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theeveninghour · 6 months

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All My Dreaming | Part 2

Summary: After accepting the mating bond, you and Azriel explore some missed opportunities. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

A/N: Thank you for the love on All My Dreaming!!! Not to be horny on main but I couldn’t stop writing for this story, here’s ~8k more words of extremely sweet and very nasty Azriel. I really wanted to write a fun scene with Mor and the gang Rita’s but couldn’t find a place for it in the first part, so y’all are getting it here. There is like, so very little plot here, I just wanted to write a few more scenes and give some additional backstory on these two because I think they’re cute. Also, I love writing little vignettes for this storyline so I might post a few more, much smaller (lol) snippets of them as an epilogue!

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

WC: 8.4k (i have no self control)

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, cunnilingus, face sitting, more love declarations, Cassian being a lil flirty in flashbacks, soft dom!Az, little hints at jealous!Az, the slightest amount of angst, talk of previous abuse (but nothing too descriptive) and slight breeding kink because Az has one (I feel this in my bones). Azriel is down astronomically bad for the reader in this one y’all. The last 2.7k is literally just porn lol

Part 1

True to his word, Azriel kept you in the meadow until dawn. The sun beginning to paint the night-sky with sepia hued pinks and oranges. You’d long since finished the wine, eaten half the bread, and most of the fruit and cheeses. He laid against the quilt, wings spread magnificently as you laid against him, thigh over his abdomen, head on his shoulder, fingertips tracing idly at the tattoo inking his chest. He hummed contentedly, and you ventured your eyes up his, finding his gaze already on you.

“Can I ask you something?” You tested the waters of this new thing; bond, love, cocoon that enveloped you. “Anything,” he smiled. “When did you know?” You asked softly. He furrowed his brow. “That I loved you?” He asked and you nodded, turning your upper half to rest your chin on the hand that had stilled against his chest. He laughed. Mother above, he laughed so warmly that it made your eyes crinkle and lips spread into a grin from the sound alone.

“You’re going to hate this,” he said as a preface, smiling, dimples appearing as he looked to you, “but it was a few weeks after you joined us, and Cassian mouthed off at you about being late to training.” You raised a brow. “You fell in love with me, while I was being…….degraded?” You asked, a little deadpan. “No,” he shook his head in correction, still chuckling. “It was what you did after.”

Cassian kept a strict training schedule. He trained in the early hours of the morning on the balcony at the House of Wind, ate breakfast, then moved to outdoor weapons and flight training off the banks of the Sidra until the early afternoon. He was strenuous and strict in his routine, as was Azriel. You’d begun training with them the week before, and if you were totally honest, you weren’t fully comfortable with the two brothers yet. Cassian was rough around the edges, brutish, with a mouth that often got him into trouble. Azriel was quiet, observant in a way that unnerved you. You’d caught his eyes following you often and you hated the warmth that pressed into your cheeks when he did.

Rhysand had warned them to give you time to adjust. You’d been brutally attacked by Beron’s dogs only a few months ago and forced to live in the wilds for nearly six weeks, eating foraged fauna and what game you could kill with a makeshift spear you’d carved using sharpened obsidian and a walnut branch. Your body grew weary in those weeks; endless fear, starvation, and sleepless would do that. You were still a jittery little thing, like a wild animal, jumpy when Amren or Mor managed to sneak up on you by accident.

Azriel recognized these symptoms and allowed you a leniency he didn’t normally offer his trainees, but trauma, physical and mental, took a toll on the body as he well knew. He’d gifted you a golden hilted dagger on your second week with them and asked if you knew how to use it. You held it in your palm, noting the blue stone that sat in the bolster and double edged blade that you could see your reflection in. You looked a little gaunt, but your cheeks held color again, your lips were fuller, no longer dry and chapped from mountain winds and cold nights.

“I know how to use a blade Shadowsinger,” you said in an even tone. You didn’t call him by his name then. You also called Cassian ‘General’ to his face, and ‘asshole’ behind his back. “Most females learn to use them,” you followed up, “out of necessity.” Azriel hated to dwell on those words, hated to think about what you’d gone through before Beron, what your father had done. He nodded once, and placed a sheath and belt down on the table next to you before taking his leave.

You’d awoken late for training that day, the sun had rose to a bright position in the mid-morning sky and you knew you’d never hear the end of it from Cassian. You dressed slowly into your training leathers, belting your dagger around your hips and took a deep breath. You walked to the balcony, noticing the males absence and winnowed to the training grounds at the Sidra. Cassian’s eyes found yours immediately and he sheathed his broadsword, turning to look at you. Azriel was perched on a fallen tree stump nearby, and his eyes traced your face, noting the darkened circles there. He’d heard you screaming in your sleep last night and his heart ached at the sound, his shadows slinking off to find you.

“So you didn’t forget,” Cassian said, muscular arms crossing over his chest. “Tell me something, little girl, do you even want to be here?” He stressed the word want in his sentence in a way that had both you and Azriel narrowing your eyes. “This is the third day this week that you’ve been late to training, and the second that you’ve missed morning warm ups altogether.” He huffed a disbelieving laugh, “I’m beginning to think Rhys was wrong about you.” Azriel went still and he felt a bit of rage creep up his spine at his brother’s harshness.

In the blink of an eye, you’d unsheathed your dagger and thrown it at the Illyrian general. It whizzed past his head, nicking his cheek, and landed in the training dummy behind him. “Fuck you,” you’d growled teeth bared, as you shifted a stance that begged for a fight. Cassian turned and pulled the knife from the dummy’s eye socket, before throwing in the dirt at your feet. “A little to the left next time you try to kill me,” he smirked. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have missed, asshole,” you said as you fixed him with a glare and your jaw ticked in anger. Cassian’s face broke into a shit eating grin and he laughed, which made you sneer with frustration.

“Good to see you’re still alive in there,” he said smiling, “I was hoping we’d see that spark.” Your anger dissolved as fast as it built up. You reached down to pick your dagger from the dirt and sheathed it at your waist. “Seriously, Cassian, fuck you,” you said and grabbed a bow and quiver of arrows before stalking off to train alone. Cassian sighed and went to follow you but Azriel rose to feet to stop him, stepping into his path. “Let her calm down,” he suggested, placing a hand to his brother’s arm. Cassian sighed. He knew he was being rough with you, but it the only thing left he could think to do. “We’ve tried nice, brother. Tough love worked on Amren, maybe it’ll work on her too,” Cassian spoke softly before trotting after you.

A few paces off you’d begun firing arrows into a target carved in the bark of an elm tree, teeth grinding. Cassian was right in his intent though, you had to get out of your own head if you were to move forward. You pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocking it on the bowstring and pulling it back until the bow met the pile at the tip. You heard him coming before you saw him.

“Listen, I’m just—” you heard Cassian’s voice and turned then, aiming and firing in his direction. The arrow flew through the air towards the General. The feathered fletching caught the bun at the top of his head, pulling hairs loose, before the tip burrowed into the tree behind him with an echoing noise.

“Mother above, you could’ve killed me!” The General shouted, face blanched. Azriel’s lip quirked up and he looked to you again, you were smiling, closed mouth but smiling, and he felt his heart grow warm at the sight. “I told you, asshole, I don’t fucking miss when I’m aiming to kill.”

You laughed aloud, cheeks warm as you buried your face in Azriel’s chest. “I’ll go around threatening Cassian more often if it gets me a mate in the end.” The male at your side chuckled warmly and his hand found yours on his sternum. “He still talks about it, you know?” He offered with a shake of his head. “It was precisely the kind of thing Nesta would’ve done too.”

You smiled back. “Good to know you Illyrians have a type.” He looked to you then and he smiled, eyes tracing your lips, nose, lashes, and the Winter white hair haloing your face. “Not a type, just blessings from the Mother,” he murmured softly. His hand trailed up your arm and pushing your hair off your shoulder and down your back. You blushed, warmth blooming on your chest and running up your neck to your face, painting your skin pink.

“Gods, who knew you had such a silver tongue,” you said chastising, looking to where his fingers played with yours as they rested on his chest. “You used to be so quiet,” you added, letting a small laugh escape you. Azriel shrugged and pushed up on an elbow as his hand left yours to run up your arm and cup your cheek. “Good to know you’re still thinking about my tongue,” he whispered before kissing you for the millionth time that night.

It was mid-morning when Azriel ported you both to the River House. It was surprisingly empty, and you made your way to the kitchen to seek out food, still in the dress from the night before, though it was now wrinkled on your body. Rhysand had stocked the kitchen it would seem, as you found an array of fruits, vegetables, and meats in the cold storage there.

“I guess Rhys was serious about quarantining us here,” you laughed before looking over your shoulder to find your mate, leaned against the counter, watching you with warmth. “If I cook for you again, are you going to ravish me?” You asked jokingly, pulling a knife from the block to begin prepping carrots for a quick stew.

He pressed forward then, coming behind you to push you into the marble, bringing his lips your shoulder and his hands to your belly. “I plan on ravishing you either way,” he said, lips tracing to the hollow below your ear, a spot that made you whimper as he’d found out the night before and catalogued in his head. You pressed your hips back against his, loving the feel of his body against your own.

“Very interested in that, though I think it’ll be easier on a full stomach, so maybe go bathe while I cook,” you said, turning your head and nudging your nose into his own. He laughed again and the noise set your heart to skittering. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to having him like this, so free and warm.

You’d seen Azriel in every form. The warrior that fought with skilled precision, teeth bared as he cut down his adversaries; the Spymaster that tortured, maimed, and killed Night Court threats; the brother that took his friend’s teasing in stride, lips quirking silently as he shook his head. You’d never had him like this though, laughing and full of affection, touching and grasping so freely.

His hand found your chin and you knew he’d heard your thoughts again from the look in his eyes. His fingers stroked up your jawline, fingers pushing hair behind your ear. “There is no one in this realm, on this continent, male or female, that has as much of me as you do on any given day,” he whispered before he pushed away to stroll out of the kitchen and up the stairs. You let a shaky breath go from your chest. He was trouble.

Later, after you’d both bathed and eaten until your bellies were full, you sat at the dining room table, sipping a glass of wine. “You asked me this morning when I knew,” he started, setting down his wine glass as his index finger began tracing circles into red table cloth next to it. “When did you know?” You laughed and took another sip of wine, you’d need it to keep up with him. “Mine’s not as violent,” you fixed him with a pointed look and he smirked.

You took a deep breath, “it was several months later, at Rita’s.” He laughed warmly in disbelief. “What?” Surely you weren’t serious? “What in the Cauldron could’ve happened at Rita’s to make you fall in love with me?” His eyes were twinkling under the fae lights.

Mor had begged you to go and you’d told her no at least thirteen times. You’d grown fond of the blonde as had she with you. She’d helped you immensely in your first months with the Night Court. She knew what it was to be hollowed out by trauma, particularly trauma that extended from those in the Autumn Court. She also knew bad fathers. You were grateful to her and you’d opened to her in a way you’d hadn’t yet with anyone else in Rhys’ Inner Circle.

“Please?” She tried again, “We can go into the city and get you a dress, I’ll even pay for it!” You rolled your eyes, “You won’t give up until I agree, huh?” She’d laughed then. Her laugh was the kind of full bodied female laugh you hoped you’d get back some day. “You already know me so well, Little One.” She nudged your shoulder, before patting your cheek and leaving you alone to dress for the day ahead.

Little One had started a few months prior when you poked fun at Cassian during a dinner. You’d been ready to maul the General in your first weeks, but you’d settled into a peaceful truce. He’d been talking loudly about the female he’d been with the night prior, all bravado and innuendo. “Amazing you were able to land her at all with that ego,” you’d muttered taking a sip of your wine. Amren sat across from you and her lips quirked as she looked your way in silent agreement. She and Cassian were also at odds often. Cassian slid his eyes to you and they narrowed as you feigned innocence, setting your glass down and looking to your nails. “Did you just mock me, Little One?” He asked, head tilting as he watched you pick at a cuticle.

You met his eyes and raised a brow. “Tell me Cassian, is what they say about Illyrian wingspans true?” You said, eyes glancing to Rhysand and Azriel, both looking thrilled at this development. “Cause as I see it, you look to be outmatched.” The room went quiet before Cassian bellowed a loud laugh, bringing a hand to his chest. “Cauldron save us, she’s got jokes,” he snickered and your lips curved into a smile. He turned to you then, lips smirking. “For the record, it’s not the wingspan that matters, it’s how you use it.” His rebuttal caused you to let out a breathless laugh as you picked up your wine and rolled your eyes.

Mor had dragged you into the shopping district of Velaris to find an appropriate dress. The first store was a bust, and the second was looking to be the same. “Come on, Little One, there has to be one you’re interested in!” She’d said, voice going a little whiny on the tail end of the sentence. You’d scanned the boutique again, and noticed a dress hanging in the far back corner that was looked like threaded starlight. “That one,” you pointed and her eyes slid to it before her lips broke into a knowing grin. “You go to the dressing room and I’ll grab it,” she offered and you’d nodded, wanting this to be over as soon as possible.

She’d brought you the dress and you shut the curtain in her face as she laughed. You’d undressed slowly, eyes scanning skin as it appeared. Your eyes zoomed in on the heavy scarring at your legs, Gods you hated those markings. Once the dress slid on, you pulled up the zipper at the side and adjusted the bust line.

You loosed a loud breath, it was…. generous in the amount of skin it showed and the style screamed Night Court. You turned and realized the back went down to your bottom, showcasing the two dimples at the small of your back. The slit at the side came all the way to your hip. ‘Cauldron, this isn’t a dress, this is a scrap of fabric,’ you’d thought.

You turned and opened the curtain stepping out to find Mor looking at you with an open mouth. “Are you sure you aren’t into females?” She’d asked. “Because I’d love to keep you to myself tonight.” You’d blushed and laughed heartily. “Is it good?” You asked cautiously, turning in a circle. “Good? Little One, the males will be on their knees,” she said eyes twinkling with mischief.

You’d bought the dress despite the insecurities and gone home the House of Wind to get dressed. Mor had sent Nuala and Cerridwen to you to help with your hair and make up and you’d thanked them profusely.

As the moon rose for the night, you stood in your quarters staring at the mirror on the wall opposite your bed. You had looked lively again, your cheeks were fuller and the hollows under your eyes were less bruised than they had been months prior. You sat on a bench at the foot of your bed and started to pull on your heels, a leg shining through the slit of the dress.

Once you’d buckled the strap your shoes, you stood, a little wobbly. It’d nearly a year since you’d worn heels and the last time you had, you were set to be engaged to the Autumn Court princeling. You refused to dwell on that and moved toward the door, opening it and stepping into the hall.

Cassian was exiting of his room as you were shutting your door and your eyes met down the corridor. He let out a wolf whistle and began walking your way. “Well, well, well,” he started and you braced for his comment, “don’t you look pretty enough to eat.” You grimaced and looked at him before scoffing, “pig.” His laughter made your lips curve into a smile.

You strolled down the steps to find Rhysand and Azriel waiting there. Rhysand looked to you and smiled warmly, “You clean up nice, Little One.” Azriel’s eyes found yours next and his jaw dropped, then shut quickly, muscle ticking. A gloved hand at his side set into a fist and he could hear the knuckles crack. “I think she’ll be fighting the males off tonight,” Mor piped, appearing next to you, “wouldn’t you lot agree?”

Rhysand and Cassian hummed their agreements but Azriel’s eyes couldn’t look away from your form. The dress draped your body like liquid starlight, the slit at your hip had his fists clenching at the desire to touch. Mor walked you past the males and he caught glimpse of your exposed back and something primal reared its head shouting at him to grasp, lick, bite until you were covered in his marks. Cassian flanked the Shadowsinger and whistled low, eyes following you. “I’ll have to find her on the dance floor tonight,” he said, eyes gleaming as they traced your retreating form. Azriel, though he loved his brother dearly, wanted to rip his throat out for even glancing at you.

Rita’s was littered with intoxicated fae. Mor grabbed your arm and pulled you to the bar, while Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel made their way to the section explicitly reserved for their use. As you stood at the bar with Mor, a male came up to you, leaning into your space and asking your name.

The male ventured a touch to your arm and you leaned away, disliking the overt physical attention. As he spoke, a gloved hand appeared between you and Azriel pushed his way into the space without apology or acknowledgement. “Hey, I was talking to her!” The male tried to protest loudly before Azriel turned and fixed him with a devastating look, causing the male to wilt before putting his hands up in surrender and walking away.

You stumbled out a laugh as he turned back to you. “I think you may have hurt his feelings,” you said smiling, looking to the Shadowsinger. He eyes were already on you again, tracing your face, and hair, the long line of your neck. “That’s much too bad,” he said, signaling the bartender over and you both ordered a round of drinks.

“You look beautiful tonight,” the words came out of Azriel in a rushed whispered, as if he’d forced them out against his will. You turned to meet his eyes and your face warmed at the look there. “I was so nervous to wear this,” you breathed, “the last time I was in a dress and heels like these, I was engaged to marry a Vanserra.” You let out a small, cynical laugh. “Gods, I’m so glad I left.”

Azriel softened then. “He didn’t deserve you, Autumn didn’t deserve you, I hope you know that,” he’d said, gloved hands laying flat on the bar top, the length of his middle finger grazing your own. You wanted to reach out to them, to ask why he wore the gloves around you, but you resisted.

“For what it’s worth,” he continued, “I’m also glad you left, I’m glad you’re here most of all.” You met his hazel eyes again and traced his face. He was likely one of the most beautiful males you’d ever seen and he was being awfully sweet with you. He looked to Rhys then, the High Lord likely speaking into his mind. He smiled turning back to you, “Rhysand says he’s also glad you’re here,” he said mockingly and rolled his eyes. You laughed, a small tinkering thing, that made Azriel’s heart beat quicken. “Thanks, Az,” you smiled broadly at him and he knew for sure and certain you would ruin him.

You turned to your drink then as the bartender sat it down in front of you. You picked it up and took a long sip. If Azriel kept looking at you like that and speaking to you in hushed tones that made your heart race, you’d need about five more of these.

You heard him take a deep, steadying breath at your side, turned to look at him, brow furrowing slightly. You were ready to ask if he was alright when he finally spoke. “Cassian said he was going to ask you to dance tonight,” he ventured and you snorted. ‘Of course he did,’ you thought with a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head. “Would you allow me to be your first?” He asked, holding out a gloved hand.

You looked to his hand then back to his hopeful hazel eyes, and you blinked a little slowly, a little disbelievingly. Just when you thought you figured him out, he threw you for a loop. You took his hand and let him lead you to the dance floor. As your body moved with his, you couldn’t help but wish for forever in this moment, forever in his hands, and his eyes. Mother above, you were in trouble.

“That dress was pure sin, Little One,” Azriel smirked. “And I told you, I am quite fond of dancing.” You huffed a laugh and looked to him, a little bashful. Azriel laughed softly again. “Cassian pouted for days after that night,” he spoke, “he was mad I stole you away.” You wondered if Cassian could tell how utterly smitten you were after that night. “I think he was a little infatuated with you in those early days too.”

You grimaced. “That’s much too bad,” you said, echoing his words from centuries prior. You stood then and stepped towards him to halt at his side, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair. “I always had eyes for you, baby.”

You trailed a hand up his arm to his shoulder, then back to the shoulder joint of his wing, tracing the bone up to the clawed crest. His breath guttered out of him as he closed his eyes, brows furrowing at the sensation that zipped down his spine and settled in his lower abdomen.

“One more question for you,” you said softly. “No,” he growled out, “I’ve had enough questions, I want to have you again.” His eyes opened and looked to you, scarred hands grasping your hips, fingers digging into the flesh there. “One more and I’ll give you whatever you want,” you offered. He raised a brow. “Whatever I want?” He questioned and you nodded. “Even if I want to bend you over this table and take you from behind until you come all over my cock?”

Your eyes watched his predatory gaze and a feline grin appeared on your face. You laughed again, “considering that’s a win-win, I’ll gladly trade for that.” He laughed too and rolled his eyes in fondness. “Fine,” he conceded, “one more question, mate.” His hand traced back, grasping the flesh of your ass through your thin silk housedress and you gasped, “then I get to have you in every way I want.”

You had to shake the lust from your thoughts, focusing on the question that had been circling your mind since your return to River House. “Why didn’t you to tell me of the bond?” You asked softly, hand resting on the arm that held you. He took a deep breath, he should’ve expected this eventually, but in all honesty, he’d hoped to put it off as long as possible.

“I just mean,” you took a shaky breath, growing a little nervous. “It snapped so early for you, and I—” you swallowed, “I wouldn’t have turned you away, surely you must know that?” Your eyes found his and he saw the imploring look there, brows slanting as your eyes swam with emotions. He took a grounding breath and his hand traced up your hip to your back as he pulled you in to bury his face in the soft of your stomach.

“I was scared,” he said, though it came out muffled. You combed fingers through his hair soothingly and he tilted his head up to face you. “You were—” he stopped himself, “you are the single most magical thing in this realm.” He spoke softly, as if he was scared he’d burst the bubble of newfound love that had surrounded the two of you in the last few weeks.

“When I was a child, my half brothers tortured me,” he started, eyes wincing. “They did this, you know,” he held up a scarred hand. You nodded, Rhysand told you of Azriel’s brothers and father years ago when the subject of Windhaven came up and how you would likely not be sent on any missions there. “For my gift with shadows, they’d called me every name under the sun, insisted I was a bastard child, beat me, shunned me, cast me out. I was alone until Rhys and his mother took me in.” Your eyes teared up when you thought of how isolated he must’ve felt, how damaged. You knew feeling well.

“When I knew I loved you, I resolved myself as unworthy of your gaze, your touch, anything,” he sighed and his hands pulled from you to fall in his lap. “I figured I’d been alone for centuries up until that point, and it was likely I’d be alone forever.” You pulled one of his hands into your own and brought the knuckles to your lips. “I love you,” you said softly, lips resting against the marred skin there, “I hope you know that.”

He looked to you and he smiled, a small watery smile as his eyes closed and he nodded his head. There was that gift again. “You know,” he said, “more than your beauty, or strength, I admire your courage and vulnerability. I think that’s what scared me the most.” He spoke softly again, wanting to preserve the shroud of gentle love that surrounded the two of you.

“I saw how you were with Mor and Amren. How you cared for Cass, despite his explosive anger when Rhys went Under the Mountain for fifty years. How you attended Rhys when he returned in shambles, traumatized and broken.” He looked to you, eyes shining. “You took it all in stride with such….. care and endless love and I—” he paused, bottom lip trembling. “I didn’t think I’d ever be worthy of your heart, of your attention, so I took what I could get. Your glances, your smiles, the teasing at dinners. I took it all and I made myself content with it,” he shuttered out a fragile, broken breath, eyes falling to the shadows that gathered at his feet attempting to console their master.

“I’ve loved you in secret for two centuries, Little One, I’ve loved you so much my chest ached and I thought I would die from the unsung bond that resided there. My soul would know yours in any life. At the ends of the earth in total darkness, it would still find you.” He let out a shuddering breath, “you’re the other half of me.” His eyes found yours then and the look there made you feel overwrought with emotion.

You and Azriel had been friends for two centuries. You laughed and cried together. You’d shared meals and secrets, dances and fleeting glances, little chaste touches. You’d told him of your father, of Beron, showed him your scars. You’d pined for him for just as long and to know he’d silently yearned for you in return, your heart felt like it might break apart.

“The bond snapped for me during the war,” you offered him a small secret of your own and his eyes found yours, going wide at the revelation.

The second war with Hybern had been a brutal thing. Feyre and Cassian had taken to recruiting help out of the Ancient Prison on the northern shore of the Night Court due to Prythian’s limited numbers. You’d known it was a suicide mission going in and you’d nearly been right. You’d fought alongside death gods and monsters alike in a battle that would be legend for ages to come.

“I wrote you a letter before we left for battle,” another secret, but for him, you’d bare your soul. “I was going to tell you then,” you continued, “I’d been in love with you for 189 years at that point. I was so far gone for you but I’d assumed, that if you wanted me, I would’ve known. You would’ve said something, anything. So I put it all in a letter, worried I wouldn’t return alive.” His breath hitched, remembering the sight of you impaled on a sword, bleeding out in his arms. He’d taken the soldier’s head off their body as penance and it still didn’t feel like enough. You let out a small gurgling laugh, throat tight, eyes wet with tears. “Sometimes I can’t believe I did.”

You took a steadying breath and leaned to kiss his forehead, his eyes closing from the contact, mouth humming. You leaned your cheek on the crown of his head, your thumb rubbing soothing circles in the space behind his ear. His hands went around to your back, nose and cheek resting against the cradle of your chest as he listened to your heart, still beating strong beneath. The two of you were the sort of image that artists carved into marble, the picture of lovers so inseparably bound that they were one eternally, in every life.

“In that letter I apologized for not telling you sooner, said I didn’t need the Cauldron to know it was you my soul sang for. That you were the one the stars had fated me to meet.” He clenched his eyes shut from where his head rested on your rib cage. Every word you uttered was like a poultice to his damaged soul, filling the cracks that had been there since his adolescence.

He was wrong when he’d thought you’d ruin him. No, you’d save him, from the darkness that encroached his mind, the insecurities that lingered there. You were a flower blooming against all odds in the shadows, and he’d do anything for you. All his wasted centuries of dreaming had been given a name and form in you.

“I’m glad I ran from Autumn that day, glad it was Rhys that found me in the wilds, glad it was the Night Court that saved me, but more than anything, I am glad that every step I’ve taken in this life has led me straight to you.” Your hand dragged forward, over his cheek, to gently tip his chin up to face your gaze. “May you never doubt the depths of my love for you.” You kissed his forehead then before moving your lips to the space between his brows, the tip of his nose. His eyes fell shut and his hands came to hold on tightly to your wrists for fear he’d float away. You kissed his cheek, and eyelids, before making your way to his mouth.

This kiss was just as electrifying as the first and he pressed his insistent mouth to yours desperately. He pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth and took your gasp as the opportunity to slip his tongue against your own. He could kiss you for a millennia and he would not get enough. He wanted all that you had to give and everything after that too. Nothing, not even flying, could compare to how his heart sped when you kissed him like this. He poured centuries of yearning into it.

He pulled off of your mouth and kissed the corner of your lips before leaning back to gaze into your eyes. “I’ll need to tell Rhysand not to expect us back for a few months,” he said, hand coming up to brush a stray hair behind the shell of your ear. Your brain, still two paces behind from that kiss, registered what he was saying and you let out a breathless laugh. “Months? Thought the frenzy was a few weeks?” You replied, still smiling, tears drying and he shrugged, fingertips tracing the skin at your collarbone. “I’ve got two centuries of love to make up for,” he stated softly before smiling in a feral, cunning way, “and I plan on taking my time.”

Azriel ported you to the bedroom and you’d laughed, “I can walk you know.” He smiled, leaning down, kissing your cheek. “Save your energy, Little One.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you to stand between his legs. He allowed himself to look at you, unhurried, a little predatory. You did the same, eyes passing over tanned skin and freckles, tattoos and scars as your gaze made it’s way down to his hips, where you notice his length pressing tightly against the front of his pants. Your eyes trace back up to his, cheeks a little pink, only to find him smirking.

“Are you ever going to be sated?” You laughed. You pulled the hem of your dress up to lean over him and settle a knee next to his hip as you crawled into his lap. He hummed, pulling your hips to his own. He traced his nose along the skin of your throat, inhaling your scent, committing to memory as he nosed the silk strap of your housedress, pushing it down your shoulder and pressing his mouth to the skin there. “For you? Never.” His tongue laved at the length of your throat, as he made his way up before bringing his mouth to yours.

This kiss was slower than the one you’d shared in the dining room. Tongues entwining, teeth biting. He dove deeper, sucking against your tongue before licking along the bow of your upper lip. He rocked his hips up to meet your own, his cock sliding against your slit in a way that had you gasping. His hand pushed your gown up over your hips to your waist and his gaze fixated on the center of your hips, you’d forgone underwear after your bath. “No panties?” He breathed into your mouth. “Maybe I should’ve taken you on the dining room table after all.”

You laughed, rutting your hips against his own, loving the sound that rumbled in his chest. You pulled the little silk dress up and over your head, baring yourself entirely to his gaze. “There will time for that,” you said, voice laced with promise, “but I’d like for you to take me in a bed, properly.” He gave a little laugh then, bringing his face to your own, teasing at your mouth again. “Under the stars wasn’t romantic enough?” His hands found your hips and fingertips pressed into the flesh there. You were sure you’d be bruised all over come tomorrow.

He leaned back pulling your hips up his abdomen. “C’mere,” he commanded, jerking his head in instruction as he laid flat upon the bed, wings spreading in full. He looked like a god this way, but the way he looked at you, muscles rippling as he tensed, jaw ticking, hair debauched, love bites down the tanned column of his throat from your mouth, eyes heavy lidded with lust; if he was a god then certainly you were his goddess. He growled then the noise escaping him unbidden as he hauled you higher to his chest, your hand shooting out to his shoulder to steady yourself.

“You are a goddess and I am but a hopeless disciple,” his voice had pitched deep with want, desire alight in his eyes and you thought you might never tire of seeing him this hungry for you. His fingers dug into your thighs and he hooked your knees to pull you higher. “Let me worship you until I find absolution.” He pulled you to his chin, teeth nipping at the flesh of your inner thighs. His found your eyes again and he nodded to you. “You’re going to sit on my face, sweet one, and I am going to feast on you like the goddess you are.”

Your breath left you in a shuttering broken gasp, and you leaned up, shuffling the last few inches. His arms wrapped around your legs, caging you to his face as hands came around to open your cunt to his view. He let out a primal noise that had the air leaving your lungs in pant and your hands grasped the headboard in some pitiful attempt at grounding yourself. He nosed your clit before pulling you down on his mouth, suckling at you like a man starved.

His tongue pressed flat against your clit and you thought you might break apart. You were sensitive from the night before and you had to actively try not to rock down against his face. As if reading your thoughts, he pulled you forward, hands grasping your hips and rutting you against his hot mouth. You couldn’t help the shuddering moan that left your throat and he hummed along with you, the vibrations sending shocks up your spine.

He circled his tongue in a pattern, quick flicks then slow drags of friction that had pleasure zipping through you until your thighs were twitching, nails digging into the wood of the headboard, hips rocking on his mouth. He nosed at your clit as his tongue slipped down to circle your opening, collecting the wetness that gathered there, groaning at your taste. His lips returned to your clit and he sucked it into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, speeding the flicking of his tongue until your hands were shaking and your moans keened to a higher octave.

“Azriel,” you gasped, a trembling hand found his hair, nails scratching. “Az — fucking Gods.” You looked down to him between your thighs and he watched you, the definition of sin. His cheeks had grown pink, brows furrowed, hazel eyes gone molten as he nuzzled his face into you. He unhanded your thigh to slide back to your ass, fingernails digging into the ample flesh there before he released it and his open palm came into fierce contact with the cheek. You jolted at the impact and the sound that left you was the highest, most trembling whine he’d heard come out of you. He catalogued it in his mind for later.

His hand soothed the skin at your behind before smacking the skin again, the contact rippling across the flesh like a tiny earthquake. Your hips tilted against his chin faster, more desperate and your moans grew closer together, a little more frantic as you felt yourself approaching your peak. His tongue circled you again before he sucked the button into his mouth and began a steady, insistent pattern.

You could feel the pleasure focusing, your lower belly tightening. “Az— I swear I’m—” you gasped and your head fell back, exposing your chest and neck to his greedy view. “I’m going to come, baby,” you whined deep, hips canting in tight circles, desperate for release. He hummed an affirmation and his hands grasped your hips to guide your through it. Your release hit and the moan that left you was shattering.

You leaned back, hands finding purchase on his chest, as he pressed kisses to your thighs. “Gods,” you gasped, falling to his side as you moved off of him and pressed a hand to your chest, catching your breath. “Fuck me,” your eyes shut for a moment and you felt his lips pressing tender kisses to your eyelids. He kissed to your cheek, the corner of your mouth, before whispering devastation there. “I told you my love, I want to take you apart slow.”

His lips came to your chest, pressing a kiss to the jugular notch at the base of your throat between the clavicles. “There is no war,” kiss, “no mission,” another kiss, moving south to the globe of your breast, “no threat this time.” He breathed into your sternum, tongue tracing the skin of your cleavage.

You were right that Azriel was mouthy. Mother above, now that the gates had opened, he was bent on taking everything from you and you would let him. You would let him shatter you to pieces, trusting he’d put you back together again.

“You’re wearing too much,” you complained, fingers pulling at the waist of his trousers, which seemed to have grown impossibly tight around his hardness. Your hand pushed under the band and fingers grasped him firmly, his gasp escaping directly into the skin over your heart. He rutted into your hand, mouth coming up to your own as he kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue.

You pulled back from the kiss and fixed him with an imploring look. “Can I put my mouth on you now?” You asked softly, batting your eyelashes a bit, just shy of begging. He felt desire rip through him, his cock giving a jerk. A growl released from his throat. “As much as I want you on your knees for me,” he breathed deeper. “As much as I want to fuck this pretty little mouth,” his thumb tugged at your bottom lip and you leaned forward to pull it between your lips, tonguing the scarred skin there as you sucked.

His eyes fixated on the action, pupils blown wide. He pulled his thumb from your mouth and spread his hand to grasp your neck at the height of your throat, “I thought our bargain was every way that I wanted you?” He watched your eyes flutter as he squeezed from the sides, your breath hitching, cunt growing wetter. He could smell your arousal and the feral need of the newly minted bond had him feeling utterly primal. “And right now, I want you on your hands and knees, begging as I take you from behind.” His voice had pitched deep, and you thought you might never recover from this.

His hand traced down to your wrist, pulling it from his cock and then he patted your ass. “Be a good girl for me.” Your breath came out shaky and you nodded, scrambling to turn around and bend down to present yourself for him. A pleased hum settled in his chest as he stood to slip off his trousers before kneeling behind you. He ran his eyes up the expanse of your back, the scars that now resided there. He’d kill anyone who threatened you again, he’d take hands from their bodies if they touched you.

He watched your shoulders roll as you adjusted your weight, and he was reminded of every backless gown you’d worn in the last two centuries. How he had never allowed himself to touch you in the way he wanted.

He ran a scarred hand up the center of your back, leaning forward and grasping your neck from behind, bringing you up and into the long line of his front. His nose trailed your shoulder and his lips found the spot below your ear again. His teeth came in contact with the flesh there, biting then pressing his tongue into the skin to soothe the sting. The little whimper you let out made him smile, he loved you like this. His other hand reached down to guide his cock to your core, hips dragging the length through to slick there. His brain catalogued each sound that you made, he was mapping you out slowly, learning your body and memorizing all.

The hand holding your neck released its grip, and he pushed you back forward, your hands trembled as they came to hold your weight.

Before leaving you, his fingers gathered your hair and he wrapped the length of it around his hand once before fisting and pulling, causing a low moan to escape you. “Hold on, little mate.” His voice ground out and he guided himself into your warm cunt, pulling back once, then twice to work you open until he sheathed himself fully.

His hips were flush against the flesh of your ass as he ground in and your breath began to come in pants. You were so in over your head and you loved it. He laughed, ‘I heard that, my love,’ he spoke into your mind. ‘Let me know if you want to stop.’ You nearly laughed aloud. ‘As if,’ you repeated your words from the night before.

His hand tugged at your hair in response as he pulled out to the tip and slammed back in, hard and deep. Your back arched and your arms threatened collapsed. He began a slow and steady pace, rutting to the hilt and pulling out before slamming back home, skin slapping against skin. You could hear the loud suck of your cunt on every pull, the noise itself was desperately erotic, and Azriel fucking loved it. He wanted you like this like always. He wanted to stay in the warmth of your cunt for the rest of his days. He picked up his pace and groaned when he felt you clench around him as a wanton moan escaped you.

His hand released your hair and he leaned over your form, kissing your shoulders, holding you tightly as he pushed back to the hilt and ground in, small cants of his hips causing your breath to tremble.

“Azriel, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” you spoke quietly, head falling forward. He laughed darkly, biting at the skin at the top of your spine. His hand grasped the front of your throat and brought you back up into him, mouthing at your shoulder. “Tell me you’re mine,” he ground out, hips pushing faster. His other hand found its way to your front, tracing down your soft stomach to rub slow circles at your clit. “Tell me you’re mine and let me fuck you into oblivion.”

You groaned feeling your orgasm crawling up your spine, cunt tensing. “I’ve been yours for two centuries,” you gasped out, breathless, head falling back to his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He growled out something primal, but you continued, delirious with pleasure as his fingers and cock broke you apart. “I’ll give you anything.” His fingers tightened at your neck and he slammed to the hilt, grinding in.

“Anything?” He questioned, voice shaky with need. “Would you let me take you apart? Would you let me ruin your sweet cunt daily? Would you let me fuck a baby into you?” Your mind blanked and your voice pitched into a deep moan, a base desire possessing you. “Yes,” you nodded, breathless. “All of it,” you gasped, “anything for you, mate.” His eyes pinched shut, a low whine escaped somewhere from the pits of him. Mother above. His fingers squeezed your neck and he picked up the pace, fucking you faster. You shook with each impact of his hips, your breath leaving you in small whines.

The scarred tips of his fingers worked your clit faster. “You’ll give me anything?” He questioned again, breathless, pace faltering as his own release tightened at the base of spine. “Come for me, my love, come with me.” Your breath caught at your throat as your cunt tightened impossibly around him and he groaned deep. You called his name as your climax hit and he keened a low whine, hips grinding into you, his seed painting your walls.

He released your throat and gave a shaky laugh as he grasped your chin to find your mouth. The kiss was utterly depraved and your walls fluttered again, making him groan into your mouth. You pulled back and your eyes found his over your shoulder. “A baby, huh?” You spoke, voice a little wobbly. He wanted to shrink under the weight of your gaze, the question there. “Not yet,” he spoke softly, “but if you do decide to gift me with a child, I’ll be the luckiest male alive.” You smiled and kissed him, softer this time, heart singing at the promise there.

He pulled out of you and let you collapse against the bed, rolling over to rest at your back. His eyes found your cunt and he watched with rapt obsession as his release leaked from you. You traced his gaze and a laugh escaped you. “Come here, my love,” you spoke softly, opening your arms. “I want to get some rest before you go feral again.”

He smiled, laughing lightly before crawling up the bed to where you awaited him. He settled into your embrace, head resting on your chest while his restless fingers began idly tracing the skin of your arm. Your fingers set to combing through the strands of his hair and his eyes closed, pleased with gentle intimacy of the action. “I love you,” he spoke softly, exhaustion beginning to creep in on him. You smiled, fingers trailing to his back, caressing the skin at the base of his wing. “As I love you,” you whispered, “more than anything.” He hummed and nuzzled to the skin of your chest as darkness overtook him.

#azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #i love this bat boy sm #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #Azriel smut #bat boys x reader #bat boys #azriel acosf #azriel acomaf #This is utter filth guys #These two really went at it for like 24 hours straight

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macabr3-barbi3 · 3 months

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Pillow Talk- Vox x Reader

(Banner made by my love, @fraugwinska 💛❤️💛)

A Vee Tower maid, you get an eyeful- and more- when stuck hiding in Vox's closet after Alastor comes back to town.

Tags: the Alastor body pillow; Dry Humping? I think that's what it would be; Accidental Voyeurism; Cunnilingus; One-Sided Alastor/Vox; Vaginal Sex; improper use of electricity lol; maid outfit; a tiny bit of hypnosis but not regarding the sex

[this is almost a crack fic honestly I laughed way too much writing it xD this was inspired by a few pieces of art- as soon as I can find the artists I'll link them below!]

So technically, you weren’t supposed to be here. The entire cleaning crew knew that the main apartments of the Vees were off limits unless they specifically asked for them to be serviced- you, specifically, would not be a welcome sight, especially by the CEO.

But when Vox had spotted you outside his office he had barely spared you a enough of a glance to get his hypnotic eye swirling before he had very explicitly stated, “I want every single thing in here put back where it belongs,” and apparently, to your will-bent limbs that meant even the fucking throw pillow on the couch needed to be returned to his home.

The blue striped fabric clutched in your arms, cleaning supplies left in one of the numerous cleaning closets, your feet took you to the elevator, pressing the button for the elevator to take you up to the penthouse. You were sweating a bit in your uniform- despite how little fabric the damn thing had (courtesy of Valentino deciding “if we have to fuckin’ look at them they might as well be hot” when hiring a cleaning crew, apparently) you were still nervous about going against established orders for implied ones. If Vox found out you had been in his section of the penthouse, in his room, Satan only knew what he would do to you.

That shouldn’t have excited you a little as you thought it, but it does- your breath comes a little quicker as you had entered the key code to Vox’s sector of the penthouse floor, thankfully empty as you enter and where you now stand. The television is playing something from the news, Vox sat at his desk with some sharp toothed red deer demon in the frame with him, mouth turned down into a frown and spewing vitriol- you caught some snippets of speech from the low volume, something about him being a fossil, outdated, et cetera. It wasn’t surprising- Vox and all of the Vees were all about innovation, updates, upgrades. If this guy was into older tech it made sense that he would take personal offense to that.

When you try to toss the cushion onto the couch your arm freeze, unwilling to release the fabric- which meant it wasn’t a couch pillow but a bedroom one, and your feet turn to take you in that direction. The door opens without a lock, and the room that greets you is a little neater than you would expect from the CEO of the company, being as prone to outbursts that the staff had to clean up as he was. The bed was made up, and finally your compelled brain allows you to throw the pillow out of your grasp to bounce harmlessly on the bed. Order satisfied, you’re about to turn to leave when the lights snap out with an audible click.

You freeze in the darkness, worried somehow that you’ve been caught, but they flicker on mere moments later. Another tentative step towards the door, and that’s when you hear it- a crackle of electricity from the living room, not unlike an arc flash, one that you’ve heard enough times working in this building to know what it means.

Vox is back.

In hindsight, it was fucking stupid. You probably had better luck explaining yourself, telling him that his command earlier had forced you up here against your better judgment because of course, Vox, sir, you knew that the penthouses were off limits. But your prey brain reverted to instinct, doe ears dropping against your head, and you bolted to the nearest safety- the closet.

You can hear him coming closer, his voice increasing in volume- “that ancient fucker, thinks he can just come back to my fucking town, in my fucking section like he never- fucking dammit, Bambi, I can’t believe-” He just keeps going and you shuffle further back into the clothing around you, the smell of his soft cologne enveloping you as you descend. You can see light peeking through the slats of the doors, and it vanishes as he quickly approaches. The door flies open and you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for a sharp clawed hand to land on your arm and haul you out but it never comes.

He grabs something close to you, something soft you had been inadvertently leaning against, and slams the closet door closed again so hard that it swings back open, another crack that light leaks through. Despite your better judgment you lean forward, peek through the slats of the door at what is happening in the room. He throws the item he had grabbed against the bed, and it bounces at an angle so that you can see what it is.

A body pillow- with that guy from the television on it, his red outfit unmistakable even not knowing who he was just from a quick glance. He wears a sly smile on his face, eyes half-lidded over a monocle, a frankly stupid haircut that came to his shoulders with tiny antlers peeking out of it. Vox is still bitching, and this time you catch a name: Alastor. Your boss kicks his shoes off, rips his jacket from his frame, and falls to his knees on the mattress, bringing the pillow close and slotting it between his thighs.

You stop breathing.

He falls forward and braces himself on one hand, the other scrambling at his fly to bring out an impressive erection that you can tell even from this distance must be painful, faintly glowing a bright blue at the tip before fading to the darker shade of his normal skin at the base. He strokes himself once, spreads what looks like a fair amount of precum over his length before he releases his grip and dips his hips into the pillow, now free hand clutching at the fabric between his fingers.

“Alastor,” he moans, and the low timbre of it shoots straight through your core, thighs clenching together as you stand stockstill in the darkness of the closet. “Oh fuck, Alastor, Al- fuck, fuck,” and his hips are driving into the pillow all the while, the bright tip of his cock occasionally peeking into view from your vantage point.

You bring a hand up to clamp over your mouth, to try and muffle your breathing as you watch the private act and shift closer to the wider gap in the doors for a better view- slowly, silently. His voice is dark and delicious as he groans into the seemingly empty room, unrestrained in his pleasure. The hand braced on the bed is shredding the sheets, bits of fabric floating up into the air with the force of his claws dragging into them- the one on the pillow is surprisingly gentle, clenched lightly where the hair is on the image of the demon that adorns it.

Your body aches at the apex of your thighs, slick and throbbing just at the sights and sounds before you- if you made it out of this, if Vox didn’t discover and immediately kill you for witnessing this, you were going to have the most phenomenal orgasm of your fucking afterlife the moment you could get yourself alone. You’ve never wanted to be a pillow so badly in all of your existence- Hell, you’ve never wanted to be a pillow period but Vox was making it look downright tantalizing to be shoved between his legs and thrust against.

He’s still going, his lower body moving rhythmically against the pillow and still muttering under his breath- “Alastor, Alastor, Alastor,” like he’s in a trance, can’t stop himself from saying it. His voice catches in his throat, hips stuttering then stilling while shoved hard against the pillow, collapsing against the mattress with a frustrated groan.

Everything is quiet for a moment, the only sound your muffled breathing against your hand as you peek through the door at the VoxTek CEO. Your spare hand itches for movement at your side, but you refuse- absolutely refuse- to get yourself off in your boss’ closet with him less than five feet away. You fist your fingers in the poofy fabric of the Val-approved maid uniform that the crew was made to wear, and you wait.

When Vox pulls his head up from the mattress, his screen is tinted pink in embarrassment even thinking no one can see him- he looks down at the pillow with such an earnest expression of longing that you feel embarrassed and avert your gaze for a moment, until he scoffs and you look back up to a sight you’re more familiar with. His face is twisted in anger now, and his claws hover menacingly over Alastor’s face before he snarls in disgust- at himself? At the other man?- and clambers off the bed. You watch his body move across the room, lithe muscles flexing as he moves, and only when he exits the room do you heave out the breath you had been holding, taking your hand away from your mouth.

You hear the rushing sound of water that indicates that the shower has been turned on, and you make perhaps the dumbest decision you’ve ever made- you stay in the closet instead of taking these precious few moments of him being out of the room to book it out of the penthouse. You’re not thinking clearly, so preoccupied with the arousal that it wars inside your body with the logical part of your brain saying to get the fuck out. But you’re surrounded by the sweet, heady scent of his cologne, the rough sounds of his groaning still echoing in your ears, and with your eyes slipping closed you slide a hand up under your skirt; you didn’t end up in Hell by sticking to the concept of chastity, after all.

Your free hand fists in the fabric of his shirts that hang next to your face, bringing them closer to breathe in the scent of him. The sounds he made echo in your mind, your fingers brushing lightly against the dampness of your panties, hand dipping inside them to graze your clit-

The closet door flies open, the light falling across your body and illuminating what is clearly a shocking sight to the Overlord if the glitching of his screen is anything to go by- one hand holds the Alastor pillow in a death grip, obviously about to toss it back into the closet after wiping it down with a damp rag (the sink, you realize, not the shower), probably for one of your team members to properly clean later under an oath of secrecy. Your hand is up under your skirt, the other gripping his shirts for dear fucking life, and Satan’s fuck, he was absolutely going to kill you.

You both stand frozen for a moment, still too shocked to move your hands until you see the spark of static cross between his antennae. You let go of his shirts and remove your hand from under your skirt. “Sir,” you start, and your voice cracks on the word. “I’m-”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, and even without the swirl of his hypnotic eye your jaw clamps closed. He lets the Alastor pillow fall to the ground, both hands free now to open both closet doors, and you close your eyes- this was it, goodbye Hell, nice knowing you. At least you were going out with a hot image burned behind your eyelids of the guy that was going to murder you.

Instead you feel the sensation of your floppy ear being rubbed between two fingers, gentle and inquisitive. When an eye peeks open again, Vox is staring at them, his gaze flicking between your ears to the tiny white spots that line the edges of your face that he can now see with the increased light. “You a deer?” He asks, his tone dark, and you heave a shaky breath.

“Yes, sir.”

He hums, a quiet noise as his other hand comes up to rest softly on your waist. “Didn’t notice earlier. Thought I told the head cleaning bitch I didn’t want any fucking deer in my tower.”

You force yourself to breathe slowly. “I had great recommendations and she said she would just keep me out of your way.”

“Great recommendations, huh? Any of your previous employers know you fucking touch yourself watching people get off in what they assume is the privacy of their own homes?”

Instinct- you try to run rather than face his questions, only getting as far as an abortive jerk forward before both of his hands are on your hips, pushing you further against the back closet wall. His scent is fucking everywhere, a faint heat coming off his screen with how close it is to your face, and you feel the threat of claws where he grips you. “Please, I’m sorry-”

“This for me?” Vox takes one hand off your waist to grab your hand- the one that had been under your skirt- and moves it back to its prior position, just pressing against the front of your damp panties. “Or was it the fact that you were being a little pervert and I was none the wiser? Tell the truth now, dear,” he says, his eye going black rimmed and swirling, and you’re helpless to answer.

“A bit of both, sir,” you breathe, and he looks pleased at your answer, pressing your fingers harder against the heated skin under your joined hands. The words don’t stop- “I didn’t mean to come here, sir, there was a pillow in your office- and you said everything had to go back where it belonged, so-”

“Gotcha, gotcha,” he nods. “The downsides of hypnotism, huh? But it’s gotten us into an interesting situation- how much of that did you see?” He tilts his head towards the pillow.

Deep breath. “All of it, sir.”

“You must think I’m pretty pathetic now, huh?”

His eyes still spins lazily at you. “Not at all,” you say, and the pixels of his eyebrows twitch upwards. “I thought it was… alluring. Sexy, to watch you let yourself go like that.” You glance down at the pillow, a grimace taking over your mouth. “Admittedly a little gross that you aren’t like. Properly cleaning that. Were you just going to throw it back into the closet?”

His screen tints and he lets go of you, taking a step back to kick the pillow out of your line of sight. “I have a dry cleaning lady that comes on Saturdays,” he says defensively, “it would have only been in there like two days max.”

“Sir, that’s still kinda-”

He tugs you out of the closet by the wrist and pulls you over to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling so that you straddle his lap. “You wanna keep calling me gross or do you wanna fuck me?” He grinds your hips down onto his and you feel the hard length of his arousal against you despite it being not more than a few minutes since he had finished with the pillow.

“Can’t I do both?”

“Cause let me tell you,” he adds, talking over you, not picking up the barb, “the sooner I can get that fucker out of my head, the happier I’ll be as your boss. And a happy boss might not decide to kill or fire you for being a- what’s the lady equivalent of a Peeping Tom? Just a slut?”

“I’m not sure there is one, sir,” you say breathlessly, and his tongue snaking out of his mouth to trail along the length of your neck distracts you from his fingers reaching up under your skirt to slide your panties to the side, thumbing your clit with soft pressure.

“S’nice that you’re a deer,” he murmurs, the tingly sensation of his lips tracing a path down your collar, letting his tongue slip between the swell of your tits, pushed on display in this fucking uniform. “Just like- shit, do you have…?” His other hand comes under your skirt as well, reaches around the back to cup your ass, and at the base of your spine-

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers when he gets a grip on your tail, fingers tightening around it in a way that makes you cry out, high and trembling. “Fuck, I gotta-” He shifts the both of you, a quick motion that ends with you bent over the edge of the mattress while Vox flips your skirt up, exposes the cute fawn spots that covered your ass and thighs, the fluffy nub of your tail above the red lace of your panties.

“Fuckin’ red,” he mutters, mostly to himself, “just like him- what is it with fuckin’ deer and red? Do you all use the same style guide or something?” When you look back, there’s a note that appears on his screen- “ask Vel about deer style magazine?”- before he sees you watching and grins. “Might wanna hold onto something, doll,” he advises, and before you can ask him why his face is pressed against your rear, tongue slipping between the slick folds of your cunt and diving in.

The shock of it makes you yelp, immediately devolving into a moan that’s lost in the sheets when you bury your face into them. The slick muscle is long and strong, reaching deep and flicking against your inner walls with a fervor you’ve never had from a partner before. You try to grind your hips against the bed, the motion aborted when Vox’s large hands come up to your waist and hold you in place so he can lick into your pussy more efficiently, keeping you firmly against his screen. He moans at the taste of you and keeps you still with one hand, the other coming down to rub forcefully at your clit. You groan into the sheets, fingers fisting in the fabric and fuck, fucking finally, pressure and friction where you wanted it. “Vox, sir, please,” you whine into the mattress, and he moans against you, the vibration of it from his screen adding a nice edge to the pleasure. “Please, please, please-”

Tongue still inside of you, you can hear his voice, broadcast from the speakers on his head- “I’m not sure you get to beg for anything, baby,” he says, and his tone drips sarcasm and amusement. “I could leave you high and dry and I would be well within my fucking rights- maybe I decide that perverts don’t get to cum.” His tongue starts to draw back, and when your walls clench down on him in protest he fucking laughs. “I guess fucking any deer will do, though- helps that you’re fucking cute, even if you don’t really look like-”

Like him. Like Alastor. It should have been insulting, and maybe a little terrifying that possibly the only thing keeping you from having been murdered on the spot when he opened that closet was that you were a fucking deer.

Logic had no place in your body right now, though; you’d been aroused for the better part of Satan only knew how long, and you would take what you could get. Maybe if you were lucky he would just fire you after he fucked you stupid. “Please,” you ask him again, not caring if you sound pathetic about it, and he does pull off your pussy now, leaves your soaked entrance clenching down on nothing. “Fuck, sir, please-”

He chuckles and you hear the clinking of his belt behind you, loud in the quiet of his room that’s interrupted only by your soft moans into the mattress. “Don’t worry, Bambi,” he said, using the nickname for Alastor that he had spit in anger when he first came into the room. “I’ll give it to you- give it to you real fucking good.” His hand reaches above your head and grabs the pillow that had led you in here like a lamb to the slaughter, shifts your hips up enough to shove it under them while pressing against your back. You feel the hard line of his cock against your ass and resist the urge to grind back onto it, staying put until he decides to move.

“Ohh, look at that! That’s fucking cute,” he says, and there’s a hard grip on your tail, making you aware of the faint shakiness to the appendage in his grasp. “All twitchy and needy- you always get like this when you want a cock in you?”

Your response is a drawn out whine when he finally pushes in, and fuck- seeing it glow faintly against the pillow while he rutted to completion couldn’t have prepared you for having his cock inside of you, filling your cunt perfectly and still fucking going. Vox presses in slowly, methodically, until he’s buried balls deep and breathing heavily against your back. “Fuuuccckkk,” he groans, and the rumble of it through his chest makes your inner walls spasm around the hard length of him. “Oh fuck, baby, do that again,” he encourages, a hand squeezing at your tail, and what are you supposed to do? Not listen to him? You clench down and he chuckles, low and dangerous, and there are lips nipping at your skin where the shirt of your uniform leaves you exposed. “God fucking damn, Bambi, you’re just-” He pulls back, the drag of his dick inside of you leaving sparks of pleasure that burn behind your eyelids, and shoves back in, the tip of him bumping something soft and sweet inside you that makes the evidence of your arousal drip from where you’re connected. He sets a steady pace, and you wish you could fucking see him- watch him use your body for his pleasure like he had used the pillow, mindless with it, bucking his hips with reckless abandon.

A hand wraps around your throat, gently at first before the feeling of it makes you moan and he tightens his grip, thumb coming up to brush against your lips and smearing the drool that he finds there, having fallen unbidden from your mouth as you panted with your mouth open while he fucked you. “Making a mess of my sheets, huh? I like the sound of that- fucking the drool out of you while I fuck my cum into you-”

The keening cry you try to let out at that is garbled and broken with his hand squeezing your throat, the other still having a grand old time pulling on your tail, and fuck, you think you could cum just like this. “V-Vox, sir,” you manage to get out with the pressure on the sides of your neck, “please, gonna-”

“Gonna cum, baby?” He lets go of your throat and you fall forward onto the mattress, face burying in the sheets again and muffling your sounds- he brings his fingers to your clit to circle it while he fucks you, still pulling your tail, and everything inside of you feels like its tensing and electrified around your cunt where you’re stuffed full of him. “Come on, show me how- how fucking sorry you are for getting caught with your hand down your panties.” He brings his face down next to yours, teeth snapping in your ear and licking up the side of your face at the tears that have leaked out. “Wanna fucking call me gross now, Bambi? When you’re about to cum on my cock like a goddamn slut- fuck, so close, it’s almost fucking perfect-”

Static sparks off his antennae, and you can almost feel the thrum of electricity though his body before it ends at his finger tips, shocking both your clit and the sensitive skin of your tail where he still holds it in a death grip- that’s all it takes for you to almost scream with your orgasm and drag him over the edge with you, a soft grunt of “Alastor, fuck, Al-” as he spends himself in long, hot pulses inside of you. Static still tingles lightly at his fingertips, causing tiny jolts of pleasure that make your muscles twitch and your walls flutter around Vox’s cock, drawing your release out until you’re almost overstimulated, trying to shift your hips out from under his body.

The hand on your tail tightens in warning. “Stay the fuck still for a sec,” he mumbles, and he presses his face against your back- you can feel the heat of it through your shirt. “Just fucking- came twice in the span of thirty minutes, let me catch my goddamn breath before you try to go again.”

“That’s not-” He presses hard against your clit and your body jerks in his hold. “Not helping,” you finish feebly, and he laughs against your flank before he lets go of your body and pushes back, pulling out with a loud, wet noise that brings a flaming blush to your face. “And not what I was trying to do.”

There’s a shuffle of movement and then the bed dips in front of you- you raise your head up from the mattress to see Vox eagle-spread across the sheets, his chest heaving. “No, you were just trying to get off in my closet after watching me fuck a pillow like a fucking loser. Not sure if that reflects worse on you or me.”

You flush, and prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him- he didn’t seem like he was as angry now, less likely to murder you probably. “It’s not great for either of us, but probably a little worse for me.” You take a deep breath, tense despite the orgasm that made your bones feel like goo. “I… I don’t think you’re going to kill me now? But I do understand if you would still like to fire me, sir- this was… lovely, but I was still unprofessional, and-”

“God, just- shut up, damn, is that also a deer thing? Never being able to stop talking? I’m not gonna fucking fire you.” He throws an arm over his screen, his internal fans whirring and blowing hot air across your face. “Are you any good at your job or do you hide in closets on a regular basis?”

“First time transgression, sir.” He chuckles, and you shift a little bit higher up. “Besides- you know, this, I do a good job.”

He hums, turning on his side to look at you- or more specifically, to look at the valley between your breasts where they’re pushed up from your position on your elbows. “Fuck,” he mutters, then actually meets your eye. “Can you get a cum stain out of a pillow?”

You resist the urge to laugh. “I can do more than just wipe it down with a damp cloth and throw it in the closet to sit for two days.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, his screen tinting pink, but he doesn’t actually seem upset about it. “It would have gotten cleaned eventually. The point is- you’ve already seen it, I don’t think there’s any reason why anyone else needs to.”

“Your dry cleaning woman hasn’t seen it before?”

“What, you think I make a fucking habit of this?” He sits up, crossing his legs on the bed to turn and look down at you. “First time transgression, doll. Fuckin’ Val bought me that thing as a joke a few years ago, I forgot about it entirely until he came back, and all this fucking tension came along with it that I obviously couldn’t do anything about with him. No one else has seen it, no one else- no one else knows.”

“I can keep a secret,” you find yourself saying. “And yes, I can get a stain out of a pillow like that.”

His eyebrow quirks up. “I’ll take your word,” Vox says. “Tell you what- you work your magic on that fucking thing, we toss it back into the closet- properly cleaned this time- and we can discuss some kind of arrangement between the two of us. A personal contract with me, instead of the collective like everybody else. You won’t have to wear that uniform anymore,” he adds, “but I can’t say one that I come up with would be any better. I’d keep that cute tail on display though.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You stand from the bed and enjoy the way that his eyes trail down your body, even if they do hover a little longer on your ears. “Do you keep any hydrogen peroxide in the apartment?” He blinks at you. “Bleach? Rubbing alcohol? Fuck, baking soda and vinegar?”

“I’m the CEO, what the fuck do I need any of those things for? Everything I need other people will do for me.”

“God damn it- okay then, you wait here and try to keep your hands off the pillow- I’ll be back.” With a grin rivaling the one on the soiled cushion's image you turn your back to the still grumbling demon. You couldn’t believe your luck - not only had Vox not killed you but you got a good fuck and the promise of some sort of a promotion out of the situation as well. With newfound confidence, you flipped your skirt up and wagged your tail at him before you disappeared through the door to look for the necessary supplies, chuckling to yourself as you heard the grumbling turn into a needy groan.

#ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #hazbin hotel #x reader #vox fanfiction #vox smut #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #vox x reader #vox x you #simp shit <3 #ily frau <3 #hazbin hotel x reader #my stuff <3

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harstyle · 1 month

Text

The Beginning of Something New

Summary: You and Harry Styles could not be more different— so maybe that's the reason you've hated each other from the start. One conversation on a rooftop is all it takes for you to realize that you may have more in common than you've cared to admit.

Word-count: around 3.3k (she's short)

Warnings: they fight a lot lol, mentions of alcohol and drugs

A/N: Hi there! It's been a while. I wrote this short thing on vacation and felt like posting it. It doesn't really follow a time structure or anything, it's just random little snippets of their relationship to the big confessions at the end but I think it's cute, so I hope you enjoy! Both reader and Harry are in uni and Harry is the lead singer of a band that performs in clubs and pubs around the city. I’d say they’re around 20.

credits to the owner of this photo!

You can feel his eyes on you, daring.

You’re trying not to entertain it, to keep your eyes on Luke, to feign interest in his life. But it’s so difficult; it’s so difficult with him standing across the room, this weird hue in the air, this magnetic pull he has on you. And it doesn’t matter that you’re touching Luke’s arm or dragging a finger down his chest— all you care to think about is how hard you’re pushing Harry’s buttons.

And how fucking sweet victory tastes.

Well, aside from… you know, having to actually listen to Luke’s blabbering.

“The hotel’s great but the service is unbelievable. I had to wait fifteen minutes for a guy to bring me an extra towel once and I almost handed in a complaint—“

“Right. Luke, I’m going to get myself a new drink. Do you want anything? No? Wonderful.”

Your rough sigh speaks volumes, wasted air solidifying into something more important as you order at the bar. The bartender smiles at you, almost pitiful, and you writhe in disgust when you think about having to go back in a minute. You suppose it’s worth it to prove your point to Harry that you’re not as undesirable as he thinks, but maybe you should’ve done so with a guy who tells more interesting stories. Or at the very least knows not to speak with his mouth full

“Bored already, princess?”

It does irritate you when Harry sees right through you.

“Were you watching us? How cute.”

He rolls his eyes in your periphery. “You reek of disinterest, is all.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m very interested.”

“Very, you say.”

You lock eyes with him, “very.” Your bartender places the drink in front of you and you’re quick to take a sip. Harry snickers at your side. “What do you want, Harry?”

“Nothing. Are you sure you didn’t pay him to take you out?”

“Are you sure you have nothing else to do with your life? Because it sure is a little pathetic how invested you are in mine.”

“Aw come on, sweetheart,” he pinches your cheek and you recoil in an instant, shoving him back. Harry chuckles like he gets off on it. “Admit that you like the attention.”

“From you? I think I’d rather not.”

His smile never fades. “So this guy, very predictable.”

Your eyebrows pinch together, “what do you mean?”

“Just his look and everything. It makes sense you’d go out with him.” When you don’t reply, simply tilting your head in an even mix of curiosity and disdain, he elaborates. “All of the boys you date, they’re the same. Bet his Porsche’s insurance is under his daddy’s name.”

Your fixated glare could kill.

But he doesn’t mind— in fact, he loves it. He knows he’s struck a cord, that he’s right. “There’s no thrill in it. No excitement.”

“He’s everything you could never be, Harry.”

A beat of silence ensues, you take a sip of your drink.

You probably shouldn’t elaborate, but you do. You find yourself wanting to. “He’s kind, and he cares about me. He opens doors and he holds my hand when we’re walking down the street. So yeah, maybe he doesn’t get drunk tattoos or share a joint with me at three in the morning, but he’s a gentleman. And that’s something you could never understand.”

You don’t even wait for him to interject, because at this point it isn’t fun anymore. It’s true; Harry is exciting, he’s a breath of fresh air. He keeps the chase going— but he doesn’t fucking care enough. So it doesn’t matter how often you’ve caught yourself hoping for him to change and see how good you could be if you didn’t hate each other, he will never be an option for you. He likes the game, teetering on the edge of something more certain and then letting go.

Everything happens at night. By morning time, he couldn’t give less of a shit. You’re not good enough for him. Not exciting enough, not spontaneous enough.

And even though you’re sure you hear him calling your name, you don’t turn back for him. You’re already walking to Luke’s table, and finding yourself happy to do so.

“Everything okay?” He asks when catching wind of your tight expression.

“Yeah. Let’s finish this drink and get the hell out of here.”

—

His eyes are much greener at night, and you hate it.

You hate the rasp in his voice and how smooth it sounds in spite of it. You hate how his eyes close when he’s entranced in the music, when he feels his guitar riff flowing like blood through his veins. And mostly you hate how weak you are, how little convincing it took for you to be here tonight.

By the end of his set, you’re three martinis in and Jessica is poking you in the shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Im fucking great, Jess.”

You don’t see why your friends are always walking on eggshells when the topic of Harry comes up. You and Harry can’t stand each other, that’s it.

And yet every time they act like you’ll break into tears when you see him.

Mitch and Harry return to the table in your periphery and you try your best to ignore their presence. Sometimes you feel bad that Mitch seems to be at the receiving end of your cold attitude so often because he’s genuinely a cool guy, but he’s also Harry’s bandmate. It’s aversion by association.

“Great set, guys!”

Jessica and Mitch aren’t officially dating, but they’re fucking. Hanging out. Hence the reason for your frequent visits to this club and to their gigs; she forces you to come and you can never say no to her.

Mitch slings an arm around Jess’ shoulders, kind enough to acknowledge you with a welcoming smile. They’re perfect for each other and you can’t help but let a grin tug at your lips when you see yet again how happy he makes her.

You wish you could have that.

The couple leaves to get drinks, leaving you and Harry alone.

“Didn’t bring your boyfriend?”

Your eyes roll. It’s involuntary at this point how often you do it. “Can you get off of my dick?”

“If you hop on mine.”

Disgust molds your features, “you’re fucking gross.”

He laughs. You don’t find him funny at all.

His grin dims. “Trouble in paradise then?”

“No trouble. He’s just not here.”

You’re lying; you haven’t called Luke in weeks and he hasn’t reached out either. You don’t think that’s going to change.

“So you’re still dating him.”

“Yeah. Does that bother you?”

You watch as his jaw constricts and clenches. Then he shakes his head, surprising you with the silence it’s accompanied by.

And for some reason, it causes a twist in your stomach. A guilty twist, like it’s somehow your fault the air has turned uncomfortable.

It takes you seconds to realize that for the first time since you’ve gotten to know him, he’s failed to deliver a snarky remark or a hurtful comment; anything resembling a testament to the hatred the two of you feel for one another.

It’s like he has something he wants to say, something on the tip of his tongue, but he’s a coward when it comes to relationships and vulnerability, so he can’t bring himself to do it. And you have enough self-respect to not pry it out of him.

“I have a thing in an hour so I’ll get going. Do you need a ride home?”

For some reason, his offer doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. You and Harry can hate each other all you want, but at the end of the day he’ll still care enough to make sure you don’t get harassed on the way home. Somewhat comforting, but only somewhat.

You also know exactly what his thing is, and thinking about it makes you nauseous.

Your first instinct is to say no, but then you pause. Your eyes wander to Jess and Mitch kissing by the bathrooms and you find yourself unable to resist the offer of a ride, as much as you’d hate having to sit in a car with him.

“Yeah, okay.”

Harry’s only confirmation is a subtle nod. He probably hates the idea just as much as you do, but having a death or an injury on one’s conscience can’t feel better than having to endure this.

Most of the ride goes swimmingly, but that’s owed to the silence.

And then you get sick of it, and it all goes downhill.

“You’re the most confusing guy I’ve ever met, you know that?”

His jaw clenches again.

But you don’t stop, probably because the alcohol is finally taking its effect. “You’re mean and as emotionally unavailable as a fucking tree.”

In any other setting he’d probably smile at the comparison, but he’s not in the mood today. He says your name and it resembles a warning.

“I just don’t— I don’t fucking get it. Because you’re nice to everyone else and every one of our friends loves you. But with me you have a problem, with everything I do. I can never do anything right, I’m never right—“

“Do you realize that maybe it’s just you? That you never shut up, that you’re so fucking irritating. You walk around like you’re god-chosen, pretending to know everything better than anyone else. You’re so— it’s so fucking irritating.”

Silence.

He shouldn’t have said anything— least of all anything he didn’t think through beforehand.

But it isn’t his words that terrify you; it’s how he says them. He’s so… genuine. It’s not some halfhearted comment delivered out of spite. No, it’s real, something you can tell he’s kept concealed for a long time out of… what, something he considers kindness?

But you don’t want to self-reflect. You don’t want to open up a can of worms. Instead, your hatred for Harry only flares up. It eats you up and leaves your body in strong waves.

“Pull over.”

You can tell Harry regrets his outburst when he sighs, knuckles turning white as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Princess—“

“Pull over, Harry. I want to walk.”

“It’s dangerous out—“

You don’t care anymore, though, his pleas becoming background noise as you’re opening the door and getting ready to step out mid drive. Harry finally gives. He’s not worried about the damage you might’ve caused to his door, he’s worried about your state. How angry you seem and how much alcohol is in your system.

You slam the door shut, hug your blazer closer to your body and start walking.

Guilt spreads in Harry’s chest as he watches you walk away from him. He messed up.

He’s sure there’ll be a special place in hell waiting for him when he sees your shoulders tremble. You’re crying. And it’s all his doing.

His forehead hits the steering wheel.

Fuck this.

—

You’ve always loved watching the stars on your own. You suppose it’s how stuffy the room was that makes this particular viewing significantly more enjoyable, though, the air clinging to your skin in a way that makes you feel protected. The rooftop is secluded, offering a view of the city in its twinkling lights. For a minute, you forget that you’re depressed. You forget that you haven’t spoken to Harry in two months and that it’s left a gaping wanting hole in your chest.

The beer in your hand isn’t cold anymore, your phone has died and your heels are long discarded on the floor somewhere. Your arms are resting on the railing.

You’re a reasonably social person, but the idea of talking to a human being right now makes you want to vomit. And you feel bad, truly bad, because it’s Nina’s birthday. Because you’re having a party in the art gallery she opened earlier this year, because you should be down there celebrating her achievements like all of your friends are doing— and you feel so incredibly selfish for not feeling up to the task. For feeling like you want to fucking cry just because Harry’s here too, and you weren’t expecting him to be.

You hear your name being called. You know exactly who it is; you would probably know by the pattern of his breathing, really, and that realization makes you want to crawl into a hole and never come back up.

“Everyone’s worried about you. You just disappeared.”

Your frown deepens. You can’t look at him right now. “Are they?”

He sounds impatient and you don’t blame him. “Yes. Can you come in?”

You sniffle, “in a minute.”

“Princess—“

“I said in a minute, okay? Just— give me a minute.”

He allows you silence for another minute. Two, actually, before walking closer. You can’t see him, but his presence is loud enough for you to know.

“Are you okay?”

You shake your head, “no.”

“Can I help you with anything?”

“No.” You breathe in deep, readying yourself for something you’ll probably regret later. But the sudden rush of courage is overwhelming, so you’ll take your chances. “I, uh… I’m always terrified of being exposed to hurt. And so I think, as a defense mechanism, I close up around people. At least the ones who show signs of disliking me.” His silence allows you to go on. “And I always got the impression that you hated me. I never knew what I had done, but I knew you didn’t like me, and that sent me into a fucking spiral because I hate when that happens.” You interrupt yourself in a chuckle, watching as lights flicker off in the distance. “And so maybe subconsciously, in the beginning, I made it a mission of mine to make you like me, you know? Which is why I used to try to talk, to keep conversation going, never shut my mouth. And when I realized that wasn’t working, I needed to shut myself off. Keep you as far away as possible because I knew you would hurt me one way or another.” One last deep breath helps you bask in this feeling of relief. For once in your life, you’re being honest.

“And so I know that I can be overbearingly rude, that I get on your nerves, but it’s because…” you can’t bring yourself to say the complete truth, so you modify it a little, “it’s because if you knew the real me, the version that everyone else knows, then you would know how to hurt me. And I didn’t want that to happen.”

His breathing changes, you hear it. You almost can’t believe you would open up like you did, but somewhere deep down you’re also proud of yourself.

“And I’ve realized now that… that somewhere along the way I got swept up in the illusion of it. The nights we spent together getting tattoos and drinking until morning, I took them for something they weren’t because I wanted it all to be real. I wanted for us to be real, I guess, for us to stop hating each other so much. I held onto the hope, but you would never communicate the same to me. And that scared me because I felt like I wasn’t enough for you. But instead of accepting it, I got meaner and more defensive because I felt played.”

“And I know it’s so… it’s so fucking weird for me to say this to you now like it’s some kind of confession, but… I just can’t shut up, so.”

You find it comical how it all flows out of you like water. How easy it seems now and how much of a big deal you used to make it.

“I never hated you.“ He says after a beat of quiet.

“You didn’t?” You ask as you turn around, pressing your back to the railing. He sticks his hands into the pockets of his washed out jeans and walks closer. He stops next to you, his arms resting on the railing. It’s his turn to watch the lights.

“No,” he shakes his head, taking a deep breath to brace himself. “I… when I saw you for the first time, I felt drawn. I thought you were sweet and funny, and you definitely had me wrapped around your fucking finger by the second time we met. It terrified me, how someone like you could have that effect on me.”

“Someone like me?”

“Someone so caring and deserving of something more than I could offer her. What you said at the bar that night, it was true. It was all true. Because I never had to be a gentleman before, you know? I don’t exactly date. You know that.” You do. “And I knew that you could worm your way in and completely change my life if only you wanted to. You could hurt me a million times over and I would forgive you every time.”

You can feel his eyes on you, studying the curve of your nose like it’s something he wants to memorize. “I was insecure. I didn’t want to get hurt, so I chose to scare you off. But it was real, all of it; the nights we spent together, everything in between. I pretended like it wasn’t, but deep down I knew it would come to kick me in the ass.” You laugh at his choice of words; he smiles in return. “Because you’re… you’re perfect for me, you know? And letting myself be happy was too much to ask, so I resorted to being an arse. I figured if I could control how you felt about me, I could control how I felt about you.”

You always thought you and Harry were complete opposites... you’re talkative, Harry’s quiet. You’re warm, Harry’s cold. You can’t take it when people don’t like you, and Harry couldn’t give less of a shit.

But now you know that it isn’t the complete truth. Beneath that superficial layer you know so well, there are similar fears. At it’s base, you’re both scared of hurt. You’re scared of exploring unknown territory and risking everything in the name of something that could leave you heartbroken. It could all be for nothing.

And yet, could it not still be worth it?

“We’re both stupid.”

Harry chuckles, and you’re convinced it’s the most beautiful sound anyone could make.

He taps his fingers against the metal railing, nodding. “That we are.”

For the first time in a long time, the silence you share is comfortable. It isn’t courtesy of having too much to say and yet saying nothing, instead it’s courtesy of having said everything and agreeing it’s enough. For now, at least.

You smile to yourself.

The door opens, revealing a timid Jess.

“Hey guys, we’re about to cut into the cake.”

“We’re coming,” you say, sharing a short look with Harry. The two of you walk down the stairs, Harry behind you and Jess in front.

Nina embraces you, ushering both you and Harry closer. If she noticed you were gone, she doesn’t mention it and you’re thankful for that. Tonight, you just want to be a good friend.

And although you have more to say, you’re not worried. Because it’ll all be fine— you’ll be fine.

Nina blows out her candles, everyone erupts into cheers. You grin, sharing a look with Harry over the rim of your bottle. It’s longer this time, something worth holding onto. His eyes are daring, they’re sure, and most of all, they’re welcoming.

It’s a guarantee of trust, a confirmation of the beginning of a new chapter. And although you’re eager to explore it, you have no doubt in your mind that the story won’t come to an end for a while.

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry styles series #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fandom #harry styles x y/n #frat boy harry

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deedeeznoots · 4 months

Note

Can we please get some hcs of Sukuna and reader in the fairytale AU 🥹🥹

Absolutely amazing writing I loved every single thing of it!💖💖

Cottage Life

➺ Characters: Ryomen Sukuna, Fem!Reader

➺ Word Count: 2.5k

➺ Genre: Fluff, Mentions of Smut

➺ Content: MDNI, Established Relationship, True Form!Sukuna, Princess!Reader, Swearing, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Smut

➺ A/N: Hi Anon! Thank you for the kind words and the request, I’d love to do this. I’m so glad that people enjoyed my Sukuna Fairy Tale AU so I’m 100% going to explore the idea more. On another note, this is also my first ever request🥹 I’m giggling and kicking my feet at the thought of people enjoying my writing enough to want to request specific things for me to create so I just want to take the time to say if you have an idea for me to write anything specific please do not hesitate to ask! Thank you all very very much. :)

➺ Synopsis: Small glimpses into your daily life with Sukuna in the deep woods. While not fully necessary to understand these little snippets, reading the beginning of your story with Sukuna would certainly enhance the experience. <3

ꨄ Pre-Relationship: Secret Meetings ꨄ

➼ When you first began meeting with him regularly he was pretty mean to you and ignored you most of the time when you tried to talk to him. Despite this, he always kept you by his side anyways and didn’t deter you from meeting him.

➼ One time you straight up asked him why and he said it was because you brought food to him. While you accepted that answer, you knew inside that wasn’t really the case because he would still keep you around even after you both ate.

➼ After warming up to you one of the things that you two bonded over was the nature in the forest. Sukuna would explain the wildlife to you since you were unfamiliar for a long time and he was to your surprise, a really good teacher.

➼ He was able to answer any questions you had and went over every detail that he knew about the woods and was able to keep things interesting.

➼ When you both spent that night under the stars he was serious when he tried flirting with you but quickly realized what he did so he tried to play it off as a joke (he couldn’t be caught being too soft, after all).

➼ Since he’s so much stronger and bigger than you (and literally everyone lol) he makes sure to be extra cautious and gentle around you because despite what he seems like, he doesn’t want to genuinely scare people, especially you.

➼ Speaking of, he has no idea why you aren’t scared of him and doesn’t understand why you act like the way he looks is no big deal. He doesn’t complain though and never mentions it to you.

➼ One of the reasons you’re not scared of him is because he has saved your life more times than you could count, and why would you be scared of someone who continually keeps you alive, most of the time at his own expense?

➼ “No, don't eat those berries, they’re poisonous…wha-what do you mean you already had five?!”

➼ He had to do some poison control that day… and it wasn’t very fun.

➼ Every time he saves your life he always tells you that he’ll just leave you next time but you know that’s not true at all.

➼ You would also always get injured for stupid reasons so he’d take care of your wounds like he did when you both first officially met (he’d laugh first though)

➼ One of the days you visited you realized you had a talent for making flower crowns so you would spend a lot of time with him doing it while you both talked and walked around the woods.

➼ You mostly gave yours to him as a gift

➼ He would grumble and act like he hated it but he would keep them on anyway and he kept all of them. After a while it grew into a small collection that he secretly cherishes.

➼ Sukuna secretly (though, it wasn’t a secret to you) loved these meetings, and your visits were the highlight of his day every time.

ꨄ Early Relationship: Locked Away ꨄ

➼ Sukuna was confused at first when you stopped visiting him after sleeping with him.

➼ He thought he did something wrong and you didn’t have a good time, or that he hurt you in some way.

➼ He tried to put on the tough guy act at first and tried to convince himself that he didn’t like you all that much anyways.

➼ Obviously, it wasn’t true and he’s a big softy on the inside so he gave into his temptations to see you.

➼ When he saw the guards by your bedroom window, he realized what happened, and remembered that you always had to sneak out to see him.

➼ Once he realized what actually happened he chastised himself for being so pouty and feeling sorry for himself instead of going to see you sooner.

➼ To make up for this he goes to look at you every day as you stand by your window.

➼ Eventually, you noticed him and you both would spend the whole day just sitting with each other from afar.

➼ Sometimes he would see you cry when he visited and his heart would break because he couldn’t wipe your tears away.

➼ He has resisted the urge to attempt to fight the guards by your window more than he can count.

➼ Only reason he didn’t was his fear of making things worse for you if he did.

➼ On the day of your wedding, he noticed that you weren’t by your window like usual.

➼ He learned his lesson about giving up on you too soon, so he decided instead of leaving you be, that he would go around the castle and look for you to see if you were okay.

➼ Too invested in finding you, he didn’t realize that he stood a tad too close to some of the guards of your castle, leading to him getting caught by them.

➼ That turned out to be a happy accident however, as they led him directly to you and gave you both the chance to run away together.

➼ He was secretly proud of you stabbing someone so easily, but he’ll never tell you that directly.

ꨄ Long-Term Relationship: Cottage Life ꨄ

➼ When you both first found the cottage in the woods, it was in very rough shape.

➼ It was dirty, barely had a roof, and there were broken windows everywhere. It was obvious that no one had lived there for some time.

➼ Well… one man’s trash is another one’s treasure, and you both worked day and night to fix the cottage after first finding it.

➼ You weren’t used to any physical discomfort at all, so it took a while for you to get used to these types of conditions. However, Sukuna always made sure to help you feel better.

➼ For example, one time it rained and you two got super wet inside your home due to the roof not being 100% secure.

➼ It was tough for you. Not only were the two of you wet, but the inside of the home you both spent tons of time fixing up was flooded now as well.

➼ Thankfully, Sukuna always found a way to turn unfortunate situations upside down.

➼ “Come on, let’s go play in the mud, you didn’t eat enough dirt as a kid”

➼ You both immediately felt better once you played in the rain together… especially when Sukuna would be ever the romantic and lift you up to kiss you as water droplets fell on both of you.

➼ After months of sweat and tears, the cottage was finally fixed and cleaned.

➼ It quickly became the love of your life, second only to Sukuna, and you both quickly settled into your humble abode.

➼ You would always wake up first which would give you a few moments where you could stare at Sukuna’s sleeping face

➼ This was your favorite thing to do every morning, because you loved his calm expression more than anything.

➼ Sometimes he catches you and as he opens his eyes he would sarcastically go “Don’t stare. It’s weird” and laugh at your blushing face.

➼ When this happens you would just lightly hit his chest and jokingly tell him to fuck off.

➼ You would always give him a nice long kiss first thing every morning though.

➼ Despite you no longer being a Princess, he always makes sure to pamper you like one anyways.

➼ For example, whenever you have a craving for something that can’t be found in the wild he would make sure to get it at any costs.

➼ This includes traveling hours to the closest villages and sneaking in to take their stuff.

➼ You always get mad at him for doing this because it could put him in serious danger, but he laughs and tells you it’s fine and that in all his time living near humans he was only caught once and it was because of you.

➼ To this, you roll your eyes but you thank him anyways for caring so much about you that he’d work so hard to satisfy such a small craving.

➼ Whenever you’re busy doing something, he makes it a point to catch you off guard and hug you from behind with his four arms.

➼ You’re never actually caught off guard and can sense him from miles away (he has very loud footsteps), but you pretend anyway to get him to keep doing it.

➼ Most days you both spend your time walking around and exploring the nature around you both. However, on particularly lazy days, you two spend most of the day just cuddling together.

➼ One thing that stays the same is that every night both of you look at the stars like the first night you two spent together.

➼ Unlike that first night though, Sukuna would always make it a point to go down on you while outside.

➼ Also unlike that first night, there was no pressure to rush home so you two would fall asleep outside under the stars.

➼ One time though, you woke up screaming when you found a giant bug crawling on you. Sukuna took the bug away but would always make fun of you for it whenever you both decided to sleep outside.

➼ Sukuna would tell you he loved you in the most random of times: Walking around, eating dinner, anywhere really. He would just look you in the eyes and quietly say “I love you”.

➼ This is always paired with small kisses all over your face that make you giggle because of how ticklish they are.

➼ Sometimes when you two are cuddling in bed he would randomly lick your back with his stomach mouth to make you jump.

➼ “What the hell Ryomen!?”

➼ “Hehe, sorry”

➼ You both discovered your hidden talents while living together, and Sukuna realized his talent happened to be dress making. He realized this after he made a little makeshift dress out of your wedding attire when he carelessly ripped it away.

➼ He was able to make you some pretty good dresses with the most random of cloth that he found around the woods. They weren’t the most formal, but they were certainly the best dresses you’ve ever had, being handmade by someone you loved.

➼ You once again tell him he doesn’t have to do all this but he makes you stuff anyway.

➼ “Who said it was about you? This shit is fun as hell!” which made you laugh.

➼ He now has to pay extra mind to not completely rip your clothes off during bed because you two no longer had an infinite void of clothing choices.

➼ In fact, he actually swung a little too far in the opposite direction…

➼ “Wait. Take it off carefully, I worked hard on this one. I SAID BE CAREFUL IDIOT–”

➼ Despite this, accidents still happen and sometimes he would rip them off in the heat of the moment anyways.

➼ Living together, you had to learn to do a lot of things related to maintaining a home like cleaning since you weren’t used to doing this stuff yourself.

➼ Sukuna told you that it’s fine and that he’d do it but you insisted that you should learn how to do things on your own now that you’re independent.

➼ Being the good teacher that he is, Sukuna would go on to teach you basic chores.

➼ He would still tease you sometimes while teaching you though. Such as one time when you accidentally burned yourself by the fire trying to make dinner and he laughed when you kept flailing your hand everywhere.

➼ He didn’t bully you for too long though, he was still worried of course. So, he made sure to heal the burns and help kiss them better.

➼ You’re still able to make those flower crowns like before, so you guys would make flower crowns for each other all the time, and this time Sukuna didn’t hide how proud he was of them.

➼ Everytime he gave you yours he’d give you a small kiss on the forehead before placing the crown on your head.

➼ You would try to do the same and would go on your tippy toes trying to reach him, but he’s hella tall so it doesn’t work.

➼ “Jesus, you are 9 ft tall”

➼ “Is that what they tell people? That’s not true at all” He would smile, crossing his arms as you attempted to jump up to place the crown on him.

➼ “Well whatever you are I can’t fucking reach you”

➼ He eventually lifts you up by your hips and lets you place the crown on him and give him his little forehead kiss.

➼ Whenever you two are together, he always has his hands on you (he has four of course, and he needs to put them to good use). Whether it’s placing your hand on his, or having an arm around your waist, one hand always had to be on you.

➼ You both have every meal together, from breakfast to dinner. They’re mostly quiet and you both just take the time to bask in each other’s presence.

➼ From this, you learned just how much Sukuna LOVES to eat.

➼ You noticed this already before of course, since your relationship started with you bringing him food, but you really notice it once you begin eating together

➼ Sometimes when he’s eating his food too quickly you tell him to take it easy in order to not upset his stomach

➼ In response, he’d point to his smiling stomach mouth and go “Does he look upset to you?”

➼ You’d just laugh at this point lol and leave him be with one last comment about how he seriously shouldn’t eat so fast

➼ He listens for a bit and takes smaller bites, but he goes right back into it after a few minutes.

➼ You weren’t great at cooking at first, but Sukuna didn’t really care and ate your food anyways

➼ “Don’t worry I eat anything, this is trash though” he’d say with food in his mouth, only half joking.

➼ Once you got better at the skill, he always insisted for you to cook or for the two of you to cook together since it tasted better when you did it (when you knew what you were doing, of course).

➼ Speaking of together… At first, you two tried to take baths together at the nearby river.

➼ Emphasis on tried, because Sukuna always got too excited seeing your naked body and you two weren’t able to get clean at all.

➼ Due to this, you decided it was best to bathe separately, to Sukuna’s dismay.

➼ Occasionally you still allowed him to join you, of course.

➼ Sukuna made love with you every time like it would be the last time.

➼ In the back of his head, he always remembers the time you were taken away from him right after you both spent a night together.

➼ With this in mind, he always makes sure to make each session one you’d never forget, and he always delivered on this promise, of course.

➼ He would always take care of you after of course, and always made sure you were okay.

➼ You were fine, but you passed out 99% of the time so he would wipe you down and make sure to cuddle you.

➼ He’s always worried about you being in danger again, but whenever he sees you asleep next to him he can’t help but think of anything but what he ever did to deserve you

➼ Of course, from the moment you wake up to see his sleeping face, you can’t help but think the same thing about him.

➼ Your life is a lot different now. Not only do you no longer have the title of Princess, but you’ve traded in your castle for a tiny cottage, and a crown for dirt-covered feet. Yet, you wouldn’t change it for the world… because for every painful burn and disgusting bug on you, is his smile, and that smile is worth more than any title.

A/N: Enjoyed seeing Fairy Tale!Sukuna? Just a reminder that if you haven’t read it yet, please feel free to read the story that these headcanons are based on!

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samandcolbyownme · 1 month

Text

Full fanfic based on this snippet

Warnings: kissing, fluff

Word Count: 1.3k | unedited

══════════════════

You stretch over, grabbing your phone off the night stand to silence your raging alarm. You sigh as you rest your head down on the bed, before feeling hands slide over your hips and pull you back across the bed.

You giggle as you feel Colby nuzzle his face into your neck as he whines, “Don’t go yet.” He slides his arm over your waist, “Please.”

“I need a shower, plus-“ He wines at your words but you keep talking, “-I told them yesterday I’d be in early.” You pout, running your hand over his arm, “Todsy’s y/n hates yesterday’s y/n.”

He sighs dramatically against your neck, chuckles as he presses kisses to it, “You’re just so soft, and warm.” He pulls you against him more, “Please stay with me. All day.” He whines, “Please.”

The begging was getting to you. Seeing Colby all soft and sleepy made you want to do almost anything he wanted you to do.

You groan as you roll over to face him, hands lying flat on his chest, “I would love nothing more than to stay here all day with you, but I have to be there today, baby.”

He pouts, eyes still closed, “Fine.” He tightens his grip, smirking at what he’s about to say next, “But, If I’m correct, I believe you have another twenty minutes, or so to spare..”

Colby knew you always set an alarm a little before you actually needed to get up, you called that the ‘time to contemplate on whether or not you really needed this job’.

You smile, giving him a nod before laying your head under his chin, “You would be correct.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you tight as he lets out a quiet sigh, “Do they really need you today?”

You stay silent for a few seconds before pushing yourself away from him, “I’ll be right back.” He lets out a while, stretching his body across the bed as if he’s trying to contain the warmth from your body, “No, don’t go anywhere.”

You smirk, grabbing your phone, “I’ll be right back, okay. I promise, baby.”

You go to the bathroom, pulling up your assistant’s number. The line rings a few times before she answers, “Are you already at the office? Am I late? Oh gosh, I’m sorry I-“

“No, no. I’m still home. I’m calling to tell you that you have the day off, something came up and I won’t be in today.”

“Oh.” She lets out a sigh of relief, “Don’t scare me like that.” She laughs and you sighs, laughing slightly, “Go back to bed. See you tomorrow.”

You hang up and make your way back to Colby, who is again, sound asleep.

You set your phone down after silencing every alarm you have on, and crawl back into bed with him, “I took off.”

“You didn’t have to.” He says as he pulls you closer to his body, “But I appreciate it.”

“I wanted to.” You reach up, laying a hand on his cheek, “I could really use a day just lounging around with you.”

“Now you get it.” He laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek, “Now go back to sleep, baby.” He lays on his back, his arm pulling you with him.

You lay against him, head on his chest as you slowly drift back to sleep.

——

You wake up, about two hours later, and Colby is gone.

“Colby?” You call out, and right as you go to get up, Colby’s pushing the door open, “Sorry. I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

He walks a tray over, setting it down over your legs and he quickly runs around and gets in on his side, “I thought you’d be hungry, so I made breakfast.”

“You’re so sweet.” You pout and look at him and he reaches over, “Not as sweet at this strawberry, try this.” (I’m sorry if you’re allergic to strawberry, just change it to your fav fruit lol ily)

“Mm.” You nod, “That is good.”

He smirks and tilts his head as he stares at you. You glance over at him, “What?”

He shakes his head, “Just admiring how pretty my girlfriend looks.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and you smile, “Oh stop it.” You shove a strawberry into his mouth and he smiles, “What? I’m just being honest.”

You roll your eyes, playfully, “Yeah, I know.” You lean in, pressing a kiss to his nose, “I love you.”

He smiles and kisses your nose, “I love you.”

——

After breakfast, you spent the rest of the morning sleeping on and off, small talk with Colby, and just overall relaxing.

You were glad you called off. You don’t really ever get to relax like this anymore, not unless Colby grabs you by the shoulders and forces you to, which is something you need sometimes.

Around lunch time, you moved to the living room, but you both agreed that the bed was more comfortable.

You had lunch and just laid together, tangled within each other as you listened to him talk about his upcoming investigations.

You were always fascinated by what he does. You admired him for putting himself through tough situations like he has.

“What are your plans for today?” You mumble, face buried in his neck. He chuckles, “You’re doing them with me.”

“We’re just going to stay in bed all day?” You tilt your head up and he nods, “Oh yeah.”

You smile, sliding your hand over his chest to trace over his tattoo, “I’m fine with that.”

“Good, because you don’t really have another choice.” He wraps his arms around you, “What do you want to drink?”

“Surprise me.” You smile as you watch him leave the room. You roll over, staring out the window as you wait for his return.

He’s gone a little longer than you expected, which kinda peaks your curiosity, so you get out of bed. You make your way over to the door and down the steps, stopping when you reach the kitchen, “I thought you got lost.”

Colby turns around, “No. I didn’t get lost. I was just-“ he sighs, walking over to you, “I had this.. idea.. but it’s not going the way I planned and I’m just-“

“Hey.” You look up at him, “What’s going on?”

Colby stares at you, reaching into his pocket as he gets down onto one knee. Your body relaxes and your eyes go wide, “Colby.”

He pulls out a ring box, revealing the most beautiful ring you had ever seen, “Y/n. You are the light to my dark. You’re always there to lift me up and you are just everything I could ever want in a person and it would be the utmost honor, if you marry me.”

Tears in your eyes, you drop down to the floor. Your arms wrap around his neck, “Yes, as many times as I can say it..” you lean back, pressing your lips to his, “Yes.”

He pulls you in, kissing you again before sliding the ring on your finger. Both of you stare down at it before looking at each other, “I love you.” You shake your head, “I love you so much.”

Colby smiles, hands gripping your hips, “I love you and I love that this actually went better than I thought.”

“You thought I’d say no?” You laugh slightly and Colby shakes his head, “No I just didn’t want my nervousness to ruin it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” You stand up, reaching out for his hand, “Now come on. We have to go celebrate.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” He whines as he stands up and you smirk, “I wasn’t talking about going out, baby.”

He smirks, lifting you up over his shoulder to whisk you away to the bedroom.

══════════════════

Hope you liked! Thanks for reading. I love you sooo much! See ya in the next one!

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

#samandcolby-ownme #Colby Brock #fluff #Colby Brock fluff #Colby Brock fanfic #fluff colby brock #Colby fluff #fluffy one shot #fluffy colby brock #colby brock one shot #colby brock x reader #Colby Brock x you #colby brock x reader fluff #xplr colby brock #colby brock x y/n #Colby Brock fluff fic #stay with me

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icyg4l · 5 months

Text

PAC: What Upgrades are Coming Into Your Life?

Hello beautiful people, so sorry for the delay on readings. I've been really distracted lol. But tonight marked the end of the $5 4/20 weekend sale. I am grateful for those who have purchased a reading. Now, if you would like to purchase a reading, please read my guidelines and let me know! (They will be regularly priced until another sale comes along). Now, this weekend’s PAC will be all about the upgrades that are coming in your life! Whether that’s in your career, home, family, finances, love, etc. We’ll find together! So without further ado, please pick your Megan baby. 🤭

Top Left-to-Bottom Right (1-4):

PIle One, I feel like things have been getting hectic in your life. I think that this is a group of people who can get easily distracted by the small things. A lot of you are going through a breakup/separation from someone that betrayed you or love bombed you. I can feel my throat tightening as I’m typing this. I’m sorry, Pile One but this is a blessing in disguise. I think that this will be a death/rebirth period for you. I am seeing snippets of the Hiss video, specifically when Megan is dressed in all silver. I think you will come out stronger than ever. When I say stronger, I mean you will be less tolerant with other people’s bullshit and having better boundaries. I feel like someone tried to dominate you and as a result, it ruined your self-esteem. I see you taking some time to yourself and realizing who the fuck you are. You need to know that things will get better. Anything that happens over the course of the next seven days is meant to happen, Pile One.

Cards Used: The Empress (RX), Prince of Cups, 7 of Swords, Strength, The Hermit, 3 of Swords (RX), The Magician, Temperance (RX), The Lovers (RX).

extras: “bovine”. playing the dozens. hbcu bound. 1H lilith. a full shopping cart. laughter.

Pile Two: If you suffer from insomnia, you will absolutely start to get better sleep. Pile Two, you’re such a smart worker. I know you don’t like to work hard, and you will be getting a reward for that. I see a promotion coming your way. If you have a boss that has an explosive temper, I see that this will happen within the next three weeks. Your life also seems chaotic like Pile Two. You also seem like the obsessive type. I feel like this is a pile full of nightowls as well. Part of your upgrade process will mean embracing your shadow side. I think that you have some trouble with other women (if you’re a woman), or having trouble embracing your soft side. It is okay to be vulnerable. I also see if you’re on the search for a new car, then a woman will co-sign a loan for you. It seems like you will be changing from the inside out. The longer it takes for you to address the issues that you have going on internally, the longer the results will come. I am seeing that when you finally decide to open up and be vulnerable, the physical changes will manifest. For example, if you want longer hair, your hair will grow two inches. If you want to change your life, change your mind Pile Two. And I’d recommend you look up the term ‘limerence’. Start making changes to become more grounded and less clouded by delusions, fantasies and looping thoughts about stuff that does not exist in your reality. It’s time to let them go, Pile Two.

Cards Used: 4 of Cups, Queen of Cups, The Chariot, Ace of Discs, 3 of Discs, The Devil, King of Cups (RX), The Tower, 9 of Swords

extras: listening to nightcore. “egoic”. meat market. fresh beat band. beauty shop (2005). picker-upper.

Pile Three: Your hard work is finally going to pay off. You’ve been obsessing over your work and dedicating so much of your time to it. It is finally going to receive some recognition because you decided to not give up on your dreams. As a result, I see that your dream lifestyle will be well-funded. If you’re an artist or a clothing designer, this will especially resonate with you. The amount of time that you spent on your passion will be appreciated by many eyes, Pile Three. If you’ve been having a hard time accepting someone for who they are, or if you have been struggling with your emotions in general, I see that you will get a handle on it. And also, if you’re looking for a vendor, you will find one! You are being called to continue to focus on your craft. I am channeling this interview of GloRilla where she says that she abstained from relations with men, partying and alcohol for sixty days before she blew up. Then FNF was released, and that marked the start of her mainstream journey. So, keep going baby!!

Cards Used: Wheel of Fortune, Strength (RX), 5 of Cups, Queen of Cups, 7 of Cups, Princess of Discs, The Devil, 3 of Discs, Temperance, The Star

extras: christina aguilera. spiders. a series of unfortunate events. award shows.

Pile Four: The only way that you can learn from your mistakes is if you actually implement the lesson into your life, Pile Four. I can tell that you’re stubborn. Once you really understand that nothing can change if YOU don’t move things around, you will know how powerful you are. Some of you may have a really thick (and attractive) accent. I think that you can use this to your advantage to make things shake for you. Pile Four, do you really know yourself? Like outside of the things that you do and have, who are you? It is time for you to do some soul searching, my love. It feels like I am talking to a shell of you. I think that the upgrades that are coming in will involve other people. You will find someone who helps you embrace your rawest, natural self. I also think that you will be interested in fitness and will find a workout partner. Investing in yourself physically will impact you emotionally. You do not need to go back to your old self because they’re gone. Take pride in this new you. I feel that your spirituality will strengthen as well. Your boundaries will grow stronger, and as this happens, you will lose more friends unfortunately. But I don’t think you’ll be affected by it. Overall, I feel like this pile will gain a lot of clarity and mental strength to start breaking generational curses and shedding old skin. You got this, Pile Four!

Cards Used: 8 of Cups, The Star, Death, 9 of Swords, 7 of Wands, The Fool, Temperance, Page of Wands, The Lovers

extras: “you smell good.” “be you.” jump by tyla. maison margiela. kick-ass. wwe.

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eddiesghxst · 1 year

Text

PRICE OF FAME (PART 3/12)

ALRIGHTY HERE WE GO !!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie and gareth don't get along and eddie thinks you look cute when you're sleeping

contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, alcohol use, maybe gareth's a bitch lol, scary feelings, a sprinkle of fluff, and eddie being down bad in every way, shape, and form <3

word count: 5.3k

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| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Breakfast has been your favorite part of joining Corroded Coffin on tour. Aside from the fluffy, soft, sweet pancakes, grease-dripping bacon, and toe-curling orgasmic coffee, breakfast has always been lighthearted and fun. Richie makes everybody sit at the table together like a family so there can be some sense of normalcy throughout the busy days; it’s nice.

You alternate with your seating, wanting to get to know all of the crew members as best as you can while you have the time, and you’ve had decent conversations amongst some awkward ones. On the first day, you sat next to Mitch, the light coordinator, and listened to his story about how he met his husband. They’re expecting a baby this fall, and you two bounced a few names off each other for him to consider. On the second day, you sat beside Kaylee, the tour stylist, and talked about your college horror stories. On the third day, you sat next to Brandon, a stage manager, and spoke about… well, you don’t really remember because he talked the entire time, and you kind of blanked out. Slowly, you’ve made your way around the table each day, learning little things about the group.

Today, however, there is not the usual lighthearted and familial atmosphere at the table.

You came down to the breakfast hall a bit late from your shower, and the second you stepped into the room, you could sense the tension still hanging from yesterday. You haven’t spoken to or seen Eddie since he confronted Gareth at the studio, and you’re not sure if he’d even want to see you, but you have no choice but to take the only open seat next to him.

You quietly say good morning to everyone, and Richie is the only one who gives you a warm response. “How’d you sleep, birdie?” He questions around a mouthful of eggs. You nod and settle in, “Good, I almost slept through my alarm.” You jokingly admit. Richie chuckles, “1500 thread count sheets will do that to you.” He says, causing the table to erupt in a soft symphony of laughter.

It falls awkwardly silent, and you try your best to avoid glancing at Gareth, but there’s no doubt everybody notices the shiner he’s sporting on his eye. The room is filled with sounds of forks clanking against plates and the quiet mumble of short, faint snippets of conversation until Richie clears his throat, “We’ve got an interview with the press at twelve and rehearsals at three, like always, so do what you need to do before then. We can’t be late for this interview, got it?” He reminds the crew, and everybody’s head nods in understanding, all but one.

“I’m not going.”

All eyes turn to Gareth, a full plate sitting untouched before him as he slumps back in his seat. Beside you, Eddie lights a cigarette, and you opt to busy yourself with taking a bite of your French toast, practically feeling the anger radiating from Eddie as he takes a drag. Richie clears his throat once again, scooting closer to the table and tilting his head with a look of confusion, “Um… why not?” He questions.

Gareth glances at him as best as he can with his black eye, “Because I’ve got an eye the size of a tennis ball on my face, Richie.” Everyone at the table seems to uncomfortably shift now that the elephant in the room has been addressed. Eddie doesn’t waste a second to speak up from beside you, “Nothing you didn’t deserve.” For the first time since yesterday, Eddie looks at Gareth and sees the swollen eye he left from yesterday. Eddie doesn’t show a single hint of regret.

The table returns to quietly eating as Gareth ignores Eddie’s comment, “I’m not going.” He reiterates. Richie sighs and rubs the coarse mustache on his face, “You have to go, Gareth. Just put some shades on.” He suggests, returning to his food as if the conversation finished, but Gareth holds up. “I’m not gonna sit there in shades like a fucking idiot, man.”

“Well, you don’t have a choice, son,” Richie snaps, dropping the fork in his plate to look at Gareth. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole, and you’re sure you’re not the only person with that wish when you look at the other crew members at the table. “This band has an album coming soon,” he reminds the group, “We don’t have time for rumors and gossip to start circulating; you need to show up as a unit. This isn’t up for debate.”

The conversation could’ve ended there because, quite frankly, it seemed like Gareth was willing to go with it, but Eddie couldn’t let the moment to say something slip, “Just let him go, Rich.” He shrugs. You glance at Eddie, watching as he taps his cigarette ash into his plate, “It’s not like he brings much to the table anyway.”

Across the table, from the corner of your eye, you see Gareth lean forward to glare at Eddie, “The fuck does that mean?” He snaps.

Eddie looks at Gareth for the second time and shrugs, “Means you’re a shit band member, man. Fuckin’ Mitch has done more for this band than you ever have or could’ve done.” He gestures towards Mitch, ignoring when the man slightly cowers in his seat. Gareth looks at Eddie with a stone-cold glare, saying nothing momentarily and letting the thick blanket of silence curl around everyone's neck. He leans forward and points a finger at Eddie, who’s not even looking at him anymore, “Fuck you. You wonder why Chrissy left you for Jason Carver, it’s because you’re a fucking asshole.”

“Jesus Christ, guys–” Jeff tries to interject, but Gareth continues speaking, “At least Jason acknowledges her. That’s more than you ever did.” He jabs. Eddie chuckles, shaking his head before speaking around a cloud of smoke, “You don’t know shit about me and Chrissy.”

Gareth tauntingly laughs, “Nah, she filled me in quite a fuckin’ bit.”

The invisible ticking time bomb seems to have gone off in Eddie’s mind. He stands up from his chair, a loud screeching noise grating everyone's ears as he flicks his cigarette into his plate, “The fuck did you just say?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Richie interjects, standing up and raising his hands as a gesture to stop. “Enough. Fucking enough,” he glances between the two heated men in annoyance, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you boys, but you need to figure your shit out on your own time.” He snaps. Your hands rest in your lap, anxiously picking at the seam of your jeans, wanting to shrink into your seat because you can’t help but feel as if this is your fault. It was your journal he read anyway; you play some part in the issue, right?

Richie sits back down with an exhaustive huff, picking up his fork to resume eating, but before he picks up a piece of his food, he gestures at the table, “Either sit down and finish your goddamn meal, or fuck off somewhere. Both of you.”

Eddie stands for a moment before deciding to leave without another word.

By the time the press interview rolls around, you’re more anxious than you thought you’d be. Between the time frame of breakfast and now, you had more than enough time to ponder over the messy situation you’ve accidentally created between Gareth and Eddie.

Truthfully, you had no idea that the Chrissy Gareth had mentioned during your conversation was Eddie’s ex-girlfriend Chrissy; hell, you didn’t even know Eddie had an ex-girlfriend named Chrissy until yesterday!

On one of your few sit-downs with Gareth, you ended up discussing his love life, and you took the leap of faith to ask him if he’d ever been in love.

“…There was one girl. Her name was Chrissy; we went to high school together.”

“You dated?” “No,” Gareth shakes his head, “No, we never dated. But I always had this weird connection with her… like we understood each other in a deeper way.”

You smile in awe of the sweetness behind his words, jotting down little notes in your journal as he speaks. “I always admired her to an extent, but she, uh,” he clears his throat and scratches at his jaw, “she was in another relationship for most of the time I knew her.”

Gareth silently watches as you continue to write. You look up at him when you realize he’s been silent for a while, and you open your mouth to ask what is wrong, but he speaks before you, “Is this um,” he gestures towards your journal, “this bit isn’t going in the final publish, right?” He asks. You tilt your head, a few questions running through your mind, but you brush them off, “Um… well, I suppose I can leave some of it out, yes.”

Gareth nods, shifting in his chair and clearing his throat. “Okay, good. Um… well, anyways,” he begins, “Me and Chrissy didn’t hook up until I went back to Hawkins during our break off from last year's tour.”

Ultimately, Gareth had explained that Chrissy had recently left a three-year relationship when they’d hooked up. He explained that they crossed paths at a bar, and things took off from there, but he cut it off with her the following morning. He never told you why he cut it off, but you now understand the guilt of betraying his best friend had forced him to do so.

You had no idea that the entire conversation was pertaining to Eddie’s ex; if you had known, you would’ve never written it down. You wouldn’t have even finished the conversation if Gareth had told the whole truth because, quite honestly, you would rather not be in the mix of this disaster.

You’re disappointed. Upset that Gareth practically used you to get the guilt off his chest. And the truth is, that conversation did little to nothing for Gareth in the long run; he still felt guilty for never telling Eddie, and it’s only gotten worse with the added tension between them now that the secret is out.

Eddie was cold toward you before, but now he’s thicker than the ice in Antarctica. He’s avoiding you at all costs— and maybe he’s just avoiding everybody. Still, you can’t help but take his avoidance personally, especially when you’d thought you were finally reaching some sort of middle ground with him.

You sit off to the side of the stage with the rest of the band’s crew as you watch them take their seats for the press interview. Eddie sits on one end of the table while Gareth sits at the other end, the other two members filling the two seats in between. Gareth had no choice but to cover his black eye with a dark shade of glasses, and it seemed like nobody paid mind to it— typical rockstar wardrobe and all.

The interview was off to a good start, with reporters asking questions about the upcoming album, life on the road, and relatively anything about the music. Near the end, however, is when things seemed to get rocky. The questions became more of a filler than anything important, and boys were evidently tired of answering. It wasn’t until a journalist asked a specific question that things seemed to reach a tipping point.

“There’s been rumors that this album has more love songs than usual. Could you confirm or deny that?”

The boys look at each other, and Gareth leans forward to respond, but Eddie beats him to it. “There were a few, yeah, but um… They didn’t make the final cut, so maybe next time.”

The energy vividly shifts amongst the boys; Gareth looks at Eddie and scoffs before leaning back into his chair, clearly throwing in the towel for the rest of the interview. You don’t understand the apparent dispute just now, but you find out when the boys finish the interview and walk into the green room.

“What the fuck, man?” Gareth spits, walking a few paces behind Eddie. “We’re not cutting the song.” His loud voice booms through the room, not caring if anybody will overhear their dispute.

“I’m not putting a song out that you wrote about my fucking ex-girlfriend, Gareth. Are you out of your fucking mind?” Eddie snaps.

Richie turns to the band and crew members and motions for them to leave the room, which nobody even bothers to protest, eager to escape any more awkward conversations for the day. Everybody else makes a beeline for the tour bus, planning to fill in the few hours before rehearsal.

You glance back at the room where Eddie and Gareth are bickering, and you bravely choose to sit in the chair outside the doorway. You try not to stick your nose in their business, but they’re arguing loud enough for you to hear snippets either way. The conversation doesn’t last long before Gareth storms out of the room and down the hall, bursting through the doors and out of sight.

You glance back into the room where Eddie stands, fishing out his pack of cigarettes and sparking up. You figure now is better than ever, so you clench your bag strap and stand up, hesitantly stepping into the room. Clearing your throat once you’re a few steps away from Eddie, you watch as he exhales a cloud of smoke. He glances at you and turns away, “What do you want?”

You take one step closer, “I um… I wanted to apologize.” You begin. He looks at you again, brown eyes tired and riddled with pain— and you can’t imagine how much of a whirlwind the past twenty-four hours have been for him. “For what?” He asks, confusion and annoyance laced within his tone.

He’s turned to face you, shiny chains glistening on his hips beneath the building lights. You shake your head, struggling to find the words, because, was this really even your fault?

You obviously can’t apologize for Gareth fucking his ex-girlfriend— you had no part in that— and it’d seem silly to apologize for accidentally dropping your journal. So, what exactly do you apologize for? How do you let him know that you’re sorry this was how he found out, even if it isn’t entirely your fault?

You decide to try and redirect your wording, “I want you to know that I was never going to put that in the final article.” You say.

Eddie scoffs, taking a drag of his cigarette before responding, “And why would I believe that?” He questions.

He’s gazing at you like the first night you’d met when he was watching you from across the green room and commanding you to leave. You think he has the same intentions now, but Eddie has yet to learn that you’re stubborn.

“Well, for starters, Gareth asked me not to put it in,” you admit. Eddie’s jaw tenses and part of you feels as if you’ve tossed Gareth under the bus, but you had no choice. This was Gareth’s doing, and if you have to tell the ugly truth to save your image, then so be it. “He didn’t tell me why, but I know now. And now that I know the full truth behind that story, I definitely won’t write it in.”

Eddie watches you momentarily, intense eyes burning holes through you before he turns away. He scratches his jaw for a moment, taking a breath before returning to you. Eddie points to you, the burning cigarette hanging between his fingers as he speaks, “You know,” he begins, “somehow, you’ve managed to persuade everyone that you’re some sweet, innocent small-town journalist that just wants to ‘appreciate the artists,’ but that,” he gestures to your bag where he knows your journal is resting, ashes fluttering to the ground with each wave of his hand.

“That proved everything I believed about you.” He says. “People like you are fucking vampires. You suck the life out of people to keep you alive, and it’s fucked up.” He snaps.

Your face twists in anger, subtly shaking your head as you subconsciously step closer, “Eddie, I didn’t… I didn’t even know she was your ex, and if I did, I would’ve never written about it.” You exclaim, tossing your hands in exasperation. “And I’m sorry you found out the way you did, but you can’t hate me for something someone else did!”

Eddie frustratedly rubs his face, “That’s not the point!” He exclaims. “I read your journal. I saw everything I needed to see to confirm that I was right about everything with you and this fucking article.” He stresses, his loud voice echoing throughout the empty room.

“I'm not here to destroy your life, Eddie!” You snap, voice raising to match the level of his own. Eddie steps closer, towering over you and glaring so intensely into your eyes that you almost cower, “I don’t fucking believe that for a second.” He snaps back.

His chest rises and sinks like a rocky boat beneath his angry breaths, and he’s so close you can smell the cigarettes and mint on his breath. The scent of his cologne wrapping around you and choking you like a snake.

You don’t know how much more patient you can be with Eddie. You don’t know how much more of this back-and-forth you can take before it drives you insane. You want it to end. You want him to understand that you’re not his enemy; you never were.

You can only think of doing one thing: unzipping your bag and reaching in to grab your journal. Eddie watches with a hint of confusion in his eyes as you crack open the journal and start flipping through the pages. “What are you doing?” He asks in annoyance, patience running thin at your silence.

You flip through nearly half of the book before finding the pages you sought. You don’t think twice before ripping them out, not even caring if it destroys the binds of your precious journal. “The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks again.

You tear each page out and drop the book to the floor, ignoring Eddie’s questions as you shred each torn-out page to pieces. Eddie watches in silent and hidden shock as each pen-soaked strip flutters to the ground, creating a heap of trash between where you both stand.

You tear the last piece and let it fall before looking at Eddie, watching as he gazes at the torn pages. Nearly five pages worth of writing, gone.

“There. It’s gone. Do you believe me now?”

Eddie says nothing when he drags his gaze up to look at you, shock-ridden across his face. “I’m not who you say I am, Eddie. I’m not here to ruin your life; that was never my intention.”

Eddie stays silent, seemingly lost for words, and even if you want him to say something, your braveness has begun to falter, and you itch to leave the room. You’re strong-willed, but you’re no fucking superwoman, and Eddie has pulled every exhausting breath out of you, and you can’t seem to get a grip because every time you breathe in, all you smell and feel is Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

You grab your destroyed journal from the floor, not bothering to try and fix the binding before you shove it back into your bag, and you don’t say another word as you leave the room.

You’ve been writing for hours when you check the clock— twelve thirty-two. The band played a show tonight, but you decided to stay in your hotel to let your ankle rest— you haven’t been taking all the precautions the medic advised you to, so by the time lunch rolled around, you were in an uncomfortable fit of pain. You used your free time by tweaking the draft of your article— adding in new pieces of information and taking out unnecessary notes. You’re about twenty pages in, but by the end of the month, you’ll have compiled it all into ten; but for now, it seems your brain has become a muddled mess of words and ideas.

You suppose drinking three glasses of wine didn’t help fix that, either. You’re tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunk, and that’s a dangerous place to be when you’re practically working. You don’t even want to think of the past drunken works you’ve made; they’re worse than you’d like to admit.

You sigh, dropping your pen onto the hotel desk, leaning back in your chair, and rubbing your hand down your face in exhaustion. You glance over to the chair you’ve propped up to rest your injured leg, deciding that you should probably ice it since you’ve neglected to do so all day.

You figure you’re done writing for the day anyway, so you put your things in order before grabbing the ice bucket and making your way out of the room to find the ice machine.

What you don’t expect to find on your journey is a sleepy Eddie sitting in the hallway just a few doors down from yours. Maybe you drank four glasses of wine.

Out of common, drunk courtesy, you redirect your path and limp over to where he sits, arms folded across his chest and head leaned back against the wall with shut eyes.

You gently say his name to grab his attention, but he doesn’t budge. You shuffle closer, calling his name out again, and when that doesn’t work, you gently nudge him with your non-injured foot. His eyes flutter open, blinking away the light sleep from his eyes as he looks at you.

You tilt your head in question and ask, “What are you doing sleeping in the hallway?”

Eddie shifts in his spot, grunting and glancing at the bucket in your hands. From the looks of it, Eddie is as sober as can be, so you guess he decided to skip out on the after-show festivities they usually partake in. “I um… I lost the key card to my room.” He explains, gesturing to the door across from where he’s seated.

“The band is out for the night, and the lobby’s closed, so…”

You nod in understanding, glancing around the empty hallway, catching sight of a cleaning lady entering a room down the corridor. And technically, you don’t owe Eddie anything.

You could leave him here in the hallway to spend the night sleeping on the hard ground, and it probably wouldn’t bother him either way because Eddie clearly doesn’t like you, but fuck you feel bad.

You’re not a terrible person. You wouldn’t kick somebody when they’re already down, and Eddie… Eddie is clearly down.

Before you can thoroughly think it over, your liquor-weighted mouth speaks before you can stop yourself, “You could crash in my room for the night.”

Eddie looks at you with the blankest expression he could ever muster and blinks, “Why would I do that?”

God, he’s such a fucking asshole.

You shrug, gently swinging the bucket in your hand and glancing around again, “I don’t know, unless you'd like to sit here all night like a moron, then be my guest.”

Your ankle hurts as you stand and wait for Eddie to make up his mind, and just when you almost decide to throw in the towel and let him fend for himself, Eddie grumbles a short “Fine,” and gets up.

You watch as he reaches down to grab his leather jacket and turns to you, “You can go ahead; I have to get ice for my foot.” You tell him, pointing to your door so he knows where to go.

Eddie glances down at your injured leg and says nothing before he reaches forward and gently takes the bucket from your hands— cold, jewelry-covered fingers brushing up against your warm knuckles and sending shivers up your spine.

He hands you his jacket, and you stand silently, confused by the exchange. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he answers your question, “I’ll get the ice.” And he doesn’t even bother looking at you before turning around and leaving to find the ice machine.

You’re too drunk to figure out what that was about, and your ankle is starting to throb under the pressure of standing, so you walk back to your room clutching his jacket and trying your hardest not to let the familiar scent of Eddie knock you dead.

You leave the door slightly propped open for Eddie and place his jacket on the chair near the desk. In the meantime, you busy yourself with removing your suitcase and clothes you’d haphazardly tossed around from the extra bed where Eddie will be sleeping. You figure you’ll just head to bed once Eddie gets here, so you exchange your jeans and fitted top for shorts and a ratty old He-Man shirt from high school.

You’re setting your previous clothes aside when Eddie steps into the room, a bucket full of ice in one hand with a Coke and chips in the other. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the extra items, and he shrugs as he shuts the door with his foot, “What? The vending machine was right next to the ice, and I was hungry.” He explains as he places the bucket on the desk, making sure to avoid placing it on your work pages. He tries his best not to look at what you’ve written, and you don’t point it out when he clears his throat and diverts his attention to something else. He grabs the wine bottle and shakes it, raising an eyebrow when he realizes it’s less than halfway full, “I take it someone had a good time?”

You roll your eyes, walking over to take the bottle and put it back on the desk. “Not that it’s any of your business.” You respond, turning to grab a ziplock to fill with ice. Eddie takes the bag from you and shoos you away, “Go sit down, I’ll do it.”

Your face twists in confusion, “You’re starting to scare me. Are you gonna kill me?”

Eddie laughs and busies himself with scooping large chunks of ice and dropping them into the open ziplock. “I will if you don’t sit down.” He responds.

You relent and walk over to your bed, sitting at the head of the mattress to lean against the pillows near the headboard, doing your best to shove a pillow beneath your foot lazily. You sit silently, hands folded against your stomach, watching Eddie work.

He’s wearing his usual black jeans, decorated with hanging chains from his waist, and a plain white shirt, hidden muscles flexing beneath the soft cotton. His shoulders are broad yet hidden beneath the thick, curly mane of hair he has. Tattoos litter his arms, a few trickling down to his fingers, and you catch glimpses of his knuckles dripping with drops of water from the ice and— fuck.

There’s no way you’re checking out Eddie Munson, the asshole who’s made your life a living hell these past few weeks. You really can’t handle your liquor.

You panic and grab the TV remote, quickly turning it on to fill the silence. You distract yourself by watching the random sitcom playing until Eddie steps into your view. You must’ve been focused on the show because Eddie seems to have traveled to the restroom to get a towel to wrap around your makeshift ice pack. Your sheets are pulled back, leaving your bare legs on display, and you can’t help but squirm when Eddie stands at the foot of the bed and takes in the sight of you.

He says nothing as he gently lowers the ice onto your ankle. His inked fingers sink into the plush cotton of the towel, and if Eddie weren’t an artist, you bet he could land a job as a hand model. Or maybe you’ve really lost it.

His gaze flickers to catch your wide eyes, and you hold your breath when he speaks, “Is it too cold? Do you need another towel?” He asks. You stutter to answer him, so you shake your head no, eventually sputtering out a response of, “N-no, it’s fine. Thank you.”

Eddie turns to grab his snacks and falls into the other bed with a sigh, cracking open the bag of chips and popping a few into his mouth. You grimace and pull the sheets over your body as you comment, “If you bring ants to my room, I swear to god, Munson, I’ll hunt you down.”

Eddie chuckles, glancing at you as you shift around and get comfortable in bed, “Not with that broken foot, you won’t.”

You glare at him over the heap of expensive duvets and pillows, “I wonder whose fault that is?” You respond, falling back into bed when you see him roll his eyes.

Eddie clears his throat after a moment, “Speaking of that,” he begins; you peek over at him once again to watch as he puts the chips aside and grabs the remote to start flicking through channels. “Since we’re off these next four days, you should keep it light on your feet.”

You sarcastically laugh, “Don’t tell me you’re actually concerned for my well-being. This night keeps getting weirder and weirder.” You joke. Eddie pauses his task to glance at you, “No, I just…” You raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue. He rolls his eyes, “I’m not a complete asshole, you know?” He grumbles, turning back to the TV.

You’re snuggled into your sheets now as you watch Eddie flip through the channels, admiring how different features of his face light up under the different colors from the screen. He’s… pretty.

“What do you have planned for your days off?” You question behind a drawn-out yawn. You think you catch a glimpse of a smile on Eddie’s lips, but you can’t see very well in the dim lighting. “My Uncle Wayne is flying in, so… I’m spending time with him,” Eddie explains. You smile, “Your uncle?”

Eddie nods, and you hum, “That’s nice… Can I meet him?”

You’re never drinking wine again.

Eddie looks at you as if you’ve asked him the dumbest question on earth, “Why would… why?”

You shrug, “Maybe he’ll help me figure out why you’re such a grump.” You half-heartedly tease. Eddie scoffs, returning to watch the movie he’s landed on, “If you think I’m grumpy, you’re not equipped to meet Wayne.” He comments. And then something remarkable happens.

Eddie smiles to himself.

It’s small and obviously not meant for your eyes, but you see it either way, and it… fuck, it makes you feel things you would’ve never imagined you could for such an asshole of a man. What is going on?

“He can’t be any worse than you.” You joke. Eddie scoffs, “Nah, Wayne takes the cake for grumpiest man alive,” he bids.

Eddie tells you about Wayne, little memories he remembers that bleed into more memories until, eventually, he’s practically taking a walk down memory road. You go back and forth with him, commenting when you had a similar situation or when Eddie mentioned the same show you loved in high school.

At some point, Eddie’s stories and the low hum of the TV lull you to sleep, and you find yourself lying in cotton candy clouds, sinking into the softness and letting it surround you.

Eddie’s not sure when you checked out on him, but he figures he’d been talking to himself for a while because you're fast asleep when he looks over at you.

He watches you for a moment and appreciates the way the blue and white hues of the TV dance across your face. Your skin looks soft under the fluorescent lights, and he thinks the steady rise and fall of your breaths is more entertaining than any movie he could’ve landed on. And you’re so pretty— soft and molded to perfection, and Eddie thinks he might like you more like this; when you’re not talking and being the most obnoxious person he’s ever met. Eddie hates the feeling he gets in his chest from just looking at you.

You’re cute, he thinks.

He shakes his head to free himself from whatever weird feelings are spiraling through his mind, and he turns off the TV, letting the darkness swallow the room.

He’ll just have to worry about his feelings another time, he thinks.

————

part four

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a/n: HII U MADE IT TO THE END, U CAN ALL THANK MY STINK @mmunson86 FOR THE TINY PIECE OF FLUFF, THIS WAS FOR U BAE <3 ANYWAYS, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2 @mvnsonslvt @s-u-t

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hedwig221b · 3 months

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hiii i hope you're well ! can we please have a snippet ? 🥺

You're in luck cause I've been writing over the weekend so I actually do have something to share lol

“Are you familiar with this part of town?” Derek asked.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles smile a little.

“No,” the omega answered with a tinge of nostalgia. “This is where the rich kids lived. You know, the assholes.”

“Are you saying I’m the asshole?” Derek arched his brow.

“No, you’re a rich kid.” They walked a bit in silence. Stiles sighed. “I guess, I should stop saying that.”

“Saying what?”

Stiles shrugged. “I mean, I should probably stop referring to myself as not rich. It’s not a good look if I want to attract someone with money.”

Derek tensed. He worked his jaw for a bit and glanced around, suddenly despising the humans living there.

Assholes, Stiles said they were. The same assholes that would probably sell the said houses to get the omega.

Derek felt Stiles’ careful gaze at the side of his face.

“What, no ‘just be yourself’ speech?” Stiles let out a dark laugh. “Harsh, dude…”

“I can be harsh if you want me to.”

Both of them stopped.

Stiles folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at him. “Shoot.”

Derek huffed and shook his head. “Listen, I don’t know what movies you watched—”

“Hey!”

“— or what bullshit they told you about marriage. But those people? The ones that requested a meeting with you? They offered to buy you.” Derek breathed out harshly. Stiles just stared at him with a mask on his face. “They came to my mother, they came to me. You don’t even understand what kind of money they have going around. And don’t think they didn’t make the same offer to the institute — they did. It was my mother who refused to let them accept.”

Derek bit down on his words and glanced around, instinctively seeking danger and finding nothing but bright orange light and high brick fences. When he turned back, Stiles was still staring at him from under his long fucking eyelashes.

“You are a status, Stiles,” Derek grunted, meeting his gaze. “A rarity only the ‘best’ of them can afford. I’m sorry but they don’t give a fuck about who you are.”

Stiles blinked, his jaw working.

“Sure, anyone can send a request for you. A hopeless romantic from those movies you watched, the one you would maybe fall for. But the minute they notice whom you favor… God help them if they don’t have the means to protect themselves.”

“So, what,” Stiles’ throat clicked, “you’re saying I should just lie down and spread my legs for anyone who’s rich enough?”

Damn, Derek hated the thought with vitriol. He jutted his chin out and flashed his eyes at the omega.

“No. I’m saying that I can’t lie to you. I doubt someone told you how it’s gonna be, and I don’t think anyone will bother in the future. Sorry to be the bearer of the truth. This is not a movie, or a fairytale. I cannot guarantee who is going to request you or what the poll is going to be like. But I swear to you that I’ll do anything to make sure that you will be the one making the choice in the end.”

Stiles’ eyes were unreadable.

Still, in this ugly light, with a frown on his face, and an angry tightness to his lips, he was the most beautiful creature Derek had ever seen.

Damn him. Damn whoever gets to have him.

#I'm yelling #this is going to be so good #sterek #sterek fic #stiles x derek #eternal sterek #sterek fanfic #stiles stilinski #derek hale #derek x stiles #sterek wip #I promise Derek is gentle with him #he's just pissed off that no one is telling Stiles anything when his life is changing forever #just Derek things

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nevadancitizen · 4 months

Text

-> ATOM BOMB BABY!

synopsis: you're a nomadic survivor in a post-apocalyptic wasteland until you get transported to a strange, new world. these demons were obviously expecting a human that was softer, less spikes-and-thorns and more fluff-and-wool. how will they react and adapt?

word count: 3.3k (~530 each)

characters: lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, belphegor, post-apocalyptic! reader

trigger warnings: canon-typical violence, it's implied that the reader has killed before and will kill again lol

notes: new vegas and obey me! have been kicking me in the head repeatedly recently. so there are some allusions/references to new vegas in this one but you don't need to know jack about new vegas to understand this :) also mammon's is longer than everyone else's and he's pining hard for mc because i'm soooo in love with him it's not even funny and IGNORE that there's a lot of holes you could poke in this.. okay? okay <3

It had been a… a miscalculation, really. An embarrassing one. Diavolo had accounted for many things to ensure the success of the Exchange Program, but he failed to account for the most important thing: the fact that, at the end of the day, humans are better at killing than any other living thing.

Was it wrong for him to assume that things had been the same way they were two hundred years ago? Yes, of course. It was stupid not to check in on the human world, because if he had, he’d find that it was razed by nuclear bombs, the land and water still tainted with the fallout.

So, no, neither he nor the brothers know what to do when you quite literally fall out of the portal. They’re shocked when, instead of being confused and scared and fragile, you’re vile, scarred, spitting threats as if they came naturally. Wait – are you wearing riot armor? And – yeah, that’s a gun. Definitely a gun. A gun you’re currently pointing at them.

-> LUCIFER

Honestly, this is the last thing Lucifer needed: another fucking headache. He supports Diavolo with all that he is, but he can’t ignore the fact that he’s sometimes so careless that shit like this happens. He’s the one who talks some sense into you and gets you to holster your weapon, as he’s the only one with a level head in the room. (Well, Diavolo would be the other, but he’s… weirdly excited that this human is challenging and has so many thorns you’d think they were born in a briar bush!)

He’ll try his best to accommodate you, even if that means teaching you that yes, you have to shower at least once every two days if you’re to continue living in the House of Lamentation. And no, you cannot hoard food and water in your room. He knows it’s instinct for you at this point, but it causes problems with Beel.

He basically takes over teaching you how to be a regular, functioning member of polite society, kinda like how he did with Satan. (Really, he thought he’d never see the day where the Devildom was considered part of polite society, but after seeing snippets of the human world through you, he knows that this place is way better than the human world.) He teaches you how to use proper cutlery, how modern plumbing and refrigeration works, and how to solve your problems with words rather than bullets.

Lucifer is also… oddly patient when it comes to you. As much as he hates to admit it, he sees part of himself in you – the part that had just been cast out of the Celestial Realm, the part that took months to adjust to the world of the Devildom. He knows what it’s like to be subjected to new and confusing ideals – but instead of just a completely different way of life, you’re introduced to the same on top of an legit, organized education system that you’ve never encountered before.

And if that trigger finger of yours ever gets itchy, he’ll take you to go hunting. He’s inexperienced when it comes to hunting with guns instead of claws, but this is the only time he’ll set his pride aside, sit back, and learn. What better hunter to learn from than someone who’s hunted everything, from mutated creatures to fellow man?

If you ever take him to the human world, prepare for him to be silent and observant. He’ll be that way for a while, just looking over the rolling hills and plains that were once green, killed and turned brown by radiation. Then, slowly, softly, unsure if he’s speaking to himself, you, or his Father: “What a splendid world you ruined…”

-> MAMMON

When Mammon comes into the Student Council Room (because he was running late, as per usual) to find you, gun holstered but hackles still raised, his first instinct is to get the fuck out. He’s been in situations like these before, and he knows when to bounce.

But, of course, he’s still assigned as your guardian even though you clearly don’t need one. He thinks that your guns and knives are enough to deter any demon, honest! (Even though that doesn’t deter him from trying to pick your pocket. What really deters him is when you catch his wrist and hit him with the most threatening glare he’s ever seen on a human. Jeez, you honestly look like you’re about to clean his clock…!)

But still, since the Great Mammon was assigned as your guard, he’ll stick around. He doesn’t really mind, because you’re kinda cool anyways – not that he’ll ever say it to your face. But really, with the kinda armor that you’re wearing, plus the grime of the wasteland that doesn’t go away no matter how many times you wash… you’ve got a unique style, and that’s all he has to say, okay? If you really want, he guesses he can hook you up with a modeling gig – but only if you’re with him! Uh – only because he wants to make himself look better in comparison, y’know?

Yeah, even with someone from the wasteland, he’s still absolutely head over heels in puppy love. He’ll show you stuff he got from the Old World (as in, the pre-war human world) because, as much as he denies and deflects, he wants you to have some sense of normalcy. A place that isn’t filled with raiders and ghouls and slavers and someone trying to kill you at every other turn. He’s nice like that.

But he still really wants to know what the New World is like! You can’t get those Old World Blues if he’s just as enthusiastic about New World Hope, right? He asks about your weapons (and takes the spent bullet casings from your guns because they’re shiny), your occupation, your lifestyle – everything, honestly. He wants to know about your family – assuming they’re still alive – and your friends – again, assuming the same. He’s eager to know as much as you’re willing to share, even the more gruesome things you’ve seen or experienced.

He also wants to know about what… ahem, what affection is like. Surely you can’t trust easily when people are willing to kill one another over a sack of rotten vegetables, right? So he’ll be gracious and allow you to playfight and get rough with him, since that’s your weird human way of showing affection! What do you mean that’s not – that’s not how humans show affection now? Humans show affection in the New World the same way they did in the Old World? Well, he just assumed because you hadn’t been showering the Great Mammon in praises and loving touches and – ugh! Just drop it, okay?

Yes, he assumes a lot, mostly based on the apocalypse movies he’s seen. Unless you actually have a sit-down with him and talk about what life is really like in the wasteland, he’ll ride on these weird assumptions. Assumptions like the existence of radiation-riddled zombies, super-mutants and their variants, and other beings that would otherwise be labeled as supranatural if not for the complex and long-winded explanations Mammon comes up with.

If you ever take him to the human world, he’d be delighted to see what remains of Las Vegas – or is it called New Vegas now? Who cares! He’s all-too-excited to bust out whatever human world money he has and get those dice rolling! Sure, he knows that the deck is stacked and the dice are weighted and the games are rigged in every possible way, but it’s about having fun with his human, right? (That’s what he says until he’s forced to fold and cash out. Then it’s “no fun anyway,” and “a waste of time,” and he’s itching to check out the nearby towns and settlements. For something to steal? Hell, probably.)

-> LEVIATHAN

The first thought that crossed Levi’s mind is that you’re obviously cosplaying the main character from It’s a Federal Offense to Mess with the Mail, Man!: Tales of Gunslinging Wastelander Couriers Solving Convoluted Demon Family Drama’s way less popular spinoff, I was Doing Fine Scraping by as a Nomadic Wastelander, but Then I was Transported to Some Strange, New World with Seven Demonic Suitors who are Fighting Over Me as we Speak! Though, if that were the case, where was your convention badge? And that armor doesn’t look fake. It doesn’t really click until he hears the very real sound of you cocking your gun that you’re not playing pretend, nor are you fucking around in any capacity.

He so desperately wants to cement the fact in his mind that you’re a normie, you like doing normie things like cleaning your guns and knives and talking about the politics of the wasteland, which actually reminds him of this game he’s playing and you’d totally love it and –! Oh no. It’s true. You’re cool. Like, really cool. Like, not-a-normie-at-all cool!

Even though you’re not an otaku (and depending on where you’re from and your education, you might’ve never even heard of Japan), Levi will slowly come out of his shell and try to ask you questions about the wasteland. Like Mammon, he has a lot of assumptions based on the games he plays, but they would actually be more accurate. Instead of supranatural things, he thinks about the logistics of the world at large – blame the RPGs he plays.

But, this leads to him thinking he knows all there is to know about your life and how you live it. Depending on your temper, it may lead you to snap at him, telling him that your life isn’t a video game. This isn’t Grognak & the Ruby Ruins. The wasteland is grueling and cruel and unforgiving. You have seen starvation, debauchery, reignited fascism and misled democracy. You have seen people be crucified for not agreeing with the slavers putting them up on the cross. What you’ve lived through isn’t fun. It’s not a fucking game. You can’t respawn if someone gets a lucky hit. You die. And that’s it.

And of course it causes a blow to his ego, reinforcing the idea that he’s just a “yucky otaku” or some shit like that. You have to reassure him that you have nothing against him personally, it’s just that he was being kinda patronizing and acting as if he’d lived in the wasteland all his life instead of you. After some time alone to sulk, he eventually comes back around and realizes that you’re right, and that you’re really cool, and he wants to be friends with you, so after that brief period he apologizes.

Good luck trying to drag him to the human world! Levi’s a shut-in, and much prefers experiencing the wasteland through video games than real life. Though if you’re bound and determined, call him up on whatever the equivalent of facetime is on your DDD and talk him through what you’re doing while in the human world, even if you’re just walking along an abandoned highway. He really appreciates your effort and might even work up the confidence to travel the wasteland with you, but sticks to walking the desolate wastes as opposed to going into towns and… ugh, socializing.

-> SATAN

Satan immediately wants to laugh in Lucifer’s face because he fucked up so immensely. Seriously, how could you not know a nuclear war happened? (This is ignoring the fact that he didn’t know, either. He just thought that humans haven’t put out anything worth reading in a little while. He’s a demon, so two hundred years is… not a significant amount of time for him.)

He’s a hardcore nerd, so he wants to pick your brain about the politics, the logistics – everything about the wasteland. He’s kinda insensitive about it in the beginning, but will eventually turn and not treat the deaths of people close to you like a plot point in a book. He’s unashamed about it, too, and will ask you as soon as the question pops into his mind, lest he forgets it. This leads to weird topics of conversation over dinner, all spurred on by his question of “How many people would you say an average person has killed? Assuming they’re competent enough to kill, of course.”

Your weapons are another point of interest for him. Obviously big gun manufacturers aren’t around anymore, so where do you get your guns? Are there modifications on them? Are the mods homemade, or do you get them from a designated seller? Does the seller need a license, or is it a free-for-all? If it’s a free-for-all, how do you know the quality of the mods they’re selling? And other exhaustive lists of questions that leave you wishing that Mammon would just burst through the door with another stupid money-making scheme on the tip of his tongue.

He knows how overwhelming school can be, and organized education in the wasteland is sparse to none, so he takes up the title of being your tutor. You’re obviously frustrated with this new thing you don’t have a choice but to partake in, and Satan can sympathize. You’ve never even studied in your life, so he tries his best with trying out different studying techniques to help you form healthy habits that promote a healthy school-life balance.

If you ever take him to the human world, he’ll be elated. Not because of your trust in him to bring him to the wasteland, but because he can actually do a case study on humans! Not on anything in particular, he’s just curious. He takes soil and water samples to test the levels of residual radiation, talks with locals – both in small settlements and more populated areas – about their life experiences, their political opinions, their religious beliefs… basically everything under the sun, really. He comes back with a new appreciation for humans and a few books that have been published in the New World by doctors and the like.

-> ASMODEUS

Ew… what sewer did you crawl out of? Asmo respects people’s kinks and lifestyles and knows that someone’s yuck is someone else’s yum, but he holds the firm belief that it shouldn’t impact other people. And that blood on your boots and the… whatever that’s on your armor is seriously grossing him out. (Though the drop knife strap that’s hugging your thigh is really doing something for him. But that doesn’t make up for the fact you haven’t bathed in a week.)

At first, he distances himself a little because you distance yourself. You don’t want to be judged for something that’s considered normal in the human world. Purified water is a precious commodity, and people don’t want to waste it showering when they could be drinking it. A dip in the river – yes, the ones with the sediment and the radiation and the mutated fish – suffices for most.

Though after a while, he decides that it’s high time he’s bonded with the human that’s living under the same roof as him. Maybe you just need a makeover, then you’ll unleash your full potential as a scarred, gunslinging wastelander hottie? Some demons are into that.

So, with little to no warning, he decided it’s time for a shopping spree. Even though you’re uncomfortable wearing the “high fashion” that’s at Majolish (because it provides literally no protection, armor-wise), he’s able to compromise by getting you some loungewear that you won’t be going out in anyway. While you’re out with him, he drags you to a shop that sells soaps, perfumes, and the like. You’re obviously not used to things that smell good and it’s obviously overstimulating, so Asmo just picks some of his favorites and gets you out before you have a scent-induced breakdown.

Once you’re back at the House of Lamentation, he drops all the shopping bags in your room and drags you to his – it’s time for a makeover, because you’re in dire need of one! He gives you a nice manicure (and adds some nail polish if you’re okay with that) and breaks out the “Doctor Asmo” title to diagnose what kind of skin routine would work for you. If you take issue with the scars you’ve accumulated throughout your life in the wastes, he tries many gels and creams to heal the tissue and reduce the starkness of the scars (even if he thinks that it’s kinda futile because the scars have existed for so long or have been exposed to the sun too much).

Honestly, Asmo cringes at the thought of going to the human world after having you describe it to him. Even the slightest dosage of radiation that’s above the regular background levels can be really detrimental to your skin, and he doesn’t want to risk radiation poisoning – even at a minor level! Raiders can’t be stopped by his beauty alone, and he doesn’t want to chip his acrylics while handling a gun. Instead, he’ll get the human world in little doses through you.

-> BEELZEBUB

Not to sound rude, but when you first arrived, you smelled far too rank for Beel to eat. Yeah, he’s eaten inedible things before, but he knows when to suppress his hunger because eating something rancid will hurt more than it’ll help. But don’t worry, after you freshen up and bum some clothes off Mammon (because you didn’t bring any other outfit – obviously), Beel’s appetite is back! Good for you…?

He’s actually really excited to sample some New World food when it’s your turn to cook dinner. Even if you tell him it’s nothing to write home about, he’ll eagerly wait at the kitchen island, not-so-subtly sneaking tastes here and there while you cook. He’s not deterred by the weirder-sounding and even-weirder-looking foods like squirrel stew and coyote steak. If anything, that just makes him more excited!

If Mammon’s not attached to your hip while you’re walking the halls of RAD (and surely yapping your ear off all the while), Beel’s there. He mostly sticks around to see what snacks you can conjure up from things he never thought of eating before, like when you plucked a bug out of the air that was flying around the courtyard and snapped its head off before eating it. He stared at you for a second, just enough for you to start to fluster and get defensive, before doing the same. Protein is protein, after all.

He also wants to introduce you to fangol! From what you’ve shared, he’s deduced that sports aren’t really a thing in the wasteland – you can’t waste your energy playing when you need it for your continued survival. But you’ve got a lot of energy from being cooped up in the House of Lamentation, so he can help you in a way that benefits both you and Beel: you get rid of your excess energy, and he gets to practice. Practice with someone who’s very inexperienced, yes, but still – it’s practice!

And if you ever itch to get a hint of your old wanderer lifestyle back, he’s all-too-happy to take you on a hike or to go camping with you. Even if it’s purely on a whim with no preparation whatsoever, he’ll grab whatever he can carry from the fridge, stuff it in a backpack, and, after sending a text to Lucifer detailing where you and he are heading, be ready at the front door, all within ten minutes. The food he brought won’t be enough, surely, but he can strip the leaves off a tree like an elephant if needed.

If you ever take him to the human world, make sure to pack ample food for him because, if pushed, he will strip the nearby towns and settlements of their food supply that was meant to last the next three months. Yes, he’ll pay them for the food, but still – it’s a shock for the wastelanders to see this towering figure push a bunch of money in their hands without even counting it and rattling off what he wants like he’s ordering at a restaurant.

-> BELPHEGOR

He’s in the attic and a wastelander like you has enough common sense to not trust him. Good ending he stays locked in the attic forever lol goodbye twat

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