#cedar pace

[askquarantinedredheart]

Volume 1: Isolation

First - Previous - Next - Last

Poster is a reference to this album. Basically just some straight up knuckle dragger nonsense.

Asks from @a-spoonful-o-generosity, @foodielovethealicorn, @reversal-mushroom, and an anon.

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ your lips, my lips ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x fem!wife!reader words: 5.6k synopsis: you remind Jacaerys that there is no shame in accepting help, especially from his wife. notes: this idea came to me in a fever dream the other day idek. this can be read as an au, it is implied that the dance happened but that luke is alive so idk. as i always say: do what you love. i think jace can be happy for a bit, as a treat. this is honestly like 3k fluff and 2k smut lol. pls lmk what you think <3 warnings: canon-typical injury. jace is so horny and in love that he becomes a poet! light dirty talk(mostly in valyrian bc jace is shy), very very brief breeding kink, slightly sub!jace, praise kink (mutual), slight size kink, hair pulling, pussy whipped jace, PiV creampie, reader rides him. valyrian is translated at the end (author uses a translator so if its wrong im sorry). feedback is appreciated<3 requests open. masterlist.

SHADOWS DANCE. 

Toes cold upon empty stone, you pad across a corridor; short, illuminated in torchlight. A path you’ve taken many times. 

Worry twists your fingers together, toying as you watch the silhouette of your night shift swish upon the contours of the wall. Chamber doors which connect the small hall to your own are open; an afterthought, perhaps, though your husband quite often prefers to slumber with his door to yours drawn open. 

He is hurting. 

Not in any dire way, not by far. Burns, the whispers had reached your ears - from maester to house worker to ladies in wait - burns, across the Prince’s palms; some troubles while handling dragonfire. You have been alive for long enough to have seen dragons dance, see the flesh melt from bones of even those coursing with Valyrian blood in their veins. You cannot imagine the pain of it, lying marred in his palms. 

The maester has seen worse, you are told. He is not in too much pain, to your relief - he is neither sick nor hurting but rather unable to perform any tasks, no matter how menial; something you know your husband will not take lightly. Only a few paces and you reach his chambers, taking in the sandalwood and cedar smoking in small dipped sticks; a favor of his mothers, he told you once. He’s taken to them recently, to the comforting scent; as have you.  

Feet move slowly into the archway; his chambers are always so much warmer than your own. Furs, thicker - bed, more comfortable, hearth, drawn larger. Though it is more likely to do with the company. 

Your husband stands before the mirror of his chambers, his back upon you. 

You watch for a moment - his brows, furrowed in the reflection, a razor is held rather uncertainly in a bandaged grasp. A pang through your stomach at the sight of the gauze, restricting his fingers; a kind glow of candlelight dances across concentrated eyes, once-steady hands trembling as he holds the blade against his cheek, head tilted back. 

Slow breaths - your chest moves with his, as it seems to do more and more these days; a drag of a blade, the wobbling of which sets your teeth upon edge. Such a mundane chore, shaving: yet you know just as most how painful the burns of dragons may be upon flesh.

Your sweet husband is a proud soul; you can almost picture him, resolutely dismissing any offers of assistance before he readied himself for the night. Struggling to wet the razor, to lift it upon his face, yet doing so with a bristling determination. You linger, a specter in the doorway, fingers tracing the stone arch beside you as he works. Slow, determined.  

His chest rises and falls beneath the simple tunic; unlaced, revealing the glimpse of skin awaiting beneath as he clenches his jaw, metal dragging against porcelain. 

Though as soon as you draw a breath, a hiss from him - the razor has slipped, blood thinning in a bloom upon his cheek. Stark against such pale skin. He curses softly, thick brows knitting in some helplessness as his wounded fingers, shaking in pain or perhaps frustration, brush and come away crimson. 

You step forward immediately, concern overriding all hesitations and shyness you’d felt previously.

"Jacaerys," your voice, soft and scarcely a whisper, carries through the room. Through the mirror your husband looks up, his eyes meeting yours. 

A whisper of surprise in his visage that melts into some shade of embarrassment as he turns to you. Your name, falling from his plush lips, bitten in previous exasperation. His voice is warm, guilty. "I did not wish to wake you."

You shake your head softly - he’d not made a single sound since you returned from your evening duties to retire. You learned of his injuries through scarce whispers in the corners of your chamber, not from any loud disruptions from within his own. 

 Ignoring his words, you move closer - feet light, heart aching for his felt helplessness; A crimson tear beads out of the thin cut upon the cut on his cheek. You tilt your head to look into the warmth of his eyes. "You should not be doing this with your injuries," you chide, nodding to the strips of bandage around his palms.

A sigh from him, gentle nod as he looks down upon your expression. "I did not wish to trouble anyone," you find a touch of frustration still coloring his voice, but are not foolish enough to believe an ounce of it could ever be directed towards you. "I am not so helpless." he prepends with a clenched jaw. 

Nodding, you gently take the razor from his loose grip. "No, you are not.” You agree gently, “Sit.” 

You guide him to the table aside the mirror with light hands. He murmurs your name; it slips through his lips like honey. "I do not wish to burden you. It is late, I would not want to keep you awake." 

You cannot help the surge of affection; your husband, so doting, thoughtful. A gentle touch to his cheek, your fingers grazing just under the fresh cut as you swipe away the red. "Sleep can wait.” Your voice is just as gentle as his own. “And you are not a burden; You are my husband. Your troubles are mine."

He sighs, a small appreciative smile growing upon his lips. "I resent being unable to tend to myself." he admits sheepishly.

You run your hands gently over his palm, tracing gently over where gauze conceals marred flesh. “You must heal fully so you might be of aid again soon.” You pull away, crossing the room to retrieve the cloth, oils, and small bowl of water; “In the meantime, there is no shame in accepting help. Especially not from your wife."

His eyes follow you upon your return, your sleep gown swishing against the quiet of the apartments; aware of the semi-sheerness of the fabric, you feel yourself flush. His smile is appreciative.

The bowl makes a small noise as you place it upon the table - you watch the soft illumination of your reflection ripple in the water. “I am a lucky man.” He says, as if to himself; you resist the shy smile that grows upon your lips, looking away from the contents of the bowl and shaking your head gently. He does not seem prepared to leave it be, though: “I scarcely know how I came to deserve someone as wonderful as you.” 

He prefers it like this, you’ve learned; kindness, candor, sweet admissions - flushed cheeks, soft smiles. A true marriage, one being built with respect, with love. And still, moons after your union - every compliment you pay your husband he seems to return tenfold. 

It is content, quiet against the spitting of embers in the hearth as you bend before him, seeking an angle safe enough to press the blade to his skin. A soft conversation, scarcely more than whispers in the eve - though you become weary at the prospect of a safe approach. 

His legs spread wide as he watches you pace - expression somewhere between an amusement and puzzle; You let out a breath in a small huff as you draw a decision.

Your hand falls first onto his shoulder - a steadying grip as you slowly slide onto his lap, positioning yourself to see his face clearly; Jacaerys, with eyes widened in surprise and arms instinctively rising to hold you steady. Despite his injuries, his touch is firm, wrists pressing to you where hands cannot. 

A thick swallow within his throat that you steadfastly ignore. 

The touch of his arms around you, of your thighs straddling his lap - you burn, clearing your throat. Your voice comes, barely more than a breath. "Is this- alright?"

His lips, parted with the proximity, flutter before he finds words. “Y-yes. More than alright.”

With a small grin, you school yourself; pouring the oils upon your palms, you begin to smooth the ointment upon his skin. Cheeks, down the short shadow of stubble he has so resigned to eliminate this evening. A sharp jaw, a strong chin, plush lips. His breath is scarcely more than puffs against your cheeks as you press gently into his jaw muscle; his eyelashes flutter closed. 

When you bring the blade to his skin, it is with no hesitation he tilts his head for you; eyeing you through lids, the apple of his cheeks warm in the light. You release a short breath and begin to shave him with slow, careful strokes. Jacaerys remains still, his eyes fixed - you drag the blade with light pressure, a relief building in you as you begin to effectively remove shadows from his cheek. 

As you continue, the room grows quiet; a soft song of the gentle scrape of the blade and the crackling of the fire. Your heart may have fluttered ceaselessly had you been any less focused on ensuring you do not hurt him; Though there is no doubt - a very handsome man he is, and a very lucky wife he makes you. 

“How did you learn such a skill?” His voice, curious as you tilt his jaw slightly. You do not pull your eyes from your task as you hum gently, aware of his warm stare.

“I’ve never done it before,” you admit, tilting your head along with him, focused on the glide of the blade against the bristled shadow of his jaw. “Though I watched my lord father do it many times. He’d often have me sing to my younger brothers before they were put to chamber - he tended to perform tasks as such when I did so. They used to love watching him.”

Jace nods contentedly, humming at your recount. "Lucerys used to watch me when he was younger, as well.” It seems at the memory he laughs gently - the motion stunted as you hold his face in your grip. “One day he decided he was old enough to give it a try. He sneaked into my chambers and took up my razor."

You can't help but smile at the image, lifting a brow. "And what came of it?"

You sit back, preoccupied with the story - your hand wipes the blade upon the rag beside you, meeting his warm gaze as his grin widens. "I found him standing before the mirror, razor in hand.” A flicker of his gaze to the mirror behind you before he finds you once more. “I tried to warn him, but he was too stubborn to heed me. So, I stood back and simply watched."

Your eyes widen, lips parting in mild amusement. "You let him to do it alone?"

He chuckles lightly, tongue prodding his lower lip. "I thought it best he learn a lesson.” His arms unconsciously pull you closer, readjusting your position upon his lap. You swallow down the warmth at such casual intimacy between he and you. “He managed a few strokes, was quite proud of himself, until... he nicked his lip." A small gesture with his jaw towards your own, his eyes focused on the bottom lip that has found itself caught between your teeth. 

You lift your brows, your hand pausing as it rinses the blade in water. "Was he quite hurt?"

"No, just a small cut," Jacaerys soothes, laughter bubbling up again, eyes tearing from your lips up to your own warm gaze; your stomach flutters at the sound and you can no longer suppress a small giggle of your own. "But the look on his face! He was so indignant, I reckon more in his failure than the pain. He turned to me, lip trembling, and demanded to know why I hadn't helped him."

You swat his shoulder gently with the rag, trying to suppress your own laughter. "You are incorrigible, Jace. You laugh at your brother's misfortune?" You chide, teasing; He shrugs, still grinning as his eyes trace over your face warmly. 

"It was a valuable lesson, one I had to learn myself once. Besides, he forgave me soon enough. I helped him finish shaving properly and patched him up. We've laughed about it many times since." His voice is soft against the crackle of flame, adjusting his posture slightly under your weight.

You laugh gently, the image of a young Jace and Luke pulling a grin to your lips. "You two are quite the pair."

Jacaerys’ eyes soften as he hums in agreement. "I have to let him make a fool of himself now and then." 

He’s taken to moving a stray thumb - one not restricted with salves nor gauze - upon the line of your spine. A gentle ghost of affection as you shake your head fondly at him. 

You hum, resuming your efforts, now moving towards his chin with a gentle grasp. "Well, just be glad I am here to ensure you do not cut yourself again. I should not trust you alone with a razor any longer." You tease, wrinkling your nose as you fix him with a faux stern stare. 

Jace’s laugh is rich, warm. "You wound me, wife.”

The gentle laughter between you trails off amiably as you move your focus upon his upper lip; you, dutifully focused, worried of your own skills, knowing you could very easily slip and cut him - he, enduring your hand around his chin, eyes ceaseless upon your face as you move him how you please. 

You finish the last stroke, setting the blade aside; his eyes are pools; sunlit amber. The cloth is wettened - you string it out and gently press it to his skin, wiping away the remnants of shaving oil and the small trail of blood from his previous nick. 

Jace’s breaths rise and fall languidly with your own in the quiet of the chamber. Your movements are slow, tender; your focus entirely on him, ignoring the heat growing in your abdomen, his muscles flexing beneath you. A shift in the calm of the room; a once placated, gentle silence has grown into a thick, tense quiet - enunciated through short puffs of breath and the slow shifting of your bodies as you clean him.

A lean closer, his finger idly trailing your hip as much as the bandage might permit - you inspect his soft skin, the scent of the oils clouding your mind; lavender, cedar, sandalwood. Incense sticks have lost ember in the corner, the ocean rolling in tides upon the distant shores. You find no missed stubble, only undeniable affection in his eyes; you’ve begun to trace the cloth rather idly along his cheek, eyes rising to find his own gaze stuck upon your lips. Echoes of a house attendant walking out in the halls.

“Done,” You whisper, making no effort to rise from his lap; the warmth that has only grown has begun to make you sweat, that desire, still so new, growing between you. He shifts beneath you, staring blatantly, speaking no words. Worry flickers - a foolish thing, to worry when you’re with him - yet you still murmur your words. "Have I overstepped?” you ask softly, gaze flickering down to his plush, parted lips, watching as he shakes his head vehemently.

"Never," he breathes, "I’m merely admiring your beauty."

Heat. Jacaerys has never, not even in the earliest days of your betrothal, hesitated to praise you for your beauty, intelligence, wit, or heart; yet it still sets your mind dizzy each time. You send him a coy smile, hiding the flush of your cheeks under his compliment, “You only say such things because of the blade in my hand,” You tease. 

Expecting a retort from your sharp husband, your eyes flicker to his; he grins at your jest, whispering, “I would speak such words even if you held nothing but air.” 

His gaze roves over the heat of your cheeks, the flutter of your lashes. Want grows hot within you; to be seen, to be so cherished, it is more than you could wish. Jacaerys stirs your heart like no other could. You do not miss when he leans forward slightly, into your own space; the longing in his gaze is rather unmistakable, and it sends a rush of thrill through you. 

Heart, singing in your chest. “Jace.” you whisper.

He breathes your name in response; a prayer. 

“What are you thinking?” You hum, your breath hitting his own; your hands fall to grasp his shoulders, fingers trailing over the crook of his neck, the ties of his tunic. 

 "I'm thinking," His hands, despite their bandages, pull your hips upon his own quite subtly - your stuttered breath, shaky at the feeling of him beneath you, arousal growing just as your own. His voice is husky, "-that I’d like to kiss you."

 A thrill in your stomach; you purse your lips against a smile of affection before closing the distance, your lips meeting his. 

Warm, soft; gentle as he always is with you - but soon in the undercurrent of the late hour, of the thin material upon your frame, you feel fever infect you. 

It comes in a tilt, sliding your nose against his own, lust coiling between your thighs; any tension of before melts, soon replaced by an urgent need to be closer. Your tongue finds the plush of his lower lip, sliding hungrily. 

He groans softly against your mouth, his injured hands pulling you tight; The faint smell of incense, an intensity of desire matching your own - your hands tangle in his hair.

A wince as you shift, his hand flexing and drawing a grunt of pain from his lips. 

You pull back instantly. 

"Jace," you murmur in concern, even as his lips chase your own, a small bridge of saliva between you two in the firelight. Your voice is breathless, filled with longing. "We shouldn't. Your hands."

He shakes his head, his lips seeking yours. "I care not," he whispers fiercely. "If you cease for my sake, I will perish."

Your eyes roll at his dramatics, though your heart flutters at such fervent words. The desire in his eyes is undeniable, and you are finding it harder to resist such pretty requests. "I do not wish to hurt you," you protest softly, though your resolve weakens with each passing moment.

He gazes at you with a mixture of tenderness and longing. “You could never hurt me. Please, let me feel you. The only pain I feel is the distance between us.”

Unbelievable, his cunning knack for dramatics.

Despite the lifted brow you send him, there is an undeniable tremor within you, your hunger growing at the lilt of his tone. Perhaps, you should feel some kind of shyness; Indeed, you’re still learning of each other. You’ve lain with Jacaerys only a few times since being wed last moon—and yet perched so firmly atop his growing arousal, you can’t help the rush of need.

“Well,” You sigh, hand gracing his soft cheek with a small look of pride, “You mustn’t beg.”

He breathes as a smirk of his own grows, “I am a prince, dōna riña. Begging is beneath me.” He murmurs, eyes aflame with that teasing craving, “but I'd gladly beg if it means I get to have you.” 

His ravenous words, mere kindle to the flame. “It is fortunate for you that I am so generous, then,” you murmur, seeking the warmth of his lips once more. He hums in agreement; a reverberation in his chest below your palms stirring a shiver through you. “Fortunate indeed,” he breathes. “Now please do not torture me any longer.” 

You pull away from his searching lips just so, watching as he chases the warmth of your breath. "If you insist," you whisper, your lips brushing against his. His breath is sharp - he dislikes being so teased when he cannot deliver it in return. "I do insist.” he murmurs, words swallowed by the surge of him, teeth and noses clashing as you exhale, stomach flipping. 

His tongue, sliding into your mouth; eager, you part lips for him. The chamber fades into shadows, a dim glow as the witness to your ardor, the only thing to hear such soft sighs and groans from you and Jacaerys. His lips leave you rather soon, peppering kisses upon the flushed skin of your neck. 

A glance behind his shoulder as you cast your neck to the side - flickering shadows, intertwined with each other in a rather sensual embrace upon the wall; Jace’s nose pressed to the heartbeat of your throat as he bites gently against your skin. 

His lips are fervent - the warmth of his breath, his chest heaving below your palms, the scent of his shaving oils - a fierce wildfire within you, consuming every thought but the touch of his body against your own.

An urge, the light pressure of his wrists, desperate to move you upon him - and then his voice, a growl. "Feel me," he breathes against your throat, pulling back so slightly to catch your gaze as his hands, light but insistent, press upon your waist. 

You respond to his urging without a thought; your hips instinctively shifting, meeting the rise of his form with an eager press. The sensation is both thrilling and intoxicating - his moan of pleasure only spurs you on, a shiver of ecstasy as you press just so upon the sensitive of your heat. 

The space between you is gone, the touch of his hands guiding your movements lightly, encouraging your slow rolling hips. The air is thick with the mingled scents of desire and embers low - you, lost in a sea of sensation. His breaths grow ragged, the intensity of his gaze never wavering as he watches you with a look of utter devotion. "Yes," he murmurs, his voice nearly breaking, "-like that, gods - let me feel every bit of you." 

At such words, your cheeks heat vividly - you surrender to the heat of the moment, your movements growing more urgent, more desperate. His breaths are hot against your cheek as you let out a small moan, toes curling as you rove your hips, chasing the heat of pleasure. 

Your movements become more frantic with each passing moment, the need to be close to him overwhelming your senses. His heart, beating as wild as a beast against your own chest; Your head grows dizzy with need, a small noise from the back of your throat as his wrists coax your hips against him. 

“Jace,” Your breath comes in puffs, cheeks hot with the incessant need to feel him within you. “I need you.” 

He hums against your mouth, tantalizing as he tilts his head, “I had not noticed.” 

So cocky; you sigh, hips ceasing slightly, hands trailing over the fabric of his night shirt, feeling the warmth of his lean muscles beneath your palms. “You tease me.” You pout; he kisses the expression away with a small grin. You insist in the absence of a response, “You are cruel, to make it so hard for me to remain composed.” His arms pull you by the small of your back in an embrace - shivers over you as you feel his hard arousal drag along the heat of your aching cunt between too many layers of clothing. 

“I would have you mad with desire, if it means knowing you are as consumed by me as I am by you.” He mutters into the shell of your ear. Your cheeks, constantly heating under his words, so effortlessly setting you afire. 

You pull back enough to trail your lips over his jaw, dropping to press a soft bite upon the skin of his neck; savoring the soft noise, near whimper, from his lips. “You speak as though you haven’t already driven me mad,” You murmur into his skin, “Though I pay it willingly; I would have it no other way.”

To wait any longer would be torture; your hands, hungry and insistent, begin to gather the skirt of your sleep gown - Jace, watching with desire burning heavy in his eyes, hands lying uselessly - the glint of frustration in his gaze is not missed; though you know he wishes to touch you, you revel in the scarce opportunity to take care of him as he does you. 

A soft smile plays upon your lips as you look into his fervent eyes, feeling the heat of his desire merge with your own; Slipping beneath his trousers, you let your fingers graze his skin just enough to drive him wild; deliberate, as slow as his own fingers often are when he finds himself between your thighs. 

His cock is heavy upon your palm; your thighs, trembling with need as you place a few languid pumps upon him. His head, falling back, hands unable to truly grasp your hips - a groan, uninhibited as his brows knit together. “You’re a vision, my love.”

The endearment sends your hips in a short buck - grinding upon his cock, your arousal finds his own; a choked moan from yourself, falling forward to his chest. Laborious sliding of your hips over his own, spreading your need and coating his cock with your desire. Fingers, twitching against your spine - your own threading through his hair. Breaths together, short huffs and unsteady inhales as you finally guide yourself to the tip of his cock. 

“Are you-” His swallow is thick, “Are you sure, love?” He has the gall to question you after such excruciating a wait - though as you stare into his eyes, a flicker, a fleeting observation; He has always taken more than enough time to prepare you to take him; it is no lie that he is rather blessed by the Father - Such memories heat your cheeks. And though you know it may sting, it does not matter to you; You would certainly welcome the sensation. You stir your hips, biting back a noise at the jolt of your sensitive clit against his cock. “Yes, Jace. And you?” You question. An insistent nod, a short groan - "Gods, yes- stop teasing me," he near whines. You conceal a small chuckle of amusement, pressing your lips soundly against him.  

And you sink onto him slowly, eyes screwing shut at the sensation - he, with a low groan, head lolling back to expose the long stretch of his neck. A sharp exhale as you lower yourself, heart slamming as you’re filled; a sating desire within you, growing as you find yourself adjusting to him. 

When you find yourself fully speared upon your husband, you let out a shuttering whimper; his fingers twitch where they lie, pupils blown wide as he gazes upon you. Your lips find his once more in hunger, whispers of moans swallowed, tongue warm as it slides into his mouth. He tastes of the anise candies he favors; a hint of wine, cherry and dark. 

He remains, hips static as you breathe through the sensation of being full of him. His lips are fervent, though any wild need to feel you around him tamped momentarily by his concern for your own comfort and pleasure. 

A distant rove of waves upon a shoreline; the memory of Jacaerys, flushed and wide-eyed the first time you shared his bed. You slowly grow accustomed to his size, the hunger boiling within you as you slowly shift, growing restless. 

And slowly, experimentally - Jacaerys’ hips push slightly up against yours. You stir at the sensation, his cock pressing a spot deep within you - a keening gasp against him, swallowing his short moan with your lips. A slow lift of your hips, feeling him press against you - your eyes flutter shut once more as a flooding of pleasure courses through you, liquid fire within your veins. 

“Gods, my love-” He nearly chokes, “J-just like that-” 

Your small gasp as you begin to rock against his pelvis, cock stirring and pressing deliciously against the deepest part of you; upon shaky legs you rise, gently allowing his cock to drag out of your hungered cunt. “Jace,” Your voice is whiny, breathless - unsure what you plan on saying otherwise, your hands slide into the curly locks, tugging gently. He is rendered unable to speak, mouth open before moving to lick the slight salt from your skin. 

A flush has grown upon your chest; your husband’s lips have found your breasts, peppering bites and lingering upon a spot just under your neckline, his groans reverberating within your skin. Steadying yourself upon him, you find a rhythm - his cock reaching the deepest parts of you, your head tilting back in true satisfaction, a heat coiling within your gut. 

And his lips, ceasing only when your fingers tug at his curls; a curve in his own spine, head falling back against the back of the chair with a groan of pleasure. Heat curls and coils, lit afire by Jacaerys and the feeling of him reaching deep within you. 

“Jace, you’re so deep-” You whisper, toes curling with the sounds of your shared desire echoing in the chamber softly. He lets out a small noise at your words, a smattering of pink across his cheeks; cock twitching with desire within you. 

The hunger calls you. Without further consideration, you snake a hand between you, down to the heat of your cunt taking him, fingers shaking as you seek your yearning bundle of nerves; His eyes, lidded as he watches you. Jacaerys, in his endless pursuit to ensure your pleasures, has always provided his fingers or tongue to bring you closer to finish - though with him injured below you, you do not mind picking up such slack yourself. 

Especially when it brings such deeply melodic sounds of need to his lips. Despite his arousal at your actions, your hand shies away - knowing whatever extension of pleasure you wish to give yourself will be no match for how he so often touches you. Your grip rises instead to steady yourself upon his shoulders, spearing yourself onto him in languid thrusts, ecstasy climbing within you like the wild of fire. 

“Look at you, ābrazȳrys.” He mutters, pupils blown in pleasure, hips canting to meet yours. Though you speak not the language, you are familiar with such a word: wife. A shudder of pleasure at his ancient tongue - of which he has whispered many words to you, most unknown.

He, the picture of the gods below you, letting out a sharp exhale in his own pleasure. His lips, slick and bright, mutter your name - at the summon your gaze finds his own, molten and hungry as your hips move together, the feeling of his cock twitching within you, reaching a spot that has your back keening.

“I’m c-close.” He whispers, a heat upon his cheeks - embarrassment, perhaps, at his eagerness. His eyes find you; you’re met with that dark gaze, regally commanding as he speaks. “Gaomagon ziry. Touch yourself, love, I want to feel you.”  

Gods save you. 

Just as your husband wishes, you drop your fingers once more with no hesitation, jolting. You do not slow your pace; thighs burning, you keen forward, whispering his name against the pulse of his throat, groaning as your fingers press further, tight circles that bring shudders of pleasure. 

“Jaesa, so pretty. Renigon aōla.” Jacaerys’ brows, knitted upwards in gratification; voice, leaking of desperation, of some kind of adulation. He quite often slips into that frantic tongue - the rush of pleasure, of ecstasy, his sharp mind rendered unable to decipher the common from the ancient tongue. You do not know the delicious words that fall from his lips, yet it does not matter - they spur you closer still towards completion. 

“Jace, I’m close,” You hiss, teeth clenched in desire; your hips, dropping upon him slower, deeper; his arms pull you closer with a groan, lips falling to nip small marks into the smooth of your neck. A moan, unbidden from his sweet lips, “Do not stop, please-” he wishes, and who are you to deny such pretty begging? 

When you hit your high of ecstasy, it is with a muffled moan of his name; into the thin linen of his tunic, legs slowing as you roll through pleasure, spasming gently around your husband. His own, quiet moan into your hair, wrists pulling you into him as he whispers, “Yes, ñuha sȳz byka ābrazȳrys, fuck-” 

A thrill within you as you ride your high, such vulgar of a word from your husband; and all, your doing. A frantic whimper from your lips into his throat as he bucks his hips up into you, chasing his own high with a soft whimper. “You feel so good, Jacaerys.” You keen, raising to his face as you feel his abdominal muscles tense beneath you; pressing your forehead to his own, you ride through your completion, heavy breaths upon each other.

Noses sliding against his, you drink his small groans, holding him close; a ghost of his lips against yours, a nip of your lip by his teeth. Long lashes fluttering, Jace finds his own high. He releases his seed into you; you feel him, his hips thrusting up into you weakly as the warmth of him spreads within you. His breath, hot against your cheek, lips chasing yours as you pull away slightly, the slight shift in position sending you both in a harmony of whimpers at the sensitivity. 

The chamber’s hearth spits and crackles; an ember lands near the floor beside the chair. It smolders out, fading slowly into darkness against the stone as you rest your cheek against Jacaerys’ chest, pleased by his gentle kisses upon your hairline.

After moments of silence, basking in your shared pleasure, you press a kiss to his chest. “Are you alright?” He asks gently, soothing over your spine with the soft of his forearms. 

You let out a shaky sigh of satisfaction as you pull back, feeling his cock within you - a fleeting thought; you hope his seed takes. He watches you, eyes warm and gentle as a shaky finger, curled in pain, wipes a stray strand of hair from your forehead - you nod, lifting your hand thumb away the bead of blood that has appeared once more on his cheek; “Yes. And you?” You wonder, pressing a kiss to the freckle upon his lip. 

His smile is the kind that makes your heart skip beats. “Always.” 

translations; dōna riña - sweet girl

ābrazȳrys - wife

Gaomagon ziry - do it

Jaesa - goddess, holy/divine woman

Renigon aōla - touch yourself

ñuha sȳz byka ābrazȳrys - my good little wife

taglist: @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @jottositto @chloe-petrichors @elaena-aerrin @smurfelle @greenvita @alyssa-dayne

[gay-dorito-dust]

Part two is right here

You were with Alyssane when the doors burst open and could only watch as a bloodied and bruised Benji was being held up in the arms of two other boys, who were also bruised and bloodied but not nearly to the extent that Benjicot was.

This type of scenario happens far too often at this point for you to feel anything but exasperation at who had pissed Benji off to the point of no return, for Benjicot Blackwood was a short fuse disguised as a awkward, shy but honest to god good man, and everyone in the realm knew that the devil himself runs away in fear when a good man goes to war.

‘What happened this time?’ Alyssane asked, just as unfazed by this predicament as you were as she crossed her arms over her chest, while the two men holding Benji up shared a look between themselves before looking back at yourself and Alyssane.

‘There were some Brackens-‘

‘Here we go.’ You whispered under your breath, finding yourself already foreseeing how this interaction with their rival house might’ve went down; they crossed paths, started provoking each other, swords being drawn and fists being thrown as the accumulated testosterone between the rivalling houses chokes the air.

‘-and they said something to Benji that made him madder then I’ve ever seen him.’ The boy with the pale hair on benji’s left continued recounting the story as the the boy on Benji’s right, a boy with chestnut hair and slight facial hummed in agreement as he shifted Ben’s arm on his shoulder when he felt the young lord slipping from his grip. ‘Yeah and after beating them with an inch of their lives, he wouldn’t tell us what those Bracken bastards said.’

You looked closely at Benji, feeling your heart wretch as you watched his eyes try their best to focus on something before they fell on you, and suddenly he was smiling as though he was trying to reassure that he wasn’t hurt that bad; acting as though he wasn’t currently on the verge of collapse. You hated how much his sweet side affected you to the point your dreaming about it for weeks on end knowing that it was fruitless to ask for more.

You may have gotten use to Benji getting into fights but you will never be use to seeing him hurt, you’d rather he be safe and unharmed but that seems like too much of an ask even for him; despite how many times he’s promised you that he’d be careful only to come back bruised knuckles, bloodied faced and looking as though he fought a bear and won.

‘I’m fine.’ Benji slurred as he tried to stand up and walk a few paces forward, just for his legs to have out beneath him as the floor rushed up to meet him, but you managed to run across the hall to catch him in your arms. ‘Gods you’re heavy.’ You groaned as you wrestled one of his arms over your shoulder as he lent most of his weight against you, trying your hardest not to let the smell of cedar wood get the best of you.

‘I did it for you.’ Ben murmured incoherently.

‘What?’ You asked, feeling as little overexposed by the eyes of his aunt and the two boys who dragged him in here as they dig into you.

‘I did it for you.’ He said again a little louder this time. ‘I did it for you and I’d do it all over again for you to prove just how important you are to me.’ Benjicot adds with a dopey smile as he closes his eyes and the rest of his weight has your knees close to buckling underneath you, however the urge to know what he meant by that and how it correlates to beating the Brackens black and blue gave you the strength to keep him upright as you looked over at Alyssane, who looked at you both with a knowing look in her eye.

‘I’ll go fetch a Maester and I’ll trust that you y/n will get him up to his room.’ She says before leaving the hall and you to ponder whether or not you were being pranked right now, for as you went to look for the two boys behind you for help, only to find that they had seemingly disappeared into thin air.

‘You’ve got a lot of explaining to do when you wake up Blackwood.’ You said to no one in particular as you began the long journey to Benji’s room.

[shadowdaddies]

A Better Tomorrow

Best Friend Cassian x Reader / mated Azriel x Reader Hurt/Comfort

A/N: This is for anyone who is tired. Life is hard, but the world is better with you in it.

The loud echo of your boots against the hardwood echoed through the hallway, steps fast and harsh against the floors as though you could take your anger out against it. Face hot with waves of anger and shame, you heaved out a sigh, flexing and clenching your hands while you paced the room, seeking an outlet to calm the rage contained beneath your skin. 

As if they could sense you were about to break, a cool wisp of darkness brushed your hand, effectively extinguishing the wildfire burning within you. Feet stopped on instinct, your watery eyes falling closed as tension immediately left your body, the anger making way for a brief peace that quickly soured to melancholy.

“Love?” Azriel called out from the kitchen, your mate’s warm voice healing the hole in your chest as you padded towards his call. 

“Hey, Az,” you murmured, smiling in spite of yourself at the sight of bright hazel eyes. The scent of chilled mist and cedar permeated the air, a balm to your blazing emotions. A calloused hand brushed down your arm, just as softly and soothing as his shadows when Azriel pulled you to his side. 

Movement from the corner of your eye turned your head, Cassian’s hulking frame leaning casually over the counter as he cleaned the final scraps of food from his plate. “Hey sunshine,” he winked, pausing to take a long swig of his drink. “How’s Windhaven? Keeping those Illyrian louts in check for me?”

By the way Azriel’s shadows began to oscillate erratically, his grip on your waist tensing ever so slightly, you knew that you hadn’t hidden your reaction to Cassian’s question. 

“What happened?” Azriel asked in a lethal calm. The shame and anger from earlier rushed back to you, eddying in your mind like a whirlpool that threatened to pull you under. A cool shadow stroking your cheek pulled your attention back to your mate. Safety, love, protectiveness seemed to roll off of him, and you spared a glance to Cassian to find the same.

Allowing yourself to lean your weight on Azriel, you found the comfort and clarity you needed from his presence - and with that clarity, the awareness of Azriel’s own simmering anger just below his composed facade. 

“Azriel,” you whispered, hand reaching up to brush a lock of onyx hair behind his curved ear. “I think I need to talk to Cassian about this alone, if that is alright.” 

Warring emotions seemed to play out in Azriel’s eyes, the irises reflecting golden light as his gaze flicked between his mate and brother. “I will talk to you about it, but I need to speak with my General right now,” you promised, offering a small smile of encouragement.

The shadowsinger’s sharp stare softened at that, understanding falling like a blanket of comfort over the two of you. Azriel recognized your need to separate your work from home life - it was a value which you both shared, and worked on balancing together. Pressing a kiss to your hair - and flashing a warning glare at Cassian that sent a shiver down your spine - Azriel went outside, leaving you alone with Cass.

Without Azriel’s presence by your side, the weight of the day seemed to fall all at once, Cassian’s expression turning from that of a concerned General to a worried friend instantly. His eyes tracked how your weight shifted awkwardly, hands twisting with each other. 

“C’mere sunshine,” he murmured, pulling out the chair next to where he sat. You took the chair, elbows instantly landing on the table and hands tangling in your hair. 

“I don’t think I can do this, Cass,” you admitted, hiding your watery eyes by studying the woodgrain of the table. “Windhaven. As a female. I’m just not strong enough.” You could feel Cassian’s intake of air, so you spoke before he could interject his platitudes and hollow encouragements. 

“It’s so hard - and I knew it would be - but day after day, nothing changes. Some of these males get worse with how they treat me, how they even treat each other. And I know I should ‘not let it bother me.’ I know that ‘it’s a reflection of their character and not mine.’ I know that ‘I am the bigger person.’ But gods dammit, I am so tired.”

You dared a peek at Cassian, expecting something of pity or even judgment, but he sat back in his chair with eyes that matched your own, sparkling with the same barely-held tears which held memories, understanding. He nodded silently, both an encouragement and an affirmation.

Loosing another sigh, you ran one hand through your hair as the other picked nervously at the textured table. “I tried to fight back today. To take a stand.” Palms smacked the table, the sting left on your hands nothing compared to the sting of today’s memory. 

“Fucking Devlon,” you continued. “He brought a group of male soldiers to where we were training the new Valkyries. The way they taunted those young girls, the disgusting comments... And one of them-” Your eyes shuttered at the sound of his voice replaying in your mind. “I won’t repeat what he said to Gwyn, but it sent me over the edge, Cassian. I couldn’t let those females be treated like that.

“So I challenged the asshole to a fight, with a ‘cycle-tainted sword,’” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at the words. 

“And he accepted,” Cassian added, not a question, but a reminder. 

With a stiff nod, you watched his reaction carefully as you continued the story. “I pinned him, easily-“ You felt relief as Cassian sipped his drink, shrugging in a silent of course. “But I didn’t stop there. He continued to spew his shit even from the ground, and I saw the faces of those other males. They hadn’t changed. I hadn’t proved anything to them.

“So I took my blade, and I cut his wing.” You couldn’t help the tear that spilled down your cheek then, the salty droplet cool against your reddened cheek. “Not enough to hurt him, but enough to leave a scar. To leave a reminder of what we could do.”

Cassian’s lips spread into a smirk, eyes twinkling with the feral delight of a true warrior, but he remained silent. 

“It feels wrong, Cassian. I don’t know what to do - how to stand up for myself, for others. Those males will never change, and I fear I’m only becoming as terrible as them. But I can’t bear to see that evil. I just can’t do it anymore... I am not strong enough for Illyria.”

Your bottom lip quivered, the heartbreak of the situation weighing you down, curving your shoulders in as you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

Cassian watched you for a long moment, pushing his plate to the side before leaning closer, ruby red siphons pulsing light against the table where he now rested them. 

“I don’t know whether your actions against that male were the right thing to do. I do know that he deserved it - and much more - but if it weighs on your conscience, it may not be what is best for you. And that is what I care about. I don’t give a fuck about what happens to some Illyrian prick who went out of his way to hurt you all. He incited a reaction, and reaped the consequences. 

“You are right,” Cassian continued, his hand giving yours a gentle squeeze. “It is so hard, to see the hatred and evil day after day - not only from our enemies, but those within our own community. And those males will probably never change. But so much has changed, and will. The Valkyries are already bringing change in more ways than I think you realize.”

Cassian swallowed thickly, his eyes shining with a brighter kind of emotion. “Remember when I met you and Nesta in town after training at Windhaven last week?” You nodded,  curious as to where he was going with this. 

“I saw the two of you walking towards me, armed in your uniforms with heads held high. These little girls,” he breathed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “They were watching you from the window. Two little Illyrian girls with a look that I had never seen them have in that town. It was more than admiration, it was hope.”

Hazel eyes bore into you with a captivating earnestness. “You give them hope. Something I am ashamed to say I hadn’t noticed was missing until The Valkyries brought it to them. Those males may not change, but you are helping to build a world for those little girls to be the change. 

We can’t change Illyria overnight. But it needs you, because you are making the world a better place for those children - a world with hope, where they can be themselves without fear, because they look at you and know it is possible.”

A sob broke from your lips, relief washing over you like a cool wave at the realization. You would make mistakes, consequences would have actions, people would do wrong by you and others. But as small as your work may feel, you are building a better world for tomorrow.

A shadow wound through your tousled hair, wiping at the salty tears that streaked down your cheeks. Cassian chuckled at the motion, standing from his seat with a grunt. “I think Azriel might be getting impatient out there,” he nodded towards the door. “Go have a good night with your mate.”

You stood, nodding with a sniffle as you wrapped your arms around your friend, his own returning the action with his usual tight squeeze. “Thank you, Cassian. You are a very good friend, and General.”

“I know,” he smirked when you pulled away, playfully elbowing him in the ribs. “I’m feeling inspired to go find my Nesta, and remind her just how much better the world is with her.” With a suggestive smirk, he winked and set off towards the library, leaving you laughing softly at his shameless behavior.

You opened the door to the outside where Azriel stood looking out at the sunset, his stillness making him look like a statue until he turned to face you, and you inhaled sharply at the beauty of your mate, a living work of art. 

“Are you alright?” he questioned, failing to hide his concern at the still-drying tears on your face. Pushing up on your toes, you pulled him in for a kiss. 

“Better than ever,” you murmured against his lips, tugging his soft lower lip between your teeth before pulling away to take his hands in yours. “I’ll tell you everything over dinner. I’m ready to enjoy my night with the one I love.”

That earned a cheeky grin from Azriel, the male effortlessly sweeping you into his arms before setting off to fly across the multi-colored hues of the evening sky, where you clung to the comfort of him.

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.3)

W/C: 3.1k #SFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, ABO elements, mentions of death, yuuji has entered the chat, gojo has entered the chat, idky this got sad tho lol

A/N: This bit made me very sad please suffer thank you!!! Also the main story will be wrapping soon (I think next part will be the last part?) and then after that, it'll probably be drabbles! There might be a 'sequel' that touches on the culling games tho because b r u h they've got some down time during that arc so hfhfhfhfhghghf imagine what I could do--

tags: @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah

A strict no-contact order had been placed on Yuuji, and, subsequently, Sukuna. Neither were to come into contact with you while you recovered, and neither were to be alone with you considering the control-slip incident. 

Still, the curse had been rampant in the young man’s mind, constantly pacing back and forth just behind his consciousness, waiting patiently as a predator should for Yuuji's guard to go down. Granted, even if Yuuji was caught by surprise, it'd still be near impossible to overtake the peppy twenty year-old. Sukuna didn't have an explanation, but it was what it was. 

He would have gladly seized control now, when you'd somehow managed to slip away from your recovery prison and get comfortable in Itadori Yuuji's bed. Sukuna would have slaughtered everyone at the academy for a second to touch you again, to breathe you in.

But the brat finally realized something was off, and woke to find your head tucked under his chin, his arms slung across your waist. Your breath fanned across his collarbone, tickling the sorcerer's touch-starved skin and feeding the fire burning in his cheeks–Sukuna, though, didn’t seem pleased his host was the one touching you. Yuuji counted that as a victory. 

Suck it, dickhead.

Hm? A stranger’s voice rippled instead of the king's. 

Yuuji jolted, his blood growing cold for a second before recognizing that voice–it came from that tidal wave of memories. But it didn't tick him off the way Sukuna's did. It was…nice.

Uh…you can hear me? Yuuji wondered. He tried to envision his voice as loud and clear as possible to help it reach you. 

Your brows twitched in your daze. Yes, I can hear you. There's no need to shout. 

Oh. Sorry. Uh, how'd you get in here? 

The door. 

Oh. Cool. Yuuji shifted a little. I'm not really supposed to, y'know, make contact with you or–

But you're warm. Your nails lightly dragged across his back, leaving trails of tingly pinpricks dancing across his skin. Yuuji swallowed a moan. God, why did the littlest touches feel so nice? 

Y-Yeah? My grandpa used to say I ran hot. Like a furnace or somethin’. 

I agree. You burn like firewood. And you smell warm. Like cedar and honey. You stretched languidly, and the younger stayed put, not strong enough to pull away from your praise and touch. Your teasing fingers raked through his hair daintily, and this time Yuuji did moan. Just the slightest bit before he snapped his mouth shut and bit his lip. 

You leave me wondering how you taste. 

“What?” Yuuji squawked. Your eyes lazily opened a crack, seemingly put off by the sudden break in room silence. It gave the sorcerer an opportunity to admire the golden glints of divinity hidden in the hue of your iris. 

But he found fear in that moment, too. Yuuji knew what most didn't–the curse sealed inside of him thought you to be his equal. You were the only beast Sukuna would bow before, the only one whose attention he craved and sought in his reign. 

You were, in a way, a king yourself.

Do you think I'll eat you, Yuuji? 

“I–uh–you–well–” Yuuji fumbled exceptionally, choking on flustered words. “I just--Sukuna ate people, right? So, uh. Maybe you did too?” 

You looked him over for a moment. Your gaze traced the cute curve of the younger's nose, the petite fangs worrying at his bottom lip, the caramel swirl of his eyes. He looked so much like Sukuna. It made you wonder. 

I've eaten humans, yes, You agreed, nonchalant. Do you want me to eat you?

“Eat me?” Yuuji deadpanned, unsure if he should feel just bothered or hot and bothered. “I, well–”

No. Sukuna’s voice cut like ice through Yuuji’s mind. For a second, it scared him. It reminded Yuuji of what exactly Sukuna was. What he’d do. 

So what would you do?

“Hey,” Yuuji started, suddenly calm, serious. “Why’re you on Sukuna’s side? You don’t seem like a bad person.”

You took a deep second to think before sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. Your tails curled weakly around your clothless frame, swallowing up any spot a young man’s curious gaze might wander in the secrecy of night. Maybe you’d been in this situation before. 

“‘Good.’ ‘Bad.’ We all have different definitions.” Your voice rattled and scraped out your tired throat, yet you didn’t look perturbed in the slightest. “I do what pleases me: garden, sew, eat. Sometimes, I may cause harm in the process. I care sometimes, and I don’t others. Does it make me evil to choose what I care about?” 

Yuuji’s head started to ache. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up with your fancy, archaic way of speaking, but he was sure as hell gonna try. 

The younger sat up, too, and ruffled up his hair. “I mean. Don’t you wanna try to, y’know, not hurt people? Not cause harm, ‘n stuff?”

“Is fire wicked? Or does it simply exist?” You posed. “In the control of man, it is sacred. It cooks food, illuminates the dark, cloaks you with warmth. Yet it burns down trees. Swallows homes. Devours crops. Kills.” 

You looked at Yuuji, rose-wrapped eyes resentful of something the sorcerer could not know. “Man regards fire as a blessing when controlled, yet it is a curse when it runs free with nature–existence, the black and white of the world, is in the eye of the beholder.” 

Yuuji didn’t like how much that made sense to him. Objectively, Sukuna was bad. He killed. He murdered for fun. He ate people–

Yet your words, your pretty way of speaking and philosophies gave Yuuji pause. It didn’t click, despite igniting grim sparks in the cogs hidden far behind his eyes. He already made his mind up about good and evil, yes and no, white and black, and yet–

You poked him in the forehead, between his eyes, and Yuuji blinked. 

“It’s merely food for thought, Yuuji.” Why did you know his name again? “Don’t burden yourself with making decisions or anything of the sort. I suppose my answer was long-winded in regards to your question.” 

“Yeah, kinda,” he laughed, rubbing his cheek. “But, uh…it helped, I guess.” Yuuji pulled your hand down from poking him. “You don’t think Sukuna’s bad,” he concluded.

“I think he was a force of nature.” Your head tilted. Your eyes softened. “A monster to some, a god to others.” 

“‘N to you?”

Your eyes caught the morning light, iris reflecting with waking embers. 

“He was everything.”

Gojo thought you were pretty in the same way Getou was pretty; you were handsome with fine features, you radiated with odd power, and you spoke with unmatched poise and purpose it almost made the man’s ego swoon. 

But you looked tired as Getou had, too. Skin void of blushing warmth, eyes distant and hazy, dark circles pulling your gaze away from him. He didn't like it. It made him remember that cold hand ripping his heart to pieces. 

“Look who’s awake!” Gojo cheered as he sauntered toward you, hands in his pockets and a smile adorning his face. “Hungry? I could getcha some–”

“You were listening, were you not?” You wondered, running your bony fingers through matted fur systematically. Your split nails picked and clawed through tangles and knots thoroughly, as though it’d make a difference in your beat-up appearance. 

Gojo tilted his head before settling down in the seat beside your bed. “Hm? Me? Listening? To–”

“Yuuji and I.”

“Ah! You mean the night you snuck out to do some naughty, naughty things with my student?” 

You deadpanned fiercely, looking at him the way someone else used to. “Ha. Hm. Surely you jest.”

Gojo waggled his brows as much as he could, hoping they’d peek out over the top of his blindfold. “Hah, you think I don’t know what my sweet, precious Yuuji does behind closed doors? I know everything! I’m–”

“You misunderstand,” you cut him off, looking more and more concerned with each passing second. “You are a teacher? Why? How? This does not seem ethical.”

Gojo died. Rather, his pride did. Which was essentially his lifeforce. 

“What are you–okay, I’m just gonna chalk it up to you being cranky after getting woken up, alright? I’ll give you a pass. Just once!” Gojo nodded as a benevolent creature should. “You should thank me.”

“I’d rather not.” You sighed and returned to your grooming. “If you wish to interrogate me, I require food first. Tofu, specifically”

Gojo laughed. “Man, you are one high-maintenance god. Alright, you want normie tofu, or agedashi tofu?” 

You blinked and looked at him, curious. 

“Agedashi tofu?”

You really liked agedashi tofu. You liked the little sauce it came with, you liked the other random shit Gojo bought to try and win over your compliance–well, honestly, he also just wanted an excuse to shower someone with the food and snacks he liked. It’d been a long time since he’d had the privilege to. 

“So,” Gojo said as he popped the marble into the ramune bottle for you and handed it over, “About you and Sukuna.” 

“Mhm?” Your eyes glittered in fascination as you took the drink and examined it from all angles, carefully tilting it here and there to watch the blue bubbles rise to the top as the glass ball rolled and spun in its tiny prison. 

Gojo almost lost his train of thought watching you, but he reigned it in quickly.

“Seems like you were close.” Were was important. You'd referred to the menace in past tense when speaking with Yuuji–clearly, you didn't realize the curse resided within the young sorcerer. Best to keep it that way.

You pursed your lips in thought for a moment.

“I suppose. Why?” 

“I'm just nosy!” 

“I know that already. But there exists intelligence behind your annoying behaviour.” Your gaze slid to him, staring through the veil of fabric and straight into his eyes. “You're a monster like he was, aren't you?” 

“Hah?! Rude!” Gojo whined, but regained composure just as fast. “Seems your intuition is pretty good, huh?”

“It's simply an understanding of nature.” 

“Is that what pulled you to him? His nature?” 

“No. I was given to him. As a gift. By a clan of sorcerers.”

“Huh. A gift.”

“Yes. The harvest festival required as much. He was revered as a godly creature. Something to be feared.” 

“And so were you,” Gojo guessed, and you frowned and looked away, instead picking through the treats and snacks brought to you. 

“The people saw us very differently.”

Sukuna didn't walk through the city below often–not until you decided you liked it down there. 

Finding out that you walked through those streets alone sent a trill of something unpleasant up Sukuna's spine; knowing you were alone, vulnerable and under the eyes of so many that so often cursed Sukuna and wished him dead made him…uneasy, maybe. You could handle yourself. Sukuna simply couldn't handle the disrespect.

But things weren’t as he assumed.

You walked through town, and the people revered you as they would Amaterasu incarnate. Most didn't address you, but all saw and accepted your presence with grace and kindness, nodding or flickering small smiles as you passed by with the king trailing behind. 

Sukuna could understand; you'd become something astoundingly breathtaking. Lush, full tails dipped and swayed as you walked with the poised elegance of royalty, the feeling only enhanced by the careful, intricate way you presented yourself in your attire. Sukuna knew you felt beautiful. You were beautiful. 

“It's (Name!)” A child cried, and Sukuna fought the urge to punt the little shit into the restaurant across the road when the tiny human grabbed at your clothes. 

But you smiled. You actually smiled when you patted the girl on the head and said your sweet hellos before ushering her along after her mother. The corners of your eyes crinkled for once, showing that, yes, you'd aged and felt joy and become so perfect because of it. And when you cooed sweet farewells to passing little ones, your fangs flickered against the colour of your lips, just for a second. 

Your gilded gaze caught his carmine stare, and you tilted your head. 

“Sukuna.” You held your hand out to him, and he took it. He had no choice. He was only human, and you were God. Walking through a city of mortals.

He let you lead on, wandering to the shops where you bought thread and fabric for your stupid little projects with money he didn't even know you had. You could have just taken everything you wanted, especially with the king stood right by your side, but you eased the shopkeeper's nerves with kind words and ample pay. 

Sukuna all but picked you up and launched you both back home the second you were done meandering. He had a job to do; he had to fully commit to siring a runt.

Now, Gojo didn't need to know all that, but it didn't stop your mind from wandering to that night; it was the first time he looked at you like that. It was the first time he decided against lording his power over you, instead holding you close and taking things slow. You missed it. You yearned for the night he stopped seeing you as a toy and saw you as you. The night he finally learned your name.

“They viewed me as something divine,” you continued, digging out of the warmth of memories. “Perhaps because I walked alongside someone like him.” 

“Well, only gods can walk through a volcano and come out unscathed, no?” Gojo smiled a bit as you looked away, embarrassed. 

“That's a poor analogy.”

“Eh?”

“How would one walk through a volcano? None would even think to get close enough to do so.”

“W-Wait–”

“You would be underground, would you not? With limbs melted, oneself ablaze? And one would not walk but wade through lava.” 

“It's just a metaphor!” Gojo wailed. 

“A poor one.” And you continued to pick through snacks, unbothered that you'd just destroyed the strongest man alive as you munched on cheese-flavoured rice puffs.

Gojo laughed, though. “I can see why he liked you. Supports the theory he's not the one who put you in the coffin.” 

“It wasn't him,” you snapped. Your ears flattened against your skull as you shrunk in on yourself. “At least…not directly.” 

Oh? Gojo leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees as he laced his fingers together.

“Then who was it? What happened?” 

“I don't fully understand it myself,” you confessed. Your voice was a whisper, cold and lonely like a far North winter. 

“Maybe I can help.” 

You looked to him and back down again. 

“There was a man. A sorcerer. I don't know his name–I never cared to learn it. He was odd.” You tore up little bits of hi-chew wrappers as you spoke. “He asked me if I would sacrifice myself for Sukuna.” 

“And?” Gojo prodded. 

“I would not,” you said. “Sukuna would never need my sacrifice, he'd never need my aid. He was the strongest.” A light frown tugged at the corners of your mouth. “That creature thought otherwise. He mentioned something about additional wombs, but I don't know what that means.” 

Fuck. Gojo nodded politely. “Gotcha, gotcha. What'd this guy look like? You remember?” 

“Unremarkable, save for the odd sutures across his forehead.” 

“Oh? Interesting. Alright, last question, my cute little kitsune–”

“(Name),” you cut in. “Address me as (Name).”

Gojo sparkled. “Waaah, I think our relationship just leveled up to A-tier! One more level and I can romance–”

“Please do not make me hurt you.” 

The white witch whined and deflated against his chair. “Boooring.”

You huffed and flicked your ear. “Ask your question, goblin.” 

Gojo took a breath before he spoke. 

“Are you with child right now?” 

The world changed suddenly. Seal papers coating the walls drowned in bones and flowers as the pungent sweetness of orchids and decay curled around Gojo. Around you, a cage began to rise, jutting out from the earth and encircling you like thousands of rigid arms holding you in an embrace. And your eyes–they shone with abhorrent divinity, outshining even the nine, pristine tails breathing with blackened fire. 

But there was screaming. Two voices intertwined. Little and distant, warped and outraged at–at something. Maybe Gojo? Maybe his accusations, his questions? 

Just when the sorcerer was about to act, your clasped a hand over your stomach, and you whispered with the thrum of a thousand voices:

“Be still.” 

It all moved slowly, then. The phenomenon–the apparent domain expansion–reversed, sinking back into the floors and walls with the soft sound of chittering and cooing taking the place of wicked screeches. You, too, cooed back to the twin voices, placating them with maternal ease. 

Your divinity faded with the last shreds of the illusion. Now, your colours faded further, painting you in desaturated tones of exhaustion and worry. Gojo hated that palette. It'd been used too many times on too many he doted on. God was stupid like that, creating such sad, worrisome colours.

The sorcerer took a deep breath in the silence of the room. He didn't know what to say, or how to say it. He was never good at this kind of thing. His other half was much better at this. 

But he had to try. The look on your face told him he had to try. 

What would he have done?

Gojo’s hand reached out as he leaned forward, and he caught your scarred, bony hand in his own. You didn’t pull away, you didn't fight him, you instead curled your fingers around his and held your breath while your gaze became unseeing, your heart ceased beating just as your breathing had. For a moment, you died.

“I'm sorry,” Gojo whispered. And you nodded. Somehow, he knew it meant, ‘me too.’ 

It was then, touching you, that he could feel the negative energy thrumming beneath a shell of divinity. Two different un-lives coiled inside of you, filled with bitter hate for man and undying love for their mother. For you. It wasn't unlike the bond shared between Yuuta and Rika, but this was not as simple. 

“Your ilk did not approve of Sukuna siring children,” you murmured. Your grip on his hand turned poisonous. “If you try to take them from me–”

“What'll you do?” He asked, knowing they'd never be born. 

“--I will turn everything to ash. Set fire to the skies. Just as I have once already.”

“Good.” Gojo smiled. “You'd be a good mother.” 

“I hope I one day can be.”

The masked menaced nodded again as he idly soothed his thumb across your knuckles. “Never say never, yenno? We'll figure something out for you. If you can do something to help the school–”

“I can give gifts. Once I have the energy.” You didn't sound like you did. Gojo wasn't sure if you ever would.

“Yeah? Like what?” He asked anyway. 

You looked at him, weak and defeated, yet still clinging to life. 

“My divine favour.”

[throneofsapphics]

finding you again, part one

Azriel x f!Reader

summary: after he ended your relationship, you didn’t expect Azriel to pop into your life again - and you’re not happy about it

warnings: references to utm, war, disease

a/n: sorry for the delay! part two coming in the next few days, if anyone wants to be added to a taglist, you can comment under here or send me an ask/message!

series masterlist

Shockwaves of magic swept through Prythian and the surrounding islands at once. It felt like the ground beneath your feet shifted. Once, twice, three times - and you heard shouts from around you. You took a brief moment to thank the mother that it wasn’t just in your head. 

You picked up the basket, sprinting back towards your home. Herbs flew out of the sides, but you’d go back to collect later. Whatever this was now, it was huge. You felt it in your bones, something in your world was changing, everything seemed to come to a standstill - the rest could wait. 

The entire island was tense for the next few days, everyone waiting to see what did happen. Whispered murmurs of the possibilities, of the could-be’s, of the tentative hope blossoming - a hope nobody let show publicly. 

Secluded by yourselves, the wards you’d collectively put together at the beginning of Amarantha’s reign, near impenetrable, made news difficult to come by. 

Three days later, a tingling sensation on the back of your neck woke you. It was gone by the time you’d rushed into your kitchen, fingers white-knuckled around a dagger. 

Two letters. One addressed to the inhabitants of the town, wax sealed with the stamp of the Night Court. Next to it, one with just your name. 

Shaking hands, unsteady breaths, you ripped it open, ignoring the sting of a small cut on your index finger.

Your eyes flew over the words. The paper began to fold under your tight grip, edges wrinkling. 

Unsteady breaths, a lone tear dripping down your cheek, it took minutes of pacing and intentional breathing to collect yourself. 

Bringing it back to your room, you climbed half under your bed, sliding a loose board aside and shoved the letter inside, sliding a box over it. That couldn’t fall into the wrong hands. 

Grabbing the other envelope, swinging your door open, a cool spring breeze hitting your face, reddening your cheeks and nose, before heading to share the news. 

You ignored the other implication of the situation. The particular scent lingering on the envelope. You hadn’t thought of him in years, and now wasn’t the time to start. 

-

“The High Lord wants to visit,” the older female breathed, eyes wide as she turned her gaze to you, before frowning. “Why would he ask?”

“He could be having difficulty getting through the wards,” her mate said, covering the female’s hand with his own, mouth curving at the corners, a twinkle of pride. Well deserved, he had painstakingly designed them. 

“Or he’s sending this as a courtesy, they got the letter to us after all,” she snorted, but returned his smile. 

You knew who’d sent the letter. The hint of night chilled mist and cedar so unique you couldn’t have imagined it. 

With Madja’s help, you’d gotten permission from Rhysand to leave Velaris sixty years ago, for a while able to visit every few months until…

You subconsciously rubbed the bargain tattoo on your ribcage. Three stars surrounded by a circle, your promise to never reveal the location of Velaris. 

-

Azriel knew his brother needed a distraction, and frankly - he needed to leave the damn city. The once safe haven that had become a necessary prison. He was too self-aware to discount the other reason, the need to lay eyes on you and see that you were safe, at least somewhat. 

Rhys shot him a curious look when he volunteered too quickly - when Azriel had raised the idea. 

“There’s wards surrounding the island,” he schooled his face neutral - the spymaster, doing his job, “are near impenetrable.” Except perhaps by you or me, he didn’t need to say aloud. Yes, he’d sent shadows to scout the area soon after the curse broke, and they’d brought interesting reports in turn. 

Rhys nodded, and Azriel sat across from him as he wrote out two letters, sealing and sliding them across the table. 

One was addressed to … you. His blink of surprise gave him away.

“You know her?” Rhys’s eyes glimmered. He’d been discreet with his lovers, and of course he was aware Rhys knew, but just because he’d thought of you didn’t mean he wanted to share with others. But … the amused expression in Rhys’s eyes wavered, revealing some of the strain beneath. 

A distraction, that’s what his brother and High Lord needed, and perhaps he could do with a touch of vulnerability. 

“We were involved … before she left.” 

“I know,” Rhys smirked. For fucks sake. “Why do you think I let her leave and keep knowledge of Velaris? It was obvious she could keep a secret - she never said a word about your … involvement, to anyone else.”

Again, something he knew, but he had the decency to show a touch of surprise. 

Azriel raised a brow, a gentle nudge against the shields barricading his mind, and he lowered them slightly. 

“You’re willing to make a bargain?” Rhys leaned back in his chair, you seated before him, fidgeting and brimming with energy. 

“Yes,” your voice was strong and firm. 

“Very well,” his mouth turned up at the corners, a smile designed to put people at ease - it worked on you. 

The bargain was fair and concise. You could leave Velaris, and return as you wish as long as you never revealed or hinted to the name, location, or existence of Velaris. 

Azriel pushed Rhys out, slamming walls back in place. “Why are you showing me this?”

“You want to investigate the island, don’t you?” He wanted to slap the smirk off the other male's face. “She’s one person you know intimately,” Azriel rolled his eyes, “who lives there.” 

“I doubt she would speak to me,” he retorted dryly. 

“You’d be surprised what time and distance can do,” he countered. Az shook his head, he wouldn’t let false hope sink in, hope of regaining your … friendship. Maybe seeing you, even if it was just once, would be enough. 

-

A day later, Azriel stood on a cliff, wards pulsing with magic in front of them. Rhys to his left, Mor flanking his other side, they waited for … well, he wasn’t entirely what. For someone who would let them in. Rhys had sent a charmed parchment, designed to deliver their answer immediately, and everything in the letter sounded perfectly enthusiastic. 

Magic parted enough to reveal an older female and male - centuries older than themselves given the wrinkles starting to line their faces, appearing as if they were close to fading. Both carried themselves with confidence, but a warm and open demeanor as they bowed deeply. 

“Thank you for coming to see us,” the male rasped. 

He took brief notes of their names, the introduction, while sending discreet shadows to poke around the rest of the wards and small community. Due diligence and routine instinct now. They eyed him just a touch of caution, but it didn’t phase him, it never had. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “we’ve prepared lunch.” 

“Not at all,” Rhys smiled, the warmth in his tone almost matching the one he used with the citizen’s of Velaris, still laced with subtle authority. 

Less than a quarter of a mile, and they approached a quaint looking town. Stone houses, slightly corroded by salty air, but built sturdily - ready to weather any type of storm. Sure, he’d heard all of this through his shadows but seeing had a different effect. Paved pathways, a few different shops and a tavern. 

“Not much of an economy now,” she was telling Mor, “we trade what we can, all help each other out. Kept to ourselves the last few decades.” Kept to ourselves. 

‘They locked themselves away,’ Rhys’s voice flooded through his mind. “The community is small enough that Amarantha didn’t bother looking.” But they’d been a vital trading port for the Night Court before. He was surprised she’d ignored it. “I was too,” Rhys said. 

Ignored, but she’d considered them anyway. A sickening feeling coiled in his gut. If Amarantha had gotten to you … 

“The healer you recommended,” the male spoke to Rhys, pulling him from his mind, ''saved all our lives when a disease swept through, ‘bout thirty years ago. A great female.” 

“One of the best healers I know,” Rhys replied. It was the truth. As far as healers went, you were one of the best available. He wondered if you knew the other reason you were sent here; If Hybern were to attack the Night Court, they all suspected this Island would be the first target, and a skilled and trustworthy healer was needed on the ground. On the front lines. That sickening feeling returned, and Azriel knew he needed to set his own eyes, not just shadows, on you before he left. 

-

You couldn’t avoid the lunch, not without raising suspicion. Maybe he wouldn’t be there. He was the spymaster, after all, not usually sent to do courtesy visits. Still, this had been the talk of the town for the last two weeks. 

‘The High Lord,’

‘Do you think he’s as handsome as they say?’ 

‘He isn’t mated or married, is he?’ 

Mother above. You had to try and match their excitement, to blend in. They couldn’t know you grew up seeing him frequently in Velaris. All they’d known is you apprenticed with one of the Inner Circle’s preferred healers - and even that was a rumor you’d never confirmed or denied. 

Hand braced on your doorframe, three conscious breaths, and you pushed it open, forcing your hands to relax at your sides, keeping your strides even and steps paced. 

A small crowd had gathered outside of the largest tavern, and you weaved yourself into the fray, balancing on your toes to catch a glimpse through the open doors. 

Hazel eyes connected with yours, and your stomach dropped. 

Just your luck. You couldn’t bring yourself to break the gaze, the way his eyes searched you, the brief hint of relief in them. Why the hell was he relieved? He’d made it perfectly clear you meant little to him, and now he meant nothing to you. 

Slipping backwards, you tore your gaze away and slipped down the street. 

-

“Go ask her some questions,” Rhys had thrown a hint of command into his tone. He wanted Azriel to gain some kind of information from you. It made sense. He wanted, needed, to see you anyway. “I’ll keep everyone distracted.” 

Easy enough for him, Azriel took the next chance to melt into the shadows, to follow you. You led him right to a secluded cliff, sitting a few safe paces back, arms wrapped around your knees, squeezing tighter and he approached from the side - in your line of sight. 

“What do you need?” He wasn’t surprised by the harshness. Pausing a good few paces to your left, he sat, legs kicked out in front of him, bracing his palms on the cold stone. 

“To ask a few questions.” 

“Go ahead,” you muttered, still keeping your eyes off him. 

“How did you remain hidden all of these years?” 

“Magic. Wards. Things Fae more skilled than I created.” 

Truth, a shadow sung in his ear. 

“Who?” 

“You probably already met them,” you groused. He fought back a smirk, he’d forgotten how cute you could be when you were grumpy, and promptly wiped that idea from his mind. 

“Tell me anyway.” 

You listed the two who’d greeted them. Not surprising. It also told him it wasn’t quite a secret, especially with the brief pride flashed in your eyes. 

“Did you have to … give anything to it?”

“Ask them.” 

“I’m asking you,” he countered mildly. You wouldn’t get away with evading his questions. 

“A bit of blood and a bit of magic.” 

He hummed. Rhys would probably ask similar questions, but it was good to hear from another source. 

“Why did you need to come here?” Venom filled your tone. 

“By our High Lord's request,” Azriel said dryly. 

-

By our High Lord’s request. Of course there was no interest in seeing you. You were merely a bonus, a person he could easily ask questions to. You hated yourself for letting the thought cross your mind. 

“I wanted to see you, as well,” you almost missed the softly spoken words. 

“What made you think I want to see you?” You shot at him, finally turning to face him.

“I didn’t say that,” a brief flash in his eyes. “I said I wanted to see you.” 

“You’ve seen me,” you waved a hand. “Any more questions?” Brief silence. “Good. Leave me the fuck alone.” Forever, the narrowing of your eyes said. 

“You should know,” he tilted his head back, this time escaping your gaze. “I didn’t forget about you - I” 

“Just stop,” you hissed. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

The implication struck you - others had forgotten, and he knew that. Azriel leaned forward, eyes on the ocean, knees raising and forearms bracing on them.

“Amarantha may be gone,” a shiver ran down your spine - at the name, and the low and deadly tone, “but Hybern will still cause issues.” War. “Rhys will give the same warning to your town today. Velaris and here may be the safest places in the Night Court.”

“Is he asking us to open the wards?” Because they’d do it in a heartbeat, and you knew that. 

“Perhaps,” Azriel said, and turned back to you, hazel eyes searching for something. “You’d be safe here.”  

“If there’s going to be a fucking war, i’ll be there. Healing.” 

“I know,” an unrecognizable set of emotions flashed in his eyes. “I’d see you there.” 

“I hope not,” you countered, keeping your eyes fixed on the waves, on the white foam topping them. A current so violent only the strongest swimmers braved it. “I might not like you, but I don’t want to see anyone,” you emphasized, “hurt.”

Azriel nodded, and rocked forward, rising to his feet. He offered a hand to you, you ignored it, pushing yourself up and facing the path back to town. 

“Stay safe, spymaster,” you looked over your shoulder, “and do it far away from me, won’t you?” 

A grin crossed your face at the brief ire reflecting on his and you strode off.

taglist: @mellowarcadefun @acourtofbatboydreams @sheblogs @macimads  @sirens-and-moonflowers @tele86 @kalulakunundrum @anxious-study @mika-no-sekai-blog @judig92  @randomperson1234sblog @fightmedraco @caraaaaugh @thelov3lybookworm @tothestarsandwhateverend @fxckmiup @scatteredstardustt @tooweirdtolive-toorareto-die @redcap3girl @boygeniuses10 @anuttellaa @aunicornmademedoit

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Silver Tongues, like Bullets

Chapter 3

Werewolf!141 x Female Reader

So maybe you weren't the spy they thought you were..

That just meant they had to find others reasons to keep you...

Warnings: MDNI, dark themes, manipulation, lying and gaslighting, drugging, humiliation, kidnapping, non-con touching, non-con looking, forced proximity, forced nudity, groping, manhandling, panty stealing, poly 141 taking care of reader, reader is bedridden for a while, she needs help with everything...and I mean everything, some religious themes, reader comes from a religious household, sorry if a missed any.

Silver Tongues like Bullets Masterlist

Words: 5.1k

-24/11/2023 11:00am

The cabin was pleasantly warm, the air carrying notes of burning cedar throughout the rooms. The fog had cleared up but no one was in the mood to leave the cabin. Even Soap decided to stay in, which was surprising. He’d be the first to take any chance to run in his wolf form. But since you left a little over an hour ago things didn't feel the same. The cabin felt colder, emptier, not as lively as before. Soap was gazing out the window from his place beside Simon who was on the laptop still going through your emails and social media trying to find information. They've both been mopey since your departure though Simon hid it pretty well. Price felt the same; he was much better at hiding it though. It was so odd how infatuated with you they had become. Yet the older two would never admit it…not yet anyways.

They received a call from Laswell in the early hours with an update. She hadn't found anything useful but she said she'd keep searching and call later. Price had caught Simon gazing at your sleeping form when he woke to take the call, though he had decided not to say anything to the brooding man. They all acted normal when you woke up, trying their best to get you to eat breakfast with them. But you were evasive and skittish, asking to leave as soon as possible. It seemed you had caught on that they drugged you. Your scared expression made Gaz and Soap heart ache since you didn't talk to them like you did yesterday. All they wanted to do was hold and cuddle you but it was too soon for that. Just as Gaz was about to make an excuse. Simon had chimed in and said that the hot chocolate was meant for him since he didn't like taking his pills straight. You looked surprised when he had spoken to you but accepted the lie without question.

You really needed some common sense knocked into you…or fucked into you...preferably fucked into you…they'll get to that eventually. You still refused to eat breakfast though and waited patiently for them to be done.

The rest of the plan went smoothly enough. You seemed upset when the truck had ‘broken’ down but didn't make a fuss about it. Rather you just asked for directions to find your way home alone. Even accepted their lie about having no reception on their phones without even checking them. That’s when the real plan kicked in and Gaz grabbed a map insisting on taking you back to the hiking trails himself as an ‘apology’.

Since then Gaz has been keeping Price updated through sneaky texts sent here and there. And Soap only just quieted down trying to convince the other two men to keep you. It’s not that Simon and Price didn't want to keep you because they definitely did. Imagining you in their shared countryside home was an absolute dream come true. Thinking about coming home to your loving arms after a long mission would fix their souls. But kidnapping you wasn't the answer, it wouldn't exactly make you trust them now would it? It was better to do it the proper way. Though they had to leave soon they could always come back and try to court you properly. If the infatuation with you stays, that is. Price was still convinced that this reaction they were all feeling was because they haven't been around anyone but themselves and Laswell for a really long time. You were a change of pace, something new, something exciting, something for the boys to sink their teeth into. For now they all waited patiently for Laswell's call. When the *ping* rings out throughout the living room, everyone's head snaps to the phone sitting on the coffee table. Soap lunges for the phone first but before he can text Gaz for pictures Price takes it from him.

Gaz: Arrived at the lake. She's upset and crying thinking we both got lost even with a map. It's kinda cute ngl. Any updates?

Price: Not yet. Should be soon. Keep her calm.

Gaz: 👍🏽

The phone rings not a second later which Price immediately picks up

Laswell: Nothing was found John. She's just a civvie from a religious family. Nothing to be worried about. It's a small town where she lives in doubt anyone would believe her if she said anything. There's a couple recent facebook posts from her parents shunning her. Claiming she ran away to join a city cult or something. And a bunch of older ones just insulting her for her choice in career. Apparently they wanted her to marry a youth pastor but she had rejected him and gone to college instead which upset them. They've been quiet since she began depositing majority of her paychecks into their accounts but a fight broke out recently when she told them she accepted a job offer in London. Her story checks out she wasn't lying. I do feel kinda bad for her though. It seemed like they had kicked her out. Poor girl probably has nowhere to go even when she makes it back into town.

Price thanks Laswell before hanging up. This…this changes everything…Soap and Ghost are on him instantly but he just holds his hand up as he texts Gaz a new plan of action.

Price: Bring her back by whatever means. We're keeping her… (message not sent)

Price tries several times to send the message but it doesn't work. A cold sweat runs down Price's forehead as he forces himself to stay calm for the sake of his lovers. As their captain in situations like these they were relying on him. Dread and panic sets into the other two as they scramble to their phones trying to call Gaz but it never connects. Immediately Price tells Ghost to track Gaz’s chipped necklace on the laptop after 10 minutes of calls not going through. Soap is pacing the room ready to bolt into the forest any second now as Ghost works frantically to get the screen to load up. Price waits patiently with his hands clenched. This was like that sedative incident all over again. The fear, the pain, the looming destruction of their pack, of his lovers was something he never wanted to face again. He had promised himself he wouldn't let it happen again. That he wouldn't allow them to be taken away from him. He was second away from calling Laswell screaming at her that her intel was wrong that they had got his boy. But the screen finally loads up. They stare at it shocked, not really comprehending what it was showing them. It showed Gaz's location right at the cabin but he couldn't get back in such a short time unless he was running in wolf form. They all ran to go check the treeline to see what was chasing him. There's no way that they think they'll go down without a fight.

They all burst out the cabin door, almost taking it off the hinges. Their body's heating, muscles bulging ready to tear their clothes right off them. But they stand there in shock as Gaz breaks through the treeline not fully in wolf form but not entirely human either. His eyes were glowing amber as heat radiated off his defined muscle. His clothes were ripped where his muscles bulged too much but he was cradling something close to his chest.

They ran, meeting him halfway as he shifted back slowly. He collapsed onto the grass as he called out for help. As they got closer they realised he was drenched and he was holding your unconscious body. You looked paler than before, the colour completely drained from your lips. Your clothes were soaked through and clinging to your body. Your jacket was missing too.

Price is on Gaz in an instant helping him get up as Ghost takes your unconscious form from him bolting inside as Soap goes to get Gaz a towel. Everything was frantic for the next few minutes. They didn't have time to ask questions, they just went off instinct as they moved around getting things ready for a warm bath.

Price brought Gaz to your room as Ghost began stripping you of your wet clothes. You weren't responsive and your body was very cold which concerned the men. They needed to get you warmed up as soon as possible.

“Soap get the bath ready!”, Ghost shouted over his shoulder as he tried his best not to ogle as he peeled your bagging clothes off your beautiful body. Ghost threw your wet clothes and panties to the side as he took your soft body into his arms, instructing Soap to go put them out to dry. Price begins stripping Gaz as they reach the bathroom. He seemed to be in need of a warm bath too. The poor lad looked shaken. He'll wait before asking questions. Once everything was in order Gaz settled into the tub waiting for Ghost to lower your body onto his. Ghost did so though a bit reluctantly. He didn't seem to want to let you go.

-

Before you lost consciousness all you felt was the prickle of cold water entering your lungs. You watched as the blue liquid engulfed your vision as you felt yourself sinking deeper into the depths of the lake. Your limbs had locked up the second you touched the water. The cold penetrating through your clothing, freezing your skin over. Your last breath comes out in strained bubbles as you try in a last ditch effort to call for help. Was this how you were going to die? Was this the end of everything? You hadn't even had your first kiss yet…you hadn't even begun to experience life. Sad thoughts run through your head as your vision began to blur.

-

Your eyes are forced awake by the feeling of your body being submerged in liquid fire. The smell of pine and mint wafts through the humid air making your head spin. You open your teary eyes to find yourself in a tub. You watch someone leave the bathroom as two strong arms wrapped around your naked body. They massage your waist, running fingers up your sternum between your breasts. You try moving your mouth but your muscles are tense and sore. You feel your head spin from the whiplash in temperatures you're experiencing. You watch as someone gently tilts your head back as they run their sudsy fingers through your hair alleviating some of the pain you're feeling. Price meets your eyes with a gentle smile as Gaz holds your body closer to his. You feel the hard muscles of his chest on your back, as well as his toned arms wrapping around you to keep you warm. You try moving your mouth again but your body feels like lead. You tried desperately to tell them not to touch you so casually. That you needed to go home but nothing came out of your mouth apart from gentle moans and whimpers. They just shush and coo at you as your eyes become heavy with fatigue again, not before catching the end of some conversation Soap was having.

“Put her in my clothes.. they'll fit her the best…no I don't know where her panties went…I swear I don't have the-…”

Then everything fades into black as you let the warm fingers massaging your head lull you to sleep.

-25/11/2023 03:00am

The cabin was dead quiet as you finally managed to peel your eyes awake from your exhaustion. You feel your head pounding. Everything felt fuzzy as if you were in a dream. The prickly pain from hunger was gnawing away at your stomach causing you to stir from your fever induced sleep. The only sounds you hear is of the wind blowing through the trees and of wolves howling. Wolves? There shouldn't be wolves in this forest. You don't think they're native to the area. It reminds you of the fever dream you had when Gaz had rescued you. He looked like a beast but that couldn't be true…right? You were probably hallucinating since too much lake water entered your system. Nothing felt real, nothing felt tangible. You weren't even sure you were alive anymore.

You don't know how long you've been asleep for. But your body felt like a dead weight. You feel like your limbs are tied down but you know they aren't. It's just extremely difficult to move with the burning fever raging through your body. You felt hot and sticky, wanting to get this thick duvet of your body to let the sweat dry.

It seems like your prayers are answered as you hear the front door open and some feet shuffling in. You'll have to ask the men for some help, it doesn't seem like you'd be able to move properly any time soon. Hopefully their truck was fixed so they could drop you back home tomorrow. You were supposed to be at work today, you didn't want to leave a bad impression before you left for London in two weeks time. Maybe this was all a dream and you'll wake up in your own bed after this nightmare ends.

You hear someone enter your room but it was too dark to see. You try saying something but your throat is bone dry and it just comes out in croaks. The person just shushes you as they peel the duvet gently off your body. You enjoy the cold air for a second. Letting it dry your clammy skin. What you don't enjoy is their hands starting to roam your body as they peel away the shirt you're wearing. You whine as you protest to the best of your ability but they don't stop. It's only when the light flicks on that your blurry vision clears after a second. Your eyes meet with Soap who's stripping you like he's done it before and has no problem seeing you naked. He smiles and coos at you while you try to get him to stop. When Ghost walks in with a basin and wash cloth his eyes are unreadable and then you understand why they're stripping you.

But you don't want them touching you, you're able to clean yourself you try to say but nothing comes out. Why did they feel so comfortable with touching you however they wanted? They weren't like this when you first met them. You were already upset by the fact they had put you in a tub with Gaz without your permission. They were taking their hospitality too far. You just wanted to go home. You hoped your parents weren't too mad at you. Maybe they've sent someone looking for you by now. The situation with these men was proving to be dangerous. You had a horrible feeling that they were stalling for time. They could have just dropped you into town if the truck was fixed, if not they could've called emergency services somehow. But wasn't like you have the energy to argue with them.

You can't do much as you're stripped bare. Tears cloud your vision as you beg them to stop in your hoarse voice but it comes out intelligible. You watch as they coo at you carefully wiping your tears and sweat away. Soap is sitting beside your head whispering reassuring words as you cry from the humiliation of watching Ghost run the warm wet cloth over your underarms, body and mound. Making sure to pay extra attention to your folds as he cleans in between them. You squirm as you cry louder making your already hoarse voice worse.

“Come on hen.. thare’s nae need to cry like that..we just want tae help ye.” Soap wipes your tears away as he nuzzles into your neck while Ghost dries you. You watch as Ghost takes off the hoodie he's wearing to put on your naked body. The smell of his aftershave hits you instantly as he gathers you in his arms while carrying you towards the bathroom. You stop crying seeing no point in tiring yourself out but the sniffles are hard to control. Why were they doing this to you? He places you on the toilet, making sure to gather the hoodie above your waist so you don't end up soiling it. This is by far the most humiliating situation you've ever been in your life. You bend over trying to hide you private parts from their view. Yes you needed to pee but they could at least leave you so you could do your business. They didn't seem to take the hint even with you glaring at them.

But Soap took your slumping figure as indication of your fatigue and decided he'll help you sit straight while you do you business. You claw at his arms with your full strength not that you had much but you definitely left marks as you hear him hiss. He didn't seem angry though and Ghost just watched intensely as you tried to hold in your pee.

“It ok hen..just do your business we'll clean ye after…nae need tae worry…”

“You need to hurry love…the food will get cold if you keep refusing to pee…I know you don't like it here…we'll take you home once you're feeling better…”, Tears slip past your waterline again as you do as your told not being able to hold your bladder any longer. Your cheeks heat from mortification rather than your fever, as the two men encourage you while Ghost goes to grab some tissue and water to wipe you clean. God please let this be a dream…a very very bad dream.

-25/11/2023 08:00pm

When you awake this time it's to throw up again. It's dark still you don't if you've be asleep for a couple minutes or for many hours. It seems like you can't catch the sun anymore. You didn't like the dark. It made everything feel oppressive and sinister. You don't know what's wrong but any food smell causes your stomach to churn. And the second the smell of meat came through your door you were fighting to keep the bile at bay. You get up on shaky legs to go to the bathroom to throw up. Your stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out. When was the last time you ate? There’s only a chalky residue left on your tongue probably from the medication they gave you. But when did they give it to you? You can't remember anything. Your memories and nightmares were starting to blur together making everything feel like a drug induced hallucination.

Your muscles were sore and you weren't able to stay steady on your feet without the help from the wall as you walked along. You look down to find your clothes have changed again. Maybe you've just been hallucinating the bad encounters you've been having.

There's no way they would watch you pee or force you to take a bath with them right? Or constantly strip you to wipe away sweat right? You think you might have thrown up in your crying fits but you can't remember much. Yeah it was probably just an awful dream. There's no way they would have dealt with your tantrums and or cleaned up the mess you made. Men aren't like that. Your father certainly isn't. He never took care of your mother when she was sick. It was always you or your siblings. They probably just changed you and left you to rest with some painkillers. Even doing that was more than what most men would do so you should be thankful they were looking after you. But you wished they'd just get you home somehow. It must be some strong painkillers you can't seem to remember anything in too much detail. Like everything was blurring into one colour. You needed to cleanse your system before you pass out again.

You just about make it to the toilet bowl as your insides decide they don't want to stay inside anymore. Your stomach muscles strain and tense as your body tries to dispel the drugs you've been fed recently. The bitter taste of bile and something else was sour on your tongue. You don't even have a proper recollection of what happened in the last two days…

You feel a warm hand brush your hair out of your face as you continue to throw up. An odd feeling filled your chest… you were never taken care off like this before..It caused something warm to stir in your heart. Your head was still fuzzy so you didn't register someone holding water to your lips when you're done. It's like you're on autopilot. One second you're rinsing your mouth the next you're in bed with Gaz who's cradling your head to his chest. He coos and shushing you as he feeds you little pieces of bread with butter…At least it wasn't meat…your sure you'd throw up again if it was…

Your hazy vision catches sight of your clothing again. When did they change you? Were you hallucinating again? You silently eat your bread, not having the energy to argue anymore. Some sustenance was nice after everything that happened. It’s when the glass of water touches your lips you're met with a familiar chalky taste that makes you realise maybe you aren't hallucinating after all. But you don't get much time to dwell on it before sleep takes you.

-26/11/2023 12:00pm

For the first time in what feels like forever you see sunlight streaming through the curtains in the room. Your head felt too heavy and too light at the same time. Like you're fighting to keep your head up right but also felt like it was about to float away. Your head loses its battle as you stop trying to sit up. It was too much effort to try to move anymore and you needed to pee again…great…

You hear hushed sounds coming from outside the door just as you're about to call out for help. You try to make out words but your head's disoriented and your bladder is demanding your attention.

“There wa…search party se-…-ey found her jacket…unwanted attention….we need tae lea-…” you don't understand what they're saying but you try listening again but it's just a jumble of accents.

“...…the news rep-.... proclaimed drown-....no body fou-...-ght she's a spy…”, Spy? They thought you were a spy? Why would they think that?

“...we're taking her with us…”, your mind jolts when you hear those words. ‘We're taking her with us’…They were never going to let you go were they? Fear seeps into every fiber of your being. The fact you were drugged and unable to move was even worse. What were they going to do with you? Murder you? Torture you? Sell you off?

A sob leaves your mouth before you can stop it and the hushed voices come to abrupt stop. You hold your breath trying to keep yourself from crying, not wanting them to become suspicious of you. Soap is the first to walk in his eyes scanning the room before his eyes land on your weakened state. His eyes soften ever so slightly but he seemed on edge.

“What's wrong pretty girl…what do ye need?”, your mind races to come up with an excuse so it doesn't seem like you were crying because you heard them.

“B-bathroom”, you whisper through your tears. That seems to release the tension in his shoulders as he come to pick you up to take you to the toilet. When you pass the other men they give you gentle smiles as Soap helps you with your business. They make themselves scarce giving you some privacy. You didn't trust their gentle smiles. You knew what you heard, you weren't going to gaslight yourself into thinking these men had your best interest at heart. You needed to leave!

You watch as Soap cleans you, his arms were covered in claw marks more than likely your doing. He had a tendency to get too handy when ‘helping’. He seemed to be learning though since he cleans you quickly this time around. You still weren't happy about all the touching and cuddling you feel at night though. But at least you're knocked out for the majority of it. You didn't know how you were going to escape, you barely had any energy to support yourself. Just standing for a few minutes took all your energy out of you. Soap carries you back gently. You needed to get food in you if you planned on running away. It was best if you acted like nothing had changed. Like you were expecting them to drop you off home soon. Just until you figure out how you'd escape their clutches that is. You catch Soap arms just as he's about to leave after tucking you in.

“Food?”

“Awe bunny are ye hungry?”, you just give him a nod with pouty lips, hoping to gather some sympathy from him.

“Lunch isn't ready yet. Ah’ll get ye something tae munch on ok?” You give him a gentle smile as he leaves. You'll have to use your charm to get him to take you out for some fresh air tomorrow. It's the only chance at escape you'll get. God why did it have to be you? All you ever wanted was to work in the city. Was that so bad? Maybe if you were a better daughter things wouldn't have ended this way. Maybe if you didn't run out on your parents you wouldn't have gotten lost in the forest. Maybe if you had married that pastor you wouldn't be in this situation. But now wasn't the time to think God had forsaken you…You needed all the help you could get.

-29/11/2023 09:00am

“Bunny please eat something…you haven't touched your food since we brought you home…”, You weren't going to either, you were tired of getting drugged. God knows what they do to you when you're passed out.

“Luv come now…he even made your favourite breakfast…everything we do is because we care for you..”, Price chimes on his way to install bolted locks to some of the doors.

“I understand yer mad hen but we just wanna take care of ye…ye'll get used tae living here.. promise”, you give Soap a particularly nasty look as he follows Price to do some renovations. They were in a hurry since they had to leave soon.

You glare at Gaz like he's the source of all your misfortune. Like he's the reason everything has gone wrong in your life. You can't believe you ever found this man sweet or charming. You're tucked into the furthest corner of the sofa you could find with a cushion clutched to your chest for protection. It was one of those nice expensive ones too. God you hated these deranged rich bastards. Everything in this home felt like it was high quality. You wanted to kick yourself because all you could think about was all the nice pictures you could take…if you had your camera that is. It was the first nice camera you bought. You had worked so hard to save up for only for it to be drowned like your hopes and dreams.

You didn't like the fact the place was so warm and homey. For some deranged kidnappers you were expecting someplace easier to hate, somewhere that didn't have so much love and character put into the design aspect of the home.

When you had first woken up you found yourself in a very large bed surrounded by them in what you later found out to be Price's room. You hadn't realised they were in that kind of relationship. You didn't understand what they wanted from you. They reassured you they knew you weren't a spy and that they definitely weren't going murder or hurt you for information. Why did they take you then?

They all had large rooms with large beds to accommodate them all. All uniquely decorated to fit everyone's vastly different aesthetic. They tried convincing you to sleep in one of their beds last night but you insisted on the sofa. You all slept in the living room last night with some on the sofas and others on a large mattress on the floor. You can't believe they bothered to carry that huge thing just so they could sleep near you. You'd find it endearing if you weren't literally trying to escape your kidnappers.

They tried claiming the guest room needed to be renovated. That they'd make a comfortable space here for you. That they'd decorate however you like once they get back home from their new mission. Had they gone insane? What made them think you were upset about a damn room rather than the fact they had KIDNAPPED you. What made them think you'd be ok being kept against your will?

You had tried asking if it was because you found out their secret. You begged and promised that you wouldn't tell a living soul but they just chuckled saying they fell in love with you and just wanted to take care of you. They really were insane…You're stuck with a bunch of lunatics. You wished you had realised that sooner. Maybe you'd be safe at home by now or possibly packing for your move to London. God why you…

You wish they would just leave so you could try to escape or call for help. It wasn't going to be easy. The house was like a fortress. Heavily equipped with cameras and an advanced locking system. But you just needed to bide your time. You weren't going let someone else dictate your life anymore. You worked too hard to get here. You were sick of being a pushover. You're sure your parents would have declared you a missing person by now. Yeah everything will work out, you'll be home in no time. You'll figure out a way to get home. You continue to ignore Gaz as you watch the men with keen eyes while they carry tools and such to ‘your’ room. They must think you're an idiot if they believe they'll get the chance to lock you in that room without a fight…

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Four

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: Fluff and violence

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel didn’t have any reason to show up on your doorstep the next day, but he still flew through the pouring rain and waited patiently for you to answer.

“Hi.” You said, breathlessly.

“Hi.” He answered, dripping water onto the doormat.

Azriel filled up too much space in your apartment, but maybe that was just the constriction of your thumping heart. Az smelled like fresh rain and cedar. Your mother had once taken you to the mountains on the western coast. Citrus fruits sticky and tart in your palms as you sat by the edge of the cliffs and tasted the salt water in the air. It made sense that Azriel should smell like one of your best memories.

“I wanted to give you these.” Azriel said once he’d stepped inside, a quick spell of yours drying the rain off his clothes. Cradled beneath his arms were a bouquet of yellow flowers and a box of pastries from your favorite bakery down the street. The box was soft and supple, but he’d shielded them from the worst of the rain.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?” 

He cocked his head to the side, “Does there need to be an occasion? I thought you might like them.” 

Liar. He knew you liked them. He was the Shadowsinger after all and the first thing he’d done this morning was track down Cherp.

“Well… no,” You said, gingerly accepting both packages from him. Shadows darted out from his gloved hands, slinking up your arms like living jewelry, cool and comforting. “No, I suppose there doesn’t need to be an occasion.” 

“Think of it as a thank you gift. For everything you've done for my family.” 

You blushed, “That was really nothing.” 

“Rhys and Feyre would disagree. I would disagree. And if Rhys were here he’d probably offer you a dress made of diamonds as a gift instead.”

You blinked, “That seems excessive.”

“That’s Rhys.”

“Then I will consider myself lucky that you’re here instead.” 

Azriel seemed pleased with that answer, dipping his head in a subtle bow. 

He started off at the kitchen counter, pouring himself a cup of tea as you snipped the flowers and arranged them in a vase. But soon he was drifting around the room, setting your heart alight whenever his fingers would graze the mantle, linger on the pages of an open book, or brush your handwritten notes. It all felt too intimate. The way he could make your breath catch in your throat with every rustle of his wings, the soft sigh of leather as he bent over to look at your scribbled handwriting and smiled. He may as well have grabbed you by the waist and kissed you breathless. Not that you were thinking about kissing him...

You hovered by the kitchen, then moved as close to him as you dared, close enough that Azriel could smell the orange icing that clung to your lips and fingertips. He wanted to taste you.

He shook his head, moving aside and pointing to the newest of your notes. He read, “Immunity - the innate biological process of recognizing and protecting against foreign entities - is a phenomenon that can be extended and applied to magic. From mating bonds to daemati powers to shielding, everything related to magic can be made analogous to the function of a biological immune system.” 

He gave you a look - a silent act of permission to continue reading to himself. And before you could think it through, you were nodding. 

Azriel took up a spot on your couch, wings cramped against the velvet backing and long legs bumping into the coffee table. You wordlessly moved the furniture and started to pace the floor, busying yourself with the theatrics of organizing notes when you were really keeping an eye on him.

He had a careful look of concentration on his face, lips silently forming the words as his eyes raked over the pages.

You’d presented it to Cherps last summer, and as kind and forgiving as he could be when it came to intellectual exploration, he’d told you flat out that the manuscript was a waste of time. 

It was a review paper in its earliest stages, stringing together the connections between different forms of magic and basic biological processes - namely the immune system. The greatest force working against you was the simple fact that fae didn’t concern themselves with such things. Sickness was an inconvenience at worst, nonexistent at best, and any possible fears were quickly wiped out in the face of immortality. 

But humans were a different story. Their time on this earth was short and precious. Their weaknesses made them curious, fueled by a desperation for more time - more health - that fae held in spades. 

It fascinated you to no end. And after the war against Hybern you’d gotten your hands on some manuscripts from the Human Lands and the Continent.

The concept of white blood cells searching through blood for foreign pathogens didn’t seem so far off from spells designed to unearth enemies hidden on a battlefield. The power wielded by daemati analogous to some virus able to hijack existing cellular machinery for its own purpose. You’d even heard of a blacksmith in the Dawn Court capable of imbuing her magical signature into weapons so that only she would be able to wield them. What better example of immune system magic was there? 

Your heart hammered in your chest as Azriel continued to flip through the pages. Long, nimble fingers fluttering along the edges of the pieced together manuscript. His shadows curled around the paper like curious children.

Perhaps it was a mistake showing it to him. It was a rather weak and pathetic argument anyhow. You’d be ridiculed for presenting your ideas at any respectable meeting of the-

“Brilliant.” Azriel breathed. 

You snapped your head up in shock.

He looked at you, something like awe in his eyes. “You’re brilliant.” Gloved fingers flipped through the pages once more, marveling.

“It’s not finished yet.” You admitted, wringing your hands together, “It’s barely even begun, and I’d have to fight tooth and nail to get it published. If I ever managed to get it published.” You muttered the last part beneath your breath.

“Why wouldn’t they want to read it? You present a convincing case.” 

You tipped your hair to the side, as if the answer was obvious, “Fae don’t like bringing humans into the conversation. They think the work they accomplish is beneath any respectable Librarian. Unworthy of study.”

Az chuckled, “My High Lady would probably say otherwise.” 

The High Lady was a curious case - a human soul housed in one of the strongest bodies Prythian had ever known. 

“I’m sure.” You said, excited that you had found someone who approved of your ideas for once, “It sounds contradictory, but I believe we could learn more about magic by studying humans.” You were standing now, pacing in front of Az. 

He’d managed to crack some forgotten dam inside of you and words began pouring out.

“I have another hypothesis that spell-cleaving comes from the very specific ability to identify and imitate the magical signatures of others. I mean, just imagine! If you could change your magical signature to match that of another fae, any spell crafted, any barrier built-” You made a motion with your hands, “Pff! Useless. You can’t keep yourself out in a spell. Or you can try to at least, but any respectable fae would leave a backdoor for themselves in case something went wrong-” 

You rambled on - the biology of immunization and its function in the last war, the Dawn Court artificer, Helion and Feyre’s powers - before finishing with, “I suspect my own powers have something to do with it.”

“What are your powers?” Azriel asked curiously. He leaned forward ever so slightly. “Aside from being brilliant, of course.” 

You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t meant to say that. You’d meant to keep it in your mind, quiet and hidden. You swallowed thickly, picking at bitten fingernails. 

Azriel swore internally upon seeing the way you flinched, “You don’t… you don’t need to tell me. I’m sorry I-.” 

“No! No. I-'' 

He stared at you openly. Or at least as openly as a person like him could. There was a softness to his eyes you suspected didn't come naturally to him, like he was trying very very hard to convince you to trust him... And it was working. 

His hazel eyes were a swirl of gold touched by the first kisses of Autumn. 

“Can you… can you promise not to tell anyone? Truly promise.” 

He stilled - the very picture of seriousness. Even his shadows seemed to stiffen in the air and become less translucent, “I swear on my life, Y/n. I won’t tell a soul.” 

And you knew he wouldn’t. You could feel his honesty in the air, as if something was tugging at your chest and gingerly pulling you open. 

You swayed gently, fingers crunching your linen skirts. 

“I’m a Clairvoyant.” You admitted, as if it was a shameful thing, “I can touch things - people, objects - and gain knowledge from them. Usually it’s memories or emotions or something else I can’t quite describe.” The scattered books were beginning to make more sense to the Shadowsinger. You pointed to them with open hands, “It’s useful for work… overwhelming when it comes to everything else. Especially after the war with what everyone went through.”

You hesitated. You waited for him to say what you’d been told your entire life: It’s an incredible power. You should be so proud. The Mother has blessed you with this gift. You’re special Y/n.

But Azriel only looked down to your tightly clasped hands, and then to his own.

“That must be quite a burden. To be exposed to all of that.” 

Your eyes snapped up to him as he quietly tugged at his gloves.

“It is.” You murmured beneath your breath, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes. 

Azriel’s heart clenched in his chest.

“Is that why you won’t touch anyone? Why you ran away from the party?” 

Why you ran away from me that night? 

You nodded guiltily.

Azriel sighed, eyes closing in relief. All this time he’d been terrified that you hated him, thinking that you’d seen him for what he truly was - a monster. 

“It was nothing to do with you.” You said quickly, leaning closer. 

Your hands shot out towards him before freezing midway. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to hold his hands. You felt him tugging at the edges of your heart, like a curious hand pulling at fraying threads. You’d known him less than a week and already you’d spoken more with him than anyone else in the past year. Spent more time with him. Shared your secrets with all the recklessness of young love. What were you thinking? 

You pulled away, lips tightening into a flat, angry line. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. You hadn’t asked for this power, even though others never failed to envy you for it. It was a terrible gift that you couldn’t return when the real thing you wanted was the simple joy of holding Azriel’s hand. 

But that wouldn’t be fair to him either. 

He was a Shadowsinger - a Spymaster to be exact - filled with enough secrets to break the world three times over. To touch him… to kiss him, would be the worst invasion of privacy. Even if you didn’t intend for it to happen. 

Azriel finally spoke and his voice filled the silence with a music you wanted to hear more of, “Being a Shadowsinger… It's not easy. I’ve had plenty of people tell me I should be grateful for it. Grateful for my power and the prestige it's brought me. But sometimes I can’t help but wonder if it was worth the cost.” You stared at him, eyes so wide he swore they could swallow him whole, “I understand, Y/n. I know it’s not exactly the same… but I understand.”

“Do you think you’d be happier, Azriel, if you hadn’t been born a Shadowsinger?” 

He shrugged, “I don’t think that’s the way it works, Y/n.” 

“No… no I suppose you’re right about that.” You murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He gently nudged the coffee table and it lightly tapped your shins. 

“It’s not all bad.” You raised your eyebrows, urging him to continue, “If I wasn’t a Shadowsinger, I wouldn’t have met you.” 

You chuckled, a stray tear slipping out and dripping onto the rug. You brushed the rest of the moisture away.

“Maybe you would have. Maybe you would have come to the Day Court to study.” Azriel snorted. The sun would sooner rise in the west and set in the east before anyone called Azriel an academic. “Maybe we would have gotten into arguments about research and books.”

“About the historical accuracy of chicken eggs?”

“About the anatomical considerations of having sex with a dragon-born.” You clarified. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Azriel said, smiling. 

He’d never been born for the quiet life. Shadowsinger or not, he was a warrior through and through. But looking around at the plush sofa and the faelights flooding in from the athenaeum, he couldn’t help but imagine what kinds of peace you’d bring into his life if he ever mustered up the courage to tell you the truth.

You’re my mate.

You’re my mate.

You’re my mate.

The words kept rattling around in his mind as the pair of you spent the day holed up in your apartment. 

It was a comfortable haze. You didn’t ask why he lingered, although he felt your burning curiosity through the bond, and he never offered you an explanation. The truth was, no matter his reason for sitting on the couch reading his own sensitive reports, you liked his company… and you wanted him to stay. He saw it in the way your eyes always latched onto him when he stood up, only relaxing when he settled back down. 

It was a comforting pain to know that you wanted him, even if you didn’t know why and even if he was too much of a coward to do anything about it. 

He didn’t eat, politely declining every stubborn offer of yours until you finally gave up. He wouldn’t be accepting any food from you from here on out. It wasn’t until you made the mistake of yawning from your spot on the floor, papers radiating out from you like a sunburst, that he made any effort to leave. 

He looked towards the window. Long, sharp shadows crept along the floor and mingled with his own.

Fuck. He promised Rhys he’d be back by mid-afternoon. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay so long.” He stood up, wings stretching out so you could see every ripple of muscle, every inky vein that ran through the thin membrane like offshoots from a river.

You scrambled to your feet, pressing an open book to your chest like that would stop your pounding heart. Time had passed too quickly.

“There’s no need to apologize. I-I liked your company. I like your company. Present tense.” You sighed without thinking, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone around.” 

Cruel, malicious voices rang in Azriel’s mind. They sounded like his half-brothers and the asshole he was unfortunate enough to call a father. 

Don’t do it. You’ll ruin this. You’ll ruin this like you ruin everything. 

Look at this place. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong with her. You’ll never be worthy of-

“May I come see you tomorrow then?” Azriel’s words were loud, laced with hope. “I’ll bring breakfast.” He said, quieter this time. 

You blushed and tried to sound nonchalant when you answered, “I would like that.” 

With the promise of another day hanging in the air, that tight coil in your chest loosened, even as Azriel bowed his head and stepped outside. You gasped when he unfurled his wings, the faint glow of the street lights shining through the membrane. 

There were few things Azriel loved about himself, but his wings? His wings were his pride and joy. The one beauty he felt he possessed. So when he saw the awe in your gaze, he took off a little harder than usual, delight shooting through his heart when he turned around to see you laughing and brushing the hair from your eyes. 

You watched him and he watched you as he climbed higher and higher into the sky before fading into nothing.

There were three books you treasured above all else: The Natural Trials and Tribulations of Leonora Bedroot, Three Knocks for A Kiss, and A Touch of Cinnamon. They’d been your mother’s favorite novels - comforting, slice of life books that promised a happy ending no matter the sorrows that came before. Dog-eared, finger-print stained, and loved beyond measure, your mother had read them to you over and over and over again. Her notes were still scrawled in the margins, her joy still pressed between the pages like preserved flowers. 

Being a Clairvoyant meant you could tap into the essence of objects, and objects held memories and emotions just as readily as people. When you thrummed your fingers over the clothbound books you got flashes of your mother. Flashes of her scent. Flashes of her affection for you. 

You relied on that familiar comfort as you sat by the window and watched the sky. Every swirl in the clouds looked like Azriel to you. As if he’d swoop down from the heavens and burst through your door so you could wrap your mind around that scent of rainfall and cedar.

You buried your face in your knees and cried out in frustration. You’d wanted to crawl into his lap the entire day. To feel the warmth of his wings wrapped around you like a blanket. 

Stupid stupid stupid. 

You knocked your head against the worn leather-bound books. One look at his windswept hair and faint smile this morning and you’d been lost. 

What would your mother say? Three days and you were already drunk on him. Were flowers, sweet treats, and a modicum of undivided attention all it took for you to fall for someone? 

But it wasn’t just a bouquet of flowers - they were daisies picked from the florist down the street with the lilac doorway and hand-painted cards. It wasn’t just a box of pastries - they were from your favorite bakery with the orange icing so heavenly that for years you’d ignored cake on your birthday in favor of them. 

Such detail required more than a modicum of attention. If you were right, Azriel would have needed to fly around the city inquiring after you and your mother to gain such information. 

But why would he do that? Why would he bother? 

The window was cool against your skin, whisking away the heat that had gathered in your cheeks after hours of thinking about the Shadowsinger. 

It was a quiet night, as most nights were in the Day Court, and aside from the three Librarians who had entered The Alcove for a late night of reading, you hadn’t seen a soul. The streets were as still as a painting. 

Someone drunkenly staggered out of The Alcove.

Meryl. The Alcove’s Bookkeeper. 

You frowned in distaste. 

Meryl was a middling Librarian at best, although he was skilled enough at the sword to have been selected for Bookkeeper training. Standing easily over six-feet tall with the strong legs of a bison and horns to match, he’d chosen the simple life presiding over The Alcove where he could drink and fuck to his heart’s desire. After all, who would care enough to attack an athenaeum dedicated to boring fiction?

Meryl clopped forward another three feet, one hand pressed to his throat. His red-trimmed robes swayed in the breeze. But his robes weren’t meant to be that red. 

He stumbled to the side, close to the base of your front steps, and his eyes locked with yours. 

His ears were missing, two gaping holes where the gentle slope of the cartilage should be. His lips parted in a silent scream and blood bubbled out hot and thick.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Did I steal the *hi* from Heartstopper because I've been rewatching it for the fourth time this week?................. Maybe???

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 @auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalalucha @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees

[pretzel-box]

STREAMER AU Masterlist here!

Tags: Jealousy, Conflicted Feelings, Comedy, Streamer AU Sequel

Words: 2,7k

The moment you found out that Sebastian was Solace, your entire worldview shifted like a puzzle clicking into place, though it left you reeling. Everything you thought you knew about him, the casual moments you shared as roommates, suddenly felt charged with new meaning. Every little detail you had overlooked seemed so obvious now—the way he tied his hair up in a messy knot when he was deep in thought, the glint of his piercings that added a quiet charm to his already magnetic presence, the familiar cadence of his voice that you’d heard a thousand times through Discord, though now it was stripped of its digital distortion.

How had you not seen it sooner? The similarities were all there: the late nights when you'd hear him pacing in the apartment or softly talking to his stream, the offhand comments he’d make that seemed too close to things Solace had mentioned during his own streams. And yet, in your mind, the connection had never formed.

It all became too clear three days ago when you received a photo. A candid picture of Solace that had been posted in your chat with him—his face visible for just a moment before being taken down. But that moment was all you needed. The piercings. The smirk. The eyes.

Sebastian.

You’d sat there in shock, staring at your screen. The realization hit you like a freight train, leaving your heart racing. Solace, the streamer you had a massive crush on, was Sebastian, your moody, sarcastic, infuriatingly handsome roommate. The same Sebastian who would steal your leftovers without remorse, who’d roll his eyes whenever you tried to make small talk, and who somehow always smelled faintly of coffee and cedar.

In retrospect, it was ridiculous how oblivious you'd been. The matching usernames—Solace and Sebastian. The voice that sent shivers down your spine both online and in person. All the late nights where you'd stay up chatting with Solace, completely unaware that the guy sitting at his desk in the next room over was the same person who had you wrapped around his finger digitally.

Now that you knew, it was impossible not to notice every little thing about him. His presence in your life felt magnified. Each time he walked by, even if it was just to grab something from the fridge or mumble a tired "morning," you found yourself hyper-aware of him.

Like right now.

Sebastian wandered into the kitchen, his hair still tousled from sleep. He was wearing one of his oversized band tees and gray sweatpants, a stark contrast to the composed, charismatic image of Solace in your mind. Yet, seeing him like this, in the morning light with soft shadows playing across his face, made him somehow even more attractive.

You had been lost in thought, mindlessly preparing your breakfast—some cereal that you barely even registered as you poured it into a bowl. Your thoughts drifted back to that photo of Solace, and how stupidly good he looked. You’d caught yourself daydreaming about how different things might have been if you’d known sooner.

Suddenly, the bowl was yanked out of your hands.

"Thanks," Sebastian muttered, already digging into the cereal as he sat down at the kitchen table, completely unaware of the turmoil raging in your head.

You blinked, staring at him in disbelief as he scrolled through his phone, completely unfazed by the fact he’d just stolen your breakfast. For a brief moment, all your earlier suspicions were wiped away. There was no way the same man who could make you swoon with a few words online was now sitting in front of you, slurping your cereal with absolutely no remorse.

“Sebastian…” you started, but your voice trailed off. What could you even say?

He looked up at you through his lashes, his face a mix of mild curiosity and impatience, as if he was waiting for you to stop staring and say whatever was on your mind. That same frown that would normally irritate you now sent your heart racing.

It was almost laughable. Here was the man who, online, could make you blush with his teasing and smooth banter. Yet in real life, he couldn’t care less about basic roommate etiquette.

"Are you just going to stand there and watch me eat, or...?" Sebastian's words were muffled by a mouthful of cereal, his brow quirking up in amusement as he caught you staring.

"Right. Sorry," you mumbled, quickly turning away to grab another bowl from the cupboard, your mind still spinning.

As you poured yourself another serving of cereal, you couldn’t help but feel flustered. There was no denying it now. Sebastian was Solace. The same Solace who could turn your insides into jelly with a well-placed compliment was now stealing your breakfast and probably didn’t even remember half the things he'd said to you online.

You glanced over at him again. He was back to scrolling through his phone, one hand lazily stirring the cereal around in the bowl. How was it possible that the same guy who could look so effortlessly cool online could be this laid-back and…normal?

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Solace and Sebastian weren’t two different people. They were one and the same, even if you were only now starting to realize it.

It was almost overwhelming, the realization that the guy you’d been crushing on for so long was already living under the same roof as you. And now that you knew the truth, it was going to be impossible to see him the same way.

As you sat down across from him, trying not to let your thoughts spiral too much, Sebastian glanced up from his phone. His dark eyes met yours for just a moment before he looked away, but in that brief exchange, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Yeah, no. There was no way that Sebastian was actually Solace. At least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself.

But the truth was, you couldn’t deny it anymore. And now, the only question left was: what were you going to do about it?

"Can't do grocery shopping later. Have a date," Sebastian’s voice cut through the air, yanking you from the little daydream you were having. You turned your head, trying to process what he had just said. He didn’t even bother looking up from his phone, casually shoveling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on your morning.

His tone was flat, dull, as if he were talking about something as mundane as doing the laundry. A date. The word echoed in your head, and for a moment, you couldn’t figure out if you should be surprised, upset, or... jealous. But you swallowed those feelings down, choosing to remain silent. After all, it wasn’t your place to comment. He was just your roommate, right? Nothing more.

Still, the thought of Sebastian with someone else gnawed at you. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that you were overthinking it, but that jealousy simmered beneath the surface.

Meanwhile, Sebastian was lost in his own storm of thoughts, staring at his phone screen like it held all the answers he was looking for. His thumb mindlessly scrolled through his messages, and for what felt like the hundredth time, he checked the two conversations haunting him the most. One, the time and details for his upcoming date, a date he wasn’t even sure he wanted to go on. And two, his last chat with Jelly.

He had felt something special with Jelly. Their conversations were so natural, so easy, like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. But recently, things had gone south. The last thing he had sent was a recent selfie, after Jelly had seemed genuinely curious to see what he looked like. It had taken him forever to work up the courage to hit send, his heart racing when he finally did. He wasn’t someone who was self-conscious about his looks, but somehow, with Jelly, it felt different. Vulnerable.

But after he sent it... silence. Jelly had gone offline. No reply. No reaction.

The anxiety twisted inside him, eating away at his usual cool demeanor. Was he not what they expected? Did he come off too arrogant, too detached? Were they disappointed in what they saw? The thoughts spiraled in his head, and before he knew it, the cereal in front of him had turned into a soggy, unappetizing mess. With a frustrated huff, he shoved the bowl away, the sudden movement making you flinch slightly.

He sighed, standing up and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, his movements tense, his mind still running in circles. The truth was, Sebastian didn’t even care much for dating. Not really. But after Jelly went radio silent, this stupid date was the only thing that gave him a flicker of hope. Maybe this person could replace Jelly. Maybe they were Jelly.

But even as he thought it, a pit of doubt formed in his stomach. It wasn’t going to be the same, was it?

You watched him from the corner of your eye as he pulled his jacket on, his movements heavy, like the weight of his thoughts was dragging him down. You wanted to say something, ask him what was wrong, but your throat felt tight, and the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you watched as he grabbed his keys, threw a half-hearted "Later" in your direction, and walked out the door.

The moment he was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The knot of jealousy tightened in your chest. Maybe it was silly, but the thought of him going on a date left you feeling... uneasy.

And the worst part? You had no idea why it bothered you so much.

As you stood there in the silence of the kitchen, your mind drifted back to your recent discovery—Sebastian was Solace. It was still hard to wrap your head around. The guy you had been crushing on for months online, the same guy who made your heart race with his witty banter and charming smile on streams, was the same guy who just walked out of your apartment for a date with someone else.

The lines between your feelings were blurring, and it left you confused, torn between jealousy and your secret.

You ran to the door in a full-on panic, tripping over your own feet and crashing into the corner of the couch. Wincing from the sharp sting, you yanked the door open with far more force than necessary. “SEBASTIAN!” Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing in circles, and you couldn’t let him walk out that door—not for a date. Not when you were drowning in this mess of feelings for him, tangled between love and chaos.

By some miracle, you caught him just in time. He was standing beside his sleek black motorcycle, about to swing his leg over and ride off. The sound of your shout made him pause, his hand resting on the handlebars. He turned his head, those stunning eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of confusion and impatience.

Crap. You hadn’t thought this through. Now what?

Your brain scrambled for an excuse—anything to keep him from leaving. “You... uh... left your cereal in the kitchen!” you blurted out, cringing immediately after. Out of all the possible things you could’ve said, that was probably the lamest reason to stop someone from going on a date.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Just throw it away,” he huffed, looking even more annoyed now. His grip tightened on the handlebars, and he looked ready to leave again, already half-turning back to his bike.

"WAIT!" you yelled again, your voice edging on desperation. He stopped, but this time he rolled his eyes, clearly losing patience. "What now?"

Your mind went blank. You floundered, grasping for any reason, any excuse to keep him standing there just a little longer. “You... uh... you haven’t done the laundry yet!”

Both of you stood there for a beat, staring at each other in disbelief. Really? Laundry?

Sebastian let out a long, tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It's your turn to do the laundry,” he said, his voice flat and his gaze piercing, as if daring you to come up with something better.

Well, damn. He had a point.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, thoroughly embarrassed by the sheer absurdity of the situation. But you weren’t about to give up. Not now. Not when he was seconds away from riding off to a date with someone else. Your mind raced faster, searching for something—anything—that would keep him here just a little longer.

Before you could even process it, the words slipped out. "I—wait, I need you to help me with something!"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow again, still clearly unconvinced. "Help you with what?" His tone was sharp, but there was a flicker of curiosity.

Your pulse quickened. You were out of excuses. But instead of backing down, you took a step toward him, your eyes meeting his with a sudden burst of determination. “I... I need you to stay. ”

The words hung in the air between you two, heavy with unspoken meaning. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for his reaction, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’d understand what you were really trying to say. “God, how annoying can you be?” He groans. And then it hits you, you can't make him stay. But Jelly can.

You only needed a single moment, just enough privacy to pull off what you had in mind. As Sebastian was still standing by his bike, you blurted out the first plausible excuse that came to mind. “I can’t reach the upper shelf in the kitchen. Just get me the blue box from up there, and you’re good to go!”

He gave you an incredulous look, clearly not amused. "Seriously?" he grumbled, but after a moment’s hesitation, he sighed and headed back into the house. Exactly what you needed.

The second he was out of sight, you pulled out your phone, your fingers shaking as you opened up Discord. You quickly typed a reply to the message Sebastian—well, Solace—had sent you earlier.

“You actually look so cute that it gave me a stroke lol /hj”

Your heart raced as you hit send, hoping the humor would come across, but knowing full well it was dripping with the truth of how that selfie had really made you feel. You tucked your phone away. You could see Sebastian from the window. His expression was still distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. As he turned back toward the glass, you noticed his phone probably vibrating in his jacket pocket since he pulled it out. He paused for a second, clearly torn about something.

You held your breath, watching as his fingers fumbled for the phone, hoping, praying, that your message would be enough to make him stay.

Sebastian unlocked his screen, his face bathed in the soft glow from the device. You saw the moment it happened—when he read your message. His eyes flickered with surprise, followed by a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He stared at the screen for a beat longer, and you could practically feel the shift in his demeanor. Whatever doubts he had about the date, whatever had been weighing on him—it all seemed to melt away in that moment.

Sebastian slipped the phone back into his pocket after typing a reply and instead of heading for the door, he leaned casually against the counter, arms folded. He gave you a sideways glance, his expression soft but laced with a smirk that told you everything had just changed.

“Don't tell me you're falling for me, Jelly.”

The message on your own phone screen were simple, you couldn't really write much while Sebastian was near you but you managed to secretly text him back.

“Maybe I already did, Solace.”

[askquarantinedredheart]

Volume 1: Isolation

First - Previous - Next - Last

Asks from @a-spoonful-o-generosity and @reversal-mushroom.

[thistoowillpasss]

Reviewing the Prayerbooks

Assassin

tastes bitter, like licking a well-traveled road that was dipped in earwax. Do not leave food on the surface.

Text requires concentration to read due to inattentiveness making words vanish or move on the page.

Can't find it half the time because it casts darkness on itself when unobserved. Have to keep it in a fucking box.

Smells weirdly good? Not even in a book smell it's like a sun-warmed cat. good page flipping feel, almost like cardstock. Unexplained and mysterious.

6/10 the mystery outweighs the irritation, but not by much.

Principia

Tastes pretty good. Corners of pages tend to be missing because scholars tear them off to use as a sort of stand-in for bay leaves. However this is a sin, and must not be continued.

very small text, but the pages have sketches and art to supplement concepts.

Heavy and warm. The buckles make a good snap and click noise when interfaced with. pages have a texture from engraved portions but are soft otherwise. Smells faintly of linen and cedar.

Strange sensation in fingers after reading.

9/10 easy to fall asleep while reading it

Godskin

Tastes extremely good. Never lick it, as nothing else will ever taste as good. This is the only warning you will receive.

Text is sparse and often only a few words per page, repeated multiple times. Theory appears to be less crucial than execution.

A faint pulse can be heard when pressing the spine to one's ear. Squeezing the book increases the pace of the pulse. Concerning.

Sulfur smell. Unpleasant combined with the odd dampness that the pages sometimes have, which are already uncomfortably limp to the touch. the bookmark tail will move on its own accord when untied.

5/10 unless eaten, which in that case 10/10

Ancient Dragons

Unexplained cinnamon taste. Licking discouraged due to the book disliking it.

Construction of the tome uses beastman clergy techniques, making the book larger and used differently than traditional prayerbooks. Text is not read, but listened to--clasps must be locked when not being used, as the book's voice is loud and it will roar when left alone.

The book holds a charge at all times, grasping it will cause a shock. This is considered necessary according to the author's note in the beginning pages.

Smells like rain when opened. There is an oddly pliable nature to the extremely heavy pages, due to being made of gravel stone.

8/10 fascinating but also electrocuting

Giant

Tastes like salty, overcooked meat.

Text is overly elaborate for incantations that are brutally simplistic in execution. The prelates were scholars, one has to grant. Rough sketches in charcoal accompany the text on opposite pages.

Sheds hair fucking, everywhere. Wear red while handling if you don't want to clean shedding off.

Front cover's sigil is hot to the touch, can keep a cup of tea warm for over an hour.

Pages are thick and smell like a forest fire. In spite of the shedding and heat, a pleasant book to handle and read. Wear gloves.

7/10 have to sweep the floor where it was read

[eyesxxyou]

❝ attaboy ❞ l.howlett (wolverine) x ftm!reader

❝ warnings ❞ masculine nicknames (bub), save a horse ride a cowboy, pretty short, just a drabble

“Attaboy.”

That was the phrase that sparked this swirling mess of emotions within you. He had said it by accident, an offhanded thing he says to anything that does well. Like patting a dog on its side when it returns upon your call, he gave you a firm slap on the fat of your ass as you pressed your hips down and sank onto his cock. He hadn't even noticed he called you “boy” in the fit of his pleasure.

You had always presented yourself rather femininely, always thought yourself a woman. But that simple word, ‘attaboy’, made you moan louder than any nickname he could have given you.

Your knees dug into the peeling leather of the back seat of his old pick-up, your fingers tugging at the short, salt and pepper hair on his head. You pressed your chest to his and rolled your hips into his pelvis, his cock kissing your cervix so tenderly. “Again, again. Say it again.”

“Oh, you liked that?” The low baritone of his voice made you shiver. His large, bear-like hands gripped your hips and pulled you ever closer. “Attaboy, bub. Take what's yours.” Logan cooed, guiding you up and back down. You pussy gripped him like a vice, like a drug he just couldn't shake, like a good fucking cigar but 10x better. He groaned softly as you took him down to the base of his cock, his hair meeting your hair where your pelvis touched.

You trembled as your toes pointed then curled. The car stunk of sex and cigars and you loved it. You let your head fall into his shoulder, pressing your nose to the side of his neck, taking in all his manly scent of cigar smoke, leather, and cedar wood. “Again, ‘m so close.”

You felt the rumble of Logan's chest under your hands as one gripped his dog tags. He chuckled lowly. “You’re a desperate boy, aren’t you? I can feel your pretty boy pussy trembling around me, bub.” A large hand caresses the slope of your back as you pressed yourself further into him and let out a shrieking squeal of pleasure.

You rode him hard and fast, harder and faster than you ever had before. The entire truck rocked with the force of your passion. A soft squelching of his cock forcing its way into your swollen cunt made you only whine with the anticipation of your orgasm. Your nails dug into his shoulders, only to be healed as soon as they were released.

It was sweet and aromatic when you came at the sound of his voice calling you his “favorite boytoy”. You slowed your pace and settled into his lap, letting him sheath himself fully within you as your walls pulsed and pulled and massaged him to his own climax. You tossed your head back and cried with great joy.

Logan gripped your ass in his palm. His sweaty body locked in with yours. His sweaty body mingled with yours.

“Attaboy.”

[forthelostones]

sev x bff!reader (nsfw, 18+) 🧚🏾‍♂️

loosely proof read. wrote on my phone. first sevika writing.

you and sev have been mates for a long time. after a good training session or a meeting, you’d meet up for a smoke and a drink or two. but the way she looked at you this night seemed a little different. her eyes were full of an identifiable glare of curiosity as if she hadn't known you for ages.

“great session today. you kicked my ass.” she chuckled, expelling smoke from her nostrils, nearly shouting over the bass in the music.

“yeah, what’s new.” you sipped some dark liquor from a gauntlet.

“haven’t had a lady handle me like that in … well, ever.” she smirked.

the look in her eyes was dark and mischievous. secretly, you had always found sevika very attractive. her umber skin and toned body left you speechless fairly often. you often thought about her when you were alone and desperate for connection. coming to the thought of her voice in your ear. but you could never truly admit that to yourself.

“i’m sure you get handled just fine.” you nudge, pulling the cigar from her fingertips and bringing it to your own mouth, tasting her drink ever so. sevika was comfortable with you in ways that might have jumped your friend status to best friend. although sev was a busy woman, she managed to court the occasional woman. sleeping with them and that was it. she confided in you with that information and sometimes the descriptions were so vivid that you became steaming with jealousy.

“fine is not good enough,” she rolled her eyes. “i need someone to do it behind doors, y’know?”

she looked off into the distance causally, as if that wasn’t an invitation. well, it couldn't have been, could it? you ignore her usual antics.

“hm, we could find you a girl here, that won’t be hard,” I say, scanning the room.

“i’m sure you’re right. so, why don’t you come over tonight?” she takes a big gulp.

if you and sev were just friends why was her mouth leaving bruises up and down your breasts right now?

the smoky flavor of the cherry in the cigar was now littered on your skin. you were enveloped in the scent of sev — her dark skin glittered with cedar and sage body oil and so were her sheets. how many nights did she come home and lay here alone, you thought.

she trails her hand over your body, from your shoulders down to your panties and she brushes her thumb gently against your wetness. you shudder at the feeling, trying not to show her how much you're enjoying this. just like ignoring the fact of how you didn't protest when she first laid you on this bed, despite the title you gave each other. friends.

“this okay?” she whispered.

“yes, sevika.” you moan.

“good.” she smiles and that gap you’ve learned to like over the years shines from the light emitting from the city. purple and green hues made her look even more beautiful.

her lips come close to yours and you meet her halfway, pressing yourself against that delicious mouth. she feels your hips rise and fall at each gentle stroke. you fell further into the pace she set. and when you can’t take it anymore, she pulls your panties aside to circle your clit.

she was perched on your thigh, slowly riding it, fully clothed, practically begging for relief. her ass bucked upwards and tucked down to stimulate both her lips and clit against the seam of her pants. the woman was too proud to say what she wanted, so you took the initiative and somehow those training moves came to be useful.

sev was on her back, shocked at the maneuver you made, as she easily has several pounds on you. without discussion you unbuckled her pants and pulled them off, tossing them into a corner of the room. you glide your hands up her thighs, admiring her bruises and tracing her scars. you raise your hand to brush a delicate stroke against her hole. her underwear was swallowed by her cunt, drenched, and all because of you. her metallic hand clanked as she guided your wrist up toward her clit. but you weren’t aiming for instant satisfaction, she had to wait. she had to beg.

[loveshotzz]

A sneak peek 🌻

[This snippet takes place after your first night back in Hawkins, the morning after a party that Steve had to take a very drunk you and Robin home from. The morning after some things were said that you don’t remember 😌]

📻 fic playlist

Birds chirp loudly, mocking the headache that's turned into something more annoying than painful after a handful of ibuprofen. The sticky air is still suffocating even in a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized loose fitting tee, while the sun shines golden against the cerulean sky without a cloud insight to hide you from its light.

The heat warming off its rays makes beads of sweat start to collect at the crown of your head and the nape of your neck, while the incline Eddie’s spinning auto body sign sits on top of threatens to take your breath away. Unwanted thoughts of Steve Harrington keep your pace quick, stewing over the last twenty four hours and everything it’s unraveled.

The small parking lot is empty, the toe of your sneaker kicking small rocks as you cross it. The double garage doors are open, Metallica’s Seek and Destroy echoing loudly, tugging up the corners of your lips. Your Chevrolet Caprice is the only car semi lifted in the air with a pair navy coverall clad legs underneath it.

Opening your mouth, Eddie’s name dies on your tongue before you have a chance to shout it, clocking him and his wild curls sitting in the glass office inside. Those big brown eyes meet yours from across the way, and a dimple filled grin cracks wide across his face as he stands up.

“Glad to see you’re alive princess.” He teases, stepping out of his glass case with coveralls that are clean today, not the stained mess they were last night.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle, but there’s no saying no to Robin, you know that.” You laugh, confused eyes darting to the large boots under your car that don’t seem to react to the sound of your voice.

“Trust me, I heard all about your first night back home. In fact my shop opened thirty minutes late because of it,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the open metal frame where the door should be. Faded bats that you remember when they were fresh dance across his arm with his movements.

“Wait, what?” You ask, confusion pinching your brows together right as the mysterious pair of legs start pushing out whoever’s under your car.

“I didn’t get back to my place till almost four in the morning after getting you two home and in bed,” Steve Harrington emerges flashing you his million dollar smile as he sits up on the dolly, the sleeves of his own coveralls tied tight around his waist and hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“I slept through my alarm.”

The immediate glare that hardens your face when you see him has Eddie's eyes light up with obvious amusement.

“What are you doing here? And why are you touching my car?” You snap, trying to push the worries about what you look like deep under the irritation and the distraction that begs to steal your anger with his arms on full display like this. Or how the patch of chest hair that peeks out the top of his tank top shines with sweat.

“I work here,” Steve snorts like it’s the most obvious conclusion, because, well, it is, “and I volunteered to look at it, Eddie’s got his hands full.”

That was a lie, he begged him.

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” You snort, making him roll his eyes, pushing himself off the ground.

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze when he stands at full height, biceps flexing with his movements practically daring you to look. He pulls out a faded maroon rag from his pocket and starts wiping off the fresh black from his hands that’s already stained under his nail beds. The hard bottoms of his work boots making their way across the cement floors of the garage.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore, that’s what happens when someone leaves for five years.” Steve antagonizes, stopping just close enough for you to smell how the cedar of his cologne mixes with the sweet bitterness of the oil that seems to find a way to leave its mark on every surface in here. Including him.

“I’m going to finish balancing the books, why don’t you tell her the good news first and then the bad news,” Eddie pours ice over the tension that threatens to boil over before it can turn hostile, catching the way your nostrils flare and shoulders square up.

“Wait, there’s good news and bad news?” Your focus on Steve shifts as Eddie’s words sink in.

“Like I said, I’m going to finish balancing the books.” The metal head reminds you, giving a half salute with two fingers while simultaneously shooting a stern look to Steve who’s mouthing something behind you. “Your mechanic’s going to go over everything with you, we can talk about pricing when it’s all said and done.”

“Seriously?” You bluster as Eddie shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that sends you reeling before sitting back down, tuning the dial up on the speaker in his office.

End of discussion.

“Look -“

“How do I even know that you know what you’re talking about?” You interrupt, making his full lips set into a straight line.

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms, the tops of his shoulders moving with them. You can see the green that hides in his eyes, only shimmering if you look close enough in the sunlight.

A pleading expression softens his features instead of the hard combative one you were anticipating, and it has your blood pressure returning to normal. The realization hitting you that maybe skipping breakfast with a hangover probably wasn’t your smartest idea.

“N-no, sorry, I just feel like -“

“Shit? Yeah I bet.” He chuckles, and your jaw clicks. Maybe if you count to three…

“Just tell me what’s wrong with my car, Steve.” It comes out clipped, but it's an improvement from your fingers twitching to rip that handsome head right off those shoulders that won’t stop trying to distract you.

“How about you tell me the last time you had your oil changed?” He counters, taking a few steps back to sit on the hood of the rusted baby blue Buick behind him.

“Uhh, I- I think,” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, warming your skin as you try to wrack your brain and not focus on the way his legs spread wide to keep his balance. “Maybe like, six months ago.”

“Six months?!” The number must be worse than whatever Steve was preparing for when a dirty hand runs through his hair, “and then you drove it three states to get here?”

“Yeah, I - I mean, hearing you say it out loud,” you grimace thinking of all the weeks you ignored that flashing orange light on your dashboard.

“So then you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you that your engine locked up.” He sighs with a disappointed expression.

“Is this the bad news?”

“Kind of,”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Look, the good news is that I can fix it, the bad news is that I have to order a few parts that could take up to three weeks to get here, then the job itself is going to take me probably another week.” He sighs standing up, starting back towards your car with you quick on his heels.

“That’s the whole summer!” You argue like it could possibly make a difference, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes watching him pop open the hood.

“More like half of it, but hey, you’re lucky I can even get it running again without having to replace the whole thing.” He meets your gaze from under his lashes leaning over the engine, long nimble fingers unscrewing the cap where your oil should go.

“So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get around?” You know that part isn’t his problem, this entire mess is your own doing but it doesn’t stop it coming out in a whine. You blame your hangover.

“You’re gonna be just fine city girl,” Steve grins up at you before reaching even further under the hood, muscles flexing with him, “besides we both know I can’t say no to Robin.”

He pulls at a small tube that’s purpose is unknown to you but you keep eyes trained on his movements like you have an idea, anything to keep the focus off the gold chain that dangles from his neck.

“Or you.” The last part comes out so quiet, a focused look pinching his brows together as he continues his investigation.

“Me?”

He doesn’t look at you when he shrugs, pulling at something with a little more force that makes you both flinch.

“How much is this going to cost me, Steve?” Your defeat shows in your tone, as the question slips quietly from between your lips that you wish you’d have put gloss on now.

He grunts at the same time something pops against metal under his hands, muttering a string of curse words under his breath before standing back up wiping his palms on the white cotton of his tank top. Charcoal stains fill the small grooves in the fabric with each swipe of his hands, pulling the collar further down every time. It’s a losing battle not to look at his chest when every motion reveals more of the thick curls underneath.

Steve clears his throat, letting you know that you’ve been caught and it’s at this moment you wish you could walk in front of the moving truck that drives loudly past the shop, only exaggerating the silence that follows.

“Don’t stress about that today,” he smiles, letting you off the hook for now, something mischievous dancing in his eyes for another time. “Like Eddie said, we’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t stress about it?! Have you met me?” You huff, the money you’ve saved up for the summer starting to dwindle right before your eyes.

“I have actually,” Steve chuckles, stepping close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch his boots. He feels bold when you don’t make any attempt to move away like at the party or retreat when he closes the gap this time. A thumb and forefinger find their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “and you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Your lips part on their own, the full force of his face from this close stealing the breath from your lungs. You can smell the coffee he had this morning and the mint from his tooth paste still lingering on his breath. The stubble that lines his sharp jaw is even more noticeable today, tapering off at the top of his neck making the cluster of moles that live there stand out even more. A pink tongue runs over his full bottom lip and it has your lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks.

“Now go get some food, grumpy,” his voice comes out low, a teasing edge to it that reminds you of what it’s like to have Steve Harrington flirt with you. “I’ll call when I get the parts okay?”

It’s like detention junior year all over again, turning into putty in his hand. Still too attractive for his own good, all you can do is nod while all the fight you had left inside you disappears as the pad of his thumb swipes soft against your heated skin just under your pouted lip before letting you go. He turns on his heel after that, walking back to the box of tools he has spread out over his work bench before adding,

“Do me a favor though and tell Robin she owes me a new pair of sneakers.”

[ninibeingdelulu]

How he kiss you ft. levi ackerman

When he’s happy/content :

For the normally severe and closed-off Levi, expressions of pure, unbridled tenderness are few and far between.

So when those rare, unguarded moments arise where genuine warmth ghosts across his features, you can expect his kisses to match that soft vulnerability.

He'll initiate them slow and sweet, cradling the back of your head with featherlight reverence as slate strands of inky fringe brush your flushed cheeks.

Levi's firm mouth melts into a lingering caress, each plush sweep cataclysmically gentle like trying to imprint your very essence into his soul.

His free hand maps up the dip of your spine in a scorching brand, fingertips searing through thin fabric as he coaxes your bodies flush.

Levi's kiss deepens into a drugging exploration, savoring every breath and hushed mewl spilling from your conjoined forms.

Each openmouthed sip of your lips oozes with visceral reverence - he cherishes and covets you with the same impassioned ferocity he gives everything worthwhile in this cruel world.

By the time Levi finally breaks away, his gunmetal irises glimmer like molten silver, pupils hazed and swallowing you whole in their infinite depths.

When he’s angry/frustrated :

When Levi's ire reaches its infamous boiling point, you can expect his mouth to convey the same scorching intensity smoldering behind that piercing glare.

He yanks you forward with punishing force, bunching fists in the front of your shirt until your chests collide in a stinging impact.

The initial crash of Levi's lips carries a searing bite, teeth clashing as he snarls hot and unchecked into your trembling mouth.

There's no tenderness or romance to this ravaging embrace, only venting catharsis as he pillages your willing form.

Every caress of his questing tongue tastes of woody cedar smoke and black tea - his unique flavors mingling in a headier, more primal musk swirling between your interlocked frames.

Each time you attempt to match his furious pace, Levi growls in dominance and silently demands your full submission.

Only once his smoldering temper has been spent through a blistering whirlwind of plunging licks and nips does his grip finally loosen, tapering into several shuddering inhales through flared nostrils.

Gunmetal irises cool from raging hellfire into glassy, sated pools as his searing rage finally ebbs to a low simmer once more.

When he’s desperate/anguished:

Under the most dire of circumstances, when humanity's peril appears bleakest, a frantic mania sweeps over Levi's typically dispassionate steel - manifesting in a volatile desperation to connect with the solace only you can provide.

It's in these most distressed spasms of isolation that he seizes your mouth with absolutely zero preamble, instantly delving past plush barricades with voracious hunger.

Levi's quaking digits cup your cheeks in a vice grip, crushing his lips against yours with bruising pressure like trying to meld you into one eternal existence.

Plaintive keens rumble in his chest, reverberating into your intertwined forms as Levi tamps down every frenzied shred of restraint - violently plunging and devouring like parched for even a drop of your essences.

There's profound lashing need in each greedy swipe and inhale scattering your gasps across the static-charged air between trysts.

His battle-roughened hands scour your body, roaming up ribs and spanfall in aching desperation like charting every curve and hollow to swathe himself in you.

Only once Levi grows utterly lightheaded and staggering does his manic ardor lose any fever, wilting into several stunned snaps for air as his fringe hangs in inky disarray.

When he need comfort :

During those most vulnerable stretches when the horrific cost of their impossible fight wears Levi to haunted breaking, he craves the purifying balm of your affection to recenter his fractured spirit.

On these evenings, the Captain seeks you out silently - slate irises dimmed to liquid mercury as you immediately gather his compact form against yours in a shielding embrace.

Levi burrows into your protective circle with a hushed, rattling exhalation that seems to bleed out lingering shades of his inner anguish.

As you card soothing sweeps through his undercut, he tilts up towards you with unhurried grace - silvery lashes hooding to veil those usually piercing irises for once.

A skated whisper of his firm lips fleeting across your own serves as the tremulous catalyst before Levi leans in with profound intent.

His mouth melds to yours in a plush, indolent persuasion - feverish and potent yet profoundly fragile.

More a molten vow of surrender and pouring himself into your steady channel of light to be buoyed from drowning shadows.

Levi winds his arms around your torso in an anchor, plastering as much of his weary form to yours as humanly possible.

You can taste the notes of Earl Grey and bergamot saturating his every shuddering inhalation - each sweep of his velvety tongue reverent as monastery prayer against the holy seal of your enjoined frames.

The very air hangs suspended in beatific tranquility encapsulating you both, Levi silently drinking down every measure of your serene affirmations like a man perishing.

By the time he finally diffuses into a loose, simmered husk cradled against your chest, that gunmetal gaze has regained some starlit embers of its formidable gleam - bolstered from your ministering grace once more.

[vhagarlovebot]

HEARTBEAT.

♡. ── gif credit. ; ( aemond targaryen masterlist. )

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: aemond sees you playing around with one of helaena’s children and doesn’t hesitate to join.

content warnings: just pure fluff, aemond being a good uncle to helaena's children, aemond flirting.

note: if there are any grammatical errors i apologize, english is not my first language! hope you enjoy.

YOUR LAUGH CAN BE HEARD at a great distance and aemond thinks he has never heard anything so sweet before.

as he approaches the gardens, he can see you running and hiding behind a tree, a silver haired seven year old trying to keep pace. his sister is sitting nearby with her embroidery in hands, a couple of maidens not far behind. before helaena can say anything he tells her to keep quiet holding a finger on his lips.

however his nephew sees him and starts yelling his name, running to him with open arms. he picks him up and you come out from behind the tree, straightening your clothes and bowing before him.

"my prince,"

he smiles and nods in your direction, his attention on his nephew. "what? you want help chasing the pretty lady?" you face heats up at his words, suddenly a stain on the floor is a lot more interesting. “we should chase the pretty lady, then.”

the prince leaves jaehaerys on the floor, holding one of the little kid’s hand, and they immediately start running to you. so you play the part too, yelling for someone to help you as you run, hiding behind the tree again.

you wait a few seconds before checking where they are, but you can’t see them anywhere. frowning you turn to the other side only to bump into someone’s chest, losing balance.

“easy there,” his hands steady you and when you make eye contact with aemond he’s wearing such a beautiful smile that you find yourself smiling at him too.

“got you!” the little one makes you jump and came back to reality. “we deserve our kisses now.”

you look at him with embarrassment, suddenly very aware of your proximity with the prince, who won’t let you go, hands still holding your arms tightly.

“i… a kiss on the cheek was the prize- but you don’t have to,”

“he is right,” aemond says, surprising you. he bends down to take nephew in his arms again. “we do deserve our kisses.”

you bite your lower lip and force yourself to look to the floor, the color on your face giving away how nervous you really are. his piercing gaze sending shivers down your spine, waking every nerve ending in your body.

aemond lifts your chin ever so tenderly with one of his fingers, his thumb brushing lightly across your lip.

jaehaerys leans in, proudly showing you his cheek. giggling you kiss him two times and the little boy hides his face in the crook of his uncle’s neck.

“my turn now.” it is aemond’s time to lean in but instead of you kissing him, he’s the one bringing his lips closer to your face. and you’re frozen in place, your heart beating so fast you feel that at any time it is going to get out of your chest.

you see stars the moment his lips make contact with the corner of your mouth, his soft lips touching yours for a second, and something explodes inside you.

“breathe.” aemond whispers, his breath tickling you. your trembling knees make it difficult to stand up and support yourself and he notices, helping you by putting his free arm around your waist.

you are experiencing so many emotions, all your thoughts screaming his name, that only when jaehaerys moves, having fallen asleep in his arms, you remember where you are and who is watching. but before you can even think about pulling away, aemond tightens his grip.

“the weather is nice today, don’t you think? i would be crazy if i let you go before we take a walk, my lady.”

his singular smirk is back on his face and you’re not thinking straight anymore. you can smell him, a mixture of cedar, leather and sweat making you dizzy.

he adjust the little one in his arm, and with a squeeze on your waist you two start walking.

“i have always love the path through the gardens, so many different trees and flowers, so much to explore.” you say dreamily. “it’s just so… beautiful.”

“indeed. very beautiful.” unbeknownst to you, he never takes his eye away from you.