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chroniclesofskz · 2 months ago

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Bodyguard

Y/N Kim picked at the salad on her plate, the vibrant greens a stark contrast to her pale complexion. Her mother, a former model, had insisted she eat something light before the show. The chandeliers in the grand dining room cast shadows on the marble floor, making it seem like a dance of light and darkness. "You'll need your energy," she said, her voice a soft melody that Y/N had heard countless times. The room was a silent testament to their wealth, filled with expensive furniture that whispered of luxury with every movement.

Felix, her new bodyguard, leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes never left Y/N, a constant reminder of the danger lurking outside the pristine walls of their penthouse. His presence was a wall she both resented and craved. She felt a strange thrill knowing that he was there, watching over her, making sure she was safe. But she had never asked for this. The thought of her father's influence, his need to control every aspect of her life, made her blood boil.

"Let's go," he said firmly, his gaze never wavering. Y/N sighed, pushing back her chair with a clatter that echoed through the vast room. She grabbed her phone, her lifeline to the outside world, and followed him out. The photographers' flashes outside were blinding, but she managed a forced smile. The paparazzi's whispers grew into a crescendo as they spotted her, the daughter of the legendary CEO.

The drive to the event was slow, a crawling procession through the glitzy streets of Seoul. Y/N felt Felix's gaze on her, his protective eye a comfort and an annoyance all at once. "Do you have to watch me like that all the time?" she groaned, her voice playful despite the knot in her stomach. He chuckled, his eyes never leaving hers in the rearview mirror. "It's my job, Miss Kim," he replied, his tone light. But she could see the tension in the set of his jaw, the way his hand hovered near his sidearm.

When they finally arrived, the backstage was a whirlwind of activity. Models darted to and fro, their faces a canvas of makeup and their bodies a tapestry of fabric. Y/N felt the weight of her father's legacy, his shadow looming over her as she stepped into the chaos.

Her fitting was first, a delicate dance of fabric and laces that seemed to tighten around her like a corset of expectations. The dress was a masterpiece of white and gold, a creation that whispered of elegance and power. As the dressmakers worked on her, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The reflection stared back, a mask of poise that barely contained the storm raging within.

The stylist spoke in rapid French, her eyes glancing at Felix every so often. "her bodyguard is so…hot," she said, drawing out the word like a caress. The other lady giggled, looking him up and down. "How does she keep her hands to herself?"

Y/N paused, a smirk playing on her lips. She knew they thought she wouldn't understand, but she had picked up enough French from her mother's side of the family to catch their meaning. She turned to face the mirror, allowing herself to take in the full length of the luxurious gown. "I don't," she replied casually, watching the stylists' jaws drop.

Felix couldn't hide his amusement, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. He had understood every word, of course. Y/N met his gaze in the reflection, her eyes gleaming with a teasing light. "Don't let your head grow too big now, Mr. Lee," she purred, her voice a seductive whisper that sent a thrill down his spine. The tension between them thickened like the layers of silk and lace being woven around her body.

The stylists, noticing the shift in the air, turned back to their work with renewed vigor, their giggles replaced by hushed whispers. Y/N felt a strange satisfaction at the power she held in that moment, a power that was entirely her own and not an extension of her father's shadow. She held her chin high, watching as the gown took shape, molding to her figure like a second skin.

As the stylist helped her out of the gown, the room felt warmer, more intimate. She was left in nothing but her lacy underwear, standing on the podium, her curves and angles on full display. She didn't bother to cover herself; she had always been comfortable in her own skin, even when it was the subject of so much scrutiny. As the stylist retreated, she turned to face the mirror again, watching the way the light played across her bare shoulders.

Seductively, she sauntered over to where Felix stood, his eyes dark with unspoken desire. "Her bodyguard is so hot," she mimicked in a French tone, her voice a playful purr. "How does she keep her hands to herself?"

Felix's chest tightened as he took in the sight of her, the curves of her body accentuated by the soft lighting. He had always tried to keep their relationship professional, but the way she moved, the way she spoke, it was as if she had cast a spell over him. He watched as she closed the distance between them, her hips swaying in a hypnotic rhythm that spoke of a confidence she had never shown before.

"Your my bodyguard," she repeated, her smirk deepening as she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to trace the line of his jaw. "And no one else is allowed to have you." The words hung in the air, a challenge and a promise all at once.

Felix couldn't help but let out a low groan at her words. He had never allowed himself to be this close to the line of professionalism before, but there was something about Y/N that made him want to throw caution to the wind. He knew the game she was playing, and she was playing it well. His hand reached up to capture hers, his thumb brushing against her pulse. "Miss Kim," he began, his voice a warning and a plea.

But she was relentless. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she leaned closer, her breath warm against his cheek. "Just admit it," she whispered, her voice a siren's call that made his resolve crumble. "You want me as much as I want you."

Felix's face faltered for a moment, the lines of his mask slipping as he struggled to maintain the boundary of professionalism. His eyes searched hers, looking for a sign that she was joking, that this was all just a game. But the desire he saw in her gaze was as real as the heat emanating from her body. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, the blood rushing to his cock as he imagined peeling away the layers of fabric that separated them.

With a decisive move, he quietly closed the door, the sound echoing through the empty dressing room. He didn't bother with the lock; the urgency was palpable, and he didn't want to risk wasting a second more. With a gentle yet firm swoop, he picked Y/N up, his muscles straining with the effort to hold her delicate frame. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her arms snaking around his neck as she held onto him tightly. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of their arousal mingling with the faint aroma of the luxurious fabrics that surrounded them.

He placed her on the dressing table, the cool marble a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. His eyes never left hers as he positioned himself between her legs, his knees pressing into the softness of her inner thighs. The fabric of his pants was stretched taut, a testament to his desire for her. Her heart raced, the pulse in her neck fluttering like a trapped butterfly beneath his thumb as he traced her collarbone. The room was still, the only sounds the soft rustling of fabric and their ragged breaths.

With trembling hands, Y/N reached up to cup his cheeks, feeling the rough stubble beneath her fingertips. His eyes searched hers, seeking permission, reassurance that this was what she truly wanted. She leaned in, her lips parting slightly, and whispered, "I do." It was all the invitation he needed.

Felix leaned down, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was at once fiery and gentle. It was as if all the months of pent-up longing had been released in a single breath. His hands roamed her body, tracing the curves of her waist, the swell of her breasts, as if memorizing every inch of her. Y/N's own hands were not idle, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his skin.

With a growl of desire, she pushed him back and began to strip him, her eyes devouring the expanse of his muscular chest as he was revealed to her in nothing but his black boxers. His frame was a masterpiece of strength and discipline, a stark contrast to the delicate beauty of her own form. She could feel her core clench with need as she took in the sight of him. Her cunt grew wetter with each passing second, her folds begging for his touch.

Felix chuckled lowly, his eyes gleaming with lust as he watched her struggle to maintain her poise. "Felix, I want you to touch me," she breathed, her voice thick with need.

"Where do you want me to touch you, princess?" he smirked, his tone playful yet edged with the same urgency that pulsed between them.

Y/N's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, but she didn't falter. "I want you to finger fuck me," she said, the words slipping from her lips with surprising ease. The air grew even denser, charged with the electricity of their shared desire.

Felix smirked, his eyes dark with hunger as he stepped closer. "As you wish, princess," he murmured, his voice a seductive purr. His hands slid down her body, his fingers tracing the lacy edge of her panties. The fabric was drenched, and he could feel the heat emanating from her. He hooked his thumbs under the band and pulled them down, revealing her glistening pussy.

Y/N's breath hitched as she felt the cool air kiss her skin. She watched him in the mirror, her chest heaving with desire as he took in the sight of her. His smirk grew as he dipped one finger into her folds, the digit disappearing into her slickness. She moaned, her back arching as he began to pump in and out of her, slow and deliberate. She begged for more, her voice a desperate whisper that filled the room. "Felix, please, I need it," she pleaded, her eyes never leaving his reflection.

He chuckled lowly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "Someone might hear you, kitten," he teased, pressing his thumb against her clit as he slid another finger into her depths. Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open on a silent scream as the pressure grew. She bit her lip, trying to keep the sound in, her nails digging into his forearms.

Felix's grin grew wider as he watched her squirm, his own arousal growing with every desperate whine that she couldn't hold back. He loved the power he had over her, the way she melted under his touch. His fingers moved in a steady rhythm, the sound of her wetness filling the room. "Say it again," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "Say you need it."

Y/N's eyes rolled back, her breaths coming in quick gasps. "I need it," she panted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Felix, make me cum."

Felix chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror as he added a third finger. He pumped in and out, stretching her, preparing her for what was to come. His thumb circled her clit, applying just enough pressure to make her body shiver. "Look at me, baby," he murmured, his voice a sweet caress in the tension-filled air. "Show me how much you want it."

Y/N's eyes snapped open, meeting his in the reflection. The desperation in her gaze made his cock throb with need. He watched as she licked her lips, her voice a breathless whisper. "I want you to fuck me, Felix. I want your huge cock slipping through my tight folds, using my cunt like a toy, filling me up and fucking me until I scream."

Her words were like a spell, and with a feral growl, he couldn't resist anymore. He dropped his boxers, his erection springing free, long and thick. Y/N's eyes widened with a mix of excitement and trepidation as she took in the size of him. Without a second thought, he slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one swift, powerful stroke.

The sound of their bodies colliding echoed in the dressing room, a symphony of passion and need. Y/N's legs tightened around his waist, her nails digging into his back as she tried to hold on, her eyes watering with the suddenness of it all. He didn't pause, didn't give her a chance to adjust. He began to move, his hips pistoning in and out of her with a rhythm that was almost punishing. She could feel every inch of him, stretching her, filling her until she thought she'd burst.

With each thrust, she felt herself slipping closer to the edge, her orgasm building like a crescendo. Her moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet symphony of her pleasure. Felix's grip on her hips tightened, his movements becoming more urgent as he drove into her. The sight of her in the mirror, her head thrown back, her breasts bouncing with each impact, was almost too much for him to bear. He could feel his own climax approaching, the heat coiling in his balls, begging for release.

But the outside world was not so easily forgotten. Through the thin walls of the dressing room, the muffled sounds of the bustling backstage grew clearer with each of her cries. The designers' hushed conversations grew quieter, the rustle of fabric and the clink of jewelry giving way to the unmistakable rhythm of passion. The realization that they were not as private as they had thought sent a thrill through Y/N, and she moaned even louder, the sound echoing through the corridor.

Felix's eyes grew wide with panic, but Y/N's own desire was too intense to be deterred. She wrapped her legs around him even tighter, pulling him deeper as she met his every thrust. "Don't stop," she panted, her voice hoarse. "I don't care if they hear."

Their movements grew more frantic, their bodies a blur in the mirror as they approached the brink of their climax. Y/N could feel her orgasm building, the tension in her belly coiling tighter and tighter. And then, with a final, desperate push, it broke, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body. She screamed his name, the sound muffled by his mouth as he claimed her in a kiss that was as possessive as it was passionate.

Felix felt the heat of her release, her muscles clenching around him as he pumped into her, her juices mixing with his own building need. He couldn't hold back anymore; with a primal growl, he released his cum deep inside her, his cock pulsing with each spurt of hot seed. They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies joined, both of them trembling with the aftershocks of their shared pleasure.

But reality came crashing back in the form of a sudden realization. "Fuck," he gasped, pulling out of her with a wet sound. He had lost control, forgotten the most basic of precautions in the heat of the moment. Panic etched lines into his face as he stared down at her, his mind racing with the potential consequences of his actions. "Did… Did I hurt you?"

Y/N's eyes widened, understanding dawning as she felt the warmth of his seed inside her. But instead of fear, she felt a strange sense of peace. "It's okay," she murmured, her voice soothing as she reached out to stroke his cheek. "I'm on the pill. We're safe."

Felix's shoulders slumped with relief, his eyes searching hers for any sign of anger or regret. Instead, he found only acceptance and desire. He leaned into her touch, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm before helping her down from the dressing table. "We should get you dressed," he said, his voice still thick with lust. "The show starts soon."

Y/N nodded, her legs wobbly as she stepped back into her underwear. The fabric felt foreign against her sensitive skin, a stark reminder of the intimacy they had just shared. "I don't regret this," she said softly, turning to face him. "In fact, I've never felt more alive."

Felix's expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he pulled her into his arms. He kissed her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips, the same fiery passion from moments before now tempered with something deeper, something that made her heart swell. "Me too," he murmured against her mouth, his thumbs brushing gentle circles on her back.

The end

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lulujeno · 8 months ago

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sk8er boi — park jisung ᡣ𐭩

summary : he was a punk, she did ballet. what more can i say?

warnings : none...? just y/n looking down on herself a lot </3

wc : 3.2k

a/n : reader uses she/her pronouns!! skater!jisung & older brother!chenle ^^ kind of enemies to lovers...? crush culture pt. 2 SOON, enjoy this for now pls <3

Neo Academy was a world of polished marble floors and perfectly pressed uniforms, where every student moved with precision, like chess pieces in a grand game. The academy prided itself on excellence, and the students knew they were part of that polished image. The neatly ironed white shirts, forest green blazers, and plaid skirts or trousers were more than just uniforms; they were symbols of control, a constant reminder of the high standards expected of them. Everything had to be immaculate, pristine. Perfection wasn't just encouraged, it was demanded.

This was your life. You had mastered the art of composure, keeping your head down and excelling in everything you touched. Academic success came naturally to you, but ballet was your refuge. The dance studio was the only place where you could truly express yourself without the weight of expectations, where you could shine as an individual, not as someone's sister. On stage, you were known for your grace, gliding as though you were weightless, every movement precise and deliberate. Yet outside of those studio walls, you were often overshadowed by your brother; Chenle, the basketball captain and student council president, beloved by everyone.

Chenle was the golden boy, effortlessly charming with a smile that could light up a room and a natural confidence that drew people to him. You, on the other hand, preferred the quiet precision of ballet, a world far removed from the chaotic cheers of the basketball court. You were reserved, focused, content with being in the background while Chenle basked in the spotlight.

Then there was Jisung. He was the anomaly, the skater boy who seemed to break all of Neo Academy’s rigid rules just by existing. He never looked like he belonged in this polished world of straight lines and structured schedules. His uniform was always wrinkled, his tie forever loose, and his hair tousled as though he had just rolled out of bed. His skateboard was a permanent fixture, hanging off his backpack or tucked under his arm, and more often than not, he'd skate through the marble hallways with little regard for the disapproving glares of teachers. If Neo Academy was a meticulously ticking clock, Jisung was the hand that moved out of sync, wild and unpredictable.

Despite how much you tried to ignore him, Jisung was impossible to avoid. He was always around, especially since he was close friends with your brother. Wherever Chenle went, Jisung followed: at the lunch table, at basketball practice, and loitering in the hallways between classes. He had a habit of slouching with his hands in his pockets, flashing that lazy, confident grin that always seemed to irritate you. He didn’t follow the rules, and worse, he didn’t seem to care. You couldn’t understand him. How could someone so messy and carefree survive in a place like this?

Your friends didn’t share your disdain for Jisung. To them, he was refreshingly different from the other boys at school, someone who wasn’t afraid to stand out. But to you, Jisung was a nuisance, someone who disrupted the perfect world you had carefully constructed. As much as you wanted to pretend he didn’t exist, he was an enigma you couldn’t quite shake. He was everything you weren’t: spontaneous, carefree, and utterly unconcerned with rules.

The day was winding down, and the sun was beginning to set. You had finished your classes earlier but decided to stay back, hoping to find some quiet time in the dance studio to practice without distractions. It was a space usually occupied by various dance clubs during the day, but in the evening, it was often deserted — perfect for the solitude you craved. You walked through the empty halls, your pleated skirt swishing lightly with each step, ballet shoes in hand. The school’s bustling energy had faded, leaving behind a tranquil silence.

The dance studio was your sanctuary, where you could shed the role of Chenle’s sister and the burden of perfection. As you entered the room, the familiar scent of polished wood and resin greeted you. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting a golden glow on the mirrors that lined the walls. You set down your bag, exchanging your uniform for the leotard hidden beneath, and tied your hair into a tight bun. Your reflection in the mirror was calm, determined, ready to lose yourself in the rhythm of the music.

The first soft notes of a piano filled the room as you began your warm-up. The movements came easily, your body remembering every pirouette, every plié as though you were born to dance. In the studio, you were in control. Here, nothing could distract you from the elegance of the routine you had perfected.

Or so you thought.

The sound of wheels rolling over tile echoed through the hallway outside, breaking the quiet peace of the studio. You frowned, your brow furrowing in irritation. It didn’t take much to guess who it was. The door creaked open, and without needing to turn, you already knew who stood in the doorway.

Jisung.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, his skateboard under one arm, his blazer slung over his shoulder. His shirt was untucked on one side, his tie hanging loosely in that signature careless way of his. “What, no applause?” he smirked, sauntering into the room with an air of nonchalance, as if he owned the place.

You sighed, your exasperation barely contained. “Can’t you find somewhere else to skate?” you asked, your voice sharp with annoyance.

Jisung grinned, kicking his skateboard forward so it rolled across the wooden floor before coming to a stop near the ballet barre. “Why would I? This place has the best view,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You shot him a glare, folding your arms over your chest. “This is where I practice. Alone.”

“Alone’s boring,” Jisung shrugged, moving to sit on the floor, leaning back against the wall as if he had every right to be there. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

You knew better than to believe him, but arguing was pointless. You turned back to the mirror, determined to ignore his presence, even though you could feel his gaze lingering on you. As you began your routine again, the elegant movements came less easily. His presence was like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

You tried to focus, but it was impossible to block him out completely. Each leap, each spin felt heavier under the weight of his eyes, and soon enough, your rhythm faltered. A misstep during a pirouette sent you stumbling, your frustration boiling over as you heard Jisung’s barely stifled laugh.

“You’re distracting me,” you snapped, shooting him a withering look.

“Maybe you just need to lighten up,” Jisung replied, his tone teasing but not unkind.

You clenched your jaw, turning back to the mirror with renewed determination. But no matter how hard you tried, the tension wouldn’t leave your body. Every movement felt stiff, and the control you usually held so effortlessly was slipping away. Finally, you stopped, admitting defeat. It was pointless to continue with him there, his presence an unshakable distraction.

Since that night, he’s been a fixture at your late practices, an unexpected yet oddly consistent presence. You’ve gotten used to him lingering in the dim studio as you rehearse. But tonight, everything seemed to be testing your patience — even Jisung.

After multiple failed attempts at the same turn, you finally let out a frustrated sigh and dropped to the floor, stretching your legs out in front of you. You leaned back on your hands, staring at the ceiling as your chest heaved from the effort of hours of practice.

Jisung was still leaning against the barre, watching you with an expression that somehow only deepened your irritation. He pushed off, sauntering over with a lazy grin before plopping down beside you. “That rough, huh?”

You shot him a look, though there was little actual venom behind it. “Why do you keep coming here?”

He shrugged, tilting his head as his gaze shifted toward the mirrored ceiling. “I dunno. It’s kinda fun watching you try so hard.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Try so hard?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You’re always so serious, like you’re chasing some kind of impossible perfection.”

You scoffed, though his words hit closer to home than you’d admit. “Maybe that’s because I have to be.”

Jisung was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the ceiling. “You know, you don’t always have to be perfect. It’s okay to mess up sometimes.”

You shook your head, your voice quieter. “Not if your older brother is the Zhong Chenle.” You let out a hollow chuckle.

He turned to you, his usual playfulness replaced with something more serious. “Why not?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the unspoken truth heavy on your lips. But somehow, with Jisung beside you, the boy who seemed to defy every rule you’d built your life around, it felt easier to say. “Because if I’m not perfect… then what am I?”

Jisung didn’t respond right away, his gaze thoughtful. Then he leaned back on his hands, his voice soft but unwavering. “That’s not true.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the unexpected gentleness in his tone.

“You’re more than just a dancer or Chenle’s sister,” he continued, a sincerity in his eyes that made your heart race. “You’re a whole person, y/n. It’s okay to be a little messy, to make mistakes. It doesn’t change who you are.”

His words slipped through the walls you’d spent years fortifying, the weight of your carefully curated life suddenly feeling suffocating. For the first time, you wondered what it would feel like to let go, just a little.

With a wry smile, you raised an eyebrow. “What would you know about being perfect? You strut around like you own the place, and half the time, you can’t even wear your uniform properly.”

Jisung chuckled, the sound light and unguarded. "Exactly! Life’s too short to worry about following every rule. Sometimes you just gotta do what feels right.”

You studied him, intrigued by the ease with which he moved through life, so unburdened by expectations. It was like he existed outside of the pressure that seemed to govern every aspect of your own life. There was something strangely appealing, almost liberating, about his attitude.

“Maybe you should come skate with me sometime,” he said, tilting his head in a way that felt like an invitation to his world.

“Skate?” You echoed, the incredulity evident in your voice. "Chenle’s the athletic one. I’ve never even tried skating.”

He grinned, his excitement infectious. “Then it’s about time! I’ll lend you my helmet and sweats, if that’s what it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at your lips. “How generous of you.”

“Seriously,” he insisted, leaning closer as if to emphasize his point. “Just one time. You might actually enjoy yourself. Skating’s all about balance, just like ballet. And I’d love to see Ms. Perfect let loose.”

Your heart skipped, caught between amusement and curiosity. The thought of stepping out of your rigid world, even for just a moment, sent a thrill through you. “I don’t know…”

“Come on, y/n!” he urged, his voice earnest. “Give it a chance. Who knows, you might surprise yourself.”

You took a deep breath, the possibility of freedom, even fleeting, enticing. With a slight nod, you found yourself agreeing. “Fine. But not today. Maybe next time. And don’t let me fall.”

Jisung’s face lit up with a grin, his energy radiating encouragement. “Deal! And don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Days melted into weeks, and your late-night dance practices transformed into a shared ritual. Every evening, Jisung would wander in, his footsteps echoing in the empty studio. His laughter would fill the space as he leaned casually against the barre, teasing you about your relentless quest for perfection. But his presence grounded you in a way you hadn’t expected. His playful comments, his occasional encouraging words, They chipped away at the tension that had been your constant companion.

Tonight, you were so absorbed in practice that you didn’t notice Jisung until his exaggerated yawn broke your focus. “y/n, if you keep this up, you’re going to turn into some ballet statue,” he teased, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

You shot him a mock glare, though you couldn’t entirely suppress a smile. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want, to be a perfect statue.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Statues don’t get to live. Come on, let’s go skate. I promise, just this once, you won’t regret it.”

You hesitated, glancing around the familiar studio. This space, with its mirrors and soft lighting, felt safe. Leaving it felt like stepping into the unknown. But the idea of an adventure beyond the careful precision of ballet was intriguing. After a moment of internal debate, you nodded, dusting off your leotard. “Alright... let’s do it.”

Jisung’s face lit up with excitement, and he handed you his sweatshirt and sweatpants. The oversized hoodie hung loose around you, and Jisung couldn’t resist teasing you, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks. Seeing you in his clothes seemed to stir something in him, a quiet connection that neither of you dared to name.

The two of you stepped into the warm evening air, the school grounds washed in hues of orange and pink as the sun dipped low. Jisung led you to a nearby park, where skate ramps rose and fell in smooth arcs, casting long shadows in the evening light.

“Alright,” he said, digging a helmet out of his bag and tossing it to you. “First rule of skating: safety first.”

You caught it, eyeing it with a mixture of amusement and skepticism. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” he said, flashing a mock-serious look. “Wouldn’t want anything happening to that pretty head of yours.”

Rolling your eyes but smiling, you fastened the helmet. “Fine. Now what?”

“Now, you stand on it,” he instructed, placing his own board beside yours and demonstrating with an easy balance. “Just relax. It’s not as scary as it looks.”

You took a deep breath and cautiously stepped onto the board. It wobbled beneath you, nothing like the stable, polished studio floor. “Whoa!”

In an instant, Jisung was by your side, his hand steadying your waist. His laughter rang out, his eyes full of warmth. “See? Not so bad.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but his gentle encouragement washed away your nerves. “Easy for you to say.”

With a grin, he nudged you forward. “Just try gliding a bit. I’m right here.”

Your heart raced as you pushed off, the board gliding forward. The rush of wind caught in your hair, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you felt exhilarated. Jisung kept pace beside you, his cheers filling the air.

“That’s it! You’ve got this!” he shouted, his excitement infectious.

You found a rhythm, shifting your weight, and began to grasp the delicate balance it required. This thrill was nothing like the graceful control of ballet, it was freedom, raw and untamed.

“Now try turning!” Jisung called, demonstrating a smooth arc with ease. “Just lean, like this.”

Emboldened, you attempted to mimic him, shifting your weight to one side. But the board wobbled violently, throwing you off balance. In an instant, Jisung’s arms caught you, steadying you just before you hit the ground.

For a moment, you both froze, and then laughter erupted from both of you, filling the quiet park. You were clinging to him, and he was holding you up, his face just inches from yours.

“Thanks for the save, skater boy,” you said, breathless.

Jisung grinned, ruffling your hair. “Told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”

As the night deepened, the two of you took turns gliding along the path, Jisung’s hand guiding you each time you wobbled. Your laughter echoed under the stars, mingling with the soft sounds of the evening, and for the first time, you felt like you’d let go of the weight you carried.

Eventually, you both collapsed onto the grass under an old oak tree, the night air cool against your skin. Breathless, you glanced over at Jisung, his chest rising and falling as he lay sprawled out beside you, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” you admitted, a grin creeping across your face. “That was... actually fun.”

He turned to you, triumphant. “See? I told you. You should let loose more often.”

You laughed, feeling something warm inside, a feeling that had nothing to do with skating. “Maybe you’re right. It’s just... sometimes it’s hard.”

His expression softened, and he propped himself up, looking at you with a sincerity that took you by surprise. “It’s okay not to have everything figured out. You don’t always have to be the perfect dancer or Chenle’s perfect little sister. You’re allowed to just... be.”

His words struck a chord deep within you. For weeks, you’d built something with him that you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. Beneath the tree, it felt like the walls around you were beginning to fall, bit by bit.

“Thank you, Jisung,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t expect him to understand the weight of those words, but they felt truer than anything you’d said in a long time.

You turned to face him, cheeks heating when you caught him looking at you with a grin. A comfortable silence fell between you, the world around you quiet, still. Slowly, he began to lean in, and you closed your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest.

When his lips met yours, it wasn’t fireworks or butterflies. It was something softer, more comforting, a feeling you wished would last forever. His touch was gentle, grounding, and you felt safe in a way you hadn’t before.

Pulling back, Jisung chuckled softly, his playful grin returning. “After that, I definitely expect a front-row seat at your next ballet recital.”

You froze, momentarily overwhelmed. You’d never invited anyone to your recitals; your parents were always away, and Chenle had his own responsibilities. The idea of someone wanting to be there for you, just for you, was both thrilling and terrifying.

“I’ll... think about it,” you replied with a shaky laugh. But a part of you knew that Jisung had become that someone, someone who saw beyond the perfect façade.

And yet, a quiet fear lingered. He was Chenle’s best friend, the carefree guy who never followed rules, while you were the perfect poster child. Your worlds were never meant to collide. Whatever was happening in these stolen nights wasn’t supposed to be anything more than friendship.

As you looked up at the star-strewn sky, a quiet ache settled in your chest. You didn’t know what would come next, and that uncertainty scared you. It was rare for you not to have a plan, and yet, with Jisung beside you, maybe you didn’t need one. A new world was unfolding, one where you could be the dancer but also explore a life beyond the stage. And as you glanced at Jisung, you wondered whether this was the beginning of something new — or the last taste of freedom you’d allow yourself to have.

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moonlightazriel · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 3: Adjusting /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N recieves a invitation she just can't say no to.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Angst and fighting.

Notes: I've been writing this fic nonstop, help.

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

Claws dug in the skin of her thighs, so deep that blood soaked the dark riding leathers, broken sobs left her lips and the tears burned her eyes. Breath in and breathe out. She tried to force herself into this routine, but each breath of air that invaded her lungs felt like glass shards cutting her insides.

Her guts twisted, forcing nothing to come out, as the content of her stomach had already been discharged in the toilet, a few inches away from where she kneeled to the floor. She kept weeping, alone, on the cold tiles. Mourning for all that was taken from her once again.

Alone, that’s what she truly was. Did the Mother deemed her so unworthy that once again she found herself lonely and numb inside? She was finally getting her shit back together, finally starting to see the world in a better light, and for what? To be left alone in an unknown place, to never come back to the life she was building.

Each sob was more desperate than the other, more hysterical, louder. She felt pathetic, she wasn’t raised to be like that, but her foolish heart insisted on feeling too much again, letting those emotions consume her would be her downfall. Her whole body shakes with her sorrow, making it hard to stand again.

She forced herself up, hands gripping hard against the wall, each step towards the bathroom were hard to make, but she forced herself, gritting her teeth and mentally screaming at herself, begging for her to be stronger, stop with this damn show. She just didn’t feel pathetic, she was pathetic. What would the witches say if they saw her right now?

She stopped by the bathroom door, taking some deep breaths, trying to control the constant river of tears that made her vision blurry. In a harsh motion, she wiped her tears, clearing her eyes to see the mess she had made.

Glass scattered around the room, from the broken mirror on the left side of the wall. The blankets were messy, ripped in different places and broken pieces of both decoration and furniture littered the floors. From the anger outburst she had after she was left alone.

She wasted all her anger and now all that was left was the emptiness, that numbing void that threatened to consume her whole. The same void she was stuck into for months after the war, after she lost her family.

She would apologise for the damages later, but for now all she could do was drag herself to the bed, falling there with her eyes closed. Silent tears kept falling down the sides of her face, she just lay there, waiting for the sleep that would wrap her in its safe confinement.

But everything felt wrong, the sheets felt wrong, the walls felt wrong, the only thing that indeed felt right in that moment, was the faint smell of night-chilled mist and cedar that consumed her senses and pulled her into a dreamless sleep.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Sunlight peeked through the window, forcing her to wake up. She blinked a couple of times, using her palm to shield the light and give her time to adjust. She jumped in bed, grabbing the discarded sword at her side.

Swinging it around, she looked in confusion at the pristine state the room was, the same way it was when she first went there. It was like last night was some sort of twisted dream, if not for the pounding headache, she wouldn’t even remember what had happened there.

By the side of the bed she found a bottle, a potion as she read the information across the bottle. She downed everything quickly, feeling the instant relief the potion brought, just like Yrene’s one did to her, the healer would constantly send medications and potions to the Witch Kingdom and other territories as the agreement demanded.

The Great Agreement was a peace treaty signed by all the rulers in Erilea and other continents, to provide aid however they could. To rebuild a new world together, not letting our problems separate us anymore. The idea was brilliant but having to help deliver all those things to different parts of the world was sometimes very boring.

Her alliance was scheduled to get more medications from Torre Cesme next month, delivered in Adarlan and some in Perranth. She wondered if they would have someone taking her place now, if she was as easily replaced as a missing piece of paper.

Brushing that thought aside, she walked to the bathroom, a bath was waiting for her, a new toothbrush and some other personal things were also there. She brushed her teeth, then splayed some cold water on her face to wake herself up.

She removed her clothes, sinking in the warm water, letting her head submerge until she couldn’t breathe anymore. As she raised her head, her clothes were gone. Maybe they had the Little Folk here as well. Mother knows how much she loved the tiny creatures whenever she had to stay in the woods, always bringing her flowers and little statues. They were so kind to her, maybe they were here too.

She wrapped herself in a towel, stalking towards the big wardrobe in the corner of the room. It was filled to the brim with clothes in various dark shades.She chose a pair of dark red underwear, ignoring the marks on her back in the mirror. Some scars littered her body, but the ones on her back were the worst ones, worse than the one on her face.

She found a pair of dark pants, the fabric glued to her frame, easy to move in it. She adjusted her boots over the pants, opting for a short sleeved grey shirt and a black corset tied in her back, making her breasts spill from the cleavage the shirt had. She looked good, she finished by strapping her sword and cloak behind her back and brushing her hair.

She took a deep breath, looking at herself once more in the mirror before she left the room, her stomach growling loudly, but she wanted to find Meraxes before anything else. So she opened the door, ready to find her wyvern.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Azriel felt her before he saw her, his shadows running away from their leash to welcome the female at the dining room. She looked down, her eyes glued to the shadows dancing around her feet, like they were happy to see her. With a finger pointed to them, she watched as a bold strand of mist circled her finger and danced around it, she smiled at them, making Azriel’ blush.

Cassian and Nesta were there watching the exchange with curiosity. Elain had just arrived too, and by the looks on her face as she eyed the new guest up and down, he could tell she wasn’t happy. Despite Rhysand’s warning, they still wanted to try, see if the Mother really made a mistake in mating her to Lucien, but something never felt right for him, and even more now as Cassian urged Y/N to join them. The female’s blue eyes scanned the room, and she tried to smile at them, waving her hand slowly.

“Come have breakfast with us.” Cassian said, Rhys had begged them to be friendly with her, to not cause any more trouble, as they didn’t know what her and her pet were able to do.

“Thank you, but I need to check on Meraxes.” She really needed to see him, he tended to be very moody if he didn’t eat early in the morning.

“He is actually sleeping on the biggest balcony we have.” She looked at him surprised. Deciding to join them, after all he wasn’t the only one that got angry when hungry. “These are Nesta.” He pointed to the female by his side, she was wearing black leather clothes, eyes filled with power. “And Elain.” He pointed to the petit female sitting by Azriel’s side, she had scooted her chair closer to him, a hand wrapped around his biceps in a protective manner.

“Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N.” A plate filled with muffins, bacon, eggs, pancakes and a cup of coffee appeared in front of her. The smell was delicious, so she started to eat.

“Cassian told me you cut Rhysand open on your first day here, I've been wanting to do that for months now. Nice move.” The female, Nesta, started. A smug carving her pretty face.

“I’m glad to help.” She joked, sipping on her coffee. “Just making sure there’s no valgs around.” She pointed, something still felt weird about him, being so similar to Maeve, after all she chose to look like him.

“It’s the fourth time since you’re here that you mention those valg things.” Azriel started, his gaze fixed on hers, watching as the corner of her lips turned downwards in pure distaste.

“Demons from another world that infested my land and destroyed everything.” The table fell silent. “They had lots of forms, and they were very powerful. Some say that witches come from breeding valgs and faes, that the Ironteeth took after the Valgs while the Crochans took after the faes.”

“So you’re a witch? Looks like it.” The other female snickered, receiving a disapproval glare from both her sister and her mate. Azriel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She caught it, her nostrils flaring at his behaviour.

“Elain..” Nesta reprimanded her but the female giggled without any humour.

“Yes, I’m a witch.” That frown turned into a cruel smirk as she turned to Elain, neither of them wanted to be on the receiving end of that glare. “And I killed for less than this silly offence.”

“Of course Elain didn’t mean it that way.” Azriel started, giving her a stern look as she tried to protest. What the fuck was wrong with her? “So what are your plans for the day?” He inquired, wanting desperately to change topics.

“First, check on him.” She pointed to the ceiling. “And then i don’t know, find a way to get the fuck out of here maybe.” She shrugged.

“Would you be interested in participating in some Valkyrie training?” Nesta spoke, by her instance, the weapon behind her back and the scars, she knew she was in the presence of a formidable warrior, and she wanted to see what she could do.

“And what would this be?” Nesta started to talk about the Valkyries and their work, how they had won the blood rite and the growing number of female warriors, this seemed like a great idea, which made her accept.

“Great, we see your wyvern and then we go?” Y/N nodded. Perfect.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The animal opened its eyes, slowly moving his head until he spotted a very excited Nesta behind his rider. Y/N rolled her eyes and lowered her hand.

“She’s a friend.” It felt weird saying this about this stranger, but it was the best way to convince him that she was safe. “And here’s breakfast.” She said, throwing the dead sheep Cassian had handed her before she made her way towards the balcony. Meraxes immediately caught it, its teeth crushing the animal as his tail wiggled.

“He’s beautiful.” Nesta spoke, mesmerised by the animal.

“He’s a giant puppy, that’s what he is.” Y/N laughed as he pouted at her. “Alright, alright.” She turned to Nesta. “Not a puppy, he’s a very scary big deadly wyvern. Happy now?” Nesta could swear that she saw him nodding his head like he could understand her.

“How did you get him?” Nesta asked while Y/N inspected him for any injuries.

“They were made for us, we just had to be chosen. We bonded and I've been his rider since then. We’ve been through a lot together, I don't know what I would do without him.” She rested her head against his nose and he closed his eyes as their hearts beat in synchrony.

“I can see the love you two share.” Y/N smiled at Nesta. “Does he understand you?” She let her curiosity take the best of her.

“He does, despite pretending he doesn’t.” She laughed. “Should we get going?” Nesta nodded.

“Just a few steps down.” She followed the female silently, still feeling weird about the whole ordeal, but Nesta seemed like a very nice female, someone Asterin would love to meet.

“These are the Valkyries.” Nesta announced as they entered a training area. Various females stood there, all of them wearing the same clothes but so different from one another. It reminded her of the witches back home. “Valkyries, this is Y/N, she will be joining today’s training.”

The females greeted her with animation, happy to learn more fighting techniques. She scanned her crowd, a female with very bright blue eyes and freckles looked the happiest, by her side a tanned female with wings, just like Cassian and Azriel, studied her with a reserved smile on her lips.

“Hello, ladies. I come from a lineage of strong warriors, females born to fight.” The females stood in silence, paying attention to her. “We are the Ironteeth witches.” She clicked her jaw, her metallic smile shining in the sun alongside her claws, the females gasped. “For centuries my people fought, every newborn witchling knew how to hold a sword before she could even walk.”

She pulled the long sword from her back, the dark grey blade swallowing the light as it was pulled out of its shelter. A amethyst was placed in the middle of the handle, and adorning the middle of the blade, shining with power. The black handle was cold to the touch and she felt the weight of the sword.

“This is the Godslayer.” She lowered the weapon, placing the blade in front of her with respect. The females tried to look at the intricate pattern on the blade. It was as beautiful as Ataraxia. “The blade that help defeat the Valgs, a parasite type of demon that infested our home.” She turned her head to the side, showing her scar. “The blade many tried to kill me to have.”

The scar itched, she remembered the yellowlegs jumping on her wyvern, claiming that she would take the Godslayer away from such an unworthy bearer. It was that bitch who sliced her face open with her claws, and it was also that bitch that laid unmoving with her abdomen open on the battlefield.

“So I know a thing or two about fighting.” She concluded with a smile and the females smiled back at her. Azriel and Cassian stayed behind her, her story peeking their interest. Azriel caught himself wanting to know more about her, hear her stories about her land and her scars.

He had come to training after a quick argument with Elain, she had claimed that he was very quick to defend the stranger and that she said nothing that no one else was already thinking. He left her after stating that he was just being nice to her and there was no need for her rude remark. Elain had turned her back to him and he was more than happy to leave her alone.

“Who wants to go against her?” Nesta said, a couple of hands were lifted in the air, but Azriel stepped forward, ignoring them and clearing his throat.

“I’ll go.” She turned to him, her sword back in place. “Choose your weapons.” He offered, hand pointing to the weapon shelf behind her, she shook her head. Removing her cloak and her sword, clicking her jaw until her teeth disappeared. She lifted her hands. “Just your nails? Be careful not to break them.” He warned, unsheathing truth teller.

The females made a circle around them, Y/N watched as the Shadowsinger prepared himself, wings clutched against his back and his dagger at eye level. She had impaled lots of enemies with those nails, a dagger wouldn’t stop her. With an iron nail, she curled her finger, urging him forward.

Azriel felt his skin tight, her smell completely intoxicating. He lunged forward, his dagger clashing against iron, sparks of fire surging as the two slid together. He gasped in surprise as the nails kept intact, no matter how sharp the truth teller was.

She kicked his legs, making him falter. He let his body fall backwards when a sharp nail got really close to his face. He punched her in the abdomen, making her trip a few steps back away from him, giving him the upper hand. They circled each other, like in a silent dance with a song only they could hear.

She punched his face, blood pouring out of his busted lip, while her nose, that he had landed a punch moments earlier leaked a blue substance, by the scent, it was blood. The females watched intrigued at the colour, never seeing something like this before. They all watched in silence, learning her moves, how easily she moved, how she dodged his blows and how she attacked. A formidable warrior indeed, Nesta once again was right.

She ran for him, jumping on him. Azriel quickly ducked down, away from her reach, just like she knew he would. She landed with her back turned to him, quickly spinning in the same spot, like a very skilled dancer. Azriel got up, but didn’t turn quick enough. He felt the cold edge of her nails scraping against his throat, her legs wrapped around his waist. Heat emanated from her.

“And that’s how you die.” She whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. She clicked her jaw, the sound of her iron teeth, the superior half hitting the bottom half as she bit the air really close to his earlobe.

Azriel felt his blood run wildly in his veins, warming his heart and making it hard to think with her pressed like that against him. She quickly let him go, circling him and bowing a bit.

“Thank you for the fight.” She turned to the females. “Anyone else would like to go?” This time, more hands raised in the air, she smiled at them, and Azriel found himself lost in that beautiful smile.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @fieldofdaisiies @blackgirlmagicforever @a-frog-with-a-laptop @going-through-shit @asweetblueberry2

@roses-r-red54330 @mis-lil-red @sheblogs @hibye02 @impossibelle

@glitterypirateduck @zeroangelo13 @sekiro1310 @nelapeach14 @annamariereads16

@just-here-reading @celestialend @donttellthecats @scatteredstardustt @snoopyspace

@asterinblacksword @tsumudoll @georginat12 @skyjasper @anuttellaa

@willowpains @quinzzelx @amysangel @fightmedraco @puttyly

#acotar #sarahjmaas #azriel shadowsinger #moonlightazriel #shadowsinger #azriel #azriel x reader #velaris #azriel x y/n #night court #worlds apart fic #azriel x oc #azriel acotar

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triangularitydubs · 3 months ago

Text

Part 7

⚠️Warning⚠️

This part mentions:

Mental illnesses

Blood

The world came back into focus.

Pomni's jaw throbbed, a dull, insistent ache that spread across her face.

Her tongue, thick and clumsy, explored the jagged edges within her mouth, the gaps where teeth used to be.

The taste of copper and antiseptic clung to the back of her throat.

She was lying on a soft, padded surface, the familiar sterile scent of the hospital filling her senses.

NovoCaine stood beside her, a tray of gleaming instruments resting on a nearby table.

He straightened, a small, almost apologetic smile gracing his lips.

"Ah, Pomni, you're awake. I was just finishing up."

He picked up a clean cloth and gently dabbed at the corner of her mouth. "There you are. All done."

Pomni stared at him, her eyes wide with fear. She tried to sit up, but her body felt heavy, unresponsive.

"Rest, Pomni, rest. You need to recover." NovoCaine gently pushed her back down. "I know this must be confusing, but it's all for your own good."

He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, his voice soft and soothing. "This is a Digital Mental Health Facility, Pomni. It's a place of healing, a sanctuary for those who need it most." He gestured around the pristine room. "We're here to help you get better. To help you understand what's happening to you."

NovoCaine leaned closer, his expression earnest. "But that's not all. You also seem to be suffering from… severe delusions. Possibly even schizophrenia. Hallucinations, paranoia, distorted perception of reality. These are serious conditions, Pomni, but treatable. We can help you manage them, regain control of your mind."

Pomni flinched. "No! You're lying! I'm not crazy!"

"Jax! And Ragatha! And Gangle! What did you truly do to them?" Her voice trembled, raw with desperation.

"He told me they were dead! And you... you showed me their empty rooms. You said..."

NovoCaine sighed, a weary sound. "Pomni, I understand that you're confused and frightened. Jax, Ragatha, Gangle… they are gone. The ones you see are constructs of your own mind. They are symptoms of your illness."

He reached out and gently touched her hand. "We're here to help you differentiate between what's real and what's not. To help you find peace and stability."

Pomni yanked her hand away, recoiling from his touch. "Peace? Stability? You drugged me! You pulled out my teeth! Are you going to tell me that's for my own good too? Tell me, are there any more patients you 'helped'?"

NovoCaine’s expression clouded over, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features.

He exhaled slowly, regaining his composure.

"There have been others, yes. Kinger, for instance. A brilliant mind ravaged by dementia. He lived in a constant state of confusion and paranoia."

"Zooble… her identity was fractured, a kaleidoscope of conflicting personalities. The internal struggle drove her to the brink of madness."

He paused, his voice heavy. "And then there was Kaufmo… an unfortunate case of sleep paralysis so severe it consumed his waking hours, blurring the line between dreams and reality. He was constantly tormented."

He looked directly at Pomni, his eyes filled with a strange mix of sadness and resolve.

"They all died here, Pomni. But not by my hand. I fought for them, tried everything I could. But ultimately, they succumbed to their illnesses. The darkness within them consumed them."

Pomni stared at him, her body trembling. The empty rooms, the broken mask, the missing teeth… it all felt so real, so terrifying.

"You… you're a monster," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. She huddled back against the pillows, desperately trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and NovoCaine.

Every shadow seemed to lengthen, every sound amplified, as Pomni's fear began to consume her

#Hyperdontia Pomni #the amazing digital circus #tadc au #tadc #the amazing digital circus au #theamazingdigitalcircus #tadc fanart #tadc pomni

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nautiscarader · 5 days ago

Note

Okay, so: as much as Amalia loves Yugo, she’s irritated he made her wait this long. So, she forcefully insists he does his kingly duty, trapping him in a prison of vines and flowers as she tears off her clothes.

(sorry for the delay, you know I luv your prompts)

Yugo wasn't at all surprised when he found his wrists and ankles ensnared by Amalia's vine, spreading him on a bed. The Sadida princess enjoyed taking control...

Except she wasn't a princess, she was a queen. And Yugo wasn't sprawled on their bed, he was on a flower grown in the secret glade only her family could access.

And family was the keyword here...

"Yugo... as much as I enjoy and admire your prowess", she spoke confidently trotting around him naked, "You have been slacking off on your kingly duties. We have been married for a year and...", her voice broke, "...I am still without an heir."

She swiftly turned back., hoping to hide her blush.

"So, we will spend tonight, the Alapuck's night, the Summer solstice, in the secret Sadida glade, making love, until-AACK!"

She found herself pinned to the ground by her imposing, though still small husband. And he was using her vines to tie her wrists, as well as ankles above her head, exposing her glistening pussy in this deeply shameless position, with her legs pressed against her body.

"You're right, Ami. I am the king. And kings..."

He jumped to his feet, grabbed her hips and pressed his cock's head against her flower.

"...conquer."

A moment later the serene silence of the glade was filled with constant noises of flesh hitting flesh andf Amalia's many, vivid descriptions of her desires.

When the Sun rose next morning, Yugo found his wife, her hands and legs freed, still coiled around him. And while he'd love to see the usual proof of his virility seeping from her pussy, for once he was glad to see it pristine and clean, ensuring he has planted his seed as far as he could...

#yumalia #lemon #aged-up characters and all that #nautiscaraderfics

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terramythos · 10 months ago

Text

I got tagged by @gunkreads to give 3 book recs. Apparently this was supposed to be 1 sentence a book originally but who gives a shit.

1. A Memory Called Empire (Teixcalaan #1) by Arkady Martine

A Memory Called Empire is the first book in the Teixcalaan duology, a scifi space opera which focuses on the intergalactic empire of Teixcalaan, loosely based on the Aztec empire. The first book follows Mahit, a newly appointed ambassador from the independent Lsel Station, who comes to Teixcalaan's home planet after the mysterious death of the previous ambassador Yskandr. She soon finds herself caught up in the brutal yet seductive political intrigue of Teixcalaan as she investigates her predecessor's demise.

Mahit has a deadly secret-- a brain implant known as an imago which is imprinted with the memories of a younger Yskandr. Periodically he 'talks' to her and gives her advice. The imagos are a proprietary technology essential to Lsel Station's way of life-- a means to quickly train each generation to perform and survive dangerous jobs in the void of space-- and are a closely guarded state secret. But they're also a taboo concept to Teixcalaani culture, and discovery would put her and her people in danger.

This book and its sequel A Desolation Called Peace were both such a pleasant surprise to me. The prose is lovely-- elevated and intelligent without being pretentious. Frankly I love everything about these books. The characters are fascinating, and the thematic explorations of empire, identity, and sense of self are exquisite. The writing is so layered and intricate it's a joy to read. Specifically I love how Martine weaves the themes of the story directly into the characters' thoughts and actions. Like it's fucking CONSTANT but in a way that makes me chew at the walls and go crazy. The second book is probably my favorite but the first book is a great start.

You want a book where politics are performed through poetic verse? Fucking read A Memory Called Empire. Ok I love you bye

2. Jade City (The Green Bone Saga #1) by Fonda Lee

Jade City is the first book in a trilogy of what I can only describe as a fantasy/mafia/martial arts fusion series. Basically it takes place in a world similar to our own but with one main difference: jade grants people magic powers, and the China analogue Kekon is the only nation with access to and control over it. The story follows the No Peak clan, one of the Kekonese crime families with control and political influence over jade as a resource.

The whole trilogy takes place over a 50 years or so span and it's fascinating to see how the main cast changes over time alongside the country of Kekon and the world at large, and how jade as a resource influences international politics. There's a lot of intrigue throughout the series and I found it super entertaining. It also has some of the best fight scene choreography I've ever had the pleasure to read. Definitely a strong recommendation from me.

It's been a few years since I read it so I'm vague on some of the details, but that's the general gist. Sorry if I totally missed something lol

3. Annihilation (The Southern Reach #1) by Jeff VanderMeer

One of my favorite books ever- Annihilation is a short horror novel following an expedition of four women sent into a supernatural 'pristine wilderness' known as Area X. Told from the perspective of a character known simply as 'the biologist' we gradually learn about the downfall of her expedition and the bizarre happenings within Area X. While some questions are answered, many more remain by the end.

Annihilation is the first book in the Southern Reach trilogy, soon to be a quadrilogy with the surprise release of a new book Absolution this year, which I'm looking forward to. But even on its own it's a solid, creepy ecological horror story. Despite the short length, Annihilation has many layers to the narrative and plays around with unreliable narration a lot. This holds true for the series as a whole, and I HIGHLY recommend re-reading Annihilation after finishing the third book should you decide to continue the series. It's really crazy how much it sets up and foreshadows the later books while standing on its own. It's a short read but I wouldn't call it an easy read, and I mean this as a compliment.

Before you ask-- while I enjoy the movie adaptation, it is very LOOSELY based on the novel. I think the novel is much better, but outside the tone, atmosphere, and basic character setup, the book is a much different experience.

As for tagging people i think the whole mutual group has been tagged 😭 so i tag @mistressofmuses, @heywizards, and anyone who wants to do this!

#taylor reads #book recs #my posts

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thaisibir · 1 year ago

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some Noel and Sophia headcanons

-Both joined the organization and graduated from training around the same time. All the other trainees were driven to the brink of insanity from the constant quarreling between those two.

-The handler in charge of Noel and Sophia gets paid extra for his troubles.

-Brought up on a noblewoman's education, Sophia likes throwing around big words Noel can't understand. Noel retaliates by butchering the words badly to annoy Sophia.

-Noel uses every chance she can get to mock Sophia's hoity toity background, using the most ridiculous, stuffiest posh accent possible.

-All else being roughly equal, Sophia edges past Noel in rank due to her better skills in leadership. As the daughter of a rich and powerful lord, Sophia was saddled from an early age with the expectation and training to inherit her father's authority and estate.(Based on profiles in the Claymore databook that state Sophia's leadership is B while Noel's is C.)

-Noel doesn't really suck at math. It's just that she fights with such speed and agility that things somewhat blur together and she miscounts sometimes.

-When she joined the organization, Sophia was at first surprised and embarrassed at her brute strength. Other trainees had called her a freak. Eventually she came around to embracing it and taking great pride in it. She uses her dainty lady's upbringing to keep that strength under control. She especially enjoys surprising people who assume from her appearance that she's frail and delicate.

-Noel likes to keep her hair short and messy. She believes long hair would get in her way when she fights, and brushing it is useless since it sticks out in every direction after running anyway. And she runs pretty much all the time.

-Sophia puts a lot of effort into maintaining nice hair and skin. The organization allows warriors a small stipend for personal needs, and Sophia likes to use that stipend on hair and skin care products such as brushes, soaps, and creams. She wishes she can spend that stipend on nice dresses as well, but uniform regulations are strict and undercover missions that allow wearing other clothes are far and few in between.

-Sophia made a face like she smelled something dead when she found out that Noel doesn't bathe every day.

-Noel swears like a sailor. The colorful four letter words really fly when Sophia slings insults her way. Meanwhile Sophia would clutch her pearls at the very thought of uttering such profanity herself.

-Noel and Sophia were forced to work together for one undercover mission, using yoki suppression pills to pose as traveling minstrels in order to lure out yoma. Noel pretended to be a circus acrobat while Sophia acted as a singer. The mission was a resounding success, though not without a lot of bickering and poking fun at each other along the way.

-Under the effects of suppression pills, Noel's natural eye color is green and Sophia's natural eye color is blue.

-Sophia really hates being dirty. Noel was beside herself when she found this out. If the two fight together in close proximity, Noel would "accidentally" spray dirt and yoma blood Sophia's way, just to get on her nerves and enjoy the disgusted look on a normally composed face. Sophia's aversion to dirtiness is why she's so impressed that Irene remains pristine and spotless whenever she decimates yoma with the Quicksword technique.

-Of all the things that Noel insults and makes fun of, she doesn't cross the line when it comes to the fact that Sophia was often sick and bedridden as a little girl.

#claymore #claymore manga #claymore headcanons #stormwind noel #muscular sophia #the more i think and write about these two the more i like them #such a shame they only lasted a few chapters/episodes

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aghost-writer · 2 months ago

Text

Lonely

Chapter 34

This is a Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x Female Reader Fic!

MDNI!!!

That night, Y/N sat alone in Mori’s room, the faint hum of the city beyond the window barely audible through the thick glass. The world outside seemed distant, unreachable—just like everything else. The room, with its pristine perfection, was a reflection of the control that Mori held over her life. There was no warmth here, no comfort, only the oppressive weight of silence and order. It suffocated her in ways she could not explain.

The grand space felt empty, despite all the expensive furniture and the meticulously arranged decor. Her eyes skimmed across the polished wooden desk, the elegant bookshelf filled with neatly stacked volumes, the well-made bed she hadn’t been able to sleep in for days. The quiet was deafening, and the overwhelming perfection of the room made it feel like she was nothing but a piece of furniture herself—immaculate, but utterly devoid of purpose.

She couldn’t breathe in this space.

Her gaze fell on the desk again, and her eyes locked on a letter opener resting there. Its sharp, gleaming edge caught the faint light from the lamp, almost inviting her in, offering a way out. It seemed so simple, so easy. Just a small cut, a way to escape the constant, suffocating presence of Mori and his control.

Her thoughts spiraled. The familiar whispers of doubt, frustration, and fear began to swirl in her mind. *How long would it be before she lost herself completely?* The days had bled into one another, a relentless blur of Mori’s presence and his kind words that were never kind at all. He had woven himself into every part of her life, slowly, methodically breaking her down. She felt her autonomy slipping away, like the sand in an hourglass, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The thought of another day spent under his watchful eye, his false compassion, made her stomach churn.

*I can’t do this,* she thought desperately. *I can’t live like this anymore.*

The room felt smaller, closing in on her, suffocating her with every breath. It wasn’t even a question anymore of whether she could survive it. It was a question of whether she *wanted* to.

Before she could second-guess herself, her hand reached out toward the letter opener. Her fingers curled around the cold metal, trembling with a fear she hadn’t felt before—fear not of the act, but of the finality of it. She was terrified of what might happen next, but she was even more terrified of the idea of going on.

Tears welled in her eyes, her heart hammering in her chest as she clutched the letter opener tightly. The cold, cruel metal seemed to offer the release she longed for, a way to end the constant torment she faced every day. A small part of her mind whispered that it would be a cowardly way out, but another part of her—the part that was so tired, so worn out—was ready to surrender. She could almost hear Mori’s voice in the back of her mind, that calm, soothing tone he always used when he manipulated her. *You don’t have to do this, Y/N. Let me take care of you.* But the more she thought of it, the more she felt like she was already dying. It wasn’t death she feared—it was the slow, suffocating loss of herself.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the roar of her heartbeat. Her hands shook uncontrollably, and the tears slid down her face. “I can’t—I can’t keep living like this…”

She pressed the sharp edge of the blade to her wrist, the cold metal sinking into her skin, sending a shock of pain through her body. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough. The rush of fear and anticipation mingled in her veins, as if she were standing on the precipice of something irreversible. Her entire body trembled as she fought to summon the courage to finish what she had started.

But before she could go any further, the door to the room creaked open, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Y/N,” a voice called out, smooth and composed.

It was Mori.

She froze, her heart stalling as she turned to face him. The letter opener fell from her hand, clattering to the floor, the sound piercing the silence like a gunshot. Her mind raced, panic setting in as she stared at him.

Mori stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his sharp eyes scanning the scene before him. His gaze flickered to the letter opener on the floor, then back to her, his lips curling into a faint, almost amused smile.

“What were you trying to do?” he asked, his voice calm, as if he were speaking to an errant child.

Y/N couldn’t speak. Her throat constricted, and she was frozen, the weight of her own shame pressing down on her. She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t stopped herself sooner. She couldn’t understand why she had reached for the blade in the first place. The shame burned through her, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at him.

He stepped into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. Every step he took seemed to stretch the moment longer, and Y/N felt herself retreating even further into the corner, her back pressed against the bed.

He knelt in front of her, his cold eyes never leaving her face. “You’re not thinking clearly, Y/N,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “You’re overwhelmed. But that’s why I’m here—to guide you, to take care of you.”

Y/N didn’t move, barely daring to breathe. His words were like poison seeping into her veins, paralyzing her, making her unable to escape the reality of her situation. She wanted to lash out, to scream at him, to tell him everything she hated about him—but the words caught in her throat.

He picked up the letter opener from the floor, examining it for a moment before placing it on the nightstand, his touch casual, almost affectionate.

“I’ll have the infirmary prepare a sedative for you,” Mori continued, standing up straight. “You need rest, Y/N. You need to let go of these thoughts. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The words were there, hovering just behind her lips, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. She couldn’t fight anymore. The battle inside her mind had already been lost, and she felt herself sinking further into his web.

Mori straightened, brushing off his hands as if he had just completed some minor task. He looked down at her, his cold eyes never once softening.

“It’s for the best, Y/N,” he said, the words falling from his lips with practiced ease. “You’ll see. In time, you’ll understand why I do this. Why I’m the only one who can truly help you.”

Her eyes were empty as she stared at him, unable to summon the strength to even lift her head. All she could feel was the weight of her own surrender, her silent acceptance that she had lost. And with that thought, the darkness began to close in.

When Y/N woke, her mind felt like it was wrapped in a thick fog, struggling to break through the haze. The world around her seemed distant, unfamiliar in its clarity, as if she had just awoken from a long and disorienting dream. The first thing she noticed was the stark whiteness of the walls, sterile and cold, the kind that screamed of antiseptic and forced order. The faint, almost sickening scent of disinfectant lingered in the air, seeping into her senses, sharpening the edges of her disorientation. She was lying on a bed, its thin sheets crinkling beneath her as she shifted slightly, the sensation of being cocooned in something too tight, too suffocating.

Her wrists throbbed, the dull ache a constant reminder of what had happened, though the bandages around them were neat and clean, hiding what she knew must have been shallow cuts. The weight in her chest felt heavier than it should have been. She tried to lift her head but found her body sluggish and uncooperative, as if something inside her had been drained away. Every movement was slow, deliberate, and strained, as if invisible chains held her down.

She closed her eyes, trying to gather her bearings. The reality of her situation—the ever-present weight of Mori’s control, the twisted kindness, the sense of being trapped—clung to her thoughts like a second skin. Was this her life now? A series of endless, suffocating days where she was surrounded by people who treated her as little more than a possession, an object to be controlled? How much longer would she be able to endure this?

Her mind was still racing when she heard it—Mori’s voice, smooth and almost melodic, cutting through the fog.

“You’re awake,” he said, his tone light, almost too casual for the situation.

Y/N turned her head slowly, her heart leaping in her chest. There he was, sitting beside her, a picture of calm composure. His sharp eyes fixed on her, unreadable as always, but there was something else there, too. Something unsettling, something dark. He was so close, his presence overwhelming in its familiarity, and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being suffocated by him, that his very proximity was a form of control.

He regarded her for a moment longer, studying her face with that same calculating expression. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he continued, his voice warm but with an underlying edge. “You gave us quite a scare,” he said, almost as if he were discussing a minor inconvenience. His gaze softened, but only just. “But you’re safe now. I’ve made sure of that.”

The words hung in the air like a weight, heavy and unyielding. She could feel his eyes on her, the pressure of them seeping into her skin, his presence a constant reminder of how trapped she was, how powerless she had become. The warmth in his voice wasn’t real, she knew that. It was just another mask, another layer of manipulation. He wasn’t worried about her. He didn’t care about her.

Her throat was dry, cracked from the emotions she had been trying to bury, and she struggled to find her voice. It took a moment, but she managed to croak out, “Why didn’t you just let me—”

Her words were cut off before she could finish the sentence. Mori’s hand came up, fingers lightly brushing his chin, his gaze now sharp, focused. His tone shifted instantly, as if he were no longer the calm figure beside her but something much colder, much more dangerous. “Don’t finish that sentence,” he said, his voice low and warning, cutting through her like a knife. “You’re too important for such nonsense. Elise would be heartbroken if anything happened to you. I would be heartbroken.”

Her heart raced, her breath catching in her throat. The words felt like they were suffocating her. *Heartbroken?* She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She didn’t believe him. She didn’t want to believe him. There was no way Mori cared about her. He had taken her, broken her, manipulated her every moment. How could he care about her? How could he possibly have any feelings for someone like her, someone he owned, someone who was nothing more than a pawn in his game?

She met his eyes then, her own wide with disbelief and growing anger. “You don’t care about me,” she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. They sounded weak, fragile, but they held the truth she had to voice, even if it felt like she was just trying to convince herself.

Mori didn’t flinch. He didn’t look taken aback or shocked, as if the idea that she would doubt him had never crossed his mind. His lips curved upward into that eerily polite smile of his, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze was cold, calculating, but there was something else there too—an unsettling calm, as if he had already anticipated this moment, already prepared for it.

“You’re wrong,” he said simply, his tone as smooth as ever, as if he were addressing something trivial. “You’re part of my family now, Y/N. And I always take care of my family.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. *Family?* She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream. But the sound caught in her throat, the realization settling over her like a cold, heavy blanket. *This* was her family now? A man who controlled her every move, who manipulated her every thought, and who kept her locked away in a gilded cage. He didn’t care about her. Not in any real sense. She was nothing but an extension of him, something to be kept in line and polished to perfection.

Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, she almost wished she could give in to them. Wished she could let herself break down completely, let it all spill out. But no. Not yet. Not when she had one last shred of defiance still burning in her chest.

His words, his carefully constructed lies, swirled around her like poison. And deep down, beneath the crushing weight of the situation, she felt it—small, fragile, but undeniable. An ember of resistance. A spark she couldn’t extinguish, no matter how hard he tried to stamp it out.

She wasn’t just his prisoner. She wasn’t his plaything.

She was *still* Y/N. And that small part of her—the part that refused to bow to him—was the only thing keeping her tethered to the world outside of this cage.

The tears threatened to spill over, but she clenched her jaw, forcing them back. She refused to give him that satisfaction. She couldn’t let him see how much he had broken her, how deeply his words had wounded her.

For a moment, the room seemed to close in around her, the silence pressing down on her like an unbearable weight. Mori’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second—just long enough for her to notice. And then, as if he had made some internal decision, he straightened up from his chair, his eyes never leaving her.

“You need rest,” he said softly, his voice laced with a false gentleness that made her skin crawl. “You’ve been through a lot, Y/N. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”

But all she could feel was the emptiness. The words he spoke were empty promises, the comfort he offered a lie. She wanted to scream at him, tell him she wasn’t his to fix, tell him she wasn’t his to control.

But for now, all she could do was cling to that small ember of defiance, because it was all she had left.

The dim corridors of the Port Mafia’s headquarters were eerily silent as Y/N followed Akutagawa through the labyrinthine halls. It had been days since Mori had confined her to his quarters, days of feeling like a broken shell under his watchful gaze. Now, for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a flicker of hope.

Akutagawa walked ahead, his movements sharp and calculated. He had barely said a word since presenting the escape plan, but Y/N had seen something in his eyes—something resolute, even protective.

“Stay close,” he muttered, breaking the silence.

Her pulse raced as they slipped through shadows, avoiding guards and Elise’s sharp, childlike voice echoing from the distant halls.

They turned a corner, and waiting at the end of the hallway was someone she hadn’t expected—Chuuya.

He stood there with his arms crossed, his sharp blue eyes meeting hers. “Took you long enough,” he said, his voice low but steady.

Y/N froze, her chest tightening. “Chuuya…?”

Akutagawa glanced at Chuuya, his expression unreadable. “He’s helping us,” he said simply.

Chuuya didn’t explain why he was there, nor did he look at Y/N for long. Instead, he gestured for her to follow. “I’ve cleared the path to the exit. Let’s go.”

Y/N hesitated, her heart a storm of emotions. She wanted to ask him why he was helping her, why he was going against the Port Mafia for her. But his expression told her everything—this wasn’t the time for questions.

Together, the three of them moved through the building like ghosts. The air was thick with tension, but no guards appeared, and no alarms were raised. Chuuya’s influence and Akutagawa’s efficiency ensured their path was clear.

As they approached the exit, Chuuya finally broke the silence. “Dazai’s waiting for you outside.”

Y/N’s steps faltered. “Dazai?”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

The cold night air hit Y/N’s face as they stepped outside. The safe house was a short walk away, nestled in the shadows of the city’s forgotten streets. And there, leaning casually against a lamppost, was Dazai.

His coat billowed slightly in the breeze, and his eyes lit up as he saw her. “Y/N,” he said smoothly, pushing off the post and walking toward her. “You look as radiant as ever, even under these circumstances.”

Y/N blinked, overwhelmed by the sudden shift in her surroundings. She hadn’t seen Dazai in so long, and his presence felt surreal.

Before she could process it, Dazai closed the distance between them. His hands gently cupped her face, and without hesitation, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a deep, lingering kiss.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. She froze, her heart pounding as Dazai’s lips moved against hers with a familiarity that felt both foreign and invasive.

But then she pushed him away, her hands trembling. “Dazai, what are you—”

He smirked, unbothered by her reaction. “Just saying hello properly. Did you miss me?”

Chuuya had been standing a few steps behind, watching the exchange with a stone-cold expression. But the sight of Dazai kissing Y/N was like a punch to the gut.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he forced himself to stay composed. He had known, deep down, that Y/N had never been his to begin with. But seeing her with Dazai, seeing how her presence softened even someone like him, solidified a painful truth.

He wanted her. He wanted her to look at him the way she had once looked at that man. He wanted her trust, her warmth—he wanted all of her.

But he knew now, in this moment, that he would never have her. Not the way he wanted.

The familiar scent of the Agency hit Y/N the moment she stepped through its doors. She stumbled slightly, her legs still unsteady from the journey back, but Dazai caught her, steadying her with a firm grip.

“Careful now,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle for once.

Y/N couldn’t believe she was here, standing in the heart of the Armed Detective Agency after what felt like a lifetime. The world around her felt surreal. Her heart was heavy with emotions she couldn’t yet name—relief, fear, guilt—but above all, there was an aching exhaustion in her soul.

“It’s been 68 days,” Dazai announced softly, his voice carrying across the room as the other members of the Agency gathered around.

Kunikida’s eyes widened, his usually stoic demeanor faltering. “Sixty-eight days…” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. His jaw clenched, and his gaze softened as he looked at Y/N. “We’ve been looking for you this entire time.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. Sixty-eight days. She hadn’t realized it had been so long. The weight of those words pressed on her chest, and for a moment, she felt like she might collapse.

Kunikida stepped forward, his expression filled with concern as he gently guided her to a chair. She obeyed, her body moving on autopilot as the Agency members exchanged worried glances. The tension in the room was palpable as Kunikida’s gaze fell to the collar around her neck.

“Let me take care of this,” he said softly, kneeling in front of her.

Y/N froze, her hands clutching the fabric of her clothes as Kunikida’s hands carefully examined the collar. She had grown so used to its presence that she had almost forgotten it was there, but now the thought of it being removed made her throat tighten.

With a firm but gentle hand, Kunikida unbuckled the collar and slipped it off her neck. The cool air brushing against her bare skin felt foreign, almost unnatural, and she couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in her eyes.

Ranpo stepped forward, snatching the collar from Kunikida’s hands and examining it closely. He turned it over, squinting at the material and running his fingers along its edges.

“It’s just a regular collar,” Ranpo said matter-of-factly, his tone casual as he tossed it onto the table. “Nothing special about it.”

Y/N’s heart shattered at his words. She had spent every moment in captivity feeling like the collar was a shackle, like it was a symbol of her imprisonment. To hear that it was nothing, just a regular piece of leather, made her feel foolish and hollow.

A sob tore from her throat, raw and uncontrollable. Her hands flew to her face as she cried, her shoulders shaking violently.

The room fell silent as Y/N slid off the chair and onto her knees, bowing low before the Agency members. Her forehead touched the floor, and her voice was choked with desperation.

“Please…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please let me stay. I—I have nowhere else to go. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, the weight of her vulnerability pressing down on everyone in the room.

For a moment, no one spoke. The silence was deafening, and Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she awaited their response.

Finally, it was Fukuzawa who stepped forward, his calm and commanding presence filling the room.

“You’ll stay with me,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Y/N lifted her head slightly, her tear-streaked face full of confusion. “Fukuzawa-san…”

“There’s no need to argue,” Fukuzawa continued. “You’ve been through enough. You need a safe place to recover, and I will make sure you have it.”

Others in the room started to protest, offering their homes instead. Atsushi stepped forward, his expression full of concern. “Fukuzawa-san, maybe I could—”

“No,” Fukuzawa interrupted, his tone final. “She’ll stay with me.”

Y/N’s lips trembled as she looked at him. His words carried a sense of security she hadn’t felt in a long time, and for the first time since her escape, she allowed herself to hope.

The rest of the Agency slowly began to disperse, giving Y/N space to breathe. Atsushi gave her a reassuring smile before leaving, and Kunikida patted her shoulder gently as he passed by. Even Ranpo, despite his earlier bluntness, offered her a quiet nod of understanding.

Dazai lingered, his usual playful demeanor subdued. He crouched down to meet her gaze, his voice soft. “You’re safe now, Y/N. No one’s going to hurt you here.”

She nodded weakly, unable to find the words to respond.

Fukuzawa extended a hand to her, helping her to her feet. “Come. You need rest, and we’ll make sure you have it.”

As she followed him out of the room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite everything, she had finally found a place where she could begin to heal.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #yandere bsd #bsd x reader #lonely fanfic

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briebarlow · 2 years ago

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I NEVER KNEW MY KILLER WOULD BE COMING FROM WITHIN --

stats & bio | pinterest | connections.

name: brie barlow.

age: 30.

occupation: lawyer at rossi & rossi law firm.

face claim: florence pugh.

tldr version of brie's bio.

trigger warning: murder, decapitation

the barlows are old money, they have hotels and resorts around the world -- the most famous being the aubrey in chicago. ever since it's opening in the 20s, the aubrey has been a known meeting ground for the italian mob, especially within the restaurant at the hotel. her father runs the family business, and serves as one of the eight capos for the family. her mom, cynthia, was a pageant queen and miss universe back in the 80s, before moving on to modeling. basically, she comes from a hella wealthy and hella public facing family, with deep ties to the mob. she keeps her image clean -- when in reality, it just means she's really good at covering her tracks.

brie is a former pageant girl. she's been doing them since she was 2 years old, and her most notable being miss teen usa and miss usa. while she isn't a stereotypical pageant girl in personality -- she is in looks. brie's public persona is pristine, rarely ever spotted with a hair out of place. she maintains that through careful calculation, manipulation, and sabotaging anyone standing her way. her ambition and work ethic are two of her best traits, even if they're both mostly fueled by her constant need to be the best and perpetuate the image of perfection. it's what has gotten her a successful career, but what prompts a deep sense of self loathing and struggles with her body.

career wise, brie is a lawyer at rossi & rossi law firm. she's still just getting her career started, and certainly feels the weight of it and the need to prove herself. prior to rossi & rossi, she worked at a law firm that mostly worked with the family -- she established herself there despite still being in the beginnings of her career, known for her sharp tongue and getting her clients out of tight situations. while the only difference how is that she's working with devil's disciples members, they don't have as much sway or protection with them, not like with the family -- there's a certain fear that she'll misstep and end up getting a club member 25 to life, and land herself six feet under.

roughly two years ago, brie was left at the altar. she was in an explosive and toxic relationship with luciano "luke" caruso, a son of another capo in the family. their relationship was a mess from the start, built on lies and manipulation, going from hot to cold in the blink of an eye. despite all of this, brie loved him and the two got engaged. on the day of their wedding, he left her without explanation. she wasn't able to get ahold of him, or get any answers for quite a while. roughly a year later she ended up finding out he'd left her for another woman, one he'd been cheating on her with since their engagement.

a few months after that, the news breaks that he had passed away -- his headless body found in his california home by his mistress. brie, of course, cries upon hearing the news, and mourns the loss with her family and friends. the truth, however -- she'd asked a favor of her cousin nico, who returned to her doorstep with her ex-fiance's head. it's a secret she'll take to her grave. this happened a little over a year ago.

right now, between starting at a new law firm and moving to the west side of town, brie is trying to find her footing again find control in her life after luke turned it upside down -- even though each time she makes one step forward, it feels like she takes two steps back.

#intro.#murder tw #decapitation tw

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 1

Synopsis: In a world ruled by power, lies, and the ghosts of the past, Anja Christ thought she had buried Aaron forever. But when the boy she once loved—and lost—returns as the ruthless heir to Thunder Bay, obsession ignites into something far more dangerous. Trapped in his web, Anja must decide: fight for freedom or surrender to the madness of a love that refuses to die.

Now...

The world felt heavier tonight, as though the weight of it pressed down on Anja's chest, threatening to suffocate her.

Thunder Bay was quiet, its streets bathed in the pale glow of artificial moonlight, the once-bustling city now eerily still. Anja's footsteps echoed faintly as she wandered aimlessly through the empty streets, her mind a storm of thoughts she couldn't untangle.

She felt... hollow.

It wasn't the kind of emptiness that came from a passing sadness or fleeting disappointment. It was a deep, all-consuming void that had burrowed into her chest and taken root, leaving her unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to feel anything except the aching absence that had taken over her world.

Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as though trying to hold the pieces of her shattered soul together. The icy wind whipped at her hair, stinging her cheeks, but she barely noticed. She was too numb, too lost in the labyrinth of her own mind to care about the cold.

How had she ended up here?

She couldn't even remember how long she'd been walking. It didn't matter. Nothing did. The city that had once been her home felt foreign now, its towering buildings and pristine streets unfamiliar and unwelcoming. It was as though the world had shifted on its axis, leaving her stranded in a place she no longer recognized.

Her Evol stirred restlessly beneath her skin, raw and untamed, mirroring the turmoil inside her. She could feel it crackling at the edges of her control, a constant, thrumming reminder of the emotions she couldn't escape. But she didn't let it break free. She couldn't. Not here. Not now.

Her steps faltered, and she came to a stop in the middle of the street, her dark eyes staring blankly at the ground. The silence around her was deafening, pressing in on her like a physical weight. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, each one more difficult than the last.

She didn't know how to do this—how to keep moving forward when every part of her felt like it was crumbling. The memories she had tried so hard to bury came rushing back, unbidden and relentless, each one sharper and more painful than the last.

The sound of laughter that now felt like a cruel echo. The warmth of a presence she would never feel again. The fleeting moments of joy that had once seemed endless but now felt like they belonged to another lifetime.

She blinked, and tears spilled over, streaking silently down her face. She didn't bother to wipe them away. What was the point? There was no one here to see her fall apart. No one to witness the quiet unraveling of the girl who had once thought she could face anything.

Her knees gave out, and she sank to the ground, her fingers curling into the cold pavement. The wind howled around her, but she didn't move, didn't try to shield herself from the biting cold. She just sat there, her head bowed, her body trembling as the tears continued to fall.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she couldn't stay here. She knew she needed to get up, to keep going, to find a way to pick up the pieces and keep moving forward. But the thought felt impossible.

The void inside her was too vast, too consuming. It was as though someone had reached inside her and torn out the most vital part of her, leaving her hollow and incomplete.

"Why?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

The word hung in the air, unanswered.

Her Evol stirred again, more insistent this time, and she felt the crackle of energy beneath her skin. She pressed her palms to the ground, trying to steady herself, but the pressure only made the power inside her surge.

The streetlights around her flickered, their steady glow replaced by a frantic, erratic pulsing. The air seemed to hum with electricity, the energy radiating from her body in invisible waves.

She clenched her fists, trying to force it back, but the effort was too much. She felt the barrier she had carefully constructed begin to crumble, the raw force of her emotions spilling out into the world around her.

A sharp crack split the air, and she looked up in time to see a nearby lamppost shatter, the glass raining down onto the street. She stared at the shards, her chest heaving as she tried to regain control.

But the energy wouldn't stop. It surged through her, wild and untamed, feeding off the storm inside her mind. She let out a choked sob, her hands trembling as she tried to contain the power that threatened to consume her.

And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

The streetlights steadied, the hum in the air faded, and the city was quiet once more. Anja collapsed onto the pavement, her body shaking with the effort of holding herself together. Her vision blurred as fresh tears spilled over, the weight of her grief pressing down on her like a physical force.

She didn't know how long she lay there, the cold seeping into her bones, her heart aching with a pain she couldn't escape. All she knew was that the world had never felt so empty, and she had never felt so alone.

Anja didn't remember much of her early childhood—just fragments, hazy and disjointed, like trying to piece together a puzzle with missing parts. The only constant in those memories was the darkness.

She had been born in Sector Five, a region caught between the chaos of the Outlands and the uneasy order of the Southern Commonwealth. The cities there were less fortified, the people less fortunate, and the Morbus attacks more frequent. It was a place where survival wasn't guaranteed and hope was a fleeting luxury.

Her earliest memories were of her parents—faint images of a warm smile, a soft hand brushing her hair, and the sound of a lullaby hummed in a language she no longer remembered. But those moments were fleeting, swallowed up by the chaos that defined her earliest years.

The sickness had come first.

It swept through their small settlement like wildfire, sparing no one in its path. The Morbus Virus, as it was later called, didn't just kill—it transformed. The infected didn't stay dead for long. They rose, twisted and ravenous, driven by an insatiable hunger that turned them into monsters.

Anja's father was one of the first to fall ill. She remembered the way he tried to shield her and her mother, even as the fever consumed him. She remembered the fear in her mother's eyes as they barricaded themselves inside their small home, listening to the screams of their neighbors outside.

And then her father turned.

The memory was fuzzy, distorted by time and the trauma her young mind had tried to bury. She didn't remember the moment he attacked, but she remembered the sound—bones snapping, flesh tearing. She remembered her mother's screams as she pushed Anja out the back door, telling her to run and not look back.

She didn't.

Anja ran until her legs gave out, until the sound of her mother's cries and the guttural growls of the Morbus faded into the distance. She hid in the ruins of an abandoned building, curled up in the shadows, too terrified to move.

She didn't know how long she stayed there. Days, maybe. Long enough for the hunger to gnaw at her stomach and the cold to seep into her bones. She thought she would die there, alone and forgotten, until the soldiers came.

They weren't there to save her. The Southern Commonwealth's forces had little interest in rescuing survivors. Their mission was simple: contain the spread. They burned the infected, purged the settlements, and left the ruins behind without a second glance.

But one of them found her.

She didn't know his name—he never told her—but she remembered his face. He was young, barely out of his teens, with weary eyes that softened when he saw her huddled in the corner. He didn't say anything as he knelt down and wrapped his coat around her shoulders, but the kindness in his gaze was enough to make her cry for the first time since she'd fled her home.

He smuggled her out of the quarantine zone, hiding her in the back of a supply truck. She never saw him again after that.

The truck took her to the edge of the Commonwealth, to a city where the government's presence was stronger. She was handed over to an orphanage, one of many established to house the countless children left parentless by the Morbus crisis.

But the orphanage wasn't a sanctuary.

The building was overcrowded and understaffed, with too many children and too few resources. It was a dismal place, the kind where laughter felt out of place and joy was something distant, fleeting. Its walls were a pale, peeling gray, and the air inside felt stale, weighed down by too many unspoken sorrows. The older kids ruled through fear, and the caretakers turned a blind eye to the bullying and cruelty that ran rampant.

Anja learned quickly that survival meant keeping her head down. She became quiet, invisible, slipping through the cracks like a shadow. She avoided the older kids, stayed out of the caretakers' way, and kept to herself.

But the nightmares never left her.

Every night, she dreamed of her father's fevered eyes, her mother's desperate screams, and the cold, suffocating darkness of that ruined building. She would wake up gasping for air, her tiny hands clutching at her chest as though trying to keep her heart from breaking apart.

It wasn't until her Evol manifested that everything changed.

She had been six years old, sitting in the corner of the orphanage's common room, when one of the older boys decided to make her his target. He grabbed the book she was reading and ripped it in half, laughing as he tossed the pieces onto the floor.

Something inside her snapped.

The pain and anger she had buried for so long surged to the surface, and with it came a power she didn't understand. The boy froze, his laughter fading into silence as his face twisted in fear. He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Anja didn't know what she had done, but she could feel the energy radiating from her, raw and untamed. The other children backed away, their eyes wide with terror, and the boy ran, stumbling over his own feet as he fled the room.

After that, everything changed.

The other children avoided her, whispering about the strange, quiet girl who could make people feel things they didn't want to feel. Even the caretakers seemed wary of her, their smiles strained and their gazes cautious.

She was alone again, but this time, she didn't mind.

She had learned to control her power over time, though it was far from perfect. She could sense the emotions of those around her, feel their fear, anger, and sadness as though they were her own. It was overwhelming at first, but she learned to block it out, to build walls around her mind to keep the flood of emotions at bay.

Until the Christs came...

Age 6

Michael and Rika Christ walked through the hall, their presence commanding yet soft. Rika held her husband's hand tightly, her pale blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as her sharp blue eyes scanned the room. She was purposeful but tender, the kind of person who seemed to belong in a brighter world but had chosen to step into the shadows.

Aaron trailed behind them, his small hand clutched in his father's firm grip. At nine years old, he was already tall for his age, with the sharp features of someone who would one day grow into a striking young man. His blonde hair fell messily into his piercing green eyes, which darted around the room, scanning every corner with curiosity.

"This is the common room," the matron said, her voice polite but mechanical, like someone who had long since grown weary of the job. "The children spend most of their time here when they're not in their rooms or doing chores."

Rika nodded, her gaze sweeping across the room. Children sat in clusters, some playing quietly, others hunched over books or puzzles. A few stared back at her with wide, curious eyes, while others kept their heads down, avoiding her gaze entirely.

And then Rika saw her.

Anja sat alone in the far corner of the room, a tattered book balanced on her lap. Her black hair fell in tangled waves around her pale face, and her dark eyes were focused intently on the pages in front of her. She looked small, almost fragile, her thin frame wrapped in an oversized sweater that had seen better days.

"That's Anja," the matron said, noticing where Rika's eyes had landed. "She's... quiet. Keeps to herself most of the time. Smart, though. Reads more than anyone else here."

Rika's expression softened, her heart pulling her toward the little girl in the corner. There was something about her, something in the way she held herself—so small, so guarded—that tugged at Rika's maternal instincts.

Aaron, too, had noticed her. His father's grip on his hand had loosened, and he took a small step forward, his eyes locked on the girl in the corner.

"She looks sad," Aaron said softly, his voice barely audible.

Michael glanced down at him, his brows furrowing slightly. "What makes you think that?"

Aaron didn't answer right away. He didn't know how to explain it, didn't have the words to articulate the strange pull he felt toward her. It wasn't just the way she sat, curled in on herself like she was trying to disappear. It was something deeper, something he couldn't put into words.

"Can I go talk to her?" he asked instead.

Michael hesitated, glancing at Rika, who gave him a small nod. "Go ahead, but be gentle," he said.

Aaron didn't need to be told twice. He released his father's hand and walked across the room, his steps quiet but deliberate.

Anja didn't look up when he approached. She didn't seem to notice him at all, her focus entirely on the book in her lap. It wasn't until he sat down on the floor in front of her, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hands, that she finally glanced up.

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Hi," Aaron said eventually, his voice soft.

Anja didn't respond right away. She looked at him cautiously, her dark eyes scanning his face like she was trying to figure out if he was a threat.

"I'm Aaron," he said, undeterred by her silence.

Still, she said nothing.

"Is the book good?" he asked, glancing down at the tattered pages in her lap.

Her fingers tightened around the book's edges, and for a moment, he thought she wasn't going to answer. But then, in a voice so quiet he almost didn't hear it, she said, "It's okay."

Aaron smiled, and it was a warm, genuine smile that reached his green eyes. "What's it about?"

Anja hesitated, her gaze flickering back to the book. She wasn't used to talking to people, especially not to boys her age. But there was something about Aaron—something in the way he looked at her, like he wasn't just trying to be polite, like he really wanted to know—that made her want to answer.

"It's about... a girl," she said slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "She's lost, but she's trying to find her way back home."

Aaron's smile softened. "Sounds like a good story."

She nodded, and for the first time, a tiny flicker of warmth appeared in her eyes.

From across the room, Rika and Michael watched the interaction in silence. Rika's heart swelled as she saw the way Anja's guarded demeanor seemed to soften, just slightly, under Aaron's gentle persistence.

"He's good with her," Michael said quietly.

Rika nodded, her gaze never leaving the two children. "I think she's the one."

Michael looked at her, his brow lifting slightly. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Rika said firmly.

The matron, who had been standing nearby, cleared her throat. "If you'd like, I can arrange for you to speak with her privately. It's... not always an easy transition, adopting older children."

"We'll take her," Rika said, cutting her off.

Michael smiled at his wife, his hand resting on her back. "Then let's go meet her properly."

As Rika and Michael approached, Aaron looked back at them, his green eyes bright with something close to excitement. "Mom, Dad, this is Anja," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Anja looked up at them, her dark eyes wary but curious.

"Hi, Anja," Rika said softly, kneeling down so she was at the girl's eye level. "My name is Rika, and this is my husband, Michael. We were wondering if we could talk to you for a little while."

Anja hesitated, glancing at Aaron, who gave her an encouraging nod.

"Okay," she said quietly.

As Rika took her hand and led her toward the matron's office, Aaron stayed close, walking just a step behind her. And for the first time in years, Anja felt a tiny spark of something she thought she had lost forever.

Hope.

The Christ household was overwhelming, but not in the way the orphanage had been. It was warm, filled with light and laughter, but that only made Anja retreat further into herself. She didn't know how to exist in this kind of environment. The walls weren't gray and crumbling; they were pristine and decorated with photographs of smiling faces. The air didn't feel heavy with neglect—it smelled like cinnamon, fresh bread, and something floral from the candles Rika lit in the evenings.

Her small bag of belongings sat at the foot of the bed in her new room. It was so large compared to the cramped dormitories at the orphanage. The bed had crisp, white sheets and a thick duvet that felt too soft to touch. A pile of books sat on the nightstand, their spines shiny and new, unlike the battered novels she had clung to back at the orphanage.

She perched on the edge of the bed, her knees pulled to her chest. She hadn't unpacked, hadn't even taken her shoes off. She didn't know if this place was real.

The door creaked open, and she flinched.

Aaron peeked his head in, his blonde hair falling into his green eyes. "Hey," he said softly, stepping inside. He held a plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the edges of the bread cut off. "Mom said you didn't eat dinner."

She didn't reply, her gaze fixed on the floor.

He placed the plate on the nightstand and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her. "You're not scared, are you?" he asked, his voice curious but gentle.

Her head tilted up just slightly, enough to meet his gaze. "I'm not scared," she whispered.

"Good," he said with a grin. "'Cause no one's gonna hurt you here. I'll make sure of it."

There was something fierce in the way he said it, something protective that didn't match the softness of his young face. She didn't know how to respond, so she just nodded.

When he left the room, she hesitated for a moment before picking up the sandwich. She ate it slowly, savoring every bite, and for the first time since arriving, she felt a small sense of comfort.

The Christ estate was buzzing with life that afternoon, filled with the kind of laughter, banter, and chaos that came with having two generations of the Horsemen under one roof. Anja, who had grown more comfortable in her new family over the past months, still found herself retreating into the background when things got too overwhelming. Today was no exception.

She clung close to Rika's side as they entered the expansive living room, her dark eyes scanning the group. There were so many of them—people with loud voices, sharp laughter, and an ease around each other that made her feel like an outsider.

"Anja," Rika said gently, nudging her forward. "Come say hello."

Michael, standing beside his wife, grinned and gestured toward the crowd. "Everyone, this is Anja. She's been with us for a little while now."

Anja shifted on her feet, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She didn't say anything, just glanced around nervously.

The first to approach was Winter, Damon's wife, her gentle smile immediately setting Anja at ease. "Hi, Anja," she said warmly, bending slightly to Anja's eye level. "I'm Winter. It's so nice to meet you."

Anja nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Nice to meet you too."

"Don't worry," Winter added with a wink. "It's a lot at first, but you'll get used to it."

Damon stood a few feet behind her, his dark eyes studying Anja with a quiet intensity. He didn't say anything, but the subtle nod he gave her felt like approval.

Kai and Banks were next, their calm energy a welcome contrast to the noise. Banks offered a small smile, while Kai ruffled Aaron's hair, eliciting an annoyed glare from the boy. "This your new partner in crime, Aaron?" Kai teased, his voice light but his eyes sharp.

Aaron didn't respond, his gaze fixed on Anja as if daring anyone to make her uncomfortable.

It was Indie, Will and Emory's daughter, who finally broke the tension. She strode over to Anja with a wide grin, her fiery red curls bouncing with each step. "Hi!" she said, her enthusiasm so bright it was almost overwhelming. "I'm Indie. How old are you? Do you like books? I have a whole shelf in my room, and you can borrow anything you want. Unless it's my favorite, because I'm still reading that one, but you can have it after."

Anja blinked, startled by the rapid-fire introduction. "I—I like books," she managed, her lips curving into a tentative smile.

"Great!" Indie grabbed her hand without hesitation. "Come on, I'll show you my stash!"

Aaron stepped forward instantly, his hand snapping out to grab Anja's wrist before Indie could lead her away. "She doesn't want to see your stupid books," he said coldly, his green eyes narrowing at Indie.

Indie frowned, clearly unimpressed. "How would you know what she wants? She just said she likes books."

"She doesn't want to go," Aaron insisted, his grip tightening slightly on Anja's wrist.

"Aaron," Rika said sharply, her tone carrying a warning.

Anja looked between them, her heart pounding. "It's okay," she said softly, glancing up at Aaron. "I want to go."

For a moment, Aaron didn't move. His jaw tightened, and something dark flickered in his eyes. Then, slowly, he released her wrist, his hand lingering for a fraction too long.

"Fine," he said, his voice low. "Go."

Indie huffed and rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the permission, Your Highness," she muttered before tugging Anja toward the stairs.

Aaron watched them go, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Kai smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. "That's new," he remarked, his tone amused.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "What is?"

Kai tilted his head toward Aaron. "Your son. That look on his face right now? That's trouble brewing."

Aaron ignored them, his gaze fixed on the staircase until Anja disappeared from view. He didn't like how easily Indie had pulled her away, how quickly she'd made Anja smile. That smile was his—he'd earned it.

Whatever bond Indie thought she was forming with Anja, Aaron decided then and there that it wouldn't last.

In the weeks that followed, Aaron became her shadow. He was always there—at her side during dinner, sitting next to her while she read, insisting on walking her to school even though Rika and Michael assured him she'd be fine.

One evening, Anja sat on the living room floor, playing with a dollhouse that Rika had bought for her. It was the kind of toy she'd only ever dreamed of having.

Aaron sat across from her, watching as she carefully arranged the furniture inside. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to a small plastic chair.

"It's a reading chair," she said quietly, placing it in the tiny living room.

"You like reading a lot," he said, tilting his head.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It's my favorite."

He smiled too, pleased that she was opening up. But then Michael entered the room, holding a box of toys. "Hey, Anja," he said, setting the box down. "I found some more things for you. Thought you might like them."

She looked up, her eyes widening slightly. She hesitated, then got up and knelt by the box. Inside were more dolls, figurines, and accessories for her dollhouse.

"Thank you," she said softly, her voice filled with awe.

As she sifted through the box, Aaron's expression darkened. He didn't know why it bothered him so much to see her happy about toys that hadn't come from him.

When she pulled out a small, intricate figurine—a porcelain ballerina—and smiled, something in Aaron snapped.

"That one's stupid," he said, louder than he meant to.

Anja froze, her hands tightening around the figurine.

Michael frowned. "Aaron, don't be rude."

"I'm not," he said quickly, but his voice was defensive. "It's just... it doesn't even match the other stuff."

Michael gave him a sharp look, but Aaron ignored it.

Later that night, when everyone had gone to bed, Aaron snuck into the living room. He found the ballerina figurine sitting on the edge of the dollhouse and picked it up. For a moment, he just stared at it, his emotions swirling. Then, without thinking, he dropped it.

The sound of it shattering echoed in the silent room.

The next morning, when Anja discovered the broken figurine, her eyes filled with tears. Aaron rushed to her side, his guilt hidden behind a mask of concern.

"I'm so sorry," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I bet it just fell off. It must've been an accident."

Anja nodded, wiping her tears, but there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes.

Aaron spent the rest of the day trying to make her smile again, his possessiveness growing stronger with each passing moment.

Age 7

It was one of those rare, golden afternoons in Thunder Bay, where the sunlight felt warm but not oppressive, and the air carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass. Rika had brought Anja and Aaron to the park in hopes that Anja might make friends. She'd been quiet and withdrawn ever since joining their family, and Rika thought some time with other kids her age might help.

Anja sat on the swings, her small hands loosely gripping the chains as she dragged her feet back and forth across the woodchips beneath her. She didn't swing, not really—just swayed gently as if testing her place in this strange, new world. Aaron was on the jungle gym, his green eyes darting toward her every few seconds. Even while climbing, his focus never strayed far from her.

Two boys wandered over to the swings. They were a little older than her, probably nine or ten, their confidence radiating in the way they walked.

"Why are you just sitting there?" one of them asked, leaning slightly toward her. "You're supposed to swing, you know."

Anja didn't reply. Her dark eyes dropped to the ground, her grip tightening slightly on the chains.

"What's wrong with her?" the other boy asked, snickering. "She broken or something?"

Aaron froze mid-climb, his hands gripping the cold metal bar above him. His eyes narrowed, watching the interaction like a hawk.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," the first boy said, his voice growing louder.

Anja flinched slightly at the tone but said nothing.

The second boy stepped closer, his grin wide and mocking. "She's scared of us," he said, laughing. "What a baby."

Aaron was on the ground in an instant. He didn't run toward them—he didn't need to. His strides were calm, deliberate, each step carrying a simmering anger that felt far too intense for someone his age.

"Leave her alone," he said, his voice low and cold, like the snap of frost on a windowpane.

The boys turned to face him. "We weren't doing anything," one of them said, though his smile faltered.

Aaron stepped closer, his green eyes locking onto theirs. "You were bothering her," he said, his tone sharp enough to cut through stone.

"We were just—"

"Stop talking," Aaron interrupted. He tilted his head slightly, his expression calm but chilling. "I don't care what you think you were doing. If you even look at her again, I'll make you wish you hadn't."

The boys exchanged nervous glances. "Whatever," one of them muttered before they both turned and walked off, quickening their pace as they got farther away.

Aaron's gaze followed them until they disappeared, his fists clenched at his sides. When he turned back to Anja, his expression softened, but only slightly.

"They're idiots," he said, sitting down on the swing next to hers.

Anja looked at him, her dark eyes wide. "You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did," he cut in, his voice firm. "No one talks to you like that. Ever."

Her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. She just nodded, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at her mouth.

Aaron smiled back, but there was a flicker of something darker behind his eyes, something possessive and unyielding.

Age 8

The theater buzzed with quiet excitement, the soft murmur of the audience filling the air. Michael and Rika sat in the middle row, surrounded by the Horsemen and their families. They were all here for one reason: Anja's first dance recital.

Aaron sat on the edge of the row, his green eyes fixed on the stage. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet all day, a storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Michael had chalked it up to nerves for his sister, but anyone who truly knew Aaron would have noticed the tight set of his jaw and the way his fingers tapped restlessly on his knee.

The lights dimmed, and the audience hushed. A spotlight illuminated the stage, and a soft piano melody filled the room. The curtain rose, revealing a group of young dancers in flowing white costumes. In the center of the formation was Anja.

Aaron's breath caught.

She looked ethereal, her black hair pulled back into an elegant bun, her delicate features framed by wisps of hair that had escaped during rehearsals. Her movements were graceful yet raw, each step imbued with an emotion that seemed far beyond her years.

As the music swelled, Anja leaped across the stage, her body moving with a fluidity that felt almost otherworldly. She spun, her arms outstretched, and for a moment, it felt like the world slowed down.

Aaron couldn't take his eyes off her.

To anyone else, this was just a performance—a child showcasing months of hard work and dedication. But to Aaron, it was more. It was her vulnerability laid bare, her soul exposed in a way that made his chest ache. She was mesmerizing, a force he couldn't look away from.

Beside him, Rika whispered something to Michael, who nodded and smiled. Damon leaned back in his seat, his usual smirk softened by genuine admiration for the performance. Indie clapped softly along with the music, clearly enchanted.

But Aaron? Aaron didn't move. He didn't breathe. He didn't blink.

When the performance ended, the audience erupted into applause, but Aaron remained frozen. His eyes stayed locked on Anja as she bowed with the other dancers, her cheeks flushed with exertion and pride.

"Wow," Indie whispered, leaning over to Aaron. "She was amazing, huh?"

Aaron didn't respond.

As the applause died down and the dancers left the stage, Aaron stood abruptly.

"Where are you going?" Michael asked, startled.

Aaron didn't answer. He pushed his way out of the row and slipped out of the theater, his jaw clenched and his hands fisted at his sides.

The cool night air hit Aaron like a slap, but it did nothing to quell the fire raging inside him. He paced back and forth near the entrance, his mind a chaotic swirl of emotions.

She was his. That was the thought that kept pounding in his head, over and over again. Anja was his. Her joy, her pain, her triumphs—everything about her belonged to him.

And yet, tonight, she'd been on that stage, exposed to a room full of strangers. They'd seen her beauty, her talent, the depth of her soul. They'd clapped for her, admired her, cherished her.

It made him sick.

"Aaron?"

He froze.

Anja's voice was soft, hesitant, like she wasn't sure if she should be there. When he turned, she was standing a few feet away, still in her costume. Her cheeks were still pink from the performance, and she was holding a bouquet of flowers, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the stems.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, taking a cautious step closer.

Aaron swallowed hard, his emotions too tangled to unravel. "You were amazing," he said finally, his voice rough.

Anja smiled, the kind of smile that made his chest tighten painfully. "Really? You're not just saying that?"

"I'm not just saying that."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the distance between them feeling both too close and too far.

"I was nervous," Anja admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But when I got up there, it just... felt right. Like I was meant to do it."

Aaron stepped closer, his gaze intense. "You were," he said firmly. "You're meant for so much more than this."

Anja blinked, taken aback by the fervor in his voice. "I... I don't know about that."

"You are," Aaron insisted, his hand brushing against hers. "Don't ever doubt that."

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, her fingers tightening around the flowers. "Thank you," she said softly.

Aaron wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her how proud he was, how much she meant to him, how he would burn the entire world down before letting anyone or anything hurt her. But he couldn't. Not yet.

Instead, he settled for standing by her side, his presence as steady and unyielding as ever.

"Come on," he said after a moment. "Let's go back inside."

Anja nodded, falling into step beside him. But as they walked back into the theater, Aaron couldn't shake the possessive fire burning in his chest, a silent vow forming in his mind.

She was his light, his purpose, his everything. And no one—not the strangers in the audience, not the world, not even Anja herself—would ever take that away from him.

Age 12

The first storm of the season always swept through Thunder Bay in a torrent, pelting the ground and rattling the windows of the Christ home. Anja sat by the living room window, her forehead pressed against the cold glass as she watched the sheets of rain fall in relentless waves.

Aaron walked into the room, his blond hair damp from the quick dash he'd made outside to help Michael secure the garden covers. His sharp green eyes immediately found her small figure curled up by the window, and something inside him softened.

"You're going to freeze sitting there," he said, grabbing the throw blanket from the couch. He approached her, draping it over her shoulders, but she didn't respond.

"I like the rain," she said quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the sound of water hitting the glass. "It's... peaceful."

Aaron didn't reply. Instead, he sat down beside her, their shoulders brushing. "Do you remember the first time it rained after you came here?"

She turned to look at him, startled. "Not really."

"You cried," Aaron said, his tone matter-of-fact but his eyes distant, as if reliving the memory. "You thought the thunder would break the house."

"I didn't," Anja protested, frowning.

"You did," Aaron insisted, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You hid under the bed in my room, and I had to drag you out."

She blinked, the memory suddenly surfacing. "Oh... I forgot about that."

"I didn't," Aaron murmured, his voice soft. "You clung to me like your life depended on it."

Anja's cheeks warmed, but she didn't look away. "You didn't seem to mind."

"I didn't," he admitted, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the rain providing a steady rhythm in the background. Anja felt the warmth of his presence, the quiet strength he always carried, and something inside her settled.

"You've always been there for me," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And I always will be," Aaron replied, his tone resolute.

That promise became a quiet foundation for their relationship as the years passed.

And as they grew older, the unspoken bond between them deepened, becoming something neither of them could name.

Anja would always remember these moments—each thread in the tapestry of their shared childhood, weaving something beautiful and devastatingly complicated.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #winter ashby #emory scott #dark romance #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #crossover #no saints tonight

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aleburton · 3 months ago

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“Don’t be too long,” Alex urged, her voice a silken thread of both plea and warning as she watched Andrew disappear into the dimly lit corridor. Shadows stretched along the walls, flickering with each step he took toward his makeshift office, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him like an iron yoke. He held his phone to his ear, throwing a glance over his shoulder, lips quirking into a knowing grin, one that didn’t quite reach his tired eyes. Then came the telltale eye roll — not for her, but for the slurring voice on the other end of the line. Another night, another drunken disaster. Somewhere, in the depths of that opulent chaos he had orchestrated, an artist was spiraling, tangled in a web of their own excess. And of course, it fell to him to clean up the mess. It always did. Regret simmered beneath his cool exterior. Leaving early had been a mistake. He had known better than to let his talent run unchecked, let alone with an open bar and the ever-present temptation of illicit indulgence. It was a formula for disaster, and as the CEO of the Label, damage control had become second nature. Success had been a double-edged sword, one that cut deeper with every milestone he reached. The more powerful he became, the more tethered he was to his empire. Late-night calls, last-minute PR nightmares, whispered threats of lawsuits, scandals that needed burying before they had a chance to take root. He couldn’t look away. He wouldn’t. And Alex was starting to resent him for it.

She had told him, more than once, in those quiet, aching moments when she curled into the empty space beside her in bed, that she missed him. That she felt alone, despite the sprawling luxury of their life together. She had asked, pleaded even, for him to delegate, to loosen his grip on the parts of the business that didn’t need his constant attention. For a while, he had obliged. A brief, blissful reprieve where she felt seen, held, cherished. But it hadn’t lasted. It never did. Because if there was one thing in this world that could rival his love for her, it was this. The empire he had built with his own blood and sweat. It was in his veins, an addiction he had no desire to cure. And Alex was left to reckon with the cold truth of it. It wasn’t just about him working late or missing dinners. It was about the way the silence stretched in his absence, the way time blurred together when she had no one to share it with. It was about the vulnerability that crept in when she was left to her own devices. When old ghosts like Zach Winthrop found cracks in the foundation, slipping through when she was at her weakest. She had already been cast in so many roles: the beautiful, untouchable enigma, the girl draped in wealth and privilege, the trophy at his side. But she would be damned if she let the world reduce her to yet another cliché. The lonely, rich housewife.

Alex ascended the steps of their rental home, the cool metal of her diamond earrings pressing against her fingertips as she absentmindedly toyed with the backs. The house was beautiful, sprawling, pristine, a testament to success, but it wasn’t home. Nowhere was. Andrew had never cared where they lived, content with the idea of permanence over perfection. He would have happily planted their roots in a cardboard box, a penthouse, even a forgotten fixer-upper, so long as it was theirs. But Alex hesitated. Every house they toured blurred into the next. Vaulted ceilings, marble countertops, immaculate yards she couldn’t picture herself tending. Every contract felt like a commitment she wasn’t ready to make. And yet, the pressure mounted. Their wedding loomed in the near distance, and Andrew reminded her, gently but persistently, that they needed a place to return to. A foundation for their future. A home to start their family in. So she went through the motions, walking through showings, nodding along as realtors prattled on about square footage and natural light, pretending to care. Pretending she didn’t know deep down that her reluctance had little to do with the houses themselves and everything to do with something she refused to name. She had always been good at burying her feelings.

She entered their bedroom in silence, her heels gliding across the hardwood before stepping onto the white marble of the bathroom. The soft golden glow of the vanity lights cast her reflection as she undressed. The velvet dress slid from her body in one fluid motion, pooling at her feet. One by one, she unfastened her platform heels, the delicate clink of them meeting the floor, the only sound in the stillness. Her jewelry followed. A practiced ritual. Earrings first, then the bracelet, then the necklace. Last was her engagement ring. She paused. The diamond caught the overhead light, refracting brilliance, a glittering promise bound in gold. It was everything she had once dreamed of, a symbol of forever. But tonight, it felt almost meaningless. A contradiction against the memory of where she had been just hours earlier, huddled in a dimly lit hotel hallway with the one person she should have long since left behind. Her breath came slow and steady, but beneath the surface, tension coiled in her muscles, tightening like a vice. She exhaled sharply, willing the guilt away, willing the past to remain where it belonged.

But even as she scrubbed the remnants of the evening’s makeup from her face, as she removed her contacts and was left staring at herself bare and unfiltered, she saw the truth. The carefully constructed version of herself stripped away, leaving behind something raw. Something vulnerable. A girl, not a vixen. A girl with weaknesses, with regrets, with scars. The one that traced just below her hairline was more visible now, no longer softened by the careful styling that usually concealed it. It was a permanent reminder. Proof that no matter how far she tried to run, Zach would always be with her in some way. Etched into her skin. Stamped into her past. Swallowing hard, she turned away from the mirror, reaching for the comfort of routine. She pulled on her favorite pajamas, soft fabric against weary skin, before slipping beneath layers of meticulously arranged bedding. The room was silent save for the rhythmic ticking of the alarm clock, its numbers glowing red in the dark. She stared at them, watching as the hands shifted minute by minute, her mind a restless churn of thoughts that refused to settle. But sleep found her faster than she expected. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the late-night anxiety medication. Either way, she drifted, into sleep, into another realm. She woke to the soft touch of sunlight warming her skin, a gilded beam stretching across her face. Her lashes fluttered as her eyes adjusted, heavy with the haze of slumber.

The room around her was familiar, yet not her own. Linen curtains hung in elegant folds from floor-to-ceiling windows, diffusing the morning light, casting everything in a soft, ethereal glow. Beyond them, she knew, lay the beautiful California hills, endless, rolling, golden in the early dawn. Her breath hitched. Zach’s house. A slow, sinking realization coiled in her chest as she lifted her head from the pillow. The world felt weighted, too tangible to be a dream, yet too impossible to be real. Her fingers twitched as they brushed against something cool and smooth. A ring. A delicate gold band encircled her finger, but the diamond was different. Oval-cut, set in a way that felt foreign. She turned it slightly, catching a glimpse of an engraving on the inside, the script too blurred to make out. Confusion furrowed her brows as she squinted, trying to decipher the inscription. Then she felt the warmth beside her. Her gaze shifted, landing on the man lying peacefully beside her, bare-chested, the sheets tangled around his waist. Zach.

He was still breathtaking, still carved from the same impossible perfection she remembered. The sharp lines of his jaw, the smooth rise and fall of his chest, the way his dark lashes fanned against his skin, undisturbed, untouched by time. Exactly as she had left him that night. Her heart pounded, equal parts exhilaration and disbelief. What was this? Was Andrew the dream? Had she imagined the years that followed? Had she and Zach somehow weathered the storm, come out on the other side whole, together? Had they built a life, a future? The thought sent a rush of warmth through her, a kind of relief so powerful it left her breathless. They had made it. She had him. Finally. She reached out hesitantly at first, letting the tips of her fingers ghost over his bare skin, tracing the hard planes of his chest, feeling the steady pulse of his heartbeat beneath her touch. “Zach,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. A low, sleepy groan rumbled in his throat, but he didn’t stir. A slow smile curled at the corner of her lips. She knew how to wake him. Slipping fluidly over him, she straddled his hips, settling herself between his legs, her palms pressing lightly against his skin. Here, there was no guilt. No forbidden longing or shameful temptation. Here, she could bring every wanton thought to life. She could surrender to them. Because here, in this reality, this dream, this truth, whatever it was — he was hers.

Alex moved carefully, deliberately, her fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, the warmth of his skin radiating against her touch. Slowly, she began to roll the fabric down the length of his legs, her movements unhurried, savoring the moment. She glanced up, her breath catching within her throat, but he remained still, either lost in sleep or simply indulging in the anticipation, letting himself revel in what was coming. As the last barrier between them slid away, he sprang free, thick and heavy, standing proudly before her. A rush of heat pooled low in her stomach, and her lips parted instinctively as desire curled through her. Her mouth practically watered at the sight.

Rising to her knees, Alex wrapped her delicate fingers around him, marveling at the contrast, her small hand against his impressive length, the way he twitched in response to her touch. She traced slow, deliberate strokes along his shaft, savoring the velvety heat beneath her palm. Her gaze flickered upward, catching the faintest shift in his expression. The way his brows knitted together, his lips parting just so. A smile curled at the edges of her own. Even in his feigned sleep, his body betrayed him. Adjusting herself atop the mattress, she settled in, prepared to take her time. Lowering her head, she welcomed him past the soft plush of her lips, the weight of him gliding along her tongue, inch by inch. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, and she moaned, the vibrations causing him to tense, to swell against her. Slowly, methodically, she worked him to the back of her throat before retreating, only to repeat the motion, again and again, until his restraint unraveled. His fingers curled into the sheets, hips rolling instinctively to meet her rhythm. His resolve cracked as he groaned her name, the sound thick with pleasure, raw and unfiltered. The ache between her own thighs became unbearable. She wore only a silk slip, bare beneath, and the evidence of her own arousal slicked against her skin. Normally, her lingerie would have captured it, but now it trailed along her thighs, sticky and sweet.

She pulled back for a moment, releasing him with a sinful pop, his length glistening, coated in her saliva. The sight alone sent a ripple of anticipation through her, the need to feel him in every way almost too much to bear. Zach’s hand wove into her hair, his fingers threading through the deep red waves, tightening just enough to guide her, to urge her forward. A low, ragged groan escaped his lips, his breath uneven as he warned her he was close. She didn’t falter. Instead, she doubled down, her pace steady, her tongue teasing in all the ways she knew drove him wild. His grip tightened, his body tensed, and then he crumbled. A sharp, shuddering exhale tore from his throat as he spilled into her mouth, hot and thick, coating her tongue before slipping from the corners of her lips, trailing down her chin in glistening streaks. She tried to keep up, swallowing what she could, but it was too much, too fast. A soft, breathless laugh tumbled from her as she sat back on her heels, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing the remnants away. Satisfaction gleamed in her eyes as she licked her lips, her body still buzzing from the high of it all. She opened her mouth, about to let loose some wickedly sharp remark but she was interrupted.

Zach’s reflexes were instant. He yanked the sheets up over his waist, pushing himself back against the headboard in a desperate attempt to regain his composure. His breath was still uneven, his body still thrumming from the moment, but all of it was eclipsed by the sudden sound of small feet padding down the hallway. Then came the giggle. Light, innocent, the unmistakable laughter of a little boy eager to burst into the room. Alex’s heart clenched, a strange mix of anticipation and confusion tightening in her chest. She barely had time to react, to turn toward the doorway, to catch a glimpse of the child’s sweet face before - darkness. The sunlit room, the scent of him lingering in the air. It all vanished in an instant. She woke with a jolt and the world around her was starkly different. Cold. Silent. The room was shrouded in darkness, the sheets untouched beside her. She was alone.

Under her gaze, it would be so easy to relent. Already his skin hissed with unnatural coldness where she was absent. Where she had promised, but not quite. Her molten, dribbling gaze left scorch marks in its wake, his skin glowing proudly with them. The same marks he’d rub his thumb over in solitude, at night when sleep fended him off, to keep the wounds fresh and blooming. It would be so easy to show his hand now. Not that this was a competition – or, rather, a race to the finish line. They had been dancing around their blazing fire, turning their eyes to the moon as though they couldn’t feel its unforgivable heat, for months now. He had been the one to leap over the flames, to bridge the gap between them. To admit to the impossible plague of his wanting, to peel back the skin upon his chest and let her see how mangled inside he was over it. He now only waited for her to give into it, too. And he had felt her there, if only for a moment. That unshelled incarnation of her she kept trapped within a locked, airy tomb; for that moment he had felt her, thrashing and throbbing, beneath the surface. Aching to satiate the relentless need in her she had been convincing everybody was already seen to. Andrew could give her everything, yes. But Zach could give her more.

Kylie’s voice, ringing clear and true, inspired an obvious and immediate change in both of them. Composure collected rashly like forgotten keys from a side table; spines smoothened, gazes dampened, timbres lightened. He watched his ghost be shaken from Alex's silhouette with only a seconds notice. How easy it was to play pretend. Even the curve of her jaw changed, her measured head turn a foreign entity to the frenetic thing he’d held trapped between hungry palms not moments ago. Alex made her swift departure. Zach struggled, for a moment, to tear his eyes from her retreating back. Then Kylie loped toward him. “Are there even restrooms down here…?” she speculated, looking skeptically from wall to wall in search of a glowing WC sign. Zach slid his arm around her shoulders and steered her back toward the mouth of the hallway. “Already taken care of,” he advised quickly. As they walked, her head turned back again, checking for something. Anything. His heart turned over, a sputtering engine, in his chest. He had to be more careful.

Though many would suspect otherwise, Zach Winthrop had little experience in the field of what one might refer to as affairs. He wasn’t entirely confident in attaching such a title to whatever they were doing. What they were doing was complicated, new. Fatidic and inevitable. And he knew he didn’t want Kylie to know, though his motivations were askew. Mysterious even to him. Two halves of a wishbone, trembling before the snap. He wanted to keep it private for the sake of its longevity; his agonizing desire to see it through. But also, because he found that with Kylie tucked beneath his arm, he wasn’t sure he was prepared to lose her. As they re-emerged into the fray, his nose wrinkled. Lights played, polychromatic, cursing the dancing bodies beneath to appear frenzied and nightmarish. Music throbbed at the knot of bone in the center of his chest, pounding there. He looked down at her and she smiled. His face flickered. Even if he really tried to make it so, could she ever be enough?

It soon became apparent that the decorated host and his bewitching fiancé had quietly departed. Perhaps not to everyone else, slipping into their half-lidded stupors, but certainly to Zach. To Zach, who every few seconds found himself searching for her against his will. His better judgement. A fast glance sent like a boomerang around the room, evergreen hope climbing up from his stomach that his efforts might return a glimpse of her. He did not forget the feeling. He didn’t try. Should he shed his clothes, he was certain the memory of her body would be burned into his. When he lingered on it too long; waist trembling between his fingers, breath hot and helpless on his neck, soft hand catching on the scruff of his jaw; it stirred in the low pit of his abdomen, twinged in the hilt of his thighs. Desire became of him. His jaw watered at the thought of her. But still, the evening bled slowly on, well into the early hours of the morning. It just wouldn't die. He felt sleep aching in his joints, eyes growing red and heavy with exhaustion, incapable of keeping up with a crowd imbued with white powder and pretty pills. Though Kylie hid it from him, he could tell when he talked to her; she was hopped up out of her skull, threaded with stimulants, weighed down with depressants. It was too difficult to be around.

Eventually, 6 AM smeared a juicy orange and coral red sunset around the tinted window panes as Zach’s driver dutifully toted them from Beverly Hills to Calabasas. He had hoped quietly, and hours ago now, that he’d be able to wring Alex from his system by sinking into Kylie. But she slept like a dead body on his shoulder, catatonic only ten minutes into their fifty minute drive, and he knew that instead he would be plagued by the fitful memory. Nowhere to put it. Only for it to fester, seep into his bones, infect him like a parasite. He chewed on his lip and tried to join Kylie in sleep. It never came. Forty more long, stretched minutes later, they arrived home. Zach was grateful for it. He gathered the loose golden thread of a girl into his arms, thanked his driver and trudged sleepily inside. Into their home. The one he had let her share with him, to make her own. The one she had danced with his brother within the walls of. The one Alex had never stepped foot into. Would it ever be enough?

Kylie put to bed, Zach tried. He tried for another hour. Sleep did not come. What came was far worse; each time he sank into purgatory, the realm between consciousness and unconsciousness, Alex’s touch sheathed each exposed inch of him in a phantasmic breath. Coated in goosebumps, it shuddered him awake each time. On the third, his eyes flew open and he turned his chin in frustration, looking on at Kylie’s restful face. “Ky,” he muttered. Nothing. “Kylie,” he tried again. Absolutely still. A marble statue. Zack abruptly kicked his feet from the mattress and stood, not turning back as he disappeared down the hall, passing their ensuite to instead invade the guest bathroom a wing away. He wore only his boxers. He need not glance south to know he was diamond-hard; his arousal throbbed, almost hurt, and he swore he could smell Alex’s perfume as he walked. He turned the gold-plated faucets on the guest shower and shed his underwear, stepping under the hot stream of water only when plumes began spilling from behind the glass. He had hoped the waiting would reduce his wanting, but it had not. In fact, when he stepped under the heavy thrum and the water hit and slid over his exposed member, he groaned aloud.

A full-body twitch left him one hand slapped to the tile wall, shoulders hunched as phantom wings closed around him, his other hand hovering somewhere near his hips. To relent felt like losing. Like admitting something he had already admitted. Or proving her right; he'd always cave first. But the water kept hitting him, kept swallowing him, and as his eyes fluttered closed to the friction he was lambasted with images of her. Zach failed to think. His hand encircled the base of his cock and he almost buckled; a terrible, frustrated moan sputtered so deep from his throat he sounded barely human. His eyes squeezed tight as water pelted over him, and his grip slid in a solid motion up to the tip of his length. He breathed heavy. Alex blinked behind his kaleidoscopic lids; shining dark eyes, webbed wet lashes, open mouth and open legs, puffy pink matter stretching as he pushed into her. His hand came back down, stroking himself. His forehead pressed to cool tile. He could almost hear her. His other arm came up to the wall, overhead, and his face turned into his bicep as though squashing the sin. “Alex…” he whispered guttural into his skin. He worked himself over, helpless to the vice, mind littered with a million unravelling ideations of the girl who had told him no.

#sigh

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seirclys · 3 years ago

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How the MLs were originally designed for Penelope's routes

@i-wanna-be-an-author answered an ask and I reblogged. And then I decided to separate my reblog into another post bc it was getting dangerously close to "research paper/analysis" length.

For a bit of context, they talked about JBE's post about how it doesn't make sense for Yvonne and Penelope to share MLs, given that the MLs killed Penelope multiple times. I propose that these MLs were actually meant for Penelope in the beginning, but Laila's brainwashing ruined it, as well as the curse on her. I'll also give short reasoning as to why some routes wouldn't work with Siyeon.

Derrick and Reynold would've been the tentative family healing path, where Penelope's circumstances improve and she begins to deal with her family issues and trauma. The two brothers would come to terms with Yvonne's death, introspect about their past abuse(after several wake-up calls), and how it ruined Penelope's life. Derrick needs counseling and to think about the implications of being physically attracted to someone 6-7 years younger than him(when he was 18 and she was 12), who was brought in because of her close resemblance to his biological sister.

This route wouldn't have worked with Siyeon(to some extent) because she herself gave up on her family in Korea, cutting ties with them. Reynold tried and defended her, which was how he managed to scrape by with an ok relationship with her. Derrick, on the other hand... well, he needs therapy.

Callisto would've been the route where Penelope was able to escape her circumstances through the hierarchy system. Callisto and Penelope would've been able to bond over their family trauma, deal with their issues, and be a pillar of support for each other. The position of Empress would've shielded her from any insults/pranks against her. They are, after all, intimately aware of each other's circumstances: The Imperial Ruffian/Crazy Bastard of Eorka and the Mad Dog of Eckhart/The Duke's Fake Daughter/The Chimpanzee with the Crossbow.

This is probably why Siyeon and Callisto end up together; Siyeon has similar trauma with Penelope, being a mirror of her circumstances.

Winter would've been a bit similar to Callisto, in that Penelope is able to escape her circumstances through the nobility system. Given that Penelope was an orphan from the streets, and Winter is known to take care of orphans, they could've bonded over that. His pristine reputation would've softened most of the attacks against Penelope. If he sensed magic in her later on, he could've taught her to control it, so that she didn't lash out and accidentally hurt someone with it. Anyways, Penelope needed a person who was gentle with her and helped her work through trauma, and maybe they'd deal with Winter's trust issues along the way. Penelope could've also bonded with the children under Winter's care, regardless if they had magic or not. Another thing: in this route, they might've been able to do something about Penelope's curse from the Laila. After all, Winter is highly proficient in magic and researched the ancient wizards/Laila a lot.

This route wouldn't have worked with Siyeon, because of her constant state of survival. Like in the manhwa, she would've deemed him too problematic to establish a closer relationship with. His trust issues were too much for her.

Eckles. I'll admit I hate on him a bit, but to be honest, it's kind of petered out to be lighthearted at this point. I don't really feel hatred for him as a character: like he did some fucked up shit in the novel that I'm not going to disclose, but in the end, it's my hobby to analyze characters and to see if they can be painted in grey. Given his status as Penelope's personal guard and a slave, Eckles would've been seen as a kindred spirit to Penelope. Both had low statuses at some point in their lives and are now in a hostile environment where everyone degrades them. With Penelope's childish nature and "immaturity"(how mature can a 17-year-old be when she's in a toxic af environment for 6 years of her life, with no one to help her rise to the expectations they had of her as a noble lady), Eckles could've served as a voice of reason, or helped untangle some of that trauma. I don't know. (To be honest, I should be analyzing Eckles more: It's more fun to try to analyze a character you don't really like objectively)Given their relative age and trauma, Eckles could've been a romantic or platonic relationship for her. Though hopefully, he wouldn't go neck-deep into the "obsessive yandere who'd be content with their target of desire's body" type of deep end. Again, something I mentioned was how stupid the idea of "Eckles and Penelope running away" was: if only because the duchy can't make their minds about her, and they'll think that he forcibly kidnapped Penelope.

This, I think, wouldn't work for Siyeon. She needed someone to fulfill her objective of leaving the game, and Eckles was more in love with her mask than her actual self. Both of them were using each other, with Siyeon focused on her own survival and herself, pushing Eckles away and giving him mixed signals and whiplash.

#lysia's posts #scrutinies #villains are destined to die #vadd #death is the only ending for a villainess #death is the only ending for the villainess #ditoeftv #penelope eckhart #derrick eckhart #reynold eckhart #callisto regulus #winter verdandi #eckles #original penelope eckhart #og penelope eckhart #og! penelope eckhart #og penelope

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nesquik-arccheron · 4 years ago

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Call Me Yours (Part 3)

Is this a masterpiece, no, far from it. Did I have fun writing this self-indulgent bs, yes! It is completely unbetad, and probably a mess, because I couldn’t stop myself from writing more than 10k+ even though I promised myself it wouldn’t be over 5k…and the constant changing of POV’s, so that’s fun. Also badly written, tastless smut. Probably forgot to tag some people because I'm forgetful. AO3 LINK

SUMMARY: With weeks having passed since Cassian’s induction into the royal guard, both Cassian and Nesta continue to battle with their ever growing feelings, and with Nesta and her mother remaining at odds about her future, Nesta concludes that if she is destined for a life that isn’t wholly hers, she will take what she can before time runs out. (TW: parental abuse)

<<<previous part I next part>>>

It had been just over three weeks since Cassian had taken up his position as Nesta’s personal guard. Three long, difficult and draining weeks.

It hadn’t taken long for Cassian to realize that the Nesta he had met all those months ago, under the guise of a Nobel with a much lesser title, was not the same Nesta that he had been hired to watch over. At least in the sense of how she presented herself to the world.

The woman he knew was not lost, far from it, but kept safe behind the perfectly constructed mask of indifference she wore, topped with a frosty demeanour that could have even the most influential of men cowering before her.

It was a defence mechanism, something she had carefully put into place to protect the more vulnerable parts of herself. By need, not choice. A safeguard in a world run by men who wished to dominate the bleeding heart that lay deep under that protective layer, and it was obvious Nesta would do everything she could to not become a victim of those who wished to manipulate her.

It was a delicate balance born of necessity, and a difficult transition to become accustomed to, but he understood the need for her armour. So instead of getting in her way, at the risk of exposing her, Cassian chose to become her sword. A weapon she could wield for her own protection.

Though he chose to let her brandish him like a blade, he found she did not always require his sharp edge, her own tongue lashing swifter than any weapon in the face of a threat. But when she took off her pristine armour, he marvelled what lay beneath, thought sometimes it terrified him beyond words.

Because she was full of life behind her walls, a snowstorm trapped behind an otherwise calm demeanour, and she reminded him of everything he wanted, but could not have.

Sometimes he didn’t know what side of this elegantly built woman he found more difficult to balance. There was the perfectly poised princess, who exuded control and demanded respect, who the entirety of the court described as aloof and apathetic, and was so much more intelligent than even she realized. Then there was the side that only her closest allies seemed to be privy to. A girl who wished to have the freedom to express the plethora of emotions begging for release, who did not want to hide behind the facade of a cold hearted and unfeeling ruler, or be controlled by the demands that governed her life, behind the walls of a palace that had become her cage.

Because a cage was still a cage, no matter how pretty it was.

But that part of her that waited to be unleashed in the more private moments, came with another side, one that only seemed to come alive around him. She was more subtle in her advances than in their initial interaction. A lingering brush of her hand on his arm as she passed, prolonged eye contact that had him squirming at his post, the way she leaned just a little too close whenever she gave an instruction, her breath hot against the more sensitive skin of his ear. She was surprisingly good at the double entendre for someone who had been sheltered all her life.

The worst of it came at the dinner table, she loved to tease him in a room full of people, seeming to get the most enjoyment out of provoking him when he could do nothing about it.

The way her tongue lapped and swirled around her spoon as she enjoyed her dessert was especially provocative. The visual demonstration of what that pretty mouth of hers could do would have been incredibly appealing, if he wasn’t trying too hard to not give in to the part of him that wanted to replace that spoon with his own cock.

Cassian found it rather amusing how forward she could be, given the circumstances surrounding their first encounter. She hadn’t been able to conceal the blush that spread across her cheeks at the lewd language he had used to describe the offending appendage, yet here she was licking and moaning around a spoon to mimic an activity, that to his knowledge, she had never experienced.

On good nights he would resist the long list of reasons why he couldn’t give in, why he needed to maintain a professional relationship with the women he was bound to protect. On the bad ones, he found himself flopping exhausted onto his plush bed, pleasuring himself to the thoughts of her hands and the sound of her gasps and moans as he brought himself over the edge. It didn’t help that his imagination didn’t have to work too hard to produce such fantasies, as he had first hand experience with the way her skin felt beneath his hands and lips, the way she withered under him and the way her body shook as she came.

He had more bad days than good.

While his nights were filled with thoughts of a more carnal nature, his days were spent in silent observation. Not of threats, but of her. Over the few weeks they had spent in each other’s company, Cassian had come to realize there was much more to the future queen than he ever imagined. Nesta was brilliant, passionate, with an overwhelming need to prove herself. She spent hours in the castle's many luxurious libraries, pouring over books, maps, treaties, absorbing every detail until it was committed to memory. There were days when he watched her eyes slowly close from exhaustion and others where she was so consumed by the tiny print that littered the pages of the books she read that he couldn’t get her attention.

The most curious of habits he had noted was her presence outside of her father's study, or rather a tunnel that overlooked the study from behind a tapestry within an alcove. He felt guilty, about strong arming Feyre into revealing where she was, convincing the youngest princess that her sister could potentially be in danger, but he did what he had to do in order to fulfil his duty.

It wasn’t obvious at first, what exactly she was doing, but he soon came to realize she was listening in on her father’s private conversations with his counsel. She could be punished for this, both of them would be if discovered, but it was hard to deny her when her intentions were so pure. The overwhelming need to know more, to educate herself on every faucet about the kingdom she would inherit. To gather the information neither of her parents deemed her worthy of knowing.

She never ceased to amaze him, to leave him in awe of her.

The worst part was as the days went on, and he learned more about her, the more her advances were not so unwelcome.

He was becoming far too comfortable in her presence, and he knew he was playing with fire when he began to allow her to push the boundaries of their relationship more and more. Cassian felt as if he could feel the scorching heat of Devlon’s disappointment prickling at the back of his neck, his voice so clear it was like he was standing beside him, explaining in great detail everything wrong with the situation. How there was no good outcome for either of them, that the only thing awaiting both of them at the end of this road was a matching pair of broken hearts.

He knew the voice in the back of his head was his own, but he found it easier to ignore if he imagined it came from someone else. Though there was no denying the truth it spoke, there was no scenario where Cassian ended up standing beside her at the end of it all. Nesta, who was a princess, one who cared deeply for her people as she was kept at arm's length from them. Nesta, who would one day become a queen who would be more than just a pretty decoration on the arm of her husband. She would be no figurehead, she would be a leader who would be remembered throughout history.

And Cassian, never at her side, but three steps behind her. Where he belonged.

Eventually, the liberties he had taken with his boundaries came to a head one cool summer day. Nesta had just finished afternoon tea with her mother and yet another one of the many men her mother forced her to entertain. The man in question was a respectable young Lord, around the same age as Cassian himself, but had the pompous attitude of a Nobleman who had never learned an ounce of respect for women, and the personality of a piece of unseasoned chicken.

Cassian could see her mood souring quickly with every second she was forced to sit through the fake pleasantries and invasive questions. When he had inquired about her virginity, Nesta almost turned the table over in a fit of rage. Her mother’s oppressive glare was the only thing that kept her from leaping out of her seat and strangling the man. Cassian felt his own anger spike, but years of extensive training gave him the ability to keep his face neutral, bottling up the tension to release it safely in the confines of the training ring at a later date.

Nesta had her own way to release her frustration, more often than not rousing him from sleep to accompany her on an early morning horse ride through the forest adjacent to the castle. It had a great calming effect on her, the quiet of the forest similar to the calm that overtook him in the sparing ring as he lunged and swung at his opponent.

She was a vision of beauty on horseback. Hair cascading down her back as her braid came loose, the wind carrying the fresh scent of vanilla and jasmine right to his nostrils. The look of pure bliss that spread across her face the deeper they ventured into the forest was worth the lack of sleep. The first time he heard her laugh, the sound a shock to his system as he watched her mare leap over a fallen tree trunk, did he fully understand the effect that riding had on her. The melodic sound reverberated off the trees and straight through his body, warming him from the inside out as he tried to keep up with her breakneck speed.

He had never missed a day to ride with her since.

A ride was Cassian’s exact intention when he sought her out later that day after she had so elegantly stomped off once dismissed from tea. She was prone to explode on anyone and removing her from the castle was the best option. It was better to stop the warpath she was on than let her simmer in anger. So, he had made the executive decision to send word with one of the servants to let the stable boy know to prepare their horses.

He had contemplated requesting a light arrangement of fresh-cut fruit to take along with them, as she had not eaten a lick of anything since their morning meal, but regarding her posture as he approached her in the centre of the flower garden, he had made the right decision not to.

Cassian watched as his princess paced in the centre of the high walled maze in the heart of the luscious palace garden. It was one of her most favoured hideouts, as she was completely shielded among the swirling towers of viny morning glories and high walled rose bushes, the gazebo in the centre providing complete privacy, even from the sun.

It was far too difficult for the majority of people to navigate, so she frequented the space often. No matter how much it made her eyes water and nose run.

Cassian made sure to make his presence known as he met her in the centre of the small enclosed space. He could tell she was angry by the way her shoulders locked up, could hear the steady release of a breath exit her as she attempted to keep her voice steady, “Out of all the choices that have been taken from me, I wish the decision of who I would marry wouldn’t be one of them.”

Cassian didn’t know what to say, for he agreed with her statement, but he could not find the words to comfort her. Royals, especially of her stature, rarely married for love. Such unions were typically arranged by the elder family members, sometimes even from birth. They married for power, for financial gain, for reputation, but never love.

“Why must the choice of who I must spend my life with be up to the judgment of the court, of my mother?” She still did not look to him and he did not force the matter.

He had bore witness to many of Nesta’s emotions, he knew her anger, her distaste, even the mischievous side that would make appearances at the most inopportune times. Her cunning and playful demeanour that would sometimes come out to play, were his particular favourites. It was the more vulnerable ones that she tended to keep closer to her heart. She was hurting now and did not wish for him to see it, “Maybe I wish to never marry.”

Her entire life she had been taught to be strong, unfeeling, cold. Cassian felt greedy in wishing she would let her guard down completely with him, but it wasn’t in her nature to depend on anyone.

“I won't even get to rule, Cassian,” she said, finally facing him. He took in her face, stoic as ever, but her eyes always gave away her inner turmoil. “I will never be anything but a decoration on my husband's arm. I spend day after day pouring over books, playing pretend, but I know that I will never be worth more than the price of my womb.”

He could see her armour cracking, with the inability to stop her fists from clenching or the glassy look in her eye. It was all the proof he needed to know the weight of everything was beginning to crush her, “Maybe I will fall in love with whatever dashing Prince, Duke or Lord my mother picks for me, maybe he will sweep me off my feet and we will ride into the sunset like every princess is destined to do,” she continued, waving her arms to expel some of the pent up energy she was feeling. Cassian circled her slowly in approach, the need to be close, to comfort raging deep inside his chest.

“I doubt I would be so lucky, to feel anything towards someone that was forced upon me,” Nesta spat, and Cassian took note of the wording she had used and packed that away for later. Forced. Not arranged, not decided for, but forced. “I’ll probably end up in some socially acceptable marriage, with some male with no personality and a balding head, who will fuck me with his tiny cock until I’m round with his child than find himself some big breasted whore who pretends his little prick pleasures her because I refuse to lay and wither in fake theatrics while he ruts like some fat pig on top of me.” She didn't even flinch at the use of such crass language.

No amount of training could prepare Cassian to withstand the laugh that forced its way out at her colourful description. He sputtered and coughed to hide his amusement, looking down at his shoes in attempt to conceal his shame at finding delight in her obvious pain.

The tiny wet noise that erupted from the princess had him looking up to investigate. A small pained smile crossed her face, a single tear clinging to her lower lashes the only sign of her pain. Cassian had always had an overwhelming urge to protect those he loved, to comfort, but the intensity of it when it came to her was shocking. It took everything in him to not close the space between them, to crush her against his chest as she quickly wiped the tear with the sleeve of her dress. Embarrassment was the emotion she was trying to conceal, and he desperately wanted her to know she did not need to feel such things, especially around him.

“You probably think me some ungrateful child,” a sardonic smile touched her lips, “I will never want for anything, or know what it is like to have no home, or feel hunger, and here I am, whining about love of all things.”

It was a morbid laugh that fell from her lips as she closed the space between them, leaning her forehead against his broad chest. He debated with himself, if he should reach out for her, his hands dangling uselessly at his side waiting for instruction.

He couldn’t resist taking in the scent of her hair as she leaned against him, the fresh perfume of her shampoo mingling in with the fragrant flowers surrounding them, “No, people are people, no matter what title they hold.”

He could feel her hands curl into the material of his casual leathers, and there was no doubt her nails would leave imprints in the expensive material. Cassian placed his hand over hers without thought, rubbing small circles into the soft skin of her hand, the motion relaxing the tense muscles, allowing him to intertwine their fingers. How could he have ever thought he could refuse her, or want to, “There are just some desires that are universal, and you are no different. Do not feel ashamed of how you feel when those choices are taken from you.”

Cassian's heart thumped when she finally locked eyes with him through a veil of thick lashes, the shock of the dispirited look he saw within them was enough to make him stumble, “As accurate as those words maybe,” she said, squeezing his hand to find her ground. He didn’t miss the flicker from his lips back to his eyes as she spoke, “My ability to fulfill those desires is an impossible feat.”

He knew what she meant, because he felt it too. Wanted it just as much.

“But what if you could?” He asked without thinking, pushing the repercussions of such a statement out of his mind. It was self-indulgent, stupid, but it was hard to think straight when she was so close, “What would you do if you had the freedom to take whatever you wanted?”

An expression he had never seen on her before crossed her features, and she blinked once, twice, another flicker to his lips and back, “I think we both know the answer to that…” she trailed off, taking her lip between her teeth, mulling over how to proceed after such a statement.

Cassian didn’t have time to offer a rebuttal as she wrapped her free hand around the back of his neck, bringing him down to her level as she propelled herself upwards to meet him on the tips of her feet. It would be a lie if Cassian said he was shocked by the action. He had practically baited her with the question, and given their shared history and the tension building between them, their current position seemed to be the only probable outcome.

He did not fight the bruising pace of the kiss, fully content leaning into it, allowing her to use him as she pleased. It was closer to an outer body experience than he ever anticipated, the feel of her, the way she smelled, the sounds she made, the need to just be. He could recount the music, the dancing, the flirtatious banter of that night, but to finally feel the weight of her against him was more exquisite than the memories he had. It was pure self indulgence, on both ends, the desperate need to return to that place where rules and ranks did not linger above them like a dark storm cloud.

It was easy for Cassian to fall into the moment, the press of her lips, the feel of her tongue as she demanded entrance, sliding into his mouth with minimal resistance. Nesta was far too proud to be anything less than confident in her abilities, no matter how clumsy and unpracticed she was, fumbling awkwardly over his cheeks, his teeth, clashing their tounges together in a rhythmless dance as if she was trying to commit the taste, the feel of him to memory.

He was far too gone to hold in the groan as she pressed herself flush against his body, he was drunk on her, and he no longer had control over his movements as he wrapped her completely in his arms. He was content to be used by her, and if she wanted to be pressed so close that there was no way to differentiate between their bodies, he would follow her command.

He wanted her more than he ever wanted anything, and for a moment, he let himself believe he could have just that.

Both were so caught up in each other, that they did not hear the approaching footsteps from the entrance of the small enclosed area. A cough came from behind as he reached to thread his fingers through her hair, itching to release the silky strands from the tight braid. The couple jumped apart at the sound, Cassian stumbling as Nesta pushed against his chest to put as much space between them. He didn’t mention that such a thing wasn’t needed, they had already been caught.

“I don’t think I need to tell you how stupid you both are?”

Feyre.

Cassian had never been so grateful as to see the youngest princess. If they were to be caught by anyone, they were lucky it was her.

Nesta brushed the wrinkles from her skirts nonchalantly, straightening her back in the way he had become accustomed to when she felt threatened. It was an illusion, to make herself feel bigger, her body language telling the perpetrator she would not be intimidated. It was a learned mannerism, one she no doubt picked up from her mother, and his least favourite gesture. It sent a primal feeling to his brain to protect, but Feyre was no threat.

“What are you even doing here, shouldn’t you be with Alis for your lessons?”

“I’m on a break, but don’t try and divert the conversation, I’m not the one who was caught doing something stupid,” Feyre shot back, giving her sister a look the other may be proud of if it wasn’t directed at her. “Nesta, you know how dangerous this is, and not just for you. Think about what could happen to Cassian, you were lucky it was me, but what if it was someone else, like one of the servants, the guards, or worse, mother.”

He saw the hitch in Nesta’s breath at the mention of her mother, the only visible reaction of her distress.

Feyre and Nesta were almost a carbon copy of each other, the only difference was that Nesta stood about 2 inches over her sister. Though the olders features were more severe, when Nesta allowed herself to relax, she mirrored her youngest sister right down to the shade of their steel-blue eyes.

“Maybe, you should learn to keep out of others' business, you’re so nosy, you’re worse than Lady Ianthe,” Nesta drawled.

Feyre rolled her eyes, “If you are so easily caught by me, I’m sure Lady Ianthe will know by dawn. I wouldn’t complain, I could use a break.”

They both laughed, an uneasy peace settled in. “Look Nesta, I know I’m the last person you will listen to, if anything, whatever advice I lend will propel you to do the exact opposite,” Cassian couldn’t help but agree. “But just remember your actions have consequences, and not just for you,” her eyes flashing to Cassian for emphasis, “And I like him.”

Cassian nodded in thanks, not wishing to interrupt.

“Besides, things have been good since he came around, and there haven’t been any…incidents.”

The look Nesta gave her sister was enough to level even the rockiest of terrains. He could see the fire in her eyes spark to life, ready to devour anything and everything in its wake. He didn’t know what the two meant by incidents, but the mention of it had Nesta on high alert. Cassian took note of her posture, how it tensed, the slight intake of breath through her nose similar to the one at the earlier mention of her mother. He observed each and every movement as the sisters talked, packing it away at the back of his mind for later reference.

“I’m scared for you, and for him—if you both get caught,” Feyre paused, noticing her sister's stance as well. She sighed, “I’m just reminding you of risks here, Mama is already at her wits ends with finding you a possible husband, and you-know-who is still on the table for marriage,” The reminder made Nesta flinch, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “Mama entertained your denial of the proposal, but she may lose what patience she has left if she gets wind of this.”

The silence between them was palpable, thick with the implication of the words Feyre spoke. “I want you to be happy, I do, but is it really worth it, for both of you?” Nesta looked away, to Cassian and back to her sister in thought. Cassian felt his heart deflate, and not only for himself. He had been through plenty in his life, and nothing the queen did to him could be worse than the brutality of life at the camps.

His concern lay with her. This would be a scandal, one her mother would not tolerate or allow. Nesta was to marry a prince, someone worthy of her status. Bastards did not marry princesses.

“Feyre?” Came a soft voice from within the maze of flowers, drawing the group's attention.

“Just be careful,” Feyre told Nesta pointedly, as if she was the older sibling giving orders, “Please.”

“There are you,” the voice came again, this time from behind them, revealing Mor, Feyre’s Lady-In-Wait. “You ran through the maze so quickly, I can’t for the life of me find my way back.”

Good, Cassian thought, he liked that this was his and Nesta’s spot, somewhere they could be alone in a castle where there were eyes on them 24/7. Nesta didn’t seem surprised Feyre had found them so easily, but Nesta knew all of Feyre’s secret tunnels. So did Cassian, it was his job, but neither of them knew that.

“Nesta,” Mor said, her voice icier than before when she spotted the other princess. Cassian still hadn't figured out their relationship, or the disdain they both felt for each other, but the tension was obvious.

A nod was the only acknowledgement she gave the blonde. Mor gave a small huff before addressing Feyre, “It’s time to return to lessons, Alis will kill me if we are late, again.” It was often one would find Mor running through the castle, trailing after Feyre, trying to return her to the room where the girls had their lessons with Alis. As the youngest, Feyre had the least amount of responsibility to the crown, so she took her lessons less seriously than her two older sisters.

“Come,” the blonde said, dragging Feyre from the clearing, looking around confused as she tried to navigate her way out, “How will we ever get out of here, how did you even find this place?” Cassian heard them as they turned the corner, Feyre giving Nesta one last look before doing so.

Neither of them moved until they heard their voices disappear completely, swallowed up by the walls of perfectly trimmed rose bushes. It was hard for both of them to find the words, to talk about what truths Feyre had reminded them of. So Cassian said the only thing he could think of, to allow them both some breathing room, “Do you want to go for a ride?”

Nesta finally looked over to him, a bitter smile on her face, “Yes.”

—————

The next month went on as usual, with almost daily horseback rides through the forest, with Cassian watching Nesta study and Nesta pretending she didn’t notice, scared that if she mentioned it he would back away from her. She had even begun to teach him how to play chess. He was better at the game than she anticipated, a quick learner she mused, but his war training was perfect for this type of game. It was all strategy, anticipating your opponent's next move and knowing when you must play the offensive or defensive to come out victorious.

Nesta found she began to become more aware of his presence after that initial kiss they shared in the garden. Many more had followed, along with stolen moments in the corridors, subtle smiles shared at tea when a suitor made a particularly irritating comment, longing looks at dinner as he watched her eat from his position on the far wall. Feyre got into the habit of kicking her sister under the table when her eyes lingered on his far longer than socially acceptable.

She took every opportunity to corner him, refusing not to grab the bull by the horns, or rather Cassian by the neck, when at all possible. There were many hidden areas within the castle, and she knew every one of them. So did Gwyn, which was how her best friend found out about their little escapades, having come across them as Nesta pushed Cassian against the wall, body hovering over his as she leaned up on her toes to kiss him. Gwyn had found it particularly funny, how Cassian, a man that stood at minimum a head over his princess, had been trapped between her and the wall. She did not fail to mention how much it looked like he enjoyed it.

That night Gwyn had demanded a sleepover, forcing Nesta to go over every single detail of their love affair. It didn’t take much, they laughed and gossiped over a mountain of tiny cakes and pastries from the kitchen late into the night. After that day, Gwyn made every excuse to poke Cassian about it, and Nesta made no move to stop her friend, even when he begged her to. She found she liked the way his cheek set aflame whenever Gwyn made kissy faces at him, fluttered her eyes lashes, or flashed him a suggestive grin whenever they interacted.

Elain was the only one who Nesta could not tell. It wasn’t that she would rat her out, Elain was loyal to a fault to her sisters, but she could easily be manipulated by their mother. It was a risk she couldn’t take, and she hated not telling her sister. They told each other everything and Nesta couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt every time she saw her. But she had to protect herself, and especially Cassian. She knew what her mother would do if she got a wif of this, and it terrified her to her core, and if lying was the worst of her transgressions, she would take it.

It was a particularly hot day, even under the shade of the pavilion in the centre of the garden, when she noticed a change in him. Tea was put aside and replaced with cold water with fresh lemon to keep them cool. They were having a game of chess, Nesta having recognized Cassian’s lacklustre mood the days previous, but it was particularly worse today. She did not like the way his eyes seemed dimmer, the light slowly sparking out, so she had suggested a game to take his mind off his worries, but he did not react to her heckling as he lost game after game.

If she could not get his attention with taunts and teasing, maybe her body would catch his observant eye. She sighed heavily as she waited for Cassian to make his move, the gesture causing her breasts to push against the material of her dress, and she leaned forward, reaching for her fan to cool her skin.

“It’s so hot out today, isn’t it?” She asked, pushing down the v of her dress to expose more skin, flushed red from the heat. She knew it was a desperate move, maybe a little tacky, but she was desperate to wipe that despondent look on his face and make his cheeks as red as her chest.

Nesta pouted, the childish move making her chest fall and shoulder slump. Instead of letting the bratty urge to whine take hold, angry that he wouldn’t pay attention to her, she took the time to look at him. What she had assumed from the beginning as a worried soldier, looked more like a sad child. There was something different in his eyes than she was used to when he displayed worry. Cassian was still taking guidance from Devlon, and often showed signs of apprehension over his ability to fulfil it. It more often appeared when he was reading over reports and trying to make sense of it, or going over training routines for the guards within the palace. It was like a white flag of surrender, letting her know he was reaching his breaking point and could use a distraction. And Nesta learned quickly, that she was a great distraction.

The look that was present now was much more sombre, longing for something that he couldn’t have, but it wasn’t her. It was almost like he was missing something he had once had but lost, like he was in mourning. She hated it, the feeling surprising her. She had become protective over the man, and that need to shield him from whatever was causing such distress was powerful, so powerful it physically hurt her.

“Cassian,” she said, lightly at first as to not startle him out of whatever trance he was in as he continued to stare blankly at the pawn before him. “Cassian,” a little lowered this time.

The third and final time had Nesta leaning over the board, using her fan to guide his chin, forcing him to look at her, “Cassian.”

He blinked once, twice before leaning back and clearing this throat like he hadn’t been a million miles away not moments ago, “Sorry, just can’t figure out my next move.” The excuse was flimsy, there were at least three different moves he could make, all obvious, she had left her King wide open, and as Cassian observed the board, he knew it too.

“Sorry,” he apologized, rubbing his hands over his face in an exhausted gesture, “A lot to think about, what with Devlon breathing down my neck and-“

“I know you’re lying,” she cut him off, moving his piece on the chessboard before making her move, knocking down her King, a visual representation of her earlier statement and giving him no reason to focus his attention elsewhere. “You’re not the only one who can read people,” she said proudly, though he was the only person besides Gwyn whom she understood their nonverbal communication deeper level than what she needed in court.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

Cassian sighed, mulling over what he would reveal, “It’s just…it’s not important, nothing you need to worry about.”

“Why do you do that?” She questioned him, folding her arms across her chest to look more authoritative.

“What?”

“Make your problems seem small, like they don’t matter,” she told him bluntly, trying not to smirk at the surprised look on his face as he blinked dumbly.

“You do,” Nesta spoke again as he prepared to come at her with an excuse as he opened his mouth, “So just tell me.”

She did not break eye contact, daring him to deny her. Cassian entangled his fingers in his hair, the leather wrapped around it falling from it, sweaty curls loose around his shoulders, “It’s just been a while since I saw my family, the longest I’ve been away from them…” he trailed off, almost embarrassed.

Nesta felt a pang of guilt deep inside of her at the omission. How had she never considered that he had a family, a group of people that loved him and raised him? He did not enter this world as a warrior, but a child who had people around him that would care for him, even if he grew up in the camps. He never talked about them, he had mentioned friends and acquaintances, but he never mentioned a mom, a dad, siblings, but how self-involved was she that she never considered he had a family?!

“Don’t look like that,” he laughed, the first laugh in three days, “Don’t feel guilty because I did not divulge such things, I’m trying to keep this relationship professional.”

It was Nesta’s turn to laugh, loudly and boisterously, “I think we are way past that, Cassian.”

“I suppose your right,” he said, joining in on her laughter.

“Why don’t you tell me about them,” she asked after a moment, setting up the chessboard to begin a new game, he would need something to play with to expel his nervous energy. She had noticed over the last month or so that he was a fidgeter.

So he talked, and talked, and talked, the brightness slowly returning to his face as he mapped out what she had come to understand was a found family. He didn’t know his father, nor the mother who gave birth to him, Devlon having told him that she had died in childbirth. She felt even more respect for the cranky old man for taking in a child that wasn’t his, for finding him a home with Nemea and her son Rhysand. He spoke of them so fondly it made her heart swell with her own love for her sisters. He told her of his brothers, and she found out he was the oldest among them, Azriel and Rhys following him in that order, all while strategically moving the pieces on the board that had her struggling to keep up. He told her about the smithy shop and Emerie, who he thought of as a sister. The fondness in his voice was evident, the love he had for the girl so obvious that Nesta reminded herself she did not need to be jealous, they were friends, she told herself.

His face became saddened when he spoke of Elira, Rhysand’s sister and how she had died a few years back from tuberculosis. Nesta placed her hand upon his in what she believed was a comforting gesture before removing it, unsure of herself. Her heart stopped when he grabbed her hand as she retreated, rubbing his thumb over the back in a silent thank you before letting go.

They finished the rest of the game in comfortable silence, the birds and the soft breeze of the summer air coming through the gaps in the bushes the only sound. Cassian had won by a long shot, obliterating her far easier than she liked, and she bit her lip as a smile threatened to find its way to her face as he shuffled in his seat in a happy dance.

Gods, she liked him far more than she should allow herself to, far more than it was proper to given the circumstances. So she did not know what possessed her to suggest what came next, but she wanted to make him happy. It was important to her to an extent that surprised her, “Do you want to invite them for tea, they could stay the night in the castle, you can spend time with them, show them the gardens, the trails…”

The suggestion made her flush, and she took out her fan once again to hide her reaction, thankful for the heat of summer. She did not usually go out of her way for people like this, but he was different. Cassian looked taken aback by the suggestion, not expecting such an invitation. It was shortsighted of her, having not cleared it first, her mother was always hyper-aware of every person in the castle at all times and would notice unwanted guests. Nesta was not sure how she would react, but she was willing to grovel to the women to get this to happen if it made the man in front of her happy. The thought shocked her.

“Really?” He asked, excitement clear on his face. Oh, she would be grovelling alright.

“Yes, we can send word to them right away—if you wish,” she corrected herself, not wanting to seem too eager.

“Yeah, I mean yes, I’ll write it as soon as we get back to the library,” he said, leg bouncing.

“Why wait, it’s far too hot to be outside,” she suggested, standing and waiting for Cassian to follow, “Let’s do it now.”

“Okay,” he said getting up, far too quickly and knocking his knee into the table, almost spilling the chess pieces onto the ground.

He would be the end of her, a beautifully blissful end. The lengths she realized she would go for him, the things she would do to make him happy would never cease to surprise her. She was willing to bend her back until she broke, the smile on his face worth any punishment she may receive from her mother.

He was worth every risk, and she was willing to take them all.

—————

Her ears were ringing, the sound reverberating through her head making it pound as her mother stood before her. She couldn’t hear what she was saying, all she could comprehend was that her mother was once again disappointed in her, the only reason she hadn’t lashed out and physically struck her was the man standing behind her.

She met Cassian’s eyes, his expression stoned faced, but she could tell by the downturn of his mouth he was hating this as much as she was, but propriety held him back. There was no good outcome of him defending her against his queen, and it was best for both of them to keep quiet until her mother was done with her verbal tongue lashing.

“I have never been so embarrassed, Duke Koschei will no doubt tell the entries of the court of your display,” her mother raved, throwing a hand over eyes dramatically, “I cannot believe you threw tea in his face, think of your reputation Nesta, all my hard work, ruined!”

Nesta kept her face the definition of neutrality, but inside she wanted to laugh at her mother's theatrics. In another life, she would have been the star of those plays that travelled throughout the country. She would be cast as The Mother, saying that the part of the goddess was the only role appropriate for her, and revel in the flowers and applause that were thrown at her, ever the centre of attention.

“Mama, Duke Koschei is older than father!” Nesta countered, finally speaking after a solid five minutes of silence. “How could you expect me to bed someone who could be my grandfather?”

“You should show him respect someone of his age deserves,” Arianwen snapped, her neck growing unfalteringly splotchy as her temper rose, “As for his ag-“

“How am I to offer respect to a man who did nothing but stare at my breasts the entire meeting?” She interrupted, outraged by her mother's lack of understanding of her position.

“That is more than enough, Nesta,” Arianwen’s voice trembled, a sign that she was close to the edge, her breaking point. Cassian’s presence would not stop her mother from lashing out if she got to that point, “I have worked tirelessly to find you a suitable husband, and you have been nothing but an ungrateful brat. You are to be queen, and for you to sit upon the throne that is destined to be yours, you need a husband-“

“BUT WHY?!” Nesta yelled over her, unable to control the bubbling need to make her mother understand. How could she not understand when her own daughter was put in the same position she was once in as a child. “I am capable of taking my place on the throne on my own, I do not need a man to make me powerful, to make me worthy of my birthright.”

A shiver surged up her spine, a warning, one that came too late as her mother lunged for her. She latched her fingers onto her jaw, digging her boney fingers into her cheeks before she could say another word. There was fury in those cold eyes, burning with the same fire that Nesta had behind her own whenever she was angry. She felt sick that she resembled this woman so much, and let out a whimper of pain when her back met the wall, “If you know what is good for you, you will keep such ridiculous notions out of your head. It is better that you learn that now instead of playing pretend. You are a woman, know your place.”

From the corner of her eye, Nesta could see Cassian’s hand hover over the hilt of his sword but made no move to unsheathe it, the helplessness of the gesture hanging between them.

“Now, you will do as you are told,” the older of the two explained, “You will put on a smile and act appropriately for someone of your status, and you will show respect to the next suitor that will arrive this evening, just like I taught you.”

Her mother stared her down a moment longer before letting go of her face, her fingerprints no doubt would leave a mark, but nothing the powders she was provided couldn’t cover, “Do you understand?”

Nesta swallowed but met her mother's glare head on before nodding, refusing to show her any more weakness.

“Your words Nesta, you are not a simple child,” she reminded her daughter, basking in the unstable power dynamic that was on display. A mother towering over her child in an intimidating gesture. The tension was so thick Cassian looked like he would suffocate from the lack of oxygen.

“Yes, Mama,” Nesta finally said.

The disgusted look did not disappear from her mother’s face at the submissive gesture, “I’ll be around to retrieve you for dinner, have Gwyn dress you accordingly. Until then, I expect you to think about what I’ve told you. It is tiring, explaining away your impudent behaviour to these men, and if I must go through that humiliating experience one more time, we may have to revisit your basic training and trust me, Nesta, it will not be pleasant for either of us.”

It was a thinly veiled threat, not a suggestion, for her basic training would end with Nesta sporting more of her winter dresses to cover the result of that training. Nesta was so accustomed to these threats that she found the thought of sweating in her heavier dresses more uncomfortable than the pain inflicted against her skin.

She knew better than to argue and nodded again with another ‘Yes, Mama’ before her mother turned with all the grace of the queen she was, like she had not just threatened her daughter in front of the man she now faced.

Arianwen looked the guard up and down, eyes lingering on the hand now wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword and gave him a taunting smirk before walking past him and out the door.

Cassian’s nostrils flared, but his attention quickly diverted towards Nesta as she quickly walked past him without a word, following her mother's suit and taking a swift exit towards her rooms.

He followed after her, maintaining a respectable distance as they passed the many servants and palace staff among the halls. Cassian wanted to reach out, run his hands along her tense shoulders and soothe her rattled mind, but the lingering eyes that followed them, followed her, down the halls kept him at arm's length.

He wondered as to why she was leading him towards her rooms, he was more than willing to escort her on a ride midday. Given the previous events and her upcoming meeting with her next marriage prospect, she could use a bit of distressing. Another thought crossed his mind as he took in the most recent events, was the explosive interaction between Nesta and her mother the mysterious incidents Feyre had been referring to weeks ago in the garden, were these interactions a regular occurrence before he arrived, and what led to them coming to an end so suddenly?

When Nesta came to a complete stop in front of her door he was shaken from his thoughts, so deep in his own mind trying to decipher the enigma that was Nesta Archeron, he had not noticed they had made their way through the entirety of the castle.

No words were exchanged, Cassian unsure of what to say as Nesta turned and leaned against her door. The icy exterior she had carved for herself began to slowly melt away in the privacy of her many rooms, the doors and walls that surrounded her a solid shield of protection from judgmental eyes. Cassian felt his heart swell in the realization that he alone was here to witness the shedding of her armour.

“Are you okay?” He asked, the unamused smile that was her response was expected, given the circumstances of the last hour.

“I know, sorry,” he shook his head, realizing his mistake, of course she wasn’t okay, “Do you want to go for a ride?”

“No,” she said thoughtfully, pushing herself off the wall in a fluid predatory movement, the way her eyes scanned him had his body buzzing with the prospect of her next request, “I think I require something a little stronger, why drink water when you have perfectly good wine available?”

He was used to it by now, Nesta’s quick changing emotions. She made his head spin, but he recognized the look in her eyes now.

Though they were feet apart, Cassian felt the brush of her eyes over every inch of him, zoning in on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when the realization of her words hit him. He was the wine, and she was looking for something more than decorum allowed, but that did not stop the blood that rushed south at the invitation to make his cock swell at the prospect of tasting her.

“It’s not appropriate,” he reminded her, though it was useless and quite frankly pointless. Nesta did not listen to him—though the promise to stop at his command was made rather adamantly—he never told her no. How could he, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever come across, and he would be foolish to say no…he was foolish to not put a stop to it as well, but the moment her lips were on his he could not remember a single reason as to why.

Nesta sighed with a pout, “You say that all the time about our secret rendezvous, but it has not stopped you from being an active participant,” she reminded him, trailing a single finger down his chest, a coy smile on her face.

“Well,” she breathed, letting her finger linger a moment on his belt before letting it fall to her side in defeat at his lack of reaction, “My door will be left open, much like my invitation, General,” she told him before slipping into her chambers. There was no click of the lock.

General, Commander, Captain, all words she used liberally and exploited often. It was generally due to one of the three words that he found himself pressed against the nearest wall with her atop him. He cursed the day he allowed the words to affect him, his cock already swelling without his consent the moment it left her lips. He was pathetic.

‘Get a hold of yourself,’ he scolded, glancing down at his half erect cock, ‘You are a battle ready soldier, trained since birth to withstand the worst conditions and manipulations, you will not fall to your knees because some beautiful women addressed you by a title you worked hard for, you will not-‘ a moan cut through his pep talk. It was quiet, soft, but he heard it nonetheless. Was she even trying to be quiet?

He quickly found his answer as the gentle call of his name sliced through the large oak door like it was butter. Along with any self-respect or control he had left.

He didn’t remember telling his body to move forward, to swing open the door and fling himself into the room like a mad man. When he came to, all he could see in his line of vision was her, legs spread wide open at the end of her bed, hand buried between her thighs, disappearing beneath the fine tool of her skirts. He could smell her, not just the vanilla and jasmine scent that followed her around, but the heady scent of her arousal.

Cassian slammed the door shut with so much force both jolted, afraid the door may come off the hinges. He didn’t bother hiding his obvious need, there was no disguising how she affected him, no secrets left between their bodies, but he enjoyed the way her breath hitched in the back of her throat as she caught the outline of his cock against his pants.

The moan Nesta lets out as he clicks the lock has him releasing a growl deep in his throat. How does it feel to be the prey this time, he wants to ask as he stalks towards her until he stands tall before her open legs. The only sound between them now was Nesta’s breathing, and his cock twitched at the power he held over her now.

Cassian clicked his tongue when her legs began to close, grabbing onto her trembling knees and spreading her wide open for him again. With a swift tug, he threw up her dress, revealing her completely to him, wet and ready and wanting.

He did not break eye contact as he knelt before her, eyes hard and commanding, not wanting her to forget for one moment who held the power in this position, regardless of whom was kneeling.

Nesta was the first to look away, the action was not submissive, but intrigued when he took the hand between her legs and brought it to his lips. His hot mouth enveloped the digits in one slick movement, and she watched as they vanish behind thick lips. Her own mouth opened slightly at the sight, a soft moan escaping as his tongue slides between her fingers, sampling the heady taste of her.

Cassian swallowed thickly, humming in pleasure before releasing her fingers from his wet mouth, a string of liquid connecting them. The rise and fall of her chest sped up in time with her breathing, her breasts pushing uncomfortably against her bodice, but Cassian refused to be incised to look anywhere else but her face, loving every reaction he forced from her.

It was when Nesta’s gaze met his a second time that he knew he had won this round. When it came to their little game, Nesta had won, again and again, coercing Cassian to submit to her every whim, but when it came down to it, would she be all bark and no bite?

Placing a single kiss against the tips of her fingers, he gently led her hand back to the apex of her thighs, the digits dripping with his saliva, slipping slightly as he pressed them down against the sensitive bud. Nesta bit her lip, but it did nothing to muffle the breathless whimper the sensation provoked, “You were so adamant about that demonstration, so here I thought I would finally see the results of all those hours of practice.”

He saw her eyes dilate at his instruction, “So show me,” he pushed, urging her hand to move in tandem with his. Her head rolled to the side, eyes halve lid in pleasure as he whispered, “Show me exactly what makes you produce all those pretty little sounds, teach me how to serve my future Queen.”

The moan that left her lips was especially loud, her body going lax and falling completely against the plush bedding under her, lost in her pleasure.

Cassian observed her carefully, committing to memory every precise circle around her clit, the way she pressed a little harder as she reached the top making her hips thrust upward into her hand. The way she played with herself, dipping ever so slightly into her opening, just enough to wet her fingers and make her pussy clench in response, begging to be filled. He was mesmerized by every moan, how she enjoyed teasing herself to extract the most pleasure, and especially how much she seemed to love him watching her do so.

She had not been lying when she said she had practiced, and he wondered how many hours she had laid in this exact position and pleasured herself. Did she think about him, what he could or would do to her? She knew what she wanted, and he wanted to know every fantasy she pleasured herself to.

She knew her body so well, and he wanted to know it too. So he didn’t think when he pushed her hand aside, all that went through his mind was the need to taste, taste, taste.

An electric shock went up her body the moment his tongue pressed against her, and she felt her back lifting from the mattress in a deep arch, the feeling so intense she couldn’t help but scream. She didn’t care who heard her now, nothing mattered but the man currently between her legs.

Every cell in her body was ripe and swollen with need, her nerves filled with a fire so hot she imagined she may burst into flames at any moment with the intensity of the heat. She could feel her breasts swell, becoming fuller, heavier, the friction of her dress against her perked nipples suddenly became an unthinkable sexual torture device chafing her skin. Her corset was more binding than ropes or chains, restricting her airflow and making her head fill with fog. Every fibre of clothing touching her was offensive to her skin, and she wanted to shove him off and strip herself bare, leaving every inch of her exposed to his touch.

The grip Nesta had on the sheets was painful, but compared to the sexual pleasure she was experiencing by Cassian’s tongue, it was of little consequence to her. She felt her pussy tighten when he dipped his tongue into her entrance ever so slightly, and the overpowering need to have something other than his face between her legs, pounding into her, cramming her so full it hurt was unbearable. She wanted him inside her, a thick, hot, long, hard something fucking into her relentlessly until she want completely spent, or unconscious.

She had never experienced such a thing, but her natural instincts begged for her to be filled, unforgivably and only by him.

The heat that pooled in her lower stomach told her that their fun would come to a swift end, and she weaved her fingers through the soft locks of ebony black hair to ground herself. She smiled when he grunted and moaned as she pulled, his enjoyment of her rough display evident, so she gripped him harder, using her hand to direct him exactly how she pleased.

He did not argue, moaning into her again, sending vibrations around her pulsing clit. He liked being used by her, and he let her ride his face into oblivion.

Her orgasm crashed into her with such ferocity her vision spotted. Cassian’s tongue not relenting as she fucked his face, and she felt something wet pool in the sheets beneath her.

She should have been embarrassed by her display, her scream so loud if it wasn’t for the second set of doors leading to her rooms there was no doubt the entirety of the castle would know what they were up to. With every flick of his tongue as he ripped unbridled pleasure from her body, the need to feel any sort of shame disappeared.

It was moments later that she felt Cassian snake up her trembling body, and she opened her eyes just in time to see his face before he leaned down to kiss her. She felt she should have been disgusted, tasting herself on his lips, in his mouth, but it only sparked something deep within her core.

No words were exchanged, none were needed, she couldn’t find words appropriate to thank him for the orgasm, so she just pulled him back down for another kiss. The weight of his body pressing her down into the mattress was one she only hoped to feel again, the feel of his muscles against her soft hands pleased her. Visions of him on top of her, pressing her roughly into the mattress as he pounded into her had her scraping her nails down his biceps as they continued to kiss.

“Cassian, that was-,” but she cut herself off, freezing in place as she strained to hear something in the distance. Cassian looked down at her with a questioning look before hearing a light rapping against the door.

“Nesta?” Arianwen called and Nesta had never felt so terrified in her entire life than she had at that moment. “Nesta, some of the ladies heard sounds coming from your room, are you ill?”

“No, Mama,” she replied, heart about to burst out of her chest, “Just a little overheated from the weather, I require some rest.”

“Where is Cassian?” She questioned, “I knew Devlon made a mistake, he has left his post, and why is this door locked?” The irritability in her mother's voice was not a good sign, the women in question jiggling the handle of the door harshly.

“He is simply down getting me some freshwater from the kitchens, he insisted I lock my door,” Cassian looked at her, surprised at how easily she lied to her mother.

“Fine, just be ready for dinner, on time,” she huffed before exiting the front room of her chambers.

When they heard Arianwen leave the rooms completely, Cassian relaxed, sliding down to his knees in front of her again, relieved.

Nesta on the other hand had completely tensed up, reverting to her earlier state of distress. “I can’t believe her, no actually I can,” she began, her breath coming in low huffs, but not from their earlier activities, but from the anger she was now feeling. “Of course, she is far more concerned over my attendance at dinner tonight than my well being.”

Cassian trailed his hands up her thighs as she ranted, messaging her tense muscles, trailing kisses along the skin as he went, “She is relentless, parading me in front of these men like I’m-I’m some sort of animal, ready to be bred to the best bull,” she shuttered, her words becoming slurred after each gentle press of his lips against her sensitive skin.

“It was tolerable when it was a few men, she doesn’t…” her sentence abandoned, his breath grazing lightly against her overstimulated clit. Nesta continued to mumble, the conversation going on completely inside her head as Cassian continued to taunt and tease her.

He only caught bits and parts of what she was saying as her mind descended back into that place where only his mouth and the pleasure he provided existed, “She doesn’t,” a moan broke off her train of thought as he licked a long strip up her cunt. He wanted her speechless, his name the only word she could remember. He wanted her troubles far from her mind, to pretend for a moment that she had no other obligation than to just feel, “I-I don’t, um, I don’t, she uh,” she whimpered, her fingers fisting back into his hair and tugging him upward to the exact spot that would make her scream.

His cock twitched in response at the dominating action, he wanted her to use him in any way she wanted, abuse his mouth so brutally he bruised. His lungs screamed, demanding air and he let out a desperate growl, but he refused to back away, not until she was cumming once again on his tongue.

Like the first time, it did not take long for her to reach her utopia, her desperate cries filling the room and he did not relent until she pushed him away, whimpering at the overstimulation. He didn’t want to stop, wanted to see how far he could push, how many orgasms he could pull from her trembling body, but she was not ready for it, and he would always follow her lead.

Cassian pushed himself up and away, pressing one more soft kiss against her before unhooking her legs from around his shoulders. She was pliant in the aftermath of her orgasms, body limp and relaxed, exactly what he wanted. She would get a few hours of reprieve from her worries, head fogged in the release of endorphins brought on by her multiple orgasms that should keep her mind floating in unadulterated bliss.

Nesta hadn’t bothered to open her eyes as he leaned over and kissed her, “I’ll get you that water,” he said before slipping out.

Water was not the only thing he got, having run into Gwyn in the kitchens. He sent her to Nesta, a cold jug of water in hand and no explanation. Gwyn would know soon enough, she had a privilege many others did not as Nesta’s confidant. Cassian prepared to steel his expression against the onslaught of teasing looks the red-head would send his way once she got all the dirty details.

He took a detour back to her rooms, finding an abandoned closet in one of the corridors Nesta had often led him to for a private moment. He took care of himself there, wrapping his hand around his aching cock and stroking himself to completion, all the while thinking of how her small hands would feel instead of his own. The mere thought of her mouth wrapped around him, cheeks hollowed and tear-streaked, brought him over the edge far quicker than he had in years.

He didn’t allow himself to dwell on how their relationship may change, how close they were to getting caught or how much he enjoyed being degraded to nothing more than a tool to be used by her for her personal pleasure. He had fucked up, allowed himself to be controlled by his cock and his ever growing need for a woman he could never have. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel regret at what they had done, would regret nothing when it came to her.

Cassian cleaned himself up and headed back to his post before anyone could take notice. Pressing his ear to the door he hear murmured words exchanged between the two friends before silence took over.

It was hours later that Nesta emerged from her room, looking every bit the proper princess thanks to Gwyn’s work. No longer the debauched royal that had been screaming his name, cheeks flushed and hair splayed out behind her as he feasted on her, but a vision in emerald green.

Dinner that night had proceeded far more smoothly than the previous nights. He dare say Nesta was pleasant, her mother looking proudly at her daughter as she conversed with the handsome Lord. The queen looked smug as she watched them interact, and Cassian was to laugh at the self-satisfied gleam in her eye.

If only she knew what really caused her daughter's agreeable attitude.

-----

Taglist: let me know if you wish to be added or removed.

@sv0430 | @a-court-of-valkyries | @vinylcryes | @champanheandluxxury | @nestaspegasus l @angelic-voice-1997

#idk what to say about this #nessian #nessian fic #nessian fanfiction #ACOTAR fanfiction #ACOTAR fic #Nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #confusedfandomslut

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writerpeach · 4 years ago

Text

Expensive - Part Deux

Twice Mina x Male Reader

smut, oral, anal, richgirl!mina

4941 words

masterlist

“Here you are, ma’am. Please enjoy your meal.”

Myoui Mina thanked the waiter while flashing her signature gummy smile, reaching for the newly opened bottle of ketchup placed in front of her. She shook the bottle a few times, drawing a smiley face on her over-easy eggs and cutely giggling to herself before taking a bite.

“Delicious,” Mina said, taking a strip of bacon elegantly eating it. She took a sip of strawberry milk, using a napkin to wipe her mouth afterwards. Even in such a quaint and simple diner, Mina stayed prim and proper to the very end. It was quite the juxtaposition, the blonde Japanese girl being dressed to the nines in a restaurant where sweat pants and a t-shirt was the unspoken dress code.

Mina had traveled the world, dined in several countries and expensive Michelin star restaurants, sampling various cuisines in several different continents but there was a time where a girl just needed bacon and eggs to start the day, especially when you were lucky enough to be accompanying her to breakfast.

Your plates had been cleaned off, your stomachs filled and appetites satisfied. The only thing left was what Mina had planned for the day, and you were willing and able to obey whatever needs she needed fulfilled.

“Where to?” you asked, finishing your own glass of cold milk as Mina took her black card from the waiter, replacing it with a crisp one hundred dollar bill and signing the receipt with the prettiest signature. Mina never allowed you to pick up the check when you were in her presence, insisting on you never spending a dime. You stopped arguing after the first few times she had done this, it was one of the few things you learned she wasn’t going to budge from and you weren’t going to complain about a free meal.

“You’ll be accompanying me to several places this morning, I have to prepare for a gala this weekend and need new outfits.”

“Sounds fun.”

“You’ll be trying on clothes too, I can’t have you looking like a slob next to me.”

✦✦

The way your back was pressed against the inside of the dressing room door meant you were doing anything but trying on clothes.

“We’ll be out until midnight at the earliest, so there won’t be anytime to play with you later,” Mina said with one hand pumping your leaking cock. Several potential outfits were hung out on the wall, but Mina had taken your pants and boxers off down to your knees as soon as the door had shut.

“Look at me when I’m jerking you off.”

Mina’s tone was cold as the small hand slowly stroked your cock. Her free hand had cupped the side of your face and demanded your attention as she squeezed every bit of pleasure out with her delicate slow strokes.

“I could make you cum in ten seconds if I wanted to,” Mina said, squeezing your throbbing shaft harder with every pump of her slender fingers and running a thumb over your swollen tip.

Your breath hitched at her touch as she gave your balls a firm squeeze, running a finger alongside your shaft from base to tip and rubbing the underside of your leaking cockhead.

“Let’s make it interesting. If you can make it to thirty seconds you can fuck me against that mirror.”

“Ready?” Mina asked, her ice cold gaze staring into your soul as she bit her lip and gave one long stroke from base to tip, making sure to twirl her hand around every inch of your shaft. You took a deep breath and nodded nervously.

The painfully slow pace she had been using up until now dramatically changed as Mina gripped your cock harshly, picking up speed with every stroke.

“Twenty six...twenty five…”

“You already know how loud I get in the bedroom. You’ll have to cover my mouth to keep me from moaning your name while this nice dick is inside me,” Mina said, keeping her eyes tightly focused on your own as you moaned.

“Seventeen...sixteen…”

“You’re doing well. Do you want to fuck me that badly? Do you want to fill my tight little pussy with this throbbing cock?”

It was bad enough you were forced to look into Mina’s lustful bedroom eyes while she jerked you off in the dressing room, counting down with that sweet voice dripping with honey whispering in your ear at the same time.

“Nine...eight...six…”

“Almost there. I can’t wait for you to make me cum on this cock.”

You gritted your teeth and dug your toes into your shoes, trying to desperately find any sort of outlet for the pleasure shooting through your veins. Mina blew hot air into your ear after every five numbers. You couldn’t make it much longer, trying to think of anything but the sexually charged Japanese woman stroking your shaft.

“Bet you’re just dying for me to walk out of here with your hot cum dripping down my thighs...”

Mina went for the killing blow as she furiously pumped your cock, using her other hand to play with and massage your full swollen balls.

“Four...three...two…”

The end was in sight in more ways than one. You tried everything in your power to hold back, but as soon as Mina’s luscious lips said the word, you grunted and erupted uncontrollably, thick spurts of milky white semen firing out of your cock and coating her fingers and the unfortunate dressing room’s tile floor underneath.

“That’s too bad, I really wanted to be fucked before tonight.”

Your body trembled as those few final moments of climax subsided, the disappointed look in Mina’s eyes as she jerked you off past the point of sensitivity. She gave your depleted shaft a few more rough squeezes before licking her fingers clean.

“I like the black shirt, try that one on first. Get dressed and I’ll see you outside.”

✦✦

Mina had an affinity for handcuffs.

The cold steel wrapped around each of your wrists matched the cold atmosphere in the room as each of your arms were spread wide as an eagle and secured to the headboard of her canopy bed. The expensive silk sheets against your naked body were the only comfort you felt as Mina’s cold hands were caressing your bare chest.

“Do you like being Minari’s little fucktoy?” she asked, cocking her head to the side and demanding an answer which was rather difficult to give as she had stuffed her wet panties in your mouth.

You answered the only way you could and frantically nodded your head, knowing Mina hating repeating herself. You were rewarded with a slap to the face as she relentlessly rode your cock, her ice cold gaze staring daggers into your eyes.

“Good answer.”

There was little you could do in that moment as Mina took you in and out of her slippery tight hole, using you for her own selfish pleasure which was arousing in its own way. Perhaps had your dressing room romp got the way she wanted it you would be in a different situation,

Spending a night with Mina was never the same twice in a row. There was always some changing aspect of it, something she had changed to keep you on your toes. At times it was a quick blowjob before you finished inside her, sometimes it was hours of her edging and torturing your cock as she devilishly cackled the entire time. You hated to admit it but you loved the unknown mixture of fear and anticipation.

You didn’t mind the position you were in, limbs splayed out on Mina’s bed as she worked out her frustrations and took her second orgasm of the night. The naked blonde had straddled your waist, riding your cock for what seemed like eternity, each pop of her wide hips bringing you closer to orgasm.

You weren’t sure what was louder, the constant moans and gasps that escaped Mina’s sinful lips or the creaking of her luxurious bed, both competing in a stalemate.

Mina spent several movements grinding away her orgasm as her wetness drenched your shaft, taking every last second of pleasure from your body as her pretty eyes stayed half-lidded.

“Are you not going to cum as well?” Mina asked, and you found yourself unsure at how you had lasted this long as the tightness pulsating around your cock continued.

“I-I was waiting for you to be satisfied,” you said, not trying to convey the obvious fact that you were wrapped around Mina’s little finger.

“Well, that’s sweet but you’ve done your job for tonight. You were a perfectly capable toy for me to use tonight. Now I expect you to cum, I don’t have all night.”

It wasn’t as if you had several options as you were merciless at her whims, unable to do so much as lay a hand on her pristine naked body as much you wanted.

“Hurry up and cum inside me.”

Mina’s words weren’t so much of a request, but that of a demand, as if she grew tired of using you and wanted to move on. She was quick to urge you past that point of no return, the slap of her plump ass bouncing on your crotch as the tightness in your abdomen grew harder to control.

The look in Mina’s eyes was enough to drive you over the edge. The way she rode you mercilessly drove you insane, you couldn’t last another second if you wanted to. The bed squeaked in protest and you swore it was liable to collapse at any second as her tight small body slammed down on your cock, filling up her warm little hole was too much to handle.

“F-fuck, Mina, I’m gonna cum,” you moaned out, sending a desperate sense of relief inside the woman you were buried inside. Mina’s eyes beckoned you to give in to her body, not that you had much of a choice. With one more intense slam against your cock Mina sent you past your limits, causing your throbbing cock to fill her dripping slick walls with thick hot cum, causing endless grunting as her cunt milked every last drop out.

It felt like you had blacked out from the sharp pleasure, every muscle in your body on fire as your climax ran its course through your trembling body as Mina carefully watched. Once you had nothing left to give, your balls fully drained at her hand she gradually ceased her movements and left you gasping for air as your shaft rested inside her.

Mina didn’t say another word as she gingerly lifted her body off of your cock, releasing you from deep inside her with a loud plop as your thick load began dripping down her thighs and down your crotch. She quickly reached for the key to your handcuffs off her bedside table and unlocked them, the relieving click music to your ears.

"You have five minutes to rest, then you are to join me in the shower."

✦✦

It wasn’t often Mina was caught in anything other than expensive designer brands, colorful long flowing dresses that accentuated every curve of her body, or form-fitting pant suits that were tight in all the right places.

After a late afternoon business call Mina had neglected putting clothes back on after her scalding hot shower, getting out in a cashmere robe and slippers as she took a seat on the couch, tablet in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.

“Try some,” Mina said, gesturing to a half-full black bottle resting upon the kitchen table. You retrieved your own glass before joining her back on the couch, giving the glass a swirl as you watched the dark colored liquid splash around in your glass before indulging.

“What do you think?” she asked, scrolling through her tablet, catching up on various events and aspects of her day.

“It’s good. I’ve never really had wine except out of a box in college, but this is really good.”

“That’s a shame, I’ll have to catch you up. It’s one of the finest bottles from my parent’s vineyard.”

“Your parents have a vineyard?”

“They have several. One of my responsibilities is to check in to make sure everything is running smoothly from time to time.”

Every time Mina opened up just a little you felt grateful, feeling just that bit of closeness that existed.

“Do you know what the best way to drink wine is?” Mina asked, putting her tablet down on the glass coffee table in front of her.

“Can’t say that I do.”

Mina paused, downing the leftover wine in her clear glass before carefully placing it away and taking a seat on your lap, letting you feel the softness of her bare thighs. Her small hands grabbed each side of your face, planting a deep kiss on your lips and spitting wine from her mouth to yours.

“The best way to drink wine is off the body of a naked woman,” Mina said, loosening her robe and giving you a peek of her bare chest as you swallowed the wine she had deposited into your mouth.

“Well, clearly you’re the wine expert, but I think I’ll need a demonstration.”

“I’ll be happy to give you one,” Mina said, dismounting your lap as you carefully laid her on her back with one hand, the other keeping your glass upright. She untied the belt of her robe completely, opening it up to expose her perky tits and killer set of abs that complemented such a perfect body.

Mina didn’t linger for a second, taking your glass from your hand and aiming it at her naked torso, tipping it over as dark wine stained her pale skin, the contrasting colors so gorgeous to gander at.

You admired her beauty for a moment before planting a kiss on her tight abdomen and gathering the wine on your tongue, drinking it all up and licking every inch of her sexy midriff.

“You’re right, this is the best way. It tastes even better,” you said, continuing to run your lips and tongue over the surface of Mina’s body, licking in in between her cleavage as she idly watched. Mina had been licked clean at your own accord, the delicious taste of wine lingering on your lips as you kissed her breasts and sucked on her nipples.

“I’ll give you something else to taste,” Mina said, the look on her face as devilish as possible as she pushed your body off hers, causing you to fall flat onto the couch. Moving rather quickly Mina divested her robe from her body, letting you take in the view of her beautiful naked body.

That moment didn’t last long, Mina now fully nude was delicious candy for your eyes but you only got to sample it as you felt her thick supple thighs locking around your head, using you as her seat cushion as she took a seat on your face. It was so abrupt that you barely had any time to react as you were smothered with the warm flesh of her wet heat, the slickness of her cunt introducing itself to your lips.

“You know what to do, don’t you?” Mina said, the cuteness of her tone contrasted with her sinister expression, and you didn’t dare keep her waiting as you darted your tongue and licked her pink slit several times. Mina gasped and began rolling her hips, gyrating her body and riding your face.

Mina’s taste was unforgettable, and this close you were quite literally breathing in her scent as you ate her pussy out, being suffocated with dripping pink flesh as you explored her folds with your tongue.

“I know you can do better than that,” Mina said as she put more of her weight down on you, smearing your lips and chin with her essence. You made sure not a single inch of her delicious pussy went without a swipe of your tongue as you took her swollen clit into your mouth and devoured Mina.

“There you go, eat that fucking pussy,” Mina demanded, grabbing the back of your head as she moaned and dug her nails into the back of your skull, aching to feel your tongue deeper than it was already. Her aggressiveness always caught you by surprise no matter how many times you had seen it, not that you minded for a second as your head was buried in between her luscious thighs.

Mina’s taste was so intoxicating, so satisfying to your palette more than any of the fancy restaurants that she had taken you that you could have done this all day long until the muscles in your jaw gave out.

“Almost there, don’t you dare fucking stop,” Mina moaned out as her thighs squeezed your head, pulling roughly at your hair with her fingers tangled in strands of it. You were powerless to do anything else, pinned to her couch and being a toy and you wanted nothing more.

There wasn’t anything quite like when Mina achieved climax, moaning in a mixture of Japanese and English and practically slurring every word that escaped her lips while her thighs vibrated around your head, hips bucking wildly out of control.

When Mina came was the highest her voice rose, the usual quiet demeanor of her was replaced by such filthy words filth would make a sailor blush. Screams and lustful moans filled the air as her honey dripped into your lips and you lapped up every drop eagerly.

Mina had finished the vigorous use of your face to climax all over, and you lamented the loss of her thighs squeezing your head, but if the look in her eye was anything to go by she wasn’t done with you.

“Good job. You’re proving to be quite useful.”

✦✦

(2:02 a.m.) My place. Now.

It didn’t matter that you had just brushed your teeth, put on your comfiest pair of pajamas and slipped under the covers. When Mina demanded her 2 a.m. booty call you answered, not even bothering to change as you entered the black sports car sent by her personal driver.

Mina answered the doorbell naked, without even so much as a hello you were brought into the familiar bedroom. Within seconds clothes formed a crumpled discarded pile. Build-up wasn’t a word used much in Mina’s vocabulary as she took you into her warm wet mouth for just a dozen or so strokes, if only to make sure you were rock hard and nothing else.

You quickly found yourself inches away from Mina’s naked body, her long legs spread wide in a familiar position that you couldn’t wait to dive into. Your throbbing shaft ached to feel the warmth of her body, but she had other plans as you felt something being jammed into your leg.

“My pussy is off-limits tonight,” she said, leaving you unsure to her reasons but you certainly weren’t ever going to complain about anal with Mina and welcomed the change of pace. She aided in lubing up your cock, using a freshly opened bottle and guided you towards her tight puckered hole.

Mina demanded your full attention, this time not bent over ready to be taken but kept on her back, wanting you to see her as you penetrated her back entrance. It was regrettable missing the view of her bent of beautiful ass, not that this position was lacking in anything while having the benefit of granting full vision of her Mina’s features.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

You wouldn’t dare as you pushed your cock into the tight opening of her asshole, earning a loud gasp from her lips as you penetrated her. It was a feeling that never got old, the intense tightness that surrounded you as your tip disappeared into her warm hole was breathtaking.

“I want you deep,” Mina said, clearly no stranger to anal as she was able to relax her muscles to allow your shaft to sink deeper into her tight asshole. It didn’t take much, just a few smooth strokes until you filled her ass to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” Mina moaned out, letting herself get used to the motions as she instinctively rubbed her clit on one hand as you fucked her ass, keeping her knees up and her feet flat on the sheets as her toes curled with pleasure.

You found a rhythm to fuck Mina with right away, watching the pure unadulterated bliss in her eyes as you slid in and out of her puckered hole, feeling the tight clench of it as you stretched her out little by little.

“So fucking tight. You like how that cock feels in your ass?”

“I do, but I’ll like it better when you stop talking and pound me.”

You got the hint and upped your pace, driving your shaft repeatedly into the overwhelming tightness of Mina. She freely moaned in response, the look in her lustful eyes always demanding more and you readily obliged, moving your hips even faster until you were pistoning into her gripping hole.

“Just like that, show me what that cock can do.”

Placing your hands on Mina’s soft creamy thighs, you gave into everything she desired and more as you fucked her deep as possible, giving perfectly smooth strokes into her ass without pause.

You had a hard time finding what to focus on, the tight little hole that was filled to the brim with cock, or Mina’s pretty face now contorted with pleasure and moaning with delight. The sensations around your body drove you insane, the intense tightness and heat surrounding your cock set your senses ablaze.

Mina had an equal sense of pleasure if the moans escaping her throat were anything to go by, and in no time you were absolutely drilling into her asshole, trying to force your shaft as deep into her body as it would go.

You loved every second of it, the way her tight hole squeezed the life out of your cock, it was a moment you wanted to last forever. The look of ecstasy in Mina’s eyes as you were balls deep in her ass, you wanted time to stop for eternity so you could spend every bit of it fucking her.

Sadly, your body had other plans for you, as it often did. The intensity of your thrusts picked up, and you felt that familiar feeling in your abdomen that you wanted to go away, trying to focus on how amazing Mina made your cock feel.

“Mina, I-I’m close.”

“Don’t even think about pulling out.”

You couldn’t, even if for some reason you wanted to it would be impossible to remove yourself from the tightness you felt yourself buried in. You kept Mina’s perfect features in your view, watching the deep satisfaction as you drove yourself towards orgasm. The end was near and you wanted to savor the last few moments, pumping harshly into her tight ass repeatedly.

“Give me it...give me all your cum in my ass...fill me,” Mina demanded, staring at you as sweat dripped down your brow. It wouldn’t be much longer, just a few more thrusts inside her was all you could take as you used what little remaining you had left.

With one more satisfying thrust you buried yourself to the hilt, filling Mina’s ass as you throbbed inside her, flooding her hole up with your abundant creamy load and grunting with every shot fired.

Your climax lasted what felt like forever as your balls were emptied into Mina, her tight cavern milking you dry until you were able to slowly withdraw from her gaping hole as a stream of thick semen leaked out that was the evidence of your combined pleasure.

“I expected more,” Mina said, taking a finger to her rawly used hole and taking a sample of your cum, licking it clean.

You held back on giving any reaction, unable to do much but try and catch your breath as you watched the mess you had left inside Mina.

“Clean yourself up, my driver will be here in ten minutes.”

✦✦

One of the many benefits being Mina’s companion was getting to visit countries you had only dreamed of, seeing them only in movies. Your passport went from being blank to having pages filled with dozens of stamps from places that some you hadn’t even heard of before and experiencing the comfort of first class.

You had seen so many different places yet it never got old, seeing a new place, full of new culture to learn. It had become tradition that with every new place came a new hotel suite, staying in rooms you swore were bigger than some apartments you’d lived in and you never got used to it.

It also became tradition that Mina loved breaking in hotel rooms by being fucked in them. The thrill of being in a different country with a different language and a different timezone was only second fiddle to knowing the sheets were going to be stained with your combined bodily fluids. Mina always left large bills as compensation for cleaning staff.

Between business meetings and visiting important tourist destinations, Mina still had time to fit in being fucked daily, this time outside of the balcony, giving anyone who looked outside their window a free show for all to see.

Mina was always busy which was par for the course during business trips, but her schedule had been packed to the brim the entire morning. The free time let you roam foreign streets on the lookout by yourself without any blonde eye candy on your arm, a rare instance where you felt naked not having her by your side.

The nighttime view was remarkable, the curtains drawn on the balcony window revealed one of the most gorgeous skylines you had ever seen in your life. It failed in comparison to the view of Mina on her knees with her soft lips wrapped around your throbbing shaft.

“F-fuck, Mina,” you kept moaning out loud, keeping a hand resting on the cold glass window as she loud slobbered on your cock. It wasn’t often that Mina treated you to a blowjob without anything in return, maybe she felt apologetic for being gone all day, maybe she just had an insatiable urge to shove your cock down the back of her throat.

You had to forcibly pry your attention away from the magic Mina was working on your shaft, not wanting to finish in her mouth right away. Looking up you saw the outside view, noticing the night sky filled with beautiful bright stars, tall lit up buildings with neon that could be seen miles away and a gorgeous full moon made up the perfect backdrop of the city.

It was all impossible to focus on.

The only thing that caught your attention was the blonde bobbing her head rapidly, keeping her eyes glued on you as she sucked you off and covered your shaft in her warm saliva. Mina was no slouch when it came to her oral skills, and it was up to her whether she wanted you to last thirty seconds or ten minutes.

It always caught you off guard, the contrasting nature of Mina in the bedroom and outside of it. She was always so elegant, so prim, so proper - and yet here she was so goddamn loud as she gave the sloppiest blowjob without a care in the world, throwing her former inhibitions away.

“Your balls must be so full, I do feel bad I didn’t have time to drain you earlier,” Mina said, letting her eyes do the rest of the talking as she pleasured your cock, holding on to your thighs firmly as her mouth and tongue went wild. You could only take so much from her, the look in her eyes almost taunting you to try and last any longer.

Mina knew all your weaknesses and focused on hitting them all at once, going for the killing blow. Soft lips swallowing every inch of your cock, her wet tongue wildly playing around all while keeping a seductive look on her features, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mina, I-I’m gonna fucking cum,” you moaned out, trying desperately to hold out for just a few moments longer.

“About time, let it all out. I expect you to cover me,” Mina said, removing your cock from the warmth of her mouth and aiming it towards her stunningly beautiful face. The air in the room became harder to take in as you took deeper breaths, watching Mina furiously stroking your cock and encouraging your release.

Your climax didn’t wait for you, the shared anticipation at its peak as you erupted and painted Mina’s face in thick white streaks, splashing her forehead, cheeks and those talented lips, groaning audibly with every spurt released. Mina didn’t stop until she was satisfied you were emptied, sucking the sensitive tip of your cock as your generous load began slowly dripping down her face.

It took the leftover strength you had to not collapse to the floor, the satisfied look of Mina’s gorgeous face now stained with hot semen was an unforgettable sight.

“You made quite a mess,” she said, flicking against your sensitive head and cleaning your cock with her tongue to make sure not a drop was wasted.

“I’m not done with you so you better have some saved up for me later. I’m going to have a very fun night with you.”

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