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spider-stark · 6 months

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INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place.

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange.

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown.

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter.

Or, at least, none that mattered.

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do.

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play.

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift.

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether.

And Peter never even asked why.

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?”

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.”

And how true that must have been.

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too.

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night?

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.”

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?!

“Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?”

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.”

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter.

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.”

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.”

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter.

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.”

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used.

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar.

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite.

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now.

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?”

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.”

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too.

“Did he?”

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.”

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's.

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him.

“Well did he have anything useful?”

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter.

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups.

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0.

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration.

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear.

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?”

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation.

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.”

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite.

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?”

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.”

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?”

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch.

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?”

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him.

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.”

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.”

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.”

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth.

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.”

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?”

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?”

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.”

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now!

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-”

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!”

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.”

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief.

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded.

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere.

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now.

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down…

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.”

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell.

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered.

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night?

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.”

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips.

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world.

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all.

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone.

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting.

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway.

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!”

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!”

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else.

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?”

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?”

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.”

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse.

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully.

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter.

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!”

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.”

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?”

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task.

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway.

“Mj happened.”

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.”

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.”

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease.

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth.

You sucked in a breath.

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.”

His brow snapped up. “What changed?”

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours.

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth.

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?”

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance.

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.”

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-”

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.”

“I’m not pretending-”

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.”

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.”

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest.

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.”

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?”

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

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incognit0slut · 2 months

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Much Ado About Nothing (Act III, Scene IV: The Quiet Morning)

The tension between you and Spencer reaches a breaking point the next morning.

Part warning: (18+) breast play, fingering, and some grinding action because he can’t stop himself Words: 1.9k A/n: this might be the quietest smut I’ve ever written, but we need to keep the tension going because it’s good for the drama🤩 i also wanna say that i wrote this in between my pile of work so please excuse me if you see any mistakes or some weird description that doesn’t make any sense. my head is about to explode

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

You woke up with an arm draped across your waist. Under normal circumstances, you would have jumped at the unexpected contact, but when the memory of last night crossed your half-conscious mind, it shouldn’t have surprised you.

Although you weren’t sure how you ended up like this. The details of the night before were a bit hazy, like fragments of a dream slipping through your fingers. You remembered the intensity, the undeniable pull that had drawn you together, but how it had led to this calm, intimate closeness was a mystery.

The gentle weight of his hand resting on your stomach was a constant reminder of the compromising position you were in. You wondered whether he was awake, or whether he was merely drifting in that blurry space between sleep and consciousness. You couldn’t help but wonder if he even realized how tightly he was holding you.

But then a subtle brush across your stomach made you tense unexpectedly. You felt his warm breath fanning across your skin, a shaky exhale that barely made a sound as it passed through his lips. There was an intake, a pointed swallow, the thick gulp of exchanged air suggesting he was, in fact, already awake.

You shifted slightly. This seemed like the right moment to address what happened last night. The quiet of the morning made it seem like an appropriate time to confront your emotions, to peel back the layers of what was quickly becoming something more real. More than just a lie

But neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of your breathing. You lay there, waiting, your mind conjuring up various scenarios of what might happen next. You imagined him awkwardly stumbling over an apology, or worse, bolting out of the room in a rush of confusion and regret. Yet you certainly didn’t expect what came next.

He pressed a hesitant kiss at the back of your neck.

You froze, caught completely off guard. You thought of pulling away, but your body remained still, almost as if it refused to react until your brain processed the rush of emotions flooding through you. For a moment, you felt suspended in time, unable to move, to think, to breathe. But as you felt his tongue trace a warm, delicate line along the curve of your neck, you knew you couldn’t resist him any longer.

You tilted your head, giving him better access to the tender skin beneath your ear. His lips found the spot where your pulse throbbed most visibly, and he lingered there, sucking gently the whole time you squirmed in his arms.

He took your response as encouragement, letting his hand trail along your stomach before stopping at the hem of your shirt. He paused, his hand resting lightly against you as if asking for permission. A moment of hesitation fluttered through your mind, but it didn’t last too long. With a deep breath, you gave a small nod, signaling him to continue.

His palm was warm as he slipped beneath the fabric, tracing soft patterns on your skin. You tensed momentarily at the initial contact, then relaxed into his touch as he gently skimmed along, drawing invisible lines towards the soft skin where your breast met your ribcage. He paused yet again, this time as if he was waiting for any sign from you to stop. But you gave none. How could you stop when every part of your body was trembling with anticipation?

When he realized that you weren’t pulling away, his large palm covered your breast.

You let out an audible gasp.

In all the time you had known him, Spencer was the type of person who approached everything with caution and thoughtfulness, and maybe even a bit reserved. But he was a man full of curiosity, always eager to learn and explore new things, and this time, he was curious about your body.

His hand lingered there, taking in the softness of your skin before his palm molded around the curve of your breast, fingers stretching out to feel the delicate flesh beneath. The pressure was light at first, almost tentative, as if he were gauging your reaction. He then moved his thumb to trace the outline of your nipple, causing it to harden under his touch.

Your skin prickled with arousal as he continued to tease you, brushing over the sensitive peak over and over again until he was satisfied. There was a certain confidence in his movement now, as though he were familiarizing himself with your body. When you arched your back, he responded by pinching your nipple lightly between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently, drawing a quiet moan from you.

His own breath was hot and uneven against your neck. You pushed your hips back into him, feeling the firm pressure of his growing arousal against your body. The sensation made you crave more—no, you needed more. Before you could second guess yourself, you pulled his hand away from your breast, only to guide it further down.

His fingers followed your lead, sliding over your stomach and down towards the waistband of your shorts. You felt his breath grow shallow as he realized where you were leading him. He hesitated for a moment, but when you parted your legs for him, his hesitation dissolved. His hand slipped beneath the fabric of your shorts, and with daring boldness, he let his fingers slide under your panties as well.

The moment he made contact with your bare skin, a shiver ran through your body. He ran his fingertips along the length of your folds with genuine curiosity as if he was wondering how you managed to be this wet already. His fingers slid over your slickness, up, down, and then back up again before he found your throbbing clit.

Your chest began to heave, your hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over you casually. He circled your clit with slow precision, the pads of his fingers finding just the right pressure to make you gasp. A strained moan escaped your lips, more like a cry of need than anything else, and Spencer seemed to sense your desperation.

He withdrew his hand from you, and you almost voiced a protest, but it died in your throat as he pushed your shorts down your legs. You quickly helped him, slipping off your panties before you settled back onto your side. But he stopped you, pulling you slightly onto your back so you were half-lying on the bed and half atop him.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as he slowly parted your legs. He positioned one of them over his, leaving you fully exposed. You could feel his ragged breath against your ear as his hand moved down the length of your inner thigh. You squirmed when he finally reached your heat.

He traced the outer edges of your folds, teasing you with light, feathery touches before he slipped lower, finding your entrance. He teased you there, dipping just inside before retreating, a drawn-out moan tumbling past your parted lips. He repeated the motion, each time going a little deeper, until finally, he pushed two fingers inside.

The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. His fingers were long, stretching you in ways that made your toes curl. You watched the way his arm flexed, his muscles tensing as he pumped his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt. He hit a spot inside you that left you gasping and panting, and your desperate hand sought purchase, sliding up behind you. You reached into the soft hair at the back of his head, threading carelessly through the tousled strands as he leaned closer, planting open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

Your moans grew louder, more urgent, as he continued to thrust his fingers deeper. The pressure built inside your lower stomach, and you could feel the unmistakable rhythm of his hips rutting against your ass. He was hard, his cock straining through the fabric of his pants, brushing against your bare skin with every thrust. Another drive of his hips had you clenching around his fingers, and suddenly, the sweetest noise flew past your ears.

A groan. A very small one, hardly above a whisper, but it was rich and coarse.

The sound only heightened your pleasure, and now you were seconds away from shattering. Your grip on his hair tightened as you turned your head towards him. He responded immediately, his mouth capturing yours desperately, a meeting of tongues and teeth that left you both breathless. You clung onto him as his fingers quickened their pace, and all you could hear was the filthy sound your body was making.

Everything was suddenly too much, and before you knew it, the tension coiled within you snapped. A wave of intense pleasure crashed over you, leaving you trembling and crying out against his mouth. Your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm, your inner muscles clenching around his fingers as he continued to drive into you, his hips grinding desperately against your ass.

You were now panting, trying to focus through the haze of your orgasm as you felt the hard length of him straining against his pants. You shifted slightly, arching your back to give him better access, and the new angle allowed him to press even closer. His fingers slipped from you, and he grabbed your hip, using it as leverage to grind himself harder, rutting his hips against you with an urgent rhythm.

With a final, forceful thrust, he found his release as a moan that sounded more strained and desperate, almost like a whine, escaped his lips. His body tensed and then relaxed, the tension melting away as he clung to you, his breath heavy and warm against your mouth.

For a moment, you stayed like that, both of you trying to catch your breath. But then the silence that followed became too palpable, stretching on as neither of you seemed ready to break it. You should probably say something, anything to fill the void, but neither of you seemed able to find the right words.

The quiet grew, and you suddenly became acutely aware of everything around you—how your leg was still draped over his, the feeling of his arousal still pressing against you, and the way the cool air brushed your exposed skin. And somehow, amidst it all, you began to feel a creeping sense of unease.

You began to resent how you had allowed yourself to be swept up in the moment. You began to hate your lack of self-control. When your brain was no longer clouded by lust, your thoughts became clear, and now you felt foolish for letting things go this far, for not guarding your emotions as well as your body.

Spencer opened his mouth, but you didn’t want to hear whatever regrets he might voice. You sensed it in the way he slightly pulled away, the way he loosened his grip around you as if he too was trying to make sense of everything. The last thing you needed was to hear those doubts spoken out loud.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The air felt thick, almost suffocating. The more you stayed there, the more you felt like drowning. It was all becoming too much. So you slipped away from his arms, trying to create some much-needed space between you. You didn’t look back as you headed towards the bathroom.

You didn’t look back as he called out your name.

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illyrianbitch · 3 months

Text

An Education in Malice — Part Five

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: lots of bickering, some IC drama, underlying sexual tension, threats, forced proximity trope, brief mentions of abuse, the sickening sense of being vulnerable and being perceived, helion not being a snitch

Word Count: 8.9k

←Part Four | Series Masterlist | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel was many things.

It could take him years to list all of the attributes he held— characteristics that spanned between inherently good and inherently bad. Centuries of living had led him to creating so many different versions of himself, some more kind than others, some more wise. But none of them were weak.

Since the day he’d been freed from that basement, hands charred and shaky, a newfound anger burning in his chest, Azriel spent every minute ensuring he wasn’t weak.

Yet, your voice persisted in his mind.

You are weak.

It wasn’t physical strength you were referring to. Which, perhaps, made the statement even worse. Because deep down Azriel was troubled by the fact that you maybe were right. Maybe he was weak. Somehow, someway, you had gotten under his skin— buried yourself somewhere deep and hidden. As much as he tried, he couldn't dig you out, couldn't stop your voice from echoing tirelessly in his mind.

A slave to your anger.

Azriel’s fists slammed into the training dummy.

To your impulses.

He threw another punch.

to your High Lord.

A biting feeling nagged at his battered knuckles, at the ridged scars that marred them.

You have always been weak.

Azriel let out a curse as a streak of pain painted his arm.

This was an unusual form of training for him, the bare hands and hand-to-hand combat. Usually, he practiced with a sword, with his weapons, and it was often sparring with Cassian. But Azriel needed something more today— needed to feel the pain in his own hands, needed something to pull him back into his body, to tie him down from floating away in his thoughts that were plagued by you.

His wings flared, shadows whipping around him in a frenzied dance as he remembered the look on your face, the fire in your eyes. He replayed it in his mind over and over, focused on the hurt he had sworn he glimpsed there, a flash of vulnerability that you quickly masked with your anger. He couldn't shake the image, couldn't forget the rawness of your voice as you hurled those words at him. He’d begun to think he imagined it, that he’d somehow convinced himself that you’d shown some semblance of care.

Weak.

His self control was weak. Maybe this he could admit. He’d been working on it these past two years, working on how to control his temper, on how to be more approachable to those who hadn’t known him for centuries prior. A part of him had done it instinctively around Elain, scared to spook her like a terrified fawn in a forest. And then he began working on it for himself– to prove, in some sense, that he was still capable of being someone perhaps more deserving of a mate.

It wasn’t going all too successfully, but he was working on it. At least, he was trying to. But with you, Azriel had no control. There were only three emotions he felt with you, only three reactions that his mind registered: fight, flee, or fuck. It had become too difficult to separate them—

Azriel.

The voice echoed in his mind. He skillfully pushed it away. There was an emotion deep in his chest that didn’t belong to that group of three, one that burned hot, tasted vile and sour. He felt it whenever he thought of you.

He threw another punch.

Azriel.

His name was spoken with a tone much deeper this time, much more firm. It shot him back into a prior memory, into one of him staring into angry violet eyes with an icy defiance. Once again, he pushed away the force in his mind. The space that the call had occupied was quickly replaced by you.

Rhysand’s face was etched into his memory too, a disappointed and angry look of a newly made father. Azriel didn’t want to see it again, didn't want to bother pretending he felt sorry.

So he struck again. And again.

“Azriel.”

The voice was louder.

This time, it wasn’t just in his mind. It was real, commanding, and filled with an authority that made his shadows tremble for a moment, skittering to hover above his heavy, black boots.

Azriel paused, chest heaving, and looked up to see Rhysand and Cassian standing at the edge of the training ring. He gave no verbal greeting, opting to straighten his back and tuck his wings into the blades of his back.

Rhysand raised a brow, an edge of annoyance creeping into his voice. “I’ve been calling for you.”

Azriel only tossed a glance at Cassian before bringing a hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. Rhys sighed, a sound that was clipped in a sense of frustration. “We need to talk.”

Azriel looked at his hands, taking in the bloodied knuckles and the slight tremble in his fingers. His shadows slowly snaked around his forearms and he felt a tug deep within his chest.

He cringed at the sensation, at the feeling that had grown to something so routine as of late.

He assumed it was the nagging feeling of unfinished business, that he was restless and unsettled because, in any other case, he would’ve killed you, would’ve done something to keep you contained—but he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to. A beast wandering free and he was feral for you. Not that he’d ever admit it. Not even to his shadows.

“I’m busy,” Azriel finally said, his voice cold and final.

The tone of it felt so jarring that even Cassian’s eyes widened slightly in shock. From beside him, Rhysand’s jaw twitched. He stepped closer.

“Well then. Finish what you're doing and meet me back in my office within the hour.”

Something burned beneath Azriel’s skin. “I’m not your dog,” he snapped.

Something shifted in the air and Azriel didn’t need to look over at his brothers to know he was pushing their patience— he could smell it, the offense that radiated off them. It should have made him sick, made him feel guilty if anything, but it didn't.

It was Cassian who replied first, a flaring anger as he stepped forward, wings extending with the movement. “Az,” he said sharply, a warning clear in his tone.

Azriel almost laughed to himself. Your voice rang in his mind again, loud and entirely too overwhelming. If he was a slave to Rhysand, what did that make Cassian? A better brother, maybe. An even better-trained dog, too.

Rhysand’s face flickered with indecision, as if he were struggling between what role he should assume— that of the High Lord or that of a friend. Anger flashed in his violet eyes before he pushed it back.

“No, you are not,” Rhysand said, “But you are my family and this court’s Spymaster. And I am calling on you in regard to those two positions you hold.”

A moment of silence passed and the thickness of it prickled at Cassian’s skin. He let out a scoff, focusing his gaze on Azriel as he shifted his weight on his feet. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Azriel glared at him. “Nothing.”

Rhysand sighed. “Fine. You don’t want to leave this ring? I can work with that.” He beckoned Cassian to walk with him onto the ring, stepping closer to Azriel. “I’ve set up a meeting with Beron.”

Azriel’s head snapped up. “That is a bad idea.”

Rhysand raised his eyebrows. “You hid a prisoner from me and risked an entire alliance. I’m not asking for your approval.”

Azriel’s shadows wrapped coiled tighter against him.

“So why are you telling me?”

“Because you will need to be in attendance,” Rhysand replied. His tone left no room for argument. “And I expect you to be in control. Whatever issues you have with Y/N, you will not be repeating them again.”

Azriel cringed inwardly. His brother didn’t know the full extent of what had transpired. He only knew the story that Azriel had spun– one of you threatening to end the alliance if he didn’t help you with Renard, how he had claimed he couldn’t stand being around you anymore and ended it on his own terms. The beautifully and carefully constructed lie Azriel had fed him so easily that it concerned him.

Cassian watched the tense exchange with a furrowed brow. It only took a few seconds before his restraint broke, and he let out a small growl in warning. “Cauldron, Az, are you itching for a fight?” he said, “I would’ve expected you to be ecstatic now that you're not forced to spend time with that pretentious bitch of a—”

“Shut the hell up,” Azriel snapped, his head whipping up to glare at Cassian. The force of his words made Cassian step back, the frown deepening on his face. His jaw tightened as he took a step forward, as if to ready himself to strike.

Azriel quickly checked himself and took a deep breath. “This has nothing to do with her,” he said, his voice strained but measured— controlled. “Of course I’m glad to be free of that gods-forsaken arrangement.” He sent a glance Rhysand’s way, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. “It never should have been made.”

Cassian opened his mouth, his protest painted clear in his expression, but Rhysand clapped a hand on his shoulder, silencing him before he spoke. “Cass, I need a moment with Az.”

Cassian looked offended, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form words. “What—but—”

“Go,” Rhysand said firmly. Once again, his tone held no room for argument. Unlike Az, Cassian complied, but not without a head shake and a scoff.

Cassian grumbled under his breath, casting one last burning glance at Azriel before leaving the training ring. Az made a mental note that he’d have to fix that later, whatever small crack he’d just created between them. He wasn't too worried about it, but he needed to do it before the wound festered.

Once they were alone, Rhysand’s eyes bore into Azriel’s in a scrutinizing gaze. It was heavy, curious, and frustrated at the same time. It felt heavier than usual. “What is this really about?”

Azriel stared at him, shadows swirling around his hands. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Rhysand’s expression hardened. “Azriel. You have already kept too much from me. I have been graceful.”

A muscle tensed in the shadowsinger's jaw.

“And if I don’t say anything? What will you do then? Command me to be honest?” Azriel’s voice was sharp. While there was a clear challenge in his tone, Rhysand recognized something else in it, something that reeked of insecurity, of a male unsettled.

Rhys narrowed his eyes and his power crackled beneath his skin. “Careful.”

They stood locked in a silent standoff, both rigid in posture and face tightened in a stare. Azriel’s mind raced as he weighed his options, desperately searching for the best route to end the conversation. He settled on a half truth.

“Eris can be predictable. But Y/N is not. And now we have no read on her.”

Rhysand narrowed his eyes. “And whose fault is that?”

Azriel snarled, but Rhysand let out a small sigh that cut through the sound. “Let me worry about that alliance. Get yourself together.”

And then he began to walk away, a picture-perfect image of calm and control.

“When is the meeting with Beron?” Azriel called after him.

Rhysand stopped and shrugged, a faint, almost dismissive gesture. “Maybe in two days. Or two weeks. We will see. Either way—my sentiment still stands.”

Azriel knew Rhysand was right; he needed to get himself together. But the disaster within him, the tangled mess of emotions and unresolved conflict, was driving him more mad that usual. Your face, your words, haunted him still, and he wondered if he would ever find a way to fix the mess you had left in your wake.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You made your way around the library, navigating through the rows of meticulously organized shelves, each one filled with hundreds of beautifully bound books. The scent of aged parchment and faint traces of magic hung in the air and you were almost tempted to linger and explore.

You'd always craved a day in the Day Court's libraries, a time to read and run your fingers along a variety of books. It was just as beautiful as you'd imagined, and you told yourself you'd return another day and appreciate it properly.

But right now, your focus was on a different kind of discovery. Skillfully avoiding the watchful eyes of Helion’s skilled librarians and guards—each dressed casually yet elegantly, exuding an air of quiet power—you moved with purpose.

It only took you a few more minutes before you found the heavy door concealed within a niche, its ancient wood imposing against the backdrop of polished stone. With a mixture of excitement and caution, you pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit chamber tucked away from prying eyes. There were countless shelves laden with dusty volumes lining the walls of the chamber. Small tables and ornate couches were spread throughout the room with faint, glittering faelights that accompanied them.

You could only imagine the type of people Helion had housed here, the conversations that must have unfolded amidst the quiet elegance that the space seemed to hold.

A smile tugged at your lips as you stepped inside.

And then you stilled as a prickling sensation bit at the nape of your neck.

You whirled around, seizing Azriel’s arm and slamming him against the wall. Surprise flitted across his face, replaced swiftly by a calculating gaze as he reversed your maneuver with effortless grace, pinning you back against the cool stone instead.

Before you could offer him a few choice words, a faint shimmer of light danced through the air. The large door through which you had entered shut with a heavy thud, the surface of it shimmering faintly, as if an invisible force sealed it shut.

"No, no, no," you muttered under your breath, pushing Azriel off with enough force to make him stumble. His eyes darted across the room as you pressed your palms against the door, trying to push it open again, but it remained resolutely closed. The air around you crackled with suppressed magic.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, his voice tinged with urgency.

"It's a containment spell,” you bit out, “We're trapped.”

Some time passed in tense silence as Azriel moved methodically around the room. Your gaze followed his every move, your jaw set in a tight line as you swallowed down the insults that were itching to be thrown at him.

“Can’t you make them do something useful?” you snapped, nodding towards the black smoke that buzzed around Azriel’s form. “Send them to get help or something?”

Azriel rolled his eyes and his shadows seemed to mimic the movement, circling his arms in a fit of annoyance. “Thank you for that brilliant idea,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you haven’t noticed, princess, they are shadows.”

He gestured to the sunlight flooding through the cracks of the grand door. “They can’t go out in broad daylight. And from what I’ve observed about this library, there's a lot of that. We’re going to have to wait until sunset.”

Helion’s libraries were bathed in perpetual sunlight, with large, open windows that invited the sun's rays to flood the space. It casted a warm, golden glow over the towering shelves in a way that made the space seem dreamlike, made it seem holy. The sunlight wasn’t just a feature; it was a constant presence— the library was filled with sunlight every hour of the day that the sun was shining.

This particular room, however, was the exception. It was windowless, the only light filtering in through the cracks of the large charmed door. The room was designed to preserve the unique and delicate books within, shielding them from the harsh sunlight that could damage their pages. You had come here specifically for this reason, to find a particular book in this carefully protected area.

“Sunset?” you echoed incredulously. “It’s nine in the fucking morning, Shadowsinger. You’re telling me I have to wait until either Helion finds us or until your little shadow dogs can finally go out and play?”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his mouth falling into a tight line. “Well, maybe you should break into libraries at more reasonable hours of the day.”

You resisted the urge to pull a book from one of the many shelves and hurl it his way. “I wasn’t breaking in,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “You made this a break-in when you followed me and set off some strange alarms.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed and he took a step towards you. “I didn’t follow you, and I certainly didn’t set off any alarms. That was all you.”

“You didn’t follow me?” you scoffed. “Then what were you doing? Brooding from afar in hopes that I’d apologize for hurting your feelings?”

A flicker of irritation crossed his features. His jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with something close to anger. “H-hurting my feelings?” he said, his voice low, “You think you hurt my feelings?”

“Yes,” you replied, lifting your chin. “I think I bruised your ego by shoving the truth down your throat.”

“Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself, ” he sneered. Azriel turned on his heel and took one step away from you before he was spinning around, lifting an accusatory finger your way. “And I don’t brood. I was surveying the area for threats, which, if I recall correctly, is my job.”

“Yeah, in the Night Court,” you snapped back, “We’re in the Day Court, genius.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed with irritation. “The Day Court is our ally. That means ensuring their safety—and ours. If you weren’t wandering into places you don’t belong, I wouldn’t need to follow you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer to him. “So you admit you were following me?”

Azriel stiffened as if he had barely registered the words he’d spoken. He blinked and then he strengthened himself, speaking to you in a voice that was steady and cold. “You’re a threat that needs to be monitored.”

Something burned in your chest.

“Is that what you were doing every time you slept with me? Monitoring me?”

The words seemed to hit their intended target. For a moment, there was silence. Azriel’s expression hardened and he held your gaze for a beat too long before looking away.

When you realized he wasn’t going to offer a verbal response, you let out a deep breath.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just leave me alone,” you growled through gritted teeth. “I’ve done nothing besides visit an open court. Helion has no problems with me being here. And now you’ve gone and trapped us because you’re an obsessive, paranoid, freak.”

He looked at you again, his eyes guarded and expression unreadable.

“This is not my fault. This is yours. Forgive me if I didn’t believe that you had innocent intentions.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course, the all-knowing Spymaster assumes I’m up to something sinister. Maybe I just wanted to read in peace.”

“Then why all the secrecy?” he shot back, “Why the need to sneak into restricted sections?”

You felt a surge of frustration flickering in you like a hot flame. You curled your hands into fists, grounding yourself as your nails bit into your palm. “Like I said, I just wanted to read in peace. You don’t know everything. You don’t know what I’m doing or why. So stop pretending you do.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment.

“Okay,” He began as he took another step towards you, shadows flickering around him like agitated serpents. “Tell me exactly what you are doing here. What book are you looking to read?”

The shadows around him seemed to pulse. You held his gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you. Swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat, you glowered at him.

“None of your business,” you said, your voice low, cold, and clipped. “Get off my back.”

“Not until I know you’re not up to something.”

“Paranoid bastard.”

“I have every right to be,” he said, “Especially with you.”

“You’re insufferable,” you shot back, feeling the heat of frustration rising within you — fast and unforgiving. It simmered at the edges of your skin. “It must be so exhausting living in that tiresome head of yours.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he struggled to rein in his temper. “You have a habit of causing trouble. It’s my job to ensure that trouble doesn’t affect my people or our allies.”

“Your people,” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You pushed away the urge to make a further comment on his choice of words. “If you stopped treating me like an enemy, I wouldn’t feel the need to act like one. Everything that I am is what you have pushed me to be.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually strike you. But instead, he took a deep breath as a shadow of conflict passed over his features. Before the silence between you could stretch any longer, Azriel straightened, his mask of indifference slipping back into place.

“Why not just tell me what you’re doing?”

Because you didn’t owe him an explanation. The thought echoed resolutely in your mind. Beneath your defiance, a familiar, almost comforting, surge of resentment bubbled up—why should you justify your every move to him? He was nothing more than an obstacle, an irritating shadow that refused to fade.

So you said nothing, gave no reply. The silence stretched between you and each passing moment seemed to exacerbate his agitation. You observed the cracks in his usual unbothered, stoic facade— the clenching of his strangely battered fists, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He deserved to be unsettled, you thought bitterly. His mistrust was a reflection of his own insecurities, his duty an excuse to assert dominance over you. You refused to be cowed, not by him or anyone else.

“Silence. Beautiful,” he scoffed. Azriel turned away and you reveled in the momentary victory, savoring the small triumph of making him fall into a state of unease.

He began to pace the room, muttering under his breath— you could hear it only slightly, a continuous complaint about everything from the sunlight filtering through the door to the layout of the library. You stared at him, noticing how his shadows mimicked his agitation, swirling around him in a frenzy. His wings twitched with every movement.

His pacing became more frantic as he moved closer to the door, placing his hand on it as if trying to force it open. “This is ridiculous,” he growled. “We’re trapped here because of your secrecy. If you hadn’t been sneaking around—”

He paused mid-sentence, his movements halting abruptly. As if the weight of your gaze was tangible, he turned to look at you, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that almost made you twitch.

“What?” Azriel snapped, a strain seizing his voice. Even his shadows seemed to jump at the sound of it. “Do you finally have something to say, princess?”

You remained silent, meeting his gaze with a steady calmness that seemed to unsettle him further. After a long moment, you finally spoke, your voice cool and measured. “I just have a question.”

Azriel scowled. “And what would that be?”

You observed him closely, tracing every miniscule movement of his body. A wicked smirk tugged at the corners of your lips.

“What color collar would you like?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as if to feign impatience. You leaned forward slightly. “You know, to go with all of your bitching and whining? I’m thinking a sapphire blue to coordinate with your gaudy jewelry.”

Your eyes flicked down to his siphons, and as if in response, the siphons glowed angrily. Underneath them, his fists clenched tightly, his whole body seeming to vibrate with anger. If Azriel wasn’t angry before, he was fuming now. The atmosphere crackled with animosity.

“Shut up,” Azriel said through clenched teeth.

You tilted your head, a defiant glint in your eyes. “Why should I?”

With a sudden surge of aggression, Azriel stomped towards you, his footsteps echoing in the confined space. He came to an abrupt stop just a few paces away, visibly fighting to maintain his composure. His fists clenched at his sides, shadows swirling around him like black smoke as he took a deep breath.

“Until we’re out of this gods-forsaken room,” he said tightly, “Just shut your damned mouth and stay over here. I’ll stay on the other end, out of your way.”

You weighed your options for a moment. You gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Fine. Works for me.”

Azriel shot you a final piercing glare before turning away, his back rigid with tension.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You weren't sure how long had passed, but it had certainly been longer than an hour.

The enchantment that bound you and Azriel to this room seemed to turn every minute into an eternity. You were suffocating.

The weight of time pressed down on you as you scoured the shelves, determined not to let Azriel and this infuriating enchantment thwart your purpose. This restricted area of Helion's grand library was vast, filled with more books on folklore and legends than you had anticipated—and a rather peculiar assortment of erotic 'vampire' poetry that you tried your best to ignore.

Despite your persistence, you had yet to uncover any clue as to the whereabouts of what you sought. Each book you pulled from the shelves yielded nothing but disappointment.

You sighed, turning away from yet another shelf of books when your eyes caught sight of a one that stood out amidst the worn and weathered bindings. It was a slender volume with a vibrant red leather cover, contrasting sharply with the tattered browns around it. Without fully realizing your own actions, you reached out and delicately plucked the book from its place, cradling it in your hands.

The cover felt smooth and cool to the touch, the red leather soft against your fingertips. The title was written in an elegant, swirling golden cursive. It wasn't what you had been searching for—a book of love poems wasn't going to help you find the edge you sought—but something about it called to you nonetheless.

You landed on one particular page. The corners were marked with a dog-eared fold, a simple act that nearly drew a smile to your lips at the thought of Eris’s disdain for such casual treatment of books. He would have scoffed, made some remark about how it marred the delicate pages and diminished their value.

Before the rift between him and Eris grew too wide, Lucien used to sneak into Eris’s room and borrow his books, delighting in folding the pages to mark his favorite passages. Eris would fume at the sight, scolding Lucien for disrespecting not only his belongings but the value of the books themselves. Lucien basked in the frustration and would laugh so hard— a bright, joyous sound that echoed through the halls until Beron wearied of it.

Lucien stopped stealing those books soon after. He quickly learned that his place was not in his brother's room— it wasn’t even in his own home.

You turned your attention back to the poem on the page before you, your heart skipping a beat as you recognized the title. Something as heavy as a stone settled in your stomach.

Your mother was a lot of things. She was quiet at times, yes, but it was more pensive than it was shy. She was unbelievably brilliant, to a point where it pained you to think about it, to let yourself wonder how different her life could have been had she married someone other than your father. How different her life may have been if she never had any of you.

When you were younger, she fed you her fascination of books. Besides Eris and Lucien, your other brothers never took to it as much. They much preferred sparring in rings and finding ways to appease your father. While they lived off of the praise they received like good soldiers, you lived off of the stories your mother could tell you at night.

It was during those quiet hours, after Beron had retired to his chambers and the River House grew still, that she would sit by your bedside and brush the hair from your face. She would whisper stories into the darkness, tales of far-off lands and brave heroes, of mythical creatures and forbidden romances. But there was one story she cherished above all others.

It was a short poem from the perspective of two lovers torn apart by war. They loved each other fiercely, but the cruel hands of fate kept them separated in life. So profound was their longing that they struck a bargain with Death himself, pledging their souls to be together for eternity in the afterlife. The poem spoke of their sacrifice, their undying devotion, and the bittersweet beauty of a love that transcended even death.

You loved it almost as much as your mother did.

Love was real. This you knew. But it wasn’t for people in Autumn. It wasn’t for people who shared your blood.

Your mother proved it. The way her eyes would glaze over as she recited the poem, the way she’d talk about a love that you knew was never referring to Beron. She longed for someone that wasn't your father, someone she could never be with. And Jesmindas death only solidified the fact that love wasn’t made for Vanserras.

You still heard her screams at night, still held the image of Lucien’s blood curling sobs.

Loving someone, as much as you craved it, was selfish. It was a death wish— not only for you, but for them as well.

You read the poem again and a heavy feeling itched itself into your heart— something like a dagger of melancholy, stirring emotions that made you feel small and weak. Your chest tightened and you gripped the book tightly, feeling a flicker of fire growing within your bones.

Your mothers poem was here. In a book that was so clearly loved, so clearly worn. It felt almost sacred, imbued with a history of love and loss, cherished by someone who, like you, sought solace in its verses.

In this spell-protected sanctuary, amidst the hallowed halls of knowledge and ancient books, a realization hit you with a chilling clarity. You fought to regain composure, blinking away the tears that brimmed on your waterlines.

A soft, feather-light sensation around your wrist startled you back to the present. You looked down at your hands, watching as Azriel’s shadows flitted around you.Their touch was so gentle, so tender that it made you itch. You snapped the book shut, shoving it back into the shelf with a loud thud.

“If you don’t stop, I will pin you and your wings to the wall like a fucking decoration.”

Azriel let out a growl, but he refused to look your way. He didn’t have the energy needed in him to properly reciprocate the threat, didn’t quite care enough to be bothered by it.

You let out an angry breath. “Can you please control your little creatures?”

Your hand swatted at the shadows that still circled your wrists relentlessly.

“What are you talking about—”

Azriel’s words died in his throat as he looked at you. His body stiffened, and within seconds the shadows were dissipating from your wrists. They curled around his body, a single tendril wrapping around his ear.

Azriel’s face softened slightly, a crease forming between his furrowed eyebrows. He held your gaze for a moment. And then he was stoic once more— no trace that he had felt anything at all.

He said nothing and turned around sharply, a wave of agitation passing over his features as his shadows swirled around him. You frowned at the abrupt change in his demeanor and watched as he paced back and forth, his boots tapping softly against the library's polished floor. The repetitive movement was starting to get on your nerves and you opened your mouth, ready to make a biting comment to make him stop. But you hesitated. Your mouth fell closed once more.

Something felt deeply wrong. You couldn’t place your finger on it, couldn’t explain why you felt it deep in your chest, but something was wrong.

Azriel’s shadows, usually dark and smooth like ink in water, appeared unsettled and disjointed. They moved with an unusual haste, swirling around him with an air of desperation. It wasn’t there— that seamless synchronization they usually held with him.

His hands were clasped together, fingers flexing and fidgeting, marred by various cuts and bruises. He lingered near the sunlight that poured through the door in sharp lines across the floor. He seemed almost drawn to it, yet hesitant, like a moth wary of the flame.

Perhaps it was the troubled look on Azriel’s face, or the tenderness of his shadows, or the memory of your mother— but something inside you settled. Whatever it was, the pointed edge in your voice melted into a more rounded, concerned tone. You threw a quick glance over your shoulder at the red leather-bound book you had clutched moments ago.

"What's wrong with you?”

Azriel’s eyes flicked towards the sunlight again, and you saw a wave of something you couldn’t quite place—fear, perhaps, or deep discomfort. His shadows recoiled slightly as if the light was pushing them back.

“Nothing,” he muttered, but the word rang hollow, lacking conviction.

“Bullshit,” you shot back, not unkindly. “You’re pacing like a caged animal.”

He stiffened at your words and his movements came to a halt.

You knew what Azriel's past had been like, not fully, but enough.

Vanserras were talented in making it their business to know everyone else's, and you had made it your point to ensure you knew everything about one of your family's greatest enemies— the male standing before you now. You knew what his brothers did to him, even made pointed comments about it recently, ones you fully meant in the moment. But you had never thought deeply or long enough about it, never truly imagined a younger Azriel. Now, as you watched him pace back and forth, his wings tightly folded, his hands fidgeting near the sealed door and the sunlight, you couldn't help but see a different side of him.

Azriel had been confined to a basement, a place likely with little light and minimal freedom. Now, he was trapped here, in this room, with you. Your heart tugged with a mixture of empathy and unease, a wave of nausea rising in your throat. Before you fully comprehended what you were doing, you spoke.

“I suppose since we’re both here, I should thank you.”

Azriel spun around, caught off guard by the unexpected tone in your voice— one that was uncharacteristically gentle. His brows furrowed in suspicion as he stared at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “Thank me?”

You nodded, swallowing back your pride as you continued, “Renard came back to Autumn. I don’t know what my father did to him after, but his story was that he’d fallen into bed with a female and got lost in the pleasure — drunken bender and all.”

Azriel’s expression remained guarded, but you detected a sweep of something in his face— a wave of release as his tension visibly faded— only slightly, but enough to where his wings shifted behind him, flaring out to occupy more space.

“So thank you,” you repeated, your eyes not leaving his. “I know it was Rhysand who influenced his mind, and I know it was you who asked him to do it.”

Azriel shrugged, a terse gesture that seemed to dismiss the weight of your gratitude. He looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You hummed and annoyance simmered beneath your attempt at gratitude. "Fine," you said curtly, turning away to inspect the nearby bookshelves. But after a few steps, you stopped yourself and pivoted back toward him. "Actually, no. Why didn’t you just kill him?”

Azriel’s eyes met yours as you continued.

“Renard, I mean. You could have. Probably would’ve been easier. I assume it would’ve saved you a lecture from your owne-'' You stopped yourself, and within the same breath, corrected the word you spoke. “Rhysand.”

Azriel hung onto your hesitation, his brow raising in silent inquiry as he fixed you with a penetrating stare. He cocked his head at you. “Well, that could have gotten you killed, couldn’t it have?”

You blinked and your chest tightened. “I wasn’t aware you cared if I lived or died.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t either,” Azriel said quietly. As the words left his mouth, he stiffened and took a deep breath.

“What I mean to say is,” he started, his voice now strained with a different tone. “You’re no use to me if you’re dead. It would be hard to maintain an alliance with your brother if I got you killed.”

You snorted, a smile playing on your lips as you absorbed his words “Right.”

But the smile you wore wasn’t bitter. It was amused if anything, which seemed to ease Azriel’s mind enough to where he was saying your name in an attempt to gather your attention. You met his gaze.

“What are you really doing here?”

There was no use in hiding. You glanced at his shadows, noting their restlessness, and realized they might even help. You decided to tell him the truth. The air was still, the room still locked, but you no longer felt suffocated. Looking at him, at the hazel in his eyes, you began.

"Renard did tell us everything we needed to know," you said, your voice steady. "He doesn't know anything because Beron doesn't know anything. He's trying to find any information on how to get power. I just thought that if I could learn more about Koschei, I could figure out how to step forward."

Azriel watched you intently. Something burned in the hazel of his eyes.

You sighed, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders. "I know Helion has a special interest in folklore and legends. And I know somewhere here is a very old, very special book that has the story and origins of that stupid death god."

You thought of Eris, of your mother, of how Autumn had been these past two weeks. Beron's temper had grown more volatile, his punishments more severe. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the flash of his cruelty, felt the sting of his whip. Your stress was a living thing now, coiling around your chest, making it hard to breathe. You were exhausted— so exhausted that you couldn’t muster the energy to be angry at Azriel as much as before, couldn’t find the effort to hide your vulnerability.

You waited for him to say something dismissive. Instead, he simply said, "Okay.”

He glanced at his shadows. They darted out from him, spreading around the room like wisps of smoke seeking the smallest crevices. You frowned, watching as they probed the shelves and corners.

“They’ll find it,” Azriel said. His tone was casual, but the burning in his eyes betrayed his focus. You held his gaze as it seared into you. You already knew that this look would be etched into your memory, that it would surface at times you wished it would not.

A clear hesitancy found its way onto your face through knitted brows. He was too quiet, too nice. It made you wary.

“Unless you're eager to search hundreds of books one by one?” he added, raising a brow at your silence. “I’m happy to sit back and watch your unsuccessful search resume.”

You scowled. "No. This works."

Azriel gave a small nod and resumed his pacing, though this time, it seemed more purposeful.

You watched as the shadows flitted from shelf to shelf, their dark forms moving with an eerie grace— slipping into the gaps between books, brushing over spines, and teasing open pages.

Your mind wandered back to the poem you had read earlier, the love and sacrifice it spoke of. For some reason, your mind wandered to the shadowsinger that walked a mere few feet from you. As much as his cold exterior suggested otherwise, there were moments—fleeting, rare moments—where you saw a flicker of something more than just anger in his eyes. You wondered if Azriel understood such depths of emotion, if he had felt such love for Morrigan— if that was what blinded him into his deep loathing of you and your family.

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself glancing at Azriel more frequently. The tension in his posture had eased, his wings now slightly unfurled as if he too felt some semblance of peace.

It was odd, being in this situation with him, and suddenly not feeling a burning, biting hatred at his presence. You were so used to that feeling of anger, that fierce, consuming rage that burned so hot it turned into desire. That you understood—the satisfaction that came with knowing he was hungry for you despite everything he hated about you. The push and pull, the electric tension, it had always defined your interactions.

You wanted to shred your skin because this female now, this emotional, open one, who was beginning to see Azriel as something more than a male to fuck and a dog to rile up, wasn't you. It made your skin crawl with a kind of vulnerability you had long since sworn off.

You forced yourself to look away, to focus on the task at hand, but the unease lingered. The minutes stretched into an eternity before Azriel spoke again, breaking the heavy silence.

You looked at him, noticing the shadows curling around his wrists. He was holding a book, its cover worn and ancient, and he lifted it slightly. "Here it is."

You quickly strode over, reaching for the book, but he lifted it out of your grasp. You clenched your jaw. "Give me the damned book."

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. "We can look at it together."

"Are you kidding me?" you snapped, "Are you seriously so afraid of me that you won't allow me to read a book in your presence?"

Azriel's eyes darkened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "You're not the only one seeking information about Koschei and his origins. We're on the same side about that—unless you've forgotten."

“Fine,” you said, then added with a sarcastic edge, “I’m honestly surprised you can even read. You lack so many manners that I figured you were as slow as the rest of your kind.”

Azriel growled but handed you the book anyways, and a small smirk of satisfaction tugged at the edges of your lips. You took it from his grasp, fingers brushing against his.

A strange jolt of something—recognition, perhaps—passed between you. You ignored it, focusing instead on the text before you. You placed the book on a nearby table, feeling Azriel’s presence behind you, his shadows hovering around the pages. You resisted the urge to swat them away, recognizing that they were probably relaying the information to him.

Time went by, and frustration began to mount as you found nothing new. “So he’s deathless, has no body, is powerful, confined to a lake, and has a thing for trapping females. We know all of this,” you muttered, snapping the book shut with such force that the shadows flinched. “He’s a powerful freak with a fetish for holding women captive.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a mocking smile on your lips. “He’s basically an Illyrian without wings.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened as he stared at you. His eyes darkened for a moment, and then something flickered in them. He raised an eyebrow. “We should just offer you to Koschei. One day with you and he might be tempted to kill himself just to be free of it.”

Your eyes widened as a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. Despite sensing his expectation for your anger, you let out a laugh. Azriel blinked in surprise and his shadows stilled momentarily. He felt it again, that strange chill that ran down his back at the sound leaving your lips. His wings shuddered for a moment and he traced the movement of your mouth as it curled into a grin.

"That was actually kind of funny, Shadowsinger," you remarked, meeting his gaze squarely. "Who knew you had a sense of humor under all of that self-loathing and impulsivity.”

Azriel glared at you, his expression carrying his usual intensity, but there was a subtle softening in his eyes. The sharp edge that usually accompanied his gaze seemed to dull slightly, hinting at a glimmer of amusement. Under the weight of his gaze, you turned your head back towards the book in front of you, finding a place for your eyes to settle that wasn’t his hazel ones. Still, the heat radiated off his body— he was too close, entirely too close.

Ignoring him, you glanced towards the door and noticed the sunlight had lessened. "I believe your little creatures are safe to wander," you remarked coolly, "I think you could do us both a favor and send them to get us the hell out of here."

Azriel let out a grumble, but you observed as shadows flitted across the floor and through the cracks. Relief washed over you at the thought of soon being free from this place, away from Azriel's unsettling presence.

Yet, you could still feel him staring at you.

"Why go through all of this trouble?" His voice was steady, probing. "Search for a book you weren't even sure had any answers? Without my shadows, you could have spent hours going through each shelf to find it."

You gritted your teeth. "Gods, do you always ask so many questions?"

"Humor me," he replied evenly.

"I think I've done a bit too much of that recently," you retorted, a hint of exasperation coloring your tone.

You sighed, feeling his intense stare burning into your back. Turning around completely to face him, you gripped against the table, trying to control the heat rising within you. Azriel’s eyes were already on you when you found the will to look at him.

"You admitted it yourself a few weeks ago. You'd go to extreme lengths for your family, too.”

He raised his eyebrow slightly. “All of this effort for that cruel brother of yours?"

Your anger flared and you felt your body tense as the ember of your powers simmered beneath your skin. But as you glanced at Azriel, his gaze unexpectedly open, you recalled your last conversation with him, how angry you were at the realization that Eris deserved better, that no one would ever let him live down his past. But here, staring at Azriel, in a space that felt so intimate, maybe you could push a new perspective even harder, force a seed of understanding.

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you decided to reach out beyond the walls of your blinding anger.

"The only difference between your brother and mine is that Eris won’t try to write off his actions as for the greater good. Sometimes bad things are just bad things. And we all have to do bad things to survive."

Azriel scanned your face, his gaze lingering so long that you immediately regretted saying anything. The feeling rose in your throat like bile and a simmering heat spread through your chest, a fire you almost wished would consume you.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel finally said, “That you couldn’t find anything. That you wasted a day here.”

His tone was so soft that you were almost tempted to believe that he meant it— that he was being sincere. Your chest tightened. That reality was unlikely, and you quickly let your defenses kick in, looking away with a roll of your eyes.

"Don’t mock me," you snapped.

Azriel's expression hardened as he frowned. "What?"

Meeting his gaze angrily, you reiterated, "I said, don't mock me. Pretending to care is cruel, even for you."

You released your grip on the table and turned to walk past him, but he reached out, grabbing your hand firmly, pulling you to him. The touch sent a chill through your arm.

“By the Cauldron, must you fight me on everything?” He said through clenched teeth. “Can’t you just let me say that I'm sorry?"

You stared at him, taking in his troubled expression, the way his eyes seemed to hold a storm of conflicting emotions. Pulling your hand from his grasp, you rubbed the spot where his touch lingered, as if trying to erase his imprint on you.

"I'm just supposed to believe that you've suddenly had a change of heart?"

Azriel ran a hand through his hair. "You are infuriating, you know that?"

"Ah yes, a supposed genuine apology followed by insult. Hypocritical as usual, Shadowsinger."

Exasperation flickered across Azriel's face. "If I wanted to insult you, princess, I'd do a much better job than calling you infuriating."

You held his stare, anger and suffocation swirling within you. Your hands curled into fists as Azriel's troubled gaze continued to burn into yours.

He followed the line of your neck as you swallowed, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt too intense for the confined space. Perhaps it was the lack of his shadows, the absence of his usual watchful companions, but Azriel found himself moving closer to you despite your recoil.

"What is it about you that drives me insane?" he murmured his voice barely above a whisper.

Your brow furrowed in confusion and your stomach twisted into a knot. "What are you talking about?"

"These past two weeks," he continued, his tone tinged with something raw and unguarded. "You have not left my mind. I hear your voice, calling me weak."

You scoffed and looked away. "So I have hurt your feelings. A bit pathetic, don't you think?"

Azriel shook his head. "No. You didn't hurt my feelings, Y/N."

The sound of your name on his lips sent a shiver through your body and your chest tightened. His gaze flickered down to your mouth briefly before meeting your eyes again. You found yourself unable to look away.

“You want Eris to be High Lord,” Azriel stated, “I will help you make that come to fruition.”

You stared at Azriel, momentarily stunned. His words hung in the air, mingling with the charged, suffocating atmosphere between you. The intensity of his gaze made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet there was a gleam of something else—it felt like hope, buried deep beneath layers of mistrust.

"Why? You hate Eris.”

"It is one cruel leader for another. But at least this way, it will benefit my home. And then I can be free of you and work to take down Koschei."

His words sunk in slowly. He can be free of you. You tried to read his expression. Azriel extended his hand towards you, palm upturned.

"We seal this bargain," he said solemnly, his eyes searching yours. “No more sneaking around and I will help you. You get what you want.”

You hesitated. But something inside you—a desperate need for a way out of this predicament, a glimmer of hope for a future where Eris could be High Lord—compelled you to reach out. You placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

As soon as your skin touched, a surge of energy coursed through you both— a burning sensation, starting from your intertwined hands and spreading outward. Azriel's eyes widened imperceptibly, and you sensed him searching for the hidden markings that sealed your pact. He found nothing on your exposed skin.

You withdrew your hand slowly. There was a newfound weight to the air. You opened your mouth to speak when a burst of sunlight pierced through the dimness of the room.

You took a large step back, gaze darting to the entrance of the room. Helion strode in with characteristic grace, his presence commanding the room effortlessly as tendrils of shadow snaked towards Azriel, winding their way up his body.

Helion's eyes swept over the scene before him. His expression gave away nothing as he observed you and Azriel. After a moment, he finally spoke.

"Out of all the collectables in this room, I have to say seeing you two together is the rarest thing I've set my eyes on.”

You shot a quick glance at Azriel. You offered Helion a small smile. “Helion–”

Helion lifted a hand gently. "I'm not sure I want to know," he said. His gaze settled on you. "Have you done anything I need to be wary of?"

You shook your head firmly. "No."

"Then that's all I need," Helion replied casually, his attention now turning to Azriel. "Am I correct to assume Rhysand has no idea you're here?"

You frowned, head turning to look at Azriel, who managed to meet your gaze briefly before looking back at the High Lord that stood before you. Azriel said nothing, opting to clench his jaw.

“Alright.” Helion let out a small breath, pursing his lips in thought. "I'm known to keep a secret or two.”

He did, indeed. You knew this now more than ever.

You took advantage of Helion’s presence to observe him closely, taking in his chiseled features and the graceful stature in which he stood. Despite the reputation both you and Eris had garnered, Helion had always been fair to you, not quick to judge. You wondered now if that was due to something beyond an innate sense of empathy he held— if he had a sense of loyalty to you because of the blood that ran in your veins.

"Let me escort you both out," Helion offered finally, breaking the silence that had settled between the three of you. Without waiting for a response, he turned towards the door.

As you walked with him, you heard a faint shuffling behind you. From the corner of your eye, you glimpsed Azriel adjusting his posture, the tail end of his movement obscured as he tucked his wings further and clasped his hands behind his back. His shadows coiled around him more tightly than usual. He fell into line behind you.

You felt a peculiar sensation in your chest. Instinctively, your hand rose to settle over the spot just above your heart. There was a subtle sensation of heat— a tingling warmth that lingered beneath your touch.

You ignored it as Helion led you out of the library.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

enemies.... to enemies to with benefits.... now to tentative allies....dare i say.... friends?

this is a lil turning point for our two cunty losers bc now their bickering is less cruel and vile and its just teasing ugh my HEART

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @sarawritestories

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader angst #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar x reader #malice series

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animeyanderelover · 11 months

Note

Since you're starting JJK, can you do the sleeping with a yandere ask for Yuuji, Sukuna, Megumi, Nanami, Gojo and characters of your choice?

I’ll be going on a vacation during my holidays so expect little to no updates from me then. Those sleeping habits that are what I imagine those characters to be like, by the way.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationship, toxic relationship, obsession, possessive behavior, delusion, clinginess, abduction

Sleeping with a Yandere

Itadori Yuji

🩷Yuji is a walking cuddle bear already if you two aren't sleeping in the same bed because he just can't get enough of his sweetheart. An abduction is never something that Yuji sees himself doing nor do you really so with the so unexpected abduction your relationship falls apart and it breaks Yuji's heart. Maybe some part of his brain can understand why you're as upset as you are right now but considering that he only resorts to an abduction in extreme situations, another part of him is just as stubborn to believe that he has done only something to be able to protect you. It isn't like he plans to imprison you forever after all. His delusions have even made him hope that you'd want to share a bed with him yet he resigns himself to your rejection and prepares a futon for you in another room.

🩷One of the most obvious problems with Yuji isn't even something that is his own fault. Sukuna has to make some comments from time to time to try to annoy and anger the boy which might happen whilst both of you try to sleep as well. He always slaps the mouth of Sukuna that suddenly appears and apologizes to you slightly embarrassed about the inconvenience. Otherwise Yuji sleeps well, really well. Maybe sometimes a bit too well as you can't help but wonder how you can get him to wake up when you awake in the middle of the night and feel the urgent need to go to the bathroom. It always takes you a minute or two of shaking, light slapping and whispering his name until he wakes up and lets you out of his arms because his grip is too strong for you to free yourself alone. He snores slightly but that isn't the worst, you'd much rather make a fuss about the fact that he tends to drool on you in his sleep.

Fushiguro Megumi

💙As Megumi's darling you'd do the both of you a favor by being a reassuring individual since the Jujutsu Sorcerer tends to be very easily paranoid. He's had a case of being stressed around people before yet now with your addition to his life, this all becomes just multiple times worse. Ultimately it is this paranoia that drives him to the act of an abduction and similar to Yuji, he partially knows why it would scare you. Yet he has never had problems with justifying questionable actions with his love for you in mind so this won't be any different in this scenario. Why don't you understand that this was all done for your safety?? A strong negative response from your side leads to avoidance as he gives you time, gives himself partially time too to calm himself. Both of you sleep in different rooms during that time, although you know that he still keeps an eye on you.

💙He doesn't want to show a very strong response when both of you start sharing a bed, it isn't his style. He would be lying though if he would say that he isn't looking forward to it. It's one of the highlights of his entire day where he has to exhaust himself with the antics of his fellow Jujutsu Sorcerers and pressure from the Zenin clan so spending the hours of the night with your warmth close to his body always reminds him that there's still something good left for him, a person who makes all the drama durable. I see him as someone who needs hours to fall asleep simply because there's so much going on in his mind and often it happens that Megumi goes through interactions you had with people that day and start overthinking certain gestures and words you exchanged with them. He isn't someone with a deep sleep either and worst of all is that he tends to wake up a lot at night, his gaze always searching for you every time that happens and if he doesn't see you, he tends to freak out a bit.

Zenin Maki

💚If her darling is acting like a crybaby after their abduction, there might be signs of very mild annoyance from Maki's side but otherwise she is very patient. She fully understand why you're upset and mad at her, she's aware of what she has done. The aspect of protection dulls potential guilt though as she will always value your safety and life over your own feelings if there is no other way around it. She's so tough and strict but oddly fair at the same time because her cold facade doesn't mean that she just doesn't care at all. She's willing to give you some space and time for yourself as she's sure that you need it and as long as you don't try to escape or are seriously rude, she won't force you into anything. You get your own room with your own bed to sleep in and won't hear much from her for the next few days, although you know that she's still checking on you.

💚She is looking forward to it but don't expect her to openly admit that. She isn't one to ask you first about this and if you're the one to suggest it first, she will never spot teasing you subtly about it for the rest of your life. She does her best though to suppress the smug grin that wants to appear on her face during the first few nights. She isn't actively cuddling you but you definitely have a problem at hand when she decides to swing an arm around your waist because subconsciously she tightens her grip once she falls asleep and since she has a very superior strength to the average human, you won't get up anytime soon unless you wake her up. She normally is able to sleep quite well but when she's stressed she experiences troubles falling asleep or tends to wake up multiple times at night. Normally she acts all tough and rarely talks to you about her own worries but if you ever witness her having an erratic sleep at night, you always know that there's something that is stressing her out.

Ryomen Sukuna

🗾His darling is screwed no matter how you might look at it, especially if they're only a human. Because this man has made it very apparent that he doesn't care for anyone or anything and even you won't be an exception for this. Sukuna has always been a man who takes what he wants and that applies for you just as much. You're an object of his affection and greedy desire, by all means he sees you as his valued possession more than he sees you as a person with feelings and rights. So you can't expect any sympathy from him after your abduction and you'd do your best to not get on his nerves because he can hurt you and he will do so if he feels like it. Sukuna only does what he wants and the only thing you can really do is take it silently in hopes of not angering him but he'd find it cute if you would always show a little bit of fear around him.

🗾I'm not even sure if he needs any sleep anymore since his times as a human are long over although he has kept his memories from that time so he still remembers that humans need sleep. Although what you need doesn't have to mean by a long shot that he'll just give it to you freely. In fact I totally see him terrorizing your sleep sometimes for the shallow reason of his own sadistic amusement. Other times he only allows you to fall asleep if you let him join you in bed and he'll keep you otherwise awake nights on end until you're too tired to care anymore. You're incredibly dumb for letting him so close to you in your most vulnerable state and the times that he has considered abusing that vulnerability are numerous. Honestly, he's being the ultimate creep by just watching you sleep the entire time, hands roaming over your body to feel what is his but if he's feeling rather relaxed and mellow, he sometimes just buries his face in your neck, closes his eyes and enjoys your scent, your warmth, your heartbeat.

Gojo Satoru

🩵Best of luck with Gojo after an abduction, better say goodbye to your privacy and personal boundaries because Gojo? He just doesn't give a single fuck about any of those. No, somehow he grows even more overbearing after you're permanently stuck in the probably biggest house that you've ever been in. Partially just because he feels like he has now his dream of living a peaceful and domestic life with his sweet lover without any stress from higher-ups or anyone objecting to this relationship. Now he can just love you and keep you for himself. It's a very strange and questionable way of fulfilling his dream but he is at a point in his life where he has given up to feel guilty and doesn't care anymore. He's always been the strongest to satisfy his own clan and the higher-ups of the sorcerer world so he deserves someone for himself. Someone for him and him only.

🩵He's a clingy monster and you should already know this as he has barely kept his hands to himself during the entire time since you've known him and that has only grown worse the stronger his obsession got. There is no question, you are going to sleep with him in one bed from the moment you are imprisoned in your new home with him. He isn't even listening to your protests and complains and you'd better not provoke him unless you want to see him dropping his light-hearted facade. Seeing him asleep disturbs you but not because of his clingy behavior and tight hug he always gives you nor his surprisingly deep sleep but because he looks so terribly vulnerable. White hair covering his eyes, soft breaths escaping his lips and no teasing expression adorning his face. It's even worse when he initially wakes up and blue and sleepy eyes stare at you as he whispers, no, pleads you to never leave him. It breaks your heart a little.

Geto Suguru

🗻Suguru has broken your trust severely when you realize what he has been doing all along, abusing your trust and ignorance to his own advantage until you made him your most trusted person and told him all of your thoughts. Now you're here, imprisoned and surrounded by jujutsu sorcerers who share his views. You're a lesser being in here for being a non-sorcerer and you know that secretly most of the people here look down on you but only show some level of respect because you're Geto's precious love or whatever he's feeling for you. No one tells you what's really going on but you are smart enough to understand that those people possess very special powers and that something is always watching you even when you're all by yourself. So you never misbehave, aware what would happen otherwise.

🗻He isn't over the fact that he's fallen in love with what he hates the most even after an abduction so you are sleeping elsewhere. A tiny room with a futon as if to rub your lesser position in your face but truth be told, he's doing this mainly because he secretly wants your warmth next to him at night. He's just trying to reject his desires as he doesn't want to fall too deeply into his infatuation but it's already too late to turn back and perhaps you're more surprised than anyone when one day he tells you you'll share a bed with him from now on. You even vocalize your confusion but shut up when he throws you a sharp glare, silencing you as he himself doesn't want to answer your question. Vocalizing his needs would only make it harder to brush off as something less after all. Geto doesn't want to show too much affection but subconsciously he always fails as his half-awake form always pulls you closer to his body, always desires to feel your warm body safely held against his own as his long hair tickles your neck and face.

Nanami Kento

💛Here we have a man who is trying to be his most respectful to you after an abduction that he has been planning for a longer time now after a triggering accident, most likely something regarding his very protective feelings. He isn't scolding you for being scared and even lets you insult him all you want with a frightening calm expression on his face, only really stopping you if you try to escape, hurt him or yourself in which case you see his face flashing in anger and slight frustration as you realize how scary he can be if he chooses to be. He gives you space as much as he can but even then his presence is felt throughout your entire new life as you realize that Nanami apparently enjoys taking care of you to the point where he's being controlling with it. There's a certain schedule to your life now, one that he has prepared specifically for you.

💛This even includes your bedtime as you have to be at a certain hour in bed and get enough sleep and have to get up at a certain time in the morning. Nanami isn't forcing you to share a bed with him though as he graciously prepares another room for you to stay and sleep in. So it's a decision based on consens after your abduction to sleep with him and he's another case of showing his emotions in a very controlled way whilst being deep down just relieved that the worst phrase of the abduction seems to be over now. His sleeping schedule is just as meticulous though so both of you go to the bed at the same time and stand up in the morning at the same time. Nanami is also another candidate who needs a bit longer until he falls asleep because he's also thinking a lot when he lies in bed and only silence surrounds him. He has always an arm wrapped around you but the grip isn't too tight for you to not be able to free yourself if you should ever feel the need to visit the toilet. He is a bit more of a sensitive sleeper though so try to be quiet if you don't want to wake him up.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere itadori #yandere itadori yuji #yandere megumi #yandere fushiguro megumi #yandere maki #yandere zenin maki #yandere sukuna #yandere ryomen sukuna #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto #yandere geto suguru #yandere nanami #yandere nanami kento

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girlystories · 11 months

Text

Being the Bowers gang girl

*ೃ::Both platonic & romantic headcanon

– pairings: various x reader

addition warnings: swearing, bullying, very few depictions of sexism, few derogatory names, toxicity, abusive parenting.

words: 2.6k

this was entirely inspired by z0mbiekittyy, so please check them out!

Meeting/joining the gang

you were at first the quiet, loner girl who kept to herself, only having a few acquaintances, with very few friends.

it wasn't because you were a loser. only the opposite. everyone wanted to become friends with you or get to know you in some way but you never let anyone get close.

everyone had heard of you of course. when they realized you were different they stopped trying to read you or make their mind about you.

that was until greta keene couldn't get enough. she hated the attention you got. so one day she started spreading rumors about you.

it was relatively easy, since no one knew you enough to disprove them in any way. one word went to another and everyone in town now started talking shit about you.

despite that, you didn't care. you had your mind somewhere else. popularity and school drama weren't your thing.

you didn't mind hearing the remarks spat at you when you wandered the halls or when you were in class. you were completely and utterly unbothered.

word got fast that it even reached the all too feared bowers gang.

you were making your way to biology class when you were shoved against a locker, all your books falling one by one on the floor.

"well well well, if it isn't derry's most favored whore", henry was the first to indulge in the act.

he was followed by vic, or – as he liked to refer to him as his 'right-man', "hey, hank. why haven't we ever tried to mess with her before?"

you tried to back up slowly, but your back hit against another frame. when you looked up your eyes met with a pair of green ones, followed by an unsettling smile.

it seemed like no one noticed what was happening – or in better words, no one gave a shit about what was happening.

"dont worry, [name], we're not gonna kill you, jeez," belch revealed.

that made henry groan and turn his head towards his friend. "shut up."

patrick, still behind you, held onto your shoulders, which was very easy due to his height. "or we will, you will find out soon."

"both of you shut up," henry silenced them before it could escalate to something else. "so, how about you come with us for a ride? ya'know, get some air n' stuff."

"you mean like skipping school?", you asked.

"why? are you scared? I'm sure your reputation is as shitty as it can get. can't get any worse than that. even ours is better."

you shrugged, and just decided to follow them. just as you sat at your seat – between vic and patrick, you couldn't make out the read ahead of you, as they were driving recklessly. where you were, you hadn't the slightest clue.

they were laughing and howling, sometimes shouting at the drives passing by.

you? well, you were scared shitless. you clung onto your seat belt, and holding back the urge to start shrieking.

after a while you got used to it and had to admit deep down it was kinda fun.

when you stopped, you realized you were at a junkyard. they prepared a fire when the sun began to set down and opened some bottles of beer.

as you all circled around the fire you began to talk about whatever. you also found yourself to... tolerate them. or, better yet, even enjoy their company.

before you knew it, little by little you hang more and more with them, slowly becoming one of them. it was the first time you were a part of something. they felt like home and you could trust them, despite the hardships and more extreme emotional outbursts.

your reputation got even worse but you didn't care. you had found your people.

Activities

other than hanging out in the junkyard, you guys do other stuff (of course).

it's like you all live together, while you also don't. frequent sleepovers, meet-ups on each other houses take place, ect.

vic once convinced you all to go camping a few towns away. despite being the one who recommended the idea, he ended up despicing it. on the other hand, patrick who hated the idea ended up having the most fun. scaring vic by hiding bugs in his tent and pretending he was hearing bears or wolves. belch had enough and kept demanding they'd stop fighting, while you kept laughing at vic's reactions everytime. you never went camping again.

every morning belch picks everyone in order, first henry, then patrick, then you, and lastly – the sleeping queen himself: vic.

then, you make a stop at the local diner, everyone choosing their own specific order that the waitress had already memorized.

unless vic had a hangover from the party the day before, he wouldn't stop complaining about who-knows-what.

sometimes, when you were really bored, you'd go out of town in search of abandoned places, owning them for a while until someone else found them and ruined them almost immediately.

it was expected and common sense you'd show up at ever party. then you all would split for a while but meet up in order to leave. belch was in priority not to drink or get high until anyone else got a license. that's what you all agreed on but that possiblility seemed unlikely.

at school you avoided bullying anyone, but giving up on trying to stop them from terrosizing another kid since it was the only thing they ignored you on. the only time you fought back was to defend yourself. not that you needed to, but because you wanted them to know that you weren't as incompetent as you seemed.

when you had the change you'd shoot empty beer bottles with henry's dad's gun.

Henry Bowers

you and henry would share your deep wounds together. him about his alcoholic and insane old man, and you about your hard time fitting in, both in family and friends.

you would joke around, but to an extent. if you said the wrong thing he'd refuse to speak to you for days, weeks or maybe even months – depending how much it affected him. if he was too stubborn, vic would have to somehow find a way to talk him out of his bitchy attitude.

despite him trying to seem hard-shelled, deep down he was very sensitive. he knew you knew that, and he hated it. it was the only thing he hated about you except the fact that tend to be pushy sometimes.

he had never cried in front the guys, but one day he couldn't hold back when he was only with you. it happened only once, but he still feels humiliated about it and hopes you'd never bring it up. he made you swore to never tell anyone.

butch seemed to like you for a reason, only approving of you from the gang. he hated the rest. when you find yourself at their house, he'd warmly greet you.

at first he and patrick made a lot of sexist joke about you. later when he noticed you went silent you, he started using them less, only saying them once or twice.

always offers you cigarettes, and makes sure to buy your favorites.

sometimes (when he's not in a shitty mood) he pays for your food when you go at the diner without saying a word or giving you the chance to convince him otherwise.

all good things considered, let's be honest here cuz we all know he has more negative that good qualities.

for example; gets jealous super easily and gets mad at you for it, making you apologize for something that isn't your fault.

NEVER admits he's wrong. ever.

when you have a different opinion he tells you to shut up or straight up threatens you.

needs a lot of attention, while also can't have on his tail all the time, making him indecisive and confusing.

sometimes doesn't realize you need help and leaves you deal with your problems alone while you clearly do need some sort of hand.

still, you always have a way to be together again, unable to keep any distance between you both. on weekends you usually take the bus to his house, helping him with the choses around the farm.

Vic Criss

you and vic already knew each other from middle school. you were in the same class and he used to help you with homework.

then, when kids started growing up through that phase everybody did about that sort of rivalry against girls and boys. because of that, your 'friendship' fell apart.

you weren't really friends back then but you could've been.

he never admitted it but he always stared at you from away, wishing you would somehow start talking to each other again.

he was the one who convinced henry to approach you that day. the idea popped into his mind just as those rumors started going around.

he was glad henry agreed. even though he always did, he was anxious of saying no. later, he lied to you, saying it was henry's idea instead and that first interaction you had with him was henry's way of being kind (despite calling you a 'whore').

you and vic were close, in a different way you were with the others. he understood you better and he was very good at telling advice. he was also fun gossiping with. definitely the best when having a sleepover. the others found him annoying or bitchy about it, but with you he was himself.

he also was kinda subtle about his true personality, not showing his true small but intresting quirks only you knew.

speaking of gossiping, almost every weekend he crashed at your place, the excuse being his siblings giving him a headache, while his mom being 'a pain in the ass'.

everytime he had a problem with the others you would be the first to know. he was still henry's 'right-man', but sometimes henry was, well... henry.

at parties he'd get wasted and you'd be 100% sure he'd be found in the bathroom pucking his guts out.

you guys are so close he would be showering while you were doing your business at the toilet, gossiping about everything single detail.

still sometimes helps you with school after some persuation, but keeps reminding you that 'he is not your tutor'.

loves braiding your hair when you're hanging out, especially during class when it's something super boring (even for him).

Patrick Hockstetter

you were honestly pretty scared of patrick at first, and most definitely the only one from the gang who gave you the creepes.

the alligations weren't few, to say the least, and at first you kept your distance from him.

he also didn't try to make a move on you, which you found stange, yet grateful. maybe henry threatened him or something. either way you were considerably on good terms with patrick.

one day at school, while you were waiting for the other three to come at your usual spot during break, he offered you a cigarette. you received it with gratitude, since it was rare for an offer coming from patrick. he even stricked up a conversation, which was... maybe a bit thought provoking.

then he smirked – that one charismatic he wore when you would stop being able to read his mind. he was like a puzzle, but most pieces were missing or switched with incorrect ones. "are the rumors true?", he asked, closing his zippo with a 'click' after he light your cigarette.

"i dont think that you care if they're true or not," you answered back, the tobacco filling your lungs with nicotine.

clouds of smoke escaped his nostrils with each chuckle. "maybe."

on your ride home Black Sun Morning by Screaming Trees was playing from the radio and you found yourself singing alongside patrick. he rose his brows, "you know 'em?"

"duh, of course."

the next day on the ride to school, instead of gossiping with vic you ended up having a deep conversation with patrick about music. you never imagined that you'd be having a conversation about art with him of all people.

since then, you hit it off well. he stopped using sexist comments as well, and even attempted physical contact at the diner, brushing his fingers against your hair. when he realized you let him or try to stop him, he smiled to himself.

in the end you were usually seen together, you sitting on his lap during breaks or at the gym stands, in the car or diner. he would wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. it was making the others sick.

sometimes you attempted to help him with homework, but he only agreed so you could just hangout. he wasn't really interested in attending college. the thing he was good at was certainly playing the guitar. both bass and lead guitar. vic jokes about him making a band but it something told you he didn't view it as a light joke.

one day he invited you to his house to show you his vinyls and discs. that's when you met his mother and was pretty surprised to find out she was vietnamese. he made sure to never speak vietnamese around you or the others.

when meeting you he became less... interested at the fridge at the junkyard, viewing it less and less. maybe therapy was starting to work out? even for a tiny bit.

extremely protective of you, especially at parties. makes sure to keep an eye out even though you wouldn't know it.

Belch Huggins

belch was the most chill and the most independent one of the gang. aways making sure everything was in check and going smoothly. it was no surprise he was super welcome to you and tried to make you at ease the first few weeks, asking you if you were okay or needed a ride home.

is a gentleman, of course. doesn't tolerance any disrespect towards you, no matter how small it may seem to you.

offeres to pay for you when going out, no matter how many times you don't let him.

one time you both got so drunk you couldn't stop laughing; your bellys hurting and your eyes filled with tears while your faces were bright red. it made henry mad (as usual) but it's a memory you'd never forget. you had no way to get back home, though.

on fridays you watch him play basketball, sitting at the stands, and smoking and encouraging him. sometimes vic or patrick came too, but it was very rarely.

he offers you the ball but you immediately decline, being reminded of the day the ball hit you in the face after you missed your shot.

you requested him to teach you how to drive, which was a bad idea honestly. at first you didn't understand his instructions at all, but when he asked you if you had any questions you lied saying 'no'. after that instead of stepping on going forward you accidentally went backwards, almost crashing his beloved trams-am that he named 'daisy'. then you turned the wheel too far, almost falling at a ditch before he saved you two.

swore that you'd never get a license in your life and forbid you anywhere near the wheel, not even the passengers seat.

his dad owes a workshop, fixing cars. he helped too, supporting him in any way he could. you also helped him here and there while he taught you the basics and answered any questions you had.

he promised that he'd let you fix a car entirely on your own without his help. he said he'd also let you keep it for free.

you have a drawer contained only of belch's clothes. at first you'd ask him to try his sweatshirts on. then you'd complain you were cold and he'd sigh, saying you could give it back another day. but you never did.

you loved it when he gave you biggyback rides. his, especially. he could never refuse, despise how tired he was.

#:girlystories #:girlystoriess #[🦢]#it headcanons #it x reader #bowers gang x reader #bowers gang #henry bowers x reader #henry bowers #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #victor criss x reader #victor criss #belch huggins x reader #belch huggings #it fanfiction #it 2017 #it chapter one #headcanons

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arsonlookers · 5 months

Note

Hi! I had just finished the penacony story quest and umm came out with random ideas….. PLUS after listening to White Night I-

I was wondering what you would think about an AU where time slip is possible and that Yan! Aventurine lost reader (idk how in what situation😭😭😭)

but like yea….

N then like he just literally time slips back to the past before he lost them and like gets super protective???

Idk like I'm-

Omg help idk but like yehhhh

Oh My God your a GENIUS!!! Imagine an au like that!! But let's give it a twist shall we 😉

IN ANOTHER LIFE YOU ARE MINE

YAN! AVENTURINE X READER

Yan! Aventurine in his first and original timeline falls in love with you but keeps it a secret relationship because there are plenty of enemies he made in the way who wanted to hurt you just to hurt him. So he keeps his distance from you in public and in private he is just so clingy and SO loving but in recent times he has just become more distant from you after meeting the trailblazer not only he is a million times busy and with dealing with his past he also started to become more interested with this "FRIEND" of his the trailblazer.

So he spends less and less time as it goes on and you are just so lonely whenever he is not even planning to go home. Or he just kind of ended up ignoring you when he comes home because he is exhausted from all the drama. [he just needs time poor baby]

But then one day an accident happens to you, an accident he never expected, and will forever regret. Of all the people in that accident you his very beloved partner were the only one who perished the most and died alone.

"aventurin-" were your very last words you only wanted to see the love of your life one last time and at least be able to say goodbye to the person who saved you and made your life worthwhile...

BREAKING NEWS!!

the news states the attack was from a man who lost in a gamble storming out from the casino with pent-up anger and ended up venting his anger to a poor woman a passerby who was the first person he spotted to look so weak so he attacked her and stabbed her 10 times to vent his anger because of the lost.

After hearing the news Aventurine can't believe what he is hearing and dashes immediately towards your location. just outside of the casino he was in right now.

in front of the lobby there he saw a group of people gathered in front of the entrance cameras and all.

he never is the type to jump in the scene but this time he jumps in the crowd to look for you to believe that it is not you and you are safe, to hope and in his luck that YOU are safe.

In his mind he is already panicking, sweat going down from his forehead and hands shaking non-stop he can't even control it. Inside of his mind were all prayers and all begging to keep you safe from every harm that past these people you are safe and sound.

But past the one last person he pushes aside instead of your sweet smile and a hug of comfort.. all he sees is blood.. blood everywhere his eyes tremble his bones are about to give up as he looks at the body in front of him there lies you wearing your favorite dress that he gifts you in your anniversary... a sunflower dress being splattered and filled with red blood still running down from your dead body.

and with that is the very last straw of his sanity.

He comes close to your body, and his eyes behind his glasses start to water, overwhelming emotions bearing him and tying in his throat restricting him from breathing and making his heart beat as if being chased by a killer or worse death wanting him dead. and maybe it is better to die right now he thought.

just the sight of your back and your dress being soaked in your own blood was horrendous and worst sight he had laid his eyes upon.

everything was so slow yet so fast at the same time. You were taken away from his grasp and then the next you are being sent away to be mourned by your family. But you don't have a family. he is your family. the one and only family. but because the two of you are still not married and just dating/ engaged he cant have you ... he cant mourn you... And the worst part is he has all the money and power but mourning you, He cant even DO THAT?! He have all this for you for HIM but why? why? WHY?!WWHYWHHYWHYWHWYWHY?????? WHY?!WWHYWHHYWHYWHWYWHY???WHY?!WWHYWHHYWHYWHWYWHY??? WHY?!WWHYWHHYWHYWHWYWHY??? WHY?!WWHYWHHYWHYWHWYWHY???

everything in his mind is starting to crumble as he starts to drink and gamble his life everything is on the line yet he just can't die. HE IS JUST TO LUCKY TO DIE. THEN WHY??? WHY DO YOU NEED TO DIE??? WHY YOU??? was all he can asked day in day out in his life. when he comes home all he can remember is YOU every memory every furniture everything reminds him of you and he just cant he might loses his mind more if he stays more than a hour a minute in once your shared house.

After everything he just cant take it anymore and goes to your house drunk and just starts calling your name waiting for you to respond.

"Yn~ baby~ ! Im home! " He calls drunk inside the house falling flat in the entrance and everything. He closes his eyes and All he can think and hear about is how warm he feels the house is clean and how you will be coming out of the kitchen and calling his name so lovingly.

"aven! Aven! AVEN!" how you will call his nickname how sweet your voice sounds like at first it sounds so far away and now he feels so nostalgic how you shake him the same from all those months ago when he comes home drunk.

He wants to stay like this ... if he can he wants to stay like this forever hearing your voice calling his nickname ...

"more. more call me like that moreMORE MOREMORE "

"KAKAVASHA!!" was when he opened his eyes and bolted his eyes from the voice that called him

and here presents you... in your glory and in your lovely apron. that says 'HAPPY WIFEY HAPPY LIFEY~" It was cheesy but it looked so perfect for you.

"vasha!! are you ok!? " you grabbed his face and all he could feel was how warm you were not cold and wet as he last remembered.

before he knew it tears drops one after the other in his eyes.

"aventurine!! hey come on are you gonna leave me hanging and worried?? did someone beat you? Are you ok?" You grabbed him for a hugged and rubbed your hands in his back

and all he can think is how warm you are how nice it was to feel your warm body against his and how you smell so good. and then he just thinks that he wants this to last forever, he doesn't want this to end, he doesn't want to go back to that dark place. he doesn't want to go back in that nightmare ever again.

Feeling all these emotions he hugged you and started to bawl his eyes out and hugged you tight as if you would be gone in a matter of seconds now.

you can't really know what is going on with him but it truly is rare to see him like this and this time he needs your comfort and love so instead of breaking the hug because of it being too tight You instead hugged him tight and comfort him with your words and back rubs

"its ok, aven, its just a nightmare . shhh its fine , its fine Im here now, Im here" As you keeps your gesture and kinda calm him down his gripped unto you was still on and tight but not that tight.

That is until he falls asleep.

"cute aven" you say as you pinches his cheeks before moving him to your shared bedroom.

Aventurine woke up and just in a panic he searched the room he cant see you there so he rushed down the stares and searched for you outside he was screaming your name and on the verge of crying again. that is until you called for him from the kitchen.

"morning darling!" You say as flipping the pancakes and smiling at him from the kitchen wall.

and there aventurine was feeling relieved that you weren't just a dream.. and even if this is a dream of a hallucination he don't care all he cares about is you and him in this time together eating your pancake and you in front of him smiling happily.

AND AFTER SPENDING MORE AND MORE TIME as he starts to notice that he was in the past a year before your tragedy he promises that he will. HE WILL. PROTECT YOU.

may it caused of his death he dont care he will never ever EVER going to see you in that state again.

WITH out you knowing he actually in this timeline he did kill your killer after he tracked him down so that he wont be able to do the murder again. Aventurine puts more in security and becomes more and more clingy since then.

But one thing he will put first. HE ASKED YOU TO BE HIS WIFE This time he will never ever gonna regret pausing to make you his wife. This time YOU ARE HIS WIFE.

He wont ever EVER FACE ALL THOSE HAPPENING AGAIN. He wont ever make you feel sad and distant and he wont make you regret saying YES to his proposal now that you are going to be his WIFE.

He will plan the wedding immediately.

HE WON'T WASTE ANY TIME ANYMORE HE ALREADY WASTED A LOT OF TIME IN THE PAST HE won't MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE.

Suggested warning!!

and fckng his wife should be the first priority right~ so he does~

Every night and every possible day he has been so horny to the point of fcking you in every possible place in the house on your dates in your backyard, and even in his office. EVERYWHERE

IN THIS LIFE YOU ARE HIS AND NO ONE CAN HAVE YOU AND TAKE YOU AWAY FROM HIS GRASP AND IN THIS LIFE.

[this is the birth of the most possessive and overprotective yandere aventurine who loves love LOVES you very much ]

ARS: Donee!! damn anon thank you for the idea! but really I was not gonna make it since been busy but I guess my writer brain just turns on immediately thinking about the plot and how i would write the story I wish it was to your liking anon! I wish this is how my brain would work in my exam wow that finished within one hour hahaha anyways have a great Day!!

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