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strawbeerossi · 8 months

Text

The Ballad Of Dr. Reid

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: When you zone out in the middle of one of your lectures, your professor asks you to stay after class to check in on you.

Content/Warnings: Power imbalance, Professor/Student, age gap (Spencer is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s), minor hand kink, porn with little plot, heated kissing, fingering, spit, unprotected sex, exhibitionism (kinda, right?), reader gets a facial

Word Count: 1.9K

Kinktober Day Two: Power Imbalance

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

You’d always had a liking for criminal justice, so taking the courses in college seemed like a no brainer. You really liked Criminology 1424. It was an interesting class, one that piqued your interest far more than the other classes you were in the process of taking.

In addition to being genuinely interested in the subject, you were more interested in the professor of the class; Dr. Spencer Reid.

He was soft spoken for the most part, a little on the awkward side but that was okay. He was experienced from his fifteen years in the Behavioral Analysis Unit and would use cases he’d faced for examples in his lessons. His lectures were long and albeit pretty boring at times but you had no problem watching the man at the front of class talk, his hands emphasizing just how prepared he was for the topic at hand. You’d realized that there were topics he definitely enjoyed getting into, his body language and his overexaggerated gestures being proof of it.

You’d always thought the FBI and the darkness he faced on a near daily basis would exhaust him, make him harder and more stoic, the seriousness of the world on his shoulders. No, instead he offered smiles, helped any student who came to him, and was painfully oblivious to the amount of young men and women auditing the class just to admire the attractive professor.

It was like any other lecture, delving into the intricacies of triggers and what could bring them on. It was a lesson he liked, judging by his animation this evening. You’d done your best to keep up, to get plenty of notes jotted down due to this being on the impending final. However, you were too busy drooling over the curly haired beauty, his veined hands flailing with each word that fell from his lips.

What you wouldn’t give to have those hands on your body, to feel the gentle touch of your professor as he was letting his fingertips memorize all the dips and curves of your body, to familiarize himself with how to pleasure you.

His hands on-

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

You were snapped from your thoughts. The sound of your name falling from his mouth was like sweet honey, drizzling over your eardrums as you could feel your face heat up from embarrassment. Great. Now the whole class is looking at you.

“Y-Yes, I’m okay. I’m sorry, just, uh, not all the way here today.” You explained, slowly looking back down at the notebook covered in scribbles. So much for getting any work done today.

The class passed by painfully slowly after that. Even the attractive man in front of you didn’t seem to speed up the clock. You’d sat quietly, giving up with the notes aspect as you’d switched to doodling on the edges of your notebook. You’d done your best to try and be one of the first ones out whenever your professor dismissed the class full of students. However your shoulders slumped with defeat when the sea of bodies filed out first.

There was no clean getaway.

“Y/N, do you mind staying back and having a chat?”

Fuck.

Mustering up enough courage to face the man you’d gotten distracted fantasizing about, you were approaching his desk. Even up close, he was a beautiful man. Even in his early to mid forties, he still looked delicious. “I apologize for getting distracted earlier. I was just-”

“Looking at me? Y/N,” There was a deep breath that left his lips. “You can tell me if this tie is ugly. My coworker Penelope insisted I wear it. I love her but some of her ties aren’t really my style.”

He was joking, easing the awkwardness and the unknown tension filling the lecture hall. Maybe he’d been feeling the same way about you. He looked at you a lot as is, however you may have just been in a delusional state of mind right now. There was a hope that Spencer would reciprocate those feelings. “It’s not.. It’s a little ugly but that, uh, wasn’t what I was, uh, staring at.” You decided to just be honest. Worst you can do is transfer out of the class.

Or run away to a new city, start over again at a new university.

“Really?”

“Really. Sir, with the risk of coming across as inappropriate, it’s hard to pay attention to you at the front of the class. It’s not a bad thing. You just always look…” You paused and gave him a once over. “Really nice.” You spoke.

There was a blush that spread across the older man’s cheeks, an eyebrow raising. “You think so? At risk of sounding even more inappropriate and unprofessional,” He paused as he leaned forward a bit, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s hard to teach when you come in looking as beautiful as you do. Makes me just wanna stare at you the whole class.”

The words were lower than usual, a rush of warmth going straight to your core from the mere compliment.

“Plus when you come in with a new lipstick shade..” His lanky body was pushing off the desk before he approached, his fingers resting gently under your chin before tilting it upwards. “It drives me insane. You may think I don’t notice but…” This was crossing the boundary of teacher and student, his thumb swiping over your lower lip. “I do. Makes me think of these pretty lips wrapped around me, those eyes glossed over with pleasure.” He hummed, chuckling at the way your breath hitched, eyes locking with his.

You didn’t know what came over you at this point, however you could help yourself as you were launching yourself forward, mouth smashing against his in a quick kiss that he seemed enthusiastic to reciprocate. His hands were gripping your waist, pulling your frame closer to his chest as the kiss filled with desire and hunger was escalating.

The next thing you knew, you were being sat against the desk at the front of the lecture hall, your eyes widening. “H-Hold on, don't you have another class??” She asked immediately as she let her hands squeeze the broad shoulders. “Yeah, in twenty minutes.” Spencer responded, hands trailing to the waistband of the pants you were wearing. The thought of having sex in a hall where anyone could walk in at any point was enough to send a shiver down your spine. You weren’t one for exhibitionism normally, however you weren’t gonna turn this down.

“Fuck it.” Your words made a grin spread across Spencer’s face, his lips pressing a chaste kiss against your lips while working on getting your pants pulled off, panties following in one swift motion. Licking his hand, the older male didn’t waste any time before moving the wet hand between your legs, his spit working as lube as he wanted to make sure you were wet enough for the deed. Lord knows that he didn’t want you tearing at any point.

The feeling of his fingers brushing against your clit had already sent electricity through your body, a light gasp escaping your lips.

“Such a pretty girl, bet you haven’t ever had any man pay attention to you, huh? I can only imagine you’ve been with selfish little boys who haven’t even attempted to bring you to orgasm..” He sighed playfully, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips once more. He was addicted, drinking in your moans as his thumb was massaging your clit, one finger pushed deep in your weeping hole while he was working you open.

This was definitely something new, you didn’t really sleep around so the few times you’d engaged in casual sex were quick, rushed. You sure as hell knew that the past couple of dudes couldn’t even find your clit. You were intoxicated on his touch the small movements he made eliciting moans and gasps into his mouth. With your hips rolling against the touch, you let your eyes flutter shut.

“As much as I hate to stop, we’ve got fifteen minutes and I’m dying to be inside of you.” He murmured against your lips, his hands moving to undo his belt before tugging his pants down his legs, boxers being pulled down soon after. The sight of his hard cock had your full attention. “Ready? You’re sure you want to keep going?”

“Yes!” You rasped, making him chuckle while his large hands were spreading your thighs apart, letting a trail of his spit fall onto your pussy before he was giving himself a few tugs. The thick tip of his shaft was spreading the spit onto your cunt, a hum falling from his lips. So pretty. God, I hate having to crunch time like this.” He groaned while letting the thick head push into your hole, your mouth falling open at the delicious burn that came with the stretch of your inner walls. If only you knew about your professor’s cock sooner.. All the stress of studying for quizzes would’ve been a million times easier.

His hips snapped without warning, a loud moan falling from your mouth while the male couldn’t help but chuckle as he quickly clasped a hand over your mouth. “Shh. Can’t have anyone hearing you.” His hand barely did justice to hide your moans and cries as his hips continued to roughly thrust, the desk rocking steadily with each movement.

“Fuck. It’s like this pussy was made for me, look at the way she takes my cock and is desperate for more. So greedy.” The vulgar words from your otherwise sweet and seemingly innocent man’s mouth was strangely attractive, attractive to a level that your inner walls were spasming around the hard cock nestled deep inside of you, so far you felt like he was hitting your cervix. Then again, you could’ve just been exaggerating.

With your fingernails digging into his clothed shoulders, you could feel a knot in your stomach, tightening so tight that you felt like the floodgates were going to burst open.

“I-I’m gonn-” You stuttered, words muffled against his hand while Spencer nodded.

“I’m almost there. Cum for me.” His words were husky, tone dripping with ecstasy as he let out a low groan.

As your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, the both of you were letting out a mixture of groans, mons and even a few whimpers slipping from the older man’s lips. It was all too much, finally letting the dam break as you were letting your head fall back, mouth agape as your thighs were shaking, your creamy arousal making a ring around his cock.

There was a little whine at the emptiness you felt when his cock wasn’t inside of you, the male opting to gently move you from the desk before putting you on your knees. “Look at you. Fuck. Stick your tongue out for me. Make sure you close your eyes too. I don’t wanna give you any infections.” Even in a huffing and panting mess, he looked out for you.

Doing as you were told, you let your mouth fall open while your eyes fluttered shut, the male groaning at the sight as he roughly fisted at his cock. There was only a few pumps before his cock was twitching, it being his turn for his head to fall back as he was painting your face with his spent. The load was a lot more than you expected.

Maybe he needed this just as bad as you did.

As the act was coming to an end, Spencer was trying to catch his breath while tugging up his pants and boxers. He’d retrieved a few tissues from his desk before leaning down to wipe your face, a light hum leaving his lips. “Maybe you can talk to me about some extra notes you could add to your doodle book. Say over coffee tomorrow morning?”

“Deal.”

5K notes · View notes

studioghibelli · 4 months

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the body of christ - a joel miller x reader

summary: running from a past life full of alcohol, drugs, and sex, joel miller sought repentance through the priesthood. all was going fine and dandy, until one fateful day, you found yourself in his church. (rated explicit, 18+, mdni!)

warning: priest!joel, religious trauma, age gap ( unspecified college age/50s), actually quite a bit of fluff scattered throughout, inaccurate catholic terminology, mentions of the bible and religion (obvs lmfao), so much fucking smut (semi-public sex, slight exhibitionism, blowjob, pussy eating, dirty talk, overstimulation, slight mention of crying, unprotected sex, creampie, daddy kink, soft sir kink, soft dom!joel, sub!reader, slight mention of male masturbation, kind of guided fem masturbation??)

note: if you are deeply religious, i’d turn the other cheek to this. if catholic/religious conversations or themes disturb or trigger you, do me a favor and don’t attempt to read this. (respectfully) thanks! xx (as always this is not spellchecked bc bad bitches HATE spell checking. i'll do it eventually!! love u bitchez)

Joel remembers the first time that you walked into his church.

Bright, innocent eyes, full of light and curiosity. They traced over each painting on the wall, each portrait, gazed upon every pew and carving etched deep into the wood, fingers grazing over in amazement.

He remembers the look that flashed across your face when his eyes met your own, the way your jaw went slack with attraction and lips parted in surprise. He watched your eyes darken, full of something that bordered dangerously close to arousal, something that shouldn't be felt in the church.

Joel would be lying if he said he hadn't felt it, too.

That tug. That magnetic pull. That incessant nagging by something deeply instinctual and primal that had since laid dormant within the cage of his ribs. Something he had not felt since his thirties, when he was still taste testing all the pleasures life had to offer. Psychedelics, parties, women, liquor.

When he looked into your eyes, he felt that unsettling feeling of attraction, the unbearably strong kind that wouldn't leave his head. Not when he was in the confessional booth, not when he was preaching the Holy Book during Mass, not when he was passing out communion or coaching on-the-brink of divorce couples about the sacrament of marriage. Never. Never, ever.

And ever since that Sunday, that haunting, looming, awful Sunday, you spent every church service diligently listening to him.

The truth be told, you had struggled with your faith for as long as you could remember. The idea of a Big Man in the sky who oversaw and overheard everything was, well, frankly quite terrifying to you.

When you were younger, you were scared God could see you undressing, scared he could hear you singing in the shower, scared he could see you exploring your body, scared he could see you lusting after boys throughout middle school.

God scared you. That's what they always preach, right? The fear of God? That it’s normal, healthy, wanted.

Oh, you certainly feared Him. The fear soon grew into shame. Shameful about each and every decision you made.

You felt shame for not settling down, insisting instead upon going to college. You felt shame for masturbating, for not only reading your favorite pieces of erotica, but for enjoying them. You felt shameful for questioning Him, for doubting Him, for letting your mind wander.

This shame lead you straight to your local priest's office.

Joel Miller.

The first time you caught his eye, you were unsure of why a man who looked like him would ever even think of becoming a priest. He was beautiful. Rugged, masculine, and charming, there was nothing about him not to love. His brown eyes were big and round, full of rich soiled Earth and swirls of wooden umber. His lips were plush and they looked soft to the touch, perfectly nestled behind a thick moustache and a thin beard with patches of gray that made your mind buzz with excitement.

Joel Miller was the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes on, and on your search for a shame free life, you realized he was only contributing to that terrible, looming feeling.

How could he not be?

The night you first met him, you went back to your dorm and masturbated until the God damned cows came home. You must have orgasmed at least six times before you finally began snoring, lulled to sleep by the thought of his touch, what his cum would taste like, what his spit would feel like dripping down the valley of your breasts.

Oh, you craved him. You yearned for him, Jane Austen style. He was always on your mind, the thought of him lingering like a scented candle, wafting through the halls of memory in your mind.

That's how you found yourself, yet again, in his private office, hoping to seek solace from the painful prison shackles he had unknowingly burdened you with.

"Father?" You asked softly, staring at him. A pair of glasses rested on the bridge of his nose as he flipped through a book about something or another.

"Yes, Angel?'

Angel. He had always called you that. Joel gave you the nickname the first time you ever spoke, and it had followed you around like a ghost.

Angel. Angel. Angel.

Oh, how sweet it was, to think that you were his only Angel, that you were his chosen saint. Like the Renaissance portraits of the Virgin Mary, you wore the halo of his affection with pride.

"Um. Have you ever struggled with... uh, thoughts?"

Joel looked up at you behind the brim of his book, his dark eyes sparkling with the playful hint of amusement. "Well, yes. I do. In fact, I think quite often." He snickered, the Southern twang of his voice softly tugging at his syllables.

You felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. "N-No. I'm not talking about.... just any thoughts."

Father Miller hummed out, eyebrows furrowing together tightly as he set the leatherbound book down upon the mahogany desk. He stared at you, long, hard, as though he were searching the depths of his mind for what to say next.

"Care to elaborate any further?" Was all he asked. Your stomach clenched with nerves, and you were starting to wonder if you should have even brought it up.

You looked down at your lap, rolling the material of your skirt between your index and thumb. "Lust." You managed to croak out. "Do you struggle with it?"

"Honey, I'm a fuckin' man." The curse word made your neck snap up. You could already feel the familiar tinge of arousal searing its way through your belly, straight to your aching cunt. "Of course I feel lust. Is that what this is all about?"

You buried your face into your hands, groaning softly. "Father," you heard him hiss a soft breath of air between his lips, "I can't get away from it."

Joel reached his hand across the table, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling it away from your anxiety laden face. "Angel girl, look at me." His voice was hushed, gentle, uncharacteristically soft. "There ain't nothin' wrong with lust."

"But the Bible-"

"Fuck the Bible."

You couldn't help but widen your eyes at what he just said. Wasn't that sacrilegious? You gulped thickly, slowly nodding at his words.

"Do you know how many times the Bible has been translated?" He asked after a long moment of thick, palpable silence.

"How many?"

"The King James Bible alone has undergone 30,000 changes. It's been rewritten in so many different languages, surely loads of it has gotten lost in translation. It's just a fuckin' book. It's paper. Trees." His thumb gently swiped across your knuckles, and that's when you remembered he was holding your hand.

Father Miller was so warm. So, so, so warm. His rough palms scratched against your own in a way that made you shiver, and his fingers laced into yours perfectly.

His fingers.

You glanced down, examining his digits. They were thick and long, and you couldn't help but wonder how they would feel buried deep inside you, how they would taste dripping with the nectar of your arousal.

You swallowed again, garnering enough courage to look up and meet his steady gaze.

"If God is real, and I'm still not all too sure about that, I don't see how he'd let us have all these.... feelin's, if they weren't right."

"That makes sense." You murmured sincerely.

"I thought maybe turnin' to the cloth would help me discover somethin' about the world. But in truth, all its done is confuse me even more. Religion is such a God damned mind fuck, you know that?" Joel's eyes lit up at the sound of your giggles, and he couldn't help the feeling of excitement that erupted within his chest.

"I don't know if.... if I can get rid of all this shame." You finally admitted after a long moment of thinking. "That's what really upsets me. The shame. The-the guilt."

"Well, I can always help with that, Angel. Just say the word."

"Help me? How?"

Joel leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he inhaled a deep breath through a pair of flared nostrils. His eyes, dark and mysterious, swirling with something you had never seen within them, met your own. "Ever thought that maybe the reason you feel all that shame is because the sex you've been havin' ain't all that great? It's easy to lust, easy to get all horny lookin' at some stud on a magazine- but when you act upon it, well that's a whole 'nother issue. I bet you start worryin' about your eternal soul, whether you'll be sent straight to Hell. And I bet it's easy to feel guilty about all that shitty sex, it's easy to feel shame about wastin' a perfectly good chance of goin' to Heaven on some limp dicked little boy who don't know his hands from his feet. Am I right?"

You stared blankly, blinking rapidly and dumbfoundedly. How could he read you so well? Before you could speak, Joel started speaking again.

"But good sex? Well now... Darlin' that's an entirely different thing." The priest leaned forward, taking your hands inside of his own. Your faces were now inches apart, so close you could feel the heat of his breath fanning across your face.

You had never seen his features this close before. The faint creased lines of his forehead, the crows feet by his eyes- all of these little marks and scars, wrinkles and freckles, they made him even more handsome. Disgustingly handsome, actually, and it made you want to throw up.

Joel relished in the nerves which radiated off of you. He knew the affect he had on women, but he only cared about this so called affect he had on you. "I can make you doubt it all, Angel baby. I can fuck you so good, make you cum so hard, you'll start beggin' to go to Hell if it meant I'd be down there with you, pleasin' that little pussy of yours."

You felt dizzy, like you could genuinely pass out and fall off the chair at any moment.

How did you end up here?

Joel's index finger traced down your cheek until it reached your chin, where he grabbed it in his firm grip, guiding your gaze to meet his own. "Like I said. Just say the word, okay? My office is always open, my confessional booth is always waitin' for that pretty ass. You understand?"

"Y-Yes, father."

His eyes darkened once again, and you watched his adam’s apple bobble up and down as he swallowed. Joel stood, extending his hand as he walked you towards the door.

"Oh, and you have my number. I don't typically make house calls, but I'm more than happy to oblige you."

You were too flustered to speak, but you watched with precise eyes as he brought your small hand to his lips, pressing a searing kiss into the soft skin of your fingers.

"Have a good rest of your week, Angel."

That night, you came seven times to the thought of Joel Miller.

• • •

For two weeks you wondered if you should take him up on his offer. Univeristy work had flooded your life, making it rather difficult to do anything except go to classes, eat, and sleep. You hadn’t even had time to masturbate!

As the canvas of winter slowly started tearing, the lively chirps of Spring soon began bellowing through the air, replacing the gray clouds of February with the bright blue skies of March. That’s when you decided it was time to go and see Joel.

It was Tuesday. That meant he was working the Confessional.

Your legs were carrying you as your mind wandered with delicious thoughts of Father Miller, until you found yourself in front of the charcoal colored Cathedral, ornately designed and powerfully exuberant. You pushed open the thick wooden doors, etched with scenes of the Ascension and Crucifixion, before making your way to the Confession booth.

You slid quietly into the booth, the screen protecting your face from the person on the other side.

“Speak, my child. What do you wish to confess?” Father Miller asked in his most priestly, professional voice.

A sudden wave of confidence rushed over you. “Well, father, I’ve been a pretty bad girl.”

You heard him shifting in his seat, before a honeyed chuckle escaped from the back of his throat, gritty and intoxicating. “I was startin’ to think I scared you off, Angel.”

“Oh no, you never could. School just got in the way.” You explained softly, tracing shapes over the exposed skin of your thigh.

“What are you wearing?” He finally asked, and you began chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“A sage colored dress, a pretty strappy number. Stops in the middle of my thighs. You can see the lace of my bra, too.”

“Oh, how scandalous.” Joel snickered, feigning a sense of surprise. “I bet you look real pretty.”

“I can come over there if you want me to.”

“Oh yeah?” You could hear the smugness of his voice.

“Yeah.” You responded flirtatiously, words hot and thirsty.

“You stay over there for a few, get yourself ready for me.”

“What do you want me to do,” a breeze of bravery swirled over your chest, so you added: “Daddy?”

You heard the priest moan at the name. Through gritted teeth, he responded. “Spread those legs for me.” You did as Joel commanded, awaiting his next words. “Take off your panties and stuff them in your bra.” After a few beats, he spoke once again. “Have you done it?”

“Yes sir.” You responded cheekily, a giggle evident in your voice.

“Good girl. Touch your thighs, Angel. Brush your fingers over them, real light like.” As your nails swirled patterns into the sensitive skin on your legs, you shivered with delight.

“Now what?”

“Just keep doin’ that. Listen to my voice, darlin’. Just keep touchin’ those sexy thighs of yours.” Joel’s voice was like velvet to your ears, and you heard the zipper of his pants being pulled down.

Your breath hitched, pussy aching and sore.

“I know you’re gettin’ wet, know that little cunt is weepin’ for me.”

You moaned in response, wanting nothing more than to touch your swelling clit. “Y-yes.”

“Don’t worry, little Angel. Daddy’ll make that pussy feel real good. Do you want that?”

“P-please. Now. Please.” You were begging now, willing to do just about anything to feel his cock deep within your walls.

“Now, now.” Joel responded smugly, and you heard the movement of his arm, up and down and up and down, slowly pumping at the length of his hardened cock. You nearly wept at the thought. God, please, you just wanted to feel him. “Jacob served seven years just to see Rachel again. Surely that pussy can wait a few minutes, yeah?” You could hear the smugness dripping from his tongue, like venom on the fangs of a viper.

“Oh, shut up.” You grumbled.

“There there, now, pretty baby, don’t you worry. It will be well worth the teasin’ when I’m pumpin’ my cum in that little hole of yours.”

You hissed through your teeth in excitement, whimpering as your clit throbbed with the promise of his reward. “You promise?”

“Baby, ‘course I do. I’ve been waitin’ for a taste of your cum, you know. Since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Really?”

He chuckled at your naivety. “Oh yeah. Prettiest girl I ever laid eyes on, tha’s why I started callin’ you Angel, you know. Beauty like yours, well, that’s fuckin’ celestial.” You heard Joel grunt, no doubt from his fist wrapped around his length.

“Please.” You begged, thighs clenching together as you continued tracing lines in your skin. “Can I please move to your side?”

Joel thought for a moment, before he spoke. “Yes. Make it quick. Don’t want nobody seein’.”

You obeyed, adjusting the skirt of your dress before stepping out. The church was empty, except a few people praying before a statue of Jesus on the crucifix, backs turned to you. You slowly opened the door, finally face to face with him. You sucked in a breath of air as his appearance crashed over you, quickly shutting the door behind you.

His eyes met yours, hands dragging to your waist as he pulled you closer. Now you were standing before him. Joel leaned forward, placing his head to your chest, exposed by the low dip of your dress. You heard him inhale your perfume, before feeling his tongue flat between your breasts, licking a strip from there, to your neck, where he suckled gingerly on that sensitive spot right beneath your ear.

“God, been dreamin’ of this.” Joel whispered, kissing at your jawline softly, the scruff of his beard tickling against your skin.

“I have, too.” You admitted your secret as you grasped his shoulders, broad and muscular beneath your grip. Joel continued his assault on your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbones, teeth gently digging into your skin, as his hands wandered down to your bare thighs, hiking your skirt up slowly. His fingers dug into the soft, supple skin beneath your ass, nails gently imprinting creases on your upper thighs.

Joel pulled away, slowly removing his hands. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he suddenly grabbed your chin, a smirk playing on his face.

“Kneel.” He commanded deeply, voice thick with seriousness.

You knelt before him, tilting your head up until you were faced to face with his throbbing cock, which he had ever so politely tucked back into his tightening boxers.

“You’ve been bad. You’ve sinned.” Joel explained, running his fingers through your hair. “It’s about time you seek repentance.”

You batted your eyelashes up at him, glossy lips parting. “And how should I go about doing that, Father?” Your feigned a sense of faux innocence with your words, doe eyes wide and sparkling for him.

“The Body of Christ, you see.” Joel hummed, moving your hand to his bulge. “To partake in the body and blood of christ, the Eucharist. To…. suck, and to swallow.” He smirked down at you, eyes glittering with mischief.

“Yes sir.” You purred, slowly pulling his underwear down, until his thick, angry cock popped out, gently slapping against his belly.

“Suck on it.” Joel ordered, hand pressing to the back of your head. You smiled, leaning forward.

The mushroom of his cock pressed against your lips, his salty precum mixing with your strawberry lipgloss. You opened your mouth, lips accommodating to the sheer width of his length as you took him gently into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip. You felt him shiver beneath your movements, fingers knotting tighter into your locks.

That’s when you heard the door on the other side creak open. You went to pull away, eyes wide with fear, but Joel firmly kept you in place, beckoning you to continue on with your so called repentance.

You clenched your thighs at the nature of what was going on, head popping, taking as much as you could without gagging. You didn’t want to risk making any noise.

“Hello, father.” A feminine voice on the other side of the wall spoke, and Joel clenched his jaw, gazing down at you.

He didn’t look up when he finally spoke. “Welcome, my child.” Joel’s voice was solid, unwavering, there was absolutely no hint to his tone that could possibly give away what was going on. “What is it you wish to confess?”

The woman sighed a deep huff, and you heard what seemed to be a piece of paper being unfolded. “A lot.” She admitted.

“That’s okay. God is always forgiving.”

“Amen, father.” She agreed.

Joel thumbed your cheek gently, watching your lips wrap around his cock, up and down your head went, finally growing used to the size.

His cock was perfect. Thick, veined, just the right length. It was the biggest you had ever seen in person, but then again, your previous references weren’t much to brag about. You swirled your tongue around his dick, slowly pulling away until you were faced to face with it.

Joel watched as you leaned forward, tracing the underside with the tip of your tongue. He shuddered again.

“-And then I called the cashier at Publix an idiot for ringing in my chocolate milk twice. Oh, I feel awful about that. Jerry and I- you know Jerry, don’t you? My husband? Well, he and I got into a fight. And I was taking it out on this poor teenage girl-” As the parishioner continued her rant, you realized neither of you were really paying attention.

The priest’s eyes had been blown full black at the sight of you servicing his dick, enamored with the way your soft tongue looked pressed into his skin, swirling and tracing and tasting. Your nails were digging into his thighs, straight through the cloth of his trousers, but Joel didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he liked the added bit of pain, it only added to his pleasure.

“And finally, I yelled at my kids teacher. All week he worked on this project, and she has the gaul to give him a B-! As if, he was-”

You worked his length back and forth, his tip hitting dangerously close to the back of your throat. You felt his cock tightening, straining with the promise of an oncoming orgasm. Keeping the same pace, you licked and sucked, head bobbing as his free hand came up to rest on your head.

Spurts of hot cum painted your throat as Joel began speaking to the confessor, as though on cue. “Salvation is co-oming, my child. God will forgive you, he always does.” He hid it rather well, teeth gritting as his head was thrown back, nails gently scratching into your scalp as you milked him with your mouth.

“What should I do, father? How should I repent?” She asked worriedly.

“Uh, a few Hail Mary’s or something.”

Joel wasn’t really paying attention to her. He was looking down at you as you suckled the rest of his cum from the top of his dick, hand gently patting at your head of hair. His gaze was gentle, full of some sort of admiration as he watched you clean his cock up, tongue obediently lapping up every drop of his sperm.

“Is that- is that all, father?”

“Yes.” Joel responded curtly.

“Peace be with you.” She said, before you heard the door open.

“And with you.” Joel mumbled, a love sick grin spreading across his face. He swiped a dribble of his cum off the corner of your mouth, holding it to your lips. You slowly leaned forward, licking it off his skin before pulling away with a beaming smile. “C’mere.” He whispered, patting his lap.

You straddled him, hands moving to his shoulders, before crawling up to his curls, gently running through them. You eyed the gray in his chocolate colored hair, smiling at the salt and pepper locks. God, he really was so handsome.

Joel gently kissed your knuckles, arms wrapping around your waist.

There was a knock at the door, and he stiffened.

“Father Miller, there’s to be a meeting between the bishops in five minutes. We would like you to oversee it.” A man spoke through the door, and you leaned forward into his neck to stifle a groan.

You were practically leaking onto his lap, pussy sobbing at the thought of his touch.

“Please,” you whispered in his ear, fingernail tracing down the line of stubble on his jaw. “Make me cum.”

Joel’s hands grasped ahold of your ass, and you had to try your hardest to stifle your yelp. “I’ll be there soon.” Joel snapped, and you heard the figure jogging away. He turned to you, rubbing his nose into your soft cheek. “Angel girl, I swear on my life I’ll make you cum until you cry tonight. I swear it.” You leaned into the touch of his nose, nodding slowly.

You knew he was a man of his word.

“Okay.” You murmured, albeit dejectedly. You were so turned on your could barely think straight.

Joel’s ears perked as he looked at you. “I have an idea….”

• • •

You don’t know how he talked you into it, but as you curled beneath the wide desk in his office with your legs spread and dress pulled up to your belly, you listened in on the meeting.

Joel had given you three strict rules:

1) Rub your clit for the duration of the meeting.

2) Do not, under any circumstance, stop.

3) Do NOT cum!

And so you stared up at him as the bishops talked about upcoming projects and fairs, discussing how to spend the month of March doing charity work and putting on a Spring Festival. Every so often he would glance down with a satisfied grin tugging at his lips, soaking in the picture of you rubbing at your clit.

It was the first time Joel had ever seen your pussy. Soaking, sloppy, and a drool worthy shade of pink. Your clit was swollen, begging for his tongue, and the perfect inner lips of your pussy were clenching around- unfortunately- nothing.

Your wetness was dripping down on to the floor of his office, coating your thighs with slick as you stared at him, noticing the strained bulge against his black pants. You smiled at the thought of you being the one to make him feel that way. He had cum in your mouth. He had given you his number. He had told you he could help.

You.

You, you, you.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he cared for you. The thought made your face beam, a look that Joel did not miss, despite the conversation he was taking part in.

It felt as though he were purposefully dragging the meeting out. Asking questions, giving ideas, receiving a scripture here or there. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He was right, however. Good things do indeed come to those who wait.

As time dragged on, it was becoming harder and harder to stifle your moans. You wanted to make noise for Joel. You wanted to whimper and mewl and beg and cry out for him. It was always for him, wasn’t it? You knew, he knew. All the pretty dresses, fixed up hair, perfect makeup- it was for him. In fact, deep down, you knew you hadn't been to church for the man in the sky for quite some time.

"Alright, it was a pleasure meetin’ with you all. I look forward to putting on the Spring Festival, I'll be in touch soon with the event info." Father Miller spoke professionally, calmly, as though you weren't half naked beneath his desk, touching yourself in front of him.

The door shut and locked the moment everyone had filed out, and his feet shuffled slowly towards where you sat. When your eyes met Joel's, a smile threatened the side of his mouth.

"Up, Angel. Sit on the edge of the desk for me."

You crawled out slowly, thighs slightly cramping up, before grabbing the hand he had offered and pulling yourself to your feet. You eased your ass onto the table, scooting back before spreading your legs, a shy grin falling to your face as he kept his hand tightly threaded with yours.

"Oh, honey. Look at this poor pussy. She needs me real bad, don't she?" He purred out his words with a saddened pair of eyes, sitting on his chair as he wheeled it forward, face to face with your soaking cunt. "Should I taste you?" His words were meant to tease you further, finger tracing over your inflated, tingling clit. "Should I make you feel better for being so nice and patient with me?"

"Please, daddy. Please."

Joel hummed in approval at your answer, leaning forward to wrap his lips around your pinkening bud. Before he even began sucking, you had thrown your hand over your mouth to stifle your moans, all at the simple moment of contact. He worked your little button slowly, gently sucking as his free hand ran up and down your thigh, gently giving it a squeeze as he lapped and licked.

You tangled your fingers in his curls, watching as he worked your clit masterfully, the tip of his tongue pressing gently, setting that bundle of nerves on fire perfectly.

Joel moved his palm beneath his chin, fingertips exploring the entrance of your pussy before he pushed his middle finger in straight to the hilt, searching for your G-Spot and finding it victoriously after a few short moments. You whimpered out at the first point of contact, drawing his head in closer by his hair as your hips grinded mindlessly, your back falling onto the desk. You had accidentally knocked a few things over, but admittedly neither of you cared, both wrapped up in your ecstasy as the priest worked on making you cum for him.

Joel moved his hand away from yours, instead opting to wrap it around your body, holding you tight and close to him as he ate you out. You already felt your orgasm approaching, climax chugging up that rollercoaster hill of emotion, right at the top before he added a second finger, pumping and thrusting up, right where Joel knew you needed him the most.

You groaned as he pulled away, no more contact on your clit. His umber eyes dragged up the length of your body, meeting your own. They sparkled with adoration. In that moment you were his purpose, his salvation, his religion. He worshiped the idol that was your body relentlessly, boundlessly, and knew he was done for for all eternity. If he were to burn because he fell in love with your body, so be it. Joel Miller would happily burn to have a taste of you.

His kissed your thigh, still fingering your tight cunt, eyes still locked with yours.

"You're so beautiful." He murmured, leaning forward and licking your clit slowly, tongue flat against it. He continued doing this, his eyes never leaving yours. You hadn't dared to look away, whimpering and brushing your digits through his hair as he kept up the slow, steady, perfect pace of movements. "I'm done for, you know. I'll never stop wantin' a tase of you."

You giggled breathlessly, nodding with his head cradled in your palms. "It's all yours."

"That's all I needed to hear, pretty Angel." Joel mumbled, going back to sucking on your clit as his eyes fluttered close.

That did it. The tightening string broke, your climax flooding over you as you chanted his name, grinding and bucking, body spasming with orgasmic pleasure as he kept his mouth firm on your body, continuing to lick and suck until he had lapped up every last drop of cum from your pussy. He pulled away, the lower half of his face glistening, and helped you sit up gently, hands moving to your waist as he stood up.

His cock was straining against his pants, and you cheekily grabbed the loop of his belt, bringing you close to him until his clothed bulge was pressed flush to your sensitive cunt. You shivered at the contact, gently pressing your hands on his broad, sturdy chest.

“Fuck me. Please. I need to feel you inside of me.” You whispered into his ear, pressing a gentle kiss to his lobe.

Joel nodded in response, pulling away to look at you. He gently cupped your face in his calloused hands, leaning towards your slightly open mouth. The curve of his sturdy nose gently pressed into your own, lips brushing yours as your breath hitched, chests now taut with one another. He had just eaten you to the best orgasm of your life, and now your hands shook with nerves as he began kissing you, sweetly and meaningfully. It felt like home. They melded together like iron, as though your mouths were made for each other, crafted by the hands of some ethereal power with the knowledge that, one day, you two would find the other.

He drew you in closer, deepening the kiss as your fingers fumbled with the zipper of his pants, freeing his cock from his boxers as it sprung out, gently hitting your bare knee. You giggled softly into his mouth, finally pulling away to eye level.

Joel grabbed your hips, lining himself up with the entrance of your cunt. His thumbs gently brushed your waist soothingly, and he let you take his cock in your hand as you guided the tip up and down the folds of your pussy, soon pressing it against your entrance. With his eyes on yours, he slowly pushed in, all the way until your clit was pressed to his stomach. He reached down, gently rubbing it, allowing you to acclimate to the sheer size of him.

"This okay?" He asked, voice gruff and raw.

"Oh, yes. It's perfect." You breathed out, throwing your arms around his neck.

Joel began to fuck you slow and deep, each time pulling all the way to the tip of his dick, before pushing himself back inside, until your clit was back against his belly. Your moans were music to his ears, guiding him like a siren song towards the ocean of your body, waves of pleasure blanketing over him as he fucked you.

Admittedly, Joel had not had sex for many years. He had no problem picking up women before the priesthood, but when he left school to become the head of a local church, he knew he had to keep himself in line. People would talk, he would be kicked out, and there would be nowhere for him to go. Ah, but for you? Well, he was willing to risk it all. You were everything he had ever dreamed for, and he wasn't going to let the time of your chance meeting ruin that.

Kind, understanding, intelligent- you were perfect, and Joel knew the moment he saw you, he would fall deeply in love with you. He had been holding off for months now, knowing that if he ever had the chance to fuck you, he would be done for, completely and totally for you. Fuck God, he didn't care about God. You were the one he wanted to worship, you were the one he wanted to sing songs for, read to, sacrifice for. You. You, you, you. You were his Heaven.

The priest was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of his name falling from your mouth, and when your eyes met, he shot you the hint of a smile.

"Thatt'a girl." He mumbled, holding you tightly. "Tha's a good girl, taking me so well. So fuckin' beautiful."

You moaned at his words, stomach tightening with the threat of your second orgasm as he continued rubbing your clit.

His cock was pounding harder now, walls fluttering and clenching against the veiny length of his dick as he fucked you like a devil. Beads of sweat were gathering at his temples, the lines of his forehead creased as he focused on you. You saw his dark eyes full of something you hadn't seen before, and if you were a foolish woman, you would say it was love.

You reached up and gently wiped the sweat away with your fingers, head falling back as his mouth latched on to your neck, suckling and marking you with proof of his devotion. You shivered as he hit against a sweet spot right beneath your ear, teeth gently digging in as he kissed and licked.

"Gonna cum soon." You murmured, nails digging into his shoulders as he continued taking you, balls slapping against your ass as he pounded, continuing the same pattern of movements that made you weak for him.

"Give it to me, honey. Cum on this cock, cum for me. Let me know who's makin' you feel this way." Joel's words were hot against your ear, his breath fanning your skin as his fingers skillfully worked your clit.

Your orgasm finally broke, but Joel didn't waver. He continued rubbing your clit despite your whimpers, fucking you harder until the only sound was his heavy breath and the slapping of skin, your moans of ecstasy hidden as you buried your face into his shoulder.

"F-fuck it's too much. Feels too good." You cried out, body shaking. Joel didn't stop, he continued rubbing you, setting something aflame within your body, pushing you towards the brink of becoming deliciously over stimulated.

"'Member how I said I was goin' to fuck you until you cried?" Joel's voice was more of a beasts than a man, deep and throaty in your ear. "I'm a man of my word, darlin'. I ain't quittin' 'till you're crying for me. You understand?"

You whimpered in response, nodding your head as he continued hitting deep within you, the tip of his cock finding your G-spot, the soft spongy part of you that made you shiver and shake. You were coming undone again, his middle finger relentless on your swelling, throbbing bud, pleasure bordering on pain as the priest before you kept taking you.

You felt your throat tightening at the feeling of his throbbing cock, until your vision went blurry, mind fuzzing at the world around you. All of your emotion came crashing down, the feeling of him rubbing your pussy, the length of his cock buried deep within your cunt.

You couldn't take it anymore.

When your third orgasm hit you, you couldn't stifle your noise. You screamed for him, head thrown back as your body spasmed. And this time, Joel did as he said- he made you cry. He watched your pretty eyes well up with tears, watching as they cascaded down your cheeks. He groaned at the sight, a beautiful portrait of pure, raw, animalistic ecstasy. Your chest was sticky with sweat, hair pressed into your forehead, and perfect eyes wet with tears.

He couldn't hold himself back. His fingers dug into your thighs as he leaned forward, attaching his mouth to yours as his own climax overtook him. Joel snarled and growled, hips jittering as his hot cum painted the walls of your cunt white. When his orgasm died down, and his mouth became much gentler on yours, you realized just how full you felt.

Full of him, full of cum, full of love.

Joel pulled away slowly, gently running his fingers down your face. "You okay?" His voice was soft, eyes sparkling down at you.

"I am, actually."

He knew you were being earnest.

You watched as he took some tissue and cleaned you up, holding on to your hands as he helped you balance yourself on the ground, knees shaking from the weight of your previous pleasure.

"There you go, good girl." Joel helped slide your panties up your legs, gently giving your ass a squeeze. He relished in the sweet sound of your giggle.

A moment of silence passed, before he took your hand. You looked up at him, and he knew now was his moment.

"Do you want to go grab some dinner?"

You had never said yes faster.

You always thought shame and guilt were integral parts of the religious experience. You always thought chastity and purity were the best ways to feel God.

But that was before Joel Miller. That was before he took your body and idolized it. That was before he pleasured you in ways no man had dared to do before. When your bodies danced as one, when your souls became tangled beneath the bed sheets, on the desk, in the confession booth, you weren't thinking of God, you weren't thinking of Heaven or Hell.

Oh, no.

You were thinking of Joel Miller, the man who you willingly and happily chose over the promise of eternal salvation. And there wasn't an ounce of shame present.

2K notes · View notes

assassinsblade · 5 months

Text

Forget Me Not | 6

You are awaiting Azriel's return when chaos erupts.

WC: 6.4k

Warnings: TW: SA!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. Violence, death, blood, angst, feelings, and dare I finally say some fluff?

a/n: There will be one more part!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

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

Azriel never responded to your letter. You hadn't exactly expected him to, but you still couldn't help the pang of disappointment that settled in your gut when day after day went by in silence.

You hoped he was getting the healing he needed, the healing he deserved. The thought of your friend hurting because of your words had you itching to write another letter to him, but you knew to give him the time and space to map his feelings out. It would be better to say all you needed to in person anyway.

That didn't stop your heart from wandering each day though. You thought of his scarred hands and gentle touches. The way he had always been soft with you, as if he were nervous you would think him anything other than kind-hearted. The way his fingers would brush against the fabric of your shirt when passing by, letting you know he was there, letting you feel his presence, take in his scent, as he moved in your space.

You thought about the small smile he would give you during conversations both before and after the incident. The way his head would tip forward to show he was listening, the way his eyes twinkled with amusement at your storytelling, the curve of his lips as others laughed.

You thought of the times he had carried you to your room when you had fallen asleep on the couch, his comforting arms, his protective instinct as he locked your windows and pulled the covers over your chest and toes.

You thought of the heat that would rise to his cheeks when people would compliment him. The way the pink would dust his cheeks like a guide for your lipstick, his eyes averted and the subject quickly changed despite the passion he put into each and every one of his interests and talents.

You thought about his commitment and duty and strength. The way he held the weight of the entire court on his shoulders but still managed to make others laugh. The way he would suffer in silence, do the dirty work, but pretend like it was nothing to alleviate others' stress.

You thought about every bit of him, from the glow that surrounded his black hair against the backdrop of the sun to the way the grass curled around his feet, and you loved him with a fierceness that ached.

And you tried -- you tried so fucking hard -- to distract yourself from these thoughts in the days after you sent your letter.

You began training with Cassian again. He hadn't said anything despite how obvious your swollen and bloodshot eyes were, how your shoulders hung low with fatigue, the way your clothes were wrinkled against your thinning form.

He had given you kind eyes, though, and a soft smile that told you he was there should you need it. He often snuck bars of food into your training bag or left an "extra" tea out on the counter for you. You had even noticed him peeking his head into Azriel's room a few times at night to check on you, remaining quiet to not disturb your feigned sleep.

It wasn't until a week after Azriel had left that Cassian mentioned him again. You were strapping the weapons you had brought with you to training back in place when you felt his eyes on you. It was nearing eleven at night, and your entire body felt like it was going to fall to the floor underneath you. Your skin was slick with sweat, muscles burning, and your eyes felt (accurately) like your sleep had been fitful as of late.

Cassian was quiet until you finally met his eye and raised a brow, prompting him to break his silence. He nodded to the dagger strapped against your thigh. "I'm surprised Azriel has been letting you use that."

You looked at the dagger you had been using nightly when training, taking in its intimidating design and shrugging. "He didn't protest much. It's not Truthteller."

The dagger, in truth, had been helpful. Cassian not only helped you learn how to handle such a weapon better, but he did so in a safe space that allowed you to overcome any memories from that night surfacing. There were times when your movements and grip on the handle felt so similar to that cold moment in the alley, you would nearly throw the dagger from your hand in haste. But you were making progress, and those moments when blood tainted your vision were becoming few and far between.

Cassian continued moving throughout the space, putting equipment away and packing away his things. You could tell he was feigning being nonchalant from the way his hands fumbled and his eyes strayed away from your own.

"Truthteller isn't the only weapon Azriel has a special attachment to."

Your brows furrowed with confusion and curiosity. As much as you had come to care for Azriel, there were parts of his past he had always kept private. You knew some details regarding his history and what had made him into the male he was, but he rarely spoke to you about them.

He liked to portray the side of himself he could control, the side the victims of the Night Court did not get to see: his gentleness, his care for his family, his ability to bring joy to others. Never the past that haunts him or his actions that remind him of the evil in the world.

"Are you going to explain?" You decided on asking, mind already beginning to spin with thoughts of Azriel.

You were too tired for his vague comments, and really you just wanted to shower and curl back up in Azriel's bed. It was beginning to lose some of his scent and take on your own. You didn't know how low you would have to feel before you started digging through his closet and drawers for clothes of his wear and curl up in instead.

"Just-" he sighed, placing his towel in his bag. "That weapon holds a lot of weight to him. It's the one that was used against his brothers." His voice trailed off at the end with the secret.

His brothers. The males who had set fire to his hands. The males who had laughed as he screamed, who had treated him like a test subject, like less than an animal. The males who had enjoyed watching a young boy cry in pain, terror, fear, and confusion.

You swallowed back the horrid thoughts pushing their way into your mind. Flames licking up his scars, his hazel eyes drowning in tears. "He didn't tell me its history."

Cassian shrugged, turning to face you and crossing his arms over his chest. He was studying you. What for, you didn't know. "He just normally doesn't let that dagger out of his room. I've only ever seen it on him a few times."

Did Azriel give the weapon to you for the same reason he yielded it against his brothers? You remembered the placement of the dagger in your palms in his bedroom, the way the sharp edge faced his unguarded torso, as if he was standing at your mercy and vengeance, positioning his heart to be a target for your own pain.

Maybe he had seen your lashing out as inevitable, and he knew the very dagger he had used against his own brothers could also help you deal an angry blow in return. Did he know the dagger was going to be aimed at him eventually? Did he offer it, expecting that result?

You remembered the blood that fell from his bicep earlier this week.

"I noticed you've been sleeping in his room."

Cassian's voice was gentler this time as he interrupted your distracted thoughts, as if he was afraid his acknowledgement of what he had seen would spook you, cause you to shut down or leave. Instead, you just shifted your weight on your feet, trying to not look too embarrassed.

"Yeah. I don't know, it just seems to help. With the nightmares and stuff, I mean."

He continued to study you, and you felt yourself getting slightly uncomfortable and annoyed. He was obviously thinking something but was unwilling to say it, and you didn't exactly appreciate his quiet observations as if you were some sort of mystery or experiment to document hypotheses on.

"Just say it," you rolled your eyes.

"No."

"No?"

He gave you a half-smile, slinging his bag over his broad shoulder and taking a step toward the exit. "Some things aren't my place."

"Since when do you stay out of people's business, Cassian?" You scoffed.

"Since my brother-" He started, but suddenly his steps halted, body going rigid with tension. His eyes scanned the space rapidly, and within a moment his bag was dropped back onto the ground by his feet, and he was taking a step back toward you, eyes still tracking your dark surroundings.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his serious behavior. "Cassian, what is it?"

But he didn't respond. Instead, one of his hands reached for the knife on his belt, his other arm splaying out in front of you to get you to move back with him.

You followed his movements, stepping in tandem with him until you found yourself in the middle of the training ring once again. A breeze flowed up your arms and caressed the skin of your cheeks, causing shivers to run down your body and your hair to stand on edge.

Footsteps sounded from your right, and you whirled around in fear, gripping the dagger Azriel had given you with a tightness that hurt your knuckles. A shadowed figure was approaching, followed by four others. But you didn't have time to think of an approach before more footsteps sounded to your back and more appeared, their wings fading into the black sky behind them.

They were coming from all directions, all Illyrian males, all Illyrian warriors. Swords and shields glinted in the moonlight. Teeth sharp as they sneered.

"Cassian-" you whispered harshly.

"Gentlemen," Cassian interrupted, voice tight warning. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

There were about fifty of them, all nearly double your size. Illyrian males were already prone to being larger, all over six feet in height with intimidating wingspans and muscles, and for once you didn't feel safe around the form you so often associated with Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. Your fingers trembled.

Cassian still told taller than all of them, the general a fierce presence surrounded by enemies. He looked determined, but he did not look scared.

One of the males stepped forward from the crowd.

"My son was one of the many who died in the war with Hybern. One of the many who died because of you. Because of your half-breed high lord and his past-time of playing house with bastards." He looked to his companions standing in the shadows. "You all come here and condemn our way of life, of training, of breeding, and then punish us on the battlefield. We're not fighting for you anymore. We're fighting for ourselves."

You felt like you were in a fever dream. You hadn't even been in Velaris for that long, had never been around during the war nor seen the aftermath of the choices made. But you knew of Cassian and Azriel's power in the Illyrian war camps. You knew how Rhys tried to ban wing clipping, how they all enforced treating the females equally and fair, how the males were discriminatory toward others and often rageful and violent.

You wanted no part of this.

"No one is forcing you to fight on the front line." Cassian responded, barely flinching at the man's short speech. He was completely and utterly still, gauging each movement around the two of you. He was a strategist, and you could sense the gears in his mind turning.

"Maybe we want to fight. Maybe we are here to demand our rights back. Our superiority."

Cassian's hands twitched, his siphons gleaming. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

His cold voice was nothing like the jovial male you had come to know. This was the Lord of Bloodshed ready to split the males in front of him in half, a warrior basking in the calm before blood would rain down around him.

"And why not?" The male laughed. "It is only you here. You and this pet. When we are done with you, we will go for that bastard shadowsinger. How do you think almighty Rhysand will feel about that? Both of his brothers put down like mutts? Think he will be willing to listen then?"

Rage swarmed in your veins, warming your skin until you felt your cheeks and ears turn red with heat. They would not touch you. They would not touch Cassian, and they sure as hell would not touch Azriel.

Cassian sighed, as if he were experiencing only a slight inconvenience. As if he had just been interrupted from a nap with a chore he couldn't put off any longer.

"Alright," is all he said, and then his strong arm was pushing you back and out of harms way, the harsh sound of weapons clashing ringing in your ears.

You spun quickly, trying to take in the chaotic space around you. Males were moving in all directions, and before you could think, you were throwing your dagger at the closest body you could find. The edge hacked into the center of his pale forehead, his body crumpling to the ground immediately.

Dodging another male grasping at you, you slid on your knees to collect your weapon, gathering up the fallen male's sword at the same time. It was heavy in your grip, but it was better than only having one weapon to arm yourself with.

"Come here, birdy." A voice cooed.

You vaguely registered red light flashing in the corner of your eye, the color flickering and absorbing in the sky. It lit up the armor of the Illyrians, and despite the pounding heart in your chest, despite not knowing if you would survive tonight, you found the sight beautiful.

You faced the male, his rotten teeth dirtying his smirk as he took you in. A few others joined him, forming a line in front of you. Raising the sword in your grasp, you held your chin up.

"Don't call me that."

They took their time observing you, as if you were a mouse in their game -- a treat they had hoped would be present at their meeting.

"Bad timing, girl. We don't have to hurt ya, though. Why don't you just come with us, yeah?"

The male to his left winked at you, and you felt your palms become damp with sweat. No, you would not be doing this again. You would not allow another male to put his hands on you again.

"I'd rather the Cauldron boil me alive."

And then you were swinging, the sword coming down with a mighty clang against the male's own. The resistance reverberated up your arm, through your bones, and you gritted your teeth at the pain. But you pushed forward, attempting to unbalance him with your steady stance.

The male to his right went in with a knife of his own, and you ducked out of the way, instead swinging low with your sword and slicing the legs of the male you had been up against. He cried out in anger and pain, and you couldn't help the smile that creeped onto your face at the noise. You wanted him to choke on that pain, on those cries.

As he fell and gripped his calves, you quickly made work of his throat, slashing through the skin in a swift movement, barely even taking the time to think before you flung the dagger with your other hand into the male to your right, the tip latching into his neck.

The last male roared, pushing you off your balance until you tripped and had to steady yourself, your sword pointed toward the ground.

He swung with his own, point aimed toward your chest, and you hurried to block the action. You had no armor to defend yourself, just your brief training and your will to live.

The male kept swinging, his strength and weight being thrown into each movement, pushing you back farther and farther. Each block you threw up only dug your feet deeper into the ground, only destabilized you, only made your arms sting with fatigue.

You were panting, grunting, trying to hold your own.

And then the male was half exploding away from you. Red light and energy threw his body from yours, sending him spiraling to the ground feet away. His armor looked melted, and you could only allow yourself a brief moment of relief before you searched for Cassian.

He was still fighting the other males. Plenty of other males, as the majority went straight for their target rather than you. Red surrounded him, his sword sparkling, dark hair gracefully blowing with each jab. He didn't even look winded. There were twenty males surrounding him, and about the same amount scattered on the ground limp and bloodied.

His movements were clean and precise. As if he were made to do this, his body glided in a beautiful dance that left males to drop before him. If blood had not been coating your vision, it would almost seem as if they were dropping to their knees in reverence.

You shook yourself out of your stupor, hefting up the sword and your dagger and moving forward again into the action.

You were steps away from another Illyrian, his brown eyes locking on your own, when blue blinded your vision.

Like lightning rocking the ground underneath you, a beam of cobalt shot from the sky, sending the earth trembling under your feet. The noise roared in your ears as you tried to keep your footing, blinking away from the bright light.

Your veins hummed, your skin tingled.

Because coming out of that bright blue light, eyes glowing like a god, was Azriel.

His wings were flared, taking up as much space as three Illyrians as he marched toward them, his towering form enough to make you want to fall to your knees in worship.

Light shone on his face, cutting his sharp cheekbones with the blue of his siphons. He looked angelic, and beautiful, and like the savior you dreamed about.

Your chest pulled you toward him, but your movements were halted by cold tendrils snaking around your wrists, pulling you backward.

You almost shouted, but then you realized as a grunt sounded in your ear what was happening. Azriel's shadows were back. They were back by your side and they were helping you. You could have wept with joy feeling the silky bands kissing your skin.

They pulled you out of the way of one of the Illyrians, his punch missing your head as you dodged. You didn't even have time to plunge the dagger toward his eye before the shadows were swarming the male, flowing into his nostrils, ears, mouth and eyes, until blood was flowing out of them, jaw hanging open and body going limp.

You gasped in shock as the male fell to your feet, choking and suffocating on his own internal bodily matter.

Trying not to gag, you pulled your gaze up to Cassian and Azriel fighting back to back. Flashes of red and blue lit up the sky, and you went to move closer, but the shadows held you back. They swarmed your ankles, your calves, and held you in place. Some lingering shadows skimmed the rest of your body, searching the open skin for wounds.

When the last of the males fell, the shadows released you, and you stumbled at the sudden freedom.

Then you were rushing toward your friends, sword falling from your fingertips to lay with the dead bodies in your haste. Cassian and Azriel were talking, but Azriel's body was turned toward you as if he was paying attention to you both at once -- and you supposed he was, what with his shadows monitoring your every movement and breath.

But then he couldn't focus on Cassian, couldn't say anything else, because you wouldn't let him. You didn't care if he shoved you off of him, you didn't care if he took both of your shoulders in his scarred hands and threw you to the ground, not as you flung yourself into his torso, the wind knocked out of your lungs with the force.

He caught himself with one step back, his arms going to catch you against him despite his shock. His body was tense with surprise, but you didn't care, not as you grasped his leathers, not as you breathed in the smell of him, not as you basked in the fact that Azriel was back after you were scared he would never see or talk to you again.

Your breath was shaky as you listened to his heartbeat underneath your ear. His arms tightened around you, and you felt as seconds ticked by before gentle fingers tangled in your hair hesitantly.

Still, he did not say a word.

You would take this moment, savor it, knowing it could be your last chance at any kind of intimacy, at any kind of care and love with Azriel before everything came crashing down again, before reality and all you had both said and done disrupted what could have been.

You could hear Cassian’s footsteps fading in the distance, but the sound was muffled as you attempted to get closer to the shadowsinger, gripping him tighter, burying your face deeper into his hard strong chest.

He was so warm against you, and the contrast of that heat against the cool shadows weaving around you had you nearly gasping.

Tears were in your eyes before you could control your emotions, knowing how embarrassing this was. You had pushed him away for months, made him crawl for your forgiveness, but as soon as you were the one to make a mistake, you couldn’t handle it. You were just so glad he was home. So glad he was here in front of you so you could apologize, and feel whole again with him near. You hadn’t realized how empty you felt with him gone-

“Are you okay?” His rough voice cracked above you, barely audible above the wind.

You nodded against him, trying to compose your feelings before reluctantly releasing him and taking a step back. His fingers trailed after you as if by instinct, and you cleared your throat in an attempt to distract yourself from touching him once again.

“I’m okay,” you reiterated, hands tangling together in nerves. He looked you up and down, brows furrowed as if he didn’t quite believe you, as if he needed to give you a thorough inspection. “Are you?”

“Fine,” he quietly spoke. And you could tell that he was. He didn’t even look like he broke a sweat going up against the remaining Illyrians, which made your worry for him even more embarrassing.

“I didn’t…” you swallowed, sorting through your jumbled thoughts. “What are you doing back?”

His gaze was soft but guarded. Your heart thumped in your chest painfully at the contrast to how he looked at you just a week or two ago. You had hurt him enough for those walls to go back up, and you also couldn’t ignore the hurt you had felt (even if you were trying your hardest to forget it).

Instead of answering your question, Azriel said, “We should talk. After I check in with Rhys.”

“Right.” You nodded, rubbing your palms on your pants, the fabric clinging to your thighs. “That’s probably more important.”

Azriel just looked at you though before muttering, “Not more important.”

You hated the tension, the uncertainty, and if not for the adrenaline in your veins, you were sure you would have started crying again.

“I’ll come find you after.”

You nodded, and he gave you a short one in return, sending his shadows to stay with your form once again. They twirled around you, as if to make up for their master’s lack of visible excitement, and you tried to let them warm the anxiety overwhelming you.

And then he was winnowing you back to the House of Wind, only allowing the darkness to envelop him again once you were secure behind its wards.

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

You waited for Azriel all night.

The clock ticking on your wall seemed to mock you, and you wondered if he was already in his room hiding from you, or if he had decided to not return to you to talk after all.

You wouldn’t blame him for changing his mind, but the thought still caused your heart to twist in your chest. You had so much to say, so much to just let out into the open, that if he ended up not wanting to talk, you thought it would probably end up weighing you down to your grave.

Sighing, you wrapped a blanket around your bare shoulders to shield your nightgown-clad form from the cold, stepping out onto one of the balconies at the House of Wind. You couldn’t go lay in Azriel’s room, and you weren’t going to be able to rest in your own. So, you sat along the edge of the balcony, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping the blanket tight as could be around you.

Shadows rested on your shoulders and by your hips, silently keeping watch around you. Their presence was calming as you looked over the night sky.

You remembered sitting in this exact spot months before, smiling to yourself as you compared your life in the Hewn City to where you had come here in Velaris. So much had changed then, and even more now.

You missed the ease of being around your friends and around Azriel. And it frustrated you, because you knew you would be happier with him around again, but you didn’t know what was right to do. What was correct?

Your heart ached for him even more now than it did months ago, as if a tether was pulling you to him, begging you to become one as it was always meant to be. And you knew that feeling of completion in your soul would finally come when you two could move forward again, but you didn’t even know what that meant, if it was possible, if he’d want that-

“You’re going to catch your death out here.”

Your head whipped around so quickly at his voice, you were surprised he didn’t laugh.

“Azriel,” you breathed.

“Why don’t we go inside?” He nodded to your bundled up form. He made no move to help you stand, instead keeping his hands shoved into his pockets, body held tight with tension.

You stood in a hurry, clutching the blanket to your shivering form before making your way over to his tall frame and past the open door.

He followed you quietly as you sat down on one of the couches, shutting the door behind you two. He didn’t immediately take a seat, instead watching as you got comfortable (as comfortable as you could be with all of the anxiety coursing through you), before walking around one of the chairs and lowering himself down into it. His elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward, scarred hands clasped together and holding his attention.

He seemed much more unaffected than you. But you both had been affected by what had happened to you for months, and you understood he was probably exhausted, probably done putting energy into this situation, into you.

“I have so much I need to say.” You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out so insecure.

He only looked at you expectantly — not cold nor mean, but open and listening, his hazel eyes nonjudgemental.

“I want to tell you everything,” you started. “From before that night to what happened and how I was feeling after. But please, Azriel, please know I will never forgive myself for the words I spoke to you last week. I am so sorry. So so sorry. I meant none if it.”

Your voice shook with your tears, and you immediately wiped them away before they became too obvious to the spy.

He was silent, and you felt that thing in your chest crack further.

“You are the most honorable and lovable person I have ever known. Any words indicating otherwise were spoken from a place of hurt and anger and are completely untrue. You give your safety up daily to protect others, you have done nothing but try to make life better for those that you can. You have a good heart and a kind soul, and you are a way better person than the world deserves — than I deserve.”

Azriel shook his head at your words. “You deserved more than what happened to you. Than what I did.”

“I think we both made mistakes.”

His silence unnerved you, and you found yourself scrambling. “I understand if you don’t forgive me, if you don’t want to be around me anymore. I can find another place to live in Velaris… or I can go back to the Hewn City-”

“Hewn City?”

“This is your home— has always been your home. I’ve only been here recently. I can go wherever you need me to.”

“I want you to stay here.”

Your eyes met his hazel ones, and you could see a crack in the walls he had built up, the panic and emotion seeping through.

“I don’t know what I’d do if you left.” The words came out like a confession, like he hadn’t actually intended you hear them.

“I don’t want to leave you,” you admitted. “I hate this.”

“I do, too.”

Your fingers gripped the blanket tighter around you, pulling it until it held you with makeshift protection.

“I had never been more afraid than I was that night,” you told him, not able to quite make eye contact while talking about this. “But it was worse because it was you who forgot me, who didn’t think of me.”

He flinched at your words, and you hurried to explain.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long, Azriel. I put expectations onto you that you didn’t even know were there. It was unfair of me to put myself above Elain, to demand your protection and your thoughts as if I was entitled to them.”

“You are entitled to them,” he said forcefully, pulling your eyes up to his own.

You shook your head, giving him a sad smile. “I know you care about me. You’re a loving person. But that doesn’t mean I can punish you for not loving me as much as I wish.”

“Stop, please.” He squeezed his eyes shut as if he was in physical pain.

You waited for him to collect himself, to sort through his thoughts and emotions. His jaw was clenched, his fingers trembling, and you found comfort in the evidence that you weren’t the only one feeling nervous and uncertain.

“I never want to hear you excuse what I did that night again. Do you understand?”

He took a deep breath at your silence before continuing. “You are not someone to be forgotten, to be left behind. I will do everything in my power to convince you of that until I am dust to this planet.”

Your eyes watered with his words, but you let him keep going, getting the words off his chest.

“And you are entitled to my protection and thoughts. You are entitled to every part of me. You are my mate, and I will thank the Cauldron every day for blessing me with you even if you do not return the sentiment nor want to act on it any longer.”

Mate.

He was your mate.

Holy gods.

You thought of the pull you always felt toward the shadowsinger, the comfort you felt in his arms, the soothing scent of his sheets and clothes. You thought of the way he always seemed to know what you needed, how you were hyperaware of his presence and touch, the feeling of incompletion when he was away.

“Azriel…”

“I’m not sure where we go from here. I know that I will beg for you, on my hands and knees, daily for the rest of my life. I know that I will do what I can to help you through any trauma I caused, to earn your trust back. I know that I have fallen in love with you in the past few months, even before that without realizing. But I also know that I have done you wrong, and that I cannot change the past nor the hurt you endured.”

Your lips trembled, and you tried your hardest to keep looking into his hazel eyes, but you could feel it. The bond, the pain centered in both your chest and his own. The love and care he felt traveling into you, lighting that hallow space up and filling it until you felt him.

“Will you forgive me for the terrible things I said?” You asked, matching his own vulnerability. “Will you allow me to convince you of your worth and heart?”

Something sparked in your chest at the words, and his hopeful brown green eyes met your own.

“You’re already forgiven.”

You could barely hold in a sob at his words, and then he was slowly moving toward you. He let you see each of his actions, as if he expected you to shove him away, to have him give you space like you had the last two months.

But as soon as his hands brushed back the hair from your face, cupping your jaw, you were lunging toward him. Your arms encircled his neck, gripping tight tight tight, bringing him as close to your body as you could. His hand cradled the back of your head to his neck, his own nose nuzzling into the side of you.

You could feel his tears wetting your skin, and you knew he could feel your own cries against him, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to think about any more pain right now. Not about what happened months ago, not about what you said last week, not about Azriel’s week-long absence or the Illyrian revolt. All you could think about were his hands holding you.

“I love you,” you spoke into his neck. “I’ve always loved you.”

His fingers gripped you tighter, to the point of near bruising. And then he pulled back.

His lips brushed against your forehead, the soft gesture bringing more tears to your eyes.

“When I felt that fear go across the bond tonight, even through the walls I had put up, I thought I would be coming home to Cassian carrying you into this room bloody again. I thought I would be too late, again.”

But he had come for you. Even after everything you had thrown at him, he had been willing to put himself on the line for you and was still ready for your rejection.

You shook your head at him, your thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “I held my own pretty well actually.”

His eyes gleamed through the haunted look he had, a light of praise shining through, and then they were dropping to look at your lips.

Your skin warmed at the action, your mouth parting instinctually. His thumb brushed your bottom lip in admiration before his eyes moved back up to your own.

“We still have a lot to discuss.” His voice was quiet but rough, and you nearly clenched your thighs together at the sound.

He must have felt your body heat rising, the way you were tempted to squirm into his lap, to lean forward just a bit more, because his pupils dilated and his grip on you tightened ever so slightly.

“We have all the time now, right?” You asked hesitantly, his lips drawing you in as if you were in a trance. “And it’s late. It might be better to talk more once we get some rest.”

“Rest.” He repeated, his tongue testing out the word.

“I’ve been sleeping in your room,” you admitted, flushing with embarrassment. “Maybe we can both stay there tonight.”

“I’ll do anything you want.”

And you could hear the truth in the words, the desperation and vulnerability. If you told him to drop to his knees in front of you, he would do it. He would kiss the ground you walked on and look at you reverently while doing so.

So you led him to stand with you, dropping the blanket from your shoulders to fall back onto the couch, and grasped his hand with your own.

His eyes took in the light fabric hugging your body, and you watched them darken, his lashes fluttering and tongue wetting his lips.

“I want you,” you said.

The words were not necessarily ones of lust, but they were fueled in desire, in love and fire that had been suffocated for months. Letting them fall from your lips felt as cathartic as screaming.

“You have me,” Azriel said in return, his hand cupping your lower back and pulling you against him.

His body lined up with your own, but it wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to feel inside of him, you wanted to pull on that bond until it glowed a blinding gold across your vision. You wanted to feel his skin everywhere, curl your fingers into his hair, and tell him everything you had ever thought about him.

You have me too, you wanted to tell him. So take me.

And as his feet slowly started moving you both back toward his room, your heart skipped in your chest. His answering smile at the feeling had heat rising to your cheeks and an embarrassed giggle erupting.

Take me, you thought again. Make me yours.

He scooped you up into his arms and your mind emptied. No more pain, no more confusion, just you and Azriel and the thrum of love in your chest.

You have me. I’m yours.

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar fic #azriel x you #azriel angst

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