You’re sorry to Eddie. Sorry that he’d wasted his time with someone who resorted to dredging up the past as soon as she felt an ounce of anger and rejection. Someone who insisted that he could trust her and then promptly shattered that rapport once he’d let his guard down.

And for a split second, you allow yourself to feel sorry for you. Sorry that you couldn’t even grieve properly without feeling like you didn’t deserve it, because if you were home, Grandma might still be alive.

You look down at the card one more time, choking out a laugh through your tears at Harris’s offer to share his grandpa. It dawns on you that you’ll either have to stop tutoring him or continue to see Eddie on a weekly basis. Everyone who comes in contact with me gets entangled in my problems, you note miserably. Eddie’s finally getting his life together and I’m fucking it all up. He deserves better than me.

Maybe it’s a good idea to leave Hawkins and go back home, at least for the holidays. You’re not sure what type of celebrations the family will muster up, but it’s better than being alone with your thoughts. And if you never return, that might be best for everybody.

The bell above the drugstore door chimes as Eddie pushes his way in. He smoked out his remaining cigarettes on the drive over, and he’s desperate for another pack. He makes a beeline for the back wall, plucking his usual Camels from the display. “Perfect,” he mutters, though his lungs would certainly disagree.

As he shuffles towards the cashier, he spots a familiar face in one of the aisles. His lurking cowardice screams at him to run away, but he shoves it deep down and talks anyway. “H-Hey, man. How’s it going?”

Jeff turns around, first bewildered at who’s speaking to him, then tensing up when he sees Eddie standing before him. “Can’t complain. Just getting some of these prenatal vitamin things for Viv,” he replies tersely, shaking the bottle to emphasize his statement.

There’s an awkward silence before Eddie speaks again. “Look, um, I’m really sorry about what happened at our last show.” He rubs the back of his neck and winces at the memory. “What I said, what I didn’t say…you’re gonna be a great dad, dude. Like, the best. I was just jealous, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole.”

“Jealous?” Jeff cocks an eyebrow incredulously, willing Eddie to continue.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, shamefully averting his gaze. “You’re bringing a kid into a stable household, and I couldn’t do that for Harris. I don’t regret having him, of course, but I’ll always feel guilty about the shitshow he was born into.” He taps the pack of cigarettes on his palm, biting his lower lip to shut himself up. “Anyway, I gotta get home—”

“Eddie Munson?” He turns around to see a young woman standing behind him. Her low-cut top shows off the top of her breasts, cleavage pushed up by a bra, and her jeans hug every curve. She purses her pink-glossed lips together in a flirtatious smile.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I’m Lisa.” She says this like Eddie should already know this, and he’s embarrassed to admit to himself that he can’t place the name or face. “We hooked up last summer at the Hideout? In the men’s room?” Lisa lowers her voice seductively to whisper that detail. “I haven’t seen you there in a while.”

“Oh, yeah.” There have been multiple men’s room hook-ups, but he’s not about to play detective to figure out exactly who she is, so he plays along. “The band’s been on a bit of a…hiatus, I guess.” From his peripheral vision, he can see Jeff ducking his head, and his cheeks burn with the truth.

Lisa juts out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout, though Eddie knows it’s all for show. “That’s too bad.” She lets her hand rest on his chest, leaning into him and twirling a strand of his hair around a polished fingernail. “If you’re not busy tonight, I’d love to have you over for drinks and…dessert? Recreate that night at the bar, minus the urinal?”

Eddie moves her arms from his vicinity, putting a necessary space between them. “Um, n-nah. No thanks,” he clarifies. “I’m, uh, kinda involved with someone, so…”

She remains undaunted, a small chuckle escaping her throat. “I can keep a secret. She doesn’t have to know.” She takes another step forward to close the gap, and he’s so goddamn tempted, but he shakes it off. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going to happen between you and him, but he knows he’s not going to sabotage any potential relationship.

“Well, I’ll know,” he retorts, “and I’ll feel like shit about it.”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Your loss.” She pivots on one heel and mumbles something under her breath that Eddie doesn’t even bother to interpret.

Jeff looks at Eddie with an amused grin as he shifts his weight from one side to the other. “So, you’re involved with someone?” He knows from what Jess has told him that Eddie went on a date with you a few days ago, but he couldn’t gauge the seriousness of the situation.

“I think so. At least, I was, until about fifteen minutes ago.” He relents and fills Jeff in about everything that happened, from your conversation over steaming coffee mugs, to the amazing kiss you’d shared as snowflakes collected on your eyelashes, to the unexpected confrontation after Grandma’s funeral today.

Jeff sighs, but it’s one of sympathy, not exasperation. “You did the right thing,” he says finally.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jeff laughs, punching him playfully on the arm. “I’m serious. And you did the right thing just now, too, with that groupie.” He clears his throat. “Viv’s baby shower is in a couple weeks. Ladies only, y’know, but I could use some help loading all the gifts into the car. And we could grab some lunch beforehand, if you want.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, that would be great. Might have to let Harris tag along, if that’s all right.” He doesn’t want to keep asking Wayne to babysit, no matter how much the old man insists that he doesn’t mind.

“Of course. You know that little man is always welcome.” Jeff says, walking towards the register. “I’ll call you with the details.”

Eddie hesitates, letting his friend pass him by a few paces before he calls out. “Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“What do I do about…” Eddie trails off, unwilling to finish his sentence. He feels absolutely ridiculous having this conversation in the middle of the drugstore, but he’s desperate not to fuck this up further.

Jeff scratches at his stubble with his free hand, contemplating the options as only someone who’s been in a long-term relationship and hasn’t had to navigate the nuances of a fresh relationship in ages can. “Give her some time; a few days, at least. She’s going through a lot. She needs her space, y’know, to figure things out.”

It’s not the answer Eddie was hoping for; patience has never been his forte. He wishes that Jeff would have told him to chase after you, to go get the girl and make sure she knows how much she means to him. But he knows that his friend is right, and he acknowledges his response with a small smile. “Thanks, man.”

“See ya around, Ed.”

Eddie unlocks his apartment door, new pack of cigarettes in one hand and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s tucked under the other arm. He doesn’t usually splurge on ice cream, but every romantic comedy cliche has instructed him that it’s the perfect remedy for heartbreak. If that’s even what this is, he thinks, but he knows it’s true. After doing everything in his power to prevent it, he’d allowed you to break his heart. And as he shoves a spoon into the container of Devil’s Food Chocolate, it dawns on him that he’d do it all again.

He’d come to your rescue and pick the lock of Grandma’s bedroom door. He’d sit around the table and eat pizza with you, Harris, and Grandma every Wednesday night. He’d drive to your house with store-brand cookies and watch cheesy Thanksgiving movies with you just to see the smile on your face. He’d take you out for coffee and kiss you in the snow a thousand times over. And he’d go to Grandma’s funeral and drive you home and turn down your offer for sex and break his own fucking heart again and again if it meant protecting you.

He shimmies out of his starchy dress pants and unbuttons his shirt, leaving himself in just a white undershirt and his boxers as he sinks deeper into the sofa. He reaches over for the remote–now that he works when Harris is in school, he rarely has time to watch something that he actually enjoys–and notices the phone’s red flashing light indicating that he has a new voicemail.

He presses play with a clumsy finger on the button, expecting Wayne’s gruff voice or a reminder for an overdue bill. When he hears that it’s you, he sits up straight, nearly dropping his ice cream.

“Hi, Eddie. It’s me. I’m so sorry for what happened earlier. I’m sure you’re probably mad, but I just want you to know…it wouldn’t have been meaningless. It wasn’t meaningless the night we met when it was supposed to be meaningless.” You take a deep breath. “I’m going back home for the holidays. Um, I’m not sure when…if…I’m coming back, but before I leave, I had to apologize for what I said. You’re a great guy, Eddie. I hope you know that. Have, um, have a nice holiday. Okay, bye.”

Eddie remains still, a loud silence enveloping the room once the machine relays that he’s reached the end of new messages. He’s dissecting every word you’d uttered, replaying them over and over.

It wasn’t meaningless the night we met when it was supposed to be meaningless.

So you’d felt it, too; that spark much stronger than the usual lust that overcomes him during hookups. And while he’d tried to convince himself that he’d only asked you to cuddle, had you stay over out of post-sex, post-show delirium, he can’t deny the truth any longer.

He’d asked because he felt comfortable around you, like he could hold you forever and whisper secrets that scare him to even admit to himself. Maybe it was because you’d seen Harris’s car seat that night and hadn’t run for the hills, or maybe it was the way you’d kissed him like he was worth savoring. And the morning after, when he’d all but chased you out of the apartment…Christ, you didn’t deserve that.

I’m not sure when…if…I’m coming back.

The ‘when’ he could handle, but that ‘if’ was a weight on his chest. He questions his actions for a moment–should he have slept with you? Showed you how wanted and cherished and safe you were with him? Given your mind a chance to wander from the grief choking it? But Jeff said he had done the right thing, and considering the man was engaged with a baby on the way, Eddie figured he had to know something about women.

You’re a great guy, Eddie. I hope you know that.

Is he? He’s certainly a better man than when you’d first met him, but is he actually a great guy? He’d bought you coffee and didn’t fuck you when you were too vulnerable to truly consent–is that what constitutes greatness, or is he just a step above a piece of shit?

And, of course, part of him is angry. Not only because you were so easily willing to use him–although that realization definitely stings–but mostly because you’d thought he’d want to. After everything you two had been through, did you truly believe that he’d be unbothered? That he’d throw away all of that progress just to get his dick wet? Is that how little you think of him? Eddie doesn’t want the answer.

The ice cream is melting, so he forgoes the spoon and just takes a swig from the pint. He licks the chocolatey residue from his lips before standing up to put the carton in the freezer. Tacked onto the refrigerator is Harris’s picture from Halloween where Eddie and Ms. Sweetheart are holding hands.

He plucks it from under the magnet, staring at it intently. The memory of his son and his uncle asking him about you, that pretty like a princess remark, the unfurling realization that he felt things for you that he’d thought he was incapable of feeling. He never should have taken their ribbings, inadvertently getting his hopes up that there was something there worth pursuing.

Without thinking, Eddie crumples the paper in his fist, crushing the family portrait into a ball. “Shit,” he mutters, placing it on the table and smoothing it out as best as he can. His hands glide over the drawing, rubbing over every crease until it looks good as new and Harris will be none the wiser.

But Eddie knows what’s been destroyed. What he doesn’t know is whether or not it can be smoothed out.

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utterlyazriel · 27 days

Text

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: apparently it is easier to push out a new chapter when its a juicy one!!!! sorry for this but did you really think i was done with the angst? oh naur babey we're just setting up the scene i envisioned when i had the original idea <3 strap in babe!

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: A secret you vowed to never reveal gets uncovered and Azriel struggles as all he's known is turned on its head. An unfriendly adversary from the past comes knocking.

CHAPTER SIX :: BETRAYERS

One glimpse at your shelter as he winnows into the forest, the snow crunching loudly underfoot, and Azriel knows it deep in his bones.

Something is wrong.

He stands amongst the pines of the forest behind your shelter and even from the distance, he can sense the change in the air. The wind, wilder than usual, tastes faintly like danger. It's snowing. His shadows wisp about, whispering and twittering, doing nothing to ease the twinge of panic.

There are boards in the back window.

Azriel stalks forward through the snow, his ears keenly sifting through the noises of the forest around him but nothing gives way. Just like he had felt all those days ago, there’s a warped agony that clings to the sides of your shelter.

Last time, there had been blood in the snow. A trail, that led him right to you.

Today, there are only the boards in the windows.

His mind jumps to the other warriors in the camp, wondering if this is their doing— trapping you inside as some sort of sickening test. See if the bastard can fight his way out or starve to death in his own four walls.

Something like pure malice glimmers just beneath his skin, ready to rear up, but—

—But no. As he gets closer, Azriel realises he’s wrong.

This is not the work of the brutes in camp, this is you. The boards have been put up from the inside.

A series of emotions stutter and slam into each other, wrestling with one another in his chest. Confusion shares the top spot with an unwavering concern that seems to grow with every step closer. Boarded up from the inside... what possible reason could warrant you to do this?

Uneasiness coats his every nerve, an uncomfortable prickle rolling along his raised hackles. Something stirs in his chest. Azriel stalks closer to your shelter, snow slushing beneath his boots, torn between calling out and biting his tongue. He goes for the latter.

His shadows glide around him agitatedly, circling his hands where they hover over his weapons. His wings are pulled in tight. He slows as he reaches the front of your shelter.

There's no sound coming from inside. No scent of blood, no crackle of fire. Yet somehow he knows, without question, that you're in there.

As his concern winds down a notch, his rational brain begins to tick. There might be someone else in there with you. As the different scenarios get considered and discarded, Azriel lands on the most likely one. It's a trap.

The reasoning builds up the motive, spinning a story that makes sense. A Shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, caught off his guard by using his latest confidant against him.

Azriel turns over the idea slowly and decisively, thinking of Brudam, of Lord Mylind, wondering if they've been buying their time all this while— and he's been too distracted with you to even notice.

Azriel curses himself for being so careless.

There's still no noise from within the shelter.

If it's a trap, it doesn't matter; the only way out is through.

Letting his hand curl around the Truth Teller, Azriel grips it tightly and pretends that the loud thump in his mind isn't the echo from his afraid heart. He can't afford to be afraid — not with what it would mean, not with how it betrays how he feels for you.

Not when it distracts him from doing what is needed from him.

His shadows spiral up around him and Azriel weaves the darkness, folding the fabric of the world til it aligns as he needs, his anger sharpening his resolve. He steps through the rippling darkness and into your boarded-up shelter with one swift motion.

It's dark inside. There are slivers of light that curl around the planks of wood, reaching in the dance upon the floor, distorted by the motion of falling snow. The air is stale, undisturbed.

Azriel's gaze scours the environment for enemies, his grip tight around his knife, prepared to unsheathe it without hesitation. His shadows fly around wildly, whispering the details of the room— each corner empty, except for the one he knows your bed is tucked in. Something loosens in his chest just a fraction.

There's no one else in here but you.

His eyes go right to your bed. It's hard to see within the darkness but your figure is there, hunched up even tighter than the last time he had found you wounded, wings pulled up in an uncomfortable hold around yourself.

As the possibility of a trap tapers away, another scenario creeps in — you've been attacked and holed yourself up before they can finish the job.

Almost as the thought crosses his mind, the scent of blood reaches his senses. Azriel stills, each limb locking up as the information filters through his mind, aided by the murmurs of his shadows. Blood, they chant, new blood.

Not blood from an injury, not from an enemy.

A sickening type of surprise coils up Azriel's spine.

"Y/n?" He dares to speak. Your name comes out like it's completely foreign in his mouth.

There's a stunned web that seems to cling to him, dulling all his usually keen senses, as the pieces of this puzzle whiz around and begin to slot into place. New blood— new blood means— it means—

"Azriel?" Your voice sounds from the darkness in the corner. It's smaller than usual, thick with emotion.

There's the sound of you shifting. Azriel can't move at all. Even his shadows have slowed in their surprise.

With his eyes rapidly adjusting to the dimness, he can just see the features on your face as you untuck it from your curled-up position.

Someone is beating loudly against the walls—or at least it sounds that way with how hard his heart is beating in his chest, valves working in overdrive. Is it his heart? It feels like something else, something deeper.

New blood, new blood, new blood. A thousand different instances burst from his memory, glazed in a new light.

"He tells me that your absences during training have come to be somewhat expected,"—

—"You're smaller than usual Illyrians,”—

—Hands, weathered and much smaller than most males—

—You're small but your wings are still large and beautiful, tucked up neatly behind your back. Most warriors in camp must have at least a head of height on you—

—A Fae with long hair like Cassian's, chopped at the shoulder and scraped back — and a voice softer than most. A Fae with eyes that burn with a promise for retribution, with icy fury like his own.

Each one threatens to send him staggering to his knees. How the Cauldron did he miss it? How could he have missed it? He's the fucking Spymaster of the Night Court. You've been lying to his face from the very beginning and he's believed you hook, line, and sinker.

You're smaller than the males in camp because you aren't one at all.

You're so driven to help the others, to mend the clipped girls because... because...

His hazel eyes catch on your wings, snaked around yourself protectively and Azriel suddenly feels very, very sick.

You seem to realise all of a sudden that he's real and not just some hallucinated fever-dream version of him. Despite the efforts to keep everyone out, he's here, on the inside with you. He knows.

"Azriel," You say his name again, like a plea this time. Wings uncurling a fraction, you make a move to stand but an invisible pain cripples you and he watches as you shudder, a pained whimper leaking out your mouth. An instinct within him roars to rush to your side but his feet are rooted to the floor.

"You..." He begins, his voice far away.

Something is unravelling in his chest with an alarming speed, something growing and churning, fiery hot. It feels like dread—panicky, horrified fear boiling in his stomach. He doesn't realise that it isn't his own.

"You're not a male."

His words look like they cause you more pain, agony shifting across your features, and Azriel wishes he could take them back the moment they leave his lips. But he's not wrong.

Even from across the room, he can see the quiver in your bottom lip. You're frozen in fear, he realises.

Tentatively, you shake your head. "I'm- I'm not."

You're not. Perhaps, he was wrong about you and you're not some beaten-down warrior, striving for justice against the tides that try to hold you back. Maybe you're a snake in the grass, hiding yourself, cocooning in a lie. You've been lying since the first moment you met him.

Azriel can't tell why it hurts so much in his chest, why it feels so close to betrayal, why it feels like his heart is bleeding. Who are you really?

"I—" Your words get cut off with another wince as you slump over, your cycle ravaging your body with pain. "Azriel, wait—"

He's taken a step back without even realising.

Who are you? Stranger, ally, friend; all the titles you've earned feel like they're getting stripped back forcibly and his heart warbles agonisingly in response. His shadows have picked up speed, darting around him. His wings have risen an inch, flared a little wider.

"Please," You gasp, trying to shuffle forward again but halted by the waves of pain. One of your hands grips around your midriff tightly and there's a sheen on your face that tells him you're crying. He's never seen you cry before.

Who are you? Is your name even your real name? Azriel doesn't know where the hurt is coming from, why it's so strong— except he thinks he does.

He's known from that first week with you. Known from the first time he laid eyes on your face and his very soul seemed to call out in response. He's known and he's been ignoring it all this time. His mate.

"You— you have to understand," You're still grasping at words desperately, even as you give up trying to move through your afflicted torment. Azriel takes another step back. What is he doing? "Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings."

Choked sobs begin to claw their way up your throat and Azriel feels the thickness in his own throat, connected from the inside. You're connected. The pounding on the door, on his chest, in his heart, is the only thing he can focus on, getting louder and louder. Bile threatens at his throat.

He can't be here.

"I just- just wanted to keep—" The words keep coming, even as he steps back once more, shadows swirling. Words lurch up his throat, questions, explanations, accusations. None of them escape. His mouth is dry.

His wings rustle as he tucks them in and forces his gaze down to stare at the floorboards. He's been here, lived here, in your lie for how many months? His mate, a liar.

He shifts the space between inside and elsewhere, scrunching the fabric so it aligns with somewhere, anywhere he can think of.

"P-Please, you have to understand—Azriel!"

Your call echoes as he steps through his magic, letting it carry him away from your shelter, from your agony that he can feel from the inside, from the lie he's been fed.

He lands on a hilltop and when he opens his eyes, he's looking at a familiar cabin. His shadows move about almost limply, his magic and siphons depleted from overuse in such a short time. He can feel the chill of snow on the tips of his wings which drag behind him.

He's...drained. Stunned.

And where he's always dreamed of a golden thread, a lover's tug, rooted deep in his being that connects him to his mate... there is only a pull of utter misery.

—

You had thought of this before; what it might be like to have him find out.

The trust severed. Your friend, the only one you've ever truly had, lost to your betrayal. The first couple weeks in his company as you learnt slowly to let your guard down had been the first times in decades you had been freed from night terrors.

You had thought of it then, during one of those nights—you did not want to lose him in any way.

The cost was too high, the sheer magnitude of your secret that you never intended on him finding out. You had promised yourself you couldn't, you wouldn't tell him, no matter how much you yearned to.

You wonder now if you would have been better off if you'd never met him at all.

Never trusted him, never took his hand, and stood by his side to learn how to fight. No learning how to trust after years of desolate solitude, just to have it ripped from you. No shared smiles in the dim light of the evening, glancing away when you're caught looking for too long.

No hurt, no pain, no replaying the look on his face as he uttered the secret you had kept hidden for nearly three decades.

The burning spasms of your cycle seem almost dull compared to the ache in your heart. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. You feel like you're burning up from the inside, like there's a hurricane of regret building in your chest and its' howl is as torturous as it is loud.

Time passes. Outside, the snow turns to heavy rain.

The painful throbs that wrack your body ebb and flow but the heaviness in your heart never seems to fade. You can't decide between being angry at Azriel or at yourself.

How could he be so... so unfeeling? So merciless, not giving you even a moment to truly explain?

There had been a time where you thought when he looked at you, he saw beyond the surface; more than a mutt, more than just another bastard. You half hoped he saw through your facade and didn't care anyway.

You're a fool for that, you realise now.

Your consciousness wanes as you burrow as deep as you can into your blankets, wanting them to swallow you whole, wrapped in half-hearted warmth and ribbons of pain. He's never coming back, you realise. The tears start up all over again, your heart sobbing out for a piece of it that's missing. He's never coming back.

You know that for sure— so when there's a slushing of feet through the snow and a pounding knock on your door, your hackles rise in pure fright. Your wings tuck around yourself a little tighter, right as another spasm of agony rocks through your bones. You cry out weakly, teeth gritted tightly.

There's someone at the door who's come sniffing for a fight. It's not Azriel.

[NEXT PART: MATES]

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#forgive me.... hehehehehe >:)#but im not sorry!!!! its been planned from the beginning!!!!!!#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger x you #whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn)#whom the shadows sing for #notice how there’s no moon in the header this time? :)

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