#be on the look out for Blood in the Breeze

[shaisuki]

Hiii, I read your chubby concubine work and I saw your requests were open so I wanted to ask for Sukuna x Concubine reader where she's very compliant and stays collected most of the time but she doesn't want him touching her clit and when he does she gets very vocal and sensitive please ? 🙏🏻

ONE'S PLEASURE

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ content warnings true form! sukuna, blow jobs, clit slapping, talks about murder, blood, penetrative sex, double penetration.

sukuna gets his meek and obedient concubine to get vocal.

the dark hallways are illuminated with the torches placed in the pillars. guiding you to your master's private chambers. you were called for the night to accompany him and tend to his pleasures. the moon bright and full. the breeze cold as you paved your way.

you smoothed your kimono with your palms when you arrived in his chambers before raising your fist to knock, warning him of your arrival and you entered the door.

“sukuna-sama.” you briefly greeted him. head hung low as you waited for him to permit you to look at him. one thing you know of your master is you never look at his eyes until he allows you to. a painful death is imminent when he catches you looking at him.

“woman.” he calls you and that was your cue to look at him but you didn't dare to meet his gaze. anywhere your eyes can look but never at his eyes.

he sat upon his bed. legs spread and he's resting his chin in one of his arms. the black haori is the only thing that is covering his nakedness.

you slowly approached him and you're in front of him. even he's seated while you stand in front of him, he easily dwarfs you of his muscular body despite you being bigger than his other concubines.

“may i remove your haori, sukuna-sama?” in which he responds with a hum. his gaze never leaving you as he follows your every moment. you reach out for his haori. gently grabbing it as you slowly removed it from him. biting your lips and your gaze briefly meets the two eyes in the right side of his face. the brief look on his eyes got your heart rate spiking up and you hear him chuckle.

he smell the fear dancing around you along with the arousal between your thighs. it was a delight for him when he have that effect. striking fear in everyone enticing his palate with their flesh in his tongue. sukuna have already had you devoured if it wasn't for the reason you're his favorite concubine even that he can suppress the greed for the woman in front of him. the plumpness of your body and the taste of it in his tongue mingling and he's willing to let you live until you have no use for him. it will take a long time for that to happen and before that he's going to make a use out of you to be his cocksleeve.

he watches as you placed his haori beside him and your hands reach out for the obi of your kimono. delicately untying the knot before it falls to the floor along with your kimono. baring your body in front of him and he watch as your gaze drops to the two large cocks of his. hard and twitching. kneeling, your hands wrapped around them. giving it a firm squeeze before enveloping one of his cock around your mouth. the other being stroked with your hand.

“mmm—ah” the tip of his cock and your lips are connected with your spit. squeezing his lengths with your hand you went back to suck one his cocks. glistening as you gave it a suck before disconnect your mouth from it to kiss the tip and giving it kitten licks before sucking it with your mouth. your cheeks hollowing a bit to take his length deeper. you know how much sukuna likes you to take more of his cocks.

you bobbed your head. going back and forth until you're almost choking on your lord sukuna-sama's cock. it feels good. so good that you don't want to let go and just fully engulf his cocks to your mouth. you really loved the taste of it.

sukuna have you summoned for tonight and the previous nights. he won't say it but he have taken a fondness to you. a quality that once in a blue moon joins his harem. a meekly obedient mortal who have graced with a body an embodiment of wealth and fertility.

“stop.” he orders you and you halted your movements. “come and show me what you're made of, mortal.” his voice deep and that strikes a fear to your heart. you oblige without a second thought. walking towards him until your body is in front of him. the plate in the right side of his face where two of his eyes moves in a synchronized manner. one of his hands reach out to move the hair covering your chest to side. exposing you bare to him and grazing the skin with his sharp nails. droplets of blood surfaces in the teared skin. the smell of blood enticing him to take a taste of you and when you meet his gaze, you were done for.

it is said that no other concubines that laid in his bed had the privileged to ride him. it was the talk among your fellow concubines while they rouge their cheeks and combed their hair in the room where all of you gathered as concubines. you paid no mind to it and maybe you should have.

your legs burn while your holes squeezed around his cocks. you have been bouncing for hours more like minutes to say. biting your lower lip to contain the moans wanting to spill out from your mouth. it burns and it hurts. you didn't even dare to complain or voice out the difficulty of riding his two huge cocks that is swelling and definitely getting bigger inside of you. you were grateful for the support of your arms holding the cap of his knees while you ride him. it definitely helped you to ease the added burn and the stretch of his cock destroying your pussy and rearranging your guts.

it was always a question to him. how you stay collected and calm when you're being impaled by his cocks. he looks at your fat pussy between your legs. his cocks glistening as it went deeper inside you and your cunt gushes with your slick. he knows you are feeling good from the wetness between your thighs and coating his lengths. he hopes for a reaction besides the expression of your face contorting in pleasure and he wants to hear more aside from the breathless moans and the silent gasps you're emitting. it doesn't occur when a concubine of his stays this silent. they're loud and the shrill voice they make when he fucks them sends him to a irritation that they doesn't leave the room alive no matter how they suppressed it and there comes you. following every order and keeping his cocks nice and warm while being silent throughout the whole time. he ought to find on how to break you out of that collected persona of yours.

“ahh!” you squeaked out. a look of horror painted to your face as the pads of his fingers reached to rub your clit. a deep chuckle is followed. “there it is, can you still keep your voice low, human?” he challenges you and the tears swell to your eyes. face burning in embarrassment. you continued to bounce in his cocks but sukuna have other plans to you.

“please, sukuna-sama. don't touch m-me there.” you stutter out. “who are you to order me, mortal?” you shaked your head before gasping for air. choking on your moans.

he hears you squeal and your cunt gushes more slick that it was almost flowing. a pinch of your clit and your cunt convulses around his cocks. milking them and he growls in response. flicking your poor little clit and you were crying. begging for him to stop, your thighs trembling from your orgasm and another incoming one.

bored of the position, he places you on your back. your wrists are pinned above your head. “sukuna-sama?” he hears you call for him. your eyes glistening with tears. whining as he folds you. your stomach rolls are folded like dough being stacked. your knees are on the level of your chest and he stares at your puffy cunt before plunging his two cocks inside knocking the air in your lungs before pummeling your abused cunt with his length and it gotten worst when he comes to give your swollen clit with attention. slapping it while he thrusts his cocks to your fat pussy.

you laid there helplessly, you didn't know if you can still speak or it was the blunt force of his cocks are keeping your from speaking. you were too tired to speak out while he used you as his fleshlight.

sukuna watched in amusement as you came undone for his cocks the nth time. you can't even speak now seconds after you were screaming. moaning his name in desperation while he plows deeply inside you. you are truly a fascinating creature in his eyes and too bad you passed out before he can dump his load to you. he's willing to make an exception to you for now but there will be no next time. you better be sure to stay awake the next time he's giving your needy clit the attention it desperately needs.

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄.

💞 — in which you teach malleus a new phrase and he grows somber about your inevitable death.

💞 — malleus draconia x reader

💞 — warnings: hurt/comfort type fic. some descriptions of gore to emphasize heartache. reader does catch a cold. malleus is sad </3 mentions of death and mortality/fragility.

💞 — 1.2k words. various arab groups tell their loved ones 'taqburouni' meaning 'may you bury me' affectionately. i thought of malleus when i heard it again recently, since he very well would be stuck burying his loved ones. eid mubarak my lovelies!!

Taq-bu-rou-ni.

Malleus’s brows knitted in a bit of interest as he replayed your word in his mind, splitting each of the syllables to pronounce it the way you did. It was a foreign word, and for someone who knew bygone languages, this was a word he had not heard. You said it with a look of affection in your eyes. It was your way of being romantic, well, with the way you drawled the final vowel, that much was obvious.

“And what does that mean?” he asked, his bright green eyes following the shape of your silhouette as you walked. Those slitted pupils of his dilated. 

“Taqburouni? Ah, it means ‘may you bury me,’” you said, innocently. The words spilled from your lips like sugared blades, so sweet yet so painful. It clung to his skin and when he tried to pull away, it tore his skin.

He paused his walking for a moment, stopping you with him. Those words reminded him that he could spend a century dwelling on that term, while you could not even spare a minute. 

Taqburouni.

That phrase you had taught Malleus planted itself into his lungs and wrapped around his esophagus. He knew you meant it affectionately. It was your way of wishing him a long life, one long enough that he would get the chance to bury you. You had known all sorts of romantic sayings that bordered on being eerie and strange. The vines you were growing wrapped around his lungs and sunk their thorns into them greedily, causing sweet blood to splatter onto his ribcage.

He knew he would get the chance to bury you. His child of man was too frail to live as long as he.

His pause caused you some worry and you squeezed his hand, pulling it closer to you so that his knuckles hovered near your chest, “It’s weird, isn’t it?” you joked, your brows furrowed in concern, “It’s an affectionate way of wishing that someone you love has a long life… I get if it’s not your thing—I just—I—”

Malleus silenced you by placing his free hand on your head. He let it slide over your hair and behind your head. His long fingers threaded their way through some of the strands as he gripped the back of your head. They were like stubborn blossoms in a valley of wilting roses, desperate to keep you close and alive, “It is lovely, a fine way of showing affection,” he told you. 

The future king decided against telling you just how uncomfortable that term made him. It infiltrated his body like a strong virus, poisoning his body and eating away at his flesh from the inside. Just like the vines that you planted in his lungs, tearing him apart beneath the layer of flesh, muscle, and bone.

A smile came to your face at his reassurance and you kissed his knuckles, “I’m glad you think so, Malleus,” you told him. 

Taqburouni. He found it anything but lovely. Malleus understood the purpose of such a term, and he knew you were just being lovelorn, but Sevens. Each vowel was like a threat, each one getting closer to him losing you. Taq—and you were cut, bu—you were sick, rou—bedridden, ni—and suddenly he was back in the Briar Valley, standing before another tombstone. To him, it was purely unromantic. 

It was violent and it was cruel.

You shivered due to the cold breeze and his gaze hardened, “Let us return you to the dorm, beastie. You’ll freeze if you’re out any longer,” he said, taking his uniform blazer off to drape over your shoulders. This body of yours was so delicate. Too delicate.

“Oh, Malleus… but you’ll get cold,”

He laughed, “I think you forget who you’re speaking to,” he said, his eyes watching your body tense up slightly. That delicious blush covered your cheeks and he was tempted to freeze time right here. Surely there was a spell for that, that way he could keep you forever and your words, your plea that he buries you, would never come true.

Bashfully, you averted your gaze and kept walking beside him. Oh, how he wanted to pounce.

Days later, that poisonous word was still on his mind. 

It came up in particular when you caught a cold. The illness had been traveling around the school, your favorite duo from Heartslabyul had gotten it, but not nearly as bad as you. People had been coughing in class, sniffling as they walked through the halls—Malleus blamed himself for worsening it due to all the nights he dragged you away on romantic walks where he showed you the secrets of the campus.

Now he was sitting at your bedside in Ramshackle dorm. It was not nearly as dilapidated as it used to be. You had cleaned up a lot, bleaching whatever you could to kill sickness, and it still managed to sneak in. There were cracks in the windows… it probably made the nights even colder for you.

One of these beams could fall and kill you.

“Taqburouni.”

The blasted word repeated itself in his mind as he watched you squirm in your bed. Your breathing was shallow, you were sweating—he could end you with a raise of his finger, “Too fragile. Like a bird’s eggshell. All it would take is to push you out of a nest and then…” His brows furrowed as the back of his hand trailed down the side of your sickly face.

Your skin looked much less vibrant in this state.

This moment and thousands of others would pass him like a dream. One day he would bury you and then take the throne. Your bought of romance would end up being a dream. He would wake up with a crown on his head, black robes draping every inch of him, and the flickering memories you made here.

His fingers trailed down to your throat for a moment and he tapped the dainty skin with his sharp nails. Just the tiniest bit of pressure and you would bleed. Not even the strongest swords would break through his scales.

“Malleus,” you muttered, breathlessly as you tried to open your eyes. The light was too bright so all you could do was blearily squint at him before shutting your eyes again, “I feel so weak…”

“You look it too,”

“Huh?”

He stared at your face for a moment, taking in the way your eyes drifted back shut. Your brows knitted softly, and it made him want to kiss that space between your eyes, “Rest,” he whispered, his hand turning to cup your face. A bit of his magic traveled from the tips of his fingers to your skin, forcing you to inhale a green mist that would temporarily put you to sleep.

Malleus felt the urge to keep you in this state of sleep for one hundred years. Instead, he settled for leaning in and kissing your forehead, “May you bury me,” he whispered. He promised to find a way to keep you alive with him for good. He would find a way to keep everyone and everything he loved alive with him till he breathed his last flame.

[mm-lurking]

When the rain stops

I got soaked in the rain so I wrote this. Not proofread. Written with Blade, Al-Haitham and Jiyan in my mind but you can imagine your favourites.

Warnings: x fem! reader, angst WC: 817 — Nothing registers in your mind except the icy freezing water that washes over your body in large raindrops. Your fingertips are cold and rock hard from the downpour that has caught you halfway through your journey. The slashes and stab wound you have obtained from your body bleed into your clothes and the ground you stand on.

Everything feels numb in comparison to the rain. You’re trembling as the clothes you wear stick to your body and the harsh breeze that passes by makes it worse. The water has pooled around your feet, soaking through your shoes and no matter how hard you try nothing keeps the aggressive battering of the rain away.

By the time you reach your destination the biting cold gets to you and you find yourself stumbling in your steps. The loss of blood further exacerbates your fragile state. Each movement of your feet feels heavy no matter how hard you push through. The rain blinds you completely and your vision starts to blur.

Your knees give out causing you to go crashing into the gravel path. The metallic smell of blood mixes with the earthy rain assaulting your nose with the strangest odor you have ever encountered. Somehow, alongside the odor, you get a whiff of a familiar masculine scent, one that reminds you of him.

What follows are urgent footsteps and a warm pair of arms that envelop you from the back. Suddenly the rain stops above your head followed by a deep raspy voice you so dearly love to hear.

“You’re hurt.”

He says concerned as he discards his coat and kneels down to your level to wrap it around you. The additional layer of thick fabric greatly shields you from the rain and you can’t help but smile deliriously. Without a word he presses you deeper into his chest as he checks your injuries.

“This stab wound…who did this to you?”

You can sense a tinge of anger in his voice which further makes you smile. Something about him caring for you despite his reserved attitude surprises you. Instead of replying, you weakly cling your fingers on the thin fabric of his chest and lazily nod.

“Doesn’t…doesn’t matter…”

You mumble out and dig your head deeper into his chest. All you can think about is how incredibly warm he is compared to the raging rain that shows no sign of stopping. He wraps his hands tighter around you in response.

Then he immediately scoops you up in his arms making sure to avoid the injured skin before hurriedly walking to a place of retreat to tend to your weakened state. You’re cold and limp against his warm and alive body. Now that the rain no longer storms on you, you feel the pain of your wounds emerging from your throat as you uncomfortably groan.

“Shh…almost there.”

He responds soothingly to your agony. With the little energy you have left, you peek at the man who carries you so lovingly. All you can see is his sharp jawline and the popping of his neck veins as he looks ahead. You observe the rain soaks some of his hair and face, coating him with a glistening glow that makes your heart beat a tad faster.

“It’s alright…you don’t have to…”

He tries to ignore how shallow your breathing is and how your blood seeps into his own clothes. Your body feels more lifeless in his warm hands with each passing second. He notes how your tiny fingers have loosened their grip on his shirt and he tries not to panic at the lack of movement you display.

“Nonsense. We are almost there.”

His fingers almost dig into your skin despite the layers you have on. Even though his voice is unwavering and resolute, the pounding of his heart betrays him. Through the last few threads of consciousness remaining in you, you chuckle.

“You’re wasting your time on me…”

“Stop talking.”

He chides you and you smile. Everything is starting to feel more distant and dreamy as black dots swarm your vision. Your fingers that were holding onto his shirt so desperately drop into your lap and your head falls back. The sudden change prompts him to look at you and he feels blood drain from his face. You’re still like the waters of a lake with a tiny smile. He calls you out but you do not respond.

“Stay with me. Stay with me!”

He says with more urgency as he shakes you but only silence fills the air. There is a flurry of curses that run through his head as he finally reaches his destination and rushes to ask for help. When the rain finally stops and your wounds are observed carefully, all he can do is stare at your pale face in horror as your eyes remain closed and dried blood decorates your skin.

Maybe, just maybe it was too late.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

[kokoch4n3l]

'•.¸♡BUY ME THE MOON࿐ྂ SANO "MIKEY" MANJIRO x f!READER

TWO — ribbons in my hair

chapter summary: your world collides with Manjiro's in the shadows of your father's mansion in the woods, where 'innocence' meets cruelty in a dangerous dance

chapter warnings: dark content 18+, inaccurate depiction of politics and political climate, unreliable narrator(reader), corruption, objectification, threatening, loneliness, isolation, gang violence, use of weapons(guns), murder, blood and gore, slight infantilization, kissing, making out, cheating, fingering(f), mentions of masturbation

word count: 9842

masterlist | previous | chapter 3

His voice, deep and gravelly, sends shivers down your spine as it reverberates through the silence of the night. The way he says "princess" makes your heart skip a beat, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You're acutely aware of the heat emanating from his body, the scent of his cologne mingling with the smoke from the bonfire below. It's intoxicating and overwhelming, and you find yourself utterly captivated by this enigmatic man standing before you.

But even as desire flares within you, a voice in the back of your mind whispers a warning. This man, Sano Manjiro, is dangerous. You can see it in the way he carries himself, in the aura of power and authority that surrounds him like a cloak. He's not someone to be trifled with, not someone you should be getting involved with. And yet, there's a part of you that's drawn to him like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his presence. But as a cool breeze card through your hair you realize that you've been caught, not just observing the scene below, but also caught off guard by this unexpected intrusion into your secluded world. You try to summon some semblance of composure, but your heart is racing, and your mind is racing even faster, trying to come up with some explanation for why you were spying on the bonfire. "Who are you?" you manage to squeak out, your voice barely above a whisper, even though you know exactly who this man is

Sano Manjiro doesn't answer, just continues to stare at you with those intense eyes of his, as if trying to read your thoughts. You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his gaze like a physical presence pressing down on you. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine. "What are you doing out here, princess?" Manjiro asks, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.

You bristle at the condescending nickname, but you force yourself to maintain your composure. "I could ask you the same thing," you retort, trying to inject some semblance of authority into your voice.

He smirks, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Touché" he says, his grip on you loosening slightly. 

You take the opportunity to straighten up, pushing away from the railing and crossing your arms defensively across your chest. "So, are you going to tell me what's going on down there?" you ask, nodding towards the bonfire below. "Or am I just supposed to guess?"

He chuckles, the sound sending a strange fluttering sensation through your chest. "Let's just say it's a little... business venture" he replies cryptically, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "Business venture, huh? Looks more like a midnight ritual to me," you quip, unable to resist a bit of sass.

He laughs a deep, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Well, you're not entirely wrong," he admits, his smirk widening into a grin. "But I'm afraid that's all you're going to get out of me, princess. Some secrets are better left untold."

You straighten your shoulders, watching as his eyes scan you. He does so quickly as if to not let you know he was checking you out but you catch him anyway. "You didn't tell me what your name is and uh... How do you know today's my birthday...?"

Manjiro walks back inside, scanning the inside of your room. "I have all eyes on Japan, [y/n]. Of course, I know who you are" He picks up your Miffy plushie off your bed "I'm Sano Manjiro..."

His voice trails off as he lifts the plushie, examining it with a faint smirk playing on his lips. You watch him warily, unsure of what to make of this enigmatic man who's suddenly invaded your secluded world. His presence is both intoxicating and intimidating, a dangerous combination that sends your heart racing and your mind spinning. "Sano Manjiro" you repeat, the name rolling off your tongue, feigning disbelief 

You know him obviously but earlier you just had to pretend not to know who he was just by glancing at his face. Everyone in Japan knows him. He was the leader of Bonten, the most powerful gang in the country, a man feared and respected in equal measure. And now, he's standing in your bedroom, holding your plushie like it's the most natural thing in the world. You shake your head slightly, trying to shake off the surrealness of the situation. "What do you want?" you ask, your voice coming out sharper than you intended. 

You're not used to feeling so out of control, so vulnerable. But with Manjiro, it's like he's stripped away all your defences, leaving you exposed and powerless. Feeling like that is something you do not like because money can't fix it. Manjiro's gaze flickers up to meet yours, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I want to talk," he says simply, his voice low and gravelly. "I want to know why the president's daughter is spying on my men."

You bristle at the accusation, feeling a surge of indignation rise within you. "I wasn't spying," you protest, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I was just... curious."

Manjiro raises an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Curious, huh?" he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Well, you certainly have a strange way of satisfying your curiosity, princess."

You flush even deeper, feeling a surge of frustration at his patronizing tone. "I'm not a child," you snap, your voice coming out sharper than you intended. "And I don't appreciate being talked down to."

Manjiro's smirk widens, a hint of challenge flashing in his eyes. "Is that so?" he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Well, forgive me for assuming. After all, you are the president's little secret, aren't you?"

You bristle at the mention of your status as the president's hidden daughter, feeling a surge of anger bubbling up inside you. "That's none of your business," you snap, your voice tinged with defiance. "And neither is what I do in my own home."

Manjiro's gaze darkens, his expression unreadable. "Everything that happens in Japan is my business," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Including what goes on in the president's secret mansion."

You swallow hard, feeling a surge of fear coursing through your veins. You know you're outmatched, outgunned. But you refuse to let Manjiro intimidate you. You may be the president's secret daughter, but you're no pushover. Fuck, Sano Manjiro isn't supposed to know who you are. Nobody is. It's the first time in your life that someone knows who you are and it's damn scary. You don't like this at all no matter how hot Sano Manjiro is. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "But I have nothing to say to you."

Manjiro's smirk widens into a full-blown grin, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "We'll see about that," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "We'll see."

You watch as he tugs at the ears of your plushie. "You're not supposed to know who I am..." you say after a moment of silence

It's right then that his smile fades. His demeanour turns cold. Manjiro carelessly throws your plushie back on the bed and steps closer to you once again. He's close, too close in your personal space. "Your father is president now, [y/n]."

His words hang heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the dangerous game being played. Your pulse quickens, fear and anger warring within you. "What does that have to do with me?" you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Manjiro's eyes narrow, his gaze piercing through you. "It means you're a valuable asset," he replies, his tone icy. "And in my world, valuable assets are either protected or exploited."

You feel a chill run down your spine at his words. The reality of your situation crashes down on you, the weight of your father's position and the danger it brings now painfully clear. It's only about 12:35 am, 35 minutes since your father became president and this hot motherfucker is already threatening you. "are you threatening me?" you ask him

Perhaps the rush of emotions you had earlier quickly faded after realizing that this situation is something that you shouldn't be in no matter how much you fantasize about it— no matter how much you've romanticized Sano Manjiro. Earlier when he had you pressed against the dark railing of your balcony, you were no better than those girls online fantasizing about Bonten and the rest of its top executives. But perhaps you were the lucky one to be able to see Sano Manjiro's face in person since there is not one picture of him online. Manjiro's gaze hardens, his eyes narrowing as he studies you. "Call it what you will," he says, his voice cold and indifferent. "But remember this, [y/n]. You may be the president's secret daughter, but you're not untouchable. You're not invincible. And if you think you can hide away in your little mansion and pretend the world doesn't exist, you're sorely mistaken."

His words cut through you like a knife, a harsh reminder of the harsh reality you've been trying so hard to ignore. You may have grown up sheltered and pampered, but you're not naive. You know the world is a cruel and unforgiving place, especially for someone like you, someone caught in the crosshairs of power and politics. "I've invested a lot of money in your father," he says "I know you're so clearly Saimori's favourite which is why he'll probably continue to let you off the hook but now that's he's president I don't want any kind of slip-ups from you. Stay hidden just like you have before"

"I know that already" You mutter

You're infuriated by him. You don't like the way Manjiro is treating you. It's not the usual admiration or jealousy you're used to by your peers at university. You don't like that he's not kissing the damn ground you're walking on or that he's not seething in jealousy at your perfect appearance. You hate it and you want Sano Manjiro so fucking bad but he's not reacting to you in the way you want him to or in the ways you're used to. Why the hell is he treating you the same way as Kaya?

Like a stain?

A mistake.

You completely change your tone. "You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Sano," You say formally and cross your arms over your chest 

Manjiro's expression remains impassive, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "Is that so, princess?" he says, his voice laced with a hint of skepticism.

You nod, trying to keep your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. "Yes," you reply, your tone firm and unwavering. "I assure you, I have no intention of causing any trouble for you or your... business ventures."

Manjiro studies you for a long moment, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of your words. Finally, he nods, a hint of approval flickering in his eyes. "Good," he says, his tone softer now, almost... gentle. "Because if you did, well..." He trails off, leaving the threat unspoken but hanging heavy in the air between you.

You swallow hard, feeling a knot of fear tightening in your chest. You may have put on a brave front, but deep down, you know you're no match for someone like Sano Manjiro. He's dangerous, powerful, and utterly unpredictable. And now, you're caught in his web, trapped between your father's position and Manjiro's influence, with no way out. But despite the fear and uncertainty swirling inside you, there's also a strange sense of... excitement. You may not like the way Manjiro is treating you, but there's no denying the magnetic pull he exerts, the intoxicating allure of danger and power. You may be sheltered and naive, but you're not blind. You can see the appeal of someone like Sano Manjiro, someone who defies convention and rules with an iron fist. And deep down, beneath the layers of fear and anger, there's a part of you that's drawn to him like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of his dark charisma.

But for now, you push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. "If there's nothing else, Mr. Sano, I think it's best if you leave," you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you.

Manjiro nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turns and heads for the door. "Until next time, princess," he says, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

And with that, he's gone, leaving you alone in the darkness of your room, your heart still racing and your mind spinning with a thousand questions. What does Manjiro want from you? And more importantly, what are you going to do about it?

One thing is for sure though, another item has just been added to your shopping cart. 

When you woke up the next morning the living room is filled with multiple gift boxes no doubt sent by your father. But it's one that catches your eye. The rest of the boxes are all wrapped in pink wrapping paper with bows but one small box is wrapped in black wrapping paper. You pick that one up first and unwrap it. It's a Vivienne Westwood box. You open the box and find the exact necklace you had been looking at last night, the same that lays idly in your cart because you didn't have enough energy to get up last night and get your father's credit card. It's the Valentina Orb pendant with gold hardware. The red gem in the center glimmers back at you. There is a note in the box too. You unfold it and read:

Happy Birthday Princess —SM

Sano Manjiro's initials are at the end of the note. A surge of conflicting emotions washes over you as you hold the necklace in your hands, the glint of the red gem catching the light. You're both touched and infuriated by the gesture. On one hand, it's a beautiful gift, something you've been eyeing for weeks now. On the other hand, it feels like a reminder of last night, of the encounter with Sano Manjiro that left you feeling shaken and vulnerable.

You toss the note aside, unable to bear the sight of Manjiro's initials staring back at you. Instead, you focus on the necklace, running your fingers over the smooth metal and admiring the intricate design. It's exquisite, a perfect reflection of your Manjiro's wealth and your own desire for luxury.

But as you slip the necklace around your neck, fastening the clasp with trembling fingers, you can't shake the feeling of unease that lingers in the pit of your stomach. What does this gift mean? Is it a peace offering from Manjiro, a way to smooth over the tension between you? Or is it something more sinister,?

You push those thoughts aside, forcing yourself to focus on the present moment. You have enough on your plate as it is, what with your father's newfound presidency and the looming threat of Manjiro's influence. You can't afford to dwell on what-ifs and maybes, not when there are more pressing matters at hand. With a sigh, you turn your attention to the other gifts scattered around the room. There are designer handbags, expensive perfumes, and even a few pieces of jewelry, all carefully selected by your father to celebrate your birthday. But despite the extravagance of the gifts, there's a hollow emptiness that lingers in the air, a reminder of the loneliness that pervades your secluded existence.

You're celebrating your birthday all alone while your father is out their celebrating his win. 

It's fine though. 

You just turned 20, it's no big deal— not as big as a deal of becoming president. 

It's fine that you're alone. You were an introvert anyway and you liked being by yourself. As you survey the lavish gifts spread out before you, a sense of resignation washes over you. It's not the first time you've spent your birthday alone, and it likely won't be the last. You've grown accustomed to the solitude, to the emptiness that pervades your secluded existence.

But even as you try to convince yourself that you're fine with being alone, a small part of you can't help but feel a pang of sadness. Birthdays are supposed to be a time for celebration, a time to be surrounded by loved ones and showered with affection. Yet here you are, surrounded by material possessions but devoid of any real connection.

You shake your head, banishing those thoughts from your mind. You refuse to let yourself dwell on the loneliness, not when there are more important things to focus on. With a sigh, you begin to tidy up the gifts, carefully placing each one back into its respective box. You may be alone on your birthday, but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the gifts your father has bestowed upon you. After all, you deserve to treat yourself every now and then, even if it's just to fill the void left by the absence of genuine companionship.

But there was no time for self-pity right now. The next time your dad came to see you, you had to talk to him about Sano Manjiro and why the hell he knows you exist. He's not supposed to know. No one is. Your father would no doubt be too busy to answer the phone so all you can do is wait.

It was okay though. Nothing would happen to you. Your father won't let that happen and you know it. 

For now, you smile to yourself as you plan your weekly getaway.

You were about 13 the first time you left the mansion for a purpose that wasn't to go to school. The guards, although fucking huge and strong, were stupid as hell and didn't notice you leaving on your bicycle. You live there and know the locations of all the cameras and the blindspots, of course, you know how to get away undetected.  

Every Saturday night, you'd slip out through the back garden, where the dense foliage provided perfect cover, and make your way to the small town beyond the mansion's sprawling grounds.

Today was no different. You pull on a black hoodie, baggy blue jean shorts, and white Nike Air Force 1s, the casual attire starkly contrasting to the designer outfits and silk pyjamas that filled your wardrobe. With your phone and some cash tucked into your pocket, you head for the garden. The cool nighttime breeze fills your lungs as you navigate the familiar path, your heart beating with the thrill of escape. The road to the town from the mansion is empty. No one has any reason to come down that way. Both sides of the road are filled with dense forest with the occasional street light. You have your own little light on the front of your bike too so you're not too afraid of the dark. You were grown up and the dark was the last thing you had to fear. 

As you ride your bike, the wind whips through your hair and you smile. You've been doing this for years and it was fun(sometimes you wonder how much more fun these bike rides would be if you had a few friends with you like in those coming-of-age movies). The thought of friends joining you on these clandestine escapades lingers in your mind as you pedal harder, the landscape blurring past. It's a fantasy you've entertained more than once, imagining a group of friends laughing and riding alongside you, sharing stories and secrets under the cover of night. But for now, the solitude of your solitary journey brings a strange sense of freedom and peace.

Tonight for some odd reason, the town seems... empty. Of course, it usually was empty anyway considering there was nothing else ahead for miles except for forestry but, it was a little odd. It was never this quiet all the years you had been coming here. Oh well, you shrug and get off your bike, locking it into the bike rack you usually do. You push the odd sense of emptiness from your mind and continue towards your destination—a small, noodle place that stays open late. It's your usual spot, a place where you can blend in with the locals and enjoy a moment of normalcy away from the confines of the mansion. As you walk down the familiar streets, the quietness feels almost eerie, but you convince yourself it's just your imagination playing tricks on you.

You approach the noodle place, the warm, savoury scent wafting out as you push open the door. The small bell above the entrance chimes, a familiar sound that always makes you feel welcomed. Despite the unusual quietness outside, the inside of the noodle shop feels just as cozy as always. You slide into your usual booth by the window, glancing around to see only a few patrons scattered throughout the restaurant. As you wait for your order, you watch the steam rise from the bowls of ramen being served to other customers, the sound of quiet chatter and clinking utensils creating a comforting ambiance. You pull out your phone, absentmindedly scrolling through social media while your mind drifts back to the events of the previous night. Manjiro's unexpected presence, his cryptic warnings, and that beautiful necklace that sits on your clavicle all swirl in your thoughts.

It's about at that time the door chimes again and this time a bigger group enters. You pull the hood of your hoodie over your head and slouch a little in the booth just in case it is some of your father's men. You don't turn around to look at the group nor do you make it seem you're out of place. You simply sit there silently. It wasn't like they'd recognize you without your fancy pyjamas or clothing anyway. The group behind you laughs loudly, acting rowdy as all men do. 

A bowl of hot ramen is placed in front of you, snapping you back to the present. You thank the server and dig in, savouring the rich flavours and the simple pleasure of a meal enjoyed in peace. The warmth of the broth and the familiarity of the routine help ease some of the tension that's been building up inside you.

As you finish eating it is then you hear a familiar voice that makes the whole group shut up. "his first daughter is a snake, the illegitimate one is nothing more than a spoiled puppy"

Oh. 

Oh shit.

It wasn't your father's stupid 2-brain-celled men. It was Sano-fucking-Manjiro and his men. That should be nothing to worry about but there is this voice deep in your head telling you that you couldn't get caught by him— that it would prove to be fatal. You pull out a black medical mask you always kept in your pocket for emergencies and put it on then tug your hood further down. You had to be careful and be quick. "ready for the bill, dear?" the owner asks as you walk over with the empty bowl

You nod as the elderly woman takes the bowl and sets it aside for the men washing the dishes. You silently pull out the wad of cash in your pocket flick through it for the amount and hand it over to her. Just as she's about put it in the register, yelling from Sano Manjiro's group starts and you hear a click, that makes the entire group and noodle shop go silent. Hesitantly, you turn your head in the direction of the sound and that's when you see a gun pressed to Sano Manjiro's temple. 

Your breath catches in your throat, and you instinctively shrink back, trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible. The tension in the room is palpable, the air heavy with the threat of violence. Your heart races as you watch the scene unfold, your mind whirring with a mixture of fear and disbelief. Manjiro's reaction is unsettlingly calm. His expression remains neutral, his eyes cold and calculating as he stares down the barrel of the gun. The man holding the weapon is clearly nervous, his hand trembling slightly as he tries to maintain his composure. 

At that moment, a fight breaks out. The owner grabs you by the arm and pulls you behind the counter, shielding you with her frail body. You try to protest but she just hushes you and holds you tighter. The man washing the dishes also ducks as the first bullet goes off. You're shaking and ears are ringing at the loud bangs. You huddle behind the counter, your heart pounding in your chest as the chaos unfolds around you. The sound of gunfire reverberates through the small noodle shop, mingling with the shouts and screams of the patrons. You can feel the elderly woman's grip tighten on your arm. Peeking out from behind the counter, you see Manjiro moving with a predatory grace, effortlessly disarming his attackers and turning the gun on them. The man who had dared to threaten him is now at his mercy, barely alive on the floor as Manjiro towers over him, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. "Pathetic," Manjiro spits, his voice low and menacing. "You think you can challenge me and live to tell the tale?"

The man's response is a choked sob, his bravado completely shattered. The shop has blood splattered on the walls and multiple men either dead or barely alive. The other paterons in the shop are under tables, trembling, fearing for their lives. The atmosphere in the noodle shop is charged with fear and tension. You remain crouched behind the counter, the elderly woman still clutching your arm, her frail body shielding you from the violence erupting around you. Your mind races, grappling with the sudden turn of events and the realization that you are in the presence of Sano Manjiro, a man far more dangerous than you had ever imagined.

Manjiro's men quickly subdue the rest of the attackers, efficiently neutralizing the threat. The sound of gunfire ceases, replaced by the heavy breathing and muffled cries of the wounded. You feel a surge of relief as the immediate danger passes, but it is quickly replaced by a new wave of anxiety. You know you need to escape before Manjiro notices you, but the fear of drawing attention to yourself keeps you rooted to the spot. "alright boys, round up the witnesses" A smooth deep voice says

You put a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from letting out a sound. shit. "oh c'mon stop crying" Another voice says "we ain't gon' kill ya'. Just gonna have a nice talk"

Your heart races as you hear the voices of Manjiro's men, their footsteps approaching the counter where you're hiding. The elderly woman holding you trembles, her grip tightening as she whispers, "Stay still, dear. Don't move."

Panic surges through you, but you force yourself to stay calm. You can hear the men moving through the shop, pulling out the other patrons from their hiding spots. Your mind races, trying to think of a way out. The door to the kitchen is just a few feet away—if you can make it there, you might have a chance to slip out the back and escape. Just as you're about to make your move, the counter above you is abruptly yanked away, and you're staring up into the cold, dark eyes of one of Manjiro's men. He grabs your arm, yanking you to your feet and pulling you out from behind the counter. The elderly woman cries out in protest, but she's quickly silenced by a sharp glare. "Look what we have here," the man holding you says, a smirk playing on his lips. "A little mouse hiding in the shadows."

You struggle against his grip, but it's no use. He's too strong, and your attempts to break free only make him tighten his hold. The man has slightly feminine feautres downturned droopy lilac eyes and his hair is fashioned in a striped pattern dyed in the colors of purple and blond tied back in a ponytail. He tugs at the medical mask and rips it off your face. "huh. Everyone else here is old except you" The man murmurs then calls out "Mikey, what do we do with the depressed university student"

Manjiro was probably behind you. He hasn't seen your face yet. Maybe you had a chance to get out of this without him seeing you. "Wakasa, that's my depressed university student" Manjiro says in a nonchalant tone

Or not...

You freeze at the sound of Manjiro's voice, your heart pounding in your chest as you slowly turn to face him. His gaze pierces through you, cold and calculating, as if he can see right through the facade you've carefully constructed. Panic surges through you, but you force yourself to maintain a calm exterior, refusing to let him see how rattled you truly are. Wakasa releases his grip on you, allowing you to step away from him. You keep your eyes trained on the floor, avoiding Manjiro's penetrating gaze as you silently curse yourself for getting caught in this mess. You should have been more careful, more vigilant. Oh you shouldn't have even come here tonight, birthday or not. Shit shit shit. Manjiro grabs the front of your hoodie and you stumble forward, a choked gasp leaving your lips. "you guys finish up here" Manjiro says to his men and literally drags you out the shop by the front of your hoodie

Your heart races as Manjiro pulls you out of the shop, his grip firm and unyielding. You stumble forward, struggling to keep up with his long strides as he leads you away from the chaos behind you. The cool night air hits you like a slap in the face, a sharp contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside the noodle shop. You can feel Manjiro's eyes boring into you, his gaze burning into your skin as he assesses you with a scrutiny that sends shivers down your spine.

You're acutely aware of the danger you're in, the precariousness of your situation now that you're alone with Manjiro. But even as fear courses through your veins, there's also a strange sense of exhilaration, a rush of adrenaline that heightens your senses and sharpens your awareness. You know you should be terrified of him, should be doing everything in your power to escape his grasp. And yet, there's a part of you that's drawn to him like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his presence. As Manjiro leads you further away from the noodle shop, you can't help but wonder what he plans to do with you. Is he going to interrogate you, threaten you, or worse? The possibilities swirl in your mind, each one more terrifying than the last. But as you steal a glance at his profile, you can't help but notice the faintest hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips, as if he's enjoying the thrill of the chase.

You push those thoughts aside, forcing yourself to focus on the present moment. You need to stay alert, stay composed, if you have any hope of getting out of this alive. With a steadying breath, you square your shoulders and meet Manjiro's gaze head-on, refusing to show any sign of weakness. He leads you to a sleek black car parked just down the street, opening the door and gesturing for you to get in. You hesitate for a moment, the instinct to run screaming at the back of your mind. But you know there's no escaping Manjiro, not now. With a resigned sigh, you slide into the backseat of the car, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as Manjiro settles in beside you. "what are you wearing?" Manjiro asks after a moment of silence

There's no one else in car. Just the both of them. The windows are tinted so no one can look in. "clothes" you manage to say, sucking in uneven breaths as your heart refuses to calm itself

Honestly speaking, it made sense for Manjiro to be asking that question. Manjiro leans over and pulls your hood off your head. "[y/n]" he murmurs your name, the look on his face cold "what the hell are you doing out here?"

"I... I just needed some fresh air," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I didn't cause any trouble... I was having noodles"

Manjiro's eyes bore into yours, his expression unreadable. "Do you think I believe that?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "You know the risks, and yet you still choose to sneak out in the dead of night."

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing so you don't lash out at him. Sano Manjiro is not one of your father's guards so you can't yell at him as you please. "I do this every week... I... Nothing has ever happened and it's literally a 20-minute bike ride away from the mansion!"

Manjiro's gaze does not soften at all neither does his grip get any looser. "Your father's position makes you a target," he says, his tone still commanding, making you feel sick "Do you have any idea what could happen to you if the wrong people find out who you are?"

"I know," you admit, your voice barely a whisper. "But no one has. Not here. I've been coming here since I was 13!"

Manjiro releases your arm and leans back, his eyes never leaving yours. "Freedom comes with a price," he says after a moment of silence "And right now, you can't afford it."

You feel a surge of frustration and defiance rising within you. "What about you?" you retort, your voice gaining strength. "You talk about risks and dangers, but you live your life on your own terms. Why can't I?"

Manjiro's expression hardens again, a flicker of something dark and intense passing through his eyes. "Because I'm not the president's daughter and I am supposed to exist unlike you"

The silence that follows is heavy and oppressive, the weight of his words settling over you like a shroud. ow ow ow. Your chest hurts. You don't like the way he's talking to you or the way he's looking at you. It's not fucking fair that he's being like this when you couldn't stop thinking about him all day. Why is he being so mean? Suddenly you're 5 years old again at your mother's funeral, silently listening to 10-year-old Kaya spew bullshit to you, saying things like "You should've died with her", "Daddy would have been happier if you were gone too", "my mommy says you're a mistake... not supposed to exist"

You look right at Manjiro with eyes full of anger. "You don't get to talk to me like that"

Manjiro's eyes narrow at your defiant words, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. The car's confined space feels even smaller as you both lock eyes, each refusing to back down. He lets out a low, humourless chuckle, leaning in closer until his face is just inches from yours. "Oh, I don't?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then who does? Your father? Those guards who barely pay attention to what you're doing? You think you're invincible because you've gotten away with it so far. But you're playing a dangerous game, [Y/N]."

You're about to open your mouth to say something but he cuts you off once again. "I know more about the world you live in than you ever will. Your father's position, the enemies he has, the threats you face—none of it is a game. You think sneaking out and playing at being normal is harmless, but it's not. It's reckless. And if someone were to figure out just who you are, do you have any idea the chaos it would cause?" Manjiro hisses angrily "All of my fucking money, all my years of hard work down to fucking waste

You bristle at his words, the unfairness of your situation crashing down on you. All Sano Manjiro cares about is his stupid ass money— the money he invested into the election. Nothing else. You still have no idea just why your father would even tell this man the location of the mansion and why he became 'business partners' with him when there were so many other rich men in Japan. Your father was a very charismatic man so he wouldn't have any trouble getting investors. So why the hell did it have to be Sano-fucking-Manjiro? Oh man did you have a bone to pick with your father. "So what am I supposed to do?" you snap. "Stay locked up in that mansion forever? Pretend like I don't exist? Is that what you want?"

Without missing a beat he responds "Yes"

Your heart aches even more. The word hangs heavy in the air, its simplicity carrying the weight of your predicament. You clench your fists, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes but refusing to let them fall. You won't give Manjiro the satisfaction of seeing you break. "Why are you even here?" you demand, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and frustration. "Why do you care what I do? You said it yourself, I'm just a spoiled puppy."

Manjiro's expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something almost imperceptible passing through his eyes before his steely mask is back in place. He leans back in the seat, his gaze never wavering from yours. "I care because your father and I have an understanding," he says finally, his voice calmer but no less authoritative. "Your safety is part of that understanding. If anything happens to you or people find out you exist, it creates problems neither of us can afford."

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. "So it's all just business to you," you mutter, more to yourself than to him. "Just another transaction."

"Everything in our world is a transaction," Manjiro replies coldly. "But don't mistake that for a lack of concern. Your father's enemies would use you against him in a heartbeat. Keeping you safe isn't just about protecting his interests—it's about protecting and hiding you from becoming a pawn in a much larger game."

Your chest tightens with the weight of Manjiro's words. You want to scream at him, to tell him how unfair this all is, but deep down, you know he's right. The reality of your situation, the fragility of your existence, is something you can't ignore. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "Fine," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll stay out of trouble. Just take me back home."

Manjiro studies you for a moment, his gaze searching your face as if assessing your sincerity. You expect him to call one of his men over to drive but instead, he says "You're upset..."

"I'm not" You deny, just wanting this to be over already

You press yourself against the door, wanting to make some space between you and Manjiro and look out the window. You don't like how this night turned out. Moving your gaze from the window to your sneakers, your eye twitches at the sight of blood splattered on the white material, probably from stepping in a puddle of it inside the shop. If you weren't annoyed and irritated before you sure are now. You look back outside the window. As the car remains still, the quiet between you and Manjiro grows tense. He lets out a sigh, perhaps sensing your genuine frustration and sorrow. His demeanour shifts slightly, the hard edges of his persona softening just a touch. He moves in closer, sitting on the center seat. "hey, look at me" Manjiro doesn't give you much of a choice as he grabs your chin and makes you face him and his grip, while firm, isn't as rough as before. 

You find yourself staring into his eyes, those dark pools that hold so many secrets and dangers. His expression is softer now, almost gentle, and for a brief moment, you glimpse the boy behind the ruthless facade. His dark eyes trail down your face to your neck and settle on the piece of jewelry you're wearing. Very briefly, a look of surprise flashes over his face. It was like he hadn't expected you to wear the necklace he gifted. There's a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of confusion or perhaps curiosity before his features once again settle into their usual mask of composure. You feel a surge of self-consciousness under his scrutiny. "I didn't mean to make you so upset, sweet girl" He murmurs and suddenly he's too close

Manjiro's hand slides up from your chin to your cheek, cradling it in the way you've been wanting him to from the beginning. Finally, finally, he's looking at you the way you want and not the way Kaya and her mother look at you. Oh, fucking god did it feel good. It felt so good you were tearing up. Tears blur your vision, and you hate how vulnerable you feel in this moment. But there's something in Manjiro's touch, something almost tender that makes it impossible to pull away. His thumb gently brushes away a stray tear, his touch surprisingly soothing. "so how'd you get all the way here, hm?" Manjiro asks, his voice low but no longer sounding cold

Your hands tremble in your lap. Finally, Manjiro is talking to you the way you wanted him to. "I-I rode my bike..." you say and Manjiro smiles

"oh you did?" he murmurs as his thumb rubs against your cheekbone "The mansion is far from here. How long did it take you?"

"20 minutes"

He's speaking to you in this oddly condescending tone but for some reason, it sounds nice. You like it. It's 100 times better than the way he was speaking to you earlier. "20 minutes? oh poor baby, hm. You rode your little bike this far just to get away from that house..." Manjiro whispers and now you can feel his breath against your cheek

Your lips quiver. He's close, really close. "were you lonely?" He asks softly "You didn't want to spend your birthday locked away, did you?"

Your lips quiver. He's close, really close. "Were you lonely?" he asks softly. "You didn't want to spend your birthday locked away, did you?"

The words sting because they're true. You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "No... I didn't," you admit, your voice barely a whisper.

Manjiro's hand moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair. "You should've told me," he says, his breath warm against your skin. "I would have come to get you."

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. "I don't have your number" 

He chuckles and the sound makes your stomach drop in the same way it would when a rollercoaster goes down. "I put my number on the back of the note, sweet girl. You didn't see it?"

Your eyes widen in realization. The note—how had you missed it? You shake your head, feeling foolish and more vulnerable than ever. "I-I didn't... I didn't see it," you stammer, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Manjiro's chuckle is soft, almost affectionate, as he continues to cradle your head in his hand. "Well, now you know," he says, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "Next time, you can just call me."

The promise in his words, the implication of a next time, fills you with a strange mix of relief and anticipation. You nod, unable to find the words to respond. Manjiro's touch, his presence, is overwhelming in the best way possible. He's no longer being mean, no longer talking to you in the same way Kaya and your stepmother do and you feel so much better. "I'm sorry for getting mad at you, sweet girl... I had no reason to talk to you like that. You just came here to eat" Manjiro whispers, his voice sounding so soft it tugs at your heart "Instead you saw some... unsavoury things... I'm sorry"

He was talking about the people that died in the shop. You hadn't even paid attention or even remembered what just happened in the shop. You had been too focused on him after all. "let me make it up to you, hm" And before you know it, his lips are on yours

You've been kissed before— many times actually. Mostly in middle and high school though. A very memorable kiss was in 10th grade when you kissed the crush of a girl that was trying to spread rumours about you. The kiss itself hadn't been memorable but the look on the girl's face after you pulled away from her crush was priceless. This kiss, however, is memorable. The way Manjiro cradles your face like you're something precious, how his lips lock with yours— so memorable. 

The kiss is electrifying, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire in your veins. It's a slow burn, filled with a tenderness you hadn't expected from someone like Sano Manjiro. His lips move against yours with a skill that speaks of experience, but there's something gentle and tentative about the way he kisses you as if he's afraid of breaking you. You respond eagerly, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss.

Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours, the world outside the car fading into insignificance. All that matters is this moment. It feels like a lifetime since you've felt this close to someone, this seen and understood. And as the kiss deepens, the heat between you building with each passing second, you realize that you never want it to end.

With absolute ease, Manjiro slides his tongue into your mouth and you think your head might explode or already did. His tongue slides against your and you practically fall slack against the car door you were leaning up against. Manjiro tilted his head and deepened the kiss further, licking into your mouth, groaning in satisfaction.

Manjiro's mouth captured your full lower lip, sucking it into his mouth before his teeth sunk into the bruised pink flesh. The sting of the bite drew out a delicious whimper from you but Manjrio wasn't satisfied with stopping there. He pressed on immediately, licking into your mouth with filthy flicks of his tongue, devouring any stray sound that escaped. So caught up in the feeling of his mouth against yours, you hadn't even realized Manjiro had unbuttoned your jean shorts and was already slipping his hand instead after undoing the zipper. Due to your shorts being a bit baggy, he has a lot more room to move his hand around than expected. You don't even realize that Manjir's got his hand down your shorts till his fingers brush against your pubic bone. "h-hm?" your eyes fly open and he pulls away slightly from you

"shhh~" Manjiro simply hushes, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and his middle finger brushes against your clit making your hips jolt "Lemme make it up to you baby"

His fingers dip lower to your already wet hole and you feel his lips stretch into a smile against your cheek. Oh, this was slightly embarrassing you had gotten wet from simply making out with him. His finger dips slightly into your entrance before coming back up to your clit and coating the sensitive bud in your slick. You whimper weakly, eyes falling shut as he rubs little figure 8s on your little nub. "w-wait Manjiro" you choke out weakly

"yeah, baby?" He asks, lips still pressed against your cheek

A single finger dips inside your hole and you gasp at the feeling, hand scrambling to hold onto something— anything. It's right when your hands grasp at his biceps you remember "I-I'm a virgin"

To your surprise, Manjiro laughs softly. "Hmm? No wonder you got wet so easy baby"

A second finger slides in and your eyes fall shut again. You're gasping, whimpering and moaning out his name and Manjiro just watches all your expressions intently as his fingers work in your hole and on your clit. You've never felt this way before. Yes, you have touched yourself but it has never felt as good as this. When you touch yourself your simple goal is getting off and having that release you need. Manjiro on the other hand, was going slow compared to your fast needy movements when you're on your own. His fingers feel different too. They're thicker and longer than yours and for some reason, the roughness of his skin feels so good too. "Ma-Manjiro" you whine softly

Oh, you wanted to beg him to go faster but you have a feeling he wouldn't even if you did. "feels s'good doesn't it?" Manjiro murmurs as you open your eyes, meeting his

You nod frantically, crushing the material of his suit jacket in your hands. "f-feels g-good" 

He's stroking your clit so slowly it's almost torturous but it feels so good that your eyes roll back. "Oh it does feel good" Manjiro croons, his fingers inside you curling upwards and your hips jolt again

You're breathing heavily, muscles tensing and relaxing constantly as he's slowly bringing you over to the edge. "Manjiro~" you whimper out again, unable to stay still

Your head tips back against the glass and Manjiro takes that chance to press kisses along the column of your throat. You sigh, whimpering out his name over and over like a prayer. You've never been touched like this before and you sure as hell haven't touched yourself in the same way he is right now. A coil tightens in your lower belly as after what feels like hours you're brought to the edge. "'Jiro... 'm gon' cum" You whine, thighs trembling and eyes shutting tight

"go ahead, sweet girl," Manjiro says "Come for me"

Your back arches against the door of the car and a choked sob leaves your lips. Your vision turns a blinding white as his fingers keep stroking your clit, drawing out your orgasm till you're gasping and whimpering from the slight pricks of pain that start. Manjiro is murmuring encouraging words into your ears, guiding you through the fog in your head as you come down from your orgasm. "there we go... felt good, didn't it?"

You don't answer as he slides his hand out of your shorts. You're breathing shaky and heavy as he's zipping your shorts back up and buttoning it up again. He pulls away from you and reaches over to the front and gets a tissue, wiping off his fingers. You're still shaking, thighs twitching. First time in your life you've come so damn hard. "hey, you 'kay?" Manjiro asks as he fixes your hair

It feels like your skin is overheating now that you've come down from the afterglow of your orgasm. You nod weakly, unable to really get your words out. His hands come up to run through your hair, fixes the messy strands before they come down to the end of your hoodie. "let's get this off" he says "you're burning up"

You shake your head no. "'m not wearing anything under it"

Manjiro's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. "Is that so?" he says, his voice low and teasing. "Well, isn't that interesting?"

Heat rushes to your cheeks, embarrassed by your own admission, but the look in Manjiro's eyes makes it hard to feel anything but anticipation. There's a playful glint in his gaze, a hint of something more that sends a shiver down your spine. You feel even hotter now. "don't worry, sweet girl, we'll turn on the air conditioner and take you home... It's been a long night"

You exhale, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment at his words. Manjiro's hands remain steady at the hem of your hoodie, his touch grounding you in the present moment. "You sure you don't want to take it off?" he murmurs, his voice still carrying that playful tone.

You shake your head again, feeling a strange blend of shyness and defiance. "Not here," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Manjiro chuckles softly, his fingers gently trailing up your sides, sending a shiver through your body. "Alright, alright," he concedes, his touch lingering for a moment longer before he finally pulls away. "We'll save that for another time, then."

He tugs you into his side and then pulls out his phone. You don't see who he texts but as soon as he does, the car doors unlock and two men enter, both sitting in the front seats. Instinctively you press yourself into his side, wanting to hide away from them. "Sanzu turn the air conditioner on" Manjiro's voice turns back to a cold tone as the pink-haired man in the driver seat starts the car

"will do boss, little princess probably needs it" The man, Sanzu, says and your face heats up even more

Manjiro's arm tightens around you protectively, a silent assurance that you're safe with him. The car's engine hums to life, and soon the cool air of the air conditioner washes over you, providing a much-needed relief from the heat that had built up in the cramped backseat. You glance up at Manjiro, his expression now a mask of calm and control as he gives instructions to the men in the front. His demeanour has shifted, the playful teasing replaced by a serious, almost authoritative air. It's a reminder of the world he operates in, a world you're only just beginning to understand.

You feel exhausted, so sleepy after Manjiro touched you like that. Your eyes fall shut and before you know it, you fall asleep.

There are a lot of things you want to ask Manjiro, a lot of which you know you will get no answers to. However, there is one thing you have figured out just from his obvious distaste of your outfit.

He likes you better with ribbons in your hair.

[END SCENE]

"she doesn't know..." Kakucho says lowly as he looks back at your sleeping form in Manjiro's arms in the back seat

Manjiro furrows his brows. "about what?"

"About you and Kaya being engaged," Kakucho continues, his voice quiet but firm. 

He glances at Manjiro, the weight of the words hanging heavily in the air. Manjiro's expression hardens for a moment, his jaw tightening. He looks down at you, peaceful and oblivious in your sleep, nestled against him. The contrast between the tenderness he feels for you and the cold reality of his arranged engagement to Kaya is stark. He hadn't wanted to think about it, hadn't wanted to acknowledge the complications that come with his world, but now it's staring him in the face. "She doesn't need to know," Manjiro says finally, his voice monotonous as usual "Not yet, anyway."

"and here I thought you couldn't get any worse" Sanzu says with a grin as he turns onto the secluded road up to the mansion "You're engaged to her step sister and you just got frisky with her in the backseat"

Manjiro’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t respond immediately to Sanzu’s taunt. Instead, he gently strokes your hair, his expression a look of contemplation. "It's complicated," he finally mutters, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Complicated?" Sanzu snorts, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. "That's one way to put it."

Kakucho sighs, adjusting his seat to get a better view of both Manjiro and you. "are you using her to get a better hold on Saimori?" He asks

"that would make sense if you were" Sanzu continues Kakucho's words "fuck around with his favourite daughter. It's pretty obvious why he got you engaged to Kaya and not... this spoiled puppy"

Manjiro's grip on you tightens momentarily, his jaw clenched as he listens to Sanzu's words. The accusation hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. He knows the truth behind his engagement to Kaya, the political motivations, the alliances it's meant to secure. "Partially" Manjiro confirms "It's partially that"

Sanzu lets out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, ain't that just peachy," he mutters, his tone laced with sarcasm "My mass murderer childhood friend with the country under his boot likes a spoiled puppy"

Manjiro's gaze flickers with a hint of irritation at Sanzu's words, but he remains composed, his focus shifting back to the road ahead. "Watch your mouth, Sanzu," he warns, his voice low and dangerous. "You know what happens to those who disrespect me."

Sanzu chuckles, unfazed by the threat. "Relax, boss," he says, his tone light despite the tension in the air. "I'm just calling it like I see it."

Kakucho leans forward, his expression serious. "Mikey, you know this can't end well," he says, his voice a low murmur.

Manjiro simply holds you tighter to his side. "We're playing a bigger game now. We've got the president under our thumb and she's just extra precaution. A safety net. If Shinichi Saimori tries something, things will fall on his daughter that isn't supposed to exist"

Manjiro's words hang heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the ruthless world he navigates. The implications of his actions, the weight of his choices, are a burden he carries with a stoic resolve. As the car winds its way up the secluded road to the mansion, the silence between them is thick with unspoken tension. Kakucho watches Manjiro closely, concern etched into his features. "You're playing a dangerous game, Mikey," he says, his voice filled with a mix of caution and apprehension. "Bringing her into this... it could end badly."

Manjiro's jaw tightens, his gaze fixed ahead as he steels himself against the doubts that threaten to surface. "I know what I'm doing, Kakucho," he replies, his tone clipped and unwavering. "I can handle it."

Of course, they believe him. It's been years. They know Manjiro could handle it.

You, he knows what to do with, he's still yet to decide how to handle his hoe of a fiancé.

notes: oof well... I hope this chapter was better than the first. I was fighting for my life writing that sad excuse of a smut scene 😭

I hope you enjoyed tho.

check here for progress on the next chapter. Also if the content warnings for the next chapter are already up on the series masterlist, that means that chapter has already been written. Dates that I plan to post chapters are on the series masterlist as well.

likes, asks, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

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[erosiism]

GENSHIN MEN AND…

prompt: HOW THEY WOULD REACT IF YOU SACRIFICED YOUR LIFE FOR THEM

character(s): diluc, zhongli [part one] albedo, childe, ayato [part two, will be out soon]

warnings(s): angst ofc—mention of blood, my first post on tumblr so my writing style may be a little icky, inaccuracies since I haven’t looked up genshin lore for a hot minute 

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, not beta read

DILUC

There’s a lot of things you haven’t told him yet. Things you wished you had told him—but everything’s fine, because in this single action you are willing to do for him—your feelings will come inevitably with it and it’s a torrent of emotions that you’re about to burden him with.

He’s been your childhood friend for seventeen years now. All those times you have seen him, smiling, his merry laughter carrying over the breeze, his lips purple from sampling grapes, to the time where that very laughter and smiles disappear to smoothen into a stone face. After the death of his father, Diluc has become reserved, cold, and rather distant. Bitter.

You two were close, once.

You two had a bond that many could not quite interpret— it was as clear as day that you both trusted each other fully, but each always had secrets to hide. Some say proximity is the reason why both of you got close — your manors were near to each other, but truthfully, it was as simple as it was: you two had the same social standing. Both you and Diluc were, for each of their families, supposed to be close for the sake of future alliances and unions, but the friendship soon turned genuine, only for it to crumble under the weight of guilt and grief.

Only for it to crumble on the day Crepus died.

You still remember it vividly; in all its sickening, gruesome, heart wrenching detail. You were fortunate enough not to witness it, but etched in your memory, all you can think of is Diluc’s ravaged expression when he trembled before his father’s corpse.

You were helpless then. You could have extended an arm, you could have done something.

You didn’t.

But now would be different. You know the archons have it in for him when the incident happens the same way it happened with his father: via a carriage incident. 

You laugh then at its bitter irony.

Bandits come, a whole load of them, and this time Diluc fights while you are there helpless once again, trembling when you hear the clash of swords and arrows. When you hear his claymore smash against flesh. You don’t have a vision. Diluc has. You don’t have any particular skill in handling a sword; Jean has tried to teach you once, but it has failed. Your brain may be quick and witty, but your steps aren’t. 

The bandits have delusions. The archons really are cruel.

You see it before he does. There’s a burst of electric power that he's battling, the elementals clashing with each other—you’re still lagging behind, barely missing the whizzing arrows that skim your flesh, your heart wrenching as you see Diluc’s pained expression. You know what he’s thinking of, and it isn’t you. His memories are reverting back to his father’s death. His birthday. And perhaps that’s why his usual sharpness is wearied down.

You see the sword about to plunge his back before he does.

You scream to tell him.

Your body moves before anything.

Your fingers fumble to clasp the fabric of your clothes, before you tug him out of the way. You feel the weight of a sword against your back; you feel the way it slices through your skin before it presses against your flesh. You taste blood on your tongue, before a myriad of colors burst out; crimson, carmine. All the shades of red. You wobble then, choking out blood, before you stumble. You hear a few slices; razor, swift sharp ones. Then the last of the assailants falls down, and you are made aware that your decision has been the right one.

Diluc has survived. 

You stumble. You feel your body hit the ground. Murkiness runs your vision.

“[Name],” you hear a soft, whispering voice carry to your ears. You try your best to cling onto the words. But pain is burning within you—it’s ironic, how they feel more scorching than Diluc’s flames have ever felt. You try your best to swallow down your pants and your pained noises, but it ends up slipping from your mouth in broken, mottled syllables.

Your blurry vision makes out a face.

He cannot be Diluc. He’s crying. And the last time you have seen Duluc cry is when—

Oh.

“Don’t cry,” you say weakly. “Don’t cry, Diluc. I’m sorry I wasn’t of much help.” You try to reach out to his cheek. You regret it a split second afterwards because blood stains his cheeks wet from tears. You end up smearing red all over his face.

“Why?” Diluc says, and it sounds guttural, like the words have been punched out from him. “Why, [Name]?” You hear a flurry of footsteps behind. You assume it’s some surviving witness who has gone to call for backup. But you doubt you’ll survive.

You don’t even know why. To begin with, you aren’t even sure if you are in love with him. The swirling butterflies that flutter about when you see him tells him you are, but society’s expectations push those down. You have been in love with him for as long as you can remember; you have loved him. You have annotated every inch of him down to your memory, every contour, every bit. In your dreams he visits you, smiling sweetly. And you try to remember him when you wake up, trying to pretend that he’s still there, that he’s no longer bitter. 

“I don’t know.” Your words come out broken, punctuated by the gurgling of blood from your windpipe. 

It’s a half truth. You love him. You don’t know if you do.

“I’m sorry.”

Diluc is sobbing now. It’s uncharacteristic of him. You are brought back to the night when you saw him break down in front of his father’s corpse. And you aren’t yet a corpse: your heart is still beating faintly, your lips are still moving, your body is still trembling. “There’s a lot of things I wanted to tell you, Diluc.”

“Don’t die,” he pleads fervently. His lips graze your forehead, then—and before you know it, he’s embracing you, his tears wetting your shoulder. His begging is childish. Does he not know that the Archons have long abandoned their people? Does he know the sky is empty, and that no amount of pleads can bring a person back to life? You doubt so. “Don’t die, [Name]. I love you.”

He loves you. You smile. He loves you. Words have never felt so sweet befor, and it curbs the bitterness of death upon your tongue. “I love you, [Name]. I love you, so don’t die.”

He loves his father too. But still his father had perished. Similar to you.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” you smile weakly. Your finger starts to fall. “I’m really happy to hear that.”

You don’t have enough time to say those three words back, but it’s fine.

Your actions already did. 

ZHONGLI

note(s); reader is an adepti, takes place during archon war

A God has seen their fair share of grieving. So have Adepti. Some come with age—it’s normal for mortal alliances to die before those who are immortal, after all. There is also the Archon War, which has already torn away Zhongli’s beloved companion, Guizhong. And everyday he chokes down the bile in his throat and continues to annihilate and fight. He’s always been built for this, after all, he’s an Archon. He’s a ruthless one at that, known for his brutality and his power. And everyday he looks at you and can only pray again and again to Celestia, that you remain alive.

Guizhong and you have both been his favorites since you two have met. It was Guizhong and you first, before Zhongli met you. Both you and Guizhong were best friends; almost; like sisters and brothers. Guizhong was gentle and sweet, reprimanding at times. You were sweet too, but could be more uncouth. Strong language littered your sentences at times, and Zhongli would see it then; the way Guizhong tugged at you to scold you, or the way you would smile at her. Brother and sister.

Naturally, when Zhongli grew close to Guizhong, he grew close to you. It was funny to see that you hardly knew much about history, though Guizhong clearly loved it. And so it was almost a cycle. Whatever Guizhong taught Zhongli, he taught you. Guizhong had remarked a few times, in his incredible way he was to make even you listen to facts you had earlier called boring.

(“You mellowed a lot, Morax,” Guizhong had told him once. “[Name] mellowed you. You really do care alot for him, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”)

Gods aren’t meant to be mellowed. They are meant to be powerful. Strong enough emotionally so as to not bat an eye when it comes to deaths.

But everything falls apart when Guizhong dies.

He sees you fall to the ground, sobbing and sobbing and crying at the loss of your beloved sister. He sees the way  you touch her statue, turned to stone, cradling her face and wishing you were touching soft skin, instead of cold stone. Not sister by blood, but sister in name. He sees the way you break apart after that; Zhongli feels a human sense of emptiness and pain that comes with her death.

It’s all right, he told himself repeatedly. In his grief he has started to flood himself with reassurances. I still have [Name]. I still have [Name]. I still have [Name]. 

He sees the way you lose yourself in battle after that. Your attacks become sloppy, you become more careless. You become more injured. Zhongli never bothered with your skill. You were talented and strong enough. But now he finds himself protecting you the times you stumble, the times you start to choke out sobs during battle, the times you go wild and bloodthirsty against those you assume have contributed to her death. 

Guizhong has said once that he loved you. Zhongli never bothered to think about that. He assumed he would know it himself, when time came. He didn’t need to worry about being in what mortals called a relationship—he would get this war finished with you, become a mortal, and love you freely. It didn’t matter if you didn’t love him. Zhongli could love you at a safe distance. It would all be all right. 

He never imagined your declaration of love towards him would come so easily and devastatingly.

Zhongli sees you struck by a burst of elemental power before anything. He sees the way you shoved him inside; he sees the irony. He was so preoccupied with watching you. He hadn’t seen the enemy crawl up to him or nearly kill him. Like how he was watching you, you were watching him. And now his care has killed you.

“[Name].”

There’s an avalanche of emotions. First, he’s furious. He will leach out the killer and will inflict a thousand times more pain on them. Second, he’s heartbroken. He’s terrified of losing you. He can feel your life ebbing away with each passing moment, and he has seen enough wounds to know no healer can save you. He feels your pulse thrumming beneath your skin and he knows you’re dying.

You smile. It looks more like a grimace. “Just survive this goddamn war.”

Zhongli isn’t sure if he will. He feels like he might kill himself, that he might lay his body down next to yours, so that after death your souls would be intermingled, of sorts. It sounds romantic, but there’s absolutely nothing romantic about your death. He does what the Gods are not supposed to do. He feeds into his humanity; he cries.

“Afterwards, just live as a human. I don’t know. Be a dusty collector of antiques. Be a funeral planner or something strange like that. Just live, okay? You look like you want to die.”

You continue to ramble on. Your sentences become connected with each other. Your eyes start to flutter. Your words become faint and faltering.

“I can’t live with you,” he whispers. “First Guizhong, then you…” it’s all his fault. He should have seen it. He should have been more aware. He should—he should…

It’s too late. You’re dead, and he mourns just like a human; sobbing, aching, and dying a little inside.

For a brief moment Zhongli isn’t a God. 

hope everyone liked it! it’s my first post so im apprehensive haha be sure to like/reblog & leave a comment if u can

[crazyyluvr]

hi!! can u do a leo valdez x fem!reader oneshot where Leo doesn't feel deserving of reader because reader is quite rich and known as a strong demigod? (similar to percy) hope you're having a good day, and thank u! (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

LEO APPRECIATION >:(

pairing: leo valdez x hades!reader

summary: Leo sometimes (always) wonders what he did to deserve you and whether he still deserved you.

genre: slight angst, comfort, fluff

wc: 1.7k

content: fem!reader, she/her, insecure leo, jealousy, no war au

note: i’m so sorry this took so long :(( nonetheless, i hope you enjoy

short oneshot under the cut :: not proofread

You, in every single aspect and form, were absolutely breathtaking.

You were beautiful, kind, and powerful. Being born a daughter of Hades, one of the Big Three Olympians, granted you an interesting allure that many girls and boys alike in Camp Half-Blood noticed.

Not only that, but you were from a wealthy mortal family, and after your mother passed away, all that money went to her only child, aka you.

If anyone thought of perfection, they thought of you.

Or, at least, that was how it was for Leo.

He almost couldn’t believe it when you said you felt the same for him when he finally worked up the courage to confess his feelings for you. How could you, enigmatic, formidable, and undoubtedly stunning you end up with someone like him?

He saw the gazes others threw at you, gazes that were all but innocent. He was well aware that many liked you as well, some guys much more attractive and powerful than him, and yet you never gave them another glance. Your eyes were only on him, even if he found that almost unbelievable.

With this insecurity also brew some sort of envy as your relationship progressed and your friendship strengthened even more.

He took more notice to you when you would train on camp grounds, alternating between your weapon and your shadow abilities. Combat for you seemed to be a breeze, and when you sparred with some challenger, you would barely break a sweat as you showed them their place.

You weren’t only desired by many. You were also feared. Feared because Hades’ powers were not exactly pleasing on the eye and because in your hands, it was unpredictable.

He knows that he shouldn’t be feeling that way, that it was selfish and stupid, but that didn’t stop the envy from festering.

He thought you wouldn’t notice. He thought he was doing a pretty good job of hiding it behind his boyish grins and his snarky comebacks.

But you noticed.

You always did.

You decided to speak up about it after he excused himself from one of your usual spars together. You liked fighting against him since his fire countered your shadows and made everything more challenging for you. Plus, you thought he looked very attractive when he was all focused.

He left without so much as a measly reason muttered under his breath before he dashed away, leaving you confused and worried over him.

"Leo!" You called, but he didn't look over his shoulder even once before he disappeared from the training grounds and out of your sight.

You sighed, putting your practice weapon back in its stand before closing your eyes, reaching out to the shadows and envisioning the one place Leo always retreated to whenever something bugged him.

Cabin Nine.

You stepped through the shadows and cursed when you found yourself emerging from under a table. You rubbed you head and crawled out of the shadows.

"What's on your mind now, Leo?" You muttered to yourself, spotting a chair against the wall of the workshop and propping yourself up on it, interlacing your fingers as you patiently waited for your lover to make an appearance.

The metal door to the cabin clicked and hummed as the person outside opened it. You knew it was Leo. Only children of Hephaestus could open the door, and the Hephaestus kids aside from your lover rarely visited the cabin nowadays.

When the door swung open, you didn't move from your spot, hidden by a big, unfinished engine. You kept your eyes on your lover, watching him grab a clean rag from the table and sling it over his left shoulder and swipe a couple tools and put them in the holders on his utility belt that he's rarely seen without nowadays.

He approached the big piece of machinery in the middle of the workshop, muttering under his breath. His face, normally grinning and carefree, was now troubled as he brought out a driver and fiddled with the machine.

He still wasn't aware of your presence, so you decided to make yourself known.

"Wanna tell me what's been up with you these past few days?"

Leo let out a curse in Spanish as he jumped and whirled around, his eyes wide with shock as he held his driver up like a weapon.

He sighed when he saw who it was. "Oh. Hi."

You raised an eyebrow. Not even a smile.

"Answer my question, please."

Leo looked at you for a moment before sighing again and turning back to his machine, but he didn't work on it anymore.

"I'm just... not feeling well."

"You're not sick, I would've noticed. What I did notice, though, was how you've been acting weird around me, and how you look at me when I train — like I'm a stale piece of bread or something. What's up with that?"

Your words seemed harsh, but your tone was soft and full of concern. You knew that he had some kind of unknown issue with you, and you can't bear him ignoring you. It stung a bit, especially since he obviously wasn't planning on telling you what his problem was.

Leo sighed. His hands that were now slick with grease grasped the cloth on his shoulder, wiping themselves clean before he ran them through his unruly curly hair. "I'm sorry, amor. It's just — I've been —"

He threw his head back in frustration when the words couldn't leave his mouth. You approached him and gently pulled his hands out of his hair to prevent them from harshly tugging at the strands. "Take your time Leo. It's okay."

Leo averted his eyes from you, but you took no offense to it. You knew how he struggled with eye contact most of the time. He took deep breaths before continuing. "You know how I had a problem with Jason before?"

"Yeah?" You said, frowning at the implication. You knew that Leo and Jason had a disagreement in one of their quests where Leo told the son of Jupiter that he was envious of him and his power and good looks and... goody two-shoe-ness. "Do you have a similar issue with me?"

"What?" Leo took his hands away from yours to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. "No! No, it's not like that — okay, well maybe it is, but it isn't as bad as with Jason. And a lot of people like you, people who are better than me and who you probably deserve more, and I just... I don't know."

The corners of your lips were pulled downwards slightly. You weren't oblivious to your own power, or the high regard that most demigods — even some gods — held you in. As a child of Hades, having a good reputation among people was pretty rare, since most demigods steered clear from Hades-spawn, but you changed that.

You didn't know that Leo was insecure about that.

Leo noticed your distraught expression. "Hey, it's not your fault. It's just... I know it's stupid for me to feel that way, and I'm sorr —"

"Don't you dare take the blame for this," you interrupted him, your tone sharpening dangerously as you looked at him. "You don't have to apologize for that. The only thing that either of us should feel sorry about was the fact that we never sorted this out before."

"Yeah," Leo said, gaze trained to his dirtied boots.

You let out a breath from your nose, and grabbed Leo's shoulders to pull him toward you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, ignoring his dirty short and the light sheen of sweat on his brown skin.

"You downgrade yourself too much, Leo," you whispered in his ear, closing your eyes and smiling when you felt his arms slowly encircle your waist. "I may be strong, but that doesn't mean that you aren't. You made the ability to control fire less scary to the other campers, even when the last fire-wielder of Hephaestus caused a lot of chaos. You literally fixed a dragon, for gods' sake. The one that's been terrorizing the camp since the Beckendorf kid passed, the one that other Hephaestus kids tried and failed to tame, you did that."

You pulled away and put your palms on his cheeks so you could look at him, and this time, Leo met your eyes. "You are strong, and charismatic, and so, so beautiful. Don't forget that."

Leo smiled, but you could tell he didn't really believe your words.

"Look, not everyone's gonna like you, like how not everyone likes me — it's true!" You said when Leo scoffed a laugh. "Outside of camp, when I come across new monsters, gods, or demigods, the first thing they see is a child of the Underworld and immediately hate me."

"But a lot of people in camp like you," Leo said, a bit of bitterness in his tone. He hated how he sounded, but he saw that his words didn't deter you; they motivated you to continue.

"Yeah, sure, but that's because they know who I am," you replied. "The people who don't like you, the ones that think you're weak, those people don't know Leo Valdez like I do, because I know Leo Valdez is just as formidable as any demigod. And I only have eyes on him, no one else, because I can never love anyone else as much as I love him."

"I love you too," he grinned, and you were relieved to see that his smile held its usual warmth and brilliance. He leaned in and kissed your nose, making you laugh slightly.

"Thanks for cheering me up, amor. I really appreciate it," he said sincerely. "I know you said not to apologize, but I owe you one. I'm sorry for not telling you about this sooner and for ignoring and avoiding you."

You returned his smile. "You don't have to apologize, but you can give me a proper kiss to rectify your mistakes."

Leo laughed, for real this time, before giving you what you wanted, meeting your lips in a sweet kiss in the workshop in the middle of the woods, with only pieces of equipment and machinery bearing witness to the love you had for each other.

[scaly-freaks]

inmate 13453

okay don't get excited, i just felt like writing a bit of a drabble to feel out the atmosphere of a potential start to this au (clicking the tag will give up the other stuff i've posted for it btw)

btw check out the playlist and the pinterest board made by @theageofsilver and @allicentsallure bc they're fab

cw: kidnapping

Soft seventeen.

Bambi eyes, bambi legs.

There’s a certain edge to the way people describe the age she’s at. Not quite eighteen, not quite legal, tangible as cherry juice on greedy fingers. She isn’t sixteen, sweet and tender. It’s a soft first step into adulthood, skirting the border, the in between, the unknowable horrors that lie ahead.

She fucking hates being seventeen.

It’s a shit number first of all. Odd numbers make her want to spew. They feel like nails on a chalkboard, polyester static on leg hair. She can’t even dance, so whatever ABBA are singing about doesn’t apply.

Amara sticks out her tongue and tastes the air as the breeze blows west. She swears she can get a sense of the world when she does.

Her stepfather mocks her for it. That blue-eyed, blonde maniac with the ugly Buick Electra he treats like a brand-name Italian from the southern coasts of Europe. He used to treat her mother the same. Until he began to tell Amara you look just like her when she was young. He leaves his porn tabs open on his computer, as if he wants her to know. ‘Teen’, ‘Latina’, ‘Stepfather’, ‘Rough’, ‘Face-fucking’, ‘Breeding.’

She doesn’t have a drop of Hispanic blood in her.

She really wants to tell her mother, but there is a chance her mother will look right through her instead. She’s been doing that a lot more nowadays. They can’t afford her meds anymore. She just sits on the porch and watches and waits. For what, is anyone's guess.

>> can you pick me up?

>> its dark

>> pls

>> sorry ik its inconvienant

'Step-Daddy' always replies quickly when it’s her. He has a heart next to her name on his phone. She never agreed to that.

>> it’s spelled inconvenient

“Suck my dick,” Amara tells the screen and switches her phone off before he can message again.

She can walk.

The route back runs dangerously close to the edge of the forest. All kinds rot away in there, but she doesn’t like to think of them by name. They’ll become real if she does. She wishes her mother had found a man who lived in the wetlands, and not here at the cursed border between life and the realm beyond. Marshes are easier to understand. Forests are cursed.

Still, life is horribly simple here. Her high school is placid and filled with the dull-eyed children of dull-eyed adults. The gas station where she works didn’t bother to interview her. She walked in and the guy behind the counter stared at her breasts until he remembered she had a face. Her breasts aced the interview for her.

Can I work here? Just until I graduate.

Sure, grab a nametag.

Four months later, and she doesn’t mind it anymore. Her brain shuts off. Her customers are a ragtag mixture of suspicious, ferret-eyed locals and the occasionally buoyant hiker from out of state. If she doesn’t look like she belongs, she’s pretty, and that usually gives people like her a pass. At least until the sleazy comments become ethnically charged. But even then, Amara has a way of making her eyes go ‘dopey’ and just smiling like she’s too slow to understand. Displaying discomfort is what eggs them on (kind of a nasty realisation she opened her eyes to one day).

An engine growls some way down the road.

Old Chevy pickup, faded gold.

She recognises it from the parking lot at the station near the end of her shift.

A guy stepped out, young, early twenties, with a shock of hair that looked white until she realised it was just really, really blonde. She remembers thinking it was odd. The range of blondes in town runs from deep and dirty to the artificial bleach rattled out of holographic boxes of dye. No one has hair like his. She’d have noticed.

His eyebrows were a little darker, and his lashes were darker still. He had a funny way of walking, and he looked at her like she had the head of a fish and the body of a human being. Amara did her best dopey eyes. She asked him if he’d had a good day, pointed out the offers they had on pork rinds. He didn’t say a word. His skin had smears of black grease, glistening with sweat and bronzed by the sun.

Deep blue eyes.

Horribly deep.

Not the kind you’d want to swim in. She likes a softer blue, blue like chlorine, reminiscent of the safety of swimming pools. His were anything but.

She picks up her speed, and for some reason, puts her phone to her ear as if mid-conversation. Nothing about him said he was dangerous at the time. At least not from the way he’d barely said a word or looked down at her body. He was just there, and then he was gone.

And now here he is again.

The Chevy hits the horn. He is creeping closer. Amara turns and waves at him to go on. She doesn’t want a ride. Why isn’t he rolling down the window to offer one though?

It slows to a crawl. Her throat closes up. She has a feeling speeding up will give him what he wants. He’s obviously trying to be a prick. But if she goes back to talk to him, that would be exponentially worse. She switches her phone back on and sees her stepfather’s message telling her to get back home herself after she didn’t reply to tell him her location.

She quickly shoots him a message, and prays he’ll respond.

He doesn’t.

Fuck it.

She walks faster. The Chevy matches the increase. Sweat blooms on the back of her neck.

Every woman has that oh fuck moment. That I’m going to be on the evening news moment. The please god if he catches me let him kill me before he gets to raping me moment.

None of that goes through her head. She keeps thinking of her mother’s cooking. Her mother hasn’t cooked in a year and a half, not since her mind began to slip. But Amara can taste the spices on her tongue, the way the rice was perfectly simmered, the cinnamon in the back of her throat, the smell that clung to the walls, the heat of it.

I wanna come home, Momma.

Her mother’s face gathers into shape in her head, built with sand particles and saltwater. When the Chevy roars, she starts running. Her mother vanishes.

The lights of the truck blink across the tarmac. It’s a signal. But it isn’t for her.

She looks over her shoulder, and she can’t see him.

Run me over. Leave me like carrion on the road. Let the maggots eat me. Don’t cut me up first.

He slows when she starts to tire out. Picks up when she tries again. No other car has graced this road since she first turned onto it. A sign points her to the right, ushering her deeper into the backwoods. The town is to the left.

He figures out where she’s going when she suddenly makes a dash for the bend in the road.

There’s no time to dodge the pickup when it goes for her this time. The wheels skid as he yanks it at an angle and blocks her way. The door flies open and misses her by an inch. His arm grabs for her. She dodges, animal fear and rust on her tongue. He still doesn’t say a word.

A heavy fist connects with the small of her back and she drops like a stone.

The pain is electric. Air turns her lungs into taut balloons, but she can’t make a sound. She twists around and the bruise forming over her spine grates. Adrenaline quickly numbs it as she lashes out with her arms and legs. Kicking, punching, scratching, biting. Her teeth hit home. A mouthful of tattooed flesh, car oil and sweat. Still no sound from him.

She never sees the fist coming, just like last time.

A blow to the head and lights out, nancy.

[solargeist]

you made a post explaining him becoming a watcher.. can we hear about him running away, the relapse, etc, pretty pretty please? :>

with a cherry on top? lol!

hmmm !! It might not be as long as the other post, but...

The body horror of changing into an angel isn't the sole reason Grian wanted to leave the Watchers, there was a brief moment in time where he wondered if it'd be worth it, but wings are the first to grow, the rest take much longer as they're not as needed as wings are. Despite how much it hurt, he's pretty proud of his wings, and he enjoys flying.

He sticks around long enough to learn how to fly, he gets rly good at it, flinging himself down the halls followed by a strong breeze, flying up high in the air outside and then dropping, he gets confident in this. (hes like rainbow dash to me-)

Along with that, he studies Watcher magic, he learns Portal magic, which is being able to open portals without the help of obsidian or rituals. This can also be used in fights, see: opening a portal where a person's head is, or a tiny strip shooting from his fingers like bullets, (like lasers, but those bits of flesh end up somewhere.) but the part he focuses most on is opening portals to other servers. He's always supervised, they always visit servers with him--but usually close it without going through anyway. The Watchers are more precise with it, knowing exactly where they want to go, Grian only opens random ones.

Other reasons he wants to leave is, being treated like a child, the lack of control, the lack of autonomy. They control his sleep, his food, where he goes, what he does, even what he says. Along with studying and training, hes exhausted, the resentment builds over time, any nice moment is buried by bad ones. He trains with Flora, another Watcher, whose idea of training is to just release mobs after him, creatures he's never seen before, he's unsure if they shoot fire, poison, or explode. Being pinned against the ground by a creature with its teeth bared around his sword is a sight he doesn't forget. If Flora feels like he rly can't do it, she'll kill the creature herself. Grian doesn't forget how the blood and gore feels dumped on his face and body, nor the disappointed look on her face.

This all, along with knowing his friends have left him--and they're not going to save him, has him plotting, desperate to think of how to get out of the void. He can't just run away while on a Watcher job on a random server, they will find him.

He doesn't pick a date--theres no sun anyway, he doesn't know what days or weeks are anymore. Its one particular breakdown that makes him act, he has no full plan, but what he does have is explosives he's been collecting from servers over time and stashing under his bed. He doesn't pack anything, all he does is set the explosives off and runs. I haven't thought abt this particular part fully, it happens so quickly for him, if he makes eye contact with his mum on his way out, he doesn't hesitate to take to the skies, before he can lose his nerve.

Shooting out into the void, he doesn't have a plan, but he keeps flying as fast as he can before regret can catch up with him. He opens portals in front of himself and dives through as they shatter behind him, he doesn't know where hes going. He pops out in random parts of the void, different islands he doesn't recognize, he comes across servers torn apart by war or genuinely not safe enough to land, so he keeps going.

Grian doesn't know how long he's been flying, his sense of time is completely fried, but hes tired, he's never flown for so long before. He hops through another portal into another world, dark and quiet, but lights shining from large buildings scattered about, there must be a lot of players here so he thinks he should leave quickly, but before he can do that, his foot snags a tree top and throws him off balance, his attempt to catch himself only propels himself forward, crashing through branches and sliding across the dirt below. He doesn't know if it was the trees or the ground, but his left wing snaps, he doesn't know if he screamed or not, but he lays in the dirt writhing for awhile, muscles aching and emotions finally grasping at him, pulling him apart.

But ! Still not time to think abt all that rn, bc Xisuma finds him. Grian's first thought isn't that this is a player, all he can see under that helmet is eyes, and his first thought is Watchers--they found him immediately--and he screams this time, flipping over and putting his hands in front of himself for any fighting, he can't hear whatever Xisuma's saying over his own shouting, angrily stating he won't go back. He calms down after a moment when he sees Xisuma has stepped back, hands up to show he's friendly. Grian doesn't care though, hes sliding backwards on his hands, his wings twitch and he winces in pain. I think it takes a little bit of persuading, but after Xisuma explains himself, that hes an admin and this is his server and people, Grian calms down a bit, the exhaustion helps with this too. He ends up accepting Xisuma's help in bracing his wing. Taking him back to his base to do so, Grian would've ran again if he could've. They both agree that Grian will leave as soon as he can, but he is safe here to wait until then.

Back at his base, Xisuma makes them both tea and sits in front of Grian, telling him he has to explain himself. Grian doesn't touch his tea, and after a long pause, he gives the shortest story with the least amount of details possible. Xisuma knows what Watchers are already, so he does feel some sympathy for him.. He would feel concern abt the Watchers finding his server, but hes confident enough in his code. Grian stays that night, he hides under a bed and cries, still never drinking the tea, but he falls asleep.

UH fast forward fast forward Grian is invited to the server, and he does join as s6 starts, his wing still in bandages but doing much better now. He still hasn't met any players or heard much abt them. He's shocked to see Pearl, but also very happy--his sister !! his sister ?!?!?! She looks happy too, so he rushes forward and they hug, shes gotten so tall. He promises to tell her what happened later, but he still leaves out a lot of details.

This is getting long again fast forward fast forward again

The relapsing happens throughout s6, Grian overworks himself, insecure and nervous in his building ability--it almost feels like Evo again, wishing he could do better, scared to disappoint Xisuma and be kicked out for not being worth the trouble.

Grian's gotten rly close with his neighbour Mumbo, he'll take a break for Mumbo, to hang out with him. Grian has a problem with hoarding food, he never had control over it with the Watchers, so now on his own, he can't bare to throw anything out, he keeps things despite the smell or mold. Good bits of food sat with the rotten, but he doesn't eat either anyway, he just wants to have it, safe, where he can get to it easily, and he doesn't have to ask anyone. It takes Mumbo awhile to talk him into cleaning that out, its dangerous ! Even during the conversation Grian is slowly closing the cabinet Mumbo is trying to look into it, holding eye contact and desperately trying to convince Mumbo its fine (it is NOT.) Mumbos taken to sharing his lunch with him most days, or bringing snacks he claims he made too much of--or he bought too much by mistake, just to make sure he eats something.

Grian has a hard time living alone, he loses track of time and doesn't eat, or doesn't get the right amount of sleep. He feels lonely in his large build. The Watchers' controlled his entire life, so he doesn't know what to do with it now that its his again. When he thinks about it too long, it starts to ache, that little part of him never went away, the guilt, regret, and remorse, builds every time he doubts himself, he misses his bed !--Back in the void, that bed, this still doesn't feel like home, in some sick twisted way he feels homesick. Mumbo finds him at his base one day with his head buried in his knees crying, but when Grian notices he immediately pretends he was not crying, despite the red puffy eyes and tear stained face, he smiles and asks: whats up !! Hello whats up ! Mumbo laughs in horrified confusion, asking what happened. Grian says Nothing. Mumbo sits next to him and says c'mon mate what is this. Grian sighs and sinks back into himself, face dropping and exposing how tired he is. Grian slowly explains himself--at first leaving out many details--he just says he ran away from home before joining Hermitcraft, but he still misses his family sometimes--even if they hurt him. Mumbo thinks this is much deeper than he thought it'd be, but he encourages Grian to continue, and he does. Grian ends up telling Mumbo everything, absolutely everything, every humiliating detail and embarrassment, every memory good or bad. At some point they start telling family stories to each other, and Grian isn't crying anymore, they're both laughing, sat right next to each other. Its a huge relief. Grian poured his soul out to Mumbo and he held it so carefully.

late s6 and s7 go pretty smoothly--Watcher wise, Grian adjusts to life on his own and within a new community. Grian learns to fly again, he makes his wings his own and dyes them parrot colours.

I can't fit the rest, but he gets possessed by an alternate version of himself in s8, i think the Watchers find him as well bc of this timeline chaos. And the moons falling. Its a lot for him to emotionally deal with !

[starlitsawamura]

⟣ LOVELY TO BE RAINED ON WITH YOU !

pairing : fem!reader x daichi sawamura

synopsis : you return to japan after university to attend a wedding. despite being happy for him, you’re filled with heartbreak.

content warnings : angst — lost love. heartbreak.

word count : 0.7k

author’s note : submission for my garden of eden collab. the flower i’ve chosen is bleeding heart; which symbolises lost love and sorrow. (also inspired by ceilings by lizzy mcalpine.)

Sat between Kiyoko and Koshi on a beautiful summer day. It was warm, the sun shining down on you, caressing your skin. A soft breeze led to shivers down your spine. Your hands were laced so tightly you could barely feel your fingertips. Breathe. It was a good day, or it should’ve been. You told yourself so many times, staring into the hotel mirror, This is his day. Don’t ruin it. And despite the gut-wrenching heartache that laced your blood and breath, you pulled yourself together.

You clung to every word of his vows, glimpses of a future long gone crossed your mind, staining the backs of your eyelids. He looked so different but he was still the same Daichi. If only you hadn’t run away, maybe this would’ve been your day too.

“And do you, Daichi Sawamura, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Your heart shuddered.

“I do.”

There were cheers, screams, and whistles, all of which you couldn’t bring yourself to do. So you stood there and clapped, pulling together the best smile you could manage. Despite the inside of your head sounding like a broken record of anguished cries.

Amongst the dispersed crowd, people were chattering with each other. The husband and wife made their rounds, giving thanks and hugs to their guests. You stood further away from the group, glass of water in hand, and Kiyoko by your side. You stared out across the clear water of Okinawa. It was a beautiful venue but all you could think about was all the moments you hadn’t appreciated enough.

Kiyoko knew today wasn’t easy for you and with no words of comfort for you, she simply squeezed your hand. A reminder that she was there if you needed her.

You could hear faint footsteps grow closer to you. Kiyoko mumbled something and then took her leave. There he was beside you, hands resting on the metal rail in front of the both of you. He looked out at the water with you for a few moments, you assumed he was trying to form a sentence.

“I’m glad you could make it.” His voice was quiet, almost as if he was scared to talk. “It means more to me than I can put into words.”

Daichi honestly didn’t know if you were going to show up. Part of him was scared you’d make an excuse about work or travel. It’d been years since he saw you last and despite looking so different, you were still the same girl he’d fallen in love with that one summer. To see you at his wedding felt like the most obvious ending of your story. The two of you spanned years and continents, and now it all came to an abrupt halt. Despite the cracks that appeared over the years, it took seeing each other in the flesh to actually know it was over. This love had nowhere else to go.

You turned towards him and maybe you hoped differently, but the only facial expression you could muster was one of pain. Tears had been running down your face for a long time now and you realized that that’s why Kiyoko had been so quiet. Your mind turned back to all the nostalgic memories you and he shared.

Daichi’s heart broke at the sight of your tears, feeling like he was bleeding out at your feet all over again. Just like back then, when you’d told him you were leaving.

“I love you, y/n.”

He was begging, not stating. Pleading for you to stay. Tears streamed down his face as your eyes welled up. You hated that memory, yet you loved it all the same. And now it was only ever gonna live your head.

Your voice shook, despite every effort to be as calm as possible. “I’m so happy for you, Daichi.” You reached out for him, putting your hand in his.

He turned his face away as tears started to flow from his eyes. Daichi knew you would always be in his heart and he had come to terms with that many years ago.

“It was wonderful to love and be loved by you.” You kissed his cheek, leaving him again. This time to save your heart from breaking even further.

© starlitsawamura — do not steal or translate my work. do not share my work on tiktok or wattpad. best viewed in dark mode on mobile. banner credit to cafekitsune!

[toodelusionalforreality]

Bastards

Azriel x Reader(N)

Summary: At long last, his blessed mate is revealed to Azriel. Their first real encounter is enough to leave the Spymaster with dread and dilemma.

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. A lot is going on here that editing is a lost cause. I'm sincerely praying none of you know anything about fighting.

Word count: ~9.3k

Warning: Slight mentions of blood [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

Previous Chapter: Sanctuary

Ahead. 

His shadows urged him as if he couldn’t hear the call himself. They snaked through the trees, leading him through a darkness softer than their own. The melody tugged at his heart, enough for him to lurch forward, tripping and stumbling over the overgrown roots under his feet. Her voice grew nearer, clearer, the tremors in it raking over his skin.

Ahead.

As he emerged through the entangled branches, his breath hitched. Moonlight broke through the canopy and illuminated a wide circle in the clearing. And she, at the centre of it, her head tipped skyward.

Her shirt, barely a white veil in the dim light, caressed her skin as the breeze danced to the rhythm of her song, her words unintelligible and foreign. The soft waves of her hair whipped in the gentle wind. A thick white mist stood a barrier between them, shielding her from him as though she wasn’t his to embrace. 

Ahead.

He took another step, and twigs snapped under him. The fog lifted. She lowered her eyes and blinked. Her lips stopped moving. She stood, completely frozen in front of him, radiant than a full moon above the mountains. The word hung in the air, whispered by his shadows and breeze. 

Mate. 

.

Azriel opened his eyes to the cloud of darkness flittering above him. With each gasp of breath, the weight in his chest sank a little deeper. Every time, he saw the same face. Some nights, she sang for him under the golden lights in her bar. On others, they were far away from the rest of the world, alone and safe. But she always smiled. At him, only him.

Despite the torture of facing reality at the crack of his dreams, he went to sleep every night only to catch a glimpse of her. 

Masochist, he might be, but it was all Azriel had of her.

His brothers never mentioned being plagued by visions of their mates after the bond snapped for them. He didn’t have the gall to ask either, partly because he didn’t dare believe it was what it was. The clear whisper from his shadows only haunted him in his dreams. A mere word said into his ears once and gone, leaving him to wonder if he dreamt it as much as his hallucinations of her. But every time he woke up with his skin prickling with need, he swore he smelled her sweet fragrance of spices.

And then, there was the matter of the bond itself. His emotions and desires came crashing down on him so fiercely, so fast, that there was no other explanation, even if he wanted to deny it. The tether wound tight around his heart every time he refused to seek her. But it was quiet. So eerily quiet. If he could sense her, he told himself, he would know for sure.

His brothers realised the moment the growl erupted from his throat. They smelled the bond on him, Rhys had said. It was the feral look in his eyes that convinced Cass, though. Azriel believed him, for he had wanted to tear every limb of the man that night.

He could see it as he sat in the booth with his hands fisted on the table—thundering up the stairs past Uri’s protests, ripping the door that snapped shut softly above them off its hinges, going straight for the man’s throat. He wouldn’t have used his knife. No, he had wanted to do it with his bare hands.

Darkness exploded around him at the sight of the locked office door. His siphons shone bright like hellfire against the black of his shadows. If his brothers hadn’t dragged him out of the bar a minute later, his shadows would have claimed what belonged with them, belonged with him.

What had truly stopped him was her eyes. Even after months, he still remembered the pure disdain and disgust that filled them when she defended the fae in her bar against a pervert. The flicker of alarm, the following rage, and then the void—no, Azriel couldn’t bring himself to be the cause of it. Mate or not, he didn’t want her to look at him with those eyes. 

And when he shot to the skies and flew over Velaris until sunrise—afraid to stop, that he might end up in front of her doors—all he thought of was her smile, her voice, her. His brothers didn’t bother to stop him. Even Cass didn’t make one of his jokes. After hours of trailing him, they left him to his own misery. 

But not before a slow, careful presence nudged against his mental wards as if he was a breath away from shattering. Whatever you’re tempted to do, Rhys had voiced when Azriel allowed him in, don’t.

And he listened.

He had listened every day since. He fought his impulses to run to her, to see if she felt anything at all that night. Even when he knew mating bonds didn’t work that way. 

Rhys made it easy though, or so Azriel believed, by sending him on mission after mission with barely any day to spare in between. Months ago, he would have visited Pharus even if he had only a day’s break. But now, he didn’t trust himself enough to be in the vicinity of the bar, day or night.

Cass took the honour of owning the loosest lips in the family by telling everyone what had transpired that night. Apparently, Rhys had wanted to wait until Azriel was ready.

One look at Mor’s brown eyes and he knew when the conversation veered towards N. But five centuries of friendship counted for something as she picked up on signs of his frustration and let him be. Nesta gave him a disapproving stare but respected his silence, on occasions. At least Cass backed off when Azriel showed no interest in pouring his heart out like a lovesick youth. 

But Feyre, believing she was as sly as her mate, took him on errands for her paint supplies. And supposedly remembered an important meeting, always somewhere close to a specific red-bricked building. Azriel wasn’t a fool, and so he left his High Lady to attend her meetings alone. Honestly, it was only Elain’s company he tolerated, the only one in his family who never asked about N or his brooding over his own cowardice.

Rhys’s generosity lasted for a whole of three grand weeks. He dismissed every pressing concern Azriel had brought to him and bound him home. With an endless list of people who loved to pry into his personal matters, each day posed a new kind of torture. 

Given they were aware of his obsession with the middle Archeron sister and the consequent dispute with his brother—the High Lord, it was safe to say his longing to be mated like his brothers surfaced with not much of a shock. And they all had one question.

Why hadn’t he done anything yet?

To begin with, N barely knew of his existence. When the mating bond snapped for his brothers, they were acquainted with their mates to some extent. Feyre knew Rhys enough to hate him. Nesta and Cass. . . they were at each other’s throats as much as in each other’s pants. And he distinctly remembered Elain’s reaction. She hated Lucien when he declared the bond in front of everyone, resented him for it, and resisted it with all her might.

So Azriel listened. He stayed away.

He stayed away as years of rejection finally caught up to him and fear snagged his heart. He stayed away, though centuries-long prayers were answered in a heartbeat. He stayed away when everything he ever wanted was so close to his reach.

Shackled to home day after day, his options were limited—antagonising himself with his family’s nosiness, running errands which would give his legs, wings and shadows a reason to seek N out, or training. 

‘Ready to talk?’ asked Cass the moment his brother took his stance before him and raised his fists to his chin. Azriel threw the first punch, and that was the end of that conversation.

It became the new routine. Waking up at night with thoughts of her and releasing his tension in the ring in the morning. He expected Cass to be the one coaxing him into action, but Rhys was the one to intervene.

Glaring at his brother’s back, Azriel froze in his steps. Close to the southern border of Velaris, stood a lone white stone building, along the wide bend of Sidra curving into the city. The turquoise blue on the carved iron doors demanded attention from miles away. One of the heavy double doors was pulled open while the other remained closed, blocking the view of the inside. Through the mesh-covered grilled window, hot air billowed out only to be carried downwind over the waters. Smoke coiled out of a chimney in the back. 

Two mares—creatures of beauty and grace complimenting each other in every way—were tied to the stump outside a modest stable erected beside the quaint smithy. One, as stark as Rhys’s hair and the other, as pale as Amren’s grey eyes. They shuffled silently at the sight of the three brothers who invoked their primal need to surrender their beastly control.

‘Why are we here?’ Azriel ground out. His hands clenched, twitching to throw his brother into the river. Not nearly adequate, but it would get his point across. 

Rhys adjusted the cuffs of his tunic. ‘I fancied a new blade. It’s been a while since I got any, don’t you think?’ He glanced over his shoulder with the same insufferable smirk. ‘You could get one too.’ He glanced at the Truth-teller strapped to Azriel’s thigh. ‘Give it a little rest, maybe.’

Cass rubbed his sore shoulder from two days ago. ‘Do you think I enjoy getting my ass handed to me every day?’ He scowled, stalking up to the two wide doorsteps made of the same stone as the building. ‘I don’t care what you do in there. Get. Inside.’

Azriel stared. Cass stared back. His brother’s solution to everything was training until his body was limp and trembling. If Azriel had got him grumbling about a few landed hits, he definitely pushed this too far. He took a step forward and Cass breathed in relief.

Rhys opened the other door and peered inside. Azriel said quietly, coming up behind him, ‘You told me not to do anything.’ His shadows drifted ahead before he could reel them back.

‘That night, Azriel.’ Every trace of amusement disappeared from Rhys's face. ‘I told you not to do anything stupid that night.’ Shaking his head, he entered the shop with his brothers on his trail.

A short counter took the space along the breadth of the room across the door. A metal mesh formed part of the wall on their left, separating the forge from the shop front. Wood groaned and crackled beyond the partition as a shadow moved in front of a glowing furnace.

To their right, cabinets with glass doors spanned the wall from ceiling to floor. One half showcased knives, swords, and arrowheads made of iron and steel fit for regular use. The other exhibited an interesting collection. The polished metal of the blades gleamed with a liquid sheen under the soft morning light. Gold and silver made their hilts. Gems of every colour, cut and size adorned the intricate swirls along them. Little wooden placards took a place next to each with centuries, lands—except Night Court—and a few names of fae lords long dead or forgotten etched on them.

The brothers studied each weapon carefully, their breaths held in reverence in the presence of ancient blades that had been lost in time, wielded by warriors who once walked and warred and bled to death.

If his brothers chose to wield a sword of their own and name it, Azriel knew long after they were gone, they would be as coveted as the ones in front of them. One day, his Truth-Teller would be, and it would've nothing to do with him. The sheathed knife weighed heavy on his thigh as to confirm his belief.

Metal groaned behind them as a man pushed the mesh wall aside and came through. He offered a mild smile, sealing the path again. Azriel had seen that smile before, hated it, and wanted to carve it out of that face.

Cass strode past him and joined Rhys, blocking him from the clueless fae. ‘What were we thinking? This is a bad idea,’ he muttered under his breath.

Azriel resisted the urge to snarl at the man. His shadows curled around his ears, hissing how they wished to shred the one who dared touch N apart. His face that brought a smile to hers, his lips that kissed her cheek, his hand that held her body. Another reason he had stayed away.

‘How can I help you?’

Orvin was no warrior, but his build suggested he could handle himself in a fight. His wrapped hands implied he indeed helped N in the workshop. His eyes had an effortless sparkle, unlike the one Azriel usually had to muster for anyone but his family. His short chestnut hair curled at the ends and all he could think was the way N would have tugged at them that night when he. . .

Rhys smiled smoothly, tucking his hands into his pockets. ‘We were hoping to talk to her,’ he tipped his head to the mere shadow looming beyond the makeshift wall against the roaring golden of the fire. 

Orvin folded his arms across his chest. His smile faltered a little. ‘She’s busy. Whatever you’re looking for,’ he nodded at the case beside them, ‘you can find it here.’

Cass’s eyes roved over every steel with the warrior's scrutiny, unable to resist his instincts. ‘They’re not good enough.’ And Rhys didn’t deign to look at them, ‘We have a special request.’

Orvin stood to his full height, his chin held high. His smile vanished. ‘She doesn’t work with lords and High Lords.’ 

While Azriel watched her as she moved farther into the shadows, Rhys purred, ‘Surely, you can make an exception once.’ 

Metal hit metal in a steady rhythm in the other room. For long minutes, they stared at each other. Feet shuffled. A harsh hiss cut through the silence.

Orvin remained unfazed. ‘She doesn’t make exceptions. For anyone. You can either buy one of these or leave.’

All his life, very few, who weren’t a lord or High Lord, had defied Rhys. He never abused his power in Velaris. It was one of the reasons the city thrived and people admired him. Still, no one ever forgot who he was and what he was capable of under that charming smile and beautiful face. 

Yet, the sheer arrogance Orvin radiated at that moment, looking down at the most powerful High Lord to have ever existed like the scums he drove out of the shop, was not something anyone had dared do before. He either had a lot of courage or little common sense to deny Rhys what he wanted. 

‘I’m no lord,’ Azriel said finally, his voice gratefully even and low. ‘She makes weapons for others, though, doesn’t she?’ 

Orvin slid his gaze to him. ‘I’ll have to ask her first.’ He didn’t make a move. He watched the darkness swarming the shadowsinger's shoulders, ripples and ripples of them challenging him, threatening him. He brought his eyes back to the glowering hazel ones that promised nothing good. Then he turned to the forge.

‘Don’t tell her who we are,’ added Rhys softly.

Orvin paused to throw a warning look over his shoulder. The sliding door clanked gently into the stone wall behind him.

Azriel heard her heart beat as steady as every clang of metal that rang through the air. Time crawled as he waited and waited. For a moment, he considered if Orvin had returned to his work, ignoring them. Every sound came to a halt when light footsteps headed towards them.

‘Make yourself presentable,’ her friend sighed. His voice was a smooth purr when he spoke to her.

Her feet stopped. She took one sharp breath and bit out, ‘If they wanted me to look pretty, they shouldn’t have interrupted me while I’m working.’

Cass pressed a fist to his lips in a useless attempt to hide the stupid grin on his face. Rhys turned to him, his usual amused eyes glowing that set Azriel’s nerves on edge. 

Another sigh, long and deep. ‘At least wash your face.’

‘I regret hiring you.’ 

Her quiet grumble left Azriel’s heart fluttering in his chest. He surveyed a short sword perched on the lowest shelf to hide his smile from his brothers, who watched him intently.

‘You’d have been out of business a long time ago without me,’ Orvin’s voice followed her to the back and the sound of running water muted his words. ‘You hate talking to your customers and I basically run this place.’ Water splashed.

‘And you get compensated well for it.’

In her bed. The words birthed something wretched and slimy in his gut. Azriel closed his eyes as if that could erase his filthy thoughts. With each breath, he tamed the self-loathing that filled him at his own perverseness.

Rhys spoke with a touch of kindness. ‘She doesn’t take an interest in him that way.’

‘Did you,’ his words came out in a low growl and Azriel didn’t try to hide it, ‘look into her mind?’

Though his brother had done it to many over the centuries, none of them ever tempted him to throttle Rhys to death. He could have as well laid his hand on N in ways he shouldn’t.

Rhys simply shook his head. The cockiness in his eyes mere seconds ago vanished as a calm contemplation replaced it, the one that overtook him in the face of an unknown opponent.

His. Hers is shielded. Rhys admitted solemnly, That night in the bar, she knew I peeked into her mind. I didn’t mean to. Her shields went up so fast I could barely find my way out. He held his brother’s glare. She knew what she was doing, Azriel. But she didn’t chase me. Any Daemati would have, but she didn’t.

That was months ago, and Rhys chose to disclose it with N only a few feet away. Revealing it now meant one thing. A warning. To a brother. From the look on Cass’s face, it was obvious he had been privy to that information as well. 

The groan of wheels against the floor brought the three out of their mental conversation. N walked out, wiping the back of her neck with a washrag. A sheen of sweat coated her flushed skin below her neck. Hair slipped loose from her braid, curling along the curve of her face. She didn’t come any closer.

Azriel had been so wrong. He had a glimpse of her legs that night, and yet he never could have imagined what he saw in front of him. Her oversized shirts and pants were a disguise for what truly lay underneath. Every inch of her body was a sculpted perfection. Every curve and dip of muscle earned from years of training and discipline. Her light sleeveless shirt hung off her shoulders and shifted with each breath she took. The tunic underneath and her dark pants clung to her like a second skin. The scratch on her exposed calf had turned into a fading pale strip. A fresh scorch mark stained the inside of her forearm.

How long had it been since that night? Weeks? Months? It felt like aeons. And now he stood in her presence, mere steps away from touching her. If he wanted, if she allowed. Azriel couldn’t breathe. His hands trembled by his side. He focused his will on binding his shadows to himself as they chanted her name and begged to be set loose.

‘What can I do for you?’ Her voice lost the airiness they held moments ago. Her words were polite, yet her frown asked—Why are you bothering me?

Rhys smiled like the beautiful prick he was. ‘We hear you're crafty with weapons. We’d like to commission you to make one for us.’

None of the brothers missed the slight roll of her eyes. ‘We don’t make weapons. The ones on display are for sale. My partner will help you with that.’ Her partner leaned against the sliding door, wearing a smirk on his face. A proud, arrogant smirk.

N turned away, almost halfway through the door. But Rhys’s words stopped her. ‘That’s not what I heard. You have quite the reputation all over Prythian. And beyond.’

‘You heard wrong.’ She noted each of their faces with nothing but a blank observation.

Don’t you remember me? Azriel wanted to ask like an insolent child. You sang for me!

‘So what’s that hammering back there about?’

‘I deal with men every day. Helps with stress.’

Rhys lifted a brow. N mimicked him. Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle. A calm warmth smothered the anger, jealousy, and everything vile that consumed his heart.

‘Indulge us,’ Rhys gave her a smile that charmed everyone into compliance. ‘Just one weapon. It shouldn’t be much trouble.’

N blinked.

‘For him,’ Orvin lifted his chin, ‘at the back.’ Maybe she wasn’t into him, but he sure seemed to be protective of her. N dragged her eyes across his face, peering through the mask of indifference he wore, or Azriel hoped he did.

‘One for each of us,’ amended Rhys, earning a glare from her partner.

‘Special requests cost extra.’ 

Orvin paled. He opened his mouth when Rhys interrupted, ‘We can afford it.’

‘This way.’

N turned on her feet and headed back. Orvin stalked her, his eyes widening and yet, they definitely softened for her, ‘Listen, they are—’ 

‘It’s fine. I’ll handle it.’

‘But they are—’

A heavy quiet fell in the room. The brothers went in before Orvin revealed their identity. Heat swallowed them the moment they set foot inside the forge. Sweat trickled down their bodies, making their leathers stick uncomfortably. 

Azriel tucked his wings close to his back, wading through the narrow path between the two wooden worktables. He keenly avoided the fire that gorged on coals on his left. The scarred skin on his hands stung and tingled. His shadows swarmed away to his other side, twitching against his wing. As they crossed to the end of the room, he took in a breath, her overwhelming scent etched in every corner soothing him.

N stopped in front of a carved wooden door. Removing a heavy iron key from a hook above her head, she unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped aside. All the while, Orvin stood beside her and scowled at Rhys. His brother flashed him one of his perfect grins, followed N closely, and peeked into the room over her shoulder.

Azriel appreciated one thing—her partner’s refusal to back down even knowing who Rhys was. And couldn’t decide how he felt about his unwavering loyalty to N.

‘It wasn’t my fault this time,’ called out a voice. A young fae, no older than twenty, walked in and came to a halt when she spotted the three brothers. Her tan skin glowed in the light of the furnace and the brown in her eyes turned into a pool of molten copper.

A purple bruise adorned her child-like face from her cheekbone to her jaw. N arched a brow, bored and challenging. The fae shrugged, but there was panic in her eyes. Fear of disappointing N, Azriel realised. ‘I mean it! He came at me.’

Finally, losing interest in the brothers, Orvin went to the girl. ‘When did this happen?’

Her thick red hair swayed as she jerked her face out of his grip. ‘You’d make a knife for another one of these rich bastards, but not me?’ She scanned them from head to toe, the frown on her lips deepening with each passing glance.

‘I’ll consider making one for you when you come in here without a scratch,’ said N mildly.

‘I have to stop defending myself against those bastards to get a weapon?’

With her bared teeth and fiery eyes, the fae looked like a portrait of a feral cub. The brothers tried to hold in their smiles. N cut them the same bored look, but it was enough to sober them up. When she turned to the fae, her eyes shone. ‘I meant, don’t get hit.’

The fae blinked. Then her lips parted in a childish grin. She let Orvin inspect her bruises and answered his questions readily. 

When none of the brothers moved, N turned to Rhys, her face placid. ‘What are you waiting for?’

Azriel couldn’t hide his smile this time. He bowed his head and entered the room last. The shell of his wing brushed against her shirt, and a shiver shot down his spine.

The room, almost as big as the store and forge combined, included a training mat in the middle of it. Weapons ranging from knives to swords to maces to war hammers were mounted on one wall. The other carried practice weapons with blunt edges and wooden swords. Long windows, as wide as a hand, split the continuous racks on either side. No way in or out except for the carved door. A short writing desk stood in the front. N went on to pluck a notebook from the shelf next to it leaving the brothers to their inspection.

‘Who is she?’ asked Rhys. Cass had been unnaturally quiet since they arrived. 

N unwound the thread holding the notebook close. ‘I don’t see how she's your concern.’ She flipped through the pages, the soft crinkle echoing through the air. She continued, ‘You will not tell anyone that I made these for you. You will not speak of this room to anyone. You will return here if and only if you need a replacement.’

‘You seem to be fond of rules,’ Rhys drawled with a tilt of his head, gauging her every reaction, her every word, her every breath.

She lifted one of her beautifully arched brows. ‘You can leave if that’s an inconvenience to you.’ With a pencil in her hand, she looked up. ‘I’ll need your names.’

‘Silence for silence. We won’t talk about you, and you won’t know us.’ The words fell off Rhys's lips as if he had been expecting.

‘This is for me. You will choose your weapons today. If you prove safe to use one, you will get one.’

For a long minute, Rhys stared at her. N stared back. Her face was a vision of calmness, one that even he had never mastered.

The silence was stifling. Reveal their names and N walks away from them, walks away from him. Azriel looked between the two. His shadows nipped at his neck, hissing in his ears to make a move. He took a breath.

‘Rhysand. Call me Rhys since we’re about to be good friends.’

No widening of eyes, no parting of lips in a soft gasp, no shaky breath as the name hung in the air.

Instead, N stood still, her eyes roving over Rhys’s form in an agonisingly slow, measured scrutiny. She took in every feature, from his stupidly perfect face to his broad shoulders to his toned chest to his shaped legs. And all the while, Azriel ground his teeth.

‘Rhysand it is,’ she said in a voice that left his skin prickling. She made notes in her notebook and his shadows writhed to know what she observed.

Cass crouched in front of the stack of longswords finer than Illyrian blades. ‘You know how to use all these weapons?’ He had a sincere smile on his lips and appreciation in his eyes.

‘Most of them, yes.’ N frowned, shrugging a shoulder. Her gaze lifted to Rhys again before she jotted more. ‘Some, I have working knowledge but I wouldn’t prefer them even if my life depended on it.’ Finally, she closed the notebook marking the page. ‘Pick your weapon.’

Rhys walked along the shelves, surveying the assortment, before he stopped in front of the double-edged swords. He ran his finger over the one at his eye level. Sunlight hit its gilded dark edge, the light scattering on his palm. A thick white rope corded along the length of its hilt for a better grip.

‘Which one do you recommend?’ He asked softly, a ring of awe in his voice.

‘It’s not up to me to decide yet. First, I need to know what you can do.’ Rhys looked over his shoulder and she added, ‘We’ll assess your strengths. Pick a weapon of your choice. Knock me off my feet.’ 

Rhys faced her with a wicked smile. Cass grinned, walking up to Azriel. His brothers knew. Even his shadows didn’t find out this little slice of detail in their spying. 

N moved to one end of the mat. Her feet planted shoulder width apart and her hands clasped behind her back. She had not an ounce of doubt or worry on her face as she waited. 

Did she know who they were? Would she still be calm if she knew of the wars they had seen and fought in? The Illyrian wings must have clued her in. Yet she stood poised and composed.

Rhys lifted his hand, his fingers brushing against each other before he paused and reached for the buttons on his jacket instead. N didn’t even blink at the sight of his naked warrior torso. Her gaze only shifted when he picked a broadsword, the one he admired.

‘You sure?’ N asked. Uncertainty lurked in her eyes.

‘Your turn,’ was Rhys’s only reply as he swung the steel, testing the balance. 

N shrugged. ‘I don’t need one.’ Rhys looked up. ‘I’m making an assessment. I don’t need a blade for that. When you’re ready.’ 

Rhys winked at Azriel. How do you like her now? Grasped in both hands, he adjusted his grip on the hilt and grounded his feet.

How did he like her? He wanted to shove her against the wall and devour her lips. He wouldn’t care if his brothers watched. He wouldn’t care if the whole of Prythian watched. He wanted to feast on her, feel her body against his, naked and sweaty. He wanted to run his tongue over her skin until the taste of it was all he remembered. 

Azriel took a shuddering breath and crossed his arms against his chest. His shadows sheathed his body, hiding the one true indication of where his thoughts had wandered. Rhys chuckled, and he scrambled to put his mental shield back up, tripping over and over again.

Rhys took a step forward and swung his sword lightly. N didn’t move. He inched forward and did it again. Not a blink. He held back his thrusts, stopping short with lazy flicks. 

Azriel smirked at his brother’s dilemma. How do you like her now? 

Rhys straightened, his hand and sword limp by his side. ‘At least pick one of those blunt ones,’ he smiled, ‘It’s impolite enough to fight a lady.’

The corner of her lips twitched. ‘If I need a blade to win a fight, I would rather learn how to fight first.’

Cass laughed and jabbed an elbow into his ribs. ‘She’s fun. I bet—’

Azriel grinned back. ‘We both can’t bet against him.’

‘Ten gold marks says Rhys will be on his ass in fifteen.’

‘Twenty marks. And make it ten.’

Rhys opened his mouth when N sighed softly to herself, ‘Rich bastards indeed.’

The three brothers shut up but had identical grins plastered on their faces.

Rhys moved in the precise steps he had mastered over years and years in war camps and battlefields. His hands set to motion to match his stride—fluid, quick. The edge almost grazed her arm, and N leaned back an inch.

Pulling the sword back, he swung it to her other side. N swerved, but barely. Every move was calculated, nothing more than to dodge the attacks, none to waste her energy or lose her balance.

Rhys noticed too. Do you mind if I nick her a bit? 

Azriel smiled. You can try.

Smirking, Rhys launched into attack after attack. With each step, he pushed her back. He cornered her against the wall with the training swords, careful not to hurt her, much. 

And she stood rooted every time, her hands behind her back.

Her body twisted and stretched with grace. Her feet slid against the floor in effortless drags. Her serene face gave away none of her thoughts. Her gaze darted between his arms and legs, swift and cunning. A glimmer flickered in her eyes, but it vanished as soon as she blinked. 

She made Azriel tremble—not out of fear. But with need, with reverence. He wanted to run his hands down her every curve and watch her move at his touch, at his kiss. Just the thought of the way she would curl against him or the glide of her hands along his skin was too much to bear. Every fibre in his body cried to get on his knees for her.

Rhys swept high, going for her neck. N moved with the blade, ducked low, and turned away as she grasped a wooden sword off the rack and blocked his next blow.

‘Thought you didn’t need a weapon,’ Rhys smirked and aimed for her leg.

N sighed, twisting out his reach. ‘You’re taking too long. I have other customers,’ she nodded at their audience.

Rhys quickened his pace. N made no attacks. Each of her moves was as fluid as her breathing. Splinters flew with each blocked hit. The smile fell off Rhys’s lips, but the spark in his eyes remained. He went for her shoulder, the flat of his sword hoisted to hit her hard.

N leaned back, dropping to her knees, her sword tucked along her spine. She swivelled around and rose to her feet behind him. The blunt tip of her sword tapped Rhys thrice. On the back of his neck, right behind his heart, at the base of his spine. 

They were done in seven.

‘Or your wings if I’m being generous with your life.’ She walked past him back to her desk, ‘Do you not prefer using them in close-range combat?’

Rhys faced her, palming the spot on his neck where he took the soft hit. His lips parted with a mild shock. ‘You can see them?’

N shrugged and opened her notebook. ‘Most glamours don’t work on me. They are still a little hidden by shadows.’ She glanced at Azriel, and he sucked in a breath. He hadn’t realised his shadows were perched on his shoulders, watching her without their usual chatter. ‘Not like his. But faint outlines, like disguised by a dark smoke.’

‘It’s not a glamour,’ mumbled Rhys, a frown between his brows. He met Azriel’s stare, earlier wariness returning to his eyes.

‘Then I don’t have an explanation for it.’ She wrote in her notebook again. ‘That one is too heavy for you,’ she peeked at the sword in his hand, a frown tugging at her lips. ‘You need a lighter steel, since you don’t use your wings. The weight throws you off balance. But then, you’ll need more force in your thrusts.’

Rhys gaped at her with an incredulous look. But Cass agreed with a simple shrug. He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulder as he buttoned his shirt. ‘You better show up for training tomorrow.’ And Rhys shoved his hand off, the buttons at the top left forgotten. ‘Where did you learn to fight?’ asked Cass, noting Azriel watching her like a creep. He gave his ribs a harsh nudge.

‘Around,’ she mumbled, flipping through her notes, scratching with her pencil, and marking a few details. ‘Next,’ she opened a new page. 

Cass clapped his hands and stepped forward with a feral smile that showed all his teeth.

‘Azriel.’ He smirked as his brother mouthed a curse at him and walked to the middle of the room.

N looked up. She studied him—every inch of his face and body. She blinked, slowly. Her lingering gaze set his skin on fire. For a moment, Azriel believed she took longer than she did with Rhys. When her eyes landed on his wings, they flared slightly in response. She scribbled in her notebook as his brothers chuckled under their breaths.

Azriel had already decided what he would do the moment they walked out—kill Rhys for his mental comments and then Cass for indulging the prick.

N went to the racks, and Azriel hated that she never spoke his name like she did Rhys’s in that sweet voice of hers. She returned her sword and rearranged the ones misplaced by her earlier. ‘Choose your weapon,’ she said gently.

The moment Azriel entered the room, he spotted the one he wanted to try. Narrower and longer than his Illyrian sword, the simple piece of art swallowed the light around it. Leather wrapped along its hilt as a seamless extension of the abyssal black of the blade. His shadows glided over it, testing it for him, almost as drawn to it as himself.

The muffled ring of metal sliding against leather echoed in the quiet. N turned around to find a curved knife in each of his hands. 

Though Azriel had knives and daggers sheathed on him at all times, he favoured swords. But they wouldn’t allow him to get close to her, give him a chance to touch her.

‘Odd choice,’ she murmured as she took her place across from him. She quietly assessed his hands, the way he brought them to his front, gripped his knives ready, and shifted his weight on his feet. ‘Most don’t go for these. They prefer something big and flashy,’ she smiled, bringing her gaze to his face. ‘Requires a lot of effort to master. How long did you take?’

Azriel blinked. Every thought went out of his mind at that smile. ‘Been a while to remember.’ 

Wisps of hair fell over her face as she tipped her head. ‘Your shadows,’ she watched them wreath around him, ‘need to sit this one out.’ There was a flicker of hesitation, a weight on his shoulders. ‘Just you and me.’

As if it had been a command from him, the darkness drifted to a corner of the room. 

Just you and me. 

Her words roved over his skin. He stared at her. His brothers fell silent, too. 

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ she added softly.

For a whole minute, Azriel stood still. Then he lunged forward. The same dance ensued, him making the first move, her dodging with minimal movement. A strangely familiar rhythm they both fell into with an ease that rendered him senseless. Her warmth grazed his body, her breath hit his fist, and her hair caressed him every time he got too close. Unlike with Rhys, she didn’t keep her distance. She threw her own punches this time.

Azriel summoned every knowledge he acquired fighting for five centuries to take down one woman—his mate.

He wanted to win her challenge only to pin her down under him, to know what she felt like against him. He was, by no means, a simple warrior. Even without his shadows, he was easily one of the most powerful the Illyrians ever dreamt of being. And yet, in her presence, under her calculating eyes, he hardly remembered to steady his breaths.

‘Your left footing needs work,’ she said, stepping back to miss his blade that almost slashed her rib. 

His footing needed no such thing. She was goading him, mocking his consideration, that much her smile told him.

Cass yelled from one corner, ‘Don’t let her win again, Az.’ His eyes twinkled.

Training with each other for centuries left no mystery in their technique or style and removed the freshness of a challenge. If his brother got the chance, he wouldn’t hesitate like Rhys, and Azriel knew. 

Rhys scowled beside him, a look so foreign on his face. ‘She didn’t win against me.’

‘Sure, she didn’t kill you thrice either.’

‘She didn’t have a real blade. I was going easy on her.’ Rhys’s lazy smugness returned to his voice.

Azriel breathed a laugh. Her gaze dipped to his lips and then to his hand that came at her. She swerved to her right, grabbed his wrist and ducked under. And as she came back up, her other fist met the inside of his bicep. She retreated a few paces. Feet apart, hands behind her back. 

Pain rippled through his muscles. He shook his arm twice, slowly. His skin burned and ached where her fingers had been. His body came alive as if it had felt her grip elsewhere. His heart pounded in his chest, their beat drumming in his ears. He let out a long exhale. How he wished to throw the knives away and grab her waist instead.

She observed every move he made—the flex of his fingers before they wrapped around the daggers, the rise of his chest as he heaved in a breath, the shift of his legs under him for his next move. Azriel wanted her eyes only on him, anyway. He wished he had taken off his leathers like his brother had done so. Maybe she would have appreciated that, too. He would have definitely enjoyed her hits.

Azriel threw the same punch. She swerved. He went for her chest. She glided back. He took a step forward and swept his dagger across her torso before she could land on her feet. She skipped back. He smirked. The corner of her lips twitched. He aimed a strike at her face again. She leaned to her side, and Azriel slammed his left fist into her jaw. She staggered back a few steps, far from his arm’s reach again. 

He smiled. ‘You always favour your right,’ he remarked softly.

N didn’t move. Her feet planted on the spot. Loose strands of hair veiled her averted face, but not the patches of red blooming on her jaw. Her breaths were uneven for the first time since they started. Even his brothers went silent.

She slowly turned to him, her head hung low, her eyes trained on the ground. She reached a hand to her face. A streak of crimson, thin and sharp, ran along the curve of her jaw through the framing bruise. 

Blood gleamed along his blade's edge. His grip loosened. Dread filled his chest, along with an ache. He looked at her, breathless. Her fingers ghosted over the cut, pulling away with smears of pale red on the tips.

Apologise, Rhys hissed in his mind, now.

Azriel opened his mouth.

‘You,’ she wiped her fingers on her shirt below her ribs, the stains akin to the ones she tried to erase that first night, ‘learn fast.’ Her eyes met his and a dangerous delight swirled in them. 

She moved quick. She took two long steps and lunged at him. Azriel crouched, rooted to his feet, and brought his arms up to block her impending blow to his face. It wasn’t her hand that met him, and he wasn’t fast enough.

She stepped on the inside of his thigh hard enough to shift his weight, propelled herself up, and her other foot pushed into his chest. Using the momentum, she swung herself over and around his shoulder. Before Azriel could blink, his feet gave out. His wings spread behind him to ease the fall.

Her grip was strong. She pressed his hand to his throat, the edge of his knife cool against his skin. Her face hovered over his. 

Azriel let his head rest on the ground. All he could think of was her body pressed against his, straddling his waist, her hands around each of his wrists. He willed himself to hold her stare steady. 

She breathed, ‘You’re dead.’ Her scent and warmth sent a chill down his spine.

‘So are you,’ Azriel rasped the words out. He lifted his head enough to peer down at his other hand. The glinting tip of the other blade poked at her chest, where her heart was, where he was sure a spot of blood would soon taint her white shirt.

She followed his stare. She smirked and looked him in the eye. ‘As long as I take you with me.’

Azriel yearned for nothing more. For her to take him—to death, to hell, to his damnation. 

Her braid fell over her shoulder, and the ends tickled his face and neck. Her short breaths hit his skin, the scent of her making him heady. Her hands were warm against his shadow-kissed cold ones. Blood rushed to her face. A bead of sweat trickled down between her brows, followed the curve of her nose, and trailed down her cheek. Azriel wanted to trace it with his tongue, taste her—her blood, her sweat.

Beautiful. The word clanged in every corner of his mind as he took her in, raw and bare. 

Beautiful. The blade dug deeper into his skin, reminding him she held his life in her hands. 

Beautiful. Especially when she had him at her mercy. 

His mind chose the inappropriate time to conjure the other ways she could have him at her mercy. Gods, if she moved, she would feel him. His shadows crept up to them, teasing her hair, dancing along the cut on her jaw. 

His head fell back. He took a deep breath and still it wasn’t enough. The delicious burn of cool metal scraping against the column of his throat felt painless compared to her intense gaze peering into his soul. He swallowed. She tracked the movement. He swallowed again, and her eyes snapped to his. Every nerve in his body urged him to reach up, let the blade slit his throat, only to kiss her once.

And for a sweet moment, he thought she wanted it too. 

She blinked. She pulled back an inch and looked up. 

Orvin hurried in with the red-haired fae. Panic flashed in his eyes. He shoved the fae inside and lingered close to the door. ‘She’s back. She’s here.’

N shot to her feet, taking every sense of warmth around him with her. ‘It’s fine,’ she urged them in and stepped out. ‘Don’t make a sound.’ She closed the door behind her. 

Azriel’s feet followed her on their own, but his brother’s voice in his mind brought him back. She’s gone. Quiet your thoughts a little. He turned around with a snarl to find both his brothers sporting a cruel grin.

The key clicked into place and so did an invisible force. ‘It’s warded,’ Rhys observed the narrow slits along the walls. ‘Why is this place warded?’ 

They turned to Orvin, but he stared at the closed door. He shielded the fae with his body and coaxed her back, far from the entrance. He didn’t answer. 

Outside, a fire crackled in the furnace. Metal whined. Sharp clicks bounced off the stone floors and walls. Both Orvin and the fae held their breaths.

‘So,’ said a voice low and feminine, ‘you’re hiding in the monster’s den. I can’t decide if you’re smart or losing your mind,’ Orvin shivered at the sound.

Rhys studied the door, lost and distant in his thoughts. He reached a hand, his palm rested on an invisible field a few inches short of the wood. His touch sent out glimmering waves along the walls, floor, and roof of the room. The wavering stilled. A breath later, they rippled and eddied until they reached his palm again. Rhys stepped back.

N spoke calmly. ‘You wouldn’t have found me if I were hiding.’ 

‘I wasted a long trip on this.’ The voice sighed, each word had a seductive drawl to it. ‘Let’s not dally. Come with me.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Have you forgotten your deal already?’ The voice got closer and closer to the door. 

‘I never made a deal with you.’

‘Didn’t you?’ The voice hummed. Long and light. ‘Never mind. We can always make a new one.’

Bare feet shuffled across the floor, drawing away from the locked door. ‘I don’t work for any court.’ N’s voice barely carried to the room. The wards muffled some of the conversation, but their fae hearing helped.

Heels stomped across the floor. The intruder whined, a delicate teasing sound. ‘Name your price. I’ll get you whatever you want.’

‘I have everything I need.’ Metal groaned against the wood. A sharp thump, metal against metal. Another and another. Each one harder than the previous. 

The voice snorted. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of this pathetic excuse of a court.’ 

Cass stiffened beside them. He asked Orvin, ‘Who is she?’ Neither he nor the fae answered.

N said softly, ‘This is my home.’

For some reason, hearing those simple words from her lips felt like a twisted approval of who he was, an acknowledgement of his existence.

‘This?’ The voice laughed. It would’ve been the most melodic sound he had ever heard if not for the mockery in it. ‘Velaris? Don’t fool yourself.’ She moved away and away, stalking N, circling her. ‘What did you expect? You’d find a man here, maybe a lord, fall in love, have a cosy little life like a common fae?’ Venom dripped from each word she spouted.

N chuckled in response. So soft, so tender that it made Azriel smile, too. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing here?’ Her voice lingered, drifting farther past the furnace, past the fires. ‘Gods, sounds like you’re projecting your dreams onto me.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ The voice turned into what it truly was. A vile, cruel shrill masked by the sweetness of its lull.

‘Or what?’ N paused, and Azriel could see the smirk on her lips. ‘You come into my home and threaten me. Did you expect me to kiss your feet?’

The voice fell silent for a moment. Azriel turned to Rhys, and he shook his head. Her mind is shielded as well. 

The heels turned to the door again, hitting faster and faster. ‘Where’s the half-fae youngling?’ Her steps stopped right in front of the door.

Orvin hissed behind the brothers and gestured to step back. They all turned to the fae who cowered to a corner, yet schooled her face in defiance. The arch of her ears peeked through her thick hair. But the tan skin, the hazel eyes.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Please,’ the voice whined with a thrill at the tension in N’s voice. ‘I can smell her.’

Rhys asked the fae kindly, ‘Why does she want you?’ She didn’t answer. ‘I’m Rhysand. You know who I am?’ She nodded once. ‘I can help you if you tell me who that is.’ But one look from Orvin had her pursing her lips again.

N padded over, bidding her time. ‘It’s just me. And I’m very busy. So leave.’

‘Right, since the silver-tongued half-fae High Lord finally gets his way with you.’ 

A long silence. Despite Rhys’s warning looks, Azriel checked the wards. Shadows writhed along the door, prying for a way out.

‘The men inside,’ she huffed a breath. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Of course, I knew. Who do you think they are?’ Another moment of silence, only longer. A heart beat faster and faster while the other remained steady outside the door.

‘You didn’t know,’ the voice whispered. ‘Of course they hid it. Very clever.’ Her breath filled the pause. ‘No matter. You already had your doubts, didn’t you?’ She let out a dreamy sigh, one many men yearned to hear in bed. ‘Well sculpted, beautiful beyond measure, skills better than that of an ordinary warrior. Come on, they are Illyrians!’ The stress in the word implied more than just their appearance, one reserved for the brutal savagery of their kind.

N was silent. So very silent. But her heart—the one that was calm and rhythmic while fighting—now raced like a fawn’s being preyed upon, trying to break free of her ribcage. 

Azriel inhaled sharply. His own heart filled with fear, anger, and confusion. A breath later, it was gone as swiftly as it had overtaken his senses, leaving a hollow in its wake. So was the frantic beating of her heart. He pressed his fingers to his chest. His brothers noted it.

Finally, N said, ‘Who I do business with is none of your concern.’ Her voice was surprisingly composed.

‘Oh, but it is. Your hypocrisy is my concern when it stands in the way of getting what I want.’

‘Whatever that is, you need to look somewhere else.’ 

A low grunt rumbled through the door and sent his shadows skittering. The intruder hissed, ‘You know, your righteousness is starting to get old.’ 

The wood jerked when something hard slammed against it. Shadows exploded against the ward, only to be pushed back and contained inside the room. N gasped. Feet scuffed against the stone floor. A shocked whimper escaped the young fae behind them.

Before he realised, Azriel pounded at the door. The ward wavered like it did against Rhys’s gentle palm and settled into stillness. He hit it again. Again. And again. His shadows slithered along the walls, searching for an escape, through the roof, through the narrow slits of the windows.

‘She won’t even hear you, Shadowsinger.’ Orvin mumbled, concern laced through his words. ‘The ward strengthens with each impact.’

His brothers only watched him. When Cass looked at Rhys, he hesitated, ‘I can’t get through.’ There was a strain in his voice, worried for Azriel. Worried about the danger his mate posed. Worried about what might happen of his brother if something happened to her. 

‘Remember.’ A strangled choke left N’s lips when her head hit against the door again. ‘Remember what you owe them. For once,’ the voice ground out, ‘remember everything.’ Silence returned, suffocating and intense. ‘Finally!’ Another soft thud. ‘Next time, don’t play too hard. Make the bargain.’

The sharp footfalls pulled away from the door, from N. She gasped a breath and growled, ‘Next time, I’ll melt you.’

The air stilled. Power carried through in those words of hers. With each passing second of quiet, the gravity of her threat settled deeper and deeper.

Then there it was, the grating mockery of that angelic laugh. But no words followed. And the intruder was gone.

The key clicked. The ward faded. Azriel took a step back, and so did his brothers. The door slowly flung open.

N stayed outside. She took in their faces, as carefully as she did before, as every other time. Her stare lingered on Rhys. For the first time, recognition flickered in those still eyes. A deep red handprint wrapped around her delicate neck.

Azriel gritted his teeth. ‘Did she do that to you?’ He already knew. His whole body shook with rage as his shadows swallowed him, ready for his command. Cass came to stand beside him.

N only looked at Rhys. ‘I don’t work for High Lords. You need to leave.’

Azriel reached for her, but Rhys held a hand out. He glared at his brother. But Rhys ignored him. ‘I can explain,’ he spoke as gently as he would to a babe. ‘We had our reasons. We didn’t me—’

‘I respect them. I want you to respect mine.’ She stepped aside from the doorway. ‘Leave.’

Rhys waited for a moment. He then turned to his brother and nodded. Azriel stood his ground, watching N. Later, Rhys promised. You will come back for her later.

Azriel released his breath. He took in her distant eyes again. He stormed out without waiting for his brothers, his knives clenched tighter in his fists. 

He and his shadows were going on a hunt.

taglist: @mybestfriendmademe, @scatteredstardustt, @lilah-asteria, @brieflyclassymortal, @astraea89

[becausesomething]

I'm sorry sensei (ZoroxReader)

Sinopse:

Pre-time skip. Y/N is part of the crew of the Going Merry.

What was supposed to be a simple training session by herself ends up creating what she always feared, having Zoro upset and arguing with her. However, the relationship between sensei and pupil ends up speaking louder.

WC: 2.8K

I was still energetic, so I decided to go train alone at the gym that Zoro had improvised in one of the free rooms. As I go down from the crow's nest, I enjoy that breeze of another day that seemed like summer, the sun was still high but was slowly heading towards the horizon.

Although my form of combat was using a spear, Zoro insisted that I try swords or katanas. I ended up giving in, I couldn't resist that serious face that believed more in me and my abilities than I did in myself, much less getting into unnecessary discussions that ended up only creating a bad atmosphere for the rest of the crew too. And as much as I didn't want to admit it, the base was similar to the training I already had, it was just a matter of being a shorter weapon with more cutting surface.

He insisted on always training with me, and he didn't like it when I wanted to do it alone. I still looked for him, but he must have been sleeping in a more hidden corner. I could have looked better, but I was fidgety and impatient. Unlike his bedroom, the space where he trained was always tidy and organized. But that didn't stop me from being clumsy and going against things, especially the weights that were impossible to lift for a normal human being, like me, that were left under the window, which was also the best place to be.

I go to the wall and take out the sword I always trained with, with the red handle and red blade. I put on some background music and started practicing the movements that Zoro had taught me last time. In certain movements, I remembered the touch of his rough hand against mine, the weight of his body on mine correcting me, and the superior smile that he made no effort to hide, knowing the effect he had on me. I have to re-concentrate myself several times, until I can stay in that zone where the body starts to act based on learning and instinct. An instinct that still fled to the spear habit, and out of carelessness I hit the bar of one of the dumbbells with the sword, which makes it jump out of my hand and without thinking I try to grab it, ending up cutting myself and causing it to hit the weight and fall to the ground.

-Shit! - I look at my left hand and I had cut myself a little deep, I started to feel the burning and the blood flowing - No, double shit - I look at the sword and it was clear that I had hit something - I'm going to be a person with no future when he finds out!

I take a deep breath and grab the towel to stop the blood. Fortunately, the music drowned out the clang and echo of the sword as it struck. I look around and it was just the sword and me who had suffered the consequences. I put it back on and he might not notice, at least that was the vague hope I had.

I go to Chopper, who luckily was passing by on the deck, and I push him into the space that had been turned into a consulting room.

-I need you to help me and your medical confidentiality! - he looks at me, getting ready to ask how I had hurt myself this time, my fame was already known - And no lectures please, I'm going to be a dead person anyway.

The towel was already soaked in blood, and when I showed him the injured palm, he went into his serious mode and looked for whatever he needed, while I sat down in the chair he indicated to me.

-You were lucky Y/N, it's not deep but you'll need stitches - he starts to treat the wound - How did you did this?

-I was training and the sword slipped out of my hand - I decided to leave the detail of being distracted and the sword left with marks aside

-What was Zoro doing for you to end up hurt?

-I don't know, I was alone - I feel his gaze on me and I shrink - please don't say anything to him!

He looks at me again, but nods. But I knew he wasn't the best person at keeping secrets, so I would have to be careful and that involved avoiding Zoro for as long as I could.

And the maximum time was only one day, which would end miserably.

I asked Sanji if I could have dinner in my room as an excuse for having a headache and needing to rest, and I ended up getting lost in time starting a new book until it was nighttime and I probably should already be sleeping. Which made me wake up late in the next morning, but also avoided having to meet him first thing in the morning.

Or at least that's what I thought, because he appeared in the kitchen at the exact moment I had relaxed and was distracted from talking to Sanji, thinking he was already training.

-Are you better Y/N?

Instead of answering him, I take a bigger bite of the sandwich Sanji had left for me. He lets out a sigh, and goes to get a mug of coffee and sits down across from me.

-How did you hurt yourself now? - He looks at me and points to the bandage he has on, which makes me swallow hard.

-I just accidentally cut myself with my spear, it's nothing serious - I felt a cold sweat running down my back and I begged him to believe me.

He drinks some more - do you think you're capable of training today? -and he looks at me as if he were reading me, except it was Zoro with his simple thinking.

-I think I'll pass today if you don't mind, Chopper said to take it slow over the next few days.

Sanji, who was washing the dishes, comes towards me - I'm going to prepare you even more nutritious food so you can recover quickly, beautiful flower - says Sanji, filling my glass with more juice.

-Thank you Sanji, and for bringing me dinner yesterday, I was so lost reading that I forgot to thank you - I smile at him and he happily goes back to what he was doing.

I see Zoro rolling his eyes and getting up - whatever you want, if you change your mind, you know where to find me - I nod and when he leaves the kitchen I take a deep breath.

I go back to the room after Chopper changed my bandage and I just wanted to finish one more chapter of the book before going to dinner. I was picking up the book from the desk, when the door suddenly opened and closed. Even though I was still turning around, I could hear his breathing and heavy footsteps.

-How did you really get hurt Y/N? - I turned around and Zoro had the sword with which he had hurt me in his hand and a look of fury - Tell me the truth!

-Zoro, I... I don't know exactly how it happened... I got careless... I know I shouldn't train alone... I'm sorry

He approaches me and sends the sword to the bed.

-The truth Y/N! Why did you lie to me and say that hurt yourself with the spear?

-I was afraid of your reaction and I didn't want you to be upset with me...

-And you thought I wouldn't find out? The sword is stained with your blood! What the hell was going through your head?!

He clenches his fists, continuing to look at me. I had never seen him so furious, or use his voice in such a powerful way. It was precisely what I had tried to avoid. He was in front of me, upset and with that energy of fury for me being irresponsible.

-Why didn't you tell me the truth?

-I don't know, at that time it seemed like the best decision - I shrunk even more into myself - I just didn't want you to be like you are now with me.

-It's a bit late for that, don't you think?!

-I'm sorry Zoro, I know I shouldn't have lied - I start to feel guilty and the way he spoke to me makes me start to cry.

He approaches me and grabs my injured hand by the arm - Why didn't you come and meet me to train with you? I had already warned you that you were not prepared and it could be dangerous! You always end up hurting yourself or causing it to almost happen to others, if they aren't paying attention.

I let go of him and take a step back. I just didn't want him to be upset, I didn't want to argue, I didn't want any of that. Except, that he just said what he really thought, that I was a danger to myself and that he didn't trust me.

-I'm sorry, ok?! - I try to stop crying, but he had hurt me with what he said - I know I didn't act correctly, but... but I wanted to avoid arguing with you. I don't like it when that happens.

-If you had told me the truth, we wouldn't be here arguing now.

-But how much longer would you continue to treat me as a danger to myself? - the tears start to fall, as my voice rises in anger - Would you ever really let me train alone, since a blade is too dangerous for a clumsy person like me?

-Y/N, it's nothing like that. Don't distort my words, fuck!

-That's what you said! Is that why you said you wanted to train me? To watch every step of a clumsy person?

He moves forward and tries to grab me, but I move away again.

-You are exaggerating. You have potential, you're agile with a spear, you're just a little clumsy... but it never crossed my mind that you were irresponsible and went against what your sensei told you.

-Don't give me that now Zoro!

-No?! So how did you end up cutting yourself? Why did you hide that from me? Wasn't it so you wouldn't have to be lectured for knowing you did something you shouldn't have?

-This could have happened with you there or not. I'm clumsy, it's true. But there's no need to use that as an excuse to say that I'm a danger... - I hold back crying and look at him - Get out of my room, I want to be alone...

-What are you saying? I didn't say anything like that! - once again, he tries to advance towards me, but I dodge.

-Stay then, I'll leave! - I move forward quickly and push him by the shoulder to get past and run to the deck.

-Y/N! You're acting like a child! - I still hear him screaming, but I needed to get out of there.

I run across the deck, catching the attention of Nami and Usopp who were passing by, and I grab the ropes to climb up to the crow's nest. Zoro follows me but is stopped by Nami who grabs him by the t-shirt.

-What did you do this time Zoro? Why is Y/N crying?

-I'm the one who has reason to be upset, not her.

-We already know that perceiving emotions is not your strong point. What discussion was it this time? - Usopp intervenes now

-Leave me alone, I already said I didn't do anything! Fucking nosyheads! - he gives up the idea of ​​following me and goes back in, which makes me know how to breathe again.

I jump into the crow's nest and am startled to see that Luffy is resting there.

-You shouldn't have lied, he was just worried about you.

-I know, the discussion just ended up taking a different direction.. which is why I left out some details.

-Was it you who asked him to train you or was it him who said he would train you?

I look at him without understanding what he meant, and thinking that everyone had probably heard our discussion.

-Only after many attempts and almost dragging you, you let him show you and then accept that he became your sensei. You're his responsibility, and you got hurt due to disobedience - he gets up - no one thinks you're a danger or that you're getting in our way, you have a funny way of creating situations, you're skilled and agile like a fox, that's why I made you a straw hat - he smiles and before jumping he puts the hat on his head - apologize and accept your mistakes Y/N

He jumps up screaming for Sanji and food.

Two days spent avoiding Zoro. And when one of us happened to be in a space, the other would leave. I was reading against one of the orange trees when Nami appeared and stole the book from my hands.

-Hey! Give it back!

-How long are you going to avoid him? Enough of this environment. What happened between you two, this time is going too far.

-I don't know, I just can't face him... - I pull my knees back and grab them, shrinking myself and letting out a sigh.

Things got out of control, I was perfectly aware that I hadn't done the right thing. I hated feeling bad about him, especially because I missed him.

-But that doesn't mean that you stop following him with your gaze or vice versa - she kneels in front of me and lifts my chin with the book - You're going to apologize or I won't give you any more money to buy books ...

-That's not fair!

-You're also not being fair with him either. And you know that I rarely side with that idiot - she hands me the book and starts to walk away - every hour that' pass is less 50 berries

-Witch - I mumble to myself

-I heard that, it will go up to 100 berries!

I go in and close the door, leaving the bottle of sake on the chair where the swords are also standing.

-What do you want, Y/N? - he continues lying down with his eyes closed.

-Trying to redeem myself - I lean against the door and look around that space, I only realize that it was the first time that I was really inside - I acted like a child. I shouldn't have gone to train alone, much less hide the truth from you. I could give reasons, but I don't know why I did it, I just acted without thinking. It was irresponsible of me.

He finally decides to move, and it's as if he wakes up and sits up in bed. He looked at me, and I could feel that he was still upset, and was waiting for me to continue and say what I was there to do.

I take a few steps forward and bow slightly - I'm sorry sensei... I want to continue training with you and I promise not to go behind your back again - I felt nervous, I didn't want to argue anymore, I was fed up with that situation, I just wanted to get rid of that moment and we can be comfortable with each other again.

I was so focused on my thoughts, that I was scared when I saw that he was now in front of me, making me look at him - Don't do it again, you're my responsibility - his eyes shine, and in a movement that still I least expected it, he hugs me.

My heart races, it was so comforting to feel him enveloping me, I felt protected. Which was what he had always done since I joined the crew, directly or indirectly. I hug him back and rest my head on his shoulder.

-Am I excused? I... miss you Zoro. I hate it when we end up arguing.

-It's not the same to train without you, it's too lonely and quiet. The truth is that I like your company and that you're around - I try to let go of the hug, but he stops me - I'm sorry if I hurt you with my words, I care about you... you're someone I want to keep close and protect with all my strength.

What he had just said only made me hug him even more, I didn't want that hug to end -Thank you Zoro-sensei!

He ends the hug and slides his hand down my arm, holding my hand - you're important to me and I appreciate you.

I stare at him, not knowing what to say because what he had just said was a declaration of how he felt about me?!

english is not my first language, even thought I use it more than my native tongue. I try my best to adapt it 🫣

[thekinslayed]

Sweet, Wonderful You

summary | Aemond finds himself pleased with his new wife.

pairing | newlywed aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, oral (f), semi-public, spanking, hot hot sex, arranged marriage, fingering, Aemond Has Feelings, lots of fluff and marital bliss <3

wordcount | 5.6k

note | if i had a penny for every time Aemond was up to no good in a tent, i'd only have two pennies, but it's weird that it’s happened twice!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

(divider by @zaldritzosrose)

There was a slight rattle upon the earth when the hunting party returned with a thunderous arrival. Cheers and applause greeted the group of a hundred or so men, composed of noble lords, young squires, and knights to keep them all guarded in the woods. The hounds raced with the horses, barking at their feet. They had returned successfully after a full day and a half of hunting the prized stag, having departed a night before the rest of the royal party. 

Among the cluster, three heads of silver hair held a stark contrast from the rest. They rode straight to the center of the camp, stopping just before the royal tents. You stood with the Queen and your good sister, Helaena, who held a green little creature in her palm. Your fingers were wrung together anxiously as the princes dismounted their horses. One by one, Prince Aegon and Prince Daeron handed off their horses to the keepers, before coming over to greet their family, followed by your new husband, the one-eyed Prince Aemond. 

The King’s second son spotted you almost immediately upon returning to camp, keeping his good eye on you until he beckoned his horse to a halt. As he walked over, you felt a warm tinge in your cheeks when his good eye raked over your form. Your husband extended a hand to you when he was close enough, to which you hastily removed your glove to place your smaller palm in his. He dipped his head to press a kiss to your knuckles, greeting you, “Dear wife.”

“Well done, my prince. I was told of your great skills in hunting the stag,” you praised him. Behind his tall figure, you can see the beast being dragged away, blood staining the better half of its neck. You can feel the stares of onlookers around you, no doubt wanting to catch a glimpse of the newlyweds together. Your husband merely hummed, offering you a quip of a smile. 

"I was lucky, nothing more," Aemond said with a little bit of humility. The queen urged everyone to head inside the warm tent as the breeze began to lap at your faces with a sharp chill, the day slowly starting to dim. The prince took your hand and placed it on his elbow, turning his head to examine the dress you wore. It was a dark red, embellished with dragons of black thread, completed with a black underskirt and a dark fur trim along its neckline. A true Targaryen garment, paired with black fur-lined gloves your husband had given you before he left for the hunt. 

"Thank you for coming to greet me, my lady. You look lovely," he complimented, making you blush. It wasn’t often the prince would unleash compliments so openly, and in the short period you have been together, you had been bestowed mostly with formal and terse praises, this was a first. You ran a hand down your skirts shyly, happy to find your husband pleased with your attire. 

“Do you like it? It was a gift from Dragonstone. Your sister had written of her regret of not being able to come to the celebrations. Her being with child had prevented her from traveling, it seems,” you informed him. From your touch on his elbow, you feel your husband tense up. This immediately wiped the smile off your face, glancing up at him in slight worry of what you had said something to gain this reaction. His good eye blinked before his lips pursed, letting out another low hum.

“Half-sister.”

“W-what?”

“Rhaenyra, she is my half-sister,” Aemond corrected. You all but blanched at the return of his cold and distant tone, mentally kicking yourself for having forgotten the strife between King Viserys’ children. You didn’t miss the way when he mentioned her name, almost jeering. 

“Right, of course,” you chuckled awkwardly, before caressing his bicep with your other hand. Your husband led you into the tent, greeted by lords and ladies alike, who uttered praises of the pair of you making such a handsome couple. ‘Good fortune shall come to this union!’ and ‘Your marriage shall ever be fruitful!’ they praised, and you thanked them graciously with a smile. Aemond let you entertain your guests, who had traveled from all over the Seven Kingdoms to witness the marriage of the royal prince and his lady.

Somehow, you managed to make your way to where the Queen sat with her father, the Lord Hand. They bore satisfied smiles on their faces, and you approached them with your husband, an equally bright smile on your features.

“This has been the most splendid affair! The gods have been kind,” Alicent said, visibly pleased. Aemond expressed his word of thanks to his mother, before exchanging a courteous nod with his grandfather.

“Yes, they have,” you spoke softly, turning your head to look at your dragon prince. “They’ve kept my husband out of harm’s way, for that I am glad.”

Otto held a satisfied smile on his face at your words, pleased with having orchestrated this union. It was by his doing that your father had been called to court to sit on the King’s council, and with the highly revered lord’s arrival to the Red Keep, he brought with him his only daughter, seven and ten years of age. You had been given the role of a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena, joining the handful of other royal ladies that accompanied the princess.  

Aemond always knew he would marry for duty. To whom, he knew naught, up until he heard of you. It was determined that you shall be wed to the prince upon the endorsement from Otto Hightower to the King, though your father had asked for the marriage to happen after you turned eight and ten. Aemond had caught glimpses of you with Helaena and her ladies, but had never sought you out himself. He wasn’t one to meddle with his sister’s activities with her group, with their singing, sewing, and all of their giggling, but the few times he had seen you he thought you the most handsome out of all of them. A shy little thing you were, never boisterous or commanding. The princess often asked you to be her sole companion most days, when she had grown tired of being surrounded by different voices and faces. Helaena had expressed her delight after learning of your and Aemond’s nuptials, happy to see her favorite lady and her favorite brother together. 

He was pleased with this union, to say the least. You were quite the beauty, graceful, and well-equipped with the knowledge of history and philosophy, as well as the talent for playing the harp. He considered himself lucky not to be stuck with a woman he would not agree with in ego, like a Lannister. As meek as you were, you still possessed wit, but of an unassuming kind. The prince courted you for 4 moons, gracing your days with his presence as he accompanied you on walks through the royal gardens, sat with you in the library while you both read, and visited you in Helaena’s chambers when the rest of her ladies were dismissed. On your nameday, he had gifted you with an exquisite set of jewelry, a pair of earrings and a necklace of sapphire. He took quite an interest in you, despite his usual stoic expressions. Aemond was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and as much as he tried to ignore it, to be graced by the sight of you became a part of his days, and dreams of you filled his nights. However, despite all the time you had spent together, it was difficult to move past the formalities, especially with your interactions being heavily chaperoned and coupled with your timidness around the prince and Aemond's stiff demeanor. It turned out that Aemond's mastery of history and philosophy failed to equip him with the expertise of courting a woman.

Much to his dismay, the prince felt he had barely scratched the surface of you after four moons, but he considered it no matter, for he had a lifetime to explore your every facet.

One thing he did learn, however, was how you turned flustered so easily at his words, and how he reveled in making a beautiful woman blush.

On the night of your nuptials, Aemond had seen a shift in your usual doe-like eyes to something lush. The prince was grateful for having been granted his request to forego the bedding ceremony. You had made such pretty sounds for him, from the moment he sucked his first mark on your neck, to when your plush bosom was exposed to the dark room, up to when he stretched you out on his fingers, and ultimately, his cock. To have shared this moment with the debauched eyes of the others would be a great disgrace, and Aemond felt prideful of having witnessed such a reaction in his new wife. He saw a heady tinge glaze over your eyes when you had first spilled on his fingers, your confidence growing as you dug your nails into his shoulders while he thrust his hips into your weeping cunny. 

The morning after, his lady wife greeted him with a bashful smile, sweet as always. The evidence of your consummation merely existed in the marks on your neck and the blood-stained sheet discarded on the floor. On your second night, you had offered yourself to your husband, despite the terrible ache in between your thighs, but Aemond graciously declined, not wanting to have his wife too sore on the royal hunt that was to follow.

As the night went on and the nobility began to disperse from the royal tent to retire to their accommodation, Aemond found himself in his own pavilion, thinking about you. For the sake of propriety, you had been placed in a separate tent from your husband. He had bathed himself clean from the muck that clung to his pale skin, and changed into his night clothes to retire after almost two days of rigorous hunting. However, in the warmth from the small fire in his tent, Aemond felt a strange twinge in his chest. He felt the need to see you, perhaps even share the bed for the night. Aemond thought himself ridiculous, especially with the slight air of formality that still lingered between the two of you, but was a pull he felt, an odd need to be around you. And in the dead of night, the one-eyed prince, in all his formality and adherence to standards, let his feet guide him out of his tent to make the small walk towards yours. 

Your handmaiden was brushing your hair after helping you change into your nightgown when you heard a low voice through the tarp of your accommodation. You recognize it as your husband’s, and you had bid him to enter without hesitation. The maidservant made quick work to finish brushing your hair, before leaving with a bow when Aemond had entered. You turned to your prince, rising from your seat to greet him with a soft smile. The surprise on your face was evident, not expecting him to seek you out so late in a somewhat public environment. Perhaps he had a matter to discuss, one that could not wait until the morn.

Gods, was it about the dress?

“Is something the matter, lord husband?” you asked him. In the dim flicker of light from the small fire you had requested in your tent, Aemond’s good eye ran over the swell of your breasts, accentuated by the shadows. The prince cleared his throat, crossing his hands on his lower back.

“Should there be a matter at hand for me to see my wife?” he asked rhetorically. You blushed, flustered for having asked such a question. 

“Of course not,” you chuckled sheepishly, before approaching to hold him by the elbows, beckoning him to the fire. “Come.”

Your husband walked around the tent, studying the arrangements made for your accommodation. You walked over to the makeshift vanity they had provided, rubbing some oil into the ends of your hair to finish your nightly routine. 

“You were treated well in my absence, I hope?” Aemond spoke up. You turned to find him settled on the edge of your cot, leaning his weight on his palm.

“Oh, yes. Everyone has been kind... though quite curious I must say,” you answered, wiping away the residue on your fingers. Aemond raised an eyebrow at your words.

“About?”

You bit the inside of your cheek at his question, recalling the incessant prodding of the ladies of the court to learn more of how your husband has been thus far. You tried to answer the queries to the best of your abilities, though avoiding indulging too much in your husband’s private matters. That proved to be quite difficult, because the questions they asked the most were about his abilities in the marriage bed.

“About us. H-how our first night was and the like,” you stammered. You had no intent to lie to your husband, especially not so early in your marriage, but it still flustered you to discuss such matters. The corner of your husband’s lips quirked up in a smirk, and his eyebrow stayed raised as he continued to question you about the court’s inquisitiveness.

“And? What did you tell them?” He urged. Your fingers fiddled with the fringes of your robe, an anxious habit. You bit your lip while your cheeks turned pink, your mind struggling to find the words. 

“I told them it was quite… satisfactory,” you admitted, to which your husband responded with a hum.

“Satisfactory?”

“Well, I couldn’t really say much with your mother listening close by!” You all but squeaked, earning a low chuckle from the prince. He nodded his head slightly, satisfied with your answer. He rose from the cot, walking over to where you stood. Your head tilted up slightly as Aemond loomed over you, his good eye darkened to a dark amethyst from the lack of illumination in the tent. His smirk never fell, amused with how quickly you had grown flustered.

“And what did you really think about our first night, princess? Was it indeed satisfactory?” He asked. Your eyes tore away from him, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. They shifted around the room warily, focusing on anything but his piercing gaze, before giving him a meek nod. Two of his fingers lifted your chin back up to look at him, and he tilted his head slightly, raising his eyebrow to silently urge you to use your words. By your sides, your hands curled the fabric into your tight fists.

“Y-yes… more than that,” you admitted, warmth spreading all over your face up to the tip of your ears. Aemond merely hummed, his good eye raking over your features in thought.

To say your wedding night was satisfactory was a great understatement. As a girl, you had been taught whatever happened in the marriage bed was to be done under the grace of the Seven and with the utmost delicacy, it was your duty after all. To indulge in anything else would be a sin, and my, what a sweet sin it was. Your lord husband had managed to spurn sounds from you that you had never heard from your own lips. You had never been so overcome with such fire, such pulsing desire. He had touched you in ways that would have your Septa gasp in horror.

You had expected pain and a husband who would only do so much to get himself to spill his seed in your womb, yet there was little of that. Prince Aemond may not be the image of a romantic prince from the fairytales of your girlhood, but he had shown you a fire only a dragon can possess. He was as prolific of a lover as he was a scholar, and for a moment you had wondered how many women he had touched, licked, and sucked the way he did with you in order to become such a master in this art, though it mattered little. You were his woman now, and he was welcome to devour you however he liked. 

Your husband prepared you for what felt like hours, scissoring his deft fingers in your sweet cunt, his lips sucked on the stiff buds of your breast relentlessly, up until you were covered with a sheen of sweat before he finally took hold of your thighs and split you open with his cock.

He made you a quivering mess that night, spilling on his fingers and his cock beautifully. You were in awe at your own body’s response to his touch, your mind grew hazy the further you lost yourself in the throes of pleasure. When you had returned to your senses, he had wiped you clean and threw the furs over your naked body.

After having been exposed to him in the intimate enclosure of your marital chambers, you had wished to be kept in your new husband's embrace when you slept, but cordiality soon returned between the two of you. It was almost as if the events that had just passed were merely a dream, a fleeting expulsion of desire, and the night ended with you and Aemond lying on separate sides of the mattress.

The morning after, the quivering ache of your thighs served as a keepsake of your wedding night, and as much as you struggled to walk through the halls of the Keep, you found yourself craving more. On your second night, you had offered yourself to your prince, in hopes of being consumed by such fire again. To your dismay, your husband had refused, mostly because he watched you walk around with a slight limp all day and didn’t wish to put you in a further state of discomfort. On the third night, with Aemond having already departed for the hunt, you laid alone in your marital chambers, left to thoughts of your dragon prince.

Now, on your fourth night, your husband stood before you, his thumb caressing the plump flesh of your bottom lip. From his proximity, you could see how his pupil began to dilate, black threatening to overtake purple. 

“Are you still sore?” He asked in a low whisper. You shook your head lightly, careful not to shake off his grip, before whispering a soft ‘no’. With your words, his good eye flickered to meet your gaze for a second, before returning to your mouth. His head dipped down, capturing your lips in a kiss. You sighed, secretly in relief, at the feeling of his mouth upon yours once again. You let him guide you, following his pace as his tongue dipped into your cavern. The kiss was gentle, but getting your fill after going without his caress for two days made you breathless almost instantly. 

The both of you pulled away, and Aemond was tantalized at the sight of you. There it was, the change in your gaze. A look akin to hunger glazed over your orbs, and a flush ran across your cheek to the tip of your nose, your pink lips glistened with spit. He descended his lips onto your neck, replacing the fading marks on your neck with new ones. A soft whimper left you when your prince sucked on a spot that almost had your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. You softly caressed the back of his head, feeling the silky strands of silver under your fingertips.

Decency nagged in the back of your head, reminding you that despite the privacy provided by the pavilion, the thin tarp would do little to conceal any sound that would indicate to the guests your activities. 

“Aemond…” you breathed out. Your husband hummed against your skin, the vibrations of his voice shooting down straight to your core. “S-should we be doing this here?” 

Aemond lifted his head, pressing his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes as the warmth he exuded engulfed your entire being. “I do not see why not. We are alone, dear wife.”

“People will hear,” you reasoned. Your eyes opened to find him looking at you with an impish smirk, a sight so roguish in contrast to the formal prince you once knew.

“Let them hear. Why don’t we let them all know how diligent we are in doing our duty, hm?” He said, pulling away from you. You let him walk you backward, sitting on the edge of the cot when the back of your knees hit the wooden frame. Aemond bent to recapture your lips, his hand wandering down to cup your clothed breast. With frantic hands, you untied the robe covering your nightgown, shrugging it off to discard it off to the side. You had donned more modest apparel compared to the one you wore on your wedding night, sleeves much longer than the frail straps of the nightgown he had first seen you in. Still, the cotton was almost sheer, and the dark rings of your nipples were visible even in the dim light.

Next, you pulled Aemond’s tunic from his breeches, helping him pull off the garment. When he bent down to kiss you once more, your hands slithered to the back of his head. Your fingertips toyed with the clasp holding his eyepatch in place with the intention of taking the leather off, but his hand quickly covered yours, halting its ministrations.

“No,” was all he said. Aemond straightened back to his full height, looking down at you from the tip of his aquiline nose. You visibly gulped at the commanding aura that seemed to surround him, making you feel submissive, completely pliant to his will. Your thighs squeezed together to soothe the ache in your throbbing core, watching his long fingers untie the laces of his breeches. Before you were granted the sight of his long, beautiful cock, he grabbed either side of your waist to urge you to lie on your stomach. Your dragon grabbed a pillow, placing it underneath your abdomen to prop your hips up. Your heart thumped in anticipation, and your breath hitched in your throat when you felt the cool air kiss your rear when he lifted the hem of your nightgown. His large, calloused hands took hold of either cheek, spreading and squeezing the supple flesh of your rear. In between, your cunny started to glisten, tears of arousal dripping from your slit. 

A gasp left your lips when you feel his tongue swipe a hot strip down your opening, hearing him groan as he tasted your essence. He bestowed more licks to your cunt soon after, dipping into your slit to test. You pressed your face into the sheets in an attempt to muffle your whines, but in suppressing your responses, your hips started to squirm restlessly the more his tongue prodded at you. A squeal, one a little too loud to your liking, escaped you when your husband’s hand smacked your rear.

“Stay still,” he ordered, before diving back into your sweet cunt. You fisted the sheets in your hands, biting your lips hard when Aemond began fucking you with his tongue. The hot, wet muscle breached your walls deep in this position, much deeper than the first time. Breathless moans fell from your lips at the sensation of his mouth on your cunt, the act so utterly sinful and debauched. To your knowledge, you had never heard of any husband doing such a thing to his wife, more often than not hearing of the wife doing it to her husband instead. You silently thanked the gods for having bestowed you a husband unlike the others, a prince who took pleasure in giving you yours. 

A particularly loud moan filled the space when two of your husband’s fingers replaced his tongue, preparing you for his cock. Aemond stood back tall, his purple eye trained on the way your cunny swallowed his fingers, and the imprint of his hand that started to redden on your arse. You subtly moved your hips back to meet his hand, desperate for more.

“My, look at you, dear wife. I always thought you were a prim little thing, but here you are, fucking yourself on my fingers, moaning like some common whore,” he remarked. You whined at his words, embarrassment creeping up your spine, though you cared little, not when your lustful cravings for your husband clouded your mind. You craned your head to meet Aemond’s gaze from your position, catching the way he smirked out of the corner of your eye.

“Do you like it that much?” He asked, to which you nodded eagerly. You softly pleaded, ‘Please, husband’, and Aemond grunted in response.

“What is it you want, princess?” 

You propped yourself on an elbow, turning to face him, still on your stomach. Your eyes slightly widened to find his cock already exposed. He had been softly stroking it while fucking you with his fingers, evidently overcome with as much desire as you were. Now, his length sat heavy in his hand while he awaited your answer, tip flushed a deep red while it weeped a clear liquid.

“I want you, Aemond, all of you,” you made known. The prince let out another hum, before pulling his fingers out. You felt the mattress dip as he kneeled on the bed, caging you in between his legs. He propped himself on a hand by your side, the other holding his cock to line himself with your slit. Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt the blunt end of his cockhead press against your slit, letting out a whine when he breached your opening. His chest pressed against your back, the weight of his body on yours a welcome comfort. The prince’s breath was hot against the side of your face, and his deep groan echoed directly into your ear. He slid into your cunt inch by inch, tight walls hugging his length perfectly. He cursed under his breath when he finally bottomed out, lips pressing a kiss to your cheek as his nose nuzzled to inhale the scent of your sweet flesh.

“Gods above,” he groaned. His hips started to move with small, slow thrusts, still letting you adjust to the size of his impressive length. You whimpered, pressing your forehead against the bed while Aemond panted in your ear. “Such a tight fucking cunny. Perfectly made to take my cock, hm?”

“Yes, husband, it is all yours,” you moaned. As your walls started to relax, Aemond gained more space to thrust his length in and out of you. His pace began to pick up, the fabric of his breeches rubbing against your rear as his hips drove forward to meet yours. His cockhead kissed the tip of your cervix, causing a wave of pleasure to spread in your lower belly. 

Hearing Aemond’s grunts in your ear only spurned your arousal further. With his body covering yours, you felt him everywhere, from his breath that hit the side of your face, the fine hairs of his chest tickling the skin of your back, and the slapping of his hips against your plump flesh as he drove his cock into you relentlessly. His large hand crept up to intertwine with yours, holding your smaller hand tightly. The cot’s wooden frame began to creak at the sheer force of his thrusts, your body jerking as he fucked you mercilessly. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip to bite back the sobs that threatened to escape you, but your head was turned to the side to meet Aemond’s eager lips. He swallowed down the desperate moans that reverberated from you, before pulling away to press his damp forehead against the side of your burning cheek. 

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, reverent and faithful, as your husband hurled you closer to your release. Aemond felt your walls start to tighten back up, pulsing, indicating the beginning of your release. His free hand sneaked in between your front, finding your pearl to stimulate. The circles rubbed on your nub only served to tighten the coil in your belly that threatened to snap, and your eyes clenched shut as your husband rendered you witless.

“Are you going to come for me, sweet wife?” He rasped in your ear. A chorus of whiny yesses fell from your lips, followed by more sobs.

Aemond felt a hot lick of pleasure deep within his belly, indicating his own climax was fast approaching. He drove his cock even harder into you, the pads of his fingers rubbing your clit at a lightning speed that began to cramp his forearm. He paid it no mind, determined to have you fall apart first. Your walls pulsed uncontrollably, squeezing and massaging his cock. Your nipples rubbed against the pillow underneath you, and with a particularly harsh thrust, you fell apart on Aemond’s cock. 

Your release washed over you like the tide, rendering you lightheaded as you spilled around your husband’s length. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, chasing his own end. Your legs bent to kick upwards as you began to squirm in overstimulation, though Aemond’s weight on your body prevented you from moving away. With one more thrust, then two, Aemond’s cock twitched in your cunt, before painting your walls with hot, white dragonseed. 

After he emptied his fill into your womb, your husband slumped in exhaustion, lying on top of you with his sweaty forehead pressed against your shoulder. Both of you took a moment to catch your breath, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. You remained lying prone, eyes closed, as Aemond pulled out of you. You felt the mixture of your juices spill from your slit, whining when he pushed it back into your sensitive core with his finger. 

You opened your eyes to watch him walk off to grab a clean cloth to clean you with, pouring some water from a jug to soak the fabric. The damp material felt cool against your hot skin, still sheened with sweat. You shifted to lie on your back, turning to look at Aemond as he cleaned himself off. Your eyes ran down the ripple of fine muscle down his back, tracing the way his form tapered at the waist with your gaze.

“Will you stay?” You whispered, making him look at you. His good eye studied you, with your flush face and glistening skin. You looked at him with a gaze that made him feel warm inside, a feeling so strange and new. 

“Do you want me to?” He responded, to which you nodded yes. Throwing the rag on a basket, Aemond walked back to the cot, settling under the furs that you pushed back for him. Hesitantly, he lifted his arm to wrap around you, and you snuggled into his embrace without him having to ask.

It was quite pleasant, he realized, to have a wife to hold in his arms. And as you drifted off, he caressed your back soothingly, planting soft kisses on your forehead that you didn’t feel in your slumber. 

It was past the hour of the wolf when a sudden strong breeze in the night air drifted through the tent, causing you to stir awake to snuggle further into your husband’s warmth. A comforting warmth sparked in your heart to be in such a position, never having expected the prince to be one to cuddle at night. A satisfied sigh left your lips, before they pressed a soft kiss to the base of his neck.

You tilted your head up to cast a glance at him, letting out a small gasp when you caught the twinkle of a gemstone lodged into your husband’s left socket. The sapphire glinted like a star, reflecting the dying embers of the fire. Slowly lifting your hand to his face, your thumb softly caressed the indent of his scar, in awe of such beauty. You thought back to when he refused to remove his eyepatch earlier in the night, and you wondered why he chose not to flaunt such a mesmerizing sight. He must have slipped off the leather patch when you had descended into slumber.

In the short period you had come to know your husband, you had learned the loss of his eye was a pain he held in his heart. The small details Helaena had divulged caused an ache in your heart for the young boy that he was, and you understood why he harbored such grievance. To catch a small glimpse of the sapphire, albeit unintentionally, felt like an intrusion on the deepest part of Aemond's core, a peek of the well-hidden display of all his true glory.

Aemond slightly stirred from your touch in his face, causing you to pull away lest you disturb his sleep. You leaned to press a light kiss to his jaw, before going back to sleep with an affection in your chest that would only grow as the days went by.

In the morn, Aemond returned to his tent just as the dawn broke through the horizon. Few began to litter around, mostly setting up for everyone to break their fast before they departed back to the Red Keep. He dressed for the day, donning a dark green doublet, embroidered with dragons of gold thread. Afterwards, he walked over and peeked into your tent, finding you having your hair fixed by your handmaiden, still clad in your shift. Aemond left to let you finish getting ready, walking over to where his family began to gather around. Daeron and Aegon were already in playful banter despite the early hour, while Helaena sat with their mother, playing with a beetle she had found in the grass.

“Brother!” Daeron greeted, slapping Aemond on the back. The second son let out a warning grunt, to which the youngest only responded with a grin. “Where were you last night? We tried to find you, but you weren’t in your tent. We wanted to celebrate your nuptials, brother, Aegon had even snuck some jugs of Dornish wine into his tent!” 

“Ah, let him be, Daeron. He must have been taking a shit in the woods,” Aegon quipped, earning a hearty laugh from Daeron and a glare from Aemond. Alicent sighed, massaging her temples at hearing her son’s words.

“I was with my wife, Aegon. Perhaps you should check on yours,” Aemond retorted, eye glancing over to where their sister had wandered off to the trees to find more critters to add to her collection. The smile on Aegon’s face dropped, following his brother’s gaze.

“Boys, please, it is too early. Daeron, why don’t you come sit with me while Aemond fetches his wife? Aegon, don't let Helaena wander too far.” Upon their mother’s words, all three sons split up to walk off in different directions. Aemond walked back to your tent, just in time to catch you step out. His good eye slightly widened at the sight of you, beautifully dressed in a light blue garment of your homeland’s style. It was vastly different to the dress Rhaenyra had gifted you, but it suited you better. What caught his eye, however, was the shimmering jewelry paired to your dress. The gems of sapphire sparkled under the morning sun, sitting prettily on your chest and dangling from your ears. You gave Aemond a small smile, approaching him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Good morrow, lord husband,” you greeted him, caressing his cheek. Aemond muttered a greeting in return, still tantalized at how well you wore the stone. Pride swelled in his chest to see the marks he had left peek underneath the necklace, his possessiveness growing with well you wore the stone, clearly now marked as his. 

“How beautiful you are, dear wife,” he praised, causing you to blush as you expressed your thanks. His eye regarded you with fondness, a softness in his gaze that previously wasn’t there. Taking his hand in yours, Aemond let you intertwine your fingers as you walked hand in hand to greet everyone. Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt the promise of something good coming to your marriage. You had never expected such delight to come your way when you were promised to the King’s second son, but as the days passed, you found yourself blossoming under the warmth of his presence. Indeed, good fortune shall come to your union.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐃 ! ❞

❝ A GOOD GIRL SUMMONING THE KING OF CURSES -- WHAT COULD GO WRONG? ❞

✧ pairing: heian form! ryomen sukuna x good girl! reader

✧ summary: you've always been a goody two shoes -- or so your friends say -- so what happens when you decide to do the first bad thing you've ever attempted and try summoning a demon -- and it actually works?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, dub/con / non/con (dead dove, do not eat), reader summons sukuna accidentally, monster fucking, corruption kink, reader is a virgin, dom! sukuna, heian form! sukuna, four arms, mouth stomach, size kink, oral (f + m) (f receiving via mouth stomach), handjob (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, degradation kink (slut, whore), overstimulation (f! receiving), description of violence (no violence happens), art by @/danXL4 (on dA), dividers by @/saradika

✧ wc: 4,916

Summon a demon in your apartment, they said. It would be fun, they said. 

‘They’ meaning your stupid ass friends who were too fucking scared to stay here with you while you did it. 

Maybe you should’ve thought this through, preferably before you sat in a circle of blood (animal blood taken humanely that could not be used — don’t worry, you weren’t completely insane), and painted the symbols around the circle in the living room, your carpet rolled up, and on the precipice of unfurling, and your coffee table pushed aside. 

Your phone buzzed with messages in your group chat: 

Don’t do this, girl. 

Another message. 

What if it’s real? I don’t want something to happen to you - like I rather not have this on my conscience

What heartfelt pleas, you shook your head, as you put your phone on ‘do not disturb,’ and propped it up before opening the camera app and hitting record. 

Your fucking friends — it was all their fault to begin with. 

You grit your teeth, you are tired of being boring. You were always studying, always coming home early, always getting to class on time, always the fucking good girl, never getting fucked up or fucked for that matter. And your friends always taunted you for it — told you that you never lived a day in your life, that you’d always live sheltered in your apartment with your books and your streaming apps (which, you admitted, did sound pretty good to you) — but you wanted to prove them wrong. 

All the fuck they did that was daring was go to supposedly haunted sights and get the piss scared out of them — like yeah, that really was the wind, not some fucking ghost. If it was a ghost, pretty sure they would choose someone better to haunt — not a bunch of fucking pussies. 

You needed better friends. 

So for once — if only to get them to shut up — you wanted to do something crazy. 

You don’t know why a demon summoning was the hill you had chosen to die on, but you already climbed your way to the top of the hill, you supposed, so you might as well die on it. You looked through the Reddit thread you found on demon summoning (of course the most reliable of sources), looking over the incantation you were supposed to read, as you turned on your camera. 

Fuck. This was going to fucking dumb. You grabbed your lighter, lining up your candles around the circle, before kneeling in front of it. 

“To summon the King of Curses,” you read before you scoffed, what the fuck were you doing? ‘The King of Curses’ — they couldn’t even come up with anything more creative than that? Like no latin? Or even japanese folklore — no, instead the most generic ass of names, “To summon the King of Curses, you must read the following incantation,” you glance at your phone’s camera with lips pursed — you were going to prove a point — but why did it feel so goddamn stupid? 

You sighed, rubbing your forehead, as you suck in air between your teeth, and sighed, before reading the incantation: “Rise, Disgraced One — Oh, the King of the Golden Age that reigned supreme,” there was a chill that grazed the back of your neck, a slight breeze that raises goosebumps along your skin, “Open the Gate of Hell and let the King corrupt you. Fuga,” 

The flames on the candles shoot to the ceiling, as a scream lodges itself in your throat, as you barely scramble back enough to avoid getting your face burned off. The fire licks the ceiling, and a thick cloud of smoke floods your apartment, sweeping through the apartment, as you begin to cough, eyes burning with tears. 

“What the fuck—“ you reach for your phone in your pocket only to realize it’s still set up to record in that fucking mess of flames. You’re frozen, as you stand trying to recall what they taught you about fire safety growing up — is opening a window a good thing or a bad thing? Where’s the fire alarm? Do you even have a fire extinguisher? Thinking dangerous things through wasn’t your specialty, you supposed because you never did them. 

Fuck, if you died, you would become a fucking ghost and haunt your friends. 

But the flames ebb away, leaving some scorch marks on the ceiling (fun thing to explain to your landlord), as your lungs struggled to cope with the flood of smoke dispersing, the cloud so thick, you could barely see your hand in front of your face. The haze seared at your throat, drawing a smoker’s cough from your lungs, while your eyes could barely open, waterlogged by the sheer amount of tears spilling. 

You gently wipe tears away from your eyes, as you blink them away, until you stumble to your window to throw it open, coughing, as you stick your head out. 

“What the fuck,” you mumble, throat raw — was it the candles you bought? Were the candles somehow really fucking defective? Or did you somehow actually summon a demon? You snort, no, it was probably the candles. You leaned against the window sill, letting the smoke escape — as you finally were able to breathe again. 

You sigh, shutting the window, turning back around — only to find four eyes staring back. 

He was huge. A hulking mass of muscles, four arms, instead of two, and each one was possibly wider than your head, no shirt or covering to find the exposed skin — his dark blue pants hung low around his waist and above it was a weird groove in the middle of his stomach. 

Your eyes raise as he lifts his arm, as you flinch, but he only rakes his fingers through his dark pink hair, pushing it back roughly. showing off the hands of black around the middle of his bicep and his wrists. Broken lines wrap down from his shoulders into jagged points that end in the middle of his chest. Black dots adorn the sides of his shoulders, hollow vacuums that stared back at you. 

Two eyes on each side of his face — but his right eyes were raised, as if he bore a mask made of wood or raised skin — you didn’t know which — fused to his face. But something told you — as you took a step back — it wasn’t something you wanted to find out. 

“Are you the brat who dared to summon me?” And you freeze at the sound of his voice, ringing with such a weight, it nearly brought you to your knees. Your eyes fell to the ground, unable to bring yourself to look at him — your heart rattling against your ribs. His presence was a pressure, the air around you seemed to still, his voice ringing in your ears. Your muscles were drawn taut, unable to move — shivers ripping down your spine. 

“Yes,” you manage a whisper only, resisting the urge to squeeze your eyes shut. 

He gives a small chuckle, “So submissive for the one who dared to summon me,” his heavy footsteps out of the circle, melts the candles beside his foot to puddles of wax, “it has been eons since I’ve been able to roam free—“ he inhales, as you stand frozen, hearing his hulking form drawing even closer, “I can smell the humans, roaming free, wriggling like worms in the crevices of this place — I can’t wait to massacre them,” and then he pauses a moment, as he considers you. 

“Brat, look at me,” you swallow, as your head slowly rises to meet his gaze, his form towering over you, standing two steps away from you, letting you dwell in the void of his shadow, “tell me, what did you use to summon me?” 

You blink, “I found it—I don’t know—“ 

“Read it to me,” he orders — there’s no option to disobey, unless you’d love to be met with certain death. So you move slowly to your laptop, reading the incantation again, “‘and let the King corrupt you. Fuga,” 

His eyes narrow, as a slow smirk settles over his features, a smirk that sends an icy chill down your spine, “Woman, you have no idea what you’ve done, have you?” 

Two of his arms are crossed while one of the other’s reaches for you — and your eyes shut now — you are surely dead, but instead of a hand around your neck, you feel fingers grip your chin. 

You wait for the embrace of death (at least maybe you’d find better friends in the afterlife), but it never comes, instead you hear a deep chuckle, as another arm curls around your waist and brings you flush to him, “You humans are so tiny, so fragile, one wrong move and i could break you,” and another large hand is slipping down the curves of your body, “I suppose I’ll have to be a little careful — only for this to work, and I suppose for your benefit as well,” and your eyes finally dare to open and peek at him, only for his face to draw near, breath warming your lips, “I’m going to savor corrupting you, little one,” 

“What the fuck—“ you try to break away, but his grip is like iron shackles around your wrists, as he forces your arms around his waist, caged in by his own arms, “please let me go—“

Before you can even finish your plea, his lips meet yours, swallowing your gasp with a smirk. His large hands around your waist left no space for retreat, not that you’d make it far even if you tried. His kiss sent a slow burning heat throughout your body, a spark that grew in your belly that ignited when his tongue slid into your mouth. His touch only added fuel to the flame — his hands skimming over your sides slowly like warm honey sliding down your skin. 

He parts your kiss ruined lips, not before his teeth bite down on your bottom lip, a smirk on his lips as he sees your saliva slip down the corner of your mouth. Your lips parted and puffy as he drags his thumb down them, eyes blown out with pleasure. 

“That’s it, give in,” and the haze that settles over you is thick and unforgiving, unable to see anything but the King of Curses before you and unable to need anything but pleasure at his hands. 

“Please,” a small hint of resistance remained stubbornly — you couldn’t let this monster have his way with you — for fuck’s sake, much less lose your virginity to him, “I can’t,” 

“But you want to,” he hums, as large fingers tug at your flimsy shorts, the fabric tearing with ease, until it was in shreds, a shiver running up your spine at the thought that your limbs could have been too, “your mouth says one thing, brat, but your lower lips,” a thick finger presses at the wet patch on your panties, rubbing against your puffy clit, “say another,” 

You whimper, as his finger bears down harshly through the thin fabric, “please,” you swallow, as he leans down to lick the drool from your lips, “please—“ 

“Please, what, little one?” he chuckles, as he presses wet kisses up your jaw, “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me,” your knees are beginning to buckle, as the ache between your legs only grows, “I know you must look pretty when you cry, so do you want to cry for me, brat?” and his piercing gaze nearly brings you tears along, “because I can give you something to cry about,” 

“Do you ever shut up?” you mutter, but that only seems to make the corner of his lip tug upwards. 

“I can make you shut up,” And two hands squeeze your hips roughly, while another slips under your shirt, “No undercovering? It’s as if you wanted this all long,” he chides, a huff in his voice, as his finger teases your pert nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and pulling, drawing a yelp from your lips, “hoping for an incubus or some other curse or demon?” he’s tugging down his pants, revealing his dick—-if you could call it that. 

Fuck, was that a cock or another appendage all together? Far thicker and longer than any male anatomy you’ve seen depicted or described in even the filthiest corners of the internet — pretty veins running up the sides, as a mess of pre-cum dripped off the engorged tip, flushed red with need. 

“Why did you summon me?” he demands to know as he leans down to take a nipple between his lips, and you know you have no choice but to answer. 

“I wanted to prove to my friends that I wasn’t—” it was so pathetic now, as you stood before a literal deity of death, “wasn’t just a good girl,” 

He chuckles, a bark more than a laugh almost, as you swallow thickly as your eyes can’t tear away from the sight of his dick — would he kill you with it instead of his hands? 

“Well, you aren’t anymore are you?” he scoffs, and you fail to notice his hand shifting to tug your underwear off, a gasp ripped from you, as another hand brushed against your bare cunt roughly, “Look at how fucking wet you are already, slut, so much already leaking all over my fingers,” he shows you the strings of pre-cum connecting his fingers, before he brings his fingers to his lips and his tongue darts out to lick them clean, “I’d say no respectable woman would be dripping this much if she was so good,” he hums, before sighing mockingly, “although, perhaps I should preserve your sanctity, even a little. It would be unfortunate to leave you like this — even more so, to leave myself like this, but if that is truly what’s for the best—“ his grip begins to loosen, but your fingers find his shoulder. 

Two words manage to leave your lips — and you don’t know whether it’s that you’re under his spell or under your own — but you know that you need this “Don’t go,” 

His lips curl. He wasn’t going to begin with — but it was so much easier if you gave in. 

~~~

“C’mon little one, you were so eager only a moment ago,” The King of Curses chides, amusement threaded through his tone from behind you, watching as you nearly straddled his stomach — though you had realized it wasn’t just a stomach. A tongue flicked out over lips that formed over the middle of his abdomen, right under you. 

“I didn’t know—“ your cheeks warmed, your walls fluttering at that thought of that tongue against your leaking cunt. 

“Yet you’re so eager,” he scoffs, before using a large hand to tug you against it as two hands settle against your waist to hold you in place, “and I’ve run out of patience, so be a good whore and take my cock,” and he’s pushing your head down, sharp fingernails digging into your scalp, as his large cock slaps your face, smearing his pre cum over your cheek and lips. 

Your lips part, the tip of your tongue tracing his weeping slit, drawing a hiss from his lips, before your mouth engulfs the head, while your fingers curl around his thick base. And as you do, you feel his tongue drag over the length of your cunt, making you gasp around his cock. 

His mouth and tongue are even larger than the one on his face, slurping and sucking, as his tongue begins to work its way inside your needy cunt. 

“Don’t slack, brat,” his hand pushing your head further down on his cock, nearly burying your face in his pubes, “come on, do a good job, and I may even give you the pleasure of being fucked by me,” 

You force yourself to focus on sucking his cock, tracing the pretty veins with your tongue, before suckling at the tip, savoring the groan you draw from his lips. The squelch of your cunt as his tongue begins to fuck you open, thicker than even four of your fingers, fills your ears. Two of his hands find your tits, tweaking and twisting your nipples, squeezing as he presses the flat of his palms against your breasts, only for tongues to dart out from his palms. You gasp around his length, as his other mouths suck at your tits, swirling their tongue around it. 

His hips jerk against your mouth when your fingers cup his balls, and he thrusts, “You can do better,” he grunts, as his tip grazes your throat, his mouth closing around your clit and sucking, hard, and you’re grinding on his abs and mouth now, toes curling as you cum, and his mouth only eagerly swallows it, the sticky release coating his abs. 

His cock twitches in your mouth as you moan around it, as you recover from your orgasm, beginning to suck at his cock, nearly high off the pleasure, as you fondle his balls, bobbing your head up and down, until he’s finally groaning, his hot release flooding your mouth. 

“Don’t waste a drop,” he growls, as you swallow it, blissed out and panting, as your lips leave his weeping cock, slapping against your cheek as he lifts you easily and places you on your back, “don’t tell me you’re done after that, little one,” and your eyes slide down to see his somehow still erect dick, standing tall as he kneels on your bed, his hulking form burying you in his shadow, “because I’m far from done yet,” his cock twitches at the sight of your lips, a swollen mess from sucking him off, a mix of his cum and your saliva all over your face. 

“Please, I can’t—“ you whine, shaking your head, but two hands are already spreading your folds, your cunt fluttering around nothing, as if already craving to have his dick buried in it. 

“Your cunt seems to disagree, little one,” as he drags a thick digit around your clit, before pinching it, as you keen under his touch, “you’re drenched for me, begging for me to take you,” and his thumb is now rubbing circles around your puffy clit while he sinks a finger into you knuckle deep, “I just have to make sure you can fit me in this tight hole of yours,” your head falls back against the pillow as he’s knuckle deep, another large finger already pushing into your slick walls, “still so tight despite all the time I took to open you up,” he clicked his tongue, a smirk on his lips, as his fingers find the spongy spot that makes your fingers fist at the sheets, as your release squirts over his fingers, your body boneless as pleasure buzzes through every inch of your body, until you finally start come down. 

But as soon as you even begin to, his fingers begin to move again, fucking you through your orgasm, and quickly into another. 

“Ngh, no, no, not yet—” your voice is caught in your throat, words leaving your lips in a hurry because you know surely his fingers would rip any coherent thought from your mind in a moment. 

But he does not relent, only finger fucking you harder, “I have to be careful to open you up, otherwise, I very well may break you in two, wouldn’t I? Such fragile things, you humans are — already squealing? I haven’t even added a third finger yet,” he scoffs, as he hums, “have you not been deflowered yet, brat?” 

And your pussy gives a telltale flutter that only has his lips curling further, a flash of his canines sending a chill down your spine, “I-I—”

“No need for your answer, pet, your body gave me the answer itself,” he hums, “then this will take a bit longer than I thought—” as his fingers curl and drag over your walls, before scissoring apart, “I’d prefer for you to be conscious when I take your virginity, but I don’t mind if you’re not,” 

And a fourth finger presses at your slick hole, making you whimper, “Please, I can’t—” but he does not relent, four fingers now fucking you open, as your mouth parts in a silent scream, back arching as they work you open. Your body lies on slick drenched sheets, the smell and sound of your arousal only making his need grow, holding back if only not to ruin you completely — he needed you still, needed this to work. And he wasn’t sure what’d happen if he’d break you completely — and he knew he could far too easily. Already he could feel your blood rushing under his touch, the small gasps and moans could turn to screams with just a finger barely lifted, the slick painted over with scarlet. 

But he doesn’t. He can’t. Not when he’s so close. And soon enough he won’t need you — but he can only cross that bridge when he gets there. 

Or rather, when you get there. 

~~~

“Brat, c’mon, keep your eyes open, we’re almost there,” Sukuna barks, as his fingers grip your chin, and force your gaze to him. How many orgasms had he given you? Seven or eight ? Maybe more. Sweat and cum clung to your skin, sticky and hot, as he continued to fuck you open, “think this virgin hole is finally ready for my cock, listen to it,” the loud squelch of your cunt as he thrust his fingers in and out had almost become white noise to you — and the sweet stretch of your pussy around his fingers had become second nature. 

And finally he’s pulling his fingers from you, digits shiny and dripping with your release, sliding down your palm and wrist, as he brought them to his mouth to lick it clean, before offering it to his mouth on his stomach as well. He watches you all fucked out before him, legs spread along with your cunt that fluttered around nothing, waiting for him to slot his cock between your folds and sink in. He grunts, fuck, his balls still feel so full, even after cumming down your throat, aching to cum in your sweet cunt, see him fill your womb with his seed, the sweet release he had been craving for far too long. 

“You still want my cock still, little one? Or are you too tired for it now?” he drags his leaking cock over your dripping folds, letting it tease your swollen clit as his pre cum mixes with your own, “maybe I should leave you like this, let you beg and beg for me until you’re writhing for me,”

You’re panting, the ache inside your pussy too much for you to bear — you were melting without him inside, the only thing to quench your need, your thirst — he was the only thing that could even begin to make it ebb. 

“Please, please, my King,” your words are nearly sobs, pretty tears slipping down your cheeks, as your chest heaves with need — want far gone several hours ago, leaving only you with a desperation that would drive you mad, “I need you, need you take me, need you to fuck me,” 

And his lips curl, “I thought you’d never ask, brat,” and he’s settling himself between your parted legs, pressing them back against your stomach, “although even if you didn’t, I’d help myself — because you summoned me after all, didn’t you, little one?” As he uses another arm to cup your chin, “watch me as I sink into you,” 

Your cunt quivers as he presses his head to your entrance, as he uses your slick to wet his cock, “I’ll go slow at first, but once I’m inside, I have no intention of stopping, no matter how much you beg,” 

It was a warning, a warning that there was no going back — but there was no going back from the moment you summoned this curse onto your doorstep — there was a descent into depravity, and how quickly you’d make it to the bottom. 

The tip of his cock barely parts your folds, and you’re already whining about how full it feels — your walls fluttering as if trying to either  accommodate his girth or push him out all together. He saw the faint drip of scarlet as he worked himself in, inch by inch — as your fingers found purchase in his forearms, nails digging crescents into his flesh. 

“F-fuck, ngh, Too big, Sukuna, I can’t—“ and he can already feel your pussy give the telltale flutter of an orgasm, a cry ripped from your throat, as you cum, walls only pulling him in deeper and deeper — as if they never wanted to let go. 

And finally, finally, he bottoms out, his hips pressed flush to your aching cunt, and he stills — it had been so long since he had enjoyed the body of a virgin, but he was sure you were the sweetest and tightest cunt he’d ever had. 

Your cries made him scoff, tears streaming down your ruined face, it made his cock twitch —you were so small compared to him, a tiny pebble waiting to be crushed, but instead he held you in the palm of his hand. You were his to have, his to break, and his to corrupt. 

“I told you there was no stopping,” he grunts as another hand settles on your stomach, on top of the slight bulge that came with his cock sinking into you, “can you feel me touching the deepest parts of you?” And he takes the whimper as a yes, “get accustomed to it, because this cunt shall be my breeding ground for as long as I see fit,”

And he finally pulls out only to sink back into your sweet depths, knocking the breath from your lungs. He starts slow, if only to spare you from breaking — because he knows so easily could. The wet squelch of your cunt rings in his ears, as he watches his thick cock sink in and out of your pussy again and again. 

 “Look at you, barely able to take my fingers and now you’re taking my cock so well,” he groans at the sight of your stretched pussy, as it took his cock over and over, molding its very shape to his length, as the slap of your skin against his became like a metronome, “such a perfect little whore, aren’t you?” and you moaned at his words, the sound of which made your cheeks burn with shame — “don’t worry, even if you aren’t, little one,” his fingers find your clit, rubbing and twisting until you come again, hard, your back arching as you do, fingernails nearly drawing blood from his arms as you do. 

He hums, as he only fucks you through your orgasm, even as you try to squirm away from him, it’s all in vain — because you’re his now, “Oi, brat, where are you going? You won’t like what I’ll do if you try to get away again — your only place now is under me,” and his hands find his way under your ass as he shifts you onto his lap, “or on this throne,” and he fucks into you, brutally, again and again, your arms clinging around his neck desperately, as a hand on the back of your head guides your lips to his, “tongue out,” he orders, and you do as he says, as the two of you meet in a sloppy kiss. 

And his hands shift to your hips, bruising as they help you ride him, meeting his thrusts with your own, until he’s finally hitting your cervix that has you squirting, drenching him in your release as your walls shudder around him. And his lips leave yours a moment, before they kiss down your jaw to your neck, his teeth sinking into the soft skin at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, drawing a yelp from your lips. 

He groans, a guttural noise from his chest, as he notches himself as deep as he can before cumming, his hot release spurting out and painting your walls, as he continues to fuck it deeper and deeper, the snaps of his hips finally slowing, as he pulls away from your neck, enjoying the blood that pools in the ridges of his bite mark. 

“Such a good little slut, aren’t you?” he hums, as he cups your lolling head, eyes thick with sleep and body heavy with exhaustion, you hear his quiet voice murmur, “I was only going to corrupt you for the sake of completing the summons you gave — I had no choice if I wanted to stay on this plane, but,” he hums, as pulls his cock from you with a gasp on your lips, before he has you flipped onto your stomach in a moment, sheathing his thick length back into you in one thrust, “I think I just might keep you, brat,” your eyes flutter shut, as his words fade from your consciousness, until a mean spank to your ass jolts you from your retreat into Hypnos’s arms. 

No — as you turned your head ever so slowly to get Sukuna’s face in your periphery — you only answered to one god now. 

The King of Curses’ lips curled in a cruel smirk, as he drew his hips back before slamming back in, “Let’s show the world truly how depraved you are, brat, hm? Together.” 

✧ a/n: this is my first time writing sukuna so i hope i was able to do him justice. i was gonna do the whole two dick thing, but i was already like...this is complicated enough lmao.

✧ taglist: @pricetagofficial, @kentocalls, @angie-1306, @fayyyrieee, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz, @viveriens, @sunflowmaryam, @eclipsephase, @merrymonkey, @leilannnnnnni, @spider-fan72, @temptationville, @gojos-princesa, @yell0wdreams, @achelliescomedown, @hiyori-ii, @bunninio, @grunge-mo0n, @diogodxlot, @littlecrybabys-world, @esuz, @unnamedflwr, @lemonpoppy-seed, @corkedscrewslocked, @bsaeshell, @methodofawesome, @rinvrin, @noveltywilbur, @ch0c0bsess, @sarcasticbitchsblog, @simpingnbitching, @aethyrite, @aitheria, @sweetpanda15, @daddytojji, @kindadolly, @kimnamjoonsbigtoe, @catsgomurp, @dhoranbolt, @kariatenoh, @hanxyy

[monstersflashlight]

Monster in the dark

Demon x chubby fem!human || chasing, dub-con (almost cnc), breeding, cum play, tail play

There wasn’t anyone in the street. You knew you should have taken the longer path, it took you all around the neighborhood but at least it was always crowded with people shopping, talking, walking around... anything. There were always people there, but instead you choose the fucking short path, going through the less light part of the neighborhood. You hated the dark with passion, but you were in a hurry, your favorite show was about to start and you didn’t want to run into anyone and risk them stopping you.

But apparently you were out of luck. "Hey dude!" Someone called out. You didn’t turn around. You walked faster, trying to get to the end of the long street where at least the lightbulbs weren’t flickering. Your anxiety was spiking, your heartbeat so loud in your ears you were scared someone could sneak up on you. A shiver ran down your spine when a cold breeze blew past you. A bad feeling creeping out on you.

"Hey you! I need a little help!" You turned around trying to decipher if your possible attacker was close enough that you should run faster. You knew you shouldn’t have done that. It was scary movies 101 to never turn around when something was chasing you. But maybe they were hurt or something. Your big heart betrayed you. You turned around completely, but there wasn’t anybody in sight. Just empty space. Confused you kept walking, almost running, but not entirely.

“Hey darling! The one with the cute butt, I need some help!” They called. What? Your anxiety was through the roof. The lightbulbs started to flicker like crazy, some of them even exploding, engulfing the street in darkness. You screamed and started to run as fast as you could. Which wasn’t so fast.

You ran and ran, the street seeming longer than ever. You prayed to whoever was listening to let you make it. To let you run fast enough to get to your house. Then you heard something similar to a growl, a primal sound that made your blood run cold and your body fuel with a fear so profound that it made your insides twist.

"Caught you!" Someone said as you felt a hand closing down on your shoulder. "Why are you running?" You were scared to turn around, but the stranger made you twist your body either way. The sheer force in that one point of contact made your fly or fight response activated. "Don't worry, darling, I just wanna talk."

You turned around and saw nothing. Not a peep. But the hand on your shoulder was there. The voice was there. You could feel it. You could feel a presence there. What the actual fuck. Your heart was going to get out if it kept beating like that.

"Oh, shit, sorry! I forgot humans couldn't see me in this form." And right before your eyes a tall figure appeared. Just like that. There was nothing, and then there was a big as fuck man. So big you have to look up. And up. And up. Your neck hurt from looking at his face. "Better like this, right?" He asked, the black tendrils around his body shimmering as he smirked. His mouth was too big, too wide, he had so many teeth you couldn't even process it. And they were sharp, so fucking sharp. You shivered. "Oh, darling, don't be scared, I'm not gonna eat you." You thought he added maybe under his breath, but your heartbeat was deafening in your ears.

“Wh- what are you?” You got out, your body frozen in place.

“A poor demon who needs your help.” He told you, his face trying to mimic a grin, but contorting in a creepy way, making you shiver.

“With- With what?” You asked, your body sending all kinds of alert signals to your brain.

“With this…” He whispered as he pulled your body against his, his erection rubbing against your stomach. “I need a sweet human pussy to help me with this, and your luscious body looks delicious. Perfect to breed.” He answered, making your blood turn into ice. And your body started to respond, trying to fight his hold, unable to do it.

“No. Stop. Let me go!” You struggled against him, but his hold was too strong.

He turned you around, pressing his front against your back, black tendrils coming around you, caging you. They started to touch every part of you. The tendrils and his hands moving freely over your body, groping your tummy, your tits, your hips, your ass, rubbing your pussy… There wasn’t a centimeter of you that was left untouched by him. You tried to scream, but his hand covered your mouth. “Don’t do that, baby.” That pet name made something inside your brain react. Could it be?

You talked with your demon boyfriend about wanting to try some CNC a couple nights back. He didn’t react to what you said, just kept listening as you listed your personal kinks. But this couldn’t be him, could he? He was a demon, but you never saw him like this. You couldn’t know. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe you had a magnet for weird monsters who wanted to fuck you. Fuck. You couldn’t know. What if he wasn’t? What if this stranger fucked you and you realized later it wasn’t your boyfriend. What if a weird monster took advantage of you in the middle of a dark street?

You knew you should have taken the long path.

The anticipation and the fear mixed inside of you, making your stomach drop and your fight response kick in. You bit the hand around your mouth as hard as you could. The monster moaned and rubbed his hard cock against your back. It was so big, too big. There was no way that would fit inside of you.

He used his tendrils to manhandle you into the air, lifting you so his cock rested between your ass cheeks. Your feet didn’t touch the ground, you were completely suspended, at his mercy. You regretted putting on a dress this morning, making his advances so easy now. You felt the cool air hit your rear as he lifted the back of the dress, exposing your almost naked ass.

“Aw! Look at that, you are wearing the prettiest thong. I bet your boyfriend loves it, too bad he’s not going to fuck your pussy tonight. I am.” His voice went so low in tone that it sounded distorted, making your insides tingle. To your shame, making your pussy tingle, too.

He moved the thong aside, pushing two fingers in right away, his claws pointy, dangerous. Your walls contracted against his fingers. “Someone is excited…” You blushed so hard you could feel the blood in your cheeks. “You like it, don’t you? Of course you do, you are a proud monsterfucker, aren’t you? I saw you with that demon boyfriend you have…” He whispered against your ear. You shivered, feeling humiliated as you moaned when his fingers hit your G-spot. “You are so wet and so hot… I’m going to enjoy your slutty pussy.” He teased, a tendril flickering your clit harshly, making you cry out in pain and pleasure.

He didn’t wait, he didn’t care about you or your comfort. He pushed his dick inside of you in a fluid motion. As far as it could go. You could feel he wasn’t fully inside, his dick too big for your human pussy. But he didn’t seem to care about it. He started to fuck you hard and deep, hitting all your sensible places at once as his hands groped your tits over your dress, not caring if you screamed. Shame filled you as your pussy got wetter and wetter around his assault. You tried to struggle, but your forces bleed out every time he hit your G-spot. Fuck.

“Are you going to be a good breeding bitch for me? Are you going to keep fighting as I fill your pretty little cunt with my cum until it overflows?” You moaned, embarrassment filling you as your pussy pulsated around him. “You like that, don’t you? You try to fight but you are enjoying this. You are enjoying to have a monster’s cock deep inside of you.”

“N-no.” You choked out, the moan you let out after made your words pointless. He laughed harder, the movement of his body making his dick go a bit deeper.

“Yes, you do. You love to be a little human cum-dump for me. I bet you’d love if I fucked you harder.” He speeded up, setting a punishing pace that made a chorus of ah ah ah leave your mouth. He didn’t try to cover your mouth anymore, clearly enjoying the sounds you were letting out. You felt like the bitch he called you, enjoying as someone took advantage of you in the middle of the street. Anybody could come and see you there, exposed, being fucked by a monster, acting like his personal fleshlight. His cumdumpster.

“Prepare yourself slutty human, I’m going to cum so deep you are going to taste my cum.” His words were nasty, so dirty you wanted to say something, anything. But instead it made you moan, turning you into a mess.

And then you felt his cum hitting deep inside, so much of it you felt your lower abdomen bloating. “Look at that, you are so full… Poor little human, let me help.” He laughed cruelly, pushing against the bulge there, as cum gushed out of you, trying to escape around the cock still buried inside of you. Some of it came out, making the filthiest sound you ever heard, accompanying his laughter. He pulled out at that moment, his hand still on your abdomen, making a splosh sound as what felt like a river of come dripped down and hit the pavement under you. “So messy…” He chastised.

He lowered his hand, collecting some of his cum gushing out. He played with it, spreading it around your pussy, pushing some inside again. You groaned and moaned, his tendrils holding you in place as he played with your pussy like it was his personal toy. He took some of the cum and rubbed your clit with it, the most delicious friction taking you to the edge. It was dirty, so dirty… And then he took his hand away. You whimpered loudly and he laughed at your pathetic slutty act, slapping your pussy hard and making your eyes roll inside your head. You came, right there, right then. You screamed at the top of your lungs, his laughter fading into the background as your brain blacked out for a couple seconds.

You came back slowly. He lowered you to the ground, his front to your back and tendrils still around you. “Told you it would be fun!” His voice was back to his normal tone, making you relax, finally recognized your stupid boyfriend’s voice. He never showed his full demon form, just giving you glimpses of it through the months you dated. It came in handy for him today, you guessed, anger rising inside of you.

“You didn’t say you were going to use your fully transformed form. You scared the crap out of me, you ass!” You yelled back at him, your eyes still teary and your voice raw after the screaming marathon you just had.

“Hey! Don’t lie to me, you like my ass. And I definitely love yours…” He smirked, his hand groping your ass. He kneaded your ass cheeks like he was making bread, chuckling when you tried to pull away. You knew you were going to have some pretty nasty bruises the next day. He would love that. To have you all marked.

“I hate you.” You whispered, trying hard not to moan as he pulled on your thong’s string, the fabric rubbing your asshole and abused pussy in the best possible way.

“Aww, baby, don’t be like that.” He said softly, placating. His lips trailing kisses along your neck. “But you looked so good running away from me, I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. Also, your booty moves so nicely when you run, and your tits were bouncing like you were an anime girl.” You didn’t need to look at his face to know he was smirking like a madman.

“You are nasty.” You told him, reaching back and grabbing his balls, hard. He just moaned. You knew he liked the pain.

“You love when I’m nasty.” He teased you. He was right, you couldn’t deny that. “Can I fuck your asshole next?” He mumbled, rubbing his still hard dick against your back. You looked over your shoulder at him, trying to decipher if he was kidding. He wasn’t.

“You give me the scare of my life!” You repeated, mad at him for being so heartless, but deep down loving how shameful he was.

He didn’t look guilty at all. “You came either way. You loved to be my prey, didn’t you baby?” He teased, tendrils coming around your body to hold you tight against his embrace. You mumbled about how mad you were, not really meaning it. “Does that mean I can’t bend you down and fuck your ass?” He asked again in a pouty voice. You hesitated, and he took that as an invitation to move your thong to the side again, teasing your asshole. He pushed his traveling tail up your hole, circling it. You tried to push him away, but he just laughed and moved it to collect some of the mixture of his seed and your juices. He used it as lube as he pushed the pointed tip inside you, making you moan. “There she is, my lovely slutty girlfriend.”

“Take me home first, at least.” You told him, already giving in to the pleasure you could feel building for him pushing his tail in an out, just the tip, but it was enough to make your pussy tingle all over again. His cum was still coming out of you. He always came in what felt like buckets.

“But I don’t wanna wait!” He complained, fucking you faster and holding your hips flush against his body. You pushed back, making his tail go deeper, his laughter almost cruel.

“Don’t be a brat. Take me home.” You choked out, already feeling the signs of an orgasm building. You didn’t want to be caught, and you already pushed your luck too far tonight.

“Can I fuck all your holes if I take you home?” He tried to negotiate.

“Ugh, fine.” You tried to fake the annoyance, but you knew he saw right past your facade. Who were you trying to lie? You loved when he was so shameless, you loved when he used all of your holes as you were nothing more than a human fleshlight for him. And specially, you loved when he used his prehensile tail to fuck your ass as he pushed his dick inside your pussy. Fuck. You were so close.

He lifted you up and carried you home, his tail still fucking your hole sloppily all they way there, bouncing you over him and staring at your tits.

You came two more times before you reached your bed.

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 5; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

-

Give him blood and he’ll give you something new to chew on.

Except that isn’t the way it goes. Not this time at least.

He tries to talk Ghost out of it, but it falls on deaf ears. Blatantly ignored. The car barrels down the motorway under the cloak of night, a swell of stars overhead as the city falls farther behind. Radio shut off. Johnny thinks if Ghost had his way, the radio would’ve been pulled out entirely, just wires and an empty, black cavity in the dashboard, but it’s a rental. 

And no one wants to deal with the paperwork involved in damaging military property. Not even Ghost.

Ghost won’t so much as glance over at him. Unaffected as ever, as if they didn’t just fuck. Johnny’s stomach hurts when he thinks about it. Even without her knowing, he’s broken his girl’s trust. Not for the first time; maybe not even the last. His guilt echoes not only that he let Ghost make him come, but that he liked it—that the buzz in his bones says do it again, please god, again, please let me come, I need to come, touch me, please—

He thinks about his girl, then turns to Ghost again.

In the pit of his stomach, Johnny knows this is wrong. In his rational mind, he knows it. If he were in a better place, he wants to think that he’d make a real attempt to change Ghost’s mind, maybe get him to turn around at the next gas station, but he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in his belly at the prospect of seeing his girl again after a week of nothing. 

The silence has been eating away at him. Bits of his brain flaking away, moth-eaten. Checking his phone again and again to no new messages, getting the same voicemail message whenever he calls. Something flutters high in his chest, an itch he can’t scratch; it tells him to take off in the middle of the night, drive all the way back home and pound on her door until she’s forced to answer it, forced to talk to him face to face.

Again and again, he tries looking at it from her perspective—tries to empathize with her. What he would’ve done in her shoes had she allowed a coworker to grab his dick in front of a crowd of strangers. It’s more than fair, he thinks. His own shame leaks out of his pores in the middle of the night, sleeping on top of the covers because he sweats right through the sheets. 

And yet, he keeps butting up against his own anger. Talk it out with me, yell at me, he growls into her voicemail, anger growing as the days pass one by one. 

It’s the road that alerts him to their arrival into the city more than anything. More cracks in the asphalt, the car rattling over sewer depressions and potholes in a way that says home sweet home. Usually it’s a source of comfort, like seeing the silver lining on grey clouds or the iridescence in an oil spill, purples and greens catching the light. Not now. Now the road winds like descending into the underworld, each turn coming with a sinking feeling. 

They park down the road from the flower shop, tucked just out of sight. A cool breeze wafts over his hot face when he steps out of the car. It nearly rocks him back. When he glances up, his heart stutters at the sight of her bedroom window, sealed tight now. Only cracked open during their sleepovers, when Johnny runs a bit too hot at night for them to sleep comfortably with the window closed. 

“Should I…do ye want me to give her a call to wake her up?” Johnny asks tentatively, shutting the car door softly so as not to make a noise. 

Ghost shakes his head. “We’ll let ourselves in.”

Johnny’s picked hundreds of locks in his time; he’s jimmied open doors with crowbars, set up explosive charges, used a good old fashioned ram from time to time—no stranger to the trade—but it feels decidedly uncomfortable with Ghost at his back, staring down at him as he breaks into his own girlfriend’s apartment. 

“This is a bad idea,” he grumbles, turning the pick in the lock until he hears a familiar click inside. 

Ghost doesn’t answer, just raps his knuckles against the back of Johnny’s head. A silent get a move on. 

Her apartment looks the same but different when they enter it. His muscles remember the layout though. The pink couch in the living room with two dimpled pillows on either side, the footstool by the door, the stand with her shoes all piled in neat little rows, the vase on her kitchen island with a fresh new bundle of flowers, fragrant when he dips his head to take a whiff. He’s loved flowers ever since meeting his girl. 

Ghost doesn’t try to muffle his footsteps for once. He rummages through her cabinets and drawers with all the finesse of a first time burglar looking to get caught. It smacks of intentionality. Johnny’s worked with him too many times in the field to know that if Ghost wanted to disappear into the darkness, he would. He’d be the thing creeping silently through the shadows, tread lighter than air, close enough to touch but never see. 

So it’s more than deliberate when he noisily shuts a drawer. Baiting her out. 

It’s no surprise when Johnny hears her creep around the corner from out of her bedroom. He’s tucked in the shadows of the living room, just out of the light, so he sees her first when she comes silently down the hall, whole body trembling with fear, the bat she keeps beside her bed drawn over a shoulder. Even her hands shake around the grip.

Of course she yelps when Johnny says her name, stepping out of the shadows, swinging wild. He winces when the bat smashes into a lamp, shattering it on impact. 

“Fuck!” she screams, scurrying backwards into the wall behind her. Several framed pictures rattle against the wall, nearly knocked off their hooks. 

“Noisy, isn’t she?” Ghost grumbles from the kitchen, tossing a bored glance over, unbothered by the commotion. He undoubtedly heard her creeping down the hall as well. 

“What the fuck?” she gasps, chest heaving when she breathes. Her eyes dart from Johnny to Ghost’s massive form in the other room. Poor nervous thing. She must recognize Johnny’s voice saying her name even through the panic because her lips droop in a frown, more confused than petrified.

“Hen, it’s jus’ us—nothing to worry about,” Johnny coos, hands stretched out in front of him to show he means no harm. 

It gets her to lower the bat, but only just, the slightest dip that has him darting forward to pry it gently from her hands. The ceramic shards on the floor will have to be swept up later, but he’s relieved that at least she didn’t step on any of them. 

Up close, she’s just as pretty as he remembers. Pretty as pie. How could she not be? In the glow of youth still, not like it's been a decade since they last spoke face to face—only a little over a week. A sight for sore eyes, even though Johnny’s narrow when he stares down at her and thinks about the week of his texts and calls going unanswered. His jaw undulates, rage held back by the thin thread of her scent that wafts under his nose, making him lean into her. 

Breathe in and out. 

“Us?” she repeats, brow furrowing.

She glances over at Ghost again, the man still ambling around the kitchen, at home in her little one bedroom apartment like he visits her frequently. Like it’s his as well. 

“Aye…Ghost wanted to come—Simon wanted to apologize…for the other day,” Johnny explains. 

“You broke into my apartment in the middle of the night…so Simon could apologize for sexually harassing me?” she says, the disbelief smacking in her words. 

“Hen, it's no' nice to say it like that—” 

“No time like the present,” Ghost says, not ashamed in the slightest. “Heard you weren’t taking Johnny’s calls. Might not’ve had to do this if you’d picked up.” 

Johnny doesn’t believe a word of that, but there’s no reason to call him out on it now. 

He can see her wrestle with a trifecta of emotions competing for first place. Anger, embarrassment, and then, a smidge of worry holding up the rear. Aware of the fact that she woke up to two grown men, one practically a stranger, breaking into her apartment under the guise of having a conversation. His heart aches at the thought. The lion’s share of the blame rests with him, but still it’s her that suffers for it. 

“You…you shouldn’t be here,” she rasps, flinching when Johnny lays a hand on her waist, towering over where she’s still cowered against the wall. Bat gone now, defenceless. Her pupils narrow to a pinprick. He almost tuts, poor thing. Scared out of her wits. 

It feels so good to touch her though. Soft and yielding. 

“‘Was Simon’s idea, hen, but, ah—” his breathing picks up when his fingers tighten on her waist and she squirms “—I was goin’ crazy thinkin’ ye were pissed for what happened last week. Couldnae get a wink of sleep—kept closin’ my eyes and seein’ your face. Nearly broke me.”

“I am pissed at you,” she snaps, temper getting the better of her.

“I ken, I ken,” Johnny coos, ducking his head until his lips graze her temple. “Simon’s sorry—we came all the way here so he could tell ye to your face, but fuck, hen, I’m sorry too—shoulda said something instead of standin’ there like a fuckin’ dolt—”

“You should’ve,” she interrupts, still fuming mad, an iceberg melting right in front of them. It makes his cock pulse.

“—Aye, hen, I’ve no excuse, none at all. Shoulda told Simon to fuck off and keep his hands to himself—”

“Careful, Johnny,” Ghost says warningly, finally stepping into the living room. He fills out the archway imposingly, almost forced to twist his body on an angle to step in. 

Her eyes cut over to Ghost, narrowing, lips pursing. Johnny’s heart jumps in his chest. It’s one thing to see his girl again in the flesh, but to see her all righteous and on the verge of an argument—he could bend her over the back of the couch now, sink into the plush, delicate folds of her pussy, reacquaint himself with deep, languid thrusts. Heaven after not getting his cock wet in a week.

He flinches when he thinks about the last person to touch his dick. 

“So you’re sorry?” she says to Ghost, her disbelief clear. Difficult to see why she wouldn’t find it hard to believe that the man that shamelessly grabbed her ass in broad daylight in front of a group of his colleagues and her boyfriend would now choose to apologize. 

Johnny knows the answer is no when he sees the way Ghost’s eyes rove over her body, taking stock of her little cotton pajamas and her bare feet curling against the cold floor. Ghost tilts his head to the side, eyes travelling back up to meet hers. “Sure I am, bird. Don’t I look sorry?”

Neither of them answer that. Arguing with Ghost feels different, like inviting in danger. Moving too suddenly in front of a hungry dog, jowls loose and salivating for a bite. 

He takes a step closer. “Complete pillock, wasn’t I? And now Johnny’s getting the silent treatment ‘cause of it. Just couldn’t bear another second of him moping around base on the verge of tears.” 

Johnny frowns at that. His girl frowns too, but there’s something more to it. He wouldn’t blame her for not accepting Simon’s apology, if he could even call it that—nothing about it rings sincere, more like words spoken softly to call a kitty over—but questioning it feels worse somehow. Like detonating a bomb at two thousand feet above ground. 

“…Okay,” she says instead, voice trembling a little. “Apology accepted. You guys can go home now.”

“Bird’s forgiving, huh, Johnny?” 

Johnny preens despite himself. “Aye. She’s a good girl, Lt. Told ye so.”

Ghost nods. “That’s right. A good girl who’s gonna let us make it up to her ‘til we have to report back in forty-eight hours.”

“Wait, you can’t—” she starts, then cuts herself off when Ghost’s eyes flash.

He can’t help the way he shudders at the helpless look on her face. Downturned eyebrows, pretty lips slack with disbelief, just the slightest hint of a whine building in her throat that dies when it dawns on her that nothing short of calling the cops will make the two of them leave. 

And she’s a good girl—would never call the cops on him. His perfect girl. Sweet as pie. 

Johnny falls in love a little bit more when she presses her squeezed fists against her eyes and exhales. “Fine. I’m too—I’m going back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Ghost doesn’t react to her acceptance. It’s taken as a simple fact of nature—he says something and it happens. He speaks the world into being. 

“I’ll take the couch,” he grunts, finally sitting down to unlace his boots. He looks comically large on her little couch—it’s more than likely that his feet will hang off the end, if not everything from the knee down. 

Johnny already figured as much. No point in them driving all the way back to base when they both have the next two days off duty and there’s a perfectly serviceable couch for Ghost and the other half of her bed for him. He thought they’d have to convince her a bit more or strong arm her into it (a putrid thought; he’d rather have sweet talked her into the idea), but his girl always manages to surprise him in the best way. 

On that thought, he looks over his shoulder towards the bedroom door, cock throbbing again at the thought of getting to hold his girl’s body against his. Touch starved dog. Mangy mutt, tongue lolling out at even the possibility of a pet. 

Ghost must notice the object of his gaze because he sets him straight. “You can take the floor, Johnny.” 

His tone brooks no argument. When Johnny whirls around, the words already on his tongue, she’s my girl, I’ve already slept in that bed ten times over, the sight of Ghost’s bare face, the mask now off, dangling in his hand like some scrap of fabric, makes him lose his train of thought. It’s not often he’s granted the luxury of seeing Ghost’s face—wide, clean shaven jaw, buzzed blond hair, old burn marks like a half-moon around his eye, nasty old scar slicing through his lips—and to see it now, here, makes something in him give. 

Saturnine man with a wolf’s appetite. Ravenous. 

It burns him that his girl looks slightly relieved at having the bed to herself. Irks him. Makes his jaw clench on a mean remark, half tempted to spit out something cross. Just because things have gotten complicated, now he’s not welcome in her bed? After the week he’s spent toiling, trying to make amends? Pleading desperately over the phone, stewing in guilt and heartache—Johnny knows she’s a good girl, but if he finds out that she’s replaced him with someone else in the week since they last saw each other—

Even the thought makes him see red.

He watches her as she turns around to retreat back to bed, more than a little displeased. 

“Give Johnny a little kiss before bed, why don’t you, bird?” Ghost lightly suggests. Not a suggestion. 

She freezes mid-turn. His expression dares her to put up a fuss. Johnny again nearly clucks his tongue, troubled on her behalf. Her spitfire nature is snuffed out easily under that stare. Grown men with experience in the field wither under Ghost’s stare. It’s no weakness of hers that she acquiesces time and again to his demands, glancing up at Johnny from under her eyelashes before shuffling over, pressing the lightest of kisses to his cheek. 

“Better than that,” Ghost grunts, unimpressed. 

His poor darling. Humiliated now. No skin off his back though. Johnny’s heart pumps double time when she presses her lips to his; soft petals that spread when he slips his tongue into her mouth, too eager after a week of nothing. Touch starved. Desperate to sink into her, lap his tongue over her lips and the roof of her mouth and press her jaw open to spit messily in her mouth. Take it, hen, every piece of me.

She rips her lips from his and dances away when he tries to get his hands on her, eyes wide, casting one last glance over at Ghost before hightailing it back to her room. 

He barely resists going after her. Only Ghost’s stare roots him in place; his voice in Johnny’s head that rumbles, heel. I’ll tell you when to go.

He still doesn’t know what it says about him that he angles himself towards it. Bows his head to it. Moth to a flame that shocks him to the bone when he touches it.

Ghost tosses him the second pillow from the other end of the couch and takes the only blanket for himself. No matter. Johnny’s bivouacked on snowy cliff sides, chilblains blistering his toes for weeks; nights spent camped in torrential downpours, his tent on the verge of collapsing; windswept baysides chilling him to the bone. He can handle a pillow on a hardwood floor. 

The ebb and flux of an ocean in his ear, and then Ghost’s voice from the couch: “I’ll take first watch.”

Whole body falling loose as if snipping a cord tethering him to the world. 

“I’ll clean up the lamp in the morning,” he mumbles, vision already blurring. Ghost hums low in his throat.

He falls asleep with Ghost’s voice in his head, his girl’s taste still in his mouth.

[rowarn]

hybrid au part 3 - FINAL

other parts: one | two

cw: major character death, angst, happy ending tho, lack of communication, loving!kyle agenda, mentions of price finally

a/n: SO THAT'S IT. i hope it was worth the wait!!!! mwah!!!

Kyle noticed the way your light dimmed the following days. He was at a loss, one day you're bouncing off the walls and filling every room with the sweet sound of your purrs and the next it's cold and quiet. 

He tried everything, bringing home fragrant, expensive food and snacks, toys, whatever he could find that he thought would make you smile again. But nothing seemed to work. 

When you spend the entire day curled up on the couch, blankly watching TV, he decided he had enough. 

The following day, he was hooking your collar around your neck and forcing you to go outside into the sunshine. 

Your eyes burned as you stepped out beneath the sun's blazing beams. Days spent indoors, sleeping most of the daytime hours away, had accustomed you to darkness. It was hot and you already wanted to go back inside but one pitiful look towards Kyle told you that you were not getting out of this easily.

So you hang your head and allow him to lead you down the sidewalk. The military housing area was surprisingly quiet, the only sound was a lawnmower somewhere nearby. 

Kyle was silent, content with keeping his hand on the small of your back, a kind, protective gesture to assure you that he was still there as you glared at the sidewalk. 

Before you knew it, the quietness of the neighborhood grew louder and louder until you were walking through the gate of the hybrid-park. 

You looked around, watching all the happy hybrids and owners running around and playing lighthearted rounds of soccer or football. Casting a glance to Kyle, he gives you a crooked, boyish smile. 

“What do you wanna do?” he asks, glancing around, “We can take a lap around the park if you'd like?” 

You shake your head, “Can we just sit?” 

“Sure, sweetheart,” he coos, nudging you in the direction of an empty bench. 

You both take a seat, and look out across the park. While the nights still got quite chilly, it was beautiful during the day - a soothing breeze that rustled the green leaves in the trees and clear blue skies that you could look at for hours. 

You hated to admit it but - Kyle was right. You were starting to feel better, like a weight was being lifted off your shoulders. Being cooped up in the house didn’t help anything, in fact it probably made things worse.

A hand patted your head and you looked over to see Kyle beaming, as if he could see the tension just melt off of you. 

“I'm going to get us something to drink,” he muttered as he stood up, “Lemonade okay with you?” 

You nod your head, fluffy ears bouncing atop your head as you do. Kyle has to resist the urge to reach out and pet them, forcing himself to turn around and find a drink stand to get the lemonade from.

You're staring off at a dog hybrid and a young boy playing a heated game of soccer when you hear your name being called. 

Your head whips around to see Johnny standing there, tail wagging and eyes wide in shock. It's obvious he ran all the way over to where you are from the way his shoulders heave up and down with his heavy panting. 

“I-” he clears his throat, thinking over what he wanted to say, “I've missed ye.” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, making the blood rush in your ears, “Johnny…”

“Come home,” he says, desperate and breathless, “I miss ye and I want ye to come back.” 

“Simon doesn't want me, Johnny…” you mutter, feeling shame burn at your cheeks as you look down at your hands - nails neatly filed down by Kyle just a few days ago. 

“To hell with him!” he spits, “I want you back, isn't that enough?” 

Your frown deepens. His selfishness ignites irritation within you, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“Why?” you ask, voice breaking as the word slips past your lips, “Why should I have to live like that? Being hated while you get to be loved?” Johnny says your name but you cut him off before he can say anything else, “That's not fair, Johnny. I have Kyle now and he loves me! I'm happy with him.”

“Can't ye be happy with me too?” he asks, sad, teary eyes cutting right through your heart. 

“Of course I could Johnny but…” before you can continue there's a sharp call of the pup’s name and both of you freeze. 

Johnny looks over his shoulder to see Simon jogging up behind him, a fierce glare in his brown eyes. A rough, gloved hand grabs the back of the hybrid’s collar. 

“What the hell do you think you're doin’ runnin’ off like that?” Simon snaps, anger masking the clear worry he had experienced at his missing companion. 

“I was just…” Johnny’s eyes drift to you and that's when Simon acknowledges your existence. 

The sneer on his face is clear even through the mask and it makes you shrink in on yourself, ears flattened back. Even after all this time, the sting of his rejection remains strong and hurts just the same. 

“What’s a gutter rat like you doin’ here?” Simon snaps. 

It annoys him that you're always at the source of his problems with Johnny. Whenever the pup misbehaves, you're always there. A bad influence. Typical cat. 

You look at Johnny. He doesn’t meet your gaze, instead staring up at his owner with an apologetic expression. You want him to speak up. You want him to defend you, to tell Simon to be nice or to apologize or tell him what you mean to him. 

But Johnny just sighs, “Sorry, Si.” 

The lack of defense towards you in the face of Simon solidifies everything for you in that moment. You look down at your lap, the crack in your heart only aching and stinging more and more with every beat of silence that passes between the three of you. 

Something ice cold touches the back of your neck and you yelp, launching yourself off the bench and onto the ground. Laughter fills your ears and you turn to glare at Kyle who holds a large plastic cup of lemonade - the cold thing he’d just surprised you with. 

“Sorry, love!” he apologizes but the laughter shows he's anything but. 

Soap speaks up then, asking if Kyle knows you. Your owner’s brown eyes shine with pride as he affectionately ruffles your hair.

“Found them on the street and brought them home!” Kyle tells them, sounding much like a proud father, “Best decision of my life!”

Your cheeks burn at his praise, his kind, loving words remedy the painful stinging in your heart that had been brought on by your previous owner. You take the cup of lemonade when he offers it to you, taking a sip and cringing at the sour taste that hits your tongue – much to Kyle’s amusement.

“You guys are welcome to come over anytime,” Kyle says, smiling as he affectionately pets your ears, “I’m sure this cute kitten would love to have a friend to hang out with.”

“Yeah…maybe,” Simon mumbles, sending you a sidelong glance that was cold and empty – telling you everything you needed to know without saying it. Absolutely not.

You find that you don’t mind that much. The idea of never seeing Simon or his painfully hateful gaze was nice. But when you looked at Johnny, who was staring at you in despair – you find yourself mumbling in response, “Maybe someday.”

The hope in Johnny’s eyes seers into your mind, even long after you’ve parted ways and gone home for the day. 

The days pass in relative ease. The depressive rut you found yourself in melts away and Kyle is thrilled to see that you’ve returned to your bright, bubbly self. You greet him at the door when he walks in, sit and purr beside him while you both eat dinner together, curl up against his side and happily snooze the night away. 

It’s peaceful bliss.

But one evening, Kyle returns home and tosses his heavy duffle bag onto the floor with a thunk. You get up to greet him, stretching your arms high above your head before padding over to him with a sleepy smile on your face. Kyle opens his arms for you, letting you tuck yourself into his chest for a hug. A loud purr emanates from your chest that only seems to make Kyle’s shoulders drop.

“What’s the matter?” you ask when you catch a look at his face when he pulls away; brows furrowed and lips in a tight line.

“Just got some sad news, that’s all, lovie,” he mutters, patting your head before he moves into the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

“What news?” you ask, following after him, tail swishing nervously behind you. 

Did his parents pass away? Did a friend get hurt?

Kyle sets out some vegetables on the counter, hunting around for a knife before sighing, “You remember Simon and Johnny? We met them at the park the other day?”

You nod your head, “Of course.”

“There was an accident a couple days ago,” Kyle explains, slowly chopping up the celery on the cutting board, “Johnny got hit. He didn’t make it. Simon’s tore up about it.”

It feels like everything freezes right then and there for you. You no longer hear the chopping of the knife, no longer hear Kyle's voice or the sound of traffic outside on the street. All you can hear is the pounding in your ears and the sound of your own breathing.

Images flash behind your eyes in your grief. You can see Johnny’s boyish smile and his boisterous laugh emanating down the hallway. You can see him so clearly, wrapped around you as you snuggle and snooze together as the rain falls outside. You can hear the animated way he would tell you stories, waving his hands around and his tail thumping loudly on the floor.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel a hand cup your cheek. You blink away the tears and Kyle’s face comes into view, worry etched onto it. 

“What is it, lovie? Why are you crying?” he asks, clearly concerned.

“Johnny’s dead?” you ask, voice broken and wobbly as you fight to talk through tears.

“Yeah, love,” Kyle coos, thumbing beneath your eyes to rub away some tears, “Why are you so upset?”

Everything tumbles from your lips then. You tell him about how you lived on the street, how your life changed the day you met a rambunctious pup who wouldn’t take no for an answer until he had himself a friend. You tell Kyle about how, even though Simon was awful to you, Johnny was a light in the dark and how much you adored him and how much he meant to you. You tell him how Simon threw you out like trash and how much it hurt and how much you missed Johnny despite everything. 

Kyle held you through it all, tucking you tenderly against his chest as you cried it all out.

“I had no idea, lovie,” he whispers into your hair, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead when your breathing becomes erratic. 

“I-I never got to settle things with him,” you wail, “He wanted me to come home and I-I couldn’t give him an answer.”

Kyle sighs, cupping the back of your head, rocking you back and forth until your cries quiet down to hiccuping sniffles, “It’ll be alright, sweetheart. Everything will be okay.”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn't know how he can make this hurt go away or help you soothe the grief you’re experiencing. All he can do is hold you close and comfort you whenever you need.

This time, when Kyle notices how sad you are as the days pass, he doesn’t force you to leave the house or do anything. He just lets your sadness run its course, doing what he can to ease your burden by making your favorite dishes and letting you watch your favorite movies over and over again until he can practically recite them by heart.

There’s a knock at the door that startles the both of you one evening. Kyle’s on his feet in seconds, hand drifting towards the firearm he keeps nearby before he looks through the peephole on the door and relaxes. 

You peek over the back of the couch as he opens the door. Simon stands there. 

Although he is masked, you can practically see how worn down and utterly devastated he is. 

“What’s up?” Kyle asks, hand twitching to reach out for the older man but thinks better of it. “Do you need something?”

“I wanna talk to that one,” Simon nods in your direction, where you’re still peeking over the couch. 

Kyle turns to look at you over his shoulder, asking your consent. You think it over for a few seconds before you nod your head. Not like Simon would do anything with Kyle here. 

He steps aside to let the larger man enter and closes the door, giving an excuse about getting drinks before disappearing into the kitchen.

Simon’s heavy boots vibrate the floor as he takes a few large steps towards you. You scoot to the other side of the couch when he sits down, the couch bouncing with his added weight.

His hands are folded between his knees where he rests his elbows on them. His tattooed skin ripples and flexes as he nervously fidgets with his hands. 

“Johnny wanted you to come home,” he starts out, staring intently at the floor. You swear you can see tears beading at his lower lash line as he says his companions name, “So I’m here to see if you will.”

“You want me back?” you ask softly, anxiously pulling a pillow into your lap.

Simon nods, “It’s what Johnny wanted. He cared about you, loved you. You’re all I have left of him.”

You’re silent at that. 

Despite everything, your heart aches for Simon. He adored Johnny more than anything – even if he hated you, his love for the pup was palpable. You could see it in his face every time he saw Johnny, eyes scrunching up happily. Johnny was his world and now that world was gone and Simon was left with nothing but bitter emptiness and a void that he was desperate to fill. 

You found yourself opening your mouth, ready to agree – ready to be the one to soothe your ex-owners devastating hurt. But then you found yourself looking into the kitchen, to Kyle’s back. He was hunched over the counter, vigorously mixing something in a bowl and you realized that you didn’t want to leave him. 

Kyle was yours. Kyle was everything you could ever need or want. He wanted and loved you when you thought no one else would. He didn’t give up on you even when you were difficult and cold. He cared about you, thought about you every day. He gave you everything you wished for so desperately during your time living with Simon. 

“I can’t,” you find yourself whispering, tears filling your eyes at how much it hurt to turn Simon away, “I know Johnny would want me to be with you, to make sure you’re okay without him but…I love Kyle and I want to stay with him.”

“So that’s it then?” Simon asks, voice small and weaker than you’ve ever heard it before. You know there’s a crushing weight on his heart right now, knowing he will be going home alone to a painfully empty and cold house. 

“Yeah…” You whisper, unable to look up at him as he rises to his feet. 

Kyle comes out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl in his hands, asking Simon if he was okay as he passes by him to the front door. The larger man just grunts in response and opens the door. The quiet click of it closing is all you hear of his departure before the warm bowl is in your lap. 

It’s a bowl of broth that makes your mouth water. The fact Kyle had made it for your just because warmed your heart.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, sitting down next to you, arm tossed over the couch behind you, fingers mindlessly stroking over the fuzzy surface of your ear.

“He wanted me to go home with him,” you respond, taking a sip of the broth.

“You said no?” he asks. You catch the worry in his tone – like he was scared you were going to tell him you were leaving him soon.

But you nod and his body relaxes in relief, “He only wanted me back because I reminded him of Johnny. He didn’t really want me, just the image of Johnny.”

Kyle nods, leaning over to kiss your temple, “That man loved that pup. But I’m glad you’re here to stay.”

You look over at him from over the bowl of broth as you sip it, “Yeah?”

“I would have let you go if that’s what you really wanted but…” He looks a little sheepish as he continues, “It would have hurt to see you go, kitty. I meant it when I said adopting you was the best decision of my life.”

You place the bowl down on the coffee table before launching yourself into his arms. He grunts as your weight slams against him, knocking him back onto the couch as he laughs. His arms wrap around you in a bear hug, squeezing you so hard that your ribs ache but you don’t even think about trying to pull away.

Though you don’t say it, he knows that you’re his to keep and that you love him just as much as he loves you. He couldn’t imagine life without you now. 

BONUS: 

“I think my boss is gettin’ impatient to meet you, you know,” he mumbles in your shoulder.

“Your boss?” you ask, voice almost too quiet to hear over your loud purring.

“Yeah, the old man’s been dyin’ to meet the cute kitten I talk about all the time at work,” he explains.

“You talk about me?” you ask, peeking up shyly.

He grins, “All the time. I think everyone’s sick of my voice at this point. But the Captain's really been begging to come and meet you. I’ve been waiting for a good time to bring it up. He’s a bit of a lover so you’d have to put up with all the pets and hugs he has to offer.”

Your eyes shine in interest, “I want to meet him!”

Kyle chuckles, reaching up to pet one of your twitching ears, “I’ll make the call then and set up dinner.”

You were excited to meet a new person. You hoped he was as kind and gentle as Kyle was. And even though the idea of Simon sitting alone and hurt in his house with nothing but the memories of his best friend, you weren’t going to let that stop you from opening up new chapters in your own life. 

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