#I feel like that impression's p accurate

[karinasbaby]

yang jungwon — GUTS.

P. fem!reader x vampire!jungwon (17+) | W. unprotected sex, not an accurate deception of vampires, blood drinking, biting, marking, making out, multiple orgasms, subspace, petnames, tying up, just filthy. filthy shit. cursing too. | WC. 5.1k (was supposed to be 3k) | A,N. this one’s for nia my beloved @intromortal i hope u find some sort of comfort in this (⺣◡⺣)♡ love u lots + hope u and all jungwon girlies enjoy !

in which.. you trying to get used to your fangs somehow leads to jungwon getting tied up.

very important ps ! this was not edited or proofread in any way i wrote this at 4 am sorry! + this was inspired by moonstruck if u couldn’t tell (stream romance untold)

this totally wasn’t the ideal situation you were hoping to find yourself with a mere year ago.

a scenario consisting you, your supernatural boyfriend, his fangs and yours.

something single, hopeless, last year you would’ve had a hard time grasping and processing. that is if she was able to believe the fact that you were alive in the first place. as last year— well it wasn’t the best year you’ve experienced, and that statement heavily sugarcoats the tragic ups and downs you tumbled through.

but thankfully, in one of those depressed, cold night where you found yourself walking through the streets of the city all alone, you also found the love of your life.

again, not in the most ideal situation. seeing your future boyfriend ripping apart a random human’s flesh in the dark alleyway wasn’t the best first impression of a potential partner you’ve seen.

but alas, that faithful day did somehow manage to develop and nurture the relationship that evolved between the two of you. deeply connecting your beating heart to his frozen one, which was the sentimental beginning of the flourishing love for you.

now those days— the ones where you spoke to jungwon shyly whereas he tried his best to avoid eye contact with you in order to not get flustered were long gone. the bond that formed for both you allowed all the embarrassing and unnerving moments to quickly disappear.

some might claim you were moving on too quickly with your relationship, others might say that you’re just in the high peak of your love and that your fall was soon. yet none of those words mattered. not when jungwon has confessed his love for you.

not when he worships you every chance he gets. devoting himself to you completely and even begging you for a chance of eternity for your love. “an eternity for you, an evermore for us.” he would whisper against your skin.

and you agreed. of course you did. you would love to spend an eternity with jungwon. a happily forever after with your dear lover who always whispers how if his heart was alive, it would beat continuously for you only.

your lover that made you forget what your other previous relationships were like, the cliche sensation of falling atop a puddle of clouds and travelling through euphoria was long forgotten. replaced with the sinking feeling of drowning. a deep deep ocean of pure ardour that made you sink further below with each and every frosty wave that washed upon you.

and though your limbs became frozen, wrapped between icy fingertips and your breathing became impossible with the cold lips pressed against yours, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

not when this was the love jungwon was providing you.

and maybe you agreeing was when things started to head south a bit too quickly. too unexpectedly.

turning into the same creature as jungwon was an unforgettable experience. a beautiful yet painfully traumatising one. though with your lover’s support and care it became a distant, memorable thought for you in the back of your head.

one that you weren’t able to focus on due to the pounding in your ears. the ache in the back of your skull. and the pulsing pain right on your canines.

two hundered and sixteen hours. it’s been exactly nine days of pure agony since you turned.

the pain was unbearable. noxious. a carnal and vile sensation that raked through every vein in your unfamiliarly cold body. still not used to the dizzying icy feel of your fingertips against warmer surfaces that once felt cool beneath your touch.

you felt unstable. hunger overpowering every rational thought in your head. the absolute need to feed on the metallic taste that your tongue craved so deeply right now was wicked. the desire digging through each inch of your being and setting off every nerve with animalistic crave.

regretting every offer from jungwon to feed from him was futile. going on your first hunt while your lover was resting just to satiate your hunger was discarded out the window and feeding on the newly brought blood bags jungwon stored in your fridge was also forgotten as he did warn you that newly turned vampires should feed from someone else instead of a blood bag.

which didn’t make sense. bullshit excuse. but you were too scared.

that was the thing that stopped you from accepting all of jungwon’s caring offers, fear. the terrifying fear of possibly hurting your lover webbed its way around your head so intricately no matter how many times jungwon tried to get rid of it, it never worked.

but you were struggling.

canines turning sharper by the minute. elongated bones poking against your lips and swollen tongue that grew sensitive from the spiky edge. the thirst in your chest became wanton. your throat turning drier and drier the more time passed. nothing was working.

closing your eyes as your grip on the couch below you turned tighter only infuriated you more. it was way past midnight. jungwon was resting in your shared bedroom. the furthest point away from the living room where you were situated, in complete fear and hunger.

despair clouded your thoughts. nine days with no feeding since you turned was ridiculous. jungwon had warned you multiple times about how dangerous your actions are. harming your body and turning you weaker than you already are. yet you wouldn’t listen. as the defiant fear flourished further, you couldn’t bring yourself to take his worries into consideration.

well up until now.

up until this current moment, when you physically felt your body and surroundings shifting entirely. a forceful push making you stand on your own two shaking feet, coaxing you to move from your spot towards the door you’ve been staring at for the past few hours.

the bedroom door, where jungwon laid peacefully resting after a long and exhausting night of hunting accompanied by fruitless attempts of convincing you to feed on him. muffled footsteps barely reached your eyes through the loud ringing of your ears.

you weren’t aware but jungwon could feel your presence. even see you with his eyes closed due to his severely heightened senses. he could see and feel the way your eyes glowed a dark, dangerous red. lips bitten and split open in tiny cuts due to the sharpening of your fangs. and most importantly, he could very obviously feel your hunger.

the sensation coming as a shocking, staggering wave to him. he felt the way each cell in your body craved and yearned for blood. the iron taste to coat your tastebuds and satisfy your reeling mind. he could practically taste your hunger on his own lips.

yet he didn’t move on the bed, deciding that if this is what it took you to finally feed on him, then he’ll stay resting. asleep even in your mind. allowing you to do whatever your vampiric mind desires and deems as useful in this current moment.

which is why when your crazed eyes caught the sight of the animal chains used by jungwon to capture creatures that wafted through the forests, he felt a wave of excitement wash down on him. especially when you gripped the chains so tightly between your fingers and dragged them along with you towards the bed.

he patiently awaited you. eyes closed to further fake his sleep, unaware that you couldn’t differentiate between reality and your thoughts to let alone remember the fact that vampires don’t usually sleep. bringing up the heavy chains to wrap around jungwon’s wrists, the click and clank of the metal loudly echoed through the room yet you could only hear the continuous ringing in your ears.

with an unnoticeable smirk, jungwon kept his wrists pressed against one another to give you more ease in tying the chains, he could tell you were completely delirious. out of your mind as you tried to somehow make the pieces of metal stay in place. “fuck..” you cursed quietly, an unclear pronunciation reaching jungwon’s ears as you struggled to speak with the sharp fangs and swollen tongue. something jungwon found really endearing.

once you finally tightened the animal chains around your vampire lover’s wrist, your glowing red eyes shifted downwards. his pale skin shimmering with a sheen layer of sweat that appeared like glitter. the bright hue illuminated by the moonlight was so breathtaking, he looked so bewitching.

yet your admiration for his beauty couldn’t last long, as the heavy, dizzying scent of divine blood reached your nose aggressively due to the close proximity. with jungwon being a mere inches away from your mouth, the sound of his beating heart and circulation echoed enticingly in your eyes.

blood, oh how sacred it was. serving as the connection point between so many living creatures. the tilting brink for life and death. and the reason why you’re still alive till this day.

jungwon had always taught you the importance of the feathery light liquid that weighed a whole life, the revered blood that served the purpose for the existence of your lover. the light of your whole life and your eternity. the ichor that has been worshipped for centuries, the same one you were about to taste on the tip of your tongue right now.

and the most precious kind too.

the scent was dizzying, intoxicating. your senses picking up all the pulse points travelling in jungwon’s body, each one pulsating the crimson liquid that made the elongated canines in your mouth ache all the more. it was as if the remaining blood in your body cascaded away from your brain. making you lose all logical thinking as you lowered your head towards jungwon’s inviting, delicate neck that appeared more delicious oddly.

your shallow breaths grew even more irregular. if you had a heartbeat you knew it would’ve been raging by now, pounding nervously against your ribs. you opened your mouth, puffed lips separating and allowing your fangs to glisten against the moonlight. you were so close. so so close to getting exactly what you wanted.

and when your teeth grazed the surface of jungwon’s skin, the decrease of distance making your head spin as you could inhale his scent better now. and god was it so alluring. such a electrifying scent that enlivened all parts of your body and brain. setting off a different fire that blazed up your being entirely, driven completely by hunger. crave. voracity.

before you could flow further in the cloud of euphoria caused by the mere scent of the vampire’s blood beneath you, your instincts took control, sinking your teeth into his vein and allowing the absolute ecstasy of his flavour to wash down on your body.

and god did it reawaken you entirely.

the regret of the previous rejected offers that weighed like rocks on your shoulders disappeared the more blood rushed into your mouth. at jungwon’s unnoticeable hiss, you were reminded of the fact that you need to inject your venom inside of him.

he thrashed beneath you once your ecstasy forged its way into his bloodstream. instantly sending his mind into a state of complete delirium that made his eyes roll to the back of his skull in pleasure. he was on the seventh heaven.

jungwon tasted so unbelievably delicious. an overwhelming sweetness that sent your senses into a frenzy. the hunger that bloomed and grew in your stomach and chest bursted all over your body. nourishing your veins in a different kind of euphoria, a new taste ascending down your throat that closed and gulped the precious essence in fear of wasting a singular droplet of it.

your weakened knuckles tightened around his broad shoulders, nails gradually digging deeper into his skin the more you rode off the high from the bliss provided by jungwon’s blood. you could detect every unique factor about his taste, the first rush of sweetness followed by the warmness that swam in your mouth and the metallic, iron slaty like aftertaste that you slowly grew addicted to.

you pressed your body as close as possible to his, chest on chest as his heavy breaths and groans fell right onto your ears. the air shifted the longer his essence spilled onto your mouth. and you continued to suck, licking up the fervid blood that was as addictive as an aphrodisiac. the high and elation you felt from it only encouraging you to suck more. to swallow more. to feed your desire more and more.

jungwon’s breaths got heavier beneath you, uneven and shaky exhales that brushed against your cold skin. he could feel his body blazing up the further your sickeningly sweet venom spread. he felt so satisfied though he wasn’t the one that was feeding. finding a different kind of joy rushing through his body at the sight of you finally smearing the ruby liquid along your lips.

“finally?” he croaked out, voice quiet as his muscles twitched under your bite, a muffled noise of pleasure reached his ears as a response which made him chuckle. “you gave in.” he continued, shoulders sagging under your touch while the metal clanked around his wrists. he closed his hands to enjoy the close vicinity he had you in, the precious moment that solidified your relationship further.

the connection between two vampires, the exchange of delicious blood for precious venom.

it was a ritual, a connection and a form of bond jungwon had always searched for. unlike most vampires that didn’t pay any mind to getting marked by their lover after marking them, this act however held a heavy weight over jungwon’s unbeating heart.

could it be the influence of his loving parents that marked each other and valued their marking night as more memorable and precious than their own wedding? might be. either way, this bond. this gift that he had been blessed with, was something he had be waiting for patiently as the centuries passed by.

though he had turned some humans into one of his own kind, he had never gotten marked. preserving his neck as something only his lover, partner for life and eternity will have the right of approaching.

“tastes nice?” chuckling as you only continued to satiate your hunger. his smile deepened when you just hummed against his blood, dimple appearing as he allowed you to drink from him as much as you desired.

in the blink of an eye the metal chains fell across the floor besides the bed, “you never needed these, precious.” he spoke gently. lowering his hands to cradle the back of your neck and wrap around your waist, he tilted his head to the side to give you more access to the expanse of his neck, encouraging you to drink more.

humming in delight when you released more venom further into his bloodstream, yours felt so warm and heavy. intoxicating as the pleasure from it raked through his body, he felt so good. so ecstatic. drunk on the sensation of your venom rushing through his body just as much as you were drunk on the flavour of him coating your insides.

the mixing fuse of his venom with your blood was euphoric. yet nothing could compare to the feeling of his blood unifying with your venom. an indescribable febrile sensation that set all his nerves aflame. burning with a fire that only blazed bigger and larger. the need and crave for you increasing by the second.

the longer your poison stirred with his blood, the more he yearned for you. a feverish want and an ardent need, functioning purely on impulse when his hands lowered to press you lower on his lap. the pleasure awakening another arousal that spread throughout your bodies. you could feel his length rock hard, pulsing with need as it was confined in his pants. “you’re in my blood.” jungwon whispered dazedly.

“finally.” his muscles clenched and tightened under your bite the more he spoke, the action pushing out further blood that spilled down your throat, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as all your senses reawakened, rekindling every nerve with your brain that made you become more aware with everything.

every sensation suddenly seemed intense. each movement in your body felt electrifying. like a new consciousness that just stirred awake after your first feeding, everything felt surreal. with every gulp of blood, another shock passed through your limbs. the revival of your senses become overwhelming, resulting in your hands to lower, to grasp onto jungwon’s muscular arms to ground yourself.

“that’s enough, doll.” he cradled your face in his large hand, his touch though icy cold, felt warm against your skin. he gently pulled you away from the open bite, your fangs slipping out as blood trickled down your lips and his neck. he quickly guided your lips back to lick the wound, finally sealing your marks on him. “did so well for me, my love.”

“feel satisfied enough now?” his catlike eyes stared at you in wonder, his own lips having a light pink hue to them due to biting them from the overwhelming pleasure. his stare at you darkened when you shook your head in denial, feeling far from satisfied. anything but satisfied with his rock hard length pressing against your core.

“what do you need then, princess?” he asked, dipping his nose to run the tip of it along your cheeks softly before burying his head against your neck, pressing a tender kiss on your pulse points. “you.” whispering breathlessly for him, his hands tightened their hold around you. lustful gaze challenging your own lidded one, “you sure you can handle me right now, pretty?” he teased.

you whined in need in his embrace, feeling the way his cock throbbed in need for you. each cell in his body craving you, the urge to hold you as close as possible to him wasn’t as fulfilling as it used to feel, he felt the infernal need to bury himself inside of you. mould and shape your souls into one so that he can breathe freely.

you nodded your head to his words, the arousal that awakened in you stirred hotly in your stomach, reaching further down into your abdomen and blazing your whole body on fire. you felt so warm. so fitting into his frame, so alluring to him. that he had no other choice than to claim you as his.

“get on the bed, princess.” he whispered into your ear, in the blink of an eye he moved your bodies around on the mattress. his speed and strength evident in every movement as he pinned you under him between the silk sheets, he stared at you. from his position and perspective you looked so ravishing. so delicious he wanted to devour you whole. let you become a piece of him and him a piece of you.

“you smell delightful, my love.” whispering against your skin as he pushed his nose against your jugular veins, his strong hands brushing against every inch of your body on their way to your core, their pace turning slower the breathier your gasps and moans of his name became, just to rile you up further.

“please, baby.” you begged, voice barely above a whisper as your eyes closed in intense pleasure, each touch of his fingertips leaving a trail of fire behind them as they brushed along your body, “i know, angel.” he kissed your exposed collarbone to soothe you, “i know.” and without a warning he teared off your clothes from your frame.

relishing in the surprised gasp that left your mouth as his eyes raked your body, the one that no matter how many times he kissed and worshipped, he’ll always crave and fantasise about. you were so enchanting to jungwon. if he could spend your eternity with him marking every inch of your skin, he would. the mere thought of dedicating himself to your body only seemed like a dream to him.

and each time he got you under him, he tried to do just that. to devote himself to your body entirely before pleasing you two to the edge of your limits, pushing you so far not even the peeking sunlight through the dark blinds could even make him consider the possibility of quitting for the day.

“smell so good baby.. taste so sweet.” he ran the tip of his tongue along your skin, praises falling like waterfalls from his lips when they were not pressed against you, you could only whimper and writhe under him as he pleased your body. as this was no longer a matter between you and jungwon, it was your body and jungwon.

he knew and had memorised you like the back of his hand. knowing exactly what parts of your body were the most sensitive, what kind of kiss will make your eyes roll to the back of your head, how to angle his hips to hit your sweet sweet spot and make you unravel beneath him in seconds, and this doesn’t even cover even a quarter of it.

though he was a vampire, your body was heaven to him. and he was the most devoted and committed angel.

“won.. i need you. right now, please.” you shakily moaned when his fangs grazed your hip bone, right over the fresh hickey he placed on your skin, his eyes raked over your body and over the new marks. his artwork that glowed underneath him, before they reached your pleasured face. and god did you look stunning.

how could he deny you of pleasure any longer when you stared at him with glossy eyes? the rapid raising and falling of your chest as you tried your best to regulate your breathing, and the scent of metallic blood that made his head spin. that’s when he noticed the tiny crimson droplets decorating your lower lip from your harsh bites.

and fuck did that just push him past his own limit.

“i got you, doll.” he pushed his pants and boxers down before discarding them in the room, sliding his shirt off and throwing it besides the bed as he finally lowered himself onto you. his skin burned against yours. the contact almost electrifying, building up the hilt of his ecstasy gradually, he then connected your lips, allowing your soft moans to stay muffled between his lips. brushing his tongue against yours as he fell deeper and deeper into the spell of pure intoxication of your love.

he guided his length to your core, leaking tip brushing along your soaked folds which made you whimper into his mouth before he pushed himself in. thrusting his hips to fill you up completely and relishing in your pleasured moan. he so good inside of you. so big and perfect, stretching you out so nicely the burn of it alone made you see stars across your vision.

he kept his arms around your head, caging you under his body while your nails dug into his muscles. resorting to sucking on your bottom lip only and reveling in the sugary sweet taste of blood that coated his tongue. the taste only making his hardened length twitch inside of your leaking walls. the more he tasted you the more he craved you in every way.

“feel so good wrapped around me baby.. your pussy is milking me so well.” he praised as he spoke between kisses, his thrusts slow yet so powerful. filling you up to the brim, pressing against your cervix in a way that made your toes curl before pulling back. you were on cloud nine.

you felt the air around you shift the moment you felt the familiar tightening of the coil in your abdomen, your climax approaching as your senses suddenly heightened more. jungwon took notice of your incessant tightening, the way your hands brushed through his soft hair and pulled gently while you whimpered and mewled his name out so desperately. both of you were floating to a different dimension, wrapped up in complete and utter euphoria that the only thing your clouded senses and awareness were able to pick up were the approach of your releases.

jungwon felt an animalistic urge clawing its way through his chest, a primal need to fuck and stuff you full of him when his own abdomen tightened. picking up the pace as his muscular hands wrapped around your thighs while his hips began to piston against yours, he breathing was laboured, panting as his eyes rolled to the back of his head the further you sucked him in.

your fingers began to grip against the sheets. searching for anything to ground yourself with as your body arched against his own, your chest pressing against his. the air feeling electric and steamy as both of your bodies buzzed in overstimulation over complete euphoria.

“i’m so close, baby.” you choked out, throwing your head back against the satin pillowcase and exposing the skin of your neck to jungwon’s eyes. he felt feral.

like a carnal impulse controlling his body as its puppet. jungwon instantly sank his teeth down your veins. relishing in the sob that escaped your throat while crystal tears ran down your cheeks. the pleasure so overwhelming and uncontrollable your body shook in overstimulation as your orgasm washed over you. leaving you to twitch under jungwon’s possessive hold.

“just like that pretty.. cream all over my cock.” he spoke with his words slurred, almost choking on your blood as he sucked more and more. pure ecstasy rushing throughout his body as it burned with passion. he felt like the pleasure was almost too much to keep up with. he whispered sweet nothings to your skin while your ears rang in hot white pleasure that descended down your body in brutal waves.

the combination of his bite and cock so deep inside of you sent you into a frenzy. your body felt scorched. completely ablaze as jungwon fucked you through your pleasured climax, blurring the lines between your release and overstimulation.

your head continued to spin as jungwon’s venom spread throughout your body. his venom so intoxicating and potent. you felt exhilarated in deep pleasure and passion that only your lover provided you.

as he kept fucking you into subspace, you slowly lost touch with reality. the only thing processing in your dizzied mind was the raging sense of ecstasy. unable to pick up jungwon’s reassuring words as he pulled away and sealed his marks on your neck. his cock pressed snug against your cervix while he kissed the two deep bites that portrayed his claim on you.

“feeling good, princess?” his voice sounded muffled for you. barely able to reach your puddle of a brain. yet you could only nod as your eyes remained closed, pretty lips parted allowing soft pants of air out while heavy tears hung from your lashes. he kissed both of your cheeks lovingly, leaving behind a slight smear of your blood on your skin before he began to slowly roll in his hips against yours. chasing his own release by using your body.

jungwon threw his head back as your cunt sucked him in greedily. closing his eyes to revel in the pure, breathtaking pleasure that ran along his veins along with the feeling of your blood rushing through his body. he felt so ridiculously great. living through a high that only your body and blood could supply him. and he was so fucking addicted.

he lowered his head to commit the mistake of looking at your connection point, the sight of his pulsing red cock disappearing into your dripping cunt made his shallow breath hitch. the white ring of your arousal circling his cock made him tighten his hold on your thighs. sharp nails burying themselves onto your skin to leave behind small crescent shapes, serving as reminders of jungwon’s devotion to you.

the louder the filthy wet noises became in the room, the closer jungwon felt his release. the nasty sounds combined with your mixed moans of pleasure driving him absolutely crazy. everything felt so lewd. so erotic. and so stimulating to him. only you were able to make his head spin and pound in delirium as sweat rolled down his burning body.

he continued to thrust so deeply inside of you. keeping his leaking tip pressed against your cervix for longer periods as he felt his body tightening up aggressively. his orgasm a mere seconds away from washing down on him while he wrapped your legs around him and lifted your arms above you.

he pressed his forehead against yours as he thrusted in an animalistic pace. his heavy breathing combining with your own making you breath each other’s air as he chased his release. all the noises, the sensations, everything became so much more intense while he practically molded your cunt into his shape.

fresh tears rolled down your cheeks as jungwon unknowingly fucked you through orgasm after orgasm. coaxing a new one out with every few thrusts as your legs weakly trembled around his waist. your eyes rolling to the back of your head when jungwon began to mindlessly lick against your skin.

“i’m cumming, doll— shit. gonna fill you up, yeah? you gonna like that?” he moaned against your jaw as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. the mere thought of breeding you triggering his release that made his body freeze, still buried so deep inside of you while he filled you up completely. the feeling of his warm cum inside of you pulled out another orgasm from you as you convulsed under him. clawing at his body desperately when you felt yourself a few seconds away from passing out.

“fuck.. princess…” he gasped, opening his eyes and lifting his head to take in the sight of your fucked our body, quickly pulling out, “baby..?” he whispered softly, his hands leaving your wrists to gently cradle your face, a feeling of relief washing down on him when you leaned into his touch even in this state.

“you feeling alright, doll?” he smiled when you slightly nodded, deciding it’s best to clean you up and get you tucked in his embrace as soon as possible. “i’ll get you a cloth and clean you up, then we can go to sleep yeah?” he spoke, his eyes lighting up in adoration when you hummed softly before detaching his sore body from your own and disappearing into the bathroom.

and a few more minutes, whines from you and chuckles from jungwon later, you were safe in his embrace to rest for as long as you wanted while jungwon laid besides you, a hefty amount of blood bags and other vampire-friendly snacks situated on his bedside table for his own feeding as he knew the moment you wake up, you’ll be tremendously hungry, and he was excited to offer his neck to your aching fangs.

and maybe it was his jealousy, but he really didn’t want you to touch any blood bags.

his blood should suffice for now.

a,note. hope u enjoyed ♡ !!

[theeveninghour]

All My Dreaming

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

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

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

WC: 16.1k  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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

Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[darlingdekarios]

hibernate.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 6,152 content: Arthur Morgan x f!reader, animal hunting mentions, cannon-accurate outlaw behavior, cowboy meet cute, Arthur Morgan is a simp, snowed in, fluff, smut [v fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming], kink(s) [spit as lube]

it was like fate insisted on the two of you colliding.

The first time you’d met Arthur Morgan was a lovely March night in New Hanover, opportunities abound as the hustle and bustle of life was at its highest point of the year, the weather the most tolerable for moving about. Returning from an evening of fishing now that the water wasn’t frozen in some areas and sketching birds by the river when he stumbled across a lone figure boarding train – well after midnight. He followed on horseback under the cover of trees in anticipation, joined by your own horse shortly after. He followed alongside with a hold of the strange horse’s reins until the train came to a stop. 

He'd strained to hear you, considered boarding after you to clean up any straggling guards – it wasn’t his business, so he didn’t – but curiosity held him close. When the sound of police approaching quickly began you emerged to the top of the train, looking around desperately for your horse. Temporarily frozen when the moonlight caught your face and confirmed to the man that you were a woman, he recovered just in time to spring into action.

It had been Arthur who had led your horse to you and instructed you to follow. It was Arthur’s path that led you away from the law and eventually far enough away to be free of their hunting.

“Are you some kinda lunatic, lady?” he questioned when the two of you slowed side-by-side under the cover of thick trees, his face hard-set and stern. “You coulda gotten yourself tossed away for a long time back there.”

“I didn’t, though,” you laughed, and despite the feeling that burned in him that he couldn’t quite place as anger or worry Arthur’s stomach flipped at the sound and the way your laugh reached your eyes. You adjusted your hat with a playful smile on your lips, keeping the reins to your horse in one hand. 

“Thanks to me,” he asserted, the stress causing him to light up a cigarette and adjust his hat. His eyes caught your gaze and you held it, appreciating his handsome features for a moment as your smile twisted wider.

“I would’ve figured it out, cowboy – you can be sure of that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ve seen your face on ‘wanted’ posters, Mr. Morgan,” you proclaimed, tone proud as you called him on his identity. He took another drag from his cigarette before leaning forward comfortably in his saddle, outstretching a hand toward you. 

“Arthur,” he offered, amusement flashing across his features when you shook his hand firmly. “And I’ve seen yours, too. What is it they call you…?”

“The Panther,” you replied, that proud tone ever-present in your voice. “A nice tribute to my best hunt.”

His poker face was too well-trained to reveal that he was impressed – that he was intrigued.

“Well next time you go thinkin’ of doing something so goddamn stupid like rob a train at midnight alone,” he began, gruff voice filled with frustration as he attempted to present his unamused façade. “You could invoke that particular nickname and be a little more subtle.”

The second time was just as circumstantial. It was July – the heat sweltering, the air sticky, the fireflies sparkling in fields at night. You’d been riding for days, hunting gators in the swamps for weeks and now headed back to a more familiar area where you felt more at home. Just past Emerald Ranch you’d spotted him on the road ahead – his hat unmistakable and burned into your mind, his horse giving away his identity to anyone who knew it. 

There was no questioning if he’d want your company – you didn’t even give it a thought. Instead, you’d hastened your own horse to catch up with him.

“Where ya headed, cowboy?” you questioned as you approached from behind, adjusting your hat back on your head to offer more of your face to him. Your voice immediately sent a shiver down his spine, the barely-there smile crossing his features unmissed by you.

Four months trying to remember your face and voice hadn’t done it any justice.

“Valentine,” he replied, slowing his horse’s stride to match yours. The two of you set a lazy pace, in no real hurry to get anywhere. “You following me now, cat?”

“Like I ain’t got better things to do, Mr. Morgan?” you joked, nose scrunching as you smiled. The Summer sun had done beautiful things for your color, he noted. “Give you $50 and shine your guns if you can beat me there.”

“Are you tryin’ to race me?” he questioned with a subtle laugh, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

“Won’t be much of a race, cowboy.”

He let out a real, genuine, albeit short laugh at that. The sound filled the air around you, made birds vacate trees. Your heart soared away alongside them.

“And what is it you want if you win?”

“A nice bottle of whisky,” you replied after a brief moment of thought, reaching your hand to rub your horse’s neck gently. Arthur had forgotten how gentle your hands were with everything they touched – the rediscovery lighting up his mind. “And a hot meal at your camp.”

“Can’t promise the gang’ll let you eat at camp without drinking, too.”

“Which is why I asked for a bottle of whisky,” you remarked, that shit-eating grin he was starting to love spreading on your face again. “Do we have a deal?”

“Hope your horse is fast enough to back up that mouth of yours,” he quipped back, intentionally antagonizing you as he started to pick up the speed slightly. “Or that you’ve got plenty of gun oil.”

You shot forward then, the dust of the road kicking up behind you as you left Arthur behind on a road you both knew well. In reality he could’ve caught you – could’ve even won if he’d pushed his horse hard enough – but the sound of your laughter in the cool evening air was reason enough to lose. 

It wasn’t a surprise when you crossed over into the town first.

“You cheated,” he argued as he approached, allowing his horse to slow to a reasonable speed for being around other people. “Got a head start. Doesn’t count.”

“You’re just a sore loser.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, reaching up to remove his hat to resituate his wind-blown hair. You were momentarily transfixed on his fingers running through the strands that looked soft – maybe in need of a wash but soft nonetheless – but quickly wished he’d left it messy. “Weren’t mean you didn’t get a head start, cat.”

“Oh, like a couple steps mattered,” you entered an easy banter with him, just like the two of you had done in the Spring. He’d missed it – hadn’t realized how much he had until then. “Coulda given you a five-minute head start and still would’ve beat you and that slowpoke horse you ride.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re difficult?” 

“Heard it a couple times,” there was that smile again – the nose crinkling one. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep his thoughts to himself with you smiling that way – at him. You jumped down from your stallion and hitched him with ease, feeding the massive animal a small snack in appreciation of his efforts. “I can compromise. I buy the whisky, but I still get a hot meal at your camp.”

He pondered your proposal only briefly before nodding, letting out an affirmative huff in agreeance. “I’ll meet you at the butcher when you’re done.”

You gave your horse a gentle pat and nodded, turning back to meet his gaze. “Sell that fox pelt I have up on Scratch, will ya?”

Easy. Simple. Honest. Sensible. Arthur loved having you around camp that night – and the night after when you’d been convinced to stay again by the women – though it was hardly just them that enjoyed your company. You’d made easy companions in the camp with your sharp tongue and ability to hold your alcohol. You had plenty of stories to share with Arthur’s chosen family – each one of them genuinely interesting to the gang.

Everyone knew the fact Arthur had brought you around meant you were a good person. The beauty was a bonus, he’d been informed in privacy. He’d only told Sean to shut his mouth in response. Arthur slept by the fire that night so you could sleep in his cot, and if anyone else in the gang saw the way he’d sat up for at least an hour with his eyes transfixed on your sleeping figure in his bed. 

It was Fall, October to be exact, the next time he heard from you – this time you had taken fate into your own hands to seek out his company. He was certain he’d never be able to dispose the letter you’d penned and sent to his camp.

Dear Arthur, Kinda strange to call you “dear”, huh?  Anyway, I have a job comin’ up in Saint Denis that involves me boarding a train quite late at night and remembering our conversation earlier this year I thought I may ask you to join.  Job is planned for the night of October 18, the Saturday after next. I’ll meet you the Friday before at the saloon in Van Horn if you plan on joining me.  I do hope you join me.  Hope that gang of yours isn’t being too rough on you. 

He arrived in Van Horn a day early and rented himself a room – and a bath – so he was prepared for the meeting. He was in the saloon before you, his chest clenching as you walked in through the swinging doors. 

You’d taken a page from his book and clearly bathed recently as well, and you were dressed for the first time in front of him in feminine attire. The sight of you in a skirt shouldn’t have affected him the way it did – it was embarrassing for a man his age. It didn’t prevent the pressure building at his waist, nor did it stop him from speaking his mind.

“You had to wear that damn skirt, didn’t ya?” he questioned when you joined him, a smile spreading across your face. It was hardly a gentlemanly way to greet you, but then again, he was hardly a gentleman. “Knew what you were doin’ puttin’ that on with me coming in today…”

“You complained so much about the pants last time I figured I’d save myself the headache,” you replied, sliding into a chair next to him and crossing your legs for emphasis. “You don’t like it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, kitten,” he’d practically purred – a new tone between the two of you. There was no denying that you wanted to hear it more, and you nearly chose to forget the real reason you were now sitting beside him. 

“I need to look the part tomorrow for the job,” you replied quickly, eager to squash the tension now building between the two of you, unwilling to allow the job to go forgotten. There was too much money at stake. “Have to board a real nice train when it leaves out of Saint Denis tomorrow night. There’s a safe onboard I’d like to get my hands into.”

“Can’t just rob it the old-fashioned way?”

“Someone didn’t like the last time I did that,” you teased, feeling pleased with the smile it earned. “Figured I’d board and crack the safe.”

“Why you need me then?”

“Need someone to play my husband and keep watch while I’m workin’ on the safe.”

“Your husband,” he huffed out with another laugh, a brief shake to his head. The term had always been silly to him, just as silly as the idea of marriage was to you as a whole, really – and yet, there was no denying the clench in both of your chests at the mere thought. The imaginary suggestion manifested in brief images of domesticity, the vision of you sleeping in his cot in July flashing in his mind. 

You didn’t miss the slight redness to his cheeks, he didn’t miss how your smile fluttered into something laced with affection. For all your joking demeanor, it was still clear that there was some secretive sincerity beneath the surface – that you cared for Arthur. And on Arthur’s part, well…he wouldn’t ride across the country to work for just anyone.

“Yes,” you replied when you’d pulled yourself from the depths of his eyes. “A woman travelling with her husband is far less likely to draw attention than if I were alone.”

You thought there would be some protest, though if you’d seen even a fraction of the thoughts Arthur had conjured up in the preceding months you’d never have to question it. To you what seemed to be him conceding was actually the outlaw taking a step he’d long considered taking with you the next chance he got. 

Arthur just wanted to spend time with you – there were probably very few things he’d say no to right now in regard to you. He wouldn’t go admitting that out loud anytime soon either. 

“Fine, I’ll go along with your little plan. Only so you don’t go gettin’ yourself arrested.”

“Great!” you exclaimed, the brightness that covered your face blinding but serving as confirmation that he was making the right choice. The money he was sure to get would be a bonus, too. “I got you a wedding ring. Looks like it’ll fit. You can sell it when the job’s done, as a thank you.”

“You get it off a dead body?”

“He didn’t need it anymore.”

There was that goddamn feeling in his chest again. 

This was the fourth time destiny had crossed your path with Arthur Morgan’s. 

Now, the ring still lay in the outside pouch of his satchel, the cool metal brushing against the tips of his calloused fingers often daily in a physical reminder of you. Today, feeling the pull of being apart from you for four months now and into the new year, he’d been clutching the metal in his gloved hands as he led his horse through the far North. Seeking the solitary bliss of being alone in the mountains for the winter, he had opted to simply ride and camp, sketching in his journal and enjoying the snow dusted scenery. Arthur’s plan was soon thwarted as a snowstorm began to roll in.

He'd been riding along the same worn path to make his way down the mountain when he noticed horse tracks leading into the thick forest – a horse, by the look of it, with no reemergence to be seen. Opting to do the honorable thing, Arthur pursued the trail, weaving through trees atop his own horse until he came to a small clearing where you were setting predator bait.

He didn’t know the kind of words to describe the way he felt seeing you right in front of him.

“Are you some kinda lunatic, cat?” 

If he had a way with words, he’d tell you that your smile was brighter than the sun itself – fleeting shooting stars, the North Star when he’s lost. 

“That’s not the first time you’ve asked me that question, Mister Morgan,” you replied, standing up and patting your horse as your gaze remained transfixed on him now. Even at this distance you could see the blue in his coat had electrified his eyes, the tone a perfect match for the world around you. You found it hard to form any further rebuttal. 

“Won’t be the last either, given you’re doing something fucking crazy every time I see you,” he teased, finally giving into the natural ease he felt with you. The light air between the two of you had finally lulled him into a sense of comfort around you – he was willing to admit he was concerned, in his own way. “There’s a storm rollin’ in. You trying to freeze to death?”

“Trying to hunt a white wolf,” you replied, glancing back at the bait you’d just set and adjusting the bow you held in your hands, an arrow already grasped between two fingers. 

Fuckin’ hell, Arthur thought. ‘Course that’s what you’re out here doing.

“You ain’t gonna be hunting much of anything when you turn into an icicle,” he replied, hopeful that you would understand his taunting was coming from a place of concern – not control. “You got Scratch nearby?”

“I suppose you’re right,” you smiled, slipping the arrow back into the quiver on your back and whistling to call your horse back to you. You mounted up on the animal easily, Arthur taking the moment to appreciate how languid your movements were – how graceful. His eyes lingered at your waist for a moment longer than was decent.

“If I remember right there’s a cabin just up the road. Been empty the last few times I rode by,” he explained, his words offering more than just a place to shield from the freeze. 

Arthur wanted to spend time with you. You’d truly have to be a lunatic to think otherwise.

“Lead the way, cowboy.”

The snow picked up as the two of you rode side-by-side, both of your horses slowing as the powder piled up, creating heavier footsteps. While Arthur spoke to his horse beside you to soothe her through the storm, you could feel his eyes consistently on you despite the painful whip of flakes against his unshielded cheeks.

What could have been a short ride in the summer extended in the weather, and by the time the cabin approached view you had begun to shiver – something Arthur took note of. When he climbed from his horse he unrolled the blanket on the back of his saddle, passing it up to you before grabbing his shotgun. 

“I’ll check inside, you try not to shiver s’much you fall off your horse.”

He disappeared into the cabin, your mind focusing on the sounds of him moving about rather the piling snow that was sure to trap you for days. Keeping yourself wrapped in his blanket provided the additional comfort of his lingering scent, and you found yourself clutching the fabric tighter and tighter as the moments passed.

“This’ll be fine ‘til the storm’s passed,” he announced as he exited through the doors, voice raised so you could hear him over the wind. “You go on in while I get some firewood and hitch the horses.”

“I can help, you know,” you offered, eyebrows pulling together to communicate your frustration. 

“Would you stop your arguing for once and go inside out of this shit?”

By the time Arthur made his way in from the storm you’d used what wood remained in the cabin to start a fire, the flames warming the air around it quickly. The mattress was considerably dirty and out of the question, so you were validated in the decision to carry in your bedrolls and blankets, having set them up comfortably in front of the fire. 

His heavy boots sounded on the floor as he approached where you sat on the floor from behind, and while you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on you. 

“Already got a fire going?”

“Uh huh,” you replied, noting the subtle shake to his voice. Arthur was strong, but he was human, and he was cold. The fact that he not only was willing to but insisted on suffering for you caused a knot to form in your stomach. “Got some whisky if you need help warming up.”

He simply grunted affirmatively in reply, setting the stack of wood carefully to the side and picking out the driest pieces to tend the fire with now. You tempted to hand the bottle out to him, the liquid going ignored as he began to peel off layer by layer, tossing the soaked clothing to the side lazily with little regard for how they ended up. Normally you’d have stood to hang the clothes, but you found yourself spellbound by the way Arthur’s muscles flexed with each movement under the simple wet damp button up shirt – the last remaining layer.

When he was somewhat comfortable, he turned to face you, eyes flashing with amusement as he took the bottle from your fingers. You were certain your mouth was hanging open and he’d caught you. At the moment, you could hardly bring yourself to care.

Hours passed as the two of you got warm and caught up over the last few weeks. You sat opposite one another, both wrapped in your own blankets and full of enough whisky to ignore the storm outside – to ignore everything but one another. Arthur hadn’t missed that most of your clothes lie neatly folded atop the countertop. The thought was repeating in his mind – the heavy question of what exactly remained under the blanket haunting him. 

He couldn’t be blamed for not being a good listener. 

“Arthur, are you even listenin’ to me?”

“Not a fuckin’ word,” he replied with one more small swig of whisky from the bottle, setting it well out of the way to the side. “Stop fuckin’ doin’ that if you want me to listen.”

“Doing what?”

You knew damn well what.

“Lookin’ at me like you want me to come crawl on top of you.”

Why on Earth would you ever stop doing that? 

“No.”

Your mouth was going to drive him to insanity one day. He wasn’t going to do a single thing about it.

“Did you just tell me ‘No’?” 

“Yeah, Arthur, I surely did,” you replied, quick and agile as you were on your feet. He was beginning to think you may only talk to hm this way, and that thought alone was enough to make him want to reach out to you. “Hoping you take the hint.”

The blanket he’d been using for himself was discarded to the side, your words finally snapping the thin thread of control that remained in him. He extended one arm outward toward the floor to support himself, outstretching his legs to be situated in a more comfortable position before his eyes found yours again. 

“Come on over here,” his invitation came thick as molasses and dripping just as sweet, his free hand patting his right thigh to give his words deeper meaning. “Bring the blanket.”

Arthur had finally figured out how to get you to stop arguing and basked in the glory of the moment as you crawled to him carefully, finding a comfortable seat in his lap as you straddled his thighs. He savored the view as you wrapped your arms around his neck, encompassing you both with the blanket, your face illuminated by the golden glow of the well-tended fire – beautiful, warm, inviting. 

He was more than happy to finally accept. 

“Are you gonna kiss me, Arthur?”

He knew you were trying to sound resolute as you always did – firm and demanding and impossible to deny. While those things lingered – he doubted they could ever truly be gone from you – what really laced your words was the quietest of whines. He sat up fully, bringing his torso closer to yours and grasping your hips in both hands, all the while your heart beating faster and faster in anticipation.

When you opened your mouth to let your protest be known again, he took his opportunity to claim your lips in a long-awaited kiss, the feeling of his lips caressing yours sucking the air from your chest immediately. He opted to slide his hands to your lower back to bring you in closer, pressing your chests together as he kissed you hungrily. Touch starved and overwhelmed by the feeling of you returning his kiss with soft lips he sought more of your skin, sliding his hands up the back of the loose blouse you remained in. 

“Clothes are still wet,” he grumbled against your lips, displeased by the cool touch to your skin that remained. You scrambled to reinitiate the kiss, your lips catching his bottom lip as a whine slipped through your lips. A quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose. 

“Take them off, then,” you breathed out, bowing your head to press a delicate kiss to his neck. His own breath caught, arms wrapping tighter around you – almost too tight, almost too crushing. You made no move to stop him as you began to test the best places to leave your kisses, spurring him to release his hold on you to start peeling the last layers from both of you. 

Your lips brushed against the shell of his ear when all that remained were intimate coverings, a shaky groan rolling through his chest. His hands engulfed you, sliding up your torso until he cupped your breasts, dipping his head to claim your lips again. 

That kiss was hungry – starved – clumsy in ways that screamed of desperation. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples lightly, a smile evident on his lips despite the fact he continued to kiss you as a moan slipped from your throat. It spiraled from there, both of your hands exploring, your fingers the best thing he’d felt against his skin in a long time. As the pressure built heavier at your waist his hands trailed lower, one stopping to grasp your waist, the other slipping into the waistband of your underwear. 

He'd never heard music that sounded as good as the sound of the moan that left you as his thick fingers swiped through your wet folds, an appreciative hum shaking in his throat as you burrowed your face in his neck. 

“You’re already soaked for me, darlin’,” he rasped, his voice getting lower and lower with each word. He began to sink his index finger into you, grasping your hip tighter in his other hand. “Fuckin’ tight, too. Hell.”

“Arthur…”

“Aw, hush,” he cooed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple as he curled his finger inside you, pulling a quiet whimper from you. “No point tryin’ to talk right now, darlin’ – just lemme take care of ya.”

He could take his sweet time, Arthur Morgan. He was a patient man, especially when it came to you, and never more-so than now as he began to work his finger in and out of your clenching heat. He added a second finger soon, pressing the heel of his hand to your clit to give you more pressure, which you gladly accepted by rocking your hips into it. 

As he pumped his fingers into you he began to trail kisses lower, the kisses growing heavier and wetter the further down he went. By the time he nipped at your hip with his teeth lightly you were breathless, eyes squeezed shut as you lost yourself to pleasure. He kissed across your waistline as he pulled your underwear down, smiling against your skin lightly when you kicked them free with frustrated fervor. 

Nothing up to this point compared to the feeling of Arthur sliding his tongue from his fingers to your clit, giving the sensitive bundle of nerves a soft suck. He repeated the motion as you struggled to even moan, your hands grasping at the blankets now on the floor beneath you as you tried to rock your hips into his face desperately.

“Easy, now,” Arthur reprimanded with quiet reverence behind his words, turning his head to press a kiss to your inner thigh softly. “I’m takin’ my time with you, don’t rush me.”

You finally opened your eyes, ready to give him an earful about being a tease, only to be frozen once again faced with the sight of Arthur, golden illuminated by the fire and somehow still wearing his hat tipped back on his head. You maintained eye contact with him as you reached forward with your hands, removing the hat with one hand and placing it on your own head as your fingers ran through his hair, giving a soft tug at the end. 

The growl vibrated through him and you as he connected his lips to your clit, pumping his fingers into you and connecting the tips, curling them skillfully to rub against the sensitive patch deep within you as he sucked your clit. All the while he maintained eye contact, even when he removed his mouth from you with one final flick of his tongue, just as he removed his fingers from you. 

“Arthur…” you whimpered in protest, tugging his hair again to try to bring him back to your needy core.

“Hush,” he instructed tenderly, slipping his hands under your ass and grasping firmly to lift your waist from the floor. He soaked in the view of your glistening folds at this angle and tested how it looked to watch one of his fingers slip into you before removing it, licking his lips again. “You are a pretty little thing, ain’t ya?”

Your reply was sucked from your chest and altered into a cry of pleasure as he spit on your folds, smearing the liquid around before connecting his thumb to your clit, rubbing a figure eight. Supporting your raised hips still with one hand he continued to rub your clit, now using his tongue to fuck into you rather than his fingers, tasting you how he’d wanted to for nearly a year now.

The pressure continued to build and boil, eventually reaching a point of eruption – all the usual signs there with your shaking thighs, shorter and desperate breaths, your nails scratching against his temple as you gripped whatever you could. Arthur figured it was a previously unknown bonus to him keeping his hair a little on the longer side. He groaned to encourage you, switching his movements to pump his fingers into you again, circling your clit with his tongue until you became incendiary, your first orgasm washing through you with white hot heat.

He continued to lap at your folds as you came, removing his tongue from you occasionally only to kiss your thighs and mutter tender praises as you came back down to your body. When you had some sense about yourself, he was crawling back up you, pressing kisses to your stomach and breasts before he reached your lips, offering you a taste of your own honey sweet pleasure on his tongue.

When the adoration filled amorous kiss ended so Arthur could breathe you began to trail kisses down his neck again, following a trail to his chest before his index finger caught under your chin, lifting you back up to him, cerulean eyes questioning.

“Your turn,” you offered, slipping one of your hands into the waistband of his underwear and wrapping your fingers around his throbbing cock slowly. Running your finger over the velvet head you smeared the pre-spend leaking already, biting at your swollen bottom lip when he moaned. 

“Not tonight, sweet thing,” he declined, his hesitation clear in his voice. You began to rub him gently – slowly – too damn slow – causing his eyes to roll back briefly. “You wrap these lips around me, and I won’t last long enough t’ fuck you.”

“Please.”

You didn’t truly know what you were begging for – for him to test himself and allow you to take his already throbbing cock into your mouth or for him to follow through on that promise to fuck you. Luckily, Arthur seemed to know exactly what your words were asking for – what you needed. 

He reached to remove your hand from his cock gently, freeing himself of his underwear before he gently moved you to your side, lying beside you with his back to the fire to shield you from getting too much heat, to ensure you didn’t get hurt. One arm wrapped around your waist while the other slid to cup your cheek in his hand, bringing you in closer to him as he kissed you again. 

As much fun as he’d been having teasing, he was done with the games now, and could no longer find the patience. He reached to lift your leg around his waist before grasping his cock, rubbing against your still-soaked entrance for a moment to gather some lubrication before he sank into you. Inch by inch disappeared into your velvet channel, the kiss practically halting as you gasped. He leaned his forehead against yours instead, grasping your waist gently as he continued to slip into you.

“Atta fuckin’ girl,” he breathed out. The large hand that still cupped your cheek slipped downward to rest against your neck instead, his fingertips digging into your skin in attempt to steady himself, to savor your pulse beneath his touch. “Takin’ me so good. You doin’ okay?”

You nodded as you stared into his eyes, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open already at the feeling of him stretching you, almost too full but not something you’d be willing to give up anytime soon. When he’d fully seated himself within you, his cock buried to the hilt he released a shaky groan of his own, his eyes briefly closing as he savored the feeling of being wrapped up in you.

“Goddamn you’re tight,” he groaned out, pressing several light kisses to your lips before grinding his hips into yours slightly. “Shoulda crawled ‘tween your legs months ago.”

“Would…ah…woulda let you,” you managed to reply, pressing your lips to his in an unabashedly salacious kiss, already perfecting how to slot your lips against his in a way that left him craving more. He couldn’t hold back his movements any longer and began to pump into you repeatedly, setting a wanton and quick pace that somehow managed to remain tender and reverent.

He could only be tender for so long, desperation and months of waiting and yearning building in him. His movements began to get sloppy sooner than he’d have liked, though he felt better when your walls began to flutter and clench around him, your thigh shaking around his hip slightly. He picked up his pace to a much more relentless one, driving his cock into you and into your spongy cervix repeatedly as his grunts became more frequent, pressing kisses to your neck now.

“Want you to finish while I’m inside you,” he instructed, though there was something so subtly desperate behind his words – a quiet beg that only someone who knew him would recognize. “Think you can do that for me, darlin’?”

You nodded before leaning your head back again, quiet cries leaving your lips as he connected his thumb to your clit again, immediately choosing a relentless pace to rub in circles. You were almost certain you’d do anything he asked and soon enough you were pushed over the edge again, your walls clenching him so tight he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to remove himself. He did his best to continue pumping into you roughly now as he sought his own release, certain you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Like you’d need to, anyway. 

“F-fill me up, Arthur,” you begged unexpectedly through your euphoria, and he didn’t need anything else to convince him. With only a few more bruising thrusts he stilled inside you as he emptied his seed in hot ropes into you, groaning loudly as he lazily leaned his forehead to yours again, his own eyes screwed shut.

He didn’t remove himself from you when you’d both ridden your orgasms, instead holding you close and reaching to cover the two of you in one of the blankets that was on the floor. He wrapped his arms around you tightly to hold you closer to him, slipping one of his legs between yours for additional comfort and warmth. Still semi-hard with plenty of stamina to offer you couldn’t ignore the feeling of him seated in you still, buried as deep as possible as he brushed his nose against yours. 

“Be a whole lot warmer this way,” he offered, giving a subtle move of his hips to emphasize the meaning behind his words. He pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose before reaching upward to kiss your forehead, leaving his lips resting there. He was right – you did finally feel warm.

“Mm,” was all you could reply, laying your head against his shoulders and closing your eyes, burrowing your face into his neck. He smiled as you managed to press lazy kisses into his neck before wrapping your arms around him as well. 

“Think I’ll keep you here all winter,” he offered after several blissful moments, his head leaning to rest on the top of yours as his own eyes closed. He pressed one final kiss to your temple before succumbing to the comfort of you fully.

“Always knew you were a big teddy bear, Arthur,” you teased. How you managed to run your mouth still after he’d fucked you right was beyond him – but it was also probably a reason he’d want to keep fucking you.

“We’ll call it hibernation, then.”

masterlist. red dead redemption masterlist.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter VIII.

GIF CREDIT

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Exploring the complexities of their relationship, revealing past traumas and personal struggles that deepen their connection.

WORD COUNT: ~10k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: masturbation (m), gun mention/use, substance use (weed and alcohol), mention of suicide, mention of religion, mutual pining, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: oh boy… everyone grab a snack and get cozy because we're getting into the thick of it! a lot of character exposition this chap but i promise it's fun :p also couldn't help myself from making javi and helena a thing (?) 🙈 it just felt right™ lol anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Javier leans forward, allowing his forehead to gently meet the chill of the shower tiles. Steam envelops the entire bathroom, swirling around him as the warmth of the cascading water embraces his skin.

Every fiber of his being screams against the temptation, but it’s too overwhelming to resist. His mind has been hijacked by lascivious musings since his first flicker of consciousness, and it only intensified with each passing second. The rational part of him had urged for a cold shower to extinguish the smoldering fire, but the primal instinct within demanded something more.

His cock has been throbbing with want since the moment he woke, the crimson head moistened with a droplet of precum. A deep moan escaped his lips as he reached down to ease the tension, but just as he began to feel a rush of pleasure, thoughts of her invaded his mind.

Her laughter a symphony of sensuality.

The warmth in her eyes like a glowing ember, making him feel hot with a desire he’s never experienced before.

The curve of her ass a work of art, a masterpiece that he longed to caress and gently bite down on as he worshipped her body.

And those magnificent tits of hers, god how they had looked that night at the fair, teasing and tempting him with their lusciousness in her corset.

The way she wore low-rise jeans, clinging to her hips like a second skin, had him yearning to leave bruising marks with the press of his fingertips; preferably as he took her from behind, her ass bouncing against his thighs while his dick pistoned into her.

He had halted immediately, his hand retracting swiftly from beneath the sheet as if scalded by its touch. Muttering curses under his breath, he rose with a sense of urgency, the need to cleanse both body and mind propelling him towards the shower to prepare for the day ahead.

Now he’s here, doing his worst to keep the fantasies away. Javier imagines her joining him in the shower, he can almost feel her wet body pressed against his. He envisions her sinking to her knees, wrapping those pouty pink lips around him and taking him deep into her mouth. Feeling her tight throat clenching around him as she gags and struggles to breathe, eagerly swallowing every drop of his release. The temptation is too much to bear, and he surrenders to the sensual daydream.

Fuck, in a slow and deliberate movement, Javier’s hand glides down the contours of his chiseled chest, trailing his soft abdomen until it reaches its ultimate destination. Wrapping his hand around his impressive girth, he begins to stroke himself with a gentle, yet purposeful motion. But no matter how hard he tries to push her from his mind, the thought of Paloma lingers, taunting him. He desperately tries to conjure up memories of past lovers, but none of them compare to the fiery passion that she ignites within him.

She would look so pretty pinned up against the wall, resembling a riveting piece of artwork, as he stuffed his cock deep into her. He wonders whether she could handle him all at once or if he would have to indulge in the slow pleasure of opening her up with his skilled tongue and fingers, coaxing her into a frenzy of orgasmic bliss.

She must taste heavenly, like nectar from a honeysuckle on a warm spring day. Javier’s mouth waters at the thought of exploring her so intimately, getting lost in the sensation of her warm and feeling her wetness smearing all over his lips and jaw. He could almost hear her sweet moans of pleasure as he licked and sucked on her most sensitive spots, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy.

He’d do it over and over again until she was whining that it was too much and she couldn’t take it anymore.

But she would, he’d make sure of it. He’d be determined to make her succumb to his every desire. Javier would talk her through the waves of pleasure, whispering the filthiest things in her ear and savoring the sound of her dulcet whimpers and melodic moans as she unraveled under his skilled touch.

He knows she’d make the prettiest faces, her swollen lips parting and repeating his name over and over, eyes shut close in which he’d tell her to open those pretty eyes of hers so she could watch him get her off for the umpteen time. He wouldn’t fuck her with his dick, not until he’s made it clear how generous of a lover he is.

He tenses briefly, heavy cock still in his hand as his pace moves from languish movements to quicker flicks of his wrist.

He’s so close, the familiar spark of arousal causing him to shudder as his balls clench with anticipation; images of Paloma, stripped naked and spread out before him in a myriad of sensual scenarios and positions flood his mind, driving him to groan with unbridled passion. His orgasm racks through him harshly, his release coating his fingers in a sticky sheen before vanishing down the drain.

Javier pauses to regain his composure and gather his breath. His forehead remains firmly planted against the tile, and he can’t resist lightly tapping against it as he chastises himself for giving in to the temptation of masturbating to her.

Certainly it’s not uncharted territory for him, yet following the surge of tension between them, he had ceased such indulgences altogether. He hadn’t even had the urge to pleasure himself in weeks.

Today, for some reason, was an exception; marked by the persistent stiffness of morning arousal. His thoughts were fixated on her and his willpower was unwavering.

Javier finishes his shower, emerging from the mist and he envelops his lower-half in a towel. With toothbrush in hand, he diligently tends to brushing his teeth when there’s an unexpected rap at the door. His brows furrow in mild annoyance, curious as to who was seeking him out on his only day off this week.

He lets the towel fall to the ground in his bedroom and he grabs his jeans, sliding them up his legs and foregoing any underwear. In true Javi style. He zips them up yet the button remains unfastened, a deliberate omission.

As he lazily holds his toothbrush in his mouth, he strides towards the front door. It yields to his touch, his initial annoyance gives way to a self-assured smirk, his expression a subtle blend of amusement and satisfaction.

On the weathered porch of his modest trailer, Javier is greeted by Paloma, looking gorgeous as always in a enticing sundress that’s short enough to expose her beautiful long legs. Her hair, styled in a playful half-up, half-down look, frames her face like a delicate masterpiece. 

She had hesitated, contemplating turning back when the silence lingered, a creeping doubt whispering that she might have the wrong address. Yet, just as uncertainty began to sway her resolve, Javier emerged, clad in nothing but snug denim, confirming she had indeed arrived precisely where she needed to be.

She couldn’t give a damn if he spotted her ogling him, he had opened the door flaunting his half-nakedness so shamelessly. He’s obviously just stepped out of the shower, his locks damp and tousled in all the right places, droplets of water cascading down his glistening, honeyed torso. It is the first time she’s seen him in such a bare state.

Her intuition had been spot on— he is a chiseled, sculpted hunk of a man.

Seeing him in the flesh is making her legs tremble with desire and causing a delightful dampness to form between her thighs.

Only when her gaze traces the tantalizing tuft of hair that begins at his belly and vanishes beneath the fabric of his jeans, does she feel the heat rising within her. The bulge of his cock is unmistakable, and she can’t help but gulp audibly as she takes in the impressive girth straining against his left thigh.

Her mouth waters, literally.

“Nena, ¿qué haces aquí? (Baby what are you doing here?)” His voice oozes with smugness, relishing the familiar thrill of eliciting such reactions from women. Yet to provoke such a response from her, in particular, sends his ego soaring to new heights.

“The library is having a bake sale…” She starts, eyes still fixated on his crotch before it snaps up to meet his lustful stare. “I’m goin’ door to door sellin’ my cookies to help out.” Which is true, yet when she had seen his home address on the list of places to visit— obviously she’d made sure to stop by here first.

“Is that so?” He muses, just now realizing that she’s got a small container in her hand, “Do you want to come in?”

The question hangs between them, both insatiably horny yet dead set on not crossing the sexual threshold of their friendship.

“Sure.”

With a gentlemanly gesture, he moves aside, granting her entrance. She mutters a soft thank you, gripping onto the container in her hand to keep herself together.

The aroma of his body wash, infused with hints of mint from the fresh toothpaste, envelops her senses; a potent concoction that she finds herself inexplicably drawn to.

While she’s always appreciated the fragrance of a good cologne, the impact of Javier’s scent surpasses any previous encounter, leaving her captivated in a way she’s never experienced before.

“Gonna finish gettin’ ready. Be right back.” He tells her plainly, walking off into his room and this allows her to have a second to breathe, steadying herself on the back of his couch as she gives herself a little pep talk before she hears him coming in again.

“ Santa María por favor dame the strength not to fu— sleep this man.” She whispers in a sacrilegious prayer, straightening her posture when he re-emerges.

“So… you baked?”

Javi’s sporting an old DEA t-shirt, the lettering a bit faded due to time along with those cursed tight jeans. He looks so hot, she begins to wonder if not fucking him is even worth it at all.

It is worth it. You have a date coming up with a guy your age and getting involved with Javier will just bring you more problems than peace. Plus, you like being his friend. Sleeping with him will only fuck that up. Her conscience reminds her, following after him as he leads her deeper into the small home.

“Mhm, stayed up all night putting blood, sweat and tears into these. There’s a point in between batches where I blacked out and fell asleep at the counter so I don’t claim the ones that are slightly burnt. I didn’t have the heart to toss ‘em.”

“Not only are these made out of blood, sweat and tears— but they’re burnt too. Huh...”

Now in his kitchen, the confined space amplifies their proximity. She perches on a stool beside the compact counter, her gaze fixed on him as he unlids the container.

His eyes flicker between her and the tempting contents of her baked goods. “Some bake sale you’re putting on.”

His teasing has her playfully rolling her eyes, “Not all of them. Just some of the oatmeal raisin ones.”

“Good riddance.”

“I think you purposefully hate on all the snacks I enjoy.”

“No, querida, you just have shitty taste in snacks.” Javi remarks, tempted to include a jab about her taste in men as well, yet opting to withhold that comment. For now.

“And you have shitty taste in decorations. Jeez, cowboy, are you even a real person?” She quips, critiquing the lack of character in his living space. It resembles a generic model home, seemingly plucked from a showcase and deposited in the midst of nowhere.

“Sometimes I ask myself that same question.” He shrugs, reaching for one of the more inviting looking desserts but she slaps at his hand.

“You have to pay for them first.”

“How much for the whole damn thing?” Leaning in on his elbows, he meets her halfway, their gazes locked in a silent exchange, each peering into the depths of the other’s brown eyes.

With a subtle narrowing of her own gaze, she communicates a silent message, her expression betraying a hint of playful challenge.

She gives him the price, he nods.

“Let me go get my wallet.” As he turns away and strides into the living room, her gaze remains fixed on him, engrossed by the way his shirt hugs his muscular frame and accentuates every ripple of his back. She can’t help but feel a flutter in her chest as she watches him go.

She lets out a dreamy sigh, feeling as if she’s fawning over a celebrity heartthrob.

Paloma looks around the plain space, a little disappointed that she won’t be able to decipher his character based on the decor he had.

When he returns, she can’t help but ask why it’s so empty. 

“‘Cause I don’t plan on bein’ here long enough to call this place home.” Javier responds, his words carrying a straightforward, pragmatic tone. Yet, despite their simplicity, they strike her with unexpected force, shattering the illusion she has harbored.

Why did she assume he would just… stay? Surely after helping her father out as much as he could, he’d be packing up and moving on to his next assignment.

The weight of reality tightens its grip around her heart, yet she maintains a composed facade, her outward demeanor a mask of serenity as she nods in understanding.

“Right, right. Makes sense… how long do you plan on stickin’ around?” She attempts to pose her question with an air of nonchalance, though beneath the facade, a creeping sense of dread begins to take hold as she awaits his response.

He doesn’t offer it immediately, sensing the subtle change in her demeanor, prompting him to pause and consider his words carefully. “Not sure, hermosa.” It remains simple and nebulous, as he too finds himself uncertain of the answer to that very question.

In an attempt to change the subject, he slides the money over to her, “Now can I have one?”

She exhales slowly, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, offering him a tentative smile, “Knock yourself out.”

She takes the bills from him while he casually selects one of the cookies, indulging in a bite and emitting a contented hum of approval at the flavor. “ Not bad, “ He remarks succinctly, and she can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at his underwhelming critique.

“Really? That’s all I get? ‘Not bad’? I stayed up all night making these— I think I deserve more than just ‘Not bad’.”

A chuckle escapes him at her reaction, finding her response utterly adorable. With a playful twinkle in his eye, he takes another deliberate bite of the cookie, adopting a thoughtful expression as if pondering its flavor with exaggerated seriousness. “The flavor profile is so… decadent. The richness of the chocolate is just superb—”

“Okay, well, if you’re going to be an asshole about it then never mind.” She crosses her arms against her chest with mock indignation, though a playful glint dances in her eyes; amused by their banter.

He shakes his head at her, finishing off the treat with a satisfied smirk.

“It was very delicious, muñeca. Is there anything you’re not good at?” Javier asks, genuine admiration coloring his words since she seems to excel at any task that’s presented to her.

With a snort, she retorts, “Yeah, how much time do you have?” Her mind swirls with a litany of frustrations—her failed attempts at nurturing a fucking vegetable garden, the relentless battle to suppress her feelings for him, her inability to stand up to her father.

The list goes on and on, but she keeps her struggles to herself. The version of herself that lives in Javier’s mind, the one that’s perfect and can do no wrong, one she’d like to preserve as long as possible. Especially since he wasn’t planning on residing in Seminary long-term.

Javier chuckles in response, letting his gaze soften, “You’re too tough on yourself, Paloma. You should give yourself more credit.” She can’t help but feel a hint of bashfulness creeping over her as he says this, twirling a tendril of her hair around her manicured fingertip absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on Javier with a mixture of amusement and affection.

Their playful conversation weaves through the air like a melody, punctuated by laughter and laced with a subtle undercurrent of flirtation, creating an atmosphere that feels as light and comforting as a summer breeze.

“Ever held a gun before?” He asks, noticing how her gaze had trailed over to where his pistol and badge sat on the opposite side of the counter. 

Paloma’s eyes had only lingered on the objects because she remembered how sexy he’d looked last Sunday while apprehending Mr. Thorton.

She has to keep herself from squeezing her thighs together to release some of the pressure of her arousal as she recalls it. Her lack of underwear having some of her wetness smear against her inner thighs.

At his question, though, a very mischievous idea suddenly pops into her head.

“Nope. Daddy has always been paranoid about all that.” It’s a lie that slips effortlessly from her lips, despite the fact that her father had been very serious about gun safety and had taught her how to shoot at a young age. In fact, she’s quite capable of disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling a weapon with precision.

But Javier doesn’t need to know this. Not yet, at least.

“Then I guess I shouldn’t offer to teach you a thing or two.”

Paloma snorts, “Oh c’mon. I’m a grown woman livin’ in an open carry state. I should learn how to use one… all things considered too…” She alludes to the homicide cases and the current missing girl.

Javier wets his lower lip, contemplating his next move. She makes a good point, it wouldn’t hurt for her to know her way around the weapon and he’s surprised that her father hasn’t at least given her a few pointers with how paranoid he is that something is going to happen to her. 

Still, he doesn’t want to overstep the elder man… but really, he’s already overstepped when he came all over his hand earlier while thinking of fucking the sherrif’s daughter.

She’s also proactively requesting for him to teach her, showing her own determination and initiative in the matter.

“Fine. I’ll meet you in the backyard.” He acquiesces, pushing himself away from the counter. He snags one more cookie from the container before disappearing down the hallway.

Her eyes sparkle with excitement as his agreement sinks in, eager to see his reaction when she unveils her little secret to him. She springs off the stool, sliding open the glass door leading to the backyard. Shielding her face from the intense sunlight, she steps outside, ready to embark on this unexpected activity with Javier.

From the back porch, Paloma observes him as he arranges an assortment of targets, using miscellaneous items he had gathered from around his home: empty beer bottles, a vase that had long irked him with its presence, and other odds and ends.

Once he finishes, they stand side by side, facing the trunk of his police cruiser, which he had pulled around to park in the backyard. The trunk is open, revealing the duffle bag of firearms issued to every officer. Javier gestures for Paloma to make her selection, his expression a mixture of anticipation and encouragement.

“Hm,” Paloma muses, tapping her chin as if in deep contemplation before pointing to the double-barrel shotgun.

Javier is slightly taken aback by her choice, but he swiftly retrieves the shotgun from the bag, along with a handful of shells. “ This one’s pretty heavy. Sure you can handle it, palomita?” he asks, a condescending tone lacing his words.

“Trust me, I can handle it.” she responds confidently, her tone carrying a subtle salacious edge. With a sweet smile directed at Javier, she turns and strides confidently towards the shooting area he had prepared.

He stills, muttering how fucked he is before following after her.

“The kickback is stronger with these. You’ll need to get used to the weight and recoil.”

His movements with the gun are graceful and assured. Her breath hitches as she watches in awe, her lips parting slightly as she bites down on the plump flesh, trying to contain the moan that threatens to escape.

Javier’s hands look massive as they wrap around the gun, and she can’t help but imagine those same hands wrapped around her body, exploring every inch with the same precision and mastery. The way he breaks the shotgun open and loads the shells, his fingers flexing and tensing with each movement has heat rising within her, aching for his touch. 

It’s not just the scorching southern temperature that has her feeling hot all over, but the raw, primal desire that he ignites within her with just a simple gesture.

He possesses an effortless confidence that Paloma finds undeniably alluring. As he adjusts his aviator sunglasses and gestures towards the items scattered across the horizon, his gravelly voice resonates with authority and charm.

“Take a deep breath in, then slowly exhale. Point at the target, squeeze the trigger and shoot. Remember, the kickback can be pretty intense so brace yourself for that.”

He looks so handsome following his own instructions, easily shooting down that hideous vase and a beer bottle, causing them to shatter in pieces. The shots echoes out into the vast area, a few birds flying by.

Javier looks over at her, reloading the shotgun before handing it to her carefully, the safety switched on. “Your turn, nena.”

Paloma, with her piercing gaze and a mischievous smile playing on her lips, feigns innocence as she takes the gun from him. Though she is well-versed in handling firearms, she willingly allows Javier to guide her, relishing the opportunity to draw closer to him under the guise of naivety.

She purposefully handles it oddly which has him pressing flush against her back as he guides her hands into the right position. It takes everything in her not to lean back against him, the breeze that passes by paired with his proximity sends a shiver down her spine, the scent of gunpowder mingling with his rugged masculinity and cologne has her damn near whimpering; but she’s able to suppress the noise before it slips up her throat.

“Remember: Aim, squeeze and shoot.” He nudges her leg apart slightly with his knee, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly at the gesture, “And keep yourself grounded. You’re not stupid, so handle this thing carefully. Don’t want you blowing off half of that pretty face.” 

He takes a few steps back, partially to watch her shoot but also because he felt his cock hardening when he pressed himself against her. Feeling the softness of her ass against his crotch was derailing, and it didn’t help that the flimsy fabric of her sundress is thin so he could feel that she wasn’t wearing any fucking panties. He digs into his back pocket to retrieve his pack of smokes, in desperate need of one.

Under Javier’s watchful eye, Paloma raises the shotgun, feeling the weight of it in her hands as she aims at the first target. She switches the safety off, following his instructions (ones she was already aware of) and she keeps the act up, studying the items before her.

After a few moments of doing nothing, Javier speaks up.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to shoot?”

His words spur her into action, a determined glint in her eyes as she readies herself to take aim at the remaining bottles.

But just as she is about to pull the trigger, a sudden flurry of birds burst into the sky, their wings slicing through the air with graceful precision. A smirk dances upon her lips as she swiftly adjusts her stance, the shotgun now pointed skyward with a fluid motion that bespoke her expertise.

In a seamless display of skill and confidence, she tracks the path of the birds with unwavering focus, her finger poised on the trigger. With a steady breath, she squeezes it, unleashing a resounding crack then another that echo across the open expanse. Two birds plummet from the sky in a graceful arc, their feathers ruffling in the wind as they spiraled towards the earth.

Javier watches in awe, unlit cigarette hanging from between his lips, his admiration for her prowess evident in the curve of his growing smile. In that moment, he can’t help but feel a newfound sense of admiration for her.

She wasn’t eager to learn; she was already a master of the fucking craft.

And as she lowers the shotgun, her eyes sparkling with triumph, Javier knows that he has found a kindred spirit in this enamoring woman named Paloma.

He realizes he’s been played a fool, yet his amusement outweighs any sense of annoyance. There is something oddly endearing about the way she had outsmarted him, a playful gleam in her eye that he can’t help but admire.

Her laughter rings out like music in the warm morning air.

“Beginner’s luck, huh?” He says as she beams back at him, pride evident in every line of her expression.

“Daddy’s been on the force since before I was born.”  She explains, her voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. “‘Course he taught me, his only child, how to shoot.” Turning to face him fully, she deftly flicks the safety on the firearm before extending it back to him with practiced ease.

“And we used to go duck huntin’ all the time,” She continues, her words carrying the weight of memories shared with her father. “S’how I got good at shootin’ moving targets. You ever been?” Her question hangs in the air, accompanied by a curious tilt of her head.

Javier feels a sense of déjà vu wash over him at her words, a fleeting flashback to that day outside La Catedral with Steve playing out in his mind vividly.

No I have not been duck hunting…. You… fucking hillbilly.

He won’t call her that, though.

“Nope, never been.”

“We should go one day. Y’know, if you stick around long enough.”

Javier senses that their earlier conversation about his impending departure from town did not sit well with her. A small, narcissistic part of him takes pleasure in the knowledge that she will miss him when he eventually leaves.

Their flirtatious banter fills the air like the crack of gunfire, each moment building upon the next as they continue to spend the rest of the morning in each other’s company— shooting at empty beer bottles to pass the time. With each shot fired and each shared smile, the connection between Javier and Paloma deepens, their playful teasing masking a burgeoning attraction that neither could deny. 

As the sun reaches its high point, harshly casting its rays across the landscape, they find themselves lost in each other, the shotgun forgotten as they head inside to escape the merciless Seminary summer heat.

“Why do you keep your gun against your lower back?” Paloma asks, sitting on top of the kitchen counter as Javier pours both of them a glass of water.

“Outta habit. Feels more comfortable and secure back there.” He hands her the glass and she thanks him softly, taking a large gulp.

He finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from her, his own glass in his hand as he observes her. She tilts her head back ever so slightly, the sun-kissed sheen of sweat adding a ravishing glow to her skin after spending all morning outside.

As Javier’s gaze falls upon Paloma’s exposed forearms, his heart sinks at the sight of the bruises marring her delicate skin. The memory of the chaotic scene at the church floods back—the ramblings of Mr. Thorton, consumed by grief and intoxicated by sorrow, as he roughly seized Paloma in his anguish. The bruises now serve as a reminder of that harrowing encounter, igniting a protectiveness within Javier.

“I didn’t know he grabbed onto you so harshly.” While Javi is sympathetic towards the drunken man considering the unfortunate circumstances— he shouldn’t have put his hands on her the way that he did.

Paloma’s fingers drift absently towards the bruised area, her movements gentle as she brushes over it, her shoulders lifting in a subtle shrug. “It’s nothin’ compared to what they’re going through,” She murmurs softly, her voice trailing off with a tinge of melancholy. The memory of the man’s shattered demeanor weighs on her, reminding her of the profound sadness that had consumed him that day.

Despite the drunken ramblings, the accusatory tone, and the way he laid blame on the entire town for failing his daughter; she didn’t harbor any resentment towards him for his outburst.

While she acknowledges that aggressively approaching her was not the wisest choice, she understands that it was a momentary lapse fueled by grief and alcohol.

Her father had sternly lectured her when she revealed her lack of animosity towards Mr. Thorton and her willingness to forgive him despite his lack of apology. Romeo had been infuriated by his daughter’s empathy, unable to comprehend her capacity for forgiveness in the face of such an incident.

“Still, he was out of line for even—”

“He was drunk out of his mind, Javier. His daughter was brutally murdered and mutilated. Do you all just expect him and his wife to snap back to normal after a few weeks?” Paloma’s words carry an edge, her tone unintentionally sharp, but Javier can see the underlying pain in her eyes.

His own demeanor relaxes slightly, reeling as he realizes she’s not aiming her frustration at him specifically. His gaze reflects understanding rather than irritation as he silently reassures her that he had no intention of pissing her off.

“A death like that breaks families. It’s happening to the Thortons right before our very eyes.” She reflects after a pause, briefly considering the idea of confiding in Javier about her own experiences with loss, particularly concerning her mother.

She recalls the turbulent times following her mother’s death, the strain it placed on her relationship with her father, and the wounds it left in their family dynamic.

Fortunately, Romeo had managed to pull himself (somewhat) together before things escalated too far between them.

However, discussing her mother remains a sensitive topic, one that Paloma avoids whenever possible. Her suicide was a painful and perplexing event, leaving Paloma grappling with unanswered questions and a sense of profound loss.

As a confused and grief-stricken teenager, she had immersed herself in psychology texts, searching for understanding and consolation on the topic of depression and suicide, but finding nothing that truly resonated with her mother’s peculiar situation. 

She blinks, dispelling her thoughts, realizing she has no intention of burdening Javier—or anyone else, for that matter—with her baggage. The memory of her last attempt to confide in someone, the priest at church, surfaces, and she suppresses a sigh of frustration. His well-meaning yet ultimately dismissive response, a canned platitude about finding solace in God, had left her feeling even more isolated in her grief.

It honestly pissed her off.

“That’s just how it is sometimes, querida. A shitty fucking side effect to the whole thing. We can’t do anything about it.”

There’s a depth to her that she keeps carefully hidden, yet Javier can discern it with ease. It manifests in the subtle shifts of her body language, the fleeting emptiness that briefly clouds her gaze, and the sudden defensiveness she displayed when discussing the situation.

Despite her attempts to conceal it, her words are laced with emotion, carrying a weight of sentiment and understanding that hints at the complexities that lurk.

There’s a story hidden behind that guarded stare, waiting to be unveiled.

He won’t grant himself the selfish desire to be the one to unveil it. He doesn’t feel worthy of being the person Paloma entrusts with her deepest vulnerabilities, believing he doesn’t deserve such intimacy from her.

Javier’s pragmatic nature is deeply ingrained, a fundamental aspect of his character that permeates every aspect of his life. It’s a quality that serves him well in his profession, enabling him to approach his duties with efficiency and precision.

Yet, this same pragmatism often proves to be a barrier when it comes to offering comfort to others. He struggles to connect on an emotional level, his rational mind grappling with the intricacy of human emotions in a way that feels foreign to him.

While he excels in navigating practicalities, he finds himself struggling when faced with the nuances of empathy and compassion.

It’s not that Javier is devoid of either emotions; rather, he has a hard time navigating them. He possesses a depth of feeling, but lacks the finesse in managing and expressing them.

A contemplative silence settles between them, each absorbed in their own internal musings.

She feels his stare but she doesn’t waver, instead changing the subject,“I’m sure you’ve heard about Jonah Abbott’s birthday party?” 

Ah, Jonah Abbott, the remarkably young Mayor of Seminary, Texas. Descending from a lineage steeped in politics and law, his ascension to office undoubtedly owes much to familial connections and the influence of nepotism.

Javier’s disdain for him is palpable, despite only encountering the man once. Jonah had stormed into the station, insisting that everyone attend his birthday celebration. His subsequent demand for case updates and entitled behavior when things didn’t align with his expectations had left a sour taste in Javier’s mouth, solidifying his opinion of him as nothing more than an insufferable individual.

Javi had intended to skip out on the party altogether, but after Romeo practically demanded his presence there, he quickly realized that dodging the event was simply not an option.

“Unfortunately I have,” He says sardonically, finishing off his water, “Though I’d rather be anywhere else. Big parties have never been my thing, especially when the night is centered on schmoozing with asshole politicians.”

“Asshole politicians….” She smirks at him, “So you’ve met him? He’s… a piece of work. I have no idea why or how daddy tolerates him.”

Paloma doesn’t mention the many advances the man has made on her and how she’s had to politely decline him each time. He wasn’t unattractive, he held some kind of Kennedy-esque handsomeness but man was he ignorant and flashy as all hell.

His opulent mansion and foreign cars speak volumes about his personal wealth, yet she can’t help but wish he would invest as much in supporting his town as he does in his own pursuits. 

“I’ve had to deal with men like that too many times over the years. Just when you think they can’t get any worse— they do. It’s like they outdo themselves. Fuckin’ annoying pricks. They only get worse with age, too.” 

Javier’s verbal outpouring inadvertently provides Paloma with an opportunity—a chance to delve deeper into his past experiences, particularly his days with the DEA. Sensing an opening, she seizes the moment to probe for insights into his former life, hoping to gain a better understanding of the man behind the badge.

“Who’s the worst one you’ve met?”

The first name that pops into his mind is Bill Stechner. “CIA asshole back in Colombia. But you could really trade in any fucker from either government and it’d all be one in the same. They’re all contenders for worst human beings on the fuckin’ planet.”

Her brows raise in interest, “It still amazes me how you’ve literally worked such an important and uppity job. How the fuck did you end up here, cowboy?” It’s a rhetorical question but it still has him sucking in a breath.

As always, Paloma’s keen observance doesn’t go unnoticed. The spark of curiosity ignites within her, kindling a desire to unravel the layers of Javier’s enigmatic persona. Yet, she exercises caution, mindful not to overstep boundaries or pry too deeply into his guarded past.

She sets down her empty glass, hopping off the counter and smoothing her dress down. “I guess I should get outta your hair and head back into town. I had a lotta fun this mornin’. Thank you for supportin’ the library… and for teachin’ me how to shoot.” She remarks playfully with a wink as he walks her to the door.

“Well, you were a very easy student. A natural.” 

Leaning casually against the door frame, Javier’s gaze remains fixed on Paloma as she retreats backward towards her car. Despite the distance between them, their eyes never waver, locked in a silent exchange of unspoken sentiments.

“I’ll see you around.”

Javier’s gaze drifts idly over the scattered papers before him, the weight of boredom evident in the blank stare he casts upon them.

With a heavy sigh, he resigns himself to the monotony of the graveyard shift, flanked by two younger deputies who share his weary disposition. The quaint confines of the department offer little respite from the tedium, with the only source of distraction being a TV cart positioned at the center of the room, broadcasting an old Astros vs. Mets baseball game.

As the flickering images dance across the screen, Javier’s mind wanders, yearning for something—anything—to break the dullness of the night.

He’d lost interest in the game fairly quickly, turning his focus to the mound of paperwork that has steadily amassed on his desk over the past few days.

However, even the prospect of tackling the administrative tasks failed to hold his interest for long, leaving him adrift in a sea of ennui.

As he rubs at his tired eyes, preparing to rise and seek respite in a smoke break outside, the shrill ring of the phone slices through the quiet of the room. His movements freeze, instinctively drawn to answer the call that interrupts his escape.

“Seminary Sheriff’s Department.”

“Those damn kids are on my property again!”

Javier has to pull the receiver from his ear slightly as the loud yet croaky voice of Arthur Reynolds reverberates through the line.

The elderly man boasts a lineage that traces back to one of the town’s founding families. As a result, he holds vast swathes of land across the area, including a picturesque field of sunflowers that has become a local attraction.

The vibrant blooms draw the attention of passersby, who often linger to admire their beauty. However, Reynolds views their presence as an intrusion, and he isn’t shy about expressing his discontent.

Constantly vigilant, he frequently calls upon the authorities to address the perceived trespassers. Due to his advanced age rendering him incapable of intimidating others into compliance, it falls upon individuals like Javier to enforce Reynolds’ will, ensuring that his domain remains undisturbed.

“Can you be a little more specific, sir.” Javi says in a monotone voice

“How specific I gotta be? S’a group of them drinkin’ and smokin’ around a campfire. Gonna light my goddamn field ablaze. You besta come shut it down and arrest these punks before I go down there myself and cause a ruckus.”

That’s the last thing Javier needs, for the town to burn down on his watch. He begrudgingly acknowledges the validity of the old man’s complaints, recognizing that there is merit to Reynolds’ concerns for once.

“No need for that, an officer will be there soon.” As the phone call concludes, Javier briefly considers dispatching the deputies to handle the situation, viewing it as an opportunity for them to gain some experience.

However, a sense of caution tugs at him, wary of the potential risks involved in sending inexperienced officers into the field late at night. Ultimately, he opts to take matters into his own hands in case anything goes awry.

Donning his department-issued bomber jacket and ensuring his utility belt is fully equipped, Javier swiftly heads for the door. With a sense of purpose, he offers a brief explanation for his departure to the two deputies engrossed in the baseball game before stepping out into the night.

Not much after does Javier find himself navigating the winding dirt path that cuts through the heart of the sunflower field. Towering stalks of golden blooms loom on either side, casting elongated shadows in the dim light of the moon. With a flick of a switch, he illuminates the headlights of the cruiser, their beams slicing through the darkness ahead. The soft glow of a distant bonfire comes into view, beckoning him forward as he makes his way towards the source of the disturbance.

As the piercing lights of the cruiser illuminate the scene, a sense of urgency grips the group of young adults, prompting them to scatter in all directions like startled deer fleeing from a predator.

Amidst the chaos, Paloma lies sprawled on the ground on her back, her gaze fixed upon the expanse of the dark sky overhead, where the full moon casts its radiant glow upon the night.

She’d successfully snuck out of her house and into old man Reynolds’s sunflower field. August assured her they were just eight feet shy of his property line—technically absolving them of any trespassing allegations.

The appeal of an impromptu bonfire, fueled by August’s persuasive phone call the night before, proved irresistible to Paloma. It didn’t take much convincing to coax her into joining the group, the thrill of rebellion emboldening her for the night that lay ahead.

Paloma found herself indulging in more alcohol than she is accustomed to, her inhibitions loosened by the camaraderie of her friends. Peer pressure led her to experiment further, as she hesitantly joined August, Sloane, and Gabriel in sharing a joint. The unfamiliar sensation of the smoke tickled her throat, triggering a fit of coughing that betrayed her novice status in the realm of smoking weed.

“Easy, little dove.” August’s voice was gentle, his hand tracing soothing circles on Paloma’s back as she recovered from her coughing fit. With patience and care, he guided her through the process, demonstrating the proper technique for smoking. His gaze lingered on her lips as she tentatively wrapped them around the filtered tip, his attention a mixture of guidance and something more difficult to discern.

The combined effects of alcohol and weed have her feeling as if she were floating outside of her own body, disconnected from the reality unfolding around her. Time blurred and details became hazy as the evening wore on. Before she knew it, August and a select few had departed, leaving her to her own devices— a directive she barely recalls amidst her altered state.

“We’ll be back later. You just stay put and enjoy yourself.” August’s voice echoed in her mind as she found herself lost in a swirl of sensations. 

The alcohol infused her with a sense of giddiness and warmth, while the weed enveloped her in a cloud of lightness and euphoria.

The mention of cops jolt Paloma out of her intoxicated stupor, sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. With a sudden burst of urgency, she propels herself into a seated position, cursing under her breath as she struggles to gain her footing. Every movement feels sluggish and disjointed, as if she were wading through molasses in her attempt to confront whatever impending threat was approaching.

Had her father discovered her absence, realizing she had slipped out into the night and now found herself high as a kite?

Amidst the flurry of activity, someone had hastily extinguished the crackling flames of the bonfire, leaving her disoriented and stumbling in the darkness. With nothing but the ethereal glow of the moonlight to guide her, she found herself left in the eerie stillness of the night as she navigates the shadowy landscape.

Javier steps out of his cruiser, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the darkness as he surveys the deserted scene. The group had scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving him with an empty field and a sinking sense of slight frustration.

With a resigned sigh, he turns to head back to his vehicle, his mind already drifting towards the paperwork awaiting him back at the station.

But then, a faint sound catches his attention— a soft shuffling emanating from the darkness nearby. Instinctively, he whirls around, directing the beam of his flashlight towards the source of the noise.

His eyes widen in surprise as he catches sight of Paloma, tentatively emerging from the sea of sunflowers with her hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice cuts through the night, tinged with concern and exasperation as he surveys her unsteady form. His gaze narrows as he takes in her swaying movements, a frown etching across his features. “Are you drunk?”

Her relief is palpable at the sight of Javier standing before her, his presence a welcome reprieve from the uncertainty that had gripped her moments earlier. She offers him a sheepish smile, grateful for his familiar face and not that of one of the jackass deputies.

“Er... just a little,”  She admits with a giggle, her hands lowering slowly as she squints against the harsh beam of his flashlight. “Could you, like, point that thing elsewhere? M’gonna go blind.” Her words are punctuated by a hiccup, her steps unsteady as she inches closer to him.

As she draws near, Javier catches a distinct scent in the air— the familiar aroma of smoke from the bonfire mixed with something altogether less innocent.

It’s a scent he knows all too well from his days as a DEA agent, the unmistakable odor of marijuana lingering on her. With a sinking feeling, he takes in the bloodshot, droopy eyes of the girl before him, irritation welling within him.

“Are you high, too?” He knows all too well the allure of drugs, having spent years chasing down those who peddled them on the streets. Yet, seeing her caught up in such activities strikes a chord within him, stirring up a complex mix of emotions that he struggles to reconcile.

“Maybe,” she drawls the word out, her voice laced with a playful edge. “Why? Are you a narc? Oh, wait... you are. A certified and official narc.” Her words are punctuated by another bout of giggles and hiccups, the sound grating on Javier’s nerves. It’s a familiar insult, one that cuts a little too close to home given August had called him the same thing not too long ago.

“Who were you out here with?” Javier demands, his frustration evident as he flicks off the flashlight, plunging them into darkness save for the soft glow of the moon overhead and the headlights of his car.

“Some friends,” Paloma replies with a careless shrug, her tone nonchalant. “Come on, officer, why does it matter? We were just having fun… and technically we’re eight feet from the property line so we weren’t trespassing.”

Some friends. The implication hangs heavy in the air, a not-so-subtle reminder of her recent association with August and his clique. A storm of conflicting emotions that threatens to cloud his judgment as he struggles to maintain his composure in the face of her nonchalant demeanor.

“Why does it matter?” He scoffs, “Public intoxication. Illicit drug use. Disturbance of the public peace or the peace of others. I can keep going.” His jaw clenches tightly, his words laden with the weight of authority as he lists off a litany of potential charges. Many of them are familiar to him, recurring offenses he’s seen in the files of the company she’s recently decided to keep.

She rolls her eyes dismissively, her confidence undeterred by his stern demeanor. “Oh please. We both know you’re not really going to bring me in for any of that.” she retorts, her voice dripping with of sarcasm and self-assurance.

The idea of Javier restraining her sends a thrill coursing through her veins. The image of his body pressed against hers, the sensation of the cold metal restraints encircling her wrists— it’s all too tantalizing to resist. Yet, even in her intoxicated state, a small voice of reason whispers in the back of her mind, urging her to exercise caution.

A fleeting impulse tugs at her to reach out and touch him, to feel the solid warmth of his chest beneath her fingertips. But a sobering sense of restraint holds her back, the knowledge that such a gesture would only complicate an already precarious situation.

“I’m not entertaining this. Get in the car, I’m taking you home,” He asserts, his tone firm as he turns away from Paloma, intent on ending the conversation then and there. But before he can take a single step, her hand shoots out to grasp at his elbow, her acrylic nails digging into the fabric of his bomber jacket.

“Wait, not I can’t go home yet. Not like this,” Paloma pleads, her voice tinged with desperation as she realizes the gravity of her situation. Though she’s sobered up somewhat since Javier’s arrival, the thought of sneaking back into her house in her current inebriated state fills her with dread.

His gaze flickers down to where she’s holding onto him, his expression unreadable as he weighs his options. “Shoulda thought about that before you came out here and fucked yourself up.”

Feeling a surge of annoyance bubbling up within her, she retracts her grasp, her fists clenching at her sides as she meets Javier’s gaze with steely determination. “Okay, fine. Whatever— I’ll just wait for August to come back and he’ll take me home,” she declares with defiance.

The mention of his name sparks an unexpected surge of possessiveness and jealousy within Javier, if he tightens his jaw any further; he might dislocate it. Though he tries to mask his emotions, the tension in his stance betrays his inner turmoil, leaving her to wonder what thoughts are swirling behind his unreadable facade.

“That’ll be worse for you in the off chance that you get caught. Now get in the car so we can get you some food and sober you up. I’m taking you home.” Javier asserts, his tone brooking no argument as he gestures towards the passenger seat of the still-running police cruiser.

He watches intently as she hesitates for a moment before reluctantly stomping her way around the car and sliding into the seat.

The ride into town is filled with an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of static emanating from the police radio as Javier relays updates to the officers back at the station. She sits with her arms crossed defiantly, her body angled away from him as she stares out of the window, lost in her own high thoughts.

Pulling into the diner parking lot, Javier instructs her to stay put as he exits the vehicle and disappears inside the restaurant. He quickly places an order for a simple meal, then returns with a takeaway bag in hand, his expression unreadable as he hands it to her through the open window.

Now parked at the further end of the driveway, the silhouette of the Leighton family home looms in the distance.

“Thanks for the food..” she murmurs gratefully as they lean against the closed trunk of the police cruiser, the aroma of the meal enticing her high senses as she quite literally begins to devour its contents.

Javier remains silent, allowing the tension from earlier to gradually dissipate as they stand together in the quiet stillness of the night. The only sounds that fill the air are the soft chirping of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Feeling more like herself now, she greedily slurps the remaining contents of her root beer through the straw before setting it aside. She waits for a moment, studying Javier’s side profile before offering an apology.

“I shouldn’t have gotten such an attitude with you back there. You were just doing your job... and if it makes you feel any better, this is the first time I’ve done anything like this.” She confesses, her tone tinged with sincerity.

He runs his knuckles along his jaw, briefly glancing over at her and meeting her gaze. He can’t help but soften at her words, releasing some of the tension that had been coiled within him.

“Just looking out for you. You never know what kind of mess you’ll get into with a crowd like that,” he admits, his tone gentle yet firm. 

“A crowd like that?” She repeats, brows furrowing slightly and feeling a twinge of offense on behalf of August and the others.

“Let’s not be daft, querida. Your friends like trouble— what lost twenty-something-year old doesn’t? I’m not trying to piss you off, I’m just being realistic.”

She just hums in acknowledgement, choosing to focus on the remaining fry in her container to avoid further confrontation.

“You ever been in love, cowboy?” Paloma’s sudden question feels like a punch in the gut, catching him off guard.

He stumbles over his words, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in conversation. “I— sorry, how did we go from that,” he gestures vaguely to their previous discussion, “to this?”

“By changing the subject. I’m just curious. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she replies nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders as she crumples up her napkin and tosses all her trash into the takeaway bag.

Javier pokes his tongue against his cheek, contemplating her question for a moment before reaching for the cigarettes in the inside pocket of his jacket. What the hell, he’ll indulge her. “Yes... no... I don’t know,” he finally answers, lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag.

“All of the above?” She tilts her head, adjusting her denim mini skirt and straightening her cropped camisole.

Javier inhales deeply before continuing. “Before I left for Colombia, I was set to get married.”

Her eyes widen in surprise, and she leans in closer, eager for more details. “What happened?” she asks, her curiosity palpable as she watches him intently.

The Javier Peña, known for his charismatic ways and romantic escapades, suddenly bound to one woman in the most profound display of commitment. Oh, she’s intrigued beyond measure.

“Couldn’t go through with it. I thought I loved her, Lorraine, but then I realized that I just loved the idea of her. Couldn’t see myself spending the rest of my life at her side so I spared her all the bullshit and drama and just left…” He cringes slightly, flicking off some ash. “Left her at the altar the day of the wedding. Drove straight past the chapel and to the airport. Flew to Quantico for training and a few months later I was in Colombia.”

She listens intently, her heart aching with empathy for the man who stands before her, baring his soul in a rare moment of vulnerability.

His story hangs heavy in the air. The ember of his cigarette glows in the darkness, casting shadows across his face as he speaks.

She recalls her own brush with heartbreak, the sting of abandonment still fresh in her memory. The parallels between their experiences are both eerie and comforting.

“So you were her George,” She murmurs, her voice soft with understanding.

Javier nods, his expression a mix of regret and resignation. “Yeah. I guess. When you told me what you had gone through that night, I felt so bad. I still do. Me and Lorraine have talked things out since. She’s actually married now. Has two kids and a loving husband. He was able to give her all the things I knew I couldn’t.”

“It’s funny how life works out,” she muses, her voice carrying a hint of empathy. “You both found what you needed in the end, I suppose.”

He nods, exhaling a cloud of smoke that dissipates into the night air. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, the weight of the shared revelations hanging between them. It’s moments like these that reveal the depth of their connection, beyond the surface banter and flirtation.

“And after Lorraine? Was there anyone else you fell for? A lover in Colombia?”

Her name echoes in his mind like a haunting melody, each syllable laced with memories of their tangled past. Helena. Their relationship had begun as nothing more than a transaction, a simple exchange of information for physical intimacy. But as time passed, their bond deepened, evolving into something he never expected.

Helena had been different from the others, a beacon of light in the darkness of his days in Colombia. She listened to him, truly listened, offering comfort and understanding when the weight of his job threatened to crush him. In her arms, he found refuge from the storm raging within him, a sanctuary where he could lay bare his soul without fear of judgment.

But their idyllic bubble was shattered by the harsh realities of their world. The fallout from the Gacha debacle had left Helena broken and vulnerable, a stark reminder of the dangers they faced every day. Javier wrestled with his feelings for her, torn between his duty and his desire to protect her. Yet, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shield her from the horrors that awaited her.

As he recalls their tumultuous journey together, Javier is plagued by a sense of guilt and regret. He had failed her, failed to keep her safe from the darkness that had consumed the country. And now, her name serves as a painful reminder of his shortcomings, haunting him like a ghost from his past.

“No. Just a long string of meaningless sex. Didn’t have the time or energy to date anyone. The job was too demanding for it.”

She reaches out tentatively, resting a hand on his arm. “Well… Thanks for sharing with me. I know how difficult it can be to open up like that,” She says softly, flashing him a small smile.

He meets her gaze, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Of course, hermosa.”

As she straightens up from leaning against his cruiser, a soft sigh escapes her lips, carrying with it a hint of resignation. “I think I’m ready to sneak back in now.”

He nods in acknowledgment as he takes a final drag of his cigarette. Exhaling a plume of smoke, he crushes the butt under the sole of his boot. “Right. We’ll keep this night between the two of us, yeah?”

She responds with a nod, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. She gets back in the car, ready to get into her bed.

He starts the engine, the soft purr of the car’s motor blending with the nocturnal symphony of crickets and cicadas. As they roll down the driveway, he keeps the lights off, wary of getting caught.

It’s not the first time he’s had to sneak a girl back home.

Just as they near the end of the driveway, she curses softly, a sudden realization dawning upon her. Slapping her palm against her forehead, she lets out an exasperated sigh, prompting Javier to glance at her quizzically.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need the ladder to get back upstairs. The lattice fence broke when I snuck out earlier.” She completely forgot about the mishap, it had almost woken her father up.

“Do you need help getting it?”

“…Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

So they sneak around to the backyard, the metallic finish of the elongated ladder gleaming beneath the growing grass that surrounds it. It reminds Paloma that she needs to mow the lawn soon.

As she bends down to grab it, she feels a sudden, unexpected sensation slithering against her leg. Panic rises within her, her muscles tensing in preparation to let out a guttural scream, but before any sound can escape her lips— a strong hand clamps over her mouth, muffling any noise.

She freezes, heart pounding in her chest, as she glances wide-eyed at Javier.

“It’s just a garter snake, nena, it’s not going to hurt you.”

A warm glow then spills from inside the house, casting long shadows across the backyard.

Paloma’s heart leaps into her throat, her pulse quickening as she envisions her father stepping out onto the porch, his stern gaze piercing through the darkness.

With a sense of urgency, Javier gently pulls her back into the comforting embrace of the shadows, his touch a reassuring anchor amidst the chaos of their clandestine escapade.

Their bodies press close together as they hold their breath, hoping to remain unseen.

Her lips are still against his palm while his other hand has a firm hold on her hip. His thumb instinctively traces slow, soothing circles against her skin. It fires up every nerve of her body.

After what seems like an eternity, a soft, distant sound of a flush is heard, followed by a click as the light flickers off.

In unison, they both release the tension they had been holding, his hand gently sliding away from her face as she exhales deeply.

Neither of them attempt to move for a split second, and it’s not until she pulls away that he’s brought back down to Earth.

“Fuck— that was close.”

An electric tension crackles between them, infusing every movement with a heady rush of anticipation. Wordlessly, they resume their task, the air thick with both desire and apprehension.

Each touch, each shared glance teeters on the precipice of control.

It’s a delicate dance, teeming with an unspoken longing that threatens to overflow, begging to be unleashed in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Once Javier is sure that the ladder is steady enough for her to climb, he takes a step back to make room for her.

“Alright, princesa, up the tower you go.”

She doesn’t say anything, her gaze remains fixed on him, a silent exchange of emotions passing between them before she begins her ascent up the ladder.

She makes it up a few steps before she stops and turns to face him fully.

In a bold move, Paloma reaches out, her fingertips delicately curling around the collar of his jacket. With a gentle tug, she draws him closer, her lips meeting his in a fervent kiss.

Caught off guard, he momentarily freezes, but the warmth of her touch and the intensity of her kiss quickly erases any hesitation. In an instant, they’re lost in each other, their lips moving with a fiery urgency, igniting the flame that has been smoldering between them.

Everything else fades away, leaving only the two of them lost in a sea of passion and desire. With each kiss, they explore each other’s mouths. Licking, sucking, biting; it’s better than anything either of them could have ever imagined.

She can’t help but moan softly into his mouth at the way his hands move over her body. Every caress feels like a promise of pleasure to come, and she surrenders completely to Javier.

His muscles tense as he pulls her closer, his touch becoming more urgent. His fingers trace her curves, lingering on the places that make her gasp with pleasure. She can’t help but arch her back, pressing herself even closer to him, desperate for more.

As their bodies meld together, there is sense of completion that they’ve never experienced before. It’s as if they were always meant to be together, two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.

Reluctantly, she pulls back first leaving him yearning for more as he reaches out, chasing after her lips.

Their fervent kisses have left his mouth slightly swollen and lips glistening, adorned with remnants of her saliva, evidence of the passion with which they had indulged in each other.

Her eyes are swimming with lust as she brushes some of his hair to the side, “I had to,” she whispers softly, her voice barely above a murmur; filled with affection and sincerity,  “just once.”

Her words carry a weight of longing and vulnerability, a confession of the depth of her emotions for him.

“Buenas noches, Javi.”

He’s so bossy, He makes me dance. Tryna sit in the back of his whip And just cancel my plans. Sweet like candy, But he’s such a man. He knows just what it does When he’s holding me tight And he calls me “Moonlight” too. 

[innocent-cat]

Bbg, can you do a Jealous Tsukishima x Reader plzzz? Ily bbg /p

Never watched Haikyuu in my life. Read up on him, so be warned, i will NOT have the most accurate character of him down in this oneshot. So, with the fact that my knowledge of Tsukishima and Haikyuu are very frail, please excuse any errors, or poor use of character's behavior, or general plot. Making this js for u babes fr xx (lyt)

(I also have no clue how volleyball works. LOSER!!!!)

Jealous!Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Warnings - Reader calling someone a 'whore', uncomfortable advancements/situations, harassment to reader, entitled man,

"My loser is the best loser.", Tsukishima x Reader

.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺༻

Your boyfriend of a few months, was currently playing volleyball for your collective high school, Karasuno. You didn't quite understand why it was so tense on the court, but you chose to cheer him on regardless whenever he had a game.

Being known as the person who just happens to be dating Tsuki, his team mates often poke fun at him to you. It's funny most of the time, but it gets weird having a group of people try to follow you around because you're dating their friend. Although, if he's not with you, hes with them, so you always know where to look when in doubt. How kind of them. To what you knew, he one of the blockers of the team. He told you often about how much his team needs him. You, of course, feed into this energy.

"Yeahh go get em' tiger.. you're so important!"

He always cracks a smile at your strange form of cheering, and appreciates it. Although he found it strange, he felt he should play better for you. Weird right? Trying to impress lil' ol' you.. Tonight was a night unlike any other game night, he was within his position and supporting his team with planned blocks. You couldn't tell which team was winning, but you tried your best to stay positive about it. which- meant- very, VERY, incomprehensible cheering. Mumbling, shouting, or just smiling, in hopes of some how, you sent the right message. "Ohh wow nice shot.."

You sounded a lot like a mother cheering for her kid. It was definitely working. (You hoped.)

Growing tired and confused, you eventually space out and leave yourself to your own thoughts. You have no clue whats going on, so you just imagine what ever you feel like. A cow spinning? A rockstar chicken? Your doll who you had left in time out before you left for falling and scaring you? Okay maybe not them. You felt bad for not returning them to the window you pretended they liked so much before you left. Oh no. What if it's lonely? It's probably lonely. Cold, shut out, shunned.. SHAMED, in time out.. Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel the weight beside you shift. Assuming it was Tsukishima, you turned to the weight with a smile, before jumping at the realization it wasn't your monotone'd boyfriend. "Hey! Couldn't help but notice you were sitting here all alone and sad looking.. Don't worry, I'm here to accompany you now. totally like a prince in shiny armor." Baffled, you stare at the teen who had approached you and sat next to you so confidently. You had to admit, you were impressed with how he wasn't embarrassed. You did think he was weird though. "Oh. Thanks?" You shrugged off his enthusiasm and tried to be as nice as you could force yourself to be. Tolerating him was already hard enough now that you're tired, confused, and bewildered at the sudden company. "Do you even really get this sport? You've been totally out of here the entire game." He poked at you. Confused, you look him up and down, taking in his description to ask Tsukishima about him later. What a weirdo. "Yea. My boyfriend is the nerdy blocker up there with the real thick rimmed glasses." You pointed him out, smiling softly. When the teen beside you noticed him, you let your finger fall, and your hands link back together in your lap. Within that moment, The ball quickly advanced to the front of the enemy's net, and they spiked it. Tsukishima tried to block it but- It smacked him. Square in the face. You stifled a small laugh as you watched the now stunned blocker look around hoping for someone to sympathize with him. He looks towards you like a child telling a parent they had just thrown up. Your face breaks out into a wide, humorous smile. His stance, his face, and his slightly pushed down glasses, all was a likely embarrassing moment for him, but all the funnier to you.

Covering your mouth with your hand, you snicker and giggle as you look back at the shocked volleyball player. You watch his eyes travel to the left of you, where the teen who started small talk sat beside you. His eyebrow raised, and obviously smacked back into reality with envy, he scowls at the boy beside you. From far away, you don't notice the facial change he shows.

The whistle blows, and the game starts anew. He turns back, and your small interaction comes to an end. He fixes his glasses, pushing the rim back onto the tip of his nose ridge, and gets back into his position. "Soo.. your boyfriend.. kinda sucks. At volleyball, I mean." The slightly taller boy curts, referring to the fact your boyfriend just got totally bodied by a ball. That probably hurt. A lot. You giggle. "Not all the time, but I also can't tell. I just kinda hope." "You know.. I play baseball.. It's a lot easier to understand than any game of volleyball. Lot cooler too. Lot cooler to date a baseball player over a beach game made professional player." You pause, face contorting at his words. What a man whore. Flirting with someone when he's aware they have a boyfriend? Steep. Real steep. Also, again, really weird. You look towards the boy, raise an eyebrow, and wait for him to lead on what he was saying. You wanted to see how long he'd drag his little 'You should totally ditch your lame, geeky, loser of a boyfriend because I play baseball.' game. Waiting for a response, you decide he's taking too long to click that you want him to talk back. You collect your things to stand, and like a mutt begging you to stay, he grabs your wrist. "Wow wow wow- Where you going there? You haven't even heard me out!"

"What is there to hear out? you're asking me to out right ditch my boyfriend because you play baseball and I don't even know your name." You scoffed, ready to make another statement before he tugs you back down, however, this time, instead of on a bench, he tugs you onto his lap.

"Would you- Get off of me?" You seethed, struggling against his arms, he snakes himself around your waist and under your popliteal (A/N, the popliteal is basically your knee armpit). Oblivious to the bell of the game ending, you keep fighting against him, clambering, and caught up like a spider's web. You hear the distant sound of shoes squeaking against the polished gym floors, advancing towards you, with the speed of just over a power walk. Looking over to the approaching sound, you look directly at none other than who is likely about to be your actual knight in shining armor. It did bug you how the guy got the saying wrong. Again, what a weirdo. "Do you mind? Did you always get your way as a kid or something? Put them down. You look genuinely pathetic." Tsukishima looks down at the odd teenager, towering above him. "Oh- is this- your boyfriend? Why didn't you tell me yo-" He's cut off with an uppercut from your now loose hand, to his jaw. Releasing you, he rubs his jaw, muttering curses and how 'you were ugly anyway' and 'You're lucky I even looked at you' Grabbing your bag, Tsukishima kicks him in the side, watching the man curl over clutching his side like a defeated pill bug. Scoffing, you turn to Tsukishima who is still shooting a lour face at the frustratingly idiotic oaf. Patting his shoulder, you guide yourself off the benches, hovering over railing as to not trip. You notice the lack of his presence, and turn to see he's still cursing at the man, scolding, and kneeling, like a parent to a child who broke a VERY expensive vase. "Tsuki. C'mon. We most literally don't have all day. Don't bother with him, he's just some moron. Getting under your skin lets him win." He gives the man one more apparently satisfying kick, before turning to accompany you. You follow him to the lockers, waiting outside to respect the team's privacy. After around 10 minutes of clicking and texting friends on your phone, you see a four eyed monster walk out of the lockers. Black hoodie, a brown flannel, and tan cargos. "No hello? Not even from the love of my life?" You call towards him, walking by him, and poking the side of his ribcage waiting for a response. "Right right, whatever. Hey." He smiled softly at you, his eyes telling a different story. "You okay? something up?" You interrogate, snaking your arm around his, and fitting hands like a puzzle piece. He huffs, thumb rubbing the back of your hand, continuing to walk, watching the stars. He walked you back to your apartment, every day after school and after games. If you recall, it was 'Something he just has to do for you', and ever since he's always done it. Even when either of you were upset at each other. You looked up at the stars with him, breathing in the cool, clean, night air. As you guys paced, you tripped. He tightened his hold on you, and pulled you back up. 'Thanks.' You muttered, unsure of what to say in the rough and awkward environment. "That guy. Who was flirting with you? That really bothered me during the game. I think I was too focused on you ditching me for him that I lost focus." There was a short pause, in between it you let out an understanding hum, and rubbed circles into the back of his hand via thumb. "..Did you.. say anything? To him?" He looks to the right, avoiding your gaze, seemingly embarrassed to even ask. "Yeah. First thing I said to him other than 'oh' was that you were my boyfriend. Real weird guy. Really weird looking guy too. Jaw too chiseled, too built, and I never even talked to him before. Don't even know the guys name." Tsuikishima let out a sigh of relief, tensity visually leaving his muscles. "I knew that." The two of you both laughed, enjoying the clear environment now comfortable to breathe in again.

"Uhm. Did you win?" You sheepishly look towards him, smiling. "It was totally rigged. I was the best player there."

"Glorifying yourself again, Tsuki?" "Nah. I'm definitely a huge carry for the team." He restates, letting out a snicker after hearing your laugh, self aware of how much he relies on his team-mates.

(P.S, please leave more requests for me. I'm desperate for prompts.)

[houseofmarcella]

Obligatory Philip/History Essay for my friends (pt1)

Recently I have been seeing various memes and art pieces (that are all lovely and beautiful) and some weird twitter discourse about Philip, the show's lore, real-life historical tragedies, and a complete misinterpretation of 17th-century christianty. I was hoping to clarify some things and put out some of my pet theories.

Obligatory: I am but a humble fan and history enthusiast, and this is all written in good fun and with the understanding that any children's cartoon depicting historical figures (even fictional ones) is not always going to portray things accurately to the finest details. To begin,

THEY'RE DUTCH (ethnically?)

'Witte' is a Dutch surname meaning white or blond. Combining it into Wittebane gives us 'the white bane', and the rather obvious allusion to the European colonization (and Christianization) of the Americas. Contrary to the common belief that the continent was only colonized by the Spanish/French/English, the Dutch were the first Europeans in the area. I have always had the pet theory that the brothers were Dutch orphans who were forced to join an English settlement.

The whole "tryed to fit in with the town by becoming witchhunters" thing could easily be interpreted as them doing their best to acclimate to their new town.

I really like how this could parallel Luz and Camilla too. Caleb 'taking care of Philip by pushing witchhunting as a way to protect him from townsfolk with hawkeyes for anything weird/of the devil. This can also feed into the 'betrayal' aspect of their relationship, where Philip feels that Caleb left him, but Caleb was older and just trying to keep them safe. (Flapjack choosing Hunter when he expresses the desire to "choose his own future" in HP feels... relevant)

Earlier in the fandom, it was a general impression that the brothers were the town founders, and not just some orphan kids from an ethnicity the townsfolk didn't like. I wonder if this was a change from the shortening of s3, but the nature of the statue seems to imply they were literate and probably did something important enough to be remembered besides disappearing mysteriously into the night.

Timeline for quick reference

1613 somehow, the Wittebanes arrive in Gravesfield, a town that should not yet exist (from TtT).

1614 Adriaen Block (dutch) sails up the Connecticut River and opens the door for the Dutch West India Company to trade for furs with local Mohegan and Pequot tribes. THIS IS THE FIRST EUROPEAN SURVEY IN THE AREA, let alone a settlement!

1634 Wethersfield, the first English/Puritan town in Connecticut, is founded, this is the town that has a historic district called 'Old Wethersfield' and was the location of the conneticut witch trials (sound familiar?).

1636-37 The Pequot War

1647-70 The Connecticut Witch Trials Occur

1664 The English take over New Amsterdam and rename it New York

Wethersfield... Gravesfield...

The town Wiki page cites Wethersfield as Dana Terrace's hometown, and though her official birth location is actually a town nearby, the parallels here are so overt I will simply summarise.

Wethersfield has a historic district called "Old Wethersfield" and just LOOK AT THIS CEMETARY! A few of the town's founders were pretty damn important to the Pequot War as well.

Most importantly, Wethersfield was the site of most of the major executions in the Connecticut Witch Trials.

The Witch 'Hunter' General & Hopkins

Matthew Hopkins (obv. the inspiration for Jacob Hopkins in show) was an English (this is in England btw) puritan who hunted women and poor people on a religious zealot murder spree from 1644-1647. He killed at least over 100 people and could arguably be held as the person who started this frenzy.

He published The Discovery of Witches and called himself the "Witch-Finder General". The change from finder to hunter in the show is probably just for clarity, but the reference is there.

Pt2, with a discussion about puritanism/calvinism, how Belos probs used his view of catholicism to build the government and religion of the modern BI, and how the grimwalkers relate to the Calvinist idea of predestination and salvation... will come soon.

Thank you @ter-claw-thorne, @theawkwardarchaeologist, @triple--a--threat--a--threat, and @died-of-ligma, for dealing with my rambling.

I apologize if there are any spelling errors in this essay, it's 2 am and I had a real history essay due two hours ago.

[nerumii0]

I have no words to express my happiness towards this nice reblogs ❤️❤️

I'm still on the challenge, I left it postponed due to the strong storms that cause blackouts in my city and affect my follow-up, but I promise to continue with. I have the ideas and I hope to finish then as soon as possible T T

Thank you for supporting this fanart :'3

And I'm sorry if I didn't reply, I don't know how to do it directly, at this point I feel like a noob old lady on Tumblr XD

But anyway, answering to @phdbabygirlism, yes, I chose the cover idea, thank you very much for the nice suggestion :>

And lastly for @pure-penguin-gold , ah, nice questions my pal, to be honest I didn't think about the whole backstory very well, since at first I planned to draw them as I usually do, like human versions, but I don't know, I thought the concept wouldn't have hit as much as it's currently doing.

But let's begin, answering your questions and to create a interesting background, which by the way I hope will satisfy your curiosity, if not, any idea and suggestion you have in mind is welcome ^^

I was considering maybe a rich human got them, I mean having a boa like Savio is already a complex issue, because he managed to break his enclosure system easily from the two zoos where he had already been. So, he wouldn't even strive to break a common terrarium without so many safety protocols from a regular guy and wouldn't make sense at all why he's stuck in that terrarium alongside Clemson's annoying company :P

Given how expensive the materials are for reinforcing a good terrarium and subsequently preventing his escape, among some possible candidates as his owner, a rich human is perfect, he could cover those expenses.

He did not necessarily take them just like that at the same time in the same place, but rather he obtained them separately.

Starting with Clemson, considering the original plot we know very little of his origin, more than he's a multi-talented lemur giving the impression of being a servile subject who sought the crown and the power to reign unsuccessfully. Then, we've got nothing. Applying a different dynamic where he have never been in the Central Park zoo, and he never met Julien, instead of being a king, he seeks something similar to Blue Hen, a sort of wealth that will make him powerful and rich using his impressive wit and pretending to be servile for the humans in order to get what he wants.

I'm not sure yet what scenario would be accurate for the backstory of how the rich human did find him, but I'm up with these possibilities, such as in a private zoo, maybe an auction or an exclusive collectors club,

Surely it goes hand in hand with illegality, but not so close to animal abuse or exploitation, like I mentioned, Clemson used his charms winning over the staff of one of these places, and therefore the staff realized the amount of money they could earn thanks to him, to which Clemson didn't really mind temporarily, we know he's also a greedy guy, and he aimed to achieve being in hands of an influent human to be on top later.

The human attended in one of the possibilities and he got impressed by his skills and charming, so he decided to buy him, although Clemson doesn't see himself like a pet, instead considered the human his personal slave rather than his owner, and so since he earned a comfortable life, he didn't find the point to escape, in other words the owner's home it's a huge paradise for him. He has jewels, books, cozzy cushions to sleep and so on.

And of course, he has more liberties than Savio, he is able to go wherever he wants and where he shouldn't be without his owner noticing.

On the other hand, Savio's backstory wouldn't change much. Given his dangerous nature, I imagined that perhaps as Savio earned his bad reputation, through the news it reaches this human, I already mentioned the human is an animal fan, especially with reptiles, so Savio quickly caught all his attention, but unlike Clemson, the human had a more complicated time getting Savio, since at first animal control took it upon themselves to catch this untamable snake, basically saving him the dirty work. Maybe with bribes and through various dirty illegal paperwork processes he got him, In addition, Savio was at a disadvantage considering that the zoos where he had been no longer wanted to accept such an aggressive boa.

Savio is unaware of what awaits him, believing that he would be transferred to another zoo until he ends up in this human's mansion and that is where he meets Clemson. Savio arrives the same way he arrived at the Central Park Zoo and obviously attracts Clemson's attention, seeing a new animal around the mansion, at first makes him feel threatened to lose his chance to be on top, suspecting that Savio could be a rival, but after getting to know him he sees that he hasn't the slightest interest in human possessions, other than taking his revenge against the penguins and King Julien.

[tantai-jin]

thouttes abt the boy and the heron

informal summary of some of my impressions and interpretations now that i've watched the film twice and want to put some of this into words... more like assorted notes than an essay with a refined theme or thesis. obv some spoilers ahead

p much the biggest impression i had after my first watch was that this film felt a lot sadder than many of the other studio ghibli a/o miyazaki films, and i think i pinned down some of the reasons better after a second viewing. main examples of this to me were

prominence of death in the story/worldbuilding

dreamlike elements were generally more unsettling and lonely rather than whimsical

music

protagonist's relative solemness

the finality of goodbyes and endings

want to expand on all of these a bit -- be warned that i will have some comparisons w other ghibli films, but since i have not watched all of them super recently and there are a couple i haven't watched (from up on poppy hill, porco rosso) my comparisons may not be that accurate. but i'm not writing an academic essay here, so bleh. for me, the point of comparison here is not to say which story did what better but to look at some similar elements and see how they evolved to serve this story. anyway!

prominence of death in the story/worldbuilding

i think actually the majority of ghibli protagonists have to deal with death intimately -- they may be orphans or have a parent who passed away or is on the verge of it. i think the difference in this movie is that mahito is still grieving for his mother in a more obvious (to the audience) way with his dreams, and then he enters another world through the tower that is "mostly" filled with the dead. kiriko and himi are not dead, but they seem to be more "liminal" than say natsuko or mahito -- younger versions of the people that mahito knows, around in this other world for a very long time, perhaps as long as they can remember, taking care of the warawara who will eventually become the living in the world(s) "above". it's not really clear (to me) if this is THE underworld or afterlife -- although it's filled with the dead, to me it felt like it was just a possible location, one of many possibilities. but then again it also hosts The Stone, which floats above a little island covered in blocks that are made of stones for tombs and tainted with malice. the source of power (and arguably life) rests directly above one representation/connection to death. i don't have a full thesis here but i am chewing on the thought

i thought it was really interesting that the dead did not have the power to kill in this world, and kiriko and himi seem to be the only people apart from the tower master who have powers (kiriko with that wand of fire) + the dead and warawara have to rely on kiriko for the fish catches. anyway i think death itself felt more prominent to me in this film bc mahito was always feeling the absence of his mother and then sunk into a world of death, even if death was not the only thing in that world.

dreamlike elements were generally more unsettling and lonely rather than whimsical

this movie felt a lot more liminal and generally "dreamy" to me, and while a lot of ghibli films are known for their whimsy and cute elements i felt that this one leaned a lot harder into creatures or sensations that were less pleasant. ofc i don't think it's the first one to do this -- off the top of my head, princess mononoke, spirited away, and HMC all definitely depict some "unsettling" stuff like gushing blood, goo, creatures or people melting, and so on. but in those works i feel like there are also a lot of beautiful or cute and whimsical creatures or moments to balance that out a bit, whereas in the boy and the heron it seems to happen less or it Feels less (to me) bc the unsettling parts have greater impact (to me) than the ~beauty~. the heron is beautiful and graceful at a distance, and then it follows him from window to window, interrupts his sleep, flies directly at him like an attack. you have the serene pond by mahito's house in his original world, and then there are the mobs of fish and frogs chanting at mahito and almost smothering him. you have the cutie warawara, and then some of them are eaten or go up in flames. you have the beautiful structures and gardens of himi's home and The Tower, and then you have the unsettling murderous parakeets in them. maybe the point is that they are all "tainted" or somewhat balanced like this.

also, the loneliness. again, not unique to this film, but i felt the presence of it more heavily, especially visually. in mahito's house in the countryside, most of the rooms are quite bare, save for natsuko's bedroom with its ornate wallpaper and carpet. mahito's room is quite sparse apart from the books on his desk. once we get into the sea world, it's wide and relatively empty -- an uninterrupted expanse of sea, eventually dotted with small islands, but those little islands are quite sparse too, mostly filled with trees. the lines of sailboats on the horizon, "none of which are real," as if they're all optical illusions. the rowboats powered by the dead, all of the rowers onboard appearing exactly the same with no way to differentiate one from another. inside the tower and near it, there are also these "bare" spaces -- that very illusion-like space of those arches, where you have to cross that empty and silent expanse from darkness into the blinding light that leads into the paradise-like garden. the island where The Stone is, just a hill covered in stones and grass growing over top. the delivery room, which is dark and bare apart from the mobile with the rotating paper strips. so much of it felt isolated and quiet in a lonely way to me.

music

to tie in with that last part, i think the music also felt generally more sparse and solemn than other ghibli osts, and i'm sure it was intentional. i've been listening to the ost for the past two-ish weeks and my impressions are that there's generally "less" orchestration and a lot more isolated piano sound. a lot of that piano is slow/drawn out and there's not as many chords, and the chords that Are there are simpler (maybe only two or three notes). there's a lot of intentional dissonance, both in piano parts And the parts with more instruments -- isolated piano is more obvious, but i can definitely hear it in the strings. it's hard to explain more than that without like, showing examples of specific clips or sheet music lmao but i think it definitely contributes to the overall moods of loneliness, somber tones, and unsettling vibes. like when you know you're having a really weird dream but can't wake up from it.

protagonist's relative solemness

most ghibli protags are precocious and have a greater sense of responsibility than the average child/teenager their age, but i really felt it with mahito. the sequence of him briefly in school was so interesting -- i really like how there was no dialogue in it and it was just music, bc the conversations didn't really matter when mahito was going to purposely isolate himself/make it so that he didn't have to go back and attempt to make friends there. mahito does have moments where he shows strong emotions: grief abt his mother, anger when the grey heron "disrespects" her honor with the illusion of her, more anger when he sees the warawara being burned, determination when he tries to get natsuko out of the delivery room. but in general those seemed like short bursts between longer stretches where he felt much more solemn and accepting of the current circumstances. when in the sea world, his curiosity about it felt restrained or maybe even limited -- he was there to find natsuko and nearly everything else was less of a priority. even when he decided to accept natsuko as his mother, it felt almost like he knew it was his fate and he simply had to go along with it without any other passionate conviction. he didn't seem to care about finding his own path or realizing any dreams for his future. i don't think this is a bad thing, but it was a different tone than i was used to for most ghibli films.

the finality of goodbyes and endings

again, certainly not the first time something has literally crumbled or been destroyed in a ghibli film: the forest in princess mononoke, howl's moving castle falling apart, the existing ravaged/poisoned world in nausicaa. however, i think the scale of it was much wider here: instead of an important structure or one contained place, the original stone was shattered and that whole world collapsed completely into space/time so that the pieces could not be rebuilt. the ending still has some hope - mahito chooses to return to this world so that he can be with his family and friends. but seeing how worlds could be built with two handfuls of building blocks and be knocked down just as easily, and then watching all of it shatter before his eyes? watching the (probably) only remaining version of his mother go through the door to another world separate from his own? a bigger loss to experience, imo. if the stone was destroyed and the tower collapsed, there's no other way to even try to get back to that portal space and other worlds (not that mahito would actually try to). that's the point, and despite knowing that, it still feels like a heavier blow to me that All Possibility is truly gone. unless another similar stone falls from the sky i guess lol, but the point is that it would never be the same.

as one friend put it, this felt like a goodbye from miyazaki. the possibility for a perfectly harmonious and peaceful world does not exist; those in power will seek to destroy what they cannot control and there may be no coming back from it; perhaps you must accept that you must live in a world of atrocities.

and one last thing i wanted to talk abt even tho this is so long already: symbolism regarding suffering & critique of society

not at all surprising that this film too shows some effects of war, but that was not the biggest impression of Suffering that i got from it. three main examples for me: the pelicans, the parakeets, and the building block stones.

pelicans: brought to this world by the tower master himself, unable to eat most of the fish in the sea, forced to eat the warawara to survive. doing something that others consider terrible bc they have to in order to live. no matter how they try to escape, they can only fly so high and it's not enough. birds that forget how to fly and/or are (symbolically) chained/caged to one place (there is prob more to be said abt how there are so many birds in this movie and they're all fucked up in a way but i don't have the thoughts/words to expand on it).

parakeets: normally(?) considered cute but kind of grotesque in this story, at least in the sea world. often moving in units like soldiers or as if an assembly line, mechanically and identically, having not much purpose other than guarding their territory, identifying and eating outsiders/intruders (the living??). seem to be kind of stupid -- can be tricked very easily. they unanimously celebrate their king, a parakeet that looks more like an eagle bc of his coloring.

speaking of which: the king himself, insisting on punishing transgressors even though they haven't done any tangible damage, holding rules/the current system in greater esteem than the situation in reality. claims to do everything for the good of his kingdom/people but haphazardly tries to seize control and build a new world himself when mahito won't do it. on the one hand, it makes sense that he would get mad that an outsider (mahito) has so much control over and responsibility of his people, rather than the parakeets taking care of themselves. but then he decides he'd rather destroy everything rather than rebuild? he does not wield his power responsibly here, and in the end he also has to escape. i feel like i'm barely scratching the surface of the potential commentary about this, and i definitely am not being precise enough with my wording. but it's not a very subtle allusion being made in the film haha

and then, the little stones! first, it's interesting that supposedly an entire world comes into being and continuously exists because of a couple pieces balancing on each other. perhaps more ironic that they resemble children's toys, simple shapes, but then are made out of the same material intended for tombstones. precariously stacked to make a new world, and they have to be rebalanced -- always shaped by someone's actions, not just something that stands on its own.

a whole mound/small island of them tainted with malice, and above them floats the ~divine~ stone, source of all power. mahito won't touch them, so the tower master searches through space to find pure ones. even stones untouched by malice cannot create a purely harmonious and peaceful world because the creator/master will always have some malice on their hands, some stain that makes them imperfect. he does have one piece with him when he returns to his original world -- sign of potential for building something new in the future, even if it's just in his own world? or is it just a momento of everything he experienced?

anyway. phew. how to end this. there are def some things i still don't understand fully - why natsuko was in the delivery room/why she felt like she had to have her baby in this world; what exactly made mahito decide to accept natsuko as his mother; the tomb behind the gate that said "those who seek my knowledge will die." there's probably more but i can't think of it right now. maybe an eventual rewatch in the future will unveil more for me! but i do think the mystery is part of the fun and part of the intention. it's hard to understand every facet of a dream.

[systematicallycapricious]

Here at last, my observations for English P4AU manga volume 4! Same formatting as my prior ones, no holds barred for spoilers, and fair warning that I'm writing this off of notes from 5 months ago; so if I miss some details, I apologize. Hectic life shenanigans have limited my ability to reread the volume. xP

-----------------------------------

General Vibes

On the whole, I found this volume to be the best reading experience out of the 4 Udon-translated volumes. Aside from the persisting issue of conflating Sho and Minazuki via calling both “Minazuki”, as well as a few confusing absences of clarifying quotation marks, the narrative is cohesive and comprehensible.

I also think that it stands really well on its own, so, as I said before, I'd highly recommend Eng-Sho and Minazuki fans pick up Vol 4, even if you've been iffy on the Udon translations up until this point. In all honestly, I think Udon did a better translation of Vol 4 than the fan-translation that's out there on the internet, at least in terms of justice done to the characterizations of Minazuki and Sho. Their dialog, with a couple small exceptions, fit their expected lexicons much better.

(No shade to the fan-translation, of course! I'm still super-grateful that people took time out of their lives to give us some form of accessible translation long before Atlus got on printing an official translation, and the fan-translation is still pretty good with it's own wins.)

Also, Narukami's dialog was translated pretty well too, from what I recall, so fans of his might also find his inclusions in the story enjoyable. As for Adachi and Kagutsuchi... I'm not very well-versed in their characterizations, so I wouldn't be able to say. Adachi's lexicon did seem a bit out of character to me, though; like the underlying vibe is kinda the same as his typical lexicon, but the execution feels more 'censored', I guess? It's just the impression that I got, though.

-----------------------------------

Specific Things

• ...They were so close to getting it right throughout the entire translation, but they stumbled at the finish line. Literally – this was within the final few chapters, and may have even been the final mention of Plumes of Dusk in the story, lol. And it's definitely the same kanji and kana that “Plume of Dusk” is always spelled with, so how or why they suddenly fabricated “darkness” in place of “dusk” is beyond me.

Also, for Eng reading context, what gets translated as “the other me” is “もう１つの人格を” with a gikun of “ミナヅキ” in the Jap text. So whether or not that should have vocally been “the other me” or “Minazuki” is up to you to decide. ~(•_•)~ (And for anyone who wants the full Jap transcription of that text bubble: ”黄昏の羽根”ってヤツから生まれたもう１つの人格を消す手術から眠ったままだったらしい)

• I wish that translators would interpret Minazuki's use of “黙れ(damare)” as “Silence.” rather than “Shut up.” It fits his pre-established (by Ultimax-the-game) lexicon far more, in my opinion.

(Jap version of the page [here], because I forgot to take a picture of it, apparently. :P)

• Kanazuki, my beloved nickname. (Though, because pursuing lore details, I'm not sure if Udon's “the two sides of Minazuki” is an accurate translation in this case? It seems to be more like “the two Minazukis”, like how fan-Eng interpreted it, but I don't know enough Jap to tell. For those who want the transcript: ところで２人の皆月のことみんななんて呼んでる？皆月？ミナヅキ？文面ならまだしも打ち合わせの時彼らは大変混乱を招いてくれやがりましてね......)

• It's nice to have the uncropped version of the original Yu cover art... But I'm a bit sad that we don't get the original Sho/Minazuki back-cover as a poster as well.

• Interesting detail: despite reprinting and reformatting the title logos, they seem to have kept the signature color for each volume the same (Vol.1/yellow, Vol.2/red, Vol.3/pink, Vol.4/blue).

• I've already stated some of my thoughts on Ch.28 and Ch.30 here, but for a few things that I didn't cover...

1) Minazuki specifically thinking “The humans are shouting.” gives us an interesting window into his mindset at the time.

2) The doctors were shouting at him because he was climbing up into an open window more-so than just shouting at him in general, lol.

3) The Ikutsuki death report reads more as if Minazuki was narrating it rather than it just being Sho staring at information on a screen, which I think is a neat interpretation.

4) Sho might've been attempting to finish the 'Minazuki extraction procedure' that Ikutsuki began, rather than just blindly attacking Minazuki? I'm not entirely sure, but it's an interesting angle to consider nonetheless.

5) Ikutsuki spinning Minazuki as an “evil spirit” as another generally useful tidbit to employ in Sho characterizations.

6) “Murder pit”. I'm keeping this for my Minazuki characterizations going forwards, lmao.

• Generally adoring the larger page size, 'cause I can see more details in the art that also help me understand the context better in a lot of scenes. For example! After Tsukiyomi takes the full-power hit from Izanagi, I can see the clear signs of exhaustion and Minazuki pushing his limits in the continuation of the fight. His movements are more desperate, he gets pronounced bags under his eyes, he has a kind of wide-eyed look to him, etc. Which I think is a really nice detail, because it shows that Minazuki isn't invulnerable: his desperation to protect Sho is just that strong.

The dialog at the beginning of that scene also helps to demonstrate that: rather than continuing to think in fluent and complex words, his internal monologue is reduced to simple, fragmented instincts (“Can't falter... Must protect... Must...!"). Which, again, a very interesting window into how Minazuki thinks. Even when put under the physical strain of grievous injuries, his first instincts (in this situation, at least) are to hold his ground in order to protect Sho.

(...Though, the Jap text of the aforementioned dialog is a bit different than Udon's translation, lol. It's more like “If I... don't protect... I—" (俺が......守らなければ...俺が――...))

• I don't have much to say about the fight against Kagutsuchi due to not having the best focus when I read through that part of the manga. Hopefully one day I'll reread it with better success. ^^;

• Suicidal Sho? I'm not entirely sure, though, as the “思ってた” in the Japanese version of the text (死んじまうかと思ってた時...) seems like it could mean either “I believe (that this will happen)” or “I plan (on making this happen)”? I don't know what linguistic contexts lend to what definitions, unfortunately, and the visual context could support it either way. (Not to mention, I have no clue if the sentiment is being expressed in a literal or frivolous capacity, given Sho can be hyperbolic at times. >_>)

...Also, I'm not counting Sho knifing his own face as an intentionally suicidal action, because (to the best of my ability to understand) that was intended to be homicidal. It's just that it would have also had a suicidal effect on him.

• Shadow puppet-Yosuke, Shadow puppet-Narukami, and Yosuke are great, lmao.

• Translations of General Teddie's script.

• Lastly, and maybe bestly: They got!! It right!! They kept Sho's name in Minazuki's “What are you going to do to Sho, Kagutsuchi?” line!! (Context: a previous observations/musings post of mine [here].)

-----------------------------------

(If you wanna see the fan-Eng in higher quality than the screengrabs I used, you can find it on Mangadex [here].)

[milkymoon2483]

Kiss it better

Pairing: Jake Lockley x female reader

Summary: This fic explores cheating from the cheater’s perspective. You are a wife and mother, content with your life…until something awakens within you, and it will not go back to sleep. 

Rating: 18 + Minors DNI, this stuff is for grown-ups

Warnings: Angst galore, Cheating, infidelity, SMUT, Unprotected P in V (reader makes all sorts of bad decisions folks).

Dedications:

Thank you miss @cozykalii for sending me down the fanfic rabbit hole all those months ago. Thank you Cici @astroboots for being amazing and for answering all of my asks. Thank you bestie (you know who you are) for helping me bring this baby out.  ;-) Thank you @foxilayde for allowing me to tag you, and for the amazing stuff you write. Lastly, English is not my first language, Spanish is not even my 4th (thanks Google Translate) I tried my very best. 

Word count: ~8500

You were watching TV while mindlessly playing on your phone when it happened, you looked at the screen and the broad chest was the first thing that caught your attention, the camera moved down to his big veiny hands as he grabbed the weapon. Sweat glistened on his face, collecting in the cupid’s bow above his lips. You didn't know the actor’s name but you watched breathlessly, the surge of heat to your core was immediate. Oh my goodness.. you whispered under your breath. You wanted to lick the beads of sweat off his lips and take his thick fingers into your mouth, watch him gaze at you lustfully. Your husband’s snores from the other side of the couch  informed you that any satisfaction you were after would need to be achieved independently.

Not that he would be much help anyway…

It’s not that you didn’t love him or were not content with your life, it’s just that your sex life was never perticularly exciting. And it got much less so after the birth of your son. Babies would do that to you.

You knew you had everything that anyone could even want; A loving husband, a wonderful smart kid, a great job and a big beautiful house. You were happy to settle and keep your sexdrive in some hidden drawer at the back of your mind, stuffed behind embarrassing memories and questionable decisions. However that night it crept right back out, like a pest you could not get rid of, demanding your attention.

The batteries in your vibrator ran out the following week. You looked at the anatomically accurate member with disappointment. Feeling both frustrated at the sudden loss of pleasurable vibrations and ashamed at the amount of times you've abused it. You had plenty of orgazms but it was clear to you that you barely began to scratch your itch, you needed more. 

You wished you could dream about it. Even just once, you wished your mind would conjure a proper erotic dream. That would be enough for you, with all of your daydreaming and longing and inappropriate googling, you'd think that it would be able to come up with a decent dream. Alas your realm of dreams was filled with random stressful scenarios. 

You would find yourself on the streets naked (not in a sexy way), or you'd forget to pick up your kid from daycare, or you would leave something on the stove for too long, causing your entire house to engulf in flames. “Some very anxiety-ridden-demented-senile shit” as you described it to a friend. 

Any semi-sexual dreams would almost always be about rejection, or dissatisfaction, or the inability to have any privacy. They would almost always feature your husband. Because apparently your sleeping brain couldn't be bothered to keep up with your very filthy and creative waking brain. It had a very impressive curated selection of men to choose from, but it went with the blob snoring next to you. All you wanted is to be properly fucked, licked, adored, desired…to feel the delicious weight of a man on top of you as he glides into you, his kisses flowing from your mouth to your jawline and to the neck, him whispering softly how good you make him feel, how soft and sweet and wet you are for him…and a dream would do. You could live with a memory of it, it would possibly sustain you just for a little bit longer, maybe would quench your thirst, even slightly. 

*******

You were on your second chocolate bar of the day, looking at Vivienne typing away on her computer. She looked you up and down, judging silently your choice of afternoon snack. 

She's always on some diet or another. Probably explains the constant resting bitch face. 

You however, have been replacing sex with chocolate for weeks now, attempting to fend off the intrusive thoughts and somehow satisfy the hunger that was pulsating inside of you, permanent and relentless. 

The evening came quickly, you were grateful work managed to keep your mind busy. You were yawning repeatedly while trying to catch a cab. After waking up at 5AM that morning and working for 10 hours, the exhaustion was making your eyes sting. The rush hour meant that it would take some time, but to your surprise not a minute passed before a cab stopped.

The smell hit you as soon as you sat down. Musky masculine cologne mixed with something fresh and minty, and the faintest scent of a man, ghost like, almost as if you could smell his pheromones. You inhaled sharply, breathing in the scent. It brought back a memory that you couldn’t quite place. You never had a date that smelled this amazing, let alone a cab driver. “Where to miss?” the driver asked, his voice husky with a hint of an accent. You gave him your address, piercing brown eyes gazed at you from the rear view mirror. 

He drove silently through the dark streets, gentle Spanish music was playing in the background, the backseat was very spacious, dimly lit, you began to doze off, surrendering to the fatigue that had built up throughout the day.

Jake looked through the mirror, you were leaning on your palm, breathing peacefully. 

Your delicate neck was exposed, and he noticed the slight cleavage of your button-down top. You looked tired, but serene. 

He usually drove in silence, not eager to share his thoughts on current affairs or to have to listen to people’s problems. You seemed to appreciate it, as you fell asleep within minutes. He smiled to himself. He wished for a moment all of his passengers were asleep, which would have made the job much easier.

Jake parked the cab in front of your house, the suburban street was quiet. 

“Miss? Miss?... We're here, miss, wake up”

You did not budge, your breath heavy and steady. He waited a few more seconds, inspecting your sleeping body. Your head was still leaning on your palm, hair softly cascading down your shoulders. There was something picturesque about your pose. You looked like a painting or a photograph. 

"Necesito despertarla.. mierda" (I need to wake her, shit) 

You stirred when his large gloved hand touched your knee gently “Miss, wake up please” Now you could see his face, stern but handsome. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry” you finally came to it, his gaze felt heavy on your skin. Penetrating. You apologized profusely and opened the cab door to exit.

“It’s ok, buenas noches” he said, a faint smile on his lips did not reach his eyes.

You quickly bid him farewell, missing the lovely smell as soon as you exited the cab. 

*********

The next time you entered the cab Jake recognized you right away. “Buenos días, bella durmiente” (Good morning, sleeping beauty). He seemed quite pleased to see you. 

You recognized him too. He could see you take a deep breath as you sat down, closing your eyes at the beautiful masculine scent. A warmth pooled in your core. Am I getting turned on just by this guy’s smell? 

“Buenos dias to you too” you chuckled shyly. Gosh that sounds wrong with my accent.

“Hope you slept well, where can I take you?” 

You gave him the address, not saying anything else as you felt yourself actually becoming nervous. He drove silently for a while, but the nervousness continued. 

A song Jake loved came on the radio and he began to sing along quietly. Your eyes lifted to him and your ears perked up. 

His voice was beautiful and smooth, less deep than you thought it would be, a lovely tenor. You smiled to yourself as he sang, the Spanish flowing from his mouth so effortlessly. You finally worked up the courage to compliment him, but you waited until the song finished. He seemed to be enjoying it too much for you to disturb.

 “You have a great voice” You finally said. “Gracias, miss….?” He replied, with a genuine smile this time.

“I’m Y/N…. You also smell really good… I mean your car…CAB. Your cab smells really good”.

You felt yourself blush, cheeks heating up immediately after the words left your mouth. God that was embarrassing.

Jake chuckled “Thanks, sweetheart”

Sweetheart… you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

He took the opportunity to look at you again for a brief moment, he saw you tucking your hair behind your ear. Light catching on the golden band on your ring finger, face blooming in a shade of pink.

“Im Jake, encantada de conocerte” 

“Nice to meet you too…?” You were not sure you understood but you guessed your best. Suddenly eager to learn Spanish.

“Ci, That’s right.”

“Maybe you should teach me some more Spanish, at least while I’m here”

Ok now you're FLIRTING…? You obviously forgot how to.. 

“Well I charge extra for that. Es muy caro” 

He's flirting back..? 

“I bet you do. Guess we’ll have to stick to English then”

“Or agree on a payment plan, I can give you a discount” He chuckled.Oh, he IS flirting back.

The tone between you two was playful, laced with just enough suggestion, and you were loving every minute of it. It felt like it’s been forever since you properly flirted with a man, and a warm feeling bloomed in your belly. 

When he stopped in front of your office building you were disappointed that you actually had to get off. 

He turned back, reaching out a gloved hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you” you said playfully, reaching your hand to him, expecting a handshake.

He took it gently, turned it and placed a peck on the back of your hand. 

Heat rose to your face and you giggled. 

Well HE obviously didn't forget how to flirt.

When you exited the cab you allowed yourself to smile fully, exhilarated by the exchange between the two of you. Ok calm down. He’s a cab driver, probably flirts all the time with his clients, just some harmless fun. He probably knows that women fall for the sexy Spanish shtick. 

You giggled to yourself as you repeated the words “sexy Spanish shtick” out loud. Giddy like a goddamn teenager.

Later you replayed the whole conversation in your head, overthinking as usual, you tried not to let it get out of proportion, it’s just that it’s been so fucking long since you felt noticed and desired, you were ready to cling to any interaction that made you feel like that.

Some low hanging fruit you are.. you told yourself, wondering if you cooperated too quickly, if the whole exchange made you look pathetic. 

It was hard to admit to yourself that you needed to be desired by men, other than the one you married. It felt juvenile, greedy even. Even when you did come to terms with it , it was clear to you that it was obviously limited to looks and words, you didn't plan on acting on any of it.

**********

The heatwave was washing over the city, laying thick like a heavy blanket you could not shake off. July was merciless, and the mid- day sun burnt so bright it caused heat to reflect from the scorching pavement.

You’ve spent all morning running errands, and now you were finally done at the market, making your way back to the bus stop. Your work did not cover cab fare on weekends and the bus ride wasn’t too long. The 5 minute walk to the station was, however, much longer than you imagined. With the heavy bags in your hands cutting the circulation to your fingers, your dress sticking to your body, sweat pooling on your back, and the blazing sun above, you felt as if you were about to melt into the sidewalk. You imagined yourself turning into a puddle, and then evaporating quickly under the blazing heat. 

BEEP BEEP 

The sound jolted you, you looked to your left as the cab window rolled down.

“Need a ride?” Jake smiled

Your core went all jittery at the sound of his voice. You'd clap with excitement like a baby seal if your hands were free…calm your tits.

“Hey Jake! I’m actually walking to the bus stop, it’s just around the corner”

You hoped he would insist.

“Come on, it’s on my way, I’ll drop you off”.

“How do you know it’s on your way? I haven't told you were I was going”

You just couldn’t resist teasing him.

“No seas un sabelotodo. You’re melting, get in” (don't be a smartass)

“If you insist… I AM actually melting”

Jake opened the driver’s door, he walked up to you and grabbed the grocery bags to put them in the back. You were finally able to get a good look at him. He was wearing a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, with a black tie. Hat and gloves still in place, defiant against the scorching heat. You couldn't help yourself from sneaking a good look at his butt. His dark jeans complimented his ample ass and thick thighs. 

“Get in the front seat, the AC is much stronger” 

You nodded and got in, the heavenly smell filling your lungs again, a bit stronger now that you sat closer to him.

Jake cranked up the AC as you leaned in, lifting your hair up, relishing in the breeze, albeit artificial. Your neck arched back, exposing more skin to the cooling air. You closed your eyes and a satisfied hum left your lips.

Jake was careful not to stare, but he couldn’t help but notice the way your neck was exposed completely, your skin glistening with sweat. Your dress rode up slightly when you sat down, revealing a little more of your thigh. 

A few seconds passed before he remembered he actually needed to drive.

“Where to, miss Y/N?” He asked

“Home please, the address is..”

“I remember where that is”  “You must have a great memory then, because in this heat I barely remember”

“I try to remember the important stuff” 

Jake replied, a small grin adorned his lips and you grinned right back, avoiding his eyes. That would be much too intense and you were already boiling. 

When you arrived he parked the cab. "I'll help you carry the bags inside" he said before you had a chance to protest.

"Please you have already done so much, it's really not that heavy" you tried to resist. He waved his gloved hand at your statement and proceeded to take the bags out and carry them towards your door.

As you unlocked the door your heart sank, you weren't sure you wanted him to come inside.

When you both walked in, he placed the bags on the kitchen island and looked around. There was no point in denying the family photos and scattered toys. 

"Cute kid, seems happy" he said, picking up one of the framed photos.

"Yeah, he is, thanks" you replied, smiling shyly, not willing to elaborate on the topic.

"I bet you're a good mom" he persisted, still holding your son's picture in his hand.  "I love him very much, so I try my best, though nobody's perfect, certainly not me". You replied. 

He smiled and put the picture back, perhaps sensing your discomfort. 

You never really spoke with him about being a wife and a mother (and you were grateful that both of them weren't home) Although you also never hid the wedding band on your hand. 

This was not ok, you knew it. 

What the hell is wrong with me?? Inviting a stranger into my house? Happy that my family is not home? Am I demented? 

You had to admit it to yourself, this scenario would be 10/10 creepy if Jake wasn't so attractive. He could also be like Ted Bundy, all smiles and charm before he chops me into little pieces. 

"Can I offer you something cold to drink?" You attempted to change the subject. 

Jake nodded and you promptly handed him a glass of cold water. 

He downed it all in one go, as you watched his adam's apple bob on his thick neck while he drank.

He handed you the glass and your fingers brushed against his gloved ones. 

"Thank you so much Jake, I really appreciate it, really, you shouldn't have" 

"Esta bien, dont worry about it, my pleasure" he smiled. 

You walked him back to the front door, feeling awkward and nervous. You weren't sure what to do. Do I shake his hand? Do I peck him on the cheek? Maybe a small polite hug? 

You both stopped by the door, facing each other, you finally met his gaze. Beautiful deep brown eyes were looking at you, adorned with long dark lashes. They seemed much softer than you initially thought.

"You have an eyelash on your cheek, may I? " he asked and you could only nod. 

Your eyes moved to his hands as he removed his glove, watching with tethered breath as if it was in slow motion. After removing the glove, he very gently brushed your cheek with his thumb. "Now you need to make a wish" he smirked. The air was thick and heavy ,and your heart was thumping in your throat.

Without thinking, you placed your hand on his, and blew on the small lash on his thumb.

As it flew off somewhere you made your wish.

Fuck me. Kiss me.

*******

It was just one of those days. Everything that could go wrong absolutely did. It started with a missed alarm in the morning, continued with a tantrum from your toddler, who was outraged by the fact that the banana you served him for breakfast was indeed shaped like a banana, and not like a pineapple. Following that was an argument with your husband, about the proper way to handle said tantrum. 

Your cab driver that morning was insisting on having a political debate which you didn't want to participate in, and to top it off, the traffic was worse than usual. 

By the time you arrived at the office you were 35 minutes late, and positively exhausted. 

You were sure that with the morning you had, nothing could possibly go wrong at work. You were proven wrong when your boss called you out on a very stupid mistake you made, and scollded you (publicly of course) about your lack of attention to detail. It wasn't like him to do that, but you guessed it fit perfectly with the rest of your miserable day.

After a quiet cry in the bathroom, you were finally able to calm down. You sat on the toilet, wiping your tears away, and the memory of Jake came to your mind. There was something comforting in the thought of him, he was your little secret. He made you feel noticed, seen. It's been almost a week since you last saw him, since the exchange that left you breathless and flustered. 

You could admit to yourself that you wanted to see him again, that you liked how absolutely dangerously close you were to making a mistake. All you needed at that point was a tiny push in the wrong direction. Then It made you feel even worse when you considered the implications, playing horrible scenarios in your head about how horrible this could all end for you. Trying to convince yourself that it’s not worth it. The price you’d have to pay would be too high. 

Not that anything will actually happen anyway… The thought made you feel both relieved and frustrated. Because damn it, you wanted it to.

When 5 o'clock rolled around you were DONE, completely defeated by the day. You grabbed your stuff as quickly as possible and practically snuck out of the office the moment your boss turned his head. 

Jake's cab was waiting under the building. You recognized it immediately. You wondered if he's free, allowing yourself to indulge in the thought of him waiting for you. 

For a split second you tried to think of an excuse not to approach him, because getting in the cab with him wasn’t a good idea, on the other hand you were grateful to see a friendly face after the day you just had. 

Jake smiled widely when he saw you, signaling you to get in. You got in the seat next to him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. I will never get over how he smells you thought to yourself as you settled.

“Mi pasajera favorita'' He smiled widely, he seemed to be in a good mood, you smiled back, trying to fend off your lousy one. Although you were sure he’d react politely, you didn’t want to burden him with everything that happened, you didn’t think that cab drivers (or hairdressers, or nail technicians) should be forced to listen to other people's problems while trying to do their job. 

He began driving without asking you for an address. 

Jake could feel something was not quite right “Que pasa? Everything ok?” 

“Just a very lousy day, nothing much really” you replied, hoping he would leave it at that. 

“Do we need to go kill someone real quick? I’ll make sure they never find the body” he smirked, trying to lighten your obviously lousy mood. You giggled sadly, as your armor began to crack.

“Nah, I think I’ll let them live, I can’t get messed up in murder, plus orange looks terrible on me”

“Can't imagine anything looking terrible on you” he replied, serious all of a sudden. Your forced laugh tried to break the awkwardness.

“Seriously, you can tell me querida"

You loved his terms of endearment, especially the Spanish ones. 

“It really was just a crappy day. Lots of small things that went wrong, but I’m glad to see you. I needed a friendly face after all that shit” you ended the sentence with a bite of bitterness to your voice, fighting back tears that began to sting the corners of your eyes. 

It felt so stupid to cry, for a second time that day, and in front of Jake.

“Hey..hey querida.. No, don't cry…” He said softly, which had the exact opposite effect as more tears rolled down your face. It was as if he broke the dam, finally giving you permission to let your guard down.

He pulled over, it was only about half a mile before reaching your house, but he couldn't bear to see you like that.  

“I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing, oh my god, shit…” you spoke through your tears, sniffling, desperately trying to stop them.

He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to you, placing his large hand on your shoulder, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. It was heavy and warm and made you want to pull closer to him. 

“It’s gonna be ok mami, it’s just a bad day, you're gonna be fine…” 

You unbuckled and turned to him as well, the sobbing subsided, giving way to the nervousness that buzzed through you. Some tears were still escaping your eyes, he gently brushed them away with his hand and you leaned into his touch.

Your heart was beating mercilessly, belly in knots. You just sat there for a few moments, allowing his touch to both soothe and excite you. There was a lump in your throat and a pool of heat between your thighs. You knew he should stop but desperately wanted him to continue. 

“Do you want me to kiss it better…hmmm?” he asked almost in a whisper, making your heart flutter even more violently.

You did not respond, any response would result in a lose-lose situation. You didn’t want to admit how much you wanted this, you also didn't want to say no. You knew this was the dreaded push in the wrong direction, and you were paralized with fear, drawing only shallow breaths.

His gloved thumb grazed over your cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, making goosebumps run down your spine. 

He leaned forward slowly placing a soft kiss on your cheekbone, 

and then another one on your cheek, 

and another one tethering on the edge of your lips. 

The fourth kiss reached your lips, soft and delicate, stained with your tears.

Your core heated up immediately, you couldn't help but lean into the kiss, pressing your lips onto his. His hand was gently cupping your face as your lips brushed softly against each other. It was a chaste, delicate kiss. His smell was making you dizzy, the masculine musk in it somehow amplified. 

You felt yourself physically torn, lust and guilt mixing inside of you into a nauseating concoction.  

"Stop please, I can't" you came to your senses briefly, laying your palm on Jake's chest.

"Lo siento" Jake replied softly, eyes still closed. You were still inches apart, you could still feel his breath on you, his hand still cupping your cheek. 

It took you all of five seconds before you were falling off the edge, pressing your lips on his again, admitting defeat, brushing his bottom lip with your tongue. That little flick of your tongue was all it took. Jake's hand moved to your neck, cupping your face between his thumb and index, his tongue licking into your mouth, his lips hot against yours, it was intense and possessive and conveyed nothing but desire and danger. He groaned softly against your lips as he claimed your mouth with his, you were barely able to catch a breath, heart slamming in your chest, mouth gasping for air but not able to break away from his kiss. He was kissing you like he wanted to have as much of you as possible while he still could. 

Jake felt the pulse in your throat in his palm, galloping at a merciless pace. He fantasized about this for weeks, and now that he finally gave in, he was afraid he would devour you without being able to stop himself. 

A very loud car honk jolted you both as your mouths finally detached. You were almost thankful that you were startled enough to stop, to replace the hunger in your veins with a stress response. You scrambled to collect your bag and quickly exited the cab, saying absolutely nothing, shocked at your own actions and at how far you've allowed yourself to go.

Jake stepped out of the cab after you, calling at you “Y/N I’m sorry! Please let me take you home! Lo siento mucho!” 

You were almost running away at this point, and he did not want to cause you any more stress by following you. It was clear that a line had been crossed. 

“Jake please go, I’ll walk home, please just go now…please” You shouted back with a shaky voice.

******

Your husband was a grateful man, he didn't know what happened, what prompted you to jump his bones the moment you put your son down for the night. It wasn’t like you to do that sort of thing, but he knew he would be stupid to complain.

You sucked him off like a starved woman before straddling his hips and riding him, your eyes shot with concentration, kisses hot and needy. 

All you could think about was Jake, hoping to miraculously conjure him into existence, but it all tasted and smelled wrong.

You finally were able to cum with the thought of Jake fucking into you, mumbling soft praises in Spanish. How sweet his moans would sound, how sexy he would look with sweat glistening on his pecks. 

FUCK you were screwed. You only had a small taste and it got you fucking hooked, nothing tasted like he did. You absolutely didn't want to want him as much as you did. 

******

The pain in your chest took weeks to subside, but you could still feel the slight sting of it. Finally feeling less and less guilty, although you couldn’t really quit Jake. You would bring him up from your memory every day, like an imaginary friend. Faithfull only in the technical sense, you convinced yourself that it’s good enough, that maybe that earth shattering soul crushing kiss you shared was just what you needed, that you stopped just in time before it all went too far. Truthfully you could only thank that honking car, it was the true ‘hero’ of the story, the thing that actually made you stop. 

You knew without a shadow of a doubt that another test would be impossible to withstand. Thank god you weren’t tested.

Until you were.

******

The evening was winding down, you had such a great time with your friends from work, better than you thought you would, you were in a cheerful mood for a change. It was a welcome break after weeks of nothing but work-home-childcare-bed, you finally had the evening to yourself. After three drinks it was clear you needed to call a cab. It would be a long ride, since you were not in your usual part of town. You decided to get yourself some water for the ride, to try and sober up a bit.

Walking into the bright convenience store made your eyes squint. The store was almost empty and quite large, allowing you to wonder quietly, contemplating the snack options that looked very appetizing in your drunken state.  All of a sudden you felt a tingle at the back of your head, as if you were being watched. When you turned swiftly there was no one there. As you kept walking the feeling increased, you could almost feel the breath of someone down your neck, but the store seemed completely empty. The alcohol in your blood evaporated instantly and you felt completely sober, as the paranoia slowly set in. 

You quickly grabbed a bottle of water and sprinted to the register. That was when you saw him. In the monitor above the clerk’s head, there was no mistaking that strong silhouette, but the cap was really the dead giveaway. He was standing behind the row of shelves, just out of your sight. What the hell?? Your heart rushed. Was it excitement? Fight or flight response? You were not sure. You turned on your heel, walking towards him before he even had the chance to realize what’s going on. 

“What the hell do you think you're doing?!” You asked, your voice came out stronger than you anticipated. Perhaps you were still a little tipsy.

“Joder! I’m sorry Y/N”

“Why are you following me? You scared the shit out of me.”

“I..I wanted to come up to you, wasn't sure it’s a good idea, I wanted to apologize, for that time..”

You lifted your eyes to his, dark and hooded, he looked tired. The bright fluorescent lights were probably not doing you any favors either. You wanted to hug him, but of course you did. “Apology accepted,” you muttered quietly.

“Not like this, por favor cariño, can we talk?”

He grabbed your hand in his large gloved one. You looked down and saw your wedding band, pulling it right back. You exhaled sharply “fine Jake, let's talk, not here.”

Maybe closure isn’t such a bad idea, maybe the fact that you feel a little aggravated with him will make this easier.

You walked out of the store, he was a couple steps ahead of you, and if someone had seen you from the side they probably wouldn’t think you were together. You made sure to stay behind him, even walking with him made you nervous, guilty.

The alley was quiet and dark, the street lights illuminating everything in a dim yellow. Jake's face seemed even more angular, eyes shaded completely by his cap, thankfully. You wouldn't have been able to withstand his eyes piercing into yours. You leaned on his parked cab, folding your arms on your chest, while he stood in front of you, keeping a ‘professional’ distance as much as he could. 

A heavy silence stood between the two of you, but your body reacted to the sight and smell of him. You were trying to ignore the need to pull him closer.

“Y/N, I'm very sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it was weak of me. I shouldn’t have done what I did" 

You looked at him but did not respond, letting the obvious set before you could reply. 

“It wasn’t just your fault, Jake"

"Por favor Y/N, let me finish" His breathing seemed heavier, but he sounded almost authoritative.  

"I…I was selfish. I knew it was wrong, I should have stopped myself, I just wanted to make you feel better, soy un idiota.." 

The words you really wanted to reply sat on your tongue. Admit it already. Say it.

"Jake,I wanted it to happen. I kissed you back, 'soy un idiota' too.." 

"Soy UNA idiota..female tense" he chuckled as he corrected you. 

"Thank you for teaching me the proper way to call myself an idiot"

"Anytime, querida" 

His voice softened.

"I love it when you call me that.." 

You raised your eyes to meet his, as he took a step to close the gap between you, looking at you with an intensity and hunger, making your heart race.

“I was also weak” you whispered now that he was close, holding your hands in his. 

“You make me weak Jake” Your anger has all but dissolved, and you were standing in front of him defenseless, unarmed. There was nothing that could protect you now.

He removed his gloves one by one, placing them on the roof of the cab behind you. His cap followed, revealing a mop of thick black curls, brushing them back with his hand as a few stray ones still bounced back onto his forehead. 

You cupped his face, his stubble softly scratching the palm of your hand. 

“Kiss me” you finally said it.

One of his arms rested on the cab, cornering you in, your bodies almost touching now, his scent clouding every remaining ounce of judgment you still possessed. 

You could feel his heavy breath as he slowly ghosted his fingers on your jawline and neck and leaned in to kiss you. 

He set a slow pace, but his kiss was anything but chaste this time. Dipping his tongue into your mouth, gently sucking on your bottom lip, his lips were soft and pillowy and he brushed them masterfully against your own, before breaking off the kiss to swipe his thumb on your lips. Your tongue darted out to lick the tip of his finger as if by itself, Jake's eyes flickered and he slowly pushed it into your mouth, with a quiet moan. Your tongue swirled around the thick digit, teeth scraped it, before he pulled it out only to kiss you again, deeper and more desperate.

His hand laced through your hair, pulling gently and exposing your neck. Jake's lips trailed sloppy open mouthed kisses from the back of your ear and all the way down to your clavicle. His hips were brushing his hard length against your belly. The combination was making your head spin, and your heat pool in your center. Your moans and whimpers were music to his ears. "You sound so pretty like this querida, making those sweet noises" he said with a raspy voice, teeth nibbling at your earlobe. His palm glided down to your breast, he brushed his fingers on it so tenderly that you barely noticed it until a wave of arousal shot into your core. His weight was pinning you to the car, he slid his thigh between your legs, feeling your heat, grinding his clothed cock it into you. Your fingers squeezed under the waistband of his jeans, tugging at the belt, grabbing at as much ass as you could, pulling him closer. You began to pull his shirt out, hands sliding up his warm firm back, he shivered slightly at your cold fingers and chuckled at your eagerness. 

“Can I touch you? Do you want me to touch you, cariño?” he cooed sweetly.

"Fuck..ah..hhm" was all you managed to reply, it felt as if your wetness would drown you, your whole body felt liquid in his arms, reduced to a puddle of lust. 

He slid his hand under the hem of your skirt, warm callused palm traveling up your thigh. His lips detached from you, he was breathing heavily and studying you closely. Sliding his fingers gently over your drenched panties as your face contorted with pleasure, until your hips started to buck at him. "Please touch me" you managed to breathe out. He obliged, moving your panties out of the way and gliding both fingers in between your folds. 

His breath got even heavier as yours nearly stopped completely. "joder mami.." he muttered at the warm wetness coating his fingers. He circled your clit and then slid back towards your entrance, pushing slightly into you, repeating the motion with a featherlight touch. Your moans were getting quiet, reduced to quick sharp breaths and little whimpers. Brows pinched and eyes slammed shut. It was pure ecstasy delivered in the softest and tenderest of manners. "Breathe mami… I'll take care of you. You are so beautiful like this" he whispered and kissed you again, wanting to capture your pleasure with his mouth. 

This is what you wanted all along, to have no choice in the matter. To be seduced so completely that your ability to resist would disappear altogether. This must absolve you of some responsibility. 

The rolling thunder did not seem to distract you from each other, no honking car, no impending doom would make your mouths detach. You have allowed yourself to indulge in this, moral compass tossed into the nearest bin. 

His thick fingers slid inside of you, and every time he pulled them out just to push them back in, his palm rubbed gently against your clit, covering his hand with your arousal. You moaned into Jake's mouth, louder this time, as you felt the coil tighten in your core. 

"Tell me hermosa.." he rasped between soft kisses and licks,"Do you think of me when you touch yourself?" 

"Hhm, yes.." you replied, stating the obvious. 

"And do you think of me when you fuck your husband..?" Your heart raced at the question, it shouldn't have turned you on even more, make you even wetter, but it did. "Be honest, querida, it's ok" his voice was supposed to feel reassuring, but it was laced with coercion, luring and tempting your shameful truth out of you. 

"Yes" you whispered, your voice barely came out as a pathetic whimper. 

“Mmmm” He purred at your response. 

The thunder roared again, and little droplets of rain began falling.

"We're not getting in until you cum, cariño" He said playfully. You hated the rain, you hated yourself, but you would hate it more if he'd stopped. 

Your senses lit on fire as the pleasure in your belly was tightening. You felt the drops cold against your hot skin, the weight of Jake's body on yours, the gentle slide of his fingers, heard the sound of your kisses, moans, and heavy breaths, his smell and taste were intoxicating you.

It all accumulated, building up higher and higher, until you finally felt your pleasure spill over the edge. Wave after wave washed over you. You dug your nails into his shoulders, holding on for dear life, groaning into the crook of his neck. "así, mami, así" he said softly as you clenched around his fingers, pulling you gently down from your high. 

You both stood there for a moment, eyes shut, breathing each other's air heavily.

The rain intensified, beginning to soak into your hair and clothes, convincing you both to finally get into the cab. 

When you got in, the sounds of the street and the rain dissipated, it was so quiet all of a sudden, all you could hear was each other's breath. Your orgazm was still buzzing faintly through your body, but the guilt was slowly creeping up your back. 

You found yourself scrambling for something that would make you stop, but came up with nothing. What would be worse? Betraying the trust of your husband or denying yourself the thing you have been desperately craving for months with every fiber of your being? How strong did you have to be to resist this? 

Jake sat next to you, damp curls and white shirt slightly soaked by the rain.

He turned to you and placed his hand in the space between the two of you on the car seat, as if asking for permission all over again "Hermosa, are you sure? I will understand if you want to stop". 

Without his cap and with the soft look in his eyes he looked boyish, almost innocent. "You are so handsome" You said, as you brushed away a stray curl from his forehead and laid your hand on top of his, granting said permission silently, still not willing to fully admit to yourself what it is that you're agreeing to. "Please querida, I need to hear that you want this too" 

You scooted closer to him, slowly running your hands up his arms and shoulders and began removing his tie. Unwrapping your forbidden present to yourself. "I do. I'm sure. I want this. too much" you said, in a voice closer to a whisper, still trying to keep your 'secret' from him, as if there were any left.

You unbuttoned his shirt, taking your time with each button, until you were able to slide it down his shoulders, the tanned broad panels of his pecs finally at your fingertips. He was beautiful, the contour of him gently illuminated from the dim street lights.

You ran your fingers through his soft curls, pulling him closer for a kiss, your tongues swirled together at a leisurely pace. His hands slid up your legs, under your skirt, pulling your thong down. "Eres tan suave, tan dulce, necesito sentirte cerca.." he rasped as his fingers brushed on your thighs.

"You'll have to translate this one for me" you replied gingerly. 

He took your hand, laying it on his clothed cock, painfully hard under his jeans. "Here's a translation for you, querida" he chuckled, groaning softly at the friction. Oh god, of course he's big.

"Aww, is that what it's called in Spanish..?" you chuckled back, rubbing him softly through the fabric. 

You made quick work of his belt buckle, unzipping his constricting denim, tugging it along with his briefs down his strong thighs as he lifted his hips slightly.

You finally straddled him, your heat pooling in your core, begging to be filled. 

His gaze was fixed on your face as he ran the tip of his cock in between your folds. You bucked your hips at the delicious feeling and began to sink on him slowly, relishing every thick inch, every ridge and vein. "Ah.. fuck, you're a big boy" you managed a breathy whisper. Jake almost whimpered as your warm wetness covered him, sinking all the way into you. 

He grabbed your hips, impatient and needy, beginning to slowly grind you on his cock.

It felt amazing. That's the only way you would describe the exquisite fullness between your thighs, his thickness dragging against your walls, gently enticing every ounce of pleasure out of you. You raised yourself slowly, just to sink back again, and again, quickening your pace slightly with every thrust. He nuzzled at your breasts, sucking gently on the flesh he could reach, before grabbing the hem of your top and pulling it up. Your bra quickly followed. Jake latched his mouth on your nipple immediately, sucking hungrily, then pressing your breasts together and lapping his greedy tongue over both nipples. There was pure concentration in his face. His eyes were closed, soft long lashes laying on his sharp cheekbones. 

For years you'd retreat to the back of your mind, pull fantasies and memories almost forcefully, that's the only way you could enjoy sex. Now you could barely blink at the sight of him. Broad shoulders and strong arms, sharp jaw, black curls. Just so fucking gorgeous.

Jake sensed your gaze and opened his eyes, staring deeply back while he moved into you. Your orgazm began to approach rapidly, as you tightened around his cock. He planted his feet on the floor, thrusting harder, deeper. He spread your cheeks with his palms, slotting himself deeper still. His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips, to your breasts, before he pulled you into another kiss. You could almost taste your orgazm now, and you began moving faster, chasing it, you closed your eyes out of habit, before forcing yourself to keep them open. You needed to etch as much as you could into your brain. You wanted to capture it all - the sound of his groans, the skin slapping on skin, the smell of sex, the taste of him in your mouth. Every. Tiny. Fucking. Detail. Oh. My. God. Yes! Yesss! Fuck me! Fuck! Fuck!  The coil in your core finally snapped, stronger this time, hitting you harder. Jake felt you clench around him and he deepened his thrusts, crashing his hips into yours as you moaned and wailed.  No secrets to hide, no shame, you've allowed yourself to fully let go, confessing all of your sins loudly and without reprehension. Warmth spread all over your body, flooding your limbs, as the aftershocks of your climax kept coming. "That sounded so fucking beautiful, querida" Jake groaned. Your hands came up to his face, lacing through his hair, as you began kissing him again softly - on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead…You placed gentle kisses on his closed eyes, every soft kiss thanking him for the pleasure he brought you. Jake's pace began to quicken again, you matched his movements, you could feel him approaching his high, hands gripping your hips with surprising strength, moving you on his cock faster, harder, thrust after thrust after thrust. He groaned as he spilled inside you, neck stretching back, jaw clenched ,sweat beading on his chest. He was every bit as stunning as you imagined him to be. 

He collapsed into your chest, heaving from his exertion, thrusting his hips slightly into you, coaxing some final pleasurable little waves of post orgazm out of you. 

He looked blissed out, completely content.

You stroked him, gently grazing your nails on his scalp, brushing your fingers on his temple. He purred softly and nuzzled deeper into you. You both knew you had very few last moments to enjoy this, to breathe each other's scent and bask in the tender intimacy of it all, before you'd have to go back to pretending this never even happened. "Thank you" you whispered, kissing the top of his head. You really didn't know what else to say, how to express the mixture of gratitude and guilt you were feeling. Could you promise yourself this was the one and only time? Could you resist him? This? You couldn't tell yourself this was 'nothing' because it didn't feel like 'nothing'. Maybe with time you could convince yourself it was. 

"I have to get back home, Jake" you finally said. "I know querida, i know you do."

******

The tension had been building inside of you the whole ride home, and you went back and forth between the possibility that you'll be able to come out of this unscaved and the very plausable outcome of completely ruining your life. 

You unlocked the door to your house with a heavy heart, dreading what awaited you on the other side. How would you explain the late hour you came in? Would Jake's scent linger enough to be noticable? 

And what if you don't get caught, would you regret this? Surely you'd regret breaking their hearts, betraying their trust, being so selfish with your 'needs' that you didn't even consider another solution. But, would you also regret the scorching hot, charming, gorgeous man that fucked you like that, like you needed him to? And if you regret only some of it, does it count as actual regret? Does it matter? 

Your brain was running a mile a minute, perhaps trying to prepare yourself to 'face the music' if you must. The bottom line was that the deed was done. And it was lustful and passionate and every bit as satisfying as you've imagined.

As soon as you stepped in you knew you could breathe a sigh of relief. The glow of the TV was the only thing illuminating the space, and your husband's snores assured you that you were in the clear.

You headed into the shower immediately, relishing in the hot water on your skin. For the first time in months your mind was clear. You could think about your plans for the upcoming days, your chores, missing items on the shopping list, the kind of cake you wanted to bake for your mom's birthday… The lustful beast in you was full, satiated, resting in it's cave at the back of your mind. 

Thank you Jake. 

**********

Jake

The streets were almost empty, the rain subsided into a drizzle, the wet asphalt shimmered with blurry reflections of the street lights and passing cars. 

Jake opened the window and lit up a smoke, he enjoyed the cool air that smelled like rain, it blended with your smell on his fingers. 

"Do you think of me when you fuck your husband?" He'd ask them. 

Most froze, some tried to avoid the question, some would say "no, because I don't fuck him anymore". Hearing an honest answer like yours was rare. Your precious little "yes"... your voice barely whispered it, but it was enough for Jake.

You were special. Something about the guilt written on your face made it more exhilarating for him. You never did manage to hide anything, every emotion was visible, clear for him to see. Your reaction to his smell, to his voice, your clumsy and adorable attempts at flirting, it was all so endearing. You were always so sweet, so responsive when he finally touched you the way he wanted to.

He'd tell himself that he is actually helping. Every woman wants to feel seen and desired, every woman deserves pleasure. He was just happy to oblige, to offer himself up. He did have a type though, and they all had one thing in common - a husband. Some husbands were doing a fine job, but some were not. Dormant in their lives, maybe cheating, maybe just tired. 

He would never insist if he saw that the other side simply wasn't interested, but more often than not they were. And there was nothing quite like breaking through the initial apprehension, to reach the bleeding core of someone who needed this just as badly as he did. And boy did you need it. You were starved and he had the pleasure of feeding you. 

He apologized for his advances because he knew that you needed to think that he was as conflicted as you were. But he wasn't, he wasn't sorry either. 

How could he be when you moaned like that, clenching on his cock, digging your nails into his skin..? 

Fin.

[xmoonlitxdreamx]

Notes/thoughts/interpretations/critiques on p. 1-7 of the junker short story "a friendly rivalry"

I'm not much of a reader but I thought I'd try to read the junker short story since it's available for free now. I took page-by-page notes on my thoughts/impressions while I was reading, which I'll put below. :0

This is only the first 7 pages because the latter half of the story was kind of confusing for me (a lot of combat that wasn't making sense to me), but I'll try to give those a proper read some time too.

(Please note that I'm critical at times because it's easier for me to write about things that don't work rather than do work, so if you don't like reading critique this might not be for you. I try not to be too negative or upset sounding but idk not totally sure how I come off in these notes. personally I'm like Extremely Neutral™️ about the story because I don't really care much about reading in the first place so lskdfjlsdfj)

This will prob not make much sense unless you have the story open at the same time, just a heads up;;

Page 1

Narration is 3rd person mostly limited to Junkrat’s thoughts/impressions (aka narration is in 3rd person but comments/etc made in the narration is indicative of Junkrat’s perception of things)

The cover art made me think it was gonna be from Roadhog’s POV but nah it’s mostly Junkrat

Narration refers to Roadhog as Junkrat’s “best mate” (implicitly Junkrat’s thoughts, so Junkrat thinks of Roadhog as his best mate)

Roadhog possibly nervous & Junkrat is able to pick up on it OR Junkrat is nervous & projecting his nervousness onto Roadhog (as the story progresses, it becomes clear that it’s the latter)

Junkrat calls Junker Queen “Queenie”; can be interpreted as affection for her or disrespecting her

Junkrat thinks he and the Queen have a mutual respect; Roadhog disagrees; indicative of Junkrat’s inability to accurately assess his relationships with other people I guess

They sell boba at a bar in Junkertown apparently LMAO?? I always interpreted it to be that Junkrat picked up the taste for boba from traveling around the world during his heist spree (tho honestly Junkrat’s boba interest was just a fun thing they added based on a fan question about Junkrat’s canteen iirc so I kinda get not taking an earnest route with this lmao)

Sludge pit = some sort of punishment for criminals in Junkertown I guess. Also Junkertown has a jail. I guess there is some sort of criminal justice system in Junkertown idk.

Footnote on p. 1 is kinda funny (meant to emphasize that Junkrat’s a blabbermouth) but tbh I always took Junkrat’s “secret treasure” to mean “Junkrat has a treasure but no one knows what it is,” not “Junkrat has a secret and it’s a treasure.” (Junkrat telling everyone/bragging about having a treasure is in line with my headcanon though)

Unclear if this story takes place before or after their heist spree. Honestly continuity-wise it doesn’t make much sense either way; it kinda more feels like the heist spree never happened.  (If it was before the heist spree, its weird that Junker Queen would try to execute them here but then just exile them later. If it was after the heist spree, it’s weird she let them back in Junkertown just to execute them since they’re not her problem anymore.)

Page 2

Roadhog’s “worried look” was apparently just him waiting for Junkrat to shut up, cementing that Junkrat’s perception of Roadhog’s emotions was just Junkrat projecting his own worry onto someone else

This is a formatting thing but I don’t like when books have big blocks of text on the page from stuff that hasn’t happened yet LMAO why are they showing me spoilers.

It’s reveal on this page is that they’re here to be executed. Tbh this is kind of tonally weird to me, like I know Junker Queen wants Junkrat and Roadhog killed but it’s kind of at odds with the kind of cartoonishness of how the story’s written. (cartoonishness elaborated on in later bullet points)

Anyway the execution reveal also reveals that Junkrat’s perception of him and Junker Queen having “mutual respect” is something he made up

Junkrat is social in Junkertown and he seems to likes the people there, but he isn’t liked by the people (exemplified in part where someone throws an egg at him); apparently has some sort of sentimentality for living in Junkertown even if no one likes him

Scrumbo Wigley is a ridiculous name.

Scrumbo Wigley’s name & someone throwing an egg at Junkrat = cartoonish tone of the scene

Roadhog taps Junkrat on the shoulder to get his attention -> kind of a light touch from Roadhog which is cute to me, but tbh it’s probably meant to just shift the attention of the scene lmao

Page 3

Idk why “look” was italicized here, it felt kind of unnecessary since “gave him a look” already means “gave someone an irritated look.” (I’m just an italics hater in general tho dslfksdjfsd)

Junkertown has a premium sausage stand

The Outback Bill bit kind of emphasized the cartoonishness of the scene again; entire listing of the crimes bit intended as humorous. (Outback Bill part in particular felt so random to me, like trying to do an “avatar cabbages guy” bit in like 3 sentences)

Outback Bill crime suggests Junkrat and Roadhog blew up some people for fun (I guess the sausage stand was their target but some customers also got blown up; unclear if just injured or killed, but given the intended humor in the scene it’s probably not supposed to be anything serious)

Cartoony tone makes it feel kinda wild that they’re getting executed but I guess it’s more of a Colosseum battle than an execution

Junkrat is apparently not intimidated by Junker Queen given that he banters with her about her not wanting to fight them herself (though later he’s scared of her when she comes down to the battlefield thing so maybe that was just fake confidence.)

Junker Queen apparently finds Junkrat and Roadhog funny/entertaining (biscuit incident) which tbh makes it all the more random to me that they’re getting executed imo

This doesn’t exactly work tonally imo (again, hard to tell if there’s any gravity to this battle or if it’s just supposed to be wacky silly) but Junkrat getting pissy and saying “unbelievable” like a disappointed grandma about having to fight Wrecking Ball is pretty funny

Footnote on this page says that city factions (demolitionist, wrecker, etc) apparently work together or something I guess. Not really sure what they’re trying to suggest with this footnote; I guess it emphasizes the idea of Junkertown being self-sufficient or something. Or that they’re all destructive and violent, but like. In a community-building way.

Page 4

Roadhog pulls Junkrat out of danger (this isn’t new, he did this in Going Legit)

Junkrat eagerly joining in with the bantering/heckling conversation (?) in the crowd -> emphasizes his chatty/friendly personality, wants to make friends

Junkrat largely unaware of what Roadhog does during combat & focuses more on himself; incorporates Roadhog into his plans when it’s convenient for him; possible that it usually works out/Roadhog usually does what Junkrat asks given that it seems to be a regular occurrence (“Roadhog, catch me!” happens at the end of the story too)

Junkrat uses “wicker basket” as a swear. (???????) Again, this kind of just highlights the cartoonish/silly tone of the story

Page 5

Wrecking Ball’s reveal is also very cartoonish/unserious. Personally I don’t really know what to do with Wrecking Ball’s reveal in this story; it’s kind of not cohesive imo but I guess it’s sillay which seems to be the main goal of the story so it’s like fine I guess

Junkrat saying “It’s alright, Roadhog!” is another instance of him projecting his fear onto Roadhog and comforting himself in the guise of comforting Roadhog

Idk I’m not an action story reader (or a reader at all LMAO I never read) but the action feels kind of slow paced. Maybe because it keeps getting interrupted by jokey cartoonish things

Writing kind of too literal at times for my taste (eg: “He threw the grenade.” -> not much rising tension to this moment, almost seems like he does this casually. For example maybe there could’ve been a tense moment between the heckling from the crowd messing with Junkrat’s confidence or something (knowing that he seems to value the approval of people in Junkertown or is at least affectionate to them) but idk the scene ended up feeling very literally like “the crowd chanted -> Wrecking ball started spinning -> Junkrat aimed at Wrecking Ball -> Junkrat threw the grenade” without much investment)

Outback Bill gag happens again on this page (more cartoonish tone) but like he’s not bothered by it so good for him I guess

Junkrat’s scared of Junker Queen on this page; wasn’t much explicit indication of his worries or fears about Junker Queen before this (mostly just the implicit stuff with him projecting onto Roadhog which was very light), so idk to me this felt kind of out of nowhere for him to be explicitly scared especially since he bantered with her earlier. There’s also been like very little feeling of gravity through the whole thing (see: cartoonish moments) so it was hard for me to feel scared with him.

Apparently no one cares about Junkrat’s treasure. This suggests that Junkrat hires Roadhog just to protect him from the Queen’s men who want him dead since he’s a troublemaker. Tbh this is totally at odds with Wasted Land, where the Queen’s men are threatening him to give his treasure to them or something. Personally I think it’s just better drama for Junkrat to be wanted by the Queen and other greedy people in Junkertown for his treasure, with that being the main reason he hires Roadhog. Plus I think it just kind of ties in with his apparent theme of wanting to be liked by people: there’s something interesting to the notion of a guy that no one likes or wants to be around being literally wanted/coveted for his treasure

Junkrat’s kind of hurt when the crowd groans at him in annoyance but acts proud about it; suggests he’s not oblivious to people’s opinions of him and does get bothered when people find him annoying and don’t like him

Page 6

Crowd kind of feels like a studio audience or something at times LMAO kinda just emphasizes the cartoony/silly tone of the story

The reason given for Junkrat finding the final door is kinda wild lmao like he just fell in from holes in the roof??? Guess it’s again just supposed to emphasize his ~zany nature~. Either that or he like maneuvered his way in like a rat, but the phrasing makes it kind of unclear exactly what he did imo.

Junkrat’s “saucy wink” at Junker Queen meant to emphasize the importance of his eye and also make him flirt with Junker Queen I guess

“The crowd considered this” again kind of literal writing; I guess here it’s especially supposed to be snappy comedy but idk if it was working for me

There’s an abrupt free-for-all for Junkrat’s eye, which is kind of at odds with earlier where no one seemed to want or care about Junkrat’s treasure. I guess they’re all that curious to know what’s behind the final door? Idk the free-for-all would make more sense if the previous part about no one caring about Junkrat’s treasure wasn’t included.

Point of the free-for-all idea here that Junkrat revealing his treasure was supposed to be something he used to get the upper hand, but instead became something that gave him the lower hand (?); aka shows Junkrat is not able to read the room, is poor at manipulating/negotiating, and is always flubbing things

Page 7 (last page I read carefully)

“I thought you were gonna say idiot” -> suggests Junkrat values Roadhog’s opinion of him, insecure about himself (overcompensates when he suggests “Junkrat you’re a genius?” because he’s insecure)

Junker Queen saves Junkrat from a knife, so I guess his plan to reveal his treasure to Junker Queen did kind of work as leverage to get her on his side

 Junkrat never told Roadhog what his treasure is or where it is; not sure what’s meant to be implied here, it’s kind of weird that he’d never tell Roadhog especially since this story emphasizes Junkrat being a blabbermouth. It’s possible that he was saving the details specifically for a situation like this so he could use it to his advantage. Initially I thought maybe Roadhog said he didn’t know either as a lie (because he doesn’t trust Junker Queen) or because he forgot (suggesting he doesn’t actually care much about Junkrat’s treasure), but the end of the story makes it seem like he really just didn’t know anything about the treasure.

Roadhog agreeing about looking forward to Junkrat dying was kind of mean-spirited imo LMAO like I guess supposed to be just a joke given the overall cartoony tone of this story + the unserious atmosphere it’s created surrounding execution, and I usually don’t mind when Roadhog’s kind of an asshole to Junkrat, but that was kind of out of pocket for me lskfjldsf

Other misc notes:

2nd half of the story is kind of action-heavy (since there’s no heckling from the crowd anymore) which is kind of at odds with the cartoony tone of the first half imo.

Specific detail I liked: the idea that Junkrat projects his fears/worries/nervousness/etc onto how he interprets Roadhog and that he talks “Roadhog” through his “worries” as a way for him to verbalize his own fears and work through them. Basically this quirk allows him to believe he’s still a cocky, self-confident person when he actually has worries or insecurities. (Like “These aren’t MY problems or worries, they’re Roadhog’s!” but like they’re clearly his.) I guess it is kind of a selfish reading of Junkrat in that it seems like he doesn’t really understand Roadhog but idk for me I think it makes sense for him to be kind of a self-centered person most of the time.

I also kinda liked Junkrat being chatty with some people in the crowd and him being sentimental for Junkertown and its people. Honestly all the details I liked were so minor; I kind of wish they were somehow expanded on a little more. Especially think there could have been a lot more tension between the crowd & Junkrat’s desire to be liked or whatever vs how that might affect (and distract) him in combat. I mean it was literally a crowd, they could have very explicitly made him try (and probably fail) to be a crowd-pleaser. (Like there was a little of this but not much and not in a way that I found super compelling while reading. imo)

I think the main thing for me is that the writing was very straightforward or literal so most of the time was spent describing things that were literally happening instead of writing with a particular theme or goal in mind. Unfortunately I don’t really have a ton of examples of what I mean so. Whatever LMAO;; I think this kind of story just isn’t really my taste in the first place since I like moody/introspective stuff more than combat-heavy stuff. The lightheartedness was like fine I guess but I did feel like it was frequently awkward when couched between the combat scenes. Again I don’t have examples/evidence of this off the top of my head so I may be totally off here but the writing style felt a bit like describing an action movie or cinematic rather than being a work that utilizes writing to portray action scenes. That’s not really a big deal to me because I’m not expecting like amazing writing from Overwatch (it’s primarily a fps not prestige literature) but idk maybe it would’ve worked better for me if it was animated or a comic or something.

Sorry for the Junkrat-heavy notes; the story was mostly from Junkrat’s POV in a way so it was easier to write notes about him than other characters. maybe I'll have more to say about other stuff when/if I try to reread the last couple pages of the story.

Anyway thanks for reading if you did! Hopefully it was interesting to someone!;;;;;

[pesterloglog]

Jade Harley, Roxy Lalonde

Act 6, page 6291-6297

JADE: excuse me but did you just "laugh your ass off" at me under your breath

ROXY: ummm

ROXY: yea

ROXY: maybe

JADE: :|

JADE: i fail to see what is so amusing

ROXY: u do

ROXY: seriously?

JADE: .....

JADE: ok i guess the situation is a little funny because of this absurd folder

JADE: and the fact that i woofed at you probably didnt help either

JADE: but im not here to share a good laugh over the old ladys sense of design or her penchant for scrapbooking!

JADE: i am here to make sure that you do as youre told

ROXY: ugh

JADE: now take the file and review your assignment

ROXY: i already looked at it

ROXY: its dumb and impossible and i aint cooperating w her regardless!

JADE: yes you will

ROXY: can we change the subject

JADE: no

ROXY: arent you jakes grandma

JADE: thats what he told me when we were pen pals

JADE: but i think its more accurate to say im his alternate universe biological daughter

ROXY: oh

ROXY: that clears that up then

JADE: yes, it does :p

JADE: now take the damn folder

ROXY: so alt grannydaughter english

ROXY: whyre u part dog + evil lookin

JADE: DO NOT CALL ME THAT!!!

ROXY: what

JADE: my surname is harley not english

JADE: but you may refer to me as jade, or ma'am if you are feeling especially nervous and deferential

JADE: which as it turns out is the way you should be feeling about me, ALWAYS >:B

ROXY: LOL!!!

JADE: lol WHAT

ROXY: jade i am in no way buying that ur normally this pompous and tyrannical

ROXY: the shtick rly doesnt suit you its so obvious

ROXY: why you doin the batterhags tacky bidding anyway

ROXY: she got you under an xtra terrestrial fish spell or

JADE: SILENCE!!!!!!

ROXY: OOF!

JADE: open the file

ROXY: mrphmmphumph

JADE: OPEN IT!

ROXY: fine :(

ROXY: ok i opened it

ROXY: hey look its the same shit as before

ROXY: im supposed to make this weird knobbly spike ball appear out of nothin

JADE: yes

ROXY: ok got it

ROXY: let me give it a shot then

ROXY: ...

ROXY: welp still impossible

ROXY: what now maam??

JADE: it is not impossible

ROXY: is 2

JADE: you are the rogue of void

JADE: dont you know what that means?

ROXY: i dunno

ROXY: means i can turn invisible and stuff?

ROXY: like the blonde in that crappy superhero quartet

JADE: it means a lot more than that

JADE: your true powers are more impressive than those of anyone else in your crappy quartet

JADE: in fact i would say they are almost as cool as mine >:)

ROXY: not sure the ability to make weird spikeballs outta nothin is all that cool tbh

JADE: not just spikeballs!

JADE: imagine that your title is roughly synonymous with "one who steals nothing"

JADE: what do you think it means to be able to steal nothing?

ROXY: it means

ROXY: im like a shitty cat burglar who sucks at her job?

JADE: WRONG

JADE: it means just the opposite

JADE: it means you can steal the essence of nothingness from something

JADE: you can rob nothingness from an idea if you put your mind to it

JADE: effectively allowing you to conjure virtually anything out of thin air

ROXY: omg

ROXY: u cant be serious

ROXY: that is way too much superpower 4 a dork like me 2 have

JADE: grrrrr...

ROXY: oh no

ROXY: pls dont growl @ me dogjade

ROXY: is legit frightening :(

JADE: im sorry, but your remarks of self deprecation made me very angry

JADE: once i was even more of a dork than you

JADE: but now i am one of the most powerful beings who has ever existed

JADE: i dont want to hear any whining about what you think you cant do

JADE: you are hereby under strict orders from myself and her condescension to "clam up" and conjure that orb, do you understand?

ROXY: so im just supposed to

ROXY: sit here and think about this ugly ball

ROXY: and twiddle my fingers or somethin

ROXY: ?

JADE: you tell me

JADE: space is my racket, not void

ROXY: maybe it would help if i knew what the dang thing WAS

ROXY: how am i supposed to steal the nonexistence from a concept when the concept only exists in my mind as "ugly ball"

JADE: its called the matriorb

JADE: it is the key to resurrecting the troll race

JADE: once you create it the empress will hatch it on an uninhabited planet located beyond the reach of her cruel employer

JADE: there her people will have another chance to thrive without the ever looming threat of extinction that comes with his influence

JADE: so you see roxy, there is nothing noble about refusing to help

JADE: once an entire alien race went extinct because of a terrible monster, and you can help give them a second chance

JADE: dont you want that?

ROXY: um

ROXY: in theory sure i guess

ROXY: but ur basically asking me to bring a lot of people back to life so they can be slaves to that witch

ROXY: u want me to help make all these fresh new trolls but then just turn em over to her? like here you go have fun SNORKELBITCH MEGAHITLER

ROXY: i do not actually think i wanna do that??

JADE: yes fair enough, but heres the other thing...

JADE: if you dont i am going to kill you

ROXY: oh noes

JADE: oh yesses!

JADE: a literal plurality of yesses

JADE: seeing as you are a god tier it is very likely you will come back to life

JADE: so i can just keep killing you over and over a different way each time

JADE: maybe i will disembowel you a few times

JADE: i will not even need to use my sharp doggy teeth!

JADE: i will just snap my fingers and your delicious guts will teleport outside your body

ROXY: ew!

JADE: no way more like yum

JADE: i will just keep on killing you again and again

JADE: until you finally get tired of dying and follow your orders

ROXY: maaan

ROXY: evil jade is sucky jade

JADE: i believe you will find i am the suckiest jade there is

JADE: now we are going to be here in this cell for as long as it takes

JADE: i am not going anywhere until you try doing your voidey thing and make something appear

JADE: is that understood?

ROXY: blehhhh

ROXY: fine

ROXY: why u gotta be so awful jade

ROXY: really putting a cramp on us makin choice new friends w each other

ROXY: oh well here goes

ROXY: all twiddlin my fingers and such

ROXY: busting out tha MAJYYXXX! prayin up a storm to the holy wizardchrist they aint fake...

ROXY: alright check it

ROXY: one jank ass space egg coming up

ROXY: ABRACA HAPPEN!

ROXY: this is not a space egg

JADE: no, its not

ROXY: balls

ROXY: guess i effed up my void spell

ROXY: what is this thing

JADE: thats a perfectly generic object

ROXY: its perfectly generic?

JADE: yes

ROXY: dunno about that

ROXY: looks like a green cube to me

ROXY: with like

ROXY: slightly beveled corners

JADE: thats what a perfectly generic object is

ROXY: couldnt something theoretically be more generic than this

JADE: how

ROXY: um

ROXY: i dunno

JADE: exactly

ROXY: :\

JADE: if you want your powers to reach their full potential youre going to need to become more familiar with the fundamental building blocks of ideas and how they translate into more complicated thoughts and forms

JADE: then it becomes a simple matter of using your abilities to snatch those concepts from unreality

ROXY: sounds too hard

ROXY: better start killing me repeatedly and get it over with

JADE: we both know you dont think its too hard, you think it sounds like an interesting challenge

ROXY: dammit!

ROXY: (fucken jakes wily bitch ass grandma)

JADE: this is a very good start though

JADE: with a little practice im sure our empress will have her orb in no time

ROXY: well at least i know i can make a whole lot of these boring cubes if all else fails

ROXY: hey maybe ill build a sick fort outta them

ROXY: hehehe jade tell me that wouldnt be so baller

JADE: it would be fairly baller

ROXY: fyeah

JADE: keep trying for that orb though

JADE: i will return in a while to review your progress

JADE: and remember, dont get any funny ideas

ROXY: but p much all my ideas are funny

JADE: i mean dont try to escape!

JADE: even if you are invisible i will be able to track you down instantly

JADE: my sense of smell is very good

JADE: now if youll excuse me i have some business to attend to

ROXY: what business

JADE: i am still trying to locate my brother

JADE: but im having trouble picking up his scent

JADE: hes using his windy powers to obscure the trail and its giving me fits

ROXY: windy powers eh

ROXY: who is your bro?

JADE: woof!!!

JADE: i mean shoosh :x

JADE: that is enough questions from you

JADE: now i believe you have a space egg to conjure

ROXY: (mumble mumble egg mumble shove it grumble)

JADE: what?

ROXY: (mumble mutter my fat ass)

JADE: farewell roxy

[legendarybelmont]

In response to your post

You know something I go insane over? During that encounter, Trevor uses Holy Water on Hector. ("Incinerate!")

He sees him as so inhuman for his role as Forgemaster, that he treats him like any other demonic creature to be slain without thought. Sir. Sir that is a person. You are trying to purify a person. Or burn him alive, depending on how it works. It would have been fucked up even if he were fighting Isaac.

Even better, Isaac is strong to Dark but is not weak to Holy, implying Forgemasters are not cursed to that degree (yes even when saturated with the Curse lol). Sure, Holy Water hurts Hector, but my headcanon is that it's reacting to Legion which is growing under the cathedral. Still. Says a lot about our Legendary Belmont.

this is really good so i dont have much commentary, but one note i have: i do think trevor just likes throwing holy water at people, honestly. in the grand scheme of curse of darkness, this (and grand cross) is basically the only thing trevor ever does to imply he has general prejudice against the devil forgemasters other than just the fact that isaac is really annoying and fucking over wallachia; he never makes note of the dark power they served dracula with (just that their power, unlabelled, rivals death), he never brings up hectors past as a point against him (except to say that he probably shouldve died escaping dracula, which is crazy), he never says anything to the effect of giving us the impression he judges the forgemasters or hector for their 'career path' or their abilities - for the most part, trevor is just mean for excusable (but very dickish) reasons that don't tie into prejudices, which i think is accurate enough to the way he treats alucard - he seems to overall have an almost irresponsible level of disregard for the nature of dark power and inherently evil alignment in general, especially considering article a, the abyss whip (gotta love defiling sacred family heirlooms in the name of a 30+ atk boost, am i right gang?). so generally speaking, i feel like while this is a valid interpretation to have, its more of an almost leon character trait to have than a trevor one, or at least thats what id think. trevor is just an asshole (affectionate). almost all of his conflict with hector and isaac is derived from a general idea of "isaac is causing shit, im going to stop him, dont get in my way, he's my problem to deal with, shove off", likely in part because he just almost killed hector and therefore considers him too weak to handle isaac on his own, although his weird obsessiveness with issac is its own problem... yeah. he calms down markedly once hector proves he can hold his own, so thats something!

though, if you really wanted to, you could interpret his ease in spilling his own blood to assist hector as a holdover from his days of having a vampire friend, whether alucard prompted his general nonchalance about things he really shouldn't be nonchalant about or not... which is a certain kind of bias/expectations being applied :p

[hepatosaurus]

2023 AO3 Wrapped!

I had a lot of fun tracking my fic reading in 2022, so... I did it again in 2023! Still fun, still both completely unsurprising and a little illuminating at the same time. I definitely read less fic this past year—only 77 across 12 fandoms, compared to last year's 110—but that's OK. Life happens, and I'm very aware that I'm never going to be a person who reads a million words per month (or 100 books a year). Stats-wise, I can't guarantee that these numbers are completely accurate, but they feel right and that's what counts.

Word Count

971,646 words! Numbers fluctuated throughout the year with one real dead zone (lol @ June - I was busy! sibling got married! played a lot of Zelda!), and I kind of petered out by the end of the year. On the plus side, my brain can handle reading actual books again, which was fun. On the minus side: less fic. Oh well. (Also: May's number isn't entirely accurate, but I had to put rubicon's final word count somewhere. No, I haven't finished reading the complete edited fic yet, but that's when the last chapter draft hit my inbox, soooo there.) Most fics were on the shorter side, unsurprisingly (average length was ~12k); I think rubicon was the only one over 100k. I did read more 50–100k fic compared to last year though, which was nice.

(Putting the rest behind a cut. Obligatory warning that this is mostly about Fire Emblem, but what else is new?)

Top Fandoms

My FE3H reading took a HUGE hit this year, falling from 87.3% to... 83.1%. Ouch, how will my faves recover. Really though, this was yet another reminder that although I certainly watched and loved a lot of new movies and tv shows, read new books, played new video games (ok, it was mostly BOTW/TOTK), all things that could conceivably lead me to check out greener pastures, I am still in an extremely monofandom phase in terms of actual fic reading/fandom participation (four years now!). And honestly, I'm fine with that! I'm having fun, blorbos are still my blorbos, there's still a ton of fic I haven't read yet (new and old), and I'm in a nice/quiet/drama-free corner of fandom. Besides, the average fandom lifespan is too short these days anyway. I'm doing my part to break the cycle. :P

I do wish I had the brain space to read a little more widely, though. I was so close to going on a zelink bender after I finished BOTW, but life got busy and it just... didn't happen. Maybe in 2024. Severance and fandom juggernaut SoftBank Next 30-Year Vision tried their best—two fics each! impressive, lol—but the heart wants what it wants, and what it wants is anime chess pieces kissing (and/or killing) each other.

Top Authors

56 individual authors, with the top spot going to...desmodus! which does not surprise me tbh; they write such good fic. Looking at these particular results was an interesting reminder that I'm really not someone who methodically/voraciously reads through an author's entire back catalogue, at least not currently. Like, besides the named authors, there were four more with two fics each and the rest had only one each. Next time, I'm almost tempted to see if I can factor in word count to get a better idea of how much time I really spent reading each author, especially since I might (hypothetically) read multiple forgettable 1–5k fics by Author A, and then a single memorable/meaty 95k fic by Author B that sticks with me for years. Is Author A really more of a "top" author? Not really. That's more work on my part though, so we'll see what happens. (All of this waffling could be solved by making an actual rec list for once, but shhhhh.)

Top Pairings

Surprising absolutely no one, I'm still in sylvix hell. Congrats to None for jumping a couple spots in the rankings, though! A solid showing. I need to get better at tracking platonic relationships, but to be fair, those tags are underutilized on AO3 to begin with (or not used consistently), and I typically—but not always—stick with the main tags chosen by the author.

Also, please note that the ship in sixth place was entirely thanks to alphabetical sorting (it was a six-way tie), but I'm keeping it as is because it makes me laugh/implies some sort of character growth on my part that may or may not exist.

Top Characters

Lol. In my defense(?), Sylvain did drop almost three whole points this year; he couldn't even hit 60%! What kind of blorbo...?! Jokes aside, it's an entirely expected list. My Blue Lions/Golden Deer bias persists, but I'm not sure what determined when I logged "Blue Lions Students" vs. their actual names—probably half laziness, half just following what the author picked. I did love seeing Ask A Manager's Allison Green chilling at the bottom of this list with Bakugo, though. I'm sure she'll be fine. (And god knows Mr. King Explosion Murder and the rest of my top 20 could stand to follow her advice.)

(Also: apologies to Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, as I see his illustrious surname was cut off accidentally. Forgive me.)

Ratings, Categories, etc.

Also pretty unsurprising! I considered cutting my NSFW tracker at the beginning of last year since it's a little redundant, but that never happened. It might come in handy one day, especially if I'm looking through my spreadsheet for individualized recs. I was surprised that the Multi category was so low, but that could be due to inconsistencies in how people tag their fic? And/or how I logged them. Sometimes it means poly, but sometimes it just means that there are multiple kinds of ships in a fic. Either way, it's something to consider for 2024's tracker. Consistency! Let's strive for it! ✨

Tags & Tropes

Also about what I expected, though I was honestly shocked to see Established Relationship ranking so high? And Friends to Lovers so low? What is going ON here. (The former is probably partially due to mikey desmodus's excellent married sylvix fics.) Sorry to Horse Feelings, though; I made a dedicated tag on my google form and everything, but there was only the one fic in the end :(

Etc: Commenting, Rereading, Reccing, and Bookmarks

Commenting: My only real fic-reading "goal" in 2023 was to get my commenting percentage up to at least 50% and...I did that! Just barely, but 51.9% is 51.9%. Obsessive media tracking works!

Rereads: As expected, and pretty in line with last year (with a tiny increase). I'm just not a big rereader in general, though I did do a fair bit of rereading WIPs to prepare for new chapters. (Not sure how I classified those, come to think of it...)

Bookmarks: Also pretty similar to last year (with a tiny decrease).

Reccing: Now this DID surprise me. That "Yes" percentage seems almost absurdly high, jumping from 46.4% to 61%, and my "No"s dropped a ton too (22.7% to 5.2%). Either I got nicer or I just read better fic. :P Leaning towards the former, but probably a bit of both tbh. My one DNF was a longfic WIP that didn't spark joy and was becoming a hateread, which is rare for me - byeeeee.

Takeaways

By now my tracking form has become part of my fic-reading routine (read - track - comment/etc), and I can't see that changing any time soon. Obviously not everyone wants to (or should!) engage with fic this way, and I can definitely see how it might suck the joy out of reading for some people, but for me, it's been a good mental exercise and a really helpful commenting aid. Also, it's just fun. I like thinking critically about media! I like having a place to record my silly little thoughts about the silly little fanfics I read! All in all, I highly recommend doing something similar if you, like me, get a rush from making lists and compiling data, and if you like complimenting people but sometimes need that extra push to actually tell them and post a comment.

Goals-wise... I don't really do those lol. Probably to continue commenting and maybe try to read more widely, but honestly I'm probably not going to change my habits intentionally. Besides, looking at what I've read so far, yes, it's already half Fire Emblem, but also half gen and half F/F with nary a Sylvain in sight*! We got History Boys, we got Haikyuu filk, we got Ingrid and a MILF! Who knows what's around the corner?

(*This is quite literally only because I haven't logged rubicon yet. Don't worry, he's coming.)

[mermaidsirennikita]

Weekly Book Recs: 10/6-10/13

Pride and Protest by Nikki Payne

Easily one of the best Pride and Prejudice retellings I've read, this takes our prickly leads and turns them into an activist versus a billionaire (who has a lot more going for him than "billionaire", believe). It's socially conscious, funny, and touching--and it captures the more melancholic aspects of P&P more than most reboots I've read. There's a real old school 90s-2000s romcom vibe to the fallout aspect of the book. Pick it up! #23for23

Jana Goes Wild by Farah Heron

I blogged a bit about this one as I was reading it--and suffice to say, I was impressed. It's a risky premise--Jana and Anil have a two week fling during which she falls head over heels, finds out he's married, and, after blocking him on every platform possible, discovers she's knocked up... Cut to five years later, and they're co-parents of a daughter while seeing each other as little as possible. Until they end up a part of the same wedding party. At a destination wedding. In Tanzania. It's a big swing of a story, and with a charming hero (Anil and his daughter... my heart) and a heroine who's so hesitant to take a risk after being burned (but so drawn to her baby daddy) it really impressed me. I know this one is polarizing in romance circles; and if you're familiar with romance circles, you can guess why. Cardinal romance rules broken! The heroine isn't perfect and she's a woman of color so the standard has to be impossibly high! Whatever, man. This shit is good. #23for23

Sinner by Sierra Simone

I read this a year ago and wasn't really feeling it, but gave it another shot when my mood shifted--and liked it a lot more this time around. I'd call this perhaps the most "approachable" Sierra Simone I've read so far--it's really a sex lessons/age gap/brother's best friend book, with the added bonus of the heroine being thisclose to becoming a nun. I won't lie--if you wanted to dip your toes into Sierra Simone's work, I think Priest is probably a more... accurate... representation of her standard fare (Sean Bell keeps going "I'm a bad man, my good brother Tyler over there on the other hand" and like. My guy. Sean. Tyler is OBSCENE.) but this one is quite good. And very, very hot. TW: Sean is a primary caretaker for his mother, who has terminal cancer. That is a big part of the book, and while I thought it was done beautifully, it is very sad.

The Professional by Kresley Cole

Kresley Cole is one of those authors whose style was kind of made for mafia romance--over the top, super hot, and alpha to the nth degree. This is the first non-IAD book I've read by her, and though I was surprised by some differences (it's first person POV, single POV at that) it's a fucking romp, the way I expect a Kresley book to be. There's stalking-is-love, our hero kidnaps our heroine after watching her masturbate to the memory of him in the bathtub, there's a lot of good bit of kink. And it's a bodyguard romance, which I personally love. It's a little softer than some of the mafia romances I've read--but I am more than confident that the next book will be... different.

A Rake's Vow by Stephanie Laurens

In theory, there isn't a lot that's super crazy about the plot of A Rake's Vow--it's basically a rake/resistant virgin book, with a light, fun mystery. But it's just so fun. The tone is perfect. Vane just wants this woman to marry him, because Fate demands it, damn it! And Patience is resistant for a reason I don't know that I've seen a lot, or at all in historicals--her father was a rake, and she doesn't want to end up like her heartbroken mother. (Also, she's raising her little brother and very Practical and doesn't want Vane to be a bad influence on him, and it's all very amusing.) This is a house party book without the party, full of a cast of quirky characters. At one point, he starts putting the moves on her in the conservatory and she's like "what are you doing" and he goes "you followed me into the CONSERVATORY". Like I said, it's so much fun. And Cynster men are conquerors--don't ever forget that.

Never Met a Duke Like You by Amalie Howard

A funny, sexy retelling of Clueless (which is a retelling of Emma, and it all works). Out 11/14, read my full review here.

[pinkcannibal]

soo not to get nsfw on the main… But with that being said… i‘ve just reread the latest chapter of it’s quicker and easier for the fourth time (somebody sedate me) and i just have some food for thought that is stuck to my mind‘s interior. SEE WHAT YOUVE DONE!! this fic is permanently tattooed onto my brain!!

like ok so i just think with all of marilyn’s prowess with potions and elixirs, she would surely have the knowledge to come up with some kind of,,, concoction that would allow her to gain a certain appendage (if u know what i’m talking about ;)). The next step then of course is fulfilling her and reader‘s fantasies of feeling her "come inside you and paint your walls with everything she is" with said appendage of marilyn’s. and woah what a line. whattt a line. a line that i personally feel should be interpreted as a prophecy of sorts that needs to be fulfilled immediately mhm mhm !

ok sorry but my point is it’s established marilyn has a breeding kink and yep, that definitely tracks. and reader has a 'consuming any part of marilyn she can like a pathetic eager puppy' kink, be it her blood, spit (👀 pls) or cum. i just think yknow if marilyn has the tools she is well within her right to use them to get herself her own cock and fuck her controversially younger girlfriend with it!!😌 when life gives you lemons, you use them to brew a cock-growing elixir for you and your gf to have fun with… i think that’s how the saying goes <3

anyways sorry for the long ask oops i didn’t mean for it to be this long. last sidepart and this is purely amused delusion but i find it so funny to imagine marilyn building this whole thing up and it happens and she and reader are very turned on and excited… only for marilyn to come in like 30 seconds. bc this is a whole new sensation for her obviously!!!! and even when she’s usually fucking reader without her cock, marilyn’s mostly the one giving and she’s not used to much direct stimulation without having reader come first!!! so then marilyn’s feeling mortified and reader is simultaneously understanding, horny, flattered and proud that she could make her lose control like that.

soo yeah that’s my food for thought on that ONE line from your fic that wouldn’t leave my head. a feast for thought would be more accurate. to make it explicit, i’d love to see something like this happen in the fic with marilyn and reader, or even a one-shot (or both!). that being said i get that it’s not for everyone so if ur not down then ofc don’t feel obliged to write anything ur not comfortable with <3 i was just kinda obsessing over the idea since reading chapter 18 and wanted to articulate my feral thoughts somewhere :p

rant ended for now, congratulations on exceeding 100K words!! that’s a super impressive feat for any author, never mind the fact that you didn’t think the fic would surpass 20K!! we’re super proud of you and blessed to have you as the author of this fic <33 take care and hope to read more soon!!!

okay the way this ask has NOT left my brain since reading it jesus christ!!!! HI??? ur so valid for this actually (also the fact that youve read the chap four times already is so sweet ty!!!! :') dont be sorry for being nsfw on main this sideblog is literally. MADE for that and for people to ask me things like this skdksd

okay. so i HAVE talked abt this on discord before w my beloved '<3' from ao3 and its so funny bc like. when we talk abt marilyn coming its always said with the knowledge that like 'oh of course she can come inside of reader using the strap/her cock. this is both physically possible and normal :)' skdksd so like the fact that youve sent this message is personal TO ME bc even tho i havent made it a thing in my fic yet i DO want to add a scene with either a cum filled strap on or, like you said, bc marilyn's so talented with elixir's/potions im SURE there is a concoction she can create that either a) allows her to feel her cum filled strap as if it was her own appendage AND acts like it or b) have her own cock. im more inclined with option A as it feels more realistic in my fic and would flow better i think within the confides of how ive written this story, and the fact that ive set up already that marilyn is really talented in potion making/plants and organic material. it would have to be slight magic using i guess?? (also realistic is a dumb word to use ik ksdkd like this is the world where vampires werewolves and gorgons exist. yet i just feel like strap would work better instead of her acquiring an actual cock)

btw ur 'when life gives you lemons,' comment made me lose it thank u so much for that. but yes! trust me when i say marilyn is constantlyyyy thinking abt possible ways she can make this a reality, it literally is a cause of frustration for marilyn that she cant give her girl what she wants and fill her up w her cum </3 its why she says it as a form of praise/degradation during 18 and 19 eg: "i wish i could cum in you" and "make you mine" bc like these freaks are so in love that the idea of breeding reader is succchhh a fulfilling fantasy, and visa versa. for reader its like 'i literally want all of you. ALL of you' like marilyn knows and LOVES how much reader is eager to please to take anything of marilyn's like you said, esp blood cum and spit (this idea is romantic to me. no further questions sdkskd) so yes tldr this IS an idea i really, really want to explore bc i can do so much with the idea of consuming your milf lover so much that you beg for their cum inside you/down your throat at all times <333

oh ur so real for marilyn not lasting comment. thats so 😵‍💫definitely the first time they try it marilyn's just so overwhelmed by feeling how warm and wet reader is (its a completely different sensation than feeling w her fingers/tongue) and how much reader is begging for it she just. comes immediately. does not know how to act and keeps filling reader up as much as she can (this does in fact send reader into suchhh a dumbed down headspace feeling it; like u have NO idea how much this is affecting her skdksd) but to me after the first time marilyn is just so focused on making reader the one who comes first every time, bc marilyn gets off on reader getting off and loves being the one to always give <33

i think im more inclined to add it into the fic! but thats not to say im ruling it out of requests/one shots. ur so okay omg ksdk the fact that u were obsessing over this makes me feel validated that me and '<3' arent the only ones who talk abt this concept like. all the time skdkd and wait AHHHHH GOD thank you so much!!!!🥰 thats genuinely so sweet and so uplifting for you to say, i hope you take care too and have an amazing day anon!! :')